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lo1k-diamonds · 1 year ago

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Sugar Rush Ride 💜

SX Seoul Series | Yoongi's Entry 💜

PAIRING: YoongixReader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

WORD COUNT: 12.6k

GENRE: coworkers (mutually) pining to lovers

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: explicit, pwp (porn w/ plot really), drunk fight (but you sober up...sort of), bratty reader, rough but Yoongi is pro at aftercare, fingerfucking, face-fucking, edging, spankings, his hand is on your neck a lot (am I forgetting something?)

A.N. (Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜) This is based on the song of the same title by TXT 🔥 It was not planned and maybe it has been done before, but it was too good to miss 😁

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Yoongi parked his car underground in a private parking lot before stepping outside into the night in Itaewon. It was crowded as usual, but he paid no mind to the passersby — he had somewhere to be.

He reached the steps that led into a famous club in the neighborhood and entered below the red lines warming up the humidity into steam: SX.

He was giving away his coat when the music from the backroom hit him, the pop music with the codename temptation resonating in the air, and in his ribcage. He stepped towards it confidently, unbothered by the instant boom of noise that hit him once the door opened and closed again behind him. No, nothing would bother him until he found what he was looking for.

He scanned the room attentively, the darkness crossed punctually and rhythmically by the flashes of lights to the beat of the songs he helped produce himself. All but one song that ended up being the main track, the reason why he had rushed to be at the listening party tonight.

He got to the bar and looked around again; he saw lots of people he knew, the artists included. None had seen him yet, so he took the chance to search even more carefully. And finally, his eyes fell on you. You were listening attentively as you held your hair to the side and someone, a man spoke into your ear above the noise. Then you burst out laughing, shoulders and chest trembling with excitement, and your hand landed on the man’s chest. Not in a smack, not to push him away, just subtly placed there in an intimate gesture, or an invitation thereof.

Yoongi was by your side before he knew it. The man with you looked up with a silent question and you flinched and looked back, eyes instantly widening in surprise.

“Yoongi! You’re back!”

You launched your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, and he immediately knew you had alcohol in your system. Despite this, he reacted the only way he could be expected to — he wrapped a protective arm around you and looked straight into the eyes of that dude trying his luck.

“Right on time,” you grinned when you stepped back. “Inhyuk, this is Yoongi, the producer I was telling you about.”

The guy bowed and said something polite, but Yoongi wasn’t listening. You had stepped to stand beside the guy and his hand had comfortably set on your waist. For a second, his sole thought was, Since when? But then he cooled down.

“I see. Well, enjoy the party. I’ll see you later,” he told you with his eyes set on yours and you got the message.

But you didn’t want to worry about that right now, so when Inhyuk pulled you by the waist to talk to you a bit closer, you didn’t flinch. You smiled and agreed to have another drink while the crowd around you listened and enjoyed the album you helped produce. You were proud of yourself, it was the fruit of your first year of work with—

The main track started and the crowd cheered as it did every time it played. Your eyes watered as Inhyuk congratulated you and clinked his drink to yours but as you drank, there was heat building inside of you. It was funny to hear the lyrics you wrote being sung back at you and fit perfectly at that moment. But then you chuckled, as your eyes fell on Min Yoongi. Your thoughts would always stop as soon as he was back near you. That would never change.

Yet you looked up and smiled at Inhyuk, giddy with your drink and with excitement. You made a vow when you decided to let this song be performed and sung — it was you putting your feelings into your work to get rid of them. That was the deal.

Inhyuk smiled mischievously at you as if he couldn’t believe, but didn’t disapprove, of the song's lyrics speaking so openly about desire, about opening locked doors into seeing stars and asking for more. And you kept smiling and drinking. Because you made a deal with yourself and maybe tonight was the perfect time to go into a new direction.

The song was only three minutes long, but it drove Yoongi to a corner. He gripped his tonic water and faced the bar while the music kept calling to him, Come here more, let’s play more.

Just like the first time he heard it and was covered in goosebumps, wild thoughts coming to him that he had to quickly water down. He sighed; it didn’t stop him from flying back as soon as possible to talk to you about it. Confront you, more like.

He turned to the side to find you by the bar having shots with that guy, and that was it. The full album had played, you had your moment in the spotlight as you should, the artists were having a blast alongside everyone else, and he had had enough of seeing you so close to some guy.

You were on your fourth tequila shot when you felt an arm extend behind you to reach the bar, and you shivered. Not because it was cold; you were sweating from the drinks and the energy of the crowd. No, it was because you knew who it was, even if the arm didn’t touch you.

“We should go,” his voice was steady near your ear even though your head was spinning a little.

“The night is still young!” Inhyuk said as he grinned and grabbed another shot glass, waiting for you to do the same, but despite your giddiness, you hesitated.

You looked up to Yoongi and saw his neutral beautiful lines, and you understood what he was doing.

The guy saw he was losing you, so he moved closer to get your attention, “I can take you home.”

He said it with amusement, like a tease, and you grinned. You were taken by the energy between you two; you both knew where that was going. But then a breath being slowly heaved behind you shook your foundations and you looked down. Yoongi was just doing his part of the deal, but suddenly you were fucking pissed. He couldn’t possibly understand that you needed to be with someone, anyone other than him. Desperately, before you’d fucking combust!

But he was your coworker, the genius producer of your label. And despite everything, you didn’t want to burn a bridge. Inhyuk was not that great anyway.

You shrugged almost innocently, “Maybe next time. It was nice meeting you.”

Yoongi pointed so that you’d go ahead to the exit and you did. Yet with every step, something was bubbling up your throat. There was a lump there, blocking you from voicing it while you grabbed your coats, walked the cold night to his car, and got in to be on your way.

The whole ride you argued with yourself that this was for the best. You shouldn’t have sex with someone after so many drinks, that was not how it was supposed to go. But maybe that was what you needed to have the courage to just move on. To want another man as desperately, and not the one driving you home right now. You needed it, you needed to go crazy and do something you wouldn’t normally do. You needed the regret, to stop playing safe, to stop believing your heart knew what was best for you when all it did was set on someone who saw you as nothing but a colleague.

When you arrived, he entered the private parking of your apartment building and parked swiftly. It made your stomach bubble further with anger, he was just so used to taking you home. That was the deal. Well, screw that.

“Thanks, good night.”

You pushed the door open and peeled yourself away, closing it with a bham only to seek support in the car instantly. Your legs were wobbly, the world was spinning and you cursed in irritation. It was fine before, why was it so difficult now?

His door opened and closed, the car beeped as it locked, then his steps echoed to get to you. And everything was like needles prickling your patience. He stood next to you to help you and you didn’t know what you wanted more: to scream at him or to just disappear.

But he placed his hand on your waist firmly, walked you to the lobby and the elevator, and even dialed your code to enter your apartment. It infuriated you — it reminded you of all the times over the last year that he had done his part of the deal. That he had taken you home safe and sound, and still never seen you for anything more while you pined helplessly.

So you tried to reach your living room without his help and stumbled very quickly, yet a firm grip on your arm prevented you from falling face flat. Normally, you would have blushed, thanked him, and let the politeness and decorum dictate your interactions, but not now.

You pulled your arm loose, “I don’t need a chaperone!”

“And I don't need you to fall and break a leg.”

You threw your jacket and purse over your couch finally with a frustrated huff. The world was spinning and annoying you so fucking much. You needed to scream at him once and for all and be done with it, why couldn’t it stand still?

“Why did you interfere?”

“What do you mean?” He was calmly taking his shoes off after hanging his coat by the entrance and his placidness irked you.

“I was having a good time!”

You barely saw the line crossing his face, “He was no good for you.”

“What? Why?!”

“He just wasn’t,” he stated, walking further inside your apartment like he knew it, and he did. He’d normally stay for a chat after bringing you home and made sure you were okay.

“But why?!” You insisted, eyes so wide they looked twice their size, and still the room was shaky. “What was so wrong with him that—”

“He was trying to get you drunk,” he almost scoffed as he reached your kitchen and started looking around for something.

“So?” You tried following him, annoyed that he was not paying attention to you.

He found a cup and right next to it what he was looking for. He took a black coffee capsule and put both things next to your coffee machine. “He just wanted sex.”

He seemed annoyed now as he prepped the coffee and you threw your hands in the air, “I fucking want sex!”

He paused and looked at you, at your wide eyes and red cheeks. And you held your breath, swallowing dryly. Did you just yell that at Min Yoongi? At your genius coproducer?

“You're drunk.”

He pressed the button to draw an espresso from the machine, and you felt like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m not drunk!!” He didn’t look at you and you gripped your hair with a frustrated scream. “I’m just not only a fucking worker bee, okay?! I have needs, I want things! So what, sex is too much for you to handle or som—”

A look was all it took for you to feel your guts freeze in place. You were so attuned to this fucking man that his slightest hint of disapproval hit you like an icicle. But it wasn’t just that, it was something else. Disappointment?

And you revolted hard against it; he had no right to make you feel this way. “Then what’s the problem?! I can’t want it? Because I’m a woman or something?”

He took the coffee cup and placed it in front of you on the kitchen counter, “Drink it.”

You ignored it, “I didn’t think you were a prude or conservative, but this is me.” You stepped back and fought the traces of the spinning walls vehemently. “I want things. More than just make good music, I’m not just my work.” He was listening, he was looking at you, but all he did was push the cup the slightest in your direction. And you snorted, “Hell, that’s why my music is good. Because I want— I want things.”

You couldn’t look at him, only at his feet. You thought you wanted to scream your frustration at him, but now you realized that was pointless. It wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t into you anyway.

“We’re not talking unless you’re sober.”

You raised your eyes and his coolness hardened you. Right. You’d get a slap on the wrist for getting drunk at the listening party of the album you fucking produced. For wanting to sleep with another producer. For not being professional? Who the fuck knew why. And maybe sober you’d care about losing your dream, but right now you were just fucking done.

“Right, whatever,” you turned to head to your bedroom. “I’ll take a shower, we can talk tomorrow.”

Yoongi saw you walk a bit shakily but firmly toward your bedroom and then he sighed. He considered for a moment to do as you wished and leave, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Selfishly, he didn’t want to wait for tomorrow. He was restless, he needed to talk to you about it. And to do that, he needed you sober.

He grabbed your coffee cup and knocked on the ajar door with his eyes glued to the floor. He called your name and you scoffed.

“You’re taking our deal too much to the letter,” your voice sounded strained and he closed his free hand into a fist. “You don’t need to worry about—”

He heard noises and he didn’t think twice; he pushed the door open and found you almost fallen to the floor trying to take your dress off. You huffed in annoyance; you should have sat on the bed but then how would the dress pass under—

A firm hand hoisted you up as if you were as light as a feather and you came face to face with him. The man in your dreams, in your mind, making you scream in your bed just at the thought of him. Making you crazy.

“I’m fine,” you said, looking down. “I can handle myself. You don’t need to bring me home and make sure I don’t—”

Your voice wavered, what were you—

Your eyes filled with tears, but maybe that was exactly what needed to happen, “Yeah, let’s stop that. Our deal? Let’s end it. You don’t need to bring me home and watch over me. I know I’m a woman in a men-dominated company, but I’m not a child.”

He sighed and stepped away and your heart cracked, leaving you to hide your face with one hand and try to press your chest with the other. You knew that to move on you had to push him away, but damn did it sting and—

The scent of coffee invaded your nose and you raised your hand from over your eyes. He was holding the coffee cup in front of you.

“Stop for a second and drink it. Then, we’ll talk.”

You looked for the sincerity in his eyes, and of course, you found it. So you took the cup and chugged the espresso as if it had been just another tequila shot. Then you lowered your arm and looked at him, trying to sense if that changed anything. It didn’t really, not for you.

“Did you hear what I said?”

His lips twitched, “I heard you, but you’re not hearing me. Sober, I said.”

You shrugged, “You said drink, I did. So now we talk. No more deal. No more keeping me safe, no more watching over me or bringing me home. I need to— I need to let it all out.”

His lips pursed for a second but then he voiced quietly, “I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you shrugged and almost laughed at yourself. “I told you I want things.”

“You write about what you want.” You hummed. “So what is that main track?”

“What I want.”

You were looking at him, a void in your mind all of a sudden, but he hesitated. You said you wanted sex and the song was about desire. Maybe he was reading it wrong.

“What do you want?”

“It’s not a what.”

“Is it a who?”

Your mouth dried, so you nodded. You were staring right at the object of your desire but he looked confused.

He scratched his head and then tried, “Did you— Did you use those words on purpose?”

“What words?”

“What w—” He seemed bewildered, “My stage name. You used my stage name. Sugar? Was that on purpose?”

For a split second, you were frozen, livid, shocked, and then laughter bubbled out of you, “I thought I had been so clever about it. Saying sugar instead of suga.” He was staring at you and his inexpression only led you to push the air out of your lungs, “I know, you don’t have to say it. You won't touch me, even if pigs fly. I know that.”

“That's not true.”

You tilted your head, then laughed some more, “Yes, it is. You don't even see me as a woman, I'm just another producer.”

“That's also not true.”

“Right,” you chuckled. “Let me give you reasons to walk out that door right now. I not only wanted to sleep with you but wrote a whole main track about wanting you. About being dazed, overwhelmed by desire, wanting just more. Give it a listen. You know I struggle with titles, but the name of the song was the first thing I had.”

You chuckled again and turned around, rubbing your face for a moment. It was out. You didn’t care too much if anyone else knew, and if anyone had thought of it, they had been smart enough to stay quiet. But now he knew, and there was no going back. Sugar rush ride. You laughed again. You stood by that tile.

“I—” His voice sounded unsure for the first time and you turned to face him. “I don’t— Was it just a rush? You felt a rush at the thought of me and wrote that?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a world of a difference,” he insisted, eyes set on you though he hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I still haven’t heard you say what you want now.”

“What I want?” You were incredulous, “Are you even listening? I’ve been saying nothing else! What?” He was unmoving, but for the first time, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening, and you were out of filters. “I want to be with you. I want you to fuck me already.” You shivered, the strength of your own words working against you. “I have since the day we met. I forgot I had an ex and was heartbroken to finger myself to the thought of you so many times I lost count.” He opened his mouth but you didn’t let him speak, “Shut up. I know what you'll say. I’ve wasted a year of my life. We're kind of friends and we work together. I know all that,” you huffed, exhausted. “So just leave.”

You turned to get to your ensuite bathroom and this time succeeded in pulling the dress out of your body, letting it fall to the ground with a rustle. You turned to reach the makeup remover over your counter and almost missed the way he was still standing in your room, looking at you. You blinked as you faced him, and your nipples hardened without your control with the goosebumps navigating your skin. You had nothing on, you rarely did in events like those. You used it to boost your self-esteem and feel sexy, and now you guessed he knew it too.

You removed your makeup relatively quickly and were curious to look back, and he was gone. You looked down with tears pooling in your eyes; but of course. Why did it all just have to come out of your mouth like that? Now he knew your deepest darkest secrets and would never want to work together again in the future. Great.

You stepped into the shower and let the warmth wash away your worries. You were not a child. You had feelings and wants. They were perhaps misplaced, but you didn’t harm anyone. You sighed; still, maybe it was best to look for a new job in the morning.

Once you made peace with that, your mind wandered to greener pastures, to more heavenly thoughts. You reviewed the expression he had as you told him crudely what you wanted, and it was good. Tense. In your wildest fantasies maybe it could be even a little possessive. And the thought of Min Yoongi getting possessive over you turned you on like nothing ever could.

Your hand trailed south along your skin and avoided the water. Your undeniable arousal made you chuckle. You had just told him you touched yourself thinking of him, and there you were again, like clockwork. He never told you not to, he didn’t act disgusted or look at you sideways, so suddenly you felt egged on.

You tilted your ass up and out of the water and spread your folds greedily, closing your eyes to think back to his dark eyes while you were naked in front of him. It was as if he wasn’t thinking, he was just looking. You didn’t see his eyes running up and down your body, but you didn’t have to. No way he would not be curious, even if he had walked out.

His leaving stung but fuck, was he hot. Now he knew you thought of him and what you did while thinking of him. Your heart stung for a second with the thought that you would lose his friendship, but you got back on track. You were horny and he had created that mess. You tried to kindly tell him to leave so many times, it wasn’t your fault that he lingered until you were spurting the deepest truths and stripping naked to shower.

And now he knew. He knew you didn't like wearing underwear when you had formal events, how sensitive your nipples were to the cold, and that you had a small blue birthmark at the end of your back. Fuck. He knew you were a dirty little whore fingering yourself to the thought of his cock buried deep—

Two arms wrapped around you and you moaned, too immersed in your fantasy to be startled. You were thinking about his arms around you, his chest strong for your back to take support, hands trailing down your body to explore with long fingers ready to spell your demise so easily—

His fingers were next to yours cupping your sex and you gasped, squirming away only to be pressed against his firm chest.

