Yoongles - Tumblr Posts

pink namgi + rose gold seokjin for @namjoonssweetestthang​ ♡

yoongi + The Stare™️ during butter (for @marvelousbangtan)

yoongi: :(

hoseok: *gives tangerine*

namjoon: *gives tangerine*

jungkook: *gives tangerine*

seokjin: *gives tangerine*

jungkook: *gives tangerine*

taehyung: *gives tangerine*

jimin:*gives tangerine*

yoongi: ⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

As an incredibly pregnant woman right now, this bit of domesticity is exactly what I needed. This Yoongi has me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 the whole time. What a lot of sexy sweetness. And I love a realistic romp more than I can say. This was so good!

Not Even a Mouse

Summary:  The week before Christmas, you are tasked with delivering some paperwork to your father’s former business partner in order to secure your ownership of their legendary toy store. However, things don’t go as planned and a sudden blizzard keeps you cooped up inside the tiniest town you’ve ever seen, Snow Falls. You keep telling yourself that it’s the weather that’s keeping you here, but after a visit to Min’s Mini Mart, you aren’t so sure anymore…

Title: Not Even a Mouse

Pairing: Single Dad! Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Romance, FLUFF, Smut (18+ only please)

Warnings: explicit smut, language, mild angst, mentions of blood, really bad weather, mentions of bad parenting/abandonment (not Yoongi), swearing, brief mention of cancer, nightmares and anxiety

Word Count: 14.7k

Special thanks to: @bulletproofbirdy​ @gldnrecs​ for always being around and keeping me sane, and also for your incredible minds and contributions to the plot. I love you lots. To @yoonia​ @randombtsprincessa​ and @yeoldontknow​ thank you for hyping me up and being the cutest ever! I love you!

Author’s Note: This story is written for the Christmas in July project hosted by the INCREDIBLE @kookdiaries @kithtaehyung and @xiaokoo​! I am apart of the Hoeliday Well Spent theme, and I’m so excited for the amazing fics that are coming out! This fic is loosely inspired by the film, Christmas Inheritance. I hope you enjoy :D

“All commercial flights out of the northeastern region are delayed until further notice. Our expert team here at TXT613 is predicting that the winter storm will move into the surrounding cities of Candy Cane Lane, Sleighbells, Chestnut and, Snow Falls at around 6:30pm. This system of storms is gaining traction as we speak and is expected to bring about catastrophic snow fall in the regions on our screen. We advise those who are living or lodging in these cities to have the necessary supplies and prepare for a potential loss of power.”  

You’re leaning on your elbows, helplessly watching the screen. The bar you are sitting in his bustling with activity, but no one seems to pay much attention to the disturbing content playing through the speakers.

“Excuse me?” You call softly to the bartender, “How long do these things normally last?”

He cocks his head for a moment before glancing behind him at the screen, “The weather? Oh well-“ He chuckles as he sets a glass onto the countertop, “-if their predictions are correct, you’re looking at a delay of at least a few days, maybe even a week…”

Your eyes widen, “A week? But I’m supposed to be on a flight tomorrow morning…”

Keep reading

This is such a good color on Yoongi. Look at him looking so effortlessly expensive. And he acts like he doesn’t even know. Rude. 🙄

yoongi is so precious 🧡

he's dressed for our wedding <3

oh he’s extremely hot

"is this thing on?" *taps the mic* "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

i miss him already!!!!!! HE’S SUCH A GOOD PERFORMER one day i hope to see him and the boys live. fingers crossed 🤞🏼

omg this is so cute 🥹 will be looking out for more of this series!

perks of being a househusband.

DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi unintentionally scares people

series index. | masterlist + disclaimers.

note: go on tell me d-day!yoongi isn't tatsu I DARE YOU 😤 btw u don't need to watch the way of the househusband before reading this, but i swear u won't regret it if u do lol it's so funny (and it gives great visuals for this fic!). anyways, enjoy!! i'd love to hear ur thoughts so drop by my askbox and let's chat :)

[ "I WAS HOPING I WOULDN'T HAVE TO RESORT TO THIS." ]

Water drips down his neck as he washes his face. Droplets fall down his tattooed back, tracing the meticulous lines and bold colors that contrast his pale skin.

