Little Do You Know [M]

Little Do You Know [M]

➬ Title | Little Do You Know

➬ Pairings | Yoongi x reader

➬ Summary | With love, comes challenge. Especially when you are in love with the one man who is at the top of the world while keeping you on the other end.

➬ Genre | Artist/Music Producer!Yoongi, Established relationship!au, Angst, Fluff, Smut

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

↳ Warning | possessive Yoongi, a few events of jealousy, multiple smut scenes, implied public foreplay, clothed foreplay, dry humping, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, rough sex, breast play, biting, clit play, hair pulling, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, self-masturbation (female), clothed sex, car sex.

↳ Word count | 22k words (I’m sorry for this T^T)

↳ Cross post | AO3 | Inkitt (coming soon!)

↳ Music companion | Little Do You Know - Alex & Sierra | Youth - Daughter

➬ Author’s Note | Written as a commission for @minyoongail​. | Thank you for giving me a chance to write for Yoongi again. Forgive me for the long wait. I hope you’ll enjoy this story.

THEN…

From the very first night you met Min Yoongi, you were instantly drawn to him.

To describe the moment perfectly, you could easily say that it had happened exactly the way wise people would describe this kind of attraction; that you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

It was an instant pull, the kind of attraction that you had never once felt for another person before. Not to the boys you have dated through college, not even for the hot specimen of a male sitting right next to your cubicle at the office you were attending through your internship.

To this day, you could only faintly recall the events which had led you into getting dragged along to the uncharted territory where Min Yoongi existed. It was Friday night, right on the weekly scheduled night out that you would spend with your friends, when the hours were getting late and the dive bar that you had frequently gone to each week felt too cramped and dull with all the men in suits who came in for a seemingly boring company party while acting like they owned the place.

“It would be fun,” you remembered one of them said as she suggested to try hopping into a different club instead of ending the night early.

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Urban Cowgirl (M) | KSJ

Author: jinfizz [masterlist]

Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

Pairing: soft dom!seokjin x sub!reader

Rating: M, NSFW

Summary: Jin never needs a reason to spoil you in the bedroom, but this time he’s got special plans to take you on an extra wild ride.

Warnings: bdsm themes (i guess), use of a blindfold, jin is a whole man, oral (f&m), cumplay, overstimulation, use of a ~mystery toy~ (there’s a link and a picture in the fic, so don’t read this in public lmao), did i mention overstimulation, bratty behavior, unprotected sex, marking, unrealistically simultanous orgasms, tooth rotting fluff and aftercare, jin is the sweetest dom in the world, 3 pairs of i love you’s within 1k and i’m not even remotely sorry

Word Count: 8.2k

(A/N): Here is (finally) my contribution for @wwilloww’s commission for the Army for AAPI Justice and Advocacy project run by @armyadvocates. I deeply apologize for how long it took me to get this out. I really hope you like it, love.

The prompt was as follows: Wordcount: 3k Pairing: Seokjin x character of your choice Summary: Smut. Dom Seokjin has a new toy he wants to show off. Would love to see cumplay + marking + soft words of affirmation. Someone gets pushed onto a bed. Pls include either a reference to, discussion about, or explicit aftercare!

p.s. may also have accidentally discovered my own sensory deprivation kink while writing this lmao. And thank you to @sahmfanficbts for reading this literally right after I finished and catching my lust-induced mistakes :3

The blindfold is soft against your skin as Seokjin leads you to the bedroom. 

At least that’s where you assume he’s leading you. Where else would you be going after he removed his own silk tie from around his neck, dragged it over your skin, and secured it over your eyes? What other destination would he have in mind, given the glimpse you caught of the tent in his sleek dress pants?

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sh. | ot7 | chapter seven

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit. 18+.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 5.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS reference to reader with she/her pronouns. voyeurism. jerking off. grinding. cursing. cum. cum eating. mess.

AN this is for the anon who MONTHS AGO asked if I could write more kissing scenes. I’ve been working on it, and here you go.

big smooches to @jinpanman and @calixwrites for being the best, most wonderfullest, sweetest betas ever. and to the lovely readers, thank you for being along for the ride. a version with they/them pronouns will be up tomorrow. otherwise, i hope you enjoy this chapter 💕

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hearing Jungkook curse at himself as you leave him behind in the kitchen, you can’t help the smile that spreads like warm honey across your lips. You cover it with a hand like it’s a secret, even though there’s no one to see you. It still feels good to have something that’s yours, just yours, deliciously forbidden.