“No, continue,” his voice was a taunt as his free hand seemed indecisive about where to settle on your body. “You want to touch yourself? Go on.”

You stammered his name but his fingers were quickly learning from yours how to trace your heat, spread your slick, and make you tremble. You were shaking, half embarrassed, half feverish, until his other hand finally settled on groping your breast harshly and you moaned. You moaned with a hiss dragging with how much more you wanted, with your ass bucking into him only to rub more to get a better feeling of his hard cock on your ass. He was clothed, you could feel it, but the thought of him wanting this was driving you up the wall.

He was coming to you while you showered, entering it with clothes on just to reach you, grab you, touch you, and make you moan. There was no hiding it now, no possible misunderstanding. He had fingers rubbing your clit while his other hand squeezed your tit harshly, making your legs weak. Nothing was forcing him to stay, to touch you, to listen to you moan.

You bucked your hips again, you were so close to coming it was unstoppable. Yet a logical thought still tried to push through, “Are you sure about this? We're friends— We work tog—”

If only you weren’t rubbing your ass on his crotch to feel him better, to get tighter, to force his fingers on your clit to chase you.

His reply was a whisper to your ear over your wet hair, “You said what you wanted. You can feel how much I agree.”

Your walls squeezed, you were so ready, “You— You want this?”

His hips pushed into you once and you almost fell apart. “Don’t pretend you can’t feel it. I’m asking myself how you never noticed.”

You gripped his hand over your chest and he released the pressure, instantly making you squirm and whine in a complaint. You pressed his hand and he squeezed again, hearing attentively how your moan pitched wantonly. He hummed near your ear, nuzzling your wet skin with a smile adorning his lips. So that was how you liked it.

“No, I—” Your breath hitched with how he was working you and for the second time you thought you would fall apart, but the intensity reeled back to allow you to think. “Not like this. I noticed you treated me differently but I thought it was because I was the only girl in the studio—”

You staggered with a gasp, your body rushing a cold wave under your skin to contrast with the warm water of the shower, but again the sensation eased as the seconds ticked away. And you knew then that it was him, keeping you on the edge and not letting you fall apart. Him with his smooth fingers and nuzzling behind your ear.

“No, not because of that,” his voice was tense as his lips ghosted over your wet neck. “I was… charmed,” he admitted with a chuckle, and when you bucked your hips, he gripped you closer. “But I thought you saw me as a friend.” The thought alone made his lip pull in annoyance, but the slick covering his fingers at your heat soothed him, “I could have done this so many times if you had just asked.”

He bit down on the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck and you screamed, the sting mixing with your pleasure so viscerally that you could have cum on it alone. Only he sensed it too and moved his hand away, dragging yours along so you couldn’t finish it yourself, and you laughed quietly. He was suckling on your skin with meticulous precision and you could only grin widely, euphoric sparks flying out of control inside your belly.

“You could have said something too,” you sounded like you were whining, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He was now licking where he had just marked you and you were trembling, legs so weak it was embarrassing.

He let go and nuzzled along your neck to your spine in between your wet hair, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. You either want it or you don’t. I thought you’d say something.”

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t ever. You should have known.”

He hummed and leaned back ever so slightly to look at the curve of your ass pressed against him. Then his hand trailed up, lashed by the shower while gently feeling and pressing your soft skin. He couldn’t believe he almost missed this.

“We have to work on that, then.”

You were still smiling when you let your head fall back to his shoulder, “If you did as I said—”

“I'd be out of here without ever getting to touch you,” his annoyance was clear in his voice, and even in the way his fingers pressed less gently. “Without knowing what’s on your mind. No, you,” he wrapped his arm across your torso to gently reach the base of your neck and you looked up, giving him more space. “You are not in charge here.”

He couldn’t have known the way you were grinning. You just let yourself fall further into his embrace, his hand settling on the base of your neck in a way you found comforting. Then he turned you gently to the side and your back hit the cold wall. A hiss came out of your lips quickly, but you were still smiling. Even as his dark eyes scanned you for your reaction, with one hand keeping you still by the neck. You were waiting with a familiar ease on your features, and he relaxed. That was enough.

Suddenly, your feet parted and you were surprised. He had used his foot to spread your legs and the way his free hand was tracing your wet body like he owned it shortcircuited your brain.

“I want to know what this dirty mind of yours has been keeping from me.”

You could hear a hint of eagerness and it was enough, “I won't tell you.”

“You will.” His tone was so sure, like he held the world at his beckoning, that you trembled. You were sure then he would hold yours, turn it upside down, inside out, and you’d love every second of it. “You will tell me every dream of yours, every fantasy, every little filthy fleeting thought. Then maybe we can do something about it.”

“Maybe?” You were eager, his hand was at your lower stomach but seemingly chose to ignore where you ached most.

“Maybe. If that's something you want.”

“I do, I want everything.”

His eyes jumped to yours; he needed to know if that was a spur-of-the-moment blurted line, or if you meant it. All he found were eager glistening eyes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you confirmed, eyes staring at him like you were seeing stars.

For a split second, he considered that this could not be what he thought it was. Maybe you were still drunk and just talking big, maybe you had no idea what you were saying. But the way you didn’t waver, even as he considered pulling the plug on everything despite being a millimeter away from snapping and making his thoughts come true did sway him. He brushed your jaw once so tenderly and you leaned into his touch. He’d take it easy while he discovered you, there was no rush.

“Alright,” he voiced and lowered his hand. “Show me first.”

“Show you what?” You were eager but you were starting to shiver.

“What you do when you think of me.”

“Didn’t you just catch me doing it?”

“You’re going to look at me this time.”

“Look?” You tilted your head slightly.

“Eyes on me,” his eyebrows twitched.

“Only my eyes?”

“And your thoughts.”

You grinned and looked away but his instant grip over your chin made you look up.

“You sure you want everything?”

You huffed with a sly smile and let your head fall back to the wall, “I’m sure.” His dark gaze was skeptical and your grin widened, “Oh, I want everything, sugar. Be sure not to hold back.”

He looked down to follow your movements and you almost laughed. Your hand was rubbing your clit so you could control your pleasure while his eyes roamed your body, the doubt lingering on his features. You could laugh again, but you didn’t. The way he doubted you was funny because he had no idea how crazy you were about him, but then it occurred to you that you also didn’t know the first thing about him. Did he like to watch? Would he guide you or leave you adrift? He had edged you three times already, did he notice? Did he do it on purpose to drive you crazy?

Would he do it again?

Where exactly was his line? He was quiet now, eating you with his eyes and absorbing every little detail, from the way you breathed to your tongue peeking through your lips, to the way you gathered your arousal to coat your clit. You gasped ever so softly and his eyes instantly jumped to your face, and your lips twitched. You had him. How was it that you had the powerful Min Yoongi?

“What is going on in there?”

His voice was soothing and low, soft as a caress, and you smiled. “You.”

“Me how?”

“You told me to think about you,” your fingers hastened and you grinned.

“I told you I want to know your thoughts.”

You hummed with a smile and eyed him from head to toe shamelessly. You knew what he told you, what he wanted, but what about what you wanted?

Your fingers picked up the pace as your eyes gained a sly glim, and you thought he saw it. If he didn’t, he at least heard the wet sounds echoing in the bathroom.

“Do it slowly.”

You obeyed, so painfully slowly that your eyelashes fluttered, but what truly got you was the soothing of his features. He looked endeared, all because you did as he told you. He looked so sweet, so adorable, so loveable. You wanted to squeeze his precious cheeks.

So you reached forward to touch his face, but he slapped your hand away harshly, “No.” You bit your lip not to smile but his eyes were just hardening. “I’m still waiting.”

“For?”

You couldn’t help your grin as you squirmed ever so slightly against the wall. His precious dark eyes were so focused on you.

“Me how?”

But he wasn’t paying attention. “You right now.”

It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t become impatient, “Just me standing here?”

Your fingers were ever so quicker, “Stiff as a stick trying to control something that isn’t yours yet.”

His eyes glimmed and your tongue peeked out again to hide your laugh. It was fun seeing him being careful, but when would he actually touch you?

“Didn’t I say slower?”

You instantly did, and the recoil of the feeling had you fluttering your eyes closed.

“Eyes on me,” he sounded angrier now, closer too.

You did open your eyes but pursed your lips; there was still half an arm's distance between you. If he wouldn’t get the hint, then you’d have to do it yourself.

“Strip,” you asked, swallowing dryly.

He scoffed and instantly looked down, “I said slow.”

“If you want it slow, do it yourself.”

It happened so fast you couldn’t process it. Like a rubberband snapping, his hand darted to your neck pulling and pushing hard enough that your head banged the wall but not harshly enough that it hurt you. It did daze you for a second, but your lips just formed a grin until you laughed.

Two could play that game, apparently, and he looked so fucking hot when he was mad. You loved that his hand stayed put like a necklace, a reminder that he wasn’t touching your heat, but he owned it. Along with your thoughts and your pleasure, he owned you. And that would have been enough to snap you, but what about him?

So you closed your eyes again, blatantly going against what he wanted, and were not surprised when his free hand darted to pinch your hardened nipple. You moaned instantly, facing him with the same challenge, meeting dark eyes that seemed to have given up on making you talk, but not on making you do as you were told.

So every time you blinked, he pinched you. Your nipples, your sides, your ass, earning moans every time, but nothing more, until he snapped again. He jumped on you and you just made your neck more available for him to latch on and bite. Your moan instantly pitched, and it finally seemed worth it. He was squeezing your tits and biting you while you played yourself to his presence, and he finally was involved in it too.

“Don’t come.”

The joke was that you wanted to do as he said, but you couldn’t anymore. Your moans were higher now, just like your daze, and in a second—

He yanked your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to see what happens when I think of you?”

Your voice was light but your chest heaving gave your state away, and the more he kissed and bit down your neck, the worse it became. You needed him, needed more than just his thoughts or presence. You gripped his shoulders to bring him closer, you needed—

A whimper pushed out of you as you hid in his neck, but he didn’t stop. You were sure that had to be at least three fingers just pushing into you roughly with no preparation other than your repeated edging. No preparation came, whatsoever, because as soon as they were in, he started pumping his fingers in and out of you at a vicious speed.

You instantly lost your grip on reality, though not on his shoulders, as even the air seemed to still inside your lungs. The sultry sounds echoing around you didn’t just come from his digits beckoning you closer insanely fast, but also from your whimpers. Because there was a fire burning you from the inside out with every moan as he bit and licked closer to your ear. As your nails sank through his shirt to reach his skin, your legs trembled, and the wall behind you became scorching hot while he pressed you to it.

From deep within your frenzy you couldn’t hear his growl near your ear, or feel the way his drool dripped down your neck or his fingers dag at your skin. He could hear you, pitchy moans quickly becoming an addictive sound, yet this time it was different. Your cunt was squeezing around him like a vice, and the harder it made for him to finger fuck you, the more he wanted to.

“Don’t come,” he grunted right under your ear, but you couldn’t register. You just moaned even more desperately, gripping him to you so hard he thought he’d melt. “You’ll cum when I tell you to.”

He was trying to hold on to something when he pulled away to look at you, but he could see you weren’t listening. You were flushed and panting hastily, avid with your nerves on fire. You could only see him and you had been waiting too long.

“Please,” you sounded a second away from breaking into tears and he admired you for it at that moment. You were so strong for him. And so pliable.

So he kissed your cheek gently and said your name once, taking pleasure from rolling it over his tongue. “Go on, cum.”

And it was all you needed to snap, tears coming to your eyes as your hips convulsed and searched for friction. You didn’t think you needed it because your walls were tensing, and again and again while desperate cries fell from your lips. His fingers calmed down inside you, his breath the same temperature as your blazing cheeks, and you thought a sweet blanket of lethargy would cover you soon.

Only he never stopped fucking you with his fingers, and so you whimpered and tried to push him away weakly.

“Don’t come down,” he murmured to your cheek. “Stay, don’t let it go.”

Your nails sank on his shoulder blades again as you squinted your eyes shut. Tears roamed your eyes as you tried breathing and pushing through your sensitivity. You could handle your clit being sensitive, but inside you, that was a whole different story. You felt like you had been pounded to perfection, only to be further kneaded into sensations you had never felt before.

You looked at him, eyes droopy with whines coming out of your mouth. Why weren’t you surprised?

“Give me another one,” he asked gently, but you didn’t answer.

How could you, he twisted his hand to reach into you deeper and your whole core burned. He was relighting a fire you thought had been extinguished, only to leave you breathless, dripping slick down his hand as you moaned between gritted teeth.

So beautiful, so tense. He wanted to release you.

“Look at me,” he asked softly, and you did. His eyes gave you a tenderness that made your heart convulse. How could he act sweetly like that, as if half of his hand wasn’t pounding your g-spot to bits? “You’re so good. Doing so well, giving me everything I want.” Your only reply was your moans, but you were listening. “I need you to focus for me.” He leaned to whisper in your ear, “Focus on the tension. You’re so tight around my fingers. Relax, don’t fight it. That’s it, move with me,” his voice was sweeter, and you softened. It was as if he was in it with you. As if he could feel it too. As if he was fucking you and not just sticking his fingers inside you. “You feel so good,” his whisper felt like the highest form of praise, and your moan pitched, melting alongside your nerves. He was so happy at the sound as he traced his lips down your cheek to whisper to the corner of your mouth, “Come with me.”

You moved with him once, twice, seeing in his eyes how much he was seeing and feeling you before looking at his lips, so close. He brushed yours ever so slightly in the hint of a kiss, moving with you as if you were jumping on his cock and not on his digits, and it was what pushed you. You pulled him closer and he let his mouth fall to yours, and your orgasm instantly started, forcing you to swerve so you could moan and breathe as you disintegrated.

He let you feel your ecstasy to the fullest, biting his lip and feeding off of your release as if it were oxygen. Your trembling lips, your nails that marked his shoulders, your throbbing walls squeezing and gripping around him in sweet delight. All of you like a charming melody, sweet and utopic. Your moans were music until the very last, and by then, he had to taste it.

His free hand cupped your cheek and coaxed you into a sloppy kiss that you instantly reacted to. You were still not there, though, too dazed from the high to realize it fully; until you did. And you gasped. Yoongi’s tongue was licking at your bottom lip gently as if you were a delicacy that needed to be tasted slowly, and you couldn’t believe it.

You parted your lips to let him in and he pressed you even closer, enclosing you in such a euphoric moment you thought you’d pop like a firework. Like a cocoon filled with dazed butterflies with nowhere to go. He was kissing you and your wildest dreams seemed to have just come true. Tears were still hanging onto your waterline, and when he pressed your lips to move away and breathe, you were scared that it had all been a dream.

“So good, you’re so good.”

His voice was calm and tender, and it gave you the courage to open your eyes. He was so close with his eyes roaming your features swiftly, taking in the smallest detail as if he was finally free to. Then he smiled at your wonder, and you were convinced it was a dream.

That notion didn’t dissipate as he reached to the side to grab a towel and dry you with gentleness, enveloping you in the fluffy material as if it were a cloud. You sniffled, drained from the energy that you had just burned away and woozy from his sweet pats as he tried to dry the excess water out of your long hair.

Not even when he took your hand and pulled you back into your bedroom did the haze recede. Instead, you saw him pull the duvet open for you to get in the bed and you lost the towel and got in without a thought. Once you settled in, you did have your first thought: where was he going?

But he was back soon, and you knew in the back of your mind that he was just making the place tidy: getting the coffee cup from the floor to put it on the table, stopping the shower, and shutting the lights. Then he grabbed your towel from the floor and dried his own hair with hastened movements before throwing it aside. His eyes fell on you and your own picked up on the wet spots on his clothes. He was probably cold too.

“Come here,” you voiced hoarsely, staying in a ball to conserve the heat. He instantly stepped to you, but you pouted, “Clothes off first.”

He blinked and looked down, but then smirked and did as you asked. Of course, he couldn’t make your bed humid and uncomfortable with his clothes. Your eyes were on him, unable to separate from the soft unblemished skin revealing itself more and more. His muscles moved as he bent down, wide shoulders and soft biceps trying to hide the strength he had. But you just observed quietly, tucked in the duvet. You could still feel his fingers inside and all around you, pressing and owning you easily. But you could keep a secret, his power and strength were only for you to know.

He lowered his pants and boxers and your eyes glued to him like a magnet. He was hard and pretty, with protruding veins on a thick length that had your imagination doing cartwheels.

Your thoughts were interrupted quickly when he opened the duvet to get beside you and you shivered. You opened your arms and legs to welcome him, and in your haze, you suddenly thought that it all felt so domestic.

He grabbed your hand and pulled it away to tell you he wanted to lie behind you and you agreed instantaneously. His arms wrapped around you just as fast as you rubbed your ass to his crotch, and he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“You must be tired.”

“No,” your voice was a low whimper as his warmth relaxed your nerve ends.

