#and wow the chain stitches go so smooth

[badassindistress]

I took a tambour bead embroidery class!

[Video ID: two seconds of closeup of white silk organza with a sparkly swarovski crystal surrounded by white seed bead and blue pailletes sewn on like scales. /EndID]

I am going to make everything so shiny now

[kyber-kisses]

Bone Crushing

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, Dean being whipped by muscles- you know how it is.

Summary: Sometimes Dean forgets just how strong his best friend is. . . And it may or may not be one of the small factors playing into his crush on you.

A/N: this is me just channeling how I too become whipped by strong women. Please enjoy. The screenshot I based this fic off is at the bottom btw!

This was bad.

This was a huge no no.

It’s a universal truth that you are not supposed to go and catch feelings for your best friend, it’s that simple. You don’t take a joint from a guy named Don, there are no dogs in the car, and you do not develop a dumb crush on your best friend.

What was so hard about following those rules? Specifically the last one?

the answer was easy. You just had to go and be one of the coolest people Dean had ever met didn’t you? You with your dumb jokes and wacky sense of humor, and your kindness and compassion. . . And your dumb muscles.

He felt like a friggin teenage girl that was stunned by some tall hunk. Your muscles weren’t massive by any means but they fit your body well, especially after years of hunting. You were strong as all get out. He had seen you take down demons twice your size and lift up heavy objects with ease.

Dude was almost jealous of your strength if he was gonna be honest.

The moments that really get him though are when you're doing the damn simplest of tasks, like that one morning in the bunker when he watched you open a particularly tight jar in a tank top and your biceps just. . . And then there was that one time up at Jodys place during the Fourth of July when Claire dared you to try and crush a watermelon with your thighs, and that was just an experience within itself. And then there were your hugs, and how you always gave the best ones, sometimes squeezing the air from his lungs. Add that to all the times Dean had let himself be beat by you in sparring and it all equaled one thing:

The man was whipped. and he would be lying if he hadn't thought Please crush me with your biceps more than once.

But you and your muscles were probably the last thing on Deans mind at the moment. . . Seeing as he had been knocked out and chained up by a couple of werewolves in what looked to be a massive storage unit, the massive metal cuffs around his wrists were chained to a bolt in the ceiling, forcing the hunter to stand.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he woke his body jolted, the metal chains rattling slightly as he did. It was dark, the only source of light seeping underneath the heavy duty corrugated door, the type that clearly needed a remote or something to open with how massive the damn thing was.

He had gone out to get food. That was it. He had left you and Sam back at the motel, nose deep in research, saying he would be back in twenty. It had clearly been more than twenty by now. . .but who knew if either of you had realized how long he had been gone.

Yanking on the chains, he turned his gaze upward towards the bolt, squinting in the dark in an attempt to see better, not that it did much good. How he was gonna get out of here, he didn’t have a clue.

God, if he managed to get out of here intact, you were gonna make fun of him for this for years to come. The great Dean Winchester, bested by a couple of werewolves.

Dean spent the next half hour continually pulling on the damn chains, but it was no use. They were bolted in place, the rattling links being his only companion in the dark space. The wolves had yet to come back, no doubt planning all the brilliant ways they could off him, because if you manage to capture a Winchester is something you’re gonna wanna revel in.

Eventually he gave up, instead counting the minutes so he had something to do.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

He was about to hit the fifteen minute mark on his counting when he heard it. A round of gunshots echoing somewhere in the near distance, accompanied by a series of shouts.

Dean watched as a shadow quickly passed by the door and he let out a yell, doing his best to make sure whoever it was heard him through the steel door. A second passed and then the shadow backtracked.

“Dean?”

“Y/N? Oh thank god.”

“I’ll get you out of there, just a sec-“

“Doors pretty damn heavy, I think you need a remote or something to ope—“ Dean was cut off as the wheels squealed in their tracks as you pulled up the door, fingers curling around the bottom as you did. Once open far enough, you ducked and rolled into the room, the metal door slamming against the floor behind you.

“H-how-“

“What?” Groping the walls for a light switch, you finally flicked one, the room lighting up all at once. You spun around, sending him a smile. “There you are.”

“Mmhmmm-“ Dean hummed, doing his best he to not hint at the sudden squeaky high pitched noise that left his throat.. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Well-“ taking a deep breath you squatted down, pulling off your backpack to rifle through it. “Mr. I’ll leave my phone back at the motel. I put a small tracker in your wallet.”

“Oh creepy. You do that to all your friends?”

Popping back up with your lock picking tools you got to work on the massive ones locking his shackles together. “Only the idiot ones that I’m afraid might get themselves captured.”

“Oh how nice of you.”

“I know right?”

A minute later the shackles loosened and slid off his wrists, the hunter stretching as you stepped back and slid the kit back into your pack, slinging it back over your shoulders and cinching the straps.

“You good to go?”

“Yep-“ Dean started, taking a step forward, only to wince as a sharp pain went up his leg, his arm reaching out to brace himself on the wall as he inhaled. So he twisted his ankle, no big deal. He didn't need to make you worry.

Just act fine, Dean, Just act fine.

You were too busy wrestling the massive door back open to notice, your back holding it up as you looked back over. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, all good here-“

Being as subtle as he could, he ducked under the door, you popping up to him a second later as it slammed shut again. “Alright, well then let’s hit the road.”

This time unfortunately you noticed Deans limp as the two of you began to move down the hallway of storage units, the hunter doing a poor job at masking his pain. You stopped quickly in your tracks as your hand went out to grab his arm.

“Dean! I thought you said you were fine?!”

“I am.” He brushed you off, taking another step forward, wincing as his foot hit the floor. “Where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“Sam’s fine, you big dummy. He took out the wolves-“ rushing forward, you looped Deans arm around your shoulder, supporting his weight, this time the hunter choosing not to protest and just give in. “Now what happened?”

“Probably just twisted my ankle or something when they jumped me. It’s fine.”

And then before he could even register what exactly you were doing, you were quite literally scooping the man up into your arms, carrying him down the remainder of the hallway and out into the brisk night air.

“What are you doing?!”

“Carrying you, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, but why?!”

“Because I can. And because you fucked up your ankle.” You responded, eyes finding Sam leaning against the impala. The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow before Dean sent him a silent middle finger, eyes daring him to bring up what was happening.

“What uh- what happened?” Sam cleared his throat, swinging open the passenger side door so you could slide Dean in.

“Your brother stubbed his toe.”

“Hey, I rolled my ankle!”

“Sure, Jan.” You grinned, sending him a quick wink. The hunter suddenly praying you couldn’t see the pink hue creeping across his face in the dimly lit parking lot.

Sam quickly chose to be the new driver, you sliding into the back as he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

The drive home was quiet apart from the soft hum of the radio turned down low. You were in the back stitching up a gash you had gotten earlier, Sam had his eyes on the road, and Dean? Dean was trying not to think about the fact that he had a huge fucking crush on you and the fact that you had quiet literally swept him off his feet.

And it was like that all the way home and even when he sunk into one of the many vacant chairs in the library, you excusing yourself so you could go grab a brace for Deans ankle, (Even though he kept insisting he didn’t need one.)

The second you were out of earshot though Sam was turning to his brother, an amused look on his face. Dean frowned, knowing where he was going with this.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything. . . But you having a crush on Y/N is pretty amusing.”

“I don’t not!”

“. . . But you so do.”

“Okay-“ Dean slowly pushed up from his seat, setting down the glass of whiskey you had poured him. “Just because I think about holding her hand and kissing her. . .or whatever, does not mean I have a crush on her.”

Sam’s face slightly pulled up in further amusement, Deans death glare just making the whole thing funnier. “Wow, you are so much dumber than I originally thought, holy shit.”

“Okay, you know what? Your gonna do that thing where you shut up forever, okay? Okay, cool.” Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, the older Winchester headed for the hallway, half limping as he did.

And then he turned the corner. . . And froze.

You were standing in the middle of the hallway, your box of braces tucked under your arm, eyebrows raised.

“H-HEy! Didn’t see you there!” His attempt at acting smooth and calm sailing out the window as he talked, giving you an awkward smile.

“Oh, I know you didn’t.”

“H-how- how much did you hear just now? Just curious.”

You took a several steps closer, lightly shrugging. “Not much. Other than the fact that you have a big ol crush on me.”

“W-whaaaaaattttt? No!” Dean shook his head, bumping into the wall as he backed up. “No! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on you!”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. Damn it.

You dropped the box on the floor, stepping over it slowly as you continued to walk closer. “Are you sure about that? Because your rosy red cheeks are tellin me another story.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Think about something else. Look at something else- No! Not her arms you idiot, that’s just gonna-

Your chest was practically touching Deans now as you stood toe to toe with him, the wall cool against his back as he looked into your eyes.

“You want me to stop?”

“S-stop what?” Dean stuttered, his breath coming out slightly shaky as he did.

Oh my god, why were you so pretty and badass and cool and strong and-

And then you were bending your knees slightly, hooking your arms around Deans thighs and picking him up, successfully pinning him to the damn wall, his arm flying out to brace himself as the sudden action took him by surprise. The hunter letting out a light yell.

“This.”

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

“N-no.”

And then your lips were on Deans and he was suddenly taken back by how gentle you are because he knew how much strength your body held and the feeling of your lips on his was so gentle it was just. . . So surprising.

And so damn nice.

Dean hardly had a moment to react before you pressed your tongue to the seam of his lips and, at his grant of access, delved inside his mouth.

Oh this was so much better than could have thought. So so much better. And he didn’t even give a single damn that you were the one pinning him to the damn wall. If anything he liked it. . . A lot.

As the two of you deepened the kiss the only thing that went running through Deans mind was that he was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours he’d spent with you- watching you talk, laugh and frown - that he would know all there was to know about your lips. But he hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against his own.

“Seriously guys?! I mean, not that I’m not thrilled or anything but in the hallway?! C’mon!” Sam’s voice breaking you apart slightly as you looked over your shoulder, Dean flipping him off once again as Sam grimaced and walked down a separate hallway.The younger Winchester shaking his head as he went.

When you looked back around, eyes finding Deans yet again, arms still holding him up he felt the awkwardness return.

“Y-your uh- you’re really strong.”

“Oh why thank you.” You smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “And if you couldn’t tell by now, I got a big ol crush on you too.”

(Interested in which screenshot this fic is based off of?)

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

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[bwemph]

It’s a Date

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word count: 3,831

Summary: You and Poe go stargazing, but things take a turn for the worst when the First Order makes an appearance.

Warnings: Mild torture, betrayal

A/N: This is a fic from my old blog Purpleocity. All future fics will be posted here at bwemph :)

Rathides. The Resistance were stationed here to replenish provisions and fuel. Around the ships that had just landed stretched a small city, fitting for the similarly small planet. Though, outside the city was what drew most to this quiet, middle of nowhere place.

Long, rolling hills stretched far as the eye could see under a peachy sky with spindly clouds being dissolved by the dwindling sunlight.However, the real sights were the night skies. The sky turned ebony, and light pollution was minimal, revealing millions of bright stars twinkling in the inky atmosphere. It was rumored that one could see numerous galaxies and nebulas from the right viewing point.

This is what prompted you now as you strode with purpose through the hangar in search of a certain pilot. You glanced down at your watch to make sure you weren’t short on time before your shift was to begin–you were definitely cutting it close. When you looked up from your watch, your eyes landed on Poe Dameron, exactly who you were searching for. BB-8 was handing him tools as he tuned up his X-Wing. You recalled Poe mentioned a strange buzzing sound the other day, so you assumed that must be what he was fixing.

You silently approached and hugged him from behind. He froze in surprise before he realized whose arms were wrapped around his waist. “Hey, Doc.” He wiped his hands with a rag before turning to hug you back. He pecked a greeting kiss to your lips. “What’s going on?”

You grinned. “I just wanted to see you.” You tapped the end of his nose, making him squint and scrunch it a little with a soft laugh. You giggled before going on, “And I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal? Isn’t that my job?” Poe quipped.

“Any day now, Dameron,” you teased back, your eyes flickering to the ring on the chain around his neck. He winked in response, one side of his mouth curving upward. “Anyways,” you cleared your throat, “I heard the night sky is incredible this time of year on this planet. I was thinking maybe you and I could go stargazing tonight?”

