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dfortrafalgar · 5 months

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter also has some suggestive themes and language

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 20

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Law’s grip on your sweaty hand was grounding for you as you fidgeted in your seat. Across the table from the two of you in the tiny medical conference room was Robin, who was silently shuffling through papers in front of her. The room was so silent you could almost pick out the sound of the clock hands ticking away each passing second, each interval seeming to grow longer and longer. You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek as you watched your doctor diligently sort through your comprehensive patient history.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally looked up. “I think IVF will be a good method to try. The success rate for women with endometriosis successfully conceiving and carrying to term with IVF is much higher than going without. Additionally, you have undergone some treatment for your condition, which improves your chances much more substantially.”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the tension seeming to roll off of your shoulders. You glanced up at Law beside you, whose face was contorted in confusion. The sight made you stifle a chuckle.

“Sorry, can you, uhm… explain what IVF is?” he asked Robin. “Sorry I’m a bit useless with gynecological stuff.”

The question made Robin smile, appreciating his candidness. “Of course, Law. IVF stands for in vitro fertilization. It’s a procedure where a mature egg is fertilized outside of the body and is then implanted into the uterus, thereby increasing chances of successful conception and embryo growth. Of course, that’s the layman’s version of it. But once I have your official go-ahead, I will explain in much greater detail.”

You could see the gears turning in your husband’s head, making you grin. You loved the way he was clearly dissecting the mental image of what Robin had just explained. He silently nodded.

“I would like to go through with it,” you affirmed. “If it will increase our chances, then I’ll do anything.”

Robin organized your patient files in front of her, a content grin on her lips. “I’m delighted to hear that. If you’re ready, we can begin discussing the full process, since I imagine you would like to begin as soon as you possibly can.”

You eagerly nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

Law was counting in his head. “How long has it been since the last miscarriage?” He was growing so nervous in the stifling room that he was losing track of time. You started to worry that he might be the one to pass out this time.

“Almost six months, I think,” you answered, rubbing the surface of your glass ring with your thumb.

Robin nodded. “I believe that’s correct. That’s a good amount of time for your body to heal, so you should be ready to conceive again with little issue.” The black-haired woman reached into her bag in the chair beside her and procured her laptop, opening the device and clicking through a few windows. “Are you okay if we begin discussing the procedure?”

“Yes I am,” you confirmed. Law nodded beside you.

“Perfect. The entire process could take anywhere between six to eight weeks, so I want you to be prepared for that waiting period. Because, trust me, there will be a lot of waiting,” she explained. She turned her computer around, displaying an illustrated diagram of a uterus and ovary. She used her finger to point around the screen. “I’m sure you’re more than familiar with what you’re looking at, so I won’t have to explain the anatomy. We’ll monitor your menstruation cycle briefly, and then the process will begin with ovarian stimulation, which alone can last anywhere from eight to fourteen weeks. This will ensure that multiple eggs can grow to maturity, instead of just one. We will most likely use an injectable hormone medication for you, considering your condition. Are you following?”

You once again nodded your head, laser focused on her words as her fingers moved around the diagram. “Following.” You weren’t so sure about Law, but you thought somewhere in that thick head of his he was absorbing your doctor’s long-winded explanation.

“Alright. After ovarian stimulation, we’ll be monitoring your eggs while they’re still in your body every few days to ensure they are maturing properly with the medication. 36 hours before the retrieval, you’ll be given what’s called a “trigger shot,” to stimulate your eggs to complete maturation. Egg retrieval will be done as a minimally invasive procedure, so you will be put under general anesthesia, but the process is quite short. A suction tube will be inserted through your vagina with the help of an ultrasound, and a small needle will be placed through the tube to puncture your ovary and extract a small amount of mature eggs. The eggs are stored on a petri dish and placed in an incubator to prepare them for fertilization.”

“Kind of like chicken eggs,” you joked.

Robin snapped her fingers with a chuckle. “That’s a good comparison. Once they’re ready to be fertilized, a single sperm will be injected into each egg on the dish. It’s likely that not all the eggs will successfully be fertilized, but having the multitude of mature eggs greatly increases the chances that at least one will form an embryo. You’ll have to wait a few days while the embryos develop on the dish, but once they have progressed far enough, they will be able to be transferred. You also have the option to freeze unused fertilized embryos, in case you want to conceive again in the future.”

You and Law nodded along with her words.

“The embryo transfer itself is a very quick procedure, similar to a pap smear. A speculum will be inserted into the vagina, and a catheter will be used to insert one or more of the fertilized embryos into your uterus. Your body will usually take care of the embryo from there, having it latch to your uterine wall and form a placenta. After about 14 days, we’ll give you a blood test that will determine if the pregnancy was successful. If it is, then we’ll go about the usual pregnancy monitoring. If not, we try again after a few menstrual cycles. Understood?”

You and your husband leaned back in your chairs, taking deep breaths. The explanation of the process was almost as exhausting as actually carrying out the procedure, but something in your chest told you that this was a good idea. You had a giddy feeling develop deep within, almost begging you to go through with the long, arduous process, somehow promising that it would be worth it.

“I understand. I want to go through with it,” you once again confirmed.

Robin smiled, amused by your willingness. “I’m happy to hear that, we’ll be there constantly to support you and monitor your progress. Let’s officially begin the process in a week. We’ll need to do a comprehensive full blood panel, infectious disease screening for both of you, an evaluation of your reproductive system, and a male fertility test. It’s just a formality,” she explained.

Law became slightly rigid in his seat, alerting your attention. He appeared nervous as he asked, “Will I have to go back to the fertility clinic?”

Robin looked confused at his question. “Yes, is there a problem with that?”

You thought briefly about why your husband would be so uncomfortable with returning to the clinic, until a sudden memory flashed into your brain. The sight of Law, hunched over your kitchen counter with his head in his hands, guilt plaguing his entire being as he informed you he couldn’t ejaculate into the cup at the fertility clinic until he watched 15 minutes of porn on his phone with the volume as low as it could go. You had laughed at his misery then, and you had to fight your entire body to hold in your laugh now.

Law quickly shook his head, collecting himself. “No, no problem at all.”

The gynecologist’s eyebrow tilted up in confusion, but she dropped the subject as she wrote a list of instructions on a piece of paper before handing it to you. “Take this to the reception desk to schedule your appointment for next week. Most of the tests on you we can perform in this clinic, but your blood panel will have to be done at the outpatient laboratory. I’m also going to file a prescription for estrogen patches so we can begin regulating your cycle. Once all your tests are done and approved, we can proceed to the next step!”

