#champagne funfetti | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hamsterclaw · 2 years ago

Text

Penance

You have nothing but the best of intentions when you whisk Yoongi away to celebrate his birthday, but somehow it doesn't work out the way you've planned.

Part of the Vows series. Read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: Arranged marriage AU!, e2l, smut

Warnings: A little mild blasphemy, sex, swearing, vows! Seokjin

Yoongi turns his gaze your way. You’re looking out the window of the plane, lost in thought.

There are always words on the tip of his tongue when he looks at you, and only his sheer stubbornness to hold them back.

He’d wanted to say how touched he was that you’d organised this trip for his birthday, but the words had retreated when you’d snorted at his passport photo.

You’d turned to him, voice dry as you’d said, ‘of course you’d have a gorgeous passport photo. My perfect chaebol husband.’

Yoongi hadn’t heard a question, so he hadn’t given an answer.

You’d skipped onto the plane ahead of him, getting settled in, and when the flight attendant had offered Yoongi champagne he’d turned to you to realise you were already asleep, face in your hand in a way that made his heart tug dangerously.

He’s finishing off some work when he realises you’re awake and watching him.

‘Did you bring your glasses?’ you ask.

‘I forgot them when you kidnapped me out of my office,’ Yoongi replies. He means it as a joke but your mouth turns down slightly at the corner.

‘Sorry,’ you say. ‘You have that shareholders meeting tomorrow, too, don’t you?’

You look down at your lap. ‘I didn’t know you had an important meeting. I would have rescheduled this trip.’

Yoongi is never sure if you’re aware of how endearing he finds your little downturned mouth when you’re sad or disappointed.

‘I can join in remotely,’ he says. ‘I’ll only need an hour.’

‘Ok,’ you say, distracted by the flight attendant bringing a tray into the cabin. There’s a silver cloche covering the contents, and Yoongi has a moment of horrified realisation just as the singing begins.

His eyes snap to yours, and he realises he’s doomed from the way you’ve got your hands clasped and are singing the birthday song with enthusiasm, if not talent.

Yoongi forces a pained smile as the flight attendant lifts the cloche to reveal a sprinkles-covered birthday cake, a funfetti monstrosity with his name on in gold letters.

He genuinely can’t think of anything that he hates more than this forced joviality.

Thankfully it’s over almost as soon as it’s begun.

Yoongi watches as you carefully cut him a slice and present it to him ceremoniously.

He takes a bite, and you say, ‘oh.’

You gesture to the corner of his mouth, and then, quickly, put a hand on his arm and use your other thumb to swipe the cream off his mouth.

‘Use your tongue next time,’ Yoongi suggests, just to watch the way your eyes widen like you’re a shocked Victorian maiden.

It always amuses him, your particular mix of shy and bratty.

You blink once, then you say, ‘I love licking cream off you.’

Yoongi nearly chokes on his cake, eyes fixed to your face.

Your words replay in his head, and there’s no way you didn’t mean them to sound as suggestive as they did.

You’re already turning away, reaching under the seat for your sweater.

‘Seokjin said you’d like a cream cake,’ you continue, slipping your sweater on.

Yoongi catches the barest hint of a smirk just as your face disappears momentarily under a wall of cream merino.

He manages to blank his expression before your face re-emerges, hair staticky and fluffed.

‘Seokjin’s full of helpful suggestions,’ Yoongi says.

‘He is suggestive,’ you mutter.

Yoongi laughs, and your eyes brighten.

You eat your cake in silence.

Yoongi’s sneaking glances at you as you chew, and when you set your fork down, he says, ‘hey.’

You lean closer, and Yoongi smooths a lock of hair back from your forehead.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, quietly, in that voice that melts him every time, ‘did you hate the fanfare with the cake very much?’

‘Yes, my love. Did it make you happy to watch me squirm?’

You can’t hide the gleeful quirk to your lips. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

You don’t sound sorry at all, but Yoongi forgives you anyway.

