Oof. Love This Story. Its Really Building In Drama And Suspense. I Have So Many Questions, Some Theories,

Oof. Love this story. It’s really building in drama and suspense. I have so many questions, some theories, but I love the world building. Very cool.

Bedeviled | Chapter 3: Descent

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female!reader

Genre: E2L, drama, romance, angst, horror

WC: 7.2k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, blood, brief mention of creepy crawlies, anxiety, depictions of Hell and people in it, possibly disturbing scenes, mentions of betrayal and manipulation, despair, possible lilapsophobia trigger, i think that’s it pls kindly let me know if there’s something i should add here.

Previous

You take another step back from the crater, in fear that you might accidentally throw yourself off the edge in a sudden burst of insanity. 

Gulping, you continue to back away until you can’t see into the seemingly bottomless pit. 

He continues to stand there, looking down as if he’s in some sort of trance. 

“Hey,” Your voice is weak, “Let’s go.”

JK turns to see you wringing your hands and a chuckle slips past his lips, “Scared already? We haven’t even gone in.”

Your eyes fall to the ground, not wanting to expose the anxiety consuming you. 

A moment passes before he rolls his eyes at your silence and walks towards the miniature arch, carelessly kicking the stones as he passes them. 

“Are you coming or not?” He snaps when you make no move to follow. 

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Oof. I’m a wreck!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 what a lovely piece of work. Sweet and charming and gut wrenching. Just the right amount of sad and happy for this melancholy heart.

Thank you for sharing your work 😊

pink sapphire

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 11k

glimpse: having jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he’s easy to love. your relationship’s perhaps become so easy that jungkook doesn’t think sometimes — and that’s what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

alternatively, you and jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

[ angst, arranged marriage au, fluff n really wholesome scenes (it cancels out the angst i swear), Jungkook Tries Hard (affectionate), miscommunication, jealousy, self-deprecation, sexual innuendos (no actual smut here!!), did i already say that jungkook tries rlly hard and is remorseful the whole time ]

notes: my year-ender fic for 2022 :) thank u for being here — i’m grateful for all ur love n support!! i’ll see u in the next one <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

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kiss me and take off your clothes (M)

Note: Bury a friend 3 is still in beta and all of my Hyung line fics are still in draft but I really wanted to post ??? Jungkook sweetie I’m so sorry.

My first attempt at smut so be gentle on me 😔 I’ve always wanted to write an 8th!member reader but not like this partners, lemme know if y’all want more 8th!M Reader.

Pairing: Platonic Jungkook/8thM!Reader, implied Taehyung/Reader, Reader is honestly a slut for ot7 if you squint,

Tags: implied romantic interest, mutual pining, switch!Jungkook, fairly vanilla, slightly kinky towards the end but nothing extreme

Plot: In which Jungkook, the last person you ever expected to be in your bedroom late at night, gives an even more shocking request.

-

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OoooooooooOooOoo I’m all for more of this story! Adding it to my likes to visit when I have some free time from my children! Ha!

Thanks again, this is a joy!

andante cantabile: coda || MYG x reader

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: historical / regency au, fluff, smut

rating: 18+ / explicit

wc: 3.8k

summary: Min Yoongi is dedicated to his craft, to the point of overworking himself. You have your own ways of ensuring he takes a break.

story warnings: pianist!yoongi, jane austen rip-off (but make it saucy), established relationship, so so so fluffy

smut warnings: feelsy soft vanilla smut, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, mc has a thing about yoongi's hands because of course, the inherent intimacy of being undressed by your partner, unprotected sex

note: is it an epilogue is it just a smutty follow-up is there a technical difference does ANYONE really care about what we're calling it? here is the smut yall 💖

(works as a stand-alone even if you haven't read the rest of the story)

masterlist: 1 | 2 | 3 | coda

Would you ever tire of hearing your husband play?

You hoped not. You most certainly were not today, the corners of your lips rising in an unbidden smile at the sound and sight of Yoongi behind the pianoforte.

The last sunlight of the day bathed him in a warm light contrasted by deep shadows, the window behind him providing a backdrop of a sky painted in pinks and golds. His brow furrowed in concentration while he made his way through a fast passage, a prestissimo that daunted you just to hear it. Yet every note retained a lightness, lifting your spirits.

Overcome by the sudden desire to be close, you left your vantage point at the doorway, making a careful approach to not disturb his focus. You ushered away the servant who had been turning the sheets of music and took his place, then quietly signalled him to leave the drawing room. You wanted your husband all to yourself.

Except you did not quite have him right now, not really.

Yoongi never faltered during the small disruption, his full attention on his rehearsal. He had a habit of losing himself in the music, whether he was practising or composing. Losing awareness of his surroundings and the passage of time. Doubtlessly, he had no realisation of how late it had gotten, and he began to worry you.

His passion and dedication to his craft were a credit to him, but only to a point. As far as you were concerned, that point had been reached today. Still, you quietly turned the pages for him, waiting for him to finish before you launched your intervention.