You enthusiastically took the paper from her, reading over her guidelines and dates. You smiled at your doctor, standing when she did and shaking her hand cordially. “Thank you so much, Dr. Robin, I really appreciate it!”

“Of course, I’m more than happy to be able to help you two with this. I’ll see you next week, alright?” she asked as she gathered her papers and laptop into her bag, preparing to leave the room and let you two continue on with your day.

You and Law gave her an affirmative nod as you departed, your husband following you like a lost dog to the reception desk so you could schedule your next appointments. The only thing in his mind at that moment, however, was the dread of returning to the fertility clinic. He did not want to have to deal with Dr. Franky again next week.

—

“HEYYYY, TRAFALGAR! It’s good to see you again, welcome back!”

The booming voice of Dr. Franky made Law wince as the giant man entered the small room, another clear plastic cup clutched in his abnormally large hand. The cardiac surgeon looked at the fertility doctor differently now that he knew that your gynecologist was this man’s wife. What a small world.

“How are those swimmers doing, huh?” the blue-haired doctor asked, a bright smile on his face as he plopped himself down in the swiveling stool that rested below the medical counter. He clacked a few times on his keyboard, looking up Law’s patient info. “Here for another sperm sample, I see.”

“Just part of a protocol,” Law muttered, his face growing red with shame.

“Ahh, got it, got it.” Dr. Franky nodded a few times as he typed.

Law felt his phone buzz a few times in his pocket, but ignored the urge to reach in and check his device while the boisterous man was in the room.

“Well, you know the drill! Just–”

“I know, Doctor, I know…” Law mumbled, fighting the reflex of pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

With a pout, Franky passed over the clear cup, gave his regards, and left Law alone in the room. Finally surrounded by silence, the man slipped his phone out of his pocket to see who had texted him during his brief yet horrendously awkward discussion with the fertility doctor. His spirits immediately brightened upon seeing your name on the screen, followed by slight confusion upon reading your messages.

Wifey

Good luck at the clinic today baby!!!

Wifey

Thought these might help you ;)

Wifey

[3 Image Attachments]

Wifey

[1 Video Attachment]

Wifey

See you later darling <3

Law felt his face grow heated upon seeing the images you had sent him. Suffice to say, he was not expecting it.

But his wife’s beautiful body was always worlds better than porn.

—

“Hey, I’m home!” you called into your apartment, kicking off your shoes. The excited tapping sounds of Bepo greeted you, your cloud of a dog skidding across the floor into your entryway, his bushy tail wagging a mile a minute while his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth as he smiled up at you. “Look who’s happy to see me!”

“Hey, hon,” Law called from around the corner, leaning against the wall as he watched you be smothered by the thick, billowing fur of your four-legged baby. He had a smirk on his face as you stood to greet him, a surprised gasp leaving your throat as he grabbed your arms in his calloused hands and brought your lips to his, kissing you dumb.

When he finally pulled away, you flashed him a knowing grin. “I take it you appreciated the ‘help’ I sent you?” You used air quotes to punctuate your sentence.

“Oh, I more than appreciated it,” he hummed back, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck where he knew you were the most ticklish. He delighted in the giggle that left your lips as you fisted his shirt in your hands.

Bepo eagerly butted in between your pairs of legs, demanding the attention to be on him. He had spent so much time with Shachi and Penguin as of late that he was desperate for the love from his parents. His big, beady eyes gazed up at the both of you as he silently demanded you to go to the living room and sit on the couch so he could curl up next to you.

“Okay, okay, let’s go sit down,” you relented, laughing as your dog immediately sprinted to his favorite couch cushion. You followed your furry baby, Law’s hand in your own, a pleasant, content grin on your face. You flopped down next to your dog, your husband following your lead and pulling your body down on top of his, your ear resting over his heart. You could hear it thrumming away, endlessly excited about the concept of holding you.

“You know what I like about you, Law?” you asked, adjusting yourself to be more comfortable.

“Other than the fact that I’m married to you?” he teased.

“Yes, other than all the obvious things that I like about you,” you joked back, poking a finger into his side. “I like that you still treat me like you did when we were dating.”

Law’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to deconstruct what your words meant. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I don’t know… I was just thinking about it today. Like, some married couples drift apart after they have kids or after big life tragedies, but you didn’t do that. And I like that about you.”

Law wrapped his arms around you, linking his fingers together as they rested over the small of your back. “Couples who leave each other after having kids probably didn’t have a spark to begin with,” he replied. “Same with couples who give up on each other after bad events happen to them. But that’s not us, it never has been and it never will be.”

“So you’ll still like me when I’m old and shriveled?” you asked, your voice holding a hint of sincere insecurity along with your joking tone.

“I’ll love you even when we’re decaying skeletons six feet underground,” he replied, planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “Who knows, maybe the 80-year-old you will be even sexier than you are now. Only one way to find out.”

“Law!” you yelped, laughing at his flirtatious remark. A few more jokes were tossed between you two, lighthearted giggles floating through the air as you cuddled before you finally relaxed in his embrace.

“How did your tests go today?” your husband asked, idly trailing his hands up and down your sides.

“They went well, my blood panel was completely normal, but the nurse said I should try to up my Vitamin D intake,” you explained. “My ultrasound and saline sonogram were fine, there was some endometrial tissue on the outside of my uterus but Robin said it shouldn’t pose a problem. And my infectious disease panel…”

The way your voice trailed off made Law pick up his head to look at you, concern bubbling in his chest.

You gazed back up at him with a cheeky smile. “No tuberculosis.”

Law barked out a laugh. “I sure as hell hope not!”

You giggled along with him, dropping your head back down onto his test. “Aside from my texts, how did your test go?”

Your husband grinned, though you couldn’t see with your current position. “It went fine, thanks to you I was out of there much quicker. Nothing abnormal with my semen, and I hope to whatever’s up there in the universe that I won’t have to go back there again.”

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, holding in your laughter.

“It’s just that Franky guy. He’s so… loud. He’s always the last person I see before I’m supposed to jerk off into a cup,” he lamented.

“Fertility doctors don’t get you hard?” you teased.

“Not when they call semen ‘little swimmers,’' he griped back.

The conversation was making you giggle uncontrollably, your body trembling in your husband’s grasp as you poked fun at his misfortune before finally getting your energy out and settling down. “Well… for your sake, I’m happy you’re done with that, too.”

Another comfortable silence settled over the two of you as you lay back on the couch, your dog snuggled with both pairs of your feet.

“Are you feeling ready to start this whole thing?” Law asked.

You pondered your thoughts briefly. “I’m… I’m definitely really nervous, but I think I’m ready.”

