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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

cruel, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, previous taehyung x reader

summary: It's cruel, this feeling. How are you supposed to respond to loss of someone that was so perfect, someone that turned life into a romance movie, someone that now had that with someone else? You watch him be happy without you and you should have lied and said that you were happy too. Instead, you told him he was cruel.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; honestly, it's probably not what you think it is; fluff? idk; smut (fem reader, penetrative sex, cowgirl, fingering and f-receiving oral in a dressing room, a lot of making out and staring into each other's eyes); non-idol!AU; long-haired, rapper / music producer!Yoongi, ft ex-boyfriend Kim Taehyung being handsome and perfect

now playing – cruel by the veronicas

How do you know you’re supposed to be with someone?

I always knew when I was with you.

You answered it with such certainty then. Like you really knew. Like he was the light to your dark. Like he was the life to your death. You had made him smile with your words, his unique smile lit up by the harsh rays of the sun, softening the edges of his box-like grin. He was so beautiful then. Striking. Picturesque.

No word was good enough.

You toyed with the vintage teacup. A delicate white with the painting of a green and yellow bird on a sparse, winding branch. The saucer matched. All soft edges and curves. English porcelain. He gifted it to you after returning from one of his many Europe trips.

You tipped the cup onto the edge, holding the handle.

He became more handsome without you.

You relaxed your hand, letting the base of the cup tinker back onto the saucer.

You thought about throwing it into the wall. Shatter that little shit like how it was shattered between you and him. Turn it into shards that matched the slices of light that they used in all those photoshoots, highlighting all his angles, because all angles were good angles for Kim Taehyung.

You stood up.

Placed the teacup back into the glass cabinet and pushed it to the back, behind an orange glass-blown vase.

I always liked you.

Me too.

You closed the cabinet and took a step back.

There was a pair of scissors on the dining room table.

But now I love you.

He had whispered it over candles and linen napkins, in expensive clothes and low light, with dried flowers in his hand and a black velvet box in the other. A solitaire, sparkling diamond on a dainty chain. Dried flowers so you could keep them forever, just like what you two had.

You picked up the scissors. The blades were very sharp. Silver, gleaming in the overhead light. You saw the reflection of the modern, industrial black chandelier in the flat side of the scissors. He wouldn’t like it. Taehyung was much more into the romantic.

You imagined cutting those glossy, long locks off that stunning model he was dating now.

Snip, snip.

You opened and closed the scissors, listening to the egregious friction of metal against metal.

She was really pretty. They suited each other.

You suited him too, back then.

Just not anymore.

Hello. Nice to see you.

That was what he said after everything. Months after, because he had been traveling from fashion week to photoshoot, to who-the-fuck-knows-what. Always busy, that Kim Taehyung.

It’s not that nice to see you.

Those moody dark brown eyes had faltered then, looking away. He treated you like he barely knew you. From hand-in-hand to a stranger in a strange land. You should have lied. You should have put on your best, most dazzling smile and told him that it was great to see him. Show him how fucking fantastic you were doing without him.

Instead, you tilted your head and cocked an eyebrow.

He had lowered his head and looked back up at you with a wan smile.

I treasure all of our memories. I hope one day, you can too.

You had paused.

That was when you knew that you couldn’t be lovers, but even worse, you couldn’t even be friends.

You’re cruel.

That was all you said before you bowed politely and walked away, letting him return to the confused, doll-like face of his new forever, the place you used to stand, the space in his heart you used to occupy. You used to wonder what wedding dress he would like to see you in. Probably white, with floor-length lace and an obscenely long train. Close-fitted to show off your body. Dramatically simple extra-long tulle veil to cover your entire body as you floated down the aisle, holding a waterfalling floral bundle that bordered on ridiculous, but it was all part of the dream.

Taehyung, standing at the end, looking crisp and statuesque compared to your ethereal beauty.

You had looked back to see him tucking a spare strand behind his new girlfriend’s ear and lightly kissing her glowing cheek. He was so handsome like that, with his dark long curls half-swept back and in a relaxed rich brown suit with a low-necked beige shirt underneath.

You had snapped your head away, feeling like you had intruded on a beautiful moment.

As if you witnessing it had somehow made it ugly.

Hey, are you okay?

I’m fine.

In your dining room, you opened the scissors and turned them in your hand so the exposed blades were between your thumb and index.

Stabbed downward.

Dragged it across.

The clear tape on the cardboard box split, a grating hollow sound following. You lifted your hand and closed the scissors, placing them back on your dining room table. Opened the box, finding brown paper packaging.

You used to love Kim Taehyung.

Now everyone was telling you to unlove him.

You reached into the carboard box, but then you stopped. Bit your lip. In your head, Taehyung was grinning at you, dragging you through the park, summertime sun gleaming off the green grass like the scene of a movie. Every day was a movie with Kim Taehyung, with excellent cinematography and hazy lighting reminiscent of old films, a romance for the ages.

The brown paper crumpled in your hand, harsh points digging into your palm.

You used to love the love between you and Kim Taehyung.

You looked down.

Black velvet.

A box.

For a ring.

You opened it.

A silver skull surrounded by a snake.

You took it out and slipped it onto your left middle finger.

The taste of skin.