After rinsing and drying off, he dons on his outfit for the day – a fitted, white, short-sleeved shirt that shows off the intricate tattoos on both his arms and some black sweatpants – and puts on his signature apron – a beige, cotton apron with a drawing of his brown poodle on the front. Said poodle is staring at him from the bathroom door as he takes one last look at the mirror.

An old, bumpy scar runs down his right eye.

"Perfect," he says to himself before heading to the kitchen with his dog following right behind.

Min Yoongi never used to wake up this early. But these days, he wakes up bright and early at six o'clock because he has an important assignment.

"What do you think, Holly? Too big?"

The poodle barks in response, and taking its opinion into consideration, Yoongi adjusts his gimbap slices accordingly, making them a tad bit smaller and just the perfect size for your lunchbox.

"Shit!"

The door to your shared bedroom opens and you run out, already dressed in your corporate attire. You run to the kitchen where your husband is and get a huge glass of water.

"I'm late!" you screech, all while gulping down the whole glass.

"But you still have a few hours," he points out in confusion.

"I forgot I have an early meeting!" you explain in a hurry, putting on your heels before giving your husband a big smooch on the lips and blowing Holly a kiss. "Sorry, Yoonie! I'll see you later!"

And you're out the door.

Yoongi blinks for a few moments before shaking his head. He's chuckling in amusement at your mishap, but if any outsider hears his laughter, it just sounds a bit manic.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, Holly."

Holly barks.

"Huh? What was that?"

Holly barks.

Yoongi stares at the poodle, then at your Hello Kitty lunchbox he meticulously prepared, then back at the poodle.

"She forgot her lunchbox?"

Holly barks.

"Fuck."

Yoongi snaps into action, securing the lunchbox and putting it inside a Hello Kitty cloth bag before running out the door with his cute apron still on. He mounts his bicycle and speeds towards your office – which, if he was driving a car, would have broken numerous traffic regulations but luckily he isn't a stranger to breaking a law or two.

He's almost to your office. He's halfway there.

But unfortunately, there's a bit of a situation.

"What's your occupation, sir?"

The two police officers stare at him hesitantly after flagging him down for pedalling too fast with his bicycle. They're debating on giving him a ticket but then Yoongi answers.

"Househusband."

They stare at him.

"What?"

Yoongi sighs. At this rate, he won't be able to catch you before you clock in.

"Wait a second," one of the officers says, eyeing the tattoos peeking out from Yoongi's shirt and the big scar on his eye. "Are you..."

They stare at the name on the ticket. Min Yoongi.

"...Agust D?"

No way, the other officer thinks. There's a rumor about an infamous gangster called Agust D who used to slaughter his enemies with his own two hands. This guy can't be him. Right? Right?!

They hold a breath when Yoongi reaches into his pocket.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this," he murmurs.

"Wait, sir. There's no need for violence—"

"Here," Yoongi shuts them up by thrusting one of his most precious possessions.

A gift card for discounts at the local grocery store.

The police officers stare at the gift card, bewildered.

"As much as it pains me to let go of this," Yoongi continues, "take it. Now, I have to go."

And he pedals away, leaving behind one gift card and two very confused cops.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Not me having a whole Yoongles scenario in my head about him being obsessed with a girl that knits because y'know...he's a wee gato.

cute

just yoongi in his pink silk pajama suit

HOLUP MARS CUZ WTF 🥵

I'm usually not a fan of "Noona" but THIS IS AMAZING *chefs kiss*. Yoongi's so adorable and whiny cute AND DAMN THE FUCKING CHOKING PART OLORD IM A MESS. I'm just whipped for a subby, adorable Yoongi 🥺

Cue The Last Call - myg

Summary- You never truly understood why you entered a casual relationship with Yoongi when you knew your heart never stood a chance.

word count- 5.9k

pairing- idol!Yoongi x assistantproducer!Reader

rating- R

genre- smut, angst, fluff, fwb to lovers

warnings- Yoongi in that one airport look we simp over, emotionally constipated reader, softsoftsoft!Yoongi, softdom!reader, sub!Yoongi, gratuitous use of noona, face sitting, face riding, choking, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected penetration, titty worship, marking

a.n- This was meant to be a pwp but i got hella soft over Yoongi. I’m literally pining for this man. I hope he had the best birthday and gets all the love! Here’s some soft but kinky sex lol. This is a part of @houseofddaeng​‘s Ides of Min event with my favourite iconic Yoonbie look.