Law’s hand rested on the back of your head, supporting you against his chest. “I’m not leaving you, baby. I’ll keep promising that until my tongue falls out.”

His words made a relieved, content grin crawl to your lips as you buried your head further into the junction between his shoulder and neck. “I love you, Law.”

“I love you, darling.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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shina913 · 1 year

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The Boyfriend Experience | MYG

The Boyfriend Experience: Yoongi

The BFE: Masterlist

Pairing: Escort!Yoongi x Divorcee Fem!Reader

Rating: M🔞

Genre: sex!workAU; strangers to ? ; angst; smut;

Warnings: alcohol consumption; cussing; mentions of antidepressant; gynecology; mentions of divorce; bits of self-pity and low-self-esteem; legal sex work (in this AU); fingering; dirty talk; clit play; protected penetrative sex; aftercare

Word count: ~8.2k words

Summary: 💬 When I saw my gynecologist recently after not having sex for a year, she told me, ‘You need to be having sex.’ She told me that my vagina was 'drying up.’ Sex, in and of itself and for its own sake, is also important for a woman’s physical health.

A/N: Little disclaimer: the doctor's office part is a spin on this one scene from Sex and the City. I found out that this is a legitimate condition 🥴 I don't really go into detail about it but I also don't mean to offend anyone who is actually suffering from this condition so I apologize! It's only a small part of the plot.

A/N: Thank you to @/itdoesntmatterwhy and @/purplewhalewrites for reading through this and for your super helpful suggestions to get this installment going. It's been kind of a struggle to get the storyline straight for this one so...I hope you all like how this Yoongi turned out. Enjoy! 😘

You are hypnotized by the bubbles in your champagne. You watch the tiny orbs floating and fizzling up to the surface…much like many of the realities you’d encountered in recent days.

Three days ago, you were at a doctor’s appointment for your annual exam. You’d been experiencing some discomfort down in your lady parts.

After making her assessment, the doctor prompts you to sit up on the exam table. You straighten your posture, adjust the hospital gown behind your shoulder, smooth the paper blanket over your lap, and anticipate her professional advice.

As she scribbles on her prescription pad, she says, “I’m prescribing you an antidepressant.”

“I-I’m sorry…I’m confused. An antidepressant? B-but I don’t think that—“

She looked up from her dark-framed glasses. “Oh, it’s not for you.” Then she cocks her eyebrow and gestures below your waist. “It’s for your vagina.”

“Uhm…okay, now I’m even more confused.” It was the understatement of the century.

“The discomfort you’re feeling is due to some dryness,” she begins to explain. “I’m also prescribing a topical gel with some hormones to help with lubrication.”

“Lubrication?” You ask incredulously.

“Yes,” she smiled politely. “I would recommend abstaining from any sexual activity for about 24-48 hours to allow the gel to work its magic but after that, you can get right back on that pony!”

“Well, abstaining shouldn’t be a problem then. I’ve been sexually in-active for a while, so what’s another two days?” You joked.

Your doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. “You haven’t had sex in–how long?”

You’d already gone through this line of questioning from the pre-assessment intake that her assistant had done before your doctor entered the room. Didn’t she check your records?

She looked at her laptop and scrolled up. “A year?”

“Yes…give or take,” you replied quietly.

In actuality, it was a little bit longer than that. It’s been over a year since you and your ex-husband, Jihoon, separated and began divorce proceedings. Months before he moved out, intimacy was already scarce, bordering on nonexistent.

The doctor’s mouth falls open at your confirmation. “Oh, honey…” She pulled her glasses off.

You and Dr. Cabrera have known each other for years. You both spoke freely and casually when the situation called for it.

“You need to be having sex. And no, it doesn’t need to be with an actual dick. There are other ways, too.” Her lips thinned into a tight line as she gave you a knowing look.

You roll your eyes at her. “Don’t you think I know that, Mina? It’s just that I haven’t been motivated to date…” Much less touch myself. “Ever since Jihoon—“

“Ah, fuck him!” She waved you off. “Girl, you need some regular activity in your vaj, okay? And not just for pleasure but for your health!”

She goes on to lecture you more about vaginal health and how it goes hand-in-hand with sexual health. If your ex was getting all the sex he could elsewhere, there was no logical reason to be depriving yourself.

“You need constant stimulation! That’s why your coochie is depressed!”

Another reason to be depressed? Receiving a written notification from the courts this morning, telling you that you and Jihoon were legally divorced now. It was a tough reality to face. For the longest time, you were both unhappy. Breaking up was a foregone conclusion and yet–seeing it written on paper, in bold letters, still felt like a swift kick in the lady balls.

“What are you celebrating?” You are snapped back to reality by a voice.

“Hm?” You were so lost in thought, you had no idea how long you’d been staring at your champagne flute.

You turn your head to find a man, standing about two feet away, his elbow resting on the back of one of the bar stools next to you. His hair was long, ending just a couple of inches below his earlobes; it was loosely brushed back, one side tucked behind his ear while the other had a few strands falling right above his eyebrows.

He wore a dark, tailored suit–formal, understated elegance but with a hint of approachability since he’d skipped wearing a tie. Despite that, he still looked like a million bucks.

The lounge was nearly empty as the night waned. A handful of customers were still meandering about, sitting in the plush tables and chairs situated by the wall.

Even though you were the only one seated at the bar, you weren’t sure whether he was addressing you.

“Are you talking to me?”

He kept his gaze on you. “I am,” he smiled softly. He then gestured to the chair next to you. “May I?”

“S-sure.” With another smile, he saunters over and settles into the seat. He points to your drink again. “So, one usually orders champagne to celebrate something, right?”

“Oh, this?” You lift your glass and then shake your head. “I’m not sure if I would exactly categorize tonight as a ‘celebration’.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Maybe you should have ordered a whisky instead?”

You laughed wryly at his comment then thought, maybe you should have–especially after the week that you had.

He calls the bartender over. They smile and make small talk as if they’d known each other for years.

You frequented this lounge at least twice a month in the last six or seven months after your girlfriends dragged you out to dinner here once. Eventually, you’d gone out on your own to have a cocktail or two, whenever the kids were with their dad for the weekend.

Coming to L’Atelier beat drinking at home on your own. You didn’t socialize much on your nights out but at least you were drinking at a nice place. It was a small comfort and you just wanted to unwind after busy weekdays shuttling your children around.

This was the first time anybody had actually approached you–apart from the bartender and the occasional ‘Is this seat taken’ question from random men trying to hit on women who sat next to you.

After this man places his drink order, he turns his attention back to you.

“Do you come here often?” Your question sounded like a terrible cliche but it was the best you could muster. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

The bartender clears their throat and presents the man with his drink.

