KPOP X READER SMUTS ONESHOTS FF

MYG🔞

“Look at you, gem.”

Either of your digits slicks to the back of his throat. Yoongi’s saliva is an elixir. So lush and heated. It feels like dripping fizz— and looks like it, bubbling down his neck: Sporadic now. Taking it slow. You dip in farther to explore.

The spartan room is still beside his little plaints, drawn out, in seemingly endless lament about how he can’t ever lick your fingers long enough without becoming entirely desperate. Yoongi’s lithe hips are bucking up already. He’s not the only one frustrated. Through the hassle of moving, you couldn’t share an hour or two last week. That means: Catching up.

An austere breeze outside carries away a drift of snow from the balcony. But you don’t have to worry about being warm. Yoongi is ravishing today. Almost naughty. With his glossed over eyes, and after drawing off his berry red shirt, in a fresh black tank top since he came out of the shower. To neither of your demise, it’s only shoved up half his chest at this point, leaving his shoulders a free space to roam across with your other, arguably less busy hand.

You feel desire for him like you did at the lake last vacation in Lyon, and the night you went clubbing on New Year’s Eve. And now you’re here. Moved in together.

The snap of your hips is not yet enough to imbue your core with enough friction. More movement. Heavier gliding. Demure, he hardly manages to keep up with the rhythm. He’s hopeless. He’s helpless. His spit is like an emollient to your fingers. Submitting him to you comes one grind at a time, leaving his crotch bulging out at the front of his boxers, but loins unsatisfied. The more he drools, the bigger his eyes become.

Rubbing yourself against him so blatantly comes with the delights of a scorching hot feeling between your legs. Which ever so slowly wanders through your gut, your chest, your neck, until it arrives at your lips that spill out praise and pleasured sighs. And those are Yoongi’s favorite. Snow or not, it’s far too fervid in your pajamas by now.

You treasure the moment of sobriety following the second you slip off his thigh. A grind’s good. A ride is better.

Yoongi’s boxers are alleviated from the strain of bursting or getting a dose of pre-cum blotches. Undressing him leaves his nimble legs with upright fuzz on them. Making him blush is pretty genial, and it’s copious, but Yoongi’s goosebumps are something else. His pretty little dick twitches under your eyeing, resembling a snowdrop in the wind. The tip is pliant like a wet bud under your pressing thumb that pursues its gratuitous work to the beat of Yoongi’s pulse.

“How do you say, cupcake?”

“Thank you.”

You love that name. The mattress creaks a little. Stroking away, you tap his chest.

“Recline.”

Yoongi leans back into the white pillows as told. The room is pallid and a bore, but not the bed: Now that he’s splayed out on it, and you peel off his tank top completely. Your favorite part. Yoongi is a hundred times more interesting to unpack than the cardboard moving boxes lounging around the room.

Skin so smooth, no photograph could do it justice. A soft stomach. Bulky arms and bony fumbling hands at your hip until your pajamas dangle, then drop off the edge of the bed.

His cute dick makes for a nice, nearly pinkish crocus flower flat against his abdomen. Soon quite fittingly adorned by a lubed condom with a strange lilac tint, which you thought was all too cheesy to buy, but it’s Yoongi, Yoongi likes purple, and it’s Valentine’s day. Purple dick it is. You’ve been horny to ride him all day. And using a certain... something. A little help from a friend can’t hurt.