Best Served Cold | MYG | 4
pairing: Yoongi x afab!reader
au: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au, Yoongi is at the bottom of the organization just trying to stay alive when the story starts.
tags: SLOW BURN, eventual violence, eventual hurt/comfort, eventual smut, reformed bad boy Yoongi, he is lethal in this fic - literally, and he has neck tattoos. Reader is self conscious about her looks, so that gets mentioned occasionally, but is not a focus of the fic. (She works through it by the end.) (Part IV tags: light dom/sub, penetrative m/f sex, oral sex (m receiving and f receiving) mc gets off on yoongi being violent to someone who threatens her)
Words: 7k
a/n: @vyduan you are the best for betareading this! Thank you! @caelesjjk the banner is amazing, and it looks like I didn't credit you when I made the other posts. I'm sorry! This was stupid dumb of me. I will go back and edit them.
I hope you all like the final chapter! Thanks for all your patience this year with this story.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
___
Yoongi’s hands shake, and he can’t quiet them. You’re safe at home, but he’s still fearful, still wants to look over his shoulder. He lifts his hand to your face and gently wipes the blood from your split lip. In the harsh overhead light of the kitchen, the dark circles under your eyes look demonic. Your eyes are open, but unseeing. Even at your worst, even in the face of your asshole father, he’s never seen you this blank, this disassociated from the present. Your injuries exist where he can’t reach them. If your arm was broken, he could call a doctor. If someone needed killing, he could take them out as easy as breathing. This, though, is worse. He isn’t sure he can care for you. What does he know of care?
x
x
x
“Is it over?” you ask in a voice so frightened Yoongi’s throat closes before he can answer.
“It’s over.”
You grip his wrist, fingers digging into his skin. “Jungkook? Hoseok?”
“Everyone’s safe.” Jimin had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but he doesn’t need to go into that now. He can’t give you any reason not to believe in him.
Without warning, your shoulders shake. He thinks you’re crying again until he realizes you’re laughing.
“I spit on one of them.”
“Of course, you did.”
“Of course, I did?” Finally, you meet his eyes.
“I would never underestimate you.” He did at the beginning, but he won’t again.
There would never be anyone else for him, even if you decide to leave like he knows you should. But he’s selfish. He wants you to stay.
Your heaving shoulders turn from laughter to sobs. You bring your hands to cover your face. Scars on wrist confront Yoongi with his failure.
“I was so scared,” you say. “I knew you would come for me, but I was so scared.”
You repeat the words over and over again. There is nothing he could do to stop them, and he doesn’t try. Amid your pain, the words ‘I knew you would come for me’ are the only thing that keep him from falling apart. He wants to beg your forgiveness, but it's selfish to want absolution when he doesn’t deserve it. You sway on your feet, eyes shutting.
What the fuck is he doing? He helps you to his bedroom. He doesn’t think you’ve been in here during the duration of your marriage, but he’s not letting you alone tonight.
You sink to the bed, your eyes closing before he can think of what to say, what to do. He covers you with the blanket at the foot of the bed. You frantically reach for his hand.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m not,” he stammers. “I won’t.”
He goes to the other side of the bed and lays down. He moves as close to you as he dares. Part of him wants to hold you in his arms. The other part of him isn’t sure you would want that from him, especially after everything you’ve been through. He stays awake long after you fall asleep. The nightmares will come eventually.
&&&
When you wake, even though Yoongi is gone from the bed, his warmth lingers. He hasn’t been gone long. You don’t know how you could know such a thing, but you know him as well as breathing.
The door opens slowly. Yoongi enters carrying a tray. He’s still wearing his blood-stained suit, and you wonder if he slept. He places a steaming bowl of soup on the table next to you. You can’t help the small smile on your face. The most feared man in the city is carrying trays and making you soup.
“Do you…?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Uh, do you want to change? I’ve set out some clothes.”
Your most comfortable lounge pants and top are tossed on a chair nearby.
You nod.
“Eat.” He pauses, as if he wants to say something more. “Get some more rest.”
Before you can tell him the same, he leaves you alone.
Gingerly, you remove your dress. You want to burn it. Taking everything off, you take a hot shower and slip on the clothes he brought you. You aren’t injured, but your body is sore from the night spent shivering in the shipping container. Shuddering, you force the memories from your mind and focus on the present. You eat, and sleep overtakes you, even as you want to see him, hear him, before you close your eyes.