Right there, on the edge of your tongue. You kissed to the sound of dead leaves falling, held on to the drumbeat of rain, tangled yourself in warm scent during the rapidly cooling nights. Fingertips sliding up your arm, closing in around your elbow, pulling you closer. Close was never close enough. Intense never intense enough. Harder. A waterfall of black softness, shadow. Lips right there, dark from kisses.

Your eyes finding him.

His gaze already on you, open-mouthed smirk bordering on good-natured.

He leaned in, shrouding you in the black waves of his long hair that had become messy and fucked up from your hands.

“Lift your hips.”

So deep.

You gasped. Almost painful was the right amount of pleasure, digging your nails into his sheets and following his rhythm, closing your eyes and letting the sensations take over, breathless with effort, muscles wrung tight with tension, hot and soft and wet and tightening your core, ticking your head back, the taste of Min Yoongi’s skin on the edge of your tongue.

You stood in his bathroom after, putting your silver ring back on your left middle finger, making sure the face of the skull was facing you.

You reflection looked back at you but there wasn’t much to see.

You ran a hand through your hair and decided that was good enough with the casualness of your oversized hoodie. Your straight-leg jeans were somewhere. All black. That was all you wore these days. Everything as black as you could get it, so black that the fabric seemed to suck all light from everything around it.

You turned the light off and went back to Yoongi’s bedroom.

“Are you doing something on Saturday?”

“Why.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, coming from your mouth.

“Gonna take you to a concert.”

“My interest in frolicking with the masses is lower than your voice,” you replied dryly, picking up the edge of the blanket and sliding under. The owner of the bed was laying down in it, holding his phone with one hand. He did not drop it even as you settled in.

“My voice isn’t that low.”

“Lower than your interest in frolicking in the masses, then.”

He tutted and turned his phone towards you. “That band you were talking about earlier is holding a concert near my place. Saturday, at seven. I like to arrive early, so swing by a couple hours earlier and we’ll grab dinner before going.”

You glanced at him.

At bored, cat-like eyes and fair skin that barely saw the sun, complete with dark circles that explained why.

“You don’t like rock bands.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “And why do you think that?”

You shrugged. “You like hip-hop.”

He chuckled and set a hand behind his head, looking amused. “I’m a rapper, but I create all genres of music. I started with classical piano. I’ve even made tracks for idol groups.” He ticked his head, looking down at you even though he was below you. “Don’t put me in a box.”

You looked down at his phone screen, away from his face.

Date and time.

The picture of the band, smiling and harmonious.

Silence.

“I thought you weren’t listening,” you finally said.

“Of course, I’m listening. You were talking about your interests and music is my life. Why the fuck wouldn’t I listen?”

Your line of sight raised and you stared into Yoongi’s eyes.

He looked back at you, slight frown on his lips.

You didn’t say anything more.

They were even better live than you thought. It was strange, focusing on nothing but the music and the performance. You were glad you attended the concert because a week after a few members of the band announced their departure for military service. You owned a few of their albums and set them out to display on your dresser, placing your printed-out ticket next to it.

A memory.

Now, you were sitting on another person’s bed.

Yoongi was holding your left hand, turning it in his.

“It’s cool.”

Your knee was resting against his.

He let go of your hand.

You stared out his bedroom window, thinking about how the leaves were really turning brown now, falling in blankets that were either crunchy or soggy underfoot depending on the quality of the sky that day. He lived more in the city, out of necessity. Easier to make connections when he was in the vicinity, especially when convenience was the determining factor on whether or not Yoongi wanted the inconvenience of human interaction.

There was a park nearby, but he rarely went.

“You bought it,” you said.

“Mhm.”

That was kind of how conversations went between you and Yoongi.

It was mostly your fault.

You turned your head to the left to face him.

Yoongi barely angled his face to glance at you questioningly.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because you showed it to me. I liked it.” He chuckled, looking down at your silver ring of a skull anchored by a snake. Almost sheepish. Still relaxed though. Always relaxed. Calm and collected, that Min Yoongi. “You are the kind of person who is meant to be yourself.”

Your hand rested onto your thigh.

“What does that mean?”

Those dark brown eyes raised, piercing and cat-like. You had a feeling it wasn’t going to answer. That was how conversations went between you and Yoongi, a back and forth of subtext and eye contact, and then the real questions being asked. Eventually.

“Why did you break up with Taehyung?” that deep, raspy voice asked you.

Hey, are you okay?

I’m fine.

Well, I’m getting out of here. Come on.

You stared at him, at pale-faced Min Yoongi framed by long black hair that cascaded down the left side of his face, a face of refined features that seemed delicate and yet his demeanor was anything but. Chilling sometimes, unbothered most times, observant all of the time.

“I was getting sick of the constant travelling,” you finally answered.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow.

You want to get a drink?

I don’t drink.

Then how do you get through a shit time? Sulking?

Fuck off, Yoongi.

He nodded, turning away to look out of his bedroom window.

“Hm.”

It was a very dismissive, hm. It made the moment weird, as if it would be suddenly inappropriate to crawl into his lap and make out with him, which was kind of the whole point of you being here.

Kind of.

You chewed at nothing in the back of your teeth and breathed out.