He sighs, exasperated. ‘What other surprises have you got planned?’

Your conversation is interrupted by the flight attendant collecting the trays, and when Yoongi looks back at you, you’re asleep again.

Yoongi reaches over, puts his hand on yours, and goes to sleep himself.

***

The night-time breeze is balmy but Yoongi doesn’t mind.

You’d slipped your hand into his as you started your walk along the cobblestoned streets of Avila, and he’s quite sure he’ll walk you to wherever you want to go, when you’re holding his hand like this.

You’re brushing your thumb along his knuckles, exploring the dips in between with an absent fondness that seems almost unintentional.

You turn to him, all bright and cheery despite the late hour, and Yoongi’s gaze falls to the low neck of your sundress.

He can see the tops of your breasts from here, the edge of your bra.

It’s red silk, a set he’d bought you a while ago that you’d discovered in his wardrobe and accused him of buying for himself.

Yoongi reaches out and strokes his own thumb over your collarbone, stopping at the hollow in the middle of your neck.

He presses, hard, and you bite your lip.

‘Yoongi?’ you ask, like you haven’t been teasing him since you got off the plane, getting dressed in red silk lingerie in front of him, asking him to help with the buttons on the front of your sundress, holding his hand when you know how it affects him.

Yoongi pushes his thumb into your skin, harder, sliding his other arm around your waist to steady you as you step back, back until you’re pressed against the stone wall of the church you were about to walk past.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, and if you have more to say Yoongi never hears it because of the blood rushing in his ears.

He kisses you, hot and demanding, tongue slipping into your mouth like a claim.

As always, you yield, throwing down any resistance with a willing abandon that floors him. Your hands fist handfuls of his jacket, and you tilt your head to let him kiss you deeper.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, not wanting your head to hit the wall.

You respond by throwing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body to his.

Your breasts press against his chest, your hips rock against his shamelessly.

Yoongi grinds his hardening cock into your softness to let you know just how into this he is.

You’re breathless, shivering against him, and Yoongi’s about to shrug off his jacket when you slide down onto your knees in front of him.

He stares down at you, breathless, as you press your lips to his groin, mouth along the outline of his erection.

He casts a glance around, but there’s no one to be seen in this quiet part of town, at this hour.

The night’s dark, the golden streetlights are far enough away from each other that the illumination doesn’t quite light up all the spaces in between.

You’re already unzipping his trousers, drawing him out, and you take him in with an eagerness that makes his cock leap.

God, you’re unbelievable.

Yoongi says, ‘wait,’ hoarsely, staggers two steps back to lean against the base of a statue.

He cups the back of your head as you start sucking him down in earnest, swallowing the tip of his cock down.

He arches his head back, glimpses the face of the statue, smiling down at him beatifically haloed by the darkness of the night sky.

You grab his ass, drag his hips forward like you’re trying to force him down you, and Yoongi’s lost, coming with a shout, spilling himself down your throat.

You lick him clean, and are zipping his pants back up when you’re pulled away from him.

You look up at him, confused.

Yoongi’s just as confused, but he doesn’t like the way the uniformed guard has your arms pinned behind you.

‘Hey,’ he starts, and then realises that another guard has slapped handcuffs on him.

You’re looking at the statue he’s leaning against.

There’s rapid-fire Spanish, beyond Yoongi’s rudimentary comprehension. The only words he can make out are ‘Santa Teresa.’

Yoongi’s bundled into the back of a police car next to you.

‘Fuck,’ you say, ‘I think they’re accusing us of defiling the statue of Saint Teresa of Avila.’

***

In the tiny cell, Yoongi shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders.

You look up at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. You look so upset Yoongi’s already reaching out to hold you when a single tear streaks down your cheek.

‘For getting us arrested?’ he clarifies.

Instead of giggling like he expected you to, you let out a sob, and Yoongi, alarmed, tips your chin up to see your face.

