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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #fanfic #prompt #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #growing back together #userreese #i think thats what you meant when you said to tag you????#gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖

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winetae · 5 years

Text

⇾ what you did last summer (m).

⇁ female reader x yoongi

⇁ smut, trophy wife!au

⇁ slowburn, dom!yoongi, age difference, consensual non-monogamy, power imbalance, semi-public sex, objectification, face-fucking, derogatory language and possessive behavior during sex, creampie, cum marking, unsafe sex, everyone is kind of slutty, not as wildt as warnings may imply

⇁ unnecessarily long for a pwp. 33.8k. phew.

. . .

Yoongi was fine with a lot of things—you maxing out his credit cards to buy ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest ride for a spin without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function.

What he was not okay with, however, was you sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who were incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants.

No, that was where he drew the line.

↳ alternatively titled; How to Get Dick - an autobiography written by (you)

author’s note | while this fic does contain a semblance of plot, the focus is more on characterization which i understand can make for a boring read. also note that i have done (0) research and despite having owned a pool, still to this day do not know how to clean one.

written for 1 of my closest friends @tayegi as the most belated bday gift to have ever been gifted. ily :( ty for having passionate naruto-related discussions w/ me at 6am. u r the real deal !

(!) pls read the warnings. uncomfortable subject matter if delved in too deeply. tbh i didn’t know how to tag. also yoongi is older in this fic - an age gap is there and implied although none of the characters’ ages are specified.

song inspo: needy - ariana grande. that’s all! enjoy! hopefully! /cries

{THURSDAY. 10:23 am.}

“Hi, um, I’m Jungkook.”

The man shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling all sorts of self-conscious.

In stark contrast to his casual appearance, you looked neatly put together, not a strand of hair out of place. His well worn jeans and simple white tee looked terribly shabby in comparison to the tailored cream colored dress that hugged your figure. Jungkook didn’t need to check the original price tag or the label stitched onto the fabric to know that your outfit was Expensive (with a capital E for emphasis).

Doubt made his stomach turn. Had there been a dress code stated somewhere in the job description? Given Jungkook’s disposition, it didn’t seem very likely that he had overlooked such a crucial detail. He was the type to obsess over the smallest details, always double-checking everything before giving the go ahead.

Yet despite all of the precautions he was certain he had taken, Jungkook was unable to shake off the feeling of being disgustingly underdressed.

Worry bubbled in the pit of his stomach. His palms began to sweat as his gaze flitted back and forth between the pale pink freshwater pearls hanging off your neck and the clothes he had haphazardly thrown on this morning.

Well at least they were ironed, he mused. It was but a small consolation—the denim was faded from one wash too many and the frayed holes near his kneecaps made his jeans look tattered. Had he known the neighborhood would be this posh, he would have chosen his outfit with greater care. Right now he regretted not putting in more effort, if only to blend in with his surroundings. As he was now, he looked distinctly out of place. Almost as ridiculous as Samsung’s CEO taking a leisurely stroll through the downtown dollar store.

Jungkook half-expected you to take one glance at him, upturn your nose and slam the polished oak door in his face. In his panicked state, a number of embarrassing scenarios reeled through his mind, each one filling him with nauseating dread.

It was your expectant expression that snapped him out of his daze. He slowly blinked back into focus, realizing he had paused for a few seconds too long, and he cleared his throat.

A smile stretched across his face, not quite of the genuine kind. He squared his shoulders for good measure, doing his best to conceal the stress shaking up his insides.

“My name is Jeon Jungkook. I spoke to Mr. Min on the phone yesterday. I was expected to arrive at ten thirty?” His voice rose a little at the end, uncertain. It hadn’t been meant to be phrased as a question but his nerves made his voice quiver.

“Ah, yes, of course. And right on time, too.” Jungkook had made sure of it; he despised running late. “Nice to meet you, I’m ______,” you greeted, voice as smooth as velvet.

He tried not to openly stare because wow. Your blinding smile looked straight out of a Colgate advertisement, a tad too white to be completely natural.

Once again, you had him feeling self-conscious and all too aware of his own, less than perfect appearance. Whether it was the anxiety or the scorching heat beating down his back—or an unpleasant mix of both—a film of perspiration formed over his skin, leaving him sticky and uncomfortable.

Jungkook discreetly wiped off his palms against his denim clad thighs before taking your outstretched hand in his.

Despite your small size, your grip was surprisingly firm. If you noticed how abnormally clammy his hand was, you refrained from commentary. Instead, you held the door open a bit wider and ushered him inside the imposing abode.

“You can follow me. I’ll show you around to the back.”

He gave a little jerky nod and let you take the lead. For a moment, all he could hear was the nervous beat of his heart and the steady click-clack of your heels against the immaculate white floor tiles.

Jungkook blushed, quickly turning his head the moment he caught himself staring at your swaying hips. He wet his lips, his eyes darting around for any kind of distraction.

Inwardly, he scolded himself as he pinched the bit of flesh between his thumb and index finger.

Workplace crushes were never a good idea. Wasn’t it, like, written down in the code of conduct or something? It didn’t even have to be a rule. It was just common sense.

And Jungkook had no plans to fuck this job up. Summer jobs that paid this kind of money were scarce and hard to find. For someone like him who needed the money desperately, this job was a godsend, one that he would never dare pass up.

From the moment he had set foot onto Mr. Min’s property, Jungkook had realized that this wouldn’t be anything like his other part-time jobs that had consisted of repainting his neighbor’s fence and watering Mrs. Anderson’s flowers whenever she left town to visit her son. But this? This wouldn’t be just another pool cleaning job, that was for sure.

For one, the mansion, like every house in the vicinity, reeked of money. In his eyes, they all seemed to be competing against each other, with ridiculous, Disneyland-esque shaped hedges and wide, winding driveways capable of fitting several imported cars at a time. On the drive over, Jungkook had even spotted a marble fountain planted in the middle of someone’s front yard, clear water spouting out of a cupid’s arrow. He half expected peacocks and other exotic animals to parade across their lawns like some kind of zoo.

He could only assume that most of these ostentatious properties were owned by business tycoons or AAA-list celebrities. He cast a glance around as he tried to guess which of the two categories his employer belonged to.

To his dismay, there was nothing that particularly stood out to him. In all honesty it was…a little underwhelming. Jungkook had been expecting something jaw dropping in its obnoxiousness but he could spot no cupid fountains or gigantic aquariums built in the wall or pet tigers in gilded cages.

Mr. Min, whoever he was, seemed to favor subtlety. There were no life-sized cutouts of his person, no trophy collection showing off his achievements. The walls were painted an off-white, only decorated by the occasional painting. There were no family portraits, no personal belongings indicating that a person actually lived and breathed in this house. If he hadn’t known beforehand, Jungkook would have believed himself to be in some fancy hotel, not a home.

But the lack of personal ornaments did nothing to quell Jungkook’s growing curiosity. Questions whizzed through his brain. Was his employer a successful plastic surgeon? The living space somewhat reminded him of his dentist’s waiting room. Very clinical and clean. Then again, there was really no telling who he was working for. Maybe they were one of those Wolf of Wall Street stock brokers that owned dozens of unused vacation homes. Or, perhaps, Mr. Min happened to be one of those top-of-the-food-chain entertainment producers… His name did sound awfully familiar for some reason he couldn’t—

Jungkook hadn’t even realized his footsteps had slowed down, too caught up in his thoughts.

“You enjoy art?” The sound of your voice roused him from his ruminations. He jumped, head snapping in your direction so fast his neck throbbed.

Your head was tilted in what seemed to be—interest? The angle drew attention to the slope of your neck and for a few short seconds, Jungkook freaked out, wondering if it was normal to find the delicate curve of someone’s neck attractive. Was that too weird? Luckily he hadn’t been outright staring but he could still feel the tips of his ears heat up in embarrassment.

A beat passed as he finally registered your question. Did he like—? Oh. Somewhat belatedly, he realized that you had been talking about the work of art hung up on the far right wall. He must have been staring at it earlier without noticing. Was it a painting? A sculpture? He scratched his neck, not really knowing how to identify it. He couldn’t tell what it was supposed to represent, either, no matter how long he examined it.

“Not particularly... I mean,” he quickly backtracked, suddenly worried this was some kind of test. “I like it, I just don’t know much about it.”

It was easier to settle for honesty. Lying had never been his strongest suit. Besides, as much as he’d like to impress you, he had no actual knowledge to show off. And he’d rather be ignorant than a liar. Knowledge—well, he could always catch up on and learn what he didn’t know. Trust, however, was hard to earn back when lost.

“I find certain pieces nice to look at but my appreciation for art is rather superficial.”

Although you covered it well, he could tell you were slightly put off by his answer, almost as if you had been expecting something else. Jungkook worried his bottom lip, nervous he had said the wrong thing.

“I see...” Your eyes slid over to the artwork. “Beauty is subjective, isn’t it? Art is supposed to adhere to those rules, too. Some people will find this pretty, some won’t. And yet... It’s not that simple, either. Who assigns value to a piece? The artist or the consumer? I wonder about that sometimes.”

Jungkook nodded, unsure what else to say. You didn’t seem to mind the lack of commentary, continuing on, “I think about it a lot, actually. How do you define someone’s worth?”

Your expression shifted into something indecipherable, gaze slightly glassy, mind elsewhere. Remembering yourself, you covered it up with a polite smile.

“That there is a Rudolf Stingel piece, worth just a little over 5 million. It’s one of my favorites.”

He covered his shock with a loud cough that sounded more like a choke.

“Five million?” Disbelief colored his tone. Five million. Holy shit. “I-Is Mr. Min an art collector?”

Bitterly, Jungkook thought about how he could spend the rest of his life cleaning pools and never make enough to buy a scrap of metal signed Stingel. Not that he wanted to own one. It was just... The idea of being rich enough to spend millions on junk was—

He swallowed, forcing the feeling down. He tried very hard not to think about how one piece of metal could pay for the entirety of his tuition and then some. If he did, he’d likely spiral into depression. Being a broke college student sucked.

“You could say that...”

You shrugged, half smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It wasn’t like the blinding, 100-watt beam you had flashed his way the moment the front door had swung open. This version was less overwhelming, but certainly no less potent. The slow curl of your lips made it easier to admire the defined features of your face. Jungkook swallowed.

Beauty was subjective? Maybe so. Jungkook had no taste for the two-dimensional. He wouldn’t be able to discern a Monet from a Picasso if asked. But something about you had him inclined to change his mind.

Jungkook had seen beautiful women parade before him—but none like you. Your beauty was eerie—pretty in an almost unnatural way. You looked like a painting brought to life. There was something soft and sharp about your traits, like the definition of a marble statue and the roundness of a paintbrush stroking a canvas all in one.

“—He does buy a lot of it.”

“I see...” If Mr. Min had objects worth 5 million casually displayed in plain sight, he had to be the type of individual Jungkook would never cross paths with in his everyday life. They belonged to two different worlds, their orbits never meant to cross paths.

“Come on.” You smiled kindly, yanking him out of his stupor. “I still have to show you the pool.”

Dutifully, he followed after you, his steps measured and careful. Now was not the time to go breaking million dollar vases from the Qing dynasty or whatever other valuable pieces Mr. Min had acquired over the years. He sure as hell didn’t have five million in his bank account around to spend on damages. The mere possibility of getting fired on the first day, 5 million in debt, made his skin crawl unpleasantly. He shuddered.

“It’s a bit cold in here,” you apologized once you noticed him rubbing his arms. Goosebumps had raised on his skin. “Should I turn the AC off?”

“I’m fine! Really. Please don’t worry. I’ll be working outside, anyway. Unless… Is it, uh, an indoor pool?” He hadn’t considered that a possibility until now. Maybe there were even multiple pools to clean.

“No, no, the pool’s outside.” You continued your explanation as you led him through the conservatory. The glass ceiling allowed for natural sunlight to filter through, enhancing the aesthetic appeal of the room. Out of all the rooms he had walked through so far, this one seemed like the most inviting. “You can see it from here. See? Just through here. There’s no justifiable need for an indoor pool since the one we have is heated.”

Jungkook picked up on the strange use of pronoun—we—but didn’t question it. His thoughts were all jumbled up, anxiety making him unable to focus on one topic for too long. “Although, I suppose you could say there isn’t much need for this one, either. It rarely gets used… Honestly, I can’t remember the last time Yoongi went for a swim. It’s almost a waste.”

It took him several seconds for him to realize you were referring to Mr. Min. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how long you had worked under Mr. Min to be able to address him by his first name. Or maybe his boss was lax about these kind of things? Jungkook somehow doubted it. The man he had on the phone last night hadn’t given off that impression at all.

“Is Mr. Min not home often?” he asked tentatively, hoping his interest wasn’t blatant. Jungkook wasn’t sure if his questions were appropriate or not but thankfully you didn’t seem to mind his curiosity. “Will I meet him today?”

“He should be stopping by later for lunch...” Your voice trailed off before you remembered his first question. “But, no. He spends most of his time locked up in his office, so I doubt you’ll see him very often.”

You said this as you turned your face away. Eyes downcast, you failed to notice when Jungkook caught your grimace from the glass door’s reflection. Jungkook diverted his gaze, somehow feeling like he had seen something he shouldn’t have.

“Ah, here we are.” You slid the glass door open and a gust of warm air blew in his face.

Jungkook stepped out onto the deck, one of his hands raised to block his view from the sun. The garden was in full bloom, a colorful arrangement of hydrangeas, astilbe and daylilies lining the stone pathway that wound down to the gazebo and the pool. A thick, sweet scent hung heavy in the air, so strong it made his nose twitch.

He followed you down the patio, watching in fascination as you walked atop of uneven stone steps with expertise despite the thinness and tallness of your heels.

“I’ll have to get another key double made for the shed, I forgot to get another one done. We keep all the cleaning equipment in here. Next time you come, you can come straight back here after someone’s buzzed you in.”

Jungkook nodded as you showed him where to check the water circulation.

“Do you have any questions? Hm, I think I covered everything. Although I’m sure there’ll be things I’ll need to tell you along the way because I tend to be forgetful.”

It occurred to him that he didn’t know what kind of job you occupied. The question balanced on the tip of his tongue. Would it be considered rude to ask? He swallowed it back down after failing to muster the courage to ask.

“Hm?” You made an inquisitive sound, head tilting slightly. “What is it? You can ask me anything.”

“So, uh, have you worked here long? Do you like it here?”

“Worked here…? Oh. Oh!” Your look of surprise morphed into one of amusement. The corners of your mouth pressed down together in an effort to hold back a laugh.

Jungkook grew uneasy. Somehow, without needing an explanation, he knew he had said the wrong thing.

“I don’t work here. Well. I suppose being a housewife is an occupation in itself, so I guess… Almost a year?” You fiddled with the ring on your index finger, the encrusted diamonds sparkling as the facets reflected the sunlight. “It’s our anniversary on the twentieth. So, yeah, almost a year.”

Jungkook stared at it without comprehending. It was like every cog in his brain had screeched to an abrupt halt.

“Housewife…?” Jungkook’s mouth fell open as he put two and two together. His brain had begun to catch up but it was still buffering like some early 2000 computer that was unable to process large amounts of information without crashing. “You’re—but you’re so young—? Not that that’s a reason for—I thought, I mean, I shouldn’t have—”

Stop talking. Stop. Talking.

“Sorry. For, you know. Assuming. It was wrong of me. Um.” He knew he should stop talking. He knew it and yet— “H-happy anniversary?”

His ears burned with mortification. If the ground could split open and swallow him whole, now would be a fantastic time for it to do so. He had always had shit brain-to-mouth filter but this was… Fuck. He wanted to bang his head against a wall but refrained from doing so, not ready to risk losing more brain cells.

You burst out into laughter, your shoulders shaking from the force of it.

“The look on your face,” you snickered, finally pulling yourself together. “I don’t usually get that kind of reaction. People are usually a lot less... Well. It doesn’t really matter what they’re like. They don’t matter.”

Jungkook hastily apologized again, fearing he had vexed you.

God, you probably thought he was the world’s biggest dumbass. He sure felt like one.

In his defense, your marital status hadn’t been a painfully obvious fact. Jungkook hadn’t even considered the possibility that Mr. Min was a married man. The house he had walked through earlier had lacked convivial warmth, giving the impression of vacancy. There were no wedding pictures framed on the mantle or any other piece of evidence of a lover.

Perhaps it was the age that had further thrown him off—you couldn’t be that much older than him. Maybe two years older? Five, at the most? The deep voice he had heard over the phone last night had given off the impression that Mr. Min was eons older. In Jungkook’s mind, he pictured a man with a balding head, fine lines near his eyes. Maybe Jungkook had been completely off from the start. But then again, Mr. Min couldn’t possibly be that young, either.

He did some quick mental math, trying to calculate and estimate how young Mr. Min could be. Sure, he had seen movies depicting extremely young and successful CEO’s but the real world worked differently. Mr. Min had to be in his thirties…at the earliest.

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved his concerns away with a flick of your wrist. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Trust me…I’m really good at knowing when someone’s being intentionally insulting.”

The last part was said carelessly, like the words hadn’t actually meant to be voiced aloud. His brows scrunched up in confusion; try as he might, he didn’t understand what you meant.

“I’m really sorry,” he squeaked out, his ears still uncomfortably hot. He wiped his brow with the back of hand.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not something that bothers me.”

Jungkook only allowed himself to relax when he caught sight of the easygoing smile gracing your lips. “Well then, I think I covered about everything. If you don’t have anything else you need explained, I’ll let you at it. Why don’t I head on inside and get you some refreshments? It’s so hot out today—I wouldn’t want you to get a heatstroke.”

“That’ll be great.” Jungkook nodded in thanks. Now that you mentioned it, his mouth felt unbearably parched. He made a mental note to bring a water bottle for next time.

“Want anything in particular? I think we have just about everything stocked up in the fridge. Juice, sparkling water, cola...?”

“Water sounds perfect, thank you.”

Jungkook tried not to stare when you turned on your heels and walked away. He really did. Except it was hard not to notice how well the dress you wore flattered your figure, emphasizing the curves of your body in all the right places.

It was a futile battle; his eyes refused to cooperate with his internal demands. Honest to God, he tried really hard not to look but your legs looked fa—

He shook his head as if the action would somehow help him clear his thoughts. Get a fucking grip! his inner voice of reason yelled at him.

You were married.

To his boss.

He let that sink in. Or tried to. Jungkook didn’t need to have an IQ of 155 to know that having the hots for the woman married to his boss would ultimately result in disaster. Nothing good would ever come out of it. Why would you even consider looking at other men? Only a dumbass would think he stood a chance. Your husband probably provided everything you needed and more.

But what should have been sufficient incentive to put an end to his cru—whatever the hell it was—wasn’t doing jack shit. The only resounding thought in his mind right then was a constant loop of I’m so fuuucked. Because if there was one thing Jungkook was good at, it was spotting a losing battle when he saw one. But one thing he was bad at? Abandoning a sinking ship.

Back in the kitchen, you were feeling similarly distressed.

The corners of your mouth downturned into a frown as your eyes raked over the familiar penmanship.

Don’t wait up for me tonight.

You peeled the post-it note off the fridge, checking the back of the yellow paper to make sure you hadn’t overlooked any words he might have tacked on as an afterthought. Foolishly, your heart hoped to find any semblance of an apology—anything that would prove that somewhere behind his impassive mask he still loved you.

It was, unsurprisingly, blank.

Admittedly, your husband was a man of few words. He had never been known for flowery speeches, preferring to keep it curt and to the point. Efficiency, he called it.

Realistically, you should have known Yoongi wouldn’t have been able to spend the day with you. More often than not last minute work emergencies called him into office, interrupting whatever plans you had made for that day. This wasn’t outside the norm. Yoongi’s work came first and foremost. You had never deluded yourself into thinking otherwise and had never resented him for it, either.

Still...you remembered a time when he had put in more effort than a half-assed, scribbled note. Before he had tied the knot, Yoongi had been more attentive and thoughtful. There wasn’t a day that you didn’t wake up to the smell of fresh flowers, hand-picked and arranged in a crystal vase by your bedside. He never failed to call during the day between board meetings to check up on you and always made sure to make up for his absences one way or another.

Being with Yoongi came with its set of disclaimers and downsides, but like any worthwhile relationship, you had been willing to overlook these hardships. It wasn’t difficult to, not when Yoongi always showered you with prettily wrapped up gifts and hot mouthed kisses, erasing any doubts that sprouted within you.

Gradually, all that had changed. There were no more flowers, no more impromptu calls, no more candlelit dinners.

Whatever love that had previously existed was nowhere to be found. The notes he left around the house had become sparse and dismissive. You looked back down at his message and held back a scoff. The paper creased between your fingers and you had half a mind to ball it up and throw it away, along with the frustration simmering under the surface of your skin.

It was impossible to pinpoint the exact moment change had happened but somewhere down the line, the affection that used to gleam in his eyes had melted away, leaving behind a stony face devoid of warmth. You could imagine his face as he had written the note, features smoothed over into the same inscrutable look he reserved for his business clients.

“Guess it’s just going to be me and Euna today.” You glanced at your watch, the steel heavy around your delicate wrist, and desperately attempted to refocus your attention.

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly but you forced the nauseating feeling down with a forced out sigh.

Everything was fine. Besides, life went on and it wouldn’t wait for you to get your feelings under wraps.

You had been looking forward to having brunch with your sister and husband, but. Things happened. It was nothing to be upset about. You’d get over it after stuffing your face with a croissant or two.

When you came back with refreshments, Jungkook could tell something was wrong. He could see it by the hunch in your shoulders, the straight line of your mouth.

“Change of plans.” You set the sterling silver tray down with a thunk. The glass pitcher’s content sloshed around, threatening to spill over. He noticed there were bits of cut up—cucumbers?—floating around in the water. Weird. He wondered if it was considered rude to pick them out.

When he looked back at you, all of his inner ramblings ceased. Even though he didn’t know you well—or at all, really—worry still niggled at his heart. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened in the last ten minutes, but the look on your face was cause for concern. He just...didn’t know if it was his place to ask.

You took a glance at your wristwatch unaware of his silent predicament.

“You’ll get to meet Yoongi some other time, hopefully. I thought I might get to introduce the two of you today when he stopped by for lunch, but it’s work related business and you know how that is.”

Jungkook nodded, knowing better than to speak. You smiled and shrugged, but he could detect an undercurrent of frustration. The smile looked different than the one you had on when you had doubled over in laughter—this one was a little strained at the corners, too wide to be completely genuine.

“Sorry to leave you here like this. I know it’s your first day.” You breathed out a sigh, shoulders drooping. “But I’m meeting my sister soon and I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“’s cool. I’ve cleaned pools before, I should be able to handle myself fine.”

“Oh, and if you want a refill, just head on inside and ask June. She’ll get you whatever you like. She’s cleaning the upper floor right now, but she’ll be in the kitchen later. She’s a real gem, I bet you’ll like her.”

“Thanks—for this and everything else.” Jungkook’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he sent you a smile. “I’ll look forward to meeting your husband some other time.”

“It will be his pleasure,” you said, not realizing how spot on your statement would turn out to be.

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve cancelled your outing altogether and stayed home—if only to spare you from the embarrassment brought on by your sister’s sudden exclamation.

“What do you mean he doesn’t want to have sex?!” Euna’s voice rose in incredulity.

It was louder than what etiquette dictated as appropriate, and you had to hide your flinch behind a strained smile. You felt eyes bore into you from all sides as people swiveled around to stare in your direction.

An elderly lady dressed head to toe in Chanel tweed snickered into her napkin after giving you a once-over.

“Will you. Keep. It. Down.” You reclined back on your chair, your shoulders hunching in on themselves defensively. “We’re in public, Euna. So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if everyone here wasn’t up to date with my sad and pitiful sex life, because that’s really the last thing I need right now, thanks.”

“Oh no.” Euna dabbed the sides of her mouth with a napkin, deathly serious. “We’re talking about this now. I know you. You haven’t told anyone else about this. Not that I blame you, honestly. Your friends are all attention craving socialites. And it’s not like you’d ever go tell Mom about this. Not when she’s expecting you to pop a baby out soon. She’d probably find a way to lock you and Yoongi up in some room until you conceive her first grandkid.”

“Can we not talk about babies right now? Or Mom.” You repressed a shudder because fuck. That was another problem altogether—one that you were not equipped to handle at this very moment.

“Fine,” she agreed easily. “Talk to me about your dick problems instead, then.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Your attempt at nonchalance was weak at best. In front of you, the porcelain plate, stacked high with delicious French and Danish pastries, remained practically untouched. Usually by now half of them would have been devoured, down to the very last crumb. If that wasn’t an indicator that something was wrong then what was?

“There’s literally nothing to talk about. We haven’t had sex in weeks. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Weeks?!” Her glossy lips parted in shock. The emphasis on the plural form made you wince. As if you needed the reminder. “What the fuck.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” you said glumly, allowing a frown to draw on your features. As much as you liked to pretend you were fine with your husband’s increasingly distant behavior, it was impossible to keep up the pretense in front of your sister. She had a way of extracting the truth from you—even if it was a truth you were reluctant to face.

“Do you think... Um.” There was a slight pause as Euna gathered her thoughts, still trying to get over the shock of your confession. She lowered her voice to a whisper, perhaps finally realizing that the couple seated next to you were doing a piss poor job at eavesdropping. “D’you think he might be...cheating on you?”

Your rebuttal came out immediately, without a single trace of hesitation, “No way.”

“Are you sure?”

Your hardened expression did nothing to deter her from pressing the issue. “I mean, it’s not too far-fetched to imagine him having a sizzling office romance with a coworker. Or maybe there’s a rival executive he could be sticking his dick in to seal a—”

“No. Yoongi’s not. He’s not like that.” You shook your head, trying to clear your vision from the offensive images her words had conjured up. “He’s just been busy and stressed with work, that’s all. There’s a big merger happening soon and there are still a lot of things under negotiation right now so he has a lot going on.”

“Well what about a blowjob? No? Not even an under the desk handjob?”

Her Alexander Wang silk blouse wrinkled under her crossed her arms. The look of betrayal painted on her face made it seem like you had offended her on a personal level. Honestly you weren’t sure why she was getting so worked up over this. It wasn’t her dick getting neglected. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a guy refuse a good ol’ dick sucking.”

“Well good for you.” Your voice lacked sincerity, dry as the desert.

“And I’m 90% sure all the pent up cum that accumulated in his balls is the reason Yoongi’s acting like such a grade ass prick.”

“Read that in Science Weekly, did you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Euna narrowed her eyes at your tone. “Doctors say that blowing your load on the regular is the secret to a long and prosperous life.”

“The ‘expert’ opinion in Cosmo isn’t considered medical backup.”

“Well are they wrong? If you got dicked down more often I bet you wouldn’t be so fucking snappy all the time. Frowning like that is only going to give you premature wrinkles. And that’s a fact.”

“Why do you have to make it a matter of dick or death. Jesus, it’s not that dramatic. I bet all couples go through these dry spells every once in awhile. It can’t be that uncommon.”

“It is! Keeping your vagina happy, keeps you happy. As an extension of—”

“Would it kill you to be serious for a second?”

She huffed, feeling wrongfully rebuked. “It’s your sex life is on the line, not mine.”

That sobered you up a lot more quickly than you would ever like to admit. “I’m well aware...” You pursed your lips into a pout. “Look, it’s not that he doesn’t want sex with me. He just doesn’t have time for it. Because of work. I’m sure everything will go back to normal in a few weeks.”

“In a few weeks? Uh...” Euna trailed off. “Can you even hold off that long?”

“Ha, your faith in me is astounding. I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of going without sex for a month. Or two. I’m sure it won’t kill me... It’s not, like, the end of the world or anything.”

Euna’s raised brows made it clear that she didn’t believe you for one second. “Wasn’t the last time you abstained from sex for more than a month in—” She stopped, deep in thought. “When was the last time you took a break from sex? You have the sex drive of a rabbit.”

“That’s not important,” you snapped, stabbing your fork into a cheese tart. The rich, creamy texture melted on your tongue as soon as you bit into it, but for some reason your favorite dessert tasted like ash in your mouth. “I know you’re trying to help, but sex isn’t the magical solution to everything. It won’t fix anything. Not that anything needs fixing, I’m just saying.”

Sensing that the conversation was drawing to a close, Euna scooted backwards in her chair and stretched her arms. “Mhm, okay, if you say so. Good luck with all that... I sure wouldn’t want to be in your place, that’s for sure.”

That made two of you.

“Thanks,” you sighed. “Just. Whatever, it’s okay, I’m fine. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh. Well if things ever start to become...not okay...you can always—”

“I said everything’s fine,” you cut off sharply, effectively putting the conversation to rest. Your appetite lost, you set your fork down.

Regrettably, Euna’s words rattled you more than you cared to admit. You couldn’t shake off her warnings and advice no matter how much you tried to. Throughout the day, you found your thoughts wandering back to the conversation with your sister. Could she be right? The longer you let yourself ponder the issue, the more your doubts grew.

Despite your best efforts, you had no way of stopping these poisonous thoughts from plaguing your mind. No one was around to help you get rid of them and without an outlet, they grew and grew, culminating into an unbearable ache.

You hated the feeling of loneliness—of being alone and helpless, with nothing but your own thoughts to entertain you. You wished Yoongi would hurry up and come back home so that you could find refuge in his embrace. The bed was too big for just you alone and you hated seeing how empty it was without Yoongi snuggled up next to you. It was always during the time before sleep claimed you that his absence was the most painful to swallow. The overwhelming feeling of loneliness kept you awake for hours. Sometimes, no matter how exhausted you were, your body refused to cooperate unless it knew Yoongi was laying down at your side.

It was with no surprise that you found yourself all alone in the king sized bed that night, Yoongi’s side untouched and unoccupied. Your fingers reached out to where his sleeping figure should have been. Instead of a warm body, you grasped a handful of air. The only reminder that he slept next to you was the faint trace of his aftershave that clung stubbornly to the sheets. You tried not to sigh out in disappointment. You had been doing too much of that lately.

Turning over, you checked your phone for any message notifications despite already knowing that you wouldn’t find what you were waiting for. You curled up in a ball, feeling colder than you had been a few moments ago. Ordinarily, you’d try to stay up and wait for his return, but the day had been so emotionally draining that you slipped into a dreamless sleep the second your eyelids drooped to a close.

{SATURDAY. 11.18 am}

Despite the unlimited number of TV channels provided, none of the current programs had been interesting enough to capture your attention for longer than a few seconds. Your focus had drifted from the flat screen a long time ago. An infomercial on a 10 speed juice blender buzzed on in the background, but you paid it no heed.

Summer was supposed to be synonymous to leisure and fun. Yet here you were, splayed across the living room’s couch with no tangible vacation plans.

The worst part was that you were alone, with no one to distract you from how utterly and entirely boring your existence had become.

Not that you’d ever confide these innermost feelings to anyone in your entourage. You could already hear your mother’s condescending tone ring through your ears, chastising you for not living your life to the fullest (i.e. spending all of your husband’s hard earned money on luxurious vacation trips to St. Barts or wherever). And sure, trips to St. Barts and St. Tropez were fun—but they weren’t what you wanted. There was no point of going so far overseas when the person you wanted to spend time with was stuck back home. At least here you could see Yoongi from time to time, even if those times were becoming a rarity.

Your friends wouldn’t understand. They had no qualms jetting off every weekend to their private resorts and eating out of season, imported delicacies plated on shining, sterling silver dishes.

Speaking of friends, you flicked through their Instagram accounts, envy stirring in your lower belly as you swiped through their recent pictures, each snapshot showing off lavish hotel rooms equipped with balconies overlooking exotic landscapes and modern skylines. But the designer handbags dangling off their arms weren’t what made you froth at the mouth—you had enough of those lining up your walk-in closet.

No, what you envied the most was how fucking happy they seemed in every single shot. Pic after pic, their whitened smiles never waned.

You blew out a sigh, the heavy sound drowned out by television static.

God. What were you even doing with your life? Was this what you had to look forward to for the next twenty years? Would you and Yoongi even last until then?

This wasn’t how you had imagined your life would turn out when you accepted Min Yoongi’s proposal a year ago.

The honeymoon phase was long over. Even in your company, his attention never strayed too far from his work phone. And that was when he was home. Over the course of the past few months, he had reverted back to the workaholic man his friends and family had always known him to be, leaving behind no trace of the person you had become so taken with.

Working for his attention had always been a challenge. That was what had initially drawn you to him. Out of all the possible suitors lined up for a taste of you, only Min Yoongi’s detachment and feigned disinterest had stood out from the lot. There was something exciting about it, something that kept you on your toes, as opposed to the throng of other candidates that would easily bend to your will. His handsome looks had just been an added bonus.

But somewhere along the way, there had been a shift, too minute to notice on the spot. Now, when Yoongi brushed you off, there was no gleam twinkling in his eyes, no smirk on his lips. It didn’t matter if you wrapped your body up in lace and the finest satin, or stayed up until the early hours of the morning for him to return home—he always asked for a rain check, claiming fatigue.

Eventually, you had stopped trying so hard. There were only so many times you could handle being pushed away again and again before it started to hurt.

As much as you had enjoyed earning the praise and attention in the past, you didn’t like...whatever this had become. It wasn’t a game with rules and limits anymore. When Yoongi pushed you off of him, he meant it. So as much as you appreciated a man who was hardworking and dedicated to his job, you couldn’t help but crave the attention he had stopped giving you.

The pressure weighing down on your chest increased, making it hard to breathe. Invisible hands had wrapped themselves around your lungs and squeezed hard, leaving no room for air. For an interminable moment, you felt like you were drowning, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

When you blinked and swallowed, the feeling had disappeared, leaving you feeling hollow, like someone had dug out your heart with a chisel.

It took a while, but you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and finally made up your mind.

What you needed was a distraction, something to keep your hands and mind busy. You couldn’t stay put like this, trapped in your own thoughts and feelings. If you did, you’d surely go mad.

...The only problem was that there weren’t that many distractions available. You could go out on your own into the city to shop or eat but you dismissed the thought as soon as it had a chance to take form. Your closet was already full to the brim with clothes you hadn’t yet found the chance to wear.

As if she had somehow telepathically perceived your difficulties, June, your housekeeper, materialized into the living room, holding a laundry basket against her hip. Quickly, you gathered to your feet, excited by the prospect of finally finding something to do.

She jumped up in surprise, a high-pitched squeal leaving her throat, not expecting to see you appear in front of her with no prior warning. A strand of her curly hair escaped her wound-up bun but she deftly pinned it back in place after readjusting her hold on the laundry basket.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you asked eagerly.

“Sorry? I don’t quite understand...”

“Like... I don’t know... Maybe some dishes to clean or socks to fold up...”

“You want to clean dishes?” she echoed, looking at you as if you had suddenly sprouted a second pair of limbs.

You tried not to take offense and pursed your lips.

“Yes,” you confirmed with a firm nod of your head. “Any tasks that you might need help with.”

“Are you feeling okay ma’am?” she queried instead, the lines on her forehead expressing genuine worry. “Do you need to lay down? Should I get water? The heat might be—”

“I’m fine! I just.” You wrung your hands in agitation. Why the hell was this so complicated? Since when did cleaning require justification? “I need something to do. I’m so bored I feel like I’m losing it.”

“Ah. I see...” She looked unconvinced by your words but knew better than to voice her concerns. “Alright. In that case you can do the—ah. Hmm. Why don’t you prepare some cold drinks for the pool boy? The weather must be giving him a hard time.”

“That’s it? You don’t need any help with the cleaning? You had the feeling that she didn’t entrust you with the more ‘serious’ household chores because she was worried you’d inadvertently blowup appliances or flood the laundry room again.

(It had happened once. Forever ago. Wasn’t it time to let it go? How were you supposed to know that you needed to measure the detergent before dumping it in?)

“... Maybe later. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need additional assistance, but thank you for offering.” She shot you a professional smile, putting an end to the discussion.

You trudged back to the kitchen, dragging your faux fur slippers across the floor in defeat.

It wasn’t what you had hoped for, but at least you had something to occupy the time with. Knowing that this was your only distraction, you planned on prolonging this task for as long as humanly possible.

What should have taken less than a minute to complete had turned into a tedious chore. You cleaned each strawberry by hand, cutting out the stems with unneeded precision, before slicing them into thin, even pieces. You did the same with the mint leaves and mixed it all into a glass pitcher.

Satisfied with the end result, you poured a generous amount of lemonade into the tall glass before storing the rest in the fridge for later. It was hard to keep the drink balanced on the tray as you slid open the glass door, but you somehow managed to not make a mess.

The heat hit you all at once and you frowned, feeling bad for whoever had been sent out today to clean the pool. It was laborious work and the weather did nothing to alleviate the situation. Nobody wanted to work outside in these less than pleasant conditions which was why it had been a pain the ass to find suitable candidates that were up for the job.

You had tried finding solutions around this problem—like raising the pay rate and alternating between different cleaners every couple of days so that the same one wouldn’t be subjected to the grueling heat all week long. You had been surprised to see how many people sent in applications—not that you were complaining. The only one who had something to say, was Mrs. Kim, the widow from across the street, who liked to grumble about how you were stealing all the good ones.

At the time, you hadn’t quite understood what she had been trying to insinuate. Weren’t all pool cleaners the same? But as you approached the pool, tray balanced dangerously on one hand, it all started to make sense.

Time slowed down like it did in those cheesy, over-the-top kdramas that were all the rage amongst housewives. How many times had you seen the same scenario play out whenever the male protagonist appeared on screen for the first time and met eyes with the heroine from across the room?

It was like you had suddenly been thrust into the drama lead’s shoes. Everything else seemed to fade away, your gaze drawn to man in front of you like a moth to a flame. It was impossible not to stare. Some invisible magnetic force kept your eyes fixated on him. The world could have been crumbling around you for all you knew.

His damp clothes clung to his body like a second skin, revealing sinewy muscles worthy of Calvin Klein billboards. Greedily, you drank in his figure, your gaze lingering on the attractive curve of his ass and the outline of his abs visible through the now see-through white shirt.

You gulped audibly, your mouth unpleasantly dry. It was distracting. He was distracting. Only a miracle had kept you from dropping the tray you were holding.

Eyes closed, the man tipped his head back and brought his right hand up, carding his fingers through his wet locks. Like a magnet, your eyes were immediatley drawn to his bare neck.

You were transfixed. There was no other word or explanation for it. Even if you had been able to, the chance of you peeling your eyes away from the spectacle in front of you was slim to none.

It hadn’t even registered how ridiculous you probably looked, with your feet planted to the ground and your mouth parted in evident awe.

You took a much needed moment to appreciate his profile—your eyes running down the sharp line of his jaw and down the slope of his neck towards his exposed collarbones. Water droplets dripped down his handsome face and in that very moment you swore that he looked like he had stepped out of a high-end underwear advertisement.

He strung a spare towel around his neck before turning his full attention onto you. Instantly, you were struck by how alive his eyes appeared. They glinted with thinly-veiled mischief. That, the fullness of his lips, and the confident smirk he sported, gave him a youthful and playful mien that contrasted with his virile and attractive build.

“Er...” You coughed, politely averting your eyes from his body. “Do you— Do you need me to get you a spare pair of swim trunks? Yours look a little, um, small.”

You winced, knowing it had been the wrong thing to say.

“Oh?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that had you looking up at him in alarm. His smile widened, the corners of his eyes creasing into crescents. “Please don’t bother. I work better in these.”

“Oh...well... If you’re sure.”

“Certain.”

He licked his lips. His eyes were hooded, heavy lids doing nothing to subdue the sultry look aimed your way.

“Alright.” You swallowed and paused, searching for the appropriate words. In the span of a few short seconds, your brain had short circuited. You got the next few words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Your name would be nice.” An easy smile sat on his lips.

“______.” You included your last name, hoping he’d get the hint. Briefly, you remembered your interaction with one of the other pool boys, Jungkook, and how flustered he had gotten over his mistake. The one standing in front of you couldn’t have been more different.

“Park Jimin. You can call me Jimin.” He glanced down at the platter you gripped onto with both hands. “This for me?”

Light reflected off the metallic surface of the tray and you were reminded of what you had stepped out the house for.

“Yes, please have something to drink. I made it earlier, I hope it’s to your taste.”

“Thanks for thinking of me.” He took the glass of freshly pressed lemonade off the tray, using the opportunity to step closer to you. The sharp scent of chlorine tickled your nose but to your surprise, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It gets awfully hot out here and I get so thirsty. You know what I mean, right?”

