seesaw (demo ver), m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Just you and Min Yoongi. Sitting in a car. Rain crashes down. The dark sky turns darker, giving way to the night. He asks you to listen to his sound.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; friends-with-benefits; mild angst; using sex as a coping mechanism; mentions of past D/s smut (sub!Yoongi including forced orgasms, anal vibrator usage, choking); fluff honestlyromanticew; smut (fem reader, car sex in a rest stop parking lot, biting / scratching / marking teeny bit of Yoongi ass appreciation, nipple play, handjob, fingering, cumming onto your stomach, cum eating, f-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - long-black-haired, music producer!Yoongi

highly recommended to listen to seesaw (demo ver) while reading this, it makes everything so much better.

-

Rain.

“It’s really coming down, huh.”

“Yeah.”

A bolt of white lightning cracked through the black sky, eating through the darkness, only to dissipate into the clap of thunder. It wasn’t fully dark yet but it seemed like it was with the heavy clouds swollen with nature’s tears. A torrential downpour, soaking anything and anyone underneath.

“Maybe you should pull over for a bit.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You can barely see. It’s just a flash thunderstorm. Couple minutes and it’ll die down.”

“Hah…”

He was reluctant to do so. You could tell by the furrow of his brow and the small sigh, but he relented, pulling into a rest stop. Filled up on gas, frowning under the awing with his hands shoved in his olive parka pockets. You caught his eye and he smiled a little, the curved line blurred through the glass covered in droplets.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

You extended the muscle as far out as it would go, practically to the bottom of your chin.

Min Yoongi narrowed his eyes, unamused.

The pump clicked, indicating it was done. He turned and put it back. Pressed the final buttons to complete the transaction. Screwed the tank cap on and closed the cover, wringing his hand and flicking off the excess water. Yanked the car door open and scattered rain over his seat, falling down and snapping the door closed, one word under his breath.

“Ass.”

“I like yours and you like mine. Equivalent exchange.”

“Ready to go?” he asked, ignoring your true statement.

“Just pull into the lot and we’ll wait a little.”

He did so, peering at the closed doors and dark lights of the diner next to the gas station. Clearly nobody there. The start of a zombie film, probably, except there were other cars getting gas and someone attempting to change their tire in the rain.

“Man, I would wait…” you muttered.

Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe they’re in a hurry.”

The sound of rain, falling down, down, down. It created a drumming rhythm with the thick, fat drops hitting the car roof and across the windows, blurring everything. Yoongi reached over and turned the key, turning the car off instead of leaving it on idle. It wasn’t too cold.

Just a lot of water.

Yoongi frowned, his long black hair looking damp and hanging by his eyes, staring up at the black clouds.

“Doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up.”

“Water doesn’t boil any faster if you’re staring at it.”

He turned his head to face you but you had already leaned in close, anticipating his annoyed expression. Flashed a smile. Gave him a quick kiss and Yoongi kept his face neutral, struggling not to react.

You gazed into his dark brown eyes, not saying anything.

The rain fell down, down, showering the world around you, and you listened to his breath. Slow, steady, his pink lips parted. Admiring all of him, every curve, line, even the stray strands of black hair slipping down, creating shadows over his cheekbones. The shape of his face, eyes, lips. The way the dark world made his face seem like it was glowing, the contrast making his fair skin stand out.

“At this rate, we don’t need to go see the ocean. It’s being dumped down on our heads.”

Yoongi half-smiled. “It’s pretty much the same thing, mhm.”

You wondered if he was afraid.

Searched his eyes and there was a distance there. Hah. On one hand, unsurprised. On another, slightly annoyed. You backed up, not wanting him to notice your observations. He shifted. You felt it in the air, his unease, his silence, his inward struggle, but you pretended not to notice, settling back into the passenger’s seat and watching the rain, leaving a small smile on your lips.

Rain or shine, push or pull, up or down, anything or everything.

You couldn’t wait forever, but you could wait a little longer.

“I…”

You waited.

“Do you want to hear the latest track I composed? It’s only a rough draft. No lyrics yet.”

I’m sorry, he was going to say. But you were tired of hearing I’m sorry and Yoongi knew that. He was tired of saying it. But saying I’m sorry was a lot easier than saying I’ve figured out how to patch my torn-up heart.

