𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝒸𝒽𝒾

You blink.

“So you admit it’s off-centred?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to refute your rebuttal, but it’s left to no avail when you wave him off, equally annoyed and frustrated when you gesture for him to step off the step ladder that enabled him to reach the top of your overly-ostentatious Christmas tree.

Yoongi’s spent a few Christmas’ with you, though they were nothing extravagant. It’s the first year that the both of you were really celebrating with each other, learning about the other’s quirks and requirements when it came to the annual celebration. Based on previous occasions, you weren’t quite particular with where decorations went, or what colour theme you ought to follow.

The thought, while exasperating on its own, still brings a semi-fond smile on his face that he hides so that you won’t nag at him for finding your vexation amusing. It was more that he finds himself settling into a sense of comfort that you finally allowed yourself to do what you like—with him.

“I can do it, you know,” Yoongi sighs, folding his arms across his chest as he leans against the wall next to the tree.

You’ve already replaced him on the step-ladder, hands busying themselves with manoeuvring the star on the top of the tree with snipers precision. Yoongi wasn’t even sure if the ornament was moving with how careful you were being with it, and the look of concentration on your face tells him that you weren’t listening to him. By choice.

“Please pay attention to your surroundings so you won’t fall and die,” he says blandly, “I’d be quite heartbroken if you did.”

You shoot him a snarky look, “Quite?”

Yoongi’s lips twitch in amusement when he sees you puff out in annoyance, an indignant pout on your face when you edge your head backwards briefly to observe the apparent angle of the star.

“Very,” Yoongi corrects himself with a small laugh before he makes his way behind you.

You were too focused on frowning at the inanimate object to notice his presence, more concerned about finding a way to telepathically connect with the star so it’d be your puppet and perch itself into a position up to your standards.

You were stubborn. Yoongi knew that. It was one of your few quirks that he accepted, knowing that it was never as harmless as people made it out to be. He’s learnt—known—that you were a little rough around the edges, but you were pure. Someone who needed someone else with a little more patience to understand the edges that carved out the beautiful, and unadulterated version of yourself.

So, when Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist to lift you off the step-ladder—you squeal. Then, you whine. And then it’s a thwack to Yoongi’s shoulder (the right one because as much as Yoongi has told you that he’s fully healed, you never wanted to leap over that barrier—it was endearing) as he laughs at your chagrin.

“Put me down!” you demand with a hiss, “Yoongi! Stop laughing!”

“No,” he says, and he’s glad he can’t catch the daggers you were shooting at him since you were facing forward. “Let’s take a break.”

“That implies the both of us were working,” you say dryly, “You stood on a step-ladder for five minutes. Yay. Would you like a medal?”

Yoongi huffs, “I—”

“God, the bar is so fucking low,” you mutter under your breath.

Before Yoongi can say anything to that, he tosses you onto his couch, earning an equally loud shriek at the way your body makes contact with the plush surface.

When he stands above you, you’re glaring at him so vehemently that your expression may as well as telling him to dig his own hole to get buried in.

“A half an hour break won’t hurt,” Yoongi smiles, kneeling down to reach your eye level as you scoff. Your arms are folded across your chest petulantly, pointedly avoiding the way Yoongi attempts to catch your gaze.

Yoongi rests a hand on your knee, squeezing the flesh as you pretend like it wasn’t doing anything to you. Frankly, Yoongi couldn’t tell with the way you were stubbornly clenching your jaw in vexation as you stare at the entrance of his apartment as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You did this often. Get annoyed with Yoongi, stay silent; sulk; pretend like you were mad (maybe you were, but Yoongi likes to think you’re softer than you acted), and wait until Yoongi started to grovel.

Yoongi almost laughs, a smile threatening to make its way onto his face when the routine refreshes itself in his mind. If you were anyone else, he’d leave them on their own until they cooled down enough to listen to him, whether they agreed or not. But you were you, and as much as you exasperated him—he was a man in love. He was putty, and you had him wrapped around your finger whether you were aware of it or not.

Another squeeze and he notes you jolt ever so slightly, knees parting on instinct. He wants to smirk but he knows you’ll start cursing him out again.