He only made it apparent that he had noticed you when his shoulder brushed against yours as he went through the final cadence, the move too deliberate to be accidental. The notes died down but he did not look at you, pressing a little firmer against you instead.

Good, for this way he could not see the mischievous smile as you removed your gloves, preparing for a little deliberation of your own. Fingers brushed over his hand, tracing a vein. Ever since you first saw his bare hands you had developed a bit of an obsession; large but delicate and so very beautiful. You rested your head on his shoulder, seeking out the glow of his sun-warmed body while you continued your lazy caresses.

His fingers twitched under your touch, but Yoongi did not retreat. Instead he let out a contented sigh, surrendering himself to your affections. “I must continue practise,” he murmured, but it was a feeble protest, unconvincing to either of you.

“Must you?”

He chuckled tiredly, and the shake of his shoulders made you lift your head.

“You have been working hard all day.” You cupped his cheek and guided him to face you directly, giving you full sight of the darkening shadows under his eyes. “Is it not time to rest? I miss you.”

If a touch of guilt was required to persuade him away from work, you would provide.

“Hm. Are you implying I have been neglecting you? What a troublesome wife,” he said, but the way he leaned into your touch belied his words, eyes closing in bliss.

You huffed. “I would argue you have been neglecting yourself.”

His eyes fluttered open, long lashes brushing against his cheeks. You welcomed the trap of his intense gaze, gladly allowing yourself to be pulled into the warmth of his dark eyes. Silence fell, but you knew your husband well enough to know he was considering your words honestly.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, then laughed when he saw the surge of triumph on your face. He knew his wife well enough to know how much you loved to win—and you counted this as a victory.

Still chuckling fondly, Yoongi cradled the back of your head. He tugged you closer, leading you into a grateful kiss. You gave into him, to the tongue playing against your bottom lip. While he was not always the most overt with his affections, it only served to increase the impact when he did show them. Even now the simple glide of his tongue against yours threatened to overwhelm you.

You made a soft noise against his mouth, your fingers sliding into his hair to anchor yourself as heat blossomed in your core. Fully aware of the effect he had on you, his expression was almost smug when he pulled away. Almost, if not for the unadulterated adoration shining through, a lingering hint of disbelief tugging at his features at the knowledge he could kiss you like this.

“I suppose I could take a break,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Perhaps some reading?” you proposed, careful to maintain a neutral expression as you suggested the innocuous activity. Your thumb slowly brushed across his knuckles.

Shaking his head, Yoongi made a sound that could be either a laugh or a sigh of exasperation. He pressed a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth, then further along your jawline. “Nothing else you had in mind?” he breathed by your ear, raising the little hairs on your neck.

“Oh? Unsatisfied with my suggestion?” you laughed, then tapped your finger to your lips as though deep in thought. “No, of course you are absolutely right,” you said. “It is getting late, we should turn to bed instead.”

Abruptly you rose from your seat, tugging on Yoongi’s hand as you stood up. Taken unawares by your sudden movement, he let you pull him on his feet, but his surprise quickly transformed into a wide smile. Your heart softened at his exposed gums, and you could not resist pressing a swift kiss on his cheek before you led him out of the drawing room.

However, Yoongi quickly took charge, his hand squeezing yours as he pulled you along with an urgency in his step.

You raised an eyebrow, though you could not deny the excitement that coursed through you. “Just what do you have planned, Mr. Min?”

He scowled at the formal address, but there was no power behind the surly look, his eyes filled with a tenderness contrary to his intentions. He drew you into the bedroom with express purpose, and never had the click of the door been louder.

Standing behind you, Yoongi curled his fingers around your waist while he pressed featherlight kisses up the column of your neck. His nose brushed over your skin, his quiet breath scorching. You let out a soft sigh of want, leaning back against him while you gathered your skirts for easy lifting.

Yet Yoongi pried your hands away, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder, unbothered by the chemise separating him from you. You turned your head in confusion; you could feel how affected he was, why the delay? “Yoongi, what are you–”

A pout drew over his lips and he nipped at you through the thin fabric, a gentle pinch that silenced your questioning. “I want to take my time with you,” he said, voice coarse. “Let me do this.”

You wanted to ask what, but he answered you when his hands glided up, over your stomach, chest, until he reached the pins that held up the front of your dress. With a surprisingly deft touch he removed them, allowing the flap to fall down and expose the laced bodice underneath.

Heat swept across your cheeks with the realisation of his plan. No quick hiking up your skirts tonight. Instead he dropped the pins on the dressing table by the door and continued his work with incredible patience. With a sharp inhale he brushed against your chest, lingering over the swell of your breast. Your heart pounded under his touch, lips curling against your neck when he felt your body’s response.

“You were right,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, then began to undo the drawstring that pulled your dress tight around the high waistline. “I was neglecting myself.” He kissed just underneath your jawline, a quick dart of his tongue against the sensitive skin. “You always take care of me. Let me give back.”