Poe smiled, brushing a few stray hairs away from your eyes. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Well, you don’t take much convincing.” You mirrored his chuckle, biting your lower lip. “It’s a date.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You noticed the approaching ship that landed outside, realizing in the ship were a few officers returning from a mission. Several were wounded and being rushed to the infirmary. “Looks like that’s my cue to leave.”

“See you later.” He pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

You gave a rushed, “bye” before jogging off toward the med bay.

“Alright, someone prep this man for surgery. We need to operate immediately,” you heard a medic instruct, pointing to an empty operating room. You strode down the hall as another doctor rushed by with a wounded soldier of some alien species. A groaning pilot staggered down the hall and held his side as a nurse strode along beside him. Several instructions and orders were being relayed across the medical ward in the background as you glanced down at your watch and noted the convenient timing of your shift.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see a nurse with tan skin and bronze hair holding a few documents.

“We’ve got a woman in need of some attention if you wouldn’t mind taking that on”

You nodded. “It’s what I’m here for. Where’s Doctor Ginn?”

“Assisting a surgery. So is Doctor Dymos. I have a feeling we’ll all be pretty busy for a while since there’s still have more officers that have yet return.”

You nodded again. “Sounds like that mission went badly.” With that, you strode to the room you were pointed toward to find a woman with striking blue eyes slouched against a wall. She grimaced as she looked up to meet your gaze.

“Really, Tatina? You’ve gotta quit getting yourself hurt on these missions.” You laughed softly as you crossed to the brunette.

“I swear, I don’t have a death wish,” she chuckled. “We were ambushed.”

You settled next to her, beginning to tend to her wounds. “What happened out there?”

“Stormtroopers. Somehow the First Order found out we were about to attack. They got to us first.”

You brushed Tatina’s brown locks behind her shoulder, cleaning a wound right at the crook of her neck. “It seems like they’ve been aware of our every move lately. Did they trace you back here?”

“I hope not,” Tatina said, her eyes wide. “We got out as quick as we could.”

You hummed. “I don’t doubt it. You guys are pretty beat up, though. Especially Lieutenant Rourke. He’s part of your squadron isn’t he? How did you manage to stay in this good of shape?”

Tatina looked at her hands and shrugged, a mistake. Her breath caught before quickening. “I’m not sure. The odds were in my favor, I guess.” She offered a little laugh.

“I guess so,” you agreed, finishing the last of Tatina’s wounds. “That should keep you for now. Next time, try not to die.”

Tatina scoffed. “As if I try at all.”

You shrugged and stood. “Well, with how often I see you, I’ll admit I’m a little suspicious,” you joked. “Take care of yourself, Tatina.”

“I always do.”

You shot the soldier a wink before leaving.

You glanced at your watch, realizing your shift was supposed to end an hour and a half ago. You left your quarters after changing into your own clothes and started down the hall in search of Poe. You turned a corner and stopped short, toe to toe with the pilot. You felt your cheeks get a little warm at how close your faces were. Your lips were just short of colliding with his.

“You’re late.” He touched your arm, running his fingers down to lace with yours.

You sighed, your thoughts running back through today’s events. “I know. This Toglomian came in with some serious injuries and we needed to operate immediately. It took us forever.” You looked at your hands tangled together, smiling as you looked back up. “But, I’m here now and I’m all yours.” You sealed your lips to his to punctuate your sentence.

Poe hummed, a hand going to the side of your face. “I like the sound of that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on!” You pulled on his hand eagerly. “What are we waiting for? There’s zillions of stars out there waiting for us!” You practically dragged him down the hall.

The stars were endless. There was almost no space in the sky the stars didn’t cover. Between the stars, planets could be seen, peeking down at you. Galaxies and nebulas also scattered themselves about the sky, glowing rich colors.

“Isn’t this just gorgeous?” You folded your arms beneath your head as you gazed in awe at the sky. “There’s so much life out there. It’s so strange that as much of it that we’ve travelled through, there’s still an infinite expanse out there that we’ll probably never live to see.”

Poe hummed a response.

“It’s just…wow,” you went on, feeling unable to tear your gaze from the sea of stars. “It’s one of those things that’s just so beautiful you can’t look away, you know?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” His voice was serene, almost as if he were in a trance.

You broke your gaze away from the sky and looked to Poe, who was turned on his side and smiling softly at you. You felt your cheeks flush and watched him prop himself up on his elbow. You followed his example.

“You are so beautiful.” He caressed your cheek, closing the space between you two. He kissed you so tenderly, and yet you felt your heart was about to explode right out of your chest from the adoration in the kiss. You returned the kiss, your passion seeping in. Poe pulled you closer to his chest, letting a hand roam your body. He guided you down to your back and hovered over you, smiling before leaning down to kiss you again. However, before he met your lips, a ship appeared from light speed in the sky. Your eyes widened. Poe followed your gaze and let you sit up, unconsciously interlocking his fingers with yours. A shuttle descended from the ship and made to land nearby.

“We gotta go,” Poe said, tugging on your arm and pulling you toward the base.

The shuttle you tried to elude landed in front of you, keeping your chace brief, and several Stormtroopers poured out. You and Poe raised your hands in surrender while while the Troopers aimed their blasters.

“Excellent job, trainees,” a familiar, very smooth voice said. A woman with long brown hair stepped around the barrier of Troopers. “Captain Phasma will be proud.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It took you a moment to process the situation. “Tatina? Wha…”

Tatina shifted her weight. “It’s Jayne, actually.” She looked down her nose at you, but the antagonistic look in her eye wasn’t entirely genuine.

“You-you’re with the First Order?”

Jayne sighed, crossing her arms. “I’d consider myself more of an ally.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll be missing having you stitch me up every other day.” She offered a small smile before looking to the trainees. “Let’s get them to Commander Ren. If he gets impatient I’ll be left to deal with the repercussions.”

The last thing you remembered before it all went dark was being hit over the head, and hearing Poe’s grunt as he felt the same.

Jayne led the trainees off the shuttle, watching a couple transport the now unconscious prisoners to a cell. She met Kylo as he strode into the hangar and watched the Troopers head toward the prisons. He removed his helmet to look down at Jayne, a smile threatening to curl his lips.

“Well done, love,” he praised, caressing her cheek. She savored the touch, as it wasn’t typical for him to show affection while on duty. “You never disappoint me.”

Jayne gave a proud smile. “That’s pleasing to hear.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Kylo’s lips before he rested a hand on her shoulder to push past.

“Commander,” Jayne blurted, catching his hand, “do me a favor?”

“Of course.” His voice was soft again as she stepped forward, his demeanor shifting a little at the use of his title.

She watched the Troopers disappear around the corner. “Once you’re done with them, the prisoners,” she shuffled a little, “send them back. We’ll have no benefit from keeping them here or killing them.”

A look flashed across Kylo’s face that Jayne couldn’t quite discern. He took a step toward her, his looming nature leaving her unphased. “Are you empathizing with the Resistance?”

“No,” she responded cooly, “just the doctor.” Kylo raised an eyebrow, prompting her to go on, “I endured no shortage of wounds during my time undercover. She took care of me. Please, let her and the pilot go. Just this once.”

“They’ll die anyway.”

Jayne sighed. “I know. Please, just give them the illusion of hope.”

Kylo’s expression hardened as he nodded once. He sighed and strode off the direction of the prisoners.

A chill went down your spine as you woke with a start. You looked around as your eyes adjusted to the dark. You realized you were on the floor. You sat up and squeezed your eyes shut at your pounding headache.

“Y/N, you alright?” Poe asked, his voice rasping a little.

You nodded shortly, then furrowed your brow as you spotted a red streak on his face where his dark curls clung to his forehead.

“You’re bleeding.” The concern was evident in your tone as you leaned forward and inspected the wound closely. In your mind, you started running through all the possible treatments for his wound.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Poe assured, catching your wrists as you reached forward to examine his head further. He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles on both hands. “You’re bleeding too.” He gestured to the spot on your head that mirrored his. You reached up and felt the sticky red substance on your forehead as well, looking down at your fingers.

“Where are we?” you asked.

Poe sighed. “Some sort of holding cell within the First Order, I assume.”

You were about to say something when your head turned at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. They echoed through the rest of the presumably empty cells ominously. A dark, looming figure paused at the door: Kylo Ren. He used the Force to open the door and stepped inside, stalking forward. He stood over you, and you couldn’t help but inch backward to escape the heavy gaze of the Commander. He took a moment to inspect the pair of you closely before heaving you to your feet.

“Y/N, no!” Poe protested, lunging forward. Kylo Force slammed him against the wall, leaving him unable to do anything but watch. You held back a frightened yelp as Kylo looked deep into your eyes through his dark helmet.

“I want answers,” he spoke, his voice deep and distorted. “The more compliant you are, the sooner I’ll leave you be.”

You felt your feet lift from the ground as Kylo used the Force to paralyze you (Though, you were already practically paralyzed by fear).

“I’m not telling you anything,” you hissed between strained breaths.

Kylo’s chuckle was low, almost inaudible. “You don’t have to.”

You gasped as you suddenly felt his presence in your head, intrusive and overpowering. He poked through a few of your thoughts, staying at the forefront of your mind while you fought to keep him from going any further. He was subtle at first, trying to slip through the places you left unguarded. You cried out as Kylo took a more aggressive approach, shutting your eyes tightly as though it might help.

“No, no, stop,” Poe rasped, his panic betraying him and seeping into his tone. He fought the Force that kept him in place. “You will not hurt her.”

Another cry escaped your lips despite your resistance. Kylo stopped and observed one of your thoughts for a good long time, realizing Poe was at the forefront of your mind, even before the Resistance or the information you were trying desperately to keep.

“You’re right,” Kylo crooned, dropping you. You landed on the cold floor with a thud and a small grunt. “I’ll hurt you. I imagine she’ll sing then.” He was too pleased with himself as he strode toward Poe, driving him to his knees. “Right, Doctor?” Kylo glanced to you.

“She’s a nurse, how can you expect her to know anything?” Poe blurted, tripping over his words and now looking afraid.

“Oh, I think she knows something.” Kylo ignited his lightsaber, the red glow highlighting the crimson streaks on Poe’s forehead. “Speak now, and your precious pilot will be left unharmed.”

“Don’t give him anything!” Poe urged, “Think of the Resistance!”

A conflict stirred within you, and you felt your heart pounding as Kylo threatened to run Poe through. You hesitated just a moment too long before Poe’s scream echoed through the cell as Kylo touched the crossguard of the saber to Poe’s shoulder.

“Poe!” you shrieked, tears blurring your vision. He grit his teeth and fruitlessly tried to escape the pain. Sparks flew and the smell of singed fabric and flesh wafted through the air and intermixed with Poe’s cries.

His head fell forward when Kylo removed his saber, awaiting a response from you.

“You’re not easily persuaded,” Ren observed. “No matter. I’ve got all night.” He circled Poe for a moment, calculating his next move as if this were a game of chess. He slunk to Poe’s left side, sinking to eye level. “Unless you have something to say, pilot.” Poe kept his gaze fixated on the ground, his shoulders rising and falling with each irregular breath. “Very well,” Kylo said with a shrug, again using his crossguard to burn a patch into Poe’s ribs. Kylo dragged it slowly and shamelessly across Poe’s side.

He cried out again, his voice breaking before Kylo withdrew his lightsaber and then landed a slash across Poe’s left arm. Kylo let the Force subside around Poe, watching him collapse to the ground. He groaned feebly.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting with everything in you to escape the Force, but you were left helpless to the situation.

Kylo raised his saber as if he were going to strike Poe across the back, but you blurted at the last moment, “Alright, I’ll talk!” You tried to contain a sob. The red light contracted, leaving the shadows to consume the cell again.

“Go on then.”

You held back tears. “Our ship is located in Chaxnuss City.” You paused to take a breath. You sniffled.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Your voice shook. “We’re refueling and restocking on food.”

“You’re vulnerable, then.”

You let your head drop. Poe helplessly tried to push himself from the ground. You found yourself unable to look at him at all.