You turned back to him, nodding.

“I want to listen to it.”

He looked back, looking for the lie, and you held his gaze, letting him see there was none. And now you could see it yourself, see that this wasn’t any old track that Yoongi wanted you to hear, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip, slowly reaching back to get his phone in his pocket. Taking his time. You noticed his hands, brushing them against his black pants and reaching over to turn the screen on. His lock screen was him with his dog sleeping on top of his chest. It had changed from the sunset landscape that he had for the longest time.

That sunset landscape photo that he had taken a long time ago, with someone else by his side.

Yoongi unlocked his phone with his thumbprint.

You looked away, not wanting to invade any longer. Chewed on your lower lip. Pushed your hopes down, because there was no reason to place stakes on uncertainties and assumptions. And besides, you too were playing around to some extent. Everything just for fun, for sport, not believing in anything.

He said he wasn’t that serious and you agreed to that.

It only became hard because you were beginning to think Yoongi was more than casual, more than a silent player, more than the shallow pool of emotions he let on. Just friends, but friends don’t know the way you taste. You thought you could wade through. There was no reason to get too deep into such a shallow pool of water.

The rain fell down, down.

You heard the sound of soft rain on greenery emitting from his phone speaker.

Crickets.

Piano.

Synth.

Friends don’t feel the things you let me feel.

Your eyes shifted and you found Yoongi leaning over to set his smartphone into the cupholder to aid the acoustics. Black hair hanging down, pulling his hand back and rubbing them together. Not quite looking at you, ticking his chin to his phone. Outside, the rain barreled down, but inside it was soft, slipping into piano notes and dreams, blending with the hum of crickets during a summer night, and you could see it, the shadow of Yoongi’s profile diligently leaning over the keyboard, working late to turn his emotions into music, bleeding them out to patch up his torn-up heart.

You listened to his words, each one trapped in the melancholy melody.

Piano, synth, strings.

Wishes, uncertainty, begging for decisiveness.

It faded out and then began to play again.

“I leave the default on loop,” Yoongi murmured, reaching forward. “Just to test the replay value of it. See if it’s catchy enough to listen to over and over.”

You stopped his hand, closing your fingers around his.

Cold in your warm hold.

“Let me listen again.”

The sky darkened, day rapidly slipping into night, but you didn’t pay attention, instead holding Yoongi’s hand and listening to this individual track. The storm only deepened it, the strike of light across the clouds and the harsh bass of thunder, and you held his hand, sliding your fingers down, your palm to the back of his hand, your fingertips caressing his, smiling as you felt the calluses caused by his guitar.

Yoongi didn’t pull his hand away.

He curled his fingers inward to cover yours, stealing your warmth.

You let him.

You weren’t a music producer like Yoongi. Just an avid listener and attentive to details, especially his. You listened to the song and to his body, humming with nervousness, trying not to show it, his hand still but his muscles on edge, and you turned your head, raising it, finding his movement mirroring yours, his long bangs sliding back and revealing those dark brown orbs.

Wary curiosity, afraid of what he might see.

You let go of his hand.

His breathing stilled; exhale trapped.

You reached up and tucked half of his black hair behind his right ear, the rest falling over his left eye. Pale skin from late nights, the shadows of insomnia in the form of dark circles. His olive jacket rumpled. White shirt underneath wrinkled. Simple black athletic pants in a half-assed attempt to look somewhat decent. Clean at least.

“What do you think?” Yoongi asked, his low voice turning his whisper into waning smoke.

He tried not to show his scars, but his music was giving him away.

You leaned forward and kissed him.

Lips to lips, inhaling softly. Stealing his breath, and he gasped involuntarily as your fingers traced his jaw, pulling him to you, sliding your tongue between his soft lips. Slow, finding his tongue, warm, glossing your fingertips over his cheek, passionate, layering the moment. Tongue, lips, touch. Breathe, sigh, tilt of your head. Deeper, detailed, varying pressure and lustful murmurs accented by falling rain and Yoongi’s melody purring below your bodies.