This time, when you wake, you feel better. The covers are warm. The food he brought was comforting. He must’ve taken care of you while you slept, because your wrists are bandages. You open your eyes, realizing you aren’t alone.
Yoongi sits in the chair across from you. He’s wearing a thin, white t-shirt and faded jeans, bare feet. His head rests in his hands, and it almost sounds like he’s crying.
“What happened?”
“Huh?” He looks up at you.
“Why do you look like that?”
His eyes are red, and it’s heartbreaking to see him so distraught.
“They took you.”
You’re relieved to know that nothing worse has happened.
“I knew you would come for me. I never doubted you.” You get up from the bed, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You settle on your knees in front of him. “I’m fine.”
He huffs a breath. “I bandaged your wounds. You aren’t fine.”
“I will be. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He shakes his head as if words are too much.
You scoot closer, willing him to understand. “In a few years, we'll be so powerful, Namjoon and Seokjin will beg you to stay in their organization. You’re so loyal, I know you will. I'll make sure we have enough money that no one can touch us.”
“You will?” he asks, looking at you in a daze. “But you want out?”
“I want you.”
It’s very simple, really. His eyes search your face, and he reaches down, pushing your hair back. Before you lose your courage, you let the blankets fall and stand in front of him. He rises from the chair.
His hand cups your cheek. “Are you sure you want this? Want me?”
He asks, as if you don’t know your own mind. There’s only one thing to do.
The kiss catches him off-guard, but not for long. He responds by wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls you toward him until you’re pressed up against his broad chest, kissing you back like he needs you to breathe. You feel the way he seems to want to possess you with his touch. It’s all you want, too. There’s nothing between you, and you feel more than hear the moan he doesn’t hold back. The sensations of lips on yours, his tongue teasing and tasting are enough to make your legs weak.
When he pulls back, before you can think or speak or do anything, he kisses your neck and mumbles the most delicious words you’ve ever heard. You drink them in like wine, and soon you're drunk on his voice.
“You’re mine, yeah?” His hands tangle through your hair, pulling just a little too hard, just to make you understand. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good you never leave.”
He’s an idiot if he thinks you’re ever leaving now, but that can wait. He just keeps going, humming against your skin. You’re dizzy from his mouth on your neck, his hands on your body.
“All this belongs to me,” he says, as he moves his hand from your waist to squeeze your ass. You moan at the sensation.
You aren’t sure how long he kisses you, your lips are swollen and you’re panting for breath when he pauses. He pushes up your top, lifting it over your head to lean down and take a sensitive nipple between his lips, playing with you and enjoying the sounds you make.
On and on, he takes his time creating a reaction in you that you didn’t think possible. He is drawing out your desire, and it’s his patience, his dedication to making you feel good that steals your breath from you. Your prior experience was limited and disappointing. Partners took as much interest in your pleasure as they would a blow-up doll. You’re going to come from just the thought of him going on like this, like you matter, like what you feel is more important than anything.
Yoongi pushes down your lounge pants, and he hums when he sees you have nothing on underneath. Soon you’re standing in front of him, exposed. You stare at the floor and make a move to cross your arms in front of your chest, but he won’t let you.
“Never cover yourself from me. You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.”
Slowly, your raise your eyes to his. It takes courage for you to be this vulnerable. One thing about your husband, though, he doesn’t lie. You whisper his name, and he smiles. It’s full of promise, and you wonder if you’re going to survive. But, really, if you don’t, it’s worth it.
His hand trails down, caressing your skin of your stomach and you try not the laugh–it tickles. He reaches the apex of your thighs, fingers gently stroking your mound. He still won’t let you look away, and you hold his gaze, even as he pushes a finger inside your slick cunt.
“Oh, fuck, this for me?”
The question doesn’t really need an answer. You resist rolling your eyes even in your delirium of lust, but your thoughts must register on your face, because he chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you feel good.”
He kisses you again, not hesitating in his need to make sure you understand how he feels.
Slowly, he pushes you backwards to the bed. You lift his shirt, but he makes it easy by fisting it in one hand and pulling it over his head. He pushes down his jeans. You fall back to the bed, and Yoongi is naked in front of you. It’s glorious, really.