There was no difference, no matter what questions he asked. Or what he said. Or didn’t say. It just was what it was and nothing more. What was the point of talking about it? There was nothing to talk about. You had sat in a bar with Yoongi as he ordered a drink and drank it while you sat there and brooded in your head. He didn’t even pay attention to you. Had his phone in his hand and sipped his whiskey. The sounds of the bar were all meshing together, music, laughing, conversations, closeness.

You had turned to face him.

Yoongi had looked up from his phone.

The party you had both attended was for a mutual friend. You hadn’t wanted to go, but they were celebrating their engagement and you figured you should at least deliver a congratulations in person. At least some damn flowers. You hadn’t expected to see Taehyung at that hour but, unlike you, he had probably been there the entire time. You had only stopped by for a few minutes. Work and shit. Yoongi had only stopped by for maybe half an hour.

Your knee had been touching his at the bar, your chairs too close.

The sounds of the bar were all meshing together, but you barely heard it. There was a solidness against your knee, and then a fluidity as you leaned in, wanting to see his reaction.

Stopped.

He smelled a little bit like alcohol, but mostly like sharp, fresh cologne.

Yoongi hadn’t moved.

He was just watching you.

“You think I’m pathetic, huh?” you whispered, looking into his eyes.

His head tilted, something intense in his calm gaze.

“Pathetic people don’t think about kissing me,” Yoongi replied.

You searched the ocean within those dark brown orbs, almost black in the shadows of your faces.

“I’m not thinking about it.”

That was what you said.

His lips had curved into an open-mouthed smirk and you had closed the distance.

And now.

Why did you break up with Taehyung?

You could stand up and walk away without saying a word. You could. He wasn’t even looking at you now. You didn’t have to look into his eyes before walking away. Tick. Tock. You breathed in. His scent was everywhere, sharp and fresh. This was his place, lit up orange by golden hour, fiery in the way the sun’s rays caught onto the white duvet and then snuffed out by the black accents and dark wood of the furniture. He said his dad basically ended up picking out most of the pieces. His dad told him his future wife would enjoy this kind of style.

You liked the black-on-black look of Yoongi’s studio more.

Especially the dark gray rug read, KEEP OFF.

You meant to ask him where he got it but, till this day, you hesitated.

You looked away from his things and told Yoongi the truth.

“I broke up with Taehyung because I was beginning to think that I loved the way he loved me more than him actually loving me.”

You stared out of his bedroom window, but instead of seeing skyscrapers and an urban jungle, you saw a hazy scene of a park and summertime sadness. Everything was picture perfect. Nothing out of place. Nothing but the way you felt, the festering feeling of something being wrong about this scene but how could it be wrong when it was so right, when it was just like a movie, you and Kim Taehyung?

“I didn’t want to admit that maybe I fucked up and picked the wrong guy when the guy was perfect.”

Flowers and candlelit dinners.

“He’s not that perfect,” came the raspy murmur beside you.

You still had that diamond necklace.

“He’s perfect for someone.”

“Not you.”

You turned your head and faced Yoongi.

“How do you know?”

He turned his head and faced you.

“I don’t.”

He ticked his chin down to the bed and then flickered his gaze back up.

“Pathetic people don’t think about fucking me, though.”

You stared at him.

“You’re cruel.”

Yoongi smirked, his black hair casting shadows over his eyes and cheek.

“We all are, sometimes.”

I bet you could be cruel if you wanted to.

Your hands on his wrists, gripping tight. Nails into skin.

Why would I want to?

Devouring kisses. His tongue was so strong. You had to fight it. Suck on it and abuse it and he was smiling under your venomous mouth. You shoved his wrists into his own pillow, forcefully, driving your hips down at the same time, abruptly releasing Yoongi’s tongue and hissing right into his mouth, not letting him escape your hot breath.

Life is about balance, you know.

Slow roll of your lower body and you let go of his wrists, sliding your fingertips up his palm and tracing his fingers, inhaling his shuddering exhale. There was no good word to describe his scent. Not his cologne, but him. Not quite warm, for his hands were usually cold. Soft in comparison to the sharp angles of his chin and cheekbones. Comforting for some reason despite his usually distant, cold expression.

Your hands were always warm.

You kept your demeanor razor-sharp, pricking anyone that tried to get too close.

You felt the calluses on the pads of his fingers.

You opened your eyes.

Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and teasing.

You lifted your head and slid your hands off his, onto the pillows, and then the angle was better, more fulfilling and intense, easier to clench around him and drive his hard cock in deeper, almost in pain but not quite, harder, clawing your nails into his pillows, looking down at him, watching his eyes close and his lustful sigh escape him, smile on his face, not hiding his pleasure, unafraid.

You tilted your head.

Tightened your jaw and all around him.

Fucked him into his bed until you were breathless.

And kept going, anchoring your knees into the mattress, your hands curling into fists and punching into the soft pillows, so focused at each arcing wave of pleasure that you could feel it move through you, the vicious high prickling through your veins and making your muscles scream, crushing tension threatening to push you over the brink, his low moan catching your ear and you looked up, your messy hair covering half of your face.

His own hair was a chaos of black waves that rose as Yoongi lifted his head, lashes lowered, breathing out your name like hot smoke.

Ghost of a sly smile on his seductive lips.

“You get sexier every time we fuck.”

