So Art Deco- Sub!Yoongi(m)
(m)- mature, (f)- fluff, (a)- angst
The best experiences can come from giving up control…
Req: thank you for opening requests!! ahh could I have something sub!suga?
Req: Sorry if you’ve already done this and I haven’t seen, but could you do a Yoongi smut where he asks you to dom and cuff him to the bed and shit? Possibly with praise kink? There isn’t enough sub Yoongi in this world
A/N: Okay, so for the second request it is altered a bit,
there is no cuffing and no bed so, but I hope you still enjoy. Much love~~
“Y/N?” His careful voice breaches the still silence in your ears, the pastel dropping from between your fingers and a gasp freeing from your lips, open in concentration.
“Yoongi?” You grope for the blindfold around your eyes until you can untie the ribbon from your head, pupils dilating in the harsh light of the empty art room, Yoongi standing just beyond the door with a funny look on his face.
“What are you doing?” The corners of his lips are turned up in an expressive smirk, gesturing to the pastel on the floor, then to the silk tie in your hands.
“I swear if you make any gross jokes-”
“It was just a question.” He throws his hands up, slowly coming round so he can get a better view of your canvas, a cacophony of bright color and intricately woven shapes. “That looks really great. I’m sure the professor will love it as soon as he sees it.”
You shake your head. “It still needs a lot of work. Which is why,” you wave the tie in your hands, “I have this.”
“…for color blocking?”
“No, you dumbass, then I wouldn’t have been wearing it.” You give him a wan look, turning back to your artwork. “I use it when I’m blocked. I can see shapes better in the complete darkness, then just let my hand create them without my eyes to overcomplicate the process.”
“God, I’ve been blocked like crazy lately.” Yoongi jokes, throwing down his bag. “Maybe I should try it.”
“You should.” You nod, all serious. “It sounds so weird, but it’s honestly great.”
“Let me try then.” He shrugs, nonchalantly, ruffling his hair.
Widening your eyes in surprise, you kick away your scattered books and replace your canvas with a fresh one from the easel beside you, clearing the space and stepping back to give him room to set himself up.
“Don’t be nervous.” You smirk at how he eyes the dark tie you’re holding out, while motioning for him to sit in the chair you’d been occupying.
“I kind of am.” He satires, looking up at you. “What if you take advantage of me?”
“Oh please.” You roll your eyes in exaggeration, covering his and tying a knot loosely at the back of his head, making sure it pulls on the strands of his silky hair just for good measure. “Like I’m interested.”
The corners of his lips turn up again, so minutely you almost miss it, swallowing as you take your favorite pastel from the box and set it in his open palm. “It’s Robin’s Egg Blue.” You inform him. “What shape does that make you think of?”
“It doesn’t make me think of a shape.” He says factually.
You lick your lips, letting go of his wrist and stepping back. “Then just draw.”
His hand stretches out to blindly reach for the paper, holding back your mocking laugh as he misses it by a good foot to the right, swiping the air with the pastel like a drunk. “Help me out a little.” He deadpans, and you just know that his eyes would be thin and unamused if you could see them.
With a shake of your head, you grip his thin wrist, the veins showing along his hands and forearms as you swivel it left, stopping once he’s made contact. “There you go, solider.” You give a firm shake of your head although he can’t see it. “Now, you can go ahead and start.”
“I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He admits, making a streak down the canvas at a 45 degree angle, doing the same on the other side until they meet at a round point in the center, slightly askew from the blind contour.
“Just let your subconscious do it for you.”
“I don’t know…” He trails, yet his lines keep going, lips slightly puckered in concentration.
“Talk to me. How do you feel? What are you feeling? How does what you’re drawing make you feel?”
His bowed lips purse in thought, making a slope in the center of his conjoined lines. “Joy…?” He begins, somewhat questioningly. “Amusement. Affection. Laughter… Lust.”
You smooth down your skirt, leaning against the table behind you so you can observe his progress, watching every stroke and every brush of color that he unknowingly makes turn into form and face.
Your lips part in amazed appreciation for his skill, letting a finger trail over your features as he draws them from memory. “Yoongi…”
“Yeah?” His voice is quiet with focus.
“It looks perfect.”
“What is it?”