His voice was as sweet as cotton candy. It took a moment for you to realize he had stopped talking and a few seconds more for you to remember how to form words of your own.

“I try to make refreshments available for all the staff. Everyone works really hard, even in this weather, so I’m thankful,” you said, trying to retain a certain air of professionalism. Hopefully it would be enough to stop him from seeing through the bullshit spouting from your mouth.

Jimin jutted out his bottom lip in a pout before raising his glass to his mouth. He took a big gulp, probably all too aware of the way you were tracking the movement with your eyes. In what was probably a calculated and premeditated move, the pink of his tongue darted out to lick the sweetness off his lips. Distantly, you noted how full and rosy his lips were.

“Aw. And here’s to thinking I was special.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. Water droplets fell from his wet fringe, the soaked strands sticking to his forehead. “So what’s a pretty thing like you doing shacked up, hm?”

“What?” The bluntness of his words caught you off guard. You were used to people being coy, hiding their pretenses behind smiles and well-versed pleasantries. Jimin’s forwardness left you momentarily dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

“Gotta admit, when I took up this job I was expecting to land the standard.” Jimin laughed, pleased. “Can’t deny this is a welcome surprise. Nothing wrong with the older crowd, but you’re definitely something else.”

“E-Excuse me?”

“So what’s your story?” His eyes raked over your form. Unabashed, he lingered on the swell of your breasts, the dip at your waist. You blinked, the apples of your cheeks warming as you remembered you hadn’t worn a bra. You hadn’t thought much about your choice of outfit before—it was thin and comfortable enough to wear around the house, the silky material soft against your skin. Jimin seemed to appreciate the selection, too, if the way his eyes darkened in approval was any indication.

He tapped a finger against the pout of his lips in mock contemplation. “Let me guess. Married a geezer who’s too busy banging his hot secretary to look after you. And when he does, you wish he didn’t because his stamina is shit. Can he even get it up? Heard old age does that to you, not that I would know...”

He shrugged, the smile on his lips sympathetic.

“Yoongi isn’t like that,” you denied right away, a frown ruining your expression. You knew that the conversation was most definitely crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. You kept telling yourself to put an end to it before it could get out of hand.

“No?” Jimin leaned in, close enough for you to feel his hot breath fan across your skin.

You didn’t dare move, let alone breathe. Any closer and your breasts would graze his chest. The shocking part was that you almost wanted it to happen. Not that—not that you wanted it to happen with Jimin, specifically. You just wanted. Your body had been suspended in a constant state of yearning for so long that it didn’t take much to stir its interest.

He stepped back to properly appraise you. A shudder ran down your back as you struggled not to let your emotions show. “You look awfully desperate for someone who should be getting dicked down on the regular.”

You opened your mouth to retort but no sound came out.

The heat in his gaze left you breathless. Yoongi used to look at you the same way, before. You remembered the hunger, the way your body used to warm up and ache and squirm under the power of his gaze. Whenever he looked at you with those eyes, your knees would buckle and you’d fall to your knees without question.

“Trust me,” Jimin continued on, oblivious to the perverse thoughts running through your mind. “If that was my ring on your finger, you’d never leave our bed because you’d be too fucked out to even get up. What’s that husband of yours thinking?”

He shook his head, not expecting a verbal answer from you. When he spoke up, his voice had a dangerous undertone.

“It’s because he’s not satisfying your needs,” he said matter of factly. “If he wasn’t as disappointing in bed as you claimed, there’s no way you’d be out here, panting for my dick down your throat instead of his. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? You need a nice, thick cock to fill you all the way up. And I can give you what you want, you just gotta say the word.”

Were you being that obvious?

You bit back the whimper threatening to claw its way out your throat. His words kindled a desire deep inside of you—a primal desire you had valiantly tried to suppress for the past month. Yet with only a few well chosen sentences, he had coaxed that need back to the surface, putting all your efforts to waste.

Different scenarios and possibilities flashed in front of your eyes like a fast-forwarded montage. You were so caught up in your thoughts, the infinite could if’s, that Jimin’s disappointed sigh had become background noise.

“Too much?”

You blinked up at him owlishly, not fully grasping the situation until he had taken a few steps back. Even as he backed off, the smirk never fully melted off his face which was a little disconcerting.

Thankfully, the newfound space separating both of you made it easier to breathe, to think straight.

With a surprisingly steady voice, you spoke out. “Jimin, I’m married—”

“I know.” Jimin shrugged as if what you had told him was an inconsequential detail.

Nonplussed by Jimin’s behavior, you bit the inside of your cheek.

Shouldn’t this guy have some morals? Usually men backed off at the mention of a husband but Jimin refused to conform to the norm. Based on what he had previously insinuated, he probably had fucked his fair share of married women. So was it all a game to him? A kink? An ego thing? Were you doomed to be just another notch on his belt? You furrowed your brow, trying to figure out the conundrum that was Park Jimin.

He misinterpreted your silence and sighed, an exaggerated pout on his pink lips.

“It was worth a try... The offer still stands, if you ever change your mind.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I’m not going to force myself onto you or anything.” He grimaced at the thought. “But you should know that the option’s there. I wasn’t lying about what I said earlier... You deserve to be with someone who knows what he’s doing... And by the looks of it... He’s not fucking you nearly or well enough to keep you satisfied. I’m more than willing to be of service in any way I can. I promise you won’t be disappointed, I’ve never gotten complaints before.”

He pushed his hair back as his eyes perused your form again, his gaze half-lidded. You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked away. You hated how correct most of his assumptions had been. And what you hated even more was how certain he seemed about it all, like his words were the absolute truth.

Something about that irked you. You hated being read so easily—by a stranger, no less. It was embarrassing, how easily he had assessed your situation and lumped you with the countless other bored housewives he had undoubtedly had his way with.

“Well, thanks for the offer, but no thanks, I’m good. I’m perfectly fine. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not needed.” Even to your own ears, your speech failed to sound convincing. At this point, you weren’t sure who you were trying to persuade—Jimin or yourself. Either way, you weren’t proving to be very capable; your words rung out false and hollow.

“Enjoy the rest of your drink. I hope it quenches your thirst.”

And with that, you turned your head and scurried back into the sanctity of your house, far away from sin and temptation itself. Heart palpitating, you swore that you felt Jimin’s gaze follow you all the way to the door, clinging to you like a shadow. The look he had given you right before you scampered off was one that you’d spend the rest of the day trying to forget.

Unfortunately for you, time was not a sufficient balm to soothe over the heat Jimin’s words ignited. Long after the sun had set, the utter filth that had spilled from his lips kept running through your mind, keeping you up.

Sleep was impossible to find, not that you were surprised. It was becoming a regular occurrence and you figured that you should go seek a doctor’s help if your condition didn’t improve soon.

But you knew that what you needed were neither pills nor herbal concoctions—your body needed Yoongi. You missed his presence, the way he stroked your cheek after you pulled back from a kiss, the way he kept eye contact when he pushed his thick cock between your legs.

God, you fucking missed that asshole.

You hadn’t always hated how much you depended on your husband. You had wealth of your own—or rather your family had wealth of their own—but all your personal expenses and whims had been funded and provided by Yoongi. All of your possessions had been bought with his money—everything from the imported cars, the luxury bags, the designer goods, and the summer residence in The Hamptons you visited every now and then.

The dependence hadn’t bothered you before. And it still didn’t—not in the way that it might bother or embarrass others, anyway. You never felt like you were in his debt after spending hefty amounts of money; that was not how your relationship worked.

What made you uneasy was how physically dependent on him you had become. It wasn’t until you had been repeatedly denied from his touch that you realized how much your body craved it, ran on it like how a car needed fuel.

Tonight was the night, you finally decided, determination set in your features.

Reaching into the closet, you pulled out your most recent purchase from La Perla and slipped it on, making sure it still looked as good as it had a week ago in the dressing room mirror. You hadn’t found the right moment to wear it and figured it wouldn’t hurt to put the expensive lingerie to good use.

A nervous energy tingled down your spine as you got ready. Anticipation was building inside your belly but you couldn’t tell if it was the good or bad kind. You were brought back to a time when it had been fun to surprise Yoongi. Those had been the best nights—even the mere memory of them had your thighs squeezing together. Back then, the possibility that he might shut you down hadn’t existed.

Maybe you already knew, deep down, that you were setting yourself up for failure.

It still didn’t stop your chest from constricting painfully around your ribs when Yoongi reacted exactly the way you had feared he might.

“What’s gotten into you?” His face conveyed confusion, his gaze flickering from the lit candles around the room to the way your body was splayed out indecently on the bed, body covered by the barest scraps of frill and lace.

On any other day, the sharpness in his tone would have been enough to cut through your confidence and back off. You would have dropped the subject and moved on. But this time the sting of rejection wasn’t easy to dismiss, repetition only making it worse.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you snapped, frustration getting the best of you. You sat up from your position on the bed, not missing the way his gaze dropped down to your exposed chest. To your great disappointment, you couldn’t spot any arousal in his expression. He might as well have been looking at a blank sheet of paper. What had changed? Was it him—or was it you?

Your sister’s words from a few days ago were creeping back now, reinforcing all the doubts and dejection you had fought so hard to suppress. Why didn’t he want you? Were you not desirable anymore? Had he found someone else to fulfill his primal needs? And if he had, what did that mean for you?

What the hell were you supposed to do with a husband that refused to touch you, let alone talk to you?

A sickly feeling rose up your throat, the acidic taste of bile flooding your mouth.

“Do you not love me anymore?”

The question was meant as an accusation, the words supposed to carry the weight of all your pent up fury and bitterness. Instead of the harshness you had intended, your voice came out feeble and wrung out. The truth was that you were afraid of his answer and what it would do to you. Yoongi’s words were the only ones capable of breaking through the armor you had built around yourself. You didn’t care for the gossiping housewives or the scummy tabloids. But Yoongi? He had always been different. Important. Yours.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It doesn’t suit you,” he chided none too gently.

“Can you stop that?” In the bedroom, the authority he wielded aroused you to no end. But sometimes, like now, Yoongi’s tone and wording rubbed you the wrong way. Did your feelings not matter anymore? When he spoke like that, it made you feel so small. And not in a good way, not the way you liked to feel like during good sex or when he hugged you, limbs wrapped around yours like your own personal fortress.

You pulled the strings of your robe together, your body turned to ice. The see-through material was lightweight and flimsy, doing nothing to obscure your body from view or keep you warm.

Why had you tried in the first place? Like Yoongi said, you felt ridiculous.

Pride bruised and battered, you attempted to keep your wobbly voice steady.

“God, you can be so condescending when you want to be. I’m not a plaything you only listen to and take care of when it pleases you. I’m your wife, not some plant you need to water every two weeks, don’t you get that?” You weren’t even angry anymore. All you wanted was for this to be over and for your relationship to go back to the way it was before. You were tired of feeling insecure, tired of waiting and wanting. Just...tired.

Yoongi’s brows furrowed, his mouth opened as if to voice his immediate protest.

“I’m not—” He cut himself off, lips thinning into a frown. The deep line between his brows never smoothed over, as if permanently etched onto his features. He bit the inside of his mouth, taking a moment to choose his next words carefully.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he suddenly appeared older, closer to the age written down on his official documents. Genetics had given Yoongi smooth skin and good looks that made him look more youthful than his actual age. But as he stood there in front of you, you could tell that Yoongi’s beauty was marred by evident signs of fatigue and stress.

“I... I didn’t know I made you feel that way,” he confessed sounding genuinely regretful. “I wasn’t—it wasn’t my intention to. I’m sorry it came off that way. I don’t think of you like that, just so you know.”

The silence that followed his words stretched on for several long seconds.

He didn’t look away from your probing gaze. Even without searching, you knew his words to ring true. He was a bad liar. Good at keeping his feelings locked under key, yes, but never one to outright deceive others. Yoongi had always been bad at expressing affection. He was also bad at reading feelings. He was probably so caught up with his workload that he hadn’t noticed at all.

In retrospect, your outburst had been somewhat unfair. Maybe you were being unreasonable, adding on to his extensive list of worries.

But, no. That didn’t sound quite right, either. Just because he hadn’t been aware that your feelings had been hurt, did not mean that what you felt wasn’t valid. You weren’t selfish for wanting to be happy. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to be loved.

“I know,” you said, voice quiet enough to pass as a whisper.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes softened. The hard lines around his mouth rounded into a small smile.

“Come here.” He walked over to the bed, his legs spreading as he sat down.

The open invitation was one you were powerless to resist. Although you knew the conversation was far from over, you had missed his warmth and his touch far too much to refuse him. Your entire body hummed, itching for the close physical contact that you had been denied for so long.

His thighs flexed as your fingers dug into his silk pajamas for leverage. From this distance, you could see how haggard he truly was. Purple lined the underside of his eyes, making them look swollen and bruised. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his cheekbones more prominent than you remembered them to be. When had he last had a proper meal? You suspected that he hadn’t been taking care of himself, no matter what he tried to make you believe. Whenever he got into that serious headspace of his, nothing else mattered but his work—not food, not sleep, and certainly not you.

Cold hands inching up your back interrupted your train of thought. You had been so touch-deprived that any amount of attention directed your way made your body vibrate with ill-concealed excitement.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you. Things right now are...” He exhaled sharply, his shoulders slouching under the weight of his worries. “Work has been keeping me busy, that’s for sure. I’m afraid I can’t do much about that. I promise I’ll make it up to you in a few days, once this blows over and we secure our terms.”

“You’ve been so stressed,” you remarked as your own hands wandered up his arms and shoulders. His lean muscles were unnaturally tense under your touch. It had been so long since you had touched him properly that the planes of his body felt like unfamiliar territory.

When he didn’t move away or show any signs of protest, you leaned in to press your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your mouth melting against his like snow falling on a furnace.

The silky material of his clothes facilitated the glide of your hands down his chest. But before you could reach any lower, Yoongi grabbed you by the wrists, effectively halting your movements.

“Not tonight,” he whispered roughly against your lips, short of breath.

“When?” You hated how whiny and petulant the question made you sound, but you couldn’t help it.

“Shall I pencil in an appointment, then?” he humored. “Would you honestly be happier I gave you a time, place and date?”

“Not really, but I’ll take it.”

“Is sex really the only thing that matters to you?” he asked, half fond, half exasperated.

“It’s your fault for marrying a slut. You should’ve known what you were signing up for.”

You shared a smile. For once nothing felt awkward or strained. You tried to cherish the moment while it lasted.

Yoongi’s expression eventually morphed into the apologetic one you had grown accustomed to seeing recently. You tried not to let your stomach sink in disappointment, already anticipating his rejection before he could voice it.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood. You know I can’t focus when there’s so much going on at work.”

“You won’t even need to do anything!” you tried despite knowing that your chances of convincing him were slim. “I’ll top and do all the work.”

“If that’s the case, can’t you just use a sex toy?" Yoongi rolled his eyes. “What’s my use if I’m just going to lay there and take it like a starfish?”

“Did you think I wasn’t using a sex toy all this time? I have a high sex drive... I wasn’t going to just sit around and not take care of myself.”

“Then what’s the problem? It doesn’t matter how you get your pleasure. I’m not one of those men who get weird over their partners using toys. It won’t be a blow to my pride, or whatever.”

“It’s not enough, okay?! I need your cock filling me up, fucking me into the mattress. Every time I cum on my own, it’s not enough.”

“I said no.” He sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter to me how you deal with it but I can’t take care of it.”

“Take care of it? Is having sex with me a chore or something? Jesus.” You pushed him away with an annoyed expression. Yoongi’s hands dropped from your waist, not putting up much of a fight when you left the seat of his lap.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said ever so patiently, almost like he was talking to a child.

You huffed, scooting further away from him. It didn’t escape your notice that he made no effort to close the physical distance separating the two of you, his hands laying limp at his side.

“So you’re saying you don’t care how I get myself off? You wouldn’t say anything? Not even if I went and got myself a real cock to fulfill my needs?”

Yoongi raised his brows, the insinuation taking him by surprise. Clearly he’d underestimated your level of desperation. You watched his face closely, hoping to decipher what was running through his mind. Unfortunately, you couldn’t tell if the tightness in his features hid displeasure or interest.

His lips were drawn into a thin line as he mulled the proposition over. After a moment of silence, he said in an even tone, “Go ahead, if that’s what you want.”

What.

You hadn’t actually expected him to agree. Turn you over and spank you for suggesting something so outrageous. Get angry for pushing an issue he wanted to drop. But not... You didn’t think that he’d actually be okay with it. Did that mean that he had stopped cari—?

Before you had the chance to finish that thought, he continued on, the dark of his pupils pulsing, “You know that I’ll never deny you. Everything you want is yours. That is my promise to you.”

You opened your mouth to contest but he beat you to it.

“Whether it’s my cock you need, or another’s. So be it—if that’s all it takes for my needy wife to be satisfied.” A slow smirk pulled at the right side of his mouth. When he spoke, it was gruff and laced with arousal. “You can try to find all the substitutes in the world, but you know that the only one capable of giving you the pleasure you crave so deeply is me.”

Ribbons of heat immediately curled in the pit of your stomach. Dimly, you thought how unfair your dynamic with Yoongi was—all he needed to do was snap his fingers and you’d happily spread open your legs for him. You had always been eager to please him, but you had to admit that the time spent away from him hadn’t fixed such matters.

His hand reached out to trace the outline of your lips. You didn’t dare breathe as the touch of his fingertips lingered, the ghost of a promise making your heart jump in anticipation. Your lips parted in silent invitation, giving him permission to ruin you.

He leaned in so that his breath caressed your skin, the gentle whisper carrying a dark undertone.

“So be patient, darling—or I’ll give you nothing.”

Whether this was a promise or a threat, you were left unsure.

{MONDAY; 11:19 am}

This was a bad idea. A Very Bad Idea.

But bad ideas had never been enough to stop you from getting what you wanted in the past. You called it determination. Some people would disagree with the sentiment but when had their opinions mattered?

Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have considered going through with this. But your last conversation with Yoongi had been the final push you needed.

Your face broke into a scowl as you remembered his parting words. The infuriating part was what had been written all over his face—the haughty certainty that you’d never rise to the challenge he had issued. That was what had ticked you off the most. You hated losing, but you hated being underestimated and easily dismissed as a non-threat even more. And Yoongi? He knew that about you—and had used it to his advantage.

The question was…could you go through with it? You had never dared to go this far in the past.

In truth, you hadn’t even considered it. The only person you were interested in was Yoongi. It didn’t matter if other men were closer to your age, richer, brawnier, or more traditionally handsome. The only one you wanted was Yoongi. That would always be your constant variable.

So why were you out here in this gross heat, instead of inside the comfort of your house?

Beads of sweat accumulated near your hairline and dripped down your neck. You resisted the urge to grimace. There was nothing you hated more than sweating in a context that wasn’t good sex or a pilates class.

Not that your sacrifices mattered anyway—you knew for a fact that Taehyung hadn’t spared you a second glance since he had gotten to work.

You risked a peep over the latest issue of Vogue you had been pretending to read, your sight zeroing on the person in charge of cleaning your pool for the day. He was ridiculously handsome, with strong, defined features and a lithe build, and had this habit of sticking out his tongue whenever he was particularly focused on a task.

Kim Taehyung was maybe a little too absorbed in his work. Was it normal to be this hardworking? Not that you would know what the norm was—you had never worked a day in your life whereas your husband took his job way too seriously. Judging by what you had witnessed in the last hour, you were inclined to believe that being unhealthily dedicated to your work was the norm. The poor kid had yet to take a water break.

You hid a sigh by sipping your fruit smoothie.

In theory, porn made seducing the pool boy seem like an easy and achievable task—but the truth was that you had no idea how to go about it. It was a shame the clichéd porn scenarios hadn’t covered what to do in case the pool boy in question failed to acknowledge your presence altogether.

He had worked nonstop since he had arrived, barely looking up from his crouched position near the edge of the pool, too busy fishing out floating leaves and dried flower petals with the help of a skimmer.

You looked down at your bathing suit just to check that your cleavage was still on obvious display.

It had been a long time since you had to work for someone’s attention that wasn’t Yoongi’s. Were you rusty? Or had you really become that undesirable? It didn’t seem to matter that you were wearing a risque bathing suit. You might as well have been a potted plant.

Taehyung had the defense of a wall of steel. It didn’t matter what tricks you resorted to catch his eye—he never budged an inch. Even when you stretched your limbs, nylon straining to keep your decency in tact, Taehyung didn’t bat an eye.

Needless to say, it was a huge blow to your pride.

Glad that no one else was around to witness your embarrassing attempts, you nonetheless wished to erase your existence from this earth. You gripped the sides of the magazine tighter to cover the entirety of your face and prayed for his shift to end soon.

“I could have been naked and he wouldn’t have noticed,” you despaired the next day, pressing the phone closer to your ear.

“Maybe he just prefers dicks?” Euna tried to comfort. “Or... You know... Maybe he values his job and doesn’t want to get fired for sexual harassment.”

“I wasn’t—” You spluttered. “I’m just saying he wasn’t looking. The plants were more interesting than me! He just... I can’t believe I got bested by fucking weeds.”

“Tough luck. You shouldn’t get sulky because someone would rather work than bone you.” She paused, perhaps realizing how deep rooted your insecurity was. “Relax. It’s not the end of the world! He’s just one guy, they’re not all like that! You’re not the problem here. Sometimes guys... They need you to be more direct. They don’t understand subtle. Like, you just have to go for it. Batting your eyelashes and showing some sideboob isn’t going to suffice.”

“What do you mean go for it?” Your nose wrinkled in disdain. Yes, you were dick deprived, but not to the point that you’d jump on the nearest available dick like some savage.

“Haven’t you ever watched porn?”

“I’d rather die than deepthroat a popsicle.”

“Oh please. Like you haven’t done worse than that. ” You could hear the eye roll that accompanied her comment. “I’m telling you that men are thick in the head and sometimes need you to spell it out for them, letter by letter, word by word. None of that coy shit. The only ones that fall for that are men like your husband.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Hmph. He has the emotional range of a pea—”

“You’ve only talked to him three times in your life?”

“—so it’s surprising how well the two of you get along, all things considered. Though I suppose if anyone’s gonna get an emotionally constipated person to confess their feelings, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Did you think I was complimenting you? Oh - I gotta go now, Mom needs me in the kitchen. I’ll call you back tonight!”

“Can’t. I have T&S’s premiere launch event to attend.”

“Oh fine. Good luck, then. Get that dick! Wh— Yeah, it’s your other daughter. Oh fine. Yes, I’ll let her know.” Euna turned her attention back to you and let out a small noise of exasperation. “Mom says she’s happy to hear you and Yoongi are doing well. She’s wondering when you’ll share some, um, good news with her.”

Her words were laden with meaning. You didn’t need her to elaborate any further, having already been roped into the same conversation countless times before.

Somewhere in the background, you could hear your mother yell get that dick! with all the aggressiveness of a cheerleader during the last five minutes of a game.

Ignoring her was the wisest move. You hurriedly bid her goodbye, eager to end the call, knowing that if you didn’t you’d have to be subjected to another hour of your mother’s ceaseless nagging. And—ugh. You had other pressing matters on your hands.

Like, for one, getting that dick.

{WEDNESDAY. 11.45 am}

Getting dick was—surprisingly—not an easy feat. College!you would be crying if she saw how much you were currently struggling.

Your busy husband remained unswayed, no matter how often you tempted him to yield.

That only left you with so many options, the next one being: OSTPB — Operation Seduce the Pool Boy.

...Although that option wasn’t proving to be as fruitful as you had hoped.

Where had it all go wrong? You would have thought that your pride was enough to overwrite any subsequent embarrassment. Even if your self-esteem suffered as a consequence of your actions, you had been determined to see this through.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined failing for a second time—but such had been your fate.

A glower broke out across your face, tiny creases forming between your groomed brows. Your most recent non-success had gone spectacularly awry and every time you thought back to what had happened, your stomach turned over in mortification.

Unlike Taehyung, Kim Namjoon had seen you coming from a mile away. His sharp stare had pierced straight through you, uncovering all of your secrets with the force of his gaze alone. It had taken one look at your scantily-clad body for him to correctly assess the situation and act accordingly.

Somehow that had made his disinterest all the more disheartening and humiliating. The experience forced you see your situation in a different light. You couldn’t help but pity yourself a little. A married woman throwing herself at any handsome man that came her way? That was pathetic, even by your standards.

Maybe you were better off calling the whole thing off. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. You hadn’t counted on a third opportunity to present itself.

“Bad day?”

“That obvious?”

Hoseok smiled. “I’d say so, yeah. You’re drinking before lunch. That’s never a good sign.”

He had a point.

Crinkling your nose, you explained, “I had to attend a baby shower this morning... It’s the third one this month! Honestly. What is it, mating season?” To you, it all served as one big reminder that everyone was getting it on except for you—which naturally put you in the brightest mood.

“Then why bother going? I’m sure you could find other activities to do instead.”

“Free Dom Perignon,” was your automatic answer, albeit not a truthful one. Hoseok cracked a smile.

“I wouldn’t have thought that to be a problem...” He eyed the flute of sparkling champagne you were currently nursing.

“It’s the principle. But... You’re right. They’re always such a chore. And I could definitely pass up on Sohee’s constant nagging. God, she never shuts up. Especially after starting on the champagne. Fucking lightweight,” you glowered, lipstick stained mouth thinning into a straight line. “All she ever does is gloat and provoke me. Whatever. She’s just mad the man she got married to is nearing 60 and balding. I’d be mad, too.”

Hoseok laughed. It tumbled out of his parted mouth, loud, unrestrained, and so unlike the artificial pleasantries you had been subjected to all morning. The sound was clear and infectious, ringing through the summer air like wind chimes.

You gulped down the remnants of champagne, the golden bubbles sliding down your throat smoothly. It wasn’t your first flute of the day. By now, the alcohol was flowing pleasantly through your bloodstream, warming your skin to a glow. The muscles on your face relaxed.

“But think of all the free fancy ass booze and food you’d be missing out on. If you hate the others so much, just go sit in a corner and eat your truffle hors d’oeuvres and caviar canapés in peace.”

“If only I could,” you said, followed by a very dramatic eye roll. “I’ve got an image to keep up, you know. The gossiping crones already see me as some dumb bimbo who whored herself out to land a nice, rich, young husband.” You tried to keep your voice light and airy, but shades of bitterness could be heard despite your best efforts.

Your marriage with Yoongi had caused quite the stir... Even now, a good year after the wedding, people still had your name on their lips, tainting it with disdain.

What bothered you was that they thought Yoongi was easy. Did they think all it took was a nice rack and a tight ass to win him over? Sometimes you wished your husband only thought with his dick—it would make things a lot easier for you, that was for sure—but that wasn’t the kind of man he was. And at the end of the day, that wasn’t the kind of man you wanted him to be, either.

“Ah, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Hoseok’s lazy smile drooped. You turned your face away, hating the sympathy you could see in his eyes. You didn’t need to be pitied. Annoyance made you take another sip.

The smart move would be to agree and end that particular discussion with a swift conversation change. It was what you were used to doing.

But an invisible force stopped the words from shaping. Later on, you’d blame it on the liquor in your veins muddling your judgment and the sweltering summer heat making you dizzy. Instead of the prepared answers you were used to dishing out, your genuine emotions bubbled to the surface before you could filter them—and once you got started, it was impossible to stop.

“It is. I’ve heard them. They’re not discreet, nor do they want to be.” You adjusted the sunglasses perched on your nose bridge, glad you had something to hinder Hoseok’s attentive gaze. He was too observant for his own good. “They’re always equally surprised and disappointed when they learn Yoongi hasn’t filed for divorce and put himself back on the market. Sohee’s only two years younger than me but she keeps asking me for tips.”

“Tips?”

“Yes...” To your chagrin, you found that the flute of champagne was empty so you set it down. “She always rubs her age in my face as if a two year age gap is that big of a deal. Hmph. According to her, the only reason Yoongi would stay with me for so long is because of my evil feminine wiles.”

“Didn’t you say she has a husband? Why does she care what you do with Mr. Min?”

“Yeah, well, joke’s on them because I don’t do anything.” Something sour ruined your expression. At least your Gucci shades gave you something to hide behind. “Not for lack of trying, anyway,” you added bitterly.

Hoseok tilted his head to the side, his expression one of polite confusion.

“...You don’t do anything?” he parroted, trying to make sense of the words. It was the first time hearing you profess yourself so frankly, without pretense or filter.

“I don’t want to spell it out for you,” you grumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. You were pathetic as it was... No need to make yourself look even worse. As if you needed Hoseok pitying your nonexistent sex life on top of everything else.

There was a moment of silence, only broken by the sound of birds chirping and the distant sound of your neighbor’s dog barking. You let your eyelids flutter close, feeling a strange sensation of calm wash over your body.

Admittedly, getting your inner frustrations off your chest had been relieving, in a way. It had been nice to have someone listen to you rant, even for a moment. Talking with Hoseok was a nice change from the stilted and repetitive conversations you had during your obligatory social run-ins with other housewives.

Speaking of Hoseok, you didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he had probably gone back to finish his job, not knowing what to say without making it awkward or crossing boundaries. You didn’t have the heart to open your eyes and check. As long as your eyes were closed, it was easier to maintain the illusion of peace you had found momentary refuge in.

The sound of quiet rustling made you crack open an eye. Surprise had you opening both. While you had been stuck in your inner musings, Hoseok had gotten up from where he had been sitting to plop down next to you.

You didn’t dare move. Not only because the abrupt move had caught you off guard, but you were worried that if you tried to squirm away to give him more room, you’d topple off and hit the ground. The chaise lounge was too narrow to comfortably accommodate two people but somehow it worked. When he adjusted his sitting position, the material of his swim trunks brush your outer thighs. Hoseok was so close that you felt the heat radiating off his body.

He reached over, grabbing a bottle of tanning lotion you had set down next to a pile of magazines. As he looked up, he saw your wide eyes and hastened to explain, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look really stressed.”

No shit, you wanted to snark but he cut you off before you had the chance.

“You should let me,” Hoseok suggested while shaking the bottle in his hand. “I’m pretty good at working out knots. I don’t have a certificate or anything, but—my body gets really tense after dance class, and sometimes I don’t have the time or money to go to a salon. I’ve read books and watched a lot of YouTube videos, which, I can understand may not sound very convincing but trust me, I know what I’m doing. Of course, doing it to yourself is fine, too, but it’s a lot more effective when someone else takes care of it.”

All you could do was stare. The bout of silence was enough to make him lose a bit of confidence, and he sent you a sheepish smile.

“I mean, it’s up to you. I’m definitely not as good as the pros but I’m not terrible, either. Some even say my massages are better than orgasms.” The sudden grin he sported was so wide that you couldn’t tell if he was exaggerating or not. “I just figured… I can’t guarantee a 100% success rate but I’ll do this free of charge, so that’s something to consider. This is a limited time offer.”

“You know I’m not one to turn down freebies,” you said through a smile, not taking as long as you should have to consider his proposition. Maybe you should have thought harder about the implications but right now his offer seemed too good to pass up. A massage that was better than nutting? Sold. “Should I…?”

“Yeah, why don’t you roll around onto your stomach for me? I can start on your back,” Hoseok said while he uncapped the bottle and squirted a dollop of tanning lotion onto his palm. He rubbed his hands together, warming up the liquid, before pressing the pads of his fingers into the meat of your shoulders.

“This okay?” he asked as he hovered above you. “It’s better when I use scented oils like lavender but this will have to do. I didn’t bring any of my usual stuff with me.”

“Mhmm.” His voice sounded far away already. “It’s good.”

His hands covered every inch of your skin, slow in their study. Slender digits alternated between rubbing circles and squeezing flesh. From time to time, flashes of pain spread across your back as he worked on your muscles. The soreness melted away just as quickly; Hoseok seemed to know just how much pressure to exert for you to go boneless in his grip.

Slowly, you felt yourself relax under his ministrations, your head drooping further into the cushion as he worked his magic on you. You had to bite your lip to prevent any embarrassing sounds from filtering out whenever his strong hands kneaded a particularly sore spot. It felt so good that you were convinced Hoseok had been a professional masseur in his past life. Not even the ladies at the spa you regularly frequented could get you to unwind this efficiently. If you could stay in this blissed out state forever, you would.

You heard him saying something about what pressure point he was massaging but his voice came out muffled, as if a thick stone wall was separating the two of you. His words had been tuned out the moment his hands had drifted lower to work on the bottom of your spine. Nothing else mattered but the firm press of his fingers against your heated skin made easy thanks to the slickness of the tanning lotion.

Slightly dazed, it took a moment to register that Hoseok was repeating your name in an attempt to grab your attention.

“Is it alright with you if I untie this?” His voice was warm and syrupy like molasses. You had the strangest desire to bathe in it.

You nodded your assent, breath hitching as you felt his long digits work on the knot of your bathing suit. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before finally pulling the strings apart.

The tension in the air was palpable. All pretense of a simple and friendly massage having been thrown out the window the moment he had asked to remove your clothes. After all, there had been no sound and logical reason to—it wasn’t as if the thin piece of fabric tied at your back had hindered his movements in any way or obstructed his work.

Hoseok had asked for your permission to go further and you had given it to him without a second thought.

“Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?” He waited for your verbal confirmation to continue. His fingers had stilled, no longer working your skin like dough. On one hand you were thankful for him giving you ample time to back out, but on the other hand...

Now that you had been given a preview of what he was capable of doing, how did he expect you to turn him down? Maybe that had been his plan from the start—wind you up to your breaking point until you had no choice but to beg and plead.

The top of your bikini slid off your body as you propped yourself up on your elbows. You had to crane your neck to throw him a look over your shoulder, your hair cascading down the arch of your back as you did so, but the slight discomfort was well worth it.

The rough pads of Hoseok’s fingertips dug into the divots of your waist. To keep you still, maybe. But you could tell by the clench of his jaw that he was holding himself back.

A sudden surge of power coursed through you. Speeding, top down on the highway and riding twisting rollercoasters...none of these came close to giving you the same high that surged through you when you were wanted, coveted, and lusted after. There was nothing more empowering than knowing your presence made men weak in the knees.

“It’s okay if it’s you, Hoseok.” You batted your lashes and let a slow smile spread across your face.

It was an enticing invitation, one that Hoseok had no heart to refuse. He raised a tentative hand towards the scruff of your neck, letting his weight rest there as if testing the waters. When he saw that you weren’t going to retract your words or shy away from his touch, he let his palm drag down your bare back.

There was no way that he didn’t notice the way goosebumps littered the skin he touched, the way you trembled with want.

There was no reason to be nervous, you thought as his fingers danced on your skin. The words spoken to yourself weren’t intended to reassure—you were stating facts. Hoseok was safe and secure. You knew that if you wanted to put an end to everything right now, he’d do so without complaint.

As if reading your mind, he smiled in promise, “I’ll take good care of you. Why don’t you turn around. Let me see all of you.” He nudged you, fingers stopping short of your pale blue bikini bottoms.

Hoseok tensed when you twisted around to lay comfortably on your back. Although he had been the one to suggest it, the sight of you topless momentarily robbed him of speech.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Awe colored his tone. His eyes mirrored the sentiment, wide with wonder.

He squeezed more lotion into the palm of his hands and wasted no time reaching for the dip of your waist. Warm hands slid up your sides, tickling your ribcage as they reached higher and higher.

A shaky breath left your lips when he finally enclosed his hands around the globes of your breasts and gently squeezed.

Desire lit a fire in the pit of your belly.

There was something undeniably sexy about having to face him while his hands freely roamed your body. When your head had been nestled in the crook of your arms, it had been easy to let your mind drift away. But your current position now made that impossible.

Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming. All you saw was him—the fiery depths of his eyes, the pretty slope of his nose, his fucking arms, and the way his long fingers were currently cupping your breasts, his thumbs rubbing the peaks insistently until they ached. The upward tug of his lips told you that he was well aware of how well he was affecting you.

“Good?” It was a rhetorical question. You were putty in his hands, as pliant and malleable as a ball of clay.

He readjusted himself between your legs and used his knees to keep your thighs spread open for him. A whine worked its way up your throat. Much to your frustration, his new position prevented you from rubbing your legs together and getting the friction you so desperately needed.

Your lower lips felt uncomfortably wet, and by the way Hoseok ran his tongue over his lips like a famished wolf in front of a long-awaited meal, you knew your arousal to be evident. By now the expensive piece of swimwear was surely stained with your juices.

Hoseok’s hands had wandered back down your body, digits now tracing your hipbones, while his gaze resolutely fixed the spot between your legs. For a reason unknown to you, he didn’t dare go any further than slip his thumbs beneath the material of your swimming suit.

Exasperation built up inside of you the longer the teasing went on. You didn’t know what he was waiting for. It was clear that he wanted it as badly as you did—if the tent in his swim shorts was any indication—so what was holding him back? How long were you going to keep staring at each other before the weakest died of blue balls?

So you did what any woman of action would have done and pulled at the strings holding up your bikini bottoms. Two quick, efficient tugs later and you were stark naked, bare as the day you were born.

Hoseok’s eyes bugged out.

To your dismay, your forwardness failed to have the desired effect. Instead of urging him into action, all he did was freeze up. In fact you feared that you had broken him—his mouth opened and closed once, twice, three times, but no sound came out.

“Do you need a hand written invitation?” At this point, you were running out of options. God, what did it take to get fucked around here? Like. Bless thee who invented dildos because without them you would have lost your mind a long time ago.

Finally he shook his head, hands reaching down to grip your thighs. His tongue poked out to lick his lips. “You’re something else...”

“In a good or bad way?” you asked, the hitch in your breath audible. His hands hands had inched dangerously close to where you wanted him to touch the most.

His lips quirked into a grin. “I’ve never seen someone get this soaked over a small massage. You’re literally perfect.”

Words that should have embarrassed you were balanced out with praise. The mix of the two made your insides tighten.

“Eager, too.” His grin widened. “That’s how I like them.”

Before you could quip back, he swiped his pointer finger through your slippery folds. The initial touch made your entire body jolt. It had been so long since someone had given you attention that your body ate everything up like it was starved. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched you properly, especially one that wasn’t your husband.

The thought of Yoongi only made your heart thump harder against your ribcage. You had no time to dwell on your feelings, however, not when Hoseok added a second digit to the mix.

His brow was furrowed in concentration. Guys your age had the tendency to rush through their motions, fueled by the need to get off. Sometimes they even skipped foreplay entirely. Hoseok was not like other guys your age. He took his time running his digits through your slick lips, not caring about his own erection straining his shorts.

It didn’t take long for you to get impatient again. You had always had a problem with waiting and being patient—and the last month had seriously tested the limits of your self-restraint.

Just when you were about to voice your frustration, Hoseok gathered your arousal until his fingers were thoroughly coated with your juices. He honed in on your aching clit with expert precision. Your thighs tensed as you tried your best to keep your hips still and your legs open.

It didn’t take long for it to feel really good. Better than the expensive bullet vibrator that you had been using religiously for the last few weeks. You were 100% certain that you would have hurled prematurely to your end if Hoseok hadn’t eased up on the pressure, his touch now feather-light and teasing. The abrupt change in pace had you reeling.

You slumped back into the chaise lounge, the back of your head hitting the twined material with a dull plonk. Fate apparently wanted to deprive you of a good orgasm until the very end. That petty bitch.

Hoseok chuckled and you tried not to take offense. You’d like to see him last as long as you had.

“You’re not relaxed at all.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you deadpanned.

It was hard to keep the pout on your face when his fingers resumed their ministrations. Your knee jerked when he brushed over a particularly sensitive spot and you had to bite your tongue to keep any moans at bay.

“Ever heard of the saying ‘good things come to those who wait’?”

“I’ve been waiting plenty long!”

“Is that so?” His tone turned sickly sweet, almost mocking. “Guess I have to reward your good behavior.”

Before you had time to second that thought, he thrust a finger up to the knuckle, the sudden intrusion catching you by surprise. It was like someone had punched the air out of you. Your mouth parted in a silent cry as his finger soon turned to two.

He kept up an easy rhythm, his fingers curving every so often to drag along your inner walls. Every single one of your nerves were on fire.

Bit by bit, the constant and steady pressure made you unravel. Any control you had over yourself and the situation was slowly slipping through your grasp—but the loss didn’t bother you as much as it normally would have.

“How does that feel? Shit.” He stifled a groan when he felt you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining that it was his cock buried inside your warm pussy instead. “Shit, you’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re doing so good,” you panted between two breaths. “I’m, ah, going to cum soon.”

“Already?” he asked, equally surprised and pleased at the admission.