A huge shout out to @hobisbeautifulass​ and @oftenderweapons​ for keeping me sane while writing this, helping me plot, beta reading, and supporting me despite my little annoyances. i’m truly grateful to know you both.

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

-

“Stay. We have to go to the airport together tomorrow anyways,” Yoongi murmured into your hair as he finally caught his breath, an arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in closer despite your reluctance. You felt your heartbeat rise at his words, your face flushing deeper as you will yourself to keep your resolve.

Yoongi and you were just friends with benefits. It was perfect — a quick, easy fuck to keep both of you satisfied between your haphazard schedules. You had rules. No kissing, no public teasing, and absolutely no sleeping over. They worked perfectly, for about three months, and then you both started breaking them.

Keep reading

HOMIE? THE WAY IT GRIPPED ME RIGHT FROM THE START TILL THE END?? 🥵🔥

fr tho like holyfuck im speechless and damn this might be short but i think its the fastest i read i swear like in one breathing ✋

there's something in your writing where i feel like im being carried by the gust of wind homie (idk if it makes sense) AND PLS THIS MOODBOARD'S SO SEXY AIQOEHWBWIHDHD

with him. (m) | hyung line

title: with him. (m) pairing: hyung line x reader(f) genre/rating: 18+ ; smut word count: 1.2k summary: in which you remember all the ones before him. warnings: language, house party, penetration, oral, breast play, sl*t/wh*re nicknames notes: this is just a quickie for the wonderful hyung line enthusiast @joheunsaram​ !! i don’t know what came over me bc this just.. produced itself, so happy birthday LOL i hope you like it! if you don’t, you can crumple it, chuck it in the bin, and pretend this never happened sdjklfsd. also, all pics other than the boys can be found on my aesthetic blog @brandisher​ 🤎

-

-

With Hoseok, it started as a blur and ended as a blur. 

Keep reading

FOOKKK IM BACK HERE AGAIN AFTER SEEING BUFF YOONGI EARLIER 🥵

my kinks with yoongi–ugh roma i hatechu

yoongi fucking u with the SUGA rings on after a concert and choking u 🙏🏻

⋆ㅤmature content [ 18+] minors dni.

warning ━ little bit of manhandling, uuh light choking + (MAJOR WARNING) yoongi using his 'suga' rings on you. oh, and yoongi calls you a whore once.

word count ━ 641 (wHAT HAPPENED TO MAX. 300 WORDS?? ROMA?!?)

ps. i fucking died when i got this ask.

lower-case intended | unedited.

“you thought that was funny, didn’t you?” the pace of his hips and the way his fingers are digging in the flesh of your cheeks makes you feel light-headed, but you still manage to let out a small giggle that visibly pisses him off. “you're a fucking brat, you know that?”

yoongi's hips work relentlessly between your legs. his body moves smoothly on top of yours, the adrenaline of being on stage no longer than 30 minutes ago being the reason why. you're both so sweaty that your hands are slowly slipping down their hold on his shoulders. sex with yoongi could be so dirty, so nasty, sometimes, but you can't help being completely desperate to pleasure each other in whichever way you can think of.

if these are the consequences of stealing one of his diamond rings as a joke, you'd gladly steal the rest of them.

“you love me like that,” your words are being muffled by yoongi's tight grip on your cheeks, the pieces of jewelry threatening to cut your skin, but you know he would never let that happen. “fuck me harder.”

yoongi bites his lip as he stares at yours with dilated pupils, his hand letting go of your face as his hips keep up the same rhythm. you whine and squirm impatiently underneath him.

“open your mouth.” he barks, and it takes you a second to realize what he's about to do, but once you catch up, your cunt clenches around him and you moan at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you. you do as you're told and stick out your tongue. “see? you do know how to behave.”

yoongi's middle and index fingers push their way inside your mouth, not stopping until they reach as far as you can take them. you wrap your lips around his fingers and swirl your tongue around the warmed rings, your eyes on him as you suck on his fingers the way he loves to see you suck on the head of his cock.

still pushing his fingers in and out of your mouth, he stops the pace of his hips and leans over the couch of the dressing room his fucking you in, fishing out something you can't even pretend to be interested in.

until he makes you.

