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floralseokjin · 8 years ago

Text

— aquiver | 02 (m)

aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering

Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…

pairing | min yoongi x reader genre/warnings | mature themes, talk of masturbation, smut, language words | 11,520

» 01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 :: 07 :: 08 ✓

You were beginning to feel tired by the time you managed to shoo your last customer out the door, pretty much guessing there would be another as soon as you walked out. It was a Sunday and Sunday’s were always busy. Men seemed to like to sin on God’s day of rest, that was for sure. You were surprised Mr. Lee had been so early tonight and you didn't know where you were.

He was one of your regulars, one of the first people you had ‘seen’ when you first started working here and of course, he had jumped at the chance of keeping you. Out of the few girls that worked here, you were by the far the youngest and even though the thought made you uneasy, Mr. Lee was just a lonely middle aged man. He wasn’t creepy or sordid, and that was okay with you. He arrived, you did the thing for twenty minutes and then he left. You didn't mind because he had to pay extra to get to see you each time and that was an extra $10 more in your pocket, put away in what you liked to call the ‘wank bank. Not what it usually meant, but somewhere you saved your extra dollars for your future. You knew this job wasn't forever, just something to help you live in your own place without roommates and tide you over while you waited to finish your college classes online. Then you could get a proper job and look back on this and laugh…

You'd only seen Mr. Lee so far tonight and like you said, you were already tired. This week had been a little crazy with deadlines and whilst you wanted nothing more than to curl up in your bed and watch Netflix all weekend, a much-needed break remedied—you had to work. Weekends were yours and Tiffany’s, with Greta out front on the desk. So here you were until gone 1am it was—and then you could curl up in your bed. You stepped out of your little room, seeing a pair of sneakers in the peripheral of your vision, a figure sitting down on one of the chairs outside your door and you automatically called out a ‘next, please,’ not really paying much attention until you looked up to meet the strangers face and was shocked to see it wasn't really a stranger after all—well, technically he was…you only knew his name…and other details no normal stranger should know.

It was him. From last week. Yoongi. You remembered his name like you remembered his face, because if truth me told you hadn't been able to stop thinking of that night. You were surprised to see him back and it must have shown on your face because what was first a look of slight normalcy turned to one of apprehension on his face as he looked back at you, his jaw locking for a moment, looking as if he wanted to bolt.

“Yoongi,” you smiled gently in greeting, gaining your bearings as you remembered to act professional and he instantly relaxed again, smiling back, albeit small.

You heard Greta cough behind the desk and pushed yourself into action, motioning your head to your room as you silently asked him to follow you. You didn't want a queue of customers at the door because you were too awestruck to do your job…

Maybe you just hadn't imagined he'd be back. Maybe you just hadn't imagined he would even come here in the first place. He was young, around your age it seemed and that rarely happened in a place like this. You could probably count how many times on one hand. This place—Healing Hands as it was so beautifully called, even though no one in this fricking place knew how to read a palm let alone predict the future properly—was more so for the older man; stressed at work, unhappy at home—the usual. Maybe there were ones like, Mr. Lee who were just lonely; divorced in their late thirties, not allowed to see their children, whether it be due to them or their wife, you weren't one to judge working in a place like this, but you guessed that somewhere along the line you had become some sort of therapist, helping people out in more than one way…it was lucky that you were one step closer to becoming counsellor with the help of your college classes. You would have lots of experience by the time you left this godforsaken place.

Yoongi was something else altogether. Most men in their early to mid twenties wouldn't be seen dead in a place like this, mainly because if they were having trouble getting sexual favours all they had to do was go out for one night and find someone to satisfy their needs. They didn't need to pay for it when they could easily get it for free. He was unreadable, you couldn't think of a reason as to why he had come here…and again. You also couldn’t explain why you felt a twinge of excitement in your chest at seeing his face. It was stupid, but ever since last Sunday you hadn't been able to stop thinking of your time with him. You'd serviced so many guys in your six months of working here that they all blurred into one after a while, but not him…Yoongi; you even remembered his name for crying out loud.

The way he had acted was so out of this world, so different to any other man had ever acted you were still in shock. You got that he hadn't been able to make himself come in a while—so did a lot of men who came here, but none had their bones literally quaking, about to start an earthquake in the store with how hard he'd released. If you were being honest, the thought of the reaction he'd had, the look on his face…the noises he'd made, had some some sort of adverse effect on you. You’d shaken it off at the time, distracting yourself with whoever came in again that night, but as you'd tried to sleep that night and the nights after that too, the memories had come back. You didn't understand what was wrong with you. You put it down to curiosity and it helped that you'd probably never see him again, so right now—a week later, dare you say you were feeling nervous as you let him inside your room first and followed him in? This was new to you and you didn't want to spend too long questioning it. It could be dangerous, you weren't stupid…and besides if he was turning up regularly now, you definitely couldn't over think it.

He stopped in the middle of the room as you shut the door with a click and you paused, watching his reactions carefully. He seemed more confident this time, his movements less hesitant as he paused to think, before deciding to sit down on the bed. That was a step in the right direction, you thought. Last time it had nearly taken him five minutes to do just that and this time you found it was you who was frozen a little. You couldn't explain why, but you shook yourself out of it quickly, not having time to mess about and for the first time since out in the parlour, you made eye contact again. You smiled gently, knowing it was your job to relax the customers and he still looked a little distressed, despite taking the initiative this time.

“You're back,” you noted, sitting in the chair beside him, forcing yourself to sound normal, you didn't even know why you were so jumpy right now. You suddenly felt like a school girl who had seen her crush and it was both mind boggling and stupid.

Of course Yoongi was good looking, that's that first thing you'd thought when he'd entered for the first time but that didn't warrant this silly reaction, and you busied yourself with thinking about what you'd watch on Netflix when you’d get home.

“Is that okay?” He asked, his voice hesitant and you looked up, pushed from your thoughts to see his little shocked face. He looked cute when he was unsure of something and you couldn't hold in your giggle.

You couldn't remember the last time you had giggled at someone sat on this bed in front over you, you were pretty sure it was never, but right there and then you couldn't hold it in and soon you watched one side of Yoongi’s lip twitch up in amusement at himself, chuckling along with you.