Your words fueled his desire to see you fall apart. His pace picked up, the force of his thrusts making your back arch every time he buried his fingers into your heat. The brush of his fingers against your velvety walls felt so good that you could have cried fat tears of gratitude. Hoseok reached so much deeper than you ever could, stroking places inside of you that you had a hard time reaching on your own.

Hoseok must have a PhD in fingering, you thought, half-delirious from the amount of pleasure he was giving you. It had taken him an extraordinarily short amount of time to find and zero in on all your erogenous zones. Just like how he had known which spots to press during the massage, he seemed to be eerily attuned to your body and its needs. Not that you were complaining—far from it actually.

All of your inner ramblings ceased when he squeezed in a third finger, stretching your walls to accommodate the extra digit. You expected it to burn—three fingers was nothing to scoff at, especially ones as long as his. What should have been an uncomfortable experience wasn’t thanks to how fucking wet he had made you.

He drove his fingers in and out of you, alternating between swift and slow, rough and sweet. The wet squelches were obscene, so loud that you were convinced your neighbors could probably hear you if they tried hard enough.

Distantly, you realized what a shocking pair the two of you made. If your housemaid bothered to look out the window, she’d see you naked and getting fingered by someone who was most definitely not your husband. Now wouldn’t that be scandalous?

The mere thought of Yoongi brought you closer to the edge. Your eyes fell shut of their own accord, images of your husband replacing the ones of Hoseok. Lost in your favorite fantasy, it didn’t take long for you to reach your end. It never did when you started imagining your husband pleasuring you.

With the memory of Yoongi’s smirk painting the dark of your eyelids, you came, walls contracting around Hoseok’s hand like it was trying to milk cock. Your back arched off the chaise, your entire frame trembling from the force of your overdue orgasm. Spots of white dotted your vision and you had to forcibly blink them away. Only then did you realize that the yells puncturing the air had belonged to you.

“So fucking pretty. How are you so fucking soft? Shit, this is way better than what I imagined.”

“Think about me a lot?” you asked once your heart had calmed down to an acceptable rate.

You expected him to deny it but to your surprise his concession came easily. “Can’t help it.” He deliberately looked away from your look of wide-eyed curiosity. “You’re… Seriously, you could have anyone.”

“I’m not sure about that.” You reached for the hand settled on your thigh. It was only when you interlaced fingers that he looked up at you.

There had been a time when you had felt invincible, capable of bewitching any individual of your choosing, no matter the status or experience. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

But Hoseok spoke with such sincerity that you couldn’t help but eat up his praise. The way he touched you—stroking your body like he was handling an expensive piece of artwork, like you were valuable and untouchable—made you believe him. You wanted to be convinced.

“I’ll show you, if you’ll let me.” He kept his gaze steady and you found it hard to look away from the intensity burning behind his stare. “Want to make you come on my tongue. Let me take care of you.”

You felt your muscles pull as you spread your legs wider, putting your glistening folds on crude display. Hoseok swallowed thickly and wasted no time diving in, one of his hands maneuvering your lower body until one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, giving him better access to your dripping core.

He leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath warm your skin. It was the only warning you got before he darted his tongue out, the flat drag of the muscle making your toes curl.

It was slow, sweet torture. As much as you wanted more, wanted to grind yourself on his face, Hoseok kept a sturdy arm braced over your stomach while the other wrapped tightly around your thigh. You had no other choice but to just take it the way he wanted to give it, completely at his mercy.

The steady, insistent flicks of his tongue over your clit had you gushing, your hole clenching sporadically in hopes of getting filled up again. You pulled the silky strands of Hoseok’s hair in an attempt to get him to satiate your need for more—but to no avail.

Hoseok refused to speed up, even as he felt your thighs tremble under his hold. If anything, your frustration seemed to amuse him. He chuckled against your clit, the vibrations setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire.

“Hhn, puh-” you sucked in air. “Shit, I’m so, so close.”

He hummed in encouragement, smile hidden between your folds.

You knew you were cumming before it actually happened. It started slowly, your toes curling and knee jerking, and then worked its way up your spine. Stars blotted your vision until all you saw was white.

If he hadn’t kept you firmly pinned in place, arm muscles flexing as you resisted, you were sure you would have crushed Hoseok’s head between your thighs. Or accidentally kicked him in the shins. The force of your orgasm was a tangible force, one that knocked the wind out of you like a punch to the gut.

“So good.” He sucked his slender fingers until they came off clean.

Sitting there between your legs, he looked like the picture perfect definition of debauchery—red lips and chin glistening from your juices, face splotchy in the cheeks,hair mussed up and knotted by your hands.

His eyes didn’t leave yours for a second, even as he licked the last traces of you off his hand. Your core throbbed. There was something undeniably arousing about a man who genuinely enjoyed giving head, who did it because he wanted to and got off on it, not because he felt obligated to or because he wanted something else in exchange.

“You’re so fucking sweet.” He glanced down and groaned. “I’m so hard, fuck.”

“Do you want me t—”

“No, no, just. Give me a moment.” He palmed himself through his swim trunks but kept his gaze fixed between your legs, his attention unwavering. “I’ve made such a mess of you... Look at your thighs, they’re soaked. And that stain’s going to be impossible to clean off. What are you going to do if someone asks you what happened? It’s way too big to miss.”

You spread your thighs a bit more, intrigued by the way his hand seemed to press down harder at the visual provided. “What do you want me to tell them? I can’t possibly tell them the truth... If any of the housewives found out how good you are with your hands, they’ll end up stealing you from right under my nose.”

“I don’t care about them,” he dismissed seriously. “Why would I when the sweetest pussy is right here, all swollen and dripping for me.”

Your cum was still slowly trickling out of you. Upon hearing his words, your core clenched and the contraction made a fresh gush of opaque fluid drip down between the crevice of your ass. You resisted the urge to wipe yourself off, knew that the slight discomfort was well worth it if it meant witnessing Hoseok’s unraveling.

Hoseok was so enraptured by the sight in front of him that he was probably unaware of how deathly attractive he looked at the moment. It wasn’t a trick of the light or an ephemeral thought. Hoseok had always been handsome in your eyes but there was a distinct difference between when he was working and when he was set on giving you the high of your life. You had never been subjected to the brunt of his charisma, but now that you had, you could tell how much control he had over himself. Even now, his sexual energy was focused and restrained.

His eyesight had zeroed in on your pussy like a hawk sweeping in for its kill. His toned chest rose and fell, drawing attention to the sheen of perspiration lining his muscles.

“Hoseok.” The neediness in your voice broke him out of his trance.

When his eyes met yours, you felt your core clench up again. The sight of him shirtless, his lean muscles tensing every time his palm rubbed over the head of his erection through the material of his trunks, was enough to get you aroused all over again despite your recent orgasm.

“Please cum on me,” you asked sweetly.

He groaned in response, the sound low and guttural in his throat.

You hadn’t thought it possible, but his eyes darkened, black pupils swallowing up the brown of his irises until there was nothing left but raw arousal.

“Yeah? You’d let me?” He shifted onto his haunches and hastily tugged down his shorts low enough to relieve his aching member from the confines of the fabric. His red cock stood stiff, the tip leaking pearly precum everywhere.

A pleased smile stretched across your face. By the looks of it, he had been hard for a while.

The thought made something in your stomach curl pleasantly. You had done that, not anyone else. That alone was enough to spread heat throughout your body.

“I want you to cum all over me.”

“Fuck, when you talk like that I want to give you everything.” Hoseok held up a hand to your mouth and ordered in a gruff voice, “Spit.”

Doing as he commanded, you gathered as much saliva as you could and let it pool into his cupped palm. He muttered quick praise and wasted no time slicking up his length with your spit—not that it was needed.

It didn’t take long for him to cum.

“Where do you want it?” he asked between gritted teeth. Not once did his pace falter or slow down as he raced toward his end.

“Right here.” You didn’t need to think twice about it, your hand already reaching between your legs to open yourself up for him.

He growled as cum painted your inner thighs white. His hand stroked him through his orgasm, not stopping until he was certain he had nothing left to give you.

When Hoseok hunched forward to slot his mouth over yours, lips tasting of you, there was no mistaking the victorious smile adorning your face.

{FRIDAY. 10.21 am}

Something in the air had changed.

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and the stars had realigned themselves in the sky. It was like getting your contact lens prescription strengthened—the world just looked different.

Your midday tryst with Hoseok had been the catalyst behind it all.

The reverence illuminating Hoseok’s eyes as he watched you come apart was still fresh on your mind. It filled you with bubbly giddiness. And that feeling—that swarming of butterflies in your stomach—was undoubtedly an improvement from the paralyzing numbness you had grown accustomed to over the last few months.

For the first time in a while, you had been able to sleep soundly. The results of a good night’s sleep were perceptible to the naked eye. Your skin was dewy and radiant, clear of the usual imperfections brought on by anxiety and exhaustion.

“You look well this morning,” had complimented June as she filled your empty glass with freshly pressed orange juice. You had hummed around a bite of gluten free toast, pleased with yourself.

Your good mood lasted all throughout the morning. It was Wednesday, you realized.

There was a bounce in your step when you realized what day it was and who you’d inevitably be seeing. Even though it hadn’t been that long, time tricked you into believing eons had passed since your last encounter. So much seemed to have changed since then.

You didn’t feel like the same person, for one. There was no more awkward fumbling or nervous lip biting, no sudden urge to cover your scantily exposed body with a bathing gown.

The confident stride towards the pool’s edge felt less like an act. When you sat down at the ledge, dipping your ankles into the lukewarm water, you didn’t feel like some kind of fraud. You were no longer trying to emulate the person you had once been—you were that person. It had just taken a while to find her again.

Jimin rose to his feet. He had been changing the water filter before your arrival had made him halt mid-activity.

For now you didn’t pay him any mind. You stretched your neck to the side, soaking up the summer sun. You were sure that you would have painted a much more seductive picture if your ass didn’t feel like it was on fire. Literally.

The stony edge of the pool was too hot, bordering on burning. You wriggled around, hoping you’d eventually adjust to the heat but in the end couldn’t handle it.

You slid in, water splashing around you as you submerged yourself. The water barely came up to your chest, which was probably for the best because your makeup wasn’t waterproof. And runny mascara? Not your best look.

When you looked up, Jimin’s unimpressed stare met you head on.

And, granted, choosing to go for a swim while he was cleaning the pool was not the smartest or most logical feat.

You weren’t here to swim, though. And Jimin knew it, too.

Jimin didn’t shy away from your gaze. On the contrary—he seemed to enjoy the scrutiny, preening. Your shameless admiration did nothing but stroke his already well inflated ego.

He raised his brow in your direction, half-expecting you to run away again. It felt like a challenge—one you were more than happy to take on.

In truth, you had been waiting for this opportunity.

Jimin didn’t disappoint. With a splash, he dived in and swam to your section. He stopped just short of you, close enough to clearly see the water trickling down his body in rivulets.

“Is this a hobby of yours?”

“Hm? What is?” He flicked his wet bangs to the side.

“Seducing married women.”

The smile he wore told you that he found your question amusing. “...Have I seduced you?”

His remark wasn’t enough to deter you. By now, you had gotten used to his teasing and it was getting easier to ignore his attempts at winding you up.

“Why do you do it? I’m sure you could have any young and pretty thing lining up to date you.” You genuinely wanted to know. Ever since you had met him and he had made his intentions clear as day, you had wondered why he’d ever bother chasing married women. What did he expect from it? Love? Money? Was this just something to pass the time? Or was this a way to prove his sexual prowess and attractiveness?

Life had taught you that nothing in the world came for free. There was always a price to be paid. Jimin seemed to have that lesson ingrained in him as well. It was in the way he carried himself with confidence, the way he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

In many ways, Jimin reminded you of yourself—or the self that had existed before your insecurities had made your outer layer crumble.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But I’m not interested in dating any pretty, young thing. To be frank… Dating holds no interest for me. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“You’re just looking to wet your dick,” you translated.

“If I wanted to ‘wet my dick’,” he quoted with a roll of his eyes, “I could get that on campus. It’s not that hard to get laid when you look like I do.”

“Maybe you have a preference for cougars?”

“I’m serious. You of all people must know that relationships are about giving and taking. Compromise. I know what I can offer and what I’m willing to give up and none of those things people want.”

The honesty in his voice made you pause. You couldn’t claim to understand what he meant—because you didn’t. If he didn’t want sex and if he didn’t want a relationship, what did that leave? If it hadn’t been for the truth coloring his tone, you would have called him out for his bullshit.

“Seduce… I guess you could call it that... But it’s not as bad as you probably think it is.” His plush lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s no trickery to it. Every single person I get involved with knows what they’re getting into. I tell them what I’m willing to offer and they name their price. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. You blinked in realization. “You’re saying you’re in this for the money?”

Jimin was quick to correct you. “It’s not always money. Apparently they think it’s crass to give cold hard cash, they think it diminishes my worth or something along those lines.” He smiled and shrugged. Your eyes strayed to the curve of his collarbones. “Personally I don’t mind either way. Gifts are gifts.”

Looking at him now, you could picture it. He was young and attractive, willing to entertain bored and unsatisfied housewives while their negligent husbands failed to keep them happy. You could see why they’d be enthusiastic to take him up on the offer—Park Jimin was charming in a way that made you hang onto his every word. It was the way he carried himself, the way he talked, the way he looked at you. He was hard to resist and he knew it.

“Sometimes it’s not even sexual,” he went on to explain. “I think… Some of them… They just seemed... Not sad. But, like. Lonely, you know? And some of them… Sometimes I don’t really do anything, nothing that crosses lines, nothing that would get my dick chopped off if their husband watched the CCTV footage. Really, what I do is not as salacious as you’re imagining… Most of it is quite tame.”

“Tame?” Jimin didn’t fit the definition of tame by a long shot. Your eyebrows scrunched up together, skepticism etched deeply onto your expression.

“Well. I’m hot,” Jimin stated, serious. “So that already takes care of half of it.”

You laughed, silently wondering how it was possible for a person to be so shameless. Although you supposed you weren’t one to talk. You were as vain as they came. It was just shocking to see someone not even try to fake modesty. The near perpetual smirk on his face would be insufferable on anyone else, but Jimin made it work in his favor.

“I don’t do anything special. Well, okay. Maybe I make a show out of cleaning the pool, but that’s about it.”

He glanced down at his choice of swimwear and you eventually caught on to what was insinuated. Much like the ones he had on during your last encounter, his swimwear seemed to be a size too small for him, hugging his thick thighs and putting his impressive muscles on display. Even the chastest person on the planet would have difficulty abstaining from ogling his build. Thirsty housewives wouldn’t stand a chance.

A half-naked, attractive man doing manual work? “I can see what you mean,” you agreed. “I don’t doubt your popularity among the married crowd.”

“Oh?” He tilted his chin so that he could stare at you through wet lashes. The water droplets gave the illusion that his eyes were framed by minuscule crystals. When he blinked, you couldn’t look away, spellbound. “Are you including yourself?”

Something in your expression made the shade of his irises burn to black, the heat in his eyes as smothering as burning hot coals. Your already unstable heart found it hard to function. It knocked loudly against your chest and you were afraid it would burst from the force of it.

As a last ditch effort to regain control of the situation, you hurriedly asked, “Do you have anything off limits? Or are you okay with doing anything?”

The string of questions broke the oppressing sexual tension that had threatened to consume you. His alluring expression shifted back to a neutral one.

“Depends on the person,” he answered after thinking it over, serious once again. “I can’t fake arousal. I’m either hard or I’m not, you know?”

“You’ve had sex with some of them before though, have you?”

“Yeah.” It was an easy admission. Jimin wasn’t boasting but he wasn’t ashamed of his past deeds either. “Not often and never off the bat, but yes. Can’t say that I haven’t.”

“Inside or outside the house?”

“Once inside the gardening shed, against the door. Wouldn’t recommend unless you fancy a trip to the hospital to remove all the splinters on your back. I’ve also done it in the bed they shared with their husband. That was...something.” The way he said it made it sound like the understatement of the century.

Before you could press, he continued, “Sex isn’t really something I’m up for all the time though. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s easy to let things get out of control...” A grimace, a pause, and then, “It’s easy for people to get confused. Feelings can develop and that’s... I’d rather avoid those complications if I can. There’s nothing fun about making women cry.”

It sounded like a warning.

You wondered how many times he had to reiterate his stance, how many times he had to draw lines and keep them clear to avoid breaking hearts. You wondered how much of his story was laced with truth and how much of it was twisted to deceive you.

How many before you had been presented with the same backstory? How many of them had let themselves be tempted by his proposition? It seemed like a good deal, after all. Who would be willing to refuse such a irresistible offer? You could only imagine how excited they had been at the prospect of having their appetite sated by such a young and handsome man.

You had never been under the illusion that your liaison would evolve into a whirlwind romance worthy of the greatest love songs. Unlike the countless others who had eagerly emptied out their purses just to get a taste of him, you had no plans on taming his wild heart. His love, his feelings—they weren’t what you were after.

“What’s something you’ve never done before?” you dared to ask, angling your head to peer up at him through your lashes. It was a good angle, one you knew from experience that worked.

“Never done? Well, let’s see...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve never kissed any of them. Properly, on the mouth.”

Your brow raised. You hadn’t expected that answer. Kissing did seem tame in comparison to the exploits he had previously listed. “How come?”

“It gets too personal, I guess.” Jimin refrained from elaborating any further. Not that he needed to—you could tell from the way he skirted around the question that kissing meant more to him than he would rather let on.

Immediately, you knew what you wanted.

“You said that you’d give me anything I ask for.”

Jimin wasn’t dumb; he quickly caught on.

“You want me to kiss you.” He tilted his head, a strange glint in his eyes. They flickered down to your mouth for the briefest of moments.

Your heart raced. A wary expression had crossed his face. Like he was finally seeing you differently—not as another conquest who would eat out of his hand and bend over backwards just to spend some time by his side, but acknowledging you as an equal who set her own terms and played by her own rules. A player, not a pawn.

Soon, the cautious attitude was replaced with excitement. Like the idea of playing a new game excited him.

"And what do I get in return?"

You blinked. Of course. It had been silly of you to think he'd give it up for free.

"What do you want?" You hadn't thought very far and your mind raced as it tried to find a suitable method of compensation. Expensive wristwatches, art work...

"I don't want anything you'd be willing to give anyone else." Jimin cut in, interrupting your inner musings. "I want something you'd only be willing to give your husband."

How very specific.

"I don't..." you trailed off, lost in thought. There was no time to question the nature of his request, not when your mind was caught up trying to find something, anything, that fit his criteria.

"I'll blow you."

You wet your lips. It was meant to be seductive but you were too nervous to properly pull it off.

Jimin raised a brow in response. It was impossible to tell if the answer was favorable or not, so you rambled on. "I've never... Since we started dating, the only... I've only been intimate with my husband.”

Until recently, was left unsaid. You weren’t sure if Hoseok counted. Maybe you should rephrase to avoid misunderstandings.

“I’ve never had... I’ve never sucked anyone else off.” There. Now you weren’t lying. “Even before Yoongi and I dated, I never did it that much. Not because—not because I don't enjoy it, but. I've always been more on the receiving end."

"You're a selfish lover," concluded Jimin, nodding in understanding like he hadn’t expected anything less.

You frowned. "I get that it sounds that way, but it's not! Sex doesn’t boil down to oral."

"Oh, I know," he smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'm intrigued... But who’s to say your oral skills will live up to my standards?"

"As far as I know, no one's left you a 5 star rating for your kissing skills." Huffing, you crossed your arms. In the back of your mind, you knew Jimin was poking fun at you in order to elicit a reaction, but you were too offended to care about how you were playing into his games.

A kiss for a blowjob? If you hadn’t been desperate for the latter, you would have denounced the unfair exchange.

Jimin leaned in, his fingers tilting your chin in the angle he wanted, and studied your face like he was committing your features to memory. He drank in your appearance, down to the flutter of your lashes, the parting of your lips, and the hitch in your breath when he bent his neck to close the distance.

There was something careful about his touch. Unlike the searing intensity behind his gaze, the press of his fingertips against your skin was careful, almost like he was handling glassware. Time seemed to move extremely slowly. He took his time, seemingly content with just cupping your chin between his fingers and admiring you.

For a moment, you thought he'd back out on his offer, not willing to part with the one thing he'd denied the string of conquests who had previously been in your shoes.

When Jimin pressed his lips against yours, you had to fight back the urge to gasp. His earlier demeanor had lulled you into a false sense of security. You had expected him to take his time, kisses gentle and slow-paced.

There was nothing of the sort—Jimin's kisses were hungry, insistent, and stole the breath out of your lungs with every press of his lips against your own.

Whenever he let up, you took the opportunity to gasp in a mouthful of air. The lack of oxygen was making your head spin, you vision blurring at the edges. You were slipping down a very slippery slope. The longer his mouth moved against yours, the quicker you felt all reason and sanity abandon you.

Jimin’s control never wavered. There were times when you tried to dictate the pace but he'd pinch your chin to keep you still.

A moan worked its way up your throat when he gave a particular hard suck to your bottom lip. Not knowing what to do with yourself, body overheating with lust, your fingernails dug into his shoulders in a last-ditch bid to ground yourself back to reality. Jimin growled in response, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair to tug at the strands. You stilled immediately, the show of dominance enough to make your body go limp in his hold.

When his tongue finally met yours, licking into your open mouth with fervor, it wiped your brain clean of all coherency, your mind now blissfully blank. There was only Jimin, only his heat melting against your own, only his scent enveloping you like a warm cocoon you never wanted to break out of. Eventually, though, he had to pull back for air and you almost whined in protest.

After all, who needed air? What use was breathing when you could be spending that time kissing him instead?

It took a while for the heavy fog to lift. When it did you noted that you were still slightly out of breath, your heartbeat erratic and deafening. Under any normal circumstances, you'd be embarrassed by how effortlessly he had turned your insides to gush.

You struggled to keep your eyes open as you craned your neck to look at him properly. You had no time to feel self-conscious, however. Jimin's erotic appearance was much more interesting.

His lips were swollen a dark pink hue that perfectly complimented the flush high on his cheeks. It was a pretty sight, but nothing comapred to the deep pools of lust that stared back at you. Jimin looked like he could swallow you whole with his stare alone.

Your entire body trembled at the prospect of him carrying out the silent promise. In fear or anticipation—you did not know yet. You had barely survived his kiss. What were you going to do if he had his way with you? Now you understood why Jimin kept himself at an arm's reach from all of his suitors. His touch was lethal, designed and weaponized to make his unsuspecting victims fall deep into trance. Once you got involved with him, there was no coming back out of it the same. He was like a ruthless drug. One hit and that was all it took for your body to become hooked to the feeling. If you had any more, you'd stay addicted for the rest of your life, whether you wanted to or not.

Jimin was dangerous. Even in your prime, you had never been this powerful. The worst part was that he knew it. He wielded his charm with expertise, knew exactly how much to give to make you weak at the knees. You had only had a taste of him and yet your body thrummed with a burning need for more.

Thankfully, his needs mirrored yours. You didn’t have to wait long for him to hoist himself onto the ledge of the pool, the lean muscles of his arms flexing as he dragged his body out of the water with the grace of a panther. In the blink of an eye he had shucked off his sodden swim trunks and placed the wet material under him as a cushion.

You gulped, feeling almost bashful. It was...a lot to take in. It felt almost wrong to ogle at him now that he was stark naked.

Unaware of your embarrassment, Jimin puffed out his chest, shameless as ever. With a smirk plastered on his face, he patted his thick thigh and nodded in your direction.

“C’mre.” He spread his knees, cock hanging heavy between his thighs. “Time to be a good host and return the favor.”

You waddled closer before your brain could talk you out of it, mesmerized by the sight in front of you.

Jimin’s dick was—for lack of better terms—pretty. He was thick, not too long or too veiny, and pink at the head. He kept his pubic hair neatly trimmed, the dark patch standing out against golden skin.

Weeks ago you would have never thought twice about sucking off a man who wasn’t Yoongi. Yet here you were, mouth watering at the prospect of Jimin filling up your mouth.

You had Yoongi to thank for that.

For the briefest moment, you let yourself imagine the look on Yoongi’s face if he walked in on you right now. Even if you had an idea, it was hard to predict what his reaction would be...

Jimin’s croon yanked you back to reality. “Let me see what you can do. No hands, sweetheart. Show me what you got.”

The look aimed your way was full of expectation.

Not one to disappoint, your lips automatically stretched around his girth. You suckled the tip and sighed in contentment as he slowly plumped up against the flat of your tongue

God, you had missed sucking dick. You hadn’t been lying earlier when you had confessed how much you enjoyed it. There was something exhilarating about making a man go putty in your hands—or mouth. No matter how much they thought they had control over the situation, the reality was that you had them by their cock.

Drool pooled in your mouth, spilling at the corners, but Jimin didn’t seem to mind the mess. If anything, the visual made him impossibly harder. He hummed low in his throat as his heavy erection throbbed on your tongue, and ran a hand over your face to feel the sizable bulge poking your cheek.

“You look so gorgeous like this, stuffed full from my cock.” He grinned down at you with all the self-satisfaction of someone getting his dick sucked. “Really fucking pretty.”

One of his thumbs traced patterns over your cheekbones and you felt your face warm. The action was almost...sweet. And it most definitely felt out of place in this context.

The tender moment was broken the instant his length hit the back of your throat. You gagged, the choked sound loud enough to drown out his deep groan of appreciation.

It was with great reluctance that he let you pull back to catch your breath. You coughed, slightly embarrassed that you were so out of form.

He reached out to break the thin string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his weeping cock. He smoothed his coated fingers over your lips, smearing the excess saliva and his precum all over your mouth and cheeks with the focus of a painter hard at work.

The sight made his lower belly sing with satisfaction. And still, he wanted more.

Jimin took a minute to appreciate your less than perfect appearance. He was so used to seeing you with perfectly applied lipstick and coiffed hair, that seeing you so disheveled made something in his stomach kick. His thoughts ran wild. He was hit with a primal desire to ruin you, mark you up and leave the imprint of his dick in your throat so you’d remember him long after this was over.

“Wanna see you choke yourself on my cock,” he grunted, his member twitching at the thought. “Think you can do that for me?”

Instead of a verbal reply, you leaned it to plant a kiss on the flushed head of his erection, kissing down his hard length until your mouth reached the base of it. When you looked up, his gaze was darker than the night skies.

A shudder ran through your body, from the crown of your head all the way down to the tips of your toes. He never broke his gaze, the weight of it pressing down on you like a security blanket.

When you took one of his balls into your mouth, wet and messy just like you suspected he liked it, his hands shot up to rake through your hair. They pulled at the strands but not hard enough to stop you. Conflict warred on his face, unsure if he wanted you stop or not.

“You’re fucking nasty,” he rasped when you gave a particular hard suck, your cheeks hollowing around his sack. “I love it. Who would’ve fucking thought that I’d land such a good slut?”

Your moan was muffled, slightly distorted, but he heard it all the same. His eyes curved into crescents. “You like that, huh?”

He abandoned the grip he had on your hair in order to enclose his fingers around his length instead.

“Show me your tongue. Yeah, like that.” He bit down on his bottom lip when you flawlessly executed his command. Jimin kept you like that for a while, your tongue hanging out and waiting on him like an obedient dog. He seemed in no hurry to get the show on the road, content with observing while he fisted his cock in lazy strokes. It was humiliating but your core had never felt this on fire.

Saliva pooled in your mouth and threatened to overflow. Just when it started to trickle down the sides of your open mouth, Jimin fed you his meaty cock as a reward.

“Now show me what a good slut is capable of.”

It was all the motivation you needed to take him as deep as your throat allowed. Your throat, unaccustomed to the stretch and burn, had difficulty adjusting. Patiently, Jimin let you to take all the time you needed. Determined to perform well, you worked on his cock until he was all you could taste and smell.

Jimin was a lot more vocal than what you had imagined. It was a pleasant surprise. Guys usually held back - refused to give up that semblance of control - but Jimin’s ego was far from fragile. Whenever you swallowed he sucked in a quick breath of air, and when the muscles in your throat clamped down around his length he hissed out deep groans, their low timbre sending shivers down your back.

You paid close attention to his reactions and cataloged them. And that feeling - of having to learn someone’s ticks - was one that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Maybe if the circumstances had permitted it, you would have explored that feeling, questioned what it meant and why you enjoyed it. As it was, you were valiantly trying not to make unattractive whale sounds every time Jimin’s fat cock jabbed the back of your throat.

It seemed like ages before your throat finally relaxed enough to take him all the way down to the hilt. Jimin kept a firm hand on top of your head, not exerting enough pressure to lock you in place, but the implication was there.

“Fuck.” His balls ached, feeling like they were about to burst. The closer he approached climax, the more his tongue ran loose. “You take it so good, make me feel so fucking good. Choke on my fat cock—just like that. A little longer, c’mon, I know you can take it. Good girl. God, you’re so—oh fuck!”

The muscles in the back of your throat had closed up and you gagged from lack of air. Eyes glassy from unshed tears, you struggled to not clamp down your teeth on his dick as your body was pushed to its limits. Only Jimin’s moans of ecstasy kept you from pulling back too soon—that and the deathly tight grip in your hair.

“Your mouth should be illegal.” Mercifully he let you catch your breath. The respite was brief. Your lungs burned but you had no time to do anything about it before he used the grip in your hair to slam you back down his length.

If you had been able to set the pace before, there was no possibility of that now. Jimin used your mouth like he was paying for it, his rhythm fast-paced and erratic. The rough treatment should have provoked objection and a litany of protests but to your shame and surprise, there was not a fiber in your body that wanted to stop.

You knew that Jimin was nearing his end long before he announced it. He tried to keep the shakiness out of his voice, but there was no hiding the signs of his impending orgasm.

Jimin hissed out a few last obscenities, his tongue stumbling to get out the words as his entire body tensed up like a volcano about to erupt. “Better swallow it all, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to dirty the pool I worked so hard to clean, now would you? That wouldn’t be very nice…”

You sucked harder in reply, your tongue pressed up against a sensitive vein near the head of his dick. The hold on your hair tightened and he groaned in ecstasy, pleasure wracking his entire frame. “’Atta girl. You’re gonna take me right down your throat. Gonna show me how well you take it? Prove to me that you’re a good girl ‘til the end, hnn?”

Bitterness coated your tongue before he could finish formulating his question. It flooded your mouth in thick spurts.

Yoongi had always claimed that your greed was boundless when it came to cum. You were only proving his words to be true by swallowing everything down in large gulps. It was a bit on the depraved side—you knew some of your friends wouldn’t swallow semen even if they got paid millions for it—but you loved it. You sucked him down until you were certain that he had nothing left to give you.

“So fucking greedy.” Jimin huffed out a laugh and eased you off when the stimulation became too painful to bear. “Knew the moment I met you that you were just gagging for a taste. Look at you… Don’t even need to tell you to clean me off.”

Now that you were no longer caught up in the moment, it was easier to think straight. Arousal still pulsed between your legs but it had been dulled, no longer screaming for attention.

“My husband taught me well.”

Jimin raised a brow, mouth splitting into a grin. “Maybe I should thank him.”

“That would be the polite thing to do.” Would it? What protocol should be followed after face-fucking your boss’s wife? “Though I think Yoongi should be the one thanking you.”

“Hmm.” Jimin chose not to question. Less questions, meant less involvement and he hadn’t been lying when he had said that he liked to keep his distance. Even without the questions, Jimin was perceptive enough to pick up on the unsaid. The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. “You like him a lot, that elusive husband of yours.”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” you said, making him pause.

For once, Jimin found himself at a loss for words.

There was something disconcerting about your smirk that had his stomach twisting in knots. It was not the look he expected to see. Instead of the residual yearning and disappointment, there was nothing but satisfaction written on your face. It bothered him for a reason he could not quite grasp.

Without really knowing how or why, Jimin's instincts told him that he had been played at his own game.

{MONDAY. 10.32 am}

“It’s today, isn’t?”

You kept the phone pressed close to your ear by raising your shoulder into an exaggerated shrug. Your hands were otherwise occupied, one of them taking out a hair roller, the other applying a deep red color onto the soft pillow of your lips.

It was hard work—one wrong move would stain the skin around your mouth. On any other day, you wouldn’t dare rush, but today there was no time to erase and reapply. You were on a tight schedule. Luckily for you, you had the art of multitasking down to a T.

On the other side of the line, Bogum replied to your inquiry. You hummed in a distracted manner, too busy observing your reflection for any imperfections.

Satisfied with your handwork, you smacked your lips together. Red was the perfect choice. Femme fatales like Marilyn and Brigitte would be proud.

“He left so early this morning I wasn’t even able to wish him luck. Do you happen to know when he’ll be done? He won’t be home before... Ah - I see. Okay, yes, of course I will. No, that’ll be all, thank you Mr. Park. I will, thank you. Have a nice day.”

After casting one last pleased once-over at your reflection in the vanity mirror, you made your way to the conservatory with all the smugness of someone who knew that they were in for the fuck of their life.

And there was no better candidate for the job than Kim Seokjin.

Equipped with model-like proportions and a face that belonged on the silver screen, he was the epitome of beauty. Renaissance artists would have begged on their knees to replicate his good looks on canvas. You knew, however, just by looking at his perfectly symmetrical features, that someone as physically perfect as Kim Seokjin was incapable of being duplicated. Renowned and prestigious painters would have struggled to capture the aura he radiated, their painted renditions crude imitations of the real thing.

His presence alone inspired adulation. With that kind of face, it was probably common occurrence that throngs of women - and men - threw themselves reverently at his feet like he was a god and the world was his temple.

In other words—Seokjin was unworldly beautiful.

...And he also had the ego to match it.

In that aspect, he reminded you of Jimin. They were both individuals who would never settle for sub-par fucks, even if their lives depended on it.

Seokjin was well aware of his worth and he probably thought himself deserving of the best. Unlike Jimin, he had no interest in playing games. You knew that with him, there would be no give and take, no push and pull, no ploys of seduction. If he liked what he saw enough, he’d bite. If he didn’t, he’d turn up his nose and move on to the next best thing.

Maybe the past few days had gone to your head, filling you with undeserved confidence, but you were convinced that he wouldn’t turn you down. Not when you had on your fuck-me-heels and a dress you knew for a fact made your ass look fantastic.

You looked fucking good. In the past an outfit like this would have been sufficient incentive for Yoongi to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck you silly until your legs turned to jello and you forgot what day of the month it was.

If it had once worked on Yoongi – the toughest stone to crack – then Seokjin would most likely break as easily. As monumental as his ego was, Seokjin wasn’t an impenetrable fortress.

Still…you had expected a bit more resistance than the reality you were met with. When you had asked him whether he’d fancy taking a break, your tone unmistakably suggestive, Seokjin had proceeded to ditch the protective gloves and cleaning equipment, not needing to be asked twice, and had promptly followed you into the house with the enthusiasm of a puppy promised a treat.

As soon as you had crossed the threshold, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of you. Large hands groped whatever handfuls of flesh they were able to reach, zealous in their exploration. You giggled at his blatant impatience. All of your assumptions were proved right—Seokjin was undoubtedly accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, when he wanted. He took without hesitation, his movements bold and unabashed.

You had to physically pull him down the hallway in order to get him to move. If he had his way, he would have probably taken you right there against the wall, too impatient to bother with the removal of clothes.

“In here?” he gawked, his eyes darting around the room in alarm. “You want to fuck on your husband’s bed.”

You huffed out an amused breath. “It’s my bed, too. Where did you expect me to bring you, the rooftop?”

Seokjin paused, considering. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed around an invisible knot of nerves.

In the background, only the quiet whir of a ceiling fan could be heard. If you listened hard enough, you’d probably be able to hear the conflicting thoughts warring through his mind.

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes. What kind of skewered sense of moral righteousness was this? He was fine fucking his boss’s wife but not in his bed?

Seokjin didn’t take too long to arrive at the same conclusion.

“Alright,” he said, mind made up. Any trace of hesitation had been erased from his eyes, replaced only by fiery resolve. “Let’s get it.”

“I—” you opened your mouth and then closed it.

You had forgotten what it was like to fuck around with fratboys. It brought you back to a time when the only available guys around you were as vapid as they were handsome. It came without saying that hooking up with the star players on the football team had come with its perks—like their short refractory periods and unbeatable stamina. But all in all, the list of cons had outweighed the pros, and you had come to the conclusion that fifteen minutes of sex with a hot guy wasn’t worth the pain of being bored out of your mind.

Meeting Yoongi had been a breath of much needed fresh air. You still recalled the elation and excitement of meeting someone so sophisticated and worldly. College kids couldn’t hold a candle to him.

Seokjin bent down and kissed you.

You had been so engrossed in your thoughts that the feeling of his lips against your own did not register at first. But Seokjin was insistent and refused to be ignored. He worked his mouth against yours, tongue hot and probing the seam of your mouth.

Instinctively, you gave in to his advances, your body responding before your brain had the chance to catch up. His plush lips were soft and tasted slightly of coconut. Most importantly, they were experienced in the art of kissing. Seokjin kissed you fervently, tongue swiping against yours, determined to elicit as many moans as he could from you.

“That’s better,” he said between two pants. “I want you like this.”

You hummed, slightly dazed. “Like what?”

In lieu of an answer, Seokjin cupped your cheek and angled your head to the side so that he could kiss you deeper.

You had no opportunity to demand a verbal reply—not when his mouth kept you otherwise occupied. As the seconds stretched on, you felt yourself go weak in the knees. If it wasn’t for the firm hold he had around your waist, bracing you against his concrete-hard chest, you were certain you’d have already crumpled into an inelegant heap on the floor.

Hours or minutes could have elapsed—you had no clue. It was only when Seokjin pulled up for air that time seemed to regain its true course. You blinked away the spots dotting your vision, the world slowly coming back into focus.

“Yeah, like this,” Seokjin smiled down at you, pleased with what he saw. “I want you like this—thinking only of me, no one else. I’m the only one you’ll ever think of after this, won’t I?”

You cleared your throat, not trusting your voice. Seokjin raised an eyebrow like he expected an answer and you obliged, albeit a bit wobbly. “I’m not sure that’ll be enough to get me to remember you.”

Seokjin laughed. You could feel it rumble in his chest, so loud was his amusement. “You only say that because you haven’t been with a man like me. Once I give it to you, you’ll never think about another cock again.”

You tilted your head as if unconvinced. You had heard variants of the same promise over the years and had learned not to hold anyone to their word.

“What do you need?” Seokjin cajoled. “Tell me what you need from me and I’ll give it to you, babygirl.”

“I need a cock in me.” The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable.

He exhaled sharply, not expecting you to be so blunt. “Fuck, okay.”

One of his hands reached down for the silver buckle of his belt but the nervous buzz thrumming through his body made him clumsy. After a few seconds of fumbling with the button of his jeans, you joined in to help. His impatience seemed to have rubbed off on you because you found that you had no use for unnecessary prolongations. As crude as the thought was, you needed to be fucked. Preferably sooner than later.

“Shit.” His jaw clenched just as your hand squeezed around his length.

“You’re so big, what the fuck.” You palmed his girth once again, just to confirm your initial assessment. And—yep. He was fucking packing.

So he really had hit the genetic jackpot. Huh, you intoned, not really surprised by the discovery. Some people really did have all the luck in the world.

You fell to your knees unceremoniously. The polished floorboards dug into your shins but you were quick to dismiss the discomfort, too taken by the sizable length in front of your face. It wasn’t impressively thick, but the length was just right. Your thighs tightened as you imagined how well it could fill you up.

Impatience got the best of you and you spit into your palm, too lazy to go grab the lube from the bedside table. You used both hands to work his member to stiffness, occasionally leaning forward to spit onto his growing erection, the excess saliva easing the glide of skin on skin.

“Fuck, keep going. Get me ready to fuck you.” The sound of his voice made you glance up for the first time.

From this angle, Seokjin positively towered above you.

God, you wanted to climb him like a fucking tree.

Lust pumped through your veins, warming you from the inside out. Seeing him so affected made you re-double your efforts. The only thought crossing your mind right then was how much you wanted to see him to fall apart.

You twisted your hand with every upstroke, paying extra attention to the sensitive underside near the head of his cock. Every time you let your thumb stroke that particular area, Seokjin’s hips thrust forward of their own accord, a muffled groan of satisfaction making its way past his lips before he could swallow them down.

As much as he tried to appear unaffected, you could tell that he was slowly but surely being worn down. His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging white crescents onto the surface of his skin in an attempt to reign in his raging desires.

When you reached down to play with his balls, Seokjin decided that he had had enough.

