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prettypearlypisces · 3 months

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𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 (𝔪) | 𝔪𝔶𝔤

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: yoongi x f.reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: m (18+); MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 | 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔢 | 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: complete | one-shot | fluff and smut

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: "I think I can help you sleep better."

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰 & 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: smut, explicit language, sleepy yoongi struggling with burnout :((( , taking a shower together <3, long hair Valentino yoongi 🧎🏻‍♀️, dick bulge through the silk pants 🫡 , oral sex (m. receiving), flexible dom/sub dynamics (they each take charge at certain points, but it's nothing intense), praise (yoongi calls her "pretty/good girl" 🫠), slight hair pulling/grabbing, face-fucking, finger sucking + a paragraph talking about Yoongi's hands, a lil bit of gagging, cum swallowing, might as well add body worship from how much reader talks about how gorgeous he is, yoongi's thighs ♡, spit/drooling, slight ball play, reader sniffs the balls because she's like that lmao, reader doesn't touch herself or cum, this list is nasty but I promise you they're very sweet with each other 😭, cuddling <3, this is about sucking dick it should not be this long

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: ~4.8k

𝔞/𝔫: hello! this is my first fic ever on this blog. I rewatched all the Valentino Yoongi content recently, saw him looking scumptious in these pajamas, and next thing you know we're here 💀 I haven't written anything this long (that is non-academic) in a very, very long time, so I would ask that you please be nice and bear with me. But I do plan to get better the more I write. That said, I hope you enjoy! 🤍

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔞𝔰𝔨 | 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 | 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

“You need to relax.”

Your voice was insistent but gentle, much like your fingers buried in Yoongi’s thick hair, and he closed his eyes and leaned into your palms as you worked shampoo into his scalp. A quiet whimper escaped his lips as you circled your fingertips against a tense muscle at the base of his skull.

He was overworking himself again, frustration making his shoulders taut and wearing his patience thin. His eye bags were puffy, exhaustion evident in his eyes. It pained you to know that he hadn’t given himself a break over the past few weeks. Yoongi was so passionate, something you adored about him – but you knew that when inspiration struck, sometimes he had the tendency to push himself too hard, for too long. Now it left him on the brink of burnout.

That’s where you came in. Yoongi had been glued to his desk before you came in and practically forced him from his chair. He made weak protests as you dragged him out of his home studio and forced him into the bathroom, but he’d shrugged off his clothes anyway as you turned on the warm water.

Now you both stood under the warm sprinkle while you washed his hair. Yoongi let out pleased purr-like sounds from deep in his throat that made you grin. He reminded you of a wet, docile cat resigned to its bath time.

When it was time to rinse, you cupped your hand over his brows to block any soap from getting in his eyes as water poured over his head. Then you took your fingers and gently rubbed along his neck to clean him and hopefully melt any tension there. Yoongi held your wrist and gently rubbed his thumb along your skin, his way of giving you a silent thank you. Warmth bloomed in your chest, so you planted a kiss on his fingers – your own silent “you're welcome” that wouldn’t disrupt the nighttime quiet.

You held him close, rubbing down his chest and stomach with a soapy rag. Thick bubbles lathered from his shoulders all the way down to his fingers before swirling down the drain.

Around his hips and butt, you were sure to be gentle, even gripping one of his cheeks playfully. Yoongi pouted, whiny, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the red that dusted his cheeks before his face broke out into a small, tired smile. Meanwhile, Yoongi set about reaching down to clean himself. He wasn’t overtly prude but he did always prefer to do this part himself, so you crouched down carefully and made your way down his legs.

You focused on softly rubbing down Yoongi’s legs and even leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on the skin. You couldn’t explain it, but you adored Yoongi’s thighs. You loved touching them, holding them, kissing them. Biting them. A small pool of heat bloomed in you as you realized that you were now eye-level with his cock too, driving you to give him a more forceful, hungry kiss. The thought of taking him into your mouth, right here and now, crossed your mind, fueled by the simmering image of Yoongi’s head thrown back in bliss, body glistening from the shower water. Unfortunately, you knew from experience that water wasn’t conducive to sex, and the thought of soap getting in your eyes and nose was not in the least bit appealing.

With great restraint, you pulled away and scrubbed his calves and feet. As soon as you were done, Yoongi hauled you up and scrubbed you down with the same gentle ease as you had given him. He made sure to shield your hair from the pouring water, since you’d clipped it up to keep it from getting wet. Your tummy quivered when Yoongi passed his hand between your legs, a small look of mischief glinting in his knowing eyes when you bit your lip. But he continued his downward path, leaving you feeling warmer than steam.

A part of you ached, feeling how tender he was being with you, even when he was tired, even when you were the one trying to take care of him. He always was. Yoongi’s eyes flickered down to your face and must have seen something in it, because his eyes were soft when he met your gaze again.

“I want to take care of you, too,” he said. You didn’t say anything, but the shy turn of your lips was enough to tell him how you felt.

When you were done, Yoongi shut off the shower and reached out to wrap you in a spare towel, rubbing your shoulders and back all the way down your torso and legs. Then Yoongi deftly unwound the towel and used it to dry himself. You wrinkled your nose.

“You should use your own towel,” you complained, but there was no malice in your words. Yoongi only chuckled and pulled you close.

“I’m tired,” he countered with a playful whine. “And impatient.”