“Sweetheart,” Yoongi murmurs, fully knowing that it was your favourite name. Gosh, you were unpredictable and predictable at the same time. Your nose twitches. Yoongi smiles. Score.

“The tree looks beautiful,” he reassures softly, thumb rubbing a soothing circle under your knee. He wasn’t lying. You did have an eye for things like this while Yoongi was rather simple. He appreciated aesthetics but didn’t place it as a priority. He valued company over outlook—but with you, he’d get both. “The house looks beautiful. You did a really great job at decorating.”

A shift. Your chest was slightly facing him despite your gaze still being trained to his front door.

You needed to hear these things. Yoongi knew that. You liked hearing that you were doing a good job, seeing the approving smile on Yoongi’s face even if he thought you didn’t need his approval. Who was Yoongi to deny you the everlasting truth he holds?

“You deserve a break,” he says softly, inching closer until he’s kneeled between your parted thighs, catching your dubious expression when he smiles up at you. “Let me take care of you, hm?”

“We need to finish the decorations,” you deadpan, voice impressively stable when you glare down at him.

Your legs make space for him.

“After.” He cocks his head to the side in a way that you claimed made him look cocky. But hot. Apparently. “No one’s coming over until 8 PM.”

“It’s five-forty, Yoongi,” you huff, flailing your arms to gesture towards the analogue clock on his coffee table.

“And Jungkook doesn’t know early even if it hit him in the face,” Yoongi snorts, hands now rubbing slowly up and down your thighs. You curse under your breath, something about wearing sweats instead of the shorts you were dawning. Yoongi’s not complaining. Easy access.

“Jimin said—”

“Jimin too,” Yoongi says quickly, almost huffing at the mention of the intern-turned-resident. You’ve taken a liking to his apprentice, and while Yoongi wasn’t…possessive, Jimin had a crush on you and Yoongi—well, he was your boyfriend; your partner—he was allowed to be sceptical!

(Jimin was nothing but polite to you, but the cheeky looks he’d shoot Yoongi when you weren’t looking tells him that Yoongi’s downfall was amusing to him.)

“What if Hobi comes early—?”

“I’ll tell him to fuck off,” Yoongi replies curtly.

You flick him against his forehead as he winces. You glare down at him, knuckle still pressed against his forehead so he couldn’t get any closer when you realise that he was edging closer to where he wanted to be.

“Haerin? Namjoon? You know they offered to help,” you remind.

“Namjoon would understand the innate need of a man to ravage his girlfriend in his own home,” Yoongi says.

A pretty flush appears on your cheeks as your jaw slackens. You always said Yoongi was too much. But he doesn’t think you know. Know just how much more he wants to give you—the world; the universe—all the multiverses out there if they existed.

“You’re so annoying,” you seethe.

“Okay,” he shrugs, then he shoots you a small grin. The ever soft tilt of his lips makes your features soften ever so slightly. “Now are you going to stop pretending like you’re mad at me and let me take care of you?”

“I am mad,” you snap weakly, fingers darting out to grasp at his shoulder when he suddenly pushes your thighs apart with his hands. “We’re supposed to be decorating—!”

“You know for someone who seems to really like Christmas, you’re very grumpy,” Yoongi teases.

You gawk at him. “I’m not grumpy! I just want the decorations to be perfect—!”

“And it is.” Yoongi presses a kiss to your inner thigh, arms wrapping around your thighs as he tugs you forward. You yelp, bum on the edge of the seat as he grins up at you so widely as if you were the one doing him a favour.

You were. Every day. Being with him. Staying by his side despite the hectic year the both of you had. And you were here, in his home, a plane ride away from the home you called yours.

(“Merry Christmas,” you had said shyly, turning up on his doorstep when he blinked at you. Shocked. Stunned.)

“What if someone—” you mumble, nibbling on your lips as Yoongi can’t help but smile at you. It seems like the only thing you can evoke out of him is happiness; apparent in his expression too.

“We’ll deal with it later,” he reassures you gently. Then, he peers up at your eyes when you finally decide to grant him the liberty of looking into your gaze. “Now, I want you to sit there and let me service you. Got it?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you mutter.