“No?” He sounded amused and soft and you had to admit that his chest was the fluffiest pillow.

“No…”

You didn't want to, but you were slowly dozing off. Slowly, and a bit more with every soothing breath you took together.

You shook and forced your eyes open, “I don't want to fall asleep.”

“Why?”

Your heart beamed and your lips curved; he was still holding you with his mouth to your head.

“Because… it will end,” you admitted, falling deeper into his touch as he nuzzled your hair. Suddenly you realized his boner was half gone. “You didn't come, I haven't touched you yet. I don't want to miss the opportunity.”

“We have tomorrow.”

“You might change your mind.”

“So can you.”

“I won't,” you insisted with a hint of annoyance as you twisted to look back at him.

“I won't either,” he promised calmly, glistening eyes set on you.

Your eyes were closing, the comfort and lethargy were pulling you away. Still, you focused on his lips, “Kiss me.”

He met your lips with no hesitation and you let that sweet touch soothe you. When he pulled away and kissed your nose, you slipped asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, two things made you alert: your soreness and the lack of space. You groaned with the sweet throb between your legs but frowned because something was over you. Turning back, the most precious image graced your vision and made stars twinkle in your eyes.

Min Yoongi was sleeping as quietly as a mouse with an arm around your shoulders as if to keep you tucked in. You brushed his hair aside and his nose twitched, making you instantly melt. Why did he look so sweet asleep? How could he be such a beast as a musician, a genius producer, and a darling in private?

You kept brushing his hair soothingly, thinking that intimately he was not a darling. No, not cute, not sweet. If that throb between your legs meant something, it was that Yoongi was the kind that owned. He owned his music, his process, the studio room, and you, for all you cared. Your finger trailed his cheek as you recalled your words the night before. He said he wanted you, the same as you, and he said he wouldn't change his mind, but what if he did? What if you lost your opportunity the night before?

Maybe you were still half asleep; otherwise, the fact that you were both in bed naked would have meant something. As it stood, you were anxious about what reality could bring. So when he opened his eyes and saw you, your instinct was to kiss him.

You brushed his lips gently but surely, giving him more than enough time and place to push you away if he wanted to. So when he didn't, you became bolder. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips and your hand roamed his chest, and as you got lost, you became vulnerable.

He waited as long as he could. He let you kiss him, let you press, let you push him a bit back into the pillow, let you cup his jaw, but you never moved away. Never stopped, and never changed your mind. You did say you wanted everything, and he thought he had given you enough time to take it back.

So he grabbed your hair and rolled over you to get on top, pushing his tongue past your lips without asking. And you moaned, instantly weak to him taking something that in all that concerned you belonged to him anyway.

You thought that meant a green light to explore him just as he was doing, passing his hand down your side to your waist, but no. You palmed the expanse of his chest and he interrupted his mission simply to grab your wrists and pull them down. He pressed them once to the mattress, then released one to pass his slender fingers between your breasts and you took the opportunity again. Your hand sneakily went under the sheets to scratch his hip up to his ass, feeling how firm he was over you, yet he caught you before you could squeeze him.

“Stay still.”

He could have been saying good morning, yet you puffed, “Let me.”

“No.”

“But I want to,” you pouted and he nibbled down your neck.

“Too bad.”

You wanted to be good to him; you liked him touching you and his hard cock ever so close to your core did make you hazy with want. But as he kissed and licked and palmed and pressed you from head to toe, you grew impatient. Incredibly so when he turned you belly down to do the same down the length of your spine as if he had all the time in the world. Even more when he raised your ass and spread your legs, nibbling at your ass cheeks and squeezing them roughly. Aggravatingly so when he noticed your wetness dripping down your inner thigh and made it his pastime to try to reach it with his tongue.

“Yoongiiiiii,” you whined at the end of your patience, waves of goosebumps driving you insane as he spread your asscheeks more to reach your wet inner thighs.

“Hmm,” he was having way too much fun.

“Let me touch you too.”

And ruin the fun? “No.”

You whined again, “But I've waited.”

“Not enough.”

“Why not?” You were sulking despite your spasms around nothing. He could feel them without directly touching you, and it drove him to bite and kiss harder. You squirmed at his lack of reply, “How long more?”

“Until I say so.”

You shook your ass half in annoyance half in desperation, “I've waited enough. At least fuck me.”

“No.”

It was as though he was shooing a fly.

“Come on,” you dragged. “Get to the good part.” He snorted but didn't move. “Fuck me, come on.”

“No.”

“But you'll feel so good.”

He sighed with your taste on his tongue, “I know.”

“So do it.”

“Hmmmm.”

You thought there would be progress as he touched your core ever so lightly. But you waited and waited for what felt like an eternity. And although the tip of his fingers explored every nook and cranny slowly and gently, even the embarrassing ones, you were still not closer to what you wanted.

And so you snapped, “I asked you to fuck me.” He hummed, but your tone was assertive, “I won't shut up until you do.”

He changed absolutely nothing, wet fingers dragging to your nipples lightly. And so you insisted.

“I'm waiting. How long will you keep me waiting? Should I do it myself?”

Your hand moved and he put it in place instantly.

“I can show you how it's done,” your tone became mocking. “In case you’re lost.” His teeth brushed the back of your thigh and you smirked, “If you never used your cock before—”

A slap to your asscheek echoed and you grinned. It was firm, a warning, but what could you do? You always liked to talk big in bed, and you couldn’t miss the opportunity to rile him up.

“Nothing to be ashamed of— If you don't know where to go or what to do— Should I take over?”

Every slap felt like a win and that last one wasn't any different. He gave more of him when he did it, and you felt it in the sting, the touch, the attention. When he grabbed your asscheeks and squeezed until you cried out, you thought that he might be holding back.

“You talk too much,” he said quietly.

“And you fuck too little.”

He pushed you harshly to fall with your belly up and grabbed your head firmly in place, using his body over you to fully press you down the mattress.

“I like to fuck people who indulge me.”

“Liar.” It escaped your lips before you could think. You were too horny to think, but then you laughed, “Fucking liar. You're rock hard, you want to fuck me so bad is not even funny.”

“Your point?”

“You like it,” you whispered, raising your head to reach his lips, which he didn't let happen. You looked into his eyes, “You like what I'm saying. You adore every spank and every little reason I give you to do it.”

His expression didn't change except for the laughter in his eyes, “Can you blame me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Is it a problem?” He seemed cautious.

“Yoongi,” you sighed. “I said everything.”

His lips finally showed a smile as he got on his forearms to look at you with new eyes.

“But Yoongi,” you called with a pout. “I did wait long enough.”

He grinned widely, so endearingly you wanted to kiss his entire adorable face. So loveable you wanted to drive him crazy.

“You'll wait as long as I tell you to.”

He seemed happy now as he leaned to kiss and play with your chest, pink tongue messing with your perky nipples to the point you squirmed. And it felt good, so good your legs were restless under him, opening but struggling to get him to align. He tortured your nipples, suckling and biting only to smile at your fussiness. You could only take so much.

You squealed, “If you don’t put your cock in me soon I’ll fucking scream.”

“Scream?” He was amused, barely separating his mouth from your breast.

But you sucked in a breath and screamed at the top of your lungs. Only for a second though; his hand covered your mouth and forced you to look at him.

“Shut it.”

He raised his hand carefully with your eyes locked, and all you did was roll your hips to get his cock near your dripping core. You thought he had learned something, so when he moved too but against you, keeping what you wanted purposefully at bay, you decided that holding back was not getting you anywhere.

You threw your head back and screamed again, and when his hand darted to muffle it, you bit it.

You took another breath, but before you could scream his hand wrapped around your neck firmly. You looked into his eyes as lightheadedness relaxed your neck and shoulders. He was so careful, but you were at such ease.

“Are you going to be quiet?”

His fingers were perfect around your throat, “I want to cream your cock so bad.”

Your voice was a wanton whine as your glistening eyes focused on him. You couldn't describe how much you were melting, how much he relaxed you only to tense you up the next second if he so chose to. How much that drove you to want him like crazy.

“Is that a dirty thought?” You nodded once, pleading with your eyes. He nuzzled your nose sweetly, “Not yet.”

“Then I won't be quiet.”

Your voice was gentle like a breeze but carried consequence, and when he nuzzled you further, you knew everything went both ways. He knew it too, and he wasn't stopping you.

You tentatively tried a scream and his hand wrapped firmer, observing you with sparkles in his eyes.

You huffed, cheeks becoming hot, “Why won’t you just do what I want?”

“Why won’t you quiet down?”

“And do your job for you?”

You could see the smile in his eyes — he knew you were embarrassed. He was just seeing how far you’d go in your brattiness, but you were so horny you were lost.

“All I’m asking for is your cock, don’t you have one?” He raised an eyebrow at your taunt; you could both feel his hard shaft pressed to your thigh. “So why don’t you shut me up? Do you need me to tell you how to use your dick?”

“Just because you’re needy and desperate, it doesn’t mean you should get what you want.”

The burn traveled to your chest; he was scolding you and it was like you’d been shaken. Of course, he’d answer you and deal with your attitude. You never thought he’d be the type to let it fly but to actually have him doing it was burning you from the inside out.

“But what I want is you,” you sighed, batting your eyelashes flagrantly. “Let me get on my knees, I’ll do whatever you like.”

He took only a second, “No, I like where you are.” You grinned in absolute joy; you also loved being under him with his hand around your neck. You felt taken care of and grounded, even as your mind became chaotic in the hazyness. “And there goes another dirty thought, hm?”

You bit your lip, “In my fantasies you always give it to me so right.”

“This isn’t a fantasy anymore.”

You grinned, “No, thank fuck. You look so much better pissed off in real life.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You want to piss me off?”

You almost laughed, “I want you to fuck me.”

“I never said I wouldn't,” he adjusted his hips but purposefully made it impossible for you to have him, and you squinted. He was smiling, “I just told you to wait.”

“And I told you I’d scream.”

You were snappy and he grinned, “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

His lips ghosted you and your chest burned again, “Nothing civilized about the way I want you to fuck me senseless.”

Your voice was wanton, bordering a moan as your hips rolled just to feel the tease of his cock near your core, and he kissed down your chin, “So you’ll scream?”

“Like hell.”

“No changing your mind?”

“Fuck no. Stop stalling,” you whined, moving your spread legs in the hopes of catching him, but he only chuckled.

“Go on, then.”

He got off you and you huffed in annoyance and screamed. It was short and you opened your eyes to see him just observing you with amusement. Why was it so funny to him when you were getting upset?

So you took a deep breath and screamed again and this time your lips pulled in a smile because what the heck were you doing?

“That’s it?”

His taunt had you take a deep breath and scream again, only to fall short. You covered your eyes and stifled a laugh. It reminded you of how you screamed on roller coasters.

“You must not have enough reasons to scream yet.”

You bit your lip, imagining the reasons you could have, the ways he could make you scream. The bed dipped next to you but you stayed in your reverie. In it, Yoongi touched you. He slapped your cunt with his cock and promised to use you. He grabbed you by the neck while he pounded into you so hard you saw stars.

You huffed in impatience, neediness making you bold; you were about to sit up and do something when you stopped. He was throwing his leg over you and his cock was so close your eyes nearly crossed. He grabbed your head in place, but you were staring, fixed, jaw falling open and lax instantly. You could pretend you wanted to scream more but you were just salivating, so when he aimed his cock at you, you just met him halfway.

His taste hit your buds quickly and moved to reach your throat, and you lost it. Your eyes rolled as you closed them, the salty traces leaving you dizzy, and the way he pushed himself down your throat made you squirm in waves of pleasure. It felt hot and intense and wild as he did it again and again, each time getting a better sense of how much you could take. You barely cared about breathing; he was finally using your mouth, fucking you, showing you how much he wanted you without holding back, and with each push, he made you feel better than the last. Elated, special — he was groaning and getting riled up down your throat because you made him feel that good.

Suddenly, he pulled back and you followed him as long as you could before he grabbed your arms and raised them above your head to stop you. He had heard you choke so he was probably worried, but you only sighed in impatience.

“So greedy,” he taunted, pressing your wrists down firmly. But he had a glint in his eyes — he was paying attention to you. Not worried, just caring.

“Aren’t you learning?” You said as you tried not to melt, but it was too late. He chuckled and his smile made you happy. “Keep going,” you asked softly, despite the tears running down to your hairline. “Please.”

He brushed his thumbs on your wrists for a second with his eyes set on you. You were such a handful and he couldn’t love it any better. Asking for him like that secretly drove him crazy, and made him want to give you everything you could ever wish for, no matter what. So when you leaned back and opened your mouth, it was his pleasure to stuff it with his dick. He grabbed your wrists more firmly and supported his weight on them to help him lean forward and give you the fucking you craved.

Time and time again he snapped his hips to get his cock down your throat, and it was challenging. His muscles were burning, but so were his lower stomach and balls as he tried not to come. You moaned and choked and bounced as he fucked your head into the mattress, and yet you were totally relaxed. Your arms and hands were still, calm as you got used and loved it. And he loved it too, but for your first time together and after skipping it the night before, he thought this time he wanted more.

He pulled away from you and it took you a second, but you instantly sulked. He settled between your legs as you cleaned the drool, “So I’m not going to swallow the sugar rush?”

He chuckled, “No, not this time.” You pursed your lips and were about to whine about him stopping so soon when he asked, “Do you have a condom?”

Your eyes widened and you instantly scrammed to conjure up one. Shit, shit shit, you thought as you turned your room upside down, then your toiletries, then your bathroom. Why the fuck didn’t you have one? Well, sure, you knew why, but you were so angry now. You could not miss this opportunity!

You turned to your kitchen, desperate at that point until you gasped. You searched for your first aid box and dug until you finally found a lost wrapper. You waved it victoriously as you strode back to your room and to bed, and Yoongi was there to receive you with a look you couldn’t identify. He grabbed your arm and threw you on the bed before pinning you down from between your legs and kissing you till you lost your breath.

If he wanted to fuck you before, now he wanted to screw you so hard you’d only ever remember his cock. To think you said you wanted to be with him the whole last year, and that you hadn’t been with anyone else because of it made him wild. Why had you both played it so safe? He had been to your apartment so many times, set you to sleep on that very same bed, and yet never once did he get the inkling that you wanted him. Not as he wanted you. But just now, you were dripping with how much you wanted him, squirming, begging for him to fuck you, and trying to rile him up so he would. You jolted at his fingers in your folds, rubbing your chest to his for any hint of a touch, moaning when he pulled your head back by your hair. You wanted him bad and he was going to give it to you.

He pulled away from you and you almost screamed in frustration, but seeing him putting the condom on cooled you just enough to stay quiet. Your hands even stayed above your head voluntarily as you waited patiently, thinking he wouldn’t waste that condom, he’d surely fuck you finally.

You moaned suddenly and looked down, confused for a second, but you weren’t dreaming. He was grabbing his cock and slapping your cunt with it right over your clit. You squirmed with need, but he kept doing it harder and harder, wet sounds echoing with your excitement.

“Fuck, I just knew it,” you mumbled, clenching around nothing right before his eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d do that,” you moaned, hands tightly gripping each other so you would stay put.

He hummed as he did it quicker, seeing your slick connect to his cock, “That so? What else do you think I’ll do?”

You were burning all the way to your shoulders, trying to move with him so that his cock could give you friction, and he didn’t stop you. So you answered through gritted teeth, “Stick it in, get deep, fucking use me until I’m stuffed with your cum.”

Your voice disappeared with the lack of breath; he was dragging his cock over your clit now and it was the sweetest reward.

“Filthy thoughts you’re having, hmm?” You were lost in your motion, rolling your hips to earn that friction so you gasped when he pushed his cock inside you, loving the burn as your core split to accommodate his girth. “Read my fucking mind.”

You screamed when he bottomed out, biting your lip with the way he was forcing himself inside you. Then you opened your eyes to see him and instantly clenched around him, and he smirked.

“Been thinking about fucking me, huh?” You could barely hold a thought, but the opportunity to tease him was too sweet.

“It has crossed my mind,” he said and snapped his hips, and you didn’t know whether to gasp or moan. He’d hit you deep and hard, you knew he would, and it made you even tighter. His nails dag at your hips, “So many times.” He was starting slow but deep and you could do nothing but moan. “How you would moan, what you would want, how you would give in and let me take you,” every wish was pointed by a deep thrust. “Now look at you.” You looked down: your tits were bouncing with every hit, gushing sounds echoed along with your moans from how wet your heat was, and the sight of his thick cock pushing between your slit to enter you was the cherry on top. It was the can of cream about to blow you full, and you wanted to get filled. “Almost cuming even though I’ve barely started.”

“Cause you feel so good,” you breathed in a moan.

He leaned to grope your taunting tits, “You told me to use you.”

“Fuck, please.”

