#She literally watched her husbands head be caved in and had to live with the fact that if he ever found out he could just crumble (he did) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taecalikook · 4 years

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When the sea sleeps

summary : marriage should be based on love, but it’s not really the case with you and Seokjin. what’s more beneficial than two person who sworn off romances to get married out of obligation, right? but you should have known better, that keeping your heart straight from wanting someone like Kim Seokjin is next to impossible.

{fake marriage! au, strangers to lovers!au}

pairing : kim seokjin x reader

genre : major tooth rotting fluff, crack, smut(?)

word count : 23.720 (one-shot)

warning! mention of period and masturbation, daddy kink, big cock! seokjin, teasing, cock sucking, rough blowjob, deep throat, nipple play, oral (female receiving), riding, cum play, major fluffy love talk (?), dry hump, infidelity mentions, etc. ((omg))

“Hi, I am in the mart near our apartment. Anything you want?”

“Yes, please. I think we ran out of toothpaste and cleaning liquid. And can you get the usual donuts as well? Thank you.” Your husband replies meekly from the other side of the call. You hum in agreement, noting the order.

“Will you be home soon?” You ask mundanely, a question based out of routinity instead of wanting an answer. Well, that’s just how it is with Seokjin.

“I don’t think so. Might have to stay late for work. You should head to bed first.”

“Okay, then. See you.” You nod and cut the call, shoving the phone to your pocket.

It’s been like this for the past two and a half years with Seokjin. Meeting him after being introduced by your mother, getting married after six months of vague dating, and then living rather as a roommate than husband and wife in your small apartment. Life has been good.

Well, it’s not like you are married for love.

Seokjin is 33 years old this year, and you are 31. Years ago, you weren’t really interested in marriage. You were fully capable of living on your own, not really interested in love and that’s about it. Even so, your mother never stopped sending you lists of men she’s going to introduce you to—but you quickly shut her off by busying yourself with work and all.

Yet no matter how heartless you might be, seeing your mother crying her heart out before bed for god to give you a good husband and family, you finally caved and agreed to one blind date. She couldn’t be happier to give you the name of your suitor.

Kim Seokjin. A 31 years old, living in his own apartment, working in a local bank as a manager.

When you first heard about him, there’s no outstanding or over the top qualities he possessed, and probably that’s how you prefer him to be. Yet when you saw him first, there’s literally nothing else you preferred him to be.

“I’m sorry for this, but… I actually have no interest in marriage.”

He thought you would be slapping him across the face after saying such a ridiculous statement on the first meeting, yet when your face lightened up, he was not less than confused.

“Me too! I only did this because of my mother.” You squealed in delight of finding the person that shares your pain. “I never intend to get married myself.”

“God, I was scared you’ll take this the wrong way.” He finally sighed in relief, was afraid of offending you. “My mother, she is.. sick right now, and she has never stopped saying that she wants to see me married before she dies.”

“I understood that. And I’m sorry, I hope she’ll be fine soon.” You sincerely wished him well. As far as you were concerned, Seokjin looked like a great guy. He deserved better, anyway, and high chance he would be a good friend. It’s not often to see someone not too desperate to chase love after reaching your age.

After another hour talking about anything but yourself, Seokjin reaches out for the bill. “Are you up for desserts?” He asked with a thin smile, and you nod happily, thinking about the sweets you were about to consume.

That evening, when your mother asked what happened with the date, you told her that she shouldn’t expect more about Seokjin. Yet the day after, Seokjin messaged you asking for a second date, your mother was over the moon. And that was how you spent another six months in a vague relationship with Seokjin, where it seemed like both of you were serious, yet there’s no feelings attached. Seokjin was a best friend, and an outstanding listener, but that’s about it.

One day, Seokjin asked about the idea of marrying you, whether you would detest the idea. And strangely, you didn’t. The week after, Saturday night you were just sitting in his apartment eating his homemade dishes, Seokjin asked whether you wanted him to marry you. After setting a few basic rules, and just like that you agree.

That’s how you’ve been living with a bestfriend-like-husband.

Sex is absolutely off limit, and not that Seokjin has initiated it before. You are sleeping in the same bed, but Seokjin generously chooses the giant king bed that is rather disproportionate to the whole room to ensure both of you have personal space in bed. In the morning, Seokjin usually cooks, and you’ll take turns cleaning the apartment. You’ll water the small plants near the window, changing your bed sheet, and cleaning your wedding photo from dust.

On Saturday or Sunday, both of you will have brunch together in the nearest cafe then lounge around watching netflix on your large TV. Once every month he’ll have a drink with fellow friends or you’ll meet up with your best friends, and meet with your parents or in-laws.

Living with Seokjin is a series of routinity, and you actually don’t mind. Maybe you're already in the age when you are surreptitious, and had enough of surprises.

After taking a long warm bath and getting inside your comfy sheets, you settle for a while in silence until a name comes up on your screen. Your mother-in-law is calling. You abruptly rise to sit, pressing the green button. “Hi, mother. How are you doing?”

“I’m very great now listening to my precious daughter’s voice!” She gleefully squeals, strangely energized. You glance at the clock on your nightstand. It’s already ten. Now it reminds you Seokjin’s not home yet. “Seokjin’s father is having a birthday lunch this Saturday. You can come right? Do come by eleven, okay?”

“Ah, I see. We will, mom.” You smile, internally noting the event to let Seokjin reserve his time. The talks then continue with your condition, whether you’re well or having sickness whatsoever—you know she actually means to ask if you’re going to give her a grandchild anytime soon. You answer demurely, not that it surprises you as your own mother has been going on and on and on about it as well. But how can you say that when you haven’t even kissed him more than five times in the past two and a half years?

But to think about it, Seokjin really has a great self-control if he really is not having an affair—for the lack of better terms—outside your marriage. Not that it would upset you whatsoever, it’s just not something you’d rather discuss with each other. Both of you agreed it would be okay to do whatever you both want, as long as you’re open to each other—but so far, nothing has implied otherwise. You somehow feel an urgency to talk about it, as you know Seokjin is a healthy man who must have his own needs as well—the one you can’t help with.

After the call ends, Seokjin enters your bedroom at the same time, looking crumpled as ever. The top two buttons on his shirt are undone, face looks beyond exhaustion, and… the fly of his trousers is opened. You are unable to hold a sly smile.

“Are you tired?” You greet, and Seokjin nods, sighing deeply.

“Today was pretty shitty. A client was being a jackass as per usual.” Seokjin throws his bag on the table, taking off his suit. “I think I’m going to take a long hot shower. You can sleep first.”

You hum. “Okay. I turned up the water heater, so you can go in now.”

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.” Seokjin sighs in relief.

“You’re welcome. And Saturday, your father is having a birthday lunch and your mother asked us to come. Do arrange your schedule. And Seokjin?” You ask, and Seokjin looks up to you in confusion, waiting for you to continue.

“Your fly is open.”

“Fuck.” He curses and looks down, immediately zipping it close. “I hope I didn’t embarrass myself. And I swear it was nothing, I may have forgotten to close it in the restroom before going home.”

“It’s okay. You can do whatever you want, anyway.” You heartily giggle in amusement—with lots of subtle meaning behind words—settling back on your side of bed and hearing Seokjin softly closes the door behind him.

It’s already Friday, and somehow you still feel anxious. The day is closing soon, and tomorrow you’ll be meeting your in-laws for a family lunch, yet you are aware it’s not that simple. You have to pretend you have a real, conservative marriage with Seokjin, and it stresses you out. Not because you have to pretend to be in love—you’d rather think you’re relatively good at that, but having to lie to his parent’s face that Seokjin’s dick has ever entered you to get them a grandchild is nauseating.

“Why are you so tense, Y/N?” Hoseok chuckles, tapping your shoulder. “It’s Friday night. You should be all smiles.”