Maybe he was mocking you, but you stared into his eyes and it didn’t feel like that at all.

You sucked in a sharp breath, the dryness of your throat stinging you.

The drop.

It hit you too hard and too fast, stamping the air out of your lungs and leaving you on the edge of ecstasy, your head snapping back and eyes squeezing shut, seeing nothing and feeling everything, throbbing rush of orgasm torrenting through your ribcage and all around him, rigid and hard and alive, and then you heard Yoongi hiss, the immediate fwump of his head hitting the pillow and his wanton moan, his hands shooting up to your hips and digging his fingers into them, pinning you down to his jerking length.

Roughness, harshness, opening your eyes to see Yoongi breathing out, shuddering at the high.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Hard.

“It’s infuriating how handsome your orgasm face is,” you panted.

Yoongi didn’t open his eyes.

His just chuckled, dark and low.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Seven billion plus people on this earth,” Yoongi hummed as he sliced the pork belly. “And you want me to believe only one person out there is the one for me?” His hand paused and he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.

He ticked his head, pocketing a small scoff in his cheek. “The likelihood of meeting said person is extremely low, not to mention in some cases downright impossible for some due to the cost of travel. What if your soulmate lives across the world? How will be even know without travelling there? And then there’s the cultural, societal, and personal biases that interfere with the very nature of soulmates, for how can you have an open mind about other human beings when you’re too busy being shallow and trying to mold others into an impossible ideal?”

He glanced at you, setting the knife down.

You pushed the bowl of thick-grained sea salt towards him.

Silence.

“You believe?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

“No.”

His fingers picked up the salt and he rubbed it into the meat generously.

“It’s fine if you do.”

You half-smiled. “I don’t. I think soulmates are an idea created by greedy companies to push society towards heedless consumption of various services to perfect oneself but then those same companies create a paradox by constantly changing the idea of perfection. It’s an endless hamster wheel, and the concept of soulmates is only one spoke of many. And, anyway, isn't the idea of soulmates simply a response to the fear of the unknown? A certainty created by the human condition to console that fear. Someone to believe in. And, as we all know, at the center of believe is a lie.”

More silence.

Yoongi slowly nodded, pensive.

“Then arranged marriage or matchmaking in the previous generation is better?”

“I don’t really believe external influences should have much impact on someone that you are vowing to be committed to.”

“We have responsibilities as sons or daughters, though.”

He turned and washed his hands, body no longer facing you. The profile of a chef. He was good with the knife and he knew how to prep the meat. Practiced and calm.

“My dad told me I should just focus on being happy over anything else.”

Yoongi smiled, pouring oil into the deep pan. “He’s right.”

“He also said I fucked up big when I broke up with Taehyung and that no one will ever love me again.”

“Ah. He was trying to make you feel better.”

You both waited. Minutes passed. The meat was lifted with metal tongs and then placed into the scorching hot oil, gradually searing the outside to a golden brown before Yoongi would eventually remove it and place it onto the grated oven sheet to bake and become crispy pork belly.

“Love dads. They’re great,” you commented dryly.

The head of long hair turned, dark waves wisping over fair-skinned cheekbones and a half-smile.

“You’re not happy right now?”

In an oversized cream t-shirt and black sweatpants, holding a pair of tongs, meat sizzling and popping below Min Yoongi’s amused grin and dark brown orbs that sparkled knowingly.

You felt something.

A little twist of the knife right to the heart. It came and it went, swift and jarring, but you were sure that it was there. Certain that you experienced it, even though there was no evidence left behind.

You stared back.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” was your answer.

Yoongi turned back to the meat, turning it. “It’s a useful skill to have. I should at least know how to make your favorite food.” He shrugged. “Crispy pork belly is easy anyway.”

“I can make it on my own.”

“You might like mine more.”

“I haven’t eaten yours.”

“Hence the events transpiring right here, right now.”

It was pretty good.

You hadn’t made your own recently, so you told him you would have to get back to him of whether or not you liked his more. He said that was fine. His playful smile was a little suspicious though.

You walked past the glass cabinet in your dining room.

You were holding scissors.

Paused.

Opened it and reached to the back, turning the teacup so the bird graphic was visible behind the orange glass blown vase. Pulled your hand back and looked at it. The whole thing, all kinds of delicate trinkets inside the clear glass, various gifts from various points in your life.

History.

You closed the door and went back to your bedroom to cut the tag off so you could get dressed.

“What do you look like when you want to seduce someone?”

You blinked slowly. “What?”

“What,” Min Yoongi repeated calmly, tucking his hands into his black trouser pockets. “Do you look like when you want to seduce someone?”

“What does that have to do with wedding guest attire?”

“Nothing really. I’m just curious.”

You were also wearing black slacks, high-waisted unlike Yoongi’s, and paired with a white crop top and charcoal gray denim jacket two sizes too big. A different vibe compared to his red plaid shirt over a branded white t-shirt. Him, sneakers. You, thick-soled black boots with a zipper down the side so you could get out of them easily when trying on dresses for that wedding you weren’t originally going to until Yoongi mentioned that he needed assistance in picking out clothes since he didn’t really have anything for the same wedding he was also invited to.

You looked over the racks, seeing a black, figure-hugging minidress with extremely thin straps and a mesh overlay.