He gritted his teeth and adjusted you better so he could pick up the pace. And what a vicious pace it was, fast and steady, leaving you so hazed and lost, that you had no words. He slapped your tits around and you clenched, tears roaming your eyes with how good and sweet it was. It didn’t hurt, every touch sparkled pleasure in your veins, and the sight of him hitting and scratching, his squeezes on every bit of you only made you even more sensitive. More elated and euphoric, so much so you were mumbling more with every moan involuntarily. He was slapping and roughly marking your chest as you asked, and suddenly you threw your head back and looked at him.

“Harder,” you asked out of breath, and he slapped your tit so hard you screamed before moaning deeply. “Just not my face.”

You thought to tell him from within a glimpse of logic, and he nodded and took note of your limit. Instead, he leaned forward and groped both boobs again and you squirmed desperately.

“Squeeze,” you breathed, your moan pitching. He did, but it wasn’t enough, “Please!”

He did, a bit harder with every thrust into your messy cunt. It was maybe selfish, but he wanted to see how you unraveled. How you wanted those strong sensations, how you craved something more intense each time and with every bit of strength, you transformed it into a beautiful pleasure that had you bursting.

He saw you coming again, writhing around thoughtlessly with the intensity of your pleasure, so hard he didn’t have to look down to see you throbbing around his cock. He still did though, mesmerized by it, only to chuckle. You had left a ring of white around the base of his cock; you just had to have your way in the end.

He leaned in to kiss you through your haze, slowly sensing with his lips the condition you were in. At first, your reaction was delayed, the brush of your lips falling behind as you recovered. But then you reacted and pushed back against his tongue, and he knew you were good.

He pulled back and turned you around, and you helped and got on all fours instantly. He didn’t wait, he aimed his cock at you and entered your velvety embrace as soon as he could. You arched your back for him and pressed back into him a couple of times to feel him deeper, and he grinned.

“Finally. So obedient,” he taunted, squeezing your ass cheeks to spread for him.

“You’re finally fucking me senseless.”

Your voice was a whisper, and he smirked. You asked him to use you, and he was doing a good job at it. But now he wanted to make you scream, to mark you so hard you’d never be anything but his. He couldn’t help it; now that his cock was shoved deep inside you, he didn’t want anything else. Now that he knew what you tasted like, what you sounded like, and how filthy your mind and mouth could be, he wanted nothing else. He saw you trying to get him deeper, huffing and puffing as you swayed with him, and his chest tightened. The possessiveness you were inspiring in him was raw and dangerous, but he didn’t want to fight it.

So he gave you both what you wanted: he smacked your ass as he pounded into you, seeing the way it bounced in either direction until he couldn’t focus anymore. Until he was desperate to own you, to hear you scream, to know you’d beg for him forever. It wasn’t enough; no matter how hard you screamed, he wanted more and he wanted it to last.

Grabbing your hair to pull it into showing the beautiful curve of your neck was a mistake, though. Suddenly he saw how beautiful you were, vulnerable and immersed in every sensation he gave you. He wanted you to be his, and suddenly it hit him that you already were. And you loved it.

And it snapped his senses, overthrowing his strong grip on his pleasure as if he had never had any. He became sloppy but still held on to your hips to sink and cum as deeply inside you as he possibly could. He groaned with every peak, jerking to milk the sensation between your tight walls as best as he could until he stilled. Fuck, how the hell did you do that to him?

He noticed then you were trembling and his priorities immediately surfaced, “Are you okay?”

You hummed, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled out despite your whine and helped you to softly lay on your side. Then he hopped off the bed, dealt with the condom, and searched around for water and a snack.

You were still stunned, out from the intensity of the emotions that had tensed and relaxed your body simultaneously. Your soul didn’t know how to handle what just happened, and the only thing that occurred to you before he came back was that you had totally surrendered. You didn’t force yourself to be tame and quiet, or said and did what the other person wanted so you wouldn’t ruin it for them. You were yourself, through and through, and Yoongi fucking ate you up like dessert.

The bed dipped behind you and you turned to him, sighing happily when he pulled you in to snuggle.

“Here — water and chocolate.”

You glanced at the bottle and bar and smiled widely. Your heart was right all along, and although you knew it was definitely too soon, there were special words at the tip of your tongue trying to get out.

Instead, you let him insist and sit you up to take a sip of water and a bite before letting you fall back into his arms in a sweaty embrace that you wanted with all your heart.

He was kissing your head and tracing your arm quietly when you decided to tell him, “Next time cover me with cum.”

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, and you pouted.

“Just… You wanted to know what I think about.”

“You think about that?”

“Sometimes.”

He smirked and squeezed you inside his arms, “What else have you been hiding from me?”

“You have no idea,” you laughed.

You were melting and relaxing into his touch as he pecked your head when he whispered, “Are we bad?”

Your heart hurt for a second, what? But then you realized what he was saying: your song. When you wrote a conversation you once imagined you both could have had:

You're bad, you liar.

It's me who's bad, I know this bad desire, sugar.

So you chuckled and sang along to the melody, “What did you do to me, sugar?”

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eatjinma · 2 years ago

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coudn’t fall more in love if I tried

jungkook — ‘seven’ mv behind short film for anon ♡

#bts #bangtan #jeon jungkook #kpop #bangtan sonyeondan #bts jin #bts rapmon #bts v #bts sugar #bts jhope #bts jungkook #bts jimin

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mrsvante · 3 months ago

Text

The Long Game

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere joonie, angst

summary: namjoon was never supposed to fall in love. the arrangement was simple. money for time, desire for indulgence, no strings, no expectations. he was supposed to be your provider, your safety net, the man you called when you wanted something but never needed anyone. but somewhere between the swipe of his black card and the way you sigh his name in the dark, he lost control.

warnings: smut, silent but dangerous namjoon, soft? dom namjoon, yandere joonie 😏, BDE if you squint, namjoon yeaaarrrnnnsss (maybe a bit too much), sugar baby is an independent brat, matcha 🍵 girls unite! dick riding, unprotected sex (be safe), slight choking w/ both hands, mentions of fingers in slippery places, brief boob play, is it love or lust? 🤨

word count: 2,853

a message from our sponsors 👩🏽 : i’ve been listening to this song on repeat for the last two days, the audhd stimming is in full effect (don’t judge i’ve been stressed). after looking up the english translation of the lyrics my brain cooked this up.

hope you enjoy! 😊🤍

He grips the steering wheel, thumb idly smoothing over the worn leather as the glow of his phone screen flickers across his face.

The engine hums low, steady—a stark contrast to the rhythm pulsing from the club’s entrance, where bodies move in drunken chaos under strobing lights. He doesn’t need to be inside to feel it; the bass thrums against his ribs, syncing with his heartbeat, with the restless ache lodged deep in his chest.

But he’s not looking at the club.

He’s looking at you.

Or rather, your Instagram story. Watching it for the millionth time, like a man trying to memorize scripture.

First, a picture of your morning matcha, condensation beading the glass in the early sunlight. Then a snapshot of your notes spread across the library table, neat handwriting and highlighted passages that he wonders if you’ll even remember after tonight.

And then, the last clip—the one that’s been carving through him like a slow, dull blade—your body moving in the dim, red light of the club. The glow clings to you like a brand, painting you in sin, in temptation meant only for him. But it’s not just you in the frame.

A hand reaches for you.

Namjoon’s grip tightens around his phone, the plastic casing groaning under the pressure.

The camera cuts away before he can see if you let them.

He watches it again. And again. As if, on the hundredth replay, the screen might crack open and reveal the answer. As if, by sheer will alone, he could rewrite the moment—erase that hand, pull you back, remind you who you belong to.

You wouldn’t.

You know better…right?

It’s not the first time you’ve done this. Offered him pieces of you, but never the whole thing.

Let him pay your tuition, your rent, your weekend trips to the mall—but never let him own you. Never let him believe, even for a second, that he’s anything more than what you need him to be.

And yet—

He swipes away from your story and pulls up your messages instead.

Your last texts are sloppy, riddled with typos.

[12:45 AM] com3 pick me up

[12:47 AM] pls bby

[12:50 AM] need u 💋

His fingers tighten around the phone.

And then, as if summoned, the car door jerks open, and you spill inside in a mess of laughter and heat, your perfume curling into the air like a spell. The club’s neon lights cast fleeting shadows across your skin, your dress rumpled from dancing, your lips glossy with whatever sin you’ve been indulging in tonight.

You land in his lap without hesitation, your arms winding around his neck, mouth brushing against his jaw.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, the words warm and syrupy, the kind that drip down slow and sweet.

He exhales, hands instinctively catching your waist. “You’re drunk.”

You hum, nuzzling against his throat. “Mmm. And you’re here.”

Like I always am, he doesn’t say.

Instead, he turns his head, and then your lips find his, and there’s nothing soft or hesitant about the way you kiss him. It’s urgent, messy, tongue teasing against his own, hands slipping into his hair, pulling him deeper, like you’re daring him to lose control.

And maybe it’s the way you taste—vodka and citrus and something distinctly you—or maybe it’s the way you sigh when his hands slide up your thighs, but something inside him snaps.

He grips your hips, pulls you closer, lets the need that’s been simmering in his chest take over.

Your moan is swallowed by the kiss as his fingers drag the hem of your dress up, palms mapping the bare skin beneath. The console digs into his side, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re rocking against him, not when your body is hot and pliant and his.

“Joon,” you whine against his lips, nails biting into his shoulders. “Please.”

He exhales sharply, his restraint fraying by the second. “What do you want, baby?”

“You,” you breathe, rolling your hips again, dragging a groan from his throat. “Need you to fuck me.”

Fuck.

There’s no hesitation after that.

The next few moments blur into heat and desperation—clothes yanked, fabric bunched, fingers fumbling against buttons and zippers in the tight space of the front seat.

The center console digs into Namjoon’s side as he shifts, dragging you closer, his hands impatient, greedy. Your dress rides up as you straddle his lap, the silky material pooling at your hips, but there’s no room to move freely—your knee knocks into the gear shift, and you gasp, laughing breathlessly against his mouth.

“Oops,” you mutter, adjusting your position.

He exhales a shaky breath, his hands sliding down your thighs, gripping tight. “You okay?”

You nod, but your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want.

His fingers slide between your legs, finding you bare and slick.

His breath hitches.

He should take his time.

Should make you beg for it.

But you’re shifting against him, rolling your hips, chasing friction, and he’s never been good at denying you.

Your hands tug at his belt, impatient, and he groans when your fingers brush against him, warm even through the fabric.

The car is stifling now, the windows beginning to fog. There’s no space, no ease—he’s too big for this, in more ways than one.

And yet, none of it matters.

Because then his pants are pushed just far enough down, and when he finally pushes inside, the stretch of your pussy desperately trying to accommodate his cock pulls a gasp from your lips. Your nails digging into his shoulders.

He stills, just for a second, reveling in the way you clench around him, the way your breath stutters against his neck.

His fingers splay against your lower back, holding you there, savoring the moment, the unbearable tightness, the way your nails drag along his skin like you’re trying to anchor yourself.

Outside, the bass from the club pulses, muffled and distant, a world away.

Inside the car, it’s just you and him, tangled in sweat and need, locked in a space too small for what he feels for you.

And then he moves.

The car rocks with each slow, deliberate roll of your hips, the leather seat creaking beneath you as you sink onto his cock.

Your palms press against his chest for leverage, nails biting into his skin through his half unbuttoned shirt. Your dress is bunched up around your waist, wrinkles forming in the fabric, forgotten in the haze of lust. He watches, enraptured, as you take him—your hips undulating, your breath coming in soft, broken pants.

Namjoon groans, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you even though you don’t need it. You already know how to ruin him. You already know how to take what you want.

“You love this, don’t you?”

His fingers press into the tender globes of your ass, hard enough to leave bruises. “Riding me like this. Making a mess all over my cock.”

You whimper in response, throwing your head back, your movements faltering for just a second as his words sink in. But he won’t let you slow down—not when you feel this good, not when his sanity is hanging by a thread. He plants his feet firmly on the floor of the car, thrusting up into you, meeting each roll of your hips with deep, punishing strokes.

The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the windows hazy from your heat. Every slick, obscene sound of your bodies colliding fills the car, blending with the desperate moans you don’t bother hiding.

Namjoon leans in, his lips dragging along the column of your throat before his teeth scrape over your pulse point. “No one else gets to have you like this,” he pants, his hand slipping up your spine before wrapping delicately around your throat. “Tell me.”

You shudder, your own hand covering his wrist, not pushing him away, just holding on.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasp as he thrusts up sharply, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body tense. A shiver runs through you, your walls tightening around him, and for a moment, you don’t answer.

Namjoon tenses.

But then—

“Only you,” you cry, lips brushing against his, teasing, intoxicating.

A growl rumbles low in his throat. His grip on your waist tightens, his pace turning almost brutal as he fucks into you with renewed purpose, as if he can carve those words into your skin, make them permanent.

His other hand moves.

Despite the fervor thundering in his blood, he doesn’t move with haste. Slowly, delicately, his fingers curl around your throat, the grip light at first, a silent question.

You shudder, your own hand coming up to hold his wrist. Not to push him away—just to feel him.

Namjoon presses his lips against your ear, his voice dark, smooth.

“Did anyone else touch you tonight?”

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound teasing, indulgent. “Mmm. Jealous, daddy?”

His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to make your pulse flutter beneath his palm. His hips roll up harder, sharper, dragging a moan from your lips.

“Answer me.”

You shift against him, your nails biting into his forearm. He knows you’re playing with him, knows you like the way he’s teetering on the edge of control.

And then you lean in, your lips grazing his jaw.

“No. No one else,” you murmur, voice dripping with something almost affectionate. “Just you.”

Something inside Namjoon uncoils, and then unleashes.

He fucks you harder after that, driven by something deeper, something primal. He wants to believe you. Needs to. Because if you’re lying, if anyone else touched what belongs to him—

No.

You’re his.

Whether you realize it yet or not.

His hand slides up, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. The dim light from the dashboard casts shadows over his face, sharpening the cut of his cheekbones, the hunger in his half lidded eyes. His thumb brushes along your parted lips before pressing lightly against your chin.

“Look at you,” Namjoon murmurs, his voice thick, passionate in a way that makes something tighten in his chest. “You don’t even realize how good you feel, do you?”

Your cunt clenches around him in response, and his breath hisses through his teeth. Fuck. Every squeeze, every slick drag of your walls around him, every desperate roll of your hips—it’s unraveling him by the second.

“That’s it,” he mutters, his free hand slipping between your bodies, fingertips slipping over the sensitive bundle of nerves that has you jolting in his lap. His rhythm never falters, precise and measured, even as his control frays at the edges.

It’s too much—you’re trembling against him, your hands grip at his shoulders, your moans spilling into the humid air between you. He leans in, nipping at the hinge of your jaw, his lips dragging down to the pulse fluttering wildly in your throat.

“Go on, princess,” he breathes, his voice dark and coaxing, his fingers pressing just right. “Let me feel you.”

His head dips lower, his breath hot against the thin fabric barely covering your breasts.

The dress barely conceals anything, sheer in the right places, sinful in the wrong ones. The way the fabric clings to your body is almost obscene, the heavy swell of your breasts teasingly outlined, your nipples straining against the delicate material.

You're not wearing anything underneath.

The realization should infuriate him. Should make his blood boil at the thought of other men looking at you, at their hungry gazes dragging over skin that belongs to him.

But it doesn't.

It only makes him harder.

Because he knows—no matter how many of them watch, no matter how many of them ache to touch, you'll never let them.

They'll never have what he has. Never feel your pussy wrapped around them, never hear the breathless way you moan when you cum.

You're cruel without even trying, dangling temptation in front of them, letting them hope for something they'll never taste.

And Namjoon?

He gets off on it.

Because at the end of the night, you always come back to him.

He groans, low and desperate, before his mouth finds a stiff nipple through the fabric, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate circles around the pert peak. His teeth grazing over it with just enough pressure to make you clench around him, your walls pulsing tight around his cock.

"Ah, J-Joon." you croon.

The reaction pulls a sharp hiss from him, his fingers digging into your waist. But you don’t shy away. Instead, you arch into him, offering more, pressing your body closer like you want to drown him in you.

Greedy. Needy.

Nasty for everything he’s willing to give you.

But it happens all too fast for his liking.

The heat, the desperation, the way your body molds against his—it’s intoxicating, but fleeting. A moment never lasts long enough with you. He barely has time to commit it to memory before it’s slipping through his fingers like sand.

And it’s times like this that he wants to steal you away. Take you somewhere far from this world that refuses to let him have you. Lock you up in a tower only he has the key to, where no one else can touch you, see you, even breathe the same air as you.

There, he’d worship you the way you deserve—slowly, endlessly, until you finally understand what he’s known from the start.

Your body trembles as you cum, your moans broken, hands clutching at him, grounding yourself in him. And when he follows, thick warm cum spilling into you with a wrecked moan of your name, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, keeping you there.

