#Just a person who did monogamy Once and then never again and have been fine

[jackdawsfavorite]

I’ve been watching the latest season of love island USA on my normie [affectionate] sister’s rec, and while it’s good tv it’s also got me like, “fucked up that they made a world where girls don’t kiss,” so naturally I type “bisexual reality tv” into a search engine and learn that there was a pretty recent- christ, never mind, it premiered five years ago, how time flies -that in 2019 there was a bisexuals-only season of Are You The One and I’m like, “That sounds fun,” and one episode in it Is except that there are like ten seconds of poly-related commentary that make me pull my own hair a little.

[jemmo]

actually, the more of sit with it, i do have things to say about only friends

the more and more i see people talking about how much they love boston and how unfair they think his ending was, the more i think it’s actually a very interesting and, for me at least, a good and interesting way to tell a story, even if the writers really didn’t intend it. i think it’s interesting in such a morally grey show to have the show end with this condemnation of the most technically morally wrong person, to have it ultimately ‘conform’ to what is thought of as the correct morality. bc i think it’s interesting that we all can overwhelming agree that we don’t agree with it, bc i think it says a lot about how people who are willing and open-minded and able to look at things both objectively and with humanity and kindness can agree that what other people who just look at acts and behaviours isolated from everything else and subscribe to normalised values wanted and got from this ending is not what we wanted or think is right. bc i think it’s very interesting who we and the characters in the show are quick to forgive and who we aren’t. take Boston and top. they say mew forgave top bc top put in all this work and effort to make it right and earn forgiveness, but in that what he actually did was fight for that image of normality back. he is the rescued promiscuous bad boy who was fixed by settling down and finding happiness, and we can agree and think that’s right bc just generally thats the expected aim and he did it. boston on the other hand wasn’t ‘fixed’. he didn’t settle down, he didn’t become monogamous, he didn’t change, and so we punish him. but did he really not change?? if you recall, top had that emotional scene last week when he told mew he’d suffered enough, but when i saw boston in this ep at their gathering, so quiet and reserved and down, i thought back to early boston and all his confidence and bravado and self-assurance. now tell me this guy has not changed. but we just don’t see it, nor do we value it, bc in fact it’s not a good change. this guy is still suffering, he has been for a while, and while we are so quick to forgive top or ray’s actions through this show bc of their trauma that’s shown to us, do we ever once think that while not trauma, boston might have his reasons, things that have happened to him, the ways he feels, that make him act like this?? and if they were explained by some single trauma, would we more easily forgive him?? i can’t stop thinking about this, about his secret room, his secret passions, his secret identity, all these things he’s made to hide bc of who his family is. and then i think of this tendency for him to try and hold onto people while being messy and promiscuous, hiding the way he truly is, the way he truly wants to love bc he’s afraid that the people he cares for don’t love the same way he does and can’t handle it. which is fine, not everyone can, but it’s precisely bc not everyone can and those people that can are harder to find that he feels the need to keep stringing people along with what’s expected of a relationship while still giving in to the other side of him that doesn’t want monogamy. and when i think about that, i can see why he treated nick the way he did, keeping him hooked with the promise of promises that he could never keep bc it’s not who he is, and while it’s still shit for nick to be treated that way, boston can still only keep hanging the promise of more in front of him so that he can keep him around whilst also reducing his guilt where he can by not making any grand promises.

in the end, the show rewarded those who chose their partners and only them, who settled into monogamous relationships full of love, and bc of those endings, all those precious wrongs get to be erased, they get to start fresh, to begin again. but bc of who boston is, he is left to always feel like he is in the wrong. he’s always been gay, and that’s something he’s never been able to fully show or own bc of his family, and something deep inside of him has been made to feel that both that and not wanting monogamy are wrong, so please story, tell me, how else is he supposed to act?? how else is he supposed to end?? why do we just leave him to feel continually condemned for not being the norm?? and what really got to me was when nick said i think you’d be better off alone, or something to that effect. bc i think it’s wholly not true, and while i get what he meant coming from him, someone that’s always wanted complete monogamy from him and ultimately has to face that he’ll never get it and move on from his feelings, i don’t think it’s true. we’ve seen boston alone. it’s where he is now. and he is not happy. that’s the thing, he’s not meant to be alone, he’s meant to be understood. he’s meant to be treated with the same humanity and kindness that we’ve treated all these other people that have done bad things. just bc he can’t own who he is in the correct way, bc he’s never been allowed to, that doesn’t mean we should just give up and resign him to this life. why is there no one there around him willing to fight for him?? to find out who he truly is where he can’t, and tell him that that’s ok, and that he can do it, he doesn’t have to do it by these means that hurt people, that he can be who he is and cause no harm, bc everyone can be on the same page and choose to be up for it or not. and why is no one around him willing to be that voice of reassurance that says no matter how bad or messy your romantic or sexual relationships are, i will still be here as your friend, bc i value and understand you. bc maybe that’s the presence he really needs in order to explore his romantic and sexual wants in a more open and healthy way. and maybe his actions in this show perfectly are perfectly explained by him himself. he says it to mew, I didn’t do it to hurt you, i just didn’t care. he has never been that purposefully malicious, his actions are just like that bc he’s never learnt to deal with how he’s feeling in a better way. he’s lived his life not caring, detached from relationships bc it’s too hard to find one that works in the way that works for him, and detached from his friends bc they never understood him either, and so he was never able to fully care about them bc they didn’t truly care about him either. they wrote him off from ep 1 the way everyone else did, the ‘hunter’, the whore, the playboy. and we saw him making some progress with nick bc nick did love him, but ultimately bc he didn’t reciprocate nick’s feelings in the way nick wanted him to, he was left alone again. we see it with him just as we saw it with atom, this repeated story of people falling in love with him and when they can’t have all of him, they don’t want any of him. and the way he’s compartmentalised his self worth from these experiences is sex. he can’t offer people complete monogamy so he offers sex, he derives his sense of self from it. bc that’s the thing he is fine with sharing, that he wants to share. he can’t offer romance bc whoever he gives it to, as we see with nick, will ultimately leave him when they can’t get everything else.

so just ask yourself this, if someone understood and loved boston bc that’s the way they were too, or were truthfully ok with him sleeping with other people, and he loved them back, do you think he’d act the same? and do you think we’d see him the same? would we still think his behaviour is bad? would we persecute him the same? or would we celebrate them the same way we celebrate topmew and sandray? the thing is the show won’t give him that bc the show is rewarding monogamy, but it’s worth thinking about if you are one of the people that think boston got the ending he deserved. why do we forgive and explain away the bad behaviour of the other couples bc we can write it off as ‘they did it bc they love each other’, but we can’t do it for boston when the explanation is ‘he did it bc he can’t love himself’. and it’s all rather ironic that we can celebrate nick coming to find self-worth and self-love through boston, but we don’t grieve the fact that boston couldn’t do the same for himself. when of everyone, he’s the one that is, and should, and deserves to begin again, go to a place that doesn’t know his behaviour only through its infamy as dangerous and uncaring, but will evaluate it of their own accord. maybe then, he’ll find the right people he needs in his life, and he can be on his way to feeling like he can treat himself a little more kindly.

[ozimagines]

I hope that your recovery is going well. I was wondering if you would do a SFW alphabet for Chico or/and Miguel. I'm like 80% sure that thats a thing. If not, my apologies and please ignore. Again I do hope that you are doing better. Thank you

That is totally a thing! It’s like the affection alphabet. Very romantic and not sexual. I’ll do both! This one will be Chico SFW Alphabet, the next will be Miguel.

SFW Alphabet with Chico Guerra…

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

His love language is gift giving. When he fucks up and wants to show affection, he’ll get his partner something. Sometimes it’ll be lavish, like a new diamond bracelet (that’s totally not stolen😬). Sometimes it’ll be personal. Like if you write, he’ll get you a nice fountain pen. If you dance, he’ll get you a music box. Think he would also try to make things but just get frustrated that it’s not turning out right. Despite what people think of him, he has feelings. He just doesn’t know how to express them without punching.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He doesn’t start friendships easy, but once he does, he’s a ride or die. You saw how protective he got over Jorge and Carlo and Carlos. Those were his hermanos. You have to do something for him. Something personal and unprompted. Something that anticipates his needs. It could be anything, but random kindness confuses him so you’ll have to live through the five stages of grief before he thanks you.😅 He’s sort of like a Hyena. Very loyal pack animal.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Ask him and he’ll say no. Catch him on a bad day, where nothing is going right, bad memories were brought up, and everything seems like it’s crashing down around him. He’ll get home, you’ll greet him and he’ll say nothing. Just plop down on a seat next to you, lean down, and put his head in your lap. Sometime, he’ll spoon you in the night without saying a word. Or he’ll wait till you fall asleep to whisper in your ear how his day went. Takes him a while to open up physically to cutsey things.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think he could be domestic for his partner, but he never saw himself doing that so he’ll need to get in a rhythm. Doesn’t wash dishes very well. Not very tidy. He can cook huevos rancheros but that’s about it. His laundry day is when he can’t see the floor anymore.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Text message from 🤪Chico Guerra❤️

🤪Chico Guerra❤️: hey, this isn’t working. Sorry.

You: … yo what the actual-

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Ahhhhhhh… there’s that word again. Commitment. That’s never been his strong suit. Think he’d work best in an open relationship or a swingers relationship. But pure monogamy? I don’t know, folks. I think he wants to, but he’s just so driven by impulses that you’ll have to forgive him a few times if you want it to work.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Don’t think he’d be very gentle at first. Actually, probably not until you needed him to be. He comes home to you crying one night, and after a few rounds of “who did this to you?” And you explaining that it’s not like that and you’re just sad, he’ll kind of give out a defeated “oh” and just sit with you for a moment. He’ll put your head on his to cry, even if you both aren’t saying anything. He’ll turn on some goofy movie for you to watch, or a really serious classy movie that he drags to shit until you’re laughing again. You almost laughed till you peed during Amadeus.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He’ll say his fine and doesn’t need one but you can tell when he does. He’ll get that defeated look in his eyes. That sigh when he says he doesn’t want to talk anymore. You can’t ask him. He’ll say no or make a lewd joke to cover up his feelings. You just have to hug him anyway. When he feels your body around his, his head stops spinning and his heart rate goes down.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Says I love you for everything at first. Got my favorite taco? I love you. Saved me a space at the table? I love you. Then, you’re not there one day and he realizes he really does love you. He stops saying it altogether. You’re a little hurt and ask him why. He gets all blushy and aggressive, probably saying something stupid like it’s none of your business. You get a text from him later that night.

Text message from 🤪Chico Guerra❤️

🤪Chico Guerra❤️: fine. it’s not nothing. I love you okay?

😁Y/N🥰 loved this message.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oof. Yeah, it really takes nothing for him to get possessive and jealous. You could be talking to a barista for a little too long and he’ll be butthurt all day. It depends on what season you’re dating him in. Season two, anyone looks at you too long and they’re eating pavement. Season six, he’d probably still get aggressive but would make an effort to try and talk about it. He’ll do that after he lashes out in some insane way though. His superpower is hindsight.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Wet kisses. Passionate. Lots and lots of tongue. Likes to miss the lips every once in a while and get the cheek. He likes his make out session sloppy. He will also mumble into your mouth during the kiss, like something in Spanish to himself.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Confused but caring. He’s never mean to kids, he just doesn’t quite know how to talk to them. He tries though, and his dry sarcasm almost always makes them laugh. He also lets them play on him. Like crawl over him, hide between his legs, and hold onto his arm and swing. Doesn’t bother him. He was a high energy kid himself.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Wakes up fairly late. Prefers working nights. He’ll get up, doom scroll for a while before coming downstairs. Prefers when his partner makes food, but he can cook eggs well enough. Like mango juice in the morning, not orange. When he does have orange, it’s pulp all the way, baby. Likes to read the paper in the morning. Mostly for the scores and fights. Sometimes he reads the obituaries just to see if there’s anyone he knows. On Saturdays he watches cartoons though; shhhhhhhhhhh!

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He comes him from work exhausted. I write him as a mechanic since he played one in Law and Order. He throws down his keys and waits for his partner to greets them. They have a little intimacy time, then they make dinner, Chico burning almost everything. He likes to watch TV before bed. Mostly TV movies. You settle into bed and he’ll wish you good dreams, then he’ll put his cold feet on yours for a laugh.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He waits a while and you just kind of figure out things about him. Like he’ll just be talking about something and drop information about himself he doesn’t even realize he said. You just have to collect the Easter eggs to really get to know him.

Text message from 😁Y/N🥰

😁Y/N🥰: Wanna hang?

🤪Chico Guerra❤️: I would but today’s the anniversary of my brother’s murder. Tomorrow?

😁Y/N🥰: ???

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

HA! Patience of a less than five year old taking that psychology marshmallow test. The one where they say if you don’t eat this marshmallow I’ll give you two. And they come back and the kid has it in its mouth. No patience for War Boy.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

So if you ask him a specific question he will not have an answer at all. Family member’s name. Favorite color. Shit like that. That said, he’ll do things that shows he knows you. Like if you don’t like the cherry on your ice cream, he’ll just wordlessly take it off your plate. Or order extra fries so he can give you some. Or getting you a pair of shoes that match your favorite pants. He knows you, he just doesn’t know it yet lol

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

One day, you both had a really bad argument. Like really bad. You’re still living together though, so you come home after work the next day. It had been a particularly rough day for both of you at work. So you decide, after a few sour looks and awkward silence, that it’s worth it not to be mad at each other right now. Neither one admits right or wrong, but you need to be with someone you love. Chico asks if you wanna go to some of his favorite spots. You grab too many beers and head out. He takes you to the batting cages at a park. It’s dubious whether or not you guys were breaking in or not. You guys hit a few balls together, but he really knocks them out of the park. He strips to his wife-beater so you can see his muscles as he does this, winking at you. You’re both tipsy at this point. You head to a nearby hotel you may or have not been trespassing on, and get in the hot tub. You just spend the whole night laughing and getting drunk on the beers and each other. It was a simple night, but he needed it. You just make everything better.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Oh he’s your German Shepard at this point. Like he’ll start something in the clubs because someone was looking at you weird. Anyone actually tries something with you, and they’re just over. Gone. Nothing. Dust. He’s does care if he goes back to prison for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Not a lot at first. Just in it for the fucking. After that, he tries to put effort in, but it’s mostly flashing cash around the clubs all night, getting you can’t jewelry or fashion items, and giving you all the finest things. You really don’t care. Your best dates with him have been when he doesn’t cry, and he just takes you for a burger and makes you laugh and touches on you. You never feel more like his partner until those moments.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Never puts away his clothes or does the dishes. Just generally disorganized. He also tends to drink from the bottle in the fridge instead of getting himself a glass. He leaves the toilet seat up often so if you have to use it fast you almost fall in every time. It never fails to make Chico laugh. 🤣

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Very concerned. Wasn’t considered the cute one as a kid. He grew up into a devilishly handsome man, and he used that to his advantage often. The one thing he is self conscious about is his eyes. When Alvarez brings it up, he sees red. You actually love his eyes -if you’re anything like me- and compliment them often. He’s got beautiful brown eyes. 👀

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. Without a doubt. He doesn’t have very much or very many people who care whether or not he lives or dies. When he finds someone, even if he can’t admit otherwise or even acknowledge it, they become his whole world. Just everything. And he’ll protect them as such.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Total. I mean TOTAL anime nerd. He loves Attack on Titan and the Promised Neverland. He enjoys watching them with a cheap bowl of ramen. Chico doesn’t like expensive ramens; he likes the cheap ones his family could afford when he was younger. The 33¢ ones. He’ll add leftover pork, some greens, carrots and all that to jazz it up, but it never amounts to more than five bucks.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Absolutely no ketchup on eggs. Like none. Big yuck for this guy. When you make huevos rancheros for the kids and they don’t want hot sauce, you use ketchup and he almost divorces you.😅 Another yuck for him is partners that are shitty to kids. You don’t have to be a savant but if you’re mean, you can fuck off and die in his books.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Soft snorer. He’s also like an octopus in his sleep. Will pull his partner close unconsciously, tangling his legs amongst theirs, arms wrapped around them entirely. Will make a joke that he was just getting rid of his erection, but you know it’s because with you, he feels safe. ❤️

[asphalt-cocktail]

Finding my way back

Summary: Nearly a decade after you and John break up you manage to find your way back to him.

A/N: Hello my dears! So I wrote this for Beatle and Queen secret santa exchange! Apologies it’s not heavily Christmas/holiday themed; it does take place during winter so I hope that counts for something. I hope you enjoy your fic as much as i enjoyed writing it @sweetrosetta-martin​! I wrote this after I heard the song Green Papaya by Lianne La Havas which makes me feel some type of way. Also shout out to @casafrass​ and @moodysunflowergirl​ for putting this together! Thank you for all your hard work and organization for this! 

Pairing: John Lennon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Okay friends, we’ve got a bit of everything in here! It’s got some mild illusions to smut and steamy smooches, some angst, some fluff, pinning, longing, break ups, cigarettes, alcohol (I think), swearing, we’ve got Teddy boy!John and 70s!John. But no actual smut. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Your heart ached in your chest as you sat in front of John, “What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore?” Your voice cracked with emotion.

John watched your watery eyes from behind his glasses and let out a deep sigh, “I’m going to be touring a lot and Brian wants us to move to London, so I just…” His own voice cracked with emotion, “So I just don’t think we should keep seeing each other.” He looked away unable to maintain eye contact with you.

“But we survived Germany!” You protested back, “It will be okay, I can visit you when you have shows nearby,” You wanted this to work, being with John felt like home. You sniffed, “You know like wait backstage with flowers and everything.” You said and began to rub your stinging eyes.

You were right, the two of you had survived Germany, but it was only because it lasted a few short months and your relationship was open out of respect for the two of you; John didn’t know how long this Beatles thing was going to last and from the looks of it, it was going to last quite a while. John rubbed the tears from behind his glasses, smudging his finger along the lenses and clouding the vision of your perfect face. He squeezed your hand tightly in his own, “It’ll be fine I promise,” He said pausing to kiss your knuckles, “I love you [Y/N] I really do, and if it’s meant to be we will be together again.” He gave you one last chaste kiss; your faces were wet from tear and it was sad and short lived. You embraced him tightly inhaling the scent of cigarettes, mint gun, and a smell that was so distinctly John before finally letting him go to part ways.

The two of you exchanged letters for the first few months of his first tour, but at this point it has been so long that you didn’t remember who stopped writing who and honestly, why did it matter? John was constantly an aching thought in the back of your mind, and you had constant reminders of him from posters to news articles, to full size cardboard cut outs that sat in record stores. It seemed everywhere you turned you saw him which only increased the yearning.

It took several months but you finally found yourself back in a routine that didn’t include John, it was almost like when he went to Germany except this time he wasn’t coming back for good. You finished up school, found a job working in marketing, and had several shitty boyfriends before you found yourself in New York city working in the marketing division of a fashion brand and met Noah. He was nice, but he wasn’t John.

He didn’t smoke cigarettes, or wear glasses, and couldn’t understand art. But he was here, and the sex was pretty okay.

Noah was nice and he made you a pot of coffee every morning he slept over and didn’t try to pry too far into your personal life. All around you didn’t have any qualms with him; it just didn’t feel complete.

The scent of freshly roasted coffee drifted through your home as you woke up with your alarm clock blaring in your ears. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and rolled out of bed. Noah was busying himself in the kitchen, you should just ask him to move in at this point. “Did you get the paper?” You asked sitting down at the table.

“On the counter, love.” He answered before grabbing it and sliding it across the table towards you. Much to your surprise in big bold letters on the front page “PAUL SPLITS THE BEATLES” were plastered across it. Naturally a picture of the doe-eyed man you once called a friend accompanied it as well as a smaller picture of the group.

“Fucking Christ.” You mumbled to yourself and turned the page, hoping to find something else to read, some couple getting married or some advice column, but no, your eyes continued to draw themselves back to the fab four and specifically John. He looked wildly different now; long hair, glasses, eccentric wardrobe all made him look almost unfamiliar

You finally gave in and read the article; from what you observed in the news and on television tensions were high between the four and it seemed as though fame had gotten the best of them, “Crazy, right?” Noah asked handing you a cup of coffee, “Who would have thought? It looked like they were going to be together forever. But get your riches and split I guess, yeah?”