However, as you round the corner in the direction Jungkook had pointed, you feel something warm begin to slide down your leg. You gasp. Loudly.

“You okay?” Jungkook calls from behind you.

Yoongi pokes his head out from the study he’s commandeered. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” You say, rather too quickly. Yoongi takes one look at you. He knows you’re lying. His gaze roves over you and you quickly clench your legs together, as if that could stop the impending disaster. It doesn’t, and Jungkook’s cum slides further down your leg.

“Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow at you as Jungkook rounds the corner, looking — well, to be frank about it — wildly fuckable and even more so, recently fucked.

As Yoongi looks between the two of you you hurriedly say, “Soap! I got soap on my legs!”

“Soap?” he questions, doubt riddling his tone.

“Yup. Soap.”

“It was me,” Jungkook shrugs. “I got soap on her.”

Yoongi knows bullshit when he sees it, but there’s still a half written song waiting for him in his makeshift studio, so he rolls his eyes, mutters a quick, “And here I was thinking your enthusiasm for dishwashing was nonexistent,” and disappears back into the study.

Jungkook and you both let out a nervous chuckle once the door closes and glance at each other.

“Maybe I should—”

“Wash up first?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Jungkook says. “Unless you’re ready to spill the beans?” He grins.

“That’s the problem. You already literally spilled the beans,” you say, again too quickly, because you haven’t even finished speaking before you grimace at your own innuendo.

“Ew.”

“I know. Okay.” You salute to Jungkook before walking away, grimacing at your two fouls in quick succession. It’s now your turn to curse at yourself.

You hurry to your bedroom, grateful to find it empty. You wash up, and don the largest sweater in your suitcase and some comfy pants. After a second thought and a small secret smirk, you take the pants off, along with your underwear, and redress. Not that anyone will notice, you think. It’ll just be my little secret. But then again, you hadn’t planned to be fucked once this whole trip and yet, well, it just keeps happening.

Dressed, mostly, you begin to make your way in the direction Jungkook had pointed you.

How is it that you’ve been in this house for almost a week now and still haven’t seen this part of it?

The house, built into a steep slope, seems to branch out into the very mountain itself in ways you never expected when you pulled up that first day. Immeasurably larger than you expected, room after graceful room unfolds from the hallways you wander down. Dark wooden floors reflect the late autumn light pooling from tall, narrow windows, and are cool beneath your socked feet.

As you walk, you run over what you’re going to say in your head.

Hoseok, I have been fucking Jungkook. And Jimin. And in the past, sometimes Yoongi.

No, no, that sounds all wrong. Serious and confessional — when no one has opened up the space for confession in the first place. But there’s something, on the tip of your tongue, in the hollow of your throat that you feel needs to be said to him. Maybe it’s a question.

What do you think of all of this? Do you want to fuck all of our friends? Have you ever imagined ravishing me up against a wall while all of our buddies are in the other room, cooking dinner?

No, no, no! That’s even worse. Tension simmers in your stomach. It’s like the purpose itself — the purpose of Hoseok — is hiding from you. And so you resign yourself to a truth you have relied on for many years: Hobi always knows what to say. He’ll know what to say. You take a deep breath and square up your shoulders as you continue to wander through the house.

There’s one hallway just a little darker than the others, branching off to your left. At the end of it, stands a single, tall door with a key, waiting in the lock. You have the sudden desire to see what’s inside, but something urges you: not now. I’ll have to see what all that is about later, you think. So you continue on.

And then finally, what you have been looking for appears.

A large wooden door stretches high up to the ceiling. You feel like an ant in front of it.  You shoulder the door open, expecting it to be heavy, but instead it glides open smoothly and silently to reveal the library behind it. You peek your head in.

“Hobi?”

No response. You venture further inside.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. The large room is built directly into the mountain, the exposed granite belly of the land serving as the wall on the right. A kind of grey coolness radiates off of the stone, while on the other side of the room, bright autumn sunlight spills in like liquid gold across hardwood and mismatched rugs. It feels like two halves of the universe, stone and sun. Like a beginning and ending of a book, if that could be encapsulated by space.