You felt his hand reach out and reach between the flaps of your oversized charcoal gray hoodie, clutching your dress, his long fingers curling into red plaid with buttons down the center, tracing the circle shape with his fingernail.

A beat to catch your breath, his taste lingering.

“Your sound,” you whispered between his lips and yours, faint in the dripping darkness, lashes lifting to see his half-lidded gaze back at you, both of you trapped in this buoyant bliss. “In all forms, speaks to me.”

His voice like faded stars, barely breathing and coursing with scars.

“What do you hear?” Yoongi asked.

The tips of his hair brushed against your cheek, his head leaning against yours and yours leaning against his, wishes, uncertainty, begging for decisiveness. A delicate shiver as your lips touched once more.

“Possibilities,” you breathed.

And neither of you could bear to discuss what that could mean, for then it would be too real and too revealing, wrapping yourself instead in his lips and the sound of rain, your hands on his chest and his on yours, kiss after kiss, the storm coming down, down, piano keys and trembling synth, tongues curling and his scent in your nose, pushing him and he pushed back, his hair against your face, shaking exhale that you drank with greed, running your fingers over his chest, only thin jersey fabric separating his nipples from your nails.

You toyed with them, savoring his swallowed moan.

Haunted by the up and down, the never-ending seesaw of not wanting to be the one that ruins it all, and when it came crashing down, Yoongi and his torn-up heart wandered into your path, looking for it to be ripped out so he didn’t have to feel anything anymore.

You assured him, I can do that.

You pushed his parka down his shoulders, splaying your hands over his collarbones as he undid the first button of your dress.

Everyone thought Min Yoongi didn’t feel anything. Thought he didn’t care, thought he didn’t have anything to say because he was so quiet, thought he was comfortable in his silence, but they just weren’t listening o his voice, because his voice wasn’t in words.

But in body.

Breath.

Music notes.

He gasped into your mouth as you let one hand slide up into his hair, curling your fingers into the soft, thick waves of black, a comforting darkness, trailing your other hand down, following the rain, trickling your caress, soft lips and tilting your head to extend your tongue farther, thrusting into his mouth as his tongue pressed against yours, savoring your insistence, open-mouthed smirk pressed to your kiss.

The first, yeah, okay, wild and rough but no big deal, so the next time, be rougher, I know you can be, seemed out of character for him, but you obliged, grabbing his right arm and pressing it into the small of his back, pinning him down to  your mattress, your other hand in his hair, fistful of black locks as you slammed his face down into the sheets, his squirming hips in between your thighs, his hard, leaking cock smearing pre-cum all over your sheets as the anal vibrator assaulted his ass, pressed deep to hit the spot that ruined him the most. Lifted his head, pushed it back down. Took his breath away and gave it back, surfacing from suffering only to be thrown down into the inescapable pleasure once more until it was over.

I thought you were gonna fuck me.

That was way more frustrating and rougher, wasn’t it?

Yoongi clenched his jaw then, relenting in his mess of pooled cum soaked into your sheets.

You figured, that’s enough, he’s not gonna come back, but you were wrong.

It must have been a very bad night, because he was trying to hide the alcohol on his breath and shielding his torn-up heart with a tough exterior, what? I’m not thrown off because of last time. You’ll need to do more than that. It was bad to think of doing things like holding him and asking him what was wrong. He was using you as surely as you were using him, siting on his dick, rolling your hips defiantly slow, pussy clenching his entire length, keeping him at the cusp of pleasure with your hand around his neck.

Yoongi looked back at you then, glassy eyes and biting back his whimpers.

Wishing for help.

You looked back, wordless, helping him by shattering the memories with pain and pleasure, working him from above and then from below, ramming your hips up into his and constricting him with your tightness until his knees gave out and, even then, you smacked your hand into his heaving chest, holding him up and fucking him until he came.

Uncertainty as you held him then, him accidentally falling asleep in the middle of cleaning up.

You let him sleep, because it seemed like he hadn’t slept for days.

You didn’t push his hair out of his eyes though. This wasn’t that kind of moment. This wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was his torn-up heart to be ripped out, so you let him be, leaving the distance between you and him, leaving those faded stars for eyes, letting him go when he wanted to be let go, stumbling out your door with his apologies.