A laugh bubbled from your mouth and he rubbed his nose against your temple. Your cheeks warmed when he shifted and you felt a subtle tell-tale poke against your hip, but before you could say anything, he pulled away with a soft rub on your tummy to slip into his pajamas and finish his night routine.

You were left to do the same, but now you felt anything but sleepy.

The festering heat that had been lingering inside you now sparked into a deep desire. As you pulled on your pajamas – a simple tank top and sleep shorts – you thought of Yoongi’s hands on you, thought of his skin underneath your own wandering palms.

Then you chided yourself. Don’t be selfish, you thought. He’s tired. Let him rest. You knew it was true. Yoongi was probably exhausted and would have no energy to do what you wanted, and it wasn’t fair to expect that of him right now. Besides, you reasoned, it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep him up longer than you already had.

You made your way to the bedroom, which beckoned you with its deep blues and cozy greys.

Yoongi’s room was a nighttime haven. He liked to keep it as comfortable as possible, with soft carpets and downy pillows. Next to his large bed sat a settee, your robe robe sprawled across it from when you’d tossed it before the shower.

Once you sat on the plush duvet, you almost immediately felt your eyelids become droopy. You were almost glad for the gentle tug of drowsiness, which quelled your desire enough to make sleep bearable.

Until Yoongi came into the bedroom – and any thoughts you had about sleep immediately evaporated.

His pajamas were black silk, the fabric sleek like ink against his skin in the low light of your bedroom. He didn’t seem to notice the way you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him while he riffled through his bedside drawer for something. Socks, maybe. You couldn’t be sure, not when your mind suddenly felt hazy as you traced the line of Yoongi’s body down, down until – Oh God, was that the outline of his cock?

Swallowing almost became impossible from how heavy your tongue suddenly felt in your mouth, your eyes hungrily taking in every delicious detail of the man in front of you. His dark hair, the curve of his lips, the small shadow that pooled in the divot of his collarbone, making you want to bite bite bite.

You didn’t know why these pajamas were driving you up the wall, especially when Yoongi had been naked in front of you not long ago, but they were. They pulled your eyes to him and sparked your dampened libido back to life.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Yoongi’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. Dark eyes and a small smirk met your eyes when you finally looked up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Fuck. He knows.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, warm and red. Of course he would. He knew you. He knew you’d been aching for him ever since the shower, knew that you wouldn’t ask for what you wanted because you were supposed to be making sure he rested. But as your eyes fell again shamelessly to his veiled cock, you realized that he was just as needy as you.

Yoongi’s gaze was the same – knowing, wanting – when you met it again, but the red of your cheeks disappeared as your lips parted in an impish smile.

“Nothing,” you shrugged as you stood up from the bed, “just thinking.”

You closed the distance between you two, until the familiar smell of him, warm and woodsy, filled your head.

“I think I can help you sleep better,” you said, your finger sliding up his chest and playing with the lapel of his sleep shirt. The look Yoongi gave you made you want to get on your knees right there and then.

Yoongi’s breath was warm and sent goosebumps up your arms when he said, low and oh-so-quiet, “Show me.”

I will your eager smirk said as you took his hand.

He followed you to the settee nestled in the corner of the room and landed with a quiet poof against the cushions when you pushed him backwards and immediately kneeled between his legs.

A sly glint shone in your eye as you smoothed your hands down Yoongi’s chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, then brought them up and down his thighs over the luxurious slip of his silk pajamas, the fabric the only barrier keeping you from touching his skin.

Yoongi let you take your fill of him, leaning back against the cushions and watching you with amused eyes that made you only more eager to please him. As you worshiped him with your palms, the need to feel him everywhere overcame you. To smell him, touch him, taste him.

Your hand ghosted over where his cock was hidden, and you nearly moaned feeling the slowly-stiffening bulge. A devious bite of your lip as you looked up at him, your hands reaching for the hem of his pants. “Can I take these off?”

Yoongi huffed out a laugh, beautiful and bright. The sound made your heart swell. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sunk lower in his seat, spreading his legs wider. “Go for it.”

The pants were off in seconds and pooled around his ankles. Miles of milky white skin seemed to stretch on forever as Yoongi let you run your hands over him; his legs, his hips, his stomach and chest as your hands roamed under his shirt. You quickly unbuttoned it too, leaving his chest bare for you.

Yoongi’s dark eyes brimmed with budding arousal but still shone playfully as he watched you. A tremor ran through him as you gently scraped your nails down the skin of his navel, right above his cock. Goosebumps traveled up Yoongi’s stomach and a quick glance upwards let you know that his nipples had stiffened, but you kept your eyes on the real prize.

Semi-erect and already stiff at the base, Yoongi’s cock was flushed dusky pink at the tip. Desire coursed hot and molten through you, your hands hot as you shifted eagerly on your knees. You couldn’t wait to have him in your mouth.

Leaning in, you pressed small, fleeting kisses around his thighs, avoiding his cock entirely, getting him worked up from the teasing sensation of your lips on his skin. In truth, it helped hold you back as well. Yoongi’s pretty honey skin always filled you with the desire to mark him up. The temptation to suck on it, bite it, worry it between your teeth until bruises and bite marks bloomed all over him was strong, but instead you settled for gentle brushes of your lips.