A sour feeling filled your belly, John and Paul cared more about the Beatles than Noah could ever know. The idea of get rich and dip was ridiculous, wasn’t it? “I don’t think that is the case.” You mumbled before abruptly getting up to get ready for work, forgetting your morning coffee.

It had been almost a decade since you had last seen John, and a lot could have changed. He was no longer the tough teddy boy you had grown to love. His hair had grown out and he was with Yoko Ono now, from the looks of if they were essentially attached at the hip. A part of you hoped you and Noah would never achieve that level of need in your relationship.

Unfortunately, as months passed there seemed to be no other way to progress your and Noah’s relationship and one day he slept over and never left. You no longer had your own space to escape to or much alone time aside from when Noah came home an hour after you from work. You felt throttled and frankly didn’t like it, nor did you like Noah much anymore. It seemed like the right step though, after three years of dating; you could tell Noah craved monogamy.  

Your day at work was long and exhausting. All you could think of was your hour of peace and quiet before Noah came home and talked about his boring life at work. If you had to use a color to describe your life it would be grey, dull, boring, no vibrancy or excitement.

New York was full of bright vibrant colors and never slept; it was much livelier that than the cloudy northern United Kingdom city you once called home, but in the small apartment that you lived in there was constant monotony. Waking up, making coffee, going to work, coming home, reading and making dinner, going to sleep; only to repeat that for five days in a row and then sit around the house during the weekend, or leave to get groceries if you were lucky. If you were unlucky, Noah’s accountant friends would come over and talk your ear off about their corporate work life you just couldn’t wrap your head around.

Your mind was swimming with thoughts, mostly about your stagnant life as you navigated your way off the subway once you reached your stop and walked off. It was loud and cramped as everyone flooded off; you kept your head low and pushed your way through the crowd. A firm, but boney shoulder pushed into you causing your thoughts to flee and your brows furrowed as you looked up, “Watch it, asshole.” You mumbled under your breath and looked up before you froze.

Your eyes locked with a pair of eyes that were all too familiar and all the breath in your body seemed to leave, “[Y/N]?” John asked you, seemingly just as shocked as you were.

Despite being in the subway station the world around you stopped. A few sputtering words came out to form an incoherent sentence as you were consumed with shock. Your body became ridged and you sharply exhaled before turning and continuing your short jaunt home.

That night you laid on your side and your mind was consumed with so many thoughts, mostly John if you were being honest. You’d thought you had long since blocked the ghost from your memory, but it appeared that seeing him caused a number of memories to rouse from the depths of your consciousness. You hated it. John Lennon was once again living in your head rent free.

Noah gripped your side and kissed along your shoulders and neck while his hand rubbed your hips and slowly began to wander upwards towards your breasts. The sudden touch caused you to jump, “Not tonight,” You mumbled trying to sound tired.

Noah let out a soft sigh before giving your shoulder one last kiss, “Sorry, you had a long day, love.” He said pulling you close against him and resting his head on your shoulder. As you pretended to sleep you laid in your bed and stared at the wall of darkness in your room.

When the hell did John come to New York?

Did he live nearby?

Was Yoko with him?

Questions swirled around in your mind; questions that would not get answered unless you actively sought out an answer.

As sleep consumed you, you dreamt of John.

The Reeperbahn had a smell you would never forget. You didn’t know cities could have distinct smells until you traveled to Germany to visit John for the first time since he had left Liverpool. It was a combination of pollution, beer, and a smell you had hoped to never figure out what caused it. From his letters this place seemed larger than life, and when you took your first steps off the train you saw it was.

John tackled you with a warm hug, he smelled like sweat, beer, and cigarettes, “You stink.” You grinned and laughed as he kissed your face all over.

“Our options are kind of limited, love.” He grinned and wrapped his arm around your waist keeping you close to him as the two of you walked down the busy street.

He took you to a restaurant, you honestly hadn’t expected him to take you on a date especially with where you were and how little money he had. “Come on, I’ve got a show in two hours,” He grinned, excited to have you watch him play.

“And then we met this group of Germans, they’ll be at the show tonight. I know you’ll love them.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, “Stu is going with one of them, Astrid. She’s great too, her ma lets us shower at her place and makes us dinner sometimes.” You soaked in all the stories John had to share.

His life seemed so exciting here in Germany, but you could see how exhausted he was beginning to get, “You’ve got to hear how we sound now, Pete’s still shit, but Paul, George and I are really getting better.” He shifted in his seat and poked at his food, “I don’t know if Stu is going to stick with us much longer though; he’s been talking about going back to art school.”

That night you and John slept cramped together in his little bunk bed in the back room. You woke up to him rubbing your arm with the tips of his calloused fingers and he kissed your shoulder.

Rolling over you captured his lips in a soft kiss, he tasted of beer and cigarettes and he clung to you, holding you so close it almost hurt. Breaking the kiss, he began to pepper soft kisses along your jaw and neck, “I love you so much,” He said between heavy breaths.

“I love you too John.” You responded letting out a soft whimper as his fingers began to rub you through the cloth short wore to sleep.

With a gasp you shot up in bed, coated in a layer of sweat and looked around the still dark room, wide eyed. Noah rubbed his sleepy eyes as he woke up, “What’s wrong, hun?” He asked.

You gained control of your breathing once more and laid back down, still uncomfortably sweaty; “Nothing, just a nightmare.” You answered and swallowed thickly.

---

For weeks, John plagued your mind and you were starting to convince yourself that you hadn’t truly seen him and that you were just going crazy. Your sleep was becoming more and more restless as time went on. It got so noticeable that even Noah questioned it.

“Take some time off, hun, you work too much.” He said.

So that was what you did. You finally had a week off after what felt like ages.

It was nice, but you were barely half a day into your vacation, and you began to feel restless. What could you possibly do to fill your time?

Your mind began to wander and drift off to thoughts of John; a wave of nausea immediately washed over you. “I need to leave.” You abruptly said and grabbed your purse and house keys before leaving your flat.

You soon found yourself at Central Park. Despite it being autumn, the weather was nice, the kind of nice where you look outside, and it seems warmer than it is. The breeze was soft but brisk you walked through the park enjoying the breath of fresh air. As you walked through the running paths you admired the changing leaves and the crunching sound they made under your feet.

You eyed a bench that overlooked The Lake, so cleverly named, and brushed the fallen leaves that covered it before you sat down. For once you felt like your mind was free from worry and the anxieties that had been consuming you the last several weeks.

That was until you got up and saw a familiar figure walking down the path that would directly cause yours. A shot of adrenaline shot through you and your heart began to race. It was as though your fight or flight responses had kicked in and they were telling you to get the fuck out of there. You frantically looked around and it felt like a lose-lose situation with whatever option you chose. So, you stayed; how bad was it going to be? Maybe he wouldn’t even notice?

John walked past your little out cove and glanced at you and then looked again, “Fucking hell.” He mumbled stopping in his tracks.

The two of you stood frozen, staring at each other for what seemed like a lifetime before John finally broke the silence, “I thought I saw you at the subway station.” He said bluntly, his familiar voice causing a warm feeling to erupt in your belly and spread to the tips of your fingers.

You opened your mouth and closed it, trying to think of something to say, “You did.” Was what you finally spoke.

“Right,” He sighed, looking down in defeat.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets and shifted the weight on your feet, “Do you want to sit?” You asked abruptly.

John looked at you through his round lenses and nodded, “Sure, I could sit for a while.” He answered.

The two of you sat across from each other on your respective benches, “So, how long have you lived here for?” John asked watching you nervously pick at your fingers.

You looked up from your hands, “About 6 years now.” You leaned back, now feeling confident enough to study his features. His face was thinner, age lines had begun to map themselves out on his face, and his hair was messily layered and framed the sides of his face nicely. He was still as handsome as ever, “How long have you lived here for?”

John cleared his throat and pulled out his cigarettes, placing one in his mouth, “About two years now,” the conversation was weird, like the two of you didn’t know what to talk about. You watched as John’s long fingers light his cigarette, the spicy smell filling the space between the two of you and the smoke delicately curling up towards the sky, “So do you work near by or something?” He asked casually crossing his legs and resting his arm on the back of the bench.

You shook your head, “No, I don’t I just needed to get out of the house.” You said, staring at the reason you felt urged to leave your home in the first place, “I only live about six blocks away. It’s a nice walk.” You added, your stomach suddenly feeling sour as you remembered Noah.

John hummed, inhaling deeply on the cigarette the ember burning a bright red before dimming ever so slightly, “Do you work at all?” His tone came off ruder than expected, but you knew he didn’t intend for it to.

“Marketing.” You answered simply. Your brain swam with question you had for your former lover, “Do you live nearby?” You asked returning the question back to him.

John nodded behind him, “The Dakotas.” He mimicked your shortness. You looked and could see the large building peaking out from the tops of the trees.

You hummed, “Must be nice.” You said flashing him a closed mouth smile.

“It is.” He added and stood up, taking one last deep inhale before stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette in the snow and putting it in his pocket, “You look good, you know.” He said, his eyes studying your seated form before settling on your face.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and very aware of your existence you crossed pulled your winter coat tighter around you, “So do you John.” You responded, “You’ll have to show me your place sometime.” You boldly suggested.

John flashed you a crooked smile before fishing around in his pocket, “Call me and I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule.” He said before handing you a business card. Of course, he had business cards.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you took the thick and expensive paper and pocketed it, “I’ll have my people call your people.” You allowed a smile to break your nervous features.

That night your mind saw no peace. You sat in the bathroom staring at the business card in your hand. It was nearly 3 am and the delicate gold letters reflected in the shitty florescent lights that made your eyes ache as you repeatedly read the phone number and name.

The rest of your vacation it seemed as though you were not going to get the mental break you so desperately craved. You watched as Noah left for work and felt a pang of guilt rising in your chest; a pice of you felt greedy for wanting to see John again. So, you figured it would be best to tuck it away in the back of your mind to the place where your other thoughts of John lived and put the card away in a shoe box and tried to forget.

---

Forgetting about your interaction with John seemed to work well, that is until you and Noah broke up.

He stood in the doorway with the boxes of his things. You could tell he didn’t feel great, and neither did you. But a piece of you felt thankful that he was finally moving out. After seeing John your body craved the spontaneity that he used to give you, and the spontaneity that Noah had lacked.

Once the last of his things were moved from your apartment you felt as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You felt good, like a breath of fresh air. You busied yourself by rearranging your home and filling the empty spaces that Noah left after he and his belongings vacated your space.

As you moved your shoe boxes and rearranged your closet a business card slipped from the tear in one of them. It was the one that John had given you only a few months ago.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the intricate gold letters you familiarized yourself with that night that seemed so long ago. You looked at the clock, it was only 4 PM and you had hoped he wasn’t busy.

You curled up on your couch and held the phone receiver against your ear listening to it ring as you absentmindedly played with the stiff card in your hand.

“Hello?” You instantly recognized John’s voice.

“John?” You responded back, “It’s, um, it’s [Y/N]” You felt a surge of nerves pulse through you.

“You know, I expected you to call sooner.” John skipped the formal greetings.

You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose nerves got the best of me.” It wasn’t a whole truth, but a half truth, “Do you think you’d be interested in showing me your place sometime?” you asked remembering back to the conversation the two of you had several months prior.

John hummed and you could hear the soft rustle of paper in the background before he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I suppose I could fit you in. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, “Dinner?” You question out loud and let out a puff of air, “Yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Right, so 6 o’clock sound good?” John asked, “I can send a car for you.”

“A car?” You asked, not accustom to the luxuries of being a Beatle, “I can walk it’ll be fine.”

John let out a sigh, “It’s freezing outside and nearly pitch black. You aren’t walking.” He said firmly.

“Fine.” You answered in defeat and gave him your address to send the car.

“Right, be ready by 5:30.” He said  

“Shit, okay.” You said before bidding him farewell and scrambling to get ready. The sleek black car arrived and drove you to the Dakotas. It was nice, far nicer than any building you had ever been in before. The driver walked you up to John’s apartment and let you in.

The room was decorated in a hodgepodge of John’s interests, from music to art to antiques; with everything tastefully on display. John walked out, dressed casually in a shirt, jeans, and no shoes and drank in your figure as you stripped off your jacket. You shifted nervously under his intense gaze, “So, you wanted a tour, yeah?” John asked.

You nodded and watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, admiring how his biceps flexed and bulged when his hands rested in position, “Yeah, a tour.” You said secretly hoping this would amount to much more than a tour.

John stretched his arms out, “Well welcome to my humble home.” He greeted in a grandiose manor.

Humble, right.

John’s home was more extravagant than you could have imagined. It was much better than the apartment he lived in with Stu or the back room they had in Hamburg and even better than when he lived with Mimi. He had several cats that roamed around his home; it made you smile and remember the time he brought a stray home and convinced Mimi to keep him. It seemed as though old habits died hard when it came to John.

The two of you made your way back to his living room and he sat down on his couch, “Come on, sit.” He said patting the spot next to him.

“Oh,” You abruptly said, not noticing you had been standing in the middle of the room studying the various things on the wall, “Right.” You quickly sat on the couch uncomfortably stiff, “So… dinner?” You asked.

John nodded his head, not having forgotten the food and pulled out a box of take out menus, “Do you want to order something, I haven’t gotten much for groceries this week.” He admitted sheepishly.

You rifled through the various menus in his collection, “So,” You started, “Where is Yoko?” You asked honestly wondering where his other half was.

“We’re separated right now.” He said sounding uncomfortable.

You glanced over at John and noted his somber expression, this was obviously a topic he didn’t want to talk about. “Sorry to pry.” You said before sliding him the menu of one of your favorite Chinese restaurants in the area.

“It’s a valid question.” He stated, now intently focused on the menu, “What about you?” He asked, peaking up to glance at you before quickly looking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, your love life and what not.” He followed up quickly.

You shifted uncomfortably, “Oh, well my ex just moved out today.”

John arched one of his thick brows, “Hm,” He grunted, “Nice lad?” He questioned.

You shrugged, “Yeah, I suppose. Just boring.” You answered thinking back to the stale and stagnant version of your life that was your reality only a week ago.

John watched you frown in distain before he got up to place your orders, “What did you want again?” He asked.

“The number 23 dinner special with an eggroll.” You had your order memorized.

As John placed the order on his telephone, you listened to the sound of his muffled voice and leaned back on the couch. It was interesting how despite not seeing each other for nearly a decade, you still found your way back to him. One of his cats climbed their way on your lap and purred as you scratched behind its ears.

“She likes you.” John said as he walked back into the room, “Food should be here in 45 minutes.” He said plopping back down. The black cat nuzzled its head into your head and let out a soft meow.

“What’s her name?” You asked enjoying the attention your newfound friend was giving you.

“Salt.” He said, a smile cracking his features.

“Salt?” You asked letting out a small huff of laughter.

“Her sister, Pepper is somewhere around here.” He said reaching over and petting Salt, scratching her behind the ears.

Your 45 minutes with John was spent chatting and catching up, he talked about Mimi and told you that she asked about you often and he never knew how to respond, and you talked to him about how you finished college and began your marketing job.

It was interesting how the two of you were able to smooth over the awkwardness of your conversation in just a few short hours, unlike your previous run ins. The familiar warm feeling you would get every time you’d talk to him quickly returned. When your food arrived the doorman from the front of the building brought it up and the two of you laid out your spread on the coffee table.

John walked over to a shelf of movies and pulled one out. He turned towards you, flashing you the box. It didn’t surprise you when he showed you Clockwork Orange. It was a very John movie, “Want to watch it?” He asked smiling softly.

You nodded your head, “Pop it in.” You said waving your hand towards his television.

The movie played in the background as the two of you continued to talk and eat your takeaway, “How are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m fine, how are you?” He responded a confused expression plastered on his face.

You shook your head, “No, John I really mean it; how are you?” You said giving him a sympathetic expression.

Putting his chopsticks down, John sighed, “I don’t know.” He pursed his lips deep in thought, “I mean I suppose I’ve been better.” He answered honestly, “I mean, my wife left me, my friends I’ve known for the last two decades don’t really want much to do with me.” John shrugged his should and looked away from you.

You nodded your head reaching over and grabbing his hand, rubbing it with your thumb before you patted it lightly and pulled it away. John chased your hand with his own and laced his fingers with yours. The rough underside of his palm brushed against your soft ones. The contrasting touch made you shiver, “I missed you.” He said and squeezed your hand.

John brought your hand to the side of his face and pressed your palm to his cheek, leaning into the warmth of your hand, “I missed you too.” You said as you thumb stroked his cheek bone. He turned his face and kissed your skin.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and the feeling of John’s lips burned into your palm. You watched him, his eyes closed and a calm expression taking over his tense body. Slowly you slid closer to him, closing what little space was between the two of you, “John,” You said breaking the soft silence that had settled between the two of you. He hummed and looked up at you urging you to continue, “You know what you told me when we broke up?”

John looked down, you could tell that the topic hurt him as much as it hurt you, “If it’s meant to be, we’ll find each other.” He said softly now looking at your fingers as he played with them.

In this moment he just looked like John, you’re John you had last seen nearly a decade ago. You pulled your fingers away from him and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. Hesitantly you moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of John’s body radiating off him. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as your noses touched, lightly brushing against each other.

A soft whimper manifested itself in the back of your throat and trickled out when you felt John press his lips against yours. He pulled your close against his chest and held you against him tightly craving your warmth and body. Your mouths moved with a familiar synchronicity, so familiar it caused your stomach to ache as you frantically clung to John. Your hand managed to fall from his face and tangle itself in his shirt as you tried to pull him closer.

The way your nose bumped against his glasses reminded you of when you were 18 and sneaking into Mimi’s house, giggling as he told you to quiet down while the two of you kissed. You couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

John pulled away and left open mouth kisses on your chin and jaw and finally on your kiss. He immediately went to his favorite spot placing a wet open-mouthed kiss on it. You gasped at the feeling and craned your neck urging him for more.

Which he gladly gave you, pulling more sweet sounds from your mouth. He pulled back and studied your face through hooded eyes. John’s hand came up and he stroked the side of your face with the back of his hand. His touch was light and the back of his hand soft. You let out a sigh and leaned into his touch before looking back at him.

You laid back and pulled John against your chest. He responded by wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his head into you, “I’m sorry for what’s happened John,” You said and admired the weight of his body against yours.

John rubbed his face into your chest and didn’t look at you, “Stay the night, please.” He pleaded with you.

You rubbed his back as he clung to you, your heart ached hearing the loneliness in his voice, “Of course.” You said and kissed the top of his hair. John hummed with content feeling your fingers tracing patterns against his back.

The following morning you woke up next to John, his arm firmly wrapped around you and hair buried in the back of your neck. You turned around and wrapped your free arm him while your other remained pinned on your side. John let out a soft sigh and pulled you close against his chest and kissed the top of your head. You’d forgotten how much you missed and craved affection. You moved to leave, and John pulled you back, “Don’t leave me,” He said softly.

“I have to use the bathroom.” You said smiling and turning towards John.

He let out a playful groan, “Fine.” He said rolling over and sprawling out on his bed like a starfish.

When you returned John was still in the same position, you’d left him in. As you crawled back into the bed John’s arms slithered around you like a snake and pulled you into his chest. You inhaled deeply, missing his smell and smiled against the thin shirt he wore to bed.

In just a short amount of time the life that had once felt so grey and strange was now beginning to once again feel like home.

[aaliyah-babe]

The One With The Butt: Part One

pairings: eventual joey x reader, jamie x reader

authors note: i own nothing from friends, all credit goes to their respective owners. feedback is always appreciated!

feedback is the glue that holds my writing together!

you guys had gotten invited to the play that joey was in, you were sat next to pheobe on the end,

“oh look! look, there’s joeys picture! this is so exciting!” rachel squealed, showing you all joeys picture.

“you can always spot who’s never seen one of his plays before, notice no fear, no sense of impending doom...” chandler trailed off,

“the exclamation point in the titles scares me. you know, it’s not just freud, it’s freud!” pheobe exclaims, and you giggle at her.

the lights went down as you readied yourself for joeys plays, they weren’t all bad, but they weren’t all good, don’t get yourself wrong he was a good actor, he just chose the wrong stuff to act in.