“you like this ring?” he shows you the ring you stole, a diamond-encrusted ring in the shape of the 'A' letter. you smirk around his fingers and nod your head. “let's put it to good use, hm?”

with one last push of his hand, you gag on his fingers and, not even having the time to process his actions, he pushes them out and quickly wraps his hand on your neck. he squeezes it until you feel like your mind is floating away, your mouth agape as your ragged breaths try to bring oxygen into your lungs.

a squeak comes out of your mouth when he presses the cold ring against your clit, resuming the pace of his hips as he rubs your bud with the piece of jewelry. he leans away from your body and his eyes focus on the way your pussy wraps around his girth, the position making the head of his cock rub against your g-spot easily. you close your eyes and, you swear, he is all you can feel.

“you're my pretty little whore, isn't that right?” you nod with your eyes closed, broken moans coming out of your parted lips. “you'd let me do anything to you, you'd let me ruin you. isn't that right?”

you're lying on an uncomfortable couch in a messy dressing room, yoongi's hand choking you as he fucks you into oblivion, abusing your clit with one of the rings he uses in front of thousands of people.

you are already letting him ruin you.

© blue-sidez — do not translate, re-distribute or copy my work.

the way i read this before and i just HAD to re-read it because im damn horny waking up 💀✋

MOON WHAT THE FUCK I WANT THIS YOONGI

"Fuck, I'm going to find you during the reception and fit another load in you."

yes. YES YOONGI PLEASE. i love short hot smuts hehe i'm beyond redemption moonie so thanks 😌

fuck you, min yoongi | myg

pairing: yoongi x f!reader

word count: 2,360

rating/genre/au: 18+ | fwb au | smut

warning: this fic contains infidelity. i do not condone such actions and it is a work of fiction. pwp • hate sex • squirting • impact play (tits; once) • name calling (slut, whore) • cum play • fingering • degradation • dirty talk • multiple orgasms • clothed sex • choking • unprotected sex • creampie • standing up sex • no aftercare

author's note: just one more warning; this fic contains infidelity! you've been warned. we have another unplanned fic in our hands!!! i tried a couple of new things for smut writing this time around so i hope y'all liked it! honestly, i love this version of yoongi so i might explore this couple at a later date and turn it into a series. keyword: might.

m.list | ao3

❂ To The Lighthouse ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee through @bangtansorciere ⤐ AU Type: Rough Waters - Infidelity ⤐ Themes: Secret Relationship ⤐ Kinks: Spanking • Squirting • Degradation • Dirty Talk • Cum Play

When you think of weddings, what do you think first? Is it the look of love that passes through the happy couples' faces as they hold back tears? Is it the flowers littering the ground, created by young flower girls throwing tiny fistfuls of petals haphazardly? Is it the vows of eternal promise of companionship, through sickness and in health, and everything in between?

When you think of weddings, what colours do you think of? Is it the colour of champagne - gold dancing in the sun as everyone raises their glasses to the engaged couple; of various shades of reds and pinks dusting the bride's cheeks and lips; and the white of her dress? Whatever you think of first, weddings are meant to be sweet - a day to celebrate love with friends and family; dancing and cake.

What you don't think about in a wedding is the drama of it all: of drunken uncles spewing rude bullshit and aunts tipsy with wine ready to fight anyone that dares to cut her off of her precious alcohol. You don't think of the occasion that occurs after the ceremony is over either - of two lovers entangled in a heated embrace as they consummate their marriage.

And you certainly wouldn't find yourself thinking about fucking another man in your bridal suite, where you're currently pressed up against the wall with the doors locked while someone that isn't your soon-to-be-husband kisses the length of your neck.

"Dearly destested," Yoongi laughs while his hand busies itself with undoing the sash of your robe. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of myself and this slut right here before she goes off and marries one of the luckiest bastards I know."

Rough fingers find their way to your tits, pinching and twisting the nipples harshly before a slap lands across your mounds. You grit your teeth, wincing in the sudden pain, but a moan of his name still rips from your throat and into the empty room. Winding your fingers tightly into his blonde hair, you tug his face down so you can crash your lips in his, enjoying the gasp of surprise from his lips as you pull him closer.

