velvetnightswrites

Welcome my sweet petals

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Welcome ♡

Hi, Petals— I’m velvetnightswrites and I’m an 18 year old new writer, this little corner of the internet is where i pour my heart (and sometimes my sinful side) into words🌸

here you’ll find:

✧ soft fluff

✧ angst

✧ smut

✧ drabbles, one-shots, & full series

✧ (requests always welcome! ♡)

grab a cup of tea… or maybe a fan. you might need both. ♡

What I don’t write is:

-Incest

-Sexual violence

-Fetish

-Piss or shit kink

- member x member

- male reader

I’ll probably add more when it comes to mind🥰❤️

Masterlist

Bts

Ateez

Enypen

Love always xo🎀

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After Everything

After everything she gave, every piece of herself until she was broken, it still will never be enough.

Parting non idol! Sunghoon x female!reader

genre/tags: Emotional drama, Sunghoon is kinda mean. Childhood trauma, bad parents. Mentions of physically and verbally abused. Mommy and daddy issues. Absent father. Rich Sunghoon. Mentions of ED, Y/n is really independent, y/n’s inner child needs healing. Sunghoon has a bad tempe, Y/n is really emotional. Let me know if I forgot anything🎀

words: 9,300 words.

Estimated reading time: 46-47 minute

Y/n learned very young that silence was safer than honesty.

In her house, quiet wasn’t peace it was survival.

Her earliest memories weren’t clear images, but feelings. The tight knot in her stomach when she heard her mother’s footsteps. The way her heart started racing before anything even happened. The instinct to freeze, to shrink, to make herself small enough not to be noticed.

Her father was there, technically. A man-shaped absence on the couch. The TV was always louder than his voice. He never defended her. Never intervened. Never even looked uncomfortable when her mother yelled. Sometimes Y/n wondered if he saw her at all, or if she blended into the walls like background noise.

He had other families. Other children. Other lives where he probably smiled more. Y/n stopped hoping he’d save her. Hope only made the disappointment sharper.

Her mother didn’t need to announce her anger. Y/n could feel it the moment she entered a room.

When Y/n was small, maybe five or six, she learned how to stand still for long periods of time. How to keep her hands folded in front of her. How to keep her face blank. Crying made it worse. Talking made it worse. Explaining made it worse.

One afternoon, Y/n accidentally knocked over a bowl of cereal. Milk spread across the table and dripped onto the floor.

The sound of the bowl hitting the ground was enough.

Her mother turned slowly.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked, voice low.

Y/n didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat closed instantly.

Her mother stepped closer. “Do you know how stupid you look right now?”

She grabbed Y/n by the arm and yanked her forward. The grip was tight, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“Look at this mess,” her mother hissed. “You ruin everything you touch.”

Y/n’s eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. She stared at the floor, shoulders trembling.

Her mother shoved her down. “Clean it.”

Y/n dropped to her knees immediately. Her hands shook as she wiped up the milk with a paper towel, moving fast, desperate to make it disappear. Tears slid down her face silently, dripping onto the floor, but she wiped them away quickly, terrified of being seen.

“Stop sniffling,” her mother snapped. “You’re so dramatic.”

When it was over, Y/n went to her room and curled into the corner of her bed, hugging herself tightly. She stayed there until her breathing slowed. No one checked on her. No one ever asked if she was okay.

The physical abuse became routine. Slaps across the face for being too slow. Being grabbed and dragged down hallways. Being shoved into walls. Sometimes a kick when her mother was especially angry. Y/n learned how to brace herself. How to tense before impact. How to keep her face blank even when it hurt.

By thirteen, the bruises stopped showing up. Not because the abuse ended—but because her mother changed tactics.

Words were quieter. Cleaner. Deadlier.

“You’re useless,” her mother said casually, like she was commenting on the weather.

“You don’t do anything right.”

“You’re just like your father.”

“A waste of space.”

Y/n absorbed every word. She didn’t argue. Didn’t defend herself. She nodded when expected. Looked down. Took it.

Her sister never did.

Her sister sat untouched by the chaos, untouched by the anger. The favorite. The golden child.

When their mother yelled for the house to be cleaned, Y/n moved instantly. She scrubbed floors, wiped counters, washed dishes until her hands burned.

Her sister stayed seated, headphones on, completely unbothered.

Their mother never said a word to her.

One night, Y/n stood at the sink washing dishes. Her shoulders ached. Her back hurt. She hadn’t sat down in hours.

Her mother leaned against the counter, watching.

“This is still dirty,” her mother said sharply.

Y/n’s hands moved faster.

“If your sister were doing this, it would already be done,” her mother continued. “But you’re lazy.”

Y/n swallowed hard. She nodded.

Her mother scoffed. “God, you can’t even respond properly. Useless.”

Y/n kept washing.

At school, Y/n became loud and funny. Smiling was easier than explaining. Laughter kept people from asking questions. It kept teachers from noticing how tired she was. How hollow her eyes looked.

At night, the mask fell apart.

She cried into her pillow silently, pressing her face into it so no sound escaped. She stared at the ceiling afterward, heart pounding, replaying everything she’d done wrong that day. Silence terrified her but noise at home was worse.

Crying wasn’t allowed. Speaking up wasn’t allowed. And when she displeased her mother, the punishment was being ignored. Days of silence. No eye contact. No acknowledgment.

Y/n learned to disappear.

By sixteen, her body became another weapon.

“You eat too much,” her mother said at dinner.

“Look at your arms.”

“Your sister doesn’t look like that.”

“No one will ever want you if you keep eating like this.”

Y/n put her fork down slowly. Her appetite vanished instantly. She stared at her plate, nodding.

“Good,” her mother said. “Finally learning.”

Y/n got a job. Then another. School, work, exhaustion. When her mother demanded money for bills, Y/n handed it over without hesitation. She remembered the crying. The stress. She felt responsible for everything.

Until the sympathy turned to resentment.

“You walk too loud.”

“You’re always in the way.”

“Why do you even exist if you’re going to be this useless?”

At eighteen, Y/n started injecting Wegovy. Stopped eating. Smiled anyway. Compliments came, and they felt hollow. Her body shrank, but the voice in her head grew louder.

Her friends drifted away. She didn’t chase them.

She succeeded quietly. Straight A’s. A driver’s license. Achievements no one celebrated.

When she graduated, no one clapped. No one cheered.

Y/n smiled anyway.

Eventually, she left. A one-bedroom apartment. Silence that didn’t hurt. She sat on the floor and cried not because she was sad, but because she was finally safe.

She joined the military where she spent a year. Then nursing school. She worked with children the quiet ones, the scared ones.

She saw herself in them.

And she made a promise:

No child under her care would ever learn that silence was the only way to survive.

and then came Sunghoon

—————

He didn’t enter her life loudly. He didn’t have to. He was the kind of presence that filled a room without trying. Tall, built, always smiling like he’d never had to brace himself for anything in his life. Everything about him felt easy. Like things worked out for him simply because they always had.

What caught her off guard wasn’t him.

It was his parents.

The first time she went to his house, she stood on the front porch for a moment too long, fingers curled into the straps of her bag. She could hear laughter inside. Warm laughter. The kind that didn’t feel forced or sharp. Her chest tightened before she even knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately.

“Oh—there you are,” his mom said, smiling wide. “You must be Y/n.”

Before Y/n could respond properly, she was pulled into a hug. Not stiff. Not quick. A real hug. The kind that lingered.

“You’re even prettier in person,” his mom added, pulling back just enough to look at her face.

Y/n froze for half a second before smiling. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” his dad said from behind her, voice calm and kind. “Any girl Sunghoon brings home is already family.”

Family.

The word landed heavy in her chest.

At dinner, his mom kept piling food onto her plate.

“Eat,” she said gently. “You’re too thin. Are you eating enough?”

Y/n nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me mom,” she said immediately, waving her hand like it was obvious. “You’re not a stranger here.”

Y/n laughed softly, unsure what to do with the lump in her throat.

Sunghoon watched the exchange, smiling, clearly used to this. Used to warmth. Used to being cared for.

His dad asked her about school. About her job. About what she wanted to do in the future.

“That’s impressive,” he said when she talked about nursing. “You should be proud of yourself.”

She blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”

His mom noticed her hands shaking slightly as she lifted her glass.

“Are you cold?” she asked, concern immediate. “Here, take my cardigan.”

“Oh, it’s okay—”

“Nonsense,” she said, already draping it over Y/n’s shoulders. “You’ll get sick.”

No one had ever worried about her getting sick before.

That night, when Sunghoon walked her out, she hugged herself as soon as she got into the car.

“They really like you,” he said casually, buckling his seatbelt.

She stared out the window. “Yeah. They’re… really nice.”

“They always are,” he said, like it was nothing.

She cried when she got home. Quietly. Pressing her face into her pillow, shaking with it. Not because she was sad—but because something in her ached so badly it almost hurt to breathe. Being treated kindly felt foreign. Unsafe, almost. Like it could be taken away at any second.

She kept going back to his house.

His mom texted her directly sometimes.

Did you eat today?

Come over, I made too much food.

You can stay as long as you want.

Once, she showed up exhausted after work, eyes heavy, body sore. His mom took one look at her and frowned.

“Sit,” she said firmly. “You look tired.”

“I’m okay,” Y/n said automatically.

“No, you’re not,” she replied gently. “And that’s okay too.”

Y/n sat.

His mom brushed her hair back absentmindedly while they watched TV. No tension. No threat. Just comfort.

Sunghoon watched from the other side of the room, scrolling on his phone.

And then cracks begin to show

—————

Later, before another family dinner, Y/n stood in front of the mirror in his room, adjusting a simple dress she’d bought on sale. She tugged at the hem, smoothed the fabric over her hips, checked herself one last time.

Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

She paused. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head. “That’s the best you could find?”

Her stomach dropped.

“It’s… nice enough,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “I mean, I guess. My mom’s friends will be there. They’re kinda fancy.”

“Oh,” she said, staring at her reflection. “Okay.”

“You could’ve asked me to help you pick something,” he added.

She nodded. “Sorry.”

At dinner, his mom complimented her immediately.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing her shoulder.

Sunghoon hummed. “It’s simple.”

His mom shot him a look. “And?”

“And it suits her,” he finished.

Y/n smiled, but her hands shook under the table.

Later that night, his mom hugged her again before she left.

“Drive safe,” she said. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will,” Y/n whispered.

Sunghoon didn’t notice when she cried in the shower later. Didn’t hear the way her breathing broke. Didn’t see her curl in on herself like she used to as a kid.

Sometimes his comments came out casually.

“You’re too skinny.”

“You should eat more.”

“Are you even trying?”

She nodded. Smiled. Stayed quiet.

Because love had always come with conditions.

And even surrounded by warmth, that little girl inside her stayed alert. Stayed ready.

Waiting for the moment it would all disappear.

—————

It was Y/n’s first day off after five straight days of work that had drained her down to nothing. Her body still felt tight with exhaustion, bones heavy, mind slow. The night before, Sunghoon had called her. His voice was low, soft in that way that always pulled her in. He told her he missed her. Asked if she’d come over. She hadn’t hesitated.

Now she was waking up in his bed.

The sheets were silk, cool and smooth against her skin. The pillows were fluffed perfectly, like they’d never been slept on before. His scent lingered everywhere clean, expensive, familiar. Sleeping in his arms had always been easy. It was one of the few places her body actually relaxed, like it finally believed it was safe enough to rest.

She stirred slightly, still half-dreaming, when she felt it.

A gentle shake.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes heavy, the room still blurry. Her gaze went straight to him, instinctively. She expected softness. Sleepy warmth. Maybe a smile.

Instead, his face was tight. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp in a way that made her stomach drop immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, voice rough from sleep.

He scoffed, breath sharp. “You’re seriously gonna sit there and ask me what’s wrong?”

Her chest tightened instantly. Her heart started racing, panic blooming fast and familiar. She searched her mind had she said something? Moved wrong? Done something without realizing?

“I—” she started.

“Look at my bed,” he snapped, pulling the covers back hard. “It looks like a fucking crime scene.”

Her breath caught.

She followed his movement, lifting the duvet and froze.

The stain was dark, unmistakable, spread across her pajama shorts and into the white silk sheets beneath her. For a moment, everything went quiet. Her ears rang. Her vision tunneled.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Shame hit her all at once, heavy and suffocating. Her throat closed.

“I’m—” her voice shook. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was coming. I swear I didn’t—”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, searching his face for understanding. For anything that looked like softness.

His jaw tightened further. He ran a hand through his hair hard, like he was already overwhelmed.

Without another word, he stood up and walked into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him.

The sound made her flinch.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Heart pounding. Hands shaking. That familiar, awful feeling crawling up her spine. The kind she hadn’t felt this strong in years.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

She moved.

She slipped out of the bed carefully, peeled off the stained clothes, and stood under the shower as hot water poured over her. She scrubbed herself like she needed to erase something. Like her body had done something wrong. Cramps twisted low in her stomach, sharp and relentless, but she ignored them.

She washed. And washed. And washed.

Then she dressed in soft sweats and a clean tank, hands still shaking, and went back to the bedroom.

The bed.