“Just meeting a few of my in-laws tomorrow. I’m a bit… nervous. That’s all.”

Jane who is sitting beside you immediately joins in. “Ah, that’s hard. My in-laws are jackasses, hence I’d rather steer clear from any family meetings. Why are you nervous? Are they annoying bastards as well?”

“No, they’re not like that.” You shake your head, confused on how to explain that you are not having a real marriage with Seokjin like most married couples. You’d rather not. “Well, I think I’m just having cold feet. That’s all.”

“You should come with us, then.” Hoseok offers with a whole ass large smile which shows his perfect teeth. “We’re having a drink tonight. No worry, we’re not going all the way to night. Just a slow one. You’ll be fine.”

That’s how you agreed to attend with a few of your peers, notably Hoseok and Jane who are your teammates, Namjoon from Legal, Jungkook from Accounting, and a few other friends you are only on name basis with. It surely started slow, and you gave Seokjin a short call before entering the bar.

“Seokjin, hi. I’m out for drinks with friends, I’ll be a bit late, okay? But not too late though, only for two hours, three hours max.” You smile at Jungkook who is asking you to come. You gesture for him to enter before you. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”

“I see. Where are you drinking exactly?” He asks calmly. You quickly mention the name and address of the bar. “Okay. Let me know when you’ll be coming home, I’ll get you.”

“Ah, it’s okay! I think Hoseok or Jungkook can drive me home. No worry.”

“I see. Be safe, okay? And don’t get too hammered, we still have that lunch tomorrow.” Seokjin calmly reminds you. Probably due to the fact that you’re that quick to lose control, and the struggles he had to face on a regular basis to deal with drunk you.

Something inside you stirs at the remembrance of tomorrow’s event, but you quickly shrug it. You’re drinking to forget, anyway. “Of course. See you!”

As it should’ve been easily predicted, you’re really loose with your alcohol control, especially with the great atmosphere and company. With Hoseok and Jane, one drink becomes two, and then four, and then in a blink, you lose count. You really should’ve predicted it, now drunkenly blabbering whatever inside your mind. Yet at once, you stumble on your seat and nearly fall until Jungkook catches you by the waist.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook checks up on you, staring at your blushing face, eyes hooded like completely feeling the alcohol dancing in your spine. “You look drunk, Y/N. Maybe you should cut the alcohol.”

“Yeah, I think I should.” You sigh, resting the glass back on the table. You rub your forehead. “I shouldn’t be drinking, since tomorrow I’m meeting my in-laws, and it’s.. fucking.. suck! You know why, Jungkook?” Jungkook shakes his head, amusement visible in his eyes while looking at you.

“Because they’ll keep asking about grandchildren.” You scoff. “They’ll keep wanting me to have a child, especially with the fact that Seokjin’s younger brother already has three of those. But how can I say it to them?”

“Why? Is there any reason you don’t want to have kids? Are you waiting?”

You hit the table with your fisted hand, aggrieved. “It’s not that. How can I when.. when.. I haven’t even had sex with my own husband?”

“What?” Jungkook really couldn’t believe his ear. You have been married for more than two years and haven’t had sex with your husband? How is that even possible is beyond him. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Y/N.”

Jungkook looks back at the source of the voice, finding Seokjin’s dark eyes looking at your figure, resting your head on the table. Jungkook immediately lets go of his hand on your skin. “Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay. She must be drunk.” Seokjin sighs, circling his hands around your waist. Not that he didn’t expect it, but he feels extremely uncomfortable with the fact that someone else is aware of your little arrangement, especially with it being someone he doesn’t even know besides a name. “I’ll take her now. Here.” He says, slapping a few bills for your drinks.

Not even muttering goodbyes for Jungkook or other drunk people on the table, Seokjin instantly takes you back to his car. A minute of silence he’s staring at your face, Seokjin lightly flicks your head in annoyance before taking off, after ensuring you’re well secured on the passenger side.

“I’m sorry.”

The moment you’re awake, the memory instantly hits you like a truck inside your throbbing head. Constantly shoving drinks up your throat, dancing with Jane and Hoseok, and little talk with Jungkook. You also faintly make out Seokjin’s face getting you from the bar in your memory—right before passing out. God, it’s totally a mess. You really should avoid drinks again at all costs now.

“Are you awake?” Seokjin calmly asks while stirring breakfast on the pan. You nod, standing beside him. “The soup will be ready in a second. You can get our plates.”

Realizing that the talk is about to happen, you silently follow his order and prepare a few of the utensils on the table. You sit down to wait for Seokjin to join, and when he does, you are still waiting for him to open the conversation. In the midst of eating in silence, Seokjin suddenly breaks the silence.

“Do you want to have a child?”

Out of shock, you literally choke on your soup, the liquid entered the wrong pipe. Yet even when tapping your back lightly, he still has the nerves to laugh.

“That’s not funny!” You scowl in annoyance, gulping the water Seokjin offered. Your husband is a total jerk, you really should’ve known.

“It is. And I really need to know, since last night you were talking to your friend about our sexless marriage in such a heart wrenching manner I just had to ask.”

You are silenced in guilt with the mention of last night, resting back the glass. “It’s not like that.”

Seokjin cocks his head. “So what is it like?”

“No, I was just stressed about the fact that our families are pressuring us to have a child.” You sigh, never actually telling Seokjin about the pressure on your shoulder. “My mother even once asked me to consult with Obstetricians if my eggs are not working. Why didn’t she doubt your sperm instead?! Annoying.”

“Y/N. You really should’ve told me if my mother and yours has been pressing you to have a child.” Seokjin speaks in good nature, even with a hint of scolding. “I will let her know that it’s our decision, and we’ll have kids whenever we are ready.”

You nod. “Thank you. And I’m very sorry, by the way. Yesterday was a bit much, I know.”

“It’s fine.” He says, tapping the top of your head. “I’ll take a bath first, and we’ll go about an hour. Okay?”

And as predicted, the one that welcomes you and Seokjin even from far is Taehyun, Taehyung’s five years old eldest son. He runs with his two little feet with a light shout of glee until he clings to Seokjin’s thigh. “Auntie! Uncle! Hi!”

“Hi, Taehyun! How are you?!” Seokjin instantly takes him by the waist, bringing him up to his grasp and kisses his lumpy cheek. You are unable to hide a swooned smile. “Are you a smart boy now? Have you made friends in kindergarten?”

“Of course!” He squeals, and proceeds to tell him about his exciting kindergarten stories. You walk in, immediately welcomed by Tasha, Taehyung’s wife in a bear hug. “Sister-in-law! How are you doing? You look great.”

“I’m fine, Tasha, thanks.” You giggle in delight. You have always been close with Tasha, as she is a wonderful woman and a good friend as well. “You look amazing. And god, that hair is exquisite.”

Tasha laughs while sheepishly fixing her hair of light purple highlights. “Got a few dirty looks from my boss and Taehyung’s mother, but it’s all worth it I guess. Who said mother of three can’t rock highlights, right?”

“Absolutely!”

“You two beautiful ladies should come in.” Seokjin’s father beams at the two, gesturing to enter the house. “My wife has already prepared loads and loads of food, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“Happy birthday, father.” You smile, giving the old man a hug. “I hope this year is the best year that brings happiness to your life.”

“Well, a wish that this is not my last year in life is sufficient, but that is well welcomed as well.” He jokes, as the three of you enter the home. “Thanks anyway, Y/N. Greatly appreciated.”

“My granddaughters!” Your mother-in-law literally shouts, kissing you both on the cheek. “You both look amazing. My two sons should be thanking their lucky stars for having you both as a wife.”

“We are, mother. Every night.” Taehyung appears on your side, giving you a side hug of welcome. “How are you, sister-in-law? You’re doing great, right?”