You come around and bend next to him, taking in the puckered concentration on his proportional face with silent intensity.
“What does it make you feel?” You repeat the question from earlier and ignore his.
“Um…” He twirls the pastel in his fingers with slight agitation, staining his hands a delectable blue. “Joy. Amusement. Affection. Laughter. Lust. Want.”
“Want?” You swallow thickly and nervously, inhaling deeply through your nose. “You want me?”
Yoongi’s head snaps in the direction of your voice, lips parting to draw a loud breath. Your mind runs wild at his silence, not denying it, yet not affirming it either; the sound of him dropping a pastel so blaringly loud you flinch.
“I dream about you.” He begins, bluntly, your eyes attached to the way his wet lips are moving. “I dream about getting pastel and smearing it everywhere, I dream about getting to feel you and hear you and taste you and smell you. I dream about fucking so hard you can’t walk and until my throat is sore from moaning.”
Between your legs is pooling with arousal, hearing such confession come from the plump lips of this absolute angel in front of you. “Why don’t you do that to me then?” You venture, standing up to move between him and the easel.
“No.” He says, short and decided. “I want you to do that to me.”
Your eyes widen, and you’re relieved he can’t see your resolve break and shatter at your feet. Slowly, carefully and with quiet calculation you reach your hand out to him, shivering with expectancy as your fingertip comes into contact with the soft skin above his collarbones. Yoongi lets go of a heavy breath, tensing up beneath your small touch and curling his colored fingers around the ends of the arm rests.
With a flick of your thumb and index you undo the top button of his shirt, slowly exposing more smooth, pale flesh to your wandering eyes. Yoongi’s nose is scrunched up in anticipation and expectation, breath coming out in little puffs of need.
His lips are soft and lush as you lean down to kiss him, consuming you with his taste and his hands as they slide up your shoulders, his body a twitching jumble beneath you. Sinking your teeth into his lips, he lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ against you, groaning wildly.
Just a little bit more. You think to yourself, pulling away to spot his busy hands and smiling with idea. Yoongi grunts in disapproval as you get off of him, crawling over to the desk to grab the few extra ties left there, before you come back to him, grabbing one of his thin arms in your hands and placing it firmly on the sides of the chair.
“I don’t want you getting any ideas.” You say in some sort of reason, double knotting the ribbon at the bottom and repeating the action on the other arm, admiring your handiwork as he grits his teeth at the loss of more control.
The first pastel that your hand gets is a bright orange one, painting a solid line down his chest before smoothing it out with your hand, loving how vibrant the color looks on his ivory skin. Next is pink, and blue and purple and green, until every inch of the skin he has exposed to you is a mirage of blended color, falling into one another and moving as one.
“You’re doing so well.” You murmur, smearing the last bit of bright pastel down his pale stomach. A deep moan is drawn from the back of his throat, like artistic music to your hungry ears, like angels singing heavenly choir.
Yoongi tips his head back, the expanse of his long, vein-ridden neck exposed to you, just one more blank canvas you can turn into a masterpiece. Plucking a dark purple that had rolled to the floor, you trace the outline of his bobbing Adam’s apple, the veins and arteries that carry blood to his heart, beating fast against your chest.
You draw blossoming flowers, with your hands and your lips, sucking a round bruise into his skin before surrounding it with petals in purple pastel, a garden blooming before your eyes. There is something undeniably erotic about seeing him like this, back bowing against the chair, eyes covered, hands bound and white from gripping the hand rests.
“Relax.” You soothe, watching with lidded eyes as Yoongi bites his bottom lip, the flesh red and swollen between his teeth. Wrapping your arms behind him you slide his body up the chair, the ribbon binding his wrists easily sliding with you to accommodate the position change.
He bucks hips up, trying to find you like a desperate animal, a beautiful sounding whine leaving his lips when he gets nothing but air. “Be patient.” You murmur, watching him struggle to calm himself down as he writhes in the chair. Your eyes stick on the bulge of arousal in his pants, floor cold against your bare knees as you kneel in front of him.
“Y/N…” Yoongi’s voice is so so deliciously broken. “I-”
“You what, baby?” Your hands, come into contact with his thighs, scraping your nails lightly down the fabric of his pants, keeping the tone of your words light and airy.