“shh. the magic is about to happen!” ross shushed everyone

“well, eva,” you heard joey say with a german accent and you sighed, knowing it was gonna be another bust. “we’ve done some excellent work here,”

you looked at pheobe and she gave you the same look before you started giggling quietly, and ross gave you a warning look which made you stop.

“and i would have to say your problem is quite clear,” joey said before stopping. a piano intro started playing before joey got up from his seat and began singing, “all you want is a dinkle, what you envy’s a schwang! a thing through which you can tinkle, or play with or simply let hang,”

you looked at ross before whispering, “now can we laugh,” and he started chuckling aswell.

the play went on for what felt like hours, you had looked through the cast around five times, pheobe nudging you to look at joeys dancing and singing at times which made you both laugh quietly, before the show was finished.

everybody on the stage took a bow before you all got up and started clapping, yelling at the cast,

“yes! excellent!”

they walked off the stage as you all groaned, sitting back down,

“oh my god, that was nauseating,” you sighed into pheobes shoulder,

“i feel violated,” rachel agreed,

“did anybody else feel like they wanted to peel the skin off their body to have something else to do?” monica asked,

“ross, 10:00,” chandler nudged ross,

“i’d it? feels like 2:00,” ross groaned,

“no, 10:00,”

“what?”

“there’s a beautiful woman at 8, 9, 10:00!” chandler sighed which made you all look in his direction and see a very beautiful woman touching up her lipstick.

“wow she is pretty,” you agreed with chandler,

“she’s amazing! she makes the women i dream about look like short, fat, bald men,”

“well, go over to her. she’s not with anyone,” monica said to him,

“oh yeah, right. and what would my opening line be? “excuse me..” chandler said before blubbering words,

“oh come on! she’s a person, you can do it,” rachel encouraged,

“oh please could she be more out of my league? ross back me up here,” chandler patted ross on the back,

“he could never get a woman like that in a million years,” ross agreed,

“thank you,”

“oh, oh! but you know you always see these really beautiful women with these really nothing guys, you could be one of those guys!” pheobe encouraged him,

“oh yeah! come on chandler, do it!” you told him.

“you think?” he asked you all,

“oh yeah!”

“oh, god. i cant believe i’m even considering this. i’m very, very aware of my tongue,”

“come on!”

“here it goes,” chandler walked away and started talking to the woman,

he started saying a few things before he started walking back over,

“chandler?” the woman asked, making him go back over,

“wow, go chandler,” you nudged monica.

joey walked out and you all said hey.

“i didn’t know you could dance!” ross said,

everybody else said stuff to him about the play,

“was it good?” he asked, hopeful. your heart hurt for the boy.

everybody was silent before they all said the same things they did before.

“come on you guys, it wasn’t that bad, i was the lead! it was better than that thing with the trolls!” he argues,

“you’re right joey, you are, come here,” you hugged him,

“did you at least like it?” he asked, still hopeful,

“i’m not gonna lie to you joe. it wasn’t the best play,” his face fell, “but! you’re a good actor i just think your always going for the wrong roles!” you said and he smiled a little,

“thanks y/n/n,” he hugged you again, before letting you go not completely and just let his arm drape around your shoulder.

“she said yes! she said yes!” chandler ran over before turning to joey, “awful play man! woah!”

you rubbed joeys back, feeling bad for him a little.

“her names aurora and she’s italian and she pronounces my name “chand-ler,” “chand-ler,” he was proud of himself you could see, “i think i like it better that way- oh listen! the usher gave me this to give to you.” he gave joey a card.

“what is it?” rachel asked,

joey read the card as his face lit up, “estelle leonard talent agency, an agency left me its card!” he smiled,

“told you,” you whispered to him and he smiled at you.

“maybe they want to sign me!” he smiled happily,

“based on this play?” pheobe asked and joey frowned, “based on this play!”

you guys were hanging out at the coffee house and jamie had joined you, and once again joey distanced himself from you and him. what the hell was his problem? it pissed you off that your bestfriend clearly didn’t like your boyfriend and didn’t even try to hide it!

“hey, kids,” chandler walked in, after his date with aurora.

“hey, chandler,” jamie said to him,

“well this line is passion, and this is just a line,” phoebe read monica’s hand,

“wow i can’t believe i’ve been here seven seconds and you haven’t asked me about my date,” chandler said,

“how was your date chandler?” everybody asked,

“yeah, chand-ler?” monica said, making you smile.

“it was unbelievable! i’ve never met anyone like her. she’s had the most amazing life! she was in the israeli army...”

“luckily, none of the bullets hit the engine block. so, we made it to the border. but just barely and i... i’ve been talking about myself all night long, i’m sorry. what about you? tell me one of your stories!” aurora said to chandler, who smiled at the woman in front of him.

“alright, once.... once, i got on the subway, right? and it was at night and i rode it all the way to brooklyn, just for the hell of it,” he said which made aurora laugh and he smiled again,

“we talked till like 2:00,” chandler said, “it was this perfect evening... more or less,”

“all of the sudden we realise we’re in yemen!” aurora exclaims,

“i’m sorry we is?” chandler asked,

“we would be me and rick,” she answered,

“who’s rick?” joey asked,

“who’s rick?” chandler asked her,

“my husband,” she answered.

“ew,” everyone groaned for chandler,

“oh, so your divorced?” chandler asked,

“no,” she said,

“oh, i’m- i’m sorry your widowed... hopefully?” he asked again,

“no, i’m still married.”

“so uh, tell me. how do you think your husband would feel about you sitting here with me, sliding your foot so far up my pant leg you can count the change in my pocket?”

“don’t worry. i imagine he’d be okay with you because really with ethan,” she giggled,

“ethan? there’s an ethan?” chandler asked,

“ethan is my... boyfriend,” she answered

“what?!” everyone exclaimed.

“explain something to me. what kind of relationship do you imagine us having if you already have a husband and a boyfriend?” chandler asked,

“i suppose, mainly sexual,” she offers.

“huh,”

“aw, i’m sorry it didn’t work out,” monica apologised,

“what not work out? i’m seeing her again on thursday,” everyone looked at him confused, “didn’t you listen to the story?”

“didn’t you listen to the story?” you asked,

“yeah, this is twisted! how could you get involved with a woman like this?” monica asked,

“i had some trouble with it at first too, but the way i look at it, i get all of the good stuff, all the fun, all the talking, all the sex and none of the responsibility! i mean this is every guys fantasy,”

“that is not true,” phoebe said, “ross, jamie, is this your fantasy?”

“no,” they both said,

you smiled at your boyfriend before kissing his cheek, he looked at ross before they both nodded their heads, “yeah, it is,”

you glared at jamie.

“maybe somebody shouldn’t be with somebody then,” joey muttered but you heard him anyways, what is his deal? you were so going to talk to him after this.

“so you guys don’t mind going out with someone else, who’s going out with someone else?” monica asks.

“i couldn’t do it,” joey says,

“good for you, joe,” pheobe says to him,

“when i’m with a woman, i need to know that i’m going out with more people than she is,” that made you sigh,

“well, you know monogamy can be a tricky concept. i mean anthropologically speaking...” everybody pretended to sleep and fake snore as ross bored everyone,

“fine, fine. now you’ll never know,” he sighs,

“we’re kidding, go! tell us,” monica says,

“all right, there’s a theory put forth by richard leakey...” and there goes everybody snoring again,

let me know if you want to be mentioned in future taglists!

taglist: @zestygingergirl

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

A very long post about romantic attraction, social situations, sexual orientation, etc.

In short, a slightly organized brain dump involving some of my personal experiences and hopefully some takeaways. 

There are many things I’ve learned, both in general and about myself, simply by investigating online resources about the acespec and arospec communities.

Some of these were things that I think I already knew internally, but that I had never voiced before because I didn’t have the words or the terms to describe them. 

I’ve learned about different types of attraction, and I’ve realized that I can categorize them internally. For example, I’ve definitely mistaken platonic attraction with romantic attraction in the past. The term ‘squish’ - basically a sort of friend crush - can be applied to several of my experiences, and honestly, it really explains my conscious disconnect towards romance. I’ve realized that wanting to get to know someone better does not equate wanting to date them.

I’ve learned about other arospec identities, like greyromantic and demiromantic, and how they might apply to me. I’ve realized that my romantic attraction has essentially been limited to one person, and that otherwise my desires have been platonic - again, wanting to get to know someone better because I find them interesting, or else having a deep admiration/respect for them. None of these things are romantic attraction, and it’s been very relieving to discover this. It makes sense. 

I think I’ve always had a weird feeling towards all the societal cues and expectations associated with romance. Why are certain things associated with wanting to form a romantic relationship? As a child, I thought I was a girl and I knew, just from the social code of school life, that becoming friends with boys would be seen as some romantic advance (despite the fact that we were all literally elementary schoolers.) In first grade, everyone thought I had a crush on this kid I was friends with, and I always laughed at them. I was just looking for friends. Friends isn’t a freaking gender-specific term. I think I’ve always kind of tried to “play it cool” with the boys, especially in middle school, simply because I didn’t really want anyone to think “haha, so-and-so is dating so-and-so” just because I had a conversation with another person. And what sucked is that when I thought I might be bi, I kind of consciously did the same thing around girls as well - I tried to be socially adept and “cool” and not too overly open, just because of all of these social codes that indicate romantic intent. 

One of these strange codes that confused me was this: “if so-and-so has a crush on you, you should totally date them!” What if I didn’t like so-and-so back? Why the hell would I date them? But something that I witnessed happening quite often in middle school was kids finding out someone ‘liked’ them and then wanting to ‘like’ that person back, despite not having formed attraction in the first place. It felt like a puzzle. It was something that I observed and maybe sort of over-analyzed, because dissecting social situations and laying out pieces of the puzzles on the floor is something I just do. I reckon that kids were not only beginning to experience romantic/sexual attraction individually, but that they were also recognizing the social standards that were beginning to form. The first batch of kids wanted to form relationships (if not long-lasting ones), and so they did; other kids who were experiencing attraction subsequently felt a little bit of pressure to get with someone fast. The complaints of “I’m so sad I don’t have a boyfriend” and similar phrases rang free throughout the hallways. In short, allo- and heteronormativity seems to have influenced a lot of people. Which is fine for many, but also restricting for those in the lgbtq+ community (but of course, the jungle of school life does not intend to cater to the minorities) It was simply a thing that happened, and a thing I’m seeing a bit more clearly now. 

[Also, the concept of using the word ‘like’ to describe adolescent romantic interest in another person always confused me. I never got why ‘like’ had romantic intent - I liked people that I’d formed friendships with. No one ever outright said “I have a crush on this person.” They just said like.]

There’s only one occasion on which I’ve known how to react emotionally to someone telling me that he had romantic interest in me, and that’s only because I personally ‘liked’ them back. I had already imagined that situation, and I welcomed it. [Amusingly enough, we both kind of ignored our confessions for a while, but eventually we formed an actual relationship. Ah, the joys of social situations.] But in terms of other people admitting their interest, which hasn’t happened all that much but has still happened, I’ve had very mixed reactions. One time a couple of years ago, it was my friend whom I cared very deeply about. I didn’t really know how she knew that I didn’t have interest in dating her, but somehow she did, and she told me so. This made my reaction less clouded and more simple, and it wasn’t really an uncomfortable situation; I confirmed easily enough that I didn’t have any interest in dating her and the situation resolved nicely. Basically, although it wasn’t an ideal occurrence, it didn’t affect our friendship in any way.

But there have been other times where it’s been extremely uncomfortable. Once, I joined an after-school club in which I barely knew anyone. During one of our meetings, we took a walk to a local coffee shop to just sort of hang out. And this girl - I’ll call her ‘C’ for online purposes - sat down and started talking to me. This was fine - why not have a bit of conversation? She talked about K-pop a lot (which eventually got very annoying lol) and just seemed like she wanted to be my friend, and internally I told myself well, I don’t really know her and she doesn’t seem like the kind of person I want to hang out with but we’re at a coffee shop and I’m bored. At the end of our coffee shop trip, C asked for my phone number. I didn’t take this to mean anything beyond the fact that she wanted to talk to me more, and though I felt inclined to decline her offer, I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings (again, the joys of social situations.) So now she had my phone number. Here’s where things got weird. For one thing, she sent me a bunch of random pictures of K-pop singers, saying things such as “omg he’s so hot” which was already uncomfortable in itself. Me, being a bit of an idiot, didn’t stand up for myself, or even block her number. Then, she came out to me as pansexual and told me she had a crush on me. When she told me this, she did not imply in any way that she didn’t have an intent of dating me or something, so I was very, very uncomfortable for several reasons. Firstly, I didn’t know her that well - I didn’t really even consider her a friend. Secondly, I definitely did not want to date her because I didn’t really know her. And thirdly, I didn’t know how to react. I think I said something along the lines of “Oh, well, um, okay, I don’t have a crush on you” and left it at that. For the final puncher, she started finding me in the hallways after school as she left for the bus and giving me hugs. I am typically not a physically affectionate person, so this was just weird as hell for me. Again, like an idiot, I didn’t stand up for myself, and so I just kind of stood there... all of this took place right before my school shut down because of the pandemic, so I was literally saved by everyone getting kicked out of school. Thankfully, I did not see her anymore, and finally I blocked her number as I should have done much, much earlier. [I didn’t intend to make that story so long, but there it is anyway.]

The point is, I found it extremely strange that someone I barely knew had a crush on me. This feeling was amplified when, a couple months ago, something else happened: someone on Instagram, who I didn��t know at all, expressed interest in dating me. I was extremely confused. Apparently they sort of knew me because we were in the same school system, but I’d still never met them.

I simply mean to say that romantic attraction drives people to lengths that I personally find strange and inconceivable. Looking into the aromantic community has taught me that essentially all of what we deem ‘romance’ is socially constructed. The rules, the implications, the things you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to flirt with the person you ‘like’. You’re supposed to get all nervous around them. You’re supposed to only form a relationship with one person or else you’re considered weird and even perverted. Flirting seems like a ritual, nervousness seems like a prison - why can we not do away with the expectations and simply do what feels comfortable to us individually? I have learned about the term relationship anarchy, which means doing away with and rebelling against all of these expectations. The expectation of monogamy, of ritualistic performances, of a certain type of romance, of what actions are deemed romantic or sexual, of having to have a romantic and/or sexual relationship, etc. I find that relationship anarchy is a very appealing concept. People should have whatever relationships or lack thereof that they wish. Queerplatonic relationships should be normalized. Loveless aromanticism should be understood and not demonized. Polyamorous people should not be alienated. In short, these societal expectations that we’ve established have no purpose beyond defining what a “real relationship” is, and by ensuring that romantically loving one other person is what “makes us human” and deems us “normal” in society. Platonic and familial love should not be put below romantic love, yet we’ve created a hierarchy. Me platonically loving my true friends should not be “less than” me romantically loving my boyfriend. And people who just don’t want any sort of relationships or attachments to other people should be respected, because they are not negatively affecting anyone in any way. Except by hurting the feelings of bigots, and I’d pay anyone to do that any day if I had the money. 

Though I love my friends and my boyfriend in different ways, I realize that I have extremely similar criteria for a friend versus a partner. Beyond my general confusion regarding romance as a concept, this is another thing that has led me to believe I am arospec. It’s always been very difficult for me to imagine romantically loving someone who I couldn’t consider a friend - how, then, would my relationship even work? One thing about society’s ideas of romance that I do resonate with is the fact that your partner should be your best friend. [For me personally. I’m not just making a general claim.]  It’s hard to see myself dating someone who I hadn’t known before, who I hadn’t befriended, who I hadn’t considered a best friend because we knew each other and had come to form an actual bond. I would be happy spending my life with someone who I considered both a best friend and a romantic partner. I don’t think this is something that is of absolute necessity to me - I could see myself without a romantic partner, which is another major reason I’m beginning to consider myself arospec [maybe greyromantic or demiromantic.] And of course, I have conflated romantic and platonic attraction in the past; upon reflection, I think I’ve only experienced genuine romantic attraction once, which of course also prompts me towards arospec. 

Many resources - tumblr accounts dedicated to aspec experiences and questions, online stories, even just bare definitions of terms I didn’t know - have been extremely helpful in not only my understanding of myself, but also of the variety of experiences that lie with others. There is a beautiful array of diversity out there in the ways people think and feel, and it feels as if I have discovered a gold mine. [Hehe - do we place value on gold in the same way we place value on romance?] Simply learning about the multitudes of people out there with so many different experiences has been wonderful.

Upon reflection, I’ve also begun to wonder if I am acespec. Society is at it again - placing inherent value in certain concepts, associating expectations between categories. Specifically, the categories of romance and sexual attraction. In most movies with romantic subplots - which is a shit ton - sex seems to always be attached to the development of a romantic relationship. Here’s the thing - most people don’t think about the Split Attraction Model (SAM), which separates romantic and sexual attraction. It’s either you’re attracted to someone, or you aren’t. But for those who do use the SAM for whatever reason, romantic and sexual attraction are separate terms [though they can of course be intertwined.] I find it strange that romance sort of necessarily leads to sex - why? You don’t need sex to have a healthy relationship - but of course, many people want it and so it happens. And because sexual attraction is often tied to peoples’ romantic partners, sex is just associated with romance. [And also apparently sexual attraction can happen towards random people, which I didn’t know lmao.] The SAM is useful for many [not necessarily all] aspecs, as it creates this differentiation between wanting to date someone and wanting to, well, do the do with them. Through investigating common terms used by aspec people, I also find the terms aesthetic and sensual attraction useful, because I believe I have conflated aesthetic and sensual attraction with sexual attraction. [Also, in the past, for some reason I didn’t really know that sexual orientation referred to people that you literally wanted to have sex with. I thought it was just the people that you ‘liked’.] These specific terms have been quite useful to me personally, as I’ve realized that I really can tell the difference between the types of attraction that I experience. The issue is, I’m just not sure about my sexual attraction - have I actually experienced it, and if so, in what ways? It does get frustrating to question so much, but it’s an interesting exploration all the same. 

Am I actually acespec? Maybe not. But even if I’m not, I’ve still learned a lot about acespec people, and again it’s wonderful to read about how many different experiences exist in this world. Looking back on my past has been interesting. Thinking about my present and my future is intriguing. Wondering what I am and where I’ll go is a mixed bag of emotions, but it’s here and I’m stuck with it. I think I’m probably arospec, and that discovery is honestly relieving. It feels like a weight lifted. It clicks into place. I’m just going to keep living and figuring out what the hell my sexual orientation is, and I’ll vibe with it, I guess. The general, whole, main point is: learning about these communities is an enlightening experience, and it has perhaps reshaped part of my view of society. And also, I write too much. 

If you read this whole thing, I commend you for making it through my massive overshare. I hope you gained something from it, whether that be entertainment or knowledge or simple resonance with an idea. 

[iloveyou3thousand]

Omega Tony being insecure that he may be too old to get pregnant, and Alpha Peter reassuring him that it'll be ok no matter what happens. Sad and sweet.

<3

—————————————————————————

For the longest time, Tony was always fine with the way things were. He enjoyed the lifestyle he lived, loved the work he did, didn’t mind the money that came with it. From a pretty young age he’d given up on love as something that you share with one person for the majority of your life, once you find them and mate with them. He always wondered why he’d bind himself to a singular person if there were so many out there who could give him a little bit of something new almost every day?

He'd been perfectly content up until the moment Peter came along and changed just little things at first, but those little things had a big impact on Tony’s life.

He abandoned his playboy ways, concentrated his attention on the things that mattered, put effort into the relationship he was building with Peter to make sure that it was maintained. It was a little scary, admittedly, thinking this might be the person he’d like to spend the rest of his life with after thinking he would never find the one for so very long. But Peter was worth it. Oh, Peter was so very worth it.

Peter made him want things he had never wanted before. It started with monogamy and spread into bonding, going out on real dates and spending decent time together and getting to know each other instead of just allowing him into his bed and then never seeing him again.

Frankly, Tony couldn’t quite get enough of him. So when they finally mated, the Omega was ecstatic.