Tall natural wood bookshelves are staggered throughout, creating a maze of sorts, and lights in large bubbles of glass hang down at various heights from the roof, transforming shadow into warm glow.  You wander through the stacks, tracing a finger along the spines of books, which are somehow free of dust despite assumed disuse. The space is cared for, thoughtfully. And you think you could get lost here. Happily.

From behind a massive bookshelf, the room opens up to reveal a half circle of plush chairs, a dark wooden table, and a studious figure hunched over it.  You peek out from behind the books.

“Hob — Joonie?”

He doesn’t hear you. His face is pressed in concentration, a glimmer of sweat dancing across his brow. In one hand he holds a beautiful old book, the cover traced with antique intricacies. As you begin to take a step forward, you hear Namjoon draw a long, shaky breath in.

You watch his knuckles turn white with the tension of holding the large volume. What is he doing?

All at once, he throws his head back and breathes out a name: your name.

“What—” You slap your hand over your mouth, as if you already know this is something you’re not supposed to be witnessing. And yet you can’t tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you.

The book drops from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud. You watch his face, his eyes closed, as if he didn’t even notice that what looked like a very expensive antique has just bounced on the hard floor. Behind the book his hand is wrapped around —

His hand is wrapped around his cock. His motherfucking gigantic cock.

His large palm strokes a leisurely path up and down the reddening and pulsing shaft, precome leaking from the tip. Sounds of pleasure spill from his lips as he rushes towards release, desperate and unperceiving of everything except for the padlock of fantasy playing behind his eyelids.

I’m not supposed to see this. You gasp, twirling back behind the bookshelf to hide yourself, but in your haste your shoulder bumps the shelf and a book falls to the floor with a loud thump.

Namjoon stutters in surprise and you can hear him fumbling in his seat, but you don’t wait to find out if he knows you’re there or not. Breath hitching in your throat, you try to sneak away as quietly as you can, but it’s not long before you hear heavy footsteps sounding behind you.

“Hello?” Namjoon calls. You pick up the pace, now running through the maze of shelves, a maze that you now curse.

Before you, a thin flight of stairs appears and with a glance behind you, you creep up them, trying to keep your steps as silent as possible.

“Hyung? Is that you?”

You curse as the stairs creak beneath your foot. You can hear him getting closer, so you sprint to the top of the stairs, arriving at a thin landing that stretches across the perimeter of the wall. This is worse, you think, as the whole landing is visible from the floor of the library. But then you spot a small stone archway and race towards it.

Breath shuddering heavily and loudly in your chest as you lean against the cold natural stone cut out of the mountain. Cheeks burning with shock, embarrassment, maybe even arousal, the coolness feels like a silver relief. This was not the strange, unnavigable interaction you had planned for the library. It surprises you, and yet —

All of those days spent cooped up in your tiny two bedroom city apartment come flooding back. The times when Namjoon emerged from his bedroom, a little sweaty (like you just saw him), a little reddened (like you just saw him), and with a little bit of a glow around him (just like you just saw him). A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat.

Of course he had been jerking off while you lived together. You’re not prudish enough to think otherwise. But knowing about it and knowing the specifics of it are completely different things. You can’t help but imagine all those nights where you had your hand down your pants, pressing the smooth silicone tip of your vibrator to your clit, tryingtryign to keep your moans and gasps silent. But now, you imagine him on the other side of the wall. His head next to yours. His body next to yours, only separated by a couple of inches of drywall. His hand wrapped around his throbbing, leaking cock, face lit up with blue light and a screen with a body that — that looks a lot like yours.

Collect yourself! You cry internally, squeezing your eyes shut, willing the sinful images of your friend and roommate out of your mind. Carefully, you try to calm your breath and reach out for the bookshelf to steady yourself and—

thump.

Three books clatter to the floor. Loudly.

Fuck, you think. Namjoon’s steps come to a stop. And then you hear them turn in your direction.

“Hello?” He calls again. “Is someone there? Can you stop playing this game? Can you stop running away from me?”