“Yes,” you gasped, a storm of emotions brewing inside you. “Please.” There was an intimacy to this, to your husband servicing you, that rendered you helpless in the face of his diligence. At every persistent touch, every tug at your gown, you clutched harder onto the front of your skirts, teeth worrying your lip as you struggled to stand still for him.

His mouth busied itself with your neck, jaw, until he finally found yours in a kiss, deep but distracted as he tried to focus on his task. He let out a puff of frustration when he grasped uselessly at the fabric, breaking away from your lips.

“Allow me,” you said, smiling at his disgruntled scowl, and removed a final pin before shrugging the sleeves off your shoulders.

With a gratified moan he kissed your cheek, then tugged the sleeves down further. You wondered how much longer his restraint would endure; how much longer yours would. The slow skirmishes across your skin were torturous, a heat radiating off him that you longed to burrow yourself into.

Finally the gown fell down, pooling at your feet, and Yoongi drew a shuddering breath as he removed the petticoat. Hands pressed against your shift, the touch burning through the thin muslin as he trailed upward, over the curve of your hips onto your stays. He stepped backwards to undo the spiral lacing—though he could not bear too much distance, leaning in to whisper adorations in your ear while he released you from the undergarment.

A shiver ran down your spine as the stays loosened around your chest, Yoongi’s nimble fingers careful at work. You reached back to clutch at his waistcoat, seeking a lifeline. So close. He was almost done. Anticipation rushed through you like blood in your veins, centering your core. Soon he would touch you the way you needed him to. Soon.

The stays fell away and Yoongi turned you around. You locked eyes with him, struck by the softness you found in his expression, a reverence to the way his gaze wandered over your body, now dressed in nothing but a shift, stockings and slippers.

With shallow breaths you loosened the drawstring in your shift’s neckline while Yoongi took you in. He cupped your cheeks, pulling you close into a kiss when the shift dropped away.

You steadied yourself against him, a shudder running through you that was part exhilaration, part the exposure of your bare skin to cool air. You slipped out of your shoes just as Yoongi’s tongue slipped past your lips, one of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist to hold you close, enveloping you in his protective warmth.

A hunger seeped into his kiss; his patience had paid off and now he finally reaped the rewards. He took a step forward, then another, forcing you back until you hit the edge of the bed. As though worried you would fall apart underneath him, Yoongi carefully lowered you onto the sheets. He helped you loosen the ribbons that held your silk stockings in place, then removed them one by one, his mouth following the newly exposed skin with touches so light they left you shivering in their wake.

Finally you laid naked beneath Yoongi and he regarded you with a low hum, satisfied with his efforts. He made quick work of the buttons on his waistcoat, then threw it aside. Leaning over you, your husband’s eyes were darker than ever, two black obsidians glimmering under his furrowed brow. He let out a pleased sigh as he kissed the soft slope of your stomach, his lips dragging over your skin as he traversed further down. You squirmed restlessly, impatience taking over.

“Yoongi, please,” you sighed, leaning on your elbows to better see him. “I need you.”

His crooked grin caused a buzzing heat to coarse through you, a promise in that mischievous glint. “And you have me.”

He slid off the bed, hands firm on your thighs to pull you with him, further and further until he could hook your legs over his shoulders. A whimper escaped you as his breath fell on you, so close to where you longed for him.

Pressing his cheek against the cushiony skin of your thigh, he inhaled deeply. Savouring the moment. Just as you began to protest his slow pace, he parted your lower lips and descended.

With a strangled cry your throat closed up, head falling back at the sudden intensity after all those light touches. One of your elbows buckled, then the other while Yoongi explored greedily. You gasped, back arching as your hands blindly reached for something to hold onto. One gripped at the sheets, the other found Yoongi’s hair.

He played with your body as though you were a song to be performed, giving you the same care and deliberation as his tongue delved through your folds, swiftly working you to a rapturous crescendo. Your soft moans mingled with his enthusiastic grunts, a steady hand on your hip to keep you still, though you could not help the arching of your spine, your toes digging into his shirt as you sought anything to anchor yourself with. You whimpered his name and in response to your call, Yoongi’s teeth scraped over you. You jolted with a sharp gasp, the hand in his hair tightening.

Yoongi grunted when you pulled just a touch too hard, breaking rhythm. You began to apologise, the words feeble and shaky, but he merely shook his head and pressed a soft kiss on your thigh. His hand encapsulated yours, fingers laced together as he gently pulled you away from his hair and guided you to rest your conjoined hands on your stomach. “I got you, you can let go,” he soothed warmly.

“Then,” you said with a gasp, fighting to keep the whine out of your voice, “you need to get back to what you were doing.”

He laughed, a throaty chuckle that only stoked the flames higher. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, eyes crinkled with a fondness at odds with the shine on his lips and chin.

“Please.”