She stripped the sheets methodically. Folded them carefully. Took them to the sink. The silk was expensive she could tell just by how it felt under her fingers. She scrubbed slowly, carefully, terrified of ruining them. Her arms burned. Her stomach cramped harder. But she didn’t stop.

Cleaning had always been her instinct. Fix it. Make it disappear. Make it right.

By the time she finished, she was exhausted. She hung the sheets up gently, like they might shatter if she wasn’t careful.

The front door clicked shut.

He had left.

The silence afterward felt loud. Heavy. The kind of silence that pressed into her chest and made breathing feel like work.

She stayed busy.

Later, she made herself porridge. Something warm. Something gentle. She sat on the couch with the TV on low, spoon moving mechanically, barely tasting anything.

When the front door opened again, her heart jumped violently.

Sunghoon walked in, keys clinking softly. His face was unreadable.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

He didn’t answer. Just walked past her toward the bedroom.

Her chest tightened. “Why are you ignoring me?” she asked, voice small.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he muttered.

“Then why—”

He turned around suddenly. “Hi, Y/n,” he said flatly. “Happy now?”

Her eyes stung. “Why are you acting like this?” she asked. “Are you mad at me?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” he said, voice hard. “Those sheets? They were a gift. From my parents. When I first moved out.”

Her shoulders slumped immediately. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t even know it had started.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. “Well, it happened. And you can stop acting like a fucking baby about it.”

That was it.

Something in her cracked.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, barely audible. Her hands trembled at her sides.

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. The way she stood there, small and folded in on herself. The way her shoulders shook even though she wasn’t crying yet.

And something shifted.

His anger drained fast, replaced with something heavier.

“Hey,” he said, softer. He stepped closer. Then closer again. And suddenly his arms were around her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I shouldn’t have yelled. That wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault. Please… forgive me.”

Her body gave out.

She broke against his chest, sobs tearing out of her before she could stop them. He held her tightly, hands moving slow and steady along her back, grounding her.

They ended up on the couch. Her head rested in his lap. His fingers combed through her hair gently, over and over.

After a long silence, her voice came out broken.

“When I was ten,” she whispered, “I got my period for the first time. I didn’t know what it was. I bled all over my bed.”

His hand stilled.

“I was scared,” she continued. “I tried to clean it before my mom came home. But she found the sheets. She slapped me so hard… my ears rang for a week.”

He froze.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She cried into his shirt, soaking it through. And he held her really held her like she wasn’t something fragile to fix, but someone worth protecting.

And for the first time in a long time, the little girl inside her felt like someone finally saw her.

Not the mistake.

Not the mess.

Just her.

—————

The kitchen was warm, filled with the late afternoon sun spilling through the windows, dust motes dancing in the light. Music played low from Sunghoon’s phone something slow, soft, almost lazy. Y/n stood at the counter, apron tied loosely, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, flour dusting the tip of her nose. She was focused, whisking eggs into a pale yellow mixture, trying not to spill, trying to do everything right.

Behind her, Sunghoon leaned close, taller by a good head, arms sliding gently around her waist. His chest pressed lightly against her back, and she could feel his warmth there. His chin rested softly near her shoulder as he peeked at the bowl.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice low, his lips brushing her temple. “Relax a little.”

“I just… don’t want to mess it up,” she said softly, still stirring, still watching the eggs combine.

“You won’t,” he said. “I’m right here. Just breathe.”

She paused, letting herself lean back against him for a moment, just a little, feeling the steady weight of his chest, the quiet comfort of his presence. Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred, and he adjusted his grip, holding her steady from behind, fingers lightly brushing over her wrists. Before he went to the other side of the kitchen.

He stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a small bowl. Each one landed perfectly, yolks whole, no shell fragments. He made it look effortless.

“See?” he said, voice light and proud, lifting the bowl for her to see. “No shells. Perfect.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Show off.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I’m just naturally talented.”

“I see that,” she said, laughing softly. “Annoyingly talented.”

“Annoying? Me?” he teased, and she shook her head, still smiling.

“Yeah, you,” she said, and went back to her own bowl, carefully cracking eggs and trying not to spill.

When she started whisking, Sunghoon moved behind her. Tall enough that he could easily wrap his arms around her waist, resting his chest lightly against her back. His chin brushed her shoulder, and she felt his breath against her neck.

“Relax,” he murmured softly. “You’re doing fine.”

She leaned back a little, letting herself melt against him. His arms tightened gently around her, not restricting, just grounding.

“You know,” he said, his lips brushing the top of her head, “I really love watching you do this.”

She let out a soft laugh. “That sounded weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. Then another. Lower this time, brushing her hairline. “Especially like this,” he murmured. “Covered in flour.”

Her chest warmed, and she tilted her head slightly to let him kiss her properly. She loved it every single forehead kiss he gave her. He knew exactly how much it made her heart squeeze, how safe it made her feel, and he never stopped.

“Better?” he whispered, lips brushing her temple.

“Yes,” she murmured, smiling softly against his chest. “Much better.”

He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, fingers brushing her hands as she continued whisking, guiding her subtly. She followed the rhythm of his hands, letting herself get lost in the warmth, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’re doing really well,” he said. “My mom’s going to love this.”

Y/n smiled faintly, letting herself relax. “I hope so. I want it to be perfect.”

He kissed the top of her head again. “It already is. You.”

For a while, they moved around the kitchen like that. Passing ingredients. Sharing laughter when flour ended up on noses. Brushing small streaks of it off each other. Every so often, he’d lean down, forehead against hers, a soft, lingering kiss, just enough to make her heart race and melt at the same time.

Then came the sugar.

Y/n reached for the container, still smiling from the closeness, the warmth, the quiet joy of being together. Sunghoon’s hand brushed hers as he reached for it too.

“I got it,” she said softly, pulling it closer.

“Okay,” he murmured, still leaning behind her, chin near her shoulder, chest against her back.

She measured carefully, leveled it, poured it in. He watched silently, a small smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slowly, carefully, her body relaxed, guided lightly by his hands brushing against hers.

Then he leaned slightly closer and tasted it with a fingertip. His brow furrowed.

“That’s… salt,” he said softly.

Her stomach dropped. “Oh…” She froze mid-stir, eyes wide. “I—I thought it was sugar. I didn’t realize—”

He straightened a little, stepping back, still close enough she could feel the heat from his body. “You didn’t check?”

“I thought I did,” she said quickly, panic creeping in. “I can fix it. We can start over—”

“No,” he said quietly. “You can’t fix salt in a cake. You can’t just stir it out.”

Her heart sank.

“This is for my mom,” he said, tone flat, calm, but sharp enough to pierce her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s why I’m helping.”

He shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t feel like you care. Not enough.”

Her chest tightened. “I do care! I’m trying!”

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “Trying isn’t enough when it matters to me. It’s not. Every time I ask you to pay attention, I get… mistakes like this. Every time I trust you, I end up cleaning up after you.”

“I’m sorry!” she whispered, voice breaking, hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Not enough!” he interrupted softly, quietly, still calm. But it cut harder than yelling ever could. “I’m asking for something simple. A cake. For my mom. And I feel like I can’t even trust you with that. I feel like nothing you do really matters unless it’s convenient for you!”

Her eyes filled instantly, lips trembling.

“That's not true,” she whispered, chest tight, voice barely audible.

“I’ll do it,” he said finally, calm but cold. “I don’t want it ruined again.”

No apology. No softening. Just words, flat, like a wall between them.

She nodded automatically. Untied the apron slowly, folded it carefully, grabbed her bag, and left.

Outside, the air was sharp, cold. She didn’t make it far before sitting in her car, forehead pressed against the wheel, sobbing uncontrollably.

It wasn’t the cake.

It never was.

It was the way love could feel warm, safe, and perfect one moment… and then feel like shards of glass the next.

Her chest ached with the familiar, crushing thought:

I was trying. I really was. And it still wasn’t enough.

—————

Sunghoon wiped his hands on a towel, stepping back from the counter. The cake sat in the center of the table, perfectly decorated, smooth frosting, carefully piped letters spelling out Happy Birthday, Mom. He studied it for a moment, running a hand through his hair, feeling a small swell of pride.

Then he glanced at the clock on the wall.

Shit.

It was late. Later than he’d expected.

He moved quickly, gathering bowls, wiping counters, shoving utensils into the sink. Flour still clung to the edges of the counter, sugar dust in tiny clouds. He rinsed everything, stacked the dishes neatly, his mind racing.

He grabbed his phone from the counter, glancing at the time again.

It wasn’t just late. She hadn’t texted. She hadn’t called.

So he texted her.

He stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send. Then, with a sigh, he dropped his phone on the nightstand and headed to the shower, hoping the warm water would wash off some of the tension from earlier.

The water ran over his shoulders, soothing, but he couldn’t shake the thought of her. Not reaching out. It shouldn’t be a big deal. He finished quickly, dried off, and went to grab his phone.

No message. No reply. But he saw that you had read his message, so he sent another one.

“Y/n?” he muttered quietly, almost to himself. He pressed the call button, heart tightening slightly when it went straight to voicemail. Strange. Very strange.

The voicemail greeting played, but it didn’t mask the sudden swell of worry in his chest.

Back at her apartment, she wasn’t thinking about phones or time. She wasn’t checking her messages. She was curled up under the blankets, shaking, silent sobs wracking her small frame.

Her chest ached. Her throat burned.

She loved him. Loved him so much it scared her sometimes. But when he was mean—even in that quiet, calm way that cut deeper than yelling ever could—her heart fractured.

She thought of the flour on her nose, the eggs she cracked, the salt in the batter. She thought of his cold, measured words.

I’ll do it. I don’t want it ruined again.

The words echoed in her mind, hammering at her, twisting something raw and delicate inside her.

She buried her face in her pillow, trying to swallow the sobs, trying to tell herself it wasn’t that bad. But it was. It always was.

She loved him so much, and it hurt.

The phone sat on the nightstand, face down, screen dark. Unanswered. After a while she picked up her phone and answered and he immediately answered back.

Sunghoon didn’t know what to do. You were not being yourself, but he also didn’t know she was lying there, heart aching, body trembling, wishing he could hold her, kiss her, tell her it was okay.

He knew she was upset. But why hasn’t she called? Why was she being off on text.

He pressed redial.

Straight to voicemail again.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. His mind raced between worry and irritation, a sick mix of guilt and frustration building inside him.

And somewhere, deep inside, he didn’t realize how much the fight, the cake, the salt… all of it had left her broken and silent in her bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing just wishing that he would see her pain before it swallowed her whole.

—————

Hey cuties💖

Hey cutie❤️

When the world isn’t watching

Sometimes love isn’t perfect or easy, but even in the busiest moments, showing up with care and honesty makes all the difference

dynamic: Idol AU!Dad!Jungkook and his little daughter!

genre/tags: Soft angst and fluff. Domestic drama . Wholesome/heartwarming. Jungkook is a busy idol that leads to him being a semi absent father. Jungkook daughter looks just like him, but she has features from her mom like her hair. Lana’s mom is temporarily unknown. Lana is a good girl, but good girls wants attention to. Mentioned of the other bts member. Family dynamic. Lana calls Jungkook daddy and the other boys Oppa. Lastly Jungkook smokes. Hurt/comfort. Let me know if I forgot anything

Word: 2,975 Estimated reading time: 12 - 15 minutes

The practice room was alive with the steady rhythm of pounding feet and thudding music. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the seven boys moving in perfect sync, every step choreographed and every expression carefully controlled. The air smelled thick with sweat and the sharp scent of floor polish.

You sat on the worn sofa pushed to the corner, knees tucked to your chest, clutching the smooth glass of the iPad your daddy had handed you hours ago. The screen glowed softly, but your attention drifted elsewhere, over the steady noise of music and breathless counts.

Six hours.

You’d been good, you really had. You sat still and quiet, just like Jungkook told you to be. He always said, good girls wait. But good girls have limits, and your little legs were cramped and your patience was wearing thin. You longed for the warmth of your daddy’s arms and the softness of his voice calling you princess, the way he did when he tucked you in at night.

But today, Jungkook was different. Not just your daddy — but Jungkook, the golden maknae of BTS. A global superstar with thousands of fans watching his every move, a man who had to be perfect on stage and unbreakable in public. Your presence was a secret, tucked away from the world, just like the small life you brought into his hidden world.

You looked up as Jungkook wiped the sweat from his forehead, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the last dance set. His hair was damp and stuck to his skin, and the tired lines under his eyes made your heart ache. He was so far away, even though he was in the same room.

Minutes later, you were standing quietly in the corner, your small hands pressed against your eyes, trying not to cry. Daddy had sent you there.

It wasn’t a scary punishment, not like the ones you’d seen in cartoons. But it still made your stomach feel heavy. You’d been trying to talk to him, tugging on his sleeve between songs, hoping he might scoop you up for just a minute. First it was to tell him you’d finished the game on the iPad. Then it was to show him the sticker you’d found in your pocket. And then, when he didn’t answer, you just wanted to say his name.