‘It’s not the first time I’ve been arrested, don’t worry,’ he says, trying to be reassuring.

‘I’ve never been in jail before,’ you sob.

Yoongi strokes your hair.

‘Technically we’re not in jail,’ he stutters, flustered by your tears.

Your eyes flick to his, like you can’t believe how terrible he is at trying to comfort you when you’re crying.

In all honesty, Yoongi can’t blame you.

‘I called Seokjin, he’s getting my lawyers involved,’ Yoongi continues, because you’re still staring at him. ‘We’ll be out of here in no time.’

‘Your meeting,’ you say, gulping. ‘It’s in six hours.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Yoongi says, quietly.

Your tears have stopped, and he can practically see the gears in your head turning as you get up and start pacing the cell.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, stopping in front of him.

‘For what?’ Yoongi scoffs. ‘Giving me the best blowjob of my life against the statue of the patron saint of Avila?’

You let out a giggle that sounds completely involuntary.

Encouraged, Yoongi continues, ‘flying me out here in the middle of a busy work week to celebrate my birthday in a Spanish prison?’

This time, you laugh, and for the first time since you were both arrested, Yoongi feels the tenseness in his shoulders start to ease.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, and your eyes meet his. ‘Can you let me organise my own birthday celebrations next time?’

Your eyes begin to sparkle with that bratty gleam he loves.

You tilt your chin, a show of defiance, and Yoongi feels a dangerous tug at his heart.

‘What would you have planned?’ you ask.

‘Making you come with my tongue buried inside you,’ Yoongi replies.

He laughs as you still completely and let out a squeak.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, like you’re scandalised but he knows better. ‘That’s the kind of behaviour that got us thrown in here in the first place.’

‘You’re right,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘Come hold my hand instead.’

You look at his outstretched palm for a moment before you put your hand in his.

You sit next to him, and, carefully, with tentativeness, like you’re on a first date instead of being husband and wife, lean your head on his shoulder.

Yoongi lets out a breath and presses his cheek to the top of your head.

‘I love you, Yoongi,’ you say, very quietly.

Yoongi squeezes your hand, and holds you until the world around you falls away.

He sleeps.

***

The sound of footsteps approaching wakes Yoongi.

He looks up, careful not to jostle you against his chest. From the weight of you, you’re still sleeping.

The cell door unlocks, and the police officer gestures to him.

‘Your lawyer called. You’re free to go.’

You’re stirring beside him, looking up sleepily.

‘We’re being released,’ Yoongi tells you.

You nod.

You slip your hand into his and follow him to the open door of the holding cell.

‘Stop,’ the guard says. ‘She can’t go. Her paperwork hasn’t come through. It’s only you that can go.’

Yoongi’s already trying to step back into the cell when it closes.

He slips his arm through the bars to hold your arm.

Instead of dismay, there’s determination in your face.

You’re looking at the clock.

‘Yoongi, your meeting. It’s in twenty minutes. You’ve got time to conference yourself in.’

Yoongi doesn’t even blink.

‘Fuck that. There’s no way I’m leaving here without you.’

Not letting go of your arm, he takes the phone the guard hands him and is dialling when Kim Seokjin walks around the corner.

As always, he’s beautifully dressed, in a cream linen suit and crisp blue shirt unbuttoned to mid chest.

He speaks to the guard in Spanish, and in moments, the guard’s unlocking the cell to let you out.

Seokjin turns to Yoongi and you, that smirk on his face that’s always made Yoongi’s eye twitch.

‘I want to know more about the antics that got you thrown in here, but for now, there’s a car waiting outside that’s dialled into your shareholders meeting, Yoongi. Better get to it.’

‘Thanks, hyung,’ Yoongi says.

‘Happy birthday,’ Seokjin says, clapping him on the back.

‘Thanks.’

Yoongi grabs your hand and walks out with you and Seokjin.

He doesn’t look back.