But as they relationship progressed, Tony started to realize there was another thing he wanted that he never had before, and this time, it truly terrified him. For a few different reasons.

He had sworn off having pups when his father passed away. He swore off pups every time he heard his peers at MIT talk about pregnancy scares, every time he saw someone getting knocked up shortly after college to start up that ‘inevitable’ part of their lives, every time he saw a happy family in the streets (or a very unhappy family).

He’d always been convinced that it wasn’t something he wanted and that it wasn’t something he could ever do. He couldn’t be a mother to a child. His own parents had failed so miserably, how was he supposed to know what to do?

Of course, when Peter came along and they bonded and mated and loved each other, that changed. His reservations melted like snow in the sun. Suddenly, there was nothing more he wanted than to bear Peter a pup of their own, a product of their affection in the flesh.

But Tony wasn’t getting any younger. Peter might have been youthful and still budding, that didn’t mean that it would work.

In the weeks after the idea and the urge first presented itself to Tony, with his body yearning in all kinds of strange new ways, Tony found himself distancing from Peter, if only a little bit. It was as if he didn’t want Peter to find out what was plaguing his thoughts. Running away from his problems seemed like a good idea, at first at least.

Peter could pick out his insecurities like a sniffer dog though, soon realizing that something was up. Tony had no choice but to admit to what he wanted.

“What do you mean you’re too old, silly? I’ve heard of older Omegas giving birth, and they’re usually fine.” Peter squeezed Tony a little bit closer where he’d pulled him into his lap on the couch in their living room. He buried his face into his neck and breathed him in deeply, which in itself already calmed down Tony significantly. He’d been on the verge of crying just moments before, but now he felt a little more stable. Just a little though.

“You know there’s a good chance it wouldn’t work, Pete,” Tony protested somberly, “The older I get, the slimmer my chances. Our chances.”

Peter ran his hand through the hair at the back of Tony’s neck and made a small, wistful little noise. Then, defiantly, he perked up, “Then we’ll just adopt. Or we’ll find a surrogate. Or we don’t have pups at all because I don’t need a pup to be the happiest I’ve ever been with you. I just need to be with my mate, Tony.”

As Peter brushed his fingertips over the bitemark in the back of Tony’s neck, the Omega immediately relaxed. Combined with his reassuring words, it was much easier to let go of the fear that had been crippling him. Now, he just wanted to rest with his mate, and forget about what had been tearing him apart.

Maybe think about their possibilities.

“Really?” Tony murmured, lifting his head from Peter’s shoulder a touch to be able to look him in the eye, “First of all, that’s really cheesy. Secondly, you’d want that? Would you be satisfied with a pup knowing it isn’t truly ours?”

Concern flitted across Peter’s expression for a brief moment, before it softened into reassurance once again, and Peter kissed his mate softly.

“Tony, if we want to find a way we’ll find it, and I will be happy with whatever happens. As long as I get to be with you. If we find a pup we grow to love even though you didn’t bear it, it’s just as much ours as it would have been if it had grown inside you.”

Again, Tony relaxed a little more. Peter put a hand on the older Omega’s belly and rubbed his thumb up and down, as if he were already pregnant and Peter was just making contact. And God, if only. If only Tony was pregnant.

“You’re a sweet-talker,” Tony accused as he snuggled in closer to Peter and kissed at his neck, “I guess we’ll just have to try, see what happens.”

Peter hummed in affirmation. “I think we’ll have to try, and try again, and try again, and again and again and again. Until we’re absolutely sure that it’s not something that’s in the stars for us. And then we can start looking at other options. But first we gotta try like, a million times.”

Tony snorted against the side of Peter’s neck. “Sounds to me like you just want to have excessive amounts of sex.”

“Well,” Peter murmured slowly, “I never said I didn’t.”

Tony shook his head fondly, but he had to admit that he felt miles better than he had before. It was likely still going to continue to eat away at him until they had some real answers and knew their true possibilities, but for now, knowing that Peter would stay with him and love him through whatever was in store for them, helped ease the panic of growing old.

They didn’t need a pup to confirm their love for each other. But trying to make one was definitely going to be fun.

[allie1804-fan]

Malaise (Chapter 1 - Calling Tara)

Warnings: Mentions of escort services and sexual acts

Notes  - I wanted to try and write something that I imagine might be a bit closer to the real experience of Keanu than my stories with romance and babies etc. Not completely sure where it’s going just yet but thought I would put out my first 2 chapters and see what people think.

Keanu stared at the phone in his hand again, thumb poised over the green phone symbol. He didn’t quite know why he was hesitating.  He had found himself unable to make even the simplest of decisions with any speed lately. His hand drifted down to his groin where he rubbed himself absent-mindedly. He took a deep breath and tapped “call”.

 “Codename please” the robot voice said

 “KCR”

 “please type in your pin”

He punched in 090264 wondering once again if he should really try to cover his tracks with things like this but nothing had leaked in the 10 years+ of using the agency . They were discrete and the system was designed to shield the calls by using the pin system and he was careful with his phone, never giving details to strangers. Heaven forbid if his number got out to hackers and they figured out that he made fairly regular calls to an elite escort agency!

Once through to a human being at their end, he asked for Tara who was his regular. He needed sex and as soon as she was available.  He specified “the usual” and put the phone down, going out to sit by the pool and have a smoke as distraction from his horniness.

He’d  tried a couple of his “friends with benefits” before calling the agency but they were out of town and he didn’t want to call Autumn, she was too needy for how he was feeling right now. There was history there of an on and off relationship in the early 90s that had been one of the ones that proved to him that he wasn’t cut out for commitment. She couldn’t deal with his regular absences to shoot films and he couldn’t stay faithful for that long either. Still, even now, they’d  end up in bed together sometimes, but he knew she still wanted more, more than he could give so it wasn’t fair to her. Back in the day she’d been more wild and bohemian, more aligned with his view that sex was just sex and you could enjoy it with or without the emotional baggage.  And she’d been willing to let him try things in his younger days like anal sex and a bit of BDSM - she liked to be dominated. Neither of those things were really his bag now but he’d been on a journey  of sexual discovery back when they started adding sex into the mix and she’d been a willing traveller.

He’d been in London a couple of weeks back and met up for dinner with an actor /writer friend Doraly – she wasn’t seeing anyone just now either and they both needed release so they’d gone back to her flat afterwards and fucked. That had been the last time and now he was antsy.

He got a text from the agency about 15 minutes after placing the call. Tara could come tomorrow. With Tara, part of the deal was to share some conversation and food first, basically a bit of a fake date night. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he wanted to have the trappings of a date as part of the sex he was buying! He dropped her a text to ask what she fancied  -  she chose dim sum and wan tons - she knew him well enough to choose something he liked too.

Later when he went to bed, he jerked off not wanting to come too quickly the next day. He thought about Tara as he pulled on his cock, imagining her fragrant thighs astride his head. That was always the first part of ‘the usual’  - she had the most delicious pussy and he would always feast on that first before straight sex of some kind. He wasn’t required to specify positions for that, only if there was anything they classified as kinky or out of the ordinary.

The next day, he went for a long ride up PCH to clear his head and kill some time.  Tara was due to his house at 6.30 and the dim sum at 7. He’d got a fine bottle of Chablis, her favourite white and he was looking forward to catching up with her. She was always interested in his work and she enjoyed theatre, movies and books so there was always something interesting to talk about. Best of all, there were no demands. He only had to give what he was willing to and mostly that was wanting to be sure she had at least one orgasm – he derived at least some of his satisfaction from that as well as the obvious appreciation she had for his body. There was no need to keep her at an emotional distance because she didn’t ask for emotional closeness from him, not beyond the session that is. She was good at the whole date night scenario as long as it lasted though and that’s what he wanted tonight.

With the other women in his life, barriers were put up. Sometimes that was in quite a formal way so if he was with someone new, he’d make clear he wasn’t able to commit to a long term or monogamous relationship. He’d usually blame this on work and of course that was a major practical factor, but a voice inside told him there were probably other things in his personality or life experience that prevented him from wanting a long term relationship. He valued his time alone as well – not just the time to pursue his career and help run the Arch business. He wanted to be able to spend a day reading or playing chess against the computer or simply taking off on his bike or to the beach without anyone being pissed off about it.

The other barriers to closeness he put up were more subtle. He was always very guarded about sharing personal information beyond what he liked in the arts and what food he liked, he would avoid introducing women to other friends or family and would rarely go out with them in public, ostensibly to protect them from publicity.

In his younger days, he simply had not been ready to commit to one person and the practical issue of going away so often for filming or publicity had made that impossible too in combination with his healthy appetite for sex - he wasn’t able to go without for that long. Then as he’d got older and more famous, meeting someone who was really interested in him as a person,  not as a meal ticket or a connection to exploit, became increasingly difficult and led him to put up barriers. And then there had been Jen and Ava, a terrible situation filled with loss and angst that had finally closed the door, he was pretty sure, for good. In truth, he hadn’t gone into that relationship with monogamy or kids in mind either, it had been thrust upon him but he had loved her and the loss of both the baby and then her left him feeling like him being in a relationship was a curse that he should not inflict on anyone.

He thought about all this on the ride. He knew his physical needs could not be met without ‘work’ (at maintaining a relationship or multiple ‘special’ friendships) or resorting to calling on Tara or one of the other escorts when she wasn’t free. That need for sex was one of the reasons he had 2 or 3 friends with benefits on a kind of rotation and why he sometimes, against his better judgement usually, embarked on a fling with a fellow cast member, or occasionally there would be a random meeting in everyday life like Anita who had worked as a PA to his mother for a while. Those flings could sometimes be quite passionate for a month or so, sometimes longer and he knew his instincts for generosity and chivalry could sometimes war against those proclamations of not wanting commitment. That had caused some fiery endings  such as with Lynne Collins. He’d even been quite public with her, eating out, shopping, flying up to New York to see her in “As you Like it” and attend the after party as her date – all signals, along with the good loving he always tried to give his ladies, that suggested he hadn’t really meant it about not committing – but he had and she sure did not like it, dropping him like a hot potato when he made that abundantly clear. That wasn’t an unusual pattern in terms of how women eventually responded to his lack of commitment. He was always clear about his position up front, but it didn’t always put off the women who did want something longer term. They probably thought they could change him and those behavioural mixed signals no doubt kept them thinking they would be the one to break him! Eventually though, they would lose interest and the cycle would start again.

He loved sex and exploring women’s bodies, getting to know them – that’s one reason he kept going back to the same friends and escorts. The flings came in for the thrill of the new he guessed, it wasn’t that he was looking for ‘the one’, at least he didn’t think so.  With a few women in the past there had been a real connection and intimacy that had been monogamous for a time but that was a long ago now.

He returned from his ride at around 4 giving him time for a shower, a nap and putting fresh sheets on the bed before Tara arrived in her cab.  He hadn’t seen her for a few months having been away on a shoot  - as she stepped out of the car and came up the drive, he saw she was as slender,  beautiful and well turned out as ever. She was tall with long, wavy chestnut hair and in keeping with his taste, quite large breasts – all natural too, another preference. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and invited her in.

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

[loftec]

what do u think about the new episode? because i personally fucking hate it :) i hate shameless, the only thing i care about right now is fic 😔

Same, my friend. I have been thinking about what to say or not to say about this for over a week and every time I've sat down to just type something out, I haven't been able to articulate anything. But I have so much to say, so I will try.

Now, if you (reading this, right now) are one of the lucky peeps who like this season and what it's got going for Ian and Mickey, so far... then maybe skip this rant. I honestly don't want to drag you down with my criticism. It's so ok to peacefully enjoy something without having to listen to people being crabby about the thing you love. Pax vobiscum.

That said.

(Crabby rant under cut.)

But if you're like me, kinda hurt and let down for the very last time, please stay a while. I'll tell you why I'm like this, and why I'm no longer angry, just disappointed.

Here's the thing, the first episode wasn’t any fun for me, but I quite enjoyed the second! It was the kind of low-stakes close-knit family stuff I want from a Shameless episode. Literally all they have to do to keep me happy is cram a bunch of Gallaghers into a kitchen and let them talk to each other for five minutes. I'm very easy to please. I like Sandy, I like what she does for Debbie's character. I like Tami, I like that Lip seems a lot happier. I like Liam, someone please take care of the boy. I like that Carl has a goal, and that he's all grown up. I like that Ian and Mickey are married and that they're a part of this family again. It’s a nice vibe, we’re having a party for Franny and it’s not perfect, but we learned something and we’re having fun. It’s fine.

On the whole, it’s nice. But for someone whose main priority is Ian and his significant other, it’s the same old bullshit all over again.

In seasons 1-5, I'm pretty sure Ian and Mickey only had like three conversations with each other that weren't plot relevant. But it was fine, it's en ensemble cast and Fiona, Lip and Frank got most of the A plots. Ian and Mickey had a lot of serious stuff going on, so the 5 minutes they got to do something each week had to be used dealing with all the shit they had to deal with. It's fine. This is fine. It's fine. I understand how TV works. We cut in on them in the middle of a conversation about Jean-Claude Van Damme, and I understand that they've spent the whole evening together and that they've talked about other things as well. Silly, inconsequential things, things people talk about when they like each other and want to be close and get to know each other. And when we're dropped in the middle of Ian, Mickey and Svetlana playing house in 5x1, I understand that it has been a period of time since we saw them last, and that things have changed. That they have talked about some things, and not talked about some things. And I happily played along and filled in all the gaps, I did the work; I imagined them together on a good day, on a calm evening lounging on the couch, on a lazy morning sleeping in. Quiet breakfasts, lively dinners. I imagined what they would say to each other, what they would talk about and what they still couldn't talk about. I did the work because it felt like it was worth it, because I knew that the story they were focusing on (Ian's illness and Mickey coming into his own) were worth it. That they needed every second they could get to tell the story of a mentally ill teenager and his abuse survivor boyfriend learning to love and support each other, and get better and grow up on their own terms.

I, the fool, kept thinking that one day. One day it would get better and they would get a break and the show would give them a minute, just a minute here and there, to be happy. Have a conversation that we could get in on. Have one good day for us to witness, and not just imagine.

Instead they broke them up for production reasons, for behind the scenes bullshit, for no reason at all, other than the simple fact that the show runners have never once cared about Ian and Mickey as much as we have. As much as Cam and Noel have. They had no qualms about rewriting a whole season's arc to make no sense in the last minute. They had no issues with throwing a beloved character in prison and leaving him there for a season and a half (which could have been good storytelling... if not every single Gallagher to ever get locked up had some lucky thing happen to spring them out again way before they’ve done their time). They had no problem with letting Ian say and do one thing one minute and then the exact opposite the next.

I think the thing that truly made me give up on the show at that time was the tattoo. We had such precious few things to work from when trying to understand these characters and we did our very best. We took the crumbs and we built a whole castle of cake. And one of the cornerstones, one of the first fucking things we ever knew about Mickey Milkovich, was that he could spell the name "Ian Gallagher". And if they wanted to give him a bad tattoo, they still could have. Maybe he did it himself and got it wrong because of the angle. Maybe there was a miscommunication and whoever did it on him got the name wrong. But no, they had to have him sit there and claim that he didn't know how to spell his boyfriend's name. It was so petty, so mean-spirited, such a massive fuck-you to anyone who dared to care and retain the things they'd previously told us about Mickey, I just had to stop caring about canon. I drew a line for myself around the canon I could understand as emotionally consistent, and ignored anything that landed on the other side of it. Perhaps not the best way to watch a TV show, but then I also stopped watching the show. So it worked out.

Anyway, this wasn't supposed to be about the first five seasons. But I'm obviously still bitter, and I wanted to explain why I'm well past the point of chasing after crumbs. Because it’s still the same bullshit, only now they’ve exchanged important, nuanced storylines about coming out and getting better for... I don’t know. Talking about sex and arguing about money.

Here is an incomplete list of loftec’s crumbs of disappointment, so far:

Ian and Mickey have been married for 6 (?) months, and the writers will have you believe they still have not had a conversation.

Ian is still relegated to C-plots (only now he's sometimes allowed in the background of an A plot, which is fun I guess but still not near what he deserves after all these years).

Meanwhile, Lip got two separate extended scenes detailing how he tricks his girlfriend into spending less money, in the first episode. That’s so much airtime spent on one point. In the second episode, he had a casual conversation with his baby! Ian and Mickey haven't had a casual conversation about anything since fucking never! 

Ian and Mickey have talked about sex and money, so far. Nothing else. Important things, I'm sure. But let's compare this with Lip in the same episode. Lip and Tami wake up together, they get to be sweet to each other, talk about their lives and daily routine, they have a chat about coffee and someone they know who is having a hard time, then they get into the subject of their conflict du jour. Ian and Mickey get a weird allusion to how much sex they're having (so much sex you guys, just believe and it will come true!) and then they're arguing about jobs and money. For two whole episodes. Except that one time where they got derailed and accidentally talked about monogamy instead.

Monogamy. Something they haven’t talked about before. And apparently a word Mickey doesn’t understand, or know how to spell.

And it still feels so petty, because it's just. So specific. They could have chosen any of the magnificent character traits of Mickey's that they teased us with in the first five seasons, and this is the thing they pick? And then turn into a main character trait?? Mickey can't spell. Mickey doesn't understand words. Haha ha. And I'm not purposefully misunderstanding this scene, I promise. I understand what they were trying to do. I most certainly understand what Noel acted his ass off to convey. I am not here freaking out about Mickey wanting to be with other people, or Ian saying this or doing that. I'm not worried about them cheating or getting a divorce. I'm just really disappointed that this is where we are now.

That Mickey, who we all saw through and understood to be smart and loyal, quick on his feet and quippy as anything, has been reduced to this. I'm pretty sure he's had his hand down his pants in half the scenes he's been in so far. I don't know what that means, but it's like... a choice. And I don't like this choice. They could have had an insecure conversation about monogamy and money and we could have gone on this journey with them as they struggle with their inability to communicate and I would have been all for it, if it had been written with something more, anything else, something to break through the plump humor and crass approach to this marriage that Ian spent half of the last season trying to have a conversation about! But never got to, because the writers thought it would be funnier to have Mickey punch Ian in the face and run off with some guy, rather than talk to him!

Also, I know this is getting outrageously long, but the fighting. The fighting is another thing. Who here watched that scene in 3x9 where Ian tries to get Mickey to be honest with him and Mickey kicks him in the face rather than admit he's gay, and thought, hey! Guys being guys, am I right? Who here watched that scene in 5x10 when Ian punched Mickey in the face because he didn't know how to accept care from someone who loves him and wanted to feel a feeling, and thought; oh yes, this is just how they communicate! This is fine! I know I didn't. But sure, why not. It's a choice, I guess. They're just manly men, and manly men fight with their significant others. They beat the shit out of each other, no problem. This is not something we need to have a conversation about, not at all.

This is about writing. They easily could have written Ian and Mickey’s scenes differently. They could have had incidental bits of conversation, hinting at their lives outside of this conflict they’re having. They could have been in the background of someone else’s scene, just a quick gesture of something nice that would help flesh out the bits in between. They could have conversations and storylines about pretty much anything, and still bring up the question of monogamy and Mickey’s residual insecurities about Ian’s past infidelity. They could have been subtle about it, instead of writing a clown scene where Mickey acts like a clown and Ian doesn’t remember that he’s done a lot of shit in their past that they maybe need to talk about. Because they still haven’t talked about it? NOT ONCE? THEY WERE IN THE SAME CELL FOR MONTHS! AND NOT A SINGLE CONVERSATION WAS HAD. THIS IS FINE. I’M FINE.

I get it. This is supposed to be a fun show about whacky characters. It's supposed to be outrageous, the show runners and writers are choosing these things to get a reaction. I get it, and I don't like it and if you think this means that I should stop watching the show and shut up, then I agree with you.

But also, I love these characters and this community, and I want to like this season. Our last season. I want to watch it and still hope that Ian and Mickey will get to have a conversation about nothing special, just because they like each other, before it's over.

And if not, there is always fic. And you know I will be making them talk to each other in NTW until there are no words left.

