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By the power of love, I punish thee~
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wwilloww · a year ago
backstage | myg
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Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Genre:  Smut.
Rating: Explicit.  
WC: 4.2k
Summary: With the sounds of the stadium still ringing in his ears, Yoongi just needs to get away — just for a moment. And you have exactly the right idea about how to distract him.
Warnings: bathroom sex. oral (m receiving). implicit themes of powerplay. dirty talk. mild hair pulling. throat fucking. super duper like barely visible breathplay. penetrative sex. unprotected sex (don’t be a silly goose!! wrap it before ya tap it!). themes of exhibitionism. creampie. cumplay. mentions of group sex.
AN: What was supposed to be a simple 1k of smut turned into 4k of… more smut. What originally started as a challenge to write a bj in a way I enjoyed turned into 4k of a bj that I really enjoyed. I have to give 1 million baskets of thanks to Renae @mygsii​ and Lil @hesperantha​ for being the most incredible beta readers out there. They put so much time and energy into this and helped me sculpt this into its final version. And of course, thank you to the crew at BTS Smut Hub for their eternal thirst and support. Ya keep me going. 
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©️wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission. 
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Yoongi sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans back against the door. The sound of the screaming crowd still rings in his ears, muffling the sounds of the world around him. He can still feel the rhythm and vibration of tonight’s music reverberating through his bones. If anything, the combination of exhaustion and overstimulation should have left him dead to the world. But instead every nerve in his body is alight, singing in sensitivity.
He’d needed air away from the post-concert bustle. The smallest details were grating on his nerves, even when they should have been insignificant, unnoticeable. He’d been so busy lately, no time for the things that actually brought him pleasure. He needed to get away, just for a moment.
With one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the doorknob, he looks down at you. All he can think is that he’d never seen anything quite so angelic. Your eyes turned devotedly up to him, lashes fluttering so sweetly — you could be sucking on a lollipop.
“God, you look so fucking cute sucking my dick.”
The timbre of his voice resonates through you, going straight to your cunt. The tight pout you have around him turns up as you try not to smile, mouth full of cock.
“You couldn’t fucking wait until we got home before you needed cock? Are you that desperate?”
You answer with your eyes, a mischievous glint sparking through them.
He had been stealing glances at you the whole night, searching the darkness of the wings for your familiar figure. Every swell and curve of your body was so familiar to him now that he swore he could have spotted you even if you were lost in the masses of the audience. What would it have been like for you to be out there, your eyes locking together? Hunting through a sea of searching hands to find your undeniable steadiness and gleaming presence. There’s a part of him that thinks that even with the lights blinding him and the unending wave of faces that he would know you were out there, would be able to feel your company.
Still, he chased your gaze in the crowd of stage hands and stylists and technicians. You were hidden away, watching him perform from a small break in the stage. The whole night you had watched, aptly glancing between the performance screen and the small crack, just waiting for Yoongi to pop into view on your small sliver of sight. And everytime he did, you couldn’t help but glow, a smile pouring across your face and lighting up your entire being.
You’d seen him rehearse, of course. You’d seen him perform in front of cameras and studio audiences and at awards shows. But this was different. There was an extra sharpness to his movements, a force behind his voice. The energy of the audience was undeniable and you knew it pushed him forward to perform the best you’d ever seen him perform.
You grabbed his hand almost immediately after he had stepped off stage, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“I’m so proud of you,” you mumbled into his chest. You held him there in silence, heart full of awe and admiration. It was a moment before you looked up to see a stylist just standing there, still holding a towel to his face. You quickly apologized to her, as she continued to try to pat the sweat off of his face. Technicians and staff and members bustled around, everyone jostling into one another. Even as you held his hand, he looked lost. As you watched, you noticed frustration flit across his face, saw his slip into stubbornness as she continued to do her job. You’d seen this look before and knew it well: overload.
In a snap decision, you tugged him away without explanation to the woman still dabbing his forehead or any of the members busting around him, mumbling “Come with me.” You left the poor stylist stuttering and flustered behind you as you dragged him— much to his protest— to the closest single bathroom.
