a little jealousy | myg

summary: yoongi spots a couple of guys checking you out at the club. So, of course, he has to show them who you belong to. 18+

paring:non-idol!yoongi x female reader (established relationship)

genre: suggested smut, fluff and a bit of crack behavior from y/n’s drunk friends.

warnings: cursing, jealous yoongi, alcohol consumption, yoongi grabs reader’s ass, and heavy mentions of smut.

w/c:900

Rating:18+

a/n: so…. you might run into a few grammar mistakes since I can’t afford my grammarly subscription anymore (the sad tales of a broke hoe) but please enjoy!

Yoongi only came to the club tonight because you asked him to. It if were up to him, he’d have his eyes glued to his Netflix account, relaxing after a long, hard week of work. Instead, he sat hunched over at the bar, sipping on his whisky as his gaze followed your every move on the dance floor.

You were having fun with your friends; hair styled just as you liked, luscious lips coated with a flirty red shimmer, along with a tight fit bodycon dress that left nothing to the imagination. The more you laughed and danced with your girls, the more the thin fabric slipped up the thickest parts of your thighs, exposing your delicate flesh.

Yoongi ran his tongue across his bottom lip, daydreaming about all the ways he was going to fuck you the second the two of you got home. How he was going to slip your pretty feet out of your heels, placing kisses up your inner thighs until licking between the wet valley he was starving for. That would surely make his wasted time at the club worth wild.

“See that girl, the one in the black dress. She’s badd as fuck.”

Yoongi’s ears perked at the sudden mention of you. His eyes glaring at the man sitting beside him. The men who dared speak about his woman in such a perverse way.

“Yeah, she is.” The second male agrees, suggestively rubbing his hands together as he continues to leer over at you. “Had my eye on that ass all night. Think I should talk to her?”

The male playfully shoves at his friend, “Dude, I called dibs first.”

A chuckle vibrates from his throat, “A woman like that needs a real man.” He bites at his lip as his eyes travel down the curves of your body. “Someone who’s gonna take care of that sexy body all night-.”

CLANK

Yoongi slams his glass on top of the bar, creating a loud thud that causes the two men beside him to flinch at the sound. “Sorry.” He apologizes sarcastically, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he intimidatingly examines the two. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Y-your good, bro-” The man’s sentence gets cut short by the irritating glare deep within Yoongi’s eyes. He didn’t know what he had done wrong to cause such a malice look from a stranger, but he definitely didn’t want to make him any more upset. “No hard feelings.”

“Sure.” Yoongi clenched his jaw as he stood from the barstool, slapping down a 20 dollar bill to pay for his tab. “No hard feelings.” His tone, even more sarcastic, yet vexing than before.

Yoongi was never one to get jealous, in fact, he was quite confident when it came to your relationship. However, something about the way the two men gawked at you like a juicy piece of meat had him aggravated, wanting nothing more than to put them in their place.

Approaching you on the dance floor, Yoongi casually slips his hand around your waist from behind, spinning you around until the two of you are face to face.

“Yoo-Yoongi…” You were startled by the foreign touch at first, but the moment you recognized his chestnut hair, onyx eyes, and gummy smirk, your body relaxed into your boyfriend’s hold. “I thought you were going to stay at the bar-…”

Without giving you time to speak, Yoongi crashes his lips onto yours. His tongue seeking refuge past the entrance of your lips, exploring all the dips and crevices your mouth had to offer. His hands slip down the arch of your back only to unapologetically grab a handful of your ass.

You staggered for a moment, attempting to process where Yoongi’s frisky behavior stammered from. Only to fall victim to his intoxicating cologne and the throbbing he had caused between your thighs. Giving in, you press your breast against his chest, running your fingers throughout his hair to deepen the passion of the kiss.

When Yoongi pulls away, he continues to hold your body close to him. With his arms wrapped around your waist, his dark eyes pierced over at the two men gawking at you moments ago, only now staring with envy across their astonished faces.

“What’s got you so handsy tonight, Yoongles?” You giggle, oblivious to your boyfriend’s exact revenge.

Yoongi replaces his cocky expression with an alluring one. “What? I can’t kiss my beautiful girlfriend in the middle of the dance floor?” He answers innocently.

You arch a brow at your boyfriend, attempting to assemble the situation. “Something happened, didn’t it?” You press on.

Yoongi chuckles, not able to get anything past his intelligent girlfriend. “I’ll tell you later.” he says, leaning in to whisper, “Only after I bend you over the mattress and remind you who you belong to, kitten.”

Yoongi’s seductive tone and lewd choice of words sends a pleasurable tingle straight to your womanly core. The thought of him thrusting in and out of your needy hole has you quickly growing in heat. “Sorry girls,” You apologize to your friends, hastily grabbing onto Yoongi’s wrist. “I’m calling it a night. See ya,” you begin to drag him along.

“Waaaaaah.” Your tipsy best friend calls after you. “Leaving us so you can get some dick. I see how it is, Y/N!”

“Traitor!” The other friend called out to you playfully.

Yoongi only snickered at your eagerness to get him home. He always found you to be sexy whenever you carried that horny yet determined shimmer in your eyes. Also making a mental note to take care of every desire you had tonight.

And to think this all happened because Yoongi got jealous.

date published5/8/2021

wake up | myg

summary: reader wakes yoongi up in a specialway.

paring: non-idolYoongi x Reader (established relationship)

rating: 18+ ONLY

genre: fluff, smut

w/c:1k

warnings: cursing, oral sex, (m. receiving) switch reader, switch yoongi. (If you catch anything else I forgot to add, please don’t hesitate to let me know)

a/n: I wrote this in under an hour cuz ima hoe… anyways, please enjoy

Getting the chance to witness Yoongi as he slept was a rarity of its own. The raven-haired male was infamous for waking up before the early chirps of newborn birds and falling asleep only after you’ve drifted off into dreamland, so today was something special. Having him rest so soundly beside you, warm sunlight spilling across his flawless skin, and thick lashes soft against the apples of his cheeks as the rhythm of his faint breath exhaled past his lips.

“You’re so beautiful.” You soundly whisper, watching as Yoongi slowly began to wake from his slumber.

Your fingers begin to dance along the flesh of his ivory chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps down it’s path. The further you venture, the more you notice something twitching underneath the thin fabric of the sheets. “Oh,” You giggle, eyes panning to the stiff erection, standing proudly beneath the linen.

“Baby~?” You mew softly, fingers trickling past his torso to the edge of his waistband. “Is this okay?”

Yoongi’s lashes slowly begin to flutter open, tongue darting across his dry lips out of habit. It takes a moment for his vision to come to, but when it does, you’re the first thing he sees. Your wild bedhead framing around your delicate face, eyes narrowed seductively low, and plump lips formed into the shape of a wicked smirk. It was then he noticed your hand, so dangerously close to the needy dick twitching in his boxers. “Please.”

Never one to turn down your lover, your hand slips beneath the thin layer of fabric, immediately met with the heat of Yoongi’s manhood. Your fingers find the thick base of his shaft, palming around the veiny, hot flesh.

Yoongi utters a grunt, stuttering his hips upward due to the bewitching sensation of your sweet touch. “You’re always so sensitive when I touch you here.” You giggle, palm slowly beginning to work up and down his shaft.

Yoongi’s breath staggers in his throat, eyelids riding low as a familiar tightness begins to coil within the pit of his abdomen. “I-I had a dream…” He struggled to articulate his speech, your soft hand around his dick having an effect on him. “A-about you.”

Your tongue flirtatiously darts across your bottom lip, “Oh, yeah?” you start with a smirk, antagonizing his sexual frustration. “What was your dream about, baby?” You squeeze your hand tighter, just how Yoongi liked it.

Yoongi’s throat releases a hiss, eyelashes fluttering as he takes a nibble out of his lip.“ Y-you were s-sucking me o-of.” He stuttered in the form of a slight pout, and fuck did you love it when he pouted. “B-but you didn’t l-let me c-cum.” Jet orbs glossing over

“Aww, that’s so mean of me.” You reply coyly, fingers teasing around his mushroom tip, massaging in his sticky pre-cum. “Do you think you deserve to cum, Yoongi?” you ask, toying with his dick as if it were your own personal plaything.

“I- I do deserve it.” He finds the strength to say. “I’m a good m-man to you, aren’t I?” He makes sure to add as if to plead his case.

“Yes, you’re very good to me, Yoongi.” His body shivers as you whisper into the shell of his ear. “So I’ll give you what you want.” After maneuvering under the sheets, you slowly peel back the waistband of Yoongi’s boxers, allowing his tall erection to spring free. You lick your lips at the mighty sight, pre-cum glistening at the tip, healthy veins protruding from the sides, and a thickness that made you crave him even more. “You always look so yummy,” You say, tongue darting out to collect the first taste of his red tip.

“Shit,” Yoongi grunts, uncontrollably jolting his hips upward.

You were never one to leave your boyfriend unsatisfied, so opening your mouth wide and swallowing him whole was always the option with the best results. The tip of your nose reaches the forest of his pubic hair, tongue massaging the bottom of his shaft. The grunts and moans slipping past Yoongi’s lips give the encouragement to hold your gag reflex, allowing you to relax your throat.

“Oh, fuck.” Yoongi’s hands move on their own, gripping the back of your hair to hold your mouth in place. With eyes rolled back, he’s inching his shaft as far as it can reach. Your mouth feels immaculate around him, the thick wetness of your saliva and the tightness of your throat, fuck he could orgasm then and there. “C-can I…?” Yoongi mutters, almost too afraid to ask.

You know precisely what Yoongi means by his question; he wants to take control. The very thought of him using your mouth and throat for his sexual leisure causes a spike of pleasure to pulse between your thighs. So, of course, you nod to his request.

Gripping at the back of your hair tighter, Yoongi guides your hollowed-out mouth slowly up and down his thickness. “T-tap me if y-you need to b-breathe.” He utters, eyes rolling back to the erotic sensation your hungry mouth was providing.

You nod to the suggestion but also know you won’t be needing air anytime soon. After years of being with Yoongi, you’ve perfected the art of inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.

“Shit, y-your mouth is so good.” Yoongi stutters while you bob your head to the speed that he desired, erotic wet sounds exuded from beneath the sheets. “I-I fuckin love you.” With every passing moment, the pulsing in Yoongi’s dick intensifies along with the aching to release. “Wanna swallow for me, baby?”

You thought it cute that he even asked, and if his dick wasn’t being shoved halfway down your esophagus, you would have giggled, but instead, you nod to his request.

“G-gotta see you,” Yoongi yanks away the sheets, revealing your sexy mouth gobbling away at his dick, thick saliva collecting at the base of his shaft and your alluring, hazed eyes gazing up at him; his own personal goddess. “My sexy girl gonna take my load in her mouth? You gonna do that for me?”

You don’t stop bobbing, sucking him all in as your eyes screamed the words, “yes, please.”

As if on queue, the rubber band sensation, stretching in the pit of Yoongi’s abdomen, finally snaps. “Oh, fuck!” He yells, holding your head in place to collect the large amount of cum releasing into your throat. He thrusts a few final times, colors exploding in his vision while riding the explosive high of his orgasm.

And just like he asked, you have no problem swallowing it all, gulping down the salty evidence of your boyfriend’s orgasm, before your lips release the tip of his dick with a -pop-.

A satisfied smile gleams across Yoongi’s rosy cheeks as he grabs your arm, gesturing you to lay beside him, “Come here.”

Doing as you’re told, your head plops into the pillow beside Yoongi’s head, gazing into his glossy, hooded eyes.

“You’re so fuckin perfect,” Yoongi says, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, thanking you for the happy ending he’d just received. “What do you want for breakfast?” his fingers stroking throughout your hair as he watched you in awe.

The light glaze of sweat glistening across Yoongi’s skin and the softness in his deep, onyx eyes melted you inside. You loved him so much that after 2 years of being together, butterflies still managed to flutter in the pit of your stomach. “Pancakes!” You nearly shout, a bit too excited at the mention of breakfast.

Yoongi chuckles at your animated behavior. “Let’s get showered, and then I’ll make you a tall stack of pancakes.” He watches as the excitement grows in your eyes, reminding him of the many reasons why he fell hard for you. “I love you.” Yoongi manages to sneak in the phrase before you could respond.

Your heart did that thing where it nearly somersaulted out of your chest. How did you get so lucky to have such a beautiful, perfect man in your bed every morning? So, without hesitation, you respond, “I love you too, Min Yoongi.”

date posted:4-6-2020

should I post a Yoongi smut tomorrow ?

생 축. (m) | ONE SHOT | Min Yoongi, 10.4k

Pairing:Yoongi x Reader

Summary:It’s Yoongi’s birthday, gifts are given and love is exchanged (vice versa).

Warning/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; fingering; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; handjob; but don’t be fooled, this is the softestsmut ever); fluff;ugh, have I mentioned that this is so so soft? (I’m sorry); I got carried away, but I have heart-eyes for Min Yoongi, so here is a 10K+ fic articulating that; mentions of the pandemic; kisses in the shower; building furniture together? Yeah; more kisses; Min Holly cameo; references plucked from We Get By just because lmaoo; idol!AU - established relationship.

=====

Um, wow, it was never supposed to get this long and I have no justification for it other than the fact that I love Yoongi sm???!!!!

(That should really be enough, I think).

Anyway, to recall the words of Jeon Jungkook *said with much enthusiasm and affection into a mic, in front a vast crowd, preferably*-

“Min Suga! Jjang-Jjang-Man-Boong-Boong - Happy SUGA day!”

=====

-

Sometime in 2016

“Ah, it’s freezing outside.”

It’s weeks before and Yoongi says this in a huff. It makes you lift your attention from what you were doing, examining him as he sheds his layers. The overcoat is laid neatly on the arm of the couch, his hoodie slightly rumpled at the sleeves from where it was pushed up. The tips of his ears are red. You knew by now that he hates the cold. It takes little to gleam parts of himself that are telling. Like how he would wait and wait before huffing out his complaints, only for them to come out in an adorable mumble and a scrunch of a nose. Or how he lopesrather than walks sometimes. Or the fact that he’s loud in the way he was quiet.