He thanks the bartender before he answers, “Yes, I’m here pretty regularly,” he smiled enigmatically. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed me.”

Haven’t noticed him? Nonsense! You most definitely would have noticed him if he walked into a room. Was your sad vagina making you blind, too?

“I’ve seen you once or twice, though,” he says before taking a sip of the amber liquid from his glass, his eyes never leaving you.

“Oh?” You ask nervously.

“Yeah. I come here often for…business meetings,” he rationalizes. “Have you been offered a seat at the chef’s table yet?”

You frowned in confusion. After coming to this place many times before, this was the first time you’d ever heard of an option to have a seat at the chef’s table.

“I don’t think I have. Sounds exclusive,” you remarked.

“It is but I know the owner and I can bring you in as a guest.” After a beat, he asks, “Would you like to take advantage of it?”

Tempting as it was, you cross your legs and decline politely. “That’s alright. I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not,” he says. “I’d be happy to show you what offerings the restaurant has. The chef always has something that will satisfy any appetite.”

You stopped to consider your answer. Was he trying to pick you up or were you trying to read too much into an innocent offer?

You gulped your nervousness down your throat. “No, it’s not that. I’m, uh…” You scrambled to think of an answer. How could you tell this man that you hadn’t gone out on a date in a long time and that you were rusty when it came to settings like this so you’d prefer not to embarrass yourself.

His expression suddenly shifts to a look of realization. “S-sorry, I’m not trying to be a creeper. If you're with someone or just want to be alone–”

You shook your head and answer meekly. “No, no. I’m here by myself.” Then, you decide you’d dare to take a chance. What was the harm in enjoying a drink with someone?

“I don’t mind the company, either.”

To quell any further awkwardness, he introduces himself. “I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

After giving him your name, you can't help but notice that your breath hitches as he shakes your hand firmly. "Pleasure to meet you.”

“Please! The pleasure is all mine,” he says with a smile, his hold still lingering on your skin.

******

It was hard to pinpoint what exactly made him attractive to you but you narrowed it down to a combination of his looks, personality, and confidence–the confidence, especially! And no, it wasn’t the type of confidence that was synonymous with arrogance or cockiness.

It was the quiet self-assurance that he exuded, where his ego took a backseat and you took center stage.

It was a refreshing experience since the man you were married to for years was very much into asserting his masculinity, especially when you first started dating. Admittedly, you’d found that attractive at one point in your life.

That was half of Yoongi’s charm. The other half of it was the element of seduction. He knew and understood how seduction worked.

In the short amount of time that he spent with you, it seemed that the trick lay in small things: his cologne, outfit, laughter, eye contact, and subtle touches–his knees brushing against yours as he shifted in his seat…they all added up.

You don’t recall Jihoon putting that much effort into your relationship, much less coaxing your own self-esteem to the forefront. You chalked it up to the fact that you were both so young and had been together for a long time. You didn’t have many points of comparison, relationship-wise.

“You seem like a really great person,” he says. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

You eventually relay that you’d come here to enjoy some ‘me-time’.

“Interesting,” he says. “And what do you typically do when you’re not alone?”

“Well, I have a day job and children who keep me busy.”

“Oh, you have children?”

“Yes,” you reply. “Two boys–currently with their dad. It’s his weekend.” You try but fail to hide the bitterness behind your tone. The tight smile you gave Yoongi was a dead giveaway, too.

You were fully expecting him to pepper you with questions, questions that you weren’t quite ready to hash out with a stranger.

“I see.” His tone had a finality to it, sensing your apprehension about expanding on your recent divorce.

You tilt your head back and down the last drops of your drink, thankful that he decides not to pry.

“Last call!” The bartender announces to the whole room before turning to you. “Can I get you anything else, miss?”

You shook your head in response and start to dig for your credit card to settle your tab. When they turn to Yoongi, who also declines any more drinks, he makes a request instead. “Junho-ssi, can you put her tab on mine?”

“Oh gosh–no, please–”

“I insist!” He hands his credit card to the bartender, effectively ending your protests.

******

You, along with the last few customers from the restaurant, walk out through the expansive foyer and toward the main exit. The restaurant staff begins to shut the lights off but leaves the lounge illuminated. You’d never been around for closing time so you found the whole scene novel.

A tall, handsome man dressed in a bespoke suit struts out of the backroom, which you assumed was the office. You’d seen him before, in passing. One of your girlfriends pointed out that he owned the place.

You part ways with Yoongi when the owner stops to greet him.

What was the owner’s name again?

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi greets him in return, answering your unspoken question. They share a friendly hug and exchange pleasantries.

“I thought you left hours ago?“ Jin asks him.

“I was on my way out but I decided to hang around the lounge for a bit.”

Not wanting to linger, you walk out to the front of the restaurant to call yourself a rideshare. While you wait, you think about how this evening turned out to be a pleasant surprise to you. You walked into the bar, thinking you’d have a few drinks, and wallow in self-pity for a bit before you returned home to slip into your pajamas and fall asleep while a Beat Bobby Flay marathon plays in the background.

“Did you drive here?”

Your thoughts are interrupted by Yoongi, who was now standing next to you.

“Nah, I knew I was drinking so I just took a car over here.”

You shifted nervously. You hardly thought of yourself as ‘confident’ and it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the dating scene. You were out of practice after all these years but how else did you expect to jumpstart your sex life?

Besides, it’s been well over 72 hours since your gynecological treatment. By doctor’s orders–you should be good to go.

You found yourself speaking the words before you thought through them clearly. “I don’t know if you have any plans tonight but would you like to come over and have a few more drinks?”

******

Once you and Yoongi walked into your home, all that confidence remained at your doorstep and never followed you past the threshold.

Luckily, you found an unopened bottle of vintage red in your kitchen, which you offered to him.

After a few sips in, you clear your throat. “Listen, I have a confession to make.”

He shifted in his seat, prompting you to continue. “What’s that?”

“I…I don’t…do this kind of thing often. You know, bring men home. I hope that you don’t think ill of me for stringing you along like this.”

He smiled, looking calm and not at all disappointed. “And why would I think that?”

Not knowing why he couldn’t see the obvious answer, you shrug. “I realize that I hadn’t thought this through. I don’t want you to think that I’m reckless or easy.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not like you’ve offended me.” His tone remained even and his expression was soft.

“I didn’t know if you were expecting to get laid or whatever,” you say anxiously.

“When a woman invites me back to her place, I never expect anything to happen. There’s always the hope but I’m honestly content with whatever she wants to do.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re telling me that men don’t expect sex all the time?”