“Something like that. Simple black heels. With a longline blazer over it, possibly with statement lapels, unique fabric, or some other standout aspect about it.”

Those dark, cat-like eyes went from the dress to you.

“I’ve never seen you wear something like that. Not even when Taehyung brought you around.”

You thought you would feel a sting of pain hearing his name, but, nothing.

“That kind of style would contrast too much with his.”

“So?”

“He is the model.”

Yoongi blinked slowly, staring at you until you felt uncomfortable.

“That dress with the jacket and boots you’re wearing now.”

He ticked his head.

“It’d look good.”

You looked back, holding his gaze for several seconds.

Then you went over to the rack and picked up the black dress.

His eyes told you, see, I told you it would look good.

Yoongi didn’t say anything because he shouldn’t be in the dressing room with you and he most certainly shouldn’t be sliding his hands up your thighs and leaning in to kiss you. Remarkably silent, like two shadows conversing, your bodies meshed into each other, tongue to tongue, breathing into his mouth as his nails dragged across your ass, bunching up the black dress from barely covering you ass to no longer covering it.

You concluded that you should at least buy it after if you were about to defile it like this.

Yoongi slid his tongue into your mouth and smiled against your lips as you sucked on it, hard.

Turned his hand and slid it between your legs, his shoulder pinning your body into the wall, the mirror behind him reflecting his back and part of your face shrouded by his long black hair.

“What?”

“Come in with me.”

Raised eyebrows. “Hah?”

“Are you scared you’ll be too loud and give us away, Yoongi?”

Narrowed eyes, taking on your challenge.

So far, so good. The loudest noise was his fingers sliding into your wet pussy and going in and out.

Your gaze flickered from the mirror to his face, warning him.

He switched tactics and rubbed your clit instead.

You let go of his tongue and clenched your teeth, the buckling weight of sensitivity threatening, but he stifled any sound you could have made with his lips. Darkness, your eyes squeezed shut, tensing up at the constant, steady rubbing. It would have been unbearable if Yoongi started with too fast of a pace, but he didn’t, slowly building the inescapable pressure into shivering pleasure, his other hand against the wall to anchor your bodies, your breath getting thin, your hips moving with his hand, the dress that you hadn’t purchased yet scrunched up at your waist, slickness clinging to your inner thighs, sweet scent of sex rising between you and him.

He exhaled into your mouth, hot and hazy.

Following his fingers, intensifying the rhythm with your hips pushing back against his strength.

Silent moan into his throat, your eyes opening slightly and his too, connected under the shadow of lashes.

Closer.

The music in the store was very loud but you heard nothing, only the quiet labored breathing between you and Yoongi, strands of his hair brushing against your cheek, electricity stinging over your skin, pleasure and excitement.

Your head tipped back and his followed.

Your eyes closed again.

His lips leaving yours, and yet no sound leaving your throat, your resolve caging it all in.

“Cum for me,” he whispered under his breath, barely audible.

You bit your lip and sucked in a tight breath, tension from jaw to thighs, and then your hips bucked against his insistent fingers, legs shaking and gripping his wrist, the wicked flinch of orgasm radiating through you and followed by rough, rippling pulses, cum sliding down your inner thighs and his hand.

Mute bliss.

The dressing room was pretty small.

Yoongi let your ride the throbbing high until you stilled.

Then he kneeled down and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, hot tongue to hotter wetness, and your hand automatically grabbed his head, sinking your fingers into his soft hair, chewing on your lip to avoid making any noise as he licked you off and you rode his face.

You pushed those black waves back, looking down.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, cocky expression solely in his eyes.

You bought the dress.

The initial mission was not completed, but the executive decision was made to not give a fuck.

“You don’t like this kind of stuff?”

For the first time, those cat-like eyes faltered and glanced down at the intricately plated steak placed on a specialty cutting board with a raw edge, accompanied by a wine glass, well-designed silverware, pale gray linen napkins and white sateen Egyptian cotton tablecloth.

He hesitated, which was very unlike Min Yoongi.

Then he looked up and didn’t answer your question.

“I’m not Kim Taehyung and I will never be.”

Over candlelight, you gazed back at him.

“I know. That’s why I was the one to invite you to this restaurant instead of you bringing me here.”

Yoongi tilted his head, and he was very much himself once more. Discerning, reading your body language, taking in the details of your outfit. The longline blazer with the black satin lapels and red brocade. Your hair swept to the side. Striking smoked-out eye makeup with red stained lips. Silver ring of a skull and a snake on your left middle finger.

Tiny, tight, black minidress with a mesh overlay underneath.

“I heard you have expensive taste,” you hummed.

His chin ticked downward and a flash of sheepishness came and went through his expression.

“Calling me out, huh.”

“You can have whatever you want if you’re ambitious enough.”

Those eyes darted to yours and he smiled.

That smile meant something.

As if it was asking you, are you?

“I will admit, these restaurants modelled after Western high class is slightly pretentious,” he commented, keeping his tone light.

“It’s accurate, then.”

And now Yoongi laughed.

Not loud, because he never laughed loudly. A little raspy, as if he was not used to it, almost exasperated but amused at the same time, the kind of laugh that made his cheekbones puff up and his eyes crinkle, flash of pink gums and white teeth in his smile.