“No, that's the rules in this place—once it is, no repeat turns,” you finally got out, joking with him and he averted eye contact slowly, his cheeks darkening with embarrassment at his stupid question.

You wanted to add an of course not, he was the one paying after all, he could have anything he wanted—within the rules of course, but for some reason the words wouldn't come out. It seemed to cheapen the moment and you shook your head lightly, reigning it back in. That's right, he had paid for something, so you better get on with it, despite all the questions you had regarding why he was back. He'd already admitted that he'd had trouble with making himself come, but you'd really thought you'd put by to that problem. You’d thought you loosened the blockage, of sorts…maybe not, though…

“Are you ready?” You prompted quietly, knowing this time he wouldn't need a lot of time to gain his bearings. You didn't even know how long he had paid for—it could be ten minutes, so your hand slowly began to creep up his thigh as he nodded, looking down at you with pursed lips, as if he was trying to control his facial expression, but you saw his eyes glow a little when you reached his crotch and for some reason you felt a burst of confidence wash through you…which was stupid. Working in a place like this meant you had reams of the stuff when it came to giving hand jobs.

Not many people could say they could make a man, regardless of who they were, come in under five minutes. Most of these men didn't mess about, they paid for what they came for—a few minutes of relief that turned dirty as soon as they left here to go back to jobs they hated, wives who didn't love them, and then they had to keep coming back for more—a dirty circle of life. Weak men, who needed women in their life for aspects that they should be able to see to themselves… That's why you were so intrigued by Yoongi. What kind of occupation did he have that couldn't allow him to go out to a club and hook up with the first girl he saw? Like you said, he was incredibly handsome, almost doll-like, maybe that was his problem? Too pretty for his own good?

Yeah, it wasn’t confidence in your skill that washed over—you were pretty sure you could jerk off the complete number of men who came to this place in one night if you tried hard enough and made yourself forget that you were probably only a couple of years from getting diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome… No. it was confidence in yourself. The way Yoongi looked at you as if you weren't a one-way ticket to that orgasm he'd probably been craving all week. He was looking at your face, not your hands, and it wasn't hungry, greedy either…more like excitement…and that had you flustered, if you were being honest.

You went for his dick straight away, trying to a different approach this time, seeing as this was his second time. He obviously knew what he was getting himself into now and you hid your surprise when you felt he was already hard—very hard. All on his own accord. You could feel the rigidness over his sweats and you squeezed once, causing him to gasp out a little and buck into your hand before a bemused breathless laugh left him and you cocked an eyebrow, surprised at his outburst, but happy that he was relaxed.

“S-Sorry,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “I'm just…”

Couldn’t believe he was back here? Couldn’t believe he was considering this normal? Whatever it was, you didn’t mind. Him laughing at himself was something new you could get on board with and you grinned, wanting to tease him.

“It seems like you don’t need warming up this time,” and his eyes bulged for a moment, before he smiled bashfully, already pushing his sweat pants down as your hand slid down his leg.

You couldn’t explain the excitement that hit you, wondering how long he’d been hard for. It could have been all week for you knew and the thought made you feel giddy, making sure to push it to the deepest recesses of your mind, instead, concentrating on the way his dick bounced out of its confines, and you watched it for a moment, enjoying the way it looked and remembering the way he had truly lost it last time. A part of you wanted to see if you could get the same reaction out of him this time…

You felt his eyes on you as you wrapped your hand around his base, which was a far cry from the first time when his eyes had been trained to the wall…until the last couple of minutes that was, and once again, you remembered back. Eye contact was considered creepy in most cases but when Yoongi had done it, it had been different. It made your stomach jump even now, and you quickly shook yourself out of it, telling yourself to concentrate on the here and now as you began to run your fist up and down him languidly, hardly squeezing.

He let out a sigh of relief, relaxing into your touch as he gripped the sides of the bed, his eyes trained on your movements. You purposely kept your grip limp, wanting more from him this time. He’d stayed silent before but there was something interesting about this guy and you wanted to see how far you could push him. You felt him raise his hips upwards, trying to meet your movements for more pressure and you bit back a smile, catching his eyes as he looked up at you for a moment.

“How long do we have?” You murmured, barely audible, but he heard you loud and clear, making sure to look away when he answered.

“45 minutes,” he mumbled, the words blurring into one another and your heart stilled in shock.

That was fifteen minutes longer than last time and you’d been sure he would have chosen less. Maybe your presumptions were all wrong then… Why had he wanted such a long session? Did he really think he needed it? He’d came in under thirty minutes last time and by the seems of it he hadn’t been able to jerk off for weeks before that… It should have been easier this time around, and your heart began to race with the though—maybe he wasn’t here for a wank so quick it was over in the blink of an eye, maybe he wanted it to go on for a while…you mean he had paid a ton of money for it…

With that thought it mind, you slowed your hand down even more, barely grazing his flesh and you heard him sigh a little in discomfort. The sound was like music to your ears and you stilled instantly, cocking your head to the side.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I…” he stuttered, his face scrunched up as if he didn’t know how to explain himself.

“You want me to go faster?” You pressed, watching him nod quickly, instantly getting embarrassed as he shifted under your gaze.

“Yoongi…you know you can ask me to do whatever you like…” you hummed in a lower voice, becoming serious for a moment.

He was the paying customer after all and no man was exactly the same when it came to something so intimate. Sure, the motions were the same, but that didn’t mean there was a set pace, a set grip—a set limit for every guy.

As long as it wasn’t too out there and only included things that were written down on the information leaflet then it was alright. You’d had your fair share of creeps come into this place requesting all sorts of strange fantasies, that maybe a brothel would have no problem doing, but despite the nature of this stupid shop, you didn’t hand out anything other than one type of sexual favour. Anything hinted or forced out of you was what the panic button was for, under the little desk in your room.

“I-I’m just happy with whatever you do,” he shrugged, his voice just as low, but his was because he felt uncomfortable.

You squinted, not really believing him, but picked up your pace anyway, still making sure to keep your grip limp. It gave him temporary relief for a couple of minutes but you watched him twist his hips into your fist again, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something and you waited patiently for him to say what you knew he wanted to. It took just twenty more seconds.