“Always telling me what to do,” Yoongi huffs, shaking his head as his fingers reach towards the band of your shorts, teasing. Featherlight. He feels the goosebumps raise on your skin as you narrow your eyes menacingly at him. “Relax for me, okay?”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” you snark.

Yoongi smiles. You were so stubborn. Noisy, when you didn’t need to be. He’d need you to be quiet, and he knew exactly how to get you that way.

Your fingers are still on his shoulders, and Yoongi takes a second to turn his head, pressing a soft kiss to your right knuckle. You pinch his neck, but it’s so light that it feels like a love tap. It probably is, because when Yoongi looks up with a pointed look, all you do is huff like the petulant Princess you were.

He pulls your shorts down, greeted with the bare sight of your pussy, already glistening with your wetness. He smirks to himself. You could play this facade as much as you’d like, but Yoongi knew you and your body like the back of his hand. He learned every bit of who you were; loved every bit of who you were—he knew.

“This isn’t a reward,” you warn, hands going to clutch at the strands of his hair.

Yoongi laughs, tugging you closer until he was eye level with your pretty pussy. Before you can yell at him for laughing at you—annoyed—he dips his head, tongue darting out to catch the drop of wetness that threatens to fall to the couch beneath you.

You gasp, a sound Yoongi’s well-acquainted with and even less tired of. He’d have you moaning for him every single second of the day if he had it his way. But you were ambitious, a lady with dreams and he respected that. He’d service you, day and night, every minute—anytime. He’d settle for these moments.

“Yoongi…” you say breathlessly, legs twitching when he hooks a knee over his shoulder for better leverage.

“Taste so good,” he whispers against your mound, tongue dragging up your slit to collect all your wetness towards your swollen pearl. When his appendage drags against the bud, your back arches, sensitive as ever and just how Yoongi likes you.

“Don’t tease,” you scowl, voice shaky when you tug at his hair.

“Me?” He feigns innocence, pulling away to shoot you a lopsided smirk as you glare at him, cheeks already flushed. Yoongi feels all the blood rush to his cock just by looking at your beautiful (yet, angry) face. “I’d never.”

Yoongi decides to spare you the wait, leaning in and wrapping his lips around your clit as you gasp, legs almost snapping shut. He keeps them spread, palm digging into the meat of your thighs as he laps against your sodden folds, your clit—swirling and pressing like he wanted to imprint himself upon your skin forever.

Yoongi loved giving head. To you. He never divulged his sex life with any of his co-workers, with the exception of Namjoon (and even then, the details were very sparse because your business wasn’t his—and he didn’t want anyone else to know just how amazing you were). But he’s heard stories of men who weren’t so keen on giving head, claiming that it wasn’t as satisfying as being on the receiving end.

Yoongi would always keep his opinions to himself but the eye roll remained. They were selfish lovers. Period.

Even if that was the case, Yoongi thinks you must’ve done some magic on him because anything you did, any little reaction you gave him—aroused him. He was insanely attracted to you, attuned to your body like a snake to fiddle and he could almost laugh at how whipped he was. Having you this way, spread out so pliantly for him, pussy clenching around nothing as your bud pulses against his tongue—was his definition of sexual gratification.

“Y-Yoongi—,” you mewl, legs clamping against his ears as he feels you shudder under his ministrations.

God, you were so fucking sexy. Your breathless moans, the way your fingers wrap themselves tighter around his strands of hair to ground yourself; the half-lidded gaze you shoot him from above like an angel peering over her people—you were so tantalising and Yoongi couldn’t get enough of you.

Then, powered by his devotion, Yoongi delves in deeper and sucks on your clit like he was on a mission to suck the soul out of your body. A high pitched sob escapes your lips, your legs vibrating by the side of his face as he smiles into your sodden cunt, feeling the way your hole pulses uncontrollably.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you chant, voice hoarse when you do juxtaposing actions—your hands pushing him away when he feels you shake under his actions, and your legs keeping his head firmly put where he wants to be. Either way, Yoongi wasn’t going to stop until you were coming.