“Amazing, Taehyung. Thank you for asking. I hope you’re well rested while taking care of the lovely miniatures of you.” You look at the three children, Taehyun, the twin Taejin and Taerin playing with their toys in the middle of the living room with your husband.

“The sitter helps, of course.” Taehyung giggles, and Tasha elbows him with a scowl. Your mother quickly wraps the heart warming greetings and guides the whole family to be seated for the lunch prepared. And boy is the dining table packed with countless foods, not even including the dessert on the small table in the corner of the room. You just hope this won’t go to waste.

“No worries, we’ll be packing this as well to have it distributed to neighboring orphanages along with a few other donations.” Seokjin’s mother beams, sensing your worry after looking onto the countless plates.

An hour passes by quickly with the family digging on the delish in front of them. While chatting among themselves, Taehyung and Tasha hand their own gift to his father. “Here it is, father. Happy 65th birthday, hope you are always happy and healthy.” He beams, hugging his father. The large package is heavy on his hand, and your father in law laughs in glee.

It was a beautiful sight, yet you feel terribly uneasy. You haven’t gotten him anything, and Seokjin never discussed this before. How can you forget? God, you’ve really shame yourself and Seokjin in front of his family.

“What is this?” The old man questions and rips the wrapper.

“Open it.” Father quickly opens the package, and sees multiple items neatly stuffed in the box. “Healthy supplements and tea, warm jacket, acupuncture mat, few other things that can help you live longer.” Taehyung grins. The old man rolls his eyes, but nonetheless looks content with the gift.

“Thank you, son! Will put this into a good use.”

Amongst your panic of reaching out to Seokjin beside you, he instead takes turns in handing the gift of his own, an envelope, which catches you by surprise. He never talked about bringing a gift before. “This is from me and Y/N, father. Happy birthday.”

“What is this?” Your father curiously opens the envelope. At once, he literally squeals, unable to hide the delight in his face. “A two way ticket to Japan? Son, this is too much.”

“It’s not. It’s the least we can do for you and mother.” Seokjin says good-naturedly, like the precious son he is. You stare at him strangely. “Y/N and I also arranged a few stops that could be great to improve your health as well. No worries, there will be a guide as you’ll be on tour.”

“Thank you, son!” Your father and mother take turns hugging both you and Seokjin, and you only reply while in a hazen state, don’t know how or what to feel. As long as you know, it all comes from his pocket, and it’s his money to spend. You don’t even know why you feel weirded out. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Can you at least pretend my gifts are worthy too?” Taehyung jokes, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “The health supplements cost a fortune too, father! You’re being too mean with your reaction.”

“I’m just so happy my two sons are happy with their own family.” The old man beams in delight. “And your mother prepared a gift for you and Seokjin too, Y/N. Darling, you can give it to them, okay? I’m going to the restroom.”

“Why aren’t you giving it to me too?” Taehyung whines to his mother as Tasha elbows him for the nth time already.

“You don’t get one because you don’t need it, Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s mother quickly shoves you a gift with the largest of smiles, and truth to be told, you instantly feel uneasy. A gift in which you need and Taehyung don’t? An easy guess instantly comes to your senses. It must be it. There’s no other way.

“We’ll open this when we get home.” You turn your head to Seokjin, seeing how expressionless he has become. Is he angry? He swiftly takes the gift from you, resting it on the other side of the room.

“Ah, it’s good to. Just be careful using it, okay? It’ll be very helpful with the conception, trust me. It’s been passed down with generations.” Seokjin’s mother winks, looking very satisfied, yet you feel queasy, feeling like you’re soon puking your heart out. On your side, you can detect how silent Taehyung and Tasha have become, and you swear you never felt this pathetic and miserable before.

“Thank.. you.”

Seokjin holds you by the hand with his face is beyond enraged now—yet you know he could never be angry with his parents. He’s a mama's boy, and you like it that he is, but you really feel like going home and crying your heart out. But you have to endure longer hours feeling like total shit with your in-laws around.

“Father, mother, Y/N and I had to go home. I just remember we had stuff to do at home.” Seokjin curtly says, and you whip your head at him in surprise. You mostly did not expect it.

“Why? You don’t really have to do it right now—but if you really have to, it’s okay.” Your mother giggles, content with the idea that you and your husband need to leave because both of you are going to fuck and give them grandchildren. God, your head literally throbs with the misunderstanding.

“Y/N, get to the car.” Seokjin mutters tensely, there is not a hint of emotion beside morse in his tone. “Mom, can we talk?”

“Seokjin, no.” You whisper while tugging on his sleeve. “Don’t do it.”

“Y/N, get to the car.” He repeats, like he is not up for any negotiation. You are scared of what he’s going to say to his mother. Is he going to say about the fact that your marriage is faux and is only done to please her? But that’s not what you want, just thinking about it makes you sick. “You can leave the gift here.”

Mildly confused at the sudden tense situation, your mother-in-law silently nods and complies to talk with her son. Against his order, you pick up the gift and move to give Taehyung, Tasha and their three children a parting hug.

“Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Tasha worriedly says, and you nod with a strained smile. “Be safe in driving home.”

“We will. Taehyung, thanks.” You hug the pouting guy, as he gives you a squeezing hug of consolation.

“Our parents can be prodding like that. I am very sorry.”

Walking back into the room finding the confusing tense, Seokjin’s father looks at you about to say goodbye. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes. I’m afraid we have something coming up.” You forced a smile, yet you know your father-in-law completely understands the whole situation.

“Okay then. Give this old man a parting hug.” The kind man then hugs you dearly like you’re a daughter he never had. “Thank you for coming. And I’m very sorry.”

“It’s nothing! Everything is great.” Like an idiot, you still try to lie through your teeth in front of the wise man—it’s ridiculous. “Happy birthday, father.”

Walking inside Seokjin’s car, you patiently wait another ten minutes until he comes in with an unreadable expression. And when he sits beside you, he heave a deep breath.

“Is everything okay? What did you say?” You fret in panic.

“Nothing much. That it’s already tough for both of us now, and we’ll have kids whenever we want to.” Seokjin hums, glancing at the gift his mother gave yet refusing to comment. “I’m very sorry that I haven’t realized this before. I know it must be stressing you out.”

“Not really. I’m just.. tired.” You hollowly laugh, Seokjin slowly taking off the house onto the street. Spending a few minutes staring at the gift secured on your lap, you mutter—more to yourself.

“Do you think we should just have a child?”

At the unexpected question, Seokjin glances at you. Next five minutes are spent in deep silence before...

“Do you love me?”

The questions really create a ripple of shock in your whole body. You literally have no idea whether he’s being serious or not.

“W-what?”

“I don’t want to have a child when both of us know there is no love here. We both don’t love each other.” Seokjin mutters lowly, eyes trained on the road. “Let’s not put more innocent people into misery.”

Misery.

You don’t know why that word hurts more than you thought it would, coming out from Seokjin’s mouth.

As expected, the things between you and Seokjin have become pretty frosty. Sunday morning, he excused himself to go fishing with Yoongi—his best friend of ten years, and you were thankful that you do not have to waste another second in his presence. Being with him is hard enough, not that you have to be reminded of the hurtful things he said.

Misery.

Yes, misery indeed. Having to marry someone you don’t have feelings for.

But you thought he was a friend. Not that you chained him into this, and he was the one asking your hand in loveless marriage. He is being a total jackass. And you never should’ve said such nonsense. Having a child with someone you don’t love? Seriously? Even couples in love can end up in divorce because of kids—much less your ridiculous marriage.

And it sucks that this suffocates your whole being yet you can’t tell anyone, since nobody really knows you don’t have any attachment to your husband.

Well, beside...

“Hello? Is this Y/N?”

Listening to the velvety voice on the other side of the call, you instinctively gulp. Are you seriously going to talk to someone about this, more less Jeon Jungkook? You must be quite desperate. “Hi, Jungkook! I’m sorry to interrupt you. Is this.. an alright time?”