"Shut the fuck up, Yoongi," you seethe, teeth biting harshly on his bottom lip, dragging it a few inches away before letting it go. The grunts of your name only fuels your desire and you fix him a coy look, smirking the entire time as you prod a finger to his chest. "This is the last time you get to fuck me anyway, so enjoy it while it lasts."

Yoongi pulls away with a chuckle, the fire of mischief in his eyes evident as he takes in the set of your jaw. How could he laugh when you're trying to be threatening? He cocks his eyebrow upwards, blonde hair sticking at odd ends while his hand grips the bottom of your chin. "That's what you said last night while you were bouncing on my cock. If it didn't stop you then, which might I remind you, you left your bachelorette party for; I highly doubt it'll stop just because there's now a ring on your pretty finger."

There was no time to grace him with a sarcastic response, especially when his face looms closer and his tongue slides into your mouth, saliva dripping down your chin and down your throat. It isn't fair how heavenly he tastes and the way you've kept your relationship a secret from everyone brings a mix of shame and pride pooling in your chest. It's a strange sensation, especially when you have to constantly remind yourself that you still love your fiance; he's given you the world after all, but there's no one that can drive you as insane in lust as Yoongi. And though your head reminds you over and over again to break things off with him, you'd find yourself in compromising positions like this that renders your conscience silent. You should feel guilty, but there's no time to think of consequences when Yoongi is so hard and rutting against your thighs.

"Please, just fuck me already," you groan between hitched breathing. "We don't have much time."

Yoongi lifts his shoulders in a shrug, a salacious smirk dancing on his lips as he slowly removes your robe from your body. You shiver into the cold air, goosebumps dotting your skin as you watch his eyes darkened with lust. He wets his lips, bringing attention to the redness before ordering you to turn around.

"Spread yourself for me, darling. Let me see how wet you are."

The scathing comment dies in your throat as you obey his command, your hands spreading your ass apart. You whimper quietly when you hear the thud of the belt hit the floor and soon, Yoongi's large, veiny fingers prod at your entrance before plunging knuckles deep into your heat. There isn't enough time for you to react, but you still yelp, tears instantly springing in your eyes as he curls his digits into your walls, thrusting harshly while he groans your name. The wet sounds from your pussy casts heat to your cheeks, your mouth hanging open permanently as you press your cheek on the cold wallpaper. Your arms are starting to burn from the strain of holding yourself open for him, but you continue to obey, fearing that he'll stop the torrent of pleasure wracking through your spine should you falter. You're close -- too close too soon that you can taste it and a broken whimper of his name is the only warning you can muster.

"Cum on my fingers that you hate so much, baby. Come on, squirt for me," he rasps from behind you.

"F-Fuck you," you gasp, but there's no malice in your voice, too busy focusing on the coil that's pulling taut in your stomach. "Fuck! I h-hate how good you make me feel, shit-- gonna fucking cum."

Yoongi chuckles and with a final push of his fingers deep into your cunt, your walls spasm, gushing out heavy trickles of arousal and possibly staining the sleeve of his dress shirt. You're barely breathing, thighs quivering as you gasp and moan; vision spotty and white as you come down from your high and your hands leave your body to clutch desperately at the wallpaper in front of you for balance.

The fingers inside of you slow their pace before stopping and through a curtain of tears, you see a blurred image of Yoongi sucking his cum stained hands. "The next time you cum, you better be yelling my fucking name, hm? Let's make sure everyone knows who this pussy really belongs to."

Min motherfucking Yoongi.

Scratching the wallpaper, you whirl around to spit on his face, the red coil of embarrassment turning into one of fury. But he's faster, large hands slamming next to your head, caging you between the wall and his body. Yoongi clicks his tongue in disapproval, a look of mock concern paired with a tilt of his head making you whimper, mouth instantly zipped into a thin line. "If you didn't like that," Yoongi whispers, forehead touching yours. "You should call off this relationship right now. I'm not the one getting married in" -- he checks his watch -- "less than five hours."

The silence tick by while he smirks at you, showing signs of his pearly, white teeth between slightly parted lips. Yoongi's not that much taller than you, but in that moment, you feel small, the fire dying in your belly as your shaky hands grab at his tie, pulling his face down to meet your lips.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the kiss. You're not sure what you're apologising for: to your fiance? To Yoongi? To yourself? But you feel the smile on his lips and your chest warms, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Good girl."