“Tell me,” Kylo said, using the Force to tilt your chin up, “when can I expect you to be at your least immune to an unfortunate attack?”

You took another shaky breath. “Dawn,” you admitted with a quiet sob, “just before dawn.”

Kylo nodded, satisfied with the information he received. “Guards!” he called. He stalked away almost silently, murmuring an order to the two Troopers who marched in.

They paced forward, seizing you and Poe. You were towed down several halls and corridors before you were taken back to the hangar, where you were put on a shuttle and promptly dropped back onto Rathides.

You looked to Poe, whose breathing was ragged and labored. You stumbled over, throwing his arm around her shoulder. He groaned softly and staggered alongside you.

“It’s gonna be okay, don’t you worry. You’ll be okay,” You assured yourself more than Poe.

When you finally reached the ship, you wasted no time calling in a handful of other medics to assist you in taking Poe to the med bay.

Poe grimaced as you helped him remove his shirt to assess his injuries.

“You doing okay, Dameron?” you asked in hopes of keeping him conscious. You inspected his shoulder wound a little closer, trying your best to keep your eyes from flickering across his chest despite your concern.

He gave a half smile. “You think some creep in a mask can get rid of me that easy?” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You laughed softly. “Well, a girl can worry, can’t she?”

BB-8 beeped a greeting as it rolled in, seeming relieved that Poe was alright.

“Hey, buddy.” Poe smiled at his droid.

It cheeped back in a scolding tone something along the lines of “how dare you get captured without me?”

Poe chuckled at his droid’s comment, but then there was a tense silence that lingered a few moments. Poe broke it as you began dressing the wound on his shoulder, “You didn’t have to do that for me,” he spoke softly, “you didn’t have to tell him all that.”

You avoided his eyes. “I know. I just…I couldn’t keep watching him do that to you.” Your voice shook as you recalled the sight. You tried to distract yourself away from the subject by moving on to Poe’s other wounds. They wept a little blood, but at this point were mostly either cauterized or clotting.

“Hey,” Poe’s hand went to the side of your face in spite of his injuries, prompting you to meet his gaze, “thank you.”

You blinked back more tears, smiling a little. “Any time.” You pecked a kiss to his lips before continuing fixing up his wounds.

Later, you went in search Leia, guilt thoroughly wracking your insides. “General Organa?” Your voice shook as you approached.

Leia turned and looked at you, a small smile curling her lips. “Doctor, I’m pleased to see you’re safe.”

You nodded in thanks, one of your shoulders raising slightly. “General, I…” You sighed, holding back even more tears. That seemed like all you had been doing tonight. “I told Ren everything. Our location, our vulnerability, our–”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Doctor.” The General placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You looked up hesitantly. “We’ve finished fueling and we’ll be leaving within the next hour or so. Anything you told him isn’t going to matter.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the stars.”

“Besides,” Leia smiled, “you saved my best pilot. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your head dropped as you realized you suddenly felt shy. “What would we do without him?” You rubbed your arm and shuffled your feet a little.

Leia nodded in agreement. “We were lucky this time. Next time, maybe stargaze a tad closer to the ship when we’re on a foreign planet. You never know when reinforcements will be needed.” She winked. “Now, go ahead and take the rest of the evening off, Doctor. You need it.”

“Thank you, General.” You nodded in thanks before turning to leave.

You collapsed onto your bed after showering and changing into something clean and comfortable. You let your eyes close for a minute while you tried your hardest to avoid thinking about what happened earlier that night. You couldn’t seem to get the image of Poe writhing on the ground out of your mind. It was seared into your brain like the burn on his side. You decided to go check in again. It would keep you from worrying too much.

You strode to his quarters, finding him out cold and tangled in his sheets. You smiled and watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest before he stirred. You quietly padded over to his bed and settled on the edge. You brushed a few of his curls away from his forehead. Poe slipped his hand into yours as his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” you breathed.

Poe moved over and gestured to the empty space next to him. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You sighed as you lay next to him. “Just concerned about you, I guess.”

“Well, no need to worry. I had a really good doctor fix me up.” He pecked a kiss to your nose.

You smiled, your face heating a little. You rolled onto your side to look at him. You ran your fingertips over his chest. Your lips found his cheek before you hid your face in the crook of his neck. “Thanks, babe.”

“And as soon as we land on another planet, we’ll go stargazing for real.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He sealed his lips to yours for a moment.

“Well then,” you broke the kiss for a fleeting moment, “it’s a date.”

[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

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{THURSDAY. 10:23 am.}

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“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?”

.

.

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for xzstudios

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None

Summary: Wei Wuxian, a covert intelligence agent of Yunmeng Jiang, is slated to marry His Highness Lan Wangji, the Second Prince of the Empire. Unfortunately, he’s caught feelings for the Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man who has started accompanying him on missions.

Hope you like this, @xzstudios!!! Thank you so much for the prompt!

Read on AO3

******

Spies in Disguise

Wei Wuxian's new and improved teleportation talisman drops him onto a very nice light fixture in Wen Ruohan's war room. It’s very red, very gold and very pointy. It is currently digging into his thighs and catching on his burgundy tunic. He hisses as quietly as he can—he doesn’t want to blow his cover right at the start of this mission—and tries to shift his legs off the pointy bits without making a noise.

The fixture wobbles, and the chain attaching it to the ceiling creaks loud enough to rival Jiang Cheng’s shouting.

Well, shit, Wei Wuxian thinks. He unsheathes his sword and jumps onto it. He floats to the floor, careful not to make a sound. Then he turns around, pulling a talisman out of his pocket to freeze the talisman so it stops making noise—

The fixture stops moving. Someone is holding onto it with one black-gloved hand. Their whole body is swathed in black fabric, save for a dark braid and two golden eyes glaring at Wei Wuxian.

With that getup, he is probably not a Wen soldier. “Um,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Nice to meet you?”

The person’s eyes narrow. “Leave.”

“No, no!” Wei Wuxian leans closer to the man and favors him with his most charming smile. “I’m a spy too! We can work together, gather intel more efficiently!”

“Not necessary,” the man says. His voice is very deep. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t mind listening to it some more.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance, because at that moment seven Wen soldiers storm into the room.

Wei Wuxian grabs his three remaining freezing talismans and hurls them at the soldiers. Two of them hit their targets, paralyzing one Wen soldier mid-yell and another as he is unsheathing his sword. The third Wen soldier drops into a crouch, and the talisman sails over her head. Wei Wuxian lifts his sword to block, but she’s fast. Moonlight glints off her blade as she thrusts at Wei Wuxian’s stomach. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and prays that his death will be swift.

Nothing happens.

He opens his eyes. The Wen soldier is kneeling in front of him, blood oozing out of her mouth. The tip of a sword protrudes from the center of her chest. The man in black is looming over her, and Wei Wuxian realizes that it is his sword that has impaled the Wen soldier.

He pulls it out. The Wen soldier crumples to the ground. Wei Wuxian looks around. The other Wen soldiers lie on the floor, their blood dying the smooth wooden slats a dark red.

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian says. “You work fast, huh?”

“Mm,” the man says. He bends down to inspect one of Wei Wuxian’s freezing talismans. “You made this?”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. He presses two copying talismans onto the map in the center of the war room. After a few seconds, they spark at the corners—proof that the copying is complete. He stuffs them into his belt and heads for the window.

“Come on!” he says to the other spy. “There’ll be more soldiers soon!”

The man blinks, then nods. He follows Wei Wuxian into the night.

“Here,” Wei Wuxian says, handing him one of the copying talismans. “If you channel spiritual energy into this, you’ll get a copy of Wen Ruohan’s battle plans.”

“Thank you,” the man says. His dark hair shines in the moonlight.

“It’s nothing,” Wei Wuxian says. “You saved my life after all.”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkle. He unsheathes his sword, sets his feet onto the blade and flies away. Wei Wuxian sighs and does the same. He hopes these battle plans are good enough for Madam Yu.

—

Wei Wuxian continues to run into the man in black (who Wei Wuxian likes to call Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man in the privacy of his thoughts) as the war progresses. They make a good team. Wei Wuxian’s quick thinking and array of talismans complements Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s fearsome cultivation and whisper-quiet movements. Both of them have saved each other’s lives more times than they can count. Once, Wei Wuxian blacked out from blood loss and came to with his cheek pillowed on Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s thigh. Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man was sewing stitches into his side with a determined-looking glint in his eyes. When he finished, he carded his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair and sang to him until Wei Wuxian fell asleep again.

Sometimes Wei Wuxian drags him to a restaurant in Yiling that never closes and never asks questions about their attire. Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man tucks his face covering around his ears so that it covers his nose but not his mouth, and they eat congee while the sun rises.

Once, Wei Wuxian convinces Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man to try it with his favorite extra-spicy chili oil. Without hesitation, Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man mixes a spoonful into his congee.

“Wow!” Wei Wuxian says. “I didn’t think you would actually try it!”

“Of course I would try it,” Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man says. “I would gladly try anything Yuandao recommends.”

Wei Wuxian can feel a flush crawling up his cheekbones. The name Wei Wuxian used when he was undercover sounded so nice in Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s voice.

“Don’t say things like that without warning me!” he says.

Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man ignores him and puts a spoonful of congee into his mouth. His ears, which were a rosy pink, darken to the red of wine. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile at the sight.

Oh, Wei Wuxian thinks. Oh, I like this man.

—

Over the course of the next few months, Wei Wuxian makes some Plans.

He has a Plan to determine exactly how Wen Ruohan is expanding his army, even after the other sects have killed enough soldiers to fill Nightless City to its brim. He has a Plan to learn how to channel spiritual energy through music, in the style of the royal family’s legendary ancestors. Last but certainly not least, he has a Plan to worm his way into Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s heart.

His adoptive parents are doing their very best to blow this Plan to smithereens.

“There are two potential matches with reasonable compatibility,” the astrologer says, “and one that is truly spectacular.” He leans a little closer to Wei Wuxian, his eyes sparkling with a troubling smugness. “Young Master Wei’s horoscope is almost perfectly aligned with His Highness Prince Wangji.”

Jiang Fengmian smiles. Madam Yu’s grip on her teacup tightens. Wei Wuxian tries very, very hard not to grimace.

This was not how this meeting was supposed to go. The astrologer was supposed to trot out two possible names, each with moderate compatibility and a terrible reputation. Madam Yu was supposed to reject both with extreme prejudice, giving Wei Wuxian another two years at least to do what he did best and woo Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man without the shackles of marriage holding him back. He had even bribed the astrologer with a fistful of rubies and a sachet of purple dye.

Wei Wuxian shoots the astrologer a glare. A smile slithers over the astrologer’s face and he strokes his chin, his fingers glittering with rings that bore very familiar rubies.

Well, time for damage control.

“Surely this lowly one lacks the pedigree to be wed to the illustrious Light-Bearing Lord,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Nonsense,” Madam Yu says. “You are the only child of Cangse Sanren. Pedigree is no issue.”

Wei Wuxian stares at her. Madam Yu, of all people, defending him ? He pinches himself hard, then winces. He isn’t dreaming.

“A marriage to the Crown Prince would be an invaluable asset, especially during wartime,” Madam Yu says. Oh, Wei Wuxian thinks. This makes sense now. “It would be foolish not to pursue it.”

“There will be a party,” Jiang Fengmian says. He favors Wei Wuxian with an indulgent look, like Wei Wuxian is a spoiled child who needs to be bribed.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says, his lips numb. “I do like a good party.”

—

As far as Wei Wuxian can tell, he’s only getting out of this marriage if he could find sufficient dirt on Prince Wangji. He combs through all of Yunmeng Jiang’s intel on the royal family, but comes up short. According to every scrap of information they have on him, the Light-Bearing Lord lives up to his name.

Wei Wuxian needs to think outside the box. He starts by sidling up to Jiang Cheng while he’s supervising swordfighting practice for the youngest disciples.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “What do you think of the Crown Prince?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng frowns. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose. “You’re always busy.”

Jiang Cheng bends down and adjusts a disciple’s grip on their sword. “So are you.” He peers at Wei Wuxian, the orchids embroidered on his robes glittering in the afternoon sun. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I’m just curious, Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian pouts. “I’ve never even met my betrothed and you’ve met him at war councils and things! Tell me what he’s like, please?”