***

Yoongi’s lying on his back in the beautiful villa you’d hired for your stay.

The gauzy curtains flutter in the salty ocean breeze, and the ceiling fan above the bed he’s lying in circles lazily.

Yoongi’s been watching you dry your hair for the past five minutes, and the glimpse of your naked back from the gaping lapels of the bathrobe you’re almost wearing has him harder than he feels comfortable admitting.

Fuck. There are times when he can’t believe you’re real.

‘Hey,’ he says, voice coming out deeper, lower than his usual tone. ‘Come here.’

You get up and head to the bed.

Yoongi tugs the knot in your robe, slips his hands over your bare thighs, loving how you part them so willingly for him.

‘Can I do what I wanted to for my birthday?’ he asks.

You frown at him. ‘It’s technically not your birthday anymore,’ you point out.

Yoongi scoffs. ‘Come sit on my face, don’t pretend you don’t want to.’

He slides his hands over your bare ass as you position yourself over his face.

You lean forward, one arm braced against the headboard, as Yoongi pulls you down onto his mouth.

He groans as he thumbs your folds apart to find you’re slick with arousal already.

He flattens his tongue to lick a broad stripe along your cunt.

Fuck, you sound so good when he’s eating you out.

You lean forward, moaning softly as he licks firmly at your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking out, making you gasp.

You shift, and your tits bounce, nipples hard and puckered, so pretty Yoongi pinches one to hear you squeal.

He laps at your arousal as he plays with your nipples. He knows how you love having your breasts played with, he loves how his touch can make you grind against his face, needy and gasping.

He flicks his tongue at your clit steadily, and you’re closing your eyes now, hips moving in that needy, uncoordinated way that they do when you’re close.

One of your hands lands on his head, fingers carding through his hair.

You tug, and Yoongi runs his teeth over your clit.

You cry his name, the last word you form before you’re coming all over his face.

Yoongi tugs you to him, holding you close as he turns you over so he can sink his cock in to the hilt.

You arch your back when he’s fully inside, letting out another pretty cry.

Yoongi’s cock throbs in your wet heat, the residual pulses of your orgasm milking him.

He groans as you wriggle beneath him.

‘Feels so good,’ you moan, tilting your hips to take more.

You so warm, so wet, so fucking tight that Yoongi’s spurting pre-come without even moving, ready to spill himself in you.

He grunts, and you squeeze him so tight that he’s on a hair trigger.

‘Yoongi,’ you plead. ‘I need —‘

‘I know, baby,’ he soothes, pressing a kiss to your warm face.

He moves, hitting deep, adjusting the angle of his hips to fuck into you the way he’s learned you like.

You’re so wet that every shift of his hips sounds obscene.

He pulls out, and re-enters you, the thick head of him stretching you open.

He stays like that, just the tip of his cock inside you, until you’re writhing, trying to buck up against him, to take more of him.

Yoongi leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, and then you’re coming, thank god, because Yoongi can’t hold on anymore.

He buries himself inside you, all the way, and comes.

Yoongi’s never been a religious man, but this sure feels a hell of a lot like rapture to him.

He wraps his arms around you.

‘Happy birthday to me,’ he says, hoarse, exhausted.

‘Yeah, happy birthday,’ you say, muffled, into his neck.

‘I love you, jagiya.’

You pull a face.

‘Yeah, I can feel your love all the way down my thigh,’ you reply, disgruntled.

Yoongi musters a smirk as he flexes his cock inside you.

‘You can’t pretend to hate me when I’m still inside you.’

You change tack with breathtaking audacity. ‘I don’t hate you, Yoongi.’

‘I know,’ he replies, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ��Now go to sleep so we can do this again.’

‘Thanks for not ditching me in jail,’ you say, yawning.

Yoongi’s heart gives an unexpected throb.

‘I never would,’ he tells you.

He’s not sure if you hear him, or if you’re already asleep.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #vows au

483 notes · View notes