He rewards you by placing his dick between your thighs to drag the length of his cock on your slit, coating himself in your juices. "You're going to walk around with my cum for the ceremony," he says simply, dark eyes watching your face intently. Nothing escapes him; not the sigh that leaves your lips or the way your cunt clenches around nothing, causing your back to arch away from the wall. "Oh, look at you, my pretty, personal slut. Is that what you want, hm? Let's do it then. Beg for my cock like you always do, won't you?"

"Yoongi," you pant, staring up at him through hooded eyes. At this point, there isn't a shred of rationality, no last minute thoughts of how wrong this was, because your body is shivering in anticipation of being full of another man's cum while you recite your already broken vows. "Please, I need your cock inside me."

Yoongi hikes your leg up to bury his cock inside of you with a loud groan, thrusting shallowly in an attempt to let you adjust to his girth.

"So fucking deep," you sob, clutching his clothed shoulders with your nails.

"Just the way you like it."

You can't deny it; there's no point. Not when Yoongi begins to pound roughly into your cunt, moans of your name falling past his lips while his cock drags over that spot that makes you see stars. His hand that's hooked under your leg, squeezes your thigh for balance, dull fingernails leaving crescent-moon indents on your skin.

"Yoongi, fuck, I--" Your words aren't coherent, a constant loop of expletives with his name thrown into the mix as you lose yourself in pleasure.

"Touch yourself for me, baby, use those pretty hands of yours."

Obeying his every whim, your hand leaves his shoulder to trace circles on your clit, your moans increasing in volume and pitch as you bring yourself close to the edge again. Fire burns at the end of every frayed nerve, your body alight with desire as your orgasm threatens to pull you under.

"Aww, is my slut going to fucking cum? Yeah? God, you're so fucking tight."

The hand next to your head leaves the wall to wrap around your throat. He squeezes, causing your traitorous cunt to clench tightly around his length. He curses and does it again, head thrown back and moaning wantonly in pleasure. If it weren't for Yoongi's chest pushing you against the wall and holding you up by your leg, you'd surely fall, knees buckling instantly when you howl his name, your arousal soaking his cock still lodged so deep inside you as he continues his brutal pace.

"Yoongi, fuck, fuck, fuck!" you keen, reaching the end with another scream of his name.

He has the audacity to snicker; his hand leaves your throat to grip your hip tightly as he switches his harsh pace into deep, grinding thrusts, prolonging your orgasm while your body thrash weakly underneath him. "Feel good, baby?" he gasps, breathing ragged.

You nod, meeting his own thrusts with your hips as you moan. Yoongi's disheveled, tie loose and dress shirt wrinkled; blonde hair plastered on his forehead. You don't have to look in the mirror to know that you're not faring any better, thanking the gods that you haven't started preparing for the wedding, lest you want your makeup to slide off completely. Despite the bite in his words, Yoongi knows your body better than anyone, but you're impatient, desire coiling again in your belly while he thrusts languidly inside of you.

"What was that about walking around with your cum inside me?" you taunt, relishing at the shivers of electricity shooting down your spine when you witness the twitch in his jaw.

"You're going to regret saying that," he growls.

It is a promise and a threat as he pushes your knee close to your chest. Limbs battered and exhausted, you take every punishing thrust readily, his name permanently etched on your lips while he chases his high. Yoongi's unkind in his thrust, using your pussy as a toy made for him as he whispers harsh words against your ear.

"Need two men to satisfy this fucking cunt, huh? What would your fiance say if he sees you like this?"

"Fuck, I'm going to find you during the reception and fit another load in you."

"Such a filthy, fucking whore."

Every lash of his words gracing your ears only makes you want more. Your cunt protests at the punishment it's receiving, lips puffy and used, but your mind is fogged up with the scent of sex that you accept whatever he's giving you, as you convince yourself that it's really the last time.

"I'm going to fucking cum, fuuuck --" Yoongi groans.

With a final grunt of your name, he pushes into you so deep that your head snaps upwards, hitting the wall, but the pain is dull, especially when he coats you with his thick cum as ropes of white shooting into your battered walls making the two of you groan in delight. When Yoongi slips away, his cum splatters down your leg and onto the floor; your tiny cunt not meant to be filled with so much.