“H-harder…” he huffed under his breath and you smiled, instantly listening and squeezing around the head almost instantly and he groaned loudly, watching the pre-cum drip from the slit, that you quickly messaged over the sensitive flesh and felt his body relax a bit. You knew this was what he wanted and you were done playing around, so you continued swirling your thumb over his red tip as you pumped him, enjoying the way he shivered under you.

His dick was hot in your hand, but if truth be told, you weren’t even paying much attention to that anymore. You were looking at his face and you secretly admired the way his forehead scrunched up as he watched you work, breathing out of his gritted teeth as his lips puckered, his cheeks scattered with a light pink as he got more and more worked up. Yup, definitely just has hot as last time. Not that you would admit it. This wasn’t part of your job description, but you figured it must be a natural reaction sometimes. It just depended on who the person was. You never usually even watched the customers face, but this time it was different—Yoongi was different, you guessed…

You moved faster, desperate to please him for some reason, wanting to chase another reaction from him and he moaned, his stomach muscles flexing as his thighs tensed under your arm.

“Fuck—this feels so good,” he got out and you felt a fluttering in your body. That was new. So was his reaction, but you liked it and you wanted more, so you continued, twisting your palm every time you came up, making sure to graze the sensitive flesh.

“You’re gonna make me cum, soon,” he panted, almost as if he was warning you and you frowned unable to help yourself as the words fell off your tongue.

“Is that a bad thing?”

This was probably wrong. A voice was telling you that you shouldn’t be teasing him this much, you shouldn’t be so comfortable or so involved. You should be taking a step back and listening to his requests, but something in you wanted to fight back—something in you, was enjoying this.

“That’s what you’re here for, right? I’m here to make you cum?”

You had no clue what was wrong with you. It was worse than last time. Last time you had been itching for him to say something, when unusually you wanted all the men you saw to shut the hell up. Not Yoongi though, you couldn’t explain it but you knew you were liking the way he was becoming more vocal and at your words he groaned, not being able to help but buck into your hips and chase your hands, regardless of if he wanted to come yet.

“I-I don’t want to yet,” he admitted, and you wanted to tease him some more, ask him why he was practically jerking himself off in your hand, but you didn’t—you reigned it back in.

Of course, he had paid for forty-five minutes after all and you slowed your pace, letting your hand reach all of his dick now, running your fist from the top to the base, your fist hitting the top of his balls gently and the pressure had him groaning again.

You watched him curiously, noticing the way his eyes lit up every time you made contact with them and finally inquisitiveness got the better of you. Just because he didn’t have the nerve to ask you didn’t mean you didn’t know he wanted it and you ran your free hand up his leg, letting your fingers flutter against the bare skin of his thigh until you reached his balls and his breath hitched, his body stiffening as you traced against the hot skin.

He gradually calmed down, relaxing as you ran your fingers up and down the sensitive flesh, figuring out what he liked and what was his limit and when you experimentally cupped them, pushing them together he whined a little, his breathing now hasty and soon after, you guessed he didn’t want you to slow down as you felt his balls pulse in your hand, his butt raising off the bed slightly as he thrust back into your palm—but, you were waiting for the magic words from him before you moved any differently. You didn’t have to wait long.

“Faster,” he grunted, sweat beginning to form on his forehead and you took great pleasure in seeing that his eyes were well and truly blown out, transfixed on your fingers that were now tracing circles against the flesh of his balls.

You obeyed, running your fist along his whole length much quicker now, sliding over the smooth skin, feeling the veins under your digits he was so rock solid and he groaned, finally shutting his eyes tight as he lost himself in the feeling. He was so lost in fact—and to your surprise, that his own hand came out and made a fist over yours, clinging to the head of his dick as he took control and swept it over the small space quickly, obviously wanted you to concentrate on the most sensitive area where words failed him. You didn’t think he even realised. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was laboured in between hard pants, his back arching as he squeezed against your closed palm and you stalled for a moment, taken back, letting him to do the work.

This was something that had never happened before, and you didn't know how to react. What you did know though, was that if this would have been anybody else, you would have been stopping it right there and then. Here it was again—something different about this guy. This was intimate and something that probably shouldn't be happening in a place like this, but you shrugged it off. This was all about him after all, and then you moved with his pace, squeezing around the head as he moaned, feeling you come back to life, so he dropped his grip, his fingers now digging into his thigh as he prepared for his release. His eyebrows furrowed, his nose wrinkled and his jaw slack, and you lost yourself in his facial features, admiring how good he looked right now.

“I'm gonna cum—fuck!” He gasped, this time more coherent when it came to expressing his feelings and you realised why this time was so different to before.

Last time he had been unsure that he would even come—he was nervous and awkward, unsure if this would even work. This time he knew it worked. He knew what the end goal would be and he craved it and in your mind, he craved you. It helped your ego for a split second, not even realising what you you were thinking before you felt his balls constrict in your fingers and you were brought back to the here and now.

You didn't want to squeeze too hard at his dick this time after what happened before, so you tugged quickly at his balls, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make a strangled moan leave him as his dick pulsed under your touch and soon he was coming, watching it spurt out of him with a silent cry. However, this time were quick and made sure none went over him or the bed, catching it all in your hand as you shielded it. He definitely didn't come as severe as last time but it it was still hard enough to make his body quiver in the aftershocks, and you thought this time, you were more affected by tonight's turn of events.

Your breathing was laboured as if you'd actively taken part in some sort of mutual moment, your face flush and your own perspiration dampening your neck, your wrist shaking with the burn of moving so vigorous.

A steady stream of fucks left him breathlessly as he came back down and you hid your smile as you rolled over to the sink, washing off his arousal with soapy warm water. You were drying them off when you heard him mutter something else too. It was so quiet, you guessed he didn't mean for you to hear, but you did anyway, your senses heightened after such an intense moment and it sounded a lot like “I needed that.”

You caught the time on the wall clock as you rolled back to him and realised you still had twenty minutes left of what he'd paid for. You didn't want to kick him out—after all, he had paid for this and besides, you didn't want him to leave yet anyway. For some reason, you were worried this could be the last time you saw him.