Namjoon’s feet fall heavily on the stairs as he climbs upwards. As soon as he gets to the top of the stairs he’ll see you. You think you can make it to the other side of the landing if you move quickly and quietly. So you take off, leaving the cover of the archway, but your feet have barely left the floor when a hand reaches out and wraps tightly around your wrist and tugs you backwards.

Spinning you into the hard frame of Namjoon’s embrace.

“Hi,” you squeak, not daring to look up at him, your face burning in embarrassment.

“Hello.” Chest to chest, the bass of his voice reverberates through you. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Feigning innocence, you finally glance up to him, his face broad and curious.

“Running in the library? Tossing books around?” He glances down at the three books toppled to the floor.

“What? Are you going to scold me like some stern librarian?” Namjoon cocks an eyebrow and now that you’ve said it, you wish you hadn’t. The thought of a stone faced librarian Namjoon punishing you for misbehaving has blood rushing to your face. And other locals. Imagine him bending you over one of the tables, tie gripped between your teeth, your ass swatted red from a spanking with a book — What. The. Fuck. It’s too much to think of at once. You distract. “Anyways, what were you doing?”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to flush hot with shock and embarrassment. “You—you—”

“I, uh, saw.”

His eyes shoot wide and he gapes at you.

“I was studying!” He lies, his eyes widening, as if their size will prove his sincerity. It’s then that he notices that he’s still got both of your wrists in a tight grip, holding you close to his chest. He drops your hands and hurriedly steps away to pick up the fallen books.

“It’s okay!” You’re quick to reassure. “But I did, um, you, uh, well.” Out with it. “You know. You said my name.”

He freezes. With all the care in the world, he puts a book back in its place and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

You laugh nervously, trying to cut through the tension that now hangs thick as wool between the two of you. “I mean it’s not a problem, we all have fantasies, right? It’s not like you want to fuck me.”

Namjoon drops the book that he’s holding in his hands and you both duck down to grab it, knocking heads.

“Fuck!”

“Ow!”

You and Namjoon topple over, landing squarely on your bums, rubbing the sore spots where your temples collided. With a weary hand, Namjoon reaches for you, helping you stand, brushing some dust off of your sweater and—

And he doesn’t let go. As the shock of the fall dissolves like salt in water between the two of you, silence settles in instead. A coherent, knowing silence. His eyes bore into yours as his hands clutch at the sleeves of your sweater.

The words still hang in the space between you: It’s not like you want to fuck me.

He takes one of those deep breaths, the kinds that hold all the tension in the world and clumsily says: “Is it a problem if I do?”

Your eyes lock. Whereas before it felt like you were dodging each other, you’re in the same lane now. Traveling down a road at breakneck speed.

Be honest. You force yourself through the barrier of truth. Easier to do when his eyes are shining bright and knowing down at you. “I mean…. No.”

“I totally understand if you don’t want to — you know, friendship — living arrangements—”

“It’s dumb—”

“It’s definitely dumb.”

“It’s really, definitely dumb.”

“It could ruin everything—”

“Well, I mean, it hasn’t ruined things with—”

You slap a hand over your mouth.

“With who?” He’s laughing. “Who the hell did you fuck? Hobi? Saw that coming a mile away.”

Your cheeks warm. “No. No, it’s nothing.”

He gives you a look. “Nothing?” But when you look down and don’t answer, he doesn’t push. He lets the silence settle. It’s enough of an answer for him to pack it away and leave you with some semblance of dignity. The two of you are still clinging to each other, your wrists held tightly between his hands, your fingers digging into the soft plush of his cable knit sweater. But you’re not holding on for support anymore.

“It’s dumb,” you repeat, but your voice has fallen to a whisper.

“So dumb,” Namjoon breathes. When did he get this near? His face is so close to yours, his breath brushing softly against your lips, tasting of spearmint and something cinnamon-y. “But we’ve done quite a bit of staying smart, haven’t we?”

“We have.”

“Isn’t it okay, you know, if we weren’t so smart for once?”

It feels like Namjoon is standing beside you in your own mind. You are both so different in so many ways, but on this one aspect, you always find companionship. Both of you constantly stand on the precipice of a “good” decision. You both wander aimlessly through the brambles of constant reckoning, comparing, evaluating in the name of being smart. But at the end of the day, it isn’t even about being smart. It is about knowing that if you are going to step off the edge of the cliff and into a decision, that there will be something — or someone — there to catch you at the end of your fall.