“Lana, not now,” he’d said the first time. The second time, his voice had been sharper. The third time, he’d crouched just enough to look at you, his face tired. “Lana, go stand in the corner, because you don’t seem to listen” his voices laced with anger and frustration. So here you were — little pink shoes pressed to the wall, eyes burning with hot tears threatening to spill

The iPad sat abandoned on the sofa. The boys were laughing on the floor, chopsticks tapping against containers of food, the scent of warm rice filling the air. You stayed still, trying hard to be good now, even if the corner felt too quiet and the room too loud all at once.

You heard Jungkook’s laughter, bright and easy, and it pierced your heart. You wanted to be the reason behind that laugh — not the reason for his silence. You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood, willing yourself to be quiet. Good girls didn’t cry. But oh, how you wished your daddy could see you.

The practice room faded away as your mind drifted into a memory — one your daddy never talked about, but you’d pieced together from quiet whispers and the way he sometimes looked distant, lost in thought.

—————

Flashback: Europe Tour, France — Four Years Ago

The streets of Paris buzzed with life beneath the golden glow of the street lamps. The city was alive with laughter and music, echoing from the café terraces and narrow alleys.

It had been an electric night — BTS’s concert had been a roaring success, the crowd screaming their names, waving lightsticks that painted the night sky in a sea of purple. After the show, the boys had slipped out, craving a break from the spotlight. Drinks were poured, laughter grew louder, and the carefree night stretched endlessly.

Jungkook, usually careful and controlled, let himself unwind. One too many glasses of soju and whiskey mixed into a blur of warmth and forgetfulness. The world around him spun faster and faster, his steps less sure as the boys joked and pushed each other on the way back to their hotel.

By the time they reached the lobby, Jungkook’s vision was hazy, and the vibrant city outside blurred behind heavy eyelids. Then she appeared — a woman unlike anyone he’d ever met.

Her skin was the color of rich mahogany, smooth and glowing even in the dim light. Her smile was magnetic, warm, and inviting.Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and her voice was soft but confident. She wore a dress that shimmered as she moved, and Jungkook was drawn to her like a moth to flame.

Without fully understanding how, he followed her up the grand staircase, their footsteps echoing on the marble. Her hotel room was a world apart — quiet, luxurious, scented with jasmine and sandalwood.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered conversations, hesitant touches, and a vulnerability Jungkook hadn’t expected to show. They fell into each other easily, two strangers seeking comfort in the anonymity of a foreign city.

And in the haze of that night, amidst the flickering candlelight and soft music, they shared more than just a moment — a secret that would change everything.

Flashback to ends

—————

You stood with your head down, trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable. The laughter floated through the air like a melody you couldn’t quite reach. You could hear Jin teasing Taehyung about his spicy noodle challenge, Jimin laughing so hard his eyes squinted, and Namjoon calmly passing around bottles of water like the responsible leader he was. Even Hoseok, always so bright and full of energy, was grinning ear to ear.

But here you were, standing still, as if frozen in a moment that wasn’t yours.

Jungkook was chatting with Yoongi, his face relaxed now, no hint of the stress you’d seen earlier. Sometimes, when he laughed like that, you felt like you didn’t even exist to him.

You shuffled your feet against the floor, trying to quiet the small noises your restless body made. You wished you could run to him, grab his hand, tug him away from the others, and remind him that you were still here — that you mattered. Instead, you stayed silent, hoping the timeout would end soon.

“Timeout’s over,” the staff whispered.

Jungkook stood and stretched, his muscles tight from hours of practice. He looked over at you, standing stiffly in your corner, eyes red-rimmed but trying to look brave.

He hesitated for a moment before walking over. “Come here,” he said softly.

You shuffled forward, your small hand slipping into his larger one, Jungkook crouched down, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. His eyes held a mix of exhaustion and something softer — regret, maybe.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear..

He pulled you into a tight hug, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You buried your face in his shirt, smelling the faint trace of sweat and his signature shampoo.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You nodded, your heart aching but feeling a flicker of hope.

—————

The boys continued their lunch, occasionally throwing glances your way. Jin gave you a small smile, as did Hoseok, who winked and mouthed, “I love you.”

Namjoon, ever the thoughtful one, cleared his throat and said, “You did great today, Lana. Sat quietly almost through the whole practice.” Yoongi leaned over, his eyes tired but kind. “You’re tougher than you look.”

You smiled softly but hid in your face in your father’s chest feeling a little lighter.

—————

Later, when the practice room was finally empty, Jungkook carried you to the rooftop of their dorm building — your secret place.

Jungkook sat down on the edge, your legs dangling off his lap. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you protectively.The night air was cool and crisp, the city lights sparkling below like a million tiny stars.

“Sometimes,” he said, voice almost breaking, “I wish I could just drop everything and be a normal dad. Just you and me, no cameras, no fans, no schedules.” You nodded, understanding more than he thought.

“I’m scared, Princess,” he admitted. “Scared you’ll grow up and hate me for not being there enough.” You shook your head, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. For a long moment, silence settled between you, comfortable and full of unspoken promises.

But as you looked out over the city, the distant sound of sirens reminded you that your little world was fragile — a secret that could shatter with a single misstep, and neither of you knew how long you could keep it safe.

The night air brushed gently against your chubby cheeks. Your tiny fingers played absentmindedly with the soft curls of your perfectly styled afro, the gentle twists and braids carefully done by the staff. Something Jungkook stayed late up at night, watching videos, learning how to style your hair just right. But that was his secret kept away with the many others he had buried deep inside.

Jungkook looked down, his exhaustion melting away the moment he saw you. He pulled you closer into his lap, wrapping his arms around your tiny frame. You nestled into him, your green eyes wide and trusting, your Bambi like features, the way they always were when you felt safe.

“You’re so small, Princess” he murmured, his voice thick with quiet love. “But you’re my whole world.”

You were small for your age, barely tipping the scales for a three-year-old, but every ounce of your being was full of energy and love for your daddy. Sometimes, when he got caught up in work or promises he forgot, you would try to hold on tighter, remind him you were still here.

You smiled shyly, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. Even when his days were busy, those were the moments that made everything feel okay.

—————

The house was big and bustling during the day, with all the boys living under one roof but in their own rooms. Jungkook’s door was usually closed, his personal space shared with you—a tiny corner filled with toys, your clothes neatly hung, and a crib that was to no use now.

At night, when the world quieted down, you could hear the soft creak of his bed as he stayed up late, watching over you while you slept.

There was a secret he kept, a piece of you inked on his skin—hidden beneath his shirt, a small heart tattoo with your name and birthday etched inside it. Lana, May 10.2022. It was his silent vow, a way to carry you with him, away from prying eyes and the noise of the world. Sometimes, when you thought he were asleep, you’d reach out to touch that spot softly, as if reminding him, “I’m here.”

—————

One afternoon, Jungkook sat on the living room floor, surrounded by tiny brushes and colorful hair ties. You plopped down in his lap with your cute teddy bear in hand. “Let’s try a twist today, Lana,” he said softly, his fingers gentle as they worked through your thick, soft curls.

Your afro was a beautiful crown, but tricky to manage. Still, Jungkook’s hands moved with care, carefully twisting strands as you giggled when a curl tickled your ear. “Almost done,” he promised, brushing a bead of sweat from his brow, his focus absolute.

From the doorway, Taehyung peeked in, a warm smile lighting his face. “You’re getting good at that, Kookie.”Jungkook blushed but kept his eyes on you.

When he finished, you stood and twirled in front of the mirror, your green eyes sparkling with delight. “Pwetty daddy so pwetty!” you exclaimed, beaming.

Jungkook smiled, exhaustion melting away in that moment.“You’re the prettiest and cutest my princess” he whispered.

The house was filled with the kind of quiet happiness that only comes after a long day—a mixture of tired limbs, lingering laughter, and the soft hum of the playlist Jungkook loved playing. After the hairstyle shenanigans, Lana sat perched on the plush rug, her small hands busy building a tower of colorful blocks, her green eyes wide and curious as she babbled on about the shapes and colors.

The door creaked open, and Jin stepped in, dropping his jacket over a chair as he smiled at the scene. “Hey, peach,” he greeted, crouching to Lana’s level. “Building a castle?”

Lana beamed, showing him her precarious tower. “Hi oppa, is for Daddy!” she declared with a proud grin.

Jungkook appeared from the kitchen, his tired eyes brightening the moment they landed on his daughter. “Oh wow princess,” he said, voice warm as chuckled, sitting down on the floor beside Lana and reaching out to carefully rearrange a fallen block. His fingers brushed the soft curls of her afro as she leaned into him without hesitation.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured, catching her green eyes with his boba ones. “And you’re so patient. ”Lana giggled, wiggling her tiny fingers in his. “Daddy stowy later?”

He nodded, smiling wider. “Of course. I promised, remember?” The room filled with laughter then, as Hoseok entered with a tray of snacks, a good treat after the dinner they had earlier. His energy contagious even in the calm of the evening. “Look at you two! I swear, you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.”

Jungkook shook his head, mock-protesting. “She’s the boss, no doubt.” Jimin soon followed, joining the circle on the floor, and even Yoongi peeked in from his room, offering a quiet smile. The house, despite its size and the demands it held, felt like a home because of moments like this—where love was the loudest thing in the room.

—————

Later, when the blocks were put away and Lana’s eyelids grew heavy, Jungkook carried her to their shared room. The soft glow of a nightlight painted gentle shadows on the walls, and the familiar scent of lavender filled the air. He tucked her in carefully, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. He picked up Lana’s favorite night time book and read it softly to her while stroking her back. Lana’s favorite.

“Goodnight, princess,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. Lana blinked sleepily, her small hand finding his. “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you more,” he replied, holding her close.

Outside the door, Namjoon stood silently for a moment, a gentle smile on his lips before he went back and joined the others. Jungkook’s eyes stayed on his daughter, heart aching with a mixture of love and the silent fear that always lingered.

—————

This secret life—the delicate balance of stardom and fatherhood—was fragile. But for now, in the quiet warmth of their shared room, everything felt just right. But even with these precious moments, Jungkook’s world was full of demands that pulled him away.

Concerts, interviews, endless schedules—sometimes it felt like the whole universe expected everything from him.

You remembered the mornings when you woke up alone, his familiar scent lingering in the empty space beside you. It hurt, but you understood in your own small way. You knew he was doing it for all of you—for the boys, the fans, the dream that had taken him so far.

Still, sometimes you wished he could hold onto those promises better.

—————

Hey cuties 🎀

Silent Wishes

Even in silence, a little heart can hold so many wishes.

dynamic: Non Idol Au! Yoongi and his daughter, Namjoon is an important side character

genre/ tags: Genre/Tags: Heavy Angst. TW: mentions of death. Dad Yoongi, Emotional, Yoongi is a mean depressed dad who is grieving, Childhood trauma, Father-Daughter Relationship, Distant Father, Emotional Neglect, Grief, Healing, Loneliness, Lana is a shy and reserved kid, Toddler/Preschool Age, Puppy Companion, Friendship, Social Anxiety, Overcoming Isolation, Tender Moments, Namjoon is mentioned, he is Liam’s dad, Neighbor Kids, Liam is the same age as Lana. Namjoon is a great father. Lana losses her mom and Yoongi loses his wife

Words: 7,678 words.

Estimated reading time: 31–38 minutes.

Yoongi once believed he had been blessed beyond measure. Life had given him everything: a beautiful wife who adored him, a sprawling mansion that drew admiring glances from every neighbor, a fleet of gleaming cars tucked neatly into his garage, and, most precious of all, a little girl whose laughter was brighter than the sun. Lana, with her chubby hands and mischievous smile, had completed their picture of happiness.

For three years, the house was alive. Music played in the kitchen as Laurissa hummed along to the radio while cooking. Yoongi would return from work to the sound of small feet pounding toward him, Lana throwing her arms around his legs before he could even set down his briefcase. Nights were soft, filled with bedtime stories, whispered confessions, and the kind of quiet peace only families know.

It seemed impossible that such perfection could break.

But fate is cruel in the way it chooses its moments.

One afternoon, Laurissa and Lana were on their way home. The sun dipped low, streaking the sky in pale orange, the kind of evening that promised calm. But in the backseat, Lana was far from calm. She was restless, demanding, her little legs kicking against the leather with impatient rhythm. Laurissa, already tired from the day, turned for just a second to soothe her daughter.

That second was all it took.

She didn’t see the truck until its headlights filled the windshield. There was no time to swerve, no time to scream—only the deafening crunch of metal against metal, glass shattering into glittering shards, and then the terrible stillness after.

Laurissa survived, but barely. Machines breathed for her, tubes fed her, and doctors spoke of miracles and chances too slim to measure. Yoongi stayed by her bedside, his hands clenching hers, whispering promises she could not hear. And through it all, Lana—miraculously spared save for a scattering of bruises—played quietly in the hospital waiting room, unaware of the storm she had set into motion.

Three months later, Laurissa opened her eyes. Her voice, weak but steady, recounted the truth of that day. She had turned because Lana was crying. She hadn’t been watching the road. She hadn’t seen the truck.

And though the blame was never spoken aloud, Yoongi felt it like a brand seared into his heart. He looked at his daughter and saw not only the innocence of childhood but the chain of events that had stolen his wife from him.

A month later, death claimed Laurissa after all. A sudden stroke—unpredictable, merciless. One moment she was breathing, fighting, existing in fragile threads of hope. The next, she was gone.