“I’m not like other men, unfortunately,” he answers. “I have a slightly different perspective, especially in my line of work.”

Your brows knit in curiosity. You’d come to realize that you hadn’t asked what exactly he did for work. You’d been too enraptured with his charm, happily talking about yourself while he listened to every word you said.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you do for work?”

“I’m an escort,” he says matter-of-factly.

If memory serves, that meant– “Oh my god. Oh my god…” Your scalp prickles immediately. Setting your glass down on the coffee table, you abruptly get up from your seat and start to pace around your living room. “W-why didn’t you tell me that right away? Why did–”

“I’m sorry. Our conversation was going so well earlier that I didn’t feel the need to slip it in. I didn’t think you’d invite me over.”

“Wait! Do I have to pay you? Is this…are you going to charge me for this?” You stammered in a panic.

His voice was soft and reassuring. "Relax. When I approached you, I thought you were a client - that's why I asked if you'd been offered the chef's table. It's kind of like the secret password," he reveals. "But since it didn't seem like you knew anything about it, I made the conscious decision to spend time with you. So, to answer your question: no, I am not charging you. I'm here because I want to be here.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief. Your head was spinning. A ‘secret password’? Was there a hidden brothel at the restaurant? You had so many questions!

“I understand that this is overwhelming and I don’t mean to freak you out any further. If I’m making you uncomfortable, just say the word and I’ll leave. ” He raised his hands up, further conveying his point. “No harm done.”

He stood up and collected his jacket which was neatly draped over the couch cushion.

Your mind was still racing. What would it mean if you asked him to stay? He says that he’s not charging you but was it enough that you’d take his word for it?

You stop your pacing and turn to look at him.

Sure, you could make him leave and forget that this ever happened. Nobody has to know, nobody needs to know.

…Exactly. Nobody needs to know.

“Wait,” you answer softly. “Could you stay a little longer?”

******

It took a few minutes of some awkward, borderline-invasive questions about his job. You were understandably curious and he was a very patient interview subject. He kept most details vague–presumably, to keep some ‘trade secrets’ under wraps–he was fairly open about his work.

You learned that there was a specific app where his clients can book him and that he often stops by the restaurant, which had a secret lounge, for discreet meet-ups.

“So, you’re saying it’s not just all sex all the time for you?”

He threw his head back in laughter. “It’s not. Sometimes, some clients just want to talk–just like we’re doing now. That’s what our back room is for.”

“Right, but what are the chances that you don’t, I don’t know, get it in before the end of your date?”

He lets out another chuckle. “This may be hard to believe but there are times when some of my dates just want someone to keep them company. And yes, there are times when all they want is physical contact the whole time we’re together.”

“Huh…okay.” You internally fan yourself. “You can tell me to stop if I’m being annoying!”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Normally, I just talk to the other guys I work with since we all have to be discreet. So, talking to you about it feels liberating…on a different level. By the way, I love this red,” he comments at the wine.

You smile at his compliment before sinking into the couch cushions–internalizing this brand-new perspective. You marveled at the concept, like an awakening of sorts.

Hearing about his experiences and different approaches to each of his relationships with his clients fascinated you. On the other hand, it also made you think about how much you missed out on when you were younger.

He notices that you’ve fallen silent. “What are you thinking?”

“Just how little I know about relationships and…sex.” You sighed softly.

“What do you mean?”

You thought about how quickly that year passed, focusing on distracting yourself with work, and your kids so you wouldn’t have to think about how Jihoon was living his best life, with a newer, younger partner.

You didn’t have time for that. You had your babies to take care of. You had to stay focused for them!

Shaking your head, you say, “I don’t know. I guess I find myself being unreasonably envious of these women whom I’ve never met.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m envious at how they’re able to explore their sexuality without…being judged or looked down on. Like, I’m definitely not in my 20s anymore, you know? The concept of dating or even going out to get a drink doesn’t seem appropriate for someone like me.”

“Someone like you? You mean a woman?”

“Someone who has a full plate,” you counter.

“Is it full, though?” He asks skeptically.

You scoffed. “Well, yes! I have my job, then my kids—“

“But your kids aren’t here. You just said that they’re spending the weekend at their dad’s.”

“Right. Still, I don’t know if I have the time—“

“I’m sure you can make time now that you and your ex have joint custody. Don’t you think he enjoys himself when you have your kids while he has his own me-time?”

“Yes, but he’s a man. It’s different for women.”

“Surely you still have desires or fantasies? There’s no gender or age limit for that.”

You shrugged. “Isn’t there? Sometimes, I feel like I’m past it.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “What do you mean to say, ‘you’re past it’? You don’t like sex anymore?”

His incredulity stings you a bit, maybe because he seemed young and had sex with several people often. “It’s possible! And you know what, maybe it’s just been too long for me and you know, they always say, you either use it or lose it.”

Yoongi stares at you, mouth agog, and utterly dumbfounded by your ridiculous theory.

“Can you do me a favor and humor me, just a little? I think that’s only fair, right?” After your interrogation, it did seem like a fair exchange so you nod your head, prompting him to continue.

“Tell me what you loved about sex. It could be the lead-up to it, a specific action, or the experience as a whole. What is it?”

You paused at his question. Your lips puckered as you thought about your answer. After a few more seconds, you finally answer, “Weirdly, it doesn’t have anything to do with any kind of penetration.”

He laughed so hard his shoulders vibrated. “I thought penetration was everyone’s favorite part?”

You tutted. “Nuh-uh. Not me.”

He eyed you quietly while he awaits your answer. “I’m at the edge of my seat here,” he chuckled.

You laughed in return. “Okay, okay. It’s kissing.”

His lips and eyebrows quirked in curiosity. “Interesting choice. Doesn’t ‘kissing’ still technically involve some kind of penetration?”

“I guess,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the same time. “But to me, kissing means more than just getting it in.” You pause again to think of the correct metaphor. “It’s like the prologue and the epilogue to sex.”

His eyes flickered with renewed interest while you elaborated. “You know, when you like someone or find them attractive enough, you imagine what it’s like to kiss them, right? The thought consumes you until you finally get that opportunity to do it.”

He continued to regard you intently, hanging onto your every word. “You start off feeling and tasting…and then you slowly melt into it. Your hands start to explore, clearly wanting more of that person.” You smiled wistfully, “One of my favorite things to do is finding out how long I could keep my mouth sealed to my partner’s while we undress each other. And then the thrill of breaking that kiss–for just a few moments–so you could strip that last piece of clothing off them–then you get right back into it.”

You watched his chest rise and fall, his gaze still hot on you.