Shuffling across the living space, he comes to your side, draping his arm around your shoulder. The tips of his fingers are cold, soon to be warmed up due to being in close proximity with you.

“Did you have a good day?”

You smile, fitting yourself against him, “yeah. I did.”

He stares at your work, the perennial glow of your laptop screen. It’s a world entirely different from his own but he can identify with the hectic nature of it, the long hours, and sometimes the inevitability of bringing your work home. Your eyes meet and because you’re both shy in your nature, it straddles the line of awkwardness. Still new to each other, to this,you’re delicate in the way you handle being in a relationship.

“You can - stay over, if you want.”

His offer comes out staggered, a soft lisp draping over the vowels. Up close, Yoongi is red all over: the tip of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, his ears. It’s the first time he has a place of his own, no more sharing spaces with the others, which means that you can stay over at his.Sure, it’s small, situated in a narrow building that’s in the noiser part of the city. But it’s a home. That isn’t something akin to the parts he usually shares - like the ones he allows the public or even the members to see, different from parts of his soul he pours into the lyrics he composes. This apartment - his space - it’s meaningful. Remembering that makes you warm all over, especially when you see that your slippers are next to his by the door, or that the spare toothbrush holder in the adjoining bathroom is yours.

Later, you watch him have a meal since he came back late. He eats slowly, humming on occasion to signal his satisfaction. All the while, he holds your hand above the table while you type with the other. It’s not an unfamiliar sight as his thumb rubs your skin out of habit.

You’re cutting my productivity time, Yoongi.

It’s a gentle tease given that you’re chest blooms with something warm each time he overlaps his touch on yours. At that, he smiles, chewing on the food while his cheeks go pink.

Afterwards, as the dishes were drying in the rack, you excuse yourself to shower. On the bed are some of his shirts folded neatly atop each other. You smile, choosing one to wear.

You find him in front of the TV, paying attention to a replay of a basketball game. He mumbles something about the point guard missing a pass, you see that there’s a glass of whisky on the coffee table. The couch is never used much, you camp out on the floor as a force of habit. Settled next to him, the lights from the TV show that his face is clean but so red from the whiskey.

“You shouldn’t drink that everyday,” you chide, leaning into his warmth. He relents for a moment, setting down the sweaty glass. His fingerprints render the surface transparent, the droplets pooling on the coaster.

“It’s alright if you drink it in small amounts.”

You take a sip yourself, grimacing at the bitterness that touches your tongue, burning your throat. Yoongi laughs, pinching your cheek, “it’s not for everyone.”

It’s not like your stubborn allthe time, but something in the playfulness of his tone spurs you to down the entire contents of the crystalline tumbler. And, immediately humbled by the searing burn, your eyes snap shut, your entire body flinching as you coughed. Yoongi rubs your back, laughing.

“Don-t,- agh - don’t laugh,” you ordered, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes hastily, “ah, it’s so strong, how do you even drink that with a straight face.”

“Hold on,” he replied, letting his hand linger on the small of your back before standing up. Next to the TV stand is a small cart, it’s a movable bar of sorts inhabited by bottles of alcohol with labels you don’t even know of. Returning, he holds a glass with a darker liquid, your stomach turns at the idea of consuming it. Yoongi must’ve caught the apprehension in your face and smiles, “this isn’t the same thing, promise.”

Wary, you take a careful sip, your eyebrows raising at the sweet aftertaste. It’s syrupy, the burn isn’t as intense, but maybe it’s because Yoongi added some ice cubes to pare it down.

“You prefer sweeter things. That’s from a region called the Highlands in Scotland. That one only needs to be aged by three years, usually.”

Trying another sip, you find yourself adjusting to it, “what about you?”

“Ardberg. It’s smokier. Takes ten years to age.”

He slides his glass to yours in a meek toast. The game on the TV reaches its climax, the crowd roars as the team meant to win does. You watch Yoongi watching the highlights, the slope of his profile, the youthful glow of his skin. He’s always been attractive, but there’s something about him talking about the things he knows about. It’s like you can’t help it, to look at him with unabashed interest. He feels the weight of your stare.

“What?”

You shake your head, “nothing.”

It turns out that having whiskey makes you go all sleepy, unlike your previous experience with other alcohols where you get jittery. The TV stays on for a little longer, you cycle between the news, re-runs of Infinity Challenge andNew Journey to the West. At some point, you both made it onto the couch, half-folded onto each other, feeling full. Yoongi’s hand cradles your head at times, his fingers finding themselves into the strands, the gentlest of touches spurring more warmth. It’s nice like this, to be together, doing nothing in particular but feeling satisfied.

“Should we go to bed?” He asked, and you nod. It’s past midnight, creeping into the territory of 2AM.

In his room with the walnut bed frame and dark furniture, the curtains are drawn and Seoul blinks continuously in the distance. The Han is illuminated by the moon, otherwise, it’s a bleak serpent that cuts through the city in a seemingly infinite trail.

“Never realised your view is high enough to see the city like this,” you mumbled, the words coming out slurred at the end. You blink, a little startled that you turned out to be a lightweight. Yoongi pulls the covers up and over your shoulder before you turn to him, snuggling closer. He hums his answer, placing the back of his hands on your cheek, “your face is warm.”

“It’s from all that whiskey you gave me.”

“I told you to sip, not take it like a shot,” he chuckles, smoothing your hair down. You smile because you liked hearing him laugh, you liked it even more when he fussed over you. His affection was cute, which he never tends to show, at least in private like this. It makes you more salubrious.

“I’ll get something else when I come back from our trip.”

The thought dampens things a little. Right. Your boyfriend wasn’t as ordinary as he claims to be. He’s got a schedule that involved numerous trips away, whether it was for award shows, concerts, or reality TV abroad. You knew that you wouldn’t be together to celebrate his birthday this year but summer was also likely taken. You don’t get him to yourself often and you kind of wished that it wasn’t like this most times.

“When are you going?”

Yoongi traces the line of your jaw, his eyes are almost pitch black. The bed creaks as he asserts himself onto you, it’s closer than normal, it’s nice.

“May.”

There’s a knot in your chest. But it untangles as soon as he wraps an arm around your waist, tucking you underneath his chin so that your nose grazes his neck. Yoongi smells like mint, his heartbeat is steady as your fingers curl on his shirt. It’s really nice like this, swaddled in grey sheets that smell like him, your bodies fitting nicely.

“It won’t be too bad,” he murmurs, “we’ll call.”

Yes. You always call. Then, you catch yourself, blaming the whiskey. Inebriation made you sulky.

“I know.”

For a while, you both say nothing. You feel Yoongi’s hold go lax, realising that he’s fallen asleep. You think that you’d want it to be like this for as long as possible, as much as time allowed for. You follow suit not long after, falling into the scent of mint and the soft sighs he exhales.

-

“These are really warm, you made a good choice, choosing my ones.”

You look up, finding the kind eyes of the elderly woman manning the stall. It’s an open market, it’s busy, and the air is too cold for what is meant to be early Spring.

“Yes, I’m glad that I found this one,” you replied, as her soft hands folded it under some baking paper. You don’t know why you were suddenly shy, as if she had the means to know who it was for.

“There are others, more colourful ones if you like. I’ll give you a discount if you buy two.”

Shaking your head, you hand her the notes and a little extra.

“This one’s the right one, thank you.”

-

Yoongi’s hair is a shock of mint at age of twenty-three.

He’s grinning so hard at the brown parchment that you find yourself embarrassed, barely getting the words out you’d rehearsed on the subway over.

“I - I thought you could use it for when you’re cold. I mean, you said that you guys are filming abroad in Europe and I heard it’s still cold even if you go in the summer months, so -”

You don’t get to finish your sentence since he’s taking you in his arms, kissing your temple.

“Happy Birthday,” you murmured, although you’re a couple of days late. You hadn’t seen him due to the back to back commitments. He’s as apologetic as you are, as if everything was in your control. His kisses travel down, they’re light and ghost-like. He’s so near that he becomes a blur of mint green before you closing your eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, tenderly kissing you, catching the tilt of your head by resting his hand on the nape of your neck. He inches forward, you go back, and it’s like this, slow and easy, your noses grazing at times. Your hands grasp at his shirt through his bomber, feel the way his heart is as erratic as yours. Backing up on the table, his hands support himself, planting his palms on the oak surface.

“Hurry back,” you said breathlessly, hands all over him, pulling him in. You hear him chuckle, breaking the kiss only to nip at your lower lip, saying your name softly while curling his finger to angle your chin up. His cheeks are red, an odd yet adorable complement to his hair.

“I haven’t even left yet.”

You press your lips on his again, “I know.”

And their trip does happen in May. He sends you pictures of magnificent landscapes from Norway, the sweeping sceneries in Sweden, the interior of a train he went on. Selca’s of him in a green parka wearing the gift you got him. This time, his hair was darker, a chestnut brown that appears honeyed under the sunlight. You call when it’s morning in Seoul and night wherever he finds himself, his eyes are tired and his grin is wide. You say that you miss each other but it’s never really that long before you’re together again.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and the next thing is said quietly because he’s not alone -

“I love you.”

It was your turn to smile, “I love you too.”

-

Sometime in 2017

The Wings Tour started a few days ago and you’re nestled in Yoongi’s bed. His hair is as natural as it could get, the darkened strands falling over his eyes as he blinks sleepily.

“Planning to have it darker,” he says, in this low-timbre, scratchy in the way he forms his vowels. Gingerly, you swipe at the lengthier locks, his eyes are shut but you knew he was restless. He often was in the middle of these things.

“Like inky black?”

“Mhm.”

You notice that he’s partial to wearing hoops but you couldn’t help but think that it would suit him even more if he had another pair. The conversation wanes and you’re drawn to it too, feeling the pull of sleep. Then, you say something, more of a reminder for yourself -

“It’s your birthday soon.”

Yoongi stirs, curving his body, getting comfortable, “already?”

“Hm.”

There’s a new lamp in the corner of his room, setting warm hues along the wall. His sheets are navy, they’re slightly worn, pilled at the corners. Tomorrow, you’ll wake before him, a thing you’re used to now, kissing him under the covers as the sun creeps over the city line. This feeling opens up to content, it’s strangely unbearable. But Yoongi doesn’t sleep yet, his hand trails down, down from your back, onto your hip, his leg coming between yours, eliciting a gasp.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, not really relenting yourself. It’s a different hum that makes it past his lips this time, your bodies suddenly pressing against each other with renewed urgency. You nip at his bottom lip, welcoming the pleasant relief that surges through you when holds you impossibly close.

“I’m leaving soon,” he says, pulling the sounds you’ve been harbouring at the back of your throat out, resulting in breathy sighs.

“I know,” you replied, now on your back as he kisses along your neck, dark brown hair tickling your skin. The rustle of the fabric almost echoesin the room, it makes you shy despite you both being alone. He’s with you again, hungry kisses on your lips, your arms looping over his neck, body arching up while his hand skates on your back. Your nails dig into his skin, he hisses, sucking at your bottom lip suddenly, the temperature escalating to a threshold that prompts you to throw the covers off.

“Ah, fuck,” you moaned, his fingers wandering, wandering till they press on your core over the seam of your shorts. It’s a harmless friction, the pressure is just enough that your hips follow his touch. Your arm goes over his neck, your other hand trailing down his front, palming him through the flimsy fabric of his sweatpants. He inhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, the bed groaning as your movements become frantic.

The phone rings - probably his. You both freeze, your lungs contracting and expanding in such a rate that your breaths come out shaky. He pulls away from you, kissing your forehead softly. He walks to the table, picking up without looking at who’s calling.

It doesn’t matter anyway, you knew that it was a nightly reminder of his schedule commencing early tomorrow. Technically, it istomorrow according to the glare of red on the clock nearby. His manager knew him well, and, like the others, he is nagged then nudged accordingly. Yoongi repeats the information, something about a fan sign at 9AM. He watches you, chewing at his bottom lip as he fiddles with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. The mood dips, sleep encroaches on you both, the better option as he has a full day ahead.

So you sleep together, sleep in the form of slumber, holding hands in the dark. It’s a kind of intimacy that takes hold, no matter the time or place. It’s like knowing what Yoongi smells like, those layers of scent never lost on you, like knowing how his breathing descends into a slower cadence when he’s about to fall asleep.

But he doesn’t forget, he never does -

I love you.

And you say it back, those three words, recalling how the first instance was when you both said it at the same time, dissolving in peals of laugher after. It was awkward yet charming, like a second confession of sorts. He hums, his heart so calm and yours trying to keep pace. You nuzzle your nose, your mouth still tasting like his, not ready to succumb yet, not till you say -

“Sleep well.”

-

Ah

Ah

Yoongi, ahn -

Your breath spreads against the skin of his collarbone, hot and staggered. Your back arches, hips tipping down while his fingers fuck you in a steady rhythm, prolonging your first orgasm. Every nerve sparks so much that your legs stiffen. He’s leaving for Chile tonight. The tour is well on its way. The airport will be filled camera lenses, his face will be hidden behind a mask and his hair will be tucked under the beanie you gifted him last year.

It’s his birthday and his hair is obsidian. Tonight, he wears the silver hoops you gifted him during dinner. They graze your skin as you hold him close, the cold metal stinging a bit. It’s too warm, perilous in the way you squirm under his ministrations.

Yoongi kisses you, his tongue sliding smooth on your own, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens then unfurls, he’s too good at this - making you feel good.Your hips move sloppily, the wet noises are obscene, even in the dimness of the room. Your legs are splayed wide, his muscles are firm when set against yours, your moans are continuous, curses following suit, fuck, ah, overwhelmed in the fullest sense of the word.

“Good?” He asks, curling his fingers just so, tearing a sharp gasp from you, shuddering.

“Y-yes,hgnh,” you whimpered, tucking inwards, hips slowing in rotation as the pleasure enters a cycle of bliss and pain, pain because somehow, your body can’t seem to keep up. “I like it,” you sighed, biting down on your bottom lip, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging onto his back, slippery from sweat, slippery from how you were earlier, desperately rocking into release. He groans as you clench around his fingers, wetness trickling out, the peak rising and rising, “I’m gonna cum again,” you gasped, rutting your hips, feeling him plunge knuckle-deep, “w-want to, again.”