The mansion that had once thrived with laughter became a tomb. Yoongi buried himself in work, drowning in endless hours at the office, his study becoming a fortress where Lana was not welcome. He could not bear to see her face, so like her mother’s yet shadowed by memory.

And Lana, a child of only three, felt the loss not in words but in absence. The arms that once carried her grew distant. The voice that once read her to sleep grew silent. By the time she was three and a half, she no longer spoke. Not a word, not even to Zoe, the puppy Laurissa’s parents had given her as a farewell gift when Yoongi shut them out.

He had turned them away at the door, his grief twisted into anger, his pride cutting ties. Only the small bundle of fur had remained, left trembling in Lana’s arms as her grandparents walked down the driveway for the last time.

At kindergarten, Lana’s silence became her signature. The other children learned to avoid her, teachers tried to coax her into speaking, but nothing worked. They told themselves it was grief, something time would mend. But time, in the house where she lived, only deepened the cracks.

—————

Summer arrived. Lana spent her days wandering the vast halls, tracing her fingers along the cold marble, her small footsteps echoing in rooms that once sang with warmth. She saw her father only in passing—a shadow at the top of the stairs, a figure behind the heavy door of his office, a presence more ghost than man.

Only Zoe remained steadfast, her wagging tail and loyal eyes the single spark in a world gone quiet. The puppy followed Lana everywhere, curling beside her at night when the silence grew too heavy, nudging her gently whenever tears slipped down her cheeks.

But even Zoe could not erase the truth: the grand house had become a hollow cage. Love had left it, and silence had taken its place.

—————

The house next door had been empty for months, its windows shuttered and its garden left untended. Then, one bright morning, moving trucks arrived, filling the street with the sound of heavy footsteps and cheerful voices. Neighbors peeked from their windows, curious about the new arrivals.

Among them was a boy, small and curious, no more than three years old. His name was Liam. He had wide eyes, curls that framed his face, and a smile that seemed too big for his tiny frame. Later that evening, his father crouched beside him, pointing toward the house next door. “There’s a little girl who lives there,” Namjoon explained gently. “Why don’t you go and say hello?”

And so, not long after, Liam found himself at the doorstep of the quiet mansion.

When the door opened, he stood proudly with his chest puffed out, his shoes loosely tied. “Hi!” he said, his voice bright and clear. “m name’s Liam. m three, and dad says m should come ovfa and say hi.” He beamed, certain his words would be welcomed.

But Lana stood before him said nothing. Her face was blank, her eyes unreadable.

Unbothered, Liam pressed on. “wana play wif chu. can come in?”

Lana only shook her head.

His smile faltered, though only for a moment. His gaze dropped and landed on the puppy at her feet—small, bright-eyed, its tail wagging happily. Liam’s grin returned. “can pet her? pwease?”

Again, she shook her head. Then, without a word, she closed the door.

It happened again the next day. And the day after that. For three weeks, Liam came knocking, his voice full of hope, his little fists rapping on the door. Each time he asked to play, each time he asked to pet the puppy, and each time she answered with silence and a shake of her head.

At last, discouraged, he returned to his father in tears. “she not wike me,” he whispered miserably. Namjoon pulled him close and smoothed a hand over his curls. “Give her time, baby,” he said softly. “She’ll come around.”

—————

The following morning, Lana sat on the front porch after breakfast, Zoe curled in her lap. The air was warm, sunlight spilling across the stone steps. She stroked Zoe’s fur absently, her gaze distant.

Then, without warning, Liam appeared. This time he carried his iPad, clutched tightly in his small hands. Without hesitation, he climbed onto the step beside her, his face lit with a smile. He tapped the screen, and a children’s show began to play, voices and songs filling the quiet air.

“m haf this so we can watch,” he announced proudly.

She didn’t answer. She only sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the screen. But she didn’t send him away.

The Zoe wagged her tail and nestled between them as though she had been waiting for this very moment.

For the first time, Liam stayed.

From that day forward, it became routine. He came each morning, iPad in hand, chatter spilling from his lips. He laughed at the shows, pointed at silly scenes, and told stories that tumbled out with the ease of a child who feared nothing. Lana never spoke, never responded, but she listened. And though her silence remained, Liam didn’t seem to mind.

Something small had shifted. The door was no longer closing in his face. And in the quiet between them, something new began to take root.

The next day arrived, warm and bright, carrying with it the familiar rhythm of porch-sitting and quiet observation. Liam appeared again, full of energy, his small legs bouncing as he chattered away. He told Lana about the new house, about his family, about his plans for kindergarten, and even about the friends he had left behind. She listened intently, her dark eyes fixed on him, silent but fully absorbed in every word.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Liam’s father, Namjoon, appeared at the gate. “Liam, it’s time to go home for dinner,” he called.

Liam’s face fell instantly. He turned to Lana, his small brows furrowed, eyes pleading. “Aw, can stay a wittle longer?”

Lana nodded quietly. The change in Liam’s face was immediate—his whole expression lit up like sunshine. “Daddy! She say can stay!” he exclaimed.

Namjoon chuckled and shook his head. “Your friend does not get to choose if you can stay or not. It’s dinner time, and I’ve let you play all day. You can play all day tomorrow too with your friend, okay? Now let’s go home for dinner. Mommy made something yummy.”

Liam’s little body went limp and then he threw himself to the ground, crying and sobbing. Namjoon didn’t scold him; he simply waited patiently, murmuring softly until Liam’s tears slowed, and then carefully lifted him into his arms.

Lana watched quietly from the porch, a strange pang stirring in her chest. She was used to being scolded and reprimanded for acting out, folded into silence or punishment—but here was a father showing patience, understanding, and love. Her chest tightened with a mix of envy and longing.

Eventually, Namjoon managed to calm Liam enough to begin walking back toward their house, holding him gently in his arms. “Alright, alright, time to go say goodbye to your new friend,” he said softly. Liam gave a reluctant wave, his face still pouting. Lana only stared, her gaze following them as they disappeared down the driveway, leaving a heavy weight behind.

Zoe nudged Lana’s hand, sensing her mood. Lana knelt down and stroked the puppy’s soft fur, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in her mind. She wondered, quietly, what it would be like to have a father who comforted her instead of yelling or ignoring her.

Lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice when her small foot caught on something. Looking down, she saw a bright, colorful bracelet—Liam’s bracelet, dropped in his rush to leave. Without hesitation, she picked it up and ran to the neighbor’s house, knocking firmly on the door.

After a moment, it swung open, and Namjoon appeared. “Hello?”

Lana held out the bracelet, wordless.

Namjoon blinked, surprised, and took it gently from her. “Oh, thank you. Liam would have been devastated if he thought he lost it.” He glanced at her, studying her for a moment. “You’re Liam’s new friend, right?”

Lana nodded.

Namjoon’s smile widened. “He’s been talking about you ever since. Want to come in for dinner, sweetie?”

Lana shook her head silently and ran back toward her own house.

Namjoon watched her go, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “Hm. Strange kid,” he murmured to himself, closing the door.

Lana tried to focus on the comfort of Zoe’s presence, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Liam’s father and his kind gestures. She sank down to the floor with her meal, the maid having left her dinner as usual. Her father didn’t eat with her, merely instructing the maid to set the food on the floor and leave. He meant that people like me did not deserve to eat at the table.

Zoe settled near her, happily nibbling her own meal. The silence of the living room pressed in around Lana as she ate alone, a familiar mixture of sadness and frustration settling in her chest. Each day, Liam arrived at her door, overflowing with energy and words, while she remained quiet, listening.

His father sometimes accompanied him, offering a smile or a friendly hello. Zoe’s tail wagged with each visit, welcoming Liam’s presence. Despite Lana’s silence, Liam’s chatter never faltered. He spoke of his new house, his family, old kindergarten, old friends—he shared everything with an enthusiasm that seemed endless. Occasionally, he tried to draw Lana into the conversation, but he quickly learned she preferred simply listening.

Slowly, Liam’s daily visits became a small comfort in her otherwise lonely life. His energy, laughter, and boundless curiosity were a stark contrast to the empty quiet of her own house. Even without speaking, she began to look forward to his visits.

—————

One day, Liam suggested they play at his house. At first, Lana hesitated. She shook her head, unsure, leaving Zoe behind at home. But when she finally agreed, Liam’s face lit up. “Yay! Come !” he said, grabbing her hand and bounding toward his house.

Zoe whined softly, not wanting to be left behind, but Lana ignored her small protests. Liam’s excitement radiated around them, his voice bubbling with energy. “CHUR GONA LOF M HOUSE! IS COOL!” he said, chattering about the games and activities he had planned.

When they arrived, Liam’s father opened the door. “Hey there! Come on in!” he greeted warmly.

Inside, Liam’s mother appeared with a tray of snacks, her smile bright and welcoming. “Hi, sweetheart! It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, setting the snacks on the coffee table. “Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable.”

Liam eagerly plopped onto the couch, and Lana sat beside him. Liam’s parents took seats across from them. “So, Liam has been telling us all about his new friend,” his mother said kindly. “He’s been very excited to have you over.”

Liam grinned proudly at Lana. “Yeah, she's really cool!”

Lana only looked down at her hands, silent. Liam’s parents exchanged a glance. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” his mother asked gently.

Liam leaned forward with a grin. “Yeah, she nut talk. she only wisten mommy!”

His parents nodded in understanding. “We can respect that. Not everyone is comfortable with talking much. But please, feel free to join in whenever you want, okay?” Liam’s mother added, offering Lana a plate of snacks.

She nodded and accepted the plate, feeling a warmth she hadn’t felt in her own home.

Conversation continued, mostly dominated by Liam, while his parents occasionally glanced at Lana to make sure she felt included. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Liam’s mother went to open it and returned with a woman and a boy.

“Oh, come in!” she said warmly.

Liam’s eyes lit up. “Josh!!” He jumped off the couch and ran to the boy, hugging him tightly. “Hey Liam!” Josh replied, high-fiving him with a grin.

Liam led Lana and Josh to his room, where they began to play. But soon, Liam and Josh became caught up in their own world. Their laughter and chatter filled the room, and Lana felt herself slipping further into the background. She tried to join in, quietly offering with gestures, but she was drowned out. She felt invisible, a shadow at the edges of their excitement.

For the next few days, Liam’s visits became less frequent, busy now with Josh and his own adventures. Lana’s heart ached with loneliness, missing the constant companionship she had grown used to.

Finally, summoning her courage, she approached Liam at his front door. He was about to leave when she spoke quietly. “wana play?”

Liam paused, surprised. “m sorry,” he said softly, a small smile forming. “m going to Josh.”

She only nodded.

He hesitated, noticing the disappointment in her eyes. “but…uh, tomorrow?”

Lana nodded again, and his face brightened. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow! m come in tha morning, k?”

She walked back home, a mix of hope and disappointment settling in her chest. The next morning, she waited, expecting to see him at the door—but no one came. The loneliness and sting of disbelief returned, heavy and cold. She retreated indoors, clutching Zoe, who nuzzled her gently.

The following day, a knock at the door stirred her from her thoughts. Zoe’s ears perked up as Lana approached. When she opened it, Liam’s father stood there, his expression gentle but concerned. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, offering a kind smile and handing her a envelope.

She took it carefully. Inside was an invitation to Liam’s birthday party. Namjoon hesitated, studying her. “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

She nodded silently.

“Okay… take care, alright?” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before stepping back. Lana closed the door, her eyes falling on the invitation in her hands. Zoe whined softly at her feet, sensing the swirl of excitement, sadness, and lingering loneliness she couldn’t yet name.

—————

Lana's pov:

—————

I stood outside my dad’s office, the envelope clutched tightly in my hands. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he would hear it. I took a deep breath and knocked softly.

“What is it?” His voice came sharp and aggressive.

I opened the door slowly, peeking inside. He was sitting at his desk, papers piled high, his face tight with anger.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

I held out the envelope, my hands shaking.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, tearing it open. His eyes scanned the contents, and his tone grew sharper. “A birthday party? For Liam, huh? Who the hell is that?”

I swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. “m friend,” I whispered.

“And you want to go?” His eyes pierced me.

I nodded, my small frame shrinking even further.

“And what makes you think I would let you go?” His voice was icy and angry

I tried to hold back the tears, slowly lifting my eyes to meet his, pleading.

His expression darkened, colder than I’d ever seen it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop looking at me with those stupid eyes!”

I looked back down, my lips trembling. The tears were swelling, ready to fall.

“Who would even invite a burden like you? And why do you even want to attend?”

“his… m friend,” I whispered again.

“I see. And you think that’s a sufficient reason for me to allow you to go? What if you burden the parents? After all… you did kill your mother.”

The words hit me like ice. My heart sank, my little body trembling. The tears being harder to keep in, and I could barely hold back the sobs. He had said this before, many times, but hearing it now made me feel smaller than ever.

I tried to gather my voice, my lips shaking. “please…”

He sighed, barely looking up from his work. He didn’t have time for my tears—he could read you too well, knew exactly when you would break.

“Fine. But understand this—you are not to cause any trouble. You are to behave yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded silently, still staring at the floor.

“Now get the hell out of my office.”