The word was nothing but a shudder, barely audible—but Yoongi hummed contentedly, mouthing at your lower lips so the vibrations drove straight into your core. “There,” he said, sliding a finger inside you, “all you had to do was be polite.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, aware that your brave attempt to mask the shaking of your thighs was failing. “I thought you liked it when–”

Without warning, Yoongi leaned down and lapped with renewed determination. Your head fell back on the bed, the retort ripped from your lips by the insistent vigour of his mouth and replaced by a soundless cry. The decadently wet noises he made between your thighs only served to amplify your pleasure, sending an euphoric thrill through you.

Underneath your hand you felt the quiver of your abdominal muscles in response to the combined efforts of his tongue and now two fingers. An almost playful rhythm, driving you towards the edge in slow but steady waves.

You surrendered yourself to him, panting hard as you pressed your cheek against the sheets. Then his long fingers curled and you were cast into a blissful void, a muted buzz rushing through your ears as you keened, hips futilely snapping up against your joined hands. He gripped yours tightly as he slowed down but never stopped, luring you into a drawn-out cascade of ecstasy. Only when your cries died down and your hips settled on the bed did he lift his head, a distinctly smug lilt to his smile.

He licked his swollen lips as he stood up, savouring your taste while he began to undress himself, allowing you time to recover. Even through the layers of his clothes you could see the damp mark on his trousers, and you rubbed your slick thighs together at the sight. Yoongi’s self-control slipped away, but the urgency as he tugged at his clothes only slowed the process down.

But, in the languid aftermath of your climax, you found your patience again. You had all the time in the world, and there were few ways you would rather spend it than watching your husband gradually reveal himself to you. His porcelain skin, the soft expanse of his torso, all just for you. He yanked off his shirt, tousling his dark hair even further. You bit your lip at the thought of running your hands through the tactile locks, and you could not help your delighted grin when Yoongi’s cheeks reddened under your heated stare.

Self-consciously, he cleared his throat. “Don’t do that,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his stockings.

With a lazy smile you lifted your leg to drag a toe over the length of his spine. “Do what? Adore you?”

He slipped off his drawers, then turned his head to face you. You anticipated a pout, for his bottom lip to stick out in an endearing sulk, but instead you were met with such a tenderness your breath caught, any further teasing banished from your mind.

“Undo me,” Yoongi answered simply. He joined you onto the bed, laying on his side next to you, where he brushed a stray hair out of your face. His eyes were depthless pools drawing you in, but when you reached for him he intercepted your hand and kept his distance—leaving you to pout instead.

Chuckling at the sight, he pulled you along with him as he sat back against the headboard of the bed. You settled on his lap, glad to take advantage of the position to glide your fingers through his dark hair. He sighed, eyes falling shut with bliss and head leaning forward to rest on your shoulder. Blindly his hands found your waist, and you let out a soft whimper as he helped manoeuvre you.

Instinctively you canted your hips to seek him out and buried your face in his hair as he pressed inside you, muffling your own moans. His breath stuttered, tongue tracing lazy circles on your collarbone when you sank down.

You began to roll your hips, relishing in the sounds you drew from your husband. Gently you tilted his head back and brought his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him, but welcomed the proof of his worship of you, delving deeper.

His grip on you tightened, taking control of your rhythm as he guided your motions. Though his fingers had prepared you well, you still whined at how completely he filled you. Every part of you sensitive, the slide of him inside you was addictive and sent a sharp heat pulsing through you. But instead of fixating on your own pleasure, you focused on Yoongi; on his quiet grunts, on the way his jaw began to go slack even as you kissed him. With a playful bite at his lip you released him, a small trail of saliva connecting your mouths until he let his head fall back against the oaken headboard behind him.

He watched you through lidded eyes, lips parted and chest heaving. Exhaling harshly, he began to unravel underneath you, his fingers digging into your flesh. Then one of his hands abandoned his grip, trailing upwards to thumb at the swell of your breast, teasing against a nipple. “Got another for me?” he asked, pleaded, not wanting to end this before bringing you to a second high.

You pressed your forehead against his, opening your mouth to speak but all you could manage was a senseless babbling stream of ‘yes’ and ‘please’.

But you needed just a little more.

You reached for his hand on your hip, tugging at his wrist. Always quick to catch your meaning, Yoongi grinned crookedly through his laboured breathing and pressed his thumb exactly where you wanted him. Craved him. Intimately familiar with your body, he rubbed tight circles while the hand on your breast pinched and tugged. Your eyes squeezed shut while your mouth fell open, his deft touch effortlessly bringing you back to the precipice.

He captured your lips in a tender kiss just as you reached your zenith, his calm a stark contrast to your helpless writhing in his lap. You tried to return his kiss, your hand slipping out of his hair to cup his cheek, but your nose clumsily bumped into his, teeth catching on his bottom lip.

Toes digging into the sheets to give himself more leverage, Yoongi grabbed onto your waist again and he slammed up into you. He hissed as you clenched around him, whispering encouragements against his mouth, until his grunts turned to a strangled moan and he found his release, spilling hot inside you.

A hush fell over the bedroom. Your lips brushed against his, not quite a kiss but close enough for your breaths to intermingle.