Yanking you up by the arm, he manhandled you onto the bed, lifting you around like you weighed next to nothing. The perfectly ironed Egyptian cotton sheets crinkled under your weight but you couldn’t care less. By the end of the night, those wrinkles would be the least of your concerns.

“You sure about this, right?” He asked while kicking his pants and briefs all the way off. The rest of his clothes followed suit, and you gulped audibly as he revealed his broad shoulders, chiseled chest and slim waist in all their glorious nakedness. “Once I start I won’t hold back… And I’m not sure you’re ready for the fuck of your life.”

“Yes! I need a cock so bad. Please.”

Ignoring your whiny pleas, he bent his torso over the edge of the bed, blindly searching through the discarded clothes piled up on the floor.

“Condom. Where the fuck did I—Aha!” He grinned triumphantly when he found the foil packet in the back pocket of his jeans.

“I don’t need it,” you cut in before he ripped it open. “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Wha— Are you serious?” Momentarily stunned, he gaped down at you, condom wrapper still clutched between his fingers. “You want me to raw you.”

His crude phrasing made you squirm. “I like the feeling of cum in my pussy…” You felt your cheeks flame at the confession. “If you’re clean then please don’t use it.”

Seokjin chewed his bottom lip, visibly lost in thought.

“Please? Want to feel you fill me to the brim.” His eyes flashed. You knew you had him, then.

When he spoke next, it was more out courtesy than due to indecisiveness. “What about Mr. Min?”

“What about me?” a familiar voice cut through the air.

You both startled, heads whipping towards the doorway. Except, unlike you, Seokjin recoiled, stumbling back like he had been burnt by a hot iron, his hands seizing the nearest pillow to cover up his modesty. From an outside perspective it must have been quite the sight.

“Oh please don’t stop on my account. Keep going, we were just getting to the good part,” Yoongi said coolly as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was still in his work clothes but had lost his suit jacket somewhere along the way. His white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and your eyes were instantly drawn to his arms. One of the corners of his mouth twitched when he took note of your interest but his face remained otherwise blank, giving nothing away.

“W-what?” Seokjin gulped, any of his earlier bravado gone.

"Did I stutter?" Yoongi’s tone was monotone, almost bored. But his eyes—they told a whole different story. They pierced right through you, pinning you in place. Not that there was anywhere else you'd rather be than here, right now, with him, in this bedroom. You had been waiting for this moment for so long that the anticipation was killing you.

His cold gaze slid back over to Seokjin as he silently seized him up. "Well? Didn't I hear you say you were going to give my wife 'the fuck of her life'?" Yoongi's words were twisted with sarcasm. It was evident that he was looking down on Seokjin, his tone nothing but straight up condescending.

The way they talked about you like you weren’t even in the room should have been off-putting but for now you preferred to watch the scene unfold without interfering. There would be plenty of time to play later.

"What? Can't put your money where your mouth is?" Yoongi scoffed and leaned back against the wooden doorframe, feigning disappointment.

Seokjin bristled, deeply offended.

Internally, it dawned on you that this might be the first time someone had so openly challenged Seokjin. You knew guys like him—they were used to getting their way, used to being showered in constant praise, used to people coming back and begging for seconds, so thirsty for more they’d settle for scraps. Yoongi contempt had probably knocked Seokjin out of his orbit, rattling the latter to the core.

"You think I can't pleasure her?" he dared ask, eyebrows inflexed. His attempt at intimidation would have been more efficient had he not been the only one naked, you observed from the sidelines.

"Go on." Yoongi waved his hand, looking like he couldn't care less. "I'd like to see you try."

The clear disregard made Seokjin's jaw tick. His heavy brow furrowed. For the first time since Yoongi's presence was made known, Seokjin rounded on you, his normally honey brown irises now a murky, indescribable color.

You shuddered, high on the feeling of being the subject of both of their attention.

The air crackled with electricity, the tension escalating by the second, and you realized that playtime had arrived faster than anticipated.

Seokjin approached you, much like a lion stalking his prey. You couldn't help but notice the determined glint in his eye, the confidence he wore unfailingly till the end. In his mind, he was going to win. He had no doubt about it. You were going to bend to his will and cum hard on his tongue just like the countless others had before you.

You almost felt bad for him.

Maybe... Maybe if you had met him years ago, things would have gone exactly like how Seokjin pictured it in his head. But what he failed to realize was that he was in Yoongi's den, playing by Yoongi's rules.

And your husband? He never started anything he knew he wouldn't be able to finish. That was the business man in him. He measured the risks and calculated the cost before any operation, thus ensuring that he would never be beaten.

It was easy to tell by his relaxed posture that he really did view Seokjin as a non-threat.

You had known, of course, that he had never considered losing as an option. Yoongi had been the one to propose this particular game in the first place, after all. Even if it was a first for the both of you, he must have known that the stakes would always remain in his favor.

“Ready?” The mattress dipped under his weight. Seokjin crawled over you, kneeling so that his legs bracketed yours. There was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there fifteen minutes ago. He looked like a man with something to prove.

Inadvertently, your gaze flitted back to the doorway, searching for Yoongi’s. You wanted to see his face, needed to see how he’d react to another man touching you.

“Eyes up here.” Reluctantly, you followed Seokjin’s instructions. He noticed your pout right away. “When I’m through with you, you won’t even remember you’re married.”

Gutsy. Your head turned to catch Yoongi’s reaction but Seokjin stopped you by leaning down to kiss you full on the lips.

It was a strange feeling. Usually, you shut out the rest of the world, attention solely focused on the pair of lips moving against your own, but instead you felt hyper-aware of every little thing going on around you, ears straining as you tried to figure out what Yoongi was up to.

Seokjin nipped your swollen lip, unhappy with how your mind kept drifting. You tried to make a more conscious effort and show more interest, running your hands up and down his arms and letting out puffs of air whenever his hands ghosted over a ticklish area of your body.

Now that you had become a more active participant, you had finally begun to appreciate the slow pace Seokjin had built up. Contrary to your expectations, he hadn’t shoved his horse dick into you and hammered away. He took his time with you, making a show out of it. You couldn’t say you disliked it.

Okay, so, admittedly your expectations had been pretty low to begin with... But you were quickly seeing the errors of your ways. And, in your personal opinion, it was always better to be pleasantly surprised than the opposite.

Yoongi did not share the sentiment.

It was the first time a stranger had been invited into your shared bedroom. Seeing another man settled against the pillows he slept on at night wasn’t a sight he had ever imagined he’d see—let alone enjoy.

And for a while, he let himself watch without intruding in on the scene, a foreign and inexplicable feeling rooting him to the spot. Yoongi had no name for it but the longer he played spectator, the more intense the emotion became.

Beneath the alien feeling, he detected arousal and although he wasn’t sure what exactly he found exciting about the sight in front of him, a ball of desire coiled tightly at the base of his spine.

Objectively, both of you looked beautiful together. Your words had not done Seokjin’s beauty justice. When he looked at the pair of you intertwined, it was like watching a high quality Hollywood movie. But Yoongi knew that his arousal wasn’t just surface level. It ran deeper than that.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he goaded, needing to confirm his suspicions. “You should get her ready to take cock. She hasn’t been fucked in a while, so she’ll be tight.”

He saw how his words made you squirm and smothered a smirk. He couldn’t wait to deal with you.

When Seokjin looked up to meet his gaze, Yoongi was surprised to see incredulity present in the brown of his eyes.

“Wait.” He swallowed, suddenly losing the confidence he had sported earlier. “Y-you’re actually serious about this?”

Ah. Yoongi suspected that the slow pace hadn’t been because Seokjin had wanted to enjoy his wife, but because he had been waiting for Yoongi to jump in and put a premature end to all of this.

“Looks like you really were all talk. But what else should I have expected from some college grad student…”

Provoking him into action proved to be too easy. The line of Seokjin’s mouth hardened and he renewed his previous efforts. He grew bolder, hands deliberately reaching for your breasts to squeeze them through the expensive material of your dress. The kiss became sloppier as well, losing all finesse. From what Yoongi could see, there was less technique, but more tongue and teeth.

Whatever fire Yoongi had lit inside him had made him careless.

Yoongi’s pointed stare never strayed. As if sensing the scrutiny directed his way, Seokjin fumbled with his movements, eager to prove but too frenzied to actually accomplish anything.

By the looks of it, he wouldn’t be able to find your clitoris even it was drawn on a map with the step by step instructions attached. Yoongi would find the whole situation laughable if he wasn’t so affronted on your behalf.

“Do you know how to fuck a woman or not?” he spat out, exasperated.

“Just a minute, I’m—”

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Yoongi interrupted, his curt tone leaving no room for argument. He loosened up his tie with one hand as he continued, voice sharp, “Go sit up by the headboard and don’t even think of moving. That means no touching your dick, either.”

There was a tense moment of silence as Seokjin gaped at him, his eyes wide as he tried to quickly process the rapid turn of events.

"I won't force you to stay. It's your call. But if you choose to play with us, you're abiding by my rules."

Seokjin looked like he wanted to argue and put up a fight and for half a second, you really thought that he would. Yoongi took his silence as a favorable answer, certain that the younger man wouldn't leave.

“I’m feeling generous tonight so I’ll let you watch. You can think of it as a learning experience. I’ll even show you how to make my slut soak the sheets.” A smile curved his lips, taunting. “And maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you lick it up. How’s that sound?”

Yoongi raised his brow in challenge and that was all it took for Seokjin to slowly make his way to the edge of the bed, his back hitting the mahogany wood with a dull thud.

Yoongi liked to think he was a reasonable man.

He was fine with a lot of things—you maxing out his credit cards on ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest car for a spin in the big city without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function.

What he was not okay with, however, was you sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who were incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants.

No, that was where he drew the line.

You were a woman with standards. You had married him, not some pretty-faced fratboy, had you not? If that wasn’t sufficient proof, then what was?

As vain and prideful as it sounded, Yoongi refused to be put on the same level of the other men who chased after you. Unlike those men who salivated over you like a piece of quality meat, he knew exactly what you wanted and what you needed.

In the bedroom, a voice in the back of his mind corrected. You only know what she wants in the bedroom.

Yoongi swallowed, forcing the sudden feeling of inadequacy down his throat. He had failed you on that end. Old habits were hard to kill and he had learned of the consequences the hard way.

It had always been like that. Even as a kid, Yoongi liked rationality and reasoning, preferring numbers to the abstract. Equations had solutions, emotions did not. Before he had met you, every little thing he did had answered logic’s call. He woke up because he had to get to work. He ate because his body needed the energy to survive.

He was so used to fending for himself, of thinking of himself as a unit, that sometimes he forgot that his actions affected others as well. In retrospect, his lack of empathy had most likely been the root of the reason why all of his previous relationships had failed miserably.

People had never stayed long enough to work the issues out. Maybe they figured that he was too anchored in his habits to change or too emotionless to understand. There was also the financial imbalance that factored in and despite Yoongi’s verbal reassurances, none of it had helped. It was…uncomfortable, to say the least. His previous partners had never dared voice out their concerns and worries and Yoongi hated it, hated feeling like he was using his money to keep people in his life, no matter how miserable they clearly felt on the inside.

With you, it was different.

Yoongi reached the foot of the bed and met your honest gaze. Something squeezed his heart tightly and refused to let go. Despite all his flaws, you had stayed. Not out of obligation or monetary obsession—but out of love.

Love…was hard to define. Every time he thought he knew what it meant, it turned out he didn’t. But as he stood there with you finally at an arm’s reach, he thought he felt the emotion beating against his rib cage, making a home in his chest.

“Yoongi.” Your fingers twitched at your side, like they wanted to reach out for him but weren’t sure if they were allowed to.

When he draped himself over your body and interlaced his fingers with yours, it was as if something inside him finally locked into place.

“My love.” Your pulse jumped at the term of endearment. He liked using it ever since you had let slip that none of your previous lovers had ever called you that way. Even if you had initially complained that it made him sound like a fifty year old man, he knew you enjoyed it by the way your body never failed to respond. “I’ve made you wait long enough.”

He meant it in more ways than one. Yoongi was ready to give you everything, body and soul. He belonged to you.

“Are you going to do something about it?” You held your breath and waited for his answer, anticipation turning you into a squirming mess against the sheets.

“This dress brings back many memories,” he said instead, pointer finger tracing down the line of your cleavage. From this distance, Yoongi could count every single beauty mark that speckled your skin. His memory supplied images of himself licking and connecting each dot, the hot drag of his tongue leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. His mouth hungered for a taste but Yoongi curbed the desire before it had the chance to cloud his judgment. “Although I thought I had ruined it beyond saving a long time ago.”

“Your black card bought me a new one.”

Yoongi snorted, the unrefined sound breaking his cool façade. “Let’s get it off you. As much as I adore it, it looks better on the ground.”

“Take what’s yours.”

Yoongi wasted not a second more, the hurried movements of his hands conveying his burning arousal. With deft fingers, he found the zipper of your dress and pulled, watching with satisfaction as inch after inch of naked skin was exposed.

“Naughty slut.” His eyes narrowed as he admired your exposed body. Yoongi forced himself to keep his hands still at his sides even though he was dying to relieve his painful erection from the tight confines of his briefs. “Are you always bare under your clothes?”

“The lines…” you mumbled and trailed off. “My dress is so tight that my bra and panties show if I wear any.”

Yoongi scoffed, forcing his eyebrows into an expression of disbelief. “So you’re not okay with strangers seeing the outline of your thong, but fine with them ogling your hard nipples? Why? That desperate for them to know what a horny wife I have?”

“I wouldn’t be this horny if you fucked me more often.” You glared.

A beat of silence passed before Yoongi unlocked his jaw. “We’ll have to do something about that mouth later. Seems like a lesson on manners is in order.”

“Counting on it, sir,” was your cheeky answer.

Yoongi’s hand came down with a crack. He watched as your whole body jolted from the impact. “Hands and knees. No, the other way. Face our guest. Since you like showing off your tits so much, here’s another perfect opportunity to do so.”

In your haste to follow his orders, you stumbled several times, knees knocking together as you readjusted yourself to his whims. Without needing to be told, you spread out your legs and arched your back, leaving the most intimate parts of you completely exposed for his viewing pleasure. If he wanted to take you right then, there was nothing stopping him from doing so.

Seokjin was all but forgotten at this point. He could have left the room and Yoongi wouldn’t have noticed—or cared. His vision had tunneled, his entire world narrowed down to the sight of you presenting yourself just like a good whore should. It seemed like you were equally affected, if not more. Yoongi spread your cheeks so that he could fully appreciate the view of your drenched pussy. If he had ever doubted your arousal, your slick thighs, shiny with your juices, and swollen lips were enough proof to dispel such uncertainties.

“You’re all mine to take,” he said in a soft growl.

He knelt behind you and ran his hands up the back of your sticky thighs. This position left him at the perfect height to eat you out. His mouth watered at the prospect of finally having his fill. Too long had he deprived himself of a delicious meal… It was time to fix that.

You moaned the instant his finger came into contact with your rapidly hardening clit. Your feeble attempts at shoving your hips back for more were thwarted by Yoongi's strong grip on your thigh, the rough pads of his fingertips bruising the soft skin in warning. It took a herculean effort to keep still but you somehow managed, knowing that your obedience would pay off.

Yoongi liked to enjoy his meals. He took his time with you, playing with the abundance of wetness that had collected between your thighs, dragging his digits across your velvety folds.

He loved taking you this way. With you offered up to him ass up and legs spread, he could really get into it, mouth and hands dictating the pace without your interference. There was nothing you could do save for holding open your cheeks and plead for more.

Sometimes—when he felt merciful—he indulged you. But he could not deny that there was something infinitely more satisfying when he drew out your pleasure until you shook and cried with need.

“Mhmm.” His groan echoed yours as he slid in his ring finger into your hot cunt. You were so aroused that the stretch could hardly be felt. “Snug and wet. S’gonna be a tight fit when I open you up with my cock later.”

The unspoken promise of cock made your walls squeeze around his finger and Yoongi groaned again as he imagined how amazing you’d feel around his painful erection instead of his hand.

For now, he pushed the ache aside. The only one that mattered right now was you.

He flattened his tongue and let it drag across your folds, moaning as the taste of you flooded his mouth. Fuck. It wasn’t enough, he thought frantically. As he continued to lick into you like a man starved, he wondered how he could ever possibly tire of your taste. How he had managed to stay away from it all this time was a mystery he had yet to solve.

Your cries of pleasure grew louder as his tongue fucked into you, sampling the snugness of your walls for what would come later. Wetness dripped down his chin but he could care less about the mess you made. He kept licking it up, not wanting to stop for a single second, only pulling off whenever his lungs burned from lack of air.

Attuned to your body and its needs, he felt every tremor and hitch of breath. Whenever he sensed your heart rate kick up, he slowed down and changed the tempo. He kept you on the edge like that for several long minutes, building you up only to bring you back to zero.

Finally, he pulled back, ignoring the betrayed cry he ripped from your throat, and wiped the shine off his chin with the back of his hand. The taste of you was still heavy on his tongue and he couldn’t help but lick his lips clean in satisfaction. Nothing pleased him more than feasting between your legs and it would be a lie to say that he hadn’t missed it terribly.

A creak of the mattress distracted him. Seokjin shifted uncomfortably, his erection prominent. By the looks of it, he had been hard for a rather long time. Yoongi was pleased to see that Seokjin had stayed true to his word—his hands were obediently shoved under the meat of his thighs to prevent himself from touching himself.

Yoongi had been so focused on the five-star meal nestled between your thighs that he had forgotten his manners.

“Darling, it’s time to show our guest what a lovely host you are.” He punctured his command with a sharp swat to your ass.

You stumbled forward but looked back at him for guidance. “How—?”

“Don’t think I forgot how well you begged for cock earlier,” he reminded you. “You still desperate for it?”

“Want,” you shook your head, confused. “Want yours.”

The features of his face softened. “You’ll get mine soon enough. But you know only good sluts get my cock and I still need some convincing.”

“I’m good,” you insisted, your lips pursed into a pout.

He raised his brow and tilted his head.

Squinting your eyes defiantly, you crawled over to Seokjin and begged, shameless and past the point of caring about modesty. “Please fuck my face.”

“Is that—?” Seokjin gulped, looking down at you with worried eyes. “Will you be okay?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” A wicked grin played at Yoongi’s lips. “I’ve cock trained her to take it like a good slut should.”

The unabashed moan his words provoked was all it took for Seokjin to know that you were fully on board with him fucking your face. His eyes widened imperceptibly at how shameless you looked, mouth open with your tongue out, panting for his hardened length down your throat like a bitch in heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing the base of his cock to keep himself together.

Your lewd display seemed to amuse Yoongi to no end.

“Look, she’s hungry for it. Don’t keep her waiting, she’s been good.”

Seokjin gave in. No matter what others believed, he was only human. All men had their limits and Seokjin’s self-restraint had been tested too many times today to count. He fed you his cock, slipping inch after inch into your hot mouth.

His groan of appreciation vibrated deep in his chest and he tipped his head back as the feeling of your mouth momentarily overwhelmed him.

It didn’t take long for him to get lost in the feeling. Although he had had his reservations about the entire thing, Seokjin stopped holding back once he saw how enthusiastic you were. You sucked his cock, working him down even if it was obvious his sizeable length wasn’t making it easy.

“Force it down,” instructed Yoongi.

Seokjin jumped, his eyes flying open as he remembered the older man’s presence. Your mouth was so good he had erased everything else in the room.

“What?”

“She won’t be able to take it in her throat unless you help her.” Yoongi observed with almost clinical detachment. Seokjin took a moment to admire the man’s calm and collected attitude. The moment dissipated quickly, however. Your tongue had started doing things to the head of his cock that had him biting down whines of pleasure.

You laughed around his dick when he failed to suppress one of them. Seokjin’s erection twitched as the vibrations teased him further and he groaned out a few creative expletives that had you giggling harder.

His hips kicked up of their own accord, making you gag loudly as his length reached the back of your throat. Seokjin almost apologized but you dug your nails into the meat of his ass and signaled him to do it again.

He swore again and fucked into your mouth slowly at first but once he saw you could take it, started building a pace. “Holy s-shit. I’m going to blow my load soon, fucking fuck.”

That only seemed to strengthen your determination. You got even tighter around him, almost like you were trying to milk the cum out of his dick with your mouth.

Yoongi approached with the stealth of a cat, making sure not to startle you when you had a cock buried in your throat. Seokjin glanced up and was glad to see that the man wasn’t wholly unaffected. Compared to when he had first met him, Yoongi looked a lot less composed. His once perfectly ironed button-down was now wrinkled, his tie loosened and crooked. And then there was his cock—hard and leaking.

Seokjin’s balls tightened and he blinked through the haze, not knowing why he was so turned on by being watched. Yoongi kept the grip on his dick loose, his strokes lazy and unhurried. Next to him, Seokjin felt like he was about a minute or two away from nutting down your throat.

“Want to know why she’s so desperate for your cum?” The way he said it—like he was imparting a guarded secret—made Seokjin look up at him through heavy lids. Every so often his lids would droop close, attention wavering with every lick of your wicked tongue.

Yoongi leaned in so close that his breath tickled the side of his neck. “It’s because she knows that it’s the only way I’ll give her what she’s been so desperately craving all this time—my fat cock fucking her pussy.”

Seokjin was unsure who the words were truly aimed at. You reacted like they had been whispered for your benefit, moaning without reserve around his dick.

"She's so cock hungry she was willing to seduce handsome pool boys if it meant that she'd get fucked by me. Reward the slut. Cum, now."

“Oh fuck!” Seokjin threw his head back as he felt his balls empty themselves. The muscles in his thighs quivered and his knees threatened to give out. “What the fuck. I haven’t cum this hard in months.”

His chest heaved as he got his heartbeat under control. When he was finally capable of breathing normally, he chanced a glace down at you and swore his heart stopped for a nanosecond.

Yoongi had pried your mouth open with his fingers, examining the insides of your mouth. The sight was…obscene. Straight out of a porno. Seokjin’s stomach tightened as he observed the scene in front of him, feeling his spent dick twitch in interest despite the recent mind-numbing orgasm.

“Good girl,” praised Yoongi and even to Seokjin’s ears, he sounded proud of his wife’s achievements. “Spit.”

He motioned at his raging boner. “Get me ready to fuck you. With how long it’s been, you’re going to need all the lube you can get.”

Visibly excited at the prospect of finally getting your husband’s cock, you obliged, gathering all the cum in your mouth and letting it drip down his erect length in globs of white. Seokjin had never experimented with cumplay and didn’t know if the sight aroused or disgusted him.

“Mhm,” Yoongi grunted as he slicked up his dick, coating the entirety of it in another man’s cum. The sound of each stroke rang out loudly in the otherwise quiet room, the sound lewd and wet.

“Please fuck me now,” you pleaded, hands clasped in your lap and knees still tucked under you from earlier. The position and sweet tone made you appear demure—but by now Seokjin knew better. “You promised.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He smiled wide enough for creases to appear near his eyes. “Time to give you what you worked so hard for.”

Yoongi didn’t wait for a reply—not that he had been expecting one in the first place. He pushed you back until your back hit the mattress and crawled over you, pinning you to the bed with his weight.

He kept his eyes level with yours as he pushed the head of his cock into you. The stretch was slow but he refused to go faster, ignoring your noises of encouragement. Despite his earlier rough treatment, he had no interest in inflicting this kind of pain. He kept his hips still, not giving in to his instincts, and waited until you had completely adjusted before finally moving again.

Your moan sounded more genuine this time. It was enough to convince Yoongi that you were ready for more. “You always let out the prettiest sounds for me.”

He pulled out all the way only to slam back in, the intrusion earning him a throaty moan, louder than the last. Grinning, he kept up the slow yet deep thrusts, balls slapping against your ass with every rock of his hips into yours.

Yoongi felt the best kind of dizzy, like he had smoked a blunt right before sliding into your cunt. There were only two instances where he felt this invincible and on top of the world. One, whenever he fucked your sweet pussy as he pleased. Two, when he had secured a multi-million dollar deal. Luckily for him, he had checked both boxes today. The adrenaline high he had gotten this morning at the office still ran through his veins and only fueled his desire to fuck you harder and drive your body into the mattress.

Unfortunately, he had been pent up for so long that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give it to you like you deserved. He had been hard for God knew how long… And hadn’t had sex in almost two whole months. No wonder he felt his control slipping much faster than usual.

“Missed your cock so much,” you sobbed, hiccuping as he drove into you harder. “Thought about it every night.

“I promise I’ll never keep it away from you this long ever again.”

“Good.” Your lashes fluttered as he ground his hips into yours, pelvis rubbing against your needy clit. “Ah!”

Yoongi’s rhythm stuttered as he adjusted your legs, throwing one over his shoulder in order to reach deeper. “Missed this tight cunt. Craved it so much, I dreamt of it. Imagined you bouncing on my lap during those board meetings, bending you over the conference table and taking you in front of all of my associates. I’d let them watch, let them watch you take my cock from behind like a filthy whore.”

He abandoned his deep thrusting for quicker, shallow strokes. “Fuck, I can feel you tighten. You going to cum all over my cock for me? Did you like the idea of me fucking you in a room full of people that much?”

Yoongi’s groan of pleasure was drowned out by your scream of ecstasy. The way you clenched down like a vice was almost enough to destroy the last of his control. He gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring as he drove into you even deeper, determined to see you fall apart one last time.

Knowing that it wouldn’t take many more thrusts before he’d be pushed over the edge, he reached down between your legs to rub at your clit. You thrashed under him, over stimulated but forced to take it. If it wasn’t for his firm grip on your legs, you would have tried to buck him off.

“Ah, Yoongi! Yoongi, I’m—” You sucked in a gulp of air as your eyes rolled back. “Oh God!”

“That’s right. Cream my cock, slut,” he hissed, his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably. His fringe was matted with sweat, but he couldn’t push it out of his face, not now, not when he was so fucking close.

His thumb flicked over your clit in rough circles, knowing exactly what you needed to be pushed over the edge.

It seemed to do the trick—seconds later and he felt you break into a violent climax, pussy gushing all over his cock and muscles clamping down on him with every contraction.

Yoongi could hold it back no longer. His last thrusts were quick and rough, cock throbbing painfully as he chased his end. Hips slamming into yours, he snarled between clenched teeth, “You better take it all.”

He thought he felt your pussy throb around him as he released himself inside you, cum spurting so deep he was sure he’d painted your cervix white.

For a while, only the whirring of the ceiling fan and the sound of rapid beating of hearts could be heard. Yoongi knew he should probably go clean up and throw his soiled clothes and sheets into the hamper, but his muscles had gone lax and refused to cooperate.

You rolled onto your stomach and propped yourself up on your elbows. He cracked open an eye when he heard you clear your throat.

“So? Threesome? How did we feel about that?”

“Are you asking me?” Seokjin asked incredulously and Yoongi finally remembered there was an extra presence on their bed. When you shrugged then nodded, Seokjin snorted. “Do you always conduct polls after sex?”

Yoongi was similarly unimpressed. “No one else can make you cum as hard as I do. Remember that.”

“So this is the young man you told me so much about,” drawled Yoongi.

Jungkook’s spine straightened, the man’s low timbre doing things to his insides.

When you had announced that he’d finally be able to meet your husband, Jungkook had readily agreed, looking forward to having his curiosity finally sated.

After one unsuccessful online search, Jungkook had given up on figuring out what kind of man you had married. His imagination had pictured a middle-aged man with a beer belly who occasionally liked to play polo.

Jungkook gulped audibly, realizing he couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Of fucking course his boss had to be ridiculously handsome. With his clear skin, delicately shaped nose and lips, and small, sharp eyes that had Jungkook averting his gaze, Mr. Min was so handsome that Jungkook was left bereft of speech.

Unaware of his inner crisis, Yoongi filled the awkward silence with ease. “I believe we’ve exchanged over the phone. You may address me as Yoongi, if you so wish. My wife tells me how hard you work. I wanted to personally thank you for all your efforts. I know it’s not an easy task to work in such weather conditions.”

Oh god. They talked about him. Together.

He cleared his throat. “I’m just doing my job, sir.”

Yoongi held out his hand for him to shake. His hands were so delicate looking that the force behind his grip took Jungkook by surprise. Yoongi’s gaze never strayed, trapping him in place. Jungkook felt like a prey with nowhere to hide.

“It was a pleasure working for the both of you.” He managed without stuttering like a fool. “If ever you need me for anything else, don’t hesitate. I’ve done some gardening before and I’m ok with the odd paint jobs.”

Jungkook bit his lip and ceased his rambling. Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Yoongi let the corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. He turned towards you as he watched Jungkook gather the rest of his belongings and take his leave. “You’re right. He is cute.”

“I’m always right,” you said in a distracted manner, mind elsewhere.

“You were awfully silent earlier. Hm? Not very polite.” One of his hands squeezed the dip at your waist.

You didn’t bother suppressing your glare. Yoongi merely chuckled, amused by your predicament. “I was otherwise busy.”

“Oh? But don’t you think Jungkookie would’ve enjoyed seeing my cum dripping out of your greedy pussy?” he asked, the lilt in his tone teasing. “He looked absolutely taken with you. Kept admiring your legs—not that I blame him.”

His hands played with the hem of your brazenly short dress, lifting the fabric up your thighs to uncover your naked mound.

“Would’ve been nice to treat him for all his hard work,” he commented as his fingers dipped into your hole to play with the cum he had fucked into you not even an hour ago. “And seeing cum paint your pretty thighs would have been quite the gift.”

“Yo-oongi,” you moaned his name, clenching your core as tightly as you could, not wanting to spill a single drop. “I think, ah, I think he wouldn’t have liked s-seeing your cum go to waste.”

“Is that so?”

“He looked more taken with you than with me,” you said between heavy pants. One of your hands had closed around Yoongi’s wrists in warning—you were still on the front porch for God’s sake there were kids in the neighborhood—but it hadn’t deterred him in the least. On the contrary, his fingers plundered your depths, determined to get you to drench his whole hand.

“Well…” Yoongi smiled, gums on display, as your body shuddered from head to toe. fin

“There’s only one way to test that theory out, isn’t there?”

#i gave up editing halfway bc no1 has time for that so apologies !! for any mistakes n typos !!!#ty to all my lovely friends who encouraged me to finish this fic on my own time !#u are all angels n this fic would still be in draft format if not for u :'(#bts smut #yoongi smut #jimin smut #hoseok smut #seokjin smut #cries

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4042 Chapter: 36/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

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Chapter 36

The high of finally having the physical outlet to express the love he had for his husband lasted several days longer than most probably expected it to, helped along rather nicely by the fact that once he’d had a taste Madara was deliciously eager to repeat the experience. Tobirama had never felt shame for having pride in a job well done before in his life and he was not about to start now. After a week the humdrum routines of paperwork and endless meetings slowly brought him back down to earth where he once again began terrorizing the various staff members who had failed to do the work they were supposed to while he was at the capitol.

As they drew close to the weekend he was almost strangely thankful for the high council meeting, a chance for him to sit down and at least let his legs relax from running back and forth across the village so much over the past few days. Not even the tension between their two founding idiots was enough to completely spoil his mood, the first time he’d been forced to see them both in the same room since his return, though it did dampen his spirits a little. Having Madara in the seat next to him as usual helped with that. A hand to hold under the table and a foot coyly stroking along the top of his own would undoubtedly be enough to salvage anyone’s mood. His husband had grown quite bold in quite a short amount of time now that his inner beast had finally been let out of the cage, allowed to properly explore his sexuality at last.

No matter the distraction, however, listening to each of the clan heads make their long winded speeches with puffed up self-importance was still boring as hell and Tobirama, for once, allowed himself to just tune the lot of them out. Generally he tried to pay attention as much as possible since these windbags did have little nuggets of important information hidden between the useless chaff. And he was usually one of the ones who kept minutes for these meetings. But the woman who had covered him for that job over the last week was still frantically writing notes again today so he felt free to kick back and let his mind wander away from whatever nonsense was shifting the dust in the air around them. Other than the random tidbits of info that was about as much good as their gabbing did. He could have someone catch him up later.

With so much free time for his mind to wander he skipped through several topics, mentally checking off the work he had done today and the things he had left to do, planning up a few rough drafts in his imagination and working through a few problems for solutions to be implemented later. He was just turning his mind to the topic of what to cook for dinner, probably something savory as a treat for his husband, when the Shimura clan head sat down and the Hatake head stood up with a clearing of her throat. As he had with each new speaker Tobirama tuned back in to the room just to see if what the next person had to say would be in any way interesting or important. As soon as the woman began speaking he was glad he’d taken the precaution.

“Another team passing close to the southern borders of Hi no Kuni has come back with reports of disturbing chakra activity,” she said, immediately capturing most of the room’s attention. “This time one of their number had enough sensing ability to tell us that the chakra was thicker and heavier than anything he’s ever felt before. Unfortunately his range is not very wide so he couldn’t say more than that but it’s obvious that our people have twice now encountered something like we’ve never seen before.”

“Did they approach?” Butsuma asked from where he was all but lounging in his chair with disturbingly casual body language.

“No, their mission report states that they did not feel equipped to engage.”

“And did the presence appear to follow them?”

The Hatake clan head let her eyes shift pointedly to the window outside where the weather and all of their people were perfectly calm, if a little cold. “No. I should think it did not.”

“Right then. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about then, do you?” Butsuma shrugged and reached for one of the pages in front of him. Clearly he was ready to dismiss the matter offhand. Tobirama felt his own teeth grind together just as the Hatake woman’s did.

“Father,” he spoke up firmly. “Should we not at least look in to this? Maybe send a team to investigate properly with actual sensors, perhaps some of Izuna’s ANBU? Even if it does turn out to be nothing it would be smart to put our people to rest. That’s two teams now who’ve felt this presence and named it troubling; if they spread the news and word gets out that we haven’t responded in any way there are many ways the public can rally against our council.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise Butsuma sighed and wrinkled his nose, scrunching the entirety of his already scrunched and drooping face. “If you absolutely insist but I’m telling you this is a waste of resources.”

If he weren’t so annoyed at his father for being such an idiot Tobirama might not have turned his face away in time to catch the devious expression on Tajima’s face at the other end of the room just before their second resident idiot opened his mouth to prove he was still a contrary ass.

“Well I happen to think it’s an excellent idea,” he declared. “One can never be too careful.”

“You can be if it wastes everyone’s time for nothing,” Butsuma snapped. He caught himself a moment later and sat straighter in his chair in an effort to reassert authority. A failed effort.

“Feel free to explain that to anyone who comes to our council with questions if this really does turn out to be cause for concern.” As though to deliberately contrast his rival again Tajima sank back in to his own chair until he was sprawled out almost as casually as Butsuma had just been only moments before and Tobirama took a moment to openly roll his eyes since no one was looking at him. He felt a steadying hand squeeze his knee under the table and sighed.

Knowing they would continue to glare at each other for the rest of the meeting if interrupted now, he counted backwards in his head until a full two minutes of silence had gone by before clearing his throat. Both of them jumped but he felt no sympathy, barely felt any surprise that they had been too wrapped up in their own idiocy to remember where they were, only steamrolled on passed them by asking the Hatake clan head if she had anything else to add from the report on their southern border.

Someday it would be Hashirama and Madara sitting up at opposite ends of the table and he honestly could not wait even if that meant trading one pair of disaster idiots for another. Or maybe he could even convince them there wasn’t a need for two people to hold themselves above the rest. By the time their fathers retired or kicked the bucket, whichever came first, maybe he could convince his husband and brother that sitting in amongst the others as they did now, as equals, would help the entire council work as a more cohesive unit. No one liked a self-important blowhard setting themselves above others when they didn’t deserve to.

“We’re in agreement then? A team will be sent out to investigate the southern border to report on the source of this strange chakra and what actions may need to be taken to protect ourselves against it?” As the Hatake clan head sat down and neither of their fathers were talking Tobirama resigned himself to leading the next discussion until one of their so-called leaders woke up and remembered how much they enjoyed vying for control.

“Feels like the smartest course of action to me,” Madara answered him when no one else did.

“Right!” Hashirama piped up at the other end of the table. “Of course it’s smart. Tobi only ever has smart ideas.”

“Not now, Anija,” he scolded absently. He wasn’t the type who needed his ego stroked.

When he asked the room at large what was next on the agenda Butsuma was the first to snap out of his pathetic funk and start the next discussion, harrumphing and shuffling papers like it might distract them from the fact that he had just been pouting. Not a whole lot happened during the rest of the meeting until the very end when Tajima finally managed to wrest attention back to himself long enough to ask loudly, with nose in the air, for Madara to report on how he had progressed in getting an active police force up and running.

Since it hadn’t even been two weeks after their return from the capitol Madara had to admit that they didn’t have a lot ready yet. Land had been found and designs for the building they were to use as headquarters were still in the blueprints phase as they tried to consider every different function they would need that space to serve. What they did have was a lot of volunteers from several different clans, although a good chunk of them were from the Uchiha as they all flocked to support their clan heir’s latest endeavor. Madara was quick to point out that his people did have quite a lot of skills that would lend themselves well to serving on a local police force but since no one seemed upset by the over-representation he relaxed just as quickly.

Tobirama watched his husband speak to the room with pride filling his chest. Everything had been going so well lately. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop but the longer he waited the more he began to think – with almost Hashirama-like optimism – that maybe there really was no other shoe. For once maybe things could just go well without any sort of disaster falling on all their heads and turning everything upside down. That would be nice. Honestly he’d had his fair share of disasters already and the idea of a few months where things could just run along smoothly at the status quo was absolutely heavenly.

After the council meeting Tobirama very reluctantly bid his husband a short farewell and hurried off back to work. There were several other people he needed to speak with today about various projects and unfortunately none of them could really be foisted off until later when he felt more like working. Lately he never felt like working. All he really wanted to do was curl up at home with his husband, a good book, and a steaming cup of tea.

Let it never be said, however, that he was not dutiful. Though it was the very opposite of what he wanted Tobirama wandered from place to place in the tower and spoke to the people he needed to, made his notes, and completed the work that certainly no one else was going to step up and complete. With several new sheets of notes to sort out across the various projects he had his fingers in Tobirama returned to his office with the intention of doing so only to find that his officemates were miraculously present for once. Seeing either of them actually sitting behind their desks was such a rare occurrence he actually had to stop in the doorway and double check that he’d come to the right office. He couldn’t remember the last time this had happened.

Thankfully he managed to pick his jaw off the floor and hustle inside before either of them could notice his hesitation, slipping in to the seat at his desk and pulling out folders to file away the papers he’d brought back with him, doing everything possible to make his movements natural. Inside he felt anything but natural. After so long having the office all to himself it was incredibly strange to have two other bodies there and even though he knew they weren’t he could swear he felt them both watching his every move. Just having their chakra so close made his skin crawl after only fifteen minutes. He couldn’t work like this. There was still so much he needed to do and he would get none of it done if he stayed here. The two men who shared his office were perfectly pleasant people but he was used to them not being around during work hours and having what he had come to view as his own space invaded like this was simply too distracting to function as a productive environment.

He needed somewhere else to work.

Gathering all the things he thought he would need for the rest of the day, Tobirama neatly sealed the lot of it in to one of the storage scrolls he kept in the bottom drawer and stuffed that in his pocket. Again he tried not to make eye contact and keep his body language as casual as he could while escaping the room so neither of his officemates would know they had chased him away without doing anything more than sitting there.

The first place he headed for was a floor above, two more brilliant chakra signatures which drew him in like a warm embrace rather than chasing him away with discomfort. With the door standing open he didn’t even need to knock, although he probably would have heard the two of them carrying on even with it closed. Only partway down the hall he was already smothering a grin, warmth in his chest, hiding away his laughter as he listened to Madara chastise his best friend for – as far as he could make out – eating so loudly the entire building could apparently hear him. The first thing Tobirama saw when he peeked around the corner was Hashirama with a bento box between his hands and tears streaming down his cheeks. Long years of brotherhood steered him more towards fanning the flames than anything resembling sympathy.

“What is all the ruckus?” he asked, catching both of their attention. “It sounds like boulders crashing together, the whole building is shaking.”

Hashirama burst in to fresh wails denouncing them both as meanie-heads while Madara stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle what would doubtless have been a very loud bark of laughter. After he’d gotten himself a little more under control he lowered his hand and offered a grin. “’Lo.”

“Mn, hello anata.” Tobirama kept his expression mild as he stepped inside, using Hashirama's distraction as an opportunity to drop a kiss on his husband’s cheek. “Having a good afternoon?”

“I was until Champ Chomp over there got in to the snack his wife brought him.”