Slamming the door shut, you turned him around so he was leaning against the frame.  
“Are you okay?” you asked softly.
He nodded, leaning into your touch as you reached up to hold his face between your hands. You let your thumbs run over the pink of his cheeks until you saw the frustration dissipate from his features. You knew he was tired. Knew he was riding the high of the concert. Knew he was stuck somewhere between excitement and overwhelm. As soon as the crease in his brow softened, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Light, fluttering. Just enough to ground the both of you.
“What did you think?” he asked when you pulled back, searching your eyes.
“You’re amazing.”
“Everyone did so well tonight, I was—”
“No. You’re amazing.” you repeated. “You.”
He began to reach for your lips again, that heavy-lidded look that you loved so much taking over his features. But instead of taking him into your embrace, you pushed him back against the door, his back hitting the solid wood with a slight thud.
“Let me,” you said, swatting away his wandering hands. “Hands off.” You stepped back, letting your hand wander up the warm skin of your arm until you reached the strap of your dress, teasing it between your fingers. “You’re frustrated. And you’ve been working so hard. Don’t you think you’ve earned something for all of your efforts?”
You watched him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing. Ever-so-slowly, you began to slide the soft fabric down your body, taking your sweet time as you did so. Even as your attentions were focused on dragging out this moment as long as possible — making him wait for you — your gaze was focused on his features. His every movement. The way his eyes darkened, his head tilting down to better gaze upon you, his jaw dropping ever so slightly as he watched on. As the dress came down to your hips, you let go and it pooled around your ankles.
Delicately, you stepped over it and towards the dazed man in front of you.
“No bra?” he gulped. You shook your head as he swallowed and righted himself, his voice dropping as he spoke.  “You walked around all night with nothing on, but that tiny piece of fabric underneath that dress?”
“Mhmm,” you hummed, walking towards him. “Just for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Would you really have been able to focus on stage — thinking about me, like this, just waiting for you?”
He reached for you then, rather than answering you, but you pushed his hands away and slid to your knees before him. You made quick work of unbuckling his belt, not bothering to pull his pants down before you pulled his already-hard cock out of his boxers.
“How long have you been hard?” you asked, slowly stroking him, watching the way his cock twitched in your hand.
“For the past hour.”
“Good.” You smirked up at him before opening your mouth just enough that he could see your pink tongue. “Then use me.” He sucked a harsh breath in. With one hand still wrapped around his length, you leaned closer and let the head rest heavy on your tongue.
Seeing you like this, so perfectly laid out for him, feeling the cushiony softness of your tongue against the base of his cock, Yoongi couldn’t help but groan, his hips thrusting involuntarily towards you.
You’d had enough teasing. You had wrapped your lips around him and took him into your mouth.
He fell apart beneath your touch.
And now you slowly slide down his length, taking as much of him into the wet warmth of your mouth as possible. He watches as your lips wrap even tighter around him, the perfect mix of pout and absolute devastation. You swirl your tongue against the bottom of his cock to the best of your ability as you bob up and down on him.
He groans. Loudly. Loud enough that you hear a muffled “What the fuck was that?” on the other side of the door.
Your sharp inhale of breath, still wrapped around him, catches his attention.
“You like knowing that someone out there knows I’ve got my cock down your throat, don’t you?”
The sharpness of his words sends a shock straight through your body. You nod to the best of your ability. Other than the hand he has in your hair, you hadn’t let him touch you all night — and because of that you are left overly sensitive to his every word, his every touch.
“Good girl.”
Cunt clenching involuntarily at the words, you’re thankful you left your panties on, knowing you’d be dripping down your thighs by now if you had opted to take them off.
Usually, you would take it slow. Torture his orgasm out of him like it was something to be built towards, drawn out. But tonight you are chasing his pleasure, watching every little fold in his brow, noticing every moment his grip in your hair tightened, feeling every time his clothed thighs tensed beneath your grasp.