Jungkook chuckles on the other side. “Well, not really, but I can make it alright for you.”

You groan, instantly retracting your own will to talk about it to him. “You seriously did not just flirt with a married woman, right?”

“Of course not! Who do you take I am.” He giggles in mirth, and you roll your eyes. You really made a mistake by calling him. “I’m a bit busy now, but will be free in around… an hour. Do you want to meet?”

“I didn’t exactly say what I wanted to ask for.”

“I just know.” Jungkook hums, and you literally can imagine his annoying smirk on the other side of the call. “I’ll text you the details.”

You spend another seconds in silence, but reply nonetheless. There’s no harm in meeting a friend. Right?

“Sure.”

“So let me get this straight. You—in this advanced, 21st century—agreed to a marriage where the both of you don’t even have little bit of interest in marriage? And all because your parents want you to?”

Now that Jungkook is saying it in front of your face, it does sound foolish.

“Is it.. weird?”

“What the fuck, Y/N. It’s not just weird. It’s crazy.” Jungkook scoffs, feeling the firsthand headache of dealing with the situation you are currently in. “I don’t know how much of a good daughter you are, but this is nuts. You are seriously chaining yourself to a relationship just out of pity, and because of someone else. You know that phrase ‘having only love is not enough in marriage’? You don’t even have that.”

Your eyebrows furrow, quite dejected that Jungkook really has to phrase it like that. The urge to defend yourself rushes unto you. “Yes, I know what we are doing now is silly, but I actually have no regret. Seokjin is a great guy, a good companion as well, and it’s basically just a living arrangement. I’m good.”

He sighs at your stubbornness. “You know, you could’ve been with someone else that you truly love. Did you realize that?”

“I won’t.” You answer almost instantly, doting the cheesecake in the middle of your table. “I’m not interested. I am living well on my own, and I don’t really think I have anyone for me. I am comfortable with myself.”

“And why’d you trade that precious solitude of yours with someone you don’t even love?” Jungkook challenges, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Because if that’s how I can make someone else happy, I would.” You answer, looking back at Jungkook’s prodding eyes. “My mother, my father, have taken care of problematic me since I was a little kid. And now all they wanted is for me to have someone that cares for me, and who I deeply care for. And if getting married is the only way they can live and die happily… I’d do anything.”

Jungkook is easily silenced at your unexpected outburst, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder after saying what you truly feel to someone else. It feels almost relieving, the fog living in your shoulder lightens.

“But you know they’d truly be disappointed if you are lying to them, right? Lying that you are happy. Lying that you love your husband.” He observes you in concern. You smile lopsidedly.

“Well, maybe in my case, a little white lie won’t hurt.” You whisper to yourself, sipping on your beverage.

After hanging out a bit longer with Jungkook, you found yourself comfortable being around him. He is a great guy, albeit annoying and too curious for his own good, he is nice and easy to talk to. You were never really close to him, and usually a rather closed person, but Jungkook is too good at getting you out of your shell.

Walking out from his car, you are stunned when finding Seokjin is also getting out of his own, about to enter your apartment building. He mirrors your expression, a paper bag filled with foods and in his right grasp is his favorite donuts box.

“Hi.” He greets with cocked eyebrows. “I bought meat to cook for dinner.”

“Ah, I already ate dinner.” You guiltily scratch your nape, glancing to the car beside you. Jungkook is just about to drop you off, but you have no idea why he is not leaving yet. “You went home from Yoongi’s?”

“Yes.” Seokjin points to the car. “Who is it? Did you meet with friends?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. But he’s just about to leave—”

“Hi man.” Jungkook is somehow already standing right beside you as you flinch in your spot, and he offers his hand. “I guess I never properly introduced myself. I’m Jungkook, Y/N’s workmate.”

“Ah, Jungkook. We met before, right? I am sorry, yesterday was quite chaotic, I haven’t properly introduced myself.” Jin smiles benevolently, shaking the younger man’s hand. “I’m Seokjin, the husband. Do you want to come in? I’m cooking steak for dinner.”

“Nah, I already had dinner with Y/N. But I’ll take you up on that, though. Let’s get dinner another time.” Jungkook agrees, and gives you a light tap in the back as a goodbye. “Got to go, but I’ll see you Monday!”

“Bye, Jungkook.” You reply meekly and turn back to Seokjin, staring back at you with a strange expression. “Are you good?”

“Yup.” Seokjin smiles impartially, shifting his expression. “Let’s get in, you’ll catch a cold.”

In a way, Seokjin realizes that something changes with you ever since coming back from his father’s birthday party. You were usually a chirpy, active person, unbothered to speak your mind, talking about Hoseok or your patronizing boss and made the apartment as loud as possible with your late night exercise—yet here you are, silently sitting down on your side of bed, watching your favorite series from phone.

And you clearly stated how you hate watching with your phone that he knows you are avoiding him—not wanting him to join watching it with you in the living room. And what irks him is this passive aggressive thing has been going on since last week, and it’s already Thursday. He desperately needs the old you back.

“Why are you watching it on the phone?” Seokjin asks, a vague irritation slipped in his tone. “The TV is good to watch. And you hate watching it on the phone.”

You are confused to say the least, blinking your eyes at him. Your finger pauses the show. He remembers that? “Uh.. I’m just… feeling like laying in bed while watching. Is there something wrong?”

“No, don’t lie to yourself now. You are clearly avoiding me.” Seokjin hisses, unable to hide anymore of his annoyance. “And this has been going on for a week. You didn’t even let me know if you’re coming home, and rejected that one time I said I’ll get you from the office. What’s wrong?”

“I told you it’s nothing. My work is the opposite direction of your way to home. It’ll be easier to go home directly.” You reason stubbornly, trying to make sense—even if you know you really are avoiding him. You don’t want to let him know that you are hurt by the things he said, and to be frank, looking at him pissess you off a bit. Like right now.

“Y/N, you know that we are too old for this shit. You need to tell me right now if I did something wrong.” He states earnestly. You roll your eyes, not feeling to drag the conversation and position yourself back to watching.

“You did nothing wrong. It’s just me, maybe I’m going on menopause.”

Seokjin huffs, looking at you already settling back to watching—yet he is too determined to end all this bullshit that he discards the phone you’re watching onto the bed. You gape at him, dumbfounded that he really did that to get your serious attention. “Stop being a child and talk to me like adults.” He scowls.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I told you It’s nothing.” You shout, trying to get your phone back yet missing due to Seokjin’s quick wit of taking and hanging it far above his head. And poor you, that are seriously no match to his height.

“Give me back my phone, you jerk!”

“Might be a jerk but at least I’m not a 30 years old woman having menopause.” He mocks your nonsense, yet you are too resentful to give a shit that you literally climb on bed and jump to leech your whole weight on him like a freaking koala. Seokjin literally yells at your attempt of getting stable by clutching on his hair, pulling it to whichever direction you prefer. “Ah, get off me! It hurts and you’re heavy!”

“I don’t care! You’re being a jerk, and I’m a misery anyway, right? I’m just fulfilling my duties!” You howl, shaking your body that he shrieks, losing his balance and falls on your large bed. And like how most sleazy cringy telenovela, he just had to settle on top of you, but for one teeny different, his whole weight is now crushing your being like a sweet revenge.

“Get off me! You’re heavy.” You screech like a petulant child, punching the guy on his broad ass shoulder. After a whole minute of finally begging him to get off, Seokjin finally gets on his elbow, giving a bit of space for you to breathe.

“I apologize that I upset you.” He gazes at you in all sincerity that literally leaves you holding your breath. “It was not true when I said that misery thing. You are not a misery. You are a blessing. The fact that we are married could be the greatest thing that happens to me, and I’ll never trade it for anything else.”