“After all is said and done–after you both ride out your highs and your bodies are trembling from intense pleasure, your only source of calm and comfort is falling into those kisses again.” When you finish, you press your lips into a hard line and stare back at him.

“Wow,” he choked out after a few beats.

You wave your hands dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. I know it sounds crazy and delusional,” you scoffed.

He disagreed. “On the contrary, I think that you make a very compelling argument for kissing.”

You sighed ruefully, “It was just something that my ex and I stopped doing many years ago. I felt like that was the beginning of the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he remarked sincerely.

“Yeah, me too.”

You looked away to take another sip of your drink while his gaze remained on you. When you turn your attention back to him, he asks, “I’d like to do that for you, if you’ll let me.”

You cocked your eyebrow in suspicion. “Do what?”

“I want to give you that feeling again.”

You frowned in confusion. “What feeling?”

“The feeling you get from a kiss.”

Your eyes bulged in amusement before laughing. “What? That was like, some desperate wish from a sad lady.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, fine. But I am here, sincerely asking if I could kiss you.”

“Oh my god, Yoongi–” Your forehead creased, trying to make out whether he was for real or just pulling your leg.

“I’m not bullshitting you, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Then you must be drunk,” you countered.

“Not that drunk,” he demurred. “I am still very much coherent.”

You continued to eye him skeptically for a few seconds.

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. If you say ‘no’, then we’ll move on from this subject and continue on with our night. And I think I’ve made it deliberately clear that I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at all,” he reassured you.

“I…” The answer was at the tip of your tongue. However, before you say anything else that you feel might be too impulsive, you feel the need to step away to cool off.

“Oh, look at that!” You remark at the empty bottle of wine and reach for it. “I’ll be right back with another. Red, right?“ You hastily make your way back into the kitchen, not waiting for his answer.

******

After retrieving a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge, you puff your flushed cheeks out and fan yourself. It was definitely the alcohol…coupled with the fact that Yoongi’s presence was lowering your inhibitions further.

All that bullshit you spewed about not having the desire? Being ‘past’ sex? Right. You internally smack yourself.

He wasn’t charging you anyway, what was the harm in a little taste? The problem was what could happen after the fact. What if you turned out to be insatiable? Could your alimony checks pay for these meetings?

“Shut up, this is crazy!” you mutter to yourself.

And yet, even as you made your way into the kitchen, you were already feeling that familiar tingle in the pit of your stomach. A feeling you thought was long gone, walking out the door along with your ex.

You put the bottle of wine down and center yourself, splaying your fingers onto the counter then lean on it for support.

You try desperately to calm your fluttering pulse.

“Hey.”

You turn your head around to see him entering the kitchen.

Shit, were you taking too long?

“I thought you might need this.” He held up the corkscrew in his hand and then slowly advanced toward you.

You laughed. “Oh…uh…silly me!”

“I got worried so I thought I might check in on you to make sure that you were okay.”

You turn around and attempted to take a step but your knees felt like jelly. So instead, you lean your back against the counter. “I’m fine,” you try to say as evenly as possible. “Also, seems I’m all out of red wine and this is the only one I have left.” You gestured at the bottle on the counter.

Seeing your apprehension in serving it, he asks, “Do you like it?”

Your eyes bulged at his question.

“The wine. Do you like it?” he clarifies.

“I do.”

He gives a small nod. “Well if you like it, I’m sure I’ll like it, too.”

“You said earlier that you preferred to drink red. Do you always adjust your preferences based on whatever your date likes?”

“Mm…so we’re on a date?”

You giggle nervously at your presumptuousness then start blubbering. “I mean–I’m just saying.”

“It’s just a preference,” He interjects cooly. “...but I generally like to keep an open mind about things. I’m not the type who limits myself.”

“Because ‘limits’ are an occupational hazard for you?”

“I may not limit myself but knowing my clients’ limits are helpful for me. I want to know what they want; want to know how much I can give it to them…until they tell me to stop.”

“And how often do they say ‘stop’?” Your question was barely a whisper.

“All the time, actually. Except…” he hissed through his teeth, “…it usually comes after the word, ‘don’t’,” he punctuated.

Your lips seal tightly as if bracing yourself. At this point, you’d made up your mind and wanted to know what it would be like to be intimate with him.

But you still haven’t said the words.

He smiles and takes a few more steps, closing the gap considerably but still leaving room for you to push away from him if you want to. At this point, you didn’t want to push him off but instead felt a visceral need to pull him closer.

He inhaled deeply, like he could smell the want thrumming from your body.

He swallows, leaning in so his face is in your hair. The sound of his breaths sets your body alight…this would be the moment you’d give in to your impulses.

He’d pressed himself against you and you didn’t stop him. You shift, knowingly brushing your thigh against his crotch, his cock stiffening at the contact. He bit into his lips in an effort to suppress a growl but fails at it.

Your skin is hot to the touch and your heart feels as if it’s thumping out of your chest. With his lips still narrowed into a hard line, you lock eyes with him, and he detects that dormant lust lingering in their depths. You gulp and drop your gaze to his lips. Your bodies, now pressed against each other; mind racing, you continue to stare at his mouth. You want to taste him.

“I want you.” His words reverb around the room like an echo.

He moistened his parched lips with his tongue and let out a shaky breath. And maybe it has been that long…but you’d never seen anyone look so desperate to take you. Never felt so paralyzed by desire.

"Can I please... have you?" You can’t imagine he’d ever worked this hard for a fuck.

You never thought of yourself as sexy. You always thought you looked average. But when you're with him, he made you feel unbelievably irresistible. You haven't felt this confident in a while.

His mouth gently grazed the side of your jawline. "Please...tell me I can have you."

Curiosity consumed your body, leaving you no choice but to surrender. Finally, you permit yourself; and in turn, permit him. “Yes.”

You slowly tilt forward until your lips gently meet his but he doesn’t take the lead. Instead, he decides that you should still take it at your own pace, and he’s more than happy with it. It’s slow. Soft. Tender…everything that you hoped it would be.

He presses his hand onto the small of your back, making you arch against his hold.

“Bed?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum your agreement against his mouth.

“Where?”

You fist at his shirt and pull him down the hallway and into your bedroom.

His back hits your door, which slams against the wall, jolting you into his arms. He can do nothing more than keep up with your pace, all while silently demanding you start ridding him of his clothes.

Your tongue circles his mouth, your heads tilting constantly, taking other angles, pulling back, only to crash together once again. It’s wild, messy, yet absolutely incredible.

“You’re so sexy, you know that?”

“You’re just obliged to say those things.”