“You can. Go ahead, cum for me,” he said, a hint of smugness in his voice, his fingers never slowing, slender digits coated in your slick arousal. They curl slightly, rubbing in a torturous rhythm, over and over and over, and your hips stutter as you came, waves of wetness providing a messy squelch, but he doesn’t stop.

“Y-yoongi,fuck -ah,ah,” you gasped, shaking from it all, heart beating a mile a minute as you try to compose yourself.

“Please, I can’t,” you said breathlessly, legs trying to shut as he goes in, rubbing that spot that sends you flinching. “P-please.”

He stops, slowing down to pull away completely. He grips your thigh, keeping you open, his fingers sticky along your skin. The smell of sex clouds the air, sweat drying on certain parts, he kisses you in apology, you taste salt, and you taste him too.

“No, it’s just - it wasn’t bad,” you said, trying to catch your breath, a bit dizzy, “I like it, I like it toomuch, when were together, when -” and because you couldn’t express it, you pull him down, kissing him messily, sighing into his mouth as he grinds. He’s hard again and you miss the feel of him inside you.

“Fuck me,” you begged, feeling the resurgence of heat. Yoongi nods, his tongue briefly resting on the corner of his mouth, pale skin gone pink, his chest drawing deep breaths. And maybe it’s because you’re nervous that he’s leaving again and it’s soaking your chest with feelings that overwhelm. You’re trembling by the time he rolls another condom on, his knees dipping the mattress as he positions himself.

You gasp as you feel him pushing in, the tip stretching you a little more, he groans, mouth hovering over yours, “ah fuck, I think I won’t last a minute.” That makes you laugh and he shakes, “don’t - ah, don’t.” He retreats his hips, yet he’s almost collapsing over you.

“No, no,” you said quickly, pressing on his lower back, urging him, “it’s good,” you said, pleasure-drunk words delivered on his neck. He lets out a controlled breath, fanning your hair as he went, inching in slowly, kissing you, moaning as you were as he bottomed out. And when he moves, your hand flies to the headboard for purchase, palm curling awkwardly on the slim bars, panting as his fingertips graze over your nipples, caressing, pinching, then caressing again.

“Yoongi,fuck,” you moaned, reckless, your voice goes all breathy. Your cheek is pressed against his as he pistons his hips, slow at first, then picking up the pace, going all the way inside you until your breath mists on the metal of his earrings. He kisses you all over, still in control, his tongue making everything hot and wet. His hand clutches yours, fingers digging on your knuckles, your legs hitch up, your head falling back to sight of his skin going from pink to a deeper red.

“Ah,fuck -”

He leans forward, his movements steady, it’s so good even when slowed, and it’s warm all over. He mouths along your jaw, breathy groans travelling right down to your core. Your fingers grip him hard, “Yoongi, ah” the build up reaches an all time high, the effort of containing the pleasure seemingly too much.

“C-close,” you choked out, the friction becoming harder, pushing you to the edge, and Yoongi nods, gently pulling you to him, moving faster, harder.

“Angh,shit,” you gasped, your back arching as you came, causing you to cling onto him, thighs shaking as he rolls his hips, gasping into your mouth as you tighten around him, so wet and messy in between you that he groans, biting your bottom lip. You moaned as he grinds his hips, filling you to the hilt, making you both jolt as your inner walls clamp around him tightly, moaning against the crook of his neck as he came too. His hips still, his lips, slick with saliva, tasting like you, like sex. You’ve always been sensitive and it’s easier after the first time to get to this point, but it’s really in the way Yoongi holds you, how he knows how to make you feel good, where to touch or to kiss.

You both go limp, soon a panting, sweaty tangle of limbs. The sensations become less acute, resulting in pulses - the press of his mouth on your neck, the sound of your name is a soft murmur in his voice. Your fingers play with the shorter strands of hair on the back of his neck, you feel him smile on your skin as your hearts slow down.

With your bodies faded from the activity, you don’t realise that you had both drifted off until the blare of his alarm pierces the stillness in the air. A light sleeper amid his schedules, Yoongi reaches for his phone, kissing a spot between your shoulder blades in. Morning has yet to show itself, the clock nearby reading 3AM. He apologises for waking you up but you don’t mind. He’ll be going away and you’d hate for him to not wake you.

Thankfully, he knows that too, halting his apologies and holding you by your wrist.

“Shower?”

You nod, noticing how the hoops he’s wearing now come in a pair.

“I knew it,” you said. He turns around on the way into the bathroom.

“What?”

“They suit you.”

He gauges that you’re looking at his ears. He grins, his eyes puffy from sleep but he looks as well-rested as he can, despite his hair sticking up (cutely, though). He touches the smaller hoop, wide enough to let his finger poke through.

“They do.”

-

Sometime in 2020

There’s a table where you have dinner on in Yoongi’s apartment. It’s bigger now where he’s moved, more rooms, a larger kitchen with ample storage. He’s had the bed custom made, the frame is still a trusty walnut dyed in a cooler shade of brown. He’s working on his mixtape, aptly titled ‘D-2.’

His headphones are unplugged and you’re doing your own thing while you’re close together like this. On occasion, he would play something, running his tongue over his bottom lip in concentration. It’s mostly going over the rap in certain songs, which leads you to count his measures, the way he made choices regarding his inflections, intonation, and accent. Daechwitabooms through the speakers attached to his laptop. You knew because it’s the song that would drop with a music video and he sent you clips of the behind the scenes. You teased him about his long blonde hair, you look just like a King, Jeonha. He dismissed you with an embarrassed wave of his hand.

He catches your gaze, blinking rapidly. It’s the first time you’re hearing it fully. The words come out aggressive, sometimes the syllables are spat out, the sentences scrambled yet flowing together in a rhythm. It’s the kind of song that gets your pulse going.

“It’s a bit, uh…”

“I like it,” you supplied, “and the beat doesn’t change, right?”

He nods, rubbing his nose with his knuckle.

“You noticed.”

I always do.

Finding your way on his lap, you take out a small box from the pocket of the hoodie that your wearing, presenting it to him. He leans back, his eyebrows raising in response.

“What’s this?”

You shrugged, “open it.”

He does, albeit with one hand as he holds you close with the other. The lid lifts and reveals a red string bracelet laid on the spongy bed. He says your name, ending in a chuckle.

“Ah, what’s this.”

You don’t know why, even after all these years, you still get shy whenever you get him gifts. After all, what do you get someone who seemingly has it all?

“I know it’s a couple of days early,” you said, trying to justify it. There won’t actually be a lot time on the day of his birthday. He tries to put it on, laughing at little when the hook doesn’t thread through the opening. You help him, fastening it to his liking.

“Happy Birthday,” you murmured, kissing the top of his head, then his temple, then his cheeks, until he’s laughing as a gentle protest. Always the one more readily affectionate between the pair of you, he tends to do that when you get like this.

You liked to hear him laugh, he’s been so stressed with everything going on lately. It’s harder with the cancellations, the concerts, the tour they’ve rehearsed tirelessly for. His embrace tightens around you, his hair smells like mint and he’s soft underneath his hoodie. Leaning back, you see that his skin is dewy and flushed.

“Thank you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose.

“No problem, Jeonha.”

He bursts into laughter, his eyes squeezing shut, carving smile lines at the sides, “stop it.”

-

Yoongi finds you under the sheets, face close to your phone, a hermit in a cave. You both smile; he’s back early today. The shirt he’s wearing is nothing short of massive, cloaking him in a soft, cream cotton. The bed dips as he sits down, you notice that his hair is drying, the tips sticking together. He must have showered at work.

“How was your day?”

Putting away your phone, you reach to hug him, to which he relents, his body deflating onto yours. These days, you were fortunate enough to function during normal hours. They’ve adapted to a different norm, but staying in one place has allowed for less stringent commitments.

“Good. Worked on something coming out later this month, went to the gym for a while.”

You sweep your hands over his back, feeling the muscles underneath, “you’re warm.” Your fingertips find his trimmed hair, the ends are sharply shorn, “really warm.”

“It’s nothing, at least it’s not like after a concert,” he said, resting his chin against your shoulder, his hands on your sides, barely exerting pressure. You remember him describing it to you, what it was like to walk up, hearing the thunderous cheers that shake the stage.

There’s nothing like it. As if your soul is sucked out of your body, your senses all on edge.

Yoongi’s fingers press on your skin, they travel along your lower back, holding, squeezing.Lately, he’s been stoic about it all, it’s fairly early and you’re thinking back. Those who get the opportunity to hear the screams of sixty-thousand all at once are for a privileged few. It wipes out the trepidation of basically being an athlete on stage and the gruelling pressure to remain in top form for three hours. And to hear your own words sang back to you - that’s the ambrosia accompanying the cacophonous cheers.

At first, he didn’t even realise that he was stressed because performing was a release for him. But when the concerts were cancelled, he felt like he was losing his job. It all happened at once, where every anxious gaze were on the screens, watching helplessly as carefully laid plans fell apart in a blink. You both read books, watched movies, investing in the mundane, holding his hand through it in order to trick his mind that he was okay and that he was feeling better.

That’s why it’s no small feat to endure what he was going through, the others too.

The crowd has shrunk into screens, delayed (in spite of fibre optic connection), and at times, fabricated.

“You okay?”

You follow this up with a well-intentioned scratch on the back of his head. He hums, pulling back. You’re met with his lips on yours. It takes a few seconds to process it, to react, to respond. His warmth seeps through you, his dark brown eyes can’t hide the blown out pupils, but it’s pretty in the way Yoongi can be. Years couldn’t dampen that way you’re irrevocably smitten for him, ceaselessly attracted to his every facet, those glossy lips, pink most times, and red sometimes.

It doesn’t take much, a few inches maybe, your noses brushing before your tilt your head, feeling the whisper of his breath, the tender graze of his lips. It feels like an age, it’s so slow but tangible, so real.He tastes sweet, the slide of his tongue is hot, you sigh, arching into him, his mouth kissing the corner of yours, then your chin, your jaw, your heights being more compatible sat down. Your breath grows shallow, the sensation overtaking like a heady cloud, he leans, cheek pressed against yours, silver hoops barely indenting, the metal sears a little. And he knows that there’s a spot right below your ear, he plants a soft kiss, sucking suddenly and you inhale sharply, head tilting back in willing submission.

“Clothes,” he rasped, fingers finding the hem of your shirt while yours tug at his collar, all too ready to drag it over his head. In the low light, you part, Yoongi grows timid. He often does when there isn’t that much of a need to fling the layers in haste, when there’s room for romance. Oddly, this leads to missteps, fumbling. With his shirt off, you follow, shivering at the gust of air.

“Need to work out more,” he said, ruffling his hair. It’s dark brown this time, he wanted to let his scalp rest from all the bleach. You liked his hair in any colour but this was your favourite, it reminded you of when you first met, tripping over your words, falling steadily for the boy with dark hair and dark eyes.

“I like your body.”

And you mean it because it’s true. Whether that’s in bed or seeing him change to leave for something, or how he sometimes stays in his underwear, distracted by something on his phone right after the shower. You like its contradiction, the softness of it when you’re an admirer, the strength of his muscles in his arms when you hold him, the way his stomach hints at definition, the dark happy trail going straight down, his lithe legs, hands that have slender fingers and prominent veins.

“Ah, you’re only saying that,” he complains, going red because he was easily flustered. His accent slips out, aided by his voice dropping into a timbre, the satoori manipulating the syllables in a way that you liked.

You help him unbuckle his belt, loosening his slacks, peeling these layers away, fingers finding skin, heat spreading instantaneously. It’s difficult to not get restless this time, not when you’re this close. And maybe it takes a little more effort for him to shimmy out of his slacks, the way they drag down his legs for a bit before pooling on the floor. Down to his briefs, you slip out of your shorts, clothes landing in a pile, out of sight.

His hands secure themselves on your hips, and you’re breathing him in, hands exploring as much as you can, the landscape of his body is yours, smooth and firm and warm.You jolt as his mouth peppers kisses along your neck, down to your collarbones, soft lips find your nipple, the slight bite of his teeth just enough for it to stay good.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, your back hitting the bed, the frame shaking only slightly as your position adjusts. Your fingers dip into the hem of his underwear, pulling to expose further. He lets you, careful with his attention, humming against your skin, dark hair sweeping that it tickles.

“I just -” he says, worked up, his mouth on your neck, the sounds you’re making seem too loud in the room, the walls no longer a muted sanctuary, “it’s not that I’m -”

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered, feeling the way his hand slots onto yours, making you smile. He’s not stressed, you think. It’s different. He says your name, his hand gripping yours, the red bracelet feels rough, contrasting with his delicate skin. It’s startling, the way your hands look together, his fingertips with their rounded edges and blunt nails. Those bony fingers and broad palms, they make your insides flip. He’s not wearing that many rings this time, you kiss his knuckles, skate your lips over the silver ring he likes to wear.

He presses you onto the bed, shrugging off the last of the layers, you stroke him languidly, he balks, gasping slightly as you squeezed. Your bodies are like furnaces, you work to a rhythm that befits how you know him, low moans make it from his mouth onto yours, he kisses you clumsily, the clash of teeth, the press of his lips, these sensations overtake.

“I’ve been - I haven’t been good,” he starts, you shake your head, “I’m not good with words,” he confesses.

You kiss him with fervour because you can, because you need to while bringing him to the edge. For a while, it’s just your laboured breathing, he’s hard and leaking, it drips onto you, it’s sticky, messy.His hips act on their own, his tongue sliding against yours with a kind of desperation that couldn’t be replicated. You taste him, his mouth all too willing to indulge you, his fingers pinching your nipples, but his grip moves to fist the sheets as you coax him to the peak, he shudders, that breathy ahsounding so good.

“Fuck, - ah,” he pants, as you hum in satisfaction, tightening your grip, circling your thumb on the slit. “You, ah, drive me crazy,” he says, kissing you to punctuate this confession. Your heart lurches, it’s exhilarating, like a free-fall.