You are silenced, waiting for him to continue. “I was just pissed off with myself that I was insensitive about how everyone is pressuring you, and you are struggling because of this. I actually never thought about those snarks, and I thought you would too.” Seokjin softly claims, and you are near to tears that he literally speaks like honey. “I just thought it was off limits. I guess we should’ve talked more about this before.”

You sigh, looking down. “I do think so. And I’m sorry too—I guess I should’ve just said what’s bothering my mind.” You breathe out with a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry for acting like this. I guess that misery thing just got to me more than I thought it would, and.. yeah. Let’s communicate better.”

“We should.” He hums in delight. “You are cuter when you are less grumpy. You know that?”

“I am cute in any way possible.” You sassily reply, expecting a snarky comment as retaliation yet Seokjin’s lips curl in amusement.

“Well, I can’t comment on that.” He beams, and at that your heart literally skips a beat. or two. or more than you can count. “I want to watch what you’re watching. Let’s watch it on the TV, your eyes must be hurting doing all these grumpy behavior.”

“Yeah, I do think so. It’s like.. exhausting.” You rub your temple. “I hate being crabby.”

“Yes. It doesn’t suit you. At all.” Seokjin pulls both your cheeks in different directions with sparkling eyes. You groan. “So don’t do that to your husband, okay?”

At that, you peer at him silently while he’s searching the series you love on the TV. The way he is able to easily soothe you is.. pissing you off.

“By the way, a new movie is premiering next week and I bought us a ticket. Wanna watch it with me?” He turns to you, still with the same adorable smile. And it literally sucks that something weakens inside you at that smile.

Ugh, there’s gotta be something wrong with you.

Another week goes and there you are, Thursday night about to head out after a whole day of work. Tidying your desk, suddenly a voice stops your wandering mind—it belongs to your desk mate.

“Why are you so happy today? You’re all whistling and it starts creeping me out.” Hoseok snickers, suddenly peering close to you. “Did you get a good dick down yesterday?”

“What the hell, Hoseok?” You groan, closing your laptop with a loud thump. “It’s not it. Can’t a girl just be happy without any reason?”

“No. That means you're crazy. And it’s coming from Y/N, the grumpies person on the planet.” Jane titters, joining your conversation. You started to doubt what kind of connection they had whenever it concerns you. “You must had a good sex yesterday. You know, I am curious on how Seokjin is in bed. Is he a bit dom? Looks a bit kinky, I have to say.”

“Of course! The way he acts is a complete giveaway, he must have a choking kink, or maybe bondage. Daddy kink is absolutely, by default.” Hoseok responds with curiosity. Jane snickers as you are busy gasping for air.

“And his dick?! You know, the first time I saw him, I immediately knew this guy has a big dick energy. I bet his is girthy—”

“Shut up!” You literally stop her from speaking, your palm secured to close on her mouth—yet unable to manage the blush weeping your whole face to neck. You feel hot and bothered. “Stop talking about such things! I am just in a good mood. Ugh, you two are seriously perverts.”

“Yes, okay, we’ll stop before you burst your flaming ear.” Hoseok singsongs, utterly amused by your reaction. You shot him a look. “By the way, tomorrow is a long weekend. Do you both have any plans?”

“Besides taking care of my child? Nah, bro. Might have sex if he’s lucky and stop running his mouth too much. And we had to stay in my husband’s family house. Ugh.” Jane rolls her eyes whilst taking her own belongings. “I’m just happy we get to have dinner tonight. Tomorrow is going to be exhausting as fuck.”

“Dinner? What dinner?” You are weirded out, most absolutely did not expect to promise any dinner.

“My birthday dinner, of course!”

You whip your head towards the guy in a fancy red suit, completely looking dashing and silly at the same time. Well, that’s what you expect of him anyway, wearing such eye catching outfit in the middle of workday. “I sent the invites this Monday, and you said yes, Y/N.” He continues. “And you didn’t even congratulate me! How mean. But I’ll let you off since you’re cute.”

“But—but, I can’t! I have something else to do..” You stutter. Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at you.

“What? Watching netflix and eating popcorn? Nah, bro. You’re coming.”

“But, I’m serious! I’m sorry, but Seokjin is already downstairs, and he’s waiting for me. I can’t.. just leave him behind.” You weren’t going to say this, but Seokjin said he was craving lobster and asked you to go on a dinner with him. You really didn’t remember you had agreed to an appointment before with your workmate.

Jungkook stares at you in mild surprise. “He’s in the lobby? What happened with the two of you? I thought—”

“What are you saying, Jungkook? Isn’t it normal for a husband to get her wife from work?” Hoseok chuckles, and at once Jungkook is like awakened from his hallucination.

“Yes, of course. My bad.” He nervously chuckles, avoiding Hoseok’s eyes. “But he should come! It’s only going to be the four of us, and Namjoon. He’s waiting in the lobby too.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a great idea…”

“Seokjin should come! It would be fun, you know. I want to have dinner with him.” Jane smirks, and you sigh loudly, knowing that this would end in a huge disaster and you’ll end up regretting. Yet you find yourself thinking of what to say to Seokjin.

“Hi, Seokjin!”

Seokjin opens his window, smiling courtesy at Jane standing beside you. You remember Seokjin met few of your friends from work before. “Hi, Jane! Nice seeing you again. Are you heading home?”

“Not really. We are going to a restaurant! With Y/N too. You should come.”

He laughs, glancing at you. “Really? You didn’t say you had something to do.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” You frown in guilt. “It’s okay, I know we had plans—”

“No, I didn’t say that. We can come to the dinner with your friends too, if you want.” Seokjin chuckles, smiling dearly at you. You feel your breath hasten under his ministry. “Do you want that?”

Clearing your throat, you answer in nerves. “Yes, please. I promised to attend before, I guess I just forgot and thought I am free tonight.”

“Ah, I guess that’s why you’re all sooo chirpy today, aren’t you, Y/N?! I thought your teeth were about to fall off.” Jane beams, exhilarated as she elbows you. “Turns out you have a special occasion with your husband and forgot Jungkook’s birthday dinner.”

“That’s not it.” You glare at her, but she shrugs meaningfully.

“Okay, you two should head out. I’m with Hoseok.” Jane smiles and points at the blue car which you identify as Hoseok’s. “See you guys in a few minutes!”

“Sure.”

There is only silence in the car, when suddenly Seokjin breaks it with a question.

“Is it for Jungkook? That Jungkook—your friend that we met on our apartment?”

You don’t know what’s wrong, but your gut is telling you something is strange with his tone. You clear your throat of sheer awkwardness. “Yes. Today is his birthday, so he said he’d treat us to dinner.”

Seokjin seems uncomfortable. Living together for nearly two years has made you well aware of his small habit and gestures—by the way he clings on his collar, fingers tightening on the wheel as if he’s scared just shows you how he truly feels. At once, you quickly rests your palm on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Are you okay? You look.. nervous. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Waiting for the red light, he heaves a deep breath and closes his eyes. His right hand settles on your hands which were on his shoulder, linking each finger. “I’m fine.” Seokjin sighs deeply, resting both your linked fingers on his thigh.

“I’m fine.” He repeats.

Now all you can hear is your own irregular heartbeat, with his warm palms against yours.

And you wonder. What the hell is wrong with yourself?

After arriving, Seokjin still doesn’t let your hand go. And it’s all kinds of confusing, two years of marriage he never acts like now. Not even when going to your parents house, and it leaves you with numerous questions. And with that particular look on his face—it scares the shit out of you.

“Ah, here comes the couple!” Jane giggles, pointing to the empty seats beside her. “You can sit here. Seokjin, meet Namjoon! He’s in Legal.”