“That’s it,” he encourages with a smirk. And to seal the deal, he adds two fingers—quick because he knows you can take it—and curls them up until it hit the spot that made you—

“Yoongi!” His name sounds like heaven when it rolls off your tongue and he’s so hard that it almost hurts. But he’s on a mission to get you off. A reward for himself despite your earlier warning, and an act that fits into the context of gifting season.

You cum. Loud. Wet. Messy. The sounds are so obscene when Yoongi slurps against your oversensitive cunt, your hands weakly pushing his head away with a breathless whine when he continues to lap at the honey that pours out. You taste so good that Yoongi’s head is a little hazy. Your wetness is smeared all across the bottom half of his face and he couldn’t have had it any other way.

When he pulls away, he feels fucked out—and he watches the way your chest heaves up and down in exertion when you stare at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“What the hell,” is all you say. He knows it was good, and he gives you a parting kiss to your thigh before he pushes himself up.

“Tis’ the season, sweetheart,” he smiles.

You gape at him, your eyes boring into his skull as if you were attempting to regain some sense of consciousness. But before Yoongi can ask, you’re pulling him down onto the couch with you, and with wobbly legs—you perch yourself on his lap.

“You can’t just do that and not give me your dick,” you deadpan.

Yoongi blinks, then he bursts out laughing. His shoulder shakes when you continue to glare at him, both in annoyance and in desire.

“Thought we needed to get back to decorating,” Yoongi throws your own words back to you as your face morphs into a scowl, brows furrowed in a way that tempts Yoongi into brushing his thumb in-between them to placate your expression.

“Now you want to decorate?” you scoff, hands resting on his shoulders as his own naturally find their way to your waist, squeezing the flesh that’s bare of clothes with the way your sweater has ridden up.

“Someone once told me that the decorations needed to be perfect,” he shrugs noncommittally, thumb rubbing against your skin as he feels you shudder under his touch.

“Well that someone wants you to fuck her,” you snap.

“I have a girlfriend so I don’t think she’d be too happy about that.”

You roll your eyes, and Yoongi feels all the more accomplished when he spots the quirk of the corner of your lips at his silly statement.

“At least I know you won’t go run off with some lady,” you huff as your hands are busy with the drawstring of his sweats, already palming his hardened length over the fabric.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, feeling the heat in his body travel to his lower region with the way your tinier hands engulf his cock over his sweats like second nature.

You looked so pretty like this. Your hair was slightly matted down after your shower when you left it to air-dry, and there’s the semi-permanent frown on your face that he always jokes about being good for pre-mature wrinkles—but it’s you. The same girl, woman, he’s loved since he was eighteen. Now, the both of you were older, and finally together.

It’s funny how things in life worked out sometimes.

“Never,” he grins widely, one hand retreating from your waist to stop you before you can get your hands under his sweatpants—even if his cock was dying for some form of friction, already riled up after witnessing your orgasm.

“Yoongi,” you whine with a pout, “We don’t have time!”

Yoongi smirks. “Then we can go back to decorating.”

You frown at him, and he spots the way your eyebrow twitches as he stifles his laughter.

“I don’t want to decorate now,” you sniff, “I want to sit on your dick.”

“Come on, has chivalry really died?” he muses, “Where’s my kiss?”

“I’m a lady, Min Yoongi,” you say with narrowed eyes, and Yoongi’s indulging in the way your cheeks flush a deeper shade.

“What happened to modern-day feminism?” Yoongi chuckles, voice lifting into a tease as you gawk at him.

Even if he was hard beyond belief, he enjoyed sharing moments like these with you. When you were you, and he was him. Where all your conduct and expectations were knocked over whenever you were with him; the little snarks that you’d throw at him when Yoongi would poke at your buttons. It’s a dynamic that’s always existed between the both of you—a push and pull that he’ll never get tired of.

“Are you seriously going to equate me not initiating a kiss as proof of how chivalry has died when you men were—!”

But, Yoongi’s still a man, as you loved to remind him whenever he’d annoy you a little more than usual. And despite the way he loves having you like this—he wants to be inside of you, to fill you up to the brim and feel your heat envelop him like you were made to take him.