Stop with the I’m sorry. You don’t have to say that to me, you know.

Back and forth, push and pull, up and down.

Yeah… Okay. I get it.

Rain cascading down, and now Yoongi slipped his fingers into the space created by opened buttons, stroking your skin underneath, teasing you by flicking the band of your bra, chuckling as you bit his lower lip, sucking on it harshly to get your message across.

The next time. And the next. Each time, you held him a little closer, a little tighter, a little longer. Between clenched jaws and your hand over his mouth, those dark brown eyes like faded stars that seemed to flicker with brightness every time you pushed him to the edge, the countless barrage of sensations shattering old memories.

I started making music again.

They were few and far between, these types of conversations. Oh? That’s good. You are music.

Was does that mean?

Your relationship with music is precious, you had told him. You belong with music and music belongs with you.

You broke the kiss and yanked his head back by his hair, shooting his low moan up to the ceiling of the car, tasting the vibration with your tongue against his Adam’s apple, his cool fingers slipping under your bra, pushing it up and wrapping his fingers over the curve of your breasts, a fingertip on your nipple, pushing it in a circle. You pulled down the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips to the bone, licking the pocket in between connected muscle, soft on flesh, sharp on skin, alternating kisses and biting, sharp sucks to mark his delicate fairness.

This was his idea, driving to the ocean, staying for a couple days. Random shit like that, going here or there, fucking in remote places or semi-public places, whatever he was feeling, trying to convince you with his calm demeanor that he was feeling nothing.

Then you would touch him and listen to his body.

You used to think, it’ll be quick, it’s just a person, people get over people, but it was not people or a person Yoongi was trying to get over. You realized between kisses, between gasps, between moans.

He was running.

He pinched your nipple and you sucked in a breath. Moment of hesitation and Yoongi swooped in, his other hand in your hair and pulling your head back, the sting of pain while your fingers remained tangled, but he didn’t seem to care, his head dipping down, mirroring bites and kisses, running his tongue over your throbbing skin, blood pumping strong under his agile tongue. Rain pouring down, blending with piano and the sounds of visceral sensuality, catching the gasps in your throat as Yoongi rolled your nipple between the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing, rubbing, manipulating the angle of your head.

It was hard to run from yourself, but Yoongi had help in your touch.

His hand slipped from your hair and he pinched both nipples, tugging up and making you hiss.

“It’s awkward,” you got out between gritted teeth. “With the seats.”

He let go and nudged you even though you were already moving, climbing over the center.

“Nice ass.”

Yoongi smacked his palm on your ass cheek and squeezed, satisfied at the way his fingers sank into the softness. You snapped your hips to the side, falling into the backseat and glaring.

“Get yours back here.”

The side of his mouth was quirked upward and, even in the rain and the blurred lights of the gas station, you could see the arrogance in it, climbing over the center as he shed his jacket, throwing it into the driver’s seat. His phone continued playing the instrumental track continuously on loop, the sound filling up the car as the outside remained a sea of pelting rain.

You shrugged out of your hoodie, no longer cold in the heat that was you and Yoongi.

He lowered himself, halfway on top of you.

You pulled up his shirt, carefully untangling him from the confines in the tight space.

It was unfair to put expectations on something that was clear from the beginning, so you did not, but there were still those nights, humid nights accompanied by open windows, and you looked out, bed empty, wondering if he looked up into the darkness too during those late sessions in his studio, his hands poised on his keyboard, trapped in his emotions so he bled them out over the keys and into melodies.

You would place your hands on the windowsill, looking up at the moon, the playful mirror of the sun, toying with its rays even as the sun hid on the other side of the earth.

You wondered if Yoongi looked for that light too.

You knew it was bad to think it, but.

You and him.

It could be so good.

Wishes, uncertainty, but you pushed it all away, wondering when would be that last time you would hold that hand scarred by music, wondering about that heart torn-up by others abusing his kindness, letting him hide behind an unfeeling shell and harsh words. You weren’t bothered by it because you understood it. Instead, you focused your energy on each time being worthwhile, knowing it might be the last time.

But you saw it, the way music patched up his torn-up heart.