He'd pulled his sweats back up by the time you'd come back and he looked relaxed, in his zen post-orgasm state. If he felt bashful again, he didn't show it and he didn't look as if he was about to get up and leave either. You wondered if he even realised what he'd done back there? His hand guiding yours like that, or had he been too out of it to recall? He didn't seem like he remembered it and you flexed your right hand at as you did yourself; you could still feel the tingle the heat of his hand brought. It probably effected you more than it did him and you grew annoyed at yourself, wanting to find a distraction.

“So, I'm guessing you didn't fix your problem?”

He looked shocked at your outright question, his eyes bulging as he racked his brain for an answer, before shaking his head lightly, dipping it in the process. It was cute, and you were curious. You wanted to know why Yoongi was here.

“Have you ever heard of a dead arm wank?” You asked casually, watching him process the question, his expression slightly amused as he tried to figure out what that meant. “What's that?” he settled for and you relaxed almost instantly leaning back into your chair as it was obvious he was in no rush to leave. Good—a part of you didn’t want him to. You wouldn’t even mind if he was here the whole night. You’d give up a night with Netflix for him, that was for sure…What were you even thinking? But you ignored your rationality to continue this stupid ass conversation.

“It's where you sit on your arm until it goes numb and then jerk off with it,” you shrugged, silently chuckling at the way he snorted in disbelief. “Really. It’s supposed to feel like a totally different person,” you explained further.

“Isn't that like, a teenager thing?” He asked, indulging you.

“I suppose so, but it doesn't hurt to try it out,” you shrugged once again, watching the way he shuffled further back on the bed, getting comfortable, his cheeks no longer flushed, post-orgasm bliss probably already gone, and now you were just two people having a relaxed conversation…about masturbation….

“Hmm,” he said aloud, catching your eye, “does it work for girls?”

It was your turn to scoff then, not really understanding what he was even meaning to get at, but you saw the way his eyes gleamed, obviously messing you. It didn’t take him long to get contented, you thought. Not that you were complaining anyway.

“I don't know. I suppose so?” It was something you didn’t even need to think off. Of course you were only human and had needs just like everyone else, but after hearing the word masturbation so much it wasn’t something you craved on a regular basis. This place tainted your view on the otherwise natural act. “I don't need it though…” You concluded cryptically, not really caring what he took from it, but it was you that got the surprise anyway.

“Neither do I,” he shrugged.

“Oh,” was all you could get out, confused. You’d thought the whole point of him coming here was because he couldn’t beat the stick himself.

“Doing it isn't the problem—not anymore…it's the…” he trailed off, struggling for words.

“It's the what?” You pressed, obviously intrigued. There was silence for a moment as he mulled things over, ruffling his dark fringe with his fingers before he looked up to ask a question that had you shifting uncomfortably.

“Have you ever felt wrong about feelings you got?”

Well. You were pretty sure you knew what that felt like after tonight and you looked down quickly, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. “What…like a forbidden love?”

“Not so dramatic,” he dismissed quickly, “more just like, I don't know…you don't want to take advantage of the person’s…uh—kindness?” He sounded unsure of himself and you stifled a giggle. What the hell was he on about?

“Are you trying to confess to a forbidden crush or something?”

Maybe he was in love with a brother’s girlfriend or something…his father’s wife…the possibilities were endless and quite amusing to think of.

“Nooo, nothing like that…just—” he sighed, cutting himself off, and his face looked so distressed you felt guilty for teasing, reaching without realising to grip his knee reassuringly and he jumped a little, eyes burning into your fingers as he tried to continue.

This was the first time you’d touched him non-sexually and you felt your heart race with anxiety, second guessing yourself. You had never been this involved in someone’s problems before. Usually you just humoured them—even Mr. Lee, who you had become quite fond of in a strange way. It made you feel strange to think that you cared more about a guy after knowing him for barely two minutes, than you did a man, who had poured his heart out to you time and time again over the past few months.

“I don't know,” Yoongi began again, eyes still on your hand that wouldn’t budge, “the thoughts are there, but you just don't want to…use them…”

He looked up at your face as he finished and saw the way your eyes widened, wincing slightly and moving his body from yours, “I sound really creepy, right?” and your hand left him, thinking of ways to make him feel better. “I promise it's not as bad as it sounds,” he mumbled.

“No, you’re okay,” you interrupted. “I think…I think it's fantasy, right?” and you gave him time to nod in agreement, relief instantly washing over his features. “Fantasies are there to help you get whatever relief you're after. It's make believe, it's okay—It's not real,” you continued, watching him nod his head still, letting your words make him feel more at ease.

“If it works, then what's the problem?”

He sighed loudly, his hand now reaching for your leg as he squeezed your thigh in thanks, and you froze, not used to the feeling of someone touching you. A shock ran through your body and you tried to shake it off, but as he smiled at you, you broke once again. What the hell was wrong with you?

“You're right, I guess,” he laughed weakly. “Thanks.”

You watched him intently, wondering if you knew more, or the exact same you’d known about him since he’d walked through the door. You now knew he could probably make himself come, but something was holding him back…However, you still wanted to know why he was here of all places and your nosiness got the better of you.

“Honestly though, what's a handsome guy like you doing in a place like this? You do realise you could go to any bar you wanted and get rid of your problem just like that,” and to emphasise your words, you clicked your fingers loudly.

He watched you for a moment, his face turning serious, as if he was contemplating telling you something before he shrugged, chuckling lowly, an embarrassed, “I’m not like that,” leaving him.

“What are you like then?”

You couldn’t help it; the questions were coming out thick and fast. The need to know him more taking over your rationality.

“Huh?” He asked, surprised.

“Tell me something about yourself—

Before you could finish—ask out loud what his age was, his occupation and anything else that entered your mind that you probably had no right to know—the door knocked, making you both jump as if you’d both been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“Oh shit—Greta’s on our backs, we spoke for too long,” you rolled your eyes, amused and he laughed awkwardly, probably coming back to his senses and realising where he was.

He jumped off the bed quickly and you felt the sudden urge to make him stay. You didn’t want him to leave and for another stranger to come in here only after one thing. Yoongi was different…and as if to prove your point, he stopped before he twisted the door handle on his way out, not meeting your eyes as he stuttered out a question.