Any other time, you would have teased him, maybe laughed a little, remarked some witty comeback that would turn his cheeks vermillion. But you kiss him, missing him in this achingly human way. He comes over you for a bit, your chests pressed together, ignoring the way it’s sticky in between, he’s nervous, you can tell because he’s nuzzling that spot below your ear. The embrace is needed, his arms, strong and firm, his heartbeat is rabbity, he exhales.

“I don’t tell you enough but,” he starts, chopping his sentences, syllables going hollow from his nerves, “I miss you, I love,” he lifts his head, kissing you again, “I love you.” You grin into the kiss, chuckling soon after.

“Yoongi-sshi, you’re quite the sap today,” you tease, pulling back to see the tip of his nose go red, he looks so soft, his hair askew, his eyes darting along your features, perhaps a little lovestruck. He rolls his eyes, you appease him, kissing his chin, scratching the place between his shoulder blades, he laughs, it’s hoarse, like how it is when he’s amused. But it melts into a gasp as you widen your legs, your heels pushing against his lower back, down until you feel him there, hard again. It’s a slow grind, his moans are louder with his face turned to your neck. But you say it back.

“You too,” you said, it’s whispered, finding yourself shy.

He pulls away so he could reach for a condom by the nightstand, your shadows shift along the wall, he puts it on and you watch pink seep onto his chest. He gently spreads your thighs, raising one to kiss the side of your knee, your breath hitches, “Yoongi.”

You feel him push in, your hips stuttering as you adjust. The tremble of your body is a tell-tale sign that you won’t really last that long, not when he’s kissing you at the same time, trapping heat, the taste of you and him together, the saltiness of sex, the briny scent of sweat, the way your skin is scalding. You moaned as he fills you to the hilt, he does too, but it’s a deeper growl, throaty as he gasps in your mouth, his fingers twining with yours, the bracelet the only thing on his wrist, impressing onto your skin. It becomes slow, intimate, it’s enough for it to be quiet, suffocating in a good way. You grab at him, clutching at the hard muscles of his back, eyes closed, feeling, tasting.

“G-good, feels good,” you murmured, barely coherent, your words muffled on his neck as his hips rock forward. Your brain gets a little bit unfiltered, he kisses you all over, down your chin, along your jawline, his hips pulling and pushing, constant movement that emits wet sounds, the smack of flesh, it’s too loud, but the feelings in between drown them out. He knows that when you jolt, it’s because he’s brushed a part where it’s good.

The bed groans, the headboard judders, your gasps meet his grunts, the deep rose on his cheeks, the blown out pupils, he’s devastating to look at. There’s a prominent slash on his bottom lip, likely from how hard he was biting down. He looks different, it’s version of him meant for you - only you. The way his hair is back to being damp, some strands sticking to his temples, others clamping together to be pushed back, the dewy sheen on his nose, the clean scent from his skin. You love him like that; it’s almost too much.

“What’s wrong?” He breathes, slowing as he notices you go starry eyed.

“N-nothing,” you stammered, clenching involuntarily, he places his hand on the side of your face, his thumb swiping your cheekbone, it’s tender but it burns. He doesn’t say anything more, pulling you close, foreheads pressed together, his hips resuming that push and pull, you kiss, your hearts fluttering, fingers adopting a bruising grip. It aches in a good way, you moan against his mouth as you came, body shaking from the way it consumes, wet between your legs, inner muscles pulsing. You grip him carelessly, urging him to keep going without using words. You’re lightheaded, whimpering as he complies, plunging forcefully, he murmurs something - something soothing that your moans come out stuttered.

Heat curls inside you, it’s overbearing, your bodies free-falling despite being tangled like this, the sheets are pulled from the bed, skin scraping on the wrinkles, folds, then ridges. His bracelet, a bright red, matches the way he’s gets tainted in rose.

“Y-yoongi,” you said weakly, and he holds you, until he’s careless in the way he moves, thrusting to chase that peak, you shudder, legs folded, trying to tuck them into you more. Ah, fuck, if you do that - he groans, succumbing to his instincts, his hand slotting at the back of your knee, your high gets prolonged and you can’t help but cry out, spasming around him as he came, sensitive everywhere, your breaths are loud. They echo as your ears ring, cheeks pressed together, your limbs flinching as he slows.

After some time, you’re side by side, staring at each other in the dim interior. He holds your hand or you hold his, it doesn’t really matter. In the quiet, there is no resistance, just the pleasure drunk haze you cocoon yourselves in, easily lured by sleep. He leans forward, kissing your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste.

“I kind of like this,” you said, pushing his hair back.

“Like what?”

You shrugged, not quite knowing what you meant either, so you say -

“This.”

Yoongi chuckles, knowing where you’re coming from. The bracelet on his wrist is thin but it’s a contrast to his paleness, complementing the silver that adorn him wherever he goes. He kisses the back of your hand.

“Me too.”

-

March 2022

Yoongi [09:09PM]

How was it? :)

You [09:11PM]

I clapped so hard that my hands went numb ha

Yoongi[09:12PM]

:(

You [09:14PM]

It was good, don’t worry :D

I can’t believe you shouted NG - we tried our best with the wave you know T_T

Yoongi [09:16PM]

It technically was though >:]

Are you safely out of the venue? I can send someone to take you home

You [09:21PM]

It’s okay :) I’m already on the subway

Someone brought the balloons back from the concert XD

There are two purple balloons pressed to the ceiling, comical in the way they are half deflated, pushed up with the sheer will of two ARMYs who are reviewing the pictures they took.

Yoongi[09:23PM]

Wah ~ the huge purple balloons? keke

You [09:25PM]

Yup! Kekeke

Yoongi[09:28PM]

You wore enough layers, right?

You [09:29PM]

Took your scarf with me :)

As the subway carriage dragged itself along the track, you hide your face under the black wool, adjusting the folds over your mask. It’s warm and you knew that it smells like Yoongi. A sweet scent that sticks to the back of your mind.

Yoongi[09:31PM]

You should have taken my beanie too

You [09:32 PM]

I’m finee :) I’m warm enough

Yoongi[09:35PM]

I’m almost home.

I’ll wait for you before I take a bath.

Also, do you like this?

[picture message attached]

You almost drop your phone on the account of him sending you a post-concert selca. His hair is pushed back and his eyes are bright - happy. There’s something about the way the rose flush kisses his skin after a show, the way the light settles on the planes of his cheekbones or nose. It’s pink, always pink, his hair plastered wet, sticking to his nape, gorgeous, almost sultry. He makes pink splotches so pretty on his skin, the way the eyeshadow dusts his eyelids, his nose rimmed with shades of red.

He’s handsome.

(He always is.)

You [09:36 PM]

You almost made me drop my phone -_-

Yoongi[09:37PM]

Keke

Guess I’m good at what I do then :)

Glad you liked it ^—^

You laugh to yourself as your stop nears. You could hear the excited chatter of fellow concert goers and ARMYs happening all around, some are dressed in the bright purple of Jimin’s ‘With You’ hoodie, others wearing Bt21 headbands. It won’t be too long until you’re back home with him and that thought warms you more than any layer of clothing you could have added to ward off the cold.

-

The bathroom smells sweet, like vanilla. The lights are adjusted so that they appear muted, the scent thickening to the point where your head swims lightly. Not too many bubbles form on the surface, just enough to cover Yoongi decently. His bottom half soaks while the steam rises in tendrils, touching the ends of his hair curly. The water is hot enough to tinge his nose pink, his fingertips taking on a familiar red as he holds the sides so that he doesn’t sink. His upper half is mostly dry since he’s meant to sweat. There are some lukewarm drinks on the recessed ledge meant for shampoos.

Usually, Yoongi would soak in the bath for thirty minutes after the concert, shower, then head to bed. He complains that he gets tired easily these days, mumbling them out in a huff. And you understand, since concerts were an exercise and a half. The rehearsals that came before were equally taxing; you couldn’t do what they did in an hour let alone three.

But you’re sat on a small stool right by the tub, hands intertwined with his. He has a day off tomorrow before the next show, a breather of sorts.

“Does it still hurt?” He asks, breaking the quiet vacuum offered by the bathroom. His voice is weirdly echoey against the walls. You look at your hand in his.

“Feels a bit static.”

He kisses your wrist, the water drips over the edge of the tub onto the tiled floor.

“At least your voice isn’t hoarse,” he said, reaching for the cup. You beat him to it, handing it swiftly. After, he hisses, muttering about the water being painfully warm. Leaning his head on the curve of the tub, his mouth gapes slightly, resting the cup on the ledge.

“We normally have wine,” he says eventually.

You nod, running your thumb along the red bracelet that he put on while rummaging for a change of clothes earlier. The same one you got him for his birthday two years ago. It’s strange to think that you were both able to break your solitude, how the years created this perfect symbiosis. Initially, you were both reserved towards each other. The years did all the work, you think. It’s eroded certain things for kinder things to grow - lovingthings. Now, you do what lovers do. Normally, you did have wine, your legs kind of sticking together underwater, your calves against his thighs.

You’ve known him long enough that there really shouldn’t be anything new left to know. But you still get lost, you still find something, a stray freckle by the inside of his knee, the softness of his hair when freshly dried, how his clothes fit him just right despite being resolutely oversized. The way his hands are calloused from playing the guitar or that his edges aren’t really edges because Yoongi is really soft underneath it all.

“I couldn’t read half the comments during my live, should I get LASIK?”

He sighs, sliding down on the tub, his belly button disappearing into the line of water. He looks good like that, a bit frayed, spent. His hair, now lengthier, a sweeping arc on his forehead, curled deliberately when performing, lays undone. His skin is a bit raw from the soak, you squeeze his hand, meeting him in the eye.

“I like it when you wear glasses.”

It’s not a protest but a suggestion. Yoongi wears these ultra-light frames, it’s scholarly so you call him Professor Min whenever he walks by. He laughs it off, though, like he’s doing now.

“Do you really like them on me?”

He’s opened his eyes, looking at you. Without hesitating, you nod, “I enjoy calling you Professor.”

He flicks some water in your direction, you gasp, doing the same.

“It really suits you!”

You smile at the way he curls his lips, lifting them to form this half-smirk, “fine. I’ll keep them for you.”

-

“We’re meant to be quick -”

“Then we shouldn’t have sat down.”

Yoongi adjusts the water pressure, lathering your hair as he does. It had been easier to stay close to the floor, on small stools. The hot stream of water is rather tempting, coupled with the presence of the person you wanted to see most of the time, if not all.

As he runs his fingers along your scalp, scraping the bubbles down, you consider yourself pretty fortunate in life. You shared this ambition with Yoongi, this relentless pursuit in your chosen niche, hoping that one day, it will all matter.

That if you kept pushing - that if you worked hard enough, you’d get to where you need to be.

But then, you never thought that you’d meet someone like Yoongi, let alone have him occupy your heart. But it’s not quite that, not in the superficial way that romantics refer to, because it’s deeper, tangible. He’s a certain buzz in your skin, his grin seared into your mind, the soft kisses he presses on the side of your face, the scent of mint permeating your clothes.

You didn’t mean to, not really.

Yet here you are, a lot more in love than planned.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, rinsing your hair.

“Hm,” you managed, leaning your back on his chest. “Let me scrub you, otherwise I’ll really spend the night here.”

He laughs before moving. Even if he claims that he runs out energy easily, he’s always the one taking care, doing all the things needed to be done before falling asleep with his phone in hand.

“It’s meant to rain tomorrow - take care on the stage,” you find yourself saying, he leans on your hand for a moment as you lather his hair.

“Ah, really? The staff might have a hard time.”

He closes his eyes as the water washes the soapy suds away.

“I like your hair like this,” you said, tucking it behind his ear, the silver hoops clinklightly. He smiles before pressing his forehead on your shoulder.

“Might keep it then,” he said after a while.

You take care of him this time, holding him close, till you end up nose to nose. There’s less to rinse off, the water makes your skin tacky.

“Yoongi -”

“Just want to kiss you, can I?”

The shower runs in a steady pelt, you’re flustered, like he is. You don’t answer because it’s not something he should need to ask. You touch your nose with his, it feels awkward, only for a second until he tugs you close, closer. Your legs adjust, it’s intimate, all too familiar. His breath is warm against you, his hand hovering on the side of your face, on the nape of your neck, his touch brings out a sigh. It’s gentle, as Yoongi always is. Timidly, your hand reaches for his free one, sliding fingers along the spaces, curling your fingertips over his knuckles. You taste the mild peppermint from the tea he had earlier, yours eyes fluttering close. His tongue licks into your mouth, encouraging a gasp from your lips, the kiss is wet and slow and intoxicating. Your hands hold his sides now, fingers on the tense muscles of his back, not quite close enough to placate the desire that lances through you. Yoongi’s always been a good kisser, attentive to your reactions, his lips are soft, his tongue feels too good, far too good that you’re dizzy in seconds.

“Ah,” he sighs, wincing suddenly.

You remembered that you were both cramped on tiny stools. The water cascades along the wall, your skin is pebbled with goosebumps, he shivers a little when you nip at his bottom lip.

“Yoongi,” you said, brushing your lips together, you say his name against his mouth like that.

“It’s late. You need to sleep, you’re tired.”

He nods, but doesn’t move.

“Yoongi…”

Another kiss, lingering on the corner of your mouth.

“Okay.”

-

“What’s that?”

Daylight breaks through the slits in the blinds, Yoongi wanders in, white long sleeve shirt wrinkled, black slacks, hems dragging on the floor. His hair sticks up cutely at the back, a cow-lick that bounces as he traverses the space.

“A bookshelf,” you replied, face warm because he was meant to wake up to it already built, “your birthday present.”

It arrived a little late this year. You were in Gangnam right after the snow cleared. Nearly lost between the aisles, you perused them with no goal in particular, simply to restock the reed diffusers and get new pillows, maybe a new towel while you’re at it. A store clerk maintained a safe distance, her smile small, Do you need any help? You think about it, about the growing collection of books that Yoongi has piled into uneasy towers, threatening to collapse at any second. Do you have any furniture, like bookshelves?