Yoongi leaned down, black hair ghosting over your temples. You tipped your chin up, blowing a thin, steady stream of breath into his open lips, sensing his shoulders stiffening, low moan bubbling in his chest. Piano, synth, strings. Your fingers trailing along the elastic waistband, tugging down, tangling his knees in his pants and his boxer briefs. Falling rain, whispering darkness, barely any cars now. He sucked in a tight breath, your fingers spreading over his ass, sinking your nails into his flesh and dragging down, down the sides of his thighs, blossoming pain and thin pink lines, barely visible in the low light.

It was an addictive melody.

Your crept your fingers back up, one by one, dancing on his skin. Stroking it over the curve, tracing his hip, v-line, waist, breathing in his staggering exhales. Dug your nails in again. Dragged down. Pain in his hitched breath, but refusing to jerk his hips forward, resistant to giving in.

“Yoongi…”

A drifting, delicate soundwave of a whisper, calling him as much as it was intoxicating him, his erratic breathing exposing him despite his calm response.

“Touch my cock.”

His knees were ensnared by his pants and underwear.

You curved your hands inward, splaying them on the insides of his thighs.

“Not yet.”

You scratched him there too, harsh in the sensitive area, hearing Yoongi hiss and then an unwilling groan break out between gritted teeth, his knees hitting the backseat.

“F… Fuck…”

You pushed his clothes down more and he slid forward, his hard length hitting the inside of your thigh, smearing pre-cum onto your skin. His hand sank down between your bodies, unbuttoning more buttons, before attempting to slide his hand under the fabric.

You snatched his hand, stopping him.

“Unbutton it all.”

Yoongi growled, eyes flashing in the darkness, catching the blurred lights of the gas station, the reed-like synth murmuring through the cabin of the car. You shifted, moving your body horizontally, your head against the car window. Cocked your chin, still not letting go of his wrist.

He made a displeased noise.

You let him go and Yoongi unbuttoned the last three buttons.

Against the glass, you could hear the rain better. Softer now, steady. The lightning and thunder were long gone. You rolled your shoulders, tucking your bra under you and leaving your dress on the seat, lifting your hand to run your fingers through Yoongi’s hair again. Thick, soft waves of black, pushing it away from his face, sharp brows and dark eyes, his skin glistening in the blurs of low light.

You didn’t say anything.

The music continued, and Yoongi spoke to you.

Your name in his voice, weighted.

You smiled, listening to his sound.

You imagined him, illuminated by his computer monitor, furrowing his brows as he listened back to his creations. Each note a moment in his life, an exposé of his emotions. The melody the purple prose, contrasting his lyrics, candid, simple, clear.

You wondered what the words to this song were.

You pulled Yoongi down to you, into a maze of tongue and kisses, soft lips and gentle savagery, running your other hand down his torso, your nails against his chest. Past racing heartbeat, flicking his nipple and making him flinch, down his quivering core, feeling the heat rise, and you closed your fingers around him, his tremor slipping through your lips. Thick, hard, pulsing, working him slowly, rubbing your thumb along taut skin, hooking your index and middle finger, coiling the long length of your digits over his balls, constricting them.

Stroking his cock as you squeezed his balls.

He thrust his tongue into your mouth, fucking it.

The fingers of his left hand traced down your shoulder, his right holding him up. Sucking on his tongue and opening your eyes to his squeezed shut, his strong brows furrowed, his touch outlining your collarbones, the curve of your breast, stopping at your nipple and rubbing the hard nub, pinching it, flicking it, making your shallow breaths even shorter, his pace stuttering as you gripped him a little tighter, pumping him strongly.

His fingers let go, falling down, down.

You broke the kiss, turning your head to the side and releasing him from your hold for a split second. Drenched your hand in your own spit, tongue over fingers and in between them, a thick layer on your palm and you extended it back down, dripping onto his stiff cock, gripping him tight, two wet fingers around his balls.

“S-Shit…” he swore under his breath, swearing again as his fingers dipped in between your legs, feeling the slick and the mess.

“Put it on the head,” you murmured.

Yoongi didn’t even bother to refute you.

He coated his fingers all over with your pussy juices and lifted his hand, hissing in pleasure as he smeared the sweet stickiness over the head of his cock, previously neglected, but not anymore, his fingers now joining yours as you moved your hand up and down, teasing himself while you kept your steady pace.