“Ah. Yes he can get a little too enthusiastic with chewing.” With a pause to glare at his brother, now paying the two of them rapt attention, he was glad he’d gotten in his affections when they were still unobserved. Hashirama had a habit of making a big deal out of every small gesture.

Just like he was clearly waiting to do now. “Aw, come on, no sweet kiss for your hubby?”

“Please do not ever use that word again,” Madara growled.

“Seconded.”

“Let’s pretend he’s not here. Did you need something?” His husband looked up at him with the practiced ease of someone who was all too used to ignoring the pathetic sounds of Hashirama whining at them for being mean to him again.

“I only came to tell you not to wait for me at the end of the day, you can walk home with Izuna if you like. My space has been invaded here so I’m heading out to use the office at the house. Was there anything specific you felt like for dinner? If you have a guess for when you’ll be home I could get things started.”

Madara considered it then shook his head. “Don’t start anything. I’ll pick something up from the market on my way home and we can cook together.”

“I’d like that.” Tobirama granted him half a smile then waited for Hashirama to sniffle and rub his eyes before darting in for another lightning fast kiss. “That’s all I wanted. Have a good day for what’s left of it, I will see you at home. Anija, do try to let him get at least some work done, yes?”

He didn’t bother to wave to either of them but nor did he bother to turn and exit back through the door. Leaving by window was much more efficient and came with the added benefit of bypassing anyone in the tower who might catch him and drop more work in his lap. Then too there was the fact that he could feel his father’s chakra loitering near the front entrance to the building that he would have otherwise needed to go through and after such an idiotic meeting earlier he had no desire to speak with the man. Since the window he’d leapt out of was several stories up Tobirama chose the easy route of landing in a nearby tree and swinging down in to a little-used courtyard where it was unlikely anyone had witnessed his quick escape. When he slipped out on to the streets he had already pulled his clothing back in to order, not a single hint left behind that he’d been swinging around through the buildings like a monkey.

For the most part his plan to spend the rest of the work day at home had been to avoid his coworkers so it should go without saying that Tobirama was not the most social of creatures. There were very few people in the village whose company he would cheerfully accept and even fewer he would happily seek out. His husband, bless the man’s heart, functioned much the same. It was therefore almost a surprise to come home and find the wards already disarmed to denote a guest familiar enough to have dismantled them.

Surprise only lasted as long as it took him to walk in to the kitchen and discover Susumu up on a stool trying to fit what looked like a large tin inside the cupboard over the fridge. At the sound of him entering she froze for a few moments, the two of them standing perfectly still, staring each other down. Finally she grunted.

“Well are you going to help me or not?”

“I find myself unwilling to ask why but yes, of course.”

Allowing himself a bemused smile, Tobirama stepped close enough to take the tin from her and place it neatly in to one of the cupboards Madara also could not reach. Considering her choice of where to put it he figured he could guess what was inside even without asking. She might be soft enough to leave her precious students sweets every so often but she certainly wasn’t nice enough to make them easy for him to find.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked after hopping back down from the chair she’d been using as a perch.

“I came home to work here. My office got invaded.” His brow wrinkled to see her leave the chair where it was without pushing it back in, frowning until she rolled her eyes and put it away properly.

“Well you came home just in time, I guess. I was gonna set up a bunch of pranks around here but it’s not as much fun if you’re expecting them. Another day, maybe.”

Tobirama eyed her for a moment but let that go without questions too. Until now the few times she had broken in to their home to leave sweets he wasn’t aware of any pranks left behind. Of course, that could have been because Madara was too embarrassed to tell him about them later or perhaps it had only happened in the months when they weren’t getting along. He wasn’t sure how he felt about whatever madness she might leave behind in their safe space but if it got him a laugh at his husband’s expense…

Looking around to make sure all evidence of her visit had been erased, Susumu waved cheerfully and announced her intentions to leave, pausing after only two steps when Tobirama held up one hand.

“May I ask your advice on something?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows curiously.

“You’ve got my attention, sweetcakes.”

“I’m assuming after spending so many years teaching Madara you would have gotten to know Izuna quite well too. If you were planning to give him a gift that you weren’t sure he wanted to accept, how might you go about presenting it to him?”

“Oh?” Her brows lifted even higher. “Is someone trying to buy off his brother-in-law’s affection?”

Tobirama huffed. “Not exactly.”

“Hmm. The most important thing to consider is that he’s a prideful little shit and if you try to give something that suggests he needs something from you he won’t take it well. Do you want a little help brainstorming some good ideas?”

“Not necessary, I already know what I wish to gift him. I simply don’t know how to give it without turning his nose up.”

Susumu laughed. “Yeah, he does get a little prissy. Okay a lot prissy. The kids a walking bitch face but I love him to pieces, I’m glad to see you’re trying to get along with him too. Even if he doesn’t really deserve it. Alright, well, if you’re sure the gift is a good one then I’d say the best thing to do would be to ambush him in public with someone he respects nearby to discourage him from making a spectacle of himself.” One finger tapped at her chin as her eyes rolled towards the ceiling in thought. “This is probably going to make no sense but it would also help if you could make it all about him without making a big spectacle of him.”

“Focus my own attention only on him without drawing the attention of others?” Tobirama surmised. He knew he’d guessed right when she landed an approval punch on one of his arms.

“Exactly, you get it. Make sure Madara's there too. It might hurt your pride but if you’re looking to make Izuna happy then there’s nothing he’ll like more than seeing you humble yourself in front of your husband.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right about that. Thank you, Susumu, your advice has been invaluable. I appreciate it.” He really hoped she knew that his appreciation covered the last time she gave him advice as well because he still hadn’t figured out how to say ‘thanks for the sex talk’ and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Whether she knew or not she did look nod graciously in response to his words.

“Need anything else, sugar?”

“I should get to work, actually. Should I tell Madara about the cookies or are you hoping he only finds them after they’ve gone stale?”

She laughed. “Ehhh wait a day or two and then tell him I left ‘something somewhere’. It’ll drive him nuts. You’re a good kid, Tobirama. A damn good kid. Keep it up, yeah?”

After laying another friendly hit on his arm that would probably bruise heavily she left, blatantly ignoring his grumbles that he had technically been a legal adult for several years now, he was not a ‘kid’. Tobirama eyed the cupboard above their fridge for a few long moments as he considered her suggestions before setting that issue aside to be dealt with when he had more free time to let his thoughts wander.

He did slip the tin back out to snag a cookie for himself before retreating to the office, though. If Madara wasn’t going to enjoy these fresh then someone should, at least.

#rae writes #madatobi #tobirama #madara #butsuma #tajima #hashirama #susumu #fanfiction

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brightsun-and-darkmidnight · 4 years

Text

Changes to Find the Middle

TITLE: Changes to Find the Middle

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Oneshot

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki helping you through a new medication regimen.

Image meeting Loki at the really "good/high" end of a mental illness (like bipolar).

RATING: Teen

NOTES/WARNINGS: Mental health. Bipolar disorder. Manic to depression. Sexual relationship. Mentions of sex but no explicit content. Character not being herself.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please be careful and take care of yourself. This might be a little triggering due to what I know of Bipolar disorder. Extreme highs (hypomania) and extreme lows (depression) are shown in this but thankfully this has a happy ending I wish everyone could experience in real life. Mental health is so important and People who have mental health issues often can not control themselves due to a chemical imbalance or traumatic experience in their life. Their behavior is often NOT their fault. Seek professional help if needed.

Song Muses: (Addicted by Saving Able) (You don't know by Katelyn Tarver) (Rescue Me by Onerepublic) (Inner demons by Julia Brennan) (Paralyzed by NF)

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

LENGTH: 2,413

*FINALLY..Read the warnings. Once you agree you can handle it...

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

"How has your energy been? You look good."

I sat down enthusiastically in front of the doctor's desk, "really good! I have the energy to catch up with things now that a couldn't even think about doing a few months ago."

"That's very good. Are you hanging out with your friends again? I remember our last visit you said you missed them."

"Yeah I took your advice and told them. Only two of my friends are close now but they took me out of my house occasionally and I am feeling more confident with myself because of them."

"I am happy to hear that." The doctor smiled at me.

I talked really fast because my doctor needed to hear more, "Their friends got me into one of Stark's parties and it was… amazing. I met this new guy actually."

"You guys do anything fun?"

"We met at the party and things really sparked. Like REALLY sparked and we see eachother everyday." I did not leave the suggestive tone out of my voice.

"That's good. Go on dates?"

Excitement lit in me at the thought of all the amazing sex we had… but other than the few drinks he bought me and the takeout dinner…

The doctor glanced at me, their look shifted… something shifted and I already knew what was wrong.

"Umm… well.." I rubbed my thigh out of nerves just THINKING about it. Just the thought of the gynecology appointment for STI testing I should get done. I cleared my throat as I awkwardly answered, "there's more… action going on than casual conversations."

My face flushed with heat when they asked,

"You mean sexual intercourse?"

I nodded my head.

I knew. Everyone that actually knew "normal" me… All of us KNEW I never have sex with anyone until a month a serious dating, at least. The type of dating where discussions were deeper things than food, half watched movies, and how our outward appearances looked naked. I never sexted when I couldn't actually meet the other.

The doctor carefully asked the famous question, "Have you used protection?"

I tried to laugh but it came out broken. "No. Once again I felt invincible, overconfident, and had the sex drive of a rabbit."

The doctor started to discuss my sleep that was nonexistent. Then the amount of food consumption that was high and all I have been eating was cheap takeout. I haven't been eating like my usual self who tried to keep eating healthy. Even through depression I ate frozen fruit. It was on my list every time when I absolutely had to drag myself to the store to get necessities. I explained how I have been the person who, "helps everyone out with extreme unrealistic enthusiasm" as I always said to be annoying during my normal window of mind set.

I went to the store to pick up my prescription for a mood stabilizer. I went home and as much as I REALLY wanted to answer the phone when seeing Loki's name. I just didn't. I forced the thought from my mind of...a really pleasure filled night. My body filled with the desire to be touched by another's body.

The phone stopped ringing and so did my sinful thoughts.

As usual there was no voicemail.

In normal circumstances there should have been one, with a declaration of loving longing or a stupid question in a way to just get me to get back in contact.

I stared at my phone. My mind was at war and the part fueled by my bodily behavior was winning. It became a game in my head that was unfavorably tipped towards my body's desire. He texted me if he could come to my place and the game was over. I hid the medication in the cupboard after taking my first dose.

I woke in an odd way… something was different.

I groaned as I moved and felt the bed still warm under my body. I opened my eyes as I inhaled at a similar scent. I was unsure if I was glad he was gone or upset he seemed to have just left. He usually stayed till I woke. I felt the sensation between my legs and knew I needed to make a gynecologist appointment before I had to go to work, praying I could get in after my shift tomorrow.

I made the appointment but it was not for a few days and Loki kept in contact. However I worked on letting him go slowly with not responding immediately and was to the point of making sure not to respond to him unless there were so many number of attempts to contact me.

I stared at my phone as a new text message appeared.

Loki asked a simple question, "Are you ok?"

I laughed and laughed till I could no longer bare to do it.

It WAS a simple question but no one ever wanted the real answer. No one wanted the burdens of another placed on their shoulders from SMALL talk. The truth was deeper and more time consuming than anyone could predict. So I sent the simple one worded lie and left my phone alone again, but silenced it.

It was a while before I checked my phone due to falling asleep to the discovery channel.

I was fully prepared for no new notifications.

I was surprised to see 2 new messages.

I wanted to throw the phone before I looked but the idea was squashed by excitement and curiosity.

Both of the messages from Loki.

"Do you want to meet up?"

Hour after the last message, "talk tomorrow. Goodnight."

I didn't answer back because my stomach tightened in an odd way. I was used to feeling good about a God wanting me but now...

I used positive self talk to encourage myself to not give in on my final day before my tests but that coping skill is easily the hardest to master. I found myself open the chat with him, start to type something arousing and had to delete it. I was pissing myself off. I hated the stage between "normal me" and "ill me" because my mind was constantly at war.

I decided to ultimately block Loki's number in an attempt to stop contact.

My test results came back that I was still healthy and relief washed over me..

Eventually those supposed friends stopped talking to me as they usually did because I was not "fun" anymore.

I was becoming my "normal" self again, thus putting in the efforts of a healthy schedule again.

However, the loneliness from staying in by myself. Not having anyone to talk to. Ofcourse, I had my coworkers that have always openly laughed at poor tastes of mental health jokes. I was losing interest in everything because, "why should I care" and "what's the point?"

I had to look presentable for work so while I was "public eye" ready, I did my shopping then. By the time I got home on the days of the extremely scarce necessity shopping, I was exhausted but my body was wide awake. I would toss and turn trying to sleep but it would not welcome me.

Then other times, I put the cold stuff away and went straight to bed without getting anything to consume. I would often cry myself to sleep, then wake too tired to do anything.

On days off I would lay in bed and do nothing until the desire to use the toilet became too strong.

I would weep and mourn my favorite past times. Not actually my interests and hobbies but how much I could not will myself to just do them. I left the discovery channel play on the TV just for the sake of something familiar. When a little fact I knew would be mentioned it was like a smoldering campfire was stirred.

A little life breathed into me from time to time and due to the doctor's recommendation, I got back into therapy again. It helped but the talks were hard and seemed to weigh heavily on me more once I was home. There are skills I should be using and strategic tips to get things done. However, sometimes I just could not pull the will into my grasp to participate in the knowledge of a healthy lifestyle.

My phone rang with an unknown number. I answered it due to expecting a response from my doctor.

"How have you been?"

I knew that voice… but I could not pinpoint it.

I answered, "I'm ok. But who is this?"

"Loki."

"Oh…" I scrambled for words but nothing came. How was I supposed to explain this to him, my current state in everything and the fact I blocked his number?

"Are you home?"

"I was just about to leave." It was a lie.

A damn terrible lie. I had no plans of removing myself from my couch. It had everything I needed in arms reach because it was essentially my comfort fort now.

The doorbell rang and I was extremely tempted to act like I was not home but the person on the other end of the phone knew.

I sighed with dread ringing in my chest much like the damned sound of company at my door insistent on not giving up.

I opened the door slightly to see Loki standing there.

His eyes met mine.

"You do not seem ok." Echoed from my phone before he ended the call.

I looked past Loki because while it might have once been excitement, I felt anything but that currently.

I tried to push my words out louder than a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

"I have been trying to contact you.. more regularly as of recently."

"I have no intention of being a booty call anymore."

His eyebrows scrunched and he blinked.

I went to shut the door as I said, "goodbye Loki."

Loki's hand shot out and kept the door opened. "You were never."

I huffed in annoyance as hope rose slightly in my chest. Then the doubts from depression took that hope and buried it 20 feet further than before. Tears pricked my eyes after the past hour of seeming to be gone and dried.

Loki's face was of concern when he asked, "may I come in?"

My face felt like it contorted into pure agony as I tried to hide the sob erupting from my aching heart. I tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat but it caused further pain. Then finally from the pain that emitted from deep within me, the tears fell.

I was in the hurricane of emotion from having a visitor.

Joy from not being alone then, to the horror of having to explain.

There was too much to explain... My reason for treating him so vastly different since we met. My emotional state. All my emotions. My appearance of myself and my house. The medication on the counter that had purpose. My illness and why once again I was crying harder. Trying to explain what was WRONG with me and why I needed the medication.

Loki sat beside me at the messy and cluttered kitchen table.

"What do you mean you were 'too good' at the time we met?"

I sniffed but still had to wipe my nose. "It's a symptom of bipolar disorder. I can literally feel too good at some points of my life. I had unbelievable amounts of confidence and optimism. It's called hypomania. That's not who I am. I am much-MUCH more responsible than getting drunk and having unprotected sexual intercourse with someone I know nothing about on an intellectual level."

I watched Loki's tongue swipe his lips as they pressed together and eyebrows scrunched again in thought.

Finally he spoke, "Your vast knowledgeable facts from our FIRST conversation have been playing on that TV throughout our conversation. I can see several things that show your bright mind. The very mind I fell for."

My eyes glanced at him once again. "My knowledge does not change. Just the optimism, focus, and desire for it."

Things seemed to be clicking in Loki's mind. He looked at the medications once again and did not take his eyes off of them. "If you continue your treatment, you will be what you deem normal?"

A small smile pulled my lips as a puff of air escaped from my amusement. "Yes. What I deem as normal. Not anyone else meaning I will be back to my healthy self... If I could remember to take my medicine."

"I am going to help you because I want to see the happy medium that you keep mentioning. It seems that I have seen you at all of your worst moments." He gave me a side glance with a smile pulling at his lips, "I assume there is something I must like out of your normal."

I began to smile but a frown quickly placed it. "There is no telling when I will be normal again."

Gold shimmered over my medication.

"Perhaps now it will become easier to stay on your medication regimen."

I grabbed a bottle and examined it once there was no longer gold around it. "What did you do?"

"I will know where these containers are and be able to move them. I will also know when you open them." He got the spare phone out of his pocket, "should I not be able to contact you again through phone, I will simply move these containers to you."

I felt a little happier as I teased, "I guess simply blocking your number is not going to work anymore?"

Loki smiled, "There are plenty of other numbers I could use."

Loki did help me. There had to be a little adjustment to his plan of keeping track of my medicine. He bought a specific little container made for sorting pills into daily doses. He would help me fill the daily spots for medication and he put another enchantment on that one as well.

Everyday he would come to my place and help with things that needed to be done. He would compliment me when I needed it. He would hold me when medication would make me drowsy. He would urge me to eat when I did not want to. He helped me make healthier choices when I wanted to devour the whole house.

He actually took me to nice restaurants when I felt decent enough to get out.

He would always know everything about my medication and with him being able to literally hold it in my face at any point in the day… well there was no longer the option to forget.

Loki was the constant supply of water to my thirst for knowledge. Due to that type of relationship we really connected. Like really connected. We talked about everything to varying levels of importance and on both ends were voicemails with ridiculous ways to entice the other to call back.

Sometimes I would purposely ignore his calls just to see what the next stupid thing would be left in my mailbox… I listened to the recent one just left on my phone a minute ago.

"I know your games by now, so call me back. ...My declarations of love can wait until you tell me what sweet thing I am craving. I am at the store, so do hurry up before I decide to buy 5 of everything in the candy isle." There was a faint sound of the typical background noise in a store. "Please hurry… I fear I am going to need a bigger cart."

#changes to find the middle #brightsun-and-darkmidnight #oneshot #loki

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17mounteens · 6 years

Text

CEO (Jeonghan)

— papi, let’s go, cuz i kinda like it —

Smut.

» A business trip with your playful boss turns a lot more heated than you expected.

“Y/N, have you ever had the chance to go on a business trip?”

» If you’re using the tumblr app and can’t see the scenario, which is under a “keep reading”, please try opening the post in your phone’s internet browser (or a computer)! 💕

» 5,849 words (idk what happened here)

Tuesday morning had brought about yet another meeting, and yet again you were struggling to keep your attention on the agenda as it continued drifting to the CEO of the company, Jeonghan, who was sitting at the end of the long table. He was young and attractive, and there was something about him that had had you intrigued since day one.

Perhaps it was the lazy look in the gorgeously brown eyes that usually held a playful twinkle, or perhaps it was the gentle smile he usually had on his plush lips. A lot also had to do with the fact that although he ran the whole company, he wanted to be as close with all of you as he could, and would often wander around the office, whether he had anything to talk with someone or not.

And, as you had to admit as you once again got lost adoring Jeonghan while he and the vice president, Jihoon, discussed some upcoming projects and business trips, he was sinfully good-looking, in particular with his hair styled so that his forehead was showing.

You took in a deep breath as you moved your gaze down to Jeonghan’s lips that he right then licked, and it made you swallow.

No, Jeonghan was not only attractive, but you were also attracted to him. Listening to him speak with such a low, gentle voice did nothing to help you focus on the agenda, and you were only glad that you didn’t have anything important to bring up during the meeting. That way you could just sit and adore.

Jeonghan leaned back on his chair and played with the pen he had in his hands while scanning around the meeting table. There was a business trip coming up, and he was contemplating on which one of you to bring with him. Seokmin smiled brightly and fixed his tie as an attempt to get the his attention, but Jeonghan just grinned at him and shook his head: he’d brought the younger male on too many trips already, and he figured it was time for someone else to go.

He hummed quietly, and soon his eyes returned to you. You were fairly familiar to him, at least as far as it came to him observing you at work, and he had been wanting to get to know you a bit better for quite a while despite not daring to show it in the least; not in his position. Tilting his head a little, Jeonghan leaned forward again. “Y/N, when was the last time you were on a business trip?”

You jolted at the sudden addressing, and in particular with everyone’s attention on you, you thanked all heavens for the fact that you actually caught what he had asked you. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on one, actually.”

“Would you like to go on one?” Jeonghan asked with a playful twinkle in his eye that had your heart fluttering a little.

“Of course,” you replied readily, staring right into his eyes. For a moment you forgot everyone else in the room, and it made you smile a bit nervously.

“Then it’s set,” Jeonghan nodded with a grin and wrote something down on his papers. “We’ll head to Tokyo on Friday.”

“Yes, Mr. Yoon,” you smiled, mentally thanking him for still clarifying where you’d go and when, considering that that had been exactly what he had talked about with Jihoon earlier, which you had completely missed.

“Good that that’s set,” he hummed and gave you one last warm look before moving on to bring the topic to a few new investments, which allowed you to get lost looking at him again.

A few quick topics - practically announcements, really - the meeting was finally over. As you walked to your office, Seokmin almost jogged up to you and chuckled. “Excited to go on your first business trip?”

“Excited and nervous,” you admitted and looked at him with a smile on your lips. “Any tips? You’ve been on quite a few, haven’t you?”

“A few too many,” he snorted before humming in thought. “I don’t know, he’s pretty easy to be around and he’s really understanding in many ways. Just be reasonably professional and there and you’re good to go.”

“I guess that’s comforting,” you chuckled and stopped in your tracks when you reached your office. “Thanks, Seokmin. I’ll send you photos.”

“Don’t, I’ll just get jealous from the champagne,” he laughed heartily before shaking his head. “But it’s nothing, I’m always glad to help. I’m sure it’ll be a memorable trip.”

Oh, if he only knew how memorable it would be.

…

Jeonghan had given you some additional information during the week, and on Friday you met him at a taxi by the apartment complex you lived in. It was early in the morning, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle when you had reached the taxi with your suitcase.

“Sorry that it’s so early,” he said with a grin, and while yawning, you waved your hand in the air to signal that it was fine.

“I know it’s for practicalities,” you noted and smiled at him while putting the suitcase into the trunk of the car. “Wasn’t it tough for you?”

“It was and still is,” he admitted and winked playfully, “but I’m a master of sleeping wherever and whenever.”

“Just don’t snore,” you joked and got into the car with him.

Jeonghan quirked his eyebrow, and his grin only widened. “Isn’t it a boss’s privilege to do things like that and not get comments about it?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you noted, hinting at how your job was more or less in his hands, and looked into his eyes that seemed to suck you in them in a way that made you shiver a little.

He had something incredibly mysterious and attractive about him for a moment, until he sighed dramatically. “Seokmin said the same, and these days he just messes around with me. My authority is gone.”

You laughed heartily, and it made Jeonghan snicker, too. The atmosphere felt nice and light, and you talked about some more professional things on your way to the airport.

The way to Tokyo went by fast - of course, since it wasn’t too long of a long way - and Jeonghan did, indeed, sleep for most of the flight. While he slept next to you, you allowed your eyes to wander on him, taking in the soft-looking pink lips, the beauty mark on his cheek and just how well his suit sat on him.

Had he not looked as cute as he did while sleeping, you probably would’ve let your thoughts wander a lot more than you ended up letting them. To further keep your thoughts on the tamer side, you looked around in the airplane and thought about how cute and soft-spoken Jeonghan was on the daily, no matter how sexy he could look, in particular during the rare days that he actually oozed with authority.

It was intriguing, really, how the boss that enjoyed pulling small pranks and giggled at the confusion on his employees’ faces could actually seem so strong and powerful, too, if he really wanted to. The duality never failed to amaze you.

Having left quite early, you also reached Tokyo pretty early into the afternoon. You both let out relieved sighs when you got out of the elevator after checking in the hotel.

“Finally here,” you sighed and checked the number of your room again.

Jeonghan chuckled and nodded while doing the same. “It’s been quite a long day considering it’s barely one in the afternoon.”

“Tell me about it,” you agreed and squinted a little. “We don’t have the meeting until the evening, do we?”

“No,” he grinned and quirked his eyebrow meaningfully. “Thinking about taking a nap during work, Y/N?”

“May I remind you about which one of us slept for the whole flight, Mr. Yoon?” you asked, a hint of playfulness in your voice, and opened the door to your room.

“Touché,” he laughed and smiled at you warmly from his own door. “No, but really, get the sleep that you need. I’ll come wake you up early enough.”

“Thank you,” you smiled and entered your room, yawning almost immediately after closing the door again.

Your nap was heavenly, and would’ve left you feeling good if you hadn’t had such a heated dream about your boss. Rather than getting a peace of mind from the rest, you were left hot and bothered after you had dreamt about how sensual his kisses would be as his hands would roam around your body, over and under your clothes.

It was just about when his hand was sliding between your legs that you heard knocks on your door that, with the familiar voice calling your name, dragged you back from your sleep.

Your eyes widened as the dream was fresh in your mind, but you tried to appear as casual as you possibly could when you went to open the door, smiled at Jeonghan and told him you’d be done in a moment.

The way you avoided looking into his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him, although he couldn’t figure out why you couldn’t do it.

The meeting that evening went a lot better than you had anticipated, and the next day was just as successful. You really enjoyed being with Jeonghan, and Seokmin had not been lying when he said that he was easy to be around. Although it was quite a short time, you felt as though you got a bit closer to Jeonghan during the trip, and eventually he also asked you to just call him by his first name rather than Mr. Yoon.

You had no objections, although you did find him all the more attractive whenever you - or anyone else - called him Mr. Yoon.

You had dinner together again on Saturday evening, and somehow it felt like something had changed. Jeonghan would look you in the eyes a lot more often, a playful grin would play on his lips frequently, and if you weren’t completely mistaken, he was trying to flirt with you a little.

All that alone made the atmosphere more on the excited, anticipative side, and you found yourself lost in his eyes, drinking up whatever he said with the low, soft voice of his, and eventually you started thinking about the dream you had had the night before. It had been more or less of a continuation to your short dream during Friday afternoon, and so your mind was largely occupied by the thought of him eating you out passionately, demanding you to look into his eyes while he lapped at your pussy.

You squeezed your legs together subtly as heat began pooling between your legs, and tried to appear attentive when Jeonghan told you a story from the last time he had been in Tokyo for a business trip with Seokmin.

While you battled with your thoughts wandering, Jeonghan was having a bit of a battle in his mind. He had a difficult time admitting just how attractive he thought you were, because that brought about a problem: he was your boss, but he was also awfully eager to take you to bed and show you the side of him that he didn’t at the office.

The clothes you’d worn during the trip emphasized all the right parts of your body, and it left Jeonghan with his pants feeling tight and his imagination running loose, only somewhat controlled by the fact that no matter how much of a playful, silly CEO he was, he also knew his position and didn’t want to use it to take advantage over anyone.

But testing the waters wouldn’t hurt, would it?

He continued building up the courage to put his thoughts into words as you dined, and whenever you licked your lips while looking him straight in the eye, he felt his pants grow tighter. At that point he wasn’t even sure if you were being purposefully suggestive - which you were - or if it just came across as suggestive because he wanted you so much.

The atmosphere continued getting more and more clouded by an unnamed, unacknowledged sexual tension, and while digging into his dessert, Jeonghan decided that he’d just go for it.

“Y/N, I was wondering…” Jeonghan began and lowered his gaze, stopped by his conscience telling him that he shouldn’t be suggesting anything in case the feeling wasn’t mutual.

You raised your eyebrows. “Yes?”

Whether it was the way you were looking at him or the champagne he’d just sipped, Jeonghan somehow found the courage to present the question. “Would you like to spend the night in my room?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question, and your lips parted as you processed it in your mind. “Like…”

“You don’t have to, of course, I just… thought I was feeling something here,” Jeonghan said with pursed lips, his eyes warm yet dark as he looked at you, hoping he hadn’t offended you yet also hoping that you felt the same way that he did.

Swallowing hard, you then nodded. “...Me too.”

His eyes widened for a moment, and then his lips spread into a smile. “Okay.”

Neither of you was in a rush, though, and you finished the desserts - or whatever little was left of them - peacefully, although the atmosphere was a lot more erotically charged than before with some eye flirting.

You had always found him handsome and intriguing, but never had you ever wanted him as much as you did in that moment, as he looked into your eyes with his looking dark and hooded, his lips slightly parted and his tongue licking them slowly. Soon you were done and could head to the elevator, where Jeonghan pressed the button to the 35th floor. You stood close to him, awfully aware of his presence, and slowly turned more towards him while moving your gaze up to his eyes, too, only to find him looking straight back at you.

Without a word and with only minimal hesitation, Jeonghan got his hand to your lower back and pulled you close to himself, and you were the one to close the distance between your lips with your arms wrapping around his neck.

After a dinner loaded with so much sexual tension, it felt almost heavenly to finally have your hands in Jeonghan’s hair and his lips against yours as his hands began roaming around on your lower body, eagerly feeling up your ass and thighs. His kisses were sinfully good and turned you on quickly, although your imagination had already done a fair share of that earlier, too.

“Should I just stop the elevator?” Jeonghan asked against your lips, impatiently bucking his hips against yours while pulling you against him in a way that left no questions about whether he was hard or not.

Moaning quietly at the sensation, you were somewhat able to shake your head. “We don’t want the company to be banned from here, do we?”

“No,” he breathed and pulled away from you. He took a deep breath and looked at you, his lips a bit puffy and his eyes dark and filled with lust. Biting his lip, he frowned a little. “But it’s moving so slowly and I…”

Jeonghan’s voice trailed off as he, again, contemplated on what was okay to say and what was not, but you weren’t about to have any of it. You wanted to know, and so you grinned and cocked your eyebrow while playing with his hari slowly. “You what?”

Leaning his forehead against yours, Jeonghan sighed. “...want you so bad.”

“That’s too bad,” you smirked and boldly slid your hand down his body, all the way until you could palm him through his suit pants, awfully tight on him. Just as he bucked into your hand, the elevator bell rang quietly and the doors began opening. You withdrew your hand and looked at him meaningfully. “Well?”

“Come on,” he grinned and took your hand into his before leading you out of the elevator and into his room, only one door further from yours. On the inside it was pretty identical to yours, just that it had a trace of Jeonghan here and there in form of his things and clothes.

With the door closed behind yourselves, you turned around to Jeonghan to wrap your arms around his neck again, your gaze moving from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. “Finally alone.”

“Tell me about it,” he said quietly and leaned down to kiss your neck. You hummed contently and began leading him towards the bed, and Jeonghan grinned against your lips at that. “I like the determination.”

“There’s been enough waiting,” you replied simply while grinning into the kiss, too, and sat down on the bed, looking up to Jeonghan suggestively. “Do you know when you’re at your hottest, Mr. Yoon?”

He swallowed at the way his name sounded said by you with such a determined, dark look in your eyes, and began leaning down as you lay down on the bed and took his tie into your hand, pulling him closer. “No. Tell me.”

“When you know exactly what you want,” you began with a playful smirk on your lips as you continued pulling Jeonghan closer, all the way until your lips were brushing against each other’s, “and when you make sure you get it, too.”

There was something about what you were saying and how you were saying it that had him awfully impatient, and you let out a quiet moan when you wrapped your legs around his waist and felt him grind against you, letting you feel as much of his erection as his suit pants would allow.

“I want you,” he mumbled against your lips and let his hands roam on your body, caressing you over your dress. Jeonghan then took in a deep breath, somehow more confident after your words. “And I will have you.”

“Please,” you said rushedly and got one hand into his hair and one arm loosely around his neck as you kissed him passionately and met his hips with yours as well as you could.

The dress you were wearing was strapless, much like your bra, and Jeonghan was quick to slide them both down on your body until he could cup your breast with his hand, leaving your nipple between his fingers. You leaned into his touch and unwrapped your arms from around his neck so that you could start unbuttoning the white dress shirt he was wearing under his fitted blazer.

With the shirt unbuttoned, you moved your hands freely on Jeonghan’s upper body and deepened your kisses that only seemed to get more and more passionate, as though revealing all the times you’d wanted to kiss him in the past, just to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you whimpered quietly when it rubbed into your tongue with just the right amount of force to have you buck your hips against his in need of more.

Jeonghan grinned against your lips, but when he was about to move down to kiss your neck, you pushed him back and shook your head. It took all of your willpower to stick to your resolution when he looked at you like that, with his eyes so dark and attractive, but somehow you managed to sit up and get him to sit against the wall. “There’s something I want to do first.”

“Oh?” he asked, almost dumbfounded, but had a smirk spreading to his lips when you pushed his blazer and dress shirt off him before starting to fiddle with the button and zipper of his pants and pressing kisses all over his chest as you kissed your way down his body. “I see.”

You grinned and continued kissing your way down on him while pulling his pants and boxers down on his legs when he lifted his lower body a little, and bit down on your lower lip at the sight of his cock, which looked even better than it had in your dreams. It sat perfectly in your hand, and the thought of how it would feel inside of you had your mouth watering.

Jeonghan watched you with a smug smirk as you adored his length, but the smugness was replaced with pleasure when you leaned down to lick a long stripe from the base of his length to the top and repeated it a few times. He grunted quietly and reached down to tease one of your nipples a little, at which you sighed contently, leaned into his touch and guided the tip of his cock to your lips, which you then wrapped around it.

“Yes,” he sighed and closed his eyes, resorting to just petting your head a little as a way to show appreciation for how good it felt to have your soft lips against such a sensitive body part of his, much less how amazing it was to be encased by the warmth of your mouth.

You loved noticing the effect you had on him, and teasingly looked him in the eye when you began lowering your head with your tongue swirling on the underside of his length. He hummed appreciatively and bit down on his lower lip when you began moving your head up and down a little before sticking to simply tonguing the slit and sucking on the tip. It was a sensitive spot, and it was made all the more obvious by the noises that he let out after every little thing that you did, whether it was you sucking on it lightly or moving your tongue on it.

Considering that he was your boss, you were incredibly pleased to have him under your control, and you just couldn’t not make the best of it. And so, after sucking on the head of his cock for a while, you let him fall off your lips when he started to buck his hips up. He pouted as you kissed his stomach and held the base of his cock.

“Are you teasing me now?” he asked and looked at you with a small frown, and you gave him a smug grin.

“Is it working?” you asked and soon returned to his cock, moving your head up and down in a steady rhythm with your tongue gliding on the underside of his length. The soft ahs that Jeonghan let out were magic to your ears, and everything in the situation turned you on beyond belief.

“You could say that,” he breathed, only to hiss when you pulled up from his cock with your cheeks hollowed. “Fuck…”

Grinning, you began moving your mouth sideways on his cock, wetting it with your tongue and pressing sloppy kisses here and there. “What’s it doing to you, Mr. Yoon?”

Jeonghan grunted at the usage of Mr., and looked at you and the way your lips looked pressed against his cock. “Mostly just making me want to fuck you even more than I did before.”

You froze for a second, almost giving in to the temptation of just that, but then kept going with the blowjob that was making Jeonghan’s toes curl. The wet warmth of your mouth felt heavenly on him, and the way your tongue felt when you were teasing his slit with it was making him see stars.

He could feel himself getting closer and closer, and after reaching for a complementary condom from the drawer of the nightstand, Jeonghan gently urged you to stop and lift your face. He looked deep into your eyes and cupped your cheek as he licked his lips slowly. “My turn.”

You got out of your dress and took off your bra and panties, and Jeonghan observed you with interest while putting the condom on himself. You looked at him meaningfully and swallowed when he beckoned you to get closer, which you did, getting one of your knees over his hips and lowering your body so that his cock was between your folds.

“This is a nice sight,” Jeonghan grinned and smoothed his hands over your thighs and ass while you rocked your hips back and forth, shivering a little with how turned on you were already.

“I’m not complaining, either,” you noted with a small smirk and lifted your hips a little so that Jeonghan could guide his cock to your entrance. You looked him in the eye and bit down on your lower lip as you sank down on him, moaning at the way he filled you up. He grunted, too, and held your hips tightly, almost overwhelmed with how amazing your pussy felt around him.

Without much further ado - you were way too horny to just take it easy - you began rocking your hips on his lap, knowing just how to do it to get the most pleasure for yourself, and judging by the noises Jeonghan was letting out, he enjoyed it, too. His cock hit all the right spots inside of you, and while you worked your magic with your hips, Jeonghan was mesmerized just looking at you.

You were gorgeous, and the sight added to how amazing he was feeling had him feeling several other things, too. He grunted at how well you were moving your hips and contracting your muscles around his cock and moved his hands from your hips to your breasts to play with them. You moaned at the sensation and placed your hands on his chest to support you when you began moving on him a bit harder and faster, and since the positioning of your hands squished your breasts together a little, Jeonghan grinned to himself.

Somewhere amidst you riding him desperately, Jeonghan began fucking up into you, his hands now back on your hips and pushing you down on himself. You whimpered. “Y-yes, that feels so good, ah…”

Jeonghan merely nodded and bucked up harder, although a few moments later he stopped and stroked your thighs. You quirked your eyebrow and looked at him in a daze, only able to think about how sensitive you were and how you needed more.

“I don’t want you to have to do all the work,” Jeonghan said, his voice low yet soft, and helped you get off his cock. As you sat next to each other on the bed, he kissed you passionately while playing with your breasts, after which he told you what he had in mind.

You grinned as you lie down on your right side and bit down on your lower lip when you felt Jeonghan lift your left leg so that he could more easily push into you, and moaned satedly when he had bottomed out. He hissed when he was encased by the warmth of your pussy again and kissed your upper back passionately while holding your right breast snugly in his hand, playing with its nipple every now and then.

It felt heavenly on both ends - something about the position made you feel even tighter than before, which in turn made him feel bigger - and you focused solely on the pleasure you were experiencing. Jeonghan was very much lost in you; lost in how amazing you felt around him, how amazing you sounded, how amazing you felt under his touch… It was all perfect.

As his orgasm started approaching him, Jeonghan began fucking you a bit harder, which had your breath hitching in your throat a little. You were so turned on and the knot in the pit of your stomach was tightening a little, and yet it felt like something was missing; something that would throw you over the edge.

You met the movements of Jeonghan’s hips as well as you could, and it didn’t take too long for him to push deep into you, suck lightly on your neck and hold your breast almost desperately as he released into the condom. He panted, and you continued moving your hips a little as an attempt to get closer to your own release, too.

“You didn’t come, did you?” Jeonghan mumbled by your ear, still rocking his hips back and forth slowly. You shook your head weakly and moaned quietly when he squeezed your breast and kissed you by your ear. “Let me get you off, too.”

He let go of your breast, pulled out of you and got rid of the condom, and with a mere blink of your eyes he had moved to the lower end of the bed, turned you to your back and spread your legs so that he had easy access to your pussy, soaked with anticipation and begging for more touch. You looked at him with your lips parted, but as he dove right in to lap at your wetness, you closed your eyes and threw your head back.

Jeonghan grinned when you bucked your hips a little against his mouth, and when you got one hand into his hair, he only got more excited. He ran his tongue over your swollen clit relentlessly time after time, and only when you began quivering a little underneath him, he moved lower to tongue your entrance a little. You whined and bucked against him, and once he returned to focus on your sensitive bundle of nerves, you moaned.

The knot in the pit of your stomach was tightening at a fast rate, only fueled by the wet sounds that came from Jeonghan eating you out with such vigor. He pulled back a little, and you let out a dissatisfied whine.

“I want you to look at me,” he said, his voice far from the soft tone he had been using for the longest time, and instead full of the authority he so rarely showed. The tone alone sent shivers down your spine, and so you quickly folded the pillow underneath your head and looked at him right in the eye, and the way it all reminded you of your dream the night before made you clench around nothing. His eyes curved as he grinned. “Good.”

You bit down on your lower lip as you struggled keeping your eyes open and focused on Jeonghan, ho looked back at you intently while his tongue explored your pussy, massaging your clit in ways that made you see stars. He wrapped his lips around it, and smirked almost devilishly when you momentarily shut your eyes as a moan left your lips. You were quick to open your eyes again, however, and as some sort of a way to reward you for still following his order of a kind, he began sucking on your nub lightly, just enough to have your back arching.