Your hands still made their way up and around his legs, soothing and comforting. Closer and closer you made your way up, licking at warm skin. A breathy sigh made you look up: Yoongi’s head tilted back slightly as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes.

You lifted your head and rubbed around his hip bones. “Good?”

Yoongi hummed in response, the tension in him melting away as he gave you a slow smile. “So good I’m falling asleep.”

“Don’t sleep on me.”

“Keep me up,” Yoongi challenged.

You rolled your eyes and pinched his thigh playfully. “Fine, I’ll get to it.”

Settling in again, you licked your palm and fingers. You heard Yoongi gasp quietly as you wrapped your fingers around him, gently pumping your fist. His skin was hot, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Laying your head against his hip, you watched him close his eyes as he licked his lips.

“Better?” you asked with amused eyes.

Yoongi nodded. “Much better.”

You hummed, pleased. “Good.”

Once Yoongi’s cock had completely filled out, you took a moment to admire it.

You remembered, before ever seeing Yoongi naked, wondering if his cock was just as pink as his lips, his elbows, the knuckles of his long, knobby fingers. You had been pleased to find out that it was pinker, especially when erect.

The head glistened red and sticky with precum. You felt your own mouth start to drool at the thought of it between your lips: the velvety skin, the heavy weight of it against your tongue, the taste of him.

You rubbed his hips before taking his cock in your hand again.

“So fucking perfect,” you breathed, the words pouring out of your mouth before you could even think, your breath ghosting tantalizingly close to his tip. Yoongi let his head fall back in bliss as you worked your fist around him, goosebumps racing along his hips. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him splayed out above you, knowing you were making him feel so good.

Feeling bold, you continued to stroke him and leaned down to where his balls hung low. Yoongi lifted his head, eyes sharp as your tongue laved over the velvety skin before gently sucking one of the plump balls into your mouth. You held his gaze, unwavering, matching the intensity of Yoongi’s dark eyes. You hummed, pleased, then smirked slightly before placing a wet kiss where your lips had just been. Then you did the same with the other, rolling it in your mouth gently. Yoongi’s soft tongue poked out to lick at his lips before he sucked in a shaky breath, reveling in the pleasure of you playing with him

Precum slipped between your fingers and filled the room with the slick sound of the glide up and down his shaft. The wet, filthy sound drove your lust to even greater heights, and the whine Yoongi let out when you suddenly stopped stroking made your cunt ache.

His eyes met yours and the smile you gave him was absolutely sinful when you gripped your fingers around his tip to press your nose against the base of his cock. Yoongi covered his face and huffed out a laugh that broke into a strangled moan as you inhaled the clean, heady scent of him.

You hummed lowly. “Fuck, you smell so good, Yoon.”

A bead of precum dripped from the slit of his cock, and you circled it around the head with your thumb, unrelenting, until it was sensitive and glistening. You relished the way his thighs tensed at the motion, the way his hands tensed, the way he squeezed his eyes shut. A teasing lick to his head. A strangled “shit” under his breath. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to have him moaning, loudly.

You wanted him, craved the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth—

“Can’t wait to taste you,” you said innocently, then taunting. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like me to suck on your cock?”

You licked your lips, watched Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement of your purposeful tongue, then licked up the underside of his swollen, needy shaft. A low moan tumbled from Yoongi’s mouth as he shifted his hips. “Fuck—yes, please.”

Satisfied with his desperation, you brought your mouth down around the aching tip of his cock. Yoongi sucked in a breath and gripped the cushions as you teased your tongue over his slit. The salty taste of precum burst in your mouth. Slick and warm, it coated your tongue. You moaned. This is what you wanted.

After a few moments toying with his slit, you circled the sensitive rim around the crown of his cock, drawing breathy moans from Yoongi’s lips. Then you trailed your tongue down to the spot underneath where you knew he was sensitive and slowly licked it with the flat of your tongue.

Yoongi had shown you how he liked to tease it with the pad of his finger sometimes while he masturbated – quick or languid, always unrelenting until he’d managed to spurt all over himself. He loved when you played with it afterwards, making his hips spasm from the oversensitivity. More precum dribbled from his tip which you suckled up with deliberate licks.

Yoongi threw his head back and stilled as your tongue flicked over the spot quickly, assaulting it with your tongue. “Fuck,” he hissed, his whole body tense above you.

Suddenly, a dull pain lanced across your scalp. Yoongi’s hand laced into your hair and pulled your head closer, making you whimper at the rough treatment.

“Down,” he said, tugging again, and holy shit, just one word uttered gently from him had you clenching your cunt desperately like a bitch in heat. Happy to comply, you sunk your mouth down around him, keeping your eyes on him the way he liked it. You held your head low for a moment before pulling off. “Good girl,” he praised with a subtle groan. Yoongi gave you a couple seconds to regain yourself, rubbing soothing circles on your abused scalp, before saying, “Again.”

Eager, you repeated the motion and held your mouth there for a moment, eyes closed as you swallowed around him. When it was time to pull off, you sucked in a breath with your eyes locked on his slick cock. To see it flushed and gleaming with your spit made your stomach twist with lewd excitement. A whispered “fuck” left Yoongi’s lips as a string of spit stretched from his tip to your lips, and you preened when Yoongi reached out rub his thumb soothingly across yourcheek.