“Ugh, fine,” Jiang Cheng says. “He fights like a demon, but he’s a frigid bastard. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say more than five words at once.”

“Is he rude when he talks, though?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Does he treat others well?”

“How should I know? The only person he willingly spends time with is his brother.” Jiang Cheng grabs a wooden practice sword. “Now leave me alone. I need to demonstrate some stances.”

Wei Wuxian nods and makes himself scarce.

He’s tried combing through existing records and getting first hand information. The only other option he can think of is going through Prince Wangji’s things and looking for anything incriminating there.

Well, Wei Wuxian thinks, compared to Qishan Wen, breaking into the royal palace will probably be a piece of cake.

—

Wei Wuxian teleports into the Crown Prince’s bedroom and immediately hits his knee on a table. He bites back a curse and staggers, steadying himself against the wall. While he’s getting his bearings, Wei Wuxian scans the room. It is remarkably tidy—Wei Wuxian’s own room resembles a rat’s nest on a good day—which means Wei Wuxian will have to be careful not to disturb anything as he looks around.

The Second Prince’s room contains no untoward books, no bottles of wine. Everything in the room is elegant and understated, from the tea set adorned with blossoming gentians to the empty bed’s folded sheets. It looks like the room of a cultivator twice the Second Prince’s age.  

Wei Wuxian searches the room for any hidden compartments, wondering where the Second Prince could be. The royal family’s famous three thousand precepts supposedly included going to bed by nine, and it was well past midnight.

A sudden hollow noise draws him out of his thoughts. He kneels and inspects the floorboard that the noise had come from. When he pries it open, he finds a white ribbon with silver filigree in its center. He grabs the ribbon and holds it up to a shaft of moonlight. There seems to be a cloud pattern embroidered into the ribbon. He squints at it and brings it closer to his face to get a better look.

The sound of footsteps reverberates through the floorboards. Wei Wuxian hears the door to the Crown Prince’s room creak. He drops the ribbon and slaps another transportation talisman onto his chest. As he disappears he catches a glimpse of long dark hair, a flash of something golden, and the glint of steel.

—

A couple weeks later, Wei Wuxian’s procrastinating on his Prove the Crown Prince is a Degenerate Plan (which remains wildly unsuccessful) by making experimental shrinking talismans when some Yunmeng Jiang disciples walk past his quarters.

“Did you hear?” one of the younger disciples asks. “They’re tightening the security for the wedding! Someone snuck into the royal palace!”

Another disciples murmurs something that Wei Wuxian can’t make out.

“Yeah,” the first disciple says, “I heard only members of the royal family can touch that ribbon! And they found it on the floor!”

Oops, Wei Wuxian thinks.

—

The day of Wei Wuxian’s wedding arrives without any further progress on the Prove the Crown Prince is a Degenerate Plan. The Get Into Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s Pants Plan has also stalled—Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen him in months.

He sighs and adjusts his veil. Embroidered gold phoenixes dance over black lotuses on his vermillion wedding robes. Jewels the color of twilight drip from his ears, and a gold chain studded with starlike diamonds loops around his throat. They are meant to be proof that Yunmeng Jiang’s coffers are full, even in the depths of wartime.

Jiang Cheng leads him to his wedding palanquin, which is swathed in red silk and festooned with clarity bells so that the cultivators carrying the palanquin would know if there were spirits nearby. Wei Wuxian moves some silk to the side and steps in. Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian are already in the palanquin, dressed in robes of deep violet and gold. Wei Wuxian sits on the cushion furthest from Madam Yu, who has already started glaring at him. After a few minutes, Jiang Cheng enters and takes the cushion next to Wei Wuxian.

The palanquin shudders and takes to the air. Wei Wuxian savors the feeling of weightlessness. For some reason, he never feels this way when he’s flying on his own sword.

“Behave yourself,” Madam Yu says. “We cannot afford to lose face in front of the royal family.”

Wei Wuxian nods. Jiang Fengmian smiles and touches Madam Yu’s hand. She scowls.

The trip to the royal palace is mercifully short. After they land, Jiang Fengmian takes Wei Wuxian’s hand and leads him out of the palanquin.

During the day, the royal palace is lovely, all smooth white stone and babbling rivers. Vines so dark they’re almost black wind around lustrous pillars. The main hall, where the wedding will take place, is flanked by huge stained-glass windows whose panes depict the life of Lan An, the royal family’s founder. The King stands next to his brother, his white robes a stark contrast to his brother’s wedding red. A white ribbon almost identical to the one Wei Wuxian had found in his brother’s rooms is tied around his forehead.

Wei Wuxian steps forward and takes his bethrothed’s hand. They bow thrice to their family and their ancestors, then kneel and pour the ceremonial tea. When Wei Wuxian knocks his back, it tastes like jasmine and lychee.

They head to the banquet hall for the wedding feast, which consists of bland congee garnished with medicinal herbs. Despite the taste, Wei Wuxian shovels it down his throat—he hasn’t eaten anything all day. Next to him, his husband eats with dainty, dedicated precision.

Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man would like this, Wei Wuxian thinks.

He blinks and puts his spoon down. It seems that he’s lost his appetite.

When the banquet finally ends, he and his husband are brought to their wedding chamber. The biggest bed Wei Wuxian has ever seen takes up most of the room. Wei Wuxian sits on it with a plop and takes off his veil.

“Well,” he says, looking back up at his husband, “how—”

The words die in his throat. His husband has removed his veil, revealing a pair of golden eyes and a lush that mouth all too familiar.

The Crown Prince’s legs wobble when he walks towards Wei Wuxian. He falls to his knees in front of him and traces his cheekbone with his thumb.

“Yuandao,” he says. He says that name like it’s a prayer, in a voice Wei Wuxian has missed for months. “Yuandao, how—”

Wei Wuxian grips his husband’s biceps and pulls him up so their eyes are level. “I gave you a false name,” he says. “I was—I was on a mission. You know that.”

“Yes,” the Crown Prince—no, Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man—says. “Yes, I know.” His thumb moves back and forth over Wei Wuxian’s cheekbones, his palm cupping Wei Wuxian’s jaw. Wei Wuxian shivers and presses his face into his husband’s hand.

“I missed you,” Wei Wuxian says. He can feel tears sliding down his cheeks. “I missed you so much.”

“You came into my room.” Mysterious Beautiful Assassin Man’s voice is soft. “You—you touched my ribbon.”

“I was looking for intel on you,” Wei Wuxian says. “Something incriminating. I didn’t want to marry Crown Prince Wangji.” He meets his husband’s eyes and smiles. “I wanted to court the lovely spy who saved my life.”

“Mn.” His husband sits on the bed next to him. “And now?”

“You like me, right?”    

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian rests his cheek on his husband’s shoulder. “Then it’s a good thing I couldn’t find anything. Your virtue is unparalleled, Crown Prince Wangji.”

“Lan Zhan,” his husband says. “Call me Lan Zhan.”

He puts his arms around Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and smiles.

“You can call this husband Wei Ying, then.”

Lan Zhan presses a kiss to his hair. “As my husband wishes.”

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

-----------

“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

+

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day. 

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately. 

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes. 

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut. 

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists. 

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him. 

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her. 

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks. 

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @tnhmblive @greedydevil

[comfy-whumpee]

Confession

The third and final part of my non-canonical indulgence. TW for gore, death, referenced pet whump, mention of stitches and disordered eating. Dedicated to @clockworknightmares​ who asked me to whump a whumper for their birthday.

“Ellis Reece? Him?”

Cat nodded.

Sasha raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “I can see why you, uh – well, Lin, I’m guessing – did this.”

Cat sighed, and nodded again.

Sasha looked at the captive, whose stitched cheeks were wet with tears of pain. She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Creep.”

As Sasha departed, Cat took the chair remaining opposite the captive. He was still blindfolded, and the senses he’d stolen from Lindsey wouldn’t be doing him any good. She was upstairs watching TV.

“You’ve dismissed your attack dog,” he said. His voice was hoarse from screaming, and his words were muffled by the pressing need not to aggravate his cuts – but he seemed insistent on filling the room with his own snake-smooth voice. “Am I a personal project now?”

“I sent her out because she was going to kill you,” Cat replied flatly. “Would you rather I rescinded that decision?”

“You sound frustrated.”

“Answer the question. Do you want to die?”

“Who does?”

She sprayed him. Capsaicin. He jerked as it settled over the cuts on his shoulder, wheezing in a sharp breath. He pressed his mouth shut as his chest jerked, and he rode out the need to cough without letting it burst from his mouth. It was a wise decision, considering his injuries.

“Do you want to die?” she repeated, as if nothing had happened.

His jaw clenched, tension rising down his neck. “No,” he ground out from between his teeth.

“Then I discourage you from irritating me. Reiterate to me that you don’t want to die.”

Above the blindfold, he frowned, sweat-coated brow dipping in the middle. “I...don’t want to die.”

“Again.”

“Why?”

The spray bottle hissed, and he tensed. He held still in suspense for several seconds, and then gradually relaxed as he realised nothing was landing on him. It had been a warning, and an explanation.

“I don’t want to die,” he stated. He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question.

She cut him off. “Why did you keep Ellis Reece as a captive?”

He paused. She could see his wariness, but he couldn’t find a solid reason to refuse. In a low voice, he answered: “Because I wanted to control him.”

“Now in full.”

“I kept Ellis Reece as a captive because I wanted to control him.”

 He got the picture. Good. Cat leaned back, checking that she was still recording. “Why did you make him sleep on the floor? In full.”

 There was a longer hesitation this time. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact she was adding detail to the questions. It was a confession of sorts, and he knew she was making a record. His instinct told him not to give so much away.

 She counted to ten, and sprayed him. He tensed, and then he winced. She watched him try to withhold his reaction, and caught the low groan that escaped his throat.

 “I made him sleep on the floor because – it made him feel lesser.”

 “Why did you restrict his eating?”

 “I restricted his eating because it made him physically weak.”

 “Why did you stop him sleeping?”

 “I stopped him sleeping...” His voice tips out of its flat recital for a moment, a note of pleasure sounding faintly underneath. “Because I could.”

 Disgust curled tight and hard in Cat’s gut. She ran a finger down the flat of the knife Lindsey had left unused. A seven. Finely serrated, almost like a saw. She considered it...but she didn’t want to get close. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten into Lindsey’s senses.

 “Why did you want a pet?”

 At this, he almost smiled. He would have done, if it weren’t for the stitches. “I’m selfish.”

 Ah, there was a misdemeanour. She spritzed him. The mist ate into his broken skin and his even tone was broken by a gasp, and a shuddered exhalation. “Full answers please,” she reminded him.

 “I wanted a pet because I’m selfish. I – I wanted someone. My own someone.”

 “Why Reece?”

 “I picked Ellis because he was vulnerable. Shy, isolated, gullible and nervous. Pretty.”

 A man’s life ruined for the crime of low self-esteem. The vulnerable, sought and targeted like prey. Cat picked up the knife.

 “Why did you make him deny the existence of his partner?”

 Alistair’s lip curled. Cat smiled thinly at the sight. He wasn’t the only one who could bribe police officers, and he certainly wasn’t the only one to have read Ellis’s statement.

 “I made him deny his partner’s existence because I was the only person who mattered to him.”

 “Hm. You applied the past tense. That is astute of you, I suppose.”

 “He’ll come back,” Engels said, and his voice took on that insufferable confident note. “He’s gone before. He comes back, because he’s always mine, underneath.”

 “He might seek to return,” Cat agreed, rising from her chair. It had been a long, long time since she’d done this. “But he will not find anything to return to.”

 The serrations tore across the skin, eating chunks as she dragged it across his neck. He jerked, trying to raise his chained arms, but he was too late. As she pulled the knife back, he pressed bound hands to the wound, as blood began to drip over them. He swallowed, staggered, and fell to his knees.

 “Rule three,” Cat observed.

 The door to the cellar opened, and Lindsey ran down the steps. “You – oh my gosh, Cat! You did that? Oh noooo, I didn’t get to seeeeeee! This is the worst!”