"You can't waste it, darling," he grins cockily before shoving two fingers inside, fucking his cum deep into your pussy.

You moan weakly against his hold, unable to think straight anymore as your limp body accepts his actions without protest. When he's satisfied, he brings his soiled digits to your lips and you part them without much thought, sucking and groaning at the taste of his cum in your mouth. Yoongi hums as he hands you the discarded robe, musing his hair and fixing his clothing in front of the mirror while you do the same.

"Have a great wedding, babe," he kisses your forehead before sauntering to the door. "Oh, by the way, you do look good in white," Yoongi laughs as he slips out of your room, leaving you to dwell in your sins with a wink.

Whatever convictions you've made to remove yourself from his life crumble the instant the door shuts off with a click and your body sags in sadness as it continues to crave his touch.

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I'LL BE YOONGI'S WOMAN IDC OC CAN GO WITH JOONIE 😒

i love this Ash bb, yk i can rarely find good Yoongi fics these days, RIP Yoongi and his heart tho 😩

little princess (m) | m.yg. | drabble

pairing: yoongi x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | humor | angst | fwb minus the friends!au

summary: In his defense, his trysts with you and his job at your father’s office were initially non-mutually exclusive. 

warnings: emotional constipation, mean!reader, age-gap, explicit sexual content (dom!yoongi, sub!reader, dom-sub themes, oral (m), manhandling, unprotective penetrative sex, bondage, gagging), not a happy ending, unrequited feelings that are being denied left and right (’:

word count: 3.9 k

submission for the September Games hosted by House Yoonus.

❂ “Fall For Romance”          ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Dia @yoonia​ through @bangtansorciere​

⤐  AU Type: Salted Caramel Ice Cream - Unrequited Love AU ⤐  Themes: Forbidden Romance | Age Gap ⤐  Kinks: Bondage, Throat Fucking, Cum Play

note: so i saw this yoongi and lost my sanity, which resulted in this! this fic seems to have a lot of backstory bec it’s somewhat of a spin-off to a bodyguard!jk series i have in the works. i also decided to tweak it a bit and make it presentable for this month’s games for the bcs net, bec why tf not?

a very huge bucket of gratitude to ridzie, my luff @taegularities​ for beta reading this for me! y’all could never imagine the kind of typos she sifted through to stop this from turning into a whole comedy, smh. one of them was “noses” instead of “noises,” and that is a tame one. LOL. thank you so much for brushing this, and hyping me, up, bestie! 🥺 i love you! 🥺❤

↦ moodboard

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, nails scratching through the dark roots of his undercut beneath the silver locks. Sweat is collecting under the collar of his white oxford despite the air-conditioning in the room. His pants are straining so hard, it hurts. 

Maybe he should stop staring and do something about all of this.

He licks his lips, unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back on his heels, wondering if he should sit down for this. 

Keep reading

NOT ME FUCKING READING THIS WITH ORANGE YOONGI AFTER MY HOE DAY OFF IM FUCKING DEAD

FI MY LOVES HOW DO U DO THIS TO ME WITH A 1K YOONGI PWP? IM? 🗣🥵

𝐋𝐨𝐥𝐚.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. Even though you're not wearing the space jam shirt and your hair isn't up in two ponytails, Yoongi stills notices. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. yoongi × reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. smut, pwp 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 18+, unprotected penetrative sex, breast/nipple play ig 𝐰𝐜. 1k

— a/n this is for my lovely whores @kithtaehyung , @sugasbabiie , and @gcfkims . i love u babes <3 shout out to ryen for being the hottie that she is that inspired this fic, shout out to dee for helping me out w the premise !! , and shout out to sophie for putting yoongi saying "bunny" in my head 😑

"Yoongi. I'm a shooting guard."

You still remember his outstretched hand that first day you'd met him. The bandana around his head pushing his hair out of his face. The cocky smirk he sent you as he tucked his basketball under his arm.

"So. You're gonna scrimage with us?"

You raised an eyebrow at the surprise in his voice, the absolutely obvious way he was pressing his tongue into his cheek as he eyed you up and down.

"Is that gonna be a problem?"

He chuckled as he let go of your hand. Finally. A trace of lightning lingered on your skin as you pulled away. He shook his head.

"Not at all, Lola."

It wasn't a clever nickname, really. And especially in the dismissive way he threw it at you. Indicating that you may be a good player. For a girl.