He’s still dressed in his last outfit of the concert. His brow glistens with sweat. The flush on his face is a mixture of the remnants of his performance and the pleasure you were currently coaxing from him.
“Fuck my mouth, baby,” you say, pulling off of his cock long enough to let the words slip out. A trail of saliva connects your swollen lips to the head of his dick, red and darkened with his near-painful arousal.
“How can you be so adorable and say such filthy things?”
It was more of a muse than an actual question. He loved your duality. Your ability to flirt and play so innocently out in public, and then flip a switch as soon as the door was closed. And not just the bedroom door, he thinks. Any door, apparently.
He is quick to press his hand to the back of your neck to pull you back to his crotch, the head of his cock bumping up against your cheek. He quickly wraps a hand around the base, teasing your searching lips with the bulbous head. You chase him, whining when he chuckles. It isn’t until you look up to him, a serious pout falling across your lips that he finally feeds it to you.
You take him in one go, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat. It hits just hard enough that you gag. He tries to slow his motions—to pull back— but you blink away your tears and glance up at him, before pushing down further, knowing you could take it, knowing you want to take it.
A choked moan slips out of him as you ease him into your throat, the tightness of your pulsing walls sending stars through his body. Hands gripping his thighs like they were the only things in the world, you begin to pulse back and forth. When you look up at him, he is gazing down at you, that mix of power and desire that you so love dancing in his eyes.
You release him from your throat, gasping hoarsely.
“Is that all you can take?” He slips both of his hands into your hair where they tangle with your thick locks. The hardness of his many rings presses against your scalp, offered a startling contrast to the strength of his hands and the gentle tug of your hair. He waits for a moment, gauging your unyielding eye contact to make sure you could. As soon as he recognizes that spark in your eyes and feels your hands squeeze twice around him—your signal of consent—he’s  moving again, easing his thick cock back into you.
He pushes fully into your mouth, a deep graveled groan ripping through his chest as the tightness of your throat wraps around him. Beginning to thrust, he tightens his grip in your hair, bobbing your head to his own pace. You do your best to relax the muscles in your neck and throat, to erase everything but the sensation of the man you love fucking in and out of your mouth.
His pace is perfect, not too fast, not too slow. You feel the head of his cock push past your uvula and into your throat. With one hand, you reach up, your hand coming to wrap around your own throat.
Beneath the sensitive skin of your hand, you feel his tip bulging through the delicate skin with each thrust and you groan at the sensation. He shudders at the reverberations of your voice, pulsing through him. There’s something wild, indescribably dirty, to the feeling of his cock through your skin, to feeling him chasing his orgasm from inside and outside you at the same time. His nails scrape deliciously against your scalp as you continue to moan around him, the vibrations of your pleasure coursing through his cock and straight up his spine.
“Take all of it, baby,” he grunts, and you know he’s close to his release. Your hand tightens around your throat, tears springing to your eyes, drool dripping down your chin.
As Yoongi looks down on you—mascara running and mouth sloppy with a mix of your drool and his precum—arousal sears through his body. The absolute devotion in your eyes pushes him further towards the edge.
Tonight was supposed to be about you, too. Even though you had been around the other guys for months now, this was your first stadium concert, your chance to really step into his world— and yet here you are on your knees in a backstage bathroom with a very thin door, just for him.
What had he ever done to deserve someone like you?
He thrusts his hips forward into your waiting mouth, earning a delighted moan from you. He is so close— so close to his release, so close to pouring himself out down your warm, waiting throat. That unmistakable warmth sears through his abdomen, pulling him closer, drawing him nearer to— he feels your hand tap gently twice against his thigh, your tell for him to release you.
He stops immediately, gripping his cock as he pulls out of the confines of your throat and untangles his grip from your hair. He drops to his knees before you, reaching for you. His thumb brushes over the streams of mascara off of your cheeks.
“You alright, love?” The dominating tone is gone now, concern in its place.