 Engels was talking, Cat realised under Lindsey’s dismayed whine. She leaned closer.

 “In a basement, two women, their n—”

 She kicked him. It wasn’t hard, and she hated herself for doing it, but he coughed and then tore his stitches and crimson tears welled up in his cheeks and he didn’t catch the breath to speak again. Fucking telepath. Never again.

 “Wow, he really peed you off, didn’t he?” Lindsey said, her voice bright as the sun to a migraine. “What a dumbass. Did you get the stuff you wanted?”

 She didn’t take her eyes off him as he keeled over in slow motion, sagging onto his side. “Of course.”

 “Oh good. Hey, can I...?”

 “Sure. Whatever you want. I’m going upstairs.”

 Lindsey picked up the seven, and grinned. “You’re the best.”

 By the time Cat reached the top of the stairs, Engels was dying significantly faster, and Lindsey was humming along to his fading moans of pain.

 They dumped the body in the river.

[scarletraven1001]

Chained

Summary: He was a prisoner behind the palace gates. She was the hostage of a mired society. Together, they find the will to escape their fates, and the strength to break their chains.

An Aladdin AU. Inspired by this beautiful NovAUmber art of @rutbisbe.

Rated M.

Also on Ao3.

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Note: Hey, look who’s got another new story! While still writing so many others! LOL!

Forgive me. I couldn’t help it. The art was too good. The premise was so beautiful. My heart and soul were screaming for me to write this. And now, here we are!

I do hope you all enjoy this!

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Chapter 1: The Escape

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Run.

That one word was at the forefront of his mind, while his feet carried him manically, rapidly and euphorically away from the only home he had ever known.

His perpetual prison...

The Palace of Kuldahbar…

Sweat dripped down his temple, but not from the exertion, no, never from the exertion.

He was a machine, a boundless source of power and energy, and it was this unique anomaly in his physiology that had led him to such a life.

Run.

Run.

The gates were in his sight, for the first time since he could remember. The golden turrets teased him mercilessly, taunting him with how they seemed so close, he could just reach out and-

A sudden rustling in the trees a few feet away sent his senses into overdrive, and he panicked, tripping over his own legs in his haste, plummeting face-first onto a copse of bushes.

He caught himself mid-fall, his palm pushing against the grass to launch him into a perfect somersault, his trim body spinning in the air until his feet met the ground once more.

Run!

They could find out about his escape any minute now, and he was so close, so, so close…

The gates were just a few feet away…

RUN!

8-8-8-8-8

“Go to hell, you asshole. This couldn’t possibly be worth more than two zenals!”

Bulma huffed as she held a small loaf of bread in her hand, and she glared once more at the greedy baker who clearly wanted more than just money from her in exchange for a tiny bit of food.

“It is eight zenals, pretty girl. Take it or leave it,” he said, holding his hand out for the bread that he knew she would not be able to afford.

With a growl, she almost threw the bread back at him, and as she turned around, she could still feel the man’s beady eyes on her, watching her as she walked stiffly away.

She raised her hands to her head to adjust her hijab, the long shawl that hid her hair as was customary in Kuldahbar, making sure that not a single blue strand was hanging out.

Her blue eyes scanned her surroundings, desperate to find a woman selling wares, but unfortunately, the Grand Bazaar was a man’s world, and all she got were leering stares and catcalls as she frustratedly made her way through the streets.

She hated this place.

How she dreamed of someday leaving the thick walls of Kuldahbar, so she could find a better life for herself.

Bulma knew that she could be so much more than this, a street rat who lived in an abandoned tower on the eastern side of the city.

She sighed to herself as she saw her only companion, her cat, Scratch, make her way towards her, head tilted in question.

“Sorry, girl,” Bulma whispered as she leaned down so that the black feline can climb unto her shoulder. “I don’t have anything today. Looks like we’ll just have to find food through tougher means.”

Scratch simply meowed at her, and Bulma sighed again.

Her melancholy followed her all the way home, to the tall but haphazardly constructed building that stood alone on the top of a small hill. It was the remains of a shop destroyed by a fire, abandoned by its owners in the belief that the spot was inauspicious, causing them bad luck.

Their bad luck, was Bulma’s fortune.

She had claimed one of the top-most rooms, four floors up, and as she parted the flimsy curtains that served as her entrance to her extremely humble abode, she looked around at her belongings, all bits and pieces of things that she had found strewn around town.

Her bed was a cushion stuffed with cotton from discarded pillows, with blankets stitched together from random quilts that she had salvaged from other people’s garbage. She had two chairs that she had hammered together from excess wood from a nearby construction, hacked together with nails that she had literally picked up from a warehouse.

Her favorite part though, was the raised bit of concrete that were the remains of what seemed like a counter, which overlooked a large gap in a wall, giving her a clear view of the entire city.

At the very end of the horizon, stood The Grand Palace.

She smiled wistfully as she looked at the gorgeous structure, with its pristine white walls and sharply angled roofs. The intricate detailing on the edges of the gates called out to her, and not for the first time, Bulma wished that she had been born into a more prosperous life.

It would have been wonderful to be a princess, living in such splendor, with servants and guards at her beck and call, and a beautiful, soft bed that was made out of fresh feathers and silk.

Pulling her legs closer to herself, she leaned back, simply staring at the view.

“Someday,” she vowed. “Someday, my life will be different.”

8-8-8-8-8

It was another day in the marketplace, and Bulma was irritated.

She was trying so, so hard to make an honest living. But how was she supposed to make any progress when she was surrounded by crooks?

Granted, their Sultan was a horrible ruler, and his corruption trickled fluidly down into the very edges of society, so everybody in the horrible hellhole of Kuldahbar was a willing accomplice.

She was hungry, and Scratch was hungry, and they needed food.

The only option left was to steal it.

“Alright Scratch. Just like we practiced. Now, go,” she pushed the cat, and as she watched the small creature distract the shopkeeper, Bulma leaned down from her perch on top of a small wooden cart.

She had a small gadget that acted as extenders for grasping objects, and she used the scissor-like mechanism to reach forward, quickly swiping a loaf of bread and a piece of dried fish while the owner was angrily shooing her persistent pet.

After she had her items, she jumped off the cart, running quickly to crouch into a concealed corner, heart beating loudly at the adrenaline, even while she rejoiced at the fact that she finally had food again.

Bulma glanced back, and saw Scratch completely acing her ‘performance’.

She giggled. The black fur ball didn’t seem to realize that the show was over.

She pursed her lips, emitting a soft huff that only her cat could hear. This was their signal, and with that, Scratch happily moved, running back into their agreed-upon hiding place.

“Good girl!” Bulma greeted, and she happily ruffled the black fur below her cat’s chin.

She moved to put her stolen food into a small bag she had at her side, placing it beside an apple that she had lifted from another cart earlier.

Patting the dust off of her worn pants, she stood, and she was about to walk away when she heard the commotion.

“Thief!” she heard a deep voice yell, and panicked that she had been found, her wide blue eyes searched her surroundings for the expected angry shopkeeper.

Yet, there was no one threatening to bludgeon her for her theft, and now that she really thought about it, the screaming was a bit too far from her current hiding place.

Curious, Bulma peeked out from behind the wooden panels that hid her from view, brushing back the hair that had slipped out of her hijab.

What she found both amused and surprised her.

A man of slightly below average height was struggling cautiously against the owner of a nearby fruit stall. By his actions, it seemed as if he wasn’t even sure what to do, as he seemed hesitant, more confused than actually afraid of the humongous man who held him by the arm, a large sword poised threateningly over his covered head.

He had his back to her, but from what Bulma could see, he was dressed in rather fine clothes. His head cover was of what looked to be satin, and he wore a dark cloak that was trimmed in strips of golden silk. He had shiny metal bands around his arms, and his thin slippers were of fine leather.

“He’s a thief?” she muttered, watching as his head cover fell off his head, pooling around his broad shoulders in the struggle.

His hair was dark, swept up into the shape of furious flames, and his skin was a smooth caramel.

He turned her way slightly, and she gasped.

He had naturally-narrowed eyes that were open widely in his confusion, and plump lips the color of ripe peaches. His face was beautifully-angled, with a sharp jaw that led down into a strong chin.

“Wow,” she breathed, transfixed.

That was one fine looking man.

She snapped out of her staring, however, when she noticed that the hulking shop owner had lifted the sword, about to take a swing that would surely sever the man’s arm.

Without another thought, Bulma leapt into action.

8-8-8-8-8

It was all too much.

The smells, the sights, the utter chaos was beautiful, and he took in a deep breath, uncaring as his sensitive nose was painfully-assaulted by the mixture of sweat, spices and freshly-made food.

So this was what a street market was like!

He looked around at all the people hawking their wares, men of different shapes and sizes, selling fruit, jewelry, small metal gadgets, wooden spoons and earthen pots.

It was maddening!

He picked up the sharp scent of pepper and curry, the gentle aroma of white and green teas, the mouthwatering smell of sugar wafting from a nearby table filled with tiny cakes and bread.

He turned around, pulling his cloak tighter against himself as he listened to the clanking of metal pans, the arguments and haggling of people, the twittering of birds and the sound of horse hooves a short distance away.

The colorful rugs arrested his attention, and he moved closer to a particularly attractive one, a blue carpet with various colorful threads weaving into the tapestry, and golden bits of string hanging out of each corner.

It was only that morning, as he finally looked up into skies that were unobstructed by domed ceilings, that he realized how glorious the color blue truly was.

It was all so utterly confounding, but he was elated, overjoyed to be in the midst of all the uncontrolled disorder.

He moved past the carpets, and gazed confusedly at a pile of rounded fruits in different shades of orange, red and yellow. Were those all apples?

He was pulled from his wonderings when, in the midst of all the scents that were assailing him from all angles, a sudden whiff of something… strangely alluring… brushed past his nose.

It was a seductive mix of jasmine and springtime, of unmistakable beauty and strength, and he stiffened when every part of him went on high alert, his heart pounding in his ears.

He looked up, sniffing eagerly at the air, trying to determine the source of the incredible scent.

Up… up… up…

When the source of the scent became clear, his hawk-like eyes zeroed in on the roof of a small cart, a barely noticeable little structure that was due to collapse at any second.

A small black creature jumped out, but before he could follow it with his gaze, he spied a thin tool made of what looked like wood and worn metal begin to peak out, and, amused, he watched as the pincer-like edges caught onto a brown loaf of bread before quickly retracting.

It slipped out again, only to grab onto a small piece of fish, and a small smirk tugged at the sides of his lips when the person operating the gadget straightened, revealing a small head wrapped in cloth, followed by slender shoulders cloaked in a very worn-out brown vest.

A soft gust of wind blew past, making the cloth on the person’s head flutter, pulling with it a thick lock of silky, blue hair.

Blue hair…

The person turned, and his breath caught in his throat, the sight stunning him into motionlessness for the short second that it took for the person to jump off the roof and into the shadows below.

For the crafty person was a woman; a breathtaking woman, with wide, clear blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and plump lips pulled up into a grin, looking softer than the silk that he wore on his shoulders.

He stood on tip-toes, trying in vain to see where she had gone, and it was as he was desperately trying to find her with his gaze that a small boy moved beside him, apparently reaching for one of the small fruits.

Distractedly, he reached down, picked up a fruit, and handed it to the boy, who then took off with barely a glance back at him.

He took a step forward, intending to find the woman, but a heavy, large hand took hold of his arm, pulling him out of his daze.

“Oi, little man,” a gruff, angry voice said, making him turn to face the source.

A man who looked at least twice his size loomed over him, holding tightly onto his arm, close to the metal cuffs on his wrist.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You gave my fruit away. I expect payment,” the man said, and he noticed that the man had reached down, apparently trying to grab something hidden beneath his fruits.

He was confused. “Payment?”

“Ha!” the man cried. “Thief!”

He noticed several heads turn towards them, and a few gasps were heard from the surrounding patrons when the man pulled out a large, curved sword.

Confused, he tried to pull his arm back, but the man held tightly, lifting his other hand to raise his sword threateningly over his head.

He tried to pull back again, this time with a bit more force, and the movement made the cloth covering his head loosen, falling to pool around his shoulders.