So maybe it is okay, knowing that Namjoon is right there beside you. That even if he’s not there waiting at the bottom, that he’s falling right beside you.

So you nod. “Maybe it’s okay to not know. Not to have to know.” The words hardly capture the feeling.

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods eagerly, a little smile creeping across his features. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, steps a little bit closer. The speed of your heart feels a little louder in his ears. “It doesn’t have to be smart.”

“Right.”

You’re repeating yourselves at this point. But it’s because it feels like there’s a second conversation, one that’s only happening in the proximity of one another. Glances flicked across collarbones, nervous fingers tracing hairlines, feet shuffled closer together. And then, as he does, Namjoon’s brain catches up to his actions.

“But with everything with Yoongi’s proposition, well, I just—” Namjoon tapers off, searching for the perfect word. And you nod, recalling the brashness of Yoongi’s words: We should fuck. Something like this doesn’t need to be so extraneously complicated. At this point, the conversation is basically a backing track in your mind. “What if it goes horribly wrong? What if something’s missing?”

“Missing?”

“Attraction. What if someone’s not attracted to someone.”

“Oh. Are you really worried about it?”

“Yeah.”

You pull him closer to you and he seems shocked. “Well then, I think we just have to trust that if someone doesn’t want us, want all of us, that they’ll speak up about it. Before we get into this mess.”

You can see how the logic clicks into place in his mind. How his eyes brighten, and he nods. And still, there’s resistance. It’s the same resistance you can feel in your own body, but looking at it through his eyes… Well, it’s different. It’s not so overwhelming that way. “But, you,” he finally says.

“Me?”

“What if something’s missing with you?” It’s a jumbled sentence of simple grammar and vague references, but you understand. Namjoon stands at the boundary lines of you. Desire burns like pine branches lit aflame behind his eyes, and still he’s holding back, afraid of what will happen when the carefully stoked flame is set free.

“Then try it out.” You’re not sure where the confidence came from, but you barrel forward anyways. “See if it’s missing?”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“Uh, no.” It’s the kind of reflexive response you hear from Namjoon when he’s reminding your friends of legislation or expectation: a rule, not a want.

You correct yourself: “You can kiss me—”

“I can?” The phrase brushes over you like a whisper, his question embodied by his whole being. You are both two bundles of hesitation, teetering on the cliff before you.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Uh—Oh.” It’s like a door swings open in his mind. Like until that second he hadn’t considered — couldn’t consider — that you would want him. It takes a second for him to catch up, his mind swirling before you.

But you’ve had enough. Enough waiting. Thought catches up in silence. Becomes monstrous in silence. So before your mind can swirl in the opposite direction, you squeeze your eyes shut, and with the grace of an eighth grader fumbling for their first kiss, reach up on your tippy toes and press your lips to Namjoon’s.

The two of you stand there like that for a second, lips smashed together. Your eyes squeezed shut, Namjoon’s peeled wide in shock.

He pulls back. “Um.”

“Hold on,” you say, diving back in towards his lips and stopping just before they meet. A breath, then: he closes the distance.

Hesitation dances on his mouth. A thousand questions, unanswered, unvoiced — which you know for a fact, if you gave him enough time and space, he would spill eagerly into the silence. But you won’t. You don’t want to see them, the questions, the punctuation, the words, build up between you.

It starts slow this time, lips exploring lips. Both of you holding back, but in a way that invites a kind of soft gentleness into the space between you. You step closer. Press your chest to his. Bring your hand to his cheek. And light bubbles between you at the connection. Like sunlight, spilling through the topmost canopy of trees and glittering gold upon weathered features. As it builds, that golden light becomes a kind of unsung magic. The seasons, transforming beneath your watch.

It grows between you, so slowly and yet so undeniably. Like watching the leaves change from the window. Waking up one morning to the first frost of the season, the crispness alivening. His hands dance at your waist and he tastes sweet as he begins to explore your mouth, unhurriedly, but no longer hesitant.

You sigh into his mouth and he chuckles, pressing you closer, like he can’t get enough of you—

He takes a step forward, pressing your back to the bookshelves. Your hand shoots out to steady your balance and in your groping, a book falls off the shelf and to the floor. For the first time, neither of you flinch. Neither of you care.