Luckily, you had the first delivery slot, right as the sun drips orange outside and Yoongi slumbers peacefully in the darkened room. The porters came, you chatted for a while, observing that there are more parts coming in than expected. They reassured you that all that was needed was a screwdriver and another person for assembly. Sliding the parts out of the boxes, you worked diligently so that Holly wasn’t startled from where he slept. You stumbled on your hoodie once, hitting your knee against the corner of the coffee table. It wasn’t too arduous after.

“A bookshelf?”

Crouching behind you, he slides his hands through, hugging you close, his arms resting over your crossed legs loosely.

“Yoongi, wait, I’m sweaty -”

But he brushes your hair away, exposing the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. His chin tucks your shoulder, he’s warm in the way he is right after he wakes up.

“When was this brought in?”

You sighed, setting down the allen key, “it was meant to be brought in beforethe ninth.”

Holly pads into the living room, his soft brown curls like spun gold in the light. He watches the pair of you, tilting his head, his dark eyes probably tired of witnessing your DIY endeavours for the better part of the morning. Yoongi scratches that spot by Holly’s tummy, encouraged as he twists on his back, his belly concealed faintly by a fine smattering of fur. You coo at him, grazing your nail under his chin, till he squirms away from an overload of attention from you both.

“Have you been doing this since this morning?”

You shrug, “it’s meant to be built by two people but I wanted to surprise you.”

“I know,” he said, followed by a small chuckle, “but I like building furniture.”

It was your turn to laugh, kissing the side of his neck, liking the way he gives access, his head falling to the side as you press your lips, slow and soft.

“I’ll make us something to eat,” he offers, in between kissing you, “give you some energy if you really want it to build it by yourself.”

You bite his bottom lip, “it’s just the middle shelf left.”

“Okay,” he replied, kissing you again, “I’ll be back to help.”

He does end up helping you out, and just like that, you’re being taken cared of again. With the shelves slotted nicely, the books appear, side by side, in no particular order. Slim paperbacks, heftier volumes, non-fiction hard bounds, dog-eared copies from his youth. Some books are yours, aged yellow from being kept by the window sill in the bedroom. The stories you’ve consumed in the past two years finally have a home. Yoongi brushes his knuckle along your cheek, his way of saying Thank you.

“It looks nice,” he remarks.

“It helps you see how much you’ve read,” you replied, smiling because he kisses your cheek, “and you also said that you wanted to read more, so…”

“I said that?”

“Months ago.”

Yoongi had been a voracious reader, unafraid to annotate passages of text, things that he wanted as reminders, thoughts, muttering how if he had more time, he could be better and read more. When things slowed, he did, and the books became mini towers dotted around the apartment. Holly collided his snout against a stack at some point, spurring you into action.

“Then you said you might need a bookshelf.”

It’s like this. How when Yoongi says things, you absorb them, drinking his words to easily, accustomed to the taste of him. And, after all these years, the shape of your heart looks awfully like him most times. You tug at the hem of his sleeve, swaying his arm. He says your name fondly, mumbled in that silky timbre.

“You spoil me, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, running your finger along the spines of the books immediately in front.

“You know, I have the biggest crush on you.”

You tilt your head to see his lips breaking out into a smile, “yah, our anniversary is coming up soon.”

“I know but that doesn’t take away from that the fact that I still have a huge crush on you, is that okay?”

Another laugh, his shy eyes blinking rapidly while his tongue ran over his lip, “I was the one who confessed, though.”

“I gave you a hard time, I liked you from the start.”

He gapes at that, “I confessed at the bus stop in the rain.”

You shrugged, “it was very romantic, very you.”

He shakes his head, launching his fingers, jabbing at your sides, “yah, I was scared out of my mind that you didn’t feel the same!”

You jump away, laughing loudly, “don’t - stop! Don’t you dare!” You warned, trying (and failing) to keep your distance, but your backed onto the couch. Yoongi laughs with you, ruthless even when playful. You don’t mind, it’s a lost battle where you’re breathless, giggling as he inevitably cages you, resulting in a wet kiss on the crook of your neck.

“I forgot how ticklish you were,” he said, peppering kiss along your jawline. And there it is, that latent arousal sneaking up on you. 1PM, still in the clothes you slept in, Yoongi barefaced, gorgeous in the natural light. He kisses and kisses, fingers finding skin too easily.

“Are you leaving later?” You asked, almost succeeding in dragging his shirt off if not for his impatience. Your limbs clash, you both yelp as your elbows collide, the bones hitting in a funny way. But it ends in laughter, messy kisses, and your foreheads pressed together. Your bodies sink onto he leather of the couch, your legs hitching up and over his hips.

“No,” he answers, pulling back, “nothing on today.”

He says this alarmingly quickly, eager like you, lips finding each others in soft, sighing kisses. At a point, you lean back, studying his face. In the very beginning, the tone was decidedly awkward. Before, there wasn’t any time, he was always away, always elsewhere. It made you question whether it could work. Then, the months stretched into years until the truth showed itself without prompt.

Was it always there?

He catches you staring and some part of you thinks he knows what you’re thinking too because he leans forward. The decision falls on the positive. In some way or another, whether you acknowledged it or not, it wasn’t something you could stop anyway.

Yoongi kisses that space below your ear, you sigh, entirely satisfied over a small gesture.

“Bed?”

“We need to eat, you need to eat,” you mumbled, distracted by his caresses, taking little to tumble into this happiness laced pleasure.

“Rather eat something else,” he said, drawing a laugh out of you.

“Wow, you’re an animal.”

He shrugs, flustered for all but three seconds before tilting your chin up, “What? I’m being honest.”

“Yeah?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nods, all to easily, you think. His eyes, whether loving, teasing, or even when they get shy and stray, they’re always on you. It makes you giddy.

“I guess that I do deserve your honesty,” you concede, kissing him back.

He sighs, as if to scold, “you do. And more.”

You cling onto him more, “I know. You make it hard for me to forget.”

And because you’re as bad at each other in a sense that you could never say no, you smile into the kiss, moaning softly when he gets closer, adding weight and pressure. You tumble, yielding to him as he does to you and it’s easy, so easy.

Later, in the stillness of the evening, you’ll fall asleep satiated, hands twined until one or the other stirs. And when morning comes, you see that the wall in the living room is finally occupied by the bookshelf you built together, see him play with Holly, then cook you something before he leaves.

You think that there’s nothing better than that.

There’s nothing better than exchanging eager kisses with someone you love on a worn, leather couch as the sun filters through. Or how there’s nothing like the feel of his hand over yours. Or the fact that it’s still nice, as nice as the beginning, made even nicer with the years behind you and the prospect of the ones ahead.

And when he comes back, tired but happy, you’ll have that glass of wine while soaking in the bath, reminiscing about memories that seemed to occur just yesterday. Then, he’ll ask you about the future, as often does these days. Of course, he’ll grow shy, go all pink then red, but it’s alright because you’re secure and have that connection together, so the promises come effortlessly.

It’s been that way for a while.

And he’ll say -

“I love you.”

It’s half mumbled in the darkness, his

Still Feel It All. (m) | ONE - SHOT | MIN YOONGI, 4.7 k 

Pairing:Yoongi x Reader

Summary:Yoongi knew some of it. He knows of the things you take part in, the world you inhabit sometimes. The relationships those included, the things you don’t talk about as much anymore. But, you think, he may not know how it feels, how things pan out if you go too far in one instance. 

Warning/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; oral sex (f-receiving); unprotected sex; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; but this is like, ‘non-explicit explicit sex,’ if you get what I mean - just plenty of feelings); slightangst; there’s so much pining and professions of love and it’s just a lot; for context: they’re roommates rn and were friends with benefits at some point; also, the reader is involved in BDSM and Yoongi isn’t; there are descriptions of a  ‘drop’ and the exhaustion and anxiety that may come after a scene, then aftercare) - non - idol!AU

=====

Just to emphasise: please be mindful of the tags and read at your own discretion! I think that this one shot is a bit intense and to reiterate, if some of the tags above are things that you are sensitive towards, please don’t read ahead. 

(Also, the title is a song by MARO if anyone’s curious!)

-

The lease is for a year and on the eleventh month, Yoongi finds you in the shower, soaked in your clothes. 

With your forehead pressed onto the tiles, your breath joins the plumes of steam that curled up to the ceiling. It’s too warm and you were light-headed but moving was too hard, weighed down by sopping fabric. Your eyelids are heavy, your lashes tending to stick together, as if the crystals of sleep are stubbornly affixed there.

Trembling in your position, you don’t quite hear anything properly, the shower filters in and out, alongside the strong thud of your heart. But the sound of the door rouses something in you, making you curl inwards more. 

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” 

Yoongi’s voice is deep and echoes in the small space, the vowels sound smooth coming from him. You turn your head, beyond shame for the moment. 

“’S okay. You’re fine.” 

You’re fine. 

You’re fine. 

You’re fine. 

Your brain repeats the mantra, thoughts frayed like the end of a rope. You’ll deal with the fallout later and Yoongi will do his best to understand, he always does. 

“Are you okay?” 

You liked Yoongi’s satoori,it reminded you of someplace safe, where the sun sets in an orange glow on the horizon, sinking between great mountains. 

It’s the not the first time he asks this, of course. Living together made certain things impossible to conceal, but you were clear on your limits. A space is a space and lines can be drawn if the other is willing. Now, though, you don’t mind that someone is asking, even more so that it’s Yoongi. He would have noticed that the door was ajar and it makes the shame a little easier to bear. He was worried and he could tell that leaving you alone wouldn’t benefit either of you. 

Still, you resist. 

“I’m fine.”

That sounded weird out loud. As if to affirm, your shoulders tense, the water feeling too cold lower down. 

“You don’t seem fine,” he says, closer now. It sounds as if he was right by the glass. 

The exhale was harder than the inhale, your chest tightens as air is pushed out. 

“It’s just - it’s just a drop.” 

Yoongi knew some of it. He knows of the things you take part in, the world you inhabit sometimes. The relationships those included, the things you don’t talk about as much anymore. But, you think, he may not know how it feels, how things pan out if you go too far in one instance. 

“I need some time, I need…” 

You don’t exactly know, if you were being frank. 

“You should get out of your clothes,” Yoongi scolds. 

It’s soft in the way he reprimands you, like a nag, swallowed in a mumble, almost lost in the consistent pelt of the water against the wall. You had no energy to argue, to turn his hospitality away, so you nod. The slide of the door is a squeak, the air comes through in a rush, and Yoongi is by your side, his hands at your waist. The touch is reverent, even now. Careful and trying. 

“Let me help.” 

You turn and find him close but his eyes are on the floor, which is filling up with the both of you on it. You hear your breath grow shallow, your mouth going dry. Yoongi’s cheeks are mottled pink, hints of red around his nose, the centre of his lips, his shirt is stained at the shoulders, caught in the ensuing spray. 

“You’ll get all wet,” you whispered, the ragged ends of your words masked by the heat and steam. 

“It’s okay.” 

He looks up at you, it’s quick though, as he works to grab something from the basket hanging on the side. Yoongi,you warned, regaining some sort of control. He hushes you in a second, rummaging for more bottles using this easy concentration he has. 

“I’ll wash your hair first, okay?” 

Your face is too warm, despite it all. Yoongi lifts the hem of your shirt, up till he can thread it off you. Then, he unhooks your bra, letting it fall away. His gaze avoids the marks on your skin, ones that resemble ropes criss-crossing intricately, others being fingers. Traces of a scene you left. 

“I’ll tend to those later,” Yoongi offers after. “Your sweatpants.” 

“I’ll keep them on,” you said, and Yoongi sighs in response and crowds you, but in a way that you can hear him better than anything else. The rhythm of his breathing, the small grunts he emits as he tries to squeeze the last of the shampoo out onto his palm. You don’t mean to but you lean towards him, yearning for something solid yet soft. Facing each other, you were able to tuck your chin over his shoulder, resting there for the moment. He says your name, as gentle as the first time you met, on that cold January day. Yoongi, with his averted gaze and saccharine smile. The sun was so bright that day, lightening the tips of his hair into a warm amber. 

When his palms bracket your sides, you shiver at the contact, relief manifesting at the tangible. 

And that’s the thing about Yoongi. 

He’s kind and soft where you were sharp and abrasive. He cares where he can’t help and helps even when he shouldn’t care. You didn’t mind your differences, after all, you were your own person. But you liked that Yoongi held you as if he understood everything, it made you need something you didn’t know you wanted. 

“You don’t have to, but I’ll listen.” 

Yoongi’s voice is a mere rumble while pressed together like this. Like the words are pulled from his chest rather than his throat. For a minute, maybe longer, you stay quiet. He manoeuvres, his hands rubbing your back in a calm motion. 

“I - it was too much,” you manage, your voice unnatural in the echoey space. 

“Is what I’m doing too much?” 

You shake your head, finding the energy to smile. 

“I don’t mind this. It’s good.” 

And you almost gave permission for your tears to fall when you feel his hand skate up to your nape, touching your skin, bunching your wet hair, forcing the water to run in excess. 

“We didn’t get to this part,” you confessed, “I didn’t get -,” you stuttered, blinking to focus your eyes back because there was a hollow sort of numbness that seeped all over. Your words are like a mismatched quilt, the stitches haphazard. “We stopped, we broke up.” 

It wasn’t like there was anything more than sex but you felt strange announcing its end. 

“Oh,” Yoongi contemplates, stroking the back of your head, “I’m sorry about that.” 

“’S fine. We just didn’t work anymore,” you said. There was more to explain, more to divulge, but you were lost in the way Yoongi touches at the back of your neck, willing enough pressure to soothe. 

“Sounds like what happened to us,” Yoongi says after a while. 

Your lips curl upwards because he doesn’t say it with malice. He sounded hurt, the words are mumbled, the satooriholding the ends together. It happened on the fifth month, when you fucked. The night was warm and you were both too drunk to commit to a proper thought process, or to stop, really. Then, you tried again, sober, and when you asked to go beyond expectation, for Yoongi’s hand to strike you, he shrank back, nervous. After, it got awkward, like you were stepping on eggshells each time you spoke. 

You stopped then. 

“We didn’t really talk about it, Yoongi.” 

The realisation makes you frown. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it, forget that I brought it up,” he sighs, “is it okay for me to wash your hair?” 

