“Just.. how it’s made. And knowing he’s gone.” Yoongi shifts beside you, head lolling onto your shoulder before he gently inhales. “This feeling.”
When he doesn’t elaborate—choosing to close his eyes and sigh instead—you turn to regard his features. So soft, but with hints of melancholy lingering still.
Yoongi doesn’t have to explain, though. While words and chords slowly swirl around the room, you feel lulled into something deep. Something lost. Dark blues and jagged amber.
It’s clear why you both feel this way. So you quietly offer to change it before he hums,
“S’ok, doll.”
“You sure?”
“Run it again,” he says instead, burying his nose into you a little more. Another inhale.
And when he explains why, you rest your head on his with a panging chest,
@chaoticabstractism asked: 1, 79, 82, 95. You already know whom I want, but I’m still gonna say it: Min fucking yoongi
pairing: yoongi x reader, ft. literally one second of hoseok lol
contains: smut!! dom husband yoongi need i say more 🥵🥵, reader is a brat and had too much tequila (not drunk just horny), minor dirty talk/teasing/ass grabbing, suggested infidelity as teasing, semi-public indecency (at the office party/in a car in the parking lot), spanking as punishment, thigh riding, a smidge of crying, squirting-ish? idk she's ~juicy
summary: when you misbehave at his office party, your husband has no choice but to punish you.
want more? check out all my birthday drabbles here!
requests for these are now closed 💜
Your husband should have known better than to leave you unattended at a party with an open bar. He’s being professional about it tonight, nursing a single glass of whiskey while he schmoozes with all the fancy record label people who want a piece of him. You can hardly blame them.
But you are under no such obligation. This is not your place of work, you barely know anyone here– and frankly, you’re bored. Yoongi promised it would only be an hour at most, but it’s been nearly two.
So you’ve done a few tequila shots. There was really nothing else to do. Leaning up against the bar, you take another sip from your glass of water in an attempt to pace yourself. You don’t want to be the drunkest one in the room, but there are a gaggle of men that Yoongi sarcastically dubbed the “finance bros” who seem to have that title on lock for the night. Which, in your estimation, means you have room to get a little silly.
Just as his name enters your mind, the mass of people in the center of the room parts, and your husband steps through, eyes clearly scanning for you. Speak of the devil. As much as you love the casual version of him in t-shirts and joggers that you encounter daily, there’s something about him in a suit that really does it for you.
God, you could jump him right now. Maybe tequila was a bad choice.
Yoongi’s eyes alight on you, and you see some emotion on his face that looks like a mixture of concern and intrigue. He’s probably piecing together the fact that he just disappeared to mingle for a solid thirty minutes, and that he left you alone at the bar– and that you’re now making aggressive bedroom eyes in his direction.
When you shoot him a wink, you swear he crosses the room in three seconds.
“What are you doing?”
You look up at him innocently, trying to hide your smile. “Standing. Waiting for you. Drinking tequila.” His eyes widen at the last one. Your husband is well aware of the liquor’s effect on you– there’s a reason he chose Mexico for your honeymoon.
“How much have you had?”
“I’m fine, Yoongi.” You giggle a little despite yourself as you bring your hand up to gently cup his face. “You just look really good, that’s all.”
He sighs, giving you a few seconds to squish his cheek undisturbed before he brings his hand up to cover yours and pulls you off of him. You intertwine your fingers with his as he smooths his other hand over your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“I’m sorry this is taking so long. There are a bunch of executives from overseas here that I didn’t account for. I promise I’m almost done.”
“Wanna do a shot with me?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, tugging on your joined hands, and you see a muscle in his jaw work.
“Nope, I’m cutting you off. I need all of your clothes to stay on in front of my coworkers, please.”
“Yoongi!” You stomp your foot like a literal child. “I’m not drunk!”
He surveys you for a moment, then nods. “You’re not. You’re horny, which is arguably worse.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he releases your hand, sliding his palm to press against the small of your back instead. You swear you can feel the heat of his touch radiate up your spine, and it feels so good you have to let your eyes flutter closed for a moment. Maybe he has a point.