With wide eyes, he took in the man who was turning redder by the second, who was screaming different variations of the word ‘thief’ at him, and he snapped out of his shocked confusion when he realized that the man was about to bring his sword down onto his exposed arm.

It took barely a second for his defenses to rise, as he felt his ki unfurl from within his chest, his spark of anger making the energy from inside him begin to burst forth.

His free hand began to gather up power, and he knew that this man was about to die.

“Wait!”a small voice called, halting both him and the large man, as both turned around to find who had spoken.

He felt his eyes widen, the ki in his hand dissipating into thin air.

It was the girl, the one with the blue hair and eyes, but now she stood with her hair fully-concealed, a sheepish grin curving her pink lips.

“Mister, thank you so much for finding my husband!” she cried, pulling on his free arm with surprising strength.

The large man seemed surprised too, as he let go of his arm, dropping the sword to the ground.

He recovered a second later, big eyes red with fury. “Woman, your husband is a thief! He stole my fruit!”

“Oh, he did! I am so sorry!” she cried.

Then, turning to him, she lifted a slender hand up to slap softly at his arm. “Habibi. Apologize!”

“What?” he asked, confounded.

The girl then turned back to the man. “He just got back from being a war hostage, see. He is very confused. Please forgive him!”

“But…”

“Here,” she began, as she dug into her bag, pulling out another red fruit. “Please take this as compensation. I will keep him away from your store from now on.”

The large man begrudgingly took the fruit, and with a grin, the woman grabbed his arm and began to pull him from the store and away from the prying eyes of the people surrounding them.

Completely confused now, he followed dumbly, and when they were finally out of sight of everyone else, she let out a relieved breath, releasing her hold on his arm.

“Wow. That was close,” she said, before she turned around and lifted her gaze up to his.

Her smile was so bright that it could have blinded him, but he soaked it up, stunned by the naughty sparkle that he spied in her eyes' blue depths.

“Hey. The next time you decide to steal something from the Grand Bazaar, at least make sure you don’t get caught, alright?” she said.

He just nodded, jumping slightly when something soft and fuzzy brushed across his foot.

“Here, Scratch!” she called, motioning for the small creature to stay beside her.

He looked up at her again, mouth gaping, as he tried to find his voice.

“Umm… thank you,” he finally managed, and he watched as the woman’s smile widened.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, before she held out a hand to him. “The name’s Bulma, by the way. And you are?”

He stared at her hand, and slowly, hesitantly reached out to hold it in his much larger grip.

Something akin to lightning rushed through his veins as he touched her, and with a gulp, he stared into her eyes, strangely finding the will to speak as he took in the mesmerizing shimmer of her gaze.

“My name,” he started. “My name is Vegeta.”

She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Vegeta.”

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

[unholyhelbig]

Triple Treble Prompt-Chloe (a vet) & Aubrey (a lawyer) are dating but feel as if something is missing. After a long day at work & heading home for the night, Aubrey gets attacked. She is later saved by Beca (parkour delinquent & part time DJ), but just as Aubrey is about to thank her. Beca leaves without a word when they hear sirens. Chloe learns what happened & both searched for her but had no luck. One day at work, Chloe sees a girl, Aubrey’s rescuer, in the lobby with an injured dog.

[A/N: Again, this was a lot, and I tried my best to keep it to the prompt. Tell me What you think] 

Send me prompts HERE

Beca held the animal close, her warm sense of self wavering like it always had in situations like these. She had a strong disposition, one that prevented her from shedding a tear when she saw that movie about the boat (She hadn’t even bothered to remember the title.) And the one time she came crashing to her knees and shattered her elbow when she first started riding her skateboard.

But animals were different. She refused to watch Marley and Me, she pulled back at the thought of kill shelters and videos where dogs didn’t’ get a happy ending. That’s the only reason she had melted, the only reason she let her ice-cold heart thaw out enough to pull her into this random 24-hour emergency vet.

The blood had wicked into the fabric of her white t-shirt, staining it with a sharp splotch that made her want to strip and scrub it out. She was angry, tears in her eyes. Who had the gumption, the stomach, to hit a poor animal and then leave it on the side of the road to perish? She certainly didn’t. The scent still thick in her lungs as the mutt whimpered softly in her arms.

It wasn’t a pretty dog, even if it hadn’t been hurt the way it was. Its hair was straw colored, and eyes a muddy brown- well, one was. The other shone so blue that it was almost earth-shattering. They were pained, and his breathing was fast between whimpers of agony.

Beca let out a small sigh as she shifted in her seat, not by much. This place was packed, there was a man in the corner cradling his annoyed looking rabbit in his hands, little pink nose wiggling softly. A woman who wore a lot of layers clutched onto a cage with a multi-colored a bird in it. It was loud, Beca would have put her headphones over her ears if it weren’t for the agonizing wait in the room that smelled of urine.

“Shh,” She said, running her fingers soothingly over the dogs muffle, a pink tongue darting out in a moment of relief to thank her, in a way, to calm her as she fought against the urge to sob. The urge to march back there and grab the tech who kept telling her Five More Minutes and pull her over the counter.

“Beca Mitchell and-“A man spoke, he had pulled the brown door open, staring down at a clipboard. He noticed, noticed the woman who held the crying animal in her leather jacket. He abandoned trying to finish his call.

“I don’t want to move him,” She stated, earning a thoughtful nod.

“You found him like this?” His scrubs had little puppies on them, it made his features softer as he disregarded the blood that now pushed against his front. Beca pulled the door open for him, following dutifully down a hall that smelled like sterilization and antiseptic.

“Someone hit him,” Beca’s voice cracked despite herself. Her fingers were trembling.

He leads her into a small exam room at the end of the long hallway. There was a large light that hung over a metal slab table that looked frigid. Cold as the nurse placed the animal onto the surface with a small huff. There was a little stool, black and on wheels. It reminded Beca of her own checkups. Made her uncomfortable as she raised her fingers to play with her gold necklace.

“You guys were the only ones open, I couldn’t’ let him die.”

“You did a kind thing, Miss Mitchell.” He said, soothing her as if she were about to have a mental breakdown. She was sure that she was- eyes flicking to the large laceration above the dog’s eye. The blue one. The one that was so breathtaking. “Doctor Chloe Beale will be in right away. This is a high priority.”

Beca nodded with a sniff, pressing her back against the wall. She was left in a quiet state, the sound of the dog breathing painfully the only thing that took up the empty feeling in her stomach. She was running through her thoughts; she had gotten him here, she had done her part. It was all up to fate now. This dog- it had made an instant connection with her. And more than anything, more than anything, she needed him to live.

It let out another pained whimper, Beca running her fingers over his glossy coat. “You know,” She sniffed, quiet in her words as if not to startle him. “If, when, you make it through this, I think I’ll name you Crash.”  

“That’s a good name.”

There was a smooth voice, it drew the younger woman’s focus away from her companion. The vet stood there with a calm, yet exhausted, look on her face. It was nearly one in the morning. Who wouldn’t be tired? Her skin was pale compared the fire-filled mane of hair that was tied back in a messy bun. Her scrubs were dark blue, not littered with cartoons, or Disney characters.

She was breathtaking, Beca losing all air from her lungs as she kept her touch on the dog. “Sorry, I-“

“No, you should talk to him.” The doctor said, closing the door behind her as she stepped closer to the table. There was pity in her eyes, understanding in pain. Like she could feel his agony. “You seem to calm him down, Miss?” She paused for a name.

“Beca is fine.” She said, “Is he going to be okay?”

Doctor Chloe Beale let out a small hum in concentration. She had steady hands, getting a good look at the animal on the table. Beca had stepped back to allow the woman to work. The taller of the two mumbled to herself and the dog as she rounded the slab of metal.

“Okay, buddy.” Chloe whispered, “I think he might have some broken ribs and a laceration above his eyebrow that might need a few stitches.”

Doctor Beale lifted her gaze up to Beca. “Oh, Me? Me buddy?” She poked her own chest dumbly. Under the fluorescent lights, she had noticed a lot of things. She had noticed the way those scrubs hugged close to Chloe’s body. The way her deep ocean eyes reflected with such passion for the animal in front of her.

“Actually, I was talking to Crash and you,” Chloe giggled “He should be fine, but if he stayed out in the cold like that if you hadn’t have picked him up then he most likely wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

“Oh,” Beca let out a small breath as she cupped the back of her neck. “Oh wow, I’m glad I brought him in, then.”

Chloe nodded with a breathtaking smile. “I’ll check him for a microchip, but I doubt he’ll have one.” She darted her eyes back to the dog for a moment. “would you be interested in full-time care?”

Beca ran a hand through her hair. It was shaky, and the dirt didn’t’ bother her as much anymore. Her shirt still stuck to her midsection with a mix of dried blood and what was once snow. She stared down at the dog, at Crash, and she couldn’t’ imagine letting this animal end up behind a chain link fence in some shelter. He was hers, and every part of Beca knew that.

The summer air filled her lungs in a bit of a calming way. The docks of San Francisco had its own atmosphere to adhere to; the boats pushing into a long wooden port, the walkway filled with street performers, and most importantly the park that was filled with patches of grass too green for its own good.

Beca threw the ball once more, her shoulder stiff as she reared her hand back and pushed it forward. The dog in front of her yipping in excitement as he bit at the empty air. He was goofy and clumsy. The dog had developed a personality of his own over the past five months.  

He was awkward, chasing after the tennis ball with his pink tongue slipping past his lips. Crash barked as he trotted up to the object that had landed on an edge of the grass. He dipped his head down and pushed it between his jaws before looking back to make sure Beca had seen what he did.

“Good job, Boy!” Beca called out the affirmation like she was urging on her child on a stage during a dance recital. The moves didn’t make any sense, but she would be kneeling with a video camera obnoxiously in the aisle.

It seemed to settle Crash, pride him in a way as he trotted back over, Beca kneeling in the grass as she smiled at her friend. He dropped the tennis ball in her hand with a plop. “Gross, Crash.” It was coated in slobber.

He let out a small whimper before turning around on a whim. Beca lifted herself up from her squat. She had trained him well. The leash that hung in her other hand wasn’t usually necessary, but she still clipped it onto his collar each time they walked closer to the city. Now, she found herself sprinting after her dog as she shoved past a few random people with struggled apologies.

Her chest was starting to burn as she kept a steady eye on Crash, his little tail wagging with excitement as he finally stopped by some random bench on the walkway. The tiny brunette was not too fond of cardio unless it had to do with the skatepark. Which, she hadn’t gotten much time to visit lately.

Crash had found the only bench in the whole entire park that was occupied by people. Sweat was coating every inch of her body at his point, her hands resting on her knees as she struggled to pull breath into her lungs.

“I’m-“Beca gulped down the dry taste in her mouth “Sorry, I don’t know what came over him.”

“It’s okay, Beca.”

The voice made the woman freeze, her eyes shifting up as her touch pushed against the small of her back. The vet, the doctor that she had spent a few hours with every once and awhile. The one who gave her a personal phone number to call if she had any questions about her newfound motherhood. She wasn’t alone- Chloe Beale had her fingers resting on the thigh of someone else. A woman who looked familiar, one that she would recognize more if she was in the dark.

Her mind flashed to a memory; one that she wished she could forget even though she had done something good that night. Even though the blonde woman with the breathtaking eyes was most likely here today because of her. Because of an angered reaction to a man trying to force himself on her. She had fought back- hard, and Beca was there to help. Just a stranger in passing.

She flushed at the sight, Aubrey, she remembered, seemingly doing the same. “You uh,” Beca panted, rolling her shoulders back. “You two know each other.”

Chloe let out a small laugh, a breathy one as Crash put his head on her knee. She almost absently scratched under his chin, earning a grateful wag. “Well, it would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Aubrey, still in her composed shock, held up her hand. One with a diamond ring on it. One that glittered in the mid-morning sun. Beca raised her eyebrows. Married, two random women that appeared in her life at two different times had a large part in each other’s reality.  

“yeah, it doesn’t stop her from flirting, though.” Aubrey laughed, moving to run her hand over the dog’s head, he leaned into her touch with content. It made Beca ache in a confusing way. One that she had to blink back. “Isn’t that right, Beca?”