You smile at him, coming to place your hand over the one that cupped your cheek. It’s a sweet, loving gesture — and you sigh into it — but all sense of sweetness is broken by your next words.  
“I need you to fuck me.”
“I— uh, what? Are you sure?”
“I need you to fuck me,” you repeat, seriously. “I can’t believe you would think I could go without your cock all night — that I could walk out of here without your cum dripping down my legs.” You pout.
Just like that, he’s pulling you to your feet and spinning you around so that your waist hits the cold marble of the sink. With absolute control, he runs his hand up your spine until it reaches the middle and he pushes, adding a delicious arch to your back.
He is quick to line himself up with your sopping entrance, pulling the fabric of your panties to the side so he can slide the head of his cock through your dripping folds.
“Did sucking my cock make you this wet?” You whine, pushing back on him, desperate to feel him fill you. He clucks his tongue. “You’re so eager to please, maybe I should just shove my cock right back down your throat and take my own pleasure.”
“Noo,” you whine wantonly. “Need you.” You look up at the pair of you in the mirror. Your eyes are dark and filled with lust, face stained with mascara and remnants of his fucking. You are bare naked, minus the thin straps of your panties. Behind you, Yoongi stands fully clothed, his belt unbuckled just enough for him to grip his cock and hold it against you. The top button of his shirt has come undone, revealing a sheen of sweat. But it’s his face, the look he wears, that captures you.
Pure, unadulterated adoration dresses his features as he meets your gaze in the mirror.
He hooks a finger under your panties, pulling them to the side, and runs a thumb over your entrance. Your back arches at the touch, having denied yourself for so long.
Without warning, he presses the head of his cock to your entrance and begins to slide in.
Getting him off had always been a practice in edging yourself. You’d learned this over the months you’d spent with the beautiful man behind you. The more you saw his pleasure unravel before you, the more pleasure you felt. It didn’t matter if you weren’t particularly interested in whatever it was you were doing — you were interested in him. So as his thick girth begins to fill you, the new sensation bursts through your senses, searing your cunt with pleasure.
You let loose a whine, one that feels like it was pulled from the depths of your abdomen. Primal. Wanting. “Yoongi,” you gasp.
“What the fuck is going on in there?!” You hear someone call from the other side of the door, but you choose to ignore them, instead turning your attention to pushing back on Yoongi’s cock.
“Did you lock the door?” you pant.
“No — did you?”
“No.” He turns to lock it, but you stop him, reaching behind you to grab his arm. 
“Leave it. Just fuck me, please.”
He grins at you in the mirror. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You like the idea of someone walking in on you?” You groan, your cunt clenching around him at his words. “To see you split open on my cock, moaning my name like only I can make you?”
“Yes,” you choke out as he rams into you especially hard. “Wan’ them to know.”
“To know what?”
“That you’re mine.”
Yoongi swivels his hips against yours, drawing a particularly loud moan from you.
“Touch yourself,” he growls. “Make yourself come on my cock.”
You whimper, your body shaken by his relentless thrusts. Still, you reach down, fingers drifting over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Yoongi continues to rail into you, his hips grinding in a slight circle each time he bottoms out. Even as your breath hitches in your throat as you begin your ministrations on your clit — slow circles, building in strength and speed — all you can think about iss the way he bit his lip as he looked down on you. The way his brow furrowed in delicious concentration like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the world.
He adjusts his grip on your hips, his long fingers pressing into your abdomen. You know there will be bruises there tomorrow.
The new grip allows him to thrust up into you with a new viciousness.
“Fuck, princess, you’re so tight around me.”
The glaze in his eyes tells you he is close to his release and so you increase your pace, the sensation of his cock pounding into you and the calculated swirl of your fingers building the perfect tension.
“Ah, fuck, gonna cum,” Yoongi hisses.
“Cum inside,” you beg.
He groans at your words. You want him as deep within you as you could possibly get him. Want him on you, in you, surrounding you.