You smiled back.

You thought it would feel weird, but mostly it felt right.

You wondered if you would count the seconds, minutes, days, months.

You wondered if it would feel weird.

You wondered if you had made a mistake.

You stood in your dining room, leaning against the table, thinking about it. The songs he used to play for you, you didn’t listen to anymore. The parks you used to frequent with him, you didn’t visit anymore. The flowers you both used to stop and appreciate, you walked past now, ignoring them.

You used to stare at Taehyung for hours, because he was so beautiful.

And now you even didn’t think of him until you walked in this room.

You raised your head.

In front of you the glass cabinet, and your reflection.

It would have been more romantic if you were wretched, maybe. In a large t-shirt you had taken from him, with tears down your face, glittering in the overhead light, slowly sinking to floor, into the shadows of your dining table and chairs, and, in your windows, twilight slipping into the darkness of night as you thought of him.

Instead, it was a cloudy afternoon and you were wearing a black velvet shirtdress with a waist tie and Min Yoongi’s borrowed leather jacket that you used last time when you came home late.

You wondered if you were supposed to have a longer period of mourning.

You wondered.

You wondered if you were supposed to lurk Taehyung’s Instagram to see what he was up to lately.

You reached up and opened the glass cabinet.

Pulled the teacup forward so it was visible, in front of the orange glass-blown vase. The small bird and the leaves gleaming against white porcelain, reminding you of Yoongi’s skin after he showered, droplets clinging to his cheekbone and jaw, his wet black hair pushed back as he leaned in, smile on his lips when they touched yours.

You felt guilty for not feeling strongly about it all.

That was strange, wasn’t it? Wasn’t there supposed to be a moment when you were looking back fondly on the memories, reminiscing about that past romance, that first love that you were sure of now? You knew people treasured those moments. Not just in movies, but in real life too. You heard the stories of friends lamenting beside you, daydreaming about what it was like back then, even those in complete and fulfilling relationships.

Drunk on nostalgia.

You adjusted the teacup so it was perfectly in the center of the saucer.

There it was, displayed at the center of the cabinet.

Expensive, beautiful, and unused.

Forgotten until you saw it again.

You closed the door.

“What are you watching?” Yoongi asked as he approached.

You were standing at the bus stop, waiting for him. You plucked out one of your earbuds.

“UFC.”

He blinked slowly. “Hah?”

“You mentioned it the other day and I was reminded that it’s been a while since I’ve kept up with it.” You pocketed your electronics, sliding them into your bag and zipping it shut. “I watched all the high profile matches when I was in high school.”

His eyebrows raised. “Your parents paid for pay-per-view?”

“I knew my way around the internet.”

He snickered. “Tsk tsk.”

“Come on. This is our bus.”

You held his hand.

You felt his head shift. He looked down and then up. Silence, except for the sounds of the street, the loud chatter of patrons, and the sizzle of hot oil inside the street stall. Orders were being called out in a firm, clear voice. Kids laughed and crowded around, small hands grasping paper cups and long sticks of rice cake and sausage drenched in savory red sauce.

You held Min Yoongi’s cold hand and warmed it with yours, waiting patiently.

“I used to come here as a kid,” you chuckled. “With my friends, counting up our allowance, and then annoying the cashier with too many coins.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be an arcade there, facing the market. I bet the workers got tired of wiping up after our sticky hands.”

He squeezed your hand.

Your heartbeat fluttered in your chest.

You turned your head and saw Yoongi glancing over to where you gestured.

He was smiling, somewhat ruefully and in agreement.

“Back in the day, huh.”

“What, were you one of those cram school kids?”

His head turned and the cool breeze caught the edges of his black hair, curling it against his cheek, his stark profile contrasting the grey sky and dead leaves scattered on worn asphalt, wearing a black bomber jacket with white dragons on it, dark grey sweatshirt under, black slacks, and monochrome sneakers.

Yoongi gave you a look, raised eyebrow and pursed lips, wordlessly asking, are you serious?

“No, I was playing basketball and making music instead of doing homework.”

You hummed. “Can safely say your hobbies became more indicative of your future than mine. All of my arcade tricks of jiggling the controls have not become applicable skills for adulthood.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked, almost innocently.

Almost.

You narrowed your eyes at him and the employee called your name, letting you know your deep-fried swirly potato-on-a-stick was ready.

His long hair was getting all over his face.

“Why didn’t you wear a beanie?”

Yoongi shrugged.

“You like when my hair gets messy.”

You dragged his hair over his face and sank your fingers into it, thrusting your hips up and tipping your head back, shocking pleasure rippling through your tense muscles, succumbing to the intoxicating high, breathing out, hot exhale and smoldering lust.

Yoongi clenched the right side of his jaw and stared down at you, the tendons on his neck standing out.

He was trying to resist it.

Your tongue slowly traced your open lips, ending with a smirk.

His torso shivered against your thighs, pushing his hips forward, deeper, wet and tight and pulsing, all around, suffocating salient sensation that drove him insane, or at least he looked the part, harder, his hair cascading down over his eyes and his cheeks, open mouth, heavy pants, following the rhythm of your body, the muscles of his shoulders trembling, closer, finding his dark eyes in the shadows of those strands, daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

You felt him.