“I uh,” Beca scratched the back of her neck “She uh-“

“Relax, sweetie.” Chloe gave out a simple chuckle. She sat forward, letting Aubrey take over with the scratching. Crash seemed perfectly content, having women dote over him like they did. “Aubrey knows we text.”

“It’s mainly about flea’s if that eases your mind.”

“Oh, what a charmer.” Aubrey beamed, standing from the bench as she stretched out her taut muscles. “How about we go get some breakfast?”

That was a startling question, Beca lifting her eyebrows. Part of her knew right then and there that she couldn’t deny these two women even a second of her time. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Chloe was captivating and ways unimaginable. Aubrey strong and mysterious in her edge. Just being near them made her mind hum.

“That’s a great idea,” Chloe raised herself, glancing down at the cold nose that pressed against her knee. “I know a place that’s dog-friendly, if you’re up for it, Beca.”

The brunette couldn’t help but appease the smile that filled her features. “I would love to.”

[drades-lair]

Risen

Author: Drade666

Rating: G

Pairings: Michael x female reader

Fandom: Supernatural

Other:

Part 2

Part 3

Michael’s head swam as he tried to focus his blurry vision barely making out the backs of two front seats of a car leading him to conclude that he was lying across the backseat. Michael could see that in the driver seat was a young female with (H/L) (H/C) hair, the feeling of the tires on the road and the occasional bumps barely registering through his dulled senses as well as the haze of pain that seared through his entire body relentlessly. Eventually overwhelmed by the pain Michael’s vision blackened until he was unconscious once more however now in the darkness his memory slowly returned, just managing to escape that disgusting hole known as the cage, Michael hauled his battered body out of the dirt in stull cemetery where he’d faced off against Lucifer before Sam Winchester managed to overwhelm his younger brother and yank them all into the pit. With dirt caked all over him mingling with both dried as well as fresh blood Michael limped off into the surrounding woods with his tattered wings dragging upon the ground behind him eventually finding a paved stretch of road that he attempted to cross when something solid collided with his body leading to the moment in the backseat. Once again the haze of his vision began to clear eventually allowing Michael to open his eyes with a deep groan as a single bright florescent light hung above him, jolts of white hot pain ripped through his grace, mingling with the cool of a stainless steel table beneath his stomach but as he attempted to move it became evident his wrists were tethered along with his ankles. Panic rose in Michael’s gut as his archangel/warrior instincts kicked in causing him to yank at the restraints causing chains attached to them to rattle unfortunately it sent more pain searing through his body eliciting a loud yelp. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder pressing gently yet firmly as encouragement to lie still instantly drawing Michael’s attention to the side only to see the young woman who’d been driving the car standing next to him, covered in blood (presumably his own) with a gentle look on her face.

 “Lay still, please…” The young woman insisted in a calm voice

 “WHO ARE YOU?” Michael barked angrily with sweat droplets pouring down his forehead.

 “My name is (Y/N), now please lay still…I’m not going to kill you,” (Y/N) introduced

 “Ha…and…I’m really…supposed to believe that?” Michael rasped out through heavy pants, his hands gripping the edge of the table he was lying on top of.

 “Look I’m just trying to help you…so try to relax,” (Y/N) encouraged as she moved slowly back to Michael’s left set of wings. All 5 were stretched out across two folding tables that had been pushed on either side of the stainless steel one bolted to the floor that Michael was laying on, coated in blood and he noticed (Y/N) had cleaned him of most the dirt as well as dried blood. As the young woman caressed over one of the limbs with one hand causing Michael to grit his teeth as he attempted to yank the appendages away to little avail as they were tethered to the table they were on. (Y/N) gently placed a cloth soaked in alcohol on to a large gash near the base of Michael’s 3rd wing causing him to jolt violently with a yelping cry of agony, his wings shaking as they continued to spasm.

 “Sshh…Sshh…it’s okay…it’s okay,” (Y/N) soothed as she rubbed a hand up his spine between his wings. Michael grunted through deep breaths he was taking in an attempt to control the pain coursing through his veins, hands white knuckled on the edge of the table with his forehead tapped against the stainless steel.

 “Why…why are you…helping me?” Michael finally managed to grit out as the pain settled a bit.

 “Well…perhaps I’m crazy especially for helping an angel but…I’m not sure really…just something telling me to help you…deep in my gut,” (Y/N) explained  

 “You…ugh…know what I am?” Michael asked as (Y/N) continued to clean the wounds on his body and wings.

 “Yep,” (Y/N) simply responded trying to focus on what she was doing

 “How?” Michael asked

 “Been a hunter since I was 12, know almost every spooky thing in the book,” (Y/N) elaborated

 “A hunter…humph…go figure,” Michael huffed a laugh

 “Something funny about that?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her brow at the angel lying in front of her.

 “Just it was hunters who did this too me,” Michael stated in a low tone as he turned his head to settle his cheek on the cool of the stainless steel table beneath him.

 “Really…you angel’s are pretty hearty, hard to imagine a simple hunter or even a dozen doing this much damage with out an angel blade,” (Y/N) stated

 “Well they didn’t personally do this too me more it was where they put me,” Michael corrected feeling his panic lessen unfortunately the adrenaline rush also began to settle down making him feel weak and lethargic.

 “I see…mind if I ask your name?” (Y/N) wondered as she began to stitch up a wound on Michael’s left top wing eliciting a hiss from the angel’s lips.

 “It’s Michael,” Michael responded in a highly calm manner while (Y/N) stopped dead for a moment.

 “What? As in…the archangel? The prince of heaven?” (Y/N) wondered in semi shock

 “Yes…or rather I was,” Michael groggily responded

 “Wow…forgive me if I don’t know how to…Michael? Michael, are you alright?” (Y/N) paused her stitching to come around after realizing the tone of Michael’s voice. Michael was nearly unconscious again with his breathing extremely labored and a large amount of sweat soaking his brow and his temples causing his short hair to stick to his face.

 “Hey! Hey, Michael? Michael! Stay with me!” (Y/N) suddenly shouted as she grabbed a cloth out of a bowl of cool water sitting nearby, gently brushing his hair from his face she pressed it to his temple, dabbing around to his forehead. Michael gave a low moan as (Y/N) slipped her hand under his head trying to get him to wake up as heat radiated off of him as if he were a furnace.

 Couple hours later…

 “Michael? Michael?” Came (Y/N)’s voice although it sounded like it was far away

 “Hmm…” Michael groaned as he slowly managed to open his eyes to see (Y/N) sitting by his head gently tangling her fingers through his short hair while pressing some ice wrapped in a towel to his temple. Michael shifted only to find that the tethers were gone from his wrists and ankles as well as his wings but he couldn’t move them too much due to the pain of his injuries but it was nice to pull them in a little for comfort.

 “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) asked in a low/worried tone

 “Better then I did,” Michael rasped out with a heavy swallow

 “Good…I’m glad, humph…you scared me for a while there,” (Y/N) stated with a huffed laugh and a smile

 “Um…I’m sorry,” Michael apologized after seeing (Y/N)’s reaction

 “It’s fine…as long as you’re okay now,” (Y/N) smiled again as she smoothed his hair out of his face.

 “Um…yeah, I do feel better,” Michael assured her with slight surprise on his face

 “Good…last thing I need is the prince of heaven dying on me,” (Y/N) chuckled

 “Humph…yeah…um…thank you, for helping me” Michael averted his eyes away from (Y/N) as an almost shy blush crossed his cheeks to mingle with the fever blush he had.

 “Well…I figured seeing as I hit you with my car…” (Y/N) chuckled again now standing up to empty the half melted ice from the cloth so as to just lay it over Michael’s forehead.

 “Hmm…ah! So how bad is the damage?” Michael asked as he shift ever so slightly

 “Pretty bad but ultimately I think I patched you up pretty good,” (Y/N) stated cupping his cheek in her hand, running her thumb over it lightly.

 “You are…a good person,” Michael grunted out as he got more comfortable but his blue eyes met (Y/N)’s (E/C) ones.

 “Thank you…” (Y/N) whispered, as the gap seemed to get smaller between them. (Y/N) felt her heart jump slightly in her chest but everything in her being was telling her this was wrong after all this was Michael! The prince of heaven! No, she can’t. (Y/N) stopped just as they were inches apart and simply nuzzled him lightly with her nose as her eyes closed and a small smile crept across her lips.

 “Get some rest,” (Y/N) whispered eliciting first confusion from Michael but then he simply gave an understanding smile.  

 “Alright” Michael agreed as he brought his arms up under his head then quickly fell back asleep to allow his wounds to heal.

[coconutseaways]

For the last week and a half, Mike and I have been answering the question “when are you guys launching the boat?” with May 1. May 1, May 1. Then our neighbour boat asks us the same question and Mike says Monday. I laughed and said “haha Monday...wait, is May 1 on Monday?!” OMG! I can’t believe it is May 1 on Monday. We are in overdrive to say the least and the weather is of course, still not cooperating. It has been a down pour all day.

This past week has probably been our most productive yet. Mike continued to work on the chain drive links from the self steering gear and finally got the last tricky spot to release. She’s wiggles so smoothly now that she has been greased up. Hopefully the self steering proves to be “fixed” when we do sea trials. We are still awaiting our other unit, the Windvane, which should be shipping soon if all goes well. Two units are better than one, especially if they both work. The original one runs on power, but the new one is wind driven. It’s an expensive addition, but Mike and I both agree we needed one for a two man trip across the ocean. Our experience of having to steer the entire St Lawrence Seaway was enough to know we want this unit. It will be so much more relaxing to just have to watch for other boats knowing the boat is steering on the right course. Instead of watching a compass for 4 hours straight. The old self steering seemed to have been broken when we left it last year, but after replacing the switch and small grub screw, plus getting the chain actually fluid again, we are pretty confident it will work.

We did another Halifax trip on Saturday to go to the Binnacle store... to spend more money. We needed more epoxy to finish the hull and also more beige for the non skid on the deck. While we were there, we agreed on a boot stripe and decided to go with Fire Red Brightside. Oh my Goodness, it’s hot! It looks so good I can’t wait to get it done and the black antifouling. It will be such a sexy boat.

The old genoa sail that we have been trying to salvage is finally off to the sailmakers. After spending a few days last week scraping tape and killing my hands, I finally finished it on Sunday. Yes we even worked on Sunday! That’s how busy we are. It needs a stitch all the way down the leech but that’s about it.

Mike was able to move a couple of the jackstands so that we could sand patches of the hull that still had the old paint on it. He also grinded the keel smooth and finally on Monday, we finished the epoxy on the majority of the hull. The few patches that only have one coat could use another, and might get it, but at least they have one solid coat.

While he was getting everything ready Monday morning, I cleaned and taped off 4 sections of non skid for painting. As soon as the epoxy was done I went up and started painting. Now, everything in front of the companion way is painted and I just have the cockpit and transom area. So if Monday wasn’t busy enough, because we love work (which I’m convinced Mike is in love with fixing up boats versus actually sailing them), we took out the genoa and scrubbed her clean. Those two old sun covers sure did collect some serious dirt over the years. You wouldn’t even believe that they were the same sail. Monday was an endless day and by the time we finished eating, I couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. I was so physically tired, I think we were asleep by 9 oclock.

Tuesday was a good day of work too. I was able to get the steering wheel painted and oh man it looks amazing. It used to be the ugly grayish colour and is now a lovely “antique brass” colour. Every 30 minutes I went and did another coat, flipping her over and spraying thin coats until the can was empty. It just shines in the sunlight.

Mike taped the boot stripe and we wet sanded the little bit of antifouling that our electric sanders had missed. It seemed like it was going to be a bigger job, but it went really quickly. We did the starboard side only because we weren’t sure how long it was going to take. As soon as the hull dried up, Mike and I rolled and tipped the bright red paint on. It definitely needs another coat but wow!

On a side note, Mike took me into one of the big loft/buildings they have here on the marina for storing boats. They have a couple really old, classic racing sailboats. Like 1907 old. The teak wood features and the classic lines on these boats make them look like torpedoes. Absolutely amazing to see.