With one final thrust, he wraps his arms around you, pressing his clothed torso to your bare back. He thrusts shallowly a couple times before a thin groan resonates through his chest and you can feel his cock twitch within you, painting your walls with his cum.
With a cry, you feel the watery band of pleasure snap inside of you. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you feel Yoongi’s hand drift down to your clit, circling you through your pleasure.
His breath is heavy, shakey against your back. The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing together.
Yoongi pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants. He begins to reach for one of the hand towels in the stack but you hold your hand out.
“Keep it in,” you whisper. His eyes shoot up to yours. With a slight grin, he pulls your panties back over your cunt, sealing his cum inside you. With a playful tap to your still-sensitive mound, he stands, hands pressed into your hips.
“You’re gonna keep that inside for me, hm?” he murmurs into your ear, the brush of his words raising goosebumps on your skin. “You’re gonna walk around all night with my cum still inside of you. You’re gonna leave it in until we get back to the hotel and I can fuck it out of you again.”
Your eyes widen as you looked at Yoongi.
If he keeps talking like that, you’d be ready to go again in a minute. And judging by the semi he was sporting, he would be too.
You giggle to yourself as you pull your dress back on. Yoongi has finished dressing and now stands, facing the mirror, picking through his hair as he continues to steal glances at you. You are glad you brought your purse into the bathroom. You reach in to pull out a pack of makeup removers. Just as you are about to dab away the mix of tears and mascara from your cheeks, you feel Yoongi’s fingers wrap around your wrist.
“Here,” he says softly. “Let me.”
You smile at the man, a pink flush still painting his cheeks. Ever so gently he wipes away the black makeup from your face, taking his time to make sure he doesn’t pull at your skin or miss a spot.
“All done,” he says, tossing the wipe into the trash can. “Good as new.”
You turn back to the mirror. Makeupless, fuck evident, but good enough.
“Thanks babe,” you say, pulling him tight against you and kissing him lightly. Your tongue skates over the pink swell of his lower lip, but the kiss remains light and playful. He sighs into you, his hand running up your back.
“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips before stepping back. “Ready?”
Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.
“Oh!” You can feel your mixed cum beginning to leak out of your cunt and run down your leg. You snap your legs together, impulsively reaching out to Yoongi to grasp onto his arm as a nervous laugh bursts out of you.
“What—” His eyes flicker downwards to where a rivulet of white shines on the skin of your inner thigh. The dress you wore tonight is short, and leaves little to the imagination. But the image of his, his cum running down your inner thigh has him swallowing hard, his hand coming into a fist as his heart jumps into his throat.
Your eyes are large, blinking up at him as his hand comes down to rest on your waist. Ever-so-slowly, he kneels before you, eyes level with your hips. Gently, he pushes your leg aside so your thighs are no longer clenched together and rolls the hem of your dress up.
“Shh,” he hushes you.
Looking up at you, he leans in. His pink tongue darts out between swollen lips and he presses it to the inside of your leg. You gasp at the warmth. In the afterglow of your orgasm, your whole body sings with sensitivity.
Slowly, deliberately, he licks up the trail of his own come, collecting the white substance into his mouth. You nearly groan at the sight. When he reaches your panties, he closes his mouth and swallows, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before rising to his feet. You run a hand through his hair, tugging him to you. As he kisses you, you can taste the mix of both of your juices on his tongue and you press deeper into the salty taste.
“We should go back,” Yoongi murmurs against you. “Before anyone thinks we’ve gone missing.” He chuckles in your hair, finally unlocking the door.
Jimin stands there, his mouth agape.
“Why do you always have to be so fucking loud?” he asks with a scowl, shaking the shock out of his eyes. “Like great, we all know you have a killer sex life, do you have to rub it in our faces too?” he grumbles.
You chuckle, pulling your friend into a side hug.
“Maybe next time you should join us, and we can do something about that bruised ego of yours.” You wink at Yoongi, feeling his hand settle heavy on your lower back as you rejoin the sway of the crowd.
“Maybe,” he growls into your ear. He pulls you tight against him as he smirks at Jimin.
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