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning back, meeting his gaze. Those brown eyes that are far too kind, and one look, your shivers settle. And you don’t ask because you feel the pull, you hover your lips over his, barely touching. 

You feel the flutter of his lashes on your cheek, “’s okay, you can wash my hair,” you murmured. 

So he does, those long, bony fingers doing their best to leave no trace, rinsing the suds away from your scalp, trailing down to the ends. 

“I like that you coloured it this way,” Yoongi says, his voice too fond. You find yourself smiling, dipping your head down as he finishes wringing out the shampoo. Some of the red makes it onto the floor, seeping into the hem of his jeans. 

“It’s pretty,” he adds in a huff. You don’t protest when he leans close again, kissing the juncture where your arm and your shoulder meet. 

“C’mon.” 

He helps you stand up and the rest of it goes wordlessly. The rest of your clothes are pulled off, his too. Then, you are wrapped in his robe, and he towels himself roughly, stepping into loose sweats. You look at him as he ruffles his hair, quick movements that flick water off the ends into the air. You see the soft slopes of his body, the landscape of it and its contours. His eyes are your favourite, sharp yet rounded, framed by long lashes, holding a gaze so kind that it’s easy to want - to crave. A pinprick of pain suffuses through your chest and you say it before thinking. 

“Can we sleep together?” 

He stares at you, drinking your words in. He doesn’t say anything and walks out, and you shrink back into yourself, curling your fingers into a fist. The brunt of the embarrassment felt as a tremble of your lower lip. 

“I’ll get something for your bruises,” he says, busying himself as he opens the door to his bedroom. He sounds far away because there were walls between you now. Mi-Rae wasn’t meant to come back until early morning and Namjoon is away on a trip. The apartment has four rooms and two bathrooms, the one you were in was the one you shared with Mi-Rae. It’s enough for islands to form, for lines to be drawn on the sand. 

Yoongi isn’t tidy and he cleans when he feels like it. You knew that for a fact after a few weeks of living together. On his chair are layers of shirts, sweat shirts, and hoodies yet to find a home on his shelf. The equipment he has are on his desk, mini-keyboards, a lone mic, his monitor that had a black screen as a background. But it smells like him. It smells like sweet vanilla, like the cologne he wears sometimes, sweet and subtle. You’ll only know if you’re close enough or if you’re in his space. 

“Come,” he says, already sat on his bed, meeting you in the eye. 

You always felt cared for whenever Yoongi does this. He’s like that to everyone, so you’re not exactly singled out; it’s just the way he was. He doesn’t say much but there will always be food on the table and his smile outside the station when it’s raining and you forgot an umbrella. Back then, you were appreciative, someone resembling a stranger being unconditionally kind. Maybe it was a crush, then.

Now, it’s somewhat changed. But it’s still nice that Yoongi cares in the same way he does from the moment you met. He pushes the robe away, and it slides down your shoulders, the tips of his fingers are cold and you hiss. You remember the ropes being tight but you preferred it that way. The gel he applies is even colder, though. He gives you an apologetic look, his cheeks rounding as he draws his lips into a line. It spreads evenly and you yearn for something you can quite place. You let yourself drop forward again, head on his shoulder. 

“Thanks.” 

“Do you always come back like this?”

The question is innocent yet probing. Your silence he takes as a cue to elaborate. 

“After you - after you’re with someone like that - you said something about a drop,” he tries, but you catch the tremble in his voice, the way it shakes the vowels, he seems hesitant. “I don’t know what that means.” 

You inhale and exhale, the pain rushes back. You focus on Yoongi’s skin, pale even in the low light, the bare expanse of it, feeling his warmth, anchoring yourself as you tried to regulate your breathing. The conversation never happened between you and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to happen in the first place. Yoongi was someone who made you feel soft yet thorny things at the same time. He’s someone in your heart but the way he came in was through being lodged at your rib, and you think he’s stayed there ever since, and slowly you got used to the way that hurt sometimes. 

“It can be rough,” you began, trying to work through the flashes of memory. “They normally take care of me after.” 

“And this time, they didn’t?” 

“No - it’s not that.” 

It’s about being left on the bed, curled up, about feeling numb for what feels longer than a minute or two, unable to utter a word or move. It was about ending things so impersonally. 

We don’t have to be together anymore. 

It was cold and unpleasant. It hurt in a different kind of way, more than the marks left to heal for days. 

“We didn’t end up finishing the scene, they went ahead, and -” you said, feeling out of touch, “it doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.” 

“Did you love them?” 

You raise your head because it wasn’t what you expected. Yoongi wasn’t looking at you at all, but his cheeks were pink, his nerves showing up in a flare. 

“No. It’s not like that. It’s not love.” 

Yoongi sighed, refocusing and placing more gel on your skin. It’s warmer now that he’s held it for a while. You observe his quietness, finding small moles on his skin, one on his left cheek, the part in his hair, the chapped surface of his lips. 

“I’ve never really been in love.” 

It was years before. When things got too much, when you were pushed to the limits, you weren’t tired. It manifested as a rush, a high that you wanted to replicate. Eventually, you found another source, and under the heavy hand of another, you experienced something inexplicably euphoric that it stayed with you in your core for days. From there, it developed, until you picked up everything else, met different people, stepping into an escape that you didn’t know you were searching for in the first place. A lack of control translating as actual freedom from the things that shackled you down in your life. 

It had more to do with trust rather than love. 

And there was hardly an overlap. 

“I don’t get it. I don’t get you,” Yoongi mutters, his voice unsteady now. 

“It doesn’t change things. I’m still myself,” you explained, the thorny feeling coming back tenfold. “I’m still me, Yoongi. But sometimes, I just want to forget and sometimes, I want to be…” 

You hesitate because you feel like you’re running out of words to describe this amorphous feeling that’s followed you since. Yoongi’s touch runs along your collarbone, feeling the grooves of where the rope was once. You gather some strength from there. 

“Sometimes, I want to be someone else’s.” 

“I’m sorry,” is what Yoongi says. “We don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to tell you,” you replied, looking elsewhere, on the corner of his ceiling. “I mean, at some point, later on, we can talk about it more.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t touch you anymore either. 

“Please take care of me, Yoongi.” 

“I’ll get you a shirt and underwear, wait here.” 

“No - just, can you sleep here, with me?” 

It’s a feeble attempt but you reach out as he stands, circling your hand around his wrist. He was warm and his pulse feels strong. “Can I stay?” 

There’s more to that. It’s a plea for something that comes so easily for him. Perhaps that’s why you felt shy asking. 

“You and I, we -,” he starts, his voice hoarse, “I don’t think I have anything to offer you.” 

What Yoongi said puzzled you. That was hardly the truth because he was always offering you something. Whether it was his gentle comfort, his own space, his words, his embrace. He was a safe harbour and welcoming when the storm battered against the sails. He’s changed but not that much, he’d kiss your forehead if you did something well, cook you something when you were exhausted, support you unfailingly. Yoongi was made of all the good things you never thought you’d get in this lifetime and it made you think of him when moments are idle. You thought about his skin, his scent, his smile, till it became a subconscious craving, even when you were in the presence of someone else. At the end of it all, at the end of the pain mixed with pleasure, you wished that Yoongi was there to pick you up.  

The thought makes you blink rapidly, your heartbeat knocking against your chest in an erratic rhythm. You ball your hands into fists, the realisation hitting you too suddenly. Yoongi waits, your hand tightens over his wrist. His eyes are neither soft nor fond. 

“No. That’s a lie,” you said, panicked. 

Nothing is said, nothing for the few seconds it takes for Yoongi to kneel between your legs. Your breath thins as you feel him press his lips to your neck and you shudder. Your eyes flutter close, the tilt of your head is automatic, and you get kissed on your collarbones, Yoongi’s tongue is hot on your skin, over your nipple that your moans are sighed out. You grow weak as the robe  eventually falls away, your body arching towards Yoongi until the fire becomes too much. He murmurs your name, his fingers wandering down, your legs spreading instinctively. You gasp and he finds you wet.

“You’re -”

“I - earlier, I didn’t get to come,” you breathed, “it’s okay. Keep going.” 

Yoongi says your name again, and it sounds different, tender.You had to fight to properly see him, already succumbing to the haze of pleasure. 

“I’ll do what you like, just - just tell me.” 

And that shouldn’t make you want to cry all of the sudden so you shake your head, “it’s okay. What you’re doing is fine.” 

“You want to come?” 

It wasn’t the most Yoongi thing to say and it sounded too suggestive right now. It makes your face heat up, your mind confused as your body craves and craves. You’ve fucked more than once but the intimacy is different now, informed by new words, shaped into a new meaning. It’s rehashed but renewed. 

“I - yeah. I want to,” you sniffed, aware of your position, Yoongi kneeling on the floor, your legs spread and his fingers grazing between. He raises himself up, teeth skimming your neck, his tongue circling your nipple and you fingers clutch at the sheets, the air rushing into your lungs, making them expand. And you’re weaker somehow, breathless as Yoongi touches you between your legs, fingers dipping inside, curling and rubbing that you flinch. You whimpered, bowing onto him, shaking as he goes on and on. It feels good, too good to be cared for like this. Your name makes it past the mist, it’s a concerned tone cloaked under the satoori. 

“You’re shaking,” Yoongi says, his thumb stroking your hip.

“No, it’s good. It feels good,” you assured, your voice scratchy, “just - please.” 

You stop because you areshivering at this point from being yanked from the peak.

“Lay on your back,” he says, and you look at him, eyes wide.

“What?” 

Yoongi wraps an arm around your waist, hoisting you closer to the headboard. You scramble back, leaving behind the robe and it slithers away, onto the floor. But the realisation is quick, you haven’t really done this with him and you think he feels forced. 

“You don’t have to, we haven’t - ”

“I want to do this. I want you to feel good,” he said, quiet and embarrassed. You bite your lip because you feel fond, despite everything. “And it’s better than my fingers.” 

You’ve had your mouth fucked and gagged, had fingers pressed until you think you couldn’t breathe anymore. You remember the tears that slipped down, salty on your lips, the thrilling feeling of a high. You were used to that as opposed to being on the other side of things, never had the experience of being cared for in thatway. Yoongi says your name again, careful fingers on your damp hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

“Okay, yeah. But if you don’t like it, don’t feel like you have to just because -”

Yoongi cuts you off, firmly letting you recline, “I’ll tell you if that happens.” 

The sheets are soft and the ceiling is plain, your heart is loud as Yoongi hitches your legs over his shoulders. The anticipation is something you haven’t felt, it’s a certain frequency you were unfamiliar with, yielding to Yoongi’s control. He’s gentle, kissing your inner thighs and you look, because the brush of his hair tickles somewhat, and his breath is warm there. And it’s awkward since he pauses, that you almost protest but then his mouth latches and his tongue swipes over and over that you gasp. The instinct was to shut your legs but he pushes his shoulders to pin you wide, and his nose is cool but his mouth is hot and wet, his tongue probing and circling, and your moans are soft, you turn your face onto the pillow, legs shaking as he holds you down. 

“Fuck,ah,” you breathed, knees knocking together as Yoongi pull back, his chin and lips glistening. 

“Are you okay? Does it feel good?”

Bewildered, you release your grip on the sheets, “I - yes,” you said, watching intently as Yoongi swipes his tongue on his bottom lip. His chest rises and falls, his hair askew. You realise that he’s tasting you and it’s like a warm sluice in your gut, spreading throughout your chest. He looks different, and you find yourself saying that out loud. 

“How?” 

You gather your words, thoughts trickling back again. 

“Different. The last time we,” you said, delving into the memory, “the last time we had sex, I could tell that you were sad.” 

It was an awkward admission, given that you were like this. So you sit up and Yoongi does the same, confusion apparent in the knit of his brow. 

“It was like you couldn’t understand the person I was. Like you didn’t like me.” 

“But I do,” he said, placing his hands on your thighs. “I just -,” he tries, “I love you. I’m in love with you.” 

The words come out in a fast reel that it’s cloaked in a lisp. He pushes his palm and messes up his hair even more that it sticks up, you swallowed. He presses his palm to his temple, the bend of his fingers make it seem crooked and he speaks again, calmer this time, to make you listen - 

“I love you and I’m jealous that -”

“Yoongi,” you said, voice matching his tone, “what are you saying?” 

Though you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was racing too fast and that it’s more like a drum in your ears. 

“It’s not in my control anymore,” he exhales, “and I get that you might need to go to someone else, we can,” he sighs, and your heart feels like stone in your chest, “we’re still friends.” 

And you look at each other till whatever was unspoken is brought to the fore. His eyes, which hid many things, now show warmth and a certain fondness you think he has always reserved for you. No words happen because Yoongi kisses you, his lips are so light on yours, his hands moving, caressing and easing you back. 

“We carry on,” he says, and you nod, biting his bottom lip, savouring that groan. 

There aren’t any complaints, no words that speak of pain you get off to or Yoongi’s hesitation. There isn’t really that control you have to submit to, there’s just your fingers threading through his, the rocking movement of your hips, his soft grunts against your neck as he sinks into you. And there’s the sound of skin, sticky and wet, the feeling of him inside you, it’s so unbelievable that your gasps meet his groans, and you hear whatever escapes when your kisses grow messy. There are no more words, less of those mismatched descriptions and explanations that end up in tangled threads neither of you could unravel, just your bodies moving and doing what feels good. Yoongi groans as you spasm around him, his hips driving down and you come, your legs shaking at his sides as he slows, grinding down.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “ah.”

“I can pull out, wait,” he huffs, sounding breathy. 

“N-no, don’t,” you said, your voice raspy, fingers on his back, nails impressing grooves on the muscle, “if you keep going, I can, hgnh,I can come again.” 

Yoongi groans, pressing his forehead against yours, and you feel it, feel the myriad of ways he chooses to love you, to care for you, and it soaks you to the bone. You kiss him because the feelings are too loud and you’re too sensitive, your heart skipping and skipping. You realise that you don’t just want the sex, but the feeling that Yoongi brings, a sense of home. 

“Y-yoongi,” you began, “I love you,” you said, your voice muffled against his lips. “I love you.” 

He kisses you deeply, holds you almost as if you’d break, his movements retreating into a slow tempt, and you panic, not wanting to be brought away from the peak. 