He’s not ready to let go.

But you are.

You shift, skin still damp, and he can already feel you slipping away, your presence untangling from his like silk slipping through his fingers.

And then—

“I should go back inside,” you say, your voice light, easy—casual, even. Like you didn’t just let him claim you in the tight confines of his car. Like your body wasn’t still trembling from the way he’d touched you, possessed you. As if this was nothing more than a pit stop before you returned to your night of reckless freedom.

He catches your wrist before you can move, his grip firm, a quiet warning in the way he holds you.

“Didn’t you want me to pick you up?” His words are controlled, careful.

You blink at him, then laugh softly, a sound that scratches against his chest. “I changed my mind.”

His heart stutters, but his expression remains neutral. His fingers loosen, and yet, the urge to hold you tighter—to make you stay, to remind you who you belong to—burns in the back of his throat.

He lets go. He has to.

Because if he doesn’t, if he lets his fingers tighten just a fraction more, he’ll ruin everything. You’ll see it—the madness beneath his calm. The desire that goes far beyond wanting you. You’ll notice the way his control is slipping. And then you’ll pull away.

He can’t have that.

So he watches.

Watches as you fix your dress, smoothing out the fabric like you’re erasing the memory of him, the marks he left on your body, your soul. Watches as you run a hand through your hair, indifferent to the way it still falls in messy waves from his hands, the way your breath is still heavy with the scent of him.

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lazy, like you’re so certain none of this means anything.

Like you don’t know what you’re doing to him. Like you don’t realize that the heat between you isn’t just a spark—it’s a wildfire.

“If you want to stay out of trouble,” he says, his voice low, a warning in its calm. “Behave yourself.”

You laugh again, a soft, mocking sound that makes his chest tighten. And then—you leave. Slip out of his car, out of his hands, out of his world and back into theirs.

Back into the flashing lights and pulsing bass, back into the careless crowd that doesn’t deserve you. They don’t see you the way he does. They’ll never understand you. Not like he does.

And just like that, he’s left in the stillness, the echo of your absence filling the empty space around him. He doesn’t chase after you.

Namjoon grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. His jaw clenches. His heartbeat thrums beneath his skin, a slow, deliberate beat, keeping time with the truth he’s always known.

He has no one to blame but himself.

He’s the one who broke the rules. Who let his heart twist into something unmanageable. Who made the mistake of loving you.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Because love—real love—isn’t about caging or forcing. It’s about playing the long game. About devotion. About waiting in the shadows, watching, protecting.

And he has all the time in the world.

two | masterlist

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citrustan · 11 months ago

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Can you please do a rich seokjin x reader wherein he grovels for oc 🙏😭 Like he did not defend oc when his parents were being mean to her and even defended them something like that hahaha I live for angst fics so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️ (Thank you in advance btw! I really really enjoy your fics!)

hii thanks! love it when requests are specific!! please send in more of these :D

'm dividing this into two parts because it's too long for me to call it a drabble

please, please, please [1/2] (ksj)

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: sugar daddy turned boyfriend!seokjin x middle-class, unemployed!reader ALSO dilf!seokjin. angst, fluff, and barely-there smut (in the next part) yet again because i'm taking tiny baby steps towards the big girl stuff.

warnings: there's an ex-wife, unkind parents, and typical rich people behaviour: take that as you may!

The evening had started on a high note.

The birds were chirping, the breeze was gentle. Yada yada. You centred yourself with your boyfriend's son, Sehun's, giggles, to distract slash calm yourself. At the same time, Seokjin's entire family and friends (and you) gathered under the warm glow of temporary lamps installed specifically for the occasion in his backyard.

Admittedly, it's borderline disrespectful to call it a backyard when it was easily over an acre of lush grassland, adorned with flower fields, and a horse farm. With champagne-equipped golf carts, decorated with wisterias and vines, used to transport the party goers from one place to another, and well-dressed staff to guide everyone. And you kept seeing the fairest doves. You wonder if that was natural or of they were introduced to the area for the party.

You knew your boyfriend slash sugar daddy was rich, but you had no idea just how rich.

As the evening progressed, the mood, specifically yours, began to shift---bit by bit, for the worse. Your once nervous yet lively aura had grown strained.

It was such a shit-show.

Starting with Seokjin's parents who couldn't pretend to be nice for the life of them, or was that intentional? Perhaps to scare you off or something. Because it worked.

They were distant, awkward, and nothing like Seokjin had described them to be. You were under the impression that you'd be meeting your second family, an extension of your own.

Boy, were you mistaken.

You were met with so much... inhospitality and indifference.

It was so bad you had to walk away from your table a few times just to stop your tears from falling and ruining your makeup.

They kept talking about Sehun's mother and Seokjin's perfect ex-wife, as if you weren't sitting right across them. Speaking of their relationship in present tense--- 'Oh, you're so beautiful together.' 'The perfect family.' 'She's the best daughter-in-law anyone could ask for.'

All the while, you're the one with a promise ring on your finger.

Seokjin, obviously, interrupted them everytime. But even he eventually tired himself out too.

Every time you attempted to make conversation with the pair, you were met with blank stares.

You couldn't even escape them because Sehun was off with his caretaker, being his 6 year old self, uncaring of where he is. You had nobody to go to except the man you were already seated next to.

"Seokjin," his mother began, "When you mentioned planning a soirée, I assumed you were getting back with Yewon."

His father added, "Your mother and I were so happy."

Were.

Seokjin exchanged an uneasy look with you.

You expected him to defend you. Maybe just give them a little scolding. Or a simple yet stern 'be normal.'

But instead, he just scoffs and laughs.

That was it.

Shakily sighing, you excused yourself for the seventh time that night to lick your wounds in privacy.

This time, when you didn't return after ten minutes, Seokjin comes looking for you, immediately finding you stood near his favourite Magnolia tree.

You looked like you were in deep thought and a little tipsy. And you were thinking up a storm. How was this going to play out? Would you be made to break up with each other? Would Seokjin leave you?

He paused to your right, "_____, I know this isn't enough but I really am sorry. I had no idea they'd react this way."

Defeated, you whisper, "I don't even know how to act. I mean... it doesn't matter because it's not like they'd even notice."

You add, "And you're right. It's not enough." Angry, you rapidly turn to face him, "You keep letting them treat me like I'm invisible. And they keep talking about Yewon and your, oh, so perfect marriage as if she didn't cheat on you. I mean, you technically cheated on each other later anyway, right?"

Seokjin's expression darkened. He tilted his head in disbelief, "_____. I can't believe you'd bring that up."

"Is that why they don't like me? Because they know I'm your mistress?"

Seokjin's scowl deepens, "Don't talk about yourself like that, _____."

Oh!

Mockingly raising your brow at him, you laugh, "Oh, but it's okay for mommy and daddy to talk about me 'like that'?" You make air quotations at 'like that.'

"Of course, it isn't! But, that's just how they are. They're horrible people, _____." He exasperates, "And I know there's no changing their mind. So do yourself a favour and just... don't bother about what they think or say. It's not important." He's breathing heavy when he finishes.

You painstakingly digest each of his words.

Now, there are two possible meanings of his advice.

Don't worry about mommy and daddy because you and I are the only ones who matter!

Don't worry about mommy and daddy because you're disposable anyway!

But, you're not sober enough to decide yet.

Seokjin caresses your naked, cold, arm with a warm hand. His fingers travel up to your décolletage, grazing against it, then further upwards to gently fix the diamond necklace he bought you on your last birthday.

He then takes his blazer off to drape it over your shivering shoulders.

Seokjin looks at you, carefully choosing his tone to reflect his state of mind: apologetic, "I promise we can leave after Yewon gets here. My parents invited her too. And, she'll be taking Sehun to her place today."

You wait for him to continue because you know there's more.

"We'll greet her. Cordially. Bid goodbye immediately after. And see Sehun once before we head to your place. Is that... Would you be okay with that?"

The fact that Seokjin, as the host, was going to leave his own party for you makes you feel guilty. But you knew you would not be able to deal with Seokjin's relatives any longer.

So you nod once, "Ok."

He links your arms together and walks you back to the main event where they serve the good stuff. Yay for you!

"Seokie! You look great. _____, you too! Your hair looks amazing." Yewon grins at you.

"Thank you, Yewon. You look beautiful as well." Seokjin answers for the two of you as you drunkenly smile at her.

(Two) hours had passed since Seokjin promised you you could leave after Yewon arrived. Which meant you had two too many hours to down the seemingly bottomless Champagne flutes.

Yewon observes you with concern and raises a brow at your boyfriend. Seokjin simply nodded in response, with his arm still wrapped around you, supporting your weight.

Not oblivious to the silent conversation going on in front of you, you nuzzle your face directly into his chest.

Yewon is lovely. She's the best ex-wife any girlfriend could've asked for. Respectful, friendly even, and... normal.

Still, you've always been jealous of their relationship.

They still had chemistry, and were great co-parents.

There was nothing stopping Seokjin from going back to her. Well, there's you, but had you not been in his life, you wonder if they'd have gotten back together.

"There you are! Kim Yewon, my favourite daughter." Holding Yewon by her waist, Seokjin's mother feigns anger, "Now, why did it take you so long to get here?"

Was she 12? You hate her. So much. All you want is for Seokjin to make her... stop.

"In all honesty, I overslept." Yewon smiles, embarrassed.

Mrs. Kim sighs dramatically, "Well, you are a doctor. You deserve to rest. You work too hard."

"Ah, yes... Maybe... Why don't we go find Sehun? _____ and Seokjin are leaving soon." Yewon is evidently aware of how his family is reacting to you, and wants to minimize all of her interactions and words exchanged with the Kims.

At that Mrs. Kim looks at her son bewildered, "You're going to leave your own party? That's just rude."

THAT'S rude?

"I'm sorry, mom. We," Seokjin raises your clasped hands up, "have important plans."

"Well... What could be more important than family? You're just going to leave your son and his mother to fend for themselves?"

>:(

Hm.

Now... what happens in the next few minutes, you blame slash credit the alcohol.

You don't understand why he had to lie because you certainly had no issue with telling the real reason you were leaving.

"That's right, Mrs. Kim, Seokjin chose me. We don't have," you make air quotes when you say this, "important plans, we, my boyfriend and I, we, just want to get as far away from you as possible because you have a chip up your ass and you walk around with a stick on your shoulder."

Seokjin and Yewon froze.

"And Seokjin hates you." You spat. "He hates you so much he planned a gigantic party just so he wouldn't have to spend more than a few minutes with you at once."

You want to stop but your mouth works faster than your brain.

"Seokjin hates you so much he always needs other people around you to cut the tension."

At this point you were word vomiting.

"He hates you so much he keeps himself busy with work. And when he's not at work, he's with me. And my family," - "_____, stop talking," Seokjin sternly scolds.

But you don't hear him, "- because he loves me. And Sehun, and he loves my mother because she isn't a narcissistic bitch who treats her son like-" You stop.

Seokjin squeezes your hand as if he were begging you to shut the fuck up as Mrs. Kim stares at you in contempt; her face red, nose flared, jaw, and fists clenched.

But you don't budge, "His marriage is over. Understand that. It's like you don't even care about what he's been through."

"_____, please."

Seokjin's request has fallen to deaf ears once again.

You continue, "All you do is criticize his choices and decisions. You don't even care that Yewon cheated on your son because you're just as up her ass as you are up your own."

At that, Seokjin instantly drags you away from the two women. Both Mrs. Kims.

He takes you back to the tree.

You half expect him to make out with you because he looked... somewhat worked up.

The pins in your hair are starting to feel a little too tight and you feel sweaty even though it's freezing.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

You drunkenly stare at him, eyes widened in genuine confusion. You place a hand on your chest, "Me?"

"You had no right to cause a scene like that. I told you we were leaving. I was handling it."

But he was, in fact, not handling it. You helped him!

Seokjin needed someone to back him up. If he couldn't stand up for himself, you didn't expect him to stand up for you.

You owlishly blink up at him.

"_____, this isn't high school. You're not a child. You can't go around yelling at adults about how mean they are."

"I was just trying to hel-"

"This isn't a movie, _____. This is real life. My life. And Yewon's. My mother didn't know the real reason we broke up. And you had no right to tell her."

Now, that's news to you. And what the hell? Do you even exist in this picture?

"Well, obviously, I didn't fucking know that. And, thanks a lot. Now I know just how much I mean to you." You begin pulling your hair pins out as you turn to leave his premises.

"_____." Seokjin gently grabs your wrist, "We're not done here."

You rip yourself away from his grip, "I think we are! Obviously, you have no space for me in your life. And Yewon's!" Your lips quiver contrasting the accusatory words that just slipped through your tongue.

He rolls his eyes, "_____, that's not what I meant. You know that's not what I was saying."

You resembled an angry kitten with your hair a little wild from pulling all those clips out, and eyes red and puffy as if you'd start tearing up any time now.

"I don't want to be your fuckdoll anymore! I'm done!" With a shaky yet final sigh, you turn back around, lift your gown so you don't trip, and storm off.

While you didn't want him to stop you because you were in no mood to fight a grown man, you were more upset that he just let you walk away from him.

You didn't want to end your relationship like this. Although you know this isn't permanent, you can't help but wonder if he'd even try with you anymore.

note: so tumblr ate up part of this story and the other note i had added, so this is me rewriting it. i can't make asks private so here we are. i'm upset my writing didn't get saved. i don't know if this version is better or worse.

either way, please tell me what you think.

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lesbiansuga · 1 year ago

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493 days until jimin is back ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ run bts ep. 71

cr. 0613data

#bts #btsgif #btsedit #btsdaily #park jimin #jimin #jiminedit #mine #jmcountdown #userkelli #userpat #useremmeline #rjshope #annietrack #raplineuser #userdimple #usersky #my sugar plum honeybunch angel 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

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raplinenthusiasts · 2 years ago

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for @fireworksgalaxy 💛

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eatjinma · 6 months ago

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This year marks the 10 year anniversary of myself falling in love and stanning bts. Happy anniversary to meeeee. What a journey. 15 year old me fell in love with these seven boys. Will continue to do so always.

#bts #bangtansonyeondan #bangtanboys #jungkook #bangtan #jin #kpop #kim taehyung #bts rapmon #jhope #bts sugar #bts v #bts jimin #korean #Spotify

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dolljmins · 5 months ago

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━╋ 𖥨᩠ིׄ🗝 ུ 𝒯𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴..?

♡ ིྀ ̩̥̐࿔ 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦…

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margotw10bis · 1 year ago

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Pretty Baby.KNJ [m]

sugardaddy!namjoon x sugarbaby!reader

Genre: smut; short-story

Words: 4.9k

Synopsis: Namjoon is your sugar daddy. However, you can't deny how your heart is jumping in your chest when he calls you his "pretty baby"…

Warnings: rough sex; unprotected sex; anal sex; first anal; oral sex (f. receiving); Namjoon is huge 😳; he loves ass; use of "daddy"

1 → 2 → 3 (Bonus : Memories ; Doubts & Possibilities)

What just happened? Namjoon is so shocked about your demand that he just stays still for several minutes. He has never imagined, in a thousand years, that you, his pretty baby, would put an end at your relationship like that. Were there signs he didn't see? Were you unhappy? He genuinely thought that you liked spending time with him, especially since he started to make efforts to know you better. He even thought that you liked him. But you obviously don't.

He wanted to tell you to change your mind, to think about it, that he could change if you wanted him to, but it would have been selfish. It was already too damn selfish willing to keep you for himself when he was fucking other girls — even if he doesn't anymore.

He thought that something changed the last time you two had sex. It was different, more real. Did he imagine everything? It looks like it since you just stepped out of his office after throwing a bomb at him. Fuck. But then, why would you look so sad? Everything is messed up in his head, he can't think straight.

More than the surprise caused by your announcement, Namjoon feels something truly unpleasant in his chest and he wishes it was just his ego. But it's not. He knows damn well it's his heart. Once again: fuck.

————

"I don't understand you, honestly" Jimin sighs

Yeah, you neither. You regret so, so much what you did yesterday. You clearly let Lisa messing up with your brain. You should have trusted Namjoon rather than her. You were so afraid of being hurt that you pushed him away and you hurt yourself instead. That's fucking stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"I don't need you to tell me I've fucked up, Jimin. I need you as my best friend to support me and tell me everything is going to be fine" You say with a shaky voice, ready to start crying, again

"Come here" He whispers to hug you and rub your back

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can. We are going to watch your favorite show on Netflix and eat some pizzas. How does it sound?"

You look at your best friend and feel so damn lucky to have him. You rub your eyes to get rid off the last tears and get the TV remote.

In another part of the town, Namjoon opens the door of the apartment. Your apartment. He can't just give up like that, without even fighting. But the place is desperately empty. No lights on, no noise. You are simply not here. He still has a ridiculous slight hope when he opens the door of your bedroom. Yet, your face is no where to be seen. Namjoon's heart squeezes. Where the fuck are you?