And then you both get lost. Run off the well trodden path of the forest, into something tangled and full of brambles.  His thigh slips between your legs, presses against your core. You press back, and sparks light up in your abdomen. Your mouth against his is hungry, desperate, in a way you didn’t know it could be — and he answers it with equal hunger, nipping at your lips, tracing his tongue against the roof of your mouth. One of his arms loops under your shoulder, wraps around your back, tugs him to his body like he can’t bear the idea of a single molecule of space existing between the two of you. And then he grinds his thigh into your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

He breathes your name against your lips before claiming your lips again and the sound of it echoes of earlier: his lip caught between his teeth, his hand tugging on his cock. But this is different. He has you. Has you here. Wrapped up in his arms, tightly bound to his body, just as you should be, he can’t help but think.

The thought shudders through him like a boulder and as quickly as the burning of autumn sun had shone between the two of you, he is purposefully dimming it, untwining himself from you, stepping back. You look on, confused.

“I’m so sorry.” He pulls away, his breath quickening, and runs a hand through his hair. He laughs, a little cruelty falling into the sound of it, and you know the harsh edge is meant for no one but him. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“For god's sake, Namjoon, “ you say, pushing your hair back into place, straightening your shirt. “Don’t you know what you do to me?”

He looks at you, confusion flitting across his face.

“It was, it was just—” He’s trying to make sense of it. Logic his way through whatever the hell it was that just happened between the two of you. And you want to unravel it all. Unravel the spinning thoughts in his mind. The broken damn of words and phrases and calculations you know are clouding his sight and so you step towards him, grabbing his hand.

“You don’t believe me.”

He doesn’t answer, but it’s clear enough.

“Will you let me show you?”

He nods and swallows hard.

Slowly, you guide his hand to your chest, pressing his palm to it. His fingers are stiff, but as you hold his hand there, they begin to relax.

“Don’t you feel how fast my heart is beating, just being this close to you? Nothing’s missing. Not on my part.”

Namjoon nods, but doesn’t take his gaze off of his hand. As you draw it down further, he sucks in a breath as it grazes over your breast.

“And this…” You watch his gaze, checking to make sure that everything is alright. But you have nothing to worry about. The hesitation that once dominated his expression begins to relax. Begins to become replaced by something else. Slowly, you bring his hand beneath the shirt. And then you let go.

“You can touch me, Joon.” He glances up at you. “I want you to. Nothing’s missing.” And as you say it to him, it’s like you’re saying it to yourself, too. With care, he lets his hand rest on your hip before dipping down into the apex of your thighs, beneath your pants. He slides one finger between your legs, sinking into your folds. His eyebrow twitches upwards when he finds you pantyless.

“I did this?” He sounds surprised.

You nod.

He captures your lips again and this time it’s not the warmth of late autumn you find on his skin. It’s the distinct crisp of winter. Stinging and clear and knowing. When he slips his hand out of your pants, he brings his fingers up to your lips, and pulls back far enough to whisper: “Taste.”

You open your mouth, and he slips his index and middle finger into your lips. You taste bitter and sweet and wanting. But before you can swallow, he presses his mouth to yours and drinks your essence off of your tongue, humming in a satisfaction you’ve never seen on him before.

It’s like his understanding of your desire has radicalized him.

Knowing he’s not alone in his want, he unleashes himself against you fully, if not a little clumsily. When he presses his thigh between yours again, he grinds it into you. Grins against your lips when you suck in a shaky breath. And you feel him shudder when you bring your hand down to the belt of his linen pants and trace a finger just around the opening.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

Kisses furious, skin heated, intention frozen into place — everything seems irrevocably true to the moment.

Someone calls out your name and it shatters the moment as easily as a thin layer of ice. The both of you freeze, Namjoon’s thigh still pressing into the apex of your thighs, your hand half down his pants, your lips swollen from his ministrations.

“Fuck,” Namjoon whispers and presses a finger to your mouth. “Shh, don’t let him see you.”

Your name echoes a second time off the walls of the library. It’s Jin. “Hobi is looking for you! Jungkook told me you were here!”

You groan, throwing your head back. “I’m here!”

“Okay, well hurry up! It seemed urgent! He’s in the backyard.”

