PrettyMinnieBun

Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.

It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.

His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.

That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.

Yoongi is quiet.

Painfully, unnervingly quiet.

While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.

You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.

But then your mind drifts again.

Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?

The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.

Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.

You don’t want him to know.

You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You start faking it.

A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.

“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.

Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.

His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.

You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.

“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.

Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.

You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.

You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.

When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.

Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.

He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.

A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”

You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”

The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.

“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.

But sleep doesn’t come for you.

You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.

Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.

The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.

You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.

“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”

You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.

Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”

You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”

Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”

She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”

The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.

When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”

She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”

You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

-

That evening, you chicken out completely.

The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.

Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.

For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.

You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.

As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.

Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.

The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.

You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.

Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.

For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.

Then he moves.

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.

The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.

Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.

You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.

“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.

Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”

Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”

He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”

The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.

“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.

He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.

“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”

The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”

You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.

The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.

You open for him instantly.

The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.

Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.

You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.

Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.

Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."

The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.

You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”

You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.

“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.

You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”

You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”

Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”

Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.

You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.

Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”

He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”

Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.

He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.

“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”

You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.

You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.

Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.

You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”

His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.

You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”

You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.

“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.

Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.

Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”

Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”

He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”

You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”

Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.

“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.

Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.

One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.

Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.

Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.

The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.

In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.

You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.

Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.

He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.

“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”

You love it. You love every second of it.

The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.

Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”

He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.

Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.

Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”

He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”

You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”

The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.

Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”

Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.

“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.

Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Yoongi follows right behind you.

A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.

He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.

Your body gives out completely.

You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.

You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.

When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”

You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.

The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.