“You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock,” he said, and you felt dizzy with arousal when he gave you his beautiful smile. He was gorgeous — dark hair and deep eyes and flushed cheeks. Tender touches and gentle praise. The sudden fondness in Yoongi’s eyes clashing with his filthy words and the fact that his cock had been down your throat not five seconds ago gave you momentary whiplash.

Yoongi’s smile melted into something cruel as he dragged his thumb down your mouth, breaking the sticky string of spit, before pushing it past your lips. Feeling cocky, your tongue came out to lick obscenely around his thumb and you moaned around it as if it were his cock.

It might as well have been; you loved Yoongi’s hands, his long fingers and rough palms. His beautiful instruments, when he was strumming the guitar or playing the piano. You loved how gentle they were with you, brushing back your hair, holding your hands, cupping your cheeks. But you also loved how filthy they could be: rubbing your clit and fucking your wet cunt until it made obscene squelching sounds and dripped down his palm. You felt your cunt drool filthily onto your panties, surely soaked by now.

Two more fingers pressed past the gates of your lips as Yoongi fingered your throat gently. Fuck, such a filthy sight had Yoongi gripping his still-aching cock, groaning at the way your throat tightened around his digits, the way spit spilled from your mouth.

“So fuckin’ eager, like you were made for me.” Yoongi’s voice rumbled low from his throat, his chest heaving slightly, making you grip your knees. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and tilted your chin up, your hazy eyes now open. A surprised squeak left your mouth as Yoongi leaned down and kissed you sweetly on the lips. His soft hair ticked your cheeks.

“Just a little more, yeah?” he said, holding your face close to his, and you nodded, dazed. Your eyes locked onto his pink lips that shone with your own spit and his precum. The sight shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did, but it sent a thrill up your spine.

Then Yoongi was leaning back and licking his lips. “Then c’mere, pretty girl, come finish sucking my cock.”

And how could you say no to that?

It wasn’t long before Yoongi’s wet cock was back in your willing mouth. You circled your tongue around his tip reverently, Yoongi’s hips canting into your mouth when you looked up at him with those slutty, wanton eyes.

“Good girl—just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going and don’t fucking stop.”

Your pussy tingled and you thought you might be able to cum just from the way the center seam of your shorts was rubbing against you. Even if you didn’t, you would be more than satisfied. You loved making Yoongi feel good, and you loved his cock. You could spend eternity on your knees worshiping Yoongi and his beautiful tool. The glide of him in and out of your mouth was perfect, so solid and warm that you couldn’t help but think about the way it felt when he slid into your cunt, filling you up just right, slippery with your wetness—

God, if you weren’t so hell-bent on making sure Yoongi slept well tonight, you’d push him down and ride him until morning.

You gagged a bit in surprise when Yoongi gave a particularly quick thrust into your mouth, but fuck it if the sound he made wasn’t worth it. The deep, breathy groan went straight to your cunt, and you moaned around a mouthful of cock. Pleasant vibrations traveled down Yoongi’s shaft and made Yoongi’s grip on your hair tighten.

“This okay?” he asked, breath strained. Yoongi’s fingers tensed and, as if he could sense the sharp pain in your scalp, immediately went lax.

So considerate, you thought fondly to yourself. You’d be smiling if your mouth wasn’t so busy.

You brought Yoongi’s free hand to where his other fingers were already threaded in your hair. A garbled hum and a nod was all it took for him to hold your head in place as he rut his hips into your mouth, letting out a string of moans while your fingers played with his balls.

Spit slid past your lips and dripped down your chin with each of Yoongi’s thrusts into your mouth. You felt so thoroughly used, sitting for him so prettily on your knees, not even touching yourself while he chased his release.

“You’re doing so good, so fucking good,” he said, sucking in a breath, head thrown back against the couch.

Yoongi’s hand pushed you down until your throat contracted around him, tears welling along your waterline. You didn’t mind though — Yoongi was desperate to cum, chasing blissful orgasm, and you were happy to give it to him.

As he thrust into your mouth, you licked along his shaft before flexing your tongue to rub against the rim of his cockhead. Yoongi’s hips stuttered and he let out a shaky breath. You peeked up at his blissful face, seeing his half-lidded, hazy eyes. Yoongi was close, teetering on the precipice of his release. His stomach was tense as you slobbered over him, the sound of your slick lips and his voice mingling in a lustful torrent.

You groaned eagerly, letting your tongue do the work until, finally, Yoongi came. The deep, breathy groan he let out was going to stay with you forever. So was the sight of Yoongi in the throes of his orgasm: head thrown back, thighs spread, skin flushed pink all the way down his neck. The veins snaking up his arms were taut, stark under his skin.

Yoongi’s brows were furrowed and his plush lips parted. His hips stilled as he pushed you down securely on his cock. It pulsed hotly in your mouth, spurting a thick pool of cum on your tongue, making you moan obscenely. Yoongi’s breath hitched as you closed your eyes and swallowed his seed, palm still cupping his balls.

Like his length, they throbbed as his cum was spent. You fondled them gently to milk more out of him, not wanting to miss a single drop. You loved Yoongi’s cum — the taste of it, the feeling of it sliding hotly down your throat and settling deep in your belly. Your eyes became glassy at the thought, a dopey smile spreading across your lips.

Yoongi gently slid himself from your mouth to paint your lips with the last drops of his cum, watching you reverently drink everything he had to offer until there was nothing left. Feeling naughty, you licked across his overstimulated tip one last time, and Yoongi shuddered, his thighs closing around her head.