Yoongi’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close for as long as he could. “Hm. Maybe I should overdo my practises more often,” he said, voice husky from exertion.

You let out a breathless laugh and slumped against him, basking in his heat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. “I need to stop rewarding you for these bad habits.”

He made a petulant noise, pinching your side. You yelped, attempting to escape his touch but caged in by his arms. “Yoongi!”

Far too satisfied with himself for riling you up, Yoongi grinned as he kissed you deeply. But when he withdrew, his brow had softened and he brushed a thumb over your cheek with a quiet intensity—though you could see lethargy beginning to settle behind his eyes. “I will do better,” he said in a murmur. “I don’t like to worry you.”

A warmth settled into your chest at his earnest words. You broke out in a wide smile, a weight falling off your shoulders you had not realised was there. “I love you,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

Yoongi grunted, a red dusting returning to his cheeks. “Of course I do,” he grumbled, bottom lip stuck out as he talked. With a sigh he ran a hand through his hair, then let it drop down to squeeze your knee. “I love you, too.”

You tucked your head underneath his chin, curling up close. His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a steady rhythm that made it all too easy to let a fulfilled drowsiness take hold of you. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back, nose pressed into your hair. Neither moved for a long time.

The beginning of my Jungkook hoe phase. Literally the moment I knew my bias had changed forever.

purple haired jungkook hair tied up in butter was iconic 😭 (cr. yoongi-bts)

Oh my! This combines two of my biggest obsessions in one - Regency romance and BTS. I absolutely love Yoongi as the Darcy like figure. Because he totally IS a Darcy. Super accurate. And the characters are fleshed out really effectively. They aren’t 2D and lifeless, but interesting and multifarious. I definitely expected Jimin to confess to Ms. Jeon though and why did I feel like Areum is meant for JK? That’s just me adding drama probably. Lol.

Anyway, loved this. Really really loved it! And good sweet story to distract me from the complications of real life!

andante cantabile: coda || MYG x reader

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: historical / regency au, fluff, smut

rating: 18+ / explicit

wc: 3.8k

summary: Min Yoongi is dedicated to his craft, to the point of overworking himself. You have your own ways of ensuring he takes a break.

story warnings: pianist!yoongi, jane austen rip-off (but make it saucy), established relationship, so so so fluffy

smut warnings: feelsy soft vanilla smut, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, mc has a thing about yoongi's hands because of course, the inherent intimacy of being undressed by your partner, unprotected sex

note: is it an epilogue is it just a smutty follow-up is there a technical difference does ANYONE really care about what we're calling it? here is the smut yall 💖

(works as a stand-alone even if you haven't read the rest of the story)

masterlist: 1 | 2 | 3 | coda

Would you ever tire of hearing your husband play?

You hoped not. You most certainly were not today, the corners of your lips rising in an unbidden smile at the sound and sight of Yoongi behind the pianoforte.

The last sunlight of the day bathed him in a warm light contrasted by deep shadows, the window behind him providing a backdrop of a sky painted in pinks and golds. His brow furrowed in concentration while he made his way through a fast passage, a prestissimo that daunted you just to hear it. Yet every note retained a lightness, lifting your spirits.

Overcome by the sudden desire to be close, you left your vantage point at the doorway, making a careful approach to not disturb his focus. You ushered away the servant who had been turning the sheets of music and took his place, then quietly signalled him to leave the drawing room. You wanted your husband all to yourself.

Except you did not quite have him right now, not really.

Yoongi never faltered during the small disruption, his full attention on his rehearsal. He had a habit of losing himself in the music, whether he was practising or composing. Losing awareness of his surroundings and the passage of time. Doubtlessly, he had no realisation of how late it had gotten, and he began to worry you.

His passion and dedication to his craft were a credit to him, but only to a point. As far as you were concerned, that point had been reached today. Still, you quietly turned the pages for him, waiting for him to finish before you launched your intervention.

He only made it apparent that he had noticed you when his shoulder brushed against yours as he went through the final cadence, the move too deliberate to be accidental. The notes died down but he did not look at you, pressing a little firmer against you instead.

Good, for this way he could not see the mischievous smile as you removed your gloves, preparing for a little deliberation of your own. Fingers brushed over his hand, tracing a vein. Ever since you first saw his bare hands you had developed a bit of an obsession; large but delicate and so very beautiful. You rested your head on his shoulder, seeking out the glow of his sun-warmed body while you continued your lazy caresses.

His fingers twitched under your touch, but Yoongi did not retreat. Instead he let out a contented sigh, surrendering himself to your affections. “I must continue practise,” he murmured, but it was a feeble protest, unconvincing to either of you.

“Must you?”

He chuckled tiredly, and the shake of his shoulders made you lift your head.

“You have been working hard all day.” You cupped his cheek and guided him to face you directly, giving you full sight of the darkening shadows under his eyes. “Is it not time to rest? I miss you.”

If a touch of guilt was required to persuade him away from work, you would provide.

“Hm. Are you implying I have been neglecting you? What a troublesome wife,” he said, but the way he leaned into your touch belied his words, eyes closing in bliss.