So, Yoongi wraps his thumb and index finger around your chin to swoop you in for a kiss, pressing his lips tightly—yet with warmth—against your own, feeling the way you immediately melt into his touch.

“I’m teasing,” he reminds lightly, still murmuring the words against your lips.

“You’re so annoying,” you say breathlessly, and then you’re pushing back onto him until his back hits the back of the sofa.

You waste no time getting him out of his sweatpants, haphazardly tugging the material down until it pools under his thighs as opposed to getting it fully off of him. As expected, you were on a time crunch and you were a woman on a mission.

“Use your hand,” he directs, leaning back to enjoy the way you take charge even if it’s just for a moment.

You lift yourself off his lap ever so slightly to wrap your hand around his shaft, eliciting a hiss from Yoongi when he feels you squeeze the base of his cock. Yoongi usually took control in the bedroom even if it wasn’t a fixed role. Naturally, you took control in most aspects of your life and even in the dynamics of your relationship—so you often allowed Yoongi full reign over your sexual reprieve. Yoongi didn’t have a preference but it would be a lie to not admit that seeing all the ripostes filled with fire die on your lips when you sought for his commands—his validation—was enthralling.

“Slowly. Just the tip,” he continues, voice strict as he sees the way your lower lip juts out in potential defiance. He shoots you a look. A warning. He wonders if you’ll decide to disobey today.

“It’ll fit,” you whine, “You always fit.”

Yoongi hides his groan well. His eyes flutter shut ever so slightly when he feels himself lose control when the tip of his cock breaches your fluttering pussy. He’s been inside of you enough times, but every time is a new experience. He’d never get tired of the pop that it makes when he passes the threshold, the gasp that you and he let out as if you were synced to each other.

“Patience,” he says with a small smirk, thumb rubbing against your cheek when your teary and desperate eyes peer up at him. “Sink down just a little for me.”

You do, and he feels more of your heat engulf him as his other hand squeezes around your waist. God, the way you were pulsing around him makes his head spin. But the way you squirm above him is even better. So, he holds out a little bit longer, taking every bit of self-control to not fuck upwards until you were putty in his arms.

“Yoongi please,” you mewl, forehead dropping onto his shoulder as he laughs. The vibrations cause you to let out a breathy whimper when his cock jostles ever so slightly in your cunt. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, clinging onto him as if he was your last lifeline.

“Doing so well for me,” he croons, tracing his fingers up and down your spine as you shiver. “Last bit for me, love. You can take it.”

“I can,” you warble, finally sheathing his cock deep in your cunt as you let out a sinful gasp, head was thrown back when he’s nestled deep in your pussy. You didn’t top often, mostly because Yoongi was so big that it made you feel so whole—according to you. But when you did, Yoongi knows it’s an experience that the both of you want to replicate, over and over.

You don’t move, your manners impeccable when you await his commands. Yoongi knows that you know that he’d never really punish you for disobeying him. But he knew that you liked this—liked waiting for the green light; liked the way that Yoongi controlled your actions that delivered mind-numbing pleasure.

You rest your hands on his chest, and he slowly palms your waist—then the underside of your breast, and finally your mounds as you remain still on his cock.

He slips off your sweater with ease, no dragging it out—nothing particularly sexy about it. Almost intimate when the two of you share a smile. Soft and warm. Just like Christmas. Just like this moment.

“Thank you for coming,” Yoongi whispers, suddenly feeling sentimental. Really, he always felt this way around you. An overwhelming sense of feeling that he needed to get off his chest. He never knew he could be as expressive as he is, not until you were his, and him—yours. “Thank you for decorating my home. For inviting everyone over to spend the holidays with us.”

You flush. You’re not usually this shy. But you hide your face ever so slightly when you duck your head down.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you mumble. It’s intimate; the way his cock is firm inside your cunt—hard as a rock—as you possess the ability to rock forward and bring the both of you home. The both of you choose not to, just for a second. “I never got to celebrate Christmas like this. It’s…nice.”

You say the last part quietly, voice hushed in a whisper as Yoongi shoots you a small smile. When you look up, your cheeks are so flushed that he’s tempted to tease you. But you squeeze his shoulders, a nervous habit whenever you felt like you were about to go on a ramble. Yoongi knows this, so he waits.