“Come here,” he says, pulling your legs down the bed so he has better access to what he needs. He kneels in front of you, starting with small kisses on the skin of your legs, your thighs. His shoulders nudge your legs apart, and before you can even be worried about being exposed in front of him, you can feel his hot breath against you. He’s greedy for you, and you’re about to beg when Yoongi licks a long stripe over your spread sex, and you buck on the bed. You grab the sheets in your hands. He chuckles as his hands press your thighs to the bed and the feeling of being under his control makes it that much better. You don’t think there is anything better than the thought of the bruises on your body marking you as his.
Yoongi’s tongue curls around your clit, slow and deliberate. You cry out at the sensation, unable to hold anything back. This spurs him on. Not to get you off, of course, but to continue his delicious torture as you hang there on the edge of coming, stars exploding behind your eyes. He’s so restrained, like he could do this all fucking day. He continues his exploration of the swollen bud. You want to grip his hair, push your pussy in his face and grind against him, but you grip the sheets tighter instead.
“So impatient,” he murmurs against your skin, stroking two fingers over and around your swollen sex.
You want to scream that you’ve waiting more than long enough, but before you can think he’s pushing a finger inside of you doing absolutely nothing to cure the problem he’s created, only making it worse by make you more turned on than you’ve been in your life. He places his tongue on the firm underside of your clit, and he curls his figures just enough to get right up against that bundle of nerves inside you, and the two things combined are fucking insane. You’re reaching heights you didn’t know existed.
“Yoongi,” you say, barely able to form the word.
“Who does this sweet cunt belong to, baby?”
“You,” you breathe.
“Good girl.”
Only then does his incessant teasing turn to focused attention on your clit.
You hear your mumbling gasps. I’m coming, you’re saying over and over, trying to gain some kind of purchase on reality, but you’re lost. You come to the sounds of Yoongi’s humming satisfaction. It’s a fizzing, bright and surging pleasure. It just won’t stop, and the pleasure is strung out like the last note of a song you don’t want to end. You realize it doesn’t have to, not really. He’s yours now.
Yoongi stands, running his thumb over his lip, not like he needs to get rid of the taste of you, but that he’s satisfied with a job well done. Eleven out of ten, you think.
He’s stroking himself, and you take in the sight of him. His hard cock in his hand, standing above you, possessive and demanding. He pauses, and he looks like he’s going to start some conversation. But you don’t need a gentleman right now.
“What do you want, Yoongi?”
“That should be pretty fucking obvious.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
“Oh, that’s how it is?” he says, as the bed dips under his weight and you scoot back up, giving him room.
You shrug, trying to look innocent, but it’s hard with your legs spread, pussy slick and body flushed from the best orgasm you’ve had in your life. He laughs, and you will never get over that sound of his happiness.
It arouses you to get lost in something like this, in someone. There’s no worrying or thinking.
“You sure you can handle this?” He asks, as he lowers to kiss your lips, covering your body with his, finally the full weight of him rests on you.
“If you’ll promise to teach me if I can’t.”
“Jesus, fucking, Christ—”
But you arch up to kiss him before he can be exasperated with you. His hard cock presses against your lower belly and Jesus fucking Christ is right. You need him to fuck you.
Before you can beg, he finally lifts up to hold his dick, rubbing against your wet sex.
“Gonna make sure you feel every inch.”
Before you can complain to get the fuck on with it, he pushes into you, stretching your sex. You gasp at the pleasure mixed with the subtle pain of his thick cock.
“You okay, baby?” He’s straining under the control of holding himself back.
There’s nothing more beautiful than this man making sure you’re okay before he rearranges your guts.
You nod.
“That’s right. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He leans down to kiss you. You’re completely lost in the sensation, and he whispers in your ear. “Take my cock so well. Made for me.”
Soon, you’re lost in the rhythm of him fucking you, working up to deep and hard strokes. Sweat drips from his body, and you want to lick it from his skin. As your pussy clenches around him, and you’re about to come, he pulls out and chuckles when you whine.
He flips your body over, pulling at your waist until your ass is in the air and your face is pushed down to the bed.
There’s a litany of filth coming out of his mouth, and it’s unclear what’s going to make you come first, his dick or his words. “This is my cunt, yeah? Who do you belong to?” All that he says is leaving you delirious. His hands grip your waist. Again, you think of the marks on your skin. The way this first time is just the beginning.
He’s pounding into you, and your head lazily bumps against the pillow at the head of the bed, and you love just being his plaything, being whatever he needs in that moment. You give yourself over to sensation and the feeling of the way he is fucking you, like he might not get another chance. He pulls out again, and this time when he flips you back on your back, he raises your leg, pushing back against your body. Oh fuck, this is something. He’s even deeper, hitting that spot that you thought was unreachable.