“Brat,” he huffed, but he was smiling. Your smile was just as bright as you swallowed the sticky mess on your lips and lapped at his cock with little kitten licks to clean him up. A kiss was planted on his knee before you pulled up his pants and tucked him away. “Only for you,” you said with a pat to his thighs.

Yoongi re-buttoned his sleep shirt and pulled you up into his lap to smooth down your unruly hair. He gently ran his fingers across your chin, wiping away the mess of his escaped cum and your spit. Then he kissed you. You hummed happily against his lips before Yoongi pulled away.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You always make me feel so good.”

It was amazing, really, how you could suck his cock so unabashedly on your knees, but the gentlest words from his mouth had you blushing shyly.

He took your hand in his and led you towards the bed where he pulled you down with him, his frame enveloping yours as the comforter fell over you two. Yoongi intertwined your fingers and rubbed his thumb across the back of your knuckles.

He was always like this in the afterglow of whatever you two did – affectionate, attentive, a bit sleepy. Yoongi was, at heart, a passionate, considerate lover who thrived on soft and tender moments such as these. You could never get enough of it; the way he touched you, how tender and safe he made you feel.

He rubbed his nose against your hair and slipped his hand across your stomach, solid and warm.

“You didn’t cum?” he asked, and you shook your head no. Yoongi drummed his fingers soothingly against your skin. “You want to?”

The offer was tempting, but you felt yourself close to crashing now that you had burned through your lust, and although you couldn’t see him, you knew Yoongi must have been even sleepier than you.

You brought his hand close to your chest and kissed his fingers sweetly.

“Later. I’m sleepy,” you said, then sighed. “Besides, I feel like I need another shower.”

Indeed, a cool layer of sweat now covered your skin, along with some spit and cum that had dripped onto your chest. Not to mention how sticky your panties felt in your shorts.

Yoongi chuckled sleepily and tightened his arm around you. “Okay,” he agreed, holding you close before his fingers ventured down and pressed over the seam of your shorts. He rubbed a slow, deliberate circle over your clothed mound, a teasing phantom touch that reminded you of the pleasure he could give you with those fingers. His lips were hot against your throat, and you shivered as he gripped your hip in his free hand and said, so close to your ear that you shivered, “Later.”

The thought of his head between your thighs, suckling on your poor pussy while his deft fingers prepared you for his cock, flooded your mind. You could only imagine soaking him down to the base as he slipped inside you, making you roll your hips against his fingers.

You nodded quickly, breathily. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.”

Yoongi’s breath was like a balmy breeze on your neck as he chuckled. “Thought so.” He placed a kiss under your ear before snuggling close, finally letting himself sleep. Your own eyelids fell shut, and Yoongi’s heartbeat lulled you like a gentle rhythm in your ear until sleep overcame you too.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #my tags:#purple prose #o muse!: yoongi #fic: midnight

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kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

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Hi!! I'm sososo obsessed with Satyr König oml you're a genius (also I've binge read your whole yandere könig tag it's so perfect). Okay so sorry in advance for my English, but:

I can't stop thinking about a shy (and kinda pervert lmao) nymph reader who sees him, sees how big and strong he is and how well he secretly protects all her sisters (and how irresistible his big, thick cock is) and really falls in love and is wildly attracted to him, BUT she's very shy and the idea of telling him her feelings is too mortifying, so when he's out in the woods she sneaks in his den, tidies the place up, brings him some flowers as gifts (yeah im inverting the usual roles lol), snuggles in his bed of furs (maybe touches herself fantasizing about him-) and König, well, notices the changes in his house and is VERY perplexed, so one day he returns earlier than usual and sees this cute, soft and unaware nymph moaning and whimpering in his den, her face against his furs, all wet and willing and ready to mate while she quietly moans his name, eyes closed and face red- he'd go FERAL

The idea of desperately horny satyr König with a more than willing needy nymph makes my brain melt oml

(And btw, do you think you'll ever write Satyr König again, in general?)

Satyr!König goes absolutely feral, yes.

He noticed the lingering sweet scent at the mouth of his den already, a sugary, floral scent that he knows so very well. He knows it to his core, because his nose wants to follow that scent whenever he catches it.

Only nymphs smell this sweet, like flower meadows and moonlight, like spring water and honeycombs. The distinct scent of a kore is eerie, and only gets stronger when he walks further into his lair, but what’s more is that he recognizes who this particular scent belongs to… He has memorized her in his loneliness, and every time he catches a whiff of her in the air outside, he can’t help but grow hard.

He barely even notices the absence of his usual mess, that someone has washed all his cups and put his wine pots in order. His den has seen a lot of brooming, and there are fresh flowers placed on his oaken table, thoughtful bouquets hanged from the roots of his oak. But before he gets to inspect those odd little things further – he’s used to trampling flowers out in the wild, he never even thought of using them as decoration, but they do look kind of nice, don’t they? – he hears a soft whimper from the back of the den.

From where he sleeps, and isn’t it peculiar how he can now smell something else, now, too… Something irresistibly heady, something that demands action at once, making his cock stir and swell to the point where it’s almost painful. There’s another soft moan, calling to him like an enchanted flute: his whole den has changed from a dark dungeon into a soft, scented temple, echoing with the sounds of a maiden in heat.