“Please, don’t stop, keep going -”

It doesn’t take much for him to come, and you shudder as he grunts low, his climax in waves and after, you let him part, only to sling your legs over his shoulders and dips his mouth on your pulsing centre. He goes until you’re pushing him off, overwhelmed at the amount of times he could make you feel good. 

Later, your eyes meet and you grow shy because it really wasn’t sex. It was more than you shared, even when you were together, like this. Yoongi blushes as you part his hair, and you feel shy when he kisses your temple. 

“I can learn the things that make you feel good,” he says eventually. You hum, observing the sheen of his nose, the reddened tint of his cheeks. You appreciate how he tries and how that’s love. He looks at you again, his fingers are gentle in your hair. The sheets are soft on your skin and when you place your hand on his chest, his heart is slow but strong. He kisses your forehead as you close your eyes, searching for words to describe how you feel. 

“It’s okay.” 

Yoongi understands because he continues to care for you, choosing a soft towel and hands you a bottle of water that you almost finish in one go. 

“What are we then?” 

He asks this as he gulps down from a glass. You knit your eyebrows together, perplexed. He takes this as another moment to elborate. 

“You and I,” he says, sniffing, pressed close despite the size of his bed. You curl into him. “I don’t think I can control you in the way you want to be controlled.” 

“You don’t have to,” you replied, “we don’t have to be like that.” 

Yoongi twines his fingers with yours, palms pressed to trap the warmth, “would you go and look for someone else to do that?” 

You kiss his cheek and he leans close, “no, that’s not something I want.” 

It takes a moment for you to say the next thing, the thorny feeling becoming something soft. 

“I just want you.” 

Yoongi goes redder, if that was even possible. “Oh.” 

It was underwhelming as he was flustered, and you kissed him softly, breathing his scent in, feel the way his skin is smooth and warm. 

“Yeah, we can try again.” 

It’s the quiet of the night, where time is stretched into light-years, and you’re in Yoongi’s arms, floating still. He kisses your forehead, your nose, and eventually your lips. He says those words, low and soft, morphing into a sound under your skin, dulling the ache in your heart that you’ve carried for a while. 

“I’d like that.” 

masterlist (I)|masterlist (II)

Russet. (m) | ONE-SHOT | MIN YOONGI, 3.1k

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Summary:He liked to take his time with you in moments like these. Something about getting back on stage. Something about being back in his element. Something about the roar of the crowd, a tangible, real moment where he was no longer performing in front of numbers at the top left corner or an LED screen.

Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language, smut (fem-reader; unprotected sex; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; doggy; finger-sucking; slight cock warming; everything that comes with post-concert high tbh lmao); Fluff; idol!AU established relationship :’)

=====

-

He liked to take his time with you in moments like these.

Something about getting back on stage.

Something about being back in his element.

Something about the roar of the crowd, a tangible, real moment where he was no longer performing in front of numbers at the top left corner or an LED screen.

The euphoric feeling doesn’t get left on the stage. It lingers, draping over his body, making it thrum as if he was possessed by something.

You fed off his own post-concert high, tethered to an energy, this emotion that’s bigger than him.

The lights that bordered the headboard were turned low and you shiver on the grey sheets, the strength of your arms giving out while Yoongi keeps a firm grip on your hips. Breathy gasps against the fibres of the bed cover, so soft but that didn’t matter, your skin will come up raw and tender from the pressure of his body against yours.

You didn’t know how it escalated from lazy kisses right after the shower. Then again, you always lost yourself when you were in his arms.

“Y-yoongi…” you gasped as he yanks you back harshly on his cock, the dull slap of his hips against the flesh of your ass ending in a resounding slap.You were so wet, taking his cock in an easy, frictionless suck. From the upstroke, his cock comes away in sticky strings that cool due to the ventilation that circulated the room.

“Mn?”

It would be different each time. Tonight however, his hum was an acute sound, prompting your body to tighten, sticking you in an endless loop of pleasure, as if every question you asked him was rhetorical. He surges forward, pushing the breath you’d been holding in out, heating up the bed with the blaze of your desire. Desperate for anything and tired of being edged, you fist the white cotton in front of you, eyes shutting to cloak the dull colours of the hotel as his thrusts slowed to a drag.

Yoongi’s warm breath is on your skin, followed by the subtle scrape of his teeth on your shoulder blade. You tremble from the sharp feeling, whimpering as he nipped then laved over the marks with a swipe of his tongue. You feel him lean forward and moan at the angle, your pussy clamping around his length as he buried himself to the hilt. His open mouth sets on a space on your back, his deep voice turning into a heavy grunt as your legs continued to shake, pussy clenching over his length in an effort to keep him inside, lower back aching and arched, mindlessly fucking his cock as he stilled.

“Ahn, fuck,” you whimpered, knees sliding apart, sweat causing your skin to slip over his, ignoring the clumsy rhythm of your hips as you fucked yourself on his cock in an attempt to catch your release.

That’s when he forces you upright, a breathy moan escaping past your lips while his hand presses lightly over your throat. Through the haze of your vision, you see what’s immediately ahead. The hotel decor, which took up much of the wall, showcased a bright and sunny scene.

Clear skies. 72 degrees. Prepare for landing.

Inoffensive words in neat, legible font, complete with a backdrop of a beach occupied by scattered crowds.

Hardly the best view, given your current situation.

Yoongi cants his hips, incites shallow thrusts that had you breathing out lowly through your nose, practically vibrating. Then, you feel his hand creep up, long fingers articulating themselves until something presses against your bottom lip. Slick with your shared spit, he continues to prod the curved pad of his thumb, rubbing softly, sensitising your lips. You open your mouth, ignoring the angular chain of the bracelet he had trouble taking off, letting it emboss your chin. He inhales sharply as you wiped your tongue over the digit, suckling slightly, as much as you were allowed.

“What do you want, hm?”

It’s whispered so softly, his lips by the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. You make an impatient noise, you wanted to see him, leaning your head back, away from his hand.

“W-wanna see you,” you breathed, almost falling forward if not for his arm strapped around your middle.

Gently, Yoongi pulls away and you slump forward, weak arms pushing so you could lay on your back, the backs of your thighs held down by his capable hands. You take a moment to appreciate him.

Dewy skin flushed in rose, broad shoulders, strong arms, and a faint smattering of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen. His hair was longer and a light russet, falling over his brow in soft tufts. Silver hoops and dark brown eyes, handsome as ever. He took the image of you in, a subtle, upward tug from the corner of his lip appearing despite his breathing being exaggerated, his hard cock glimmers from your shared arousal.

As soon as he lowered himself, your legs widen, allowing him to nestle himself in between. His hand cradles your face, the cold metal chain on his wrist made warm from your skin, your lips closing over his thumb in a slow suck. The feel of his cock slipping inside you prompted a moan, mouth opening even more, your eyes never once wavering from his as you grasped his wrist. He matches the thrust of his thumb with that of his cock, pressing on your tongue, coating it with your spit as your eyes flutter close.

“Ahssss,” he hissed, you sighed, your tongue swiping along the digit in a slick drag. He thrusts especially deep, your legs raising to accommodate.

You whined, a silent signal for more.

Just a little more.

And he understands, breath hitching as he pushed his thumb until you could feel it near the back of your throat, the cold silver of his bracelet thudding against your chin, your nails digging on the delicate skin of the inside of his forearm. Your throat closes up on instinct, eyes watering suddenly. After a few more shallow thrusts, the pad making a dent on your tongue, he slips it out, caressing your bottom lip, smearing spit over it.

“Good?” He asked, albeit through gritted teeth as you jerked from how he began to thrust more forcefully in your pussy, the gush of wetness of your folds easing the friction.

“Mnh, yeah,” you said, breathless.

And he sinks his cock further, deeper, deeper till you gripped his biceps, exchanging stifled moans, your nails coming down harder due to the stretch and the new angle. He takes your jaw in a solid grip, and you look straight into his eyes while he bottomed out again, fucking you in a steady, unwavering rhythm. The air grew hotter, sweat erupting from the relentless rocking of your bodies, the way his hard planes rubbed against your clit, his cock thrusting inside you in slow, deep strokes.

“Ah, fuck,” you moaned, your hand reaching up to tangle in those copper strands, pulling towards you, eradicating any distance despite it being cramped. Yoongi kisses you with fervour until you’re both panting in each other’s mouths, hurtling towards that peak. Sweat coats your skin, your hair sticks to your forehead, your temples, he moans in your mouth as your pussy pulsed over his cock, the audible schlickat each retreat making you tremble. You open your eyes, press your head back onto the firm mattress, watch as his jaw goes slack, his gaze boring into yours, brown pools alight with hunger as he fucked you harder in sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts.

“Ssssah,” he rasped, followed by a low moan, his features contracting in effort as you tipped your hips down, entire body tightening. At a particularly harsh thrust, you cried out, slapping your hand against his lower stomach, legs trying to snap shut, unable to comprehend the surge in pleasure each time his cock shoved itself inside your pussy. He leans forward, tugs your bottom lip with his teeth, your name in his deep voice, russet strands and pale skin in your vision.

“Y-yoongi, fuck… ah,shit,” you babbled, arching up, trying to cross your legs over his back, failing miserably. He winds a hand back, circles it over your calf, skating his broad palm down till it slots at the back of your knee, spreading you so wide that you gasped, shuddering as he ground his hips in a tight circle.

“Hgnh,fuck!”

He hummed, ending in a low growl as your pussy contracted around his cock, as tight and as wet as ever, so much so that he slipped out. Your hand shoots forward, heart in an erratic rhythm as you guided him back in your wet heat, gasping into the kiss as he groaned.

“Fuck, ah, fuck,” he grunted, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin, his cock piercing your velvet walls, mind clouding over until the only sound you register is the carnal gasp of your name on his lips.

“Yoongi,” you moaned, barely able to move while held down, but you wind your arms around his neck, catch the lobe of his ear, teeth clashing against the silver metal hoop.

“Fuck -“

You feel another gush of wetness spill past your folds, gooey slick that renders everything pliant, easing the stretch of his cock inside you. Yoongi just knew where to touch you and tease you, he knew how his deep voice affected you and he used all of this to render you into a pleasure-riddle stupor, clawing at him as you approached that blinding peak. You clenched around him, managing a choked moan through gritted teeth as you soared, encouraged by his praise, So good for me, so fucking tight, taking all of me, ah fuck.

And you were sure that he felt it, the way your pussy pulsed over him, closer and closer that you tighten your grip over him, tits crushed against his firm chest, his hand gripping your thigh so hard, that your limbs felt static.

“Ahshit, don’t stop,” you whimpered, loud enough to register that your words were slurred. His hips go faster, circling at the instroke. Your vision sparks, your moans muffled against his skin, shivering at the weight of him while he cups your ass to gain momentum, fucking into you in forceful thrusts until you were practically sobbing from the sheer pleasure of it all. He clutches at the flesh of your ass, finger digging and denting skin, leaving you no choice but to take it, drunk on ecstasy. He licks a flithy stripe from your jaw, his tongue slipping your mouth in a swift movement, wet lips on your own, his hand clasping your chin as he sucked your tongue.

“Mmpfh -“

When he parts from you, his skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat trails over his pale skin, bottom lip curled only to unfurl to bare his teeth.

“Want to get filled up?” He panted, tongue resting at the corner of his mouth, his hips moving but not fast enough, fucking his cock into your pussy before withdrawing it to the tip, nudging the stiff nub of your clit.

“Hgnh, Yoongi, yes, yes,” you begged, pushing towards him, letting out a frustrated moan until he pitches forward, smacking his hard muscles against yours.

Something catches at your gut, like hot coals that exploded, searing your veins. Barely coherent, you make a grab for him, breath fanning against the crook of his neck, fingers yanking at the copper strands near the nape, shaking from the roughened thrusts. The subtle clinkof his jewellery, the way he tugs at your hair at the root, you gasp into his mouth, seeing fragments of his rosy skin, russet strands, hear the sound of his low grunt as you came in the messiest way, an almost endless, sticky drip that coated his cock in a plentiful gush, words escaping in the same manner as your thoughts dissolved. Yoongi let out a loud moan, rutting his hips in shallow, purposeful thrusts as you whimpered, searching for him, for a soft kiss, which he gave, grabbing the flesh of your thighs, kneading it as he hummed.

“Shit,” you said, breathless, melting in his arms as he set a steady pace again, this time parting from you and grasping your hips, lifting them from the bed. Your breath hitched as he dragged you back on his cock, your throbbing pussy still sensitive against any immediate impact but Yoongi was relentless. You arch up, throwing your head back and playing with your nipples, cupping your tits in a pathetic knead, anything to stay in your orgasm, legs just about flailing as he fucked you, his muscles strained, the lines on his abdomen defined, jaw set as his grunts pierced the sex-stained air. He lifts you high enough that what’s left touching the bed is your shoulder blades, your back in a pronounced curve, thighs ending in a fleshy smack each time he filled you to the hilt.

“Ah…ah,” you cried out, his broad palms squeezing your flesh, skin thudding against skin, nasty, wet sounds matching the gooey drip where you connected. Through the flutter of your lashes, you see the copper strands of hair stuck to his temples, the twitch in his features as you were both stripped back to the basest of desires.

As strange as it was at first to reconcile the fact that someone as warm, gentle, and trustworthy as Yoongi could become someone as carnal as the person he was in this moment, it wasn’t lost on you that he always had this simmering intensity. Sometimes, the realisation sprang up on you without much warning, like when you would brush past and he’d clasp your wrist in a possessive grip. Or when he would flip you over, pressing you up against the wall or any other flat surface, up till you were on your tip toes with your calves straining, or bent over in an obscene angle. The effect was the same: you were putty in his hands, body trembling from the harsh, deep stroke of his cock inside you.

“Ah…ssss,ah,” he pants, alternating it with sharp hisses as your pussy tightened around him intermittently. You feel another wave coming, another reverberation of acute pressure, already past the point of containment as you sense a sound building in his chest. After a few, rough thrusts, you come apart again, wailing uncontrollably, sticky hot gush over his pulsing cock, sweat intermingling with arousal, the smack of your hand against his thigh ringing as a sharp crack in the air. You whined, your swollen clit catching the base of his cock, helpless as Yoongi carried on, so you cupped your tits, pinching your nipples to maximise the sparks that burst everywhere, legs aching even if you were solely being held up by his sheer strength.