Your breath hitches, and the pleasure that was previously unobtainable is yours now.
You’re panting his name now, and you can’t stop yourself. He’s so close now.
“Come inside me,” you say. “Let me feel you.”
He exhales, and this time when he pounds into you, he comes painting your walls white with his cum. Your orgasm doesn’t slow, you just keep coming as he fills you up.
When he stills, he drops your leg, and you let it fall to the bed as he crawls above you, kissing any skin he can reach. Until he’s kissing your mouth, his body covering yours, and the only thing in the world is the feeling of the weight of him.
Gradually, his breath slows, and he rolls to his side, but not without pulling you so you’re laying on the bed, side by side, facing each other. For a few minutes, there is no sound but your panting breaths as he pushes your hair out of your face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly, like he knows it’s hard for you to talk about.
Self-doubt isn’t sexy, but it’s coming in waves as your breathing slows, as you take in what just happened. “I just… I wanna be what you want.”
“The fuck you talking about? You are what I want.”
“I’m not…” Not sure how to explain, I’m not experienced, you think. I’m plain.
“Baby, going to prove it to you every day of our lives, if you’ll have me.” He puts his hands to your face. “You might belong to me, but I’m your servant, understand?”
You nod, afraid that if you try to speak, you might cry. He pulls you to him like he understands, like words aren’t necessary. You stay there, clinging to him until your tears stop falling.
&&&
Yoongi glances at the man guarding Kim Namjoon’s private suite. The guy is a huge, muscle toned bruiser. As the two of you approach the door, he makes a move to pat you down.
“No one touches her.”
You glance back, and he recognizes the look on your face–a mix of pride with blush rising to your cheeks, as if you still can’t believe that he would care for you in such a way.
Yoongi decides to make is feelings clear. “You should know that I’m carrying, and this meeting is off if you ask me to leave the weapon out here.”
The guard doesn’t respond. He’s probably heard worse in his line of work.
“It’s alright,” someone says. “This meeting is important enough.”
Kim Seokjin opens the door and ushers you both inside. He’s got a sardonic smile on his face, but Yoongi doesn’t mind. Seokjin and Namjoon need you more than you need them at this point.
The bruiser makes a move to follow. “That’s alright,” Seokjin insists. “I’m sure we can handle Min Yoongi and an accountant.”
He doesn’t like the way he says accountant as if it isn’t your skills that are keeping the operation running smoothly, but he could give a fuck. He’s going to be in that meeting, regardless.
Seokjin gestures to a chair and you sit, crossing your legs, folding your hands like this is any other business meeting. Yoongi enjoys seeing the ring he bought you on your finger. His grandmother’s ring is worn on a gold chain around your neck. Nothing would convince you to give it up. The ring he bought you makes a statement, though, and he wants it made. The dress he bought you looks good, too. He’s looking forward to stripping it off you later. Yoongi stands behind your chair, waving off Namjoon when he offers him a drink. You refuse as well. This is not a social call.
“Well, let’s get down to business.” Namjoon says, sitting on the couch opposite.
An hour later and you’re shaking hands with Namjoon, asking Seokjin about his bride, as if you didn’t just drive a bargain to launder their proceeds for them and your take is better than you dreamed. You’re eternally underestimated. He did at one time, but he’ll never make that mistake again.
Your natural kindness can’t help but come out, and he realizes the two of you will be invited to dinner soon. You’re important enough to the organization to keep close, to make sure you and Yoongi are happy.
He appraises the two men in front of him. They aren’t a bad sort. Kim Seokjin is as smart as he is handsome, but Kim Namjoon needs to learn how to take a day off now and again. He’s so eager for recognition he’s going to burn out. The four of you exchange pleasantries, saying goodbye and leaving without a word from the bruiser.
Yoongi’s so fucking proud of you. It isn’t until you’re in the car, doors locked, that you allow yourself to lean your head back.
“Fuck,” you exhale.
“I told you. Did I not fucking tell you?”
“You fucking told me.”
“I told you to ask for double what you expected.”
“It’s so much money.”
“It’s yours, now.”
“It’s ours.”
You smile at him, the smile he loves.
“But let’s get back to the important thing,” he says. “I was right.”
“You were right.”