“I’m not obliged to say or do anything I don’t want to.” He peels off the wall and walks you both farther into your bedroom. “And neither are you.” He backs you in until your legs feel the mattress against them. He turns you around, zipping your dress down. “Do you understand?”

You nod and remain still as he unfastens you and then pushes the dress downward, his eyes falling to the material that pools around your feet.

His hands reach for the clasp of your bra. One flick of his deft fingers releases it, and he notices your shoulders lift. He moves in close and slides his forearm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We can do this however you want. You have control, okay?” He whispers, trying to ease your nerves. You were tense, but not from fear. It was from anticipation.

“Yes,” you respond.

“You’re beautiful and I want us to take our time.” He drags the straps of your bra down your arms until it tumbles to the floor. “We don’t need to rush through this.” Kissing your cheek lightly, he relishes the feel of you pushing closer to him. “I want to remind you how good it can feel.”

You turn and lift your chin to look at him. Without a word, you start to unbutton his shirt, one by one, slowly and purposefully, with a whole range of of thoughts and emotions running through your head.

He lets you undress him at your own speed, resisting the urge to rip his own clothes from his body and toss you on the bed. “Want some help?” He asks to find out what options you’d be open to.

You peer up at him, and he sees apprehension in your gaze. You smile and shake your head ‘no’ softly.

He realizes that even though you’re desperate for him to take you, you have no idea how this will all play out. It’s been so long, and he was the first partner you’d been with in a while. You didn’t know if you wanted it raw and fast or slow and loving.

“Don’t be nervous.” He takes your wrists, instantly feeling you tremble. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.” Your gaze drops from his, down his bare torso, your teeth sinking into your lip. “I really…really…do.”

Pulling away from his hold, you push his shirt from his shoulders and place your hands on his pecs. His body feels like it’s just gone up in flames, and his hands twitch, desperate to grab onto you. Ravage you, kiss you…ruin you. The look in your eyes tells him you’re aware of all this because you want to do all of those same things to him.

You reinforce this with a hard kiss on his lips, and he’s instantly overwhelmed by it, his palm going to the back of your head, gently pushing you closer, his mouth opening, inviting you in.

Your hands are everywhere. Your kisses turn sloppy. His actions convey a sense of urgency, making him want to take you hard and fast, show you how good he could be for you. He can feel his control slipping but somehow manages to maintain his hold on those last few strands. He knows this isn’t the time for him to get carried away. He was giving up control to you.

Holding your head in his hands, he slows the tempo of your kiss. Suddenly, it was all coming back to you now. Your hands snake down to the fly of his pants, you undo it and slide them off him, all while keeping your lips locked. He takes you down to the mattress, your tongues dancing slowly, breathing each other’s breath.

You never thought he’d taste this good, even with the hints of alcohol mixed between you. He comes down to rest over you, taking his arms up over your head, leaving your hands free to roam his back, his ass, and eventually his face. You’re both lost and consumed by each other.

He forcibly breaks your kiss to test a theory.

You let out a whine, hating the loss of contact. You lunge at him, wanting to capture his mouth again but he teasingly pulls away. You lean in again and he retreats with a soft chuckle. Finally, you let out a growl, clasp your palms on either side of his face, and aggressively pull him back to you.

His chest rumbled in arousal, and he kisses you back with just as much fervor.

You pant against his mouth, your hands grabbing at his hair, legs locking around his waist, telling him that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your lips purse, your hands sliding past the waistband of his boxers. You push them over the rise of his ass. “Are you worth every penny?” You cheekily pinch his butt, making him flinch and grin at the same time.

“Yes,” he says simply.

You giggle, then sink your nails into his flesh. He grits his teeth, enduring the sharp pain. “And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He raises his eyebrows in warning as your hand glides softly through his dark strands. “But yes, you’d better take my word for it. Let me make you feel good?”

Your lips press together, your hips flexing up, pushing into against his hardon. “Yes,” you breathed out.

With your consent, his lips crash into yours, the slow and steady pace all but forgotten. Wild hands feel down his thighs and start pulling impatiently at his boxers. He fully appreciates your eagerness, taking his own hands to your panties, pushing them down your legs just as impatiently.

You inhale sharply but quickly adopt his method, tugging and squirming to break free of your last bits of clothing.

Until there is nothing but skin on skin. Nothing but the friction of his flesh rubbing all over yours as your bodies entangle, lips and tongues clashing, your moans and hungry gasps filling the room.

His hand grazed your clit lightly, stimulating the sensitive nerves there. Your breath caught and you tilted your head back as he moved down your body, kissing and licking downward until he was past your torso.

His thumb swiping at your soaked folds sends an unexpected shiver up your spine, making you gasp. He’d anticipated a slow build, but after a few light strokes, he realized you were already primed for him.

His fingers continued to work you, pumping at a slow, even, and purposeful pace that increased both the pressure and area with each stroke. His digits were gliding up and down your folds in a slow circuit, coming up to your clit, then down…easing in and out of your aching cunt. Your breaths started to turn ragged, and he took it as his cue to change his pace in bursts, shortening each motion while your orgasm built.

“Oh shit, I’m close,” you choked out as your muscles seized. “Keep going…”

His strokes became shorter as your climax neared. Dipping in and pressing up against the roof of your core, sending you over the edge. He kept the pace until the sensation became unbearable.

The second you felt the first shudders of your orgasm rip through you, you let out an aggressive, high-pitched gasp. You gripped at your sheets, back arching off the mattress as you trembled with relief and satisfaction.

You barely notice him getting off the bed to grab a condom from his pants, which were on the floor. He tears open the foil and carefully rolls the condom down his length.

It doesn’t take much guidance to get his cock resting at your throbbing entrance. You suck in air and hold it, pulling back to get him in your sights. His eyes on you, he nudges his hips a fraction, resisting the urge to pound straight in. “Ready?”

“God, yessss!” You can hardly talk through your desperation so instead, you roll your hips up and take a bit more of him.

He pushed into you, eliciting a small cry from your lips as you adjusted to the stretch.

He swivels his hips, grinding deeply. He flexes his hands over your hips, keeping you pinned against the mattress, withdrawing from your pussy and gliding gently back in.

He watches you melt beneath him, but the slight quiver on your lip worries him. He pauses his movements and loosens his hold on you.

“Are you okay?” His fingers gently brushed your forehead.

With a swift kiss to his lips, you nod. “I’m good.” You sink your nails into his ass and roll your hips onto his, telling him wanted more.

You fist your hands in his hair, moaning in invitation as your body goes into autopilot. You feel his palms squeeze your thighs again, bracing himself as his hips grind against you once more.

You don’t know how you’ve managed to resist him this whole time.