You huffed. “I would argue you have been neglecting yourself.”

His eyes fluttered open, long lashes brushing against his cheeks. You welcomed the trap of his intense gaze, gladly allowing yourself to be pulled into the warmth of his dark eyes. Silence fell, but you knew your husband well enough to know he was considering your words honestly.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, then laughed when he saw the surge of triumph on your face. He knew his wife well enough to know how much you loved to win—and you counted this as a victory.

Still chuckling fondly, Yoongi cradled the back of your head. He tugged you closer, leading you into a grateful kiss. You gave into him, to the tongue playing against your bottom lip. While he was not always the most overt with his affections, it only served to increase the impact when he did show them. Even now the simple glide of his tongue against yours threatened to overwhelm you.

You made a soft noise against his mouth, your fingers sliding into his hair to anchor yourself as heat blossomed in your core. Fully aware of the effect he had on you, his expression was almost smug when he pulled away. Almost, if not for the unadulterated adoration shining through, a lingering hint of disbelief tugging at his features at the knowledge he could kiss you like this.

“I suppose I could take a break,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Perhaps some reading?” you proposed, careful to maintain a neutral expression as you suggested the innocuous activity. Your thumb slowly brushed across his knuckles.

Shaking his head, Yoongi made a sound that could be either a laugh or a sigh of exasperation. He pressed a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth, then further along your jawline. “Nothing else you had in mind?” he breathed by your ear, raising the little hairs on your neck.

“Oh? Unsatisfied with my suggestion?” you laughed, then tapped your finger to your lips as though deep in thought. “No, of course you are absolutely right,” you said. “It is getting late, we should turn to bed instead.”

Abruptly you rose from your seat, tugging on Yoongi’s hand as you stood up. Taken unawares by your sudden movement, he let you pull him on his feet, but his surprise quickly transformed into a wide smile. Your heart softened at his exposed gums, and you could not resist pressing a swift kiss on his cheek before you led him out of the drawing room.

However, Yoongi quickly took charge, his hand squeezing yours as he pulled you along with an urgency in his step.

You raised an eyebrow, though you could not deny the excitement that coursed through you. “Just what do you have planned, Mr. Min?”

He scowled at the formal address, but there was no power behind the surly look, his eyes filled with a tenderness contrary to his intentions. He drew you into the bedroom with express purpose, and never had the click of the door been louder.

Standing behind you, Yoongi curled his fingers around your waist while he pressed featherlight kisses up the column of your neck. His nose brushed over your skin, his quiet breath scorching. You let out a soft sigh of want, leaning back against him while you gathered your skirts for easy lifting.

Yet Yoongi pried your hands away, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder, unbothered by the chemise separating him from you. You turned your head in confusion; you could feel how affected he was, why the delay? “Yoongi, what are you–”

A pout drew over his lips and he nipped at you through the thin fabric, a gentle pinch that silenced your questioning. “I want to take my time with you,” he said, voice coarse. “Let me do this.”

You wanted to ask what, but he answered you when his hands glided up, over your stomach, chest, until he reached the pins that held up the front of your dress. With a surprisingly deft touch he removed them, allowing the flap to fall down and expose the laced bodice underneath.

Heat swept across your cheeks with the realisation of his plan. No quick hiking up your skirts tonight. Instead he dropped the pins on the dressing table by the door and continued his work with incredible patience. With a sharp inhale he brushed against your chest, lingering over the swell of your breast. Your heart pounded under his touch, lips curling against your neck when he felt your body’s response.

“You were right,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, then began to undo the drawstring that pulled your dress tight around the high waistline. “I was neglecting myself.” He kissed just underneath your jawline, a quick dart of his tongue against the sensitive skin. “You always take care of me. Let me give back.”

“Yes,” you gasped, a storm of emotions brewing inside you. “Please.” There was an intimacy to this, to your husband servicing you, that rendered you helpless in the face of his diligence. At every persistent touch, every tug at your gown, you clutched harder onto the front of your skirts, teeth worrying your lip as you struggled to stand still for him.

His mouth busied itself with your neck, jaw, until he finally found yours in a kiss, deep but distracted as he tried to focus on his task. He let out a puff of frustration when he grasped uselessly at the fabric, breaking away from your lips.

“Allow me,” you said, smiling at his disgruntled scowl, and removed a final pin before shrugging the sleeves off your shoulders.

With a gratified moan he kissed your cheek, then tugged the sleeves down further. You wondered how much longer his restraint would endure; how much longer yours would. The slow skirmishes across your skin were torturous, a heat radiating off him that you longed to burrow yourself into.

Finally the gown fell down, pooling at your feet, and Yoongi drew a shuddering breath as he removed the petticoat. Hands pressed against your shift, the touch burning through the thin muslin as he trailed upward, over the curve of your hips onto your stays. He stepped backwards to undo the spiral lacing—though he could not bear too much distance, leaning in to whisper adorations in your ear while he released you from the undergarment.