I ran, my steps heavy, my chest aching—but a small spark of relief flared inside me. He had let me go.

I sank onto my bed, holding Zoe tightly. The tears came anyway, hot and silent, soaking into her fur. My chest ached with a strange mix of fear, relief, and excitement.

The rest of the week passed in quiet tension. Liam didn’t come to my door, and I was too scared of rejection to go to him. I felt like I was trapped in a cloud of loneliness and worry.

—————

By Friday night, I couldn’t sleep. My heart raced thinking about Liam’s birthday. Excitement and fear battled in my chest—I didn’t know if he would even be happy to see me after he'd disappeared all week.

The next morning, I woke to find a dress neatly laid out on my bed, with an envelope marked with Liam’s name. My heart skipped a beat. He had remembered me. He had prepared a gift.

Later that afternoon, I struggled to get dressed. I managed to slip into the dress, but my hair refused to cooperate—frizzy and wild no matter how I tried. I sighed and left it as it was. Hugging Zoe one last time, I steeled myself and started walking to Liam’s house, my heart thumping with nervous anticipation.

As I approached Liam’s house, I could already hear the music and chatter spilling through the windows. My heart was hammering in my chest, and my hands felt sweaty. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

A moment later, the door opened, and Liam’s mom appeared, her smile warm and welcoming.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she said.

“Please, come in,” she added. I held out the envelope.

She took it gently. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

I stepped inside. The living room was filled with dinosaur decorations, and the birthday table was set perfectly. Liam sat at the head of the table, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up.

“Hey!” he called, jumping up and running toward me. He hugged me tightly, and then pulled back, grinning from ear to ear.

CHU CAME” he exclaimed, his joy making my chest ache with happiness. I could only smile at him, too glad to see him.

“Come on, go sit down!” he gestured to the table. I glanced at the seats and noticed the name cards. My stomach sank—my name wasn’t there.

“chu okay?” Liam asked, noticing my hesitation.

I looked up at him, my brown doe eyes almost pleading, and whispered, "where I sit?”

He frowned in thought for a moment. “um m sorry but m don’t really know chur name so mommy and daddy not know what to write”

I lowered my eyes. “But… what chur name?”

“m name is Lana,” I said softly.

“Whoa…” he repeated, blinking at me. “Lana? chur name is Lana?”

I nodded.

“Lana…” he said slowly, testing it, as if savoring the sound.

Quickly, Liam’s parents brought out an extra chair and plate, setting it at the end of the table. Liam smiled reassuringly at me.

“not worry. m friends are nice—chu can talk wif them,” he whispered. His smile made me smile, and I nodded.

Liam returned to his friends, joining Josh and Oliver in joking and laughing. I stayed quietly at the end of the table, observing the other kids. They were all talking and laughing together, clearly comfortable with each other, while I remained silent, careful not to draw attention.

Meal time arrived, and everyone started digging into the pizza. I took a slice and focused on eating, keeping mostly to myself. The kids laughed, sang along with the low background music, and the room buzzed with excitement. I felt invisible but safe.

When it was time for games, the kids quickly paired up. I ended up standing on the sidelines, feeling a little left out. With all the chaos and excitement, no one even noticed me. I watched as the other kids played potato sack, freeze dance, balloon balance, and more.

Finally, it was time for musical chairs. Namjoon noticed me standing quietly in the corner. He walked over and bent down to my level.

“Hi, Lana. What’s wrong?”

I looked up at him but didn’t say anything.

He smiled gently. “Come on, princess, let’s join the others, okay?”

His words made my heart melt. Ever since my dad became distant, I hadn’t been called anything kind. I let him lead me to the circle of kids. Liam’s mom started the music, and we began walking around the chairs.

Liam came over to me. “Hi, Lana. chu hafin fun?”

I nodded and gave a small smile. He grinned and began talking to me, but the music started, and everyone grew quiet.

Round by round, kids got out—some laughing, some upset. In the final round, it was just Liam and me. The music stopped, and I was the one sitting in the chair. I smiled for the first time, feeling a little thrill—but then Liam burst into tears and ran to his mom. The kids around me whispered and shot me judgmental looks.

Namjoon stepped in quickly. “Cake will be out soon. Liam just needs a little break.” He calmed the other kids, while Liam’s mom held him in her arms. Namjoon walked to the kitchen to prepare the cake.

I stood quietly when Josh Liam’s best friend came over to me with a scowl look “chu know is Liam’s bifday and chu nut let him win? Chu a bad friend” he said and walked off.

I stood there feeling embarrassed and sad. I saw Liam's mom calming him down. I walked over

“Liam m sowy” I said softly.

He didn’t respond at first, but his mom encouraged him. He looked at me with puffy eyes.

“is okay, Lana. chu win. m sorry for crying,” he said.

Soon, Liam was up smiling and laughing again.

Cake time came. Liam’s parents dimmed the lights and brought out a big dinosaur cake, candles flickering, the number four on top. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” and Liam beamed from ear to ear. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, but my smile returned when I saw him glance at me, still smiling warmly.

When we were done singing, he blew out his candles and cut the cake, his mom brought out a crown.

One of Liam's friend yell "Liam tha king of tha house" and everyone started laughing

It was time for gifts. Liam sat at the head of the table, his friends on either side. He eagerly tore open his next gift—some toy or something just as cool—and his face lit up. He thanked his friends with a big hug, genuinely happy for each present he received.

Finally, it’s your turn.

Liam turns toward you, eyes bright, waiting for your gift. You take a deep breath and step forward, holding out the envelope.

He carefully opens the envelope and discovers the cash inside. For a moment, his excitement falters, replaced by a flicker of disappointment.

“Oh…” he murmurs, glancing at the other gifts around him.

The other kids notice too. Whispers and quiet giggles ripple through the group as they glance in your direction, subtly pointing. I feel their eyes on you, sharp and judging.

Liam stares down at the cash, his face conflicted. Then he meets your eyes, expression unreadable.

“Is… this all chu got me?” he asks softly.

I nod.

He looks back at the money in his hands, disappointment lingering, yet tinged with restraint.

The whispers grew louder. Namjoon stepped in.

“Hey, Liam. Lana gave you a gift, didn’t she? Why are you acting like that? Give her a hug and thank her.”

He hesitated, then gave me an awkward hug and returned to his seat. I went back to the end of the table, feeling small. The other kids ignored me deliberately. I sat down and ate my cake in silence

One by one, the kids were picked up by their parents, each receiving a goodie bag on their way out. Finally, it was just me, Liam, and Josh. Liam’s parents asked us to sit on the couch while they cleaned up.

Josh frowned at me. “Lana chu know no one want money, right? Everyone want toys!” Liam just nodded

I looked at Liam. “m… sorry.”

Josh shrugged. “sowy nut help chu suppose to know to buy toys”

Liam’s mom came over. “Josh, are you staying for the sleepover" Josh nodded eagerly. Then she turned to me. “Lana, is your daddy coming to pick you up?”

I shrugged shyly

“It’s okay, sweetie. Namjoon will follow you home, alright?”

I nodded and went to put my shoes on. Liam’s mom ushered Liam to follow.

“Tanks for coming, Lana,” he said, giving me a hug, before running back to play with Josh.

Liam’s mom kneeled down. “Thanks for coming, sweetie. Don’t worry about Liam—he’ll soon find out that money can buy toys.” She said trying to lighten the mood as she kissed my forehead, hugged me, and handed me a goodie bag.

Namjoon led me outside. “Did you have fun today?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded again.

“Okay… let me know if it’s anything, alright?”

I nodded once more. We arrived at my door.

“Okay, have a good night. I’ll see you around,” he said as he waited for me to go inside, before he walked back to his house.

—————

Hey cuties🎀

I’ve been busy with school and work, so I’ve been inactive for a while. I hope you guys liked this one and chapter two will be up soon. Again don’t be afraid to leave

Silent wishes

Even in silence, a little heart can hold so many wishes.

dynamic: Non Idol Au! Yoongi and his daughter, Namjoon is an important side character

genre/ tags: Genre/Tags:Heavy Angst. TW: mentions of death. Dad Yoongi, Emotional, Yoongi is a mean depressed dad who is grieving, Childhood trauma, Father-Daughter Relationship, Distant Father, Emotional Neglect, Grief, Healing, Loneliness, Lana is a shy and reserved kid, Toddler/Preschool Age, Puppy Companion, Friendship, Social Anxiety, Overcoming Isolation, Tender Moments, Namjoon is mentioned, he is Liam’s dad, Neighbor Kids, Liam is the same age as Lana. Namjoon is a great father. Lana losses her mom and Yoongi loses his wife

In a sun-soaked Greek villa, she belonged entirely to him—body, mind, and soul.

pairings: idol! Namjoon x Reader

genre/tags: Mature romance, Smut with a little bit of plot, Dom! Namjoon, oral( both m and f receiving, Namjoon is just a tease, he also has daddy kink, he also very strong. Manhandling. Unprotected s*x (remember to use protection to be safe). sub! reader. Mentions of the word s@lut. Joon is kinda mean, but the sweetest during aftercare. Jin walks in during aftercare. Multiple orgasm. Orgasm denial. Joon has a big d!ck, his also described as big. Reader is just a cutie. Let me know if forgot anything🫶

Words: 3,133 words

Estimated reading time: 12-15 minutes

This playlist is 10/10🙈

The villa in Greece was almost too perfect—whitewashed walls glowing in the evening sun, the Aegean stretched endlessly beyond the terrace. Laughter from the boys drifted up with the smell of grilled beef, but you couldn’t sit still, not with the way Namjoon’s eyes had lingered on you all afternoon.

So you slipped away.

Your room waited at the far end of the hall, windows flung wide to the sea breeze, linen sheets tangled from nights before. You barely had time to catch your breath before heavy footsteps sounded, deliberate, unhurried. The door slammed shut behind him, and there he was—broad shoulders framed in gold light, gaze dark and fixed on you.

“Thought you could sneak off without me, princess?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” you teased, though your pulse betrayed you.

He crossed the room slowly, but the weight of him hit before his hands even touched you—then they were on your waist, rough and sure, pressing you back to the wall. Your feet left the floor with ease, his body swallowing yours whole.

“I always do,” he murmured against your skin, but it was more promise than scolding.

You were on the bed before you could catch your breath, his knee parting your thighs, the mattress dipping with his weight. His mouth dragged down your throat, teeth scraping, and his grip locked your wrists above your head like you belonged pinned there.

“Quiet now,” he whispered, heat at your pulse. “Or they’ll hear.”

The thought of the voices below made you shiver, your hips lifting as his hand skimmed under your dress, greedy, claiming. His kiss stole the sound from your mouth, rough and consuming, until all you could do was arch into him, gasping, trembling under the strength holding you down. "Joon how about dinner, the boys will get suspicious"

“Dinner can wait,” he growled, pressing you deeper into the sheets. “I’m having you tonight.”

His big hand slid higher, the sundress riding up your thighs as he bunched the fabric in his fist. His palm was broad and rough, veins bulging along the back of his hand as his thumb brushed lazily over the thin cotton covering your cunt. You tried to grind against him, desperate, but his grip on your wrists only tightened until the tendons flexed under his skin.

“Needy already?” His dark gaze dragged over your body, lingering at the way you squirmed helplessly beneath him. “Pathetic little thing… thinking she gets daddy’s cock so easy.”

“P-please…” your voice cracked, your back arching as you tried to push into his hand.

Namjoon only chuckled, low and cruel. His muscles flexed as he shifted, and for a moment your eyes trailed down—the stretch of his shoulders under his shirt, the sculpted ridges of his abs when he leaned closer, the raw strength in every line of him. He dwarfed you without even trying.

One big hand released your wrists only to hook under your jaw, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to look at him. The veins in his forearm stood out, thick and pronounced, his grip making you feel impossibly small.

“On your knees.” His voice was sharp, commanding

He hauled you up, manhandling you until you were kneeling in front of him on the bed. Your breath caught when his other hand went to his zipper, dragging it down with agonizing slowness. He freed himself, and your lips parted without thought.

Namjoon’s cock was heavy and thick, the veins along the shaft prominent, the flushed tip an angry red. He stroked himself lazily once, letting you see just how big he was before slapping the head against your lips. Your eyes watered at the sheer size of him.

“Open,” he ordered.

You obeyed, mouth falling wide. His hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you down until your lips stretched around the thick length of him. “Fuck,” he groaned, abs tightening as your tongue dragged along the vein pulsing at the underside. “Look at you. So fucking tiny, but you’re gonna take all of daddy’s cock, aren’t you?”

A muffled moan vibrated around him, and his grip tightened, pushing deeper until the head hit the back of your throat. Tears pricked instantly, spit spilling past your lips.

“That’s it,” he hissed, jaw clenching as he held you there, chest heaving. “Take it. Breathe through your nose like a good little slut.”

You whimpered, eyes watering, drool sliding down your chin. When he finally let you pull back for air, his cock was slick with spit, veins bulging along the shaft, the flushed head gleaming.

“Say it.” His hand stroked over your wet cheek, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth. “What am I?”

“D-daddy,” you gasped, voice raw.

His groan was guttural, chest rumbling as his abs flexed again. “Good girl.”