“J-Jeonghan,” you breathed, your chest heaving rapidly as he continued eating you out eagerly, and you continued giving him encouraging nods with your orgasm approaching you faster and faster.

He began giving your clit fast licks with just the right amount of pressure, and it wasn’t much later that you were bucking your hips against his mouth in a steady rhythm with your legs on either side of his face and your hand tight in his hair. You threw your head back and closed your eyes as your orgasm rocked through you, only intensified as Jeonghan continued giving attention to your most sensitive parts and eagerly lapped at your release.

Soon he pulled back with a wide grin on his face as he looked at you, panting and looking incredibly sated and spent. He crawled up on the bed, and after wiping his face with the back of his hand and licking it clean, he leaned down to kiss your neck. You lazily got your arms around his neck and pulled him into a proper kiss before letting him go and lie down next to you.

For a while you were both silent, merely looking at the ceiling and catching your breaths. Jeonghan reached for your hand, and you smiled as you let him take it into his.

“You know,” Jeonghan began quietly, slowly rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. You hummed, encouraging him to continue, and turned to look at him curiously. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while.”

“What kind of an eye?” you asked with a grin and moved a bit closer to him on the bed.

He looked at you with a silly, wide smile and shook his head. His eyes twinkled happily. “Not the kind you think. Or maybe a little.”

“Go on,” you hummed and let yourself get lost in his deep, brown eyes. Jeonghan let out a quiet giggle.

“Firstly, your work performance is spectacular,” he began, and as he continued, his voice got softer and his smile widened. “But you’ve also got the brightest smile of the office, and I like the way you look at me.”

“The way I look at you?” you asked with a snort and hid your face with your arm. “What about it?”

“It’s cute, and you seem to get lost in thought a lot,” Jeonghan said softly and got closer to you on the bed so that he could move your arm away from your face and look into your eyes. “And I love it when you act like you weren’t staring.”

“I’m glad if you don’t mind,” you smiled, and it only widened on your lips when he leaned down to kiss you.

“Not at all,” Jeonghan whispered after pulling up and licked his lips. He looked into your eyes in a way that made your heart flutter a little. “We don’t have to be weird about this, right?”

“No,” you said quietly and shook your head a little while placing a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I know you’re my boss, but… do you think we could do this again sometime?”

“Dine and have sex?” he asked with a playful grin and nodded. “Regularly, if you’d like. I want to get to know you better.”

“Me too,” you replied and played with his hair as he leaned down to kiss you again.

After the business trip, the two of you did, indeed, meet up every now and then over dinner and, more often than not, sex. Sometimes he’d even ask you to stay overtime - for a reason, usually - and it would often end up getting steamy, with the two of you starting with simply making out and ending up having sex in his office.

Neither of you was particularly fond of being a part of an office romance, but you were too drawn to each other to mind, and although you knew you were each other’s only ones, you didn’t think too deep about it nor did you treat it too seriously.

You just were, with no strings attached yet with so many strings attached, and until one of you expressed unhappiness, that was okay. The two of you enjoyed being with each other in various ways, and for now that was enough.

Admin Scooter

#jeonghan smut #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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judgestarling · 5 years

Text

The Origin of the Term “Junk DNA”: A Historical Whodunnit (Second Edition)

As textbooks would have it, the term “junk DNA” was coined in 1972 by Susumu Ohno as part of his work on the role of gene and genome duplication. I met Susumu Ohno at a meeting in Crete many years ago, and the way I remember, he told me that he “deliberately” chose a “provocative term” to emphasize the “uselessness” of this DNA fraction. (Indeed, the term “junk” comes with a “semantic baggage” since it used as a synonym for heroin and male genitalia—two terms that are verboten in polite company.) At a dinner, Ohno also told me (and other newbies) that rosé wine is produced by mixing red and white wines.

I no longer believe either of these historical “narratives.”

It all started with my obsession to read very thoroughly every article that I quote, instead of relying on indirect references. In this day and age, in which articles are signed by hundreds of authors, the vast majority of whom don’t even bother to read their “own” publications, I stand out like a nigella seed in mayonnaise. This disorder is probably due to my association with Mina Graur, who is a historian who only trusts “primary sources.” Indeed, so strong is her belief in primary sources, that I am quite certain she wouldn’t even trust a textbook description of the double helix—she would want to read Watson and Crick’s (1953) article, as well as their notebooks, correspondences, and preliminary drafts, and if possible interview each and every one associated with the lab in Cambridge including the janitors. What can I say? She does NOT trust “secondary” sources!

For a few years, I engaged in a bitter fight with the quacks of the ENCODE Project over “junk DNA,” and to my dismay, I realized that I cannot find a copy of Susumu Ohno’s (1972) article “So much ‘junk’ DNA in our genome.” So, I started searching the net for the article. My searches led me to discover three publications from 1972 that mention “junk DNA.” The above-mentioned paper by Susumu Ohno, an article by David Comings, and a New Scientist commentary by Tim Hunt.

Solving the origin of Comings’ “junk DNA” was easy. He got it from Susumu Ohno, who was his colleague at City of Hope National Medical Center in Duarte, California. Indeed, Comings quotes two “in press” papers by Ohno. The most interesting thing about Comings’ article, however, is that his treatment of junk DNA is much more thorough and much more informative and much more considerate than Ohno’s cryptic article, in which the term “junk” is only mentioned in the title.

The origin of Tim Hunt’s “junk DNA” proved to be much more interesting. In 1972, the future Nobelist was a 29-year-old researcher at Cambridge trying to understand messenger RNA and the great amounts of DNA that never produce mRNA. In time, his research led him into a different area of study, and in 2001, Tim Hunt shared the Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine with Paul Nurse and Leland Hartwell. The work for which he was conferred the highest accolade in the sciences had nothing to do with either mRNA or junk DNA—the Nobel was in recognition of his discovery of proteins that control cell division.

In his 1972 commentary, Tim Hunt uses the term “junk DNA” to refer to “the large amount of nucleic acid that never finds its way out of the nucleus, which does not fit in with the old categories of genes and messages.” Note that Hunt’s 1972 “junk DNA” employs a mechanistic definition of junk DNA that is different from but not at odds with our current understanding of junk DNA as “useless and harmless.”

Where did Tim Hunt get the term? I sent him the following email.

“I have recently realized that although the late Susumu Ohno is credited solely with the coinage ‘junk DNA,’ he was not the only person to have used the term in 1972. In your ‘How mammals get the message’ in New Scientist, you have an entire section entitled ‘Why all that junk?’ In this section you mention “junk DNA.” I am curious whether (1) you got the term from Susumu Ohno, (2) he got it from you, (3) you coined it independently, or (4) you got it from a third person. I would greatly appreciate your help with this historical puzzle.”

The reply by Dr. Hunt was surprising.

“Gosh, yes! I did write that piece, and I never met Ohno. I got it from Sydney Brenner and/or Francis Crick—it was certainly current in Cambridge at the time. Maybe they got it from Ohno? You should ask Sydney.”

So, I wrote Dr. Brenner. The first sentence of his reply made the puzzle even more profound.

“I can confirm that we were using the idea of “junk” in the genome in the sixties at Cambridge.”

Really? The sixties? If the term was indeed current in the sixties, it is entirely possible that the term may have found its way into the literature and hasn’t been detected thus far. If it was there, I was determined to find it.

Enter Google Ngram, with which one can find short phrases in over 5.2 million books (published between 1500 and 2008) that have been digitized by Google.

With Google Ngram, I struck gold, a 1963 paper by Charles Ehret and Gérard de Haller entitled “Origin, development, and maturation of organelles and organelle systems of the cell surface in Paramecium.” The paper which was published in Journal of Ultrastructure Research is huge—42 pages and 86 figures. On page 39 it is written:

“While current evidence makes plausible the idea that all genetic material is DNA (with the possible exception of RNA viruses), it does not follow that all DNA is competent genetic material (viz. ‘junk’ DNA), nor that all Feulgen-positive material is active DNA.”

This was completely unexpected. Nine years before Susumu Ohno, two authors wrote about “junk DNA” in a casual manner without even bothering to explain what junk DNA is. If we assume that non-”competent genetic material” is the same as nonfunctional DNA, then their use of “junk DNA” was entirely modern. The problem was that I have never heard of the authors before. Who was Charles F. Ehret? Who was Gérard de Haller?

A little more digging revealed that Charles F. Ehret was a very important person, as evidenced by the fact that The Washington Post published an obituary on his death in 2007.

“Charles F. Ehret, 83, a scientist whose study of circadian rhythms led to a widely popular anti-jet lag regimen that improved the trips of untold numbers of world travelers, died February 24 of multiple illnesses at his home in Grayslake, Ill.

In more than 35 years of experimentation, Dr. Ehret found that the headaches, nausea, disorientation, fatigue, and malaise suffered by globe-trotters had almost nothing to do with thin air and the dizzying effects of supersonic speed, as was commonly assumed. Rather, jet lag is a matter of crossing too many time zones too quickly for the body to adjust. It can be ameliorated by adjusting eating, activity and sleep schedules according to a strict system that Dr. Ehret developed.”

A search of the literature revealed that the paper in Journal of Ultrastructure Research represented quite a detour in the scientific life of Dr. Ehret. With the exception of a 1948 paper in The Anatomical Record, entitled “The mating reaction of multimicronuclear monstrosities in Paramecium bursaria,” his entire research program dealt with circadian rhythms, jet lag, and light exposure.

Interestingly, Dr. Ehret worked on many different organisms which, according to The Washington Post, included “single-celled organisms, rats, his eight children, and volunteers.” Rats and eight children? That sounds like a winning combination!

The amount of information I could find on Gérard de Haller was quite minimal. He became Professor of Protistology at the University of Geneva in 1969. He mostly published in French, and the last known address for him was the Molecular Systematics Group at the University of Geneva. As far as I could ascertain, he published his last paper in 1993. In October, 2013, I wrote to the head of the Molecular Systematics Group, Jan Wojciech Pawlowski. He replied promptly.

“Prof. Gérard de Haller is a Honorary Professor of the University of Geneva. He was one of the jurors of my PhD thesis and the head of Protistology Laboratory since 1969. His specialty was the biology of ciliates. As far as I know he is still alive, although he is not scientifically very active since his retirement. I saw him last time about 2 years ago when he came to the University to participate in a ceremony for one of his younger assistants. He is still on the list of University Professors.

I was looking for more information about him but could not find anything more. However, I can easily find someone from his family who live in Geneva if this is necessary.”

In the end, the person who managed to find Gérard de Haller was Robert Hirt, Professor of Evolutionary Parasitology at Newcastle University. In May 2014, I got an email from Prof. de Haller.

“As far as I can remember, the first time we spoke of junk DNA was at a seminar with Werner Arber around 1958 or so, and I know that Eduard Kellenberger's department, where Werner was working, was in close contact with the big bosses of the raising DNA science [at Cambridge]. Unfortunately, that’s all I can remember, except that these were great times!

I asked Werner Arber, but he couldn’t add anything. He mentioned Francis Crick as a possible "inventor" of the term.”

At this point, I was quite certain that Ehret and de Haller did not invent the term “junk DNA.” They used it properly and in the right context, but it wasn’t theirs.

I wrote about my findings in my blog, and ended the article with an appeal.

“In the manner of the appeals by Oxford English Dictionary, I would like to ask the readers: Do you have an earlier record of the term “junk DNA”? Please submit your evidence by email.”

Soon afterwards, an anonymous reader found an example of “junk DNA” from 1960.

“Following your example, I've been trying to find earlier "junk DNA" quotes using Google. I found this quote in the Year Book of the Carnegie Institution, Washington July 1, 1959- June 30, 1960 (Volume 59, page 278).

‘It is much more difficult to imagine how the different DNA’s could act as templates for the similar RNA’s. This is the problem that can be avoided most easily by considering a large part of the DNA to be junk.’”

The authors, however, did not like the concept of “junk DNA’, although they admitted that there were precedents.

“The idea that a large part of the nucleic acid is nonfunctional is repugnant. It seems unlikely that such an inefficient mechanism would have survived through evolution, although it must be remembered that enzyme molecules are very large in comparison with their active centers.”

The Carnegie Institution report was written by eight members of the Biophysics Group within the Department of Terrestrial Magnetism. Yes, “Terrestrial Magnetism”!

Several names stood out. Sadly, Richard Roberts died in 1980, Ellis Bolton in 2006, and Roy Britten in 2012. The person with which I was most familiar with was Roy Britten, who was was the discoverer of repeated DNA sequences in the genomes of eukaryotic organisms, and later studied their effects on the evolution of genomes. I have met Britten several times at scientific meetings, and if there was one thing clear, it was the fact that he was not a fan of “junk DNA.” When Roy Britten died in 2012 at the age of 92, his obituary in the journal Science was written by his close collaborator Eric Davidson.

So, I wrote to Eric Davidson, and got the following email.

“First off, I wouldn't exactly consider that citation as related to the later nonsense about junk DNA of the Leslie Orgel/Francis Crick variety. At Carnegie they were strictly concerned that year with the protein coding sequence load of the DNA, as seen through the lens of ribosome structure/function, without considering the function of mRNA and tRNA.

As for Roy, you are right, he couldn't stand the idea of junk DNA, but that was in reference to the Crick usage (which we heard about verbally all the time from him and others of his circle; in those days, late 60s and early 70s Roy and I were hotly involved in arguments about the organization of animal genomic DNA). Anyway, Roy could not possibly have been responsible for the Year Book citation you sent because that particular report concerned the year Roy wasn't even at Carnegie; he was in Denmark working on yeast. The Biophysics report then and in the succeeding few years at the Department of Terrestrial Magnetism was written by the senior people, Bolton and Roberts, I think mainly Bolton (with whom Roy did not get along particularly well in intellectual terms). Roy was then very junior in the hierarchy and he wrote his own report on that year's activity; it is very doubtful he could have inserted anything like that even ex post facto. So, I don't think it is a likely hypothesis that Roy originated that term in any way shape form or manner, then or later.”

Is it possible that Davidson was wrong and one of the authors of the Carnegie report did coin the term “junk DNA” as a pejorative? One such precedent comes to mind. In 1955, British cosmologist Fred Hoyle derided a theory by American physicist George Gamow and called it a ridiculous "Big Bang." The name stuck. As far as “junk DNA” is concerned, however, there is little evidence for the pejorative-nickname hypothesis.

Why did the Biophysics group at the Department of Terrestrial Magnetism at Carnegie found the concept of “junk DNA” to be repugnant in 1959? The historical context was explained to me by Alexander Palazzo from the University of Toronto.

“To understand this report, you need to remember that it was written two years before the discovery of mRNA. Back then it was believed that each gene made a separate RNA that got incorporated into a ribosome (i.e., ribosomal RNA). Thus, according to this model, each ribosome contained information within it to make a single protein. Of course, today we understand that ribosomes are only enzymes, and that the protein-information is contained in mRNA. But considering that >90% of cellular RNA is rRNA, their old faulty model is understandable.

The Roberts’ group was analyzing the length of E. coli rRNA. In the discussion they write about the size of proteins and note that some of these are very small. In contrast, there was too much rRNA in each ribosome. This discrepancy indicated that in these cases the additional RNA was likely non-functional. Interestingly, Roberts missed a critical fact that was pointed out by others—that rRNA was not large enough to code for certain large proteins (beta-galactosidase, for example).

Roberts' group also noted that all rRNAs looked the same, whereas the nucleotide composition of DNA varied considerably. Thus, some DNA must not code for ribosomal RNA and this is where they invoke the idea of junk DNA.

Note that a new form of RNA (messenger RNA) was recognized in a landmark paper by Brenner, François Jacob and Matthew Meselson in 1961 making this whole discussion moot. (And yes, I'm aware that James Watson's group also demonstrated the existence of mRNA…)”

How should I summarize my current understanding on the origin of “junk DNA”—the term and the concept?

First, there is evidence that the term “junk DNA” was already in use in the early 1960s (e.g., Aronson et al. 1960; Ehret and de Haller 1963). I am, however, almost certain that none of these authors coined the term. All clues point to Cambridge in the late 1950s. My guess is that the term originated with Francis Crick, but at present I have no evidence for this claim.

And what about Susumu Ohno? I was reminded by a reader that “a conceptual discovery is usually ascribed to one who first stuck his/her neck out to push the viewpoint.” It doesn't really matter who said what first. “We remember Charles Darwin, not because he discovered natural selection (and sexual selection) or because he was the first to propose that adaptive evolution is due to selection. Others, e.g., William Charles Wells, Patrick Matthew, James Cowles Prichard, William Lawrence, and John Sebright, may (or may not) have recognized evolution by natural selection long before him. It was Darwin, however, who staked his reputation on what was considered at the time a grave heresy. It is, of course, interesting that Hunt, Brenner, De Haller, Roberts and perhaps others toyed explicitly with the idea of "junk DNA" before 1972, not to mention others who may have entertained the same idea without calling it "junk." However, it was Susumu Ohno who stuck his neck out and put his reputation on the line by advocating a very unpopular and contentious idea.

In my latest book, I decided on the following phrasing:

“We have written evidence that the term “junk DNA” was already in use in the early 1960s (e.g., Aronson et al. 1960; Ehret and de Haller 1963); however, it was Susumu Ohno (1972, 1973) who formalized its meaning and provided an evolutionary rationale for its existence.”

Literature

Aronson AI, Bolton ET, Britten RJ, Cowie DB, Duerksen JD, McCarthy BJ, McQuillen K, Roberts RB. 1960. Biophysics. pp. 229–289. In: Year Book: Carnegie Institution of Washington. Volume 59. Lord Baltimore Press, Baltimore, MD.

Comings DE. 1972. The structure and function of chromatin. Adv. Hum. Genet. 3:237–431.

Ehret CF, G. Haller G. 1963. Origin, development and maturation of organelles and organelle systems of the cell surface in Paramecium. J. Ultrastruct. Res. 23:S1–S42.

Hunt T. 1972. How mammals get the message. New Scientist 18 May:373–375.

Ohno S. 1972. So much “junk” DNA in our genome. In: Smith HH (ed.) Evolution of Genetic Systems: Brookhaven Symposia in Biology. Gordon and Breach, New York. 23:366–370. Ohno, S. 1973. Evolutional reason for having so much junk DNA. In: Pfeiffer RA (ed.) Modern Aspects of Cytogenetics: Constitutive Heterochromatin in Man. Schattauer Verlag, Stuttgart, Germany. pp. 169–180.

Watson JD, Crick F.HC. 1953. Molecular structure of nucleic acids: A structure for deoxyribose nucleic acid. Nature 171:737–738.

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writerunsolved · 5 years

Text

The Drunken Mistake - Ch. 7

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Real Person Fiction

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Genres: Fluff and Humor

Language: English

Chapters: 7/?

Summary: You're a young up-and-coming singer based in London who has just released her first album.

After a wild night at the VMAs and some heavy partying and drinking at the afterparty, you write and publish a drunken tweet about a certain celebrity and one of their friends. You only realise what you've done the next day when a slew of texts and calls wakes you up to a dreadful but expected hangover. You immediately delete the tweet, but you're left to deal with the consequences. A public apology would probably be enough to make everything go away if you hadn't been invited to a movie premiere where said celebrity is most certainly going to be.

You decide that the best course of action will be to try and avoid them, but your plans almost never go the way you want them to.

Author’s Note: Quick PSA: I’d noticed getting fewer notes than usual on the last two chapters. I later found out that Tumblr has killed internal links too, which means that my updates supposedly didn’t show up in searches. For this reason, starting today, I have to stop linking to my previous and next chapters. To make extra sure you don’t miss any updates, you can also subscribe to this fic on AO3.

Seen the situation, your reblogs are more important than ever! Remember to support your favourite creators on Tumblr by reblogging rather than liking their posts, it is the only way their work can get around and reach a wider audience! Thank you in advance for reading!

Previous chapters can be found on this blog.

Chapter Seven - Just As Sweet As Coffee And With The Same Aftertaste

When you’d gotten home after the dinner, you had just as mechanically divested and put on your pyjamas. Only once you’d laid down on your bed to sleep, had the weight of what had happened finally dawned upon your mind and quickly become a thought to worry about.

In the safety of your bedroom and under the cover of darkness, as well as the more literal duvet that the cold weather had started requiring, your brain had once again begun spinning out of your control providing you with ever new anxieties. You had soon started examining your behaviour during the whole evening, considering the way you’d eaten, laughed, drunk, the subjects you’d decided to talk about, and every single reaction you’d elicited from Tom. But the one thought that had kept circling back throughout your meticulous examination had been that of the almost-kiss you had almost-shared.

Right then, an unbearable feeling of embarrassment had burned inside you like a sudden stab, and you had immediately felt the shame that came with presuming that none of it had been reciprocated. Once the belief that you had forced yourself on poor, polite Tom had taken root in your head, sleep had seemed like a distant memory you had no idea how to chase, nor grasp.

At some point, you had lost any sense of the time passing, so much that only the vibration of your phone on the nightstand had finally made you realise how late it had gotten. When you’d hurriedly snatched it to check who it was, desperate for any kind of distraction from your own train of thought, the single text you had received had been enough to put your mind at ease and make you decide that it was time to try and sleep.

“I had a wonderful night,” it had read, “I look forward to next time.”

You hadn’t answered right then, only seen that it was almost 2 AM and turned around with a smile on your face, determined to rest.

When you finally did wake up, you were drowsy enough that the memory of the previous night wasn’t the first thought in your mind. You checked your phone and saw that it was almost 11 AM, panic shot through you for just a second before you remembered that it was Sunday and you had no work, so you relaxed back into the mattress with a sigh.

You instinctively reached for your phone, mostly to check if you had any new texts, not yet remembering that you still had one from Tom to answer. When you took it in your hand, his notification was still there, hitting you with a mix of undefined emotions.

“Hi, and good morning :) I also had a great time, we should meet again soon," you sent him in response. Then, in another text, you added, “If work allows, of course.”

You wondered just for a moment if it sounded like you were making excuses not to meet again, but your worry was instantly alleviated by him replying “I’ll definitely let you know when I’m free again, and I hope you’ll do the same.” You agreed and for the rest of the day you texted back and forth like you’d been doing for a while now, and the normalcy of it kept your preoccupations about the night before at bay.

The next few days passed in much the same fashion, with the exception of going back to work on Monday. You were distracted enough with new interviews and finally some meetings to determine when and where your upcoming concert tour would take place, that you barely had time to dwell on your anxieties again.

They had certainly faded from your mind that Wednesday when you were having lunch with Nina at a small place on the same street as the label building.

You were sitting down at a sleek square table, lunch in front of you, and slowly picking at the food while Nina spoke rapidly into her mobile phone. You had no idea what she was talking about, her voice fast enough and low enough that you could only catch a couple of words here and there, like “Liam” and “Be on time” and a whole lot of “No”. You looked distractedly around you, the small restaurant had a cold, minimalistic vibe to it, with polished aluminium tables and chairs. It was the first time you ate there, Nina had been the one to suggest it, you didn’t mind the food but it wasn’t anything special.

A lot of people kept coming and going, only very few opting to sit down in the small space that the restaurant allowed, and most just grabbing paper bags full of food to take away and eat elsewhere. You really didn’t understand the appeal of the place, but you imagined it would certainly be convenient to stop there and pick up a quick meal if you worked in one of the many office buildings of the area.

Your inconsequential thoughts were interrupted by Nina almost slamming the phone down on the tabletop and declaring, “This is why I don’t want interns, they’re only a waste of my time.” She sighed loudly and faced you, shaking off the annoyance of the phone conversation and digging into her lunch with vigour.

“Sorry for that,” she started, carelessly waving her fork around and talking animatedly, “Talking to Liam is like screaming into the wind. He’s always carrying that notepad around and writing everything down, and yet he still calls me for every tiny thing,” she huffed again, “Unbelievable.”

You nodded in sympathy, “I guess it must be hard to keep up with you,” you told her, “Not even I have any idea of the number of things you get done in a single day.”

“Don’t defend him,” she groaned and pointed at you with her fork, you felt mildly threatened, “I know I’m a force to be reckoned with, but if he wants to get anywhere at the label he’s gonna have to learn.”

You replied with a small “Fair enough,” and took another bite of your lunch, Nina did the same.

“This food isn’t all that much,” she commented, “I shouldn’t have trusted Mike, but anyway...” She paused and quickly ate another mouthful or two, then directed her attention at you, “I don’t believe you’ve told me about your dinner the other night.”

Her change of subject surprised you enough that you almost choked on the food you’d just put in your mouth. You started coughing convulsively, barely managing to swallow a crouton before it choked you to death. Nina just looked at you silently, unscrewing the water bottle you were sharing and pouring some of the liquid in your glass. You thanked her with a look and gulped down the water, finally able to breathe normally again.

“Is that a positive or negative answer?” she asked you with a smirk.

You straightened up and gave her a nasty look, “Very funny.”

“It was a little bit funny,” she pushed her thumb and index finger together to show how much, “But mostly it was adorable, I can’t believe how much of a goner you are.”

You spluttered, you were just about to reply when your phone, which had been sitting on the side of your glass, vibrated with a new text alert. You ignored your train of thought in favour of checking the notification but didn’t get any further than seeing that it was from Tom because Nina started laughing. You looked at her, confused by her reaction.

She pointed at the phone you were clutching with the hand still holding her fork, “See, you have no leg to stand on! You literally stopped mid-thought to check if he was sending you a text.”

“I- I wasn’t- I didn’t! I-” you stuttered, trying to find something to defend yourself, “We were just… We were already texting before!” you almost shouted. Then, realising your sudden increase in volume, you cleared your throat and tried again in a much lower voice and a casual shrug, “It would be rude to leave him hanging.”

Nina smiled and rolled her eyes, “Oh, you are just so,” she elongated the word, “Considerate.”

“Well, excuse me,” you rebutted, an exaggeratedly haughty look on your face.

“Go on,” she urged you, “Read it. I know you’re dying to.”

“I’m not dying to,” you muttered but didn’t hesitate to open up the text. For some reason or other, you and Tom had started talking about the cartoons you used to watch as children, you had no idea how you’d gotten to the subject, and he was just following up on the conversation. You shot back a quick answer and put the phone back on the table.

“Anyway,” Nina started again when she saw you were done, “I really do want to know about dinner. Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” she pouted.

“It was just dinner,” you answered, “There isn’t all that much to say, really...”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she nodded, “I can tell you don’t want to talk about it.” You wanted to protest, but she continued in a more serious tone, “Just remember that we’re friends, and whenever you’re ready - and if you feel like you need to - you can talk to me, okay?”

You shook your head gently, “I appreciate it, Nina. But, honestly, you’re making it out to be much bigger than it is.”

“I know you, hon,” she repeated, “And I’m pretty sure you’re stressing about this. But I also know that you need time to think about it by yourself, which is fine,” she insisted, “But don’t feel like you have to keep everything inside because you think we’re gonna judge you or something like that.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed and looked down at the table, nervously picking at the edge with your index finger, “I’m just not sure of the situation, and I don’t feel like I’m ready to share what’s going through my mind yet. I need more time to clear my head is all,” you finally admitted and looked up at Nina. She was smiling kindly.

“It’s okay, hon,” she reassured you, “I’ll still be here later.”

You forced yourself to smile back, trying to show your gratitude, but the feeling of being a bad friend was nagging at you. Something in you wanted to push and make you open up, but your insistence to deny that you were feeling anything at all was much stronger. Sometimes you just wished you could be a better friend to the people supporting you.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Nina changed the subject swiftly, “The 4 PM meeting on Friday was cancelled, so you can definitely make other plans for the evening. And Monday, too,” she added, “My parents are gonna be in town, so I’m giving you a day off,” she winked.

“Nice!” you commented, then asked her, “How are your parents by the way? It was so lovely meeting them last May.”

“They’re fine,” she waved a hand dismissively, “They’re enjoying retirement in their dreamy French villa, as usual. You should join us for dinner on Monday, they loved meeting you, too. They were smitten by that talentueuse jeune fille,” she said the last sentence in an exaggerated French accent, an imitation of her parents’, “And wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You laughed. The rest of the meal was spent making plans for the dinner on Monday. After that, you both went back to work. Later in the day, you texted Tom to let him know you would be free on Friday afternoon and asked him if he wanted to get coffee. He accepted enthusiastically and promised to discuss specifics later in the day.

Amidst your hectic working hours, Friday seemed to come in an instant.

You’d heard from Tom again and, in the end, you’d agreed on going to Caffé Piccolo. You’d mentioned their amazing coffee in previous conversations, and he was thrilled to finally get to experience it too.

That day, you managed to leave work exactly at 4 PM. The morning meetings about the tour had been slow-going and full of technical information you couldn’t do much about. In fact, you weren’t sure why your presence had been required at all, but you hadn’t minded too much and Nina had also been there.

You exited the building and looked at the time on your phone. You and Tom had arranged to meet at a quarter to five in front of Caffé Piccolo, which meant that you still had forty-five minutes to get there, it would be more than enough time to make it without being late. You looked up at the sky, thick grey clouds hovered above the rooftops, promising rain. You frowned, hoping that you would make it home before the weather turned for the worse, then walked away toward the tube station.

You made it to the café with a few minutes to spare and no rain on your path. You briefly considered whether to wait for Tom inside, but in the end, opted to stay where you were. Soon enough, you saw him hurrying down the street from the same direction you’d come, straight from the metro.

When he reached you, you could see that he was wind-swept and that he’d probably ran to make it in time. His hair was in complete disarray and his coat was unbuttoned, showing that he was wearing a soft navy-blue sweater underneath.

“Hi!” he greeted you cheerfully, a huge smile on his lips. He passed a hand through his hair, trying to slide it back in place, but it did very little. “Sorry, I’m late.”

You smiled back, “Oh, don’t worry, you’re not late,” you reassured him, “I got here a bit early, but you’re perfectly on time”.

He touched your shoulder gently and said, “It’s good to see you again,” then, he hugged you tightly.

You felt just as off guard as the first time you’d hugged. You guessed it would take a while before you would get used to it. You obviously didn’t hate it, but you had trouble letting yourself go, though you did try. By the time you separated, you’d even managed to reciprocate the hug.

“So this is the legendary Caffé Piccolo,” he said, looking behind you at the small door, “Did I say it right?”

“I’m not one to judge,” you joked, “But be reassured that if you say it wrong inside, they won’t hesitate to correct you.” He laughed, you added, “And I’m not sure about legendary, but their coffee is certifiably extraordinary.”

“I was excited to try it before, but now I can’t wait one more second. Shall we go in?” he asked, extending a hand towards the door.

You nodded and turned around to make your way inside, keeping the door open for Tom who followed you in and thanked you. You let the door close behind him and looked around, searching for an empty table. You couldn’t see Andrea, at his place at the cash register was his mother Santuzza, who immediately saw you enter and welcomed you with a huge smile.

“Andrea! Vieni un attimo alla cassa! ” she shouted toward the back, from which Andrea appeared. He quickly took his mother’s place at the cash register so Santuzza could make her way towards you, open arms ready to squeeze you. “Gioia mia, it’s so nice to see you!”, she spoke with a thick accent and her smile still in place. As soon as she reached you, she threw her arms around you and crushed you into the sweetest hug she could manage.

“Mrs Fusco, I’m happy to see you, too,” you told her when she let you go. You massaged your left side carefully, she had pushed so tightly around you, that you couldn’t help but jam your own elbow into the side of your ribs. You could see Andrea behind her punching in one of the costumers’ order, he raised his eyes from the cash register and spotted you looking back. He greeted you with a small wave of his hand and went back to his task.

“Oh, please, tesoro mio, call me Santuzza. How many times do I have to tell you?” she chastised you, then asked, “What are you doing here, goia?”

“I brought a friend to try your magnificent coffee,” you replied, gesturing towards Tom, who was watching the exchange with a tiny smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Fusco,” he told Santuzza, then introduced himself, “I’m Tom, I’ve heard amazing things about your establishment.” He extended his hand, and when Santuzza did the same, he lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. You could immediately see how flattered the gesture had made her and covered your mouth to hide the impressed grin that had bloomed on your lips.

“Oh my,” Santuzza almost blushed, “What a charming young man you have there,” she turned to you, “Mi raccomando, amore mio, tienitelo bello stretto.”

You laughed slightly, sure that the compliment had made Tom bashful, but not of what Santuzza had told you with her last sentence.

“Enjoy the coffee,” she told you both and went back to her place at the cash register, pushing Andrea back towards the kitchen in the back.

“You speak Italian?” Tom asked you while you made your way to one of the small tables next to the large window that overlooked the front of the store.

You took off your coat and draped it on the back of your chair before sitting down, Tom did the same. “Not really,” you told him, “I’m not sure what she said, to be honest, I only understand the pet names because she uses them so much.”

“I see,” he replied, “She was calling you ‘love’, and ‘joy’, and ‘treasure’. I can understand a little Italian, but not enough to know what she told you, I’m afraid,” he explained.

“That’s impressive!” you commented, widening your eyes, “You should teach me what you know sometime.”

“Why not,” he smiled, then changed the subject, “I assume you come here a lot, you seem very close with the owner.”

“Owners, actually,” you specified, “Santuzza and her husband Giovanni opened the café with their son Andrea.” Tom was listening interestedly. “From what I know, Andrea went to a business university here in London. When he went back to Italy after that, he convinced his parents to move to London too and to open Caffé Piccolo,” you explained, “They already had a small place back in Italy, and he believed they could really get somewhere with their coffee specialities.”

Tom looked around, almost every other table in the room was occupied, and there were several people waiting in line for their coffee at the counter. “I think he might have had the right idea,” he joked, referring to the small crowd.

You chuckled. “I know I amped up their coffee a lot,” you emphasised the last two words, “But I swear I wasn’t lying.”

Before Tom could answer, Andrea had reemerged from the back of the café and was approaching your table. “Bellezza, it’s been a while,” he greeted you. He looked around and towards the entrance before continuing, “No Nina today?”

“Hey, Andrea,” you greeted him with a smile, “Nope, no Nina.” He sighed in relief. “I brought a new friend today.”

At that, Andrea noticed Tom, who was sitting cross-legged in front of you with a small smirk, and gulped. He spluttered several times before squeaking out, “I didn’t know you were friends with Tom Hiddleston.”

You snickered at Andrea’s loss for words, he was probably mourning Nina’s absence just then.

“Hi, Andrea, nice to meet you,” Tom offered his hand to shake, still smirking and going along with your teasing.

Andrea took it and said, “It’s the same for me, Mr Hiddleston.”

Behind Andrea’s back, you widened your mouth in amused surprise and outrage: Andrea had never been that polite to Nina and you!

“Please, just Tom,” he answered. When their hands separated, Andrea took a step back and looked between you and Tom squaring his shoulders in the semblance of a professional demeanour, and asked, “Are you ready to order?”

You glanced at Tom and asked him, “Would you mind if I ordered for you?”

“Please,” he replied, “Go ahead.”

“Do you like chocolate?” you asked him one last time, and when he nodded you turned to Andrea and finally said, “We’ll have a Marocchino and a Caffé al Ginseng, please.” Andrea, who had taken out a small notepad, wrote the order down and nodded, leaving the two of you and walking back towards the counter.

“I’m kind of curious about what you just ordered,” Tom started, “But I also want to keep the surprise alive,” he joked. You laughed. A beat or two of silence passed before he spoke again, “I was surprised by your text,” he said, “Pleasantly, of course. Did you get a long weekend?”

“No, actually,” you explained, “The afternoon meeting for today was cancelled, and since it was the last appointment for today, I thought I’d let you know and see if you were free too.”

“Well, thank you for that,” he replied, “I was glad you thought of me.”

You blushed, “No problem,” you almost mumbled, smiling shyly. Then asked, “Did you also get a half-day?”

“Unfortunately not,” he lifted the corner of his mouth in a bitter smile, “I was free this morning, but I have a work dinner later tonight.”

“Oh, I see. What time do you need to get going?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a brush of his hand, “It’s not until eight.”

You were going to say more when Andrea approached your table again, carrying a round metal tray. He set half of it on the table, keeping the other half up with his hand, and started moving the cups out of it. He set two glasses filled with water on the table, then said, “A Marocchinohere,” and deposited a small plate with a slightly larger than usual espresso cup filled to the brim with a deep brown chocolate and coffee concoction in front of Tom, then a smaller one with what looked like a very weak coffee in front of you, “And a Caffé al Ginseng for you.” You were about to thank him, but he added, “And I brought some Cantuccini. Dad made them this morning, let me know what you think,” and winked at you.

“Thank you, Andrea,” you told him. He nodded, picking up the tray and holding it in front of him, then left with a quick friendly touch to your shoulder.

You looked back at Tom, he was observing Andrea intently, but when he noticed you were looking at him he smiled with a raise of his eyebrows and said, “Shall we?”

You nodded and picked up your cup, he did the same, taking a whiff of the beverage before bringing it to his lips. You took a drink of your coffee and surveyed him from the top of your cup, trying to gauge his reaction. He finally tasted the liquid and, as soon as it touched his tongue, he let out an appreciative moan.

“This is amazing!” he commented, visibly impressed.

You set your already almost empty cup back on the table and reached for the half-moon shaped cookies, taking one. “I’m glad to hear that,” you smiled, then took a bite.

“So I can definitely taste the chocolate and coffee,” he stated, “But how is this made exactly? And what is the one you ordered?”

You swallowed the cookie bite and replied, “I’ve been told Marocchino is not actually coffee, but a separate beverage. Although it is made with coffee and also sweetened milk cream, in addition to dark chocolate, of course.” He nodded in agreement. “And the one I got is made with Ginseng extract and milk, mixed with espresso, which is why it looks like watered down coffee,” you explained, “Would you like to try some?”

“Oh, no, thank you. Maybe next time,” he smiled, then reached for the cookies. You looked at him expectantly, ”Wow! These are incredible,” he exclaimed, “I’ve had Cantucci before, but these are really good.”

“Glad it lived up to your expectations,” you joked.

He laughed then said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking. You said you had a meeting that was cancelled, what would it have been about?”

“It’s totally fine,” you reassured him, “We’ve been in talks about my upcoming world tour for the last few days.”

“That’s amazing! Have you worked out the details yet?”

“Not yet, no,” you replied, “The dates for the European part are more or less all decided,” you explained, “But the American part is still a little foggy. Nina, my manager, was trying to keep them pretty cohesive, but the higher-ups have been saying that they’d rather have me take a break after all the European concerts are done and wait a couple of months before we move the tour to North America.”

He hummed pensively, “That doesn’t seem very intuitive,” he considered, “When are you going to start travelling around for it?”

You made a dismissive gesture with your hand and said, “Oh, not until next May, so there’s still a lot of time to argue about specifics,” you joked. “What about you?” you asked him then, “Any new projects in the near future? Something to do with tonight’s dinner?”

“Tonight is actually for some promotional appearances for that voice acting project I told you about before,” he responded, “But I should start on something new in a couple of weeks...”

You spent the next hour talking about work and pleasantly chit-chatting about your personal lives. The atmosphere of the café made you feel at ease more than the restaurant had a few days before. Something about the familiarity of the environment and the repeated experience of going out with Tom helped you relax like you hadn’t quite been able to do the first time you’d eaten together. Tom seemed just as serene in the more low-profile setting. Either way, you barely noticed the time passing by, marked by the arrival of a text from your sister some hour and a half later.

You ignored it at first, unwilling to interrupt the conversation and be impolite, but when more texts kept coming, you had to excuse yourself and check in case of an emergency.

“Ben just broke up with me,” the texts said, “Can I sleep at yours tonight? ” and then, in lack of a response, “I'll be there at seven.”

The surprise and worry must have shown on your face because Tom asked you, “Is everything okay?”

“I am so sorry,” you apologised, putting away your phone, “I really don’t want to cut this short, but my sister just told me she’s coming over to sleep at my house.”

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” you replied, “Something with her boyfriend. I’m honestly so sorry,” you insisted.

“Oh, no, please, it’s okay,” he reassured you, “It’s almost time I get going, too. Let me use the restroom first and then we can go, okay?”

You nodded. He quickly left the table, so you started gathering your things, putting on your coat and taking out your wallet from your bag. When he came back, you waited for him to do the same and told him, “I’m gonna go ahead and pay.”

He hesitated, then told you with a guilty look, “I already did that.” You were about to protest, but he continued, with a conciliatory smile, “I promise I’ll let you pay next time.” You didn’t believe him, but you dropped the issue with a small shake of your head and a playful roll of your eyes.

