BTS Smut Oneshot's/ BTS SMUT Bakery

Behind Closed Doors |MYG x Reader | M

This kinda in the same setting as my other Yoongi story called Tell Me. You don't necessarily have to read that story to read this one...but if you want to, knock yourself out.
A collection of BTS oneshots, from my old Tumblr. This one was actually a request, they wanted Yoongi to basically be soft looking and a dominant shit in bed so bam this was born. Not beta'd all mistakes are mine.

Summary: Your relationship started in the dark of closed doors, it's only fitting that he reminds you just who belonged to appearance be damned. You were his and no and his only.

Warnings: Possessiveness, slight degradation, cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex-_____________________________________
The bass thrummed through your body, vibrating the room with each drop of the beat. Your third shot had now made its way through your system, warming your body with a pleasant buzz, and unwinding your tense muscles. You allowed the music to guide your hips as you softly swayed to the packed nightclub tunes. This was the remedy you needed, an alcohol-induced get away from this hellish week of adulthood. You focused your heavy eyes over to your boyfriend, taking in his appearance. Observing his facial features, you couldn't help but admire his smooth skin, glowing almost unnaturally under the bright club lights. His silver hair fell softly against his face, delicate fingers setting stray strands back in place. Your gaze traveled down his face, settling on his cheeks, and the oh so boopable button nose adorned with a slight blush courtesy of his second glass of champagne.

You licked at your own lips subconsciously, eyeing his pouty lips tinted a cherry red, plump and glossy. Your eyes tracked further down his body, scanning his outfit. A black jacket sat on his shoulders, the sides decorated with tiny glitter specks, a crème colored satin blouse made up his undershirt. His black slacks flawlessly molded around his thin legs, making them look longer and sleek, a pair of black loafers on his feet. Yoongi's outfit was brought together with the white choker that sat upon his neck, a small gold chain following it, holding your name's initials. You did a once-over of your lover once again smiling to yourself, he was a fines piece of ass, sitting in the private V.I.P section, One hand draped casually over the back of the leather couch.

His legs elegantly crossed against one another, his other hand holding a glass of wine, bringing it to his lips with precision and delicacy (pinky stuck out with class). He was the epitome of softness laced with an intense sexual appeal. Many people questioned why you chose to be with him, complaining about him being too 'soft-looking' or 'feminine-looking.'

"Not manly enough!" They would say, and the complaints went on and on.

"But he sure does fuck me like one!" Is what you wanted to say, what you would say if Yoongi would let you. Instead, he tells you to ignore them but damn if it isn't a struggle. If you had a dollar for every unwanted opinion shared, you would be like only a $100 richer, but hey money was money, and the comments were fucking annoying. But on the contrary, what the naysayers didn't was that Yoongi was almost a separate entity behind closed doors. That softness turned sharp and deadly, discarded once he over that bedroom threshold. You quivered at the remembrance of the past downright filthy escapades the two of you have shared. Returning your attention back to the dance floor, you swallowed down your fourth shot of the night, letting the burn settle in your chest. You weren't drunk, you weren't sober either, but you were definitely tipsy and beginning to feel good. With a 'whoop,' you threw your hands in the air, moving your hips faster with the music's beat, the tight dress you wore rising up with every swivel of your hips and body roll. Enjoying yourself, you sense failed to alert you of the approaching present behind until you felt something, or instead, someone grips your waist throwing off your rhythm.

The unknown offender pressed his groin against your ass, trying and failing miserably to catch the tempo of your swaying hips. You were assaulted with the stench of cheap scotch and vomit, your stomach flipping with nausea, sending shudders of revulsion down your spine. You spun in his arms, adamant on shoving his repugnant body off yours, the night officially ruined.