“Christmas wasn’t fun,” you tell him, “My parents never really cared for the holidays. And Haerin…well, we weren’t close. You were the only one that really paid attention to me so…I wanted to do this right.”

Yoongi’s heart clenches at your soft tone, almost as if it was your inner-child speaking and not you. You rest your cheek against his chest as he holds you tighter to his body.

“I’m sorry for being so…anal about this,” you wince, “It’s just—I want this Christmas to be perfect. And I want things to look pretty so we can take loads of pictures for memories.”

“You know this Christmas is already perfect because you’re here with me, don’t you?” Yoongi finally speaks up, the words uttered into your hair as you scoff.

You pull away, the you that he’s always known slightly returning as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be such a cheeseball,” you say with a scrunch of your face, “You know what I mean! It’s our first Christmas together and I want it to be special! And you think the star is fine when it’s clearly off-centred! You know—I really hope our kids don’t inherit that habit of yours because—”

Yoongi freezes, his hands stilling against your waist as his eyes blow out wide. You’re still rambling, going off your mini tirade. Your mouth is moving but he can’t really piece out anything except for the fact that you took a one-eighty and was now calling him an idiot, along with some other words that he’s gotten way too used to.

Kids.

Our kids.

Yoongi’s heart seizes in his chest, and he can already picture it. Years from now. Or even a year. Who knows—fuck, he doesn’t care but he can see it. Christmas Eve. You’re decorating the tree again, and Yoongi isn’t helping you because your daughter—or your son—or both—is helping you. They’ve inherited your stubbornness that takes years of Yoongi’s life away, but also your livelihood, the energy that brings you so far—and it makes his life brighter.

He sees the matching sweaters, a cheesy tradition that he never liked until this picture came to mind. He sees the hot chocolate; the whipped cream moustache that he doesn’t tell you about so he can snap a picture. Fuck. He sees it all—and suddenly, he needs to—”

“—like I know it’s not that deep but it is! The star was off-centred, and it’s obvious—” You don’t finish your words because Yoongi’s planting his feet against the floor, and hands around your waist, before he’s thrusting upwards.

“Fuck!” you squeal, caught off guard by the sudden force that knocks the air out of your lungs. But Yoongi’s delirious, the visual in his mind never leaving when he continues to fuck upwards, deep into your sodden pussy as you let out cries of pleasure at his ministrations.

“You want my kids?” His voice is uncharacteristically soft for someone who’s holding you so tight to his body, thrusting his shaft deeper and deeper into your hot walls as you cling onto him for support.

“I-Is that what—fuck—you got from what I said?” you snap, but he knows you’re flustered. You’re glaring at him, but your mouth falls into a pretty little ‘o’ when Yoongi pulls you down on his cock at the same time he thrusts upwards.

“Tell me,” he grunts, feeling the way your cunt clenches around his length as he lets out a low groan. You moan a high-pitched sound that he freezes to memory as one hand releases your hips to tilt your chin up so that you were looking at him. “Tell me you see it too.”

“Y-Yoongi, shit, fuck,” you babble on, mewling incoherencies as your eyes meet his manic ones. The sound of skin slapping against the skin is obscene, and the Christmas music you were playing earlier is muted by how loud you’re getting, along with the squelches of your cunt.

“Tell me,” he growls, “Do you see it? Christmas morning? With me? With kids?”

You squeal when another hand leaves your hips to play with your clit. The arms around his shoulder are the only things keeping you rooted in position as your eyes pierce into his own. You felt so fucking good around him that he feels himself already losing it—but he needed to know. He needed to hear it from you.

“I-I—” You’re struggling with your words because Yoongi’s fucking you so hard and fast that it’s a little hard for him to think too.

“Fuck, I’ll give you kids, all right,” he snaps, bringing your lips to him and captures it in a blazing kiss. You moan into his mouth when he bites on your lower lip, all while he speeds up the finger working against your clit. It’s pulsing. It’s wet. You were close—he could feel it. “I’ll give you everything you want. A home. A family. The world.”