A shiver ran down your spine as the stays loosened around your chest, Yoongi’s nimble fingers careful at work. You reached back to clutch at his waistcoat, seeking a lifeline. So close. He was almost done. Anticipation rushed through you like blood in your veins, centering your core. Soon he would touch you the way you needed him to. Soon.

The stays fell away and Yoongi turned you around. You locked eyes with him, struck by the softness you found in his expression, a reverence to the way his gaze wandered over your body, now dressed in nothing but a shift, stockings and slippers.

With shallow breaths you loosened the drawstring in your shift’s neckline while Yoongi took you in. He cupped your cheeks, pulling you close into a kiss when the shift dropped away.

You steadied yourself against him, a shudder running through you that was part exhilaration, part the exposure of your bare skin to cool air. You slipped out of your shoes just as Yoongi’s tongue slipped past your lips, one of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist to hold you close, enveloping you in his protective warmth.

A hunger seeped into his kiss; his patience had paid off and now he finally reaped the rewards. He took a step forward, then another, forcing you back until you hit the edge of the bed. As though worried you would fall apart underneath him, Yoongi carefully lowered you onto the sheets. He helped you loosen the ribbons that held your silk stockings in place, then removed them one by one, his mouth following the newly exposed skin with touches so light they left you shivering in their wake.

Finally you laid naked beneath Yoongi and he regarded you with a low hum, satisfied with his efforts. He made quick work of the buttons on his waistcoat, then threw it aside. Leaning over you, your husband’s eyes were darker than ever, two black obsidians glimmering under his furrowed brow. He let out a pleased sigh as he kissed the soft slope of your stomach, his lips dragging over your skin as he traversed further down. You squirmed restlessly, impatience taking over.

“Yoongi, please,” you sighed, leaning on your elbows to better see him. “I need you.”

His crooked grin caused a buzzing heat to coarse through you, a promise in that mischievous glint. “And you have me.”

He slid off the bed, hands firm on your thighs to pull you with him, further and further until he could hook your legs over his shoulders. A whimper escaped you as his breath fell on you, so close to where you longed for him.

Pressing his cheek against the cushiony skin of your thigh, he inhaled deeply. Savouring the moment. Just as you began to protest his slow pace, he parted your lower lips and descended.

With a strangled cry your throat closed up, head falling back at the sudden intensity after all those light touches. One of your elbows buckled, then the other while Yoongi explored greedily. You gasped, back arching as your hands blindly reached for something to hold onto. One gripped at the sheets, the other found Yoongi’s hair.

He played with your body as though you were a song to be performed, giving you the same care and deliberation as his tongue delved through your folds, swiftly working you to a rapturous crescendo. Your soft moans mingled with his enthusiastic grunts, a steady hand on your hip to keep you still, though you could not help the arching of your spine, your toes digging into his shirt as you sought anything to anchor yourself with. You whimpered his name and in response to your call, Yoongi’s teeth scraped over you. You jolted with a sharp gasp, the hand in his hair tightening.

Yoongi grunted when you pulled just a touch too hard, breaking rhythm. You began to apologise, the words feeble and shaky, but he merely shook his head and pressed a soft kiss on your thigh. His hand encapsulated yours, fingers laced together as he gently pulled you away from his hair and guided you to rest your conjoined hands on your stomach. “I got you, you can let go,” he soothed warmly.

“Then,” you said with a gasp, fighting to keep the whine out of your voice, “you need to get back to what you were doing.”

He laughed, a throaty chuckle that only stoked the flames higher. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, eyes crinkled with a fondness at odds with the shine on his lips and chin.

“Please.”

The word was nothing but a shudder, barely audible—but Yoongi hummed contentedly, mouthing at your lower lips so the vibrations drove straight into your core. “There,” he said, sliding a finger inside you, “all you had to do was be polite.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, aware that your brave attempt to mask the shaking of your thighs was failing. “I thought you liked it when–”

Without warning, Yoongi leaned down and lapped with renewed determination. Your head fell back on the bed, the retort ripped from your lips by the insistent vigour of his mouth and replaced by a soundless cry. The decadently wet noises he made between your thighs only served to amplify your pleasure, sending an euphoric thrill through you.

Underneath your hand you felt the quiver of your abdominal muscles in response to the combined efforts of his tongue and now two fingers. An almost playful rhythm, driving you towards the edge in slow but steady waves.

You surrendered yourself to him, panting hard as you pressed your cheek against the sheets. Then his long fingers curled and you were cast into a blissful void, a muted buzz rushing through your ears as you keened, hips futilely snapping up against your joined hands. He gripped yours tightly as he slowed down but never stopped, luring you into a drawn-out cascade of ecstasy. Only when your cries died down and your hips settled on the bed did he lift his head, a distinctly smug lilt to his smile.

He licked his swollen lips as he stood up, savouring your taste while he began to undress himself, allowing you time to recover. Even through the layers of his clothes you could see the damp mark on his trousers, and you rubbed your slick thighs together at the sight. Yoongi’s self-control slipped away, but the urgency as he tugged at his clothes only slowed the process down.