Soon enough, you walked out of the café, waving goodbye to Andrea at the counter. You couldn’t see his mom anymore so you mouthed, “Say bye to your parents for me.” Andrea nodded and went back to work, and you finally left.

Before leaving, you and Tom stopped on the curb in front of the café to say bye. “I would have liked to stay a little longer,” you told him, “I’m really sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologise anymore,” he said, looking intensely into your eyes. He leaned a gentle hand on your shoulder, “I’m sure we can meet again soon,” he continued, unconsciously playing with the lapel of your coat.

You smiled timidly, “I hope so too,” you told him, “I had a great time, good luck with dinner.”

“Thanks,” he responded, “Let me know if something serious happened with your sister and if I can do anything, okay?” You nodded, he dropped his hand from your shoulder, “I’ll see you soon,” he said finally and turned away with a small wave.

You waved back and turned around, walking in the opposite direction, on the path to your house. When you got there, your sister was waiting in front of the main door, huddled onto herself like she was cold and looking dejected. When she saw you approaching, she ran towards you and buried her head in your neck, expecting a hug. You squeezed her and tenderly caressed her hair back. When you separated, her eyes were wet with tears. “Let’s get you inside,” you told her softly, and took out the keys to the entrance.

Translation of French and Italian dialogue: - talentueuse jeune fille = talented young lady - Vieni un attimo alla cassa! = Come to the register for a bit! - Gioia mia / gioia, tesoro mio, Bellezza = My joy / joy, my treasure, Beautiful - Mi raccomando, amore mio, tienitelo bello stretto. = Make sure to hang onto him hard, my love.

Chapter 8 coming soon

@honeybournehippy @namelesslosers @unlikelytigerqueen @effielumiere @theoneanna

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #reader x tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #fanfiction #reader tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston reader #tom hiddleston fandom

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

part ii: filled with sunshine

genre: college au, neighbor au; fluff, humor, slow burn pairing: 3racha x femme reader in poly relationship part word count: 11k part warnings: mature content (18+, specific warnings under the cut), suggestive, explicit language, alcohol consumption request: no a/n: this in no way reflects the actions of stray kids’ bang chan, seo changbin, or han jisung. it is a work of fiction. !! important !!: the author requests that readers be mindful that there is 18+ content in this piece and read only if they are of age. thank you. while the mature content is poetically described, it still exists. and, remember to always get continued and enthusiastic consent as you practice safe sexual habits.

~ read part 1 first! ~

✧ series masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

mature content warnings: oral (giving, receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cock-warming. again, please read only if you are of age.

↠↞

You woke around 10 am on Saturday morning and just lay there in bed, enjoying the memories of the night before. Everything had been hot and almost desperate, but somehow still gentle. And, there was something about not even making it to your bed because you wanted each other too much . . .. Your pulse quickened and you had to squeeze your legs together as you remembered the feeling of his hands exploring every inch of your body, the feeling of his mouth caressing you, that wonderful sense of almost flying. When you looked down at yourself under the sheets, you weren’t surprised to find bruises across your chest and stomach, and were quite glad that it was winter.

Before you’d done anything besides kiss, Jisung had been forthright in saying that he was disease-free and was very careful with who he was intimate with. (You were the one to bring out a box of condoms, since you never knew when you’d need to provide one). You were delighted that he was so aware and honest, clearly taking his actions seriously and taking responsibility for his part in any relationship. Just knowing that had made you relax and, almost, abandon yourself to each and every sensation. You’d made sure to tell him that you were polyamorous, too, making it clear that you were also safe in your habits. Once you’d gotten the talking out of the way, it hadn’t taken long for you to find that your new couch was, surprisingly, quite comfortable to be pressed into.

As he’d pulled his pants back on, Jisung had insisted that he go back to his apartment, saying he had to be up early to go over some notes on a song before meeting with Chan and Changbin at the studio. You also suspected that, despite the two of you just having sex on your couch, he was a bit shy now. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him—if it had all been planned, then maybe he would’ve stayed, but this was all too new, too unexpected.

After stretching to relieve the stiffness in your lower back, you went to shower and get dressed. When you sat down to eat, you brought your phone and that slip of paper with Jisung’s phone number on it so you could message him. It was only right that you did.

y/n: hey babe, last night was really fun

No, that wouldn’t work. I can’t call him “babe” after hooking up only once.

y/n: hi jisung! it’s y/n. just wanted to say than

No, that really wouldn’t work. Thanking him like that would just trivialize the whole experience.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n. last night was absolutely lovely and, let me say, you were fantastic! i’d love to

Nope, now I’m making him sound like a horse that had won a race or something. Damn.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n~ last night was really great and i’d love to see you again. maybe we could get together for dinner one night or to watch a movie? i want to get to know you better!

There. That was good. Okay . . . send!

You sighed, then promptly bolted out of your seat and hid your phone under a cushion on the couch. Not two minutes later, you heard the faint buzz signaling that you’d received a text message.

jisung: hey y/n! ah, i see you used that piece of paper after all ;) i had a lovely time, too! what’s your favorite movie, then? i can try getting it from the library on my way home. jisung: sorry, let me start that bit over again. i’m busy tonight, but are you free next saturday? i’d love to watch a movie with you.

You giggled at Jisung’s evident enthusiasm, and quickly responded.

y/n: yes, i’m free that night :) maybe surprise me with the movie? jisung: a surprise it is, then! your place or mine? y/n: yours? i’ve never seen your apartment and you’ve seen mine a lot… jisung: ….point taken. i’ll have to clean up a little, but i think you’ll like it :) y/n: what time should i come through the connecting door?

You sighed a little as you sent the text. It was more than a little weird that this was how you were going to see Jisung, especially when front doors existed. But, you figured it was only right that you go through that way a few times, since he’d been going back to his apartment like that for months.

jisung: is 7:30 ok? y/n: sure! i’ll see you then… babe ;) jisung: *blushes*

A small noise that sounded suspiciously like an excited “Eeep!” came from Jisung’s apartment, and you grinned, giggling again. Jisung was, to put it mildly, absolutely adorable. Hot, yes—far too hot for you to properly function around, if you were totally honest—but also sweet and lovely. He was bright as the sun, seeming to practically radiate joyful light. And if last night was anything to go by, Jisung was quickly going to become a fixture in your life.

All that week, you couldn’t wait to see Jisung again and in a proper, arranged setting rather than as he was climbing through your window. You’d texted, flirting and just telling each other about yourselves. You learned that he loved being outside, just sitting in the sun or doing things with Chan and Changbin. He learned from you that you wanted to travel and study languages that were in danger of dying out. You bonded over a shared love of curling up with a good book or music or show, some tea, and having the world leave you alone. So, the idea of just watching a movie with him, spending time together in a simple but specific environment, sounded perfect to you.

Although, you did hook up twice more when neither of you could stand not getting your hands on each other again. Jisung was a kind and thorough lover, his personality vibrant and unaffected, and you enjoyed coming together simply for the sake of feeling amazing; you’d even taken to thinking of him as sunshine. You quickly found that you were sleeping better, and thought it might be nice if this sort of thing continued.

On Saturday evening, you found yourself impatiently waiting for 7:30 pm instead of doing small chores and reading some of the chapters you’d been assigned for your Poetry of Emancipation and Civil Rights course. It was maddening, especially when you heard Jisung get home and all you could think about was his smile. At 7:29 pm, you made your way into your bathroom and opened the little door in the wall. Jisung’s recent passage through the space within had cleared any cobwebs, but still there wasn’t much light. Whoever had split the old house into apartments had added this through-space for, presumably, plumbers to access the fixtures more easily, or maybe it was simply an anomaly in the construction. Either way, you now had a fascinating, new way to visit your neigh- your boyf- to visit Jisung.

Damn it, I can’t believe I’m doing this, you laughed at yourself and knelt to make your way into Jisung’s apartment. Before you could start, though, the door at the other end of the crawlspace opened and Jisung appeared.

“Hold on!” he said, and opened the door wider so that as much light as possible would shine through. Gratefully, you quickly made your way toward him—it really wasn’t a long space, only five steps crawling, but it was such an odd thing to do that you couldn’t help feel that it was much longer. When your head was out of the little passageway, you looked up to see a very strange look on Jisung’s face. It was the kind of expression one makes when something filthy is rocketing through one’s mind and it’s impolite to share those thoughts. Belatedly, you realized the position you were in and ducked your head.

When you’d fully emerged from the crawlspace, Jisung stood back and you clambered to your feet, brushing off your knees.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung said, winking.

“Hey!” You stood on tiptoe to brush your lips against his. “So, this is your bathroom.” Looking around, you noticed just how clean the room was—it wasn’t at all strange to appear there, with no odd smells, garish decor or anything out of place.

“Yep, this is my bathroom. Come see everything else—it’s much more interesting!” Jisung said, and hesitantly took your hand to lead you out into the rest of his apartment. Unsurprisingly, it had the same layout as yours, only mirrored.

When you got to the living room, you stared. Jisung had an electric keyboard, a guitar, a small desk, and a computer set up in one corner, clearly his space for practicing and composing. He’d gone for comfort more than anything else, with a sofa that had clearly been well-loved and a few beanbag-like nests. The light curtains would clearly let in plenty of sunlight during the day, and you noticed, with interest, the pile of blankets on one end of the sofa. The coffee table had gaming consoles and books scattered across its top, and a tall bookcase full of novels and music books, as well as sheet music, stood against the wall by the instruments.

The space was so different from your own, but it was the homiest living room you’d ever been in. You resisted the urge to flop down onto the sofa until you remembered that Jisung had been coming through your window . . . so you casually taking over his sofa would be a non-issue. He grinned when you sighed contentedly at the plushness of the cushions.

“You like it?” Jisung asked.

“Ji, I love it! The whole room’s so cozy and warm,” you said appreciatively, taking in every detail. Jisung just let you enjoy the room’s atmosphere, since he’d worked quite hard to make it so inviting and wanted you to appreciate it.

“Want some tea? I have, um, a lot,” Jisung grinned, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You nearly leapt off the couch and followed Jisung into the other room. “Oh my god, yes please!”

Jisung’s kitchen looked almost exactly the same as yours, except he didn’t have galaxy-themed tea towels. And, it was obvious to you that Jisung had his friends over more often than not, since two stools were stacked in the corner.

“Um,” Jisung prompted, “what kind would you like?” He pointed to a shelf with what had to be twenty boxes of different kinds of tea on it—to you, it looked like heaven. Seeing your awestruck look, Jisung added, “Take your time. I’ll just put the kettle on.”

After putting the water on to boil, Jisung came to stand behind you and, taking a deep breath as if to plunge into ice water, rested his chin on your shoulder. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his as if you’d been doing this together for years, rather than days. It was so easy to be with Jisung—everything just felt right. Thinking it was now or never, Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and you leaned into him, still deciding what kind of tea you’d like.

“Guess what . . .” Jisung said.

“Hmmm?” you said distractedly.

“You’re beautiful,” Jisung murmured, breathing shallowly because he still couldn’t believe you were just casually in his arms. How had he gotten this lucky?

“And you’re handsome,” you replied.

Jisung was most certainly smiling as he said, “Want to split a pot of jasmine?” You nodded and jumped as the kettle’s shrilling pierced your ears—you hadn’t realized you were standing there with Jisung, just looking at tea, for that long. Jisung kissed your cheek, making you squeal internally, and went to make the tea.

Five minutes later, the two of you were back in the living room and Jisung was setting up the movie. You sat with your feet up under you, holding your tea to your chest. The warmth felt lovely. Once Jisung had gotten his DVD player set up and the beginning credits of the movie had started, he came to sit next to you. As he leaned back with his tea in one hand, he yawned and theatrically put his other arm around your shoulders.

You giggled. “Jisung, you don’t need to feel nervous about us cuddling or anything,” you reassured him. “It’s not like I haven’t touched you. We’ve had sex, for god’s sake. Multiple times.”

“I just- I wanted to go slowly since simple, casual intimacy is different. Or, at least that’s how I think of it. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean we’re going to be absolutely compatible right off the bat.” Jisung’s touch on your shoulder was light, as if he didn’t want to startle you.

“Ji,” you said, snuggling into his side, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. I feel more comfortable around you than some of the people I’ve known for three years.”

Jisung made a noise of disbelief. “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” you hummed, and threw a leg over Jisung’s thigh. His breath hitched a little before he pulled you closer to himself, the two of you settling into a comfortable configuration of limbs. The movie was one you’d only heard of in passing, and hadn’t expected to like—but Jisung’s explanation of why he liked it made you actually enjoy it.

Two-thirds of the way through the film, Jisung’s hand gently caressing your shoulder became too much of a distraction and all you wanted to do was kiss him again. You’d long ago finished your tea, and now contented yourself with gazing at him, taking in the smooth line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the depression where his collarbone met the slope of his shoulder.

“I can feel you staring, Y/N,” Jisung said after a while, jolting you out of your daze. He paused the movie.

“Well, you’re kinda hot,” you countered.

“Yeah? How hot?” Jisung smirked, angling himself toward you.

“Very, very hot,” you whispered, craning your neck for a kiss. Jisung obliged, smiling.

Unlike your kisses the night before, this was slow and calm, like honey settling on ripe peaches. You slid forward to sit more squarely in Jisung’s lap as he tangled his fingers in your hair, the slight pull on your head feeling delicious. Each brush of his lips was soft and warm, and both of you took your time as you fell into the kisses, learning how gentle yet passionate the other could be. You moved your hands along his shoulders and chest, then up to cup his face, holding him like a priceless piece of art. Jisung hummed against your mouth, and drew you closer. Long minutes passed as you kissed, enjoying the simplicity of the connection, until you felt what seemed like a small fire ignite inside you.

Sensing your mood, as it reflected his own, Jisung said, “We’re not doing this on the couch again, Y/N. I have a bed, you know.”

You laughed—you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected things to go this way—after all, you’d worn some especially pretty lingerie—but the way Jisung had phrased it . . . he was almost pouting.

You pecked Jisung’s nose and said, “Lead on.”

Jisung didn’t bother asking you to get up or shift position—he just hooked an arm behind your knees and held the other at your back, and stood up. It was rather impressive, to say the least. He carried you to the bedroom, both of you giggling at the fact that you were really doing this, until you got to his room. Just like the rest of his apartment, it was cozy; there was no other word for it, especially with the soft faerie lights strung above the bed. You idly wondered if he always had them up or had just put them up in hopes the two of you would make it into his bedroom.

He sat down on the bed with you still in his arms, and resumed kissing you as if he hadn’t just carried you to an entirely different room. After a moment, you swiveled on Jisung’s lap so you were straddling his hips and wrapped your legs around him—his hands immediately went under your shirt, as if he’d been waiting to do just that.

“You really want to feel me up, don’t you,” you said, brows arched but smiling.

“Can you blame me?” Jisung’s voice was husky with desire. You just shook your head and pulled your shirt off, which made Jisung’s eyes widen. The lingerie was clearly doing its job. “Now who’s the hot one?” he asked, and ran his hands up and down your back as he continued kissing along your jaw and cheeks. His fingers finally stopped at the clasp of your bra and you breathed a “Yes.”

After a moment, Jisung leaned his head against your shoulder. “Y/N, um, it’s been a bit since I last did this…” His voice was so small and embarrassed.

“Aw babe, I’ve got it,” you said, stroking his hair. Jisung leaned back on his hands, watching you as you reached around yourself to unhook the clasp. You shrugged out of your bra and let it fall to the floor.

“You are so gorgeous, Y/N, you really are,” Jisung said, his voice low in awe.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks—you’d rarely, if ever, been admired like this, just bare before someone. “I- Um, I’m not sure what to say? Thanks?”

Jisung chuckled, saying, “You deserve every compliment I can give you,” and brought his hands back to your body. You were still as he trailed his fingertips up your stomach to cup the soft curves of your breasts, then brushed his thumbs over their peaks. You let out a shaky breath as Jisung began to kiss down your throat, over your sternum, and over each of the love bites he’d given you earlier in the week. He made certain to carefully add two more. You tangled your hands in his hair and sighed softly as he sucked, nibbled, and massaged, causing a tingling sensation to go straight to your core.

Jisung lifted his head briefly and, trailing a finger along his jaw, you said, “Your turn.” His shirt was off in one fluid movement and, again, you couldn’t believe you were actually with someone that beautiful.

“And you were saying I’m gorgeous? Jisung, oh babe, you should see yourself through my eyes.”

Jisung brushed his hair out of his face, looking intently up at you. “I can see myself in your eyes,” he said. “That’s enough for me.”

You smiled as you gently pushed Jisung back onto the bed, but before you could lay yourself down on top of him, he said, “Let me take off my jeans off first—it’ll be easier, you know?”

You chuckled and decided to do the same—he was right, after all. You sat on the bed next to Jisung as he did some fascinating acrobatics to divest himself of his pants and pull the sheets down at the same time. Laying there in just his underwear, Jisung’s desire was painfully evident and you unknowingly licked your lips; however, this did not go unnoticed by Jisung, who grinned. He scooted back onto the bed so his legs weren't hanging off the side and lay back on his pillows, holding his arms out to you.

“Shall we?” he said with an exaggeratedly coy expression.

You crawled on top of him, feeling him hard beneath you, and leaned down to kiss him deeply, your breasts just grazing his chest. Your own desire roared through you like floodwaters surging along a river toward a dam, and you ground your core against him, seeking the one thing that would break that dam apart. Jisung moaned into your mouth, holding your hips so firmly his hands dug into your muscles. And in moments, you were both breathing hard.

Flashing a grin at Jisung as you broke from your kiss, you slid down his chest. You began at his throat, too, leaving kisses and hickeys all over him, eliciting soft moans from his lips. When you got to the waistband of his underpants, you looked up the hard planes of his stomach and chest to his face. “May I?”

“God, please, Y/N,” Jisung all but begged.

You deftly pulled his last remaining clothes down and off, admiring what was now revealed before you. Tracing the length and girth with your fingers, you placed a kiss right on the tip and Jisung hissed softly at the contact. You efficiently pumped your hand back and forth, feeling as if you were an earth goddess urging a seedling to grow, until he stood tall and proud as an oak. Slowly, you brought your lips to him, swirling your tongue a little, then bobbed your head up and down, occasionally letting your teeth graze his sensitive skin. A slightly salty taste that was still distinctly his own began to fill your mouth, and he twitched a little. And oh, Jisung’s moans—they were loud and needy, just a little breathy, and like music to your ears. He encouraged you, praising and saying how good it felt; at his words, you took a moment to simply run your hand over him, kissing the same path your hand took. Then, returning your mouth to its task, you quickened your pace and your throat soon felt raw. After a moment, you simply sucked the tip, flicking your tongue out, until Jisung’s gasps and cries were louder than ever.

“I’m so close, Y/N . . . Just like th- Aaaah! Fuck!” Jisung’s hips bucked, surprising you, but you continued, drawing as much pleasure from him as you could as you swallowed and swallowed. The sound of him coming undone made the ache between your legs intensify, and as Jisung came down from his high, panting, you crawled back up the bed next to him.

Jisung pulled you to him, and you knew he could taste himself on your mouth as you kissed again. His hands were quickly back on your hips, fiddling with the band of your panties. “I want to taste you,” he said between kisses.

“Taste all you want,” you purred as his hand strayed lower.

He gave you a silly grin and, inexplicably, said, “Thank you.” You giggled.

Jisung wasted no time in flinging your panties nearly to the other side of the room, then tracing whirls over your stomach, going lower and lower. When you thought you might as well just take matters into your own hands, literally, Jisung slid his hand between your legs and you moaned.

“Mmmm, perfect,” Jisung smiled as he kissed just below your ear.

He seemed to want to feel each and every part of you, slowly exploring with first one finger, and then a second. In moments, you were wriggling and arching yourself toward him as his fingers danced. When he found that little bundle of nerves, rubbing it over and over, your hips bucked involuntarily. Fast, then slow, he coaxed you to the edge. Then, nothing.

“Oh no you don’t, Han Jisung,” you said, panting. “You are not stopping now.”

“Who said I was stopping?” Jisung said as he positioned himself between your legs, holding your thighs apart. You could still feel the blood pulsing through your veins and the ache inside was nearly maddening. He kissed all the way up your inner thigh, teasing you, then did the same along the other leg. You thrust your hips into the air, seeking some sort of friction.

Jisung smiled indulgently, then brought his mouth to you. His lips and tongue on your most sensitive parts felt so good you could barely think. Your moans were even louder than his had been, and you were glad that the neighbors typically went out on weekend nights. Jisung sucked that bundle of nerves like it was a hard candy and lapped at you like a kitten, clearly having the time of his life, before adding his fingers again. The combination had you begging for release, and all you could think was that this must be what it was like to be carried along a storm-swollen river to the edge of a waterfall.

“Oh, hhhhh, oh shit. Ji- Jisung, oh my god, hhhhh, oh god, fuck. Right there, oh f- Aaaah!”

Jisung crooked his fingers as he sucked, sending you hurtling out over that waterfall. Gasping and moaning, you shuddered, the coil of tension below your navel releasing. When he finally sat up, Jisung slowly licked each his fingers.

As you caught your breath, relishing the feeling of release, Jisung quickly went to his bedside table and you turned your head to see him sliding a condom on. He glanced at you, realizing he’d just assumed that you were okay with continuing.

“Jisung, just get back on the bed,” you said, forestalling his question, and Jisung did so, kneeling between your legs with an expectant look on his face.

“Well?” you said, looking up at him.

“I was just admiring you,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. Then, he straddled your hips and prepared himself before saying, “Ready?”

“Definitely,” you replied, an almost gleeful look in your eye.

You joined together little by little, Jisung letting you adjust, until he could go no further. You moaned at the feeling of such intimacy, the bright clarity of it—you felt like you were being filled with sunshine. “Ji, move,” you gasped, and he did.

Holding himself above you as you hooked your ankles behind his legs, Jisung began slowly, making you feel every bit of him. Then, the two of you moved as one, faster and harder, his hips finally snapping with as much power as he could muster.

Jisung buried his face in your neck as you urged him on. “Come on, Ji, right there. Oh, yes! Ah, that’s it. That feels so good, just like that.” You ran your hands all over his back, biting down on his shoulder as he finally hit the one spot inside that would surely bring your pleasure crashing down upon you again. Your nerves still singing from just moments before, you suddenly felt that coil inside you release as you clenched and unclenched, screaming Jisung’s name over and over.

“I still- I need—” Jisung gasped against your neck.

“Keep going,” you crooned, and held him to you as he chased his high, seeming to plunge deeper with each movement. A few moments later, Jisung’s hips shook and you felt him pulse as he dashed himself against the rocks at the foot of that waterfall of bliss. He shuddered, too, and lay against you, panting. You kissed his neck, his cheek, and his mouth as you both relaxed into each other’s arms.

After taking care of the condom, Jisung joined you back on the bed and you curled against him, still flushed with exertion. “That was—”

“Amazing,” you finished, turning to kiss him again. Jisung’s arm went around your shoulders and his other hand held your hip. You undulated your body against him gently, more for the slow, mellow comfort from the feel of his skin against yours than anything else.

“We should take a shower,” he said after a few more sweet kisses.

“Mmmm, that sounds perfect,” you agreed. “Can we just lay here for a moment, though?”

After several minutes, you suspected Jisung might fall asleep, so you gently kissed along his chest and said, “What about that shower?”

He chuckled and sat up with a groan. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go start the water.”

Once you’d showered together and lingered under the hot water, you lay side-by-side on Jisung’s bed, just tracing patterns into each other’s skin and occasionally kissing.

“I could get used to this, you know,” he said after you’d lain there for several minutes.

“Yeah? You mean us . . . just casually having sex? Or do you mean, like, dating?” you said, honestly not minding either way.

“I- Both, I guess?” Jisung paused. “But also just spending time with you, and being able to cuddle or do whatever when we need it. Casual comfort and companionship, and yeah, sex—keeping things open, you know?”

You looked up at him, thinking you understood now. “Do you mean having an open relationship?”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, like we’re pretty much together but see other people but things are just kind of casual!”

You laughed lightly, glad that you were on the same page. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually,” you said. “I’m not really fussed about keeping things only between us—you know I’m polyamorous. I just feel like I’ve got a lot of love to give and that, while I am over the moon with happiness with you—”

“You are?” Jisung interrupted, turning his big doe eyes on you.

“Yes, Ji, of course,” you said, and continued. “But yeah, I just— I feel like I want to give as many people the affection and support they need, and to get all different kinds from them, as well as you. Just keeping things casual sounds perfect to me.”

Jisung rolled over onto his back, leaving you to rest your chin on his chest. He mindlessly stroked your hair. “Mmmm,” he sighed contentedly, “you know, I don’t mind if you don’t tell me who else you’re seeing, by the way. Not unless it gets serious and you’d like to actually date them, too. Then, it would be nice to know and meet them.”

“Oh my god, of course!” you exclaimed, your head jerking up sharply. “I wouldn’t hide something like that! I mean, if you’d like to share who we see super casually, I’m fine with that, too.”

“I trust you,” was all Jisung said.

“And I trust you,” you replied, kissing his chest above his heart. Suddenly, you were nearly practically overwhelmed by the tenderness you felt for Jisung, and shimmied your way onto his chest more solidly.

“Come here, angel,” he murmured, and pulled you fully on top of his body. Your bodies touching so completely made you feel like you were laying on a cloud. Smiling softly to yourself, you tucked your head under Jisung’s chin, listening to his heartbeat as his arms went around you. You thought the best sleep you’d had was the other nights that week, but they could never compare to falling asleep with Jisung.

↠↞

Strolling toward you down the long walkway that wound through campus, looking like a cat who’d just been in the cream, came a young man with an all-too-familiar face: Bang Chan. He looked like the cold, December air didn’t bother him at all. You sighed, hoping he wouldn’t notice you, and looked down at what were, in the summer, lovely gardens lining the path. It really was cold as hell and all you wanted to do was get home before dark when it would even colder.

“Y/N?”

Oh, no.

“Hey, Y/N! Yeah, I thought it was you!” he called from, in your opinion, too far away. The people around you turned to look and you mentally cringed—you didn’t like drawing attention from large crowds.

“Hi, Chan,” you said, trying to plaster a smile onto your face.

“How’s the most beautiful woman on campus?” Chan said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Doing well? Staying warm?”

“I’m fine, Chan. And you?” You knew how you were talking was stilted and the words almost meaningless.

“A little busy, but great!” Chan responded blithely, falling into step with you. “How’s Jisung holding up? Is he still cooped up in his apartment? I think he said he was composing?”

“Oh, u-huh,” you said a little guiltily. You didn’t want to tell him that Jisung had, in fact, been in your apartment and in varying stages of undress, not composing at all hours. “I haven’t seen him much, actually, so I guess he has been composing. I think I heard him messing around on the guitar the other day.”

“Sometimes he gets like this,” Chan lamented, clearly playing for sympathy from you—sympathy he wouldn’t be getting because you, honestly, didn’t care much. Your time with Jisung was too good not to covet.

“I guess once he’s done whatever he’s working on you’ll see him more?” You wanted this conversation to be over—you were cold, there was a breeze, and it was Chan, of all people.

“I might just go over there and bug him, honestly.” Chan was thoughtful, and you had to stop yourself from vehemently dissuading him from stepping foot anywhere near your apartment. You’d have to mention to Jisung that Chan was probably stopping over and would expect to see some sort of headway on a composition, if that, indeed, was the excuse he’d been telling his friends to explain his occasional absences from their lives recently.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, since you’re so close,” you reassured him, smiling uncomfortably. Chan still took no notice, happily looking around at all the other students passing by as you walked.

“He’s such an introvert, I’ve no idea if he’ll want to see me,” Chan laughed and stopped to let a group of freshman girls by, but didn’t resume walking once they’d passed. “But maybe I can come see you instead?” he said with a wink, and hope in his voice.

You began to stammer out a response, not even caring what you said as long as it amounted to “Hell no.” You pulled out your phone to, supposedly, check a message.

“Oh, sorry Chan. I have to go,” you lied. “A friend just texted saying she needs my help with something. I guess I’ll see you around.”

And with that, you made a speedy exit, Chan staring after you a little sadly. Why did his nerves have to get the best of him like that? He ended up coming off as mildly creepy instead of his normal, kind self. He’d have to work on that, since you clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Chan sighed, rubbing his brow, then headed toward the Performing Arts building and the privacy of the studio he shared with Jisung and Changbin. Maybe he’d be able to put what he felt into a song or something.

That night before bed, you messaged Jisung to tell him that Chan would probably be over that week.

y/n: ji, did you tell chan you were composing this week and that’s why you haven’t been with him and changbin? sunshine: ….maybe….why? y/n: well, chan found me today and asked me how your composition(s?) were going since i’m your neighbor. and i had to do some pretty fast talking there, han jisung >:| sunshine: shit…sorry y/n!! :(( sunshine: welp;;; i guess i’ll have to get going on that, then y/n: yaaaay good idea! also, why does chan insist on flirting so outrageously with me every single god damn time i see him? sunshine: oh. he’s been like that for awhile;; it’s a coping mechanism for when he’s nervous and he’s not always trying to actually flirt. although, with you he might be?? sunshine: please don’t hold it against him. he’s a good guy and i’d hate for you to dislike him y/n: oooooh okay okay that makes so much more sense now. i was getting kind of uncomfortable there for a minute. thank you for explaining that, babe. i understand him a lot better now and i promise i’ll try to get to actually know him!! sunshine: you’re not required to be friends with my friends, but thanks y/n: i know, but i still want to make the effort!! sunshine: you’re the best :D y/n: oh! um do you maybe need me to come over to be your ~muse~? sunshine: you already have been <3 y/n: if you don’t stop being adorable, i’m gonna come over there and kiss you sunshine: yeah? you’re gonna do that? hmmm? y/n: don’t test me…. i WILL come over and kiss you sweetly and tuck you into bed sunshine: i read that as “fuck you into bed.” OOOPS y/n: alkfhgakldjfgh y/n: just go compose, ji!!! i’ll come over tomorrow, if chan’s not there sunshine: your wish is my command, angel~ sunshine: make sure to get some sleep y/n: don’t stay up too late tho babe;;;; sunshine: i won’t, don’t worry y/n: okay hhhh goodnight, ji *kiss* sunshine: sweet dreams, angel *kiss*

As you fell asleep, you thought you could hear the faint strains of the guitar and Jisung’s voice floating over from the other apartment. Idly, you wondered if he was recording any of his ideas.

↠↞

On Wednesday afternoon, you got a text from Jisung inviting you to an ugly sweater party that would be hosted by one of his casual friends that weekend. And while you weren’t sure if any of your sweaters counted as ugly, you figured you should still have a fun night out. And because where Jisung was, Chan and Changbin wouldn’t be far behind, you knew they’d be there, too. You suggested that the two of you go together, especially since the house was only a couple blocks away from where you lived. So, at 8:17 pm on Friday, you bundled yourself into your coat and headed out the door.

“Y/N!”

You turned around to see Jisung striding toward you across the snowy lawn.

“Hi,” he said, drawing out the syllable as he gave you an enthusiastic hug and kissed your cheek.

“Jisung,” you said, stepping back, “where exactly is your coat? You do know it’s the middle of December, right?”

“I left it inside.” He grinned when you glared. “Eh, one of us has to be a little bit dumb sometimes.”

This earned him a gentle nudge in the shin from your foot, but you were both smiling as you set off toward the party.

As you approached the house, Jisung kissed your hand. “I, um, haven't told Chan and Changbin that we’ve been seeing each other.” At your surprised look, he shrugged. “I’ll see you later tonight, angel,” he said, then darted up the stairs with a wink thrown over his shoulder. You shook your head—sometimes, Jisung was a little odd.

When you stepped through the front door, it was obvious that the party had already been going for at least an hour. People crowded the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, and some were even on the stairs. Fairly mellow music played in the background, and when you looked toward one end of the living in which a table was set up between two speakers, you saw none other than Chan. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

Squirming between the people lounging against the kitchen’s doorframe, you finally made it in and went to where drinks had been laid out on the counter. You grabbed a fresh cup for yourself, pouring some hard cider out of a fresh can, and then, rejoined the main part of the party. Not exactly wanting to talk to a lot of people you didn’t know, you found a window with a deep enough sill that you could sit in it. For almost a half hour, you watched the partygoers and slowly sipped on your cider.

Occasionally, you’d look over at Chan behind his computer, portable mixing board, and more wires and cables than you knew could exist. Now that you knew he wasn’t actively trying to be unnecessarily flirtatious, you could see yourself getting to know him. After all, he was Jisung’s friend and well known around campus—people were too focused on holding others to high moral standards, despite lowering their own, not to watch someone like Chan like hawks. You would’ve heard if he wasn’t a great person, and you knew Jisung wouldn’t be friends with a jerk.

In the low lighting of the living room, the lines of Chan’s cheekbones stood out as he bowed his head in concentration to find just the right level of bass to thrum through your bones beneath the soft strains of melody. You found yourself completely enthralled; that is, until Jisung eclipsed your view as he flitted from group to group like a hummingbird. And just when you thought you should probably socialize, two women who wore matching, utterly horrible sweaters chose to stand nearby. Since their sweaters were so atrocious, you thought their conversation might be interesting.

“3racha?” one of them asked in response to a question you hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, I really thought they’d be here, but I haven’t seen them,” the second woman whined.

“Maybe they’re busy?” the first one suggested.

“Or, ladies,” a pleasantly husky voice said, coming up behind them, “you could open your eyes and realize that Chan’s behind the table tonight. You’re listening to one of our new songs.” The two 3racha fans gaped at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to the person in the window here.” He slid past them. “Thanks.”

You looked up from your drink into the handsome face of Changbin, who was wearing a black sweater with…

“Pink, sparkly cats? You?” you said, not believing your eyes.

“Hey, I like cats,” Changbin protested. “And who cares if they’re pink and sparkly? They have cute little noses—see?” He moved closer to you, pointing to the cats.

“Yes, very cute little noses,” you laughed and took a sip of your cider. “So, what’s up, Changbin?”

“Eh, not much. I finished my exams early—thank god. You?”

“I’ve been really good, actually,” you said brightly. “You’re lucky—I still have all of mine next week.”

“Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great,” Changbin beamed at you. “Hey, it’s pretty stuffy in here—want to go out on the porch for some fresh air?”

You nodded and stood to follow him.

A couple heads turned, probably those people who recognized Changbin and thought of him as a local celebrity or something, as you slipped by along the wall leading to the back door. Changbin held the door open for you and you inhaled the cold night air, welcome after the heat inside from so many bodies pressed together.

Changbin sighed gratefully next to you, sitting down on the top step and patting the spot next to him. “Join me?”

You sat, surprised that you could feel the warmth radiating from Changbin even sitting a foot away. Together, you stared out over the lawn where the footprints of those who lived in the house crossed each other to form unintentionally intricate patterns.

“Y/N?” Changbin said hesitantly after a few minutes. “Would you be interested in listening to the demo of a song I’ve been working on?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I know you’re not a music major,” he continued, “but that’s exactly why I’m asking this. I could use some fresh ears on it.”

You were flattered that Changbin had asked you, but . . . “Why me?” you asked. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people you know far better than me. Not to sound rude, but we’ve only met maybe three times.”

“Like I said, that’s exactly it,” Changbin insisted, taking out his phone. “You don’t know my—3racha’s—music. So, you’re the perfect person to give an unbiased and new opinion!”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” you mused, and scooted just a little closer to Changbin. You could have sworn he blushed.

After a moment of fiddling with his phone, he said, “Here. Sorry I don’t have headphones or a speaker or something with me.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to hear just fine.” You leaned forward as Changbin, grimacing at the first bars of the demo, held up his phone between you; then, you just concentrated on the music.

Meanwhile, Changbin felt like he was about to run and hide. You were mere inches from him, hair swinging down into your face as you listened intently. It was as if time had stopped completely, and you and he were the only people on Earth. He desperately tried not to stare as your mouth, lips parted slightly, quirked up in a smile at the lyrics. And if he noticed how your sweater hugged your body in just the right places, and how he’d like to be hugging those places, too, he promptly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. As you seemed more and more entranced by the music, his music, Changbin had the wild urge to lean forward and ki—

“Changbin, this is incredible!” you said as the song ended, your eyes gleaming in the light of the porch light as you turned to him. Suddenly, you realized just how close you were to Changbin—it would be so easy to just lean your head on his shoulder. You mentally shook yourself. “I had no idea you guys were producing music like this. And this is just a demo?”

Still reeling from being utterly stunned by your beauty, Changbin started. “I— Yeah, it’s just the demo. That last song that was playing inside was actually one of ours. Chan just slips them into whatever mix he’s DJ-ing at events.”

You beamed, impressed and excited. “So, I honestly can’t think of anything I’d want to change about that song, other than . . . maybe even out the lead up to the chorus? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Changbin reassured you, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Hey, how about you come by the studio one day? I’d be able to make the edits with you there, and I think I might have another song you could help with.” At your surprised look, Changbin added, “But only if you want to. I don’t mean to pressure you, sorry.”

“I’d love to,” you said simply, and meant it. You looked down at your lap. “I don’t know much about composition, but I think it would fun to learn. Plus, if Jisung likes you and Chan, then you must be cool. And talented!”

Changbin gave you a searching look and you said quickly, “I mean, we’re neighbors and all, so we talk or see each other randomly and he always mentions you!”

“Ah, okay. Well, I’d like to live up to your expectations,” Changbin said self-consciously. He stood abruptly and you did as well, fiddling with your cider cup.

“Changbin?” you said before he could take another step toward the door, and he froze like you'd captured him in one of the ice sickles that hung from the roof. “How- how should I get in touch with you?” And just as you said it, you remembered the little slip of paper that was left on your coffee table that first time you’d met 3racha. Oh.

“I thought I gave you my number already,” Changbin chuckled, looking like one of the cats on his sweater that had just gotten into the cream.

You took a breath. “Right. Yeah, I remember now.”

“Just text me when you’re free and we can figure out when you want to come by to listen to more music.” Changbin stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving you a small smile.

“Oh, okay,” you agreed. “I guess I’ll text you tomorrow!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Changbin said lightly, and winked before turning to open the door. “Come on, you look half frozen,” he said, his voice soft with not a trace of mockery in it.

You were cold and as you walked through the door back into the warmth, you tried to ignore the feeling of being pulled toward Changbin like you were two halves of a magnet. It was a new feeling, being drawn to someone so forcefully, and you were more than intrigued.

↠↞

When you got home from the party, you gratefully sagged onto your couch, glad to be away from all those people. After just sitting for long minutes, you got up and changed into your wonderfully soft and plush robe—it was one of the things you’d bought for yourself just because you could, just so you could have something nice. Then, you made tea and curled on the couch again; you’d only had the one drink that didn’t even have much alcohol in it, but you were still tired from being around that many people. So, you just sat and enjoyed your tea, letting your thoughts wonder.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s voice came down the hall into your living room, since he’d slipped through via the bathroom. He saw you curled on the couch in your robe with your mug of tea, and paused before entering the room. The simple domesticity of the tableau was so sweet that it stirred his desire to, someday, have a lovely home with the one he loved where things would be happy and calm. And right then and there, Jisung knew that he was definitely developing feelings for you. “Hey, you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you.

“Hey,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t stay too long—did you at least have an okay time tonight?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah, it’s always fun to see people in horrible sweaters,” you chucked. You proffered your tea to him. “Want some?”

Jisung took the mug and sipped delicately from it, sighing as the tea warmed his insides. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie like we said?”

“Mmmm,” you thought for a moment, cupping the back of Jisung’s neck and running your fingers through his hair. “How about we watch a couple episodes of that show I was telling you about, then take a bath together. I could really use the relaxing heat from the water.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect, angel,” Jisung sighed. “Can I grab your computer so we can watch, then?” He stood and looked around for the device. “Where’d you hide it this time?”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling ruefully. “It’s on the floor in my bedroom.”

Jisung retrieved your computer and set it on the coffee table in front of you, gently massaging your back as he waited for you to sign in and pull up the video streaming site. The only light in the room came from a small lamp you had in the corner, which cast a warm glow over everything. Jisung leaned into the nook where the couch’s back and arm met and you snuggled in beside and on him as he pulled you against his chest. He was warm and soft, and you felt entirely at ease—more at home with him than you’d felt with anyone else. As the second episode began, Jisung began lazily tracing circles up and down your arm, occasionally passing over your cheeks. Once or twice, he ran a finger along your lips, making them tingle. It was more than a little distracting and it wasn’t long before you felt a faint tingle of desire. Jisung’s body, which had been so relaxed before, was now filled with a low-level energy that made him feel like his blood was vibrating.