The high so high, the air so electric, and you didn’t look away, lifting your hips to meet his in a loud smack, clenching around his twitching cock, the ecstasy of orgasm prickling all over your nerves, his name and your name mixing in husky whispers, breathless from the intensity.

Yoongi pushed back his hair, exhaling hard.

His forehead leaned against yours.

“Hah… You have a surprising amount of power in that sexy body of yours…”

“No, you.”

He laughed gruffly at your quick response, tickling your chin with his breath.

“I’m tired,” you declared.

He was so close that you could count his eyelashes.

“Then stay here.”

You stared into his eyes.

You never stayed before. Eventually, when there was no more to do, you went home. The same apartment. The same furnishings. The same routine that was becoming so mundane, so brainless, so pointless, because what was the point of experiencing life’s small comforts on your own when next time, next time, you could…

You didn’t say anything.

You bent your arm and reached over to above your shoulder, finding his hand and wrapping your fingers around it.

It was so simple.

“Don’t regret it,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

He raised an eyebrow. You felt it more than saw it.

“I thought it was obvious?”

“We should… at least say it once.”

It would be said more than once. Many times.

The first time was just the one to start off forever. You didn’t wait for him.

“I love you.”

Yoongi lifted his head so you could see him say it. He didn’t hesitate.

“I love you. I mean it.”

Red lips.

Red dress.

Dark red, high collar, billowy long sleeves, backless. The fabric clung to your hips, accompanying high side slit to expose a flash of leg. Hair swept to the side with long dangling earrings, red gems in a teardrop shape.

Silver ring of a skull surrounded by a snake on your left middle finger.

Min Yoongi rested his arm around your waist, his hand loosely on your hip.

Dark red shirt with a notched collar, black slacks, and his keys with the white tag keyring jangling on his belt loop. He carried his blazer over his shoulder, somewhat surprised that it was warm in the venue, but that was probably due to the number of people crowded in there, everyone busy congratulating the newlyweds.

You saw Kim Taehyung.

In a dark teal three-piece suit, standing next to his girlfriend wearing a forest green dress that suited her long hair and elegant figure. He spotted you and your eyes connected.

He almost looked away.

You smiled and nodded.

Taehyung paused, and then he smiled back.

“You want to say hi?”

“No.”

“Hm, I was looking forward to you telling him how much better I am at fucking.”

You almost snorted.

“I can’t say something like that at a wedding, Yoongi.”

“You can. I believe in you know the exact Korean words to express your satisfaction.”

You didn’t even bother giving him the side-eye this time.

“You’re cruel.”

“We all are, sometimes.”

“I’m about to be cruel to you in this dress.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to lose hope.”

You smirked, turning your head, and Yoongi smirked back, open-mouthed and playful, yours, and you had wondered, how would I know, but you just knew, and how you knew was over time, over touches, over conversation, over moments that you thought meant nothing but, actually, they were all scenes of a movie that only you and Min Yoongi could make.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

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votivecandleholder · 11 months

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Creative & Rustic Tablescape Ideas for a Cozy Vibe

New Post has been published on https://dinnertables.net/creative-rustic-tablescape-ideas-for-a-cozy-vibe

Creative & Rustic Tablescape Ideas for a Cozy Vibe

Imagine the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, the delicate flicker of candlelight, and the warmth of a snug blanket wrapped around you. All of these elements come together at a well-set table to create a dining experience that is not just about food but also about surroundings, comfort, and connection.

In this blog post, we’re going to explore creative table setting ideas, delve into the components that make up the rustic charm, discover resourceful ways to incorporate them into your tablescapes, and even share some tips on hosting a farmhouse-themed party that your guests will treasure. So, let’s get started on our journey and craft an ambiance that exudes pleasure and personality.

Contents

1 Embracing Rustic Elements

1.1 Farmhouse centerpiece ideas

2 Creative Tableware Selection

3 Centerpiece Ideas

4 Linens and Textiles

5 Lighting and Atmosphere

6 Place Settings and Personalization

7 Seasonal and Holiday Themes

7.1 Rustic top table ideas

8 Tips for Hosting a Rustic-Themed Dinner Party

Embracing Rustic Elements

To embrace the countryside allure in your table settings, it’s essential to understand and combine key features that establish a bond with nature and a celebration of imperfections. These elements lay the foundation for the relaxed vibe you’re aiming to achieve.

Tablescape Ideas For Fall Wood Dessert And Cake Table Rustic Feel Risers And Containers

As nature’s gift to rustic design, wood brings character to your table. Integrate wooden elements such as table surfaces, serving platters, and utensils. The blemishes and natural grain of wood add a touch of authenticity. Stone elements like slate coasters, trivets, and granite serving boards add a touch of rugged elegance to your table. The cool, organic feel of the stone complements the wood beautifully.

The choice of textiles can make or break your table scenery. Stick to a palette of earthy tones, such as balmy browns, muted greens, and soft grays. These colors kindle a sense of calm and well-being. Seek out vintage or handcrafted tableware, like antique silverware, rustic pottery, or hand-blown glass. You might also want to use nature-inspired decor, such as twine-wrapped vases filled with wildflowers, acorns, pinecone accents, dried flowers, twigs, or branches.