“Come on,” Yoongi prompts you, and when you open your eyes again, you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Let’s do one more round so I can show off my hot wife to everyone, and then I’ll take you home.”
You beam at his compliment, finding his tie with one hand and giving the end of it a gentle tug. “And then what are you gonna do to me?”
He only quirks an eyebrow in answer, but it’s an answer you know well: Everything.
Yoongi shakes his head a little, but his smile is even more apparent now as he once again extracts himself from your grip. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “Now, behave.”
You allow him to guide you through various groups of his coworkers, and you do your best to smile and exchange pleasantries like you aren’t overwhelmingly turned on.
When conversations spin off into tangents full of music industry jargon, your thoughts wander to inappropriate places before you can stop them. Not that you want to. There are multiple occasions where someone says your name, clearly having just asked a question, and you have to snap back to reality and ask them to repeat it, because you were absolutely not paying attention; you were too busy thinking about getting railed by your husband. You don’t say the last part out loud.
Yoongi keeps sneaking glances at you, and whenever he notices that glazed-over look in your eyes, he keeps you in check with a gentle shoulder nudge or hip bump. You scrunch your nose up at him in frustration when he does– you don’t want to be kept in check.
Well, you do, but not in that way.
As you stand there, trying not to go cross-eyed over an excruciating sidebar between the director of something and the head of who-gives-a-shit, you do your best to be subtle about it. You turn your head away from the group, lips floating right by Yoongi’s ear, and keep your voice low enough that only he can hear.
“I’m too wet to stand here and listen to this.”
His eyebrows nearly jump off his forehead, and you watch his gaze flit over every other person in the circle, clearly checking to make sure no one heard you. There’s a moment’s pause where you think that reaction might be all you get, and then he ducks his head and murmurs his response.
“What did you just say?”
You try to keep the evil out of your smile, beaming at him pleasantly, like you’re talking about grocery shopping or your next vacation. “You heard me.”
The hand pressed to your lower back moves in a gentle circle, but his next words are anything but. “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that, darling.”
The pet name is almost enough to make you laugh out loud, and you can’t help but press your luck. It might get you out of here faster, you reason.
“I hope you don’t, cutie.” Lightning-quick to avoid detection, you bring your hand to his ass for a firm squeeze.
Yoongi full-body flinches, enough that the important businessperson standing to his right glances over to make sure he’s okay. Your husband has fast reflexes, thankfully, because he quickly presses his mouth into his elbow, feigning a cough to cover your bad behavior.
“Excuse me,” he says politely, and it seems to be enough to avoid suspicion. The mind-numbing conversation continues without you.
“You’re going to regret that, sweetheart.” His voice is deadly serious in your ear, and you run your tongue along your back teeth as you smile up at him.
“You keep threatening me with a good time, Yoongs. Not the best tactic if you’re trying to get me to stop.”
Yoongi’s jaw twitches, but he says nothing, trying to be an obedient little worker and keep up with the discussion that you couldn’t care less about. With a frustrated sigh, you continue to glance over his shoulder, your gaze finding the gaggle of finance bros again.
They’re hovering closest to the speakers that are blasting terribly bland pop music– you’d think a music industry party would have better taste– and have clearly challenged each other to some kind of dance battle. Your head tilts slightly as you watch them, grateful for any form of entertainment, and you realize that you actually do remember one of their names.
Jung Hoseok. He and Yoongi have known each other for ages, and he’s always been sweet to you. And, damn, you did not know he could move like that.
You dip your head towards Yoongi’s ear again, more determined than ever to rile him up. “Maybe I should ask Hoseok to fuck me instead. He certainly looks like he knows what he’s doing, just look at those hips.”