His eyes flickered to yours.

You looked back, lifting a brow at half of his face covered by his hair.

The rain sang along with the melody echoing from the cupholder, blurred lights of the gas station catching his dark eyes, the car windows misted with heat and clinging droplets.

Yoongi watched your face as you jacked him off, slick and wet, squeezing his balls with every stroke, his own two fingers rubbing over the slit and along the underside of the head, breathing hard, lust thundering through his shoulders, flinching involuntarily at the overwhelming sensations. You didn’t stop, a bit faster, his head trembling a little, shaky pants, holding out for as long as he could, the muscles in his neck tense, the skin dotted with hickeys, your mark on him.

He removed his fingers from his cock and pushed them into your pussy.

You gasped, your stroke suddenly unexpectedly longer.

You stared into Yoongi’s eyes and not even the black curtain of hair could hide the fire in them, lit up by reflected light in the droplets of nature’s tears.

You raised your hips, rolling them into his thrusting fingers. A corner of his lips quirked upwards, the peek of white teeth and pink gums, inhale a struggle but driven by pleasure, bringing himself closer to your face, forcing you to remove your fingers from his balls and only focus on pumping him, directing the pressure at the base of the head. Ricocheting ecstasy shooting up your spine, to your head, to your breath sucked into his lungs, sparking oxygen into his blood rushing down to his throbbing cock coated in your spit and your juices, mixing onto your palm and fingers, sticky, slick, messy, listening to the wet, squelching sound of Yoongi’s fingers pushing into your dripping pussy.

Falling rain.

Piano and synth.

The rhythm of breathing, his sound just enough, hitched gasp to urge you to go faster, extended moan as your hand tightened, approving of the roughness, driving his fingers in, over and over, following the pace that you built through the haze of need, your right elbow holding you up as his left hand clutched the edge of the seat, the muscles from his neck, shoulder, and arm flexed, your name in a wanton hiss.

“Cum for me.”

You let out a puff of defiance.

“You first.”

Yoongi seemed amused at your response. Perhaps even expecting it, because you clenched your jaw as he slid another finger in, pushing your arm to move faster, more controlled, just under the head, and you could see his jaw was tense too, his forearm rippling with movement, building, building, layer on layer, scattered rain, crickets and strings, holding your breath as Yoongi held his, listening to the dirty noises blending with the rain and his own melody.

You pressed your hips up into his hand, all the way to his knuckles, and clenched around his three fingers.

“Fuck, Yoongi…”

He screwed his eyes shut, swearing under his breath.

The waved crashed through you, igniting ripple across your torso and throb coursing through your hips as you came, hot, slick, pulsating around his fingers, uncontrollable shiver as his hips dipped and thick cum shot over your stomach, painting downwards, warmth cascading out onto your heated skin, covering you in his heady, strong scent, the head of his cock pressed to your abdomen, spreading it more. His black hair feathered over your shaking collarbones as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, keeping his body hovering over yours. His pants washed over your neck, echoing in your ear.

Whisper of your name, husky and low, the sound melding with the rain.

You leaned your head against the window, cool to your heated scalp, gazing up at the black sky, the moon being the only break to the blackness, but today it couldn’t play with you, caged by sobbing clouds.

Each breath high, intense, the hum of pleasure slipping away slowly.

Yoongi lifted his head from your shoulder.

You didn’t look down yet, not really prepared for the cooling mess on your stomach.

Then you hissed and snapped your head down, seeing and feeling Yoongi’s tongue pressed to your skin, licking up the dripping trickles of milky white. He knew you were watching. A single blink and those dark brown orbs observed you under a shadow of black as he drank up his own orgasm.

You saw the twinkle of pleased amusement in those eyes despite him keeping his blank expression, tilting his head and running his tongue across your abdomen, leaving lines of tingling desire.

“Y-Yoongi…”

He lapped up the last bit, pressing his lips to your waist, wordless.

His words were each kiss, sprinkling them down your hips.

The strings thrilled with the falling rain and recorded crickets, fading out to the real rainfall.