A ragged sigh leaves his lips as whatever he was going to say flees, making an appreciative sound in the back of his throat as you get closer and closer to his throbbing heat. Smoothing a single finger between his spread legs, you almost lose yourself at the groan that comes from him, long and laced with lust. “More.” Is the only thing he says, heady and rough.
“That’s not how you ask.” You chastise him, standing up from your position against the floor, almost regretfully to walk around him, leisurely throwing your arms around his neck and letting them drape against the mural of his stained chest. “Only good boys who ask with nice manners get what they want.”
He moans, relishing in the fleeting pleasure of your fingers as they wrap around one of his erect nipples and tweak slowly. “Please…” His voice is quiet with shame at having to beg, not wanting to swallow his pride.
Your lips are hot against his neck, licking his wildly beating pulse and biting the skin softly as your hands reach further down to tease at the waistband of his pants. You can feel the breath release from his lungs, opening up his pants button and slowly zipping down, knuckles brushing against his straining heat as he groans louder, “please…”
His boxers are a dark blue color, perfect against his skin, traveling further to get under those as well. “Lift up, baby.” You instruct carefully, standing on your tiptoes so you can reach down and push both articles of clothing over his milky thighs until his cock springs free.
Yoongi groans at the cold air against his hot, sensitive skin, turning his head sideways to nip at your exposed shoulder, getting a single moan from you before you swat him away and inform him to be a good boy, removing yourself completely to get back in front of him.
He looks so perfect below you, colored chest expanding with ragged breath and lips parted as he waits for what you’ll do next. A thin layer of sweat covers his face, bright hair sticking to his forehead in small clumps, throat skipping and a muscle feathering along his jaw as he tightens it.
Sliding your panties down your legs, you pull up your skirt and straddle above one of of Yoongi’s thigh, licking your lips at the sight of his hard, pink cock, tip glistening in the light with precum. Part of you wants to just ride the fuck out of him, fast and hard, but the other part wants to completely control him, slowly and steadily.
Using one hand, you grip him, smiling at the loud string of curses that fall from Yoongi’s lips at the unexpected contact, slipping your hand up and down, unrushed and smoothing a thumb over his tip to spread the liquid arousal leaking from him.
“I want you.” He moans, thrusting his hips up and making you bounce on him, the movement against the wet flower between your thighs making your eyes pinch shut and throat work in silent pleasure.
Pushing a hand on his chest to force him downward, you rub your clit against his thigh, the friction of his jeans on your throbbing bud causing you to stutter in your movements along Yoongi’s length, squeezing his shaft tightly to try and hold on to your orgasm as it threatens to take you over far too early.
“I can just imagine what you look like.” He fists his hands in their restraints, voice a distressed mess. You are already staining his pants with cum, touching yourself with a free hand to gather the liquid before pressing it against his lips.
“Open up.” You gently direct him, pumping your hand faster as he gets the first taste of you.
You watch his throat bob and lips work around you, the warm, wet cavern of his mouth so stimulating. He mutters a compliment on your sweetness, muscles going rigid when you squeeze his cock once more.
“Do you want me to let you cum?” You ask, completely innocent.
He nods furiously, tongue licking whatever was left on his lips with fervor. “Yes…”
You slap him, a bright red mark appearing on his chest amidst all the color. “That’s not how you ask.”
“Please.” His voice quavers. “I want- I need-” His words are cut off by an aggressively loud moan, white seed releasing from his burning cock and over your hair and arm, staining you in his sex and in the pride of what you made him do.
Continuing to pleasure yourself against his leg, you grab at the ties binding his wrists down, getting the one closest to you undone and leaving him to do the other, watching with unabashed attention while he reaches behind his head to loosen the blindfold as well, the silk slipping from his eyes and to the bridge of his nose, obscuring his features from view as he looks at you.
Just as his lips crash against yours, your walls begin to clench around nothing, releasing with a breathy moan that he swallows whole, invading his mouth with your tongue and tasting the lingering remnants of your cum on his tastebuds.
“I must’ve drawn something pretty fantastic.” He breaks away to breathe with amusement, ragged and panting as you let the last of the blindfold slip from its position to turn with him to the canvas, bright color bleeding from your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks…
“You drew me.”
Hope you enjoyed~~ Much love:)