You wait until you hear the library doors slam shut — why didn’t you hear them open in the first place? — before relaxing and sighing, disappointed, the moment shattered.

“Why don’t you stay for a little while?” Namjoon asks, and the unrestrained eagerness in his eye almost convinces you. But you have other things on your agenda. Other things to complete before you fuck 50% of your friends. The notion almost makes you laugh.

“I have to find Hobi. I promised..” Promised who? Him? Jungkook? Yourself. “I promised I’d talk to him by the end of the day. That’s why I came here, looking for him.”

Namjoon laughs, a full bodied, deep laugh. “Oh god. And look what you found instead. I-I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing! Really. It…” You try to find the words. “It’s not a bad, um, discovery.”

You glance down at your bodies, still pressed together. Namjoon seems to notice at the same moment you do and with a cough, steps back.

“I guess so.” He grins and the tension breaks. “At least, well, at least let me walk you?”

“Yeah,” you smile back.

He turns away and begins down the walkway, as if nothing that just happened existed. Determinately, you hurry to catch up and slip an arm through his. He looks down, blinks a couple times, and his cheeks start to redden.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” you say.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he says quickly. “I like it.”

With a gentlemanly air, he insists on helping you down the stairs. Not that you mind. Especially when the intensity of the previous moment is still reeling through your head.

You wander through the library, side by side, and somehow the massive space seems smaller after everything that’s just taken place. The bookshelves taller. The ceiling darker. The rock walls, well, rockier. Older looking. You even have to squeeze single file through the stacks of bookcases at one point. It’s as if the room itself is trying to push you two closer together.

Namjoon points out various books here and there, noting which ones were worth the philosophical indulgence, which once were more pretty escapist fantasies, and which ones he even had on his bookshelf back home. Although, you suppose, isn’t this now his home? That thought sparks the question that’s been hovering on your lips since you arrived.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask—” He turns towards you, eyes scanning your face.

“Anything. Ask anything.”

He says it so earnestly, gaze set so steady on your features that, despite the inconspicuous question you suddenly feel nervous and suck in a steadying breath before you speak:

“Where did the house come from?”

He blinks as if that’s not the question he expected.

“My aunt.”

“Your aunt’s house?”

“Yeah uh — she passed away. A year ago, actually. And left me this house. I guess it belonged to some lover from long ago that then gifted it to her.” He makes a flourishing movement. “And then on to me.”

“You’re telling me you were gifted a mansion in the middle of the mountains with this library and you decided to stay in our tiny ass, smelly ass apartment?”

He blinks at you, as if the answer is obvious.

“I mean, yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah?! You could have been up here all this time, frolicking in the mountains and living well and not crammed in a tiny little apartment with me!”

“Well, that was kind of the point wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“To be with you. I didn’t want to leave.”

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can we get tying up husband namjoon miss yamz

Any uncertainties your husband may have had before are washed down the drain the moment you tighten the last knot against his hard body. “Oh,” Namjoon says, pleasantly surprised by the snugness of the criss-crossing sections.

“I read up on it,” you grin, patting the inside of his thigh as if to say ‘all set!’ His skin bulges against the ropes, makes certain parts— his ass and chest —look plumper than usual. You’re practically drooling like a dog.

Namjoon, who has long since categorized each and every one of your facial expressions, snaps you out of it. “Honey,” he calls out softly, nudging you with his knee. His hands are neatly tied up in front of him, just above his cock. Close enough for him to wrap his own hands around it, giving himself a few shallow pumps as he waits for you to touch back down on the ground.

“Sorry!” you stammer, maybe a tad too starry-eyed over your tied up husband. After the tedious and rather lengthy process that was tying him up, you didn’t have a second more to waste. “Going now.”

As suspected, the ropes make Namjoon all the more bratty, huffing and whining every chance he gets as you do everything but touch his weeping cock. You begin at his throat, lavishing it in kisses that were sure to bruise tomorrow, high on the fact he can do nothing to stop you. And then his chest is showered in even more kisses, nipples pinched and tugged until the skin around them is visibly pink and tender. “No more,” Namjoon whimpers, but he’s just so pretty laid out like this that you can’t help but envelop one perfectly pert nipple in your mouth, rolling it between your teeth as you rock back against his achingly hard member, letting it drag along the curve of your ass only.