Like that, all your friends are engaged in a conversation—while Seokjin, he’s sitting silently with heads hanging low. You glance at him, concerned. “Hey, are you okay? You look a bit off. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Yes, your husband looks like he’s not really good. Is there anything wrong?” It is Jungkook, resting his wine back on the table. All of the eyes are now on the both of you. “Does this not work for you?”

“No, I’m sorry. Just a bit on the edge, that’s why. Don’t worry.” Seokjin smiles thinly, tapping his palm on the table. You nod hesitantly, regardless of the strangely tense air with him.

Whilst ordering, you are skimming on the menu when Jungkook jumps in. “Y/N, you like the shrimp here, right? You should order it.”

“Yes, I am thinking that too.” You tap your chin, and turn to Seokjin who is still staring far at the menu. “But I want to try the duck too. Seokjin, can’t you order that too? I don’t want to eat too much, I just want to have a bite.”

Seokjin is about to answer when Jungkook jovially interrupts, “Hey, there’s no need for that. You can order all you want. But if you insist, I’m ordering the duck, so you can have mine.”

“It’s okay, I’m having what my wife asked me to. Since I’m her husband. ” Seokjin curtly responds, and you are flabbergasted at how discourteous he sounded. The conversations on the table ended abruptly.

“I—I see. Suit.. yourself.” Jungkook blinks his eyes, completely bewildered at the hostile response. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be forward.”

You stare at him with multiple emotions rushing inside of you, yet he’s evidently trying to avoid it while shoving drinks down his throat like there’s no tomorrow.

“You’re driving tonight.” Seokjin mutters to you between drinks, and it sounds more like an order to your ear. There’s definitely something off with him, and you’re terrified of finding out. You’re scared if it will change him, you, and what you both had together.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Jungkook glances in concern at your drunk husband beside you, his hand is at the top of your car while you’re on the driver side. “He’s drunk. You sure you’re going to be okay? I can come with you.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reply. “I think he’s just not in a mood today. There must be something at work, I’ll try asking this tomorrow.”

“But I don’t like how jealous he was at me. I was just.. trying to be kind and offer to help. As a friend. And he immediately snaps like that.” Jungkook scowls in irritation. “It was borderline obsessive. And it’s not like you married for love—”

“Jungkook.” You stop him with reprimanding eyes that he stops immediately.

“I’m sorry.” He lets out a deep breath. “I never told you—or anyone about this, but my sister is a divorcee. Because her husband became obsessed with her.” You know where he is heading and are about to rebut, yet he continues. “I know what you want to say, but I’m just saying this so you’d know. They were in love. But you know it could easily turn to something else.”

“Thank you for your advice, but I know it won’t happen to me—Seokjin is not like that.” You mumble, somehow reminding yourself. It’s the first time Seokjin is like this, both of you were great at keeping boundaries, and were not even in love. You’ll be fine.

Jungkook sighs and smiles weakly, brushing the top of your head.

“I hope so too. Get home safe, kid.”

Waking up, the first thing Seokjin feels is his pulsate, a straight pang to his head. It’s been a long time since he had let himself off the limit and trashed himself until he blacked out, and he regrets every single second. The hazy memory starts to invade his mind—about how rude he had been yesterday, especially to you—and it literally freaks him out that he jumps out of his bed, desperate to explain. But you are not sleeping beside him. Or anywhere in the apartment.

“Fuck.” Seokjin hisses, bringing his phone and runs to the elevator in such hurries.

Are you... possibly gone?

“Seokjin, what are you doing here?”

“Y/N. Where have you been?” He questions, a little bit loud. He’s too caught tapping the elevator button that he doesn’t realize the other lift is opened with you walking out, soaking with sweat. “I wake up and you’re not there. You.. I thought you..”

“What did you think? I was just running a few laps since yesterday’s dinner was a bit much.” You shrug nonchalantly, taking off your earphone. “Aren’t you dizzy after waking up? You shouldn’t be out, though.”

Walking back to your apartment, Seokjin is trailing behind you like a disgruntled puppy—keeping his head down low as both his hands are clasped. “I’m very very sorry, Y/N..”

“What are you sorry for?” You ask, pretending nonchalance. Seokjin sits beside you with a frown on his face.

“I was being a jerk yesterday? And I drank too much and you must have a hard time dealing with my sorry ass.”

“Did anything happen? Can I know why you were so pissed off?” You ask carefully, afraid of invading his space. He shrugs.

“Something bothered my mind, that's all. Don’t worry about it.”

Seeing how sullen he has been with himself, you are unable to pull both his chubby cheeks to different directions. He groans loudly with each pull. “Yes, you were such a ill-tempered baby yesterday when you were drunk. Do you know that?”

He nods begrudgingly. “Yes, mother. I won’t do it again.”

“But apologizing isn’t going to solve anything. You know it.” You pretend sulk. “I think I deserve three wishes.”

Seokjin cocks his eyebrows. “Why? Why does it have to be three?”

“Nah, I watched Alladin and it was good, so I was just copying—but that’s not the point!” You tap the table impatiently. “The point is that you embarrassed me in front of my friend and deserves a punishment. Now say yes to my three wishes.”

Your husband groans, tapping on his forehead. “God, I’m never drinking again. What? What is it that you want?”

“I haven’t really thought about it, actually..” You giggle while scratching your head. Seokjin squint his eyes at you in suspicion. “Can you give me a week to think about it?”

“No.”

“Five days?”

“Right now. Take it or leave it.”

“Okay, by tomorrow!”

“Three wishes all by the end of this day.”

“Fine! You are annoying.” You scowl, tapping your forefinger on your chin. Seokjin grins. “First, I want…lobster for lunch.”

“Okay.” He holds the laughter upon remembering his yesterday’s request.

“And I want this new bag. I saw it on the newest catalogue yesterday, I want one. Buy it for me.” You send him a sugary smile.

“I see your wishes are getting more and more disproportionate.”

You scoff. “But you promised to grant it!”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to grant it.” Seokjin rolls his eyes, resting his palm on your shoulder, skimming it until his finger hangs to yours. Your breath hitches at how it practically tickles your whole being. “Is that all? Are you saving one for now?”

“Y-yes.” You stutter, mind already turning blank that you forgot your last wish.

“Good.” Seokjin beams, swiping his thumb on your knuckles. You stare through his eyes, adoring the beautiful twinkle that sends butterflies knocking on your stomach. How could he affect you like this?

W-wait, are you hallucinating or he is really closing in right now? I-is he.. about to kiss you?

Against your expectation, he suddenly halts and snorts. “Now go take a bath, because you stink.”

You push him away, walking to enter your bathroom with a face that has gone vermillion red—especially listening to his annoying squeaky laughter from the living room. You feel terribly embarrassed.

Did you really think he’s about to kiss you? And why the fuck do you have to act like a preteen girl having a crush on a classmate? This is literally super annoying how your body is acting strange—like you don’t even have control.

Ugh, you should never done anything dangerous with him again.

After having lunch in the lobster place, you and Seokjin drive to the cinema for the movie he pre-ordered last week. Sitting side by side with him, you find yourself hesitating.

You want to hold his hand so damn much.

And this never happened to you before. Watching with him always ends up with both of you pretending to fight for the popcorn, and you’ll be far apart from each other—just like you’re watching alone. The movie’s genre is thriller and suspense, yet horror didn’t even take it for you to finally lean into him or anyone, yet that evening, you want to hold him.

Closing in, you feel his shoulder closing on yours, leaning onto him as support. Seokjin looks at you in concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Y-yes! I’m fine, I just—“

“Is this movie boring for you? Or are you cold? You want more popcorn or drink?” He queries in concern at your jumpiness.

“No.” You murmur, embarrassed at your own thought. Fuck, what were you thinking? There is no possible reason at all on why you want to hold him, it’s not making any sense and it irks you on how conflicted you’re feeling. “I just… nothing.”

