Soft, romantic and drunk bf Yoongi waking you up by going down on you when he gets in late after a night of drink (with OT7/ after suchwita/ whatever) in which he could not stop thinking about you and your pussy.
I can even give inspo: tu mbl r.co m/poutyniall/714256286018142208/tongue-technology
yeah hey hi hello thanks for sending this. after only receiving PG requests this really sent me into a spiral.
crescendo
pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used, but gendered terms are used for genitalia)
genre: established relationship au; smut, fluff
warnings: alcohol, swearing, yoongi is tipsy and just a horny pining disaster, previously discussed and consenting somnophilia, oral sex, unedited.
rating: explicit. minors do not interact.
wordcount: 1k
listen to: middle of the night by elley duhé
Amongst his group of friends, Yoongi is the only one who gets like this when he’s drunk.
Some people regress and act half their age (Seokjn). Some people are overly-affectionate and stumble over compliments (Jimin). Some people try to pick philosophical debates over the point at which bread ceases to be bread and becomes toast (Namjoon). Some people bypass the philosophical entirely and go straight to the conspiratorial (Taehyung). Some people take one sip and slump over in the booth, moaning that they’re half-dead (Hoseok). Finally, some people don’t even bother to show up, because they’re too busy staying home and playing Overwatch to check their texts (Jungkook).
Yoongi, though—Yoongi gets horny.
The kind of horny that has him looking away each time someone’s tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of alcohol. The kind of horny that has him doing complex mathematical equations in his head to determine if he could conceivably lock himself in a bathroom stall and get it out of his system before anyone becomes suspicious. The kind of horny that has him sending you half-legible text messages under the table, detailing every dirty thing he wants to do to you, despite the fact you told him hours ago you were going to shower and go to sleep.
Fuck. He needs to get out of here.
“Aw, look at Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin teases, and everyone except Hoseok creates a chorus of laughter. Yoongi’s cheeks burn, made worse by the garish yellow-red lights of this bar. “I can’t decide if I should be jealous or concerned.”
Namjoon scoffs. “Why would you be concerned, Jimin-ah? Sex is a normal, beautiful thing, and it’s absolute bullshit that people use it as a point of shame—”
“Yeah, okay, that’s my cue,” Seokjin says around a fake gag. “Who had the tab tonight? Just send me a request—”
“You had the tab, you fucker—”
Seokjin hears none of it. Just says, “Mm, bye,” and then he’s gone. Which is Yoongi’s cue too, because he’s the second-oldest and therefore second in command, and the rest of them won’t even hesitate to stick him with the bill because it happens every single time it’s Seokjin’s turn to pay.
So he lies. Says, “Hyung will pay it in a minute. Gotta piss first,” and stumbles out the back.
He’ll hear about it later, if not from his four dongsaengs then certainly his ancestors, but he needs to be home. Needs to feel you spread out beneath him—your sleep-warmed skin, still soft from your shower, the scent of your body wash stubbornly clinging on. Needs to press his lips to every inch of it. Needs the smell and taste of you overwhelming him. Needs to hear all those little sounds you make.
The longer this taxi ride drags on, the more paranoid he becomes. Can the driver tell how fucked up he is in his backseat? Can he see the way Yoongi’s fingers are gripping the worn leather? How desperately he’s trying to keep quiet every time something explicit plays in his memory? He’d understand, Yoongi thinks; he’d understand if he knew you, saw you. He wouldn’t be able to blame Yoongi at all.
Seoul passes by in a blur, all neon reds and blues and whites. Everything is still so alive, even at this god-forsaken hour, and it makes him dizzy. Has his head spinning. He’s drunk and he’s horny and he just wants to be next to you.
Somehow, he manages to dig his phone out of his pocket despite how tight they’ve grown over the last hour. Goes straight to his texts, pointedly ignores all the ones in the groupchat yelling at him and Seokjin, and presses on your name. He’s less drunk now than he was before, but the messages still don’t make sense. Yoongi groans, throws his head back against the seat. Next time he’s just going to skip the bullshit and send you pictures. No use speaking in tongues when hieroglyphics could work much better.
The next five minutes play out like this: the taxi stops outside your building, Yoongi hands over a stack of money that’s undoubtedly too thick, he stumbles up the steps two at a time, so close yet still too far away.
And then there’s the door.
“This okay, baby?”
A nip of teeth at the junction of your thigh. Hands gripping at your waist, fingers dimpling your skin. Warm breath ghosting over your wet cunt. Yoongi’s head between your thighs as he kneels on the bed. You’re unsure if you’re conscious or not, but as you tangle your hands in Yoongi’s soft hair, you decide it doesn’t matter.
So you nod, angle your hips closer to Yoongi’s face. A whisper-soft gasp when he presses a kiss to your thigh, one to your clit; a strangled moan when you feel him smile against you before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up your slit.
“Fuck,” he groans, doing it again, pulling away only long enough to say, “thought about this pussy all fucking night. You taste so good.”
Yoongi indulges in your body the way other people indulge in vices: incessantly, obsessively. But you aren’t a vice, are you? You’re not something to be ashamed of; not something wicked. As Yoongi continues working you over with his mouth, so sloppy and overeager you can feel it dampening the sheets beneath you, it feels like reverence.
It isn’t long before the heat starts simmering in your belly. Not long before everything starts feeling overwhelming; before your visions starts blurring at the edges. “Yoong, I’m—”
He hums against your core. Sucks hard once at your clit, and then you’re tumbling over the edge. “Goddamn, I love you,” Yoongi says into your skin. “That’s it, give it to me, baby, I love you.”
It feels predestined.
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