At the moment, the rain has finally let up after a day of absolute downpour. I was committed to getting work done today no matter what, so I suited up and wet sanded the port side line to get it ready for when the rain does finally let up. Which we are hoping for Friday to get warm enough to do the second coat of red on the starboard side and the first coat on the port side. Plus I want to do the rest of the starboard side and transom. As much as possible, while leaving us some space to step. Monday might not work based on weather but I think we will make the deadline. But don’t hold me to it...I guess you will have to find out next Wednesday if we go in the water or not. we will!!! Food has been amazing too! Fruit salads and pork ribs and peanut butter ball snack bites. Lots of fruit and veggies have kept us going strong. Catch us next week and make sure you follow our facebook page and our instagram @ coconut_seaways

[fashiontrendin-blog]

The Complete Guide To Men’s Dress Shirts

http://fashion-trendin.com/the-complete-guide-to-mens-dress-shirts/

The Complete Guide To Men’s Dress Shirts

Whether you like it or not, chances are you’re going to have to shoehorn yourself into a tuxedo at least a couple of times over the course of your existence. But don’t worry, contrary to what many men would have you believe, getting dressed up to the nines doesn’t have to be a painful battle between man and mirror. Well, not if you know what you’re doing.

First off, you’re never going to fully channel your inner covert MI6 agent if you don’t have a Bond-like confidence in your outfit. So, if you know that underneath your immaculate dinner jacket, you’re concealing a shirt so ill-fitting it could give Jeremy Clarkson’s favourite pair of jeans a run for their money, it’s going to have an impact on the way you hold yourself during your next black tie soirée.

A quality dress shirt will provide a solid foundation on which to build the rest of your eveningwear and so it’s not a purchase to be taken lightly. “It’s just a white shirt,” you might think. “How difficult can it be?” However, picking the right one out can take a masters in menswear because there’s a surprising amount to bear in mind if you want to elevate your black-tie attire from Dr No Idea to Double-0-Heaven.

To school you in the minutiae of this most troublesome formalwear component, we’ve prepared an in-depth guide, covering everything you ever wanted to know about dress shirts but were too afraid to ask. Starting with the basics…

What Is A Dress Shirt?

Just to make matters that little bit more confusing for you, definitions of the term ‘dress shirt’ will vary based on who you ask. Query an American, and he’ll tell you a dress shirt is anything with a collar and cuffs, that’s smart enough to be worn to the office. However, here in the UK, our definition is a little more specific than a work shirt, and for the purpose of this guide, that’s what we’re going to be talking about. Sorry, America.

First off, you certainly wouldn’t want to rock up to work sporting a dress shirt. Not unless you’re the Queen’s butler or one of those gents who holds the doors open at posh department stores. No, a dress shirt is to be worn exclusively as part of a black-tie outfit, most commonly a tuxedo.

“An evening shirt will ideally have a slight cutaway collar to make a space for the bow tie,” explains Jermyn Street master shirtmaker, Emma Willis. “[It should also feature] a super-imposed rounded or squared bib front either in a stiffer ‘marcella’ pique fabric or pleated for a more decorative look, holes for suds on the front rather than buttons …and a double cuff for cufflinks, which can match your studs.

“The ideal fabric for an evening shirt would be as light as possible for evening cool especially if you are dancing, [always in] white or ivory cotton or silk. The collar and cuffs look very sharp in the white marcella too if you are having this bib front.”

The Key Dress Shirt Components

Still with us? We never said it was going to be easy, but if you really want to wow the shop assistant with your shirting knowledge, it’s important to understand the three key elements that set dress shirts apart and how they can vary across the board.

Collar

One of the first things a newcomer is likely to notice about a dress shirt is the collar. Most often it will be a turndown collar. However, classic pointed collars and cutaway collars are also common. Save winged for white tie occasions.

Cuffs

While casual and formal shirts tend to come with barrel cuffs fastened by a button, dress shirts do away with this in favour of a dressier French cuff, which doubles back on itself and is held in place with cufflinks.

Another more modern option is the cocktail cuff, which was invented by Turnbull and Asser for use in the James Bond classic Dr No. It features a turnback with a cutaway, allowing for buttons rather than cufflinks. All the good looks of a French cuff, without the fuss.

Bib

While we know it best as a tool to prevent babies from getting revolting-looking paste and vomit all over themselves, in the world of eveningwear, an altogether different type of bib is at work.

The dress bib is an additional layer of material commonly stitched into the front of a dress shirt. It tends to be either plain or pleated and gives a thicker appearance when worn under a jacket while allowing the body of the shirt to remain light and breathable.

How Should A Dress Shirt Fit?

Selecting a quality garment is half the battle, but if trying it on leaves you looking like either the a kid wearing his dad’s clothes, or the Hulk when he gets all green and angry and bursts out of his clothes, it will all have been for nothing. Ideally, you want to be aiming for somewhere directly in between those two extremes.

“A well-fitted, well-made shirt is always a must, but even more so when it comes to eveningwear,” says Dean Gomilsek-Cole, head of design at Jermyn Street master shirtmaker Turnbull & Asser.

“A loose fitting shirt will become uncomfortable with excess fabric folding, rucking and rubbing against the skin.

“While a shirt that is too tight can look good standing, but will also become uncomfortable when seated, and can lead to button strain, which is not a good look.”

In short, a good dress shirt should fit much the same as any other type of shirt – the main difference being the length. Dress shirts tend to be made significantly longer in the back and tails for tucking in, so don’t worry if you try one on and it looks like you’re wearing a nighty.

Aside from that, the shoulder seams should rest nicely on, well, your shoulders, the cuffs should be comfortable and shouldn’t extend onto your palm, while you should be able to fit two fingers between your neck and the collar when the front is done up.

What Material Should A Dress Shirt Be?

If you’re lucky enough never to have spent a sweaty afternoon at a black-tie summer wedding, you might think that shirt material is of little importance. However, once you’ve experienced the hell that is a dinner jacket/heavy twill combo in 30-degree heat, you’ll immediately get a sense of its significance.

“One tip from me for formal occasions is to get a bespoke dress shirt made from a voile cloth,” says Gomilsek-Cole. “This cloth is very lightweight and perfect for wearing under formal dress when you have to keep your jacket on for long periods of time.

“The fabric is quite transparent. But the trick is to have the front panel, collars and cuffs and front ‘bib’ made with a heavier cloth and no one will ever know how you managed to stay so cool and composed.”

Aside from voile, pique – sometimes referred to as ‘marcella’ – is the shirting material most commonly associated with the black tie dress code. It was initially created for use with white tie attire, as the way the fibres are woven makes it capable of holding more starch than other cotton fabrics.

Being nice and light, poplin is another good option in the warmer months, plus the smooth, silky appearance lends itself perfectly to a dressed-up look.

When To Wear A Dress Shirt

Easy. If the dress code says anything other than black or white tie, you should leave your dress shirt well alone. No one’s going to look good wearing a starched shirt with a pleated bib with a pair of jeans. While we’re all for individual style, there is a line and wearing a dress shirt with anything other than a tux crosses it by a country mile.

The Best Brands For Dress Shirts

Now that you could give the experts on Jermyn Street a run for their money in a dress shirt-themed episode of Mastermind, let’s take a look at what you should be spending your money on.

Turnbull And Asser

If your end goal is to look like Bond then who better to buy your kit from than the people who dress him? Not only has the luxury London-based outfitter dressed 007, but it has also created shirts and accessories specifically for him, including the famous cocktail cuff.

Turnbull And Asser is steeped in history and has been held in esteem by some of the most important men in Britain and beyond. When it comes to quality and prestige, this Jermyn Street heavyweight is second to none.

Buy Now: £255.00

Hawes & Curtis

Originally founded by London tailors Ralph Hawes and George Frederic “Freddie” Curtis in 1913, Hawes & Curtis quickly became known as one of the most respected gentleman’s outfitters in the capital.

The heritage label is the original Jermyn Street shirtmaker and has outfitted everyone from Hollywood stars to royalty during its time in the city.

Expect high quality, heaps of sophistication and price tags that won’t leave your wallet empty.

Buy Now: £79.00

Next

Next is one of the most reliable names on the British high street and is well known for making slick suits at affordable prices. The brand’s sartorial output doesn’t end there but carries over nicely into the eveningwear arena.

You won’t get handcrafted, made-in-England garments, woven from the most beautiful silk cloth, but what you will get is a solid, stylish dress shirt and change from £50. Can’t argue with that in this stormy financial climate.

Buy Now: £24.00

Emma Willis

The first and only female shirtmaker to boast a shopfront on Jermyn Street, Emma Willis is widely regarded as one of the best in the game. The celebrated tailor counts the likes of Daniel Craig and David Gandy among her returning customers, and when you take a look at her masterfully crafted shirts, it’s not difficult to see why.

For stunning bespoke and ready-to-wear shirts, handmade with premium materials in London, you need look no further.

Buy Now: £350.00

Zara

Thanks in no small part to a highly responsive supply chain, Spanish high-street heavyweight Zara is always at the cutting edge of what’s fashionable. However, that’s not to say its timeless classics aren’t up to scratch, as exemplified perfectly in its range of sharp, crisp dress shirts.

Expect contemporary cuts, modern styling and prices so cheap you’ll feel like stocking up your entire evening wardrobe.

Buy Now: £19.99

Marks And Spencer

A shirt bought from historic British retailer Marks And Spencer is a shirt bought with confidence. Renowned for its reliable quality, huge variety and timeless designs, it’s no wonder M&S has become a firm favourite in the UK.

If you’re looking for a sturdy, reliable dress shirt that you won’t need to sell a kidney to buy, you will find it right here. An ideal choice if you’re only pulling your tux on once or twice a year.

Buy Now: £45.00

T.M. Lewin

Established in 1898, T.M. Lewin is one of the most historic shirtmakers on Jermyn Street and unlike many of its neighbours, the prices are well within most budgets.

These modest price points aren’t indicative of subpar quality either, which goes a long way towards explaining why this heritage outfitter is one of the most popular in the country.

Buy Now: £49.95

Thomas Pink

Founded by Irish brothers James, Peter and John Mullen in 1984, Thomas Pink set out on a mission to challenge the traditional shirt making for which Jermyn Street had become famous. Named after the 18th-century tailor who designed the famous red hunting coat, the label carries on the name and tradition of exquisite attention to detail which was a hallmark of Pink’s work.

Choose a shirt from Thomas Pink and you’re buying into a focus on the more delicate details and a perfect blend of tradition-meets-modernity.

Buy Now: £100.00

Charles Tyrwhitt

Nicholas Charles Tyrwhitt Wheeler founded his eponymous label in 1986 after deciding he could make a better shirt than anyone else. What’s more, he believed he could do it with no compromise on quality, a dash of British charm and at absolute knock-out prices.

Did he succeed? Well, judging by the fact that his business now boasts 27 successful stores worldwide, including a flagship on Jermyn Street, we’d say so, yeah.

Buy Now: £49.95

John Lewis

Having opened the doors of its first store on Oxford Street in 1864, luxury department store chain John Lewis has gone on to become one of the most established names on the high street. The brand has a reputation for its unfaltering solidity, making it the first port of call for many a shopping Brit.

Regarding men’s eveningwear, it’s more of the same. Timeless, quality garments that offer a touch of luxury at not unreasonable prices.

Buy Now: £40.00

For The Menswear Geeks: The History Of The Dress Shirt

Having first appeared on the shoulders of European men in the early sixteenth century, the shirt quickly went on to become the undergarment of choice. Just the ticket for keeping all that sweat away from expensive clothes at a time when personal hygiene was still a pretty abstract concept.

As the years rolled on, a crisp white shirt became a status symbol, as only very wealthy men could afford to keep them pristine. Then, during the Victorian era, and with the rise of the dinner jacket, the dress shirt, as we know it today, was born.

Unlike in the thicker, more substantial shirts of years gone by, shirtmakers began to manufacture shirts with a bib panel stitched onto the chest. This panel could be starched, giving the front of the garment a whiter, crisper appearance, while reducing the thickness of the shirt overall and maximising comfort.

After World War II, the tuxedo became de facto eveningwear, cementing the modern dress shirt as one of the essential components in today’s black-tie attire.