You twisted round to look up at him, a questioning look in your eyes, and he leaned forward to pause the show before capturing your lips with his. You smiled against his mouth and Jisung hoisted you further up onto his lap so you were almost sitting sideways. His tongue darted out to swipe along the crease of your mouth, and you gladly let him in, your tongues sliding by each other as you pressed yourself closer to Jisung. His hand on your waist began to travel upward as he kissed down your neck and along your shoulder, and you sighed at the warmth of his skin.

“You’re not wearing anything under that robe, are you?” Jisung said, pulling back and giving you a mischievous look.

“Nope!” you chirped innocently, and kissed his nose. Jisung’s eyes darkened as his pupils blew wide with desire.

“Oh, angel,” Jisung growled faintly as he ran his hand down your stomach to between your legs. As you continued to kiss, he chuckled faintly and pulled aside the folds of your robe to slide his hand up your inner thigh. His slow teasing soon had you moaning and wriggling, and it was obvious that he simply wanted to enjoy touching you, making you squirm just that little bit. But, he never brought you close to release—that wasn’t the point.

When you’d had enough of his teasing, you murmured, “Ji, let’s take the bath.” You had to concentrate to keep speaking as he moved his fingers in a particularly satisfying way. “The water will feel amazing and we’ll be relaxed,” you said, adjusting your position on his lap. Jisung groaned, and let you rise before following you out of the room.

While the tub filled higher and higher, you let your robe drop to the floor, and your body reacted to the cold air coming through the ever-open window. Jisung, his clothes already thrown in a heap in the corner, stared at you like you were Aphrodite herself. Ignoring the various thoughts swirling around in his head, Jisung stepped into the tub and was surprised at how hot it was, but sank down into the water nonetheless. “Come on, angel,” he said, patting his lap and making small waves in the water. “I’ve got a comfy seat here just for you.” He winked.

Grinning, you stepped in after him and the water splashed a little as you sat down, making both of you giggle. You talked about your week and how classes were going, always skirting around the topic of exams. It wasn’t long before you’d completely exhausted all college-related conversation; it simply wasn’t romantic. You lay back against Jisung, who slid lower into the water and put his hands on your hips. Your hands went automatically over his, and the two of you simply reveled in the warmth of the water and the feeling of being skin-to-skin.

Before long, the slight pressure against your low back became more insistent, until you turned to Jisung and said, “How about I keep you nice and warm, babe.”

“Sounds lovely.” Jisung murmured against your hair and carefully guided your hips down onto his waiting member. You groaned as he filled you up, the ache you hadn’t even known you’d felt all day suddenly satisfied.

“Oh god, yes,” you breathed and leaned your head back, exposing your neck for Jisung to kiss and nibble.

You gently wiggled your hips and settled, simply enjoying the sensation of being full. The hot water swirling around you felt like velvet caressing your skin. Turning slightly with your head still on his shoulder, you found Jisung’s mouth with yours and your kisses were as lazy and languid as the warm sunlight of a summer morning. You occasionally rocked your hips against Jisung’s gently, feeling him deep inside. And when you teased him like that, he would simply press himself further against you and you’d moan, kissing him harder.

Nothing was rushed or intense—just the feelings of warmth and being together, connected. You reveled in the pure sensations, relaxing into Jisung’s hold more every second. He had one hand on your hip, gently massaging the muscle there, and the other roving over your body, depending on his whims. Your fingers tangled in his hair, carding through it as you kissed. All of your attention was focused on Jisung—your point of connection with him, his hands on you, his soft mouth—and you filled his world, too, blotting out all else like a solar eclipse.

↠↞

“Bin, you said we’d meet Jisung here. Where is he? Isn’t he supposed to be at home?” Chan said, clearly having to concentrate on enunciating his words more carefully than usual. He and Changbin were standing on the front step of Jisung’s apartment, waiting impatiently for their best friend to open the door. It was cold.

“Dunno.” Changbin gestured expansively. “He said we should come over, right? There aren’t many places he’d go.” Then, Changbin blanched. “You don’t think he was kidnapped or something, do you?”

“Oh come on, you’re drunk,” Chan scoffed.

“You are, too!” Changbin retorted.

“Yeah, but at least I’m not hyplerbizing. . . No, hyperblazing. Shit.” Chan looked blankly down at the snow for a second, his friend being absolutely no help at all as he frantically texted Jisung. “Got it! Hyperbolizing. Yeah, at least I’m not hyperbolizing.”

“I’m not,” Changbin insisted. “I’m just being sensible. Jisung barely ever ducks out on stuff, so why now? He was at the party, for god’s sake. We saw him— What, two hours ago?”

Chan leaned on the doorframe and sighed. “Well, I guess there’s only one option, then.”

“Yeah?”

“We go through the window.” Changbin gave him a blank look. “You know,” Chan continued, “Y/N’s bathroom window! Jisung said he’s gone through there to get to his apartment, and maybe she’ll know where he is. They’ve gotta at least keep in touch if they’re neighbors.”

Changbin spluttered. He couldn’t believe Chan had just suggested that they, for lack of a better phrase, break into your apartment. But then again, maybe you did know where Jisung was—it was worth a try.

So, Chan and Changbin made their way around to the other side of the house, trying not to look suspicious, and found the window that was cracked slightly open. Soft light poured from it, lancing across the bare ground below. And, there was the conveniently placed log, now fallen on its side. It didn’t look like Jisung had come through this way for awhile.

“Chan, are you sure about this?” Changbin whispered.

“Well, you wanna go hang out with Jisung, yeah?”

“Fine, yes,” Changbin grumbled.

Chan hopped up onto the log and pulled himself up to peek in the window. He was completely still for a moment, then put his feet back down and, with an indiscernible look on his face, motioned to Changbin.

“What? Is it locked or something?” Changbin asked, confused. Chan just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and motioned for Changbin to take his spot on the log.

“Boost me up?” he said to Chan, who gave him a wild look, but held out his hands for Changbin to step on anyway.

When Changbin’s head rose above the window, he stared. You were laying there in the tub, naked and lithe as a cat. But you weren’t alone. Jisung, his best friend Han Jisung, was in the tub with you. And you were kissing, Jisung’s hands all over you. As he beheld your form, Changbin felt like he was about to burst apart into a thousand pieces. Unable to tear his eyes away, Changbin saw you undulate your hips against Jisung’s and heard you sigh wantonly. You were completely engrossed in each other, unaware of your silent audience.

You let out a loud moan and Changbin’s hands, cramped from the cold and clutching the windowsill, betrayed him so he nearly lost his grip. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the house’s siding. He tried to keep his breathing under control, but his mind was full of smooth skin, water, and the sound of your sighs. Fuck. We shouldn’t be here.

But just at that moment, Chan chose to actually boost him up toward the window and, because Changbin was shocked at seeing you naked in a bathtub with Jisung, he toppled forward.

↠↞

The feeling of almost unraveling but never quite tipping over the edge was absolutely delicious, and yet having nothing between you and Jisung was even better. Your eyes were closed, focusing on the sensations, rather than trying to see anything, and you gasped against every so often. Jisung gently bit down on your shoulder whenever you did.

You were resting your full weight back against Jisung’s chest, simply enjoying the feel of him touching you everywhere possible. Then, you felt Jisung twitch inside you as you ground against him, and he began to thrust up into you with more regularity. A particularly loud moan escaped your lips, the ache deep inside pulsing, just as you heard a scuffling sound from outside.

“Ji? What was that?” you asked, your eyes flying open.

“It’s probably just some raccoons,” Jisung said offhandedly.

“Hmmm,” was all you replied and closed your eyes again. You held onto his knees for support as Jisung’s pace increased, making little waves dance in the tub.

And then . . .

It seemed like all hell broke loose as a body crashed through the slightly open window. You shrieked in surprise and Jisung yelled, “What the fuck?” All sense of arousal gone, you froze before peeking above the rim of the bathtub.

You had a distinct sense of deja vu as, yet again, you saw a young man sprawled on your bathroom floor.

Shit.

Shit!!

Belatedly, you realized that you were, indeed, naked, and you were in the bath. With Jisung. And you were still sitting on his dick, which now seemed to have a mind and agenda of its own. Oh, and it was freezing now that the window was fully open, making you feel like someone had pulled the skin on your chest taut as a bowstring.

“Seo Changbin, what the actual fuck?!!” Jisung almost, almost, bellowed as he firmly held you in place on his lap, not wanting his friend to notice anymore than he already had.

“I—” Changbin stammered, but was cut off as Jisung yelled again, seeing another face at the window.

“Chan, too? What the hell?! I just— What the hell?” As much as he might have seemed angry, you could feel Jisung laughing silently as he took in the situation.

“Fuck,” was all Chan said as his gaze took you in, and you pulled your legs up in front of yourself in some, futile, attempt to hide your nakedness.

“Well?” Jisung demanded.

“We were looking for you, bro,” Changbin said from the floor. “We had plans!”

“And you said you climb through Y/N’s window all the time!” Chan added . . . helpfully.

“I told you I had something going on tonight.” Jisung sighed and grumbled, “But I guess you didn’t remember that.” Then, rolling his eyes Jisung said, “How much did you two drink, anyway?”

“Hey, don’t be like that, man,” Chan said, still peering through the window. “It wasn’t that much!”

“Bullshit,” you said, speaking for the first time.

“Okay, whatever. You’re right,” Changbin grumbled from the floor, looking a little ill.

“Both of you: Get. Out.” Jisung’s voice was firm, but he still couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

“Can’t we go through the little door?” Chan said hopefully.

“Y/N?” Changbin implored you, eyes wide.

“Fine. Just go through the damn door so you can get out of my fucking bathroom!” Your voice rose and you crossed your arms over your chest.

Once Chan had climbed through the window, catching a sleeve on the windowsill in the process, and Changbin had retrieved Jisung’s keys from his pants, the two of them squeezed through the passageway to Jisung’s apartment. You tried your best not to giggle at how much they looked like those same raccoons Jisung had mentioned earlier, practically falling over each other as they rushed to get out of the bathroom.

“I’ll be over at some point,” Jisung called after them. “Good riddance,” he said more quietly to you.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you huffed out in a laugh.

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Jisung groaned. “But I’m not surprised. That’s those two in a nutshell, honestly.”

You leaned your head back against Jisung’s shoulder again and sighed. He was still inside you, and you were suddenly glad that you’d been facing forward when Chan and Changbin had appeared. Completely unable to resist Jisung’s soft skin, you nuzzled his jaw.

“Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” you shrugged.

“They’ll never let me live it down,” Jisung replied, burying his face in your neck.

“Nope, they won’t!” you giggled and pecked Jisung’s cheek.

#inkidz #ultkpop #stayhavennet #0325net #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #3racha #.moonlight

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readyplayerhobi · 6 years

Text

Little Drummer Boy

; Metal Band!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Smut, fluff

; Word Count: 6.8k

; Warnings: Sub!Hoseok, Dom!Reader, blowjob, face sitting oral (receiving), light biting, restraints, unprotected sex, creampie,

; Synopsis: Entrusting the task of building a bed to your new husband should have been easier, but there’s a reason he’s a professional drummer and not a carpenter. Maybe a little fun will encourage him to remember to follow instructions in the future.

; Behind the Mask Masterpost

; A/N: This was my way of getting over writer’s block. It’s fluffy smut that I just needed to cheer me up, and hopefully cheer everyone else up too!

Placing your hands on your hips, you looked over the wooden bookcase that you’d finally finished building. DIY was not your forte but you’d been determined to not be defeated by a damned bookcase, which was why you’d spent the last hour carefully studying the instructions and putting it together slowly.

It may have taken you a while, but it looked good and it was sturdy. Smiling to yourself in pleasure at having completed it, you dragged over the box marked ‘BOOKS’ and began to place them on the shelves carefully. You had no particular system of ordering, just making sure that books by the same author were placed together. The only thing you required was that the sizing looked okay.

Nothing was more annoying than having a really tall book in the middle of everything, ruining the image. Once the books were in place, you contemplate for a few moments what kind of decorations you can add to make it look a little bit more homely. One of Hoseok’s bandmates had bought you both a light box that had been made to look like a traditional cinema sign.

Though packed away, you knew that it said both of your names and you figured it would look pretty cute on here. You’d add it, but you weren’t entirely sure what box it was in yet. Eyes glancing around the room, you let out a deep sigh as you noted all the full boxes that still remained around your new house.

Your rigid and unforgiving family had meant that you’d lived alone for the four years that you’d dated Hoseok. Secretly dated. Though he’d basically lived at your apartment by the time he’d proposed, but the two of you had decided that you’d buy a new house together. A house that was big enough to raise a family in.

Opening up the box that was simply titled ‘MEMORIES’, you pulled out the large, black picture frame that was made up of lots of smaller frames. Each one was filled with a photograph of Hoseok and you, from selfies that included big smiles to candid photos taken by your friends of intimate moments.

Scanning the main room with a firm eye, you note the perfect place for it and rest it against the wall on the floor. You’d need to buy hooks to start putting up the picture frames but for now, you’d just put them in places that you think might work. Hoseok might have a different opinion but he was free to give his thoughts.

Pulling out a single photo frame, you stare down at it before chewing your lip slowly. It’s of you and your brother, Jimin, on the night of your engagement party. His black hair is parted just off centre and styled away from his forehead while a black and white letterman style jacket adorns his torso, a plain black shirt underneath matching the skinny black jeans he’d worn.

The entire image he gave off was casual but unattainable. His jacket looked like something anyone could wear, but it’s only when you looked closer that you would notice the Louis Vuitton logo that immediately put it far above what most people could afford. Your brother made style effortless and it made him popular with the ladies.

He looked every inch the playboy businessman he was, but it still made your throat thicken when you looked at the image. Your brother had supported your relationship with Hoseok 100%, keeping your parents attention firmly away from you and coming up with a million excuses as to why you weren’t at a dinner, or why you didn’t want to go on holiday. He’d been the number one supporter of Hoseok proposing and had apparently been the one to convince him to finally pop the question.

Poor Hoseok had wanted to for a year, but he’d never even bought a ring as he’d thought it was a pointless and futile endeavour. There was no way your parents would ever approve of marriage to him; they wouldn’t have even approved of you dating. The terror of your parents had manifested itself in Hoseok to the point that every time you went to tell them about your relationship, he’d panicked and stopped you. A secret relationship was better than no relationship, he’d argued.

It had broken your heart to know that your sweet and kind husband had been content with the idea of remaining a secret from his other half’s family, possibly forever. He must have let it slip to Jimin though, which had resulted in Jimin convincing Hoseok to give it a chance. You had no idea what he’d said, but you suspected it was something along the lines of ‘you love my sister, not my family. We don’t even love our family’, or at least that’s what you imagined.

Unsurprisingly, your parents had gone nuclear when they’d been introduced to Hoseok. You still cried today about the things they’d said to him, finding everything possible to pick apart about him. His piercings and tattoos had produced a physical reaction of disgust, despite the fact he’d dressed nice for the occasion.

The fact that he was rich, very rich, and successful with his band didn’t even register to them. They’d focused on his poor upbringing, the poverty he’d grown up in and the dangerous school he’d been educated in. They’d sneered at the fact he’d dropped out of high school to join the band, drums being his one escape from his life that a kindly music teacher had encouraged him in.

Everything that they could have skewered Hoseok with, they did until eventually you had a full on screaming match with them. Your father and mother were used to being obeyed though and they’d thought that you would eventually back down, as you always had. But they’d underestimated just how much you loved the man who had sat there and taken their verbal abuse without so much as a flinch, all because he loved you.

And so you’d refused to break the proposal and refused point blank to leave him either. That had enraged them and led to you becoming disowned from the family, cut off from any funding and banned from any family events. They’d tried their hardest to enforce it on Jimin, but he’d quite plainly told them they either let him continue his relationship with you, or they could disown him as well. And he was more important than you to the family.

The harsh severing of your family ties had upset Hoseok intensely, leading to him suggesting that perhaps you might want to leave him. Family was important to him, with his band members being his adopted family that he relied and depended on intensely. But you’d simply noted that he was your family now, and one day you’d have a family that you would both love without reservations. It just so happened the people who had given you life didn’t want to be part of that.

Running a finger along Jimin’s face, you give a soft smile that wobbles ever so slightly. Jimin was the only blood family you would claim now, and you wished him to have the happiest life possible. He was the one who had walked you down the aisle and the one who had cried like a baby giving his speech at your reception.

And he was the one who had given Hoseok courage to do things he’d been terrified of, becoming your husband’s brother just as much as your own. Placing the frame on the bookcase you’d built earlier, you vowed to call him over to show him your new home as soon as possible.

Realising that you’d been putting the frames out in complete silence, you frown slightly before heading over to the bedroom. The door was shut, but you open it quietly before leaning against the frame, tongue in your cheek as you watch the spectacle in front of you.

Your new husband is sat on the floor, his ripped black jeans stretching over his muscular thighs while his plain white shirt makes the colourful tattoos rippling along his arms and neck stand out even further. His black hair is a complete mess on his head, and his hand running through it once more lets you know why.

Watching in silence, you smirk slightly as he sucks on of his lip rings into his mouth idly, the soft clinking of the metal ring against his teeth the only noise in the otherwise silent room. His brow is creased as he reads the instructions on the sheet in front of him, mouth twisting into a confused expression before he looks back at the bed he’d said he’d build.

You’d both opted to fill the large master bedroom with a queen sized bed, allowing the two of you plenty of space to sprawl without interrupting the other. As great as relationships were, sometimes sleep just required you to have your own space without getting tangled in someone else.

He’d taken charge of building the bed while you had opted for the bookcase, though maybe you should have let him build the bookcase instead. Or maybe nothing at all as you look over what is apparently supposed to be a bed. It was a four poster bed which required piecing together carefully, and it was with lots of bemusement and a little frustration that you note that your husband has managed to put half the bed together one way and the other half the other way.

How he’d managed that, you’ll never know.

The shifting of your feet catches his attention and he looks over suddenly, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Said eyes flicker back to the deformed bed before he looks back over, a sweet and innocent smile causing his cute dimples to appear.

“Hi.” He says simply, fingers tightening slightly around the instructions while a dusky rose brushes his cheeks. Stepping into the room, you let the door close behind you before crouching down next to him and simply observing the bed.

“I thought you said that you could put it together?” You ask, tone carefully neutral. He reluctantly looks at the bed too and gives a tiny shrug, his shoulders rising slightly in embarrassment. Lifting the instructions he waves them and the crackling of paper takes over.

“I totally could. It’s just...these instructions make no sense.” He mumbles towards the end, sucking a lip ring in again as he nervously chews it. Pressing your lips together to try and stop the smile that wants to spread, you reach forward and gently tug the lip ring back out.

“You always eat that ring when you lie baby. You didn’t read the instructions did you?” Hoseok’s mouth opens to refute your statement before he realises that you obviously know. Letting out a deep sigh, his shoulders lower as he nods, pretty pink lips puckering into a pout.

Laughing quietly, you lean forward and press the quickest kiss to those lips before leaning back. “I told you to read them. I read my instructions and the bookcase is done.” He fumbles for a moment, trying to figure out what to say before giving you a dejected look.

“I thought it would be easy.” The corners of his lips turn down before he suddenly brightens up, his expression getting light and happy as he points at the queen sized mattress taking up the corner, covered in the duvet and pillows you’d bought to combat the cool nights of autumn.

“I put the covers on the duvet though! They’re pretty…” He trails off, gaze looking down before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Like you.” You laugh out loud at that, noting the neutral flower pattern that you’d both chosen at the home decoration store.

“You’re such a charmer. That mouth will get you anything won’t it?” You grin, dropping to your knees and pressing another kiss to his forehead. When you pull back, you note that his eyes have closed in contentment while a tiny smile graces his face.

“You’ve never complained about this mouth before.” He whispers, voice low and raspy as he opens his eyes to reveal them slightly glazed. A tiny smirk raises the corner of his mouth before he’s tugging you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and rocking slightly as you squeal and laugh.

Stopping, you simply admire his face for a few moments while he does the same in turn to you. The septum piercing that had sent your mother into fits combines with the two lip rings to always give the impression that this is a man who likes the wilder side of life. A few of your friends wonder why on earth he would choose to interrupt such an arresting face, but you liked his piercings.

They turned a sculpture perfect face into something more realistic, intentionally interrupting the model worthy lines that swoop and swerve to produce the face you’d fallen for years ago. Running your fingers through his soft hair, you let your nails gently drag along his scalp and take enjoyment out of the soft shudder of pleasure that runs through his body.

Your other hand comes up to play with his earrings, the black plugs that take up space in his ear lobes, the industrial piercing in his left ear and the countless rings that scatter across his right ear. You’d teased him plenty of times for being addicted to piercings as well as tattoos, particularly when he decided to get his lip rings but he’d simply shrugged.

“I thought you wanted me to build the bed.” A gravel like tone makes your insides quiver and the heady look in his eyes has you squirming slightly. Despite his words, his hands are slowly running the length of your waist in slow and calculated movements.

Looking back at the bed you’d have to dismantle, you shrug before looking over to the mattress on the floor. “We don’t need a bed, just a mattress.” Tugging your lip into your mouth, his eyes watch the movement intently and you feel his hands tighten ever so slightly. Reaching down, you take his left hand and slowly bring it to your lips, pressing feather soft kisses on the pad of his fingers.

When you kiss his ring finger, you go one step further by slowly sucking it into your mouth, pressing your tongue firmly against him until your lips meet his new wedding ring. He watches with an open mouth, the softest groan leaving him at the sight while his eyes go hooded as you swirl your tongue around his ring.

Pulling his finger out slowly, you press the final kiss to his pinkie finger before leaning forward to meet his lips. He’s eager and you feel more than a few wisps of neediness as his tongue meets yours, fighting for dominance until you’re both gasping for breath. Normally you’d give him it, preferring to let him control the sex and rule over you.

But today you feel like turning the tables and it takes so little effort to tug at the silky strands of his hair. He lets out a quiet noise of annoyance at not getting way until your tugging becomes firmer, gripping tight and pulling until his head slowly rolls backwards.

You don’t move though and the seal of your lips breaks, leaving you both panting at each other as he looks up at you with defiance and lust. The thick column of his throat moves as he swallows, the angle causing it to be more defined than normal and you let out a muted moan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing.

The vibrant splashes of colour that line his throat are even more visible at this angle, easily seen from above the low cut of his collar. Vivid red roses clash with yellow sunflowers, tiny little skulls visible in the gaps inbetween and without a thought you’re mouthing along them. His body stiffens and you feel him trying to pull his head back, but the firm grip you have on him stops him.

The tattoos provide the perfect canvas to trail and you slowly run your tongue along the bold black outlines. He shudders and a deep groan vibrates through his throat onto your tongue, the vibrations acting like a direct line to your pussy as you clench around nothing.

“Baby, we don’t have any of our toys.” He manages to get out and you pull away, looking down at his flushed face. Smirking, you close in on him and watch his wide pupils blow out at the look in your face. Your tongue lazily plays with his lip ring, causing him to open his mouth slightly and let you see a glimpse the tongue piercing he’d gotten a few months before your wedding.

“I don’t want to be your little bitch today. You messed up the bed, so I think it’s time for my little drummer boy to shut up and let Mistress have some fun, yeah?” He fights it for a moment, a whole myriad of emotions fleeting across his face quickly from annoyance to craving.

Your sexual relationship with Hoseok had nearly always been with him in the driving seat. Under his caring and experienced hands, you’d reached new heights of pleasure that you’d only read about in books or seen in films. It had taken you over a year before you finally realised that Hoseok was not, in fact, a sole dom but that he also enjoyed switching into submissive on occasion.

It was usually when he felt like it though and you rarely engaged in it, preferring to have your Master take care of you. But sometimes, like today, the Mistress just came right out with a need to bring him under control.

You watch with eager eyes as his expression finally flattens out, deep brown eyes watching you carefully as every muscle in his body relaxes under you. His next words have your body shuddering with excitement and pleasure, hearing something you never thought you’d be interested in but had learnt to love. “Yes Mistress. I’ll be a good boy.”

A caring smile paints itself on your face and you let go of his hair lightly, gently running your hand along his jaw while your thumb strokes his cheek. Pushing off him, you stand and point to the mattress. “Strip and lay down. And do it slowly, I want to enjoy it.”

He stays still for a moment before his pink tongue flicks out, licking his lips quickly. Moving over to the mattress with long, confident strides, he turns around and gives a slight smirk. Gripping the hem of his shirt, he slowly lifts it before tugging it over his head, leaving him standing in just ripped black jeans.

There’s absolutely no sound between the two of you as he watches, his eyes daring you to do something and you note that he has no intention of being a good boy. He never did when you took control. His fingers slowly move down his torso before reaching the button of his jeans and he moves achingly slow as he undoes them.

Keeping his eyes firmly on you, he lets the jeans slowly drop down his legs, revealing incredibly toned thighs and calves, the golden skin occasionally broken by the odd smattering of colour. With a casual movement, he throws both items of clothing to the side and stands before you naked, his semi-hard cock bobbing slightly in the air.

“I get the feeling you’re not being a good boy,” You murmur, tugging your clothes off quickly to make sure he doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing you strip for him. It doesn’t stop the flare of desire that lights up in his eyes though but he stays quiet.

Once you’re naked, you click your fingers and point to the mattress and he slowly lays down, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Moving over to him, you smirk at the look of defiance that he gives you before leaning over and biting gently on his side. He hisses immediately, body shifting slightly to get away from you but you simply lave the sore spot with your tongue slowly.

His chest is taken up with a huge tattoo of a phoenix, golds and reds exploding across his chest in a vision of fire which slowly transform into dragons, fighting over his stomach. You take your time to repaint the pictures with your tongue, making sure to keep the touch light so as to drive his senses crazy.

“Baby…” He moans out as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, his twitching erection catching your attention out of the corner of your eye. You curse the fact that your toys are all gone, desperately wanting to put his cock ring on him, but when his hand twines in your hair, you decide to improvise.

Reaching back over, you grab your shirt and take his hands, pressing them together before tying the fabric firmly around them. He scowls at you but stays quiet, being good for once though the lip rings ruin the image completely.

“I don’t have much to make you be good little drummer boy, but you will be good otherwise you won’t cum. Got that? I’ll leave you hard and aching, and if you get yourself off then you’re not having sex for a while.” He gapes at you slightly and goes to complain before snapping his jaw shut with an audible click.

“Yes Mistress.” Hoseok mutters and you laugh, dragging your fingernails along his stomach and enjoying the way his muscles convulse immediately. Leaning down, you let your tongue circle one nipple, peaked from the cool temperature, and he’s letting out a restrained grunt.

You move down his stomach, enjoying the way his toned muscles flex underneath your mouth before you reach the patch of hair that surrounds the base of his cock. Nosing along the soft skin, you smile slightly when you feel the tip of him brush against your cheek, leaving a wet trail behind.

Looking up at him, you smirk as his face scrunches up at the sight of his precum that streaks your cheek. You decide to leave it there, knowing how much he loves it when your face gets messy from him but abandon that area of his body completely. Even though he’s trying to follow your orders, he can’t stop the ghost of a whine that leaves his throat as you move away from the area he wants you in most.

Throwing a leg over his waist, you look down on him from your lofty position and smile brightly. His face shifts into a look of confusion before his eyes narrow in suspicion. You say nothing for a moment, simply lowering yourself and slowly grinding against his stomach, letting out a quiet moan as he unwittingly stimulates your clit.

Immediately he’s lifting his head and looking at the spot, letting out a breathy sigh at the sight of you leaving behind wetness on him. Pushing at his shoulder, you make him lay back down and continue to rotate your hips slowly, eyes fluttering closed as you use his body to give you pleasure.

You carry on like this for a few minutes, your pants slowly growing louder while his face looks more pained the longer you go on. Stopping your movement suddenly, you look down at the wet mess you’re making on his stomach and grin broadly, shifting further down his body in slow and sensual movements.

His cock brushes against your clit as you move, causing him to choke on a breath at the oversensitivity he’s suffering from not being touched. “Watch me little drummer boy.” You whisper low, voice gruff and immediately his bringing his head up to watch you.

Keeping firm eye contact with Hoseok, you lazily lap up the wet patch of your juices on his stomach and hum contently, causing a whistling whine to leave his throat at the sight. “Do you want to taste me too?” You ask innocently, making your eyes go big and wide as you pout your lips ever so slightly.

His head is moving in a nod before you’ve even finished your sentence and your lips tug into a smile. “Yes Mistress, please Mistress.” You sit back on his thigh, finger tapping your lips as you consider for a few moments just to prolong his need before giving a cute nod.

“Okay, you can taste Mistress.” He’s about to move, muscles rippling across his body as he expects you to lay down and for him to nestle between your legs. But instead, you press a hand firmly onto his stomach, leading him to frown in confusion.

Without a word, you crawl up his body slowly, a predatory gaze of seduction in your eyes that has him swallowing thickly. You keep going until your positioned directly above his face, giving him the perfect view up your body, but most importantly of the achingly empty and wet place between your thighs that’s just begging for his tongue.

“Eat.” You order, grinning as you lower yourself enough so that he can reach you without getting neck ache. There’s a moment of nothing as he simply watches you with blown out eyes before he opens his mouth and slowly extends his tongue. The sight has you shivering, but it’s the gentle touch of his tongue to your soaking entrance that has you moaning out loudly.

He doesn’t bother with your clit for the moment, instead sinking his tongue as far as he can into you before slowly pulling it back out. Hoseok repeats the action for the next minute, going as slowly as he can until your hips are pushing down on him desperately, body tightening around the thick, wet muscle.

“Speed it up, drummer boy,” You curse quietly, voice demanding and sharp as you reach down and grip at his hair. He grunts in response before acknowledging your order, his tongue beginning to simulate his cock as he fucks you faster. Each curl of his tongue inside your pussy has you gasping out, face creasing in concentration as your thighs tremble.

It’s made even more pleasurable by the ball of his tongue piercing pressing against your inner walls, each stroke pressing the metal against you firmly and sparking tiny wildfires of pleasure in your body. He pulls his tongue out of you and slowly licks up to your clit, playing with the engorged bundle of nerves lazily with the tip before pressing firmly against you.

His piercing hits your clit perfectly and he can tell by the way your body jerks forward slightly, an animalistic groan leaving your throat as your hand tightens in his hair, other hand falling forward onto the mattress. Tiny movements of his tongue stimulates your clit, which when combined with the overwhelming wetness of his tongue has you letting out noises that would have embarrassed you years ago.

“Make me cum little drummer boy, make me cum on all over your face yeah?” You whisper out, voice haggard from your moans. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he hums in acknowledgement before his tongue goes to work. The flexing of his hands underneath the shirt restraint lets you know that he’d be fingering you right now he could get his hands into position and the knowledge makes you clench.

It’s a heady combination that tips you over the edge, sparks of pleasure erupting from your stomach outwards as your husband’s talented tongue makes you orgasm for what feels like a whole minute. He doesn’t stop either, continue to kitten lick at your overly sensitive clit until your hissing, lifting yourself just enough that his tongue can’t reach you anymore.

Moving a jelly like thigh over his body, you slump against the wall and pant as you watch him. He eyes you with a smug look, licking his lips slowly and you’re clenching around nothing at all at the sight of his wet cheeks and chin. Leaning forward, you ignore the complaints of your thigh muscles as you ever so slowly tongue yourself off his face, enjoying the hissing sigh he lets out as you do.

“You were a good boy. I think I should reward you.” You murmur, pressing an open kiss to his mouth and moving away before he can react. Before he can say anything else, you grab a tight hold of his cock which has his hips jerking up automatically.

Eyeing the thick member with hunger, you squeeze tightly while stroking upwards, the skin hot and silk soft underneath your hand and encasing what feels like steel underneath. Whiny pants leave his throat at your touch, morphing into a low groan when you reach his tip and swipe a thumb over the slit there, wiping at the pre-cum currently leaking from him.

“So hard, I think someone likes being dominated by his wife right?” You ask, voice pleasant and smile sweet as you look back at him. He twitches in your hand at the word ‘wife’ and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something. Even in the midst of being dominated, he gets turned on you calling yourself his wife. Cute.

Twisting your hand around his shaft, you stroke in a consistent manner that has him writhing on the bed. His precum isn’t providing enough lubrication for you and so you engulf him in your mouth, his frustrated red tip being swallowed whole as you move him even further till he hits the back of your throat.

Staying there for a moment, you continue to stroke him from his base to your lips before you swallow around his tip, causing him to cry out. You keep him firmly in place by pressing your other hand to his hips hard before you slowly pull your head up, tongue leaving a slick trail up the underside of his cock as you do so.

Shifting your hand, you cup his balls gently, playing with them while you lick at him with tiny, almost non-existent licks. It amuses you slightly how you push his cock away with your tongue and how it comes back immediately, desperate for your touch.

Looking back at him momentarily, you note his closed eyes and the look of pleasure and frustration that has his face creasing. His colourful arms are tensed, the muscles gained from drumming prominent, yet you note with pleasure that he’s following orders and hasn’t moved them.

Turning back to his dick, currently swaying as if trying to get your attention, you smirk before making your next move. Squeezing his balls just enough to be pleasurable, you lick along his frenulum at the same and enjoy the explosive curse words he’s shouting out.

Grinning, you take him fully into your mouth once more and begin to hum along to one of his songs that is in your head. You know the vibrations are driving him wild from the tiny thrusts his hips are making before he’s suddenly letting out a strained laugh. “Good one Mistress, singing my song to me.”

You pull off him with a wet pop before grinning back at him, giving him a slow wink before licking along the thick vein of his cock like a lollipop, all the while maintaining eye contact. He grits his teeth at the sight, letting his head fall back with a frustrated cry.

Getting bored of blowing him for a few minutes, you let his cock fall to his stomach before sitting back and looking at him. He lifts his head up to gaze at you again, expression fucked out and hair even more all over the place than when you’d first come in here.

Smiling at him, you straddle his waist before taking a firm grip of him, rocking your hips lazily so that he’s slipping between your lower lips, pressing against your clit and getting covered in a delicious wetness. Hoseok bites his lip at the sight and you enjoy watching your husband, tattooed, pierced and normally so dominant, being so pliant and submissive between your legs.

“Do you want to be inside me?” You ask charmingly, a coy smile on your lips. He reverts his focus from between your thighs to your eyes, nodding before he even realises what he’s doing apparently.

“Okay, you’ve been a good little drummer boy today haven’t you?” You say, slipping the tip of him inside you and letting out a soft moan as your slickness makes his entrance easy. He lets out a responding groan, the sound elongating as you slowly sink down his length.

Your eyes rolls back into your head as he bottoms out, your thighs releasing any tension as you rest on top of him for a moment. It fascinates you how he always feels so damn good inside you, cock filling every empty space and pressing against all the spots that make you cry out in bliss.

Squeezing around him experimentally, you can’t help but beam at the ceiling as you feel your husband jerk underneath you. Letting your head fall back down, you clench your thighs to lift yourself up, almost to the point he’s in danger of slipping out of you before slowly sliding back down him.

The next few minutes are just filled of that, the heady sounds of both of your pants and along with the slick sounds of his dick moving in you. Pressing a hand to his stomach and letting the other rest on the mattress, you use the position to speed up your movements, hips rotating on each rock and causing him to press against the extra special spongy bundle of nerves inside you.

“Hoseok…” You whisper, your willingness to continue on the dominant role disappearing with each thrust. This was why he was the better dom, as he had an iron control over his desire and could keep it up for ages. You on the other hand put up a reasonable start before dissolving into fits of need.

It’s hard to care though when you open your eyes and see him watching you, mouth open as he gulps for breath while sweat is already causing his tanned skin to glow even more. Any control you have vanishes as you lean forward, catching his lips with your own and whining at the feel of the cool lip rings pressing against you.

He can tell that the game is up, resulting in his arms flexing for a few moments before there’s a quiet ripping sound and his hands are free. If you weren’t so completely gone on the pleasure his cock is providing, his own hips moving up to meet yours, you’d have complained at him ruining yet another shirt.

Instead, you simply open your mouth when he swipes his tongue along it, the taste of yourself still strong, and let him take over. Growling slightly, you feel his body tense momentarily before he’s suddenly pushing you over, rolling on top of you without even leaving your body.

“What happened to Mistress?” He asks, low and strained with effort as he begins to lazily thrust into you, hips snapping forward. You let your head roll back onto the mattress with a sigh as your legs wrap around his lean waist, pressing your feet into the small of his back to encourage him deeper.

“She went away, I want to make love to my husband for the first time in our house.” You whisper, cheeks flushing at your words. You’d worry that he’d find it sappy, or be annoyed that you’d stopped the dominance game with him but instead he just gives you the sweetest smile, his face brightening up as it takes over.

“I can do that.” He murmurs, lowering his head to recapture your lips as his hips continue to move, each thrust of his hips building the ball of pleasure inside of you. One hand leaves your hair to slowly trail down your body, his fingertips igniting fires of pleasure along your sensitive skin until he finally reaches your engorged clit.

Pressing down, he uses two fingers to make tiny circles on the nerve bundle, pressing down until your body twitches in pleasure and letting him know he’s got it right. He makes a circle in time to his movements, angling himself until his penis is pressing firmly against your g-spot with every thrust and you’re letting out quiet whimpers into his mouth.

Each touch of his fingers, combined with his relentless assault on your pussy, eventually has you writhing around on the mattress. “Hoseok please.” You beg, pulling away from his kiss to let your pleading breaths brush against his lip lightly.

“That’s it, come on baby. Cum for me.” He encourages quietly, fingers circling even faster as his hips move even faster. The feeling becomes too overwhelming and suddenly your head is pressing back against the mattress, face contorting into pleasure as a long, low moan is ripped from your throat.

Your inner muscles are convulsing around him continuously, causing him to grunt out in a combination of pain and pleasure, while your hips swivel wildly from the force of your orgasm. Only when you let out a sob of oversensitivity is when he removes his fingers, instead resting his elbow next to you while his head buries itself into your neck while he soon begins to chase his own high.

As you pant desperately, whimpers of pleasure being pulled at the feeling of him fucking into you in your post-orgasm bliss, he begins to let out low grunts and moans. The unbelievably wet sound of him thrusting into you stops suddenly as he presses himself fully inside, body shuddering as he lets out a long sigh that’s filled with satisfaction, cock twitching inside you as he empties himself.

Neither of you move afterwards for a minute, both simply enjoying the quiet moment between the two of you as the sweat on your skin begins to dry, causing your skin to goosebump in the cool air. Lifting his head, he looks at you with a tired grin which ignites a reciprocal smile from you.

Running your fingers through his sweat soaked hair, you tug his head down for another kiss. It’s sweet and chaste compared to what you’d done, but filled with so much love and happiness that you can’t help but sigh as your chest swells with emotion.

Rolling off you, Hoseok lays to your side and simply watches you, chest heaving as he works to regulate his breathing. Wrapping a tattooed arm around your waist, he tugs you closer before resting his head on your shoulder. The atmosphere is calm and relaxed, and you can’t help but bury your nose into his hair, inhaling the enhanced sweaty scent of him and the strawberry shampoo he’d used this morning.

“Are you happy?” Hoseok asks softly, his warm breath tickling your throat. Today was the first day you’d come into your new home, with the last two weeks spent in Greece on your honeymoon. Despite how content you’d both been, you could hear the slight anxiety and worry in his voice and it caused your heart to clench.

He was still worried that you’d realise one day that you’d made a mistake by marrying him. By choosing him.

Rolling onto your side to face him, you trail your fingers over his cheek gently before giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m happy with you.” You say firmly, trying hard to put your love and belief in him into your voice.

He stays quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip in a desperate effort to try and prevent a smile. It’s futile though and you see it creep along slowly, the tiny mole on his upper lip prominent. In an attempt to create a distraction, he nods over to the monstrosity he’d created earlier. “Even though I can’t even build a bed?”

You laugh softly and kiss his chin. “Beds are overrated. But I believe with my whole heart that you’ll definitely be better at building a life with me.”

“Is your name Mozzarella? As apparently I married a giant cheeseball.” He snorts, but he can’t stop the tinge of rose that spreads across his cheeks, or the content smile that makes its way across his face. You feel relief to see that.

Pushing at his bare chest lightly, you whine softly before cuddling back up to the warmth he offers in the cold and empty room. “You love it.” You whisper against the phoenix that adorns him.

He quietens before hugging you tighter, his hands stroking up your back. “I love you.”

“Hi Mr Cheddar, my names Mozzarella and it’s nice to meet you.” You say cheekily, grinning at his exasperated sigh.

“I love you only sometimes.”

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