[as-rare-as-trees]

Ok, so. I've just finished watching the cdrama My Roomate is a Detective and I wanted to share some thoughts I've had for a while. If you haven't seen it, read on at your own discretion. I'll focus on the relationship between the three main characters, so I'm gonna mention some specific scenes, but I'll put a warning if I talk about one of them in detail (both at the beginning and at the end).

I find quite interesting the way their relationship and its dynamic was handled, but I honestly also found it confusing at times in a way. What I mean is, it was kinda obvious since the beginning what the romantic pair was going to be (because of the usual storytelling that makes it almost certain that if there are a male and female lead they'll end up together), but still I feel like first of all they focused on building the friendship between these three. It's great to see honestly, instead of seeing how from the exact first moment the male and female lead meet there's romance or the shadow of it.

I feel like Lu Yao and Bai Youning's relationship (like my sister kindly pointed out) was treated more like a siblings' relationship: they tend to bicker most of the time, getting physical too, and only saying to each others' faces how annoying the other one is, but actually caring and worrying about each other. That's how it is most of the time, except for some more serious moments in which it becomes clear that they're going to become a couple. (Honestly, I need to think some more about their dinamics, because there are some things, particularly in the later part, that leave me a bit hesitant) But the thing is: they don't get a lot of those clicheé romantic scenes. They do have bonding moments, for example when they talk about their past, or drink together or things like that, but there aren't any stereotypical romantic tropes. And here comes the confusing part, because you know where you can notice them instead? In Lu Yao and Qiao Chusheng's relationship. I did stop to wonder whether I was just looking for a way to see a m/m relationship, also because half of the cdramas I've seen are based on bl novels, but I wasn't. There are quite a number of scenes that are usually played by het couples, (the closeness, casual touches, that whole romantic dinner...) and I felt like their chemistry/dinamics were more on a flirty level let's say, above all on Qiao Chusheng's part. I don't know honestly, maybe it's just his face, but that smile he gave Lu Yao sometimes did look kinda flirty. Then there's the way he dotes on him, and actually protects him no matter the cost (but so does Bai Youning later on). This doesn’t mean that it has to go past the point of friendship, because there are friends that flirt jokingly or buy each other stuff out of the blue (I wish I could do it) etc, but I think it’s interesting that they gave them these kind of scenes. And let me talk a little about that romantic dinner because it's ridiculous:

*SPOILER FOR EP 15*

Qiao Chusheng brought Lu Yao to a restaurant whose main target is made up of couples, paid a violinist, bought him an expensive gift and insisted on putting it on him himself (and tell me if the shot in which he is putting the watch on Lu Yao doesn't look like those scenes in which the main lead puts a ring on the female lead's finger) and then acts confused when Lu Yao is embarassed?? And then Lu Yao's friend passes by them and basically gives them thumbs up? I mean...

*SAFE TO READ AGAIN*

I feel like Lu Yao on his part is a little more oblivious in a way. It's true that he was the one to joke about being Qiao Chusheng's boyfriend that one time, but for most of the time he looks more passive let's say, meaning that he doesn't do much, he takes more than give. And maybe it's bound to his own personality, the way he starts off being self centered and selfish and saying it clearly, (And I could talk about how through the show he starts caring about his two new friends, do we wanna talk about how he says he can't leave Shanghai because he has two people he has to look after?)

However, even through the differences, the super interesting and quite refreshing thing for me is that these two relationships were put on the same plane. Maybe it's just that I'm used to the idea of romantic relationships as The Ultimate Relationships, meaning that they're the highest level of relationships and are on a sort of pedestal in relation to friendships. There's a clear distinction between the two. It's like there's a sort of hierarchy, and your romantic partner (singular because I think it's something more tied to monogamy and the whole idea of your lifelong love) is at the top, while your friends are a little lower. Which for some people works just fine, I'd lie if I said that I don't consider my relationships at different levels. But the point here is that I feel like the way it is portrayed usually is that once you get a romantic partner things change abruptly, and the division between your romantic relationship and your other ones is obvious. And it must be like that.

In this show instead it's different.

To sum up a little: Lu Yao's relationship with Bai Youning is built more like a siblings' relationship, but it's directed towards a romantic relationship; between Lu Yao and Qiao Chusheng there is a flirtier vibe let's say, with more stereotypical romantic details, but going forward it's in theory just the relationship between two best buddies/brothers. But still, no matter how they're built, it's never shown as if one of these relationships is more important than the other one, and once the romance starts, friendship ends.

I think there are some moments in which it is said in a more direct way:

*SPOILER FOR EPS 21-22, 31-32, 34 and last 2 eps*

-the one I mentioned before, before Lu Yao almost gets kidnapped. Jiang Zhiqing asks him whether he wants to stay in Shanghai because of somebody and he says there are two people he can't leave, not only one. I was honestly surprised because I feel like normally a moment like this would have been used to build on the main romantic relationship, showing how the main lead actually feels deeply for his love interest. Instead they used it to state how both Qiao Chusheng and Bai Youning have become greatly important to Lu Yao.

-the second moment is when in ep 32 (or 31?) they are in the hospital and when the nurse asks Bai Youning and Qiao Chusheng who between them is Lu Yao's family they answer at the same time that they are.

After that there's the first distinction in the two relationships because Bai Youning says she is Lu Yao's wife. And there's also a greater focus on their romantic relationship. But it still isn't portayed as being more important than their friendship with Qiao Chusheng, there isn't a "Oh well, now we are together so let's forget him". (Even from the point of view of production, he doesn't just disappear as a character, I'm thinking about the way there's a lot of shots of his expressions during the wedding and when Lu Yao and Bai Youning leave)

+ I loved when Qiao Chusheng says that he'll probably have to be a full time gangster again because of the tension with the British, and they immediately ask him where he wants to move to and basically offer him an alternative choice when he's just stated that sometimes you can't choose.

*SAFE TO READ*

So look. The thing is that I find their trio quite interesting, I love their dinamics, and the way they are built in quite a complex and sometimes ambiguos way. I think these three work pretty well together.

I know this is probably going to sound like a contradiction to what I said about how I like the way they put the two relationships on the same plane even if they're different etc. But because of the way said relationships are built throughout the show, I feel like these three could also either stay all friends or be in a poly relationship. Even though in this last case it'd be more like "Lu Yao gets both a boyfriend and a girlfriend who are ready 24/7 to threathen people on his behalf and actually act on it", because I feel like between Qiao Chusheng and Bai Youning things really do stop at friendship, maybe also because it is stated from the beginning that Bai Youning is like a younger sister to Qiao Chusheng. Or maybe like I said they all stay friends and that's it.

[Sorry if it got this long, I don't even know how it is possible. I hope what I wrote makes sense and I haven't been analysing all these things in a completely wrong way. I am open to talking about it politely. And if I've said anything ignorant or offensive or senseless from a cultural point of view, please do tell me. Thank you if you've got this far, wish you a great day and more!]

[thecurseisinourblood]

Obsession vs Love

Merry Christmas all! So I have a gift for you... I wasn’t going to post this until it was finished but I got into a bit of a rut, but I have been sitting on this for months. Originally this was meant to be a oneshot between Erik and Frollo and it turned into 16 pages of detailing Frollo’s progression of feelings leading up to and after seeing Esmeralda. Enjoy! General Mature content warning.

Claude Frollo reached the time in his life when he accepted a lot of things. His thirties were gone and he was grateful. This was a decade where he had been ravenous for status and particularly ruthless in character. Looking back, it seemed his repressed youth had blossomed during that time and his past behavior sometimes embarrassed him to this day. He had been moody yet confident in ways he never before experienced within his personality. Though never being wild, there was a crazed side of him that was manipulative and hungry for power over others, particularly in social interactions. Any witty insult that could roll off his tongue or opportunity to correct someone’s facts were never missed. His parents had been cruel to him and in these small ways it felt good to finally speak his mind without decorum. These were his selfish years.

“I am happy you have come out of your shell, but you have become absolutely unbearable to everyone,” Lucy said to him after insulting a woman who had been taking up his time with idle chatter in an attempt to catch his interest. “I finally don’t care what anyone thinks of me,” he remembered saying to her. It took him over thirty years to stop worrying about strangers’ opinions. 

He had looked at women more. Admiring them, their pretty faces and perfectly toned bodies, but became frustrated speaking to them as most of them were self-serving or not intelligent. In his teenage years he would secretly leer at women, but it was in a more passive and curious manner. The sexual frustration became more exhausting than maddening over the years. No one could keep his interest, no matter how stunning. There was a time when he could charm a woman that would gladly take him to bed. As much as he longed for that experience, the thing he yearned for most was a connection that wasn’t hollow. So, when his personal assistant began seeing one of the two judges who mentored him, he became envious. Lucy and judge Remy became an item despite their twenty odd year age gap.  During this time, Frollo was more distant with Remy than ever before. The elder judge would reach out to him as he had in the past, but Frollo wasn’t interested. It was childish, but to him it was a breach of trust. 

Claude was the last one to figure out they were together. Despite knowing Remy was on a break from his wife, Remy always flirted with Lucy, so he thought nothing of it. Lucy should have been above such vulgar charm. Little did he realize they were in a full fledged relationship. Since Lucy was the only female he had ever been attached to, Frollo quietly simmered in his jealousy. “Why did no one tell me they were together?” Frollo looked ahead and clenched his jaw. Jean-Pierre watched Claude closely and saw his fight to remain collected. He never expressed himself, but Jean-Pierre easily detected frustration. How could I not see it? Is what the eldest judge imagined him to say instead. Frollo had a new nickname that was beginning to gain traction in the media. If the young man didn’t change his ways, it would stick forever. The Marble Judge. Jean-Pierre could see it causing issues down the line. “I’m sorry, dear boy. I genuinely thought you knew.” In fact, it had become quite apparent, but Claude wasn’t equipped to pick up on these emotional nuances. Jean-Pierre learned this early on when he began mentoring him out of college as an intern. Claude could pick apart a stranger’s motives, behaviors, even business plans like a computer, but as soon as the relationships grew closer to him, all of those observation skills became useless. Frollo had a lack of understanding of any form of emotional intimacy. He gathered it was because his parents never nurtured him. Though they all tried to cross that bridge with him, Frollo proved to have an impenetrable wall around his heart. Frollo turned to look at the old man. Did Jean-Pierre detect…jealousy? “How was I supposed to if everyone refused to inform me?” Jean-Pierre didn’t know how to answer that without offending him. Instead, he sensed a deeper issue. Frollo never approved of Remy’s flamboyant lifestyle and he was quite fond of Lucy. “Do you have feelings for her? Or is it because you find Remy to be an utter scoundrel?” Frollo’s skin paled and Jean-Pierre put his hand on the man’s back. “Why didn’t you tell her if that was the case?” He asked gently, but Frollo knitted his brow in anger. “That’s not it,” he tried to recover by acting irritated. “It doesn’t make any sense. We all know Remy is going to go back to his wife because he can only go so long without fucking a man. I know Lucy well enough to know she wants monogamy.” Jean-Pierre pursed his lips and removed his hand. Keeping his eyes on his, he kept the boy’s attention. “Relationships rarely make sense if you write them on paper, my boy. That is not what it is about. ” Frollo looked like he was at a complete loss of what to say next, as if Jean-Pierre gave him some profound knowledge...a revelation. 

“Even if Lucy knows Remy will return to his wife, she wants to enjoy it while it lasts. He is a good man and I trust him with my life. So, do you think Remy is a scoundrel?” He asked again, to which Frollo shrugged uncomfortably. “A bit,” Claude grumbled. “And it is natural to like Lucy, she helps you with everything and is very kind. It can be natural to feel jealous, but don’t be too hard on judge Remy for it. You are fond of her, aren’t you?” He knew Frollo liked women, but never dated. To his knowledge, Frollo was still a virgin. Claude’s hands were folded on his lap, but they looked more like fists with their tension. “A bit,” Frollo said more reluctantly. His head had been pointing down for a minute, but he suddenly turned to Jean-Pierre. “Don’t--” He swallowed. “Don’t tell a soul,” Frollo said harshly. Jean-Pierre tried to hide the melancholy from his smile. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone already knew. “I promise not to say a word.” It wasn’t until years later that Claude realized he had never been in love with Lucy. He assumed Lucy knew that in her heart all along. Judge Remy and Lucy were expecting their first child after a year. They married, to everyone's surprise. The ‘break’ from his wife turned out to be final. Remy was deeply in love with Lucy and appeared to have settled down from his swinger lifestyle. Remy once made fun of Jean-Pierre for having a child so late in life, only to walk the same path. However, after some years, Remy began to notice a blossoming friendship between Lucy and a man named Luc. He was doing business that required them to keep in touch and the conversations were growing longer. Remy asked Luc out to lunch one day and quite liked the man himself. Luc was easy to get along with and very attractive. He had never met someone so laid back and funny. As they spoke about Lucy, he could see a twinkle in Luc’s eye. It was the same as Lucy’s.

Ah, young love, and Remy knew that Lucy would never leave him for another man. Remy invited him over for dinners quite frequently. Lucy believed in monogamy, but in Remy’s opinion, love should never be restricted. Lucy was the love of his life and he wanted her to have the world. Luc was an amazing guy and Remy found himself wishing Luc was bisexual. After things developed, Remy had a decision to make. He approached Luc first. “I seem to have noticed that you are in love with my wife….” The expression on Luc’s face told him what he needed to know. The blood seemed to drain from his cheeks. Luc tried to laugh it off a little too late and Remy placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will love Lucy until the day I die,” Remy continued. “But I am finding myself missing certain things.” The judge never wanted to be tied down completely, but it had been a sacrifice he was willing to make for Lucy. He was physically more attracted to men, but his marriage to Lucy was the most fulfilling and euphoric experience he ever had. “You do not seem like a jealous man, Luc. In my mind, she will always be my wife. If you both accept it… I would like to see her from time to time…. If you know what I mean.” Luc readily accepted it while Lucy seemed conflicted. “Divorce you…. And marry Luc?” Lucy’s cheeks were flushed. “You spoke to him first?” “Yes, I did. You don’t have to be shy, my love. I am actually just a little sad that you didn’t tell me. Come on, you know me better than that. Why should I care?” he smiled and continued. “This could be good for us,” Remy took her hand. “I would still like to have private time with you and I will still speak to you like my wife. I will just be… a mostly gay husband. Luc is absolutely fine with it, as long as you are, but I understand if you would like to speak with him first.” Lucy blinked and knitted her brows. She was completely stunned. “Unless you stopped loving me when you fell in love with Luc…” Remy began, which was met with Lucy quickly objected. “And I thought you knew me better than that,” she said, a bit upset. “Oh, I was hoping you would say that,” Remy laughed. “So what do you say? We take a holiday every once in a while, I can have my fun with men again, and you and Luc can have the perfect marriage.” Lucy’s eyes began to water. She didn’t typically cry. She knew how Remy was, but his removal from all forms of jealousy still astonished her. She was just beginning to realize Luc was the same way. “Truly?” She asked him. “I will always give you anything you want,” Remy kissed her forehead.Then he laughed. “And you wanted to be monogamous. Life has a funny way of changing things, doesn’t it?”

~.~.~ By the time Claude turned forty, he gave up on finding a partner. Although, he promised himself not to shut anyone out. He talked to women at parties until he felt his ears would bleed. He attended the theatre often, but as time went on, he stayed at home even more. He went from drinking lightly on occasion to drinking a fair amount at home and at events. The Marble judge finally felt content once he no longer seeked fulfillment from others. He found more joy in his work, in meals, in his personal reading. He cooked more and generally took better care of himself than he ever had in his life. He lied to himself well about never feeling lonely, but there was to be another development. Delice came along a year later. A beautiful and young socialite who was charmingly cruel. Frollo knew if she had been around while he was in his ambitious thirties he would probably be poor on the street by now. She would have taken everything from him. Somehow knowing this, she still appealed to the apathetic part of his soul. They would make such wonderful wasps. As time went on, Frollo became increasingly drawn to her. He was starting to like her and become more comfortable. If it was a trap, he began to care less and less. He ached for someone. They had enough similarities and he adored her air of superiority. Frollo had never been perfect, often thinking there were plenty of people below him. They could judge others and be stuck up together. Delice was the closest thing he had to a crush since Lucy. Frollo never appreciated just how well his colleagues and friends got at reading him. “Delice has been on your arm for months and you actually smiled at her! You were eating her up! I’ve never been so disappointed in you,” Lucy chastised him after a political event. “It’s not like I am going to fuck her, if that is what you are so worried about,” Frollo loathed feeling embarrassed and often acted quite thin-skinned during personal conversations. Lucy called him out on his developing feelings for Delice and at this point, he didn’t even know if what he said was true anymore. “You say that now! I introduced you to plenty of sweet women and you let that snake in our circle like she is your friend. I know she is pretty, but god damn it Claude! You’ve heard things about her too and you know that she is literal filth. This isn’t high school.” “I enjoy our conversations and her company. At least when she speaks, she knows the subject. You know how hard it is for me to find a conversation worth having with these mindless people.” He was defending his actions and feelings more than standing up for Delice and they both knew it. “That is what you are going to say to me?” Lucy had never been this angry with him and she succeeded in making him feel like a teenager being chewed out by his mother. “Do you think I don’t know a man’s eyes when they want to fuck someone? Do you think she doesn’t know? I’ve seen you look at women, but you practically undress her with your stare every time she is close. I know you are one of the most brilliant minds in the world, but you are emotionally stupid. She will rip you to shreds with her teeth and spit you out.” She walked up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “If you are that lonely, you need to find something else.” He remembered how broken he felt. Her speech opened his eyes and took away the joy he was experiencing for the last few months. Lucy was only trying to protect him and she was absolutely right. His eyes looked to the floor in shame. “I’m sorry, dear,” Lucy said sadly and gave him a hug. He couldn’t breathe. He stood there, unmoving. So, this is what a hug felt like. Wrapping his arms around Lucy, he trembled, keeping his emotions in. He held her tight. He was kidding himself all along. He wanted someone to hold forever. Though he wasn’t in love with Lucy, he knew he would have been happy to spend his life with her, but she deserved the true love she had. She was his closest friend and he clung to those emotions because it was the only time he experienced connection. When she left, he drank himself to sleep in his despair. His bed had never felt so cold. His life returned to how it was and he found that he didn’t miss those few months when he had Delice glued to his side. At the end of the day, none of it was real and he again became content living alone, being alone. He limited his interactions with Delice. She saw this and attempted to cozy up with Lucy, but was shot down. This is when he saw Delice become a bit more aggressive and sometimes trapped him in public conversations so he couldn’t leave. Yet… he couldn’t bring himself to even dislike her. He liked her ambition and her persistence and never treated her unkindly. 

He remembered the events which led up to the day that would change his perception forever. Attending a theatre performance, he remembered a new ballerina named Christine. She did fine in performances, but Charlotte, judge Jean-Pierre’s daughter grew impatient with her. “She’s good, but she is so timid. It is a miracle she can dance in front of an audience. I think her being friends with Meg Giry is the only thing keeping her safe from Madame Giry’s wrath. She would probably cry at the drop of a hat!” It only took weeks before Christine was no longer in the ballet, but the choir instead. Her voice was undoubtedly incredible. Frollo’s eyes widened in surprise one night when the prima donna had some drama and they needed a fill. He immediately became curious. Rumors were circulating and it didn’t take Claude long to figure out why. There was only one Erik he knew with any clout, though most everyone simply referred to him as the opera ghost. He was the manager everyone feared and never saw. “Are you teaching Christine?” Frollo asked his distant, but long-term friend. He remembered the near indecipherable smirk on Erik’s mouth just below the mask. “That sounds more like an accusation than a question.” Frollo observed him quietly with as little expression as possible. Erik loved to get under anyone’s skin, especially his because he was ‘so uptight that it was foolish.’ Meanwhile, Claude thought Erik’s mischief was childish and petty. He was just an old, lonely man desperate to entertain himself. “Either way, I would like to know,” Frollo said. “Why?” Erik was purposefully difficult. “That question was not your intention.” Frollo turned his lips inward in a hard line with evident frustration. “Is the interest strictly professional?” Frollo clarified tartly. Erik poured them some wine for the two of them and there was a solemnity and an amusement sparkling in his eyes that Claude had never seen before. If Christine was timid… this wouldn’t end well for Erik. To this day, even Frollo was wary of the man. “For now,” Erik handed him the wine. Frollo didn’t know why, but he actually believed him when he said it. Perhaps Lucy was right. There was a part of him that was emotionally underdeveloped and despite being able to read people very well, he was sometimes easily fooled. He met Christine before one of the performances. She was incredibly sweet. He thought her apprehension would bother him, but it made it that much easier to be nice to her. She was shy and he made small frequent smiles because of her overall pleasantness. Christine was thoughtful and smarter than he anticipated. However, he got the vibe that the only people who could be mean to her were truly cruel because she had an air of sensitivity and gentleness. 