His body slid down, slightly crammed in the small space, but you scooted up a little and then his mouth was on you, swirling tongue and dipping between your folds, your slick coating his lips, sweet vicious juices joining the salty strength of his orgasm. You felt him collect it into his mouth, painting your pussy with his tongue and grazing the tip over your engorged clit.

You whined and bit down on it, trying to shut it up.

Yoongi closed his lips around your clit and began a steady, firm pace, the previous orgasm compounding the sensation, your nerves singing with familiarity, craving that tongue and its precise movement, just rough enough to make your blood sing and those lips keeping you at the cusp of inescapable pleasure, his hands clutching your ass to support you to his mouth.

You moaned to the ceiling, leaking into his mouth in a twitching waterfall, painting your cum onto his chin. Grinding your hips to his face and throbbing against his still lips, wet muscle pressed flat to your quivering clit, the faint friction enough to prolong the high a little longer, a little stronger, a little death at the work of his masterful tongue.

Yoongi drank that up too, slowly and carefully.

The rain shimmered down, down.

He lowered you. Crawled back up, his breath a mix of you and him, and you breathed it in, savoring it.

“We’re still a couple hours from our destination,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Want me to drive?” you murmured.

“No. I’ll do it.”

You stared into his eyes. Yoongi reached up and pushed back his hair, a display of the stark contrast of his skin to the darkness. His black hair swooped to one side, tumbling down in a wave and cradling the left side of his face.

His eyes were clear, looking back into yours.

“You’re not alone, you know,” you reminded him softly.

He smiled faintly.

Steady and musical, the rain tapped against the car, blending with recorded crickets fading in and out.

“I know. I want you to be with me.”

You searched his eyes, looking for the familiar distance that he kept between you and him, but it wasn’t there. Washed away. You reached up and traced his jaw, remembering the familiar shape of his lips. The taste of many nights and honesty, clear in his intentions from day one. You said nothing, wondering if it was real, and Yoongi held your gaze, letting you see that it was.

You could hear it.

His words.

In his breath, in the melody he had created, in his touch as he mirrored your hold, grazing your cheekbone with callused fingertips marked by his guitar.

Piano, synth, strings.

Wishes, uncertainty, decisiveness.

You kissed him again, in the darkness, surrounded by rain and his music.

–

masterpost

myg || huh? : a kookiecrumb

summary: ask yoongi to try anal with you :).

tags: established relationship au, yoongi x fem!reader

warnings:smutty topic (18+)

Yoongi crosses his arms. “Huh?”

“I want to try anal. Is it that weird of a request?”

Let’s be clear. You’ve been dating Yoongi for three years and it’s safe to say that you’ve tried everything under the sun. He’s never pushed you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with and has been an excellent sexual partner.

You’ve never met somebody so in-tune with your sexual needs. The sex is great, every time. It feels like he knows exactly what your body needs, incorporating his love and appreciation for you in every touch.

It’s as if you become one, loving entity during sex.

He’s typically so mature outside the bedroom, but when the two of you are tangled up in each other, his pleasure is written all over his face. He can’t hide his adoration.

Whether he’s panting quietly, cringing at a new feeling, giggling playfully at the chaste kisses you plant on his neck, or biting his lip while pounding your pussy.

He’s expressive, and you return that energy.

The downside is, all this energy spent on top of one another leaves Yoongi a sleepy guy.

Yoongi is the oldest soul you’ve ever met.

Before you met him, you thought he liked his space, but as you two grew closer you realized he began introducing you to more and more of his personality.

Along with that came a strong libido.

He can typically predict and sedate your sexual needs before you mention them.

This announcement of your desire, however, came as a complete surprise.

“You’ve never asked for us to do that before…” Yoongi trails, scratching his head.

“Will you try it with me?” You ask in a soft voice as you approach your baby. You hook your arm around his waist and pout. “I want to know what it feels like…”

Yoongi rests his hand on top of your head. “Hmmm…” he smiles.

“Whaaaat?”

“It’s probably not as simple as me just…putting it in your ass,” his eyes flash to the side. “You know that, right?”

“Yes~ I’m gonna get ready for you,” you reply, tugging on him.

“Really, now…” Yoongi hums, his hands around your body. He hovers over your lips. “Let’s do it.”

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