Glancing at you, Seokjin sees how you’re mouthing to yourself and hitting your own forehead with a deep frown—and he couldn’t bite his smile back. With one fluid motion, he loops his arms with yours and withers your small palm against his, tapping slightly the side of his head with yours.

“Let me know if you need anything else. Hmm?”

You blush hard, the creep of warmth running in your cheek like a wildfire. Clearing your throat, you decide to focus on whatever scene it is, not realizing how Seokjin glances at you from time to time, a toothy smile creeping in his face.

Walking out of the place, you were a bit panicked on seeing Seokjin again in broad light, but he’s still not letting go of your hands around his. You don’t know whether it’s a good sign or not—maybe you’re just afraid of finding out.

“Do you want to go window shopping? Maybe you’ll find that bag you want.” Seokjin offers, you are about to discard him—telling who the hell is still window shopping these days, or your desired bag is already on your online shopping cart, yet you don’t want to say so.

Maybe you just want to be with him a little bit longer.

Walking hand in hand to around the mall, both of you stop at the high end brand stores. Seokjin is about to walk in when you stop him. “Why are we entering this place? This is out of our budget.”

“Who said I want to buy you the bag from here? I want to see it for myself.” Seokjin lightly jokes, blowing raspberries and you scowl. Contrary to what he just said, Seokjin is directing you to the female side, where the tote bags are stacked. You laugh silently. Is he trying to be a tsundere now?

He looks at you and warmly smile. “See if there’s anything you like. I’m going to the restroom first, okay?”

You squint your eyes at him in fake suspicion. “You’re not leaving me here and fleeing home, right?”

“Busted.” He giggles and you grin. “Wait here, I’ll come back in a minute.”

After Seokjin leaves, you find yourself walking to see the bags in hesitance. Yet you know how expensive they are, and it even scares you to fall in love with a bag and realizing how struggling Seokjin has to be to buy it for you. The thought immediately retrains you from taking the tawny colored bag which catches your eyes the most.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

You look back at the voice calling your name, and finding the person that hasn't even crossed your mind to be there. It’s Park Jimin, with his trademark eye smile peering curiously at you. “It is you! How have you been?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” You smile at him, a little bit surprised to see him here, even talking to you. Well, maybe the years of your troubling childhood does have its own reminder in the form of this man. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Ah, yes. After moving from Busan to Seoul, I am just living my life, I guess. Got engaged a few years ago, my fiancé and I moved to Sydney for school, and I headed back for the time being for her.” He smiles jovially, letting you know things more than you expect him to. You nod with a hint of hesitation—a bit surprised that he’s still practically the same him from your childhood. Guess nothing really changes to a spoilt kid from birth.

“Honey, I have five items already on the cashier, won’t you—who is this?”

The woman is peering closely at you, the evident staring feels deadly uncomfortable on your skin. You know that look—she is judging you from top to bottom, whether you qualify as someone she should feel competitive with. But you don’t really want to spoil your great mood from the morning and reply nonetheless. “I’m Y/N, an old friend of Jimin. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi.” She responds rudely, and turns to Jimin. “Aren’t we going after paying?”

“Wait, I still want to talk with her. You can use this.” Jimin opens up his wallet, giving her a card and she leaves almost immediately. “I’m sorry, she can be like that sometimes.”

You shrug nonetheless. “I can see that.”

Ignoring your obvious sarcasm, Jimin continues. “So, where are you going? Do you want to have dinner with us? We should meet up again sometimes, you know—“

“Y/N.”

Turning to the man calling your name, it turns out to be your husband, staring at the both of you with jaw ticked and cold stare. And Jimin is no different, completely startled with the fact that it is Seokjin calling your name. At once, you feel estranged with the tense in the air.

“Seokjin. Hi, this is Jimin, my old friend. Jimin, this is Seokjin, my husband.”

Seokjin is the one to answer, tone blunt. “I know.”

After long pregnant silence, Jimin clears his throat, and gives your husband a thin smile. “Hi Seokjin. Nice to see you again.”

“You two know each other?” You glance at both men with curiosity written in your face.

“Yes, Jimin was my junior in college. We were friends.” Seokjin answers with venom, and nobody can miss the way he pronounced the past tense. Jimin seems uncomfortable as well, trying to ignore the older guy and smiles at you.

“I didn’t know you’re married. When was the wedding? Why wasn’t I invited?” He laughs to discard the tense air, yet you can still sense the awkwardness coloring his tone.

“Ah, around two years ago, I think. My mother gave yours the invitation, but I guess it doesn’t work. It’s fine.” You shrug, keeping your courtesy no matter how much you want to shout what the fuck is going on with those two men.

“I am sorry, but I’ll send a gift your way. It’s very impolite of us.” Jimin offers kindly, but Seokjin cuts straight away.

“We don’t need it. Save your money to whom it belongs.”

You glare at Seokjin who is throwing his sight somewhere else. He never was impolite like this, and it stresses you out—the fact that you’re kept in the dark makes you feel like you’re basically second to nothing between the two of them.

“Seokjin? Is that you?”

Jimin’s fiancé comes back with countless bags in her hand, and you can hear the loud enough snicker from Seokjin. “Ah, as expected.”

The girl looks surprised, to say the least. “What are you doing here? With her? Who is this girl?”

At the condescending tone, you immediately turn defensive. She had no reason to talk to you and Seokjin like that. “Excuse me?”

“Baby, don’t be like that. Y/N here is Seokjin’s wife.” Jimin murmurs softly to his fiancé, and the bitch still has the nerves to scoff with a sleazy smirk.

“Ah, finally. I am glad you finally got your shit together, stopped thinking about me and moved on.” She loops her hand around Jimin, rising her chin high. Your jaws are a second away from falling to the ground. What the hell is going on?! “And are you sure you can go here? Isn’t this too expensive for you?”

“What the fuck—”

You are ready to throw hands, but Jimin quickly pulls her away and so is Seokjin’s hands clasped on yours to hold you back.

“Stop it. Let’s just go home.”

Hanging his head low, both of you walk to the parking lot in deafening silence. Seokjin’s face is now cloudy and dark, nose and eyes are turned red and you know he is this close to crying. You chest stings at how much in pain he seems. You have so many questions, yet you know he needs more time to figure out his own.

Trying to reach the car keys from his pocket, he can’t seem to find it and somehow ends up choking his own tears. Feeling terrible on how he must feel, you go to his side, helping him check his other pocket. “I’ll drive.” You softly say to him after, and he silently goes to the passenger side.

Night comes, and you stare at your bedroom door. Seokjin has been holed up inside the room after you both went home, and did not come out even for a drink. You knew he needed space, and you stayed in the living room to watch your series, but it’s been too long that you are on alert since this has never quite happened before.

You wake up from your seat, walking to the kitchen as you are about to prepare dinner. Mushing up your doubtful cooking skill, you cook a chicken pasta and union ring, even called his favorite donuts on delivery.

After all the food is ready, you knock on the door. “Seokjin, dinner is ready. Come out, will you?”

“I am not really hungry.” He answers softly, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t kid me, we both know you are never not hungry.” Your joke is met with no response. “Are you really going to be like this? Come out and let’s have dinner. I already cooked for us.”

A moment of silence. “Are you sure it’s edible?”

You scowl, albeit kind of relieved that his sarcasm is still in place. “It’s not, but I’m still going to shove it down your throat until you’re begging me to stop.”

Seokjin ends up coming out, and you immediately frown at him. His face is disheveled, eyes bloodshot red, trail of tears on both his cheek and his hair is all over the place.

“Hey, you look ugly.”

He scoffs. “Thank you for the encouragement.”

“I am serious! You look uglier than that time we went to Bali and you shit yourself because of eating too much spices.” You giggle, and Seokjin hisses. Your way of consoling people is indeed very debatable.