By the time you’ve sucked his chest into two twin peaks, Namjoon is practically sobbing, bucking upwards into nothing. “Onto your tummy,” you coo, grasping one of the bulging knots at his front to pull him towards you, swallowing the whimper that escapes his lips. You roll him over, and the mere act of manhandling such a big man as Namjoon makes you a little power crazy. You push him down face forward, his ass in the air as you creep up behind him.

“So beautiful,” you praise lovingly, trailing your hands along the tense muscles of his thigh. Your hand snakes it’s way around, finds the base of his cock and makes Namjoon yelp from the tightness of your grip. “Stay still for me now.”

He’s practically leaking, coating your hand in his arousal all too easily. Your hand begins it dutiful mission up and down his cock, the other rubbing soothing circles along one perfect globe of his ass. “Good boy,” you purr, and then abruptly bring your hand down against his plump flesh, marveling at the blood that rushes to the surface. Namjoon moans, bucking into your hand instead. You meet him with a deathly tight grip that makes every muscle in his body tense up immediately.

He’s easy to manage like this, hands bound before him, and you fondly lock away every new memory made. From the pitiful cries that left his mouth to the tender skin after the ropes had been removed— it was beautiful, deserved to be cherished. A nice change of pace.

risqué (m) | one

➵ summary; in which jungkook realizes you’re not a 15-year-old girl with a silly crush anymore, but rather a seductive, young woman with her eyes set on him. you’re tempting but is it worth the risk for jungkook?

➵ playlist · risqué tag · taglist

pairing; jungkook x f. reader

word count; 9,229

rating; 18+

content; age gap au, reader is a tease, mutual sexual attraction, bathroom sex, smut/angst

warnings; swearing, slight choking, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degrading names (jk calls reader a slut and a brat), bit of dom!jk, slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys!), creampie, cum eating

a/n; here it is!! i hope you like it and enjoy it as well <3 thank you sm to the anon to requested this, i hope i did a good job writing it lol - if any of you have questions after reading, let me know in an ask or dm me!

ps. this is heavily unedited so if you see any mistakes and typos, just close your eyes and pretend you didn’t thanks :D

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First Love, Last Love (M)

title: first love, last love posted: january 19th, 2021, 7pm est pairing: bad boy pianist!yoongi x university!reader(f) genre: angst, smut; opposites to lovers, high school/university au summary: after the most pivotal moment in your life, you never thought you would ever see him again. years later, you cross paths in the last place you ever imagined him to be. was this the universe giving you a second chance? or were you destined to repeat the same mistakes you fought hard to forget? warnings: alcohol, house parties, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, choking, hair-pulling, oral (m/f rec), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex (pls be responsible!), dirty talk, gagging with a tie, creampie, nipple play, public sex (kinda?), edging, denied orgasms, doggy-style, cowgirl, overstimulation, min yoongi in mf general notes: thank you to @sketchguk, @softyoongiionly, and @yoonjinkooked (and honestly the rest of the @bangtansorciere network) for being incredible hype ppl! and @bangtantaegi​ this is filthy yoongi smut, what can i say?? mobile users: alt link if this doesn’t open in tumblr ➛ ao3 word count: 33.5k !! (omg i am so sorry, you can yell at me)

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What does it look like when an artist’s passion dies? 

You imagined an unfinished painting, the canvas collecting dust in a corner amongst rusting paint pots and hardened brushes. Or an abandoned instrument case shoved into the back of a closet, sheet music stuffed in binders stuffed in boxes stuffed in the attic. The arts no longer spoke, danced, comforted. What was once a technicolor ocean of imagination now resembled an ugly, dried sludge of doubts and fears and excuses to find another path. Society’s standard path. One with a more stable lifestyle and greater number of career choices. 

No matter what you pictured, it was nothing compared to what you were witnessing. The world before you swam in your vision: the imposing, dark monster of a grand piano swallowing its prey whole. And the victim didn’t fight back - not even for a moment. They let it consume them under the blinding spotlight, a feasting on full display. They knew this was the close, proverbial wings folding around their slumped form in surrender.

The entire room held its breath, but inside you a storm raged so harshly that you wouldn’t be surprised if people could hear your thundering pleas. 

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