You’ve never seen your husband fight harder to suppress rage in his life. Before he can come up with any sort of reply, one of the boring conversationalists pipes up. “I think I need another round. Anyone else?” You wave to indicate your disinterest while Yoongi stays stock-still, and the circle dissipates to head for the bar, leaving the two of you alone together.
You slide both of your hands up your husband’s chest, trying to act sweet, like you didn’t just discuss fucking his coworker. “Can we please leave now?”
When you look up at him through your lashes, he has a familiar dark glint in his eyes– you know what that look means, and it’s enough to have every muscle in your body tensing with the knowledge that he will absolutely be wrecking you when you get home.
“Come on,” he grunts, and the hand pressing into your back is insistent now, pushing you forward. Yoongi doesn’t relent until you’re out of the building entirely and standing in front of his car in the parking lot.
But the next words out of his mouth surprise you. “Back seat. Now.”
You open the car door and slide in obediently, watching through the window as he circles around to get in on the other side. When he turns to look at you, you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes burn with such intensity.
He smacks a hand over his knee, loud enough that you jump a little. “Get up here. Bend over. I’m not kidding.”
Oh, fuck. It’s all you can do not to smile in a mix of delight and terrified anticipation as you crawl across the seat and lay over his knee.
Yoongi wastes no time, instantly hiking your dress up to expose your ass, and you outright moan when his hand roughly cups your sex over your panties. They're soaked through with your arousal that’s been building up all night, enough that your inner thighs stick together. The fact that any of his coworkers could walk out into the parking lot and see you like this just sends a fresh wave straight to your cunt.
“I told you to behave,” Yoongi says starkly, and you grit your teeth to bite back a whimper.
His hand cracks down so hard over your exposed ass that you shoot forward a little, some primal instinct to get away from the pain kicking in. The motion makes your cunt grind over his leg, and your thighs tremble at the sudden stimulation after such a long night of waiting for it, the insane mix of pain and pleasure.
“Oh, shit,” you hiss, but Yoongi speaks over you.
“That is for talking dirty in front of my coworkers. Ready for another?” The fact that he asks, that he’s taking care of you even now, isn’t lost on you. God, you love this man.
Your clit throbs in desperation, and you slowly nod your head. The second spank lands even harder than the first, giving you enough momentum that you rock against his thigh a few times, and you’re edged so hard now that you’re nearly delirious.
“That,” Yoongi continues, “is for grabbing my ass in public.”
“F-fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out, realizing belatedly that a tear is streaming down your face. You don’t think you’re going to make it.
“What is it, love?” His voice is instantly gentler, and he brings his hand up to run tenderly over the skin he’s just abused. “Just one more, and then we’re done.”
“I-I,” you gasp, trying to think straight enough to form words, your forehead pressing hard into the leather of the backseat. “I n-need it. Please, please. Don’t hold back.”
“Wasn’t planning on it, because this one’s for suggesting that you’d like to fuck Hoseok.”
His hand comes down so hard across your backside that you swear you see stars. Your whole body was shaking even before he made contact, and the way this third smack forces your cunt to slide over his leg a final time is too much.
You cry out, not giving a fuck if anyone else in the parking lot might be able to hear, as an unexpected yet simultaneously edged-all-night orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching hard around nothing.
You continue to rut against Yoongi’s thigh as your walls pulse, and you can feel fluid leaking out of you, fully running down your leg and probably soaking into his dress pants.
“Oh my god.” The angry, dominating persona has suddenly evaporated from Yoongi’s voice. “Did you seriously just come?”
“Yes,” you groan into the seat, still recovering.
You feel his hands move to cup your shoulders, and you allow him to sit you up, feeling like a weightless rag-doll. He wipes away one of the tears that are still running down your face.
“Jesus fucking christ, you’re a mess,” Yoongi laughs, but you know he says it with love because he chases it with a gentle kiss. “Let’s get you home, hmm?”
You can only nod dumbly in agreement.
“I have a bruised ego to tend to,” he continues dryly. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you that Jung fucking Hoseok won’t go down on you for an hour.”