“So, you are friends with Erik, then?” she asked lightly. Frollo gave her a small smile. “I guess you can say that.”

He could see why Erik would be drawn to her. She was not Claude’s type and he realized quickly that he could never be interested because of a lack of patience -- he was too old for that nonsense! Apparently Erik could read his mind for even thinking of such a thing, because later that night, he was on a warpath. Oh, Erik had raged at him so hard he worried the man would have a heart attack! Frollo’s eyes widened in shock at his demonic fury. He had never seen such an outburst. Wait --  now was he yelling at him because he so much as smiled at Christine? Why did he take Erik’s words for face value? The man was obsessed. Claude felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. How many times in his life would he misread the emotions that were right in front of him? “I just wanted to meet her,” Frollo promised. “If that is the girl you like, you could do infinitely worse. If it means a damn thing to you, I approve,” though she was awfully young. He was unwilling to admit to his friend that he thought the union would be impossible. The age gap was too large. For someone as particular as Erik, he expected him to fall for someone more mature… Christine was twenty, but there was a girlish quality that left the impression on Claude that she had a lot of growing up to do. After some time, Erik calmed down. Claude was secretly trembling from the shockwaves of emotions that Erik swallowed him up in like a black hole.The man had a power that was practically supernatural. What frightened him the most was the despair Erik felt. Obviously Erik didn’t think a relationship was possible, but he was going to try anyway. What a fruitless effort! Claude shook his head when he entered his car. The poor man. Unrequited love was a nightmare that Frollo never really considered. He always imagined love to be a progression. Meet, go on dates, grow feelings over a substantial amount of time… What if one fell within moments? A cold chill traveled up his spine before reaching out like an icy hand around his heart. His frigid fingers gripped the steering wheel. If Erik could be afflicted with such blind and unreasonable love, could he also fall ill? Another week passed and although Frollo wasn’t actively seeking new information about Christine, he quietly observed the woman Erik was enamored with. He didn’t understand why the intense attraction to her, but to each their own. She looked like a doll. She was very sweet, but Frollo found himself wondering how Erik could handle her naivety. Perhaps this proved Claude was the bigger cynic afterall. He was too jaded to try to have a meaningful relationship with a woman half his age. At least women near his age had the same temperament: calm, thoughtful, mature…

Tired. Fate had a cruel sense of humor. Everything he thought he knew would be challenged. His world was about to spin. Frollo was thankfully by himself, away from his group to order a drink from the bar before returning. When it happened. Standing at the bar top, he did a double take when he saw Christine with….a friend? 

Claude’s eyes were glued, his heart came alive against his chest as it never had before. If he had his scotch in his hand, it would have slipped from his fingers. Never before did he see a woman who looked like a goddess-- walked like one! The aura she exuded was so powerful that he followed her movement with his eyes without blinking. The girl had the fullest, darkest, and most curly hair he had ever seen. Her eyes were bright green which he had never seen a woman of her complexion have. Her plump lips were covered in a beautiful, matte red lipstick. Everything about her was so tasteful and perfect that he wondered if he was dreaming. If he breathed, he feared she would disappear like mist. Taking the scotch the bartender just poured for him, he used it to cover part of his face as his eyes raked over her body. Her cleavage was full, but not too much and she had such a small waist which led to wide hips. They now walked to the other side of the room. Seeing the full extent of the cut of her dress, her entire back was bare. Frollo didn’t realize a woman’s back could look so attractive. The slit on the side exposed the top of her thighs as she walked and they fit the rest of her body. There wasn’t a single inch of her that wasn’t flawless. The Roman sculptors would fall to their knees and beg to capture her beauty if they saw her. 

His scotch was done in an instant. Not intending to sit before, he did so now, thankful that the bar acted as his cover for his leering and….the erection which was hard against his thigh. Thank the maker that he couldn’t get a tent in his suit trousers. He gasped softly, his heart racing. This woman took his breath away. “Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in awhile,” Delice sat at the bar stool next to him and he was so disoriented, he jumped out of his skin. “Jesus fuck,” he whispered and turned his eyes to look at her. She smiled prettily. Delice had a nice mouth and beautiful eyes. Instantly, they didn’t seem so impressive. “That’s a good introduction. Did I scare you?” she laughed. “Buy me a drink and make it up to me.” At this point he was going to need three drinks before the performance. He would use Delice as an excuse to do so. “Absolutely,” he said and ordered for them. He knew Delice’s drink of choice and he could feel Lucy’s eyes boring into the side of his face when he didn’t return after a few minutes. He couldn’t hear what Delice was talking about. He was thinking of the girl. He didn’t see her again… was she getting ready for the performance? “You men don’t even listen sometimes,” Delice sighed. Frollo was already on his third round of scotch in a matter of minutes. “I’ve had a rough day at work, I am sorry, Delice.” He was about to round up the tab when Delice ordered another drink and touched his hand with her fingers. He tensed. “I don’t think your P.A. likes me,” she wrinkled her nose and sneered. It was surprisingly attractive to look at. He hated that he still liked her. “Lucy?” he asked vacantly. “Who else?” she said irritably. “Do you have another one that acts like your mother?” If Frollo had been sober he would have been a lot more offended by what she said. “You’re not drunk already. Are you playing dumb? You aren’t usually this unattentive to me,” she pouted. His eyes dropped to her lips. Old habits. She was still tantalizing and she knew it.

Even when she wasn’t being nice to him, he never minded. He actually liked it and he understood why Lucy thought he had a problem and needed to keep his distance. “I’m sorry Delice, I am not myself today. I haven’t been feeling the greatest,” he lied easily and after paying for her drinks and another scotch, he walked back to his group. Lucy was glaring at him as if he had fornicated with Delice right there. “Why did you stay over there?” She asked in concern. “I saw you pay and drink like a fish.” Lucy wasn’t ever this uptight. Everything that was going on made Frollo incredibly anxious. He took another sip of scotch. He was a little drunk now. “Please, Lucy, I just need… a break for a minute.” Lucy frowned in confusion and nodded. “I am sorry sir,” she took his hand. “I am just trying to look out for you. She is bad news.” “I know,” he assured her. They sat down for the performance and his life would never be the same again. Looking at the playbill he casually skimmed through it, but his fingers trembled. Was she here? He blinked. Esmeralda Trouillefou. Making her professional debut. He could hear his pulse drummed in his ears. She was the ballerina they hired after Christine switched to vocals. This… this never would have happened to him if Erik hadn’t interfered. His blood ran cold. He could feel the voice of fate laughing softly in his ear. He was doomed. Watching her dance was agonizing. There wasn’t a single angle of her face or her body that showed an imperfection. Ballerina leotards were always an attractive item, but he had never seen a body like an hourglass in the corps before. Frollo’s blood rushed hotly through his veins and seared his flesh. A bead of sweat to trickle down the back of his neck. His eyes flew over her and only her. Her thick thighs… her thin arms-- her everything. Her massive hair was slick and perfectly contained in the usual dancer bun and her eye makeup was typical of dramatic theatre performances for ballerinas. Crossing his legs casually, he swore his erection never went down for the duration of the play. He felt heady and needed to calm his erratic breathing. He forced himself to stop watching at the end so he could become decent by the time the lights went up. They met that night and he was so unprepared to see her face to face that he came off cold and silent. She made a face of disapproval because of his lack of warmth and he felt his heart drop like a boulder in his gut because of the disappointment.What a great first impression. It wasn’t until later that he saw her parade herself like the perfect little trophy to every patron.It infuriated him so deeply that the next time they met, he insulted her without thinking of the consequences. Of course she would be a frivolous theatre whore! Why did he even think she might be sweet and mindful? Thank God Lucy wasn’t there that night, she would have given him a stern talking to. He began to envy Erik. At least Christine was approachable and modest, with a quiet intelligence that was beyond her years despite her fragility. Meanwhile, Claude was starved for a woman who flirted with the entire room like it was her job! Every man wanted a piece of her. He could see it in their eyes when they looked at her. He had never felt so much rage that his vision blurred. It happened. Cupid’s arrow pierced his heart. Just like Erik. Obsession gripped him like nothing else had before. He looked for news articles with her face and attended more performances. They were his sick pleasure in the beginning. She couldn’t even be compared to the ecstacy of a drug. She was his euphoria and he spent months in this crazed state where he would consume theatre performances like morphine. Scouring the papers that month, an introductory bio was published. He was mortified to find out that she had just turned twenty-two. He unconscionably memorized her birthday. At first, the fact that he didn’t care for her didn’t particularly interfere. It was lust that drove him and in his mind, the fascination would gradually wane. In a few months, he would wonder what was so special about her. For now, he wanted to drink every inch of her with his eyes when he could. It was then that he began taking Charlotte to and from her performances at least twice a week. Jean-Pierre appreciated the help and Claude couldn’t admit that it was for any other reason. Ah, but Esmeralda was vile! He hated everything about her! In the after parties, they kept their distance at first, but he always knew where she was socializing. She might as well crawl under the clothed tables with some of these men and service them right there! His fury and irritation soon became as intense as his desire. Any time they came near each other, they couldn’t be civil. Even her beautiful skin color became a matter of vexation. She wasn’t the typical ivory frenchwoman, but he saw her impress men that he knew for a fact were racist. There were a lot of french who disliked brown skin, Frollo being one of them. She challenged every perception he had of the world. “If you want to act like a theatre whore, at least try to be more subtle about it. You don’t see any of the others being so obvious. Have some dignity” He told her once away from everyone else when she demanded to know what his problem was. Of course she was highly offended and hurled plenty of fire back at him. By month two, Esmeralda was best friends with Charlotte and Charlotte asked him multiple times why he was so rude. No explanation could cover his behavior, so he blamed it on her being just as rude in the beginning. Charlotte was quick to defend Esmeralda. “Try to be nicer to her next time you see her or I will tell Papa to set you straight. You don’t know what she is like in private.” He remembered the day in the hospital when he waited for over eight hours for this girl to be born. The same girl, seventeen years later, was telling him to get his act together, lest she tell Jean-Pierre.  He clenched his jaw and agreed to be more civil. He didn’t want to have an embarrassing, personal conversation, which would most likely make him feel ashamed of himself.

His fixation for Esmeralda never went anywhere like he anticipated, only increased as they both seemed to call a quiet truce. At least, when they had to make appearances. “Coquette,” he sneered under his breath in passing and she almost smiled. “Cad,” she cooed, unaffected. It burned his heart, especially when she found out she could ruffle his feathers by being a mixture of flirty and argumentative with him. She loved to flirt! When she flirted with him, it was a particular kind of teasing that set his skin aflame in concealed excitement, but it enraged him the most. It wasn’t real. It was mockery. Another month went by and things were becoming more difficult. He didn’t realize how close Christine and Esmeralda had become. Soon, the situation turned on its head and everyone but him completely adored her. “She is so great, I don’t understand why you are so mean to her,” Charlotte whined on the way home from a performance. She brought this up a lot and Frollo was growing tired of hearing it. “She isn’t particularly kind to me either,” Frollo said irritably. “So you both have a temper, I’m sure you two can start over. I’ve never seen either of you act like this. It just proves to show that you two got off on the wrong foot. I know you guys are very different.” “That is quite an understatement,” Frollo muttered through his teeth. It was month three since he saw Esmeralda for the first time and Erik was becoming more insistent that they meet. Claude avoided this moment for as long as possible. Erik knew everything that went on in the theatre and he was not ready to have a conversation about Esmeralda, or really any of his behavior when interacting with her. But soon, Erik put a hand on Frollo’s back as one of the performances ended. He hadn’t even seen where the man came from, as if he had teleported. Erik led him to a discreet area in the theatre which required his handprint for clearance. It wasn’t like Claude could run away. “I already told Charlotte that I would be speaking with you and her dad will be picking her up.” Frollo’s lips pulled in discomfort instead of the friendly smile he had aimed for. Once inside, they talked about Christine and her progress mostly. Frollo thought he might be off the hook, but he had been too hopeful.It was Erik’s turn to ask questions that he didn’t mean. “How about you, old friend? Have you found someone you are interested in?” Frollo’s skin prickled with anxiety. “No. I think I would tell you at this point if there was,” Frollo scoffed. The smile Erik gave was chilling and all knowing. His anxiety went off the charts. He felt like Erik was giving him a lie detector test where he already knew the results. “I don’t think you would.” Fear spread throughout Claude’s body and his stomach twisted with nauseum. “It’s Esmeralda, isn’t it?” The judge couldn’t hide completely from his reaction. His lips parted in surprise. Erik was the first one to suspect anything was amiss. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Frollo’s voice was tight in his throat. “You are the one who has been acting ridiculous!” “And you haven’t?” Frollo said defensively. “Don’t think I forgot you went off the rails because I spoke to Christine. Esmeralda irritates me, nothing more.” Erik laughed. He laughed! “You are obsessed! Ah, my friend has the same ailment as me!” Claude’s face turned white as a sheet. “Obsession will never be love, Erik,” he spat. It fell from his mouth and the opera ghost had never looked so smug. “So you admit it, then…And I disagree,” Erik waved his hand in an elegant dismissal.“My obsession has certainly blossomed and I can now say that I am in love. I would make the world spin the opposite direction. Christine must only ask it of me.” Frollo looked away and took a sip of his wine to refrain from sneering at the emotional soliloquy.That sentence seemed to be more for himself than for Claude’s regard.The thought of romantic love was beginning to repulse him more and more with each breath he took. “Your obsession might have turned into love for Christine, but that is not to be my fate.This is just an odd phase in my life. Us old men know how that happens. It will pass and I will forget it ever happened.” It would take Claude months for him to see just how little progress Erik was making with Christine. “That is not how hell works.”   Erik became so sombre that the hopelessness seemed to overtake the room. Erik’s words were cryptic and they lingered in Claude’s head hours after he left. He would wear the obsession thin. If he was this fed up with Esmeralda now, his irritation would eventually make him sick of her. It had to. Month four approached.Though it was still his secret pleasure to watch her dance because it excited him to his core, he was beginning to feel less satisfied. It gave him hope that his obsession was finally waning. It was a false flag. Ever since things had reached a temporary calm, his feelings for Esmeralda were merely shifting without him realizing it. He attended the theatre less this month and most of his interactions with the ballerina were picking up Charlotte from rehearsals or performances. Jean-Pierre was having health troubles and since “Claude turned into such a theatre buff this year,” he asked him to continue helping him with Charlotte. Frollo didn’t tell him that he hadn’t been going much lately, especially when his father-figure looked so pale and uncomfortable. None of them wanted Charlotte to be taking public transport by herself and Claude was the only one without kids. “Of course I will help,” Frollo assured him. It was devastating for him, especially when he wanted to avoid the theatre entirely. Sometimes mid-day rehearsals ran long, sometimes they were short. Frollo was always punctual, so it seemed like more than half of the time, he was in an empty theatre sitting with a handful of others waiting for the rehearsal to be over. He observed Esmeralda, who always sat next to Charlotte on the floor when Madame Giry did her review at the end of each rehearsal. He noticed how sweet her face was despite Charlotte’s constant pestering. More than once, Madame Giry had to tell Charlotte to be quiet. There was never a moment when Esmeralda regarded Charlotte with irritation, which was more than what he could say about himself. He admired her gentle smiles. He had never seen them before. These were the private smiles she gave to friends and not to patrons. Frollo got into the habit of taking xanax much more frequently. Theatre parties were one thing because he could hide in a crowd. Picking up Charlotte when she was always hanging on Esmeralda’s arm was a more intimate experience. One night, the rehearsal ran exceedingly late.There would be a new open soon and Madame Giry wasn’t having it. He was waiting for about two hours for it to be finished.. Once it was, he silently thanked a God he didn’t believe in. It was the first time he saw Esmeralda dance in a few weeks and he was yet again surprised by how acutely she affected him. His skin was warm. Distance wasn’t enough. Charlotte emerged in her regular clothes, approaching with Esmeralda. He couldn’t help but feel tense. Normally, she avoided him. He frowned naturally and saw her look away, slightly miffed, which in turn annoyed him even more. “Uncle Claude, would you mind giving Esmeralda a ride home tonight? It is dark and Christine didn’t have rehearsal today, so there would be no buddy system.” Frollo couldn’t help his sigh of annoyance. This was not at all how he planned on spending his evening. “It’s ok Charlotte, he obviously doesn’t want to,” Esmeralda said in a gentle tone he had personally never heard her use. He had never been subjected to a teenage girl’s pointed irritation before. It was like daggers. “Uncle Claude, I swear--” “Alright.” Frollo put his hands up in defeat. He didn’t want Charlotte to finish that sentence. Charlotte’s excitement was childlike. It was apparent to him that she adored Esmeralda with every fiber of her being. Staying separated from them as they walked to his expensive car, they hopped in the back. Fate was having a hell of a time making him miserable, as there was an accident which caused the traffic to be more congested than usual. There was no taking an alternate route. Charlotte talked excessively. Looking in the overhead mirror, he could see Esmeralda up close with natural makeup and normal clothes. She was honestly more stunning now. She smiled at Charlotte again and his heart twisted. She was so exquisite... Another emotion came over him that he had never felt. Then, his heart began to beat faster. Tender feelings flooded his chest and suddenly he yearned for her to smile at him. His eyes darted back to the road. No… no he couldn’t. This was the fascination talking to him. He didn’t care what happened to her or what she wanted. The night would never end and when they finally reached Esmeralda’s apartment, relief swept over him. “Thank you for the ride, Minister,” Esmeralda said. Their eyes met and he wondered if this was the first time that they looked at each other without animosity. “You are welcome.” His voice was reluctant, but Esmeralda seemed oddly pleased. So, he could be civil for literally half a second. She flashed the smallest of smiles as she left. It wasn’t the large, carefree ones that she gave to others, but it still caused his heart to skip a beat in his chest. “See, that didn’t kill you!” Charlotte said loudly. Claude sat there for a moment. “I think it may have,” he said quietly and Charlotte thought he was joking. “Sure, Uncle Claude. Whatever.”

[winetae]

⇾ 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?”

.

.

[theggning]

What are your opinions on Nick/Sole/Danse poly ships? (Also, I adore your Watchtower fic, so much!)

Thank you! I have definitely thought a lot about this ship too, though perhaps not in the way some readers might have been hoping I did. I don’t think they work at all as a romantic poly, at least not in AATW!verse. 

Disclaimer: It’s fanworks, nothing is impossible. I think any ship is viable if you have the right setup or put in the legwork to make it convincing and in-character (you could also be out-of-character, I suppose, but honestly those kind of fanworks don’t interest me at all. I’m here for characterization.) There could ABSOLUTELY be a version of Nick/Sole/Danse that works out. Maybe your Sole is different than mine, or you could put in the development to get over some of the hurdles I’ll mention and pull it off just fine. I’d love to see somebody try it!

But I’ll be coming at this from the direction I did in AATW, with my setup and with Nora Carter as the Sole Survivor. And here are the Thoughts I had about Nick/Sole/Danse as a romantic triad in my own ‘verse: 

- The main hurdle, really, is that Nick and Danse are barely becoming friends over the course of AATW. They’ve only just begun to find anything admirable about the other person. Danse is learning about Nick’s good heart and exceptional empathy, and Nick has only just started to see Danse for the selfless, loyal good dude he is without the BoS brainwashing and bigotry poisoning him. I think it’s a massive stretch to find anything romantically attractive between them at this point. So if this ship were to happen in AATW, it would be less a poly-triad and more a V-shaped relationship with Nora at the center.