He nips at your bottom lip and releases it, pulling his face away and looking you straight in the eyes. He rolls his hips again, grinding hard against your pelvis, making your core clench tightly. Your head lolls on a deep moan, giving him free access to your throat. He takes full advantage of it, licking and sucking at the hollow.

You could cry with pleasure at how good it felt.

Nuzzling your cheek, he takes your hands and thrust them up on the pillow, he elevates himself a little to get a good look at you. You’re panting in excitement and need. Loving the feel of him inside you. He rolls his hips teasingly. “You like it slow?” He licks his lips, savoring the sight of you breaking into a sweat.

“I don’t really care,” you utter.

“Please, tell me what you like.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t care,” you insist. “Just don’t stop–”

At the sound of your words, your eyes immediately dart up to Yoongi, who was now sporting the cockiest smirk. Flustered, you end up muttering, “Ugh, just keep going, okay?”

“As you wish,” he says with a chuckle. Lowering his face, he catches your mouth gently as he continues the measured, delicate rock of his hips, making sure his drives are slow and exact, his tongue following suit. He releases your hands, allowing you to feel him.

He lets you control your kiss again, only breaking away from time to time when you lazily throw your head around on the pillow, sighing, moaning, eyes rolling to the back of your head from arousal.

You’re caught in the moment and floating in mid-air. He keeps his rhythm steady, ensuring that you’re kept in a consistent state of pleasure. He’s amazed by how responsive you were to him, finding himself enthralled at the sight of you losing yourself.

He peels away from your chest as he lifts and balances his weight on his forearms. Your eyes follow his, your hands reaching for his face, holding him. Your hips are in perfect sync, his rolling down, and you undulate upward to meet his, each plunge taking your breath away.

In one swift move, he rolls you both over until you were on top. He gives you a look, reminding you that you were in control. With a gentle nudge from him, you sit up, shifting your legs on either side of him for leverage.

You ease into your movements. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips to meet yours, filling you to the brim as he exhales. You lift off slightly, feeling his length slide out. His mouth falls open with a sigh when you sink your hips to take him in again.

You were feeling drunk with the power you currently had–watching Yoongi coming apart beneath you. You place your hands on his shoulders for support until your ass rests atop his thighs.

You sway your hips and he matches your rhythm, maintaining that perfect synchronicity. You increase the speed and it didn't take long before you were fully captivated in pleasure again.

He slowly lifts himself off the mattress and sits up, his face right in front of yours. His hands move from your hips to your arms, maintaining a firm grip to hold you still. He then withdraws slightly before thrusting sharply into you, causing you to cry out.

Your head lolls sideways and back, as he fucks in and out of you. You open your eyes, stare down at him, your breathing ragged, and he’s staring back at you, eyes blazing.

“Fuck…don’t…stop,” you mewl pathetically as he pounds into you.

He groans loudly, closing his eyes again, tipping his head and leaning it against your forehead.

He feels you inching closer to another orgasm. He reaches between you to massage your clit, circling it in the most optimal rhythm, applying the perfect amount of pressure, enough to send you over the edge.

You both calmly roll through your own waves of pleasure, a stark contrast to the frantic hammering in your chests.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your misted neck, still catching his breath.

You giggle softly, rolling your forehead against his forehead. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

His lips curve into a smile before he gently places soft, leisurely kisses on your lips. At the same time, his fingers caress your cheek and neck. He didn’t need to do all that, but it felt good.

You pull away and regard him intently. “That was nice.”

“Aftercare is important.” He plants another soft kiss on your lips before he gingerly lifts you off him.

He asks for permission to use your shower, and you direct him to the linen closet where he can find some towels for himself.

“Yoongi?” You call out to him. He turns around and hums his prompt for you to go on.

“You know, if I could afford you, I’d pay twice whatever you’re charging.”

He grins at the compliment, nodding before turning back towards the door. “I can give you access to the app if you’re serious about it,” he says over his shoulder in jest.

His laughter sends gentle currents coursing through your body. The thought amuses you, as you sink back into your sheets while the sound of your shower tap turning on echoes through the room.

******

For somebody whose work revolved around sex–it sure didn’t feel like it from your perspective, nor his.

Everything felt natural and organic. Every touch, every kiss felt real. Every movement you made was in response to his–an even exchange, never missing a beat. The whole act itself flowed like a great conversation, one that you didn’t want to end.

It wasn’t that he had magical skills in bed. There were no special rituals or elaborate positions. His strength was in genuinely understanding that sex went beyond the physical aspect. He knew how to build anticipation and actually deliver.

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had spent the entire night setting the mood for the moment and the result was extremely satisfying. He made you feel so comfortable and relaxed that it made the sex that much better.

And it was mind-blowing! Even then, that adjective felt inadequate in describing the experience.

As he was getting ready to leave that morning, you let him know that you didn’t feel the need to call him again even after he offered to meet up off the clock.

“Look, I’m flattered, but you don’t need to do me any favors. Besides, I wouldn’t want to take any business away from you,” you say to him.

“Don’t think of it that way,” he shook his head. “It’s just that I really enjoyed our time and I thought–”

“Then let’s leave it at that,” you interrupt him calmly. “I had a really great time, too.”

He sighs in defeat but asks again for good measure. “Are you sure?”

You nodded in response.

He took a step closer. You chuckle softly, butterflies tickling as he snakes his arm around your waist. “If you ever feel lonely, call me. I’ll be here for you. As a friend.” He gave you a smile that had the slightest hint of mischief in it.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do,” he says emphatically–almost begging. “And you know where to find me.”

You laughed.

“We can grab a drink, or something.” His eyebrows twitch and his teeth catch his lower lip while he stares at you.

You looked at him wryly, but deep down, you had to admit that his insatiable desire for you stokes your ego. “You know, you’re making this really hard–”

“Good. Glad I’m not the only one finding this…hard,” he rasps.

You slap of his chest playfully, eliciting a laugh from him. You roll your eyes but are unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Oh my god! You’re a menace!”

He throws his head back, laughing some more, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m teasing, of course. But I’m serious, though. If you ever want to talk, I’m a phone call away.”

You offer a small smile of appreciation in return. “Thank you.”

“Would it be alright if I kissed you goodbye?”

You shook your head softly. “That’ll be nice.”

He dips his head and pauses for a fraction of a second to brush the tip of his nose against yours, before fully capturing your mouth in a lush, deep kiss.

And it was nice, just as you thought it would be. It was also nice to feel wanted and desired–even for one night.

Main Fic Masterlist

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#bts fanfiction #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi #myg smut #bts smut #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #TheBFE x myg

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