He shoved you back onto the mattress, your sundress pushed up to your hips, panties tugged aside. His six-pack rippled as he bent down, shoulders and arms caging you in. The sheer size of him above you made you feel impossibly small, pinned beneath his weight.

His mouth trailed down your thigh, biting hard enough to sting before sucking at the skin. Then he spread you open wider with his big veiny hands, his thumbs pressing possessively into your soft skin.

And then he buried his face between your legs.

“D-daddy!” you cried out, thighs trembling as his tongue flattened against your cunt, dragging up slowly before circling your clit.

He groaned against you, the sound deep, vibrating through his chest and into your core. “Fuck, you taste sweet.” His nose brushed your clit as his tongue plunged deeper, greedy and unrelenting.

You tried to buck up, but his grip was bruising, his muscles flexing as he forced your hips down. “Stay still,” he growled, before sucking hard enough to make your entire body jolt.

Your moans spilled out high and broken, “Daddy—please, please, oh god, daddy—”

He pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his chin glistening, abs tight as his shoulders flexed to keep you spread. “So noisy. Keep it down, princess, or they’ll hear exactly how desperate you are for me.”

Then his mouth was back on you, rougher, hungrier, devouring you like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Namjoon’s tongue was relentless, dragging over your soaked folds, sucking harshly at your clit while his big veiny hands spread you wide. His muscular arms caged you against the bed, pressing you down as his abs flexed with each motion. You tried to arch into him, but his grip held you firmly, making you gasp and whimper.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he groaned, teeth grazing just enough to make your thighs shake. “So wet for daddy, so desperate.”

“D-daddy—oh, daddy—please!” you cried, voice breaking, your hips lifting helplessly toward him.

He hummed low in satisfaction, then suddenly, without warning, pulled back. Just the tip of his tongue slipped away, leaving your clit aching and overstimulated. Your back arched off the bed, legs trembling, and you cried out, “No! Daddy, don’t stop—oh, please!”

His dark eyes met yours, smirk curling his lips. “You’re not ready yet,” he growled. “Pathetic little thing, shaking and crying before I even let you cum.”

Tears pricked your eyes as your voice broke. “D-daddy, please—please, I’m so close—”

“Keep it down” he snapped, pressing his hands into your hips and hauling you flat again. Then he went back to devouring you, even rougher than before. His tongue pushed deep, curling inside, while his teeth scraped the sensitive skin of your clit, making you whimper uncontrollably.

“Daddy—ohhh, I can’t—I’m gonna—please!” your voice was barely a squeal, every word wrung from you as his fingers pressed into your thighs, holding you spread wide.

But right when your orgasm teased the edge, he pulled away again, dragging his mouth up your thigh and leaving your cunt twitching empty. You arched, tears streaking down your face, shaking, and a broken cry escaped your lips. “Noooo, daddy! Don’t leave me—”

He chuckled darkly, chest rising and falling with the exertion, eyes sharp and merciless. “You’re so fucking fragile, princess. Look at you—crying, shaking, and you’re still begging. I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

Then, mercilessly, he went back down. Veiny hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing bruising marks into your skin as his tongue lashed at your folds, cruelly circling your clit, thrusting into you with precision. Each time you neared the edge, he pulled back, leaving you gasping, whining, utterly wrecked

By the fourth time your body was shaking so hard you could barely catch your breath, tears streaming down your freely, and every nerve in your body burned from the relentless overstimulation. He watched you with a smirk, his big hands holding your shaking legs open. "D-daddy.... oh, god, daddy-please" Your words were broken, tangled between sobs and desperate moans.

This time he let you cum. "Cum for daddy princess"

You whimpered back arching as his tongue pressed flat and hard against your clay, plunging into you with slow deliberate force.

He hummed, the vibration against your clit making you scream, hands gripping your thighs like he could crush you. "Keep it low or else I'm leaving you here, without getting my cock"

Your body betrayed you instantly. Every muscle tensed, hips jerking, walls clenching impossibly tight around nothing but his tongue. The overstimulation hit like lighting, a wave of pure, raw pleasure that made your chest heave and your cries tear through the room.

"Daddy! I'm-oh god, I'm cumming!" you wailed, legs trembling in his grasp

After your intense orgasm, he finally pulled back slightly, abs flexed and glistering with you cum on his pink lips. "Look at you," he murmured, voice rough, lips curling into a dark smile. "My good slut"

You whimpered barely able to breath, trembling in his grasp "D-daddy"

"Yeah" he rumbled, pressing a kiss to your temple. letting the tip of his cock nudge abasing your slick folds as if reminding you he wasn't done yet.

“Yeah,” he rumbled, pressing a kiss to your temple, letting the tip of his cock nudge against your slick folds as if reminding you he wasn’t done yet.

Without warning, he shoved forward, sinking his thick, veiny length deep into you in one brutal thrust. You cried out, body quivering, legs shaking as he filled you completely, every inch of him stretching and consuming you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, chest pressing to yours, abs flexing with every thrust, muscles rolling as he pulled back only to slam back in harder. “Mine. All mine. Take it, good slutl. Take daddy’s cock.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, trembling under his weight, moaning brokenly. “D-daddy! Oh—fuck, daddy!”

His veiny hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you like he couldn’t get enough. Every thrust was brutal, deep, precise, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room, mixed with your high, desperate cries.

“Look at you,” he growled, leaning down so his mouth hovered near your ear, hot breath fanning over your temple. “Screaming for me, shaking, wet all over. You love it, don’t you? My little girl, taking all of me.”

“Yes! Daddy! Oh god, daddy!” you sobbed, nails scraping down his thick, muscular back, every inch of you trembling as he rammed into you relentlessly.

His thrusts didn’t slow. In fact, they got harder, faster—veiny hands digging into your hips, pulling you up and back down with each powerful motion. His abs flexed with every slam, broad shoulders braced over you, and the sheer weight of him pressed you flat against the mattress, helpless, shaking.

“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he growled, teeth biting down on his lower lip as he slammed his fat cock into you again and again. “Mine. All mine. Taking every inch of daddy’s cock.”

“D-daddy! Oh, god, daddy, yes—fuck, yes!” you moaned, trembling under him, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he bottomed out. Your nails dug into his shoulders, small hands gripping the hard muscle of his back as he pressed you down with brutal, relentless force.

He smirked darkly, leaning down so his forehead brushed yours, sweat dripping from his brow, chest glistening, abs tight and flexing. “Look at you, shaking for me, moaning for me… You like being stretched open for daddy, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, daddy! Oh, god, yes! Please—harder, faster!” Your voice cracked with every thrust, every slam of his cock deep inside you, and the word “daddy” spilled endlessly from your lips, desperate and broken.

His veiny hands moved to your thighs, prying them wider as he drove deeper, nails digging into your skin, hips snapping with merciless rhythm. “That’s it,” he growled, thrusting so hard your back lifted off the mattress, “take it all! You feel every inch, every vein! Mine to fuck, mine to ruin!”

You cried out, body trembling uncontrollably, hips jerking up to meet him despite yourself. “D-daddy! I’m—oh god, daddy, I’m cumming—”

He didn’t let you finish immediately. Instead, he drove harder, slamming deep and fast, crushing your hips with his hands as your orgasm crashed over you in overwhelming waves. Your screams and sobs filled the room, wet, raw, unrelenting.

“Good girl,” he growled, leaning down to bite lightly at your shoulder, veins standing out along his forearms as he braced himself over your shaking body. “Ride it out for me. Cum on my cock.”

He thrusted one last time into you, cock hitting impossibly deep, every vein and ridge pressing into you, and your body broke completely

You screamed, arching against him, nails clawing at his broad, sweet- slik shoulders as you walls clamped down around him, trembling and convulsing. Namjoon growled, low and almost feral, pressing his forehead to yours, abs flexing, every muscle taut, he laid the limp.

You were still trembling, chest heaving, slick and spent, when Namjoon rolled to his side, pulling you close. His hands stroked your back gently, tracing soothing patterns over your sore, sensitive skin. His forehead rested against yours, and the heat of his body pressed you into the mattress, steadying your racing heartbeat.

“You okay, princess?” he murmured, voice softer now, low and warm. “You did so good…”

You whimpered, nodding against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “I—I’m okay… just… still tired.”

He chuckled softly, nuzzling your temple, letting his lips brush along your hairline. “I’ve got you. Always.” His hands moved under your back, pulling you impossibly close, holding you like he was making sure nothing could ever touch you. “You’re safe with me”

You nodded again, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

He hummed, brushing your damp hair from your forehead, thumbs stroking along your temples. “l. I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with affection.

You felt yourself melt against him, overstimulation lingering, breaking softly into tiny, breathless giggles. The warmth of him, steady and strong, made you feel completely safe despite how raw your body felt.

—————

Just then, the door burst open.

“OH. MY. GOD!” Jin’s voice rang out, eyes wide in horror. “I HEARD everything! I—ugh! I can’t… I can’t even!”

Namjoon groaned, one eyebrow lifting, and his lips twitched into a wicked, amused grin. “Hello, Jin,” he said lazily, still holding you against him. “Do you need a play-by-play?”

Jin gagged, waving his hands frantically. “I—no! I do not! I do not want to know!” He backed out of the room, muttering something about leaving, slamming the door behind him.

You clung to Namjoon, sniffling and giggling weakly, hiding your flushed face against his chest. “That was so embarrassing,” you whispered.

"No need to hide like he said he already knows"

He kissed the top of your head, holding you tightly, letting the heat of his body press into yours as you drifted into a trembling, safe, exhausted sort of peace.

"Let's rest now, I’ve got you." he said as and wrapped in his arms, under the blanket, with the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath you, you finally let yourself relax completely, safe, loved, and utterly his. “You’ll get your dinner when you wake up,” he said with a smirk, making you hit his arm for his dirty joke.

—————

Lee Hee-seung

Nothing here yet…

Jay Park

Nothing here yet...

Jake Sim

Nothing here yet….

Park Sung-hoo

One shots

Drabbles

Series

After everything

Reactions

Kim Sunoo

Nothing here yet..

Yang Jung-won

Nothing here yet..

Nishimura Riki✨

Some promises weren’t meant to survive

pariring: idol! Mingi x reader

genre/tags: Heavy angst, Secret relationship. Betrayal, cheating. Mingi is a cheater. Reader has financial issues. Mingi is just a jerk. Emotionally matured reader. Mingi regret. Heartbreak and crying from both sides. Summer setting/ country side. Mentions of the other ateez members. Family support. Let me know if I forgot anything🎀

Words: 3,049 words.

You learned to live with silence.

Silence was the safest companion when you loved someone like Song Mingi.

When ATEEZ debuted, their company imposed rules stricter than steel: no dating for the first years. It was an unspoken contract, one carved into the lives of every idol who stepped into the spotlight. For Mingi, it meant that you—his girlfriend, his first love, his home—existed in the quiet places no one else could see.

Your love lived in the gaps. In the late-night visits to your apartment when the rest of the dorm was asleep. In the hoodies and masks pulled low when you bought groceries together. In the secret smile he wore only when the cameras weren’t pointed at him. To the world, he was untouchable. To you, he was just Mingi.

And for years, that was enough.

Even as you juggled school and two jobs, even as you carried the crushing weight of supporting not only yourself but your family back home, it was enough. You never told him how deep your struggles went—how your paychecks vanished into bills that weren’t even yours, how your bones ached from exhaustion. Mingi thought he was protecting you by paying your rent, refusing to let you cover your own bills. He didn’t know he was saving you. He didn’t know he was keeping you afloat in ways you couldn’t even say aloud.

He didn’t know, because you never told him.

And maybe that was the beginning of the mistake.

But still—he was worth it. Every sacrifice. Every long shift you dragged yourself through. Every secret you bit back so that he wouldn’t feel guilty.

That’s why, when he started to grow distant, you told yourself it was nothing.

—————

Three months ago, the warmth of him began to change. His texts came later. His visits shortened. His laughter carried a hollow edge. Excuses piled up like bricks between you, but you never pushed. Idols had schedules that stretched them thin, and he was already risking everything to love you in secret. Who were you to complain?

So you stayed. You waited. You believed.

His birthday was coming, and you wanted to remind him how loved he was. You wanted to remind him that, even in the shadows, your love was real and unshakable.

Money was tight that month—exams kept you from working as much, and your paycheck was pitiful. Still, you sent most of it home to your family. The scraps you had left could have bought you groceries, maybe even some rest. Instead, you poured them into him.

You bought decorations. A cake. Little touches that would make his surprise party glow. With the help of the other members, the dorm filled with streamers, food, balloons, and the kind of warmth he deserved. Tonight, he would walk in, and for once the world would celebrate him as simply Mingi—not the idol, not the performer, just the boy you loved.

And tonight, you would finally tell him. You would finally confess what you had kept hidden: that by paying your bills, he had unknowingly saved you from drowning. That you were grateful beyond words. That he was the brightest thing in your life.

Everything was set.

—————

You were curling your hair when the doorbell rang.

You almost ignored it. Your hands were tangled with heat and spray, and you wanted to be ready on time. But it rang again, sharp and insistent. With a sigh, you set the iron down and hurried to the door.

No one.

Only a small chip and a folded note on the floor.