He starts the engine and puts a hand on your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. After he’s ruthlessly uses your mouth, he slides a hand down to your thigh, pushing up your skirt as he pulls out of the private drive.
“Here? Now?” You ask, but he can tell you’re excited from the breathy note in your voice. Your legs slide open just a little more.
“I always collect on a bet, sweetheart.”
&&&
You shut the car door behind you, looking up at the apartment cut into the side of the mountain. The complex was far from the district where you and Yoongi had just bought a new penthouse. It was far from the three clubs he now owns. Hoseok and Jungkook now each managed one, with Yoongi taking the newest. They kept their operation small for now. Yoongi didn’t trust anyone else yet, and you trust Yoongi. You had the simple part as far as you could tell. It was just spreadsheets and numbers. Yoongi, though, remained fascinated.
“How do you do it?” he had said earlier that week. He kissed you senseless in his office, bending you over the desk. The door was locked. He might fuck you in his office, but he was going to make sure you weren’t interrupted.
“Yoongi, no one gets excited about this stuff,” you said, but then you said nothing else for a while because words escaped you.
Now, standing outside your car, you look up at the small apartment, forlorn and grey from the windy weather where it sits on the exposed cliff. You straighten your skirt, clutch your purse, and cross the street. Best to get this over with.
There is a long pause after your knock, and you hear the chain unlatch. Your sister stares at you.
“What do you want?”
“I just want to have a conversation.”
She turns around and you follow. Your stiletto heels dig into the cheap carpet.
“You’re up early. I’m surprised Yoongi let you out of the house.”
Yoongi’s possessiveness since you were taken was not what you expected, but you couldn’t say that it bothered you. You don’t respond to your sister, though. It’s none of her fucking business. In fact, you had left Yoongi asleep in bed this morning, and you need to get back there before you’re gone too long.
“I’m not going to stay long.”
“I’m sure you’ve got too much money to spend. What did he buy you this week?”
“A gown for Kim Seokjin’s wedding.”
Your sister scoffs. “Must be nice.”
Your father’s resources have dwindled recently. He had already betrayed anyone who might help him, so he was left with nothing. Your sister had less. You and Yoongi had turned down your family’s requests for money. She had this lonely apartment and a dwindling stash of designer handbags. She’s about to have less.
You pull a wad of cash from your purse. Funnily enough, you pulled it from the vents this morning. You really needed to find a new hiding place.
Your sister stares at the money. She tries to feign disinterest, but you know her too well.
She looks up at you. “What do you want? I’m not going to work for you.”
“I wouldn’t hire you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to leave this city and never come back.”
“Not a fucking chance.” She laughs. “You need to pay me a lot more than that–everyone says you and Yoongi are rolling in it.”
You were, but again, none of her fucking business.
“I know you tipped off Lee to my location.”
She pushes her hair back from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It took me some time to figure it out. I was talking to you when I was taken. Yoongi and I used burners. No one knew where I was.” Your voice almost breaks, but you keep it together. “I know it was you.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“How much did they pay you?”
She stares at you. The shock and hurt on her face quickly transform to annoyance.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“I knew it was you.”
“All I did was give them your location. They said they were just going to talk to you.”
“You believed them.”
“It wasn’t my fucking fault his men got out of hand.”
“They were going to leave me there to die.”
“Stop being so dramatic. I knew Yoongi would find you.”
You think of the number of nights he’s woken in a cold sweat, the number of times he checks on you, even in the office at the club. He will never be the same, and it’s your sister’s fault.
“He blames himself.”
“It isn’t my fucking fault you married some low—"
Your sister doesn’t expect the slap. “Speak about him like that again, and I will end you.”
“I’m not leaving unless you pay me a hell of a lot more money.”
“You will take the money and you will leave.”
“Not a chance in hell. I want a lot more, and I know you’ve got it.”
“That’s none of your fucking business.” You stand. There is no reason to continue this. “Yoongi will kill you when he figures it out. Take my offer. He won’t give you one.”
“I can convince your husband of anything.”
You laugh in her face. “I didn’t believe that lie when you first tried to tell me, and there is no way in hell I would believe it now.”
Your sister trembles now. She attempts to regain her composure. “Lee’s family will protect me.”
“Anyone left in that family doesn’t give a shit about you. I don’t give a shit about you. Take the money and leave, or stay until Yoongi figures out what you did. He’ll make it quick out of respect for me.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me this way?”