He is not sure you will show up tonight so he decides to leave and go meet his parents. Maybe he could use some advices from a 40-year married couple.

Namjoon's mom is super excited to see her busy son. It's pretty rare he comes eat with them. But her smiles fades when she notices the look on his face. He looks tired and sad. Defeated. It breaks her heart to see him like this.

They sit in the comfortable and huge sofas of the living room. Every single furniture of their mammoth house is expensive. Namjoon's parents love buying costly things but also giving their money to people who need it. Maybe that's why Namjoon doesn't have any problem with spoiling his sugar babies.

"Can I ask you guys something?" He asks, unsure

"Of course, honey" His mom says

"How did you become a couple? Was it easy?"

His parents share a glance, half surprised half amused. Namjoon has never wanted to hear about love before.

"It was certainly not easy" His dad starts "Your mom is pretty stubborn. I gave her many presents, expensive jewelries and so on. But she didn't care at all. I honestly thought she wasn't interested"

"I didn't care about the money. I cared about him and his feelings. You know, love is not just words but acts too. However, the acts don't have to take the material form of gifts" The woman continues

"So how?" Namjoon asks

"Spending time with each other. Small acts of consideration. Actually, the best acts of love are the simplest ones because they show how sincere you are and that you care about the small details" Her mom answers

Namjoon takes a few moments to think about it. He has shown his affection with presents. Expensive ones, even. But you, you are full of those simple acts of consideration his mom is describing. You made sure he wasn't tired or that he ate well. You changed your shampoo when you noticed Namjoon's scrunched nose at the smell of it even if he didn't say anything about not liking it. You distracted him with a mind-blowing blowjob on the day he lost a huge contract. Fuck, everything you have done the past few months was little acts that made him slowly fall in love with you. But maybe you didn't think Namjoon cared about you too.

"Is this about the girl from the mall?" Namjoon's mom asks carefully

"Yeah, but I'm not sure she really wants to be with me" He replies honestly

"I think she does. The look she was giving you, it doesn't lie, honey"

Those words are what Namjoon needed. Now, he has to find a way to see you again.

————

You have thought about it all day. Should you? It's Namjoon's birthday and you were invited by his mom. But it's also true that you told him you wanted to end things... However, you miss him so bad and it has only been five days.

You check yourself in the mirror. Yes, you have thought about not going but you have still gotten ready. Your heart beats so loud that you wonder how it is not showing through the soft material of your white silk dress — great metaphor of your willing to go back from the start and start on a new page.

It's Namjoon's birthday. And you miss him. And you love him. The only thing holding you back is you and your fear of being hurt. Are going to stay alone your entire life because of that? That would be so pathetic. Fuck, Namjoon gave you so much confidence, where did it go? You would be so disappointed in yourself if you don't at least try. So you fix your mascara for the last time and head to Namjoon's party.

The house is way bigger than you thought, especially because it's in Seoul center. You can't imagine the price of it. You knock on the front door and a fucking butler invites you inside. You are stressed, you can feel your hands shaking. Thankfully, there are no too many people — you guess just family and close friends. That makes you wonder what you are doing here. Everyone is so elegant and, even if you have put on one of your most beautiful dresses, you don't seem to belong here.

"Boring party, isn't it?"

You jolt as a male voice whispers in your ear. You turn your head and meet some very handsome man. He could easy be elected World Wide Handsome. His brown hair looks smooth and his eyes are sparkling with playfulness. Let's not talk about his juicy and plump lips. Fuck, every women must be jealous of it.

On the other side, the stranger is quite amused by your shyness. He also wonders what such a pretty girl is doing it. If his friend Namjoon has you as a friend, Seokjin would be upset and disappointed that he didn't introduce you to him before. Yes, the man is a womanizer but a very picky one: he seems to date only the most beautiful women.

"I'm Seokjin by the way"

"Y/N" You reply, shyly

Seokjin's eyes widen. Are you Y/N? Like the woman his friend can't shut up about lately? Oh, things are about to get interesting... Now he understands Namjoon. You look very pretty in that dress, almost a sexy version of a cute bride. Yep, Namjoon will go crazy when he sees you and the slight shadow of your nipples through the thin and smooth fabric. But for now, he is not here and Seokjin is a flirt.

"I'm honored to meet the most beautiful woman of the night" He says with a seductive tone

You don't really know what to say so you just thank him. Is he flirting? Oh my god, how are you going to escape him?

"It's the glass I wanted to bring to my friend but I rather offer it to a pretty girl" He continues, handing you a glass of champagne

You take it. You need alcohol to gather your courage, especially if Namjoon tells you to go fuck yourself after what happened in his office. You drink the glass one shot.

"Well! You go faster than Dom Toretto!" Seokjin jokes, laughing so loud than a few people turn toward you

His laugh also attracts Namjoon's eye. However, he doesn't see his friend. The only thing that seems to be visible to him is you. You came. And you look so fucking gorgeous. Namjoon recognizes the silk dress, it was his birthday gift for you. It looks so good on you that Namjoon's brain starts picturing you in all kinds of situations — both with and without the dress on. He wonders if it's the kind of dress you would wear for your wedding day. And after your marriage, what you would look like with a baby in your belly, his baby. How proud he would be to have you by his side and how everyone could see you belong to him.

Okay, his brain is definitely sick because those are ridiculous thoughts. You said you didn't want this relationship with him. But, what are you doing here?

Namjoon walks toward you and your heart stops when you see him. He is the definition of handsomeness. And he is wearing a fucking black — Prada it seems — suit with a white shirt. It's the look you prefer on him. This is torture for you, especially if it's the last time you see him.

"Hi" You almost whisper

"Hi" His voice is neutral and you don't know if it's a good thing "Can I talk to you, in private?"

You gulp and nod. Fuck, you are stressing so much. He invites you to follow him and he leads you to his bedroom. A huge place actually with not only a king size bed but also a sofa and a large bookshelf. All the furnitures are matching, even the pattern of the fabric. The color scheme, warm beige with hints of green here and there, is soothing — something you really appreciate right now.

There are so many things you want to say but nothing seems to form on your tongue. You can't look at him. You are so overwhelmed by your feelings that you could cry.

"I'm surprised you're here" Namjoon says

There is no reproach in his voice, he is just sincerely surprised. You can understand. But is it a good or a bad thing?

"I can leave if you want"

'But please don't say you want me to leave' You pray internally

"No, I'm actually glad you're here"

Your heart does a backflip in your chest and you look at him with hope.

"I'm so sorry for what I've said" You say as you are gathering all your courage "I don't want to end the contract"

"But I do"

Your whole body freezes. Your heart stops too, in a painful way. It hurts so bad, like your soul is torn apart. So that's it. It's the end for Namjoon and you. Fuck, you wish you could go back and never went to his office. You would do anything to go back in time.

A breathless 'Oh' leaves your lips, like you have received an uppercut in the stomach — well, it's pretty much what you feel.

Namjoon gets closer and notices your eyes watering. Words are not enough to express what he is feeling so he does what he does best. He captures your lips and kisses you deeply. You moan both in surprise and pleasure. You don't know what the kiss means but you are ready to take whatever he is giving to you if it's the last time you see him.

Namjoon wraps his arms around your small frame. The silk of the dress is so smooth under the tip of his fingers, but not as smooth as your skin. His hands go down and find your ass. He makes sure to lift the fabric and digs his palms into the flesh of your asscheeks. The cold air on your hot skin makes you gasp in pleasure. He growls as he missed it so much.

You pull him closer by grabbing the back of his neck. His lips travel down your jaw and then to the thin skin of your throat. His wet kisses make you shiver and create a pool of arousal between your legs, especially when Namjoon sucks on your skin. A reddish mark adores your neck. Namjoon smiles at it. You are so beautiful, you can't go out without a stamp of him.

Namjoon doesn't stop. He firmly grabs your ass and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his torso and secure your arms around his large shoulders. You are now higher than him and it gives him the opportunity to dig his face into your breasts. He messily kisses your boobs and captures your harden nipples with his teeth through the fabric of the dress. Namjoon smirks when he notices you don't wear a bra and bites your nipple a little harder, making you whimper. Your head rolls back and you arch your back to give him a better access.

Your soaked pussy also needs friction so you start grinding on his abs. You need him so bad. You are stressed and horny when you think about what you are going to do.

Namjoon walks to his bed and sits on it, you still inside his arms. The new position makes it easier for you to grind on his lap. You can clearly feel his hard-on against your clothed cunt. You tug on his hair to access his lips and you kiss him like there is no tomorrow.

"Damn, baby, you're on fire" He jokes against your lips

"I want you" You moan, there is no better way to say the truth

You pull off and stand up between his muscled legs. You can see lust in Namjoon's brown eyes but also some affection in them. It gives you confidence to carry on. You take off your dress and the sight of your body almost completely bare makes Namjoon's cock twitch in his pants. He can't help but caress himself through the fabric, and his dick gets even harder. You slid down your ridiculously small and wet panties to stand entirely exposed in front of him. You finally take off your heels, your feet thanking you for that. You feel fragile but also proud to have the courage to completely give yourself to the man you love. You will have nothing to regret, even if tonight is the last night you'll ever spend together.

Your breathe is shaky and your hands are sweaty. Fuck, stress makes your legs weak but you have made up your mind way before entering Namjoon's parents' house. You are prepared, both mentally and physically for what is coming. You now have to trust yourself and Namjoon. You turn around and give Namjoon a perfect view of your ass he loves so much. You slightly bend over so he can see both your holes. Your pussy is so wet that Namjoon's breathe on it makes you clench.

"Fuck, baby" Namjoon whispers as it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen

"It's your birthday present" You say shyly

Namjoon is taken aback. Is it what he is thinking about?

"What do you mean?" He asks, clearing his throat — he wants to be sure he is not over-interpreting

You take a deep breathe and reply.

"You can have my ass tonight"

It's like a dream came true for Namjoon. He has been dreaming about it for months. Your perfect ass. He wanted to stretch it every time he squeezed your cheeks. It must be so fucking tight. Just thinking he will finally be able to dive in it could be enough to make him cum in his pants.

He doesn't waste any time and starts licking your glistening pussy. You moan about how starved he looks. He is literally making out with your pussy and it's so fucking hot. His tongue rolls on your clit, then digs in your entrance to go back to your clit again. It's so good that your legs quiver. At some point, Namjoon takes a fat licking from your sensitive bud to your pussy entrance but continues higher to your other hole.

You whimper as Namjoon takes big laps of it. The new sensation is beyond words. You feel way more sensitive. You have to grab his hair behind you when he enters your pussy with two fingers, still wetting your puckered hole. Namjoon's face is so deep between your asscheeks that it's scandalous but fuck it feels good.

He leaves your hole one second to bite on the flesh of your perfect ass. His fingers pumping into your dripping cunt are delightful, especially when he goes deep and fast, making your legs weak. You can feel some arousal going down your inner thighs.

"Keep going, I'm gonna cum" You moan

Seeing you liking it makes Namjoon so fucking happy. He could eat your ass all day. Your hole is damn soaked right now and Namjoon starts entering it with his tongue. You're so sensitive, you're not sure to can handle it. Namjoon speeds it pace in your pussy and you almost scream. You tighten your fingers in his hair, bringing him deeper against your ass and he growls. Your pussy clenches and Namjoon digs his tongue further in your hole, almost not able to breathe. You know how sinful you look but fuck, Namjoon is tonguing your ass. The wave of bliss you know well in growing inside you but there is something different, something that makes it more powerful and your teased area is more sensitive. You can't hold any longer and you cum on his face and fingers. Choked screams of his name escape from your lips. Namjoon grabs you in his arms to prevent you from falling.

He puts you on his bed delicately as you're coming back down to Earth. He lets you rest a little and take off his clothes.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asks you, kissing your lips tenderly

"Yes, just be gentle" You say

You are crushing everything in him right now. The trust you put in him doesn't only fill his pride but also his heart. He promises: he is going to fuck your ass so good that you won't ever want him to stop.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay baby?"

He kisses your forehead and spoons you. You feel his large and buff chest against your back but the way he holds you is so sweet that you push your ass closer to his cock with an urged need of feeling him. He places your upper leg a little forward to have a better access to your ass. He also makes sure to bring a good amount of your juices to your hole and to his large cock to lube them.

"I'm going to stretch you a little, I don't want to break you" He whispers in your ears "Yet" He adds playfully to make you laugh

Namjoon slowly pushes one finger in your so tight hole and you gasp. You hold on his other arm wrapped around your waist. He softly starts back and forth moves. It hurts a little but it's also so fucking good.

"Try to relax, it will hurt less" Namjoon says as he pecks your shoulder

You do as he says and you notice how easier it makes for him to finger you. He adds other finger and you almost cum instantly. Fuck, it's so good. You can't even describe how it feels. It's like you can feel him better, deeper. All the sensations are increased.

Namjoon enhances his pace when he sees you feeling more pleasure. He can't wait to put his dick in and to make you cum all over it. Your tight hole is going to feel so good around his length.

"Fuck, I need your cock"

Namjoon is beyond happy to fulfill your wish. He pulls off his fingers and grabs his cock. You feel his tip slightly entering your pussy to gather some of your arousal and then going up to your ass. He pushes to enter you but he is so fucking big.

"Come on, baby, I know you can take it" Namjoon encourages you

You gasp as his tip is inside you. You feel so fucking stretched. Pleasure and pain have never been this connected. You dig your nails deep inside his forearm but he doesn't care: you are fucking taking his cock in your fucking ass. Namjoon caresses your stomach to soothe the pain and keeps kissing your shoulder. He is so gentle you could die.

"Are you okay?"

You nod and Namjoon pushes deeper. You feel every single inch entering you and stretching you. You know he is not entirely in you but you're not sure to take more of him. Namjoon seems to feel it and he slowly pulls over, not completely, to push inside again. You start moaning, louder and louder as Namjoon pounds faster. The pain is still here but the pleasure... Oh god, it's beyond words.

"Fuck, Joonie" You moan as he enters your hole deeper

"You're doing great, baby. It's the best birthday present ever"

He grabs your asscheek and squeezes it hard. He spreads it to look at his dick fucking your ass. Feeling your very tight hole stretched by his huge cock is delightful. Especially when he is the first one. The thought makes his dick twitch inside your ass. He enhances the pace a little when he sees you relaxing and having pleasure. He feels so proud of it, that his cock provides you pleasure. That his cock is fucking your ass. He growls when he realizes it.

"You're so fucking perfect. Your ass feels so good"

The bliss is driving him crazy. He could fuck you so rough that you wouldn't be able to walk for days. But it's your first anal, he can't just destroy you. He grabs your chin to kiss you. Your hand reaches the back of his head. He gives you one hard dick stroke, making you scream his name. You don't even care that other people in the house hear you.

"That's it, scream my name, baby. Tell everyone who fucks you good"

"It's you, Namjoon" You moan loudly

He starts pounding pretty hard and fast in your ass and you're on the edge. Namjoon captures your throat with his large palm. He is almost entirely inside your ass and you feel him so deep. You have never felt so full. You start feeling a huge orgasm building inside you, despite your empty and clenching pussy.

"My pretty baby" He moans when sounds of skins clapping starts filling the room

You're so close to cum. Namjoon looks at your perfect ass taking his cock. Your cheeks get spanked by his thighs and abs every single time. He is not as gentle as at the beginning but he can't hold himself, especially when he notices how fucked up you look. You love his dick in your ass, he can feel it. He swears, he is going to fuck your perfect little ass harder the next time and you will beg for more. The show is so sinful that it spurs Namjoon to push deeper inside your ass, now entirely. He doesn't even know how you manage to take his dick in your tight hole but one thing is sure: you do and you do it fucking well.

"Oh, fuck!" You hiss "I gonna cum"

Namjoon smirks and slaps the side of your ass. You feel your empty pussy clenching. He seems to hear your silent prayers and the hand around your waist goes South to slide two fingers into your cunt, making you groan loudly. You feel so full of him that you can't help tightening your holes. Namjoon is fucking your ass so good. He hides his face in the crook of your neck and hugs you tighter in his arms as he pounds you deeper.

"Cum for me, baby" He whispers, almost begging you as he feels he won't last long

Your hole is too tight and it feels too good to have you in his arms. It feels so good to see how much you trust him — you let him fuck your ass for god's sake!

"Yes, yes!" You scream, loosing your mind over the pleasure

"Fuck, I love your ass" He growls, the vibration echoing into your core

You can't hold on any longer and you cum hard on his cock and his fingers buried deep in your pussy, almost crying of how huge is the wave of pleasure washing over you. You mumble some words you don't even know as you are high. So high, way beyond clouds.

Namjoon pounds a few more times into your tight ass and releases his cum inside. He hugs you so tight, leaving your pussy empty again but still inside your ass, like he is afraid you vanish.