“Gonna cum,” he grunts, his fingers sinking over your flesh, nails impressing grooves for grip.

“I-inside,” you gasped, “please.”

And his jaw juts out in order for that final, ragged breath, a sudden burst of sound, pushing you onto the bed as your hips locked. Your moan comes out choked, watching Yoongi as he came, a long, drawn out ah,trembling in the delivery as he fell apart in acute, desperate relief. Hot spurts of his cum fill you up while pinned to the bed, immobilised for him, whimpering as he rode it out, thrusting his cock in and pushing his cum out, having it drip down your ass, staining the sheets.

You shiver as Yoongi kisses the side of your face as your pussy convulsed greedily, aided by the rapid contraction of your inner muscles, mind high and satiated. He props himself up and you’re rewarded with the image of a deep rose flush high on his cheeks, lips shiny with saliva, eyes shockingly dark yet glazed over, bright russet hair matted and messy.

“‘Mmh, Yoongi,” you panted, he pushes your hair away from your face, groaning as you shivered, the tremor making its way all the way down.

“Mh?”

You don’t even know why you said his name, the objective of that inquiry lost in the soft glaze of his eyes and the proximity you shared in the afterglow.

“‘Mm fuck,” you whispered, tucking your head under his chin, aware of the mess between your thighs. He reaches down, thumbing your clit lazily, spurring that whine that was waiting at the back of your throat. His cock twitches suddenly, and he dips his forehead over yours, a moan filtering past his lips, hips stuttering up and into you before stilling once more, rivulets of cum dripping lewdly onto the sheets.

You stay like that for a while, catching your breath at the comedown, your pussy slowing in its flex, calming in a drowsy pulse. Yoongi kisses you, catching the spool of your thoughts, chapped yet soft lips, so him, so Yoongi.You do so until you’re practically exchanging air, panting against each other once more.

Reality settles back in, the fuzzy details of the room come back in view. The shimmering expanse of Los Angeles outside with its surrounding buildings on the flat plane. The linen set in the velvet curtains hints at the square windows glowing neon white against the pitch black night.

“Mm, good,” you murmured after a while, your eyelids heavy, going lax on the firm mattress.

“Good,” Yoongi echoed, nudging his nose against yours, gingerly pulling out. You shivered, blinking up at him as he does his best to clean you both, his hair appearing auburn in the dim light, his features blissed out, all kinds of soft. You lean close, kissing his nose.

“Missed you,” you yawned, after things settled and you’re back in his arms.

“Was gone for three hours at most,” he whispered, though there was a distinct tone in his voice, indicative of the comfortable warmth you both shared. An unspoken reassurance that despite Yoongi being at the world’s stage, you can have this piece of him that no one else did, and that he let you. Being apart seemed more palpable these days, more apparent in the prospect of life restarting again. You nuzzle yourself against him, preceding to run your touch along his arm, searching for his hand beneath the sheets. Once your fingers are slotted together, your palms meet in an even pressure.

“Are you hungry? We can order some room service -”

“Later. We can sleep for now,” you said, squeezing his hand as he presses a kiss to your hair.

Yoongi assents, comfortable in the silence with you, then -

“Love you.”

You grinned, “love you too.”

He rubs his nose against yours, sappy as he is, his grin is as wide as the one on your face.

“Love you so much.”

You lean in for a kiss.

“Yeah, yeah.”

masterlist.

11:50 pm

Yoongi masterlist

Main masterlist

“O-oh yoongi!” You whined as his pace increased and his cock brushed against that sweet spot causing your eyes to roll back. Yoongi growled hearing you moaning and screaming his name and grunted “fuck babygirl you take me so well, my good little girl” and wrapped his lips around your perky and hardened nipple causing you to whimper as your fingers played with his hair “y-yours” he groaned when you clenched around him tightly and smashed his lips on yours to pull you in a rough kiss which had you gasping for air as he sucked and bite your bottom lip until it was red and swollen “i-i love you yoongi ” you cried out as another wave of pleasure hit your body and he pounded inside you harder with his forehead leaned against yours as he panted and moaned your name “fuck i love you too babygirl, i love you so fucking much” he groaned and you leaned up slightly to kiss him but your attention was diverted when you suddenly heard a phone, or specifically his phone ringing “y-yoongi-” you tried to tell him but he cursed and placed his lips on yours in a passionate kiss with his hand going down in between your bodies to rub your clit which had you moaning his name loudly. As much as you tried to ignore the continues ringing, it didn’t stop budging at the back of your mind. so you pulled back panting and whimpered out “y-your phone oh- yoongi your p-phone” kissing your forehead softly, which was completely different from the way he was pounding inside you, he grunted “ doesn’t matter. Ignore it and look at me kitten” you whimpered at his dominating voice and looked at him with dazed eyes with your ckeeks flushed whispering “I-I’m close” gripping your hips tightly he groaned “i know baby, come for me” against your ear you gasped with your mouth hanging open and a scream of his name escaped your lips as your second orgasm washed over you with your hands grippingjis biceps tightly. A deep growl left his lips seeing you milking his cock with his name leaving your lips like a chant and he rubbed harsh circles on your clit to ride you out of your orgasm groaning feeling his own high approaching “fuck-where do you want me baby” “i-inside me” you whimpered laying on the bed boneless as he groaned hearing your words. He breathed harshly and small groans of your name spilled from his lips as he came right after you and you whimpered feeling his thick load of cum filling you up to the brim. Breathing heavily as his balls completely emptied he collapsed besides you and pulled you closer and you snuggled in his chest yawning and wrapped your arms around his torso. He chuckled fondly mumbling “i love you babygirl ” as you nestled against him comfortably and his arms around you tighten when you whispered “i love you yoon” kissing your head he groaned when the moment was interrupted by his phone ringing again “fucking assholes” you giggled softly as he mumbled profanities and said “it might be important, you should pick it up” already closing your eyes “not more important than you” he murmured kissing your neck and took his phone switching it off without seeing the missed calls and throwed it behind him on the bed. Sighing tiredly he kissed your head as soft snores and little puff of air left your lips and his eyes fluttered shut when you snuggled in his neck causing him to hold you protectively.

Of course he would make sure that people won’t fuck with his money anymore but that can wait for tomorrow. Tonight was just about you, his beautiful girlfriend . His whole world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let me know if you want to be in my permanent taglist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@bunnyrhe@rosquilleta@raineandskye

Nightstand (Min Yoongi)

A/N: This one is angsty as fck WARNING: mentions of self harm and death…idk why I’m doing this to myself I appearently enjoy pain, so enjoy it too

“Please just don´t do anything. Someone is coming.” the guy on the other end of the line said but you were too far gone in your thoughts to identify or understand him. You put your phone next to you on the handrail you were sitting. You watched as the sun went down and the water underneath you flowed hurriedly under the bridge. Your legs dangled towards the water and you could hear people gathering behind you but it was all hazy. “Y/N?” you heared a familiar voice call your name and furrowed your brows. “Y/N?” your name was being called louder, the person closer now and you looked over your shoulder to look into those brown eyes you once loved so much. You chuckled at his sight and shook your head while looking down to your lap. “I can´t believe they sent you.” you said to yourself and were sure that he could hear it too. “Do you wanna come down?” he said and you chuckled again. “Do I look like I want to?” you said and he had to think fast what he could say next. You were too calm for his liking and panic started to set in his guts. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders looking straight ahead and ignoring what was happening behind you.

Yoongi signed everone to step away and move along while nodding towards the police officers that he got it under controll. He was praying to all the gods that he actually had it under controll. Carefull he swung his legs over the railing and planted himself next to you. “You know,” you said while watching the brids fly higher and higher, “your the least person I want to see right now.” Your confession that didn´t surprise him didn´t help his panic at all. He didn´t know why Jin called him but as soon as he explained what was going on he found himself on the bridge. “Should I leave?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders again. “You can do whatever. I don´t own this bridge.” you said and took a deep breath while letting go of the railing and he almost grabbed onto your arm, afraid that you might lean forward.”I´m not here to jump Yoongs. You can stop staring at me.” you said with closed eyes but he was still tense and ready to catch you. “Then why are you sitting here?” he asked and his pet name falling from your lips made his heart yearn for your attention. “Why do you even care? We broke up remember?” you said and those words were like dagers through his heart. “I´m tired.” you said before he could think of a response, “I´m tired of living.” you said with a sad smile on your lips and the panic got the best of him and he grabbed your wrist. Your head snapped towards him and you looked at him with an arched brow. “I´m not here to jump.” you said again seeing the look in his eyes and groaned. “Are you going to believe me if I get off the railing?” you asked and he nodded immediatly. “One can´t even enjoy the sunset anymore.” you said while swinging your legs back. As soon as you jumped off on to the bridge you found yourself in Yoongis arms, your own dangling by your side. When he noticed you not hugging him back he let you go and you realized that his hands were slightly trembling even though he looked calm. “There are easier ways to die.” you said and shrugged your shoulders, “Also I can´t do that to my Mom.” you said leaning against the railing now and crossing your arms infront of your chest. “How do you think she’d feel?” you asked watching the sky which had a light pink hue since the sun was going down. “Devestated.” Yoongi said like it was on the tip of his tongue and you chuckled. “Yeah. She’d be the only one.” you mumbled to yourself and he found himself shaking his head. This was a nightmare to him. He wanted to wake up. “Well if I did. It wouldn’t b because of any of you.” you said and turned towards the water and let your arms hang over the handrail. Yoongi stood next to you, his shoulder brushing yours lightly. You pushed him playfully with your shoulder and he relaxed a little bit seeing that you were fine…well you were okay. “It’s not your fault.” he heared you say and his head snapped towards you. “What?” he asked an a high pitched ringing appeared. “It really isn’t.” you said and Yoongi furrowed his brows because his sight was getting fuzzy.

He blinked a few times and suddenly he was in his room. In his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was really silent and it was unbearable. Especially when his mind caught up on what just happened. He looked over to his night stand to see your picture smiling back at him and a sudden sobb escaped his throat and he shut his eyes again, covering them with his arm. He wanted to sleep again, he wanted to see you, hear you again. Another sobb escaped his lips and it didn’t take him long to be full on crying. His painfull cries became so loud that his bandmates came in and he was embraced in a big hug by his leader. “I saw her.” Yoongi sobbed while Namjoon carressed Yoongis back and let him cry. “I miss her so much.” Yoongi said and his voice broke along with Namjoons heart. “I know.” Namjoon said trying to calm him down. “I know.” he said again looking at the picture of you on his nightstand.

You could’ve been nicer {BTS} pt. 2

Part 1 /Part 3

Summary: How do the boys react when you tell them “I think you could’ve been nicer to me today”?

Min Yoongi

You were lying under a blanket, Yoongi sitting opposite of you, your legs were tangled with his and you were munching on some sweets he had brought for you. He was carressing your leg while scrolling through his phone. You’ve been scrolling through your own phone when the idea struck you. You opened the camera of your phone and started filming him before speaking up. “Yoongs?” you said and he looked up with an arched brow. “I think you could’ve been nicer to me today.” you said and he looked confused for a second. “What did I-…What’d I do?” he asked, his voice concerned, while putting his snack away and while you were thinking about something to keep up the act, his gaze wandered down from your face to your hands. He immediately rolled his eyes and took back his snack from the table. “Yeah?” he said and kept snacking on his chips. “Nicer how? Like the blanket I brought you? Or like the snacks I bought? Or wait wait…” he said lifting his index finger, obviously making fun of you,”like the dishes I washed, because you were having period cramps.” He nodded towards you to ask for an answer and he chuckled when you didn’t answer. “I am being nice to you now shut up.” he said while unpausing his video on the phone. “No!” you said while gently kicking your feet trying to regain his attention. “You should’ve been nicer to me.” you tried to keep up your prank but he just smiled to himself. “You’re recording me baby. I’m not dumb I’ve figured.” he answered while looking at his phone and made you laugh nervously. “You’re unbelievable. I was trying to prank you.” you said swatting his shoulder playfully. “Holding your phone like that is always suspicious. That’s obvious fan behavior right there.” he explained and you rolled your eyes at his word. In one swift movement you were hovering over him and took him by surprise. “I’m not your fan.” you said with a hushed voice while his gaze went from your eyes to your lips. “You’re my number one fan.” he whispered and pulled you closer into a passionate kiss.

Jeon Jungkook

You were having dinner with Jungkook at the dorm while the others were out. He had prepared a nice meal for you and date night was going great. A moment of silence occurred while he was cleaning the table and that’s when you remembered the trend you’ve seen earlier. “Hey. I think you could’ve been nicer to me today.” you said while looking at your fingers on your lap and he walked back out of the kitchen. “Really?” he asked and looked at you for a second. “Yeah, you could’ve been nicer.” you repeated and he could swear that he heared that once before. You looked up when he didn’t answer and saw him standing beside you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah I think you could’ve been nicer too though.” he said while arching a brow and your jaw fell open,”I mean I did everthing for you and now this?” he asked and your prank backfired. “Oh no Kook I wasn’t trying to..”

“That’s a bit ungreatful of you, don’t you think?” he said and sounded really hurt which made you panic. “No, wait. I’m sorry. I was just..”

“Nevermind. Let’s not fight at the end of a, what was for me a nice night.” he said and you could face palm yourself. “Hey.” you said grabbing his hand and stood up from where you were sitting to stand close to him. “I was just kidding. The night was great and you’ve been amazing. I was just pulling a prank. I’m sorry.” you apologized and a big grin spread across his face while he wrapped his arms around you. “I know.”

“What?!”

“Boo I’m on social media as much as you. I know my hyungs miss all the trends but you’ve got a pretty on track boyfriend when it comes to social media trends.” he smiled and you hit his shoulder playfully. “I was scared for a sec.” you said and pouted. “How does your own medicine taste?” he asked teasingly and you rolled your eyes.

A/N: Part 3 its on its way