You turn and walk down the hallway. “Like I said. Make your choice.”
“I was supposed to get married first.” She calls out. “I was the one who was supposed to get the money and the cars and the designer clothes. Me,” she shouts.
You shut the door behind you, get in the [car] and drive away.
Yoongi is finishing a phone call when you arrive. He’s in bed, and you join him.
“Where you’ve been?” he asks, throwing down the phone.
“Just running errands,” you answer, kicking off your shoes.
“Leave those on,” he says, but he says nothing else. He’s too busy kissing you.
&&&
You enter the club, nodding to Jungkook behind the bar. It’s still early, so the place isn’t crowded. The tables are mostly empty. You look up to see Yoongi gesture for you to join him. He’s got someone, clearly an idiot, in a vice grip. Yoongi’s hand clenches the man’s shoulder. The weaker man winces from the pain. You raise an eyebrow at Yoongi, but he doesn’t give you any clue what’s going on.
“Hi, baby,” he says, kissing your cheek and not letting up his grip.
“This gentleman had a few things to say about you.”
“So, not very smart, then.”
Yoongi shook his head in mock sadness. “Not at all. I’m sorry to say he called you a bitch.”
You laugh. This is something you’ve heard before and you will again. But Yoongi takes defending you seriously, and you let him.
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Well, the problem is, baby, then he called you my secretary.”
“The hell?” You cross your arms across your chest and stare the man down. You felt sorry for him for a moment ago, but not anymore.
Yoongi laughs. “What do you want me to do with him?”
Yoongi rarely lets you decide. It’s heady, and it feels sort of wonderful to know that Yoongi will take whatever action you want to make sure this guy understands insults aren’t taken lightly.
You smile and the guy relaxes, thinking this means he’s safe.
He’s apologizing when you interrupt, turning to Yoongi.
“Give me your jacket first. I like that suit, and I don’t want you to get blood on it.”
Yoongi smiles, and he removes his jacket. Then he rolls up his sleeves. He won’t do anything too terrible. Just enough to teach this man a lesson.
“Don’t take long,” you say. “We have business to discuss.”
You weave through the room to your office.
A short time later, you look up from the laptop you are barely focusing on to see Yoongi enter the room. His shirt has blood on it, and his knuckles look injured.
“He hurt you?” you ask, rising from the chair and rushing to meet him.
Yoongi shakes his head. “It wasn’t much. Just made sure he won’t talk about you again.”
You stare down at the blood on his shirt, the way sweat clings to his neck from the beating he gave the other man, and the way his knuckles are red and raw. There is something seriously wrong with you because it only makes you want him more.
You put a hand to his cheek. “Yoongi?”
“Yeah,” he says absently, trying to pour a drink.
“What would you have done if I said something else?”
“Look, I would’ve let him go as much as I don’t like showing leniency in these situations—”
“No, what would you have done if I wanted something more?”
He takes a moment to figure out what you’re asking, and when he does, he doesn’t hesitate.
“I’ll do anything you ask, baby. You know that.” He shrugs.
But you can’t believe it, you can’t believe this man who has the city shaking with fear will put himself in your hands.
You kiss him, and you pour everything into the kiss that you can’t quite say yet, can’t admit to yourself.
“You like that?” he teases. He kisses you, nipping at your lips. Your husband even has the gall to pull back, take a sip of whiskey like he has all the time in the fucking world for this conversation. When he kisses you again, the alcohol on his tongue makes you feel drunk. One hand comes up to hold your neck. He knows what he’s doing when he sips again, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Oh, you really like that.”
You moan and pull him back to his chair where you push him into it.
“All you have to do is ask,” he says.
He’s a fucking menace.
The sight of someone else’s blood on his shirt is doing things go you. All he had to do to see how wet you’d gotten was lift your skirt. You could feel it soaking through your pantie.
He settles himself into the chair, holding his glass and taking a drink, watching you while you kneel before him.
You reach up to unbuckle his belt and he sets his glass on the desk. Yoongi doesn’t exactly, uh, he’s not exactly a passive participant. It’s taken you a while, but he’s taught you well what he likes. He’s hard from the kissing, seeing you in this position, and probably from you admitting how much you like it when he takes matters into his own hands.