“C-Can I come again?” You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as his absurd question and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You're not going over your friend’s house for supper, Yoongi,” you grinned, not being able to help yourself and tap his shoulder, watching the way his eyelashes raked over the tops of his cheeks as he looked down sheepishly. They were really pretty—he had really pretty eyes, period…especially when they were looking at you as if you held the whole world in your hands… You quickly shook the dirty thoughts out of your brain and carried on. “You're the paying customer, you can come as many times as you want.”

The insinuation was heavy on your tongue, but he was too preoccupied to even notice. “To you?” He practically whispered and you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest. Just you?

“If you think I'm that amazing,” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows, humour the first thing you used as a defence mechanism when you were skating on thin ice with yourself.

“I like talking to you,” was all he replied before saying his goodbyes and for a long time you stood still in your office, speechless. This was a strange way to feel. You shouldn’t be that pleased that some guy liked talking to you, but you couldn’t get it—or him out of your mind all night. There was something about this Yoongi and you were glad that he was coming back for more of whatever he wanted from you…

“I charged Mr. Pretty ten bucks extra tonight, so have takeout on him, or something,” Greta smirked, handing you your earnings for the night and you frowned in thought, taking a while to understood what she meant.

“Greta!” You finally exclaimed, scolding her for taking advantage of Yoongi.

“What? It was too easy not too—the new ones always are,” she added, an evil glint in her eyes and you rolled yours. Greta was perfectly fine, but her dislike for men was something you hoped you never grew to feel, despite how often close you had and often felt. This job fit her perfectly fine—giving evils to feeble, weak-minded men every night of the week.

“Poor guy’ll be broke by next month,” Tiffany chimed in and you ignored the need to defend him. Them talking as if he was a loser made you feel some type of way.

“I doubt it,” Greta dismissed, grabbing her coat as you all made your way to the front door. You always left together, and Greta—despite her hard exterior always drove you and Tiff home. It was dangerous to be out this late at night, especially working in a place like this.

“The boy must be rich if he can fork out so much money in a week,” she carried on, locking the door behind you as you began to walk down the road to Greta’s car.

“Stop…” you whined weakly, although you’d be lying if you hadn’t wondered what he did for living. Maybe you’d find out soon enough, when he came back…

“Maybe he’s a gangster, like in those movies,” Tiffany giggled. “He’s here to sweep Y/N off her feet and give her a better life—away from this shit hole!” She added bitterly and you nudged her playfully, silently telling her to stop. This was beyond too much now. You were embarrassed to say they were putting ideas in your head…

Over the next three weeks, Yoongi did in fact make it a regular thing. Sunday, practically 9pm on the dot, he was here and you grew more excited to see him each week. It was stupid really, but you told yourself it was okay. You became more like friends catching up on their week as you spoke about the most random things and you sometimes thought that weekly session weren’t enough. Not that it was about the sexual favours you gave him anyway. Not anymore. In fact, that was rushed at the very beginning now, desperate to talk some more.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t something that didn’t need to be done though. You still lost yourself in the way Yoongi acted every time you touched his dick—of course, it was never like that first time, but he still acted like he needed it. By now you had learnt to deal with the feelings that had come with seeing him in such a vulnerable position and you welcomed them, even when he wasn’t here and you were back at home… You grew comfortable with each other…some sort of fucked friendship that you would never explain to anyone how you met.

In those moments you truly lost yourself; just you and him. You let words fall out of your mouth that you wouldn’t even utter to a boyfriend, let alone a customer and you did it because you wanted to. You liked teasing Yoongi because it got him going. You liked the way he turned bashful under your touch—desperate even, and you grew more confident each time…or wreck-less, it was hard to tell.

Over the few hours spent together, where Yoongi had now upped his session to a full-blown hour, you got to know a lot about each other. You spoke a lot, and you came to realise that maybe he was just lonely. You had fun talking and joking about and in turn it made you realise that you were probably lonely too. The only real friends you had were Tiffany and maybe Greta. You'd moved to the city to become more independent and in turn you'd lost all connections to your past friendships. Seeing as your classes were online, it didn’t bring much time to forge ever lasting relationships. This contact with Yoongi was the most you'd had in a year and even that was sparse.

You saw each other for an hour each week—one he had to pay for and you'd learned enough to know that he'd moved to the city to try and live out his dream of music. He'd told you he was a producer, albeit it very cryptically when he wouldn't tell you if he'd helped make any hit records, and he lived with roommates. You didn't know how many, but from the way he spoke it seemed like there were more than two. You never pressed about his little problem he'd confided in you at the beginning of your meet ups because well—you weren't pushy and he never indulged anymore so you ignored it, secretly dying to know though. If your advice helped him he didn't show it and you realised it probably didn't—he wouldn't be here week after week with you otherwise…

This week was like any other and you found yourself watching the clock as it skimmed past 9pm, checking your reflection in the mirror quickly before you heard the tap at the door. You were ashamed to say you had even rushed Mr. Lee out this evening, not even listening to him drone on about how he was trying to save money for a lawyer to help him get access to his kids. You'd payed attention long enough to realise that if he stoped visiting you every week then he'd soon have enough bucks to do just that, but he was a man, and men were weak. You were slowly finding out that women were probably just as weak too, as you jumped for the door, beaming as you opened it to see Yoongi’s own grin.

Despite his happiness at seeing you, you noticed he looked tired, his eyes bloodshot and black bags hanging under them. You wanted to ask what was up, but you guessed it was work. You didn't know much of what being a producer entailed but you guessed it was tiring. You wanted to get to know more about that side of his life, but when it came down to it, he often closed up, telling you it was boring. That was fine, you didn't mean to pry, so you'd let him tell you in his own time…if he ever wanted to.

It didn't take you long to finish what he'd actually paid for. These days you even had a conversation whilst doing. It was perfectly natural now. He was no longer nervous or looking uncomfortable. You always had a laugh together now, even after you'd told him about Greta charging him extra that one time. He'd been a little humiliated, but he chuckled it off. The whole hour he was there was always filled with flowing conversation and hushed giggles—you had to keep it down sometimes in fear of Greta finding out and teasing you. Although she had a pretty good idea that he didn't take sixty whole minutes to come…

“Tell me, does this place actually do anything that it says on the tin?” Yoongi asked tonight, after you'd washed your hands and sat back in your chair next to him, cocking your eyebrow in confusion for him to carry on. “You know…mystic balls…palm reading…”

You grinned in amusement as you realised what he meant and shook your head, “rarely—although, Greta does do some psychic stuff if anyone's dumb enough to believe that this is what the place is.”