“F-Fuck, Yoongi,” you sob, “I’m going—I’m gonna cum, please, please—”

“Shit, I’m so—” Yoongi laughs tightly against your mouth, the both of you breathing into each other as he shoves his cock upward and stays there for a beat longer as you let out a garbled moan. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You pull away to give him a tired but satiated smile. “I-I’ve—ah—heard.”

“Look at me,” he whispers, hips still working upwards as he finally feels your vixen-like grip around his shaft. A guttural moan leaves his lips, his eyes shutting in a moment of weakness before they’re open again—only to see your gaze falling onto his own.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands, and suddenly—like magic—you’re clamping down on him as you convulse around his cock, legs shaking and body shuddering.

Somewhere in the midst of your orgasm, your shaky fingers find their way in-between Yoongi’s ones. You grip his hand so tightly, and he feels the press of the ring he promised you a year ago bite into his skin. It drives him crazy—crazy enough that he continues rubbing at your clit through your climax. Yoongi cums with you, hot spurts with a promise painting your inner walls as you cry out his name.

Your sweaty bodies are pressed together when you attempt to catch your breath. Your hand is still squeezing Yoongi’s, and he doesn’t intend on letting go either. He feels his cum leak out of your cunt when he begins to soften. You don’t make an effort to move, only rests your head against his shoulder as he feels your chest heave.

The two of you stay there. He’s not sure for how long, but it feels nice having you against him like this. He should probably pull out and clean up the mess before guests actually start arriving while the two of you were anything but presentable. You’d probably yell at him for dragging you into this. And he’d let you, every—single—time.

“Love,” he murmurs, wondering if you’d fallen asleep. You got tired after sex, and while he wanted to let you rest—he didn’t have an eye for aesthetics like you did. He didn’t want to burn twice. But his curiousity—his desire—still wins. “Were you serious?”

He feels your body stiffen ever so slightly before it relaxes. He helps your body upright so that he could see your face when he got an answer. He could wait; he knew people said things during sex that didn’t really translate into their daily lives. He just needed confirmation.

“I…”

“I was serious,” he adds on softly, brushing hair away from your cheek when he pulls your face closer, nose brushing against your own. “I’ll give you anything you want. And if you want…”

“I do,” you mumble shyly, looking away. “I want…kids. With you.”

Yoongi feels his heart soar, and he really can’t stop the wide grin that appears on his face when you snuggle into his chest, playing with his fingers as you look anywhere but his face.

“I mean obviously we’d have to be married first but I still want kids,” you say quickly, almost childishly as if you were hinting at something.

Yoongi smiles, looking down at you as if you had painted the star in the sky for him.

“Obviously,” he reiterates with a teasing grin. “You just got to be patient.”

You huff, opening your mouth to say something before you decide against it. “No public proposals. I don’t want to break your heart in front of an audience.”

Yoongi hides his laugh. “Okay. Thank you for your consideration.”

“And…” you continue, words muffled with the way your cheek is pressed against his chest. “Nothing gaudy.”

“Got it,” he nods. He knew that. Of course, he did. But hearing it from you, speaking as if your future together was absolute—made him softer around the edges. The way he’s like only when he was with you.

“But don’t make me wait forever! I waited this long to…” you trail off, sheepish. “…to be with you…and I don’t want to wait too long. If not I’ll be infertile. And old. And ugly.”

God, Yoongi’s heart was going to burst. He can’t help the laughter that bubbles inside his chest as you scowl at him with an annoyed glare.

“Whatever happens, I’ll never leave you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the peak of your cheekbone as you sniff, pleased. “You got to try a lot harder than that.”

“You better not,” you warn, hugging him tighter.

A beat. Yoongi’s heartbeat—he’s sure you heard.

Then:

“I love you,” Yoongi says.

You smile into his chest.

“I love you too,” you murmur, shy.

Just as you’re about to lean up to press a kiss against his lips, his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a surprise that it’s managed this far through your escapades. He shoots you an apologetic expression as he fishes for his device.

When he slides open his notification, he’s already bracing for another round of expletives from you.

From: Kim Namjoon

Haerin and i are 5 minutes away. hope our presence can help w the decorations lol