But, in the languid aftermath of your climax, you found your patience again. You had all the time in the world, and there were few ways you would rather spend it than watching your husband gradually reveal himself to you. His porcelain skin, the soft expanse of his torso, all just for you. He yanked off his shirt, tousling his dark hair even further. You bit your lip at the thought of running your hands through the tactile locks, and you could not help your delighted grin when Yoongi’s cheeks reddened under your heated stare.

Self-consciously, he cleared his throat. “Don’t do that,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his stockings.

With a lazy smile you lifted your leg to drag a toe over the length of his spine. “Do what? Adore you?”

He slipped off his drawers, then turned his head to face you. You anticipated a pout, for his bottom lip to stick out in an endearing sulk, but instead you were met with such a tenderness your breath caught, any further teasing banished from your mind.

“Undo me,” Yoongi answered simply. He joined you onto the bed, laying on his side next to you, where he brushed a stray hair out of your face. His eyes were depthless pools drawing you in, but when you reached for him he intercepted your hand and kept his distance—leaving you to pout instead.

Chuckling at the sight, he pulled you along with him as he sat back against the headboard of the bed. You settled on his lap, glad to take advantage of the position to glide your fingers through his dark hair. He sighed, eyes falling shut with bliss and head leaning forward to rest on your shoulder. Blindly his hands found your waist, and you let out a soft whimper as he helped manoeuvre you.

Instinctively you canted your hips to seek him out and buried your face in his hair as he pressed inside you, muffling your own moans. His breath stuttered, tongue tracing lazy circles on your collarbone when you sank down.

You began to roll your hips, relishing in the sounds you drew from your husband. Gently you tilted his head back and brought his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him, but welcomed the proof of his worship of you, delving deeper.

His grip on you tightened, taking control of your rhythm as he guided your motions. Though his fingers had prepared you well, you still whined at how completely he filled you. Every part of you sensitive, the slide of him inside you was addictive and sent a sharp heat pulsing through you. But instead of fixating on your own pleasure, you focused on Yoongi; on his quiet grunts, on the way his jaw began to go slack even as you kissed him. With a playful bite at his lip you released him, a small trail of saliva connecting your mouths until he let his head fall back against the oaken headboard behind him.

He watched you through lidded eyes, lips parted and chest heaving. Exhaling harshly, he began to unravel underneath you, his fingers digging into your flesh. Then one of his hands abandoned his grip, trailing upwards to thumb at the swell of your breast, teasing against a nipple. “Got another for me?” he asked, pleaded, not wanting to end this before bringing you to a second high.

You pressed your forehead against his, opening your mouth to speak but all you could manage was a senseless babbling stream of ‘yes’ and ‘please’.

But you needed just a little more.

You reached for his hand on your hip, tugging at his wrist. Always quick to catch your meaning, Yoongi grinned crookedly through his laboured breathing and pressed his thumb exactly where you wanted him. Craved him. Intimately familiar with your body, he rubbed tight circles while the hand on your breast pinched and tugged. Your eyes squeezed shut while your mouth fell open, his deft touch effortlessly bringing you back to the precipice.

He captured your lips in a tender kiss just as you reached your zenith, his calm a stark contrast to your helpless writhing in his lap. You tried to return his kiss, your hand slipping out of his hair to cup his cheek, but your nose clumsily bumped into his, teeth catching on his bottom lip.

Toes digging into the sheets to give himself more leverage, Yoongi grabbed onto your waist again and he slammed up into you. He hissed as you clenched around him, whispering encouragements against his mouth, until his grunts turned to a strangled moan and he found his release, spilling hot inside you.

A hush fell over the bedroom. Your lips brushed against his, not quite a kiss but close enough for your breaths to intermingle.

Yoongi’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close for as long as he could. “Hm. Maybe I should overdo my practises more often,” he said, voice husky from exertion.

You let out a breathless laugh and slumped against him, basking in his heat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. “I need to stop rewarding you for these bad habits.”

He made a petulant noise, pinching your side. You yelped, attempting to escape his touch but caged in by his arms. “Yoongi!”

Far too satisfied with himself for riling you up, Yoongi grinned as he kissed you deeply. But when he withdrew, his brow had softened and he brushed a thumb over your cheek with a quiet intensity—though you could see lethargy beginning to settle behind his eyes. “I will do better,” he said in a murmur. “I don’t like to worry you.”

A warmth settled into your chest at his earnest words. You broke out in a wide smile, a weight falling off your shoulders you had not realised was there. “I love you,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

Yoongi grunted, a red dusting returning to his cheeks. “Of course I do,” he grumbled, bottom lip stuck out as he talked. With a sigh he ran a hand through his hair, then let it drop down to squeeze your knee. “I love you, too.”

You tucked your head underneath his chin, curling up close. His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a steady rhythm that made it all too easy to let a fulfilled drowsiness take hold of you. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back, nose pressed into your hair. Neither moved for a long time.