“Greta?” He reiterated, seemingly not believing it.

“Yup,” you nodded, “we can all do a little bit, but Greta’s the one that tries to ‘see into the future,’” you explained, changing the tone of your voice to emphasise that it was so not true. “Once she told this guy he was going to die in a car accident, all because she didn't like the look of him,” you giggled, remembering back to that one incident and how the man had practically bolted out of here as fast as he could.

“That figures,” Yoongi chuckled, before letting it catch in his throat, “what can you do then?”

You shrugged, “I can tarot read.”

“What's that?” He asked, interested.

“You predict someone's future with cards—it's cool. You should let me do it some time,” you said, suddenly getting excited at the thought. “it's quite time inducing, though.”

“Are you trying to get me to pay double?” He teased you, “I don't even think there's an option for two hours,” and then his voice lowered, barely a whisper, “…I wish there was.”

You went silent for a moment, your heart racing up. You'd grown used to this feeling now but sometimes there were times where it hit you for six. You still weren't even sure what it meant, all you knew was you liked and it has been a long time since someone had been able to make you feel this way by using just words.

“Let me do something else right now then—something quick!” You suddenly exclaimed, not purposely trying to change the subject, but welcoming your sudden excitement anyway. “It's fun!” You grinned, watching his questioning face as you wheeled over to your desk and opened a drawer, searching for something, before finding the little pamphlet and letting out a ‘ah-ha.’ You stood up then, leaving your chair across the room in favour of sitting next to him on the bed, your knee touching his thigh as you brought your legs up to cross them—you'd never been this close before…it was nice. “Palm reading!” You explained, waving the instructions in his face and he groaned.

“You don't believe this stuff, do you?”

“It's just interesting,” you shrugged, already taking his hand in yours, “Now, come on!”

He let you with a nod of his head, watching you curiously, before you placed his hand in your lap, setting about to read the information. It had been a while since you'd none this last, and it was probably on yourself.

“Hmm, okay,” you spoke out loud, picking his hand back up and simultaneously looking at his palm and the paper, trying to work out what line was what, “so, this line here, is your marriage line...no wait! Maybe it's your money line…hmm—

“You don't even know the basics,” he chuckled, trying to pull his hand back, but you gripped on, tugging it back.

“No! Wait! This is your life line,” you pointed. “It's shows you how long and fulfilled your life will be.”

“Oh shit! Is it about to tell me I'm gonna get hit by a car on my way back home,” he joked, watching you trace the line and you pushed him playfully with your shoulder, “don't even joke about that.”

It was true. No matter how silly it was, the thought of never seeing Yoongi again hurt a little and as you looked up, your eyes caught each other's and he smiled down gently at you. You guessed this is what they called a moment, and you felt your heart boom a little harder in your chest, warmness spreading inside. Sometimes…in the deepest recesses of your mind, you often thought about kissing Yoongi. You hadn't thought about, let alone actually kissed someone in so long and it made you feel all weird inside. It was stupid, really—Yoongi probably didn't even want to kiss you. He just liked the company…

“Hey,” he called suddenly, his voice still soft and you noticed him look down to both your hands. “Your hands are really small; do you know that?”

You followed his gaze and watched in surprise as he held your palms together, his fingers easily towering over yours and you stared at them. You'd never paid really much attention to your hands before, even though, you guessed, without them, you were broke. This was everything your job entailed even if you were about one wank away from them snapping your wrists in half. You would have giggled at your own joke, but then your heart stilled, watching Yoongi lace his fingers in yours.

His skin felt warm and soothing and suddenly you felt comfort wash over you. You hadn't touched this blatantly since he'd accidentally gripped your hand a couple of weeks ago while lost in the moment. He hadn't done it since, as if maybe he'd remembered afterwards, but now was different. You didn't even really understand what was going on and you guessed the palm reading was over.

“Okay, tell me this then,” he hummed, and you heard a smile on his lips, but your eyes were still trained to your hands entwined together in the air. “Do you do some hypnosis type of thing too?”

That brought your out of your daze a little, as you looked up at him suddenly, confusion all over your face.

“It's just I really want to learn, if you do—I kinda want to make this girl tell me her real name.”

You scoffed then, rolling your eyes in the process. Wow, what a smooth mover—not.

“Come on, I told you mine straight away,” he practically whined and you felt him drop both your hands to his lap, still laced together as they sat between his legs. It still felt natural and it still felt good.

“You didn't mean to!” You counteracted, teasing him. “You were just too nervous to think straight.”

“Well wouldn't you be?” He asked, eyes wide and you giggled, but no sooner had it started, it was getting caught in your throat as he carried on, “If some pretty stranger had her hand wrapped around your dick…”

The room was beginning to spin. You were sure your hand had turned clammy and he could feel it. The tension in the air was thick. You didn't even know what kind of tension it was. You were confused by the rapid beating of your heart. He called you pretty? Maybe you were just getting ahead of yourself… You watched him go to say something else, stuttering over his words that didn't make any sense, before the door knocked loudly and you both jumped a mile.

“Oh shit! Greta’s here to kick me out!” He grinned, and quickly, without much thought, he let go of your hand and jumped off the bed. Your hand was left cold and you felt strangely empty. You didn't want him to go. You never did, each time.

You turned around to watch him walk to the door and as his hand was on the handle, you spoke, “It's Y/N.” He turned around straight away, confused for a moment, so you repeated, “my name is Y/N,” and then he grinned, looking as if all his Christmas’ had come at once. You couldn't help but grin back, after all this time, something had been missing. Your name and now he knew it.

“Okay…. well, see you soon, Y/N…” he whispered, opening the door quietly, before he left and you couldn't explain the flutter in your chest as you heard him pronounce the syllables, your name never sounding so good.