He finds her spread over his thick, musky furs, furs that have seen countless lonely nights, and have to be changed every turn of the moon because they’re so grimy. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble with laying down in his filth, the rough furs that smell of seed and satyr sweat, of old musk and maybe a few tears. Satyrs cannot cry, they say, but that’s only because no one ever sees them do so. He’s spilled more than his fill of salt on that makeshift bed, and not all of it was ropes of hot seed…

“P–please…”

She sees him, sees how surprised he is catching her here, in the place all nymphs always try to evade. She sees how hard he is while watching her bare and panting there, all over his furs, lips swollen from lust. Both up and down, her lips are wet and quivering; she’s completely ready to be taken, and only the tiniest sliver of respect prevents him from fucking her senseless right here and right now.

“Please, I beg of you…”

But when she begs for it like that…?

He doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. He simply cannot.

And why waste time on thinking how she got here (or more importantly, why she got here?) Why mull on the hot question of why isn’t the loveliest creature on earth trying to get away from him?

“No need to beg,” he grunts as he lays himself upon her, cock hot and already leaking as it finds her entrance.

The smell of ambrosia envelops him as he glides inside, the whimper from his nymph a song of paradise. She smiles softly at such immediate lust, or is it the sun that comes out of the clouds, somehow reaching under the branches of this oak?

She welcomes him with open arms, a tear falling down her temple and into her hair as he tries to be gentle with her. But it’s not really his size or his lust that makes her cry. Her hands trail up and down his sides, they try to desperately wrap around his wide torso. She looks into his eyes while he starts to rut her, amazed to have been granted such a blessing at all.

“I’m in love with you,” she sighs into the air between them, her eyes glimmering with worship in the dim, earthy dusk of his den.

He messes up with his thrusts, breathing out his shock while hovering over her. She’s so delicate and frail, and so desperate for a nymph who’s supposed to be frolicking in the open fields… She should be climbing in the tall trees and giggling at centaurs from there, she should be admiring the full moon and the stars, she should be playing in the freshwater with her sisters.

He always thought this one feared him the most, slinking into the shadows beneath the trees whenever she saw him. Casting her eyes down as if she didn’t want him to notice her at all, never mocking or teasing him like the others did. That’s why he left her alone: because he didn’t want to break her. She was far too pure for someone like him.

But now she’s here, with flowers and a hot, wet body, trying to grab him so hopelessly in her fragile embrace…

“You can’t say things like that, little one,” he warns, feeling something akin to fear for the first time in his life.

“Why not…? It’s true,” she chimes there beneath him, a few more tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.

His chest is burning, but the only sound that comes out of him is a low growl. A warning and a plea.

“You shouldn’t tease an old faun.”

“And you shouldn’t stop what you only just started...”

He blinks at her answer, at her soft smile.

Then, he shoots down to kiss her neck.

She moans from love when he opens his mouth, careful not to puncture her delicate flesh with his teeth: he only devours his nymph with soft hunger, licking and sucking her soft skin. Her giggles and sighs drive him to the sweetest madness as he starts to make love to her under the earth.

His home has never heard such cries of joy, felt or seen such displays of devotion… He returns her confessions thousandfold, in every way he can. These silly little creatures always fear a satyr’s love is only about lust, and therefore escape such hollow adoration, but he’s not here to just ease the pain in his sacks.

He’s now forever bound to her, whether she knows it or not…

#satyr!könig #nymph!reader #tw: lovemaking #könig x reader #purple prose

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itsbansheebitch · 2 months

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Can I be honest?

You can pry my purple prose out of my cold, dead hands. I will only cut down on prose if I need to be more concise, but I WILL go on for several paragraphs if that's what I feel like and you WILL LIKE IT.

#writers #writer #writer things #tumblr writers #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #story writing #writing #writeblr #novel writing #my writing #creative writing #writing community #writerscommunity #purple prose

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arrogantshrew · 7 months

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Aziraphale didn’t have much time to read once he took up his duties in heaven, but, when he managed to, he found he couldn't read love stories anymore. They sent him spiraling into messy thoughts, useless thoughts, about what he may have destroyed forever. He could hardly breathe whenever he let a wisp of an idea slip by his defenses and take root. He spent long minutes frozen, unbreathing and unblinking, trying to figure out what to do with the fear and the grief he was so full-up with.

The day he sat down to read Sense and Sensibility for the thirty-second time and was forced to close it again, without reading even a full page, is the day he realized the full scope of what he had done. Because Crowley was everywhere; in every earthly delight, but mostly he was tangled up with the thought of romance. Crowley always treated him so well in the way of their Arrangement – held the door, took him out, and helped him into his jacket. He spoiled Aziraphale rotten, and, as Aziraphale now knew, had managed to utterly spoil him for love.

Because when Aziraphale cracked open the lovely pages of that novel all he could see was music and laughter and their fingers linked together over good food and good wine. He saw Crowley sleeping in his lap and wrapping himself close around Aziraphale’s offered arm as they strolled in St. James’s park. He saw happy, lazy kisses bathed in soft firelight. He saw everything that wasn’t, and he couldn’t breathe, and he closed the book

#sorry this is sad #but when the spirit moves you what can you do #ineffable husbands #good omens #go meta #ineffable divorce #aziracrow #everyone is very unhappy #archangel aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #oof #sorry #purple prose #we like to have fun here

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verona-honey · 1 month

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Your prolonged silence at my hapless indiscretions drowns me, flooding this precarious house with its waves of anger, too proud to warn of their incoming destruction. How long is left before the foundations are eroded? Before all that remains is the skeleton of a home that once was a sanctuary? Say something.