You two stay like that a moment. You can't believe Namjoon just fucked you ass. You also can't believe how much you liked it. You almost fall asleep, you don't want to leave his embrace. You feel good, peaceful. You hum in content and scoot closer into his chest.

"Did you mean it?" He asks suddenly

"What?"

"That you love me"

Your body tenses and your eyes open wide. What? How does he know? You pull over, running at the opposite side of the huge bed. You try to cover your naked body with your hands. You look so panicked, almost terrified.

"It's okay if you didn't mean it" Namjoon reassures you, even though it breaks his heart to see how you are reacting right now

Did you just confessed your love while you were having an orgasm? Well, the best orgasm ever, but still. You're so ashamed. You didn't want to tell him like that. Fuck, when you tell Jimin you said 'I love you' to Namjoon while his dick was in your ass, he is going to laugh so loud...

You are ready to deny it but when you see Namjoon's face, you can't lie. You do love him. You can't keep being a coward and lying to Namjoon and to yourself.

"I meant it. I love you, Namjoon" You confess in a whisper

The silence is killing you. Especially when it's the exact moment you brain chooses to remind you that Namjoon said he wanted to end the contract too.

"That's a good thing" He says, surprising you "Because I love you too"

He gets closer to you and caresses your cheeks. Okay, you have always loved how kind he was after sex but the way he is looking at you right now, it make your heart melt so much it hurts. You can't help kissing him. Namjoon chuckles against your mouth and hugs you tighter. Honestly, he could fuck you again. No, he could make love to you.

"Say it again" You ask

"I love you"

His bright smile with his dimples brings so much happiness to you. Is it possible to die over joy? Because you could right now.

"Okay, there is no contract anymore but I'm not gonna lie, you're still my pretty baby"

You giggle.

"I have to tell you something" You say, pricking his curiosity "I'm jealous so don't you dare having another baby"

"I'm all yours" He reassures you

Like you said, Namjoon has always been honest with you. So you believe him when he says there is nobody else.

"I think we should go back to the party. I can't not showing at my own birthday"

You nod but wince when you sit.

"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks, worried

"Yes, it just hurts a little" You confess, cheeks reddening

Is it bad that he feels proud of it? He wasn't exactly soft but he definitely can get rougher and honestly, he can't wait to pound into your ass again. Or your pussy. He doesn't care as long as he can give you pleasure.

Namjoon helps you standing up and getting dressed. Your beautiful silk dress is now completely crumpled. You pout at it and Namjoon finds you so pretty. Now that he knows you love him, his brain is even crazier than before: images of you in a white dress walking down the wedding hall or of you with a round belly are stuck in his head. But he definitely can't go as fast, he will scare you.

Does that mean that he will wait for years? Absolutely not. His pretty baby better be prepared for her Christmas present. Especially after the best birthday present he has ever had: you saying that you loved him too.

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thewinter-eden · 3 months ago

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Blood Sugar Virus (19)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, really terrible ideas (don't try this at home)

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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Author’s note: AED machines are defibrillators designed for use by non-medical-professionals. Modern ones will take vitals of the patient and determine whether or not the patient needs a jolt, and administer it only if the person is unresponsive and needs it. For the sake of this story, we’re pretending that isn’t the case. Also, don’t ever try this. :)

“You can’t be serious.” Jimin’s staring at you. “You’re not serious. Right? Those things are for dead people.”

“For unresponsive people.” You correct, but you don’t look at him. You’re looking at anybody else, anybody who will tell you you’re not completely out of your mind and about to kill your best friend. “Like a bug zapper, you know? If we send a charge through his system, it will kill the parasites. Right?”

Seonghwa pulls the AED off the wall and pops it open, scanning through the instruction booklet. “It’s not that high voltage, relatively speaking. I think bug zappers are like five times as powerful as this.”

“Do you have another idea?” You snap. “One that doesn’t involve Jimin turning into a zombie?”

“We could cut his leg off, there’s probably an emergency axe in here somewhere.” Wooyoung suggests.

“Fuck no, I’d rather be electrocuted.” Jimin squeaks.

“And we don’t know if the parasites have made it past his leg yet.” Yunho adds pragmatically. “Technically, I think this is actually our best shot. But, Sugar—“ he pauses when both you and Jimin glare at him. “Just forget about the killing me thing for a second, okay? If you use that thing on him while he’s still…fully functional…you could damage his heart. Or his brain. Or any of his limbs. This could seriously hurt him.”

“I’m speaking strictly for myself and my own interests here, but I would rather him be a fucking paraplegic than a zombie.” You return sharply. “This could work. Right? And it won’t kill him?”

“It probably won’t kill him.” Seonghwa says with apprehensive caution. “Probably. But Yunho’s right. Just saying.”

You can’t look at Jimin yet. He’s hearing everything, but you don’t have the courage to look him in the eyes and tell him what you want to do to him yet. You only trust two people in this room to tell you not to do this, and one of them is keeping you from falling off of your jelly legs.

Yeosang is quiet, thoughtful, terrified. He searches your face, and then looks over your head at Jimin.

You wait.

If Jimin’s dead anyway, you have nothing to lose.

But you wait.

Because you’ve already traded someone else’s life for yours, and if Yeosang tells you that you’re about to murder your best friend, you think you might just listen to him.

Finally, after what could have been a thousand years, he meets your eyes again. He knows you want his input; you’ve been staring at him too desperately to be wanting anything else. “I would want to try.” He says at last, so quietly you almost don’t hear him. He clears his throat. “I would try it.”

He lets you go, even though all you want to do is throw your arms around him.

Barely breathing, you face Jimin. “Tell me not to do it.”

His face is pained, one of his hands gripping his upper thigh, and you know you’re running out of time.

You drop to your knees, finding his other hand again. “Chim.” You watch him go pale, his mouth twisting with fear. He’s scared, hurting, crying. “Chim, tell me you don’t want this.”

He swallows harshly and his hand trembles in yours. “I don’t want to turn into those things.” He whispers. “I don’t…”

It’s the first time he shows you how frightened he is, and it’s only firming your resolve to stick those contacts to his chest and electrocute the shit out of those parasites.

Jimin swallows again. “Even if the shock kills me or breaks something in me, I don’t want to turn into one of those things.”

“Okay.” You move to get up, but he grips you harder, keeping you down.

“Not you.” He says. “I don’t want you to do it.”

You tug at his hand. “I have to.”

“Not you.” He snaps. “Sugar. Not you.”

“I’ll do it.” Yunho takes the AED from Seonghwa and brings it to Jimin, kneeling next to him.

Jimin doesn’t even look at him. He’s still pinning you with that awful stare, squeezing your fingers so tightly you think they might fall off.

“Fuck no, I’m doing this.” You try to grab the machine, but Jimin snatches your other hand, cringing as he lets go of his leg.

“You already hate me.” Yunho gives a low laugh. “I’ve got this. I’ll do it.”

“Let him.” Jimin tells you. “I want him to do it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to get yourself loose, but he won’t let you. You know why it’s happening this way, why he wants Yunho instead of you, but you refuse to accept it. “No. I have to do it.”

“You don’t.” Yunho tells you gently. “Let me.” He’s unpackaging the device, reading through the instructions, working quickly and calmly.

They won’t let you be the one to do it.

They won’t let you place those charges and push the button.

“You have to let go.” Seonghwa says, kneeling next to Yunho. “You can’t be touching him.”

You feel Yeosang crouch next to you, ready to drag you away, but you’re already relaxing your grip.

Jimin smiles at you, shaky and weak, but he smiles. He lets you go. “It’ll just take a second, Sugar Baby.”

His hands fall from yours, but you can’t move.

Yeosang’s holding your arms, ready just in case you’re about to fling yourself at your best friend, but you just sit there, helpless.

“Let’s take your shirt off.” Seonghwa helps Jimin out of his top while Yunho peels the backs off the contact stickers.

Jimin keeps his eyes on you, like he can’t bear to acknowledge the device that’s about to do what it was never designed to do, and you see his chest pumping as his breathing quickens.

He’s fucking terrified, and there’s nothing you can do to help him.

“It’ll be okay.” You force a grin. This is your idea. This is your fault. This is your stupid plan. “You’re gonna be okay, Chim. I’ll be right here.”

He blinks, and a flood of tears cascades down his dirty cheeks.

Yunho secures the contacts to his chest. The device makes a beeping noise, powering on and readying a charge.

“Here, you’ll want to bite down.” Wooyoung, god bless Wooyoung, rushes in then with San’s clean towel. He helps Jimin wad an end of it in his mouth, and then crawls back out of the way.

San’s next to you then, too, one hand on your knee.

They’re with you.

They’re with Jimin.

No matter what happens, this isn’t just you.

“Now or never, guys.” Seonghwa says softly. “Nobody touch him.”

Jimin braces himself against the wall, and a sob breaks past the towel in his mouth. His entire body is convulsing with terrified tremors, and you think yours is too.

Yeosang squeezes your arms, and you hear him say something to you, but you can’t process. You can’t hear or see anything but the look on Jimin’s face.

You want to close your eyes. You want to hide yourself from what’s about to happen, but you can’t. This was your idea. This is your fault.

Yunho presses the button.

Jimin’s body jerks, a gut wrenching cry exploding from his throat, and his eyes roll back.

You cry with him, your body lurching for him on instinct.

Yeosang catches you, pulling you back. His arms are around your waist now, holding you to him, murmuring comfort into your deaf ears.

“He’s just unconscious.” Seonghwa’s fingers are on the pulse point of Jimin’s wrist. “Is that all? We shouldn’t do it again, right?”

“I don’t want to hurt him.” Yunho peels the contacts off of his chest. “If one jolt doesn’t take care of this, I think we’re out of luck. I don’t want to hit him again.”

You don’t want him too either. Now that Jimin is lying in front of you, unresponsive, you can’t believe what you’ve done. Sending another jolt through his body feels like murder.

This time, when you try to crawl forward, Yeosang lets you go. You pull the towel from Jimin’s mouth, taking his face into your hands.

“Chim?” Your voice is a whimper. “Chim? Jimin?” His head lolls in your palms. His skin is hot and you feel blood pumping beneath your fingers, but he looks so dead that you just can’t think anything else. “Oh my god, Jimin, please,”

“Give him a minute.” San tells you. “Just give him a minute.”

“He probably won’t be able to walk, especially with that leg. We’re gonna have to help him downstairs.” Seonghwa says. He turns to you, touching your shoulder. “We’re giving this a shot, okay? We’ll bring him with us, and if it didn’t work, we’ll deal with that then. Okay?”

You nod, sniffling, unable to tear yourself away.

“Okay. Yunho and I will help him downstairs. Sugar and Yeosang will lead the way to the office, San and Wooyoung will follow behind. Somebody grab the files, we’re bringing those too.”

Behind you, Yeosang and Wooyoung get up to gather up the papers and shove them back into one of the file boxes.

Yunho pushes the AED box away and turns to you. “I really hope that worked.” He tells you quietly. “I really do hope he’s okay.”

You believe him. You know why he did it, you know why he insisted. He didn’t have to do that for you, for Jimin, and he knew what responsibility he was placing on his own shoulders. If you understand nothing else, you understand that. “I know.” You meet his eyes. “Thank you, Yunho.”

“Not yet.” He gives you a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile. “Not until we know it worked. You’re still allowed to hate me.” He gives your arm a squeeze and then gets up and leaves you with Jimin.

Time moves in slow motion.

The others are busy behind you, gathering up materials and documents in preparation to leave the safety of the control room.

You hear them speaking quietly, discussing plans for getting back down to the office with the least amount of risk.

Jimin twitches beneath you, but he doesn’t wake.

You have to do something. You can’t just sit here and wait. So you pull up his pant leg, checking the path of deterioration. The muscle damage has extended to his thigh, but based on the way he was gripping it earlier, you’re sure it hasn’t happened since the shock was administered.

Even still, you wonder if he’ll ever be able to recover the leg.

If the muscle is gone, it’s gone, right?

Damage like that doesn’t heal, or grow back, right?

God, you just electrocuted your best friend.

You just put him through something the human body was never designed to withstand.

You electrocuted his pumping heart and functioning brain.

What if he never comes back?

He says your name. It’s broken, hoarse, barely a whisper, but it’s your name and his voice.

“Oh my god, Jimin.” You’re on him in a second, eyes brimming with tears all over again. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

His legs shift, his arms twitch. The tiniest smile curls his lips. “Tingly.”

You laugh. You can’t help it.

The sound draws the attention of the others, and suddenly they’re around you again, crowding in close to Jimin.

“God, that hurt like a bitch.” He croaks. “Please don’t do that again.”

Wooyoung is laughing. San is laughing.

Maybe they’re crying.

You don’t know, you don’t care.

“Dude, that was fucking scary.” Seonghwa crouches and grabs one of Jimin’s arms. “We’re helping you out of here, okay? You ready?”

He nods, weakly lifting his arms so Yunho and Seonghwa can position themselves to take his weight, hoisting him to his feet.

Jimin groans, his bad leg buckling, and his face goes sickly pale. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“We know, we’ve got you.” Seonghwa promises. “We got you.”

While they adjust their hold on him, fixing him securely between them, Jimin flashes you a waning grin. “Let’s do this. Yeah?” He’s barely functioning, practically convulsing, but he’s putting on a brave face.

Suddenly, you can’t look at him. He’s too broken, too scared, too hurt, and it’s all your fault. You turn away and find Yeosang where he’s fastening the lid to one of the file boxes. “Are you ready to go?”

He looks up at you, surprised. Straightening to his full height, he brings the box up with him and glances at Jimin. “Yeah. Is he good?”

“He’s good.” You say firmly. “It’s time to go.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Eventually deciding that there’s no point in pushing you for any kind of reaction, he nods. “Alright. I’m ready.”

San is already at the door, cautiously pushing it open and checking the hall. He looks back at your group. “We’re clear. Let’s go.”

You and Yeosang take the lead as instructed, Seonghwa and Yunho bringing Jimin next, and then Wooyoung and San taking up the rear.

As you make your way down the hall, towards the stairs that Wooyoung and San had emerged from, Yeosang shifts his hold on the box and glances at you. “It probably worked.” He whispers. “I don’t see how those things could have survived it, especially as babies.”

You can’t hope. You can’t even pray. “We’ll find out.”

“I’m really sorry.” He continues. “I know he’s…I’m really sorry, I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

When you don’t answer, he takes a few minutes to focus on the path ahead. You hear the shuffling of dormant zombies in the distance, but as long as you get to the stairwell, you won’t reach them.

“Why didn’t you mention him? In your, you know…perfect day? I mean, he’s your—“ when his confused whisper breaks off, you realize what he’s thinking.

It’s understandable, considering the way you and Jimin interact with each other, but it’s not like that. “We’re not dating.” You return simply.

Yeosang carefully pulls the stairwell door open, and when you’re sure it’s clear, you both step through. Once everyone is inside, you head down the steps.

“He calls you Sugar Baby.” He breathes softly. “And you guys—“

“It’s a joke.” You would actually rather be having this conversation than any one regarding his possible imminent death. “A joke on my nickname. I went through a pretty bad breakup a few years ago, and when I didn’t have an apartment anymore, he let me crash with him. The ex had been one of my colleagues back before I started working with this company, so I was out of a job, too. Jimin supported me. He started calling me Sugar Baby since he was footing all of my expenses until I got this gig. He’s my best friend, but he’s…we’re just friends.”

“Yeah, she owes me like a million dollars.” Jimin’s voice pipes up behind you. “If I die, she’s in the clear.”

“Shut up, Jimin,” you hiss back at him. “I swear to god, that’s not funny.”

There’s a quiet snicker that’s half a gasp for breath and half a mockery at your expense, but he doesn’t follow up with anything else.

“Can we stop talking?” San whispers from the back. “It’s making me nervous.”

The seven of you descend to the first floor in careful silence, pulling up to the exit door at long last. Before he tries to open it, Yeosang turns and passes the file box back to Wooyoung. Now prepared to face whatever’s on the other side, he grips the handle and gives it a push.

The door creaks open on shrieking hinges, and five zombies on the other side turn wildly, staring right at you.

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tag list : @mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

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mrsvante · 2 months ago

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The Long Game VII

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere, domestic bliss

summary: he’d prepared for this moment a thousand times, imagined every sound you’d make, every look you’d give. But nothing compared to the reality of you—standing in the space he’d shaped around your absence, breathing life into rooms that had felt cold without you. you had no idea. no idea what you’d done to him. no idea how far he’d go to keep you exactly where you were now.

warnings: domestic namjoon, there’s some fluff, breeding kink, oral f!recieving, possessive vibes on crack, namjoon is drunk off you, the life of luxury 😩

word count: 3,505

Namjoon could barely contain himself.

No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t containing himself.