Only soon seemed to be a long time away. He didn't come the week after that, or the week after that one and you were ashamed to say it got you down. Nothing could describe the disappointment you felt when he didn't come through the door at 9pm that one Sunday, and you tried to hide it when Greta questioned his absence. You didn't really have a right to feel this way anyway, but you couldn't help but imagine maybe Yoongi had finally sorted things out with that person he was having forbidden thoughts about… Imagining them together made you feel a little sick, and used… It was stupid and very over dramatic. Maybe he was just busy, or maybe he’d just decided he didn't want to come anymore. He was his own person. It was up to him. However, why had he made such a big deal of knowing your name? Why had he taken the time to grow close to you if he wasn't going to come back? You couldn't help but feel bitter, lying awake at night and feeling stupid. You missed him. You missed a man you didn't even know.

By the time he showed up nearly three weeks later, you’d given up on ever seeing him again. It wasn't even a Sunday. It was a Saturday, and when he walked through the door you stood up in shock, wanting to run to him but realising that would be incredibly weird.

“Yoongi!” You exclaimed, watching him grin sheepishly as he shut the door. “Where have you been?”

The question was out before you could stop it, watching him walk towards you with his eyes wide, his hands fidgeting at his sides, as if he was trying to control himself. Did he feel the same as you? Had he missed you too?

“I-I…was working,” he stuttered, deciding to sit down on the bed and you sat next to him quickly, ignoring your seat in favour of being beside him. You felt his body warmth instantaneously and shuffled even closer to him, wanting to close your eyes and seep into it.

“This whole time?” You gasped, unable to put a filter on your thoughts. Did you sound creepy? Probably, but at your question he smiled, looking over at you. You noticed he looked even more tired than the last time you'd seen him, frown lines permanent above his brow and you wanted to reach out and flatten them out.

“I was on a trip,” he explained, his fingers now drumming on top his thighs as you went to speak again, wanting to know more, before they reached out for you, taking your hands in his. “Let’s talk about this later on…please…I-I…missed you,” he whispered, trailing off.

Your heart felt like it was about to explode. Did he even realise what had slipped out of his mouth? It didn't matter anyway, you liked it and you knew what he was insinuating.

You nodded eagerly, sliding your hands out of his grip and running them up his thighs, this time pulling his sweat pants down for him as he shifted up and let you tug them down. This was incredibly more intimate than any other time before as you used your hand to message him, watching him instantly grow hard at your touch, his breathing already laboured as he watched you with a slack jaw, a sigh of relief leaving him.

It took you a while to realise why this was so different and then it hit you—you were sat right next to him, shoulder to shoulder as you pressed into his body. You acted more like lovers who hadn't seen each other for a long time and it didn't take him long to come undone, one hand reaching up to grip your forearm as he moaned quietly and you realised that little moans were leaving you too as you aimed to please him, getting lost in the moment. You missed him like he'd missed you, your heart blooming inside your chests as you watched him orgasm, your deep pants synchronised, the intimacy making you lost for words, especially when you noticed he was uttering your name softly.

It took you a while to find your voice afterwards, busying yourself with washing your hands before you had the balls to look at him again and when you did he was watching you with a soft smile on his lips, his breathing still a little wobbly and you realised yours was too. In fact, your whole body felt a little like jelly, incredibly affected by the night's turn of events.

“Y-You look tired,” you stuttered, finally moving towards him and he shifted so you could sit next to him, keeping your bodies close as if he didn't want to be too far away from you.

“I am,” he chuckled, “I literally got off the plane and came to you straight away. I haven't slept in twenty-four hours. I tried to on the flight but I was too excited—not for that,” he corrected himself in a fluster as he looked at you and you giggled, “—just excited to see you again.”

There it went again. You're heart. You were into deep, you knew that, but with each more word that came out of his mouth, you were falling harder. He had to be too, right?

“You're flight?” You asked, confused. Like you said, you knew nothing about his line of work, maybe he had to travel a lot to produce. You had no clue.

“Yeah, it was…a work trip,” he mumbled, looking uncomfortable now.

“For nearly three weeks? Where did you go?” The urge for him to open up to you was overwhelming and he shook his head, trying to shrug you off, “Japan…Malaysia…you know, around.”

Around? No, you didn't. You had never even left the country. You could never even see yourself doing it either. How did he get to go to all these places? No wonder he looked so tired, and that just made you feel even more tingly as you realised after travelling so far, he'd wanted to see you first. He hadn't found somebody, he'd just been busy with his life. Everything was okay with the world again.

“You should have gone home and slept,” you told him, talking your hand to run across his fringe that had fallen between his eyes, letting your fingertips actually soothe over his brow. Maybe the absence had made you both super touchy-feely.

“I would've been here tomorrow, you know,” you teased.

“I couldn't wait that long,” he disagreed, reaching for your hand as he entwined your fingers. “I should have told you I was going away, but I told myself you probably didn't care,” he scoffed, amused by himself but also feeling shy; you could see the blush that scattered across his cheeks.

“I thought you weren't coming back,” you half-whined, not caring how vulnerable it made you to admit it.

“That's good to hear, I was beginning to think I outstayed my welcome,” he chuckled.

Honestly, if Yoongi was your only customer you wouldn't care. In fact, you'd like it better that way. Ever since he'd come into your life you realised how much you disliked your job. It was a no brainer really, you didn't think anybody would love it 24/7, but since you'd met him, you'd began counting down the days until you could leave. Probably just over six hundred by the time your psych course was over…

“Why did you go to all those places?” You asked, still curious. “Are you holding back on me?” You teased, “are you like some hot shot producer that I should probably know about? Like some sort of Korean Dr. Dre?”

He smirked at your assumption and looked down at your interlaced hands. You'd missed his touch, you thought you'd never be able to feel it again, and he obviously seemed to like the last time you had held hands if he was doing it again without batting an eyelid.

“No, I'm not that big, Y/N,” and there it was again, your name falling from his lips so casually. You would never be able to get enough of it. “I was…er, performing.”

You frowned, “performing what? I thought you were a producer?”

“I am—sort of,” he winced. “I mean, probably not that good, but I try…I think I'm getting good at it,” and for a moment he seemed lost in his own thoughts before he pulled himself out of it, “I'm also a…rapper.”

He seemed reluctant to tell you and you watched him for a moment, his eyes still on your hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the world—they were, you guessed, but you knew something that was more interesting now and you give his hand a squeeze to gain his attention and make him look at you.

“A rapper?” The idea was indifferent to you. You had no real interest in music since you were younger, but it did prick your curiosity. “So, you're like, famous?” He had to be if he was off to all these other countries.