#i can’t stand the silence #you’re losing me #dark academia #light academia #poetry #self care #self love #girlhood #aesthetic #books #purple prose #free writing #fragment #vignette

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confessionsofa-roleplayer · 6 months

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I am reading your purple-prose reply and I'm not kidding.. I literally don't understand what your muse is doing or saying. I'm not a native speaker, but I think even if English was my first language, I would have trouble understanding.

#purple prose #confessions

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heraldofcrow · 2 months

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It’s so damn fan-fic-y but I want to write that a character’s eyes “glittered like the waters of the Milky Way” at least once in my life. I’m sorry.

#AAAAA #i am gracious about purple prose usually but i have to admit this may be pushing it a little lmao #it’s always the eyes that summon the overly poetic tongue #IT’S SUCH A PRETTY STATEMENT THO #*thwacks head with pillow*#silly post #purple prose #writing problems #CrowNotes

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pitofpurple · 5 months

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Nezha’s afterlife (a short story)

Nezha’s life was over, ended by his own hands. They may have been held tightly by the strings of the king of the East Sea, but they were his hands nonetheless.

It was his choice.

A twisted choice where he had to choose between his own life or his village's safety but it was his choice nonetheless.

He didn’t spend much time alive. The exact number of years was hazy, but it couldn’t have been more than ten. He missed his time alive dearly.

He missed being held by his mother as she sang sweet songs to the boy she had worked three years to bring into the world

He missed when his father would come home, sweating in his uniform from a hard day's work but still finding the energy to make sure Nezha hadn’t caused any trouble while he was away.

He missed training with his wise master to use the power and weapons he had been blessed with from birth.

Weapons he used carelessly day-to-day.

Power that would lead to his downfall.

He missed his brothers who treated him no differently than they would anyone else despite the way his power burnt holes in all the other relationships he clung onto.

Yet more than anything he missed the little things.

The feeling of hot sand burning his feet.

The joy of Laughing so hard his breath struggled to correct itself.

Even the way his joints would ache after a long day of training seemed a blessing in comparison to the apathetic nature of his current existence.

But that was all far behind him now.

His ability to experience stayed behind with his body.

Now the only thing he had left was raw emotion, memories, and thought.

Nezha knew very well it was time for him to move on to the next life, yet he still found himself hanging around the mortal realm

Trying to wipe his mother's tears as she sobbed against his mangled corpse, trying to quell the repressed anger his father carried like a bag of bricks, trying to comfort his friends who were too young to understand the boy they knew had left them and was never coming back.

In the end, he failed, doomed to be a passive observer in the grief of those he once held dear.

One night he got into his parents' bed, slipping above the covers that refused to move over him.

He pretended he was cuddled up next to them.

They would’ve never let him do that while he was alive. They would’ve told him that he had his own room for a reason and he needed to learn to be more independent.

Now that there was no way for him to depend on them, or even ask them for permission in the first place, he somehow doubted they would mind.

After a while of lying there, he decided to slip into his mother's dream.

He saw a flash of whatever she was doing before he arrived but it faded before he could comprehend it, leaving him and his mother alone in a sea of nothing.

His mother stared at him with wide eyes.

Not through him or at his lifeless body,

Right at him.

He hesitantly moved forward.

his mother stepped back, her hands trembling and her heart beating just loud enough for Nezha to hear clearly

That was when he finally noticed.

that wasn’t love or joy in her tear-filled eyes.

It was terror.

His own mother was afraid of him.

If he couldn’t even bring comfort to the ones he held most dear, then he truly had no more purpose in this life.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to move on without doing something, anything, to ease her pain.

So he asked her to do one more thing for him,

To build a temple

That way maybe she could find peace in the divine, and that way maybe his soul could finally rest

His mother told no one of her dream, instead opting to create the temple in private.

She planned the architecture with the same love and attention she once gave her son and placed every brick like it would bring her one step closer to him.

Often she’d break down, falling to her knees in front of her project unaware of her son's arms wrapped around her in a futile attempt of comfort.

Nezha knew she was reminded of his untimely demise every time she returned to the scene.

He admired the way she pushed through her grief, putting her energy towards something bigger than herself.

He wished he could thank her.

Maybe he would,

Maybe in a dream before he left her side for the last time.

Would that finally bring her closure?

Would that bring him closer to moving on?

He watched as the final shingle was placed with a delighted smile, the first joy he had felt since leaving his body behind.

Finally, after all this time being a wandering spirit, unable to affect the world he so desperately clung to

he had finally accomplished something wonderful. He felt had left the village better than he found it. He was ready to move on now and start a new life.

Maybe this time he would be born into a regular family and live a wonderful and normal existence.

One where he wasn’t born special but became so on his own accord.

Making his own choice to live the life Nezha had been thrown into feet first.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

But the world was not so kind,

And neither was his father.

“What is this?” He asked looking at the temple with disdain

Nezha didn’t understand the question.