Farmhouse centerpiece ideas

Seasonal Fruit Tablescape Ideas Artificial Plastic Fruits And Silk Flowers On Rustic Wooden Container

Cherish the beauty of the handmade and the irregularities of these elements; it’s the flaws that make them perfect for a nurturing, rustic environment. Don’t be afraid to blend and diversify for an eclectic look as it adds a delightful touch of whimsy.

Creative Tableware Selection

Now that we’ve explored the foundational elements, let’s focus on the tangible aspects. Start with your dinnerware, look for plates and bowls with rustic textures and patterns. Mixing and matching can add depth and individuality to your table. Consider stoneware or pottery for that authentic, handmade feel.

Augment your rustic dinnerware with flatware and glassware that continues the theme. Select pieces with simple, timeless designs or articles with a retro or hammered finish. These details add subtlety to your table. You can blend rough-textured dinnerware with smooth glassware for an intriguing contrast. It’s all about layering textures to create visual interest.

Centerpiece Ideas

The centerpiece is the focal point of your table, and when it comes to rural elegance, nature takes center stage. Incorporate natural elements by arranging fresh flowers and greenery in wooden vases or mason jars. These features bring life and vibrancy to your table. Add a touch of enchantment with wooden candle holders . The gentle glow of candlelight combined with the unrefined texture of wood develops an inviting atmosphere.

Candlelit Tablescape Ideas Led Flameless Candles Rustic Geometric Metal Container

For an even cozier vibe, think about hanging lanterns with candles or fairy lights above the table to provide smooth, romantic lighting that balances the environment. Showcase your inner artist and get hands-on by crafting your centerpiece. Mull over a wooden crate filled with seasonal fruits, and a display of vintage books and antiques, or repurpose any classic objects that you can find to add a personal touch.

Linens and Textiles

The right linens and textiles can transform your table into a haven of comfort. Choose table linens and napkins made of natural fibers like linen or burlap. These fabrics bring texture and genuineness to your table. Make use of plaid or gingham napkins for a homey and nostalgic feel. Extend the warm feeling beyond the table by placing snug throw pillows and cushions on chairs to ensure your guests are comfortable throughout the meal.

Tablescape Ideas For Fall Printed Tablecloths With Themed Lantern Centerpiece

Lighting and Atmosphere

To complete the inviting atmosphere, ponder lighting and other ambiance-enhancing factors, such as the use of candles in mason jars or string-up fairy lights to design a magical glow. If possible, host your event outdoors or in a barn-like venue for a truly rustic atmosphere.

Place Settings and Personalization

Personalized place settings are a wonderful way to make your guests feel special and appreciated. Great original by crafting name tags using natural elements like twigs, leaves, or small branches for a customized touch. Use mini chalkboards or wooden place cards for an elegant and reusable option.

Seasonal and Holiday Themes

Rustic charm isn’t limited to a particular season. You can adapt to it to different times of the year and various holidays. For spring, include fresh flowers in mason jars and pastel-colored linens to commemorate renewal and growth. For fall, use mild tones, farmhouse pumpkins, and autumn leaves for a cozy, harvest-inspired table. For winter, produce a winter wonderland with comfy blankets, evergreen accents, and twinkling lights. Think of silver decorations to conjure a magical aura.

Rustic top table ideas

Tablescape Ideas For Summer Glass Top Table With Flower Printed Plates

Tips for Hosting a Rustic-Themed Dinner Party

Now that you’ve explored creative table setting ideas, let’s move on to some additional tips to host a memorable rustic-themed party. Serve farm-to-table dishes that celebrate local and seasonal ingredients. Include fresh salads, hearty stews, artisanal cheese, and homemade bread and spreads, such as butter with herbs, olive oil, or fruit preserves, for a countrified culinary experience.

Round out your rustic menu with equally sumptuous beverages. Offer craft beers and cider that pair wonderfully with the food. Rural wines, especially those from small vineyards, can add sophistication while staying true to the theme. Use reds with earthy undertones and whites with crisp, fruity notes.

Tablescape Ideas For Summer Yellow Paper Plates And Checkered Tablecloths

Set the mood with acoustic folk or classical music playing softly in the background to avoid overpowering conversations. Live music, like a folk guitarist, can be a delightful addition. Lastly, send your guests home with rustic-themed party favors like handwritten notes, small keepsakes, mini potted succulents and herbs, or handcrafted candles in mason jars, as a lasting reminder of the special occasion.

As we wrap up our journey of creative table setting ideas, it’s clear that the world of rustic charm goes beyond the practicalities of dining. It’s a form of artistic expression, a way to stir feelings of warmth and nostalgia, and a means of connecting with others on a deeper level.

Remember that while aesthetics is essential, functionality and solace for your guests should also be prioritized. The combination of these elements, expressive tableware, natural centerpieces, cozy textiles, and the right ambiance all contribute to a memorable dining moment that embraces country-style appeal.

Finally

So, the next time you plan a gathering, don’t hesitate to infuse some countryside vibe into the scene. Whether it’s a quiet family dinner, a special celebration, or an intimate gathering of friends, the homely spirit of rustic charm will create moments that linger in the hearts and memories of your guests.

#Rustic Table Settings

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