He winced, making a sound of discomfort as he shook his head, “not really… I don't see it like that.”

You ignored him, thinking he looked cute when he was being bashful and pulled your hand away from his to push his shoulder. “You've been famous all this time. I've had a celebrity in my midst and I didn't even know,” you joked.

“No, no—it's not like that,” he dismissed, too tense to realise you were joking until he saw your face. “I'm just joking, Yoongi,” you soothed, rubbing his arm. “Tell me more,” you suggested when he relaxed again.

“There's not that much to say,” he shrugged. “I just wanted you to know in case I disappear again.” You found it sweet that he wanted to confide this to you so you changed tactics, even more curious now. He was so quiet you could hardly imagine him performing on stage, let alone rapping. You didn't know the first thing about rap, but what you did, you would have never said Yoongi was into it. Maybe you didn't know much…

“Do I get to hear any of your music then?”

He laughed you off, blushing harder now and you grinned. He was even cuter when he was shy. “I don't know about that.”

“Oh, come on!” You begged, “I'm a music novice. You need to teach me!” You clung to his arm over dramatically as he laughed at you.

“Okay! Fine!” He gave in, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and you backed away curiously, watching him open it up. You tried not pry and look inside so you averted eye contact until you saw him pull out a black usb hard drive.

“Hand out, please,” he quipped and you listened, putting your hand palm up as he dropped the object in your hand. “But don't say I didn't warn you—you won't like it.”

“Okay—so that's why you have a usb in your pocket…” you replied sceptically, “of course you didn't want me to listen to it…”

“No! I carry it around with me—honest,” he insisted and you giggled, brushing him off, “okay whatever, just tell me about your trip—we still have some time left,” you ordered friendly, looking up at the clock…

It was late and you were tired. You'd just got home and it was past 1am. You should probably have waited until the morning to listen to the music Yoongi has given you but you couldn't. You had no self control. So instead, you found yourself sat at your desk, in front of your laptop waiting for the usb to load up. You clicked play with bated breath, adjusting the volume as you began to listen. Like you said, you had no clue about music, let alone hip hop, so it was a shock to you when you heard what you guessed was Yoongi’s voice fill the speakers. It sounded like him but much harsher and much quicker. You could barely make out what he was saying, but to be honest you were just in shock at hearing something so unlike his personality, that you couldn't concentrate.

The track list played through and then you clicked it to start again, reading through the song titles, your eyes falling to one in particular—agust d. Your nosiness got the better of you once again and before you could think it through thoroughly you typed the name into YouTube watching as a ton of results popped up. You clicked on the first one and watched wide eyed as Yoongi came on the screen. He had blonde hair, but it was him and you for a moment you forgot to breathe. He looked good—more than good—sexy. He was acting in a way you'd never seen with your own eyes and you were mesmerised—long after the music video had finished.

Your eyes randomly fell down to the views and you gasped—15 million views! This fucker was famous. He was obviously embarrassed about being seen as arrogant or he was diffident—whatever his reasoning was, the guy you'd been getting intimate with—the guy who was paying for your company, was famous! No wonder he had gone there in the first place. He couldn't go out to the clubs, he couldn't just pick up a random girl and hook up with her in fear of being exposed. It was okay in a place where you were sworn to secrecy, or in your case—had no idea about what was popular nowadays. You didn't know of anyone famous. This was like something out of a movie and you quickly scrolled down to the comments, seeing a bunch appear saying how much they loved Min Yoongi…or Suga, you found out and then you saw something about ‘bts’—whatever that was.

You quickly copy and pasted it into YouTube too and clicked on the first video that came up, your brain going into overdrive as you watched seven men begin to dance and sing. What the hell was this? Everything was moving so fast you failed to keep up but then you saw Yoongi come into full view and you gasped. He looked good and you suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty. You shouldn't be on here snooping around. Yoongi would have told you everything if he wanted to, but for some reason you couldn't stop.

He was actually famous. There were thousands of comments in so many different languages and you felt like you were in some kind of twilight zone. The guy you thought you'd known was someone totally different. He'd been living a life you could never even imagine and you quickly closed your laptop shut, feeling weird. You told yourself that you'd leave it until you saw him next and then bring it up in conversation. It was the right thing to do…

Only you couldn't stay true to your word. The curiosity was eating up at you and in the middle of the week you found yourself getting tempted back to YouTube. In the end, you'd had to leave with your laptop to a café, knowing that the place didn't have free wifi to coax you into searching bloody bts into google any more than you had done. It wasn't like you'd already watched all their music videos in chronological order or live performances—or even searched live videos of them performing…no…you weren't a stalker…honest…

You'd finally stopped when you'd found yourself typing in Min Yoongi into Google. That was too much. You'd realised the only reason he felt comfortable talking to you was because you had no clue who he was. He trusted you and you were about one step from breaking that confidence he had in you—if you hadn't already. You were already worried about how you'd act when you finally saw him next weekend, if he turned up, and just as you were sat down in the corner of the café, hair tied up into a ponytail and glasses on, forcing yourself to concentrate on your essay that had to be in by Friday; not the fact you were now living in what felt like a movie, you heard a voice that made your heart both flutter and shiver at the same time.

“Y/N?”

You looked up wide eyed, coming face to face with Yoongi. He had his hood up and a face mask over his mouth, but as he noticed you, he pulled it off one ear and let it hang down, a wide smile on his face as the colour drained from yours.

“It is you! I thought it was,” he laughed lowly, and he moved closer, hand on the spare chair opposite you, “mind if I sit?” He asked, already going to anyway, even before you nodded woodenly, feeling a cold sweat appear at the nape of your neck.

You couldn't even bring yourself to be excited at the prospect of seeing him somewhere other than that stupid dumpster because now you had to look him in the eyes whilst feeling guilty as hell.

“This is so strange,” he commented, a bemused chuckle ringing in your ears as he waited for you to actually say something. You had to speak…? You didn't think you could even if you tried…

“Cat got your tongue or something?” He joked, his gaze dropping as his smile fell slightly and you watched him with bulging eyes. You were going to have to say something.

Oh shit...

#yoongi smut #bts smut #kwritersnet #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #floralseokjin:writings #fic:aquiver

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