- Which leads to most of the rest of the problems. Neither Nick nor Danse are really in a place where they’d be comfortable with a poly arrangement focused on a third person like that. Danse especially is bouncing back from the absolute nadir point of his life, having his self-identity and confidence completely destroyed. He’s uneasy with himself and who he is, still mired with self-loathing about being a synth. I think he’d be very sensitive to the idea that he’s not “good enough” for Nora on his own. If she expressed the idea that she wanted to open up their relationship, he would assume this was her way of informing him gently that he’s not doing it for her, and he would instantly take it in the worst possible way-- that it’s because he’s a synth and she’s not happy with him. 

- Everything I just said about Danse being sensitive and self-conscious? Triple it for Nick. He’s far more internal with his struggles about his synthhood and has had a lot more time to cope with it, but there is very much a part of him that feels inadequate because he does not have a human body. Quite honestly, I’m kind of uncomfortable with any ship that casually sticks Nick as the third person in a triad where the other member has the body of a human man. Especially if he is not romantically involved with the other partner. Done too casually or without any development, this can feel to me like having a Nick as a “sidepiece” alongside a man who can take care of her sexually (implying that Nick cannot) and I just... find this extremely cruel to Nick. 

- I feel like both of them are pretty much “all or nothing” guys. They are both independent and used to being alone, career/goal-driven men who are happy enough being single, and frankly do not suffer headaches and drama. Nick especially would not be interested in dabbling in a ship where it even seems like drama might become a factor, and isn’t willing to waste his time if he feels like he’s going to have to struggle or fight to be involved. He would want to give all of himself to a romantic partner, and expect that in return. Otherwise, why bother? He’s doing fine on his own. 

- Same with Danse. Post-BB, he doesn’t necessarily need a romantic relationship to keep him steady. He needs a strong relationship of any sort: friendship, brotherhood, allies, or just someone who cares at all what happens to him. He has a fairly traditional outlook on things and is not about to try to expand his mind about his ideas on monogamy at a time like this. If you want to be with him, then do so. But if you’d be happier with someone else, then he wishes you well. 

- Yeah on that note, both Nick and Danse are extremely selfless (to the point of it being a character flaw.) So selfless that they both care more about the happiness of Nora over their own. If it even looked like there was going to be a conflict over her, it would be a race to see who would duck out of the way first. In AATW, it was Nick. And I genuinely believe they are both mature and thoughtful enough to not create any drama over this, and talk it out like adults. Neither are interested in a “love triangle” and neither think highly enough of themselves to want to fight over Nora’s affections. 

- I don’t consider friendship as “lesser” than romance. Friendship isn’t “runner-up” to romance, and ending up friends with someone you had romantic interest in doesn’t mean you “lost.” Nick feels exactly the same way. Nick and Nora have a deep and powerful relationship, and she considers him the best friend she’s ever had. He is genuinely happy with this, and genuinely wants Nora to make whatever choices she wants that make her happy. He has a crush on her, but as he states in ch 10, it’s “[his] problem, not hers.” Those feelings are his to deal with on his own, and not her responsibility to soothe or make better. Could he confess to her at some point and see how she feels about it? Of course-- but to what end? At best, Nick thinks, he’d start drama with her current relationship. At worst, she has to reject him, feels uncomfortable, and he screws up their friendship. It’s just not worth it to him, and as long as he has Nora’s friendship, he is absolutely happy with that.

- Though Nora is romantically interested in Danse, I think their relationship is nowhere near as strong as her friendship with Nick. Their romance is still very tender and tentative and new, and both are being very cautious and slow with it. Meanwhile, Nick and Nora are very comfortable with each other, laugh a lot, spend a lot of time together, and have intimate emotional conversations very easily. She is much tighter with Nick than with Danse at this point, even if the relationship dynamics are different/different types of love. I didn’t have the chance to say so in the fic anywhere, but Danse is very much aware of this. He knows Nick and Nora are close. He knows that if he acted like a jerk or tried to push the issue or laid out some kind of ultimatum like “it’s me or him-” Nora would dump Danse’s ass in the garbage immediately. For good reason! Jealousy is extremely unattractive, and she would never put up with him trying to police her friendships. Danse is also immediately eager to step aside if Nick decided he wanted to pursue her-- but as Nick pointed out, Nora is romantically interested in Danse, and that is her choice. Both of them are mature enough to respect her choice, and respect how Nora feels about the other. 

So yeah, tl;dr: AATW!verse Nick and Danse are nowhere near friendly enough to consider a romance with each other, both have buckets of self-worth issues that make a V-shaped relationship a disaster in the making where somebody gets their heart broken, and Nick is 100% content with being friends with Nora despite his crush on her. 

Once again, could Nick/Sole/Danse have any possibility of working? Sure! If you put in the legwork and thought, you could make an argument for just about any pairing you want. I’d love to see someone do it! But I don’t really see it happening in this particular case, in this ‘verse, with this Sole Survivor and this setup of Nick and Danse even consenting to speak to one another. 

(Am I in the business of expounding my Thoughts on Pairings now? I just might be.) 

[commander-passiflora]

Something So Magic About You

Day 1 of @tyrias-library‘s Valentine’s fic week! As always, thank you for organizing this bc it’s a delight to participate and see what everyone else comes up with. The prompt today is “Confessions,” so this is about how Braham and Auslog got together. Title is from “From Eden” by Hozier bc I listen to Hozier while I’m writing A Lot. What can I say, I am but a simple sapphic

Also this time around I decided I’d post things both on tumblr AND ao3, so if you’d prefer to read it there, here’s a link for you. Enjoy!

“Ugh, what do I do, Toril?” Auslog asked, pacing their tent. 

Currently, Toril and Auslog and the rest of Dragon’s Watch were set up on a cliff in Sandswept Isles, overlooking Althoma, the Olmakhan village. Here, they could monitor any threats from above before they had a chance to cause serious problems, and nearby sand portals offered easy travel to the Inquest facility the next island over for anyone who had a jackal, as most of the guild did by this point. 

Toril followed the other norn with her eyes from her place on the pile of furs that served as their bed, watching with a smirk as Auslog placed her head in her hand.

“I dunno, babe,” Toril said with a shrug. “I always say you should just say something, so you already know that’s what I’m going to say. Do you need me to actually say it?”

Auslog stopped, turned to face her, and wrinkled her nose at her and made a grumbly sound.

“No,” she groaned. “Or yes. Maybe?” 

Toril chuckled.

“What if I say something,” Auslog explained, little drops of water gathering at her hands as she went, falling to the ground when she failed to pay attention to her magic, “and he doesn’t return my feelings, and then it makes everything awkward for everyone?”

“That’s not gonna happen, Aus,” Toril said.

“You don’t know that! How do you know that?”

“Because you’re both--well, okay.” Toril sighed heavily. “Because you are emotionally intelligent and capable of being professional, and because Braham will fall in line if I tell him to fall in line.” 

“But then you’ll have to--and we’ll--and I--and it would be humiliating, and--and if he--but I can’t--and--”

“Aus, Aus, hey, stop,” Toril said, standing and wrapping her into a soft embrace. She placed a soothing hand on the elementalist’s back and used the other to gently toy with her hair. “This isn’t going to help anything, this agonizing over it. Either you do or you don’t, and that’s up to you. You just have to do what feels right. But I can’t tell you what that is, and pacing up and down our tent at a mile a minute won’t either. Plus,” she said teasingly, “you got the floor a little wet, and now it’s muddy in here.”

Auslog laughed, gripping Toril tighter and coiling her arms around the Commander’s neck. The elementalist gave her a quick peck on the cheek, stretching up on her toes, before untangling herself and looking up at Toril.

“I have one actual question for you though,” Auslog said. “I think it’s important.” 

“Shoot.”

“What if it makes it awkward for you? I mean, he’s your best friend. I wouldn’t want to put any kind of divide between you if it goes south.”

“Hey, how about you let me handle the particulars of my relationship with Braham?” Toril said, brushing a lock of hair from Auslog’s cheek and tucking it behind her ear. “Any problems that happen between me and him, regardless of what they have to do with, are between me and him. I would never, ever blame you for a problem I have with another person. You go after what you want, if you want to. Don’t worry about me. Please.”

Auslog sighed dramatically. 

“Okay,” she huffed, “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Toril said with a scoff. “Aren’t I always?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

***

“Toril, I, uh--could I talk to you for a sec? Like, over there?” Braham said, gesturing past the tree line around their camp. 

It was supper time, most of the guild gathered around a large pot of stew over the fire at the center of the camp. The Commander took another bite from the bowl in her hands and then set it carefully on the stone bench beside her. (Having an elementalist around does have its perks, she mused as her knuckles brushed the smooth limestone.) 

“Sure, let’s go,” Toril said, getting up with a groan to follow him. “What’s going on?”

She grabbed a piece of bread as she went, dipping the corner of it into the pot of stew bubbling over the fire.

“Let’s, um--let’s wait until we’re...I don’t want anyone else to hear this.”

“What the hell is going on, Braham? You’re freaking me out.”

Once Braham was satisfied they were far enough, he turned to her and took a deep breath.

“Listen,” he said, “I think...Wolf help me, I don’t even know why I’m--this is a terrible idea, just--”

“Out with it,” Toril said impatiently.

“Okay, um, fine, it’s--I think I have feelings for your...partner.”

“Which one?”

“I’m sorry?” Braham said.

“Which partner?” Toril said around a mouthful of bread, brow furrowed. 

“Oh, I, um--well, it’s--”

“Auslog, right? You have a crush on Auslog?” the Commander said for him, unfazed.

“I’m not sure I like the phrasing there,” he said, “but yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

“Okay, so talk to her about it,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But she’s your girlfriend,” Braham said. “It would--that’s weird, isn’t it?”

“You like her?” Toril asked.

Braham nodded.

“You’d like to have a romantic and/or sexual relationship with her?” Toril continued.

“I don’t--that’s so--how are you so technical about this?”

“Experience,” Toril said flatly, biting off another bit of bread. “Now, would you?”

Braham sighed, ran his hands over his head, and nodded. 

“Good,” Toril said. “So talk to her.”

“What if it makes things weird?” Braham argued.

“What if it doesn’t?” Toril shot back.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

“What if she does?”

“What if she ends up hating me?

“What if she doesn’t?”

“You know what, I--” Braham grumbled. “I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to even bring this up. I’m sorry. Just forget it. Forget I said anything.”

He stomped off, back toward camp, as Toril watched with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and bit off another chunk of bread before following.

***

“Toril, this is driving me crazy,” Auslog complained a few days later, once again pacing their tent. “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with him looking at me like that, and his eyes, and just...everything! What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to react when he’s over here just existing and looking like a-a-a fucking sculpture--and definitely better than any that I’ve made, and--”

“Hey. Aus. Babe. Look at me,” Toril said calmly, stepping in front of her and grabbing both of her shoulders. “You know the answer to this. You know what you should do. So just, y’know, do it.”

“You say it like it’s so easy!” Auslog complained, shrugging her off and continuing to pace. “I don’t have your confidence. You don’t give a single shit about what anyone thinks or says about you--”

“That’s not true,” the Commander interjected.

“--but some of us aren’t lucky enough to have that,” Auslog continued, ignoring Toril’s input. “I know I need to just suck it up, but it’s...there’s so many things that could go wrong.”

“Auslog, you have stood beside me as I stared down two Elder Dragons, a mursaat, a fucking god, and Raven knows what else,” Toril said, stopping her again with a hand on either side of her face. “If I have the courage to do that, then you have just as much. Maybe more. I’d be lost without you, and if Braham doesn’t see what I see, then that’s his loss. But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re--you’re right,” Auslog said with a sigh, flopping onto a pile of blankets on the floor. “Just like always.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Toril said, sitting beside her. “But at least most of the time, probably.”

The elementalist gently punched her arm before falling against her side, Toril quickly adjusting to hold her against her side, and for a while, they just sat like that, enjoying the quiet.

“Hey,” Auslog said softly after a few minutes had passed. “Did you mean all that? About being lost without me?”

“You know I did,” Toril answered.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Auslog said, smiling. “I’d be lost without you, too, my love.”

“Oh, stop,” Toril said, playfully fighting back as Auslog stretched up to kiss her face.

***

“Look, I know you said I should just ask her,” Braham said, sitting next to Toril on the cliff overlooking Althoma, “but it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Okay,” Toril said, considering. “Does it not feel right because you can’t see yourself in that kind of relationship with her, or does it not feel right because you’ve been conditioned into monogamy?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“If she weren’t also my girlfriend, would you feel comfortable asking her, say, to dinner?” Toril asked, then added, “In a romantic context, of course.” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Braham said. “Is that...is that bad?”

“Not at all,” Toril said. “Erlend and I had some hangups at first too. He wasn’t sure about the idea of being in a committed romantic relationship with someone already in a committed romantic relationship of their own. And it’s awkward at first, sure, but it gets easier. You start to find a new normal. A better one, in my opinion.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Braham said, sighing heavily. “But I just--you’re my best friend, Toril--”

“Aw, thanks,” the Commander cut in.

“Shush,” he said, bumping her shoulder with his. “But seriously, I can’t just ask out your girlfriend. I mean, for one, we’re grown adults, not teenagers. I don’t even think ‘ask out’ is a term that applies anymore, and--”

“Braham,” Toril interrupted sternly.

“Toril?”

“I’m going to say this one more time, and then that’s the last time, and from there you’re going to have to figure the rest out on your own, okay?”

“Okay?” Braham said, unsure.

“Please, for the love of all the Spirits, please ask out my girlfriend.”

Braham rolled his eyes in response.

***

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks of two of the most important people in her life coming to her to complain about their own emotional incompetence. 

Toril was at her wits end. She wasn’t the type of person to tell one or even both of them that their feelings were mutual. That was a betrayal of trust, and even if it was probably for their own good, she felt uncomfortable with it.

So she couldn’t tell Auslog to just talk to Braham because he’s already interested, and she couldn’t tell Braham that Auslog had been complaining about how unfair it is for him to be like that, and she couldn’t sit here and deal with the two of them anymore. Something had to be done.

She couldn’t tell them. But she could encourage them to tell each other. (“Encourage,” of course, was a rather nice word for what she had planned. “Force” would probably be more accurate, but the former had a significantly more positive connotation.)

And so Toril found herself behind a desk in the command tent, the one that they used for planning and storage and arguments of a more professional nature, waiting for Kasmeer to fetch Braham and Auslog. When they finally entered together, Kas tagging along behind and closing the flap of the tent with a quick wink to the Commander, they looked both confused and terrified. Toril was, if she was honest with herself, a little ashamed of how much she was going to enjoy this.

“What’s going on, Boss?” Braham asked. “Kas said you needed to talk to us about something?”

“That I do,” Toril said, tapping her fingers together where they rested on the desk. “You’ve both been driving me absolutely insane and it has to stop.” 

“What--what do you mean?” Auslog said, a rush of nervousness hitting her as she thought through the reasons Toril may have called them here like this.

“You both know I’m not the type of person,” Toril explained, “that tells someone else’s secrets. I won’t. I won’t betray your trust like that, either of you.”

“Okay…?” Braham said, brow furrowed.

“But I can get you to tell each other,” Toril said.

The realization dawned on Auslog first, her eyes widening as she worked through everything this meant. It took Braham a bit longer, but eventually he responded with a simple, “Oh.”

“I’m going outside,” Toril said, standing and walking around them to the tent flap. She pushed it aside, stepping out and then turning to add, “Fucking talk to each other. For my sake if nothing else.” And then she let the flap fall back into place and gave them their privacy.

“Well, that was…” Braham said, trailing off.

“...unexpected,” Auslog finished.

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeeaaaah...so…”

Auslog cleared her throat. “So I gather that you’ve spoken to Toril about me in a...romantic context?”

“Is that--is that the kind of conversation we’re going to have right now?” Braham asked, cocking his head to one side.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you...don’t sound like you. I wasn’t thinking we were gonna be so...clinical about it.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Auslog said. “I, um--I was kind of trying to channel Toril. That confidence she has, y’know? She’s always so sure of herself in situations like this, and I’m so...not.”

“Hey, that’s--I like that. I like you.”

“Spirits, I feel like such an awkward mess.”

“I like awkward,” Braham assured. “Awkward is...cute.”

“Oh, you--you think so?” Auslog asked, blushing and looking toward the floor.

“Absolutely,” Braham declared, emboldened. “Everything about you is so...you’re so strong and so willful, but you’re also so incredibly gentle that it leaves me in awe. You care so deeply. You fight so fiercely not because you enjoy the fight, but because it protects innocents. You’re just--you’re a force, and I can’t help but be drawn to that.”

“I, uh--thanks, that was...I’m not sure what to say,” Auslog said. “I think between the shock of Toril dragging us here for this and hearing you say all that, I’m a little scrambled.”

“That’s alright,” Braham said.  

“I just know I like you. A lot. And I want more than being sort of your second best friend by proxy of Toril. I want to keep seeing you look at me like that. And I want to be closer to you. In every sense.”

“In that case,” Braham said, smiling, “would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 3: Hope Returned

Mr. Gold stared at the two hundred and twenty passenger photos on the large screens in the conference room.

"My superiors are breathing down my neck on this. They want answers and the NSA just let two-hundred and twenty dead people waltz back into the world," Vance complained.

"Keeping them against their will for doing nothing wrong would be very unethical," Gold replied neutrally.

"Each and every one of them could be a threat to National security. In times like that, ethics may need to be suspended," Vance said. Gold regarded him skeptically.

"That's your superiors talking and I know that wouldn't sit well with you. Besides, the only way for any of this to even begin to make sense is if we send them back into the world," Gold replied.

"I'm not sure how you figure that," Vance complained. Gold smirked.

"Relax, Director Vance. Sit back...and enjoy the coming attraction," he said cryptically.

~*~

Dr. Regina Mills pulled back from the hug she shared with an elderly man, who was crying profusely.

"It's okay Daddy...I'm home now," she assured.

"It's a miracle…" he gushed.

"You are everything to me, Regina...I was so lost without you," he cried. She frowned and hugged him again. Things were never good between her parents, but she was sad that her disappearance had not brought them together and since she saw her mother coming in separately, she guessed it had only made things worse.

"Mother…" she said.

"It's true…" Cora cooed, as she truly looked happy to see her daughter. Things were never very good between them, but Regina knew that her mother did love her, in her own way. They shared a hug and she saw an older man, about the same age as her father who seemed familiar, lagging back.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"Oh...that's Leopold. My new husband," Cora said. Regina's eyes widened.

"You divorced daddy?" she asked.

"It's okay Regina...you know it was a long time coming," Henry admonished.

"Yes...but now that you're back, you can come home with me. I've moved in with Leopold and his mansion is impressive. There will be plenty of room for you too," Cora said. Regina pursed her lips.

"No thank you, mother...I think I'll go home with Daddy," he said, as politely as possible. She took her father's arm and helped him to the car service that had brought him here. When she left, he was only using a cane occasionally when he got tired, but now it seemed that it was a full time thing. Her mother had abandoned him, but now that she was back, she would make sure he wasn't alone anymore.

~*~

The next day, despite her father's pleas that she take some time off, Regina returned to the hospital to stares of surprise and awe. She was eager to continue her research, but she was on the receiving end of some very surprising news.

"It's true…" a voice said, as she turned and found one of her colleagues there. She smiled and they shared a hug.

"Dr. Hopper...it is...and IT is looking at my damaged laptop now. I was on the verge of a breakthrough and I'm hoping they can recover my work," she said. He looked at her oddly.

"No one told you?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Told me what?" she asked.

"Regina...we got your research, including the breakthrough five and a half years ago. It's saved hundreds of pediatric terminal cancer patients," Archie revealed, stunning her to speechlessness.

"Really?" she squeaked and they shared a bright smile.

"You're quite a legend here and even more so now," he said, as he continued on with his rounds, leaving her to let that information sink in.

Curiously, she saw two people she recognized from the plane a short distance down the hall and they were with a woman and another young woman. They seemed to be apprehensive and she approached them cautiously.

"Can I help you?" she asked. David turned and remembered her.

"You were on the plane," he replied. She nodded.

"Dr. Regina Mills," she said, as they shook hands.

"David Nolan. This is my wife Margaret, our daughter Olive and our son Henry," he said, as she smiled down at the boy.

"What a coincidence...my father's name is also Henry," she mentioned. He smiled at her, instantly taken in by her kindness toward him.