His usual cool, collected demeanor had all but crumbled the second you stepped through the doors of his penthouse, your penthouse now, whether you realized it or not. He’d been practically vibrating since the moment you landed, eager anticipation simmering beneath every polite smile and courteous gesture.

Now, as he guided you through the space with your hand resting delicately in his, Namjoon felt like a boy showing off a science project he’d spent months perfecting. He watched you with hawk like intensity, hanging on every delighted sound that left your lips, cataloging every wide eyed glance and shy little smile as though they were treasures in and of themselves.

He was… ecstatic. And that wasn’t a word Namjoon often used for himself.

The penthouse had undergone a transformation in your absence, stripped of the sleek, cold minimalism that had once defined it. The walls were warmer now, soft grays and delicate earth tones replacing the harsh slate palette. The furniture had been swapped out for cozier, more inviting pieces, and tasteful personal touches were scattered throughout.

You couldn’t stop turning in slow, stunned circles as you took it all in.

“You remodeled… everything,” you whispered, breathless. “It feels so different.”

Namjoon’s lips curved into a soft smile, so unbearably tender it made his cheeks ache. He couldn’t help himself—he reached for you, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

“For you,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet devotion. “Only for you.”

He led you next to your new office. Custom built ins lined the walls, housing art supplies, books, your laptop setup—everything you could ever need. The oversized window overlooked the city, allowing natural light to pour in, and Namjoon made sure you noticed the little details: the plush rug beneath your chair, the coffee warmer on your desk, the miniature fridge stocked with your favorite drinks.

“Now you can work without distractions,” he said, pleased, watching your mouth part in disbelief.

Then came the closet. He’d knocked down walls for this, expanded what was once merely impressive into something borderline decadent. Your clothes had already been carefully unpacked, organized perfectly, and your bags, shoes, and jewelry were on display like pieces of art.

You laughed in shock. “You remodeled your closet?”

Namjoon only smirked, tugging you closer until your back hit his chest and his mouth pressed against your ear. “What’s mine is yours. Besides,” his hand slid down your waist, squeezing lightly, “you take up so much space in my life already. Might as well make room everywhere.”

The greenhouse stole your breath next. He’d designed it entirely for you—lush with tropical plants you’d brought back from Singapore, softly glowing grow lights overhead, humidity carefully regulated. It was warm and serene, a perfect little haven nestled right in the sky.

Namjoon watched you press your hands to the glass of the windows, your eyes glassy.

“You did all of this… for me?”

“Of course.” He said it simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. In his mind, it was. There had never been a version of this life where he wouldn’t make every inch of his home ready to receive you properly.

But the real jewel came last—the bedroom.

You gasped when you stepped inside. Gone was the stark, cool aesthetic from before. Now, it was intimate and warm. Soft, airy curtains framed the windows, plush rugs covered the hardwood floors, and the walls had been painted in a muted, romantic taupe.

The bed was massive. Dressed in seductive silk sheets, pillows upon pillows, and a comforter that looked impossibly inviting. There was a stunning vanity fully stocked with all of your makeup and skincare. On your side of the bed, Namjoon had even stocked your nightstand. Your favorite lip balm, your water carafe and glass, your favorite snacks tucked away in the drawers.

But what made you laugh softly, tears threatening to spring into your eyes, was the familiar sight of your giant shark plushie propped up between the bed and nightstand.

You turned, overwhelmed and radiant, throwing your arms around Namjoon.

“Joon,” you whispered, pressing kisses to his face, his jaw, his lips. “You are… so fucking good to me. This is everything. You’re everything.”

His eyes fluttered shut, basking in your affection, but beneath his soft smile, something deeper stirred. Because as much as he adored your gratitude—the kisses, the words, the way you clung to him —it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not for a man like him.

What he really wanted… was you. In this bed. Wrapped up in his sheets. Marking this space as yours in the only way that mattered.

And so, Namjoon kissed you back.

Slowly at first. Almost achingly tender.

His lips tasted of restraint and simmering hunger, a fragile balance he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain for long. He walked you backward with deliberate steps, the heat rolling off him in waves, until your knees bumped against the edge of the bed. You fell back easily when he guided you, trusting him, pliant beneath the weight of his stare.

His body pressed over yours, large hands spanning your sides as though they were meant to anchor you there, under him, with him. His mouth dragged lower, down your throat, lingering with greedy intent at your collarbones where his lips left slow, wet kisses. They felt like brands, like marks that silently screamed mine.

You giggled softly, breath hitching as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Greedy man,” you teased with a breathless laugh, your words threaded with fondness. “You already did all this for me and now you want more?”

Namjoon groaned, rolling his hips down against you, the thick press of his cock, still restrained by his sweats, grinding perfectly against your core. It pulled a soft gasp from your lips and immediately satisfied some deep, primal part of him.

“You know exactly what I want,” he rasped darkly, his voice already wrecked from need.

Clothes soon became meaningless. They were removed slowly, almost ceremoniously, his hands sliding across every inch of newly exposed skin like he couldn’t bear to leave any part of you untouched. Each patch of bare flesh was met with worship.

Kisses that lingered, touches that lingered longer.

He sucked marks onto your thighs, leaving evidence of his possession in tender bruises. He traced his tongue up your stomach, following the soft lines of your body with an almost devout care, and then buried his face between your breasts, inhaling like he could live off the scent of you alone.

It was intoxicating. You, laid out for him like this.

By the time he slid down between your legs, his control had frayed dangerously thin.

His tongue licked slow, calculated stripes over your pussy until you writhed for him, your moans bouncing off the walls and filling the newly christened bedroom. Namjoon hummed in satisfaction, fingers gripping your thighs tighter as he devoured you with slow, sinful expertise.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, voice muffled by your slick heat. “Let me taste home.”

You came fast and hard, body tightening beneath his mouth, and he didn’t stop until you were shuddering and tugging at his hair in desperation.

Only then did he rise, mouth glistening, eyes dark with hunger as he lined himself up and thrust deep in one long, claiming push.

You gasped, your legs instantly locking around his hips as your nails dug into his back.

Namjoon groaned harshly, pressing his forehead against yours, his hips barely moving yet as he savored the overwhelming tightness.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathed out, lips brushing against your temple. “You feel perfect… so fucking perfect for me. Always so warm, so tight. Like you were made for my cock.”

His thrusts began slowly, deep and rhythmic, dragging pleasure from both of you in slow, consuming waves. Your back arched off the mattress as breathy moans spilled from your lips, your arms curling around his broad shoulders like you needed to hold onto something, anything.

Namjoon couldn’t help but murmur into your skin, drunk off your body, drunk off you. His mouth dragged lazy kisses across your throat, lips swollen from how desperately he’d kissed you moments before.

“You’re my good girl,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Always so good for me.”

His hand slid down to cradle your thigh, holding you open as he rocked deeper into you, as if he could mold you to fit him even more perfectly.

“My perfect girl.” He kissed the shell of your ear, and the possessive tremble in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“Back where you belong,” he rasped, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he was trying to disappear inside you. “Back where I need you. Where you’re safe. Where you’re mine.”

His thrusts slowed, deepened—less frantic now, more deliberate. Like he wanted to feel every inch, like he wanted to memorize this. You. The soft, sinful way you wrapped around him.

“I missed this,” he breathed. “Missed us. Missed being inside you where I’m supposed to be. Like I’ve been walking around empty without you.”

“You were made for me,” he whispered. “Just for me.”

You whispered his name softly—Joon, Joon, Joon—like you couldn’t say anything else, like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

But softness never lasted long with Namjoon.

Not when you clenched around him so sweetly. Not when your thighs trembled, your mouth hung open in pleasure, your face flushed from his love.

His pace grew rougher, more urgent, and he sat back slightly to grab your hips, angling you just right so his cock slammed into the perfect spot with every desperate thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the bedroom, joined by your breathy cries and his low, guttural grunts.

That’s when the shift happened.

That’s when he fell into it, that dark, obsessive place he rarely let show in front of you.

“Fuck,” Namjoon growled, his voice thick, drunk on the way your body responded to his every move. His eyes flicked down to where your pussy was stretched around him, flushed with hunger, taking him so perfectly. “Look at this. Look how you take me. Like you were born for me.”

His pace faltered, grinding instead of thrusting as he leaned closer, lips grazing your jaw.

“Gonna fill you up,” he whispered, his voice a sharp edge wrapped in silk. “Gonna fuck my cum so deep inside you, baby. You’ll be dripping with me for days.”

You whimpered his name, shaky and overwhelmed, but Namjoon wasn’t listening. Not really. He was gone, swept up in the idea of you.

“Imagine it,” he murmured, licking into your mouth as he continued to grind deep. “My wife. My perfect little wife, belly round with my baby, stuck at home because you’re too fucked out and swollen to do anything but wait for me to come home and fill you again.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Joon—”

“Imagine walking around this penthouse pregnant,” he continued, nearly delirious now. “Our home. Our bed. Every room yours… except you can’t even bend down to pick something up without my help because you’re carrying so much of me inside you.”

Your breath hitched, face burning with arousal and embarrassment.

“You’re insane,” you gasped, but your hips rolled up to meet his desperately, chasing the drag and press of his cock.

Namjoon groaned deeply, eyes fluttering as he lost himself in the idea.

“Insane for you,” he corrected, his thrusts suddenly brutal again, snapping into you hard enough to make the headboard knock softly against the wall. “Fucking crazy for you. Want to keep you like that. Want to make you mine in every way there is. Want everyone to look at you and know who fucking owns you.”

You moaned loudly, clenching around him hard, and Namjoon cursed, losing what little control he had left.

“Gonna fill you up every night,” he growled, slamming in deeper, harder, his pace wild now. “Over and over until it takes. Until you’re knocked up and glowing and stuck right here with me.”

Your cries echoed around the bedroom, your body locking up tight as you came again, sobbing his name as your walls fluttered wildly around him.

Namjoon followed instantly, hips grinding down as he spilled inside you, a long, desperate moan falling from his lips as he emptied himself completely.

He stayed there, buried deep, panting against your shoulder, his arms tight around your body like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing frantic kisses to your neck. “I need you.”

“You’re mine. Always mine.”

You whimpered softly, too wrecked to answer, but you pressed your lips against his jaw weakly and that was enough.

Eventually, Namjoon shifted, carefully easing out and gathering you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. He carried you to the bathroom, gently cleaned you up, and pressed soft kisses to your thighs and belly as you dozed off, too spent to protest.

When he tucked you back into bed, brushing your hair from your face and whispering quietly as you drifted to sleep.

“Sleep, princess. You’re home now,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along your arm.

—

The sun was still low in the sky when Namjoon stirred.

The penthouse was bathed in soft, early light, golden and warm as it filtered through the sheer curtains. The city beyond the windows was quiet, still asleep, but inside this bedroom, inside this bed, everything felt perfect.

You were curled against him, your face pressed into his bare chest, one leg tossed possessively over his waist. Your breathing was steady, lips parted slightly as you slept, blissfully unaware of the way Namjoon’s dark eyes traced every feature of your face like he was memorizing you.

Like he hadn’t spent the entire night tangled with you.

Like he didn’t already know every inch of your body and soul.

His fingers trailed softly down your spine, barely grazing, but the simple act made his cock twitch beneath the covers. Not even from lust—though that simmered quietly, as always—but from pure obsession.

You were here.

You were his.

Back in Seoul, in his bed, in his life.

Namjoon swallowed thickly, heart aching in a way that wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was primal. A dark, desperate need that twisted low in his gut and whispered that he would never, ever let you leave again.

Not now. Not after this.

He stayed like that for nearly an hour, just watching you sleep, before you finally stirred, groaning softly and stretching like a lazy cat. Your eyes fluttered open and met his gaze immediately.

“Why are you awake?” you asked, voice scratchy with sleep, lips curving slightly at the corners.

Namjoon smiled, warm and devastating, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Not with you looking like that right next to me.”

You rolled your eyes but blushed anyway, hiding your face in his chest with a shy laugh.

“Gross,” you teased. “You’re gross in the mornings.”

“You love it,” he countered easily, his arms tightening around you. “You love me.”

You froze for a split second—then relaxed, heart skipping as your fingers trailed up his ribs.

“…Yeah. I do.”

Namjoon kissed your crown like he’d won something monumental. Like your sleepy little confession had satisfied something deep inside him that words couldn’t reach.

Breakfast was lazy. He ordered in, everything you liked, and insisted on feeding you bites straight from his chopsticks. He sat close, closer than necessary, his knee pressed against yours, his hand occasionally sneaking under the oversized shirt you wore, his shirt, to squeeze your bare thigh.

At some point, though, as you sipped your tea, you remembered. Your face warmed as you glanced over at him, watching as he polished off his own plate, annoyingly casual.

“…Joon?”

“Hm?” He glanced at you, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb, utterly at ease.

“Last night,” you began slowly, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too affected. “You said some stuff.”

His brows lifted faintly, clearly amused. “I said a lot of stuff, baby.”

You scowled playfully but your heart pounded. “You know what I mean.”

He stared at you for a beat. Then, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face, so lazy and fond and dangerous it made your stomach flip.

“Oh,” he drawled, voice dropping slightly. “You mean when I told you I was going to make you my wife and pump you full of my babies?”

You choked on your tea, eyes wide. “Joon—!”

“What?” he asked innocently, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head, muscles flexing beneath his tshirt. “It’s true. That’s the plan. I want you barefoot, pregnant, and stuck at home so I can keep you all to myself.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly, and he just smiled like you were adorable for being so flustered.

“You’re serious,” you finally whispered, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Namjoon tilted his head, his grin softening into something more intense. “Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re mine. And soon, you’ll be mine legally too. That ring is coming, sweetheart. Soon as you even hint that you’re ready…”

His eyes darkened, voice turning rougher.

“I’ll put a baby in you so fast you won’t even remember life before it.”

You sputtered, your cheeks on fire.

“Joon, my parents haven’t even met you yet!” you blurted. “I haven’t even met your parents—how can you talk about marriage and babies like that?”

Namjoon blinked once, very slowly. Then, his lips twitched like you’d just said something very stupid.

“…Is that it?” he asked, voice low and amused. “That’s what’s holding you back from our future?”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer before he pulled out his phone.

You gawked. “Namjoon. Joon. What are you doing—?”

He was already typing. Already calling.

Within seconds, he had the phone to his ear and his tone flipped immediately. Soft, polite, almost boyish in a way that made your head spin.

“Eomma,” he greeted warmly. “Good morning. No, everything’s fine. Actually—yes. I have someone I want you to meet. Your future daughter-in-law.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, your stomach flipping wildly as he casually, shamelessly said the words like it was the most natural thing in the world. You couldn’t hear his mother’s response, but Namjoon’s pleased hum and knowing grin told you everything.

“Mm, yes. Soon. I’ll set up a day and time. Appa too? Of course. I want them both to meet her properly.”

When he hung up, he was glowing. No, preening. He looked absolutely smug and satisfied as he turned back to you.

“There,” he said simply. “Handled.”

You could only gape. “Namjoon…”

“What?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief and affection. “You said that was the issue. So now it’s not.”

You hid your face in your hands, laughing in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Namjoon reached forward and tugged your hands down gently, cupping your cheeks as he leaned in, his voice dropping low and dangerous.

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he corrected, kissing your lips softly.

You melted, just a little.

“…My parents…” you tried again weakly, but Namjoon didn’t let you finish.

“Tell me about them,” he said easily. “I need to know everything before I meet them.”

It rolled off his tongue so easily. As if he hadn’t done an entire background check on every single on of your living relatives. Immediate and distant family. He’d left no stone untouched when he was debating on making you an offer of being his sugar baby.

How drastically things have changed over the years.

You hesitated, and then started explaining that they knew about someone. You’d vaguely told them you were seeing someone exclusively, but you definitely hadn’t explained that he was your sugar daddy turned boyfriend turned obsessed husband to be.

Namjoon listened carefully, nodding along with a thoughtful hum.

“And they’re… traditional, you said?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Kind of. They’re not super strict but, y’know… they don’t like too much PDA. Especially when meeting someone for the first time.”

For a moment, Namjoon just stared at you. Then his lips curled in a way that made your stomach clench.

“No hands?” he asked slowly, clearly amused.

“No hands,” you confirmed firmly.

“No kisses?”

“Joon.”

“No fucking?” he added with a wicked grin.

You groaned, slapping his arm.

“They’re my parents, Namjoon. Behave.”

He laughed, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap again, his hands automatically sliding down to cup your ass possessively.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised smoothly. “But you know I’m going to be inside you as soon as they leave, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but your body betrayed you, heat flooding between your thighs at the thought. Namjoon kissed you again, slow and possessive, humming softly as he tasted your surrender.

“Soon, princess,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon you’ll be my wife. And then I won’t ever have to pretend to behave again.”

And the terrifying thing was… you weren’t sure you wanted him to.

six | masterlist | eight

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