His grip from his cock slips as you take over, replacing his hand with yours, wrapping your hand around his thick girth. You are so greedy for a taste of him. You wonder if he’ll deny you the opportunity. He has in the past, just to prove a point, just to make sure by the time you get your mouth on him you’re desperate and sloppy for him. You ghost your lips over the slick head of his cock. When you lick long and wet over the slit at the top, he doesn’t hide his moan. It spurs you on to hear him, to know he wants you and no one else. You lap all around the swollen head until he bucks into your mouth. This isn’t a time for teasing. You suck as much as you can into your mouth, so greedy and frantic that you barely feel the strain on your jaw. You push yourself to take more, and you choke a little. He groans, putting a hand on your hair. He definitely likes it when you push yourself. You’ve always been a dedicated student. With his hand in your hair, he regulates the speed of your mouth on him. Slow on the downslide, quick on the up, getting steadily faster. He gives you a reprieve, letting you breathe, before pushing in again. He holds you there, and you can feel the tears welling in your eyes. You think about the way your throat will be sore, the way your knees will look red and bruised when this is over. The thought makes you moan. You look up at Yoongi as he watches you on his dick, a dark look in his eye.
Your pussy is wet and it’s slick between your thighs. You feel so filthy on this floor, his cock in your mouth, willing to do whatever he asks. A tear slides down your cheek, and he groans, “Fuck, what you do to me.”
You continue to work yourself over his cock, sloppy and greedy, spit running down your chin, the salty taste of him spurring you on. “I’m close,” he says. His words make you want to give in immediately. Give him exactly what he wants, but a new wicked part of you wants to tease, wants to hear him beg in the lust choked voice. His grip on your hair tightens. So that’s not happening tonight. The hand you have on the thick base of him tightens and tugs, rather than a stroke. He lifts his hips, forcing you to take him deeper, and he floods your mouth with spurt after spurt of cum, hot and thick. He whispers your name as he comes down from his high until he looks as flushed and fucked out as you feel.
His breath comes in short pants and licks his lips, just looking at the state you’re in. You rub your legs together, wishing that you could give yourself some kind of release. It would take so little for you to come. He can’t leave you like this, can he?
“Come here,” he says.
You rise, trying to gather yourself, unable to think about anything other than getting off.
“You’re so sweet, you know that?” He stands from the chair, and you lean against the desk for support. One hand grips your throat, so perfectly your breath hitches.
He smiles. “I know what you like. No one else.”
“No one else.”
“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”
“Yoongi, please I wanna, I need …”
He rudely pushes a hand up your thigh and reaches for your panties. He just rubs the slick material, feeling your stiff clit, just aching for his touch or for his mouth.
But he’s as slow as he was fast forcing you down his cock, and it’s a pleasant torture to be strung out like this. Existing only to be played by him.
Finally, when you think you might scream in frustration. He gives you the attention you need.
“That’s it, baby, come for me.”
When you do your pleasure bursts so bright it almost hurts. The release is intense. You slump over and he catches you, pulling you into the chair with him.
You curl around him, catching your breath as he puts his arms around you.
Biting your lip, you look up at him. “You think... maybe, there’s something wrong with me that I’m so…”
“Ready to suck my dick because I just made sure a man who insulted you is on the ground in a bloody heap,” he finishes.
“Well, yeah.”
“Nah, you were made for me. That’s all.”
He doesn’t think twice. There is no weighing the sides, no thoughtful discussion of what it all means, the world you two inhabit, the violence that is an inherent part of it. He’ll die before anyone hurts you again. This is all that really matters, you realize. The world comprises the two of you. Anyone else is on the outside. Maybe in another life you would’ve met, been something different to each other, but it doesn't matter. This is what you got, a man who loves you and will do anything he can to protect you. You will deal with judgment if it comes for you both, but before then, you’ll make sure he knows exactly what you’ll do for him.
“I told you, we’re perfect together. You don’t have to worry about anything now.”
You believe him. It’s a long time before you move from the way he holds you. The way he makes sure you have what you need. He doesn’t lie, and you don’t hide yourself from him. That’s the deal.
x
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a/n Thanks for reading! I'm working on some new stories, but as usual, don't know when I will post. Today is Thanksgiving in the US, and if you are with family this week, and you need some positive energy - remember that they don't define you, and you will find a path of your own, even if it takes more time and work than you hoped.
Tag list.
@raplinenoona, @september-husband, @purest-expressionofgrief
@katieraven @titty-ambulance @bangtannie7 @lunaria88 @savgogh @scuzmunkie