"Really?" he asked. She nodded.

"He's very special to me and I bet you're just as special to your parents," she said.

"We...we were actually looking for someone to evaluate him. His doctor from five years ago isn't here anymore," David replied. She frowned.

"Cancer?" she asked, as Margaret nodded sadly.

"Terminal…" she whispered and Regina was struck by the pain in the woman's eyes. Had she really just gotten her son back only to face losing him again? But then she remembered what Dr. Hopper had said.

"Come with me...I think we have much to discuss and I don't want to get your hopes up," she said, as she turned back to them.

"But I think I can help your son," she said. They looked at her with hope in their eyes and she hoped that she wasn't going to end up letting them down in the end. They nodded and followed her to an exam room.

~*~

Emma sighed, as she got up from the bed she was crashing on in the basement. She managed a smile, as she looked through the boxes of all the things MM had kept for her after they had to let her apartment go. She looked through the photos and smiled at the one with her, MM, and little Olive. Then there was another. Her, Killian and...Lily. She pushed the box away and grabbed her new phone. She knew David and Margaret would be happy if she lived with them forever in their basement, but she needed her own place eventually again, so that meant getting back to work. With that thought, she cleaned up, got dressed, and went upstairs. She stumbled though, as she suddenly heard her own voice in her head.

"All Things."

Emma did a three-sixty turn, looking for anyone around, but found no one. Shaking her head, she continued on and looked at the keys on the counter to an extra vehicle that her father had apparently left for her. She picked the keys up, but then put them back down. She wasn't ready for driving yet, so she took off on foot to the nearest bus station. On the way, she dialed Killian's number nervously and waited, as it rang on his end. She was both relieved and disappointed though when it went to voicemail and she hung up without leaving a message. It made her fear the worst.

MM had come rushing to the airport for them the moment they had let her through the gate, but Killian hadn't come for her. And she knew it probably meant that he had moved on. She couldn't blame him though. Why wouldn't he? It's not like they had what David and Margaret had, as much as she secretly had always wanted that. How could she not? Growing up with them had left a hopeful impression upon her that she'd find the same, but now it was sinking in that she probably didn't have that. She still didn't blame him though. To him, she was dead and had been for almost six years now. She would have wanted him to move on if she really was gone, but she couldn't help remember the night that she had met him. It was girl's night out and as usual, her sister-in-law was being the person Emma secretly aspired to be and the person that her other friends thought was an oddity.

~*~ Flashback

"Oh...that's okay, you can take that back," MM said, as the waitress put another drink in front of her.

"Sorry hon, but that guy at the bar really, really likes you. You're adorable though...you should totally go for it," the waitress commented, as she left.

"She's not wrong...he's pretty good looking," Lily said.

"I'm married...happily," MM replied. The other girls giggled.

"We only live once, M&M. If you ask me, monogamy is way overrated," Abigail slurred.

"I'm sure Freddie will be happy to hear that," Emma said, referring to Abigail's own husband. The blonde was clearly drunk already and would be mortified in the morning at what she just said, which would be fun for Emma later.

"Maybe for you...but I have eyes for one man," MM said dreamily, causing the other girls to groan.

"Hey...it's sweet. I love that my mom and dad will always be together," Emma joked, as she hugged her best friend and Margaret giggled. Emma was clearly feeling a buzz herself.

"Besides girls...why would I go out for a hamburger when I have steak at home?" Margaret asked coyly, as she sipped at her drink.

"And then you go and make it weird by referring to my brother as a side of beef," Emma deadpanned, making the raven haired beauty smile.

"Fine...then a different reference. Why would I go out for some jerk at a bar looking for one thing when I have Prince Charming waiting for me at home? Better?" she asked, as the girls groaned again.

"It's so corny that you call him that," Lily complained. But Emma smiled at her. Secretly she loved it and she decided that she was going to tell the guy at the bar exactly where he could shove his drinks for her best friend, whom she was always super protective of.

"Hey dude...no dice," she said, as she put the drinks on the bar. He shrugged.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Your friend is hot...looks sweet as sugar too," he leered. That burned her up, because he confirmed that he was exactly the type that only wanted one thing.

"Yeah well...she's not interested and happily married," Emma warned. He shrugged.

"How about you? Usually, I like that certain innocence that your friend seems to have, but for you...yeah I'd make an exception," the jerk said, as he looked her up and down.

"Hard pass," she quipped, as she started walking back to the table.

"Tell sugar hi for me...and that I'd love a taste!" he called. She stopped in her tracks and turned back, intending to punch him when someone got between them.

"Keith...shut your stupid mouth or I let the lass here have a crack at you," the man warned. She backed down a bit and regarded him for a moment.

"Is that idiot your friend?" she asked.

"Friend is a strong word...my brother owns this bar and Keith is regular. So I know him well, but friend...yeah not really. Killian Rogers," he said, as he put his hand out. She looked at him skeptically and then shook it in return.

"Okay Killian...just tell your brother's regular over there to keep his eyes off my sister-in-law. She's not interested and I'm not above punching him out if he doesn't stop acting like a creeper," she warned. Killian smirked, secretly enthralled by her spirit.

"Message received and I'll make sure Keith gets it too, though he's pretty thick, so keep those fists ready," he replied. She returned his smirk and went back to the table.

~*~

That meeting had led to drinks and then to dates. She had found out that he was going through the academy and she had just finished. After that, they ended up at the same precinct and as beat cops together. The rest had been history and she had intended to say yes to his proposal. Until the plane happened. And now, she had no idea where they stood, except that him not coming to the air strip spoke pretty clearly to her.

She got off the bus and walked into the precinct, only to have all eyes on her.

"Emma Nolan...as I live and breathe," Captain Graham Humbert greeted, as he approached her.

"Welcome back from the dead," he mused.

"Uh yeah...it's pretty surreal. I guess I decided to stop by and see if I could have my old job back," she said. He smiled and motioned her forward. Her eyes locked with Killian's, as she passed by and into the Captain's office.

"This is yours," he said, as he handed her a detective shield and she looked at him in surprise.

"Think of it as a posthumous promotion," Graham said.

"Uh...thanks Captain," she replied.

"But…" he said.

"I knew there was a but," she mused.

"Upon completion of a psych evaluation and physical," he said. She nodded and left his office, only to find Killian finally there in her path.

"I...I can't believe it. You haven't changed a bit," he mused. She snorted.

"Yeah...I'm getting that a lot," she replied, as she saw the ring on his finger and swallowed thickly.

"Who is she?" Emma muttered.

"Uh...her name is Milah. You don't really know her," he responded.

"Milah...didn't she work at your brother's bar?" Emma asked. He nodded.

"She...she was there for me after the plane disappeared," he explained. She nodded.

"I...I gotta go," Emma said, as he looked on as she did and felt his feelings for her reignite.

Emma boarded another bus and was lost in thought, until she heard her own voice in her head again.

"Slow Down," the voice warned.

"Hey...can you slow down?" Emma called to the bus driver. He gave her a weird look and ignored her.

"SLOW DOWN!" the voice screamed inside her head and she cried out, as she jumped out of her seat and yanked the pull cord. The driver slammed on his brakes and was about to lay into the annoying passenger when a toddler ran into the road chasing a ball. He was stunned and looked back at her. Had she not yanked the pull cord to slow him down, he would have hit and probably killed the child.

"How...how did you know?" he asked, but Emma didn't answer, as she hurried off the bus and tried to get her bearings. What the hell was happening to her?

~*~

"So...you think you can help Henry?" Margaret asked. The obvious hope in her voice made Regina hope that she wasn't moving this along too fast. This was a mother that had lost her son once and she'd never forgive herself if she gave her hope, only for it to be snatched away. She swallowed.

"Before the plane...I was on the verge of a breakthrough in treating pediatric patients. I thought I might have lost it all when my laptop broke during the turbulence we experienced, but it turns out that my colleagues received my research five and a half years ago," she explained.

"And this research can help Henry?" David asked.

"Apparently, it has been treating and successfully curing pediatric cases for almost two years now and since he's still in the age window...then he may be a candidate for the treatment," she replied. David and Margaret were stunned, as they looked at each other in surprise. Olive smiled and hugged her brother.

"Wait...are you saying that if Henry hadn't been on that plane that he would have been too old for the treatment by now...if we even still had him?" David asked. Regina nodded.

"That seems to be the case," she agreed.

"And this treatment...it has a very good success rate?" Margaret asked, almost in a whisper.

"An unprecedented ninety-three percent success rate," she replied. David was stunned. The plane might have saved their son's life. Was this why it had happened? Surely there had to be more to it than just their little boy...but he didn't care about any of that right now.

"I would like to submit his name for consideration for the treatment, with your permission," Regina stated.

"Yes!" Margaret exclaimed, as tears slipped down her cheeks. David was in tears too, as he clutched her hand.

"Please…" he pleaded. She nodded and they got up, as she saw them out of the room.

"Olive honey...why don't you go get a snack for both of you," Margaret suggested, as David gave her a few dollars. She knew her parents needed a few minutes to digest this information and so she took her brother's hand and led them down the hall.

"They are beautiful," Regina mentioned wistfully. Margaret and David lit up at that.

"Thank you...they're our world and I just got half my world back. It's a miracle," she gushed, as David held her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll get the paperwork done right away and I'll be in touch," Regina said, as she handed her card to them.

"Thank you so much…" Margaret said and then surprised the other woman by hugging her. Regina was shocked, but then smiled, as she hugged her back.

"I'm sorry...you must think I'm a crazy person that goes around hugging strangers," Margaret said, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I only hope I truly can save your little boy. I'm going to do everything I can," she promised, as she walked away. Up until this point, she had no idea what had happened to them and more importantly why. But now...perhaps this was why she had come back. Maybe she was meant to save little Henry Nolan.

"Oh David…" Margaret gushed, as she collapsed to tears against his chest. He hugged her tightly and cried with her, as hope filled them both.

"Can this really be happening?" she asked and he pressed his forehead to hers.

"It is...we're going to save our son," he replied, as he caressed her face.

"I blamed myself…" she squeaked.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I blamed myself for you and Henry even being on that plane! I was the one that didn't want Emma to be alone. I sent you with her, because I couldn't go myself," she sobbed, as he gently moved her to a chair and then knelt before her.

"My darling...don't you see? You're the reason we might save Henry," he told her, as she sniffed.

"If we hadn't gotten on that plane...we might have lost him long ago," he insisted, as she cried.

"Maybe...but I was a mess after the plane. You would have been so ashamed of me," she sobbed.

"Never…" he refuted.

"I shut down...I was in bed for weeks. Your father took care of Ollie for me...I forgot her. She's been in therapy," she lamented.

"No...she knows you didn't. I can't imagine what you both went through," he said sorrowfully.

"Ollie...she always insisted that her brother wasn't gone. The twin thing and I wanted so badly to believe it...that you were out there somewhere. She was right," Margaret said. He smiled and looked up at their children, as they returned.

"She was…" he said, as he stood up and hugged her tightly.

"I'm so sorry that I wasn't there," he apologized.

"Dad...it's not your fault and Mom is right. Maybe this is why all this happened...so we can save Henry," Olive said.

"I know, but I am still sorry for what you went through and for you having to grow up so fast. But this is a second chance and I'm back...I'm not going to waste it," he promised, as they hugged again, as Margaret looked on and cuddled their son.

"Let's go home…" he suggested. She nodded and stood up, as he put his arm around her waist and she leaned against him, as they followed their children to the exit.

[connorssock]

Any chance for some 4some action Hank/Connor/Gavin/Nines. Gavin acts like this isn't serious and doesn't want to get attached. He's trying to play it off and jokes about it. But inside he wants a family. They are on a call and Gavin pushes Hank out the way and gets shot. Has to be looked after. Is on meds that make him share stuff and act all cuddly.

I am finally free to write for the fandom again! This has been sat in my ask box for so long, I thought I was going to go mad because it was all plotted out from the day I saw it but just couldn’t write it. I hope the wait was worth it, even if I did forget about Gavin being shot on a case and made it happen a little differently.

Barbwire Heart

They were at a bar, the four of them messing around as per usual. It had been Gavin’s idea. Going for a meal was too cosy, too intimate and he couldn’t bring himself to ask for that, not when he’d spent so long convincing the others that it was only a fuck-buddies thing he was interested in. The other three could love each other all they wanted, could play house at Hank’s but he’d only rock up for the great sex when he felt like it and never stay the night. He had strict rules for that, no more than three nights a week there, no falling asleep and definitely no cuddling. The few times he’d fallen asleep he’d laughed it off, made excuses and beat a hasty retreat. Nines and Connor probably suspected that Gavin was lying to them all, especially himself, given their fancy scanners and everything while Hank was an observant man. The only person really fooled by his antics was Gavin himself and even he knew it was all an act.

So he was trying, slowly easing himself into the idea of being wanted, not just for good sex but also for being himself. It was a heady and ridiculous prospect but he hoped that the other three would either catch him or gently let him go when he was no longer desired. It was how they ended up at the bar, a relatively quiet one that wasn’t likely to be visited by anyone they worked with.

The way they sat, Connor and Nines were next to each other on one side, Gavin was in the corner next to Hank who had been put in charge of getting drinks. It had all been going well, Hank had an arm slung over the back of Gavin’s chair, his fingers played with the soft hair that brushed against the back of his neck. It was how he felt Gavin tense up. Both Connor and Nines looked at Gavin sharply too, anxious concern drew their brows low.

Chaos erupted around them as Gavin barrelled into him. There were many things Hank wished he never had to hear or live through again, or ever. One of those was the thud of bullets sinking into a body, accompanied by a startled, sharp gasp as the pain registered. Hank was on the ground, there were shouts and screams all around them, the sounds of a scuffle and a few more shots. The heavy body on top of him and growing warm wetness drew Hank’s back. Gavin was limp over him, breath a wheezing rattle. It was a struggle to get out from under him and take in the blood that was soaking rapidly through his shirt and staining everything it touched. Hank swore, pressed down on the two wounds which elicited a small whine and a futile twitch from Gavin.

It took Nines and Connor minimal effort to take down the shooter, call for back-up and secure the scene. Within ten minutes police and ambulance turned up, paramedics took over from where Hank was crouched over Gavin.

The place was a mess, giving statements soaked in cooling and drying blood wasn’t ideal and for the first time, Hank really appreciated Ben’s crime scene manners. It was weird, being on the opposite end of the conversation, worried sick about Gavin and wanting to rush to the hospital, evidence and job be damned. Connor and Nines had it all under control, their memories had already been transferred to one of the other androids for filing and they were waiting on Hank to give his statement the human way.

Once done, Nines insisted on driving them home first to clean up a little. Despite the water eventually running clear, Hank could still feel echoes of Gavin’s blood all down his front and on his hands. Those bullets had been meant for him, would have probably killed him and the only reason he was unharmed was because Gavin had spotted it. Had shoved him out of his seat and taken the bullets himself. Rather than mull it over and agonise over the memories, Hank hurried out of the shower and threw on a clean shirt.

At the hospital, they were greeted by harried looking nurses and orderlies rushing around.

“He’s in recovery still,” someone finally told them. “It’s perhaps best to wait, he’s not reacted well to the anaesthetics.”

A cold shiver worked its way up Hank’s spine and both Connor and Nines seemed to loom over his shoulder as he demanded what that meant.

“He’s very combative.”

Ignoring shouts, Nines led the way towards the recovery room, having hacked the system already to find Gavin. They tumbled into the room and stopped. Gavin was propped up on the bed, eyes scrunched shut. Each wrist was tied to the edge of the post and as someone walked by, the struggled, obviously distressed.

“What the hell?” Connor was the one to growl.

“Excuse me, you cannot be in here,” one of the nurses approached them.

“As far as I was aware, family could were allowed to visit relatives,” Connor stared her down and got a flickering look in return that assessed the three of them.

“Yes,but only immediate family.”

“Excellent,” Nines sounded too sunny as he steered Hank around her. “As his boyfriends we qualify.”

They approached Gavin who blearily watched them but there was no hint of recognition in his eyes just yet. Mumbled, tearful “no’s” were interspersed with gasping breaths as he struggled again.

“Hey sweetheart,” Hank murmured as he sat next to him and pushed a few stray strands of hair from his face. “It’s okay.”

On either side of the bed, Connor and Nines were undoing the ties, cupping his hands in theirs and gently holding them away from whatever harm Gavin seemed intent on wreaking.

“No,” Gavin’s breathing came short, “please. Hank. Is he okay?”

“I’m fine.” The kiss to his forehead helped ease Gavin a little. “I’m here, you saved me. Connor and Nines are here too. Can you feel them holding your hands?”

A meek “yes” was all the reply they got. Gavin whimpered a little and the three of them tried to help sooth the best they could. Slowly, his breathing calmed, still laboured under the oxygen mask but it no longer was accompanied by aborted whines and a face scrunched up in distress.

When the nurse walked by again, her disapproving frown had turned into a surprised smile.

“He’d clocked one of the nurses on the jaw before we could restrain him,” she said as she took the stats. “It took several of us to be able to restrain him at all. Pulled quite a few of his stitches while he was at it too.”

They sat with Gavin until he stirred again, somewhat more cognisant as he slurred a tired “Hank?” and squinted to peer round.

“Right here, Gav.”

“Okay?” The meaning behind his words was evident and Hank’s heart clenched. Even while coming out from surgery, Gavin’s focus and worry was on him.

“We’re all just fine. You got to play the hero and saved me.”

“Good,” Gavin’s reply was barely a sigh but he shimmied a little in bed like a happy slug to get closer to Hank. His hands squeezed both Nines’ and Connor’s ones.

Out of the recovery ward and in a private room, Gavin was kept in for several days until the doctors were satisfied not just with how he was healing but that his medication wasn’t going to cause any undue problems. Their fears were well founded, the painkillers certainly cut a lot of Gavin’s inhibitions. He was lying on his front in his bed, dozing lightly when visiting hours rolled around. As soon as he saw Nines walk through the door, his face lit up and he struggled to sit up. Only a hand to the small of his back kept him where he was.

“You came!” he sounded inordinately happy. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

The worried pout was wiped from his features when Connor presented him with a small gift. A new phone as his old one had not survived being doused in blood.

“You shouldn’t have!”

There were only two chairs in the room, Hank took the one next to the bed while Connor pulled the other one closer. Peering around, Gavin looked at Nines who stood by the foot of the bed and merrily patted the mattress next to him.

“There’s room for us all,” he announced and crooned in delight when Nines sat primly on the edge. “What’s this nonsense? Come here.”

The tug on Nines’ arm wasn’t powerful but Nines let himself be pulled down all the same. He helped Gavin rearrange them until his chest became a pillow for Gavin who snuggled close to him. Helplessly, Nines looked up at Connor and Hank who both seemed on the verge of cooing.

“This is nice,” Gavin observed from his place, utterly oblivious. “But I think it would be better if one of you lay on the other side of the bed. Like a sandwich.”

Obligingly, Hank laid down behind Gavin, mindful of the gauze and bandages, careful not to press on the thicker padding that protected the wounds.

“Better,” Gavin hummed. “But still missing a piece.”

Gingerly, Connor sat on the edge of the bed and let out a startled yelp when Gavin yanked him down with a giggle. He ended up in an inelegant sprawl on top of Nines and partially on Gavin too.

“I got into an argument today,” Gavin solemnly informed them. “The nurse from recovery came to tell me I was lucky to have such dedicated workmates who would lie to see me while off my rocker on drugs.”

The anticipation in the air was heavy and none of them dared interrupt Gavin’s monologue.

“So I told her that she was wrong. You’re not just workmates. You’re family. And I love you all very much. She was outraged, began spouting about monogamy and all that crap. So I gave her Fowler’s office number and told her to take her complaint there.”

The silence stretched long until Nines leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Gavin’s head.

“We love you too, dipshit,” he echoed the name Gavin so often called him with fondness.

“While you might not believe it sometimes,” Connor added, “you are as much part of us as we are of you.”

“And for what it’s worth, each night you leave, we keep a space for you on the bed, in case you return,” Hank joined.

A happy sigh left Gavin, content with his lot in life for possibly the first time. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t conventional but he was exactly where he wanted to be. Loved and loving in return.