Your stomach dropped before you even bent to pick them up. You shut the door behind you, heart thudding, and unfolded the note.

“Plug this into your computer. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know he was taken.”

Confusion twisted in your chest. Then dread.

Your hands trembled as you turned off the curling iron, sat at your desk, and slid the chip into your laptop.

The screen lit up. Folders. Images.

And then your world ended.

Mingi. Smiling, but not at you. Holding a girl you didn’t know. Kissing her. Cooking together. Whispering, touching, laughing—moments that should have been yours but weren’t. Photos stretching back three months, each timestamp a knife.

Your breath shattered. A sob clawed its way up your throat before you could silence it. You pressed your hand against your chest as if you could hold yourself together, but the pieces were already falling.

Three months. That was when he had changed. That was when he had started leaving early, when his texts grew cold. You had told yourself to trust him. You had blamed the distance on work. You had believed in him.

And all along, he was giving his warmth to someone else.

Your body moved on autopilot.

You stumbled into the bedroom, pulled out your suitcase, and began packing. Clothes, essentials, the things that were yours. Everything else stayed. The gifts he had given you—the jewelry, the stuffed animals, the photos in frames—you left behind. They burned to touch.

The promise set—the ring, the bracelet, the necklace—came off your body like it was poison. You placed them gently on the table. Your hands shook as you wrote a letter, tears blotting the ink, telling him everything you hadn’t said before. Your gratitude. Your love. Your heartbreak. Your goodbye.

You ignored your buzzing phone. You ignored the calls from the boys. You sent one final message—I’m sorry. Mingi will explain.—and then blocked them all. Blocked him.

When the suitcase was zipped, you pulled it to the door.

In the garage, his car sat waiting for you. He had bought it for you, another gift. You sat inside for a long moment, staring at the wheel, before you broke. You couldn’t take it. You couldn’t take another piece of him with you.

So you left it.

You dragged your suitcase down the street, caught a bus to the station, and boarded the night bus to the countryside. Back to your parents. Back to the place you had once fought so hard to escape.

As the city lights blurred past, you pressed your forehead to the cold window and cried silently. Your phone in your lap, you opened the photo album, and one by one, you deleted him. Deleted you. Deleted us.

Every swipe was a death. Every delete was another grave.

And still, through the hollow ache, you whispered a prayer he would never hear:

“Happy birthday, Mingi.”

—————

The summer air hung heavy and humid over the city, sticking to Mingi’s skin like a second layer he couldn’t peel off. Streetlight glinted against the heat-shimmered asphalt, neon signs buzzing in the sticky dusk. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, sweat prickling the back of his neck, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He was worried.

You were late.

He glanced at his phone again. 7:10 p.m.

You were never late. Not for him. Not for this date.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything fancy. You had texted him days ago, insisting on a “just us” night out—a date, even though his birthday had been yesterday. You had sounded excited, shy, almost giddy in the way you never allowed yourself to be in public. He had smiled then, thinking it was sweet, thinking you just wanted a normal evening together.

And now you weren’t here.

Mingi ran a hand down his face. He called. Nothing. He texted. Nothing. He called again. Voicemail. Nothing

Panic seeped into him, slow and suffocating.

He swallowed hard. Something was wrong. Something terrible. He could feel it in the tension in his shoulders, in the tightness in his chest. He glanced at the empty restaurant entrance again. The street was full of laughing couples, friends spilling out of cafés, taxis honking, the city alive and oblivious—but you weren’t here.

He got into his car and drove to your apartment.

—————

The apartment smelled the same. Vanilla. Laundry. The faint residue of your perfume that always lingered. But the air was wrong. Still. Dead.

His eyes roamed the room, taking in the changes. Your favorite hoodie wasn’t draped over the chair anymore. His stomach sank deeper with every empty space. Your shoes gone. He frantically searched the whole apartment.

And then he saw it.

On the table.

The promise set. Ring, bracelet, necklace.

His chest tightened. He had worn his own set today, expecting to see yours as soon as he see yours. That vision had been enough to make him smile this morning. Now, it felt like a grave marker.

Beside it, a letter.

Your handwriting. Shaky but. His hands shook as he took it into his hands.

The words tore him apart

Mingi fell to his knees. His phone in his pocket vibrated insistently, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He stood up, when his eyes caught the chip at the edge of the table. His hand went to it automatically, numb and trembling. Mingi didn’t stop to think. He grabbed the chip, cradled the promise set and your letter.

—————

The garage was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge. Your car sat there, untouched. Waiting. That meant you hadn’t used it. That meant it was a chance you weren’t gone yet.

He ran out to his car. His hands gripped the wheel until the veins on his arms stood out. He drove without direction, only instinct guiding him to the dorms.

When he arrived, his chest broke again.

The dorm was alive with color and noise. Balloons hung from the ceiling, confetti littered the floor, a cake sat untouched on the table. Streamers curled along the walls like frozen laughter.

His members and friends looked up at him, exhausted and tense.

“Where is y/n?” he asked, voice hoarse, shaking.

They questioned him in return. Where had he been? Why wasn’t she here? Why hadn’t he called? He ignored them, barely hearing, and rushed to his room, clutching the chip like it might burn him.

He plugged it in.

The photos.

Every single moment captured of him with her. Laughing. Kissing. Baking. Ordinary, intimate moments that had never been for you, the moments he had assumed you would never find out about.

Everything clicked.

The letter. The empty apartment. The promise set. The chip. How did you find out?

Mingi sank to the floor, the weight of his choices pressing into his lungs. He pressed the ring to his chest, sobs wracking his body. He had betrayed you. He had broken everything.

Even though it was his fault, even though he had been selfish, he still wanted you back.

—————

The bus window was warm against your temple, even at midnight.

Summer in the city never cooled, not even when the streets emptied, not even when the neon lights flickered themselves into exhaustion. The air had been heavy when you boarded, pressing against your skin until it felt like breathing through a wet cloth. You thought maybe it would ease as the bus left Seoul behind, trading concrete for fields, skyscrapers for open sky.

But the heaviness stayed.

It wasn’t the heat. It was inside you.

You had pressed your forehead against the glass and watched the blur of passing lights. They stretched into streaks as tears clouded your eyes, tears you had tried not to shed in front of strangers. The bus was nearly empty, only a few scattered passengers sleeping in their seats. You envied them. How could they sleep when your chest felt like it was collapsing?

You had left, because if you stayed, you would break.

The bus jolted to a stop. The driver’s voice called the final station. You stood, pulling your bag close, and stepped into the quiet of the countryside night.

The air smelled different here. Grass. Earth. Summer flowers carried on a soft breeze. You closed your eyes and let it wash over you. But peace didn’t come. The ache inside you was too deep.

By the time you reached the small house you had grown up in, your legs felt heavy. The porch light flicked on before you could knock. Your mother’s silhouette filled the doorway, her voice already thick with worry.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here? It’s past three in the morning.”

Your father appeared behind her, pulling a robe tight around his shoulders, his brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you call? Did something happen in Seoul?”

You tried to speak, but your throat closed. The words refused to form. You had told yourself on the bus that you would be strong, that you would smile and pretend this was just a visit, that you would protect them from the storm clawing through your chest. But the moment you saw them, the dam cracked.

Tears spilled hot and fast down your cheeks, and your father was pulling you into his arms before you could stop him. The scent of your mother laundry soap, his warmth of his embrace—it undid you completely.

“Baby, what happened?” He whispered against your hair, rocking you gently like he used to when you were small.

Your mother’s voice came softer this time, though no less concerned. “Did something happen with Mingi?”

The name hit you like a knife. You choked on a sob, clutching tighter at your father’s shirt. You couldn’t answer. Not yet. If you said it aloud, it would become too real, too sharp to ever dull.

They led you inside, into the familiar comfort of the living room. The fan spun lazily above, stirring the warm summer air. Your suitcase sat like an accusation at your feet. Your parents exchanged a look—silent, heavy with questions they didn’t voice.

You curled into the couch, hands gripping your knees, eyes fixed on the floor. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I can’t stay in Seoul right now.”

And that was all you could give them.

Your mother reached for your hand. “Then stay here. For as long as you need.”

You nodded, tears dripping silently onto your skin. The countryside night pressed close around the house, cicadas singing in the distance, the kind of sound that usually brought you comfort. Tonight, it only reminded you of how far away you were from the person you had thought was your home.

You had given him everything.

And he had given his heart to someone else.

—————

Hi petals🎀

The rain hides the secret they’ve only whispered behind closed doors

pairing: non idol Yoongi x shy reader

genre/tags: Mature Romance, Smut, Dom!Yoongi,oral(f receiving), Yoongi is a menace, he also has oppa and size kink. Unprotected s*x (use protection to be safe). sub!reader. Reader is shy, short and described as smaller than Yoongi(I’m short you guys, so I have to put it in my stories;)). Make out, rough s*x, creampie, orgasmdenial.Yoongi is a bit mean. Sensitive reader. Overstimulation, Choking and slightly hair pulling. Let me know if I missed anything🎀

Words: 5,863 words.

Estimated reading time: 23- 29 minutes

The rain had been falling for hours, the steady patter against the window matching the slow beat of your heart. Yoongi’s apartment smelled like warm wood and something faintly like cedar mixed with the musk of his cologne — a scent that somehow both comforted and unraveled you at once.

You sat curled on the edge of the warm cozy cloud couch, fingers twisting the hem of the oversized hoodie you had stolen from his closet. It hung loose, swallowing your frame, but the weight of it grounded you in the dimly lit room.

The living room was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the scattered lamps placed carefully across the space. Each one cast pools of light that barely reached beyond their immediate circle, leaving the corners of the room wrapped in shadows. The low lighting made everything feel intimate, like a private sanctuary carved out from the storm raging outside.

Huge floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one side of the room, framing the tempest in stark contrast to the warm glow within. Lightning occasionally split the sky, illuminating the sheets of rain as they pelted the glass. Thunder rolled in the distance, its deep growl vibrating through the air and the very floor beneath your feet.

Yoongi sat at the round table tucked against the far wall of the living room, papers and important worksheets scattered across its surface. His laptop screen glowed softly in the dim space, casting cool light onto his tired face, the only harsh brightness in an otherwise warm room.

The soft murmur of the TV was the only sound breaking the quiet, a romantic comedy playing quietly in the background. Occasionally, Yoongi’s low grunts and the steady tapping of his fingers against the keyboard punctuated the silence, blending into the rhythm of the storm outside.

After what felt like hours of typing, Yoongi finally closed his laptop with a soft sigh. “I’m taking a break,” he announced, stretching his arms above his head.

You watched as he stood and made his way to the kitchen, the soft clack of his footsteps mixing with the rain against the windows. The warm glow from the lamps spilled into the kitchen, where he began moving around the stove, pulling out ingredients and starting on dinner.

Quietly, you slipped behind him, heart fluttering in your chest. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against the cool fabric of his shirt. Yoongi stiffened for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. His hands paused over the sizzling pan, before one slowly came to cover yours, fingers tightening gently around them.

“Didn’t know you were that needy tonight,” he murmured, voice rough but soft. You only smiled, squeezing him a little tighter, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. The steady warmth was comforting, grounding you in a way words never could.

Yoongi always had that effect on you — making everything slow down, the world narrowing to just the two of you. When he was like this, patient and gentle, time seemed to stretch, every touch and breath lingering longer than it should. But you also knew how fast it could flip — how dirty and desperate things got when the mood shifted, how he’d take control with that quiet intensity that left you breathless and craving more.

For a moment, neither of you moved, wrapped in the fragile hush between raindrops and soft lamplight. Then, almost without thinking, you tilted your head up and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. Yoongi’s hand tightened just a fraction, and when his lips found yours, it was slow — exploring, patient, as if tasting the moment before deciding how much to claim.

You melted into the kiss, hands moving to curl against his chest, feeling the subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt. The world outside — the storm, the rain, even the soft glow of the lamps — all faded away until nothing remained but the heat shared between you two.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the shift — the way his body responded to yours, a silent invitation laced with promise.A sudden thought flickered through your mind just as the kiss deepened: the stove. Yoongi’s lips parted slightly, breath warm against your skin, and with a faint smile, he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Don’t worry, I turned the stove off.”

The grounding normalcy of the words made you chuckle softly, your heart still pounding, before you let yourself fall back into the slow, intoxicating pull of him.

Yoongi froze for a moment, eyes locking with yours—dark, wild, and suddenly possessive. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice low and thick with promise.

Without warning, his mouth found yours again, more demanding this time, his hands tracing the curve of your hips with a possessive hunger. You responded eagerly, losing yourself in the dark pull of him, the intoxicating blend of tenderness and raw desire.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, and the world outside—the rain, the storm, the quiet apartment—fell away until there was nothing but you and him, wrapped in heat and shadows.

His hands slid from gentle caresses to a firmer grip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the undeniable hardness pressing against your small frame, and a nervous shiver ran through you.

“Your so small, princess” Yoongi murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. “It’s impossible to resist.”

You bit your lip, eyes flickering downward for a moment before daring to meet his gaze. “I… I like it oppa” you whispered, your voice soft but with a hint of something daring.