Or maybe he didn't mean it that way at all, and he was just an idiot. A flattering idiot that unfortunately made adrenaline shoot through your heart at the snide nickname... But a menace nonetheless!

And you didn't have time for any of that. Not him, or the view you got from watching him shoot from the three-point line earlier. Not the way he walked around like he owned the court, because he practically did. Not any of it.

"On the court." You rolled your eyes, pushing past him with a bump to his shoulder. "Let's do this, one-on-one, first."

Loud whoops and goads came from his friends, egging the competition on. Cheers for you erupted, calling out to Yoongi about "you don't know what you just got yourself into!"

He let out an amused scoff. You had heart, he had to give it to you. And you didn't take any of his shit. Cute.

He passed the ball to you, getting in position, meeting your fiery eyes as he faced you. A smile spread on his face.

"Whatever you say, doll."

Fast forward an ass-whooping by you on the court, delivered fresh from the tips of your Magic Jordan fingers, and Yoongi was asking for your number almost immediately.

"C'mon, doll. You know you wanna give it to me," with an obnoxious smirk to boot.

You huffed, cocking your head, your hands automatically falling to your hips. "If you shoot a basket from here," you pointed to where the two of you were standing on the edge of the basketball court. "Fine."

He let out a chuckle at your joke, until he saw the seriousness in your face. His laughter stopped, replaced with a scoff. "You know that's impossible."

You shrugged, "then there's your answer."

"Wait- Now, come on, Lola don't be like that-"

No chance of a response when you were gathering your things and jumping into your car, ignoring the calls from the hot basketball star behind you.

So how were you ever gonna explain how you ended up here, at a party you found yourself at three days later. Tangled up in his sheets.

"Fuck, Lola. Squeezing me so tight-" He groaned, loud pants heavy in your ear as he engulfed your body with his, sweaty all around. His hips moved at a hard pace, making the headboard shake behind you.

"It's okay, baby." He titled your chin up to look at him. You met his eyes for the first time tonight. Dark, mischievous eyes with a a hint of arrogance. A smirk flashed onto his face. "Don't gotta hold me in. I'm not going anywhere."

You would've rolled your eyes if you could, or pushed him away if you had more pride. Instead, you just wrapped your legs around his waist tighter and gripped his back with your nails.

"Shut up." You whined. Couldn't help the high pitch in your voice, not with the way he was angling his hips inside you.

His breathy laugh tickled your neck, and he landed a loud, wet, teasing kiss to your chest. "Knew you had a thing for me, bunny."

You internally cursed at the heat shooting straight down to your core. Fuck. You buried your face in his shoulder to hide your reaction. But your body had already given you away.

"Like that?" Yoongi grunted cockily in your ear, nipping your lobe for good measure. "Like it when I call you my Lola Bunny?"

You let out a whimper, free of your own reign. You felt him smile against your skin as his mouth licked a stripe down your chest. Wrapping around one of your breasts, he took your tit in his mouth. Swirling his tongue, he explored your nub first. Going straight for the kill as you kicked your legs while he sucked on your nipple.

"Yoongi- please-" You begged, but you didn't even know what for. Your hands were tangled in his hair as you writhed under him. Completely under his control.

"Please what? Bunny?" He released your breast with a pop, coming back up to level you with a knowing look. One that dared you to say it. Swallow your pride, and make you completely his for the night. At least, for now.

"I-" Your face burned with embarrassment. You shook your head with refusal, not even verbalizing your discontent.

Yoongi tsked, and pushed your legs up higher, giving him a new angle. His hand reached down in between your bodies. Your eyes widened as he brushed up against the sensitive nub, threatening to spark your sensations.

"Say it," he leaned real close, a breath away from your lips. "And I'll make you cum."

Your eyes brimmed with tears from how bad you wanted it. You let out a frustrated cry as he started to pick up his pace, just to prove his point. Fucking jerk. And shit, if that if that wasn't a sign that your pride was gone and done with, it would've been the absolutely desperate way you crashed your lips into his, pulling him down with a moan.

"I'm your Lola," you said breathlessly, finding words in between your lewd kisses. "Fuck, please Yoongi. I'm your Lola Bunny. Just- please-"

"Good bunny. Now hold on tight."

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