Obviously, it was a work of art. Love leaked from even the smallest cracks in the brick, but somehow that wasn’t what his father saw,

Because if it was he wouldn’t look so angry at its creator.

“It’s a temple, for our son,” the mother explained, looking towards the ground in shame.

Nezha’s mother was ashamed of him.

“Why would you make a temple for someone who almost destroyed the village single-handedly?”

Every word he spoke made him seem less and less like the father Nezha missed so dearly, and more like a demon he once trained to fight.

“He didn’t mean for that to happen! he was just a child-“

“He should have known better than to pick a fight with dragons!” The general snapped.

His mother was silent for a moment. her eyes quiet waterfalls of once repressed.

Nezha stepped forward to help her out of instinct but found himself just as heartbroken as she.

All this time he thought his father was angry at the Dragon King.

After all, if Ao Guang hadn’t sent his son to kill him-

No.

If Ao Guang hadn’t sent Li Gen to kill those children in the first place, Nezha would still be alive and his hands wouldn’t be stained with divine blood.

“What was he supposed to do? Let his friend die?” His mother's words were fierce but her voice betrayed her, coming out wobbly and weak as her struggling knees “You always taught him to protect the ones he cared about didn’t you?”

“I taught him to respect the gods,”

But Nezha did respect them! The dragon attacked first! In the heat of battle the instinct to live overpowers any social customs. His father of all people should have known that well.

He wiped his eyes, trying desperately to see his mother's face through a blur of sorrow.

He couldn’t see much but what he did see was the way her features scrunched up in desperate anger

“So what? You’d rather him let his friend be eaten? You’d rather him let Ao Bing drown him and bring his corpse to his father like a trophy?”

Nezha covered his ears, a silent scream clawing its way up his throat as images of that cursed day flashed in his mind.

Despite not being able to feel physical sensation his hands were still wet, dripping with beautiful, horrible golden blood.

He could still smell the death on his clothes, under his fingernails, in places impossible to wash out.

He didn’t want to hear his fathers answer. He didn’t want to see his mother's response. He just wanted to disappear.

Luckily for him, a loud silence spread over them Like a blanket of flame, eating up the grass and burning hotter the longer it lay uninterrupted

Eventually, his mother stormed out, unknowingly leaving her husband and son alone together.

Nezha wept on the grass, unable to be heard nor seen though he almost wanted to know what would happen if his father saw him now.

Would he even care to comfort him

or would he give him the same look he gave the temple?

He wondered if he even deserved to be comforted. After all, he had brought dishonor to his family,

and all because he wanted to save his friend from a demon in the sea

His father left and Nezha wandered inside the temple.

It was almost finished, only needing a few finishing touches, yet Nezha felt farther from moving on than he had ever been and he doubted his mother felt any less burdened by grief.

He leaned against the wall and wondered how it would feel to living visitors.

Would the wall be cold? Rough?

Would it be comforting or overwhelming if he could feel it rub against his back?

He closed his eyes tight and imagined he was in his parent's bed again, except this time it was warm and he was snuggled under the covers. His parents knew he was there but they didn’t mind, both sleeping peacefully beside him without burden,

but that was not reality, as much as he longed for it to be.

He opted to open his eyes and face the world head-on, but he did not see the other wall like he expected.

Instead, he saw fire.

Red hot flames eating away at the temple’s infrastructure, embers dancing wildly as if they were entitled to the very air around them. Nezha watched as the beauty sculpted out by his mother’s own two hands melted away around him.

Nezha ran for the exit but he couldn’t get out before the roof collapsed. The ruble fell right through him and yet he felt the same pain emotionally that he would’ve physically if it had suffocated him.

Still he picked himself up, form shaking as he moved.

Looking around he couldn’t see much but red. Still, he knew exactly what happened.

His fear and anguish were evaporated by the heat of the fire as anger ignited inside him.

He ran outside the building, the cracks and snaps of the fire deafening behind him as his animosity grew.

Just as he thought his father stood just outside, his face was Lax though his eyes reflected the flames like a dark mirror.

Nezha never thought he’d see his father cry.

He was always the type of guy who saw emotions and weakness as one and the same. He had scolded Nezha while he sobbed, telling him that his enemies would have no pity on him no matter how loud he screamed.

The tears dotting the general's bottom lashes were the closest Nezha had ever seen him to breaking down.

Still, he couldn’t find it in his soul to have sympathy for him.

No.

His sympathy and love for his father burnt down with the temple his mother had so lovingly built.

Now all Nezha had left for that man

Was rage

Nezha’s master sewed up a body of lotus made perfectly for him.

He hoped Nezha could use his strength to help people. This was the perfect second chance to use his powers right this time,

and yet he had one more thing he needed to do before that.

He thanked his master, Picked up his new spear, and stepped on his new wheels, fire immediately lighting on the gilded golden gifts. It felt as if everything he touched burned but these weapons would never tarnish under his heat. They were too strong for that.

Nezha traveled back to his hometown not even a day after he was revived

He wouldn’t stay long, he had but one thing to attend to.

After all, his father always told him that if he disrespected immortals he would pay tenfold.

Nezha always was a firm believer that what went around came around, and as he approached the house that used to be his home,

He truly believed that he was his father’s karma.

#chinese mythology #nezha #nezha reborn #nezha 2019 #nezha lmk #li nezha #daddy issues #li jing #purple prose #creative writing #mythology #writing #writeblr

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