A slow smile spread across his face, dark and knowing. “I’m sure you do filthy girl. Look at you, getting bolder.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you traced a finger along his chest. “maybe… maybe I’m not as shy as you think.”

He chuckled, voice low and teasing. “Is that so? Then show me.”

Yoongi’s low words sent a thrill through you as your fingers moved to undo the drawstring on his sweatpants. Just as you were about to pull them down, his hand caught both of yours, holding you firmly but gently.

You looked up, confusion flickering in your eyes.

“Not that easy, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise.

Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom. The warmth of his body pressed against you was electric, and his lips found your jaw, trailing slow, teasing kisses down the curve of your neck.

His patience was thinning, the quiet hunger in his eyes unmistakable.

Instead of carefully peeling your shirt off, he tore it open in one swift motion. You couldn’t help the pout that formed on your lips.

“oppa,” you whispered, a mix of surprise and delight in your voice.

Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he caught your gaze. “Oppa will buy you a new one,” he promised, his voice low and amused, before his lips began exploring the bare skin of your chest.

His teeth found her nipple, teasing it gently before he couldn’t resist sucking on it, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. Meanwhile, his other hand danced over the other breast, fingers tracing delicate circles that sent shivers through her.

A moan escaped Lana, pure and unfiltered, as waves of pleasure rippled through her.

“hm s’good, please,” she whispered, voice trembling with need.

He continued, relentless and careful, until both were glistening with his touch — swollen, sensitive, shining with the slick of his mouth. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he kissed his way down your sculpted waist, worshiping every curve.

His big hands came to rest around your tiny waist, large and possessive, molding her in a way that made her feel deliciously small.

“Your waist… it’s disappearing in my hands, baby. So small,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. His eyes flicked downward to your shorts — barely more than fabric clinging to her skin.

“Look at these filthy shorts,” he teased, fingers tracing the edge, as he saw how you were hungry for more.

“Those shorts aren’t doing nearly enough to hide your filthy little cunt,” he growled, his hand coming down with a sharp, commanding slap that made you jolt and let out a breathy groan.

He caught your eyes closed and didn’t hesitate—his hand came down again with a harder slap, sharp and precise. “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he commanded, his voice low and steady. “And answer me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark, intense gaze.

“m so sorry oppa” you whispered voice trembling and barely steady “jus wana feel good”

He smirked, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips before his hands moved to peel your shorts away. You lifted your hips instinctively, eager to help him, revealing the delicate red lace of your underwear.

You clenched around nothing as the cool air brushed past your covered cunt , a shiver running through you. Leaning down, he pressed a feather-light kiss against your lips, and your whole body trembled under his touch.

“Please, oppa,” you whispered, breathless and wanting.

He smirked, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet, and you’re already a mess princess”

He dove tongue-first into your already wet cunt, exploring with a slow, deliberate hunger that made you arch into him. His lips and tongue traced delicate, demanding patterns, as if savoring every inch. You tangled your fingers in his hair, moaning softly, completely undone by the way he knew exactly how to drive you wild.

Before long, two long fingers slipped inside you, moving with steady, rhythmic precision that sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your legs trembled, unable to hold you steady as waves of sensation rolled over you.

You cursed softly, gasping and moaning as he devoured you and to add to his menacing behavior. He started biting your clit, you couldn’t help the way your body started jolting and your moans got louder.

When the tight knot began to form in your stomach, you begged him to slow down, voice trembling with need. But Yoongi’s only response was a teasing bite to your most sensitive spot and a quickening of his fingers.

“op… oppa,” you whimpered, words slurring as your mind melted into the overwhelming pleasure. “Slow… opp” your couldn’t get out a sentence as it felt so good.

“please… just so…” you began, voice breaking, but before you could finish, the tension snapped, and your body shuddered against him, spilling over his tongue and fingers.

He slurped up every bit, his lips lingering as he expertly licked his fingers clean while you lay there, breathless and trembling, completely undone by him.

As his lips kissed your clit, a shiver raced through your entire body, making you tremble uncontrollably. Overwhelmed, you gently pushed him away, your skin still tingling, your most sensitive spot pulsing with every heartbeat.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and amused, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Don’t think this is over, princess,” he murmured, peeling off his shirt to reveal his sculpted, toned body. His fingers curled around yours, guiding your hand to the hard, undeniable bulge pressing against his sweatpants.

“This,” he said, voice low and husky, “is what you do to oppa, princess.” He groaned as you hand came in contact with his raging bulge. He let go of your hand.

He pressed his body flush against yours again, lips crashing onto yours with a mix of heat and hunger that stole your breath away. His hands were rough yet sure, roaming boldly across your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, desperate for more, but Yoongi pulled back just enough to smirk down at you—those dark eyes gleaming with mischief. You started whining as tears threaten to fall.

“oppa” you said as your voice was soft and Yoongi only laughed “Aw your gonna cry princess hm or maybe your just desperate, huh?” he teased, voice low and taunting.

You swallowed hard, cheeks flushing “really need you oppa,” you whispered, breathless.

His grin deepened, fingers trailing down your spine to grip your hip firmly. “Beg for me,” he demanded, the command slipping between kisses.

Your heart pounded, the air thick with tension and want. “please… oppa, please fuck me,” you murmured, voice trembling but full of need.

His voice was rough with amusement. “That’s better. But you’re going to have to do a lot more than that if you want me to fuck you.”

You met his gaze, eyes shining shyness still clinging to your words. “please fuck me oppa, m gonna be good I promise. m been such a good girl please oppa” you said at the verge of tears. Without hesitation, he tugged his sweats down, and his length sprang free — thick, flushed, with a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Veiny running down the side of his hot and twitching cock.

Yoongi places his hand around your throat, pressing his fingers against the sides of your neck. He put just enough pressure. He looks at you, hungry for another kiss.

“Look at oppa’s pretty baby, wants me to fuck her huh?” His voice full with sarcasm, that makes a tear fall from your eyes as you were getting needy.

You feel his finger brush up and down your cunt before he start circling your clit, making you let out a breathy moan and a incoherent word that sounds like “please”

Yoongi lines his thick length up with your entrance teasing your cunt with the precum leaking from his red tip. He runs the fat tip through your folds teasing you and spreading your wetness

You moan and beg him. “feels s’good huh?” He asked

Your brain was way foggy to answer him. You open your mouth to speak but only a broken moan came out. He got angry and slapped your already swollen clit “Answer when spoken to”

You mumble out a quiet shaky “mhm feels so good oppa” he smirked “you think this tight pussy is gonna fit oppa’s big dick?” He laughed

He slowly pushes his thick length into you. Pathetic whimpers fall from your mouth and he himself start groaning. “Fuck princess you’re so tight” When he fully enters you, you feel so full and so good that you start to drool. You feel the veiny from his cock push against your walls. He stays still letting you adjust to his size

Before you know it he start pounding into you fast and rough. Making you moan out loud. His cock folks you up just perfectly. “Look at how this slutty pussy is taking me huh baby? It’s like you were made for me” he said as he continued ramming into you

Pleasure overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and nearly speechless, a soft drool escaping the corner of your lips. Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing.

“Look at you, princess… you’re absolutely filthy,” he murmured, eyes dark with amusement.

You were so thoroughly intoxicated by him, so completely undone, that you teetered on the edge of pure euphoria, lost in the delicious haze of need and surrender..

His thick length drove relentlessly into your most sensitive spot, each thrust hitting your g-spot with precise, unyielding pressure. The familiar coil tightened deep in your stomach, the knot of pleasure building rapidly as your body surged toward a second, inevitable release.

Yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours, sharp and knowing—he recognized that desperate, glazed look that meant you were on the edge again, completely his

His pace quickened, each movement deliberate and demanding, driving deeper and faster with a raw urgency that sent shockwaves through your body. The hand resting on your neck tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to claim you completely, reminding you who was in control.

Your breaths came faster, shallow gasps escaping as the rhythm pressed harder against your nerves, igniting every inch of your skin. The world narrowed until there was nothing but the heat between you, the slick sound of skin meeting skin, and the intoxicating weight of his presence.

Just as you were on the edge, ready to shatter, Yoongi pulled back sharply, a wicked smirk curling at the corner of his lips. His hands slipped away from your neck, leaving a raw ache where his grip had been.

The sudden withdrawal sent you spiraling into a ruined orgasm, your sobs breaking free uncontrollably.

“oppa… no, no, oppa,” you cried out, desperate and overwhelmed. He placed his large hands gently on your chin, tilting your face up as his fingers caressed your cheek.

“Oppa’s poor baby, already crying,” he teased, his lips curling into an ironic pout.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice low and promising. “Oppa’s gonna ruin you

With effortless strength, he flipped your trembling body over, pushed your head into the mattress and your hips lifted high, arching you perfectly. Without hesitation, he slid his cock back into your slippery hole. He start pounding you again

You couldn’t hold back the moans, your lips parting to mumble breathless, fragmented words.

“Don’t worry baby oppa’s got you, gonna fill this pussy up so much your gonna feel it for days” he said as he put his large hands on your waist. Practically swallowing your waist, as he pistoled his hips into your ass. “Yea that’s right” he growled out

He yanked your hair upward with a firm grip, driving his hips with relentless speed. One hand returned to cradle your neck tightly, while the other forced two fingers gently into your mouth, silencing your breathless sounds.

“Get this fingers wet baby, that’s a good girl” The room was filled only with the muffled sounds of you choking softly on his fingers and the rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin. “You hear that princess? It’s the sound of your dirty cunt taking my cock”

The two fingers slipped from your mouth, tracing slow, deliberate circles over your swollen clit. A moan escaped you, raw and desperate.

He chuckled darkly, tightening his grip around your neck just enough to make you gasp, his laughter rough and teasing.

The knot tightened again, and Yoongi groaned deep and low as you clenched around him, gripping him tighter with every shudder.

“Fuck, princess,” he growled, voice thick with need. “This tiny cunt’s gonna suck me right in.”“Princess,” he growled, eyes dark with desire, “if you want to cum, you’re gonna have to beg oppa nicely.”

He didn’t wait for an answer his hips snapped harder and faster, driving into you with relentless urgency.

You tried to answer, words tumbling out in a breathless, jumbled mess, your mind too fogged and your body too full of pleasure to form a proper sentence.

Yoongi’s dark eyes flashed with impatience. “What was that, princess?”Before you could reply, his hand snapped down hard on your clit, making you yelp and squirm.

“Talk properly. Beg me like you mean it,” he commanded, voice low and dangerous. “oppa… please… don’t stop… s’good” you start to sob “oppa wana…. cum please”

His laugh was low and satisfied as he picked up the pace, every movement pushing you deeper into delicious madness.

Finally, the tension inside you snapped, waves of pleasure crashing over every nerve ending. Your body trembled violently, breath hitching in ragged gasps as the world dissolved into a haze of warmth and overwhelming release.

Oppa spilled from your lips in a desperate, broken whisper, your hands clutching at him as your whole being convulsed beneath his relentless rhythm.

You were overwhelmed, every nerve ignited and trembling as he drove into you faster and harder, relentless in his rhythm.

The pleasure built to a fever pitch, your body trembling uncontrollably under the intensity, pushing you past every limit.

With a guttural groan, Yoongi finally spilled inside you, his release heavy and claiming, sealing the heat between you both.

He collapsed against you, breath ragged, his body still trembling from the intensity of it all. His hands found yours, gripping them tightly as if afraid to let go.For a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping softly against the windows, a quiet contrast to the storm you’d just survived together.

Yoongi pressed a slow, bruising kiss to your temple, his voice low and raw. “s’pretty princess.” You curled closer into his embrace, your heart pounding as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled, spent, and utterly connected

—————

After you both caught your breath, Yoongi gently disentangled himself and stood up.“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, disappearing into the bathroom.

Moments later, he returned with a warm, damp cloth in hand. Sitting beside you, he carefully wiped away the sweat and tears from your skin, his touch slow and soothing.

Once you were clean, he stood again and pulled one of his oversized t-shirts from the dresser, slipping it over your shoulders so it hung loosely on your frame. Then, he handed you a fresh pair of clean underwear, simple and soft. You quickly changed, feeling a comforting sense of renewal.

Yoongi, now dressed only in his familiar sweatpants, settled back beside you with a plate of snacks and a glass of water. “Here,” he said gently, “you need to eat and drink.”

You leaned into him, wrapped in his warmth, safe and cared for as the rain outside softened to a gentle patter. After you both had you fill

After you’d both eaten and hydrated, you curled up together in the room that had once felt warm but now carried a cool, gentle chill. You lay beneath the soft duvet, nestled against Yoongi’s bare chest, your body still tender your cunt sore, legs lightly trembling from the aftermath.

His hand moved slowly through your hair, soothing and steady, as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you closer to sleep.

Yoongi’s own breath grew slower, muscles aching but satisfied, until finally, he too slipped into a quiet, well earned rest. Wrapped in each other’s warmth and silence, you both surrendered to the calm that followed the storm.

————-

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the tangled sheets and quiet room. Yoongi stirred first, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he watched you sleep peaceful, vulnerable, and utterly his.

A small, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. Whatever storms might rage outside, here in this moment, there was only the quiet bond between you.

And he knew, without a doubt, that no matter what, you were his completely and forever.

——————

Hey petals🎀