“I remembered Bali. Such a great time.” Regardless, Seokjin smiles fondly at the memory. It was for your honeymoon slash not really a honeymoon, since all you did was to spend your work’s wedding free leave. You and Seokjin registered for Bali’s backpacker packet where both of you were able to explore the true nature and culture of Bali, instead of staying in a five star hotel and fucking till dawn like most honeymoon. It was breathtaking, to say the least.

After settling on the dining table, you scoop a portion and hand it to him. “Eat. I also ordered your favorite donuts, it will be here in a few minutes.”

Seokjin gives you a thankful smile, acknowledging your effort to make him feel better.

After a whole half an hour of eating in silence, you open a conversation. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He looks to you, and lower his sight back to his plate. “This is good.”

You sigh, folding your hands on the table. Seokjin might feel uncomfortable and you understand he needs time, but you also know that he needs to share it with someone else, or the feeling will drown him instead. “You know, there is no good keeping it inside.” You breath out. “I want to know what happened with you.”

A few minutes of silence. “How do you know Jimin?” He asks instead.

“He was my childhood friend in Busan, before his father hit it big and they moved to Seoul. We used to play together. He was a classmate, and my only friend at that time.”

Seokjin cocks his eyebrow. “Only that? Why does it seem like it’s not just friends? Like he really is glad to see you.”

You shrug. “Yeah, it was.. kind of weird. You know how kids were. We were really close, and I kind of confessed… that I liked him before he went away.”

A particular hit on the plate causes you to flinch, a deep frown on Seokjin’s supple lips. “But it was in the past, right?” He confirms with no hint of playing, and you feel something settle strangely in your chest.

Is it possible that he is jealous?

You chase the thoughts away and curtly reply. “Of course. I was 10 for god’s sake, I didn’t even really like him.”

“I don’t even know why you like the guy. Was Busan really lacking in handsome boys?” Seokjin grumbles, munching soundly on the onion ring. “You should have seen me when I was a kid, I bet you’ll like me instead. I've been handsome since I was even a baby.”

“I’ve seen your schoolbook photo, but I’ll just go with whatever you say.” You giggle on his nonsense—even though he’s clearly not lying. He’s probably the most handsome person you’ve laid your eyes upon, that it was quite surprising he didn’t decide to fuckboy himself and settle down with you instead.

Ten minutes pass in silence before you continue. “Can I say my last wish?” You ask carefully. Seokjin nods, a bit uncertain.

“Tell me what happened? With Jimin. And his fiancé too.” You hum, fidgeting with your fingers. “I just wanted to know, but it is okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

Seokjin sighs, rests his utensils and drinks the water before continuing. “It’s just.. hard. His wife, Dakyung was actually my girlfriend for a long time. We’ve been together since high school. At that time, she wasn’t really well off—his parents are struggling financially, but I was more than glad to support her getting the money to support her family.”

“We were together for like eleven years, I guess? I loved her very much, we’ve been through nearly everything and stood strong. I didn’t want to be with anyone else. I only wanted her. Being with anyone else never crossed my mind.” He softly explains, yet you don’t know why you feel yourself constricting with every word. It’s hurting you to see how pained he was, the beautifully carved words meant for someone else. “So around four years ago, I think? I bought an engagement ring for her. I was going to propose—but I guess you know the rest.”

“Did she.. cheat on you?” You ask carefully. Seokjin stares at you and nods, sadness written all over his face.

“I just found out when I was going to surprise her in her apartment. She… was in bed with.. Jimin.”

“What?!” You shouts in disbelief. “Jimin, your college friend fucked your girlfriend of eleven years?”

“Yes, and I don’t know what happened too, but at that time what I remembered was Jimin pleading for her to break up with me, and she said yes, asking for him to wait for the right time. But who am I kidding? It was a good choice at her part. Jimin is crazy rich, handsome and good too. Anything a girl wants, right?”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” You mutter, resting your palm over his as a consolation. “Money is not everything, and she’s trading that for eleven years of happiness with you. It’s her loss.”

“Maybe it’s not, Y/N. At that time, I realized that maybe it was indeed my fault. I, like a fucking fool, still wanted to be better for her. Even after I knew she was cheating on me, I tried holding on to her, so the next day I asked her to meet me and still proposed. I would do anything to make her happy. And as expected, she rejected me.”

“Seokjin…” You whisper, a tear welling on the corner of your eyes on how broken he must have felt.

“She immediately eloped with Jimin, and both moved to Sydney for school. But I guess in a way, I’ve never moved on. I was always trying to contact her, sending her emails or messages until she had enough and blocked me. I was depressed. The one that I loved for eleven years, left me just like that.”

Seokjin stares at you, meaningfully. And you’re about to hear something that breaks your whole being.

“And then, I just knew I’d never love again.”

You don’t know what happened with you—and Seokjin, but in a way you’ve been distancing yourself from him, and the gesture is mutual. Seokjin never came home early, and not that you ask him anymore. He always came home whenever you were already asleep, and when you wake up, he’d be gone. Even with the current withdrawal, you still find breakfast on the table, courtesy of him. Yet you’d rather he not.

I just knew I’d never love again.

It hurts. It hurts like hell when he really said that he’ll never love again. In a way, you know you’ve been feeling something for your husband—that you crave for his attention and care, and to know that he might never reciprocate the way you want him to. Hurts like a bitch.

But it’s all on you. It is clear as crystal that love is not even the foundation of your marriage, so if anything happens to your foolish heart, it’s all on you. You shouldn’t have taken this lightly. You should’ve known that you are weak at heart, and you’ll fall for him anyway.

Because he is the greatest guy you have ever met.

The compassion, kindness and caring that he has, it’s beyond comprehension. You don’t know how someone can be so understanding like he is, the way he takes care of you and wants nothing in return, that sincerely wants the best for you—even without love—succeeds in making you fall head over heels for him.

God, you really are a fool.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You look to your left, seeing Hoseok scrutinizing at you in worry, now Jane is already beside him. “You’ve been whimpering since morning, and now you’re crying. Is there anything wrong?”

“Nothing, I am sorry for disturbing you all.” You swipe your tear stained cheeks, standing from your seat. “I’m getting some air, okay? I’ll see you guys later.”

Half-running, you enter the elevator and swiftly exit the building, trying to breathe as clear as you could—no matter how it might hurt you. God, you hate being vulnerable. You hate being weak. You hate being in love—an unrequited one, at that. Why can’t you just put your heart together? Why do you have to like him now, after two years of not caring whether he even fucked someone else behind your back?

A whisper in your mind tells you that probably, these two years have been too great with him. Maybe, because he never gave you space for doubt. Maybe, you are already dependent on him without you knowing. Maybe, you take your feelings for granted.

“Y/N, are you okay? Why are you crying?” Someone stares at you in shock, and turns out it is Jungkook. His arm is around your shoulder. “I just finished a meeting and wanted to get coffee and found you here instead. Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Is it weird that I felt sad because I finally—finally have feelings for my husband? Like… this supposed to happen before marriage, right?”

“Oh, Y/N..” Jungkook sighs. “What happened?”

And like that, you fill him in on what happened between you and Seokjin, and it leaves him furrowing his eyebrows. “So.. you telling me that you think Seokjin still couldn’t forget his ex?”

You process his sentence for a while, and reply with a hesitant nod. Jungkook exhales loudly. “That’s not it, Y/N. I don’t think he’s still in love with his ex, he is... just scared. He is scared of the pain of his past, and he is scared of opening up to someone. Just like you. And with the way you are acting right now, it’s not fixing anything you both are feeling right now.”

“But he said he’ll never love again..”

“I couldn’t believe you even believe that bullshit.” Jungkook frowns. “That girl betrayed him. She gave him literally a thousand reasons to move on. He just needs time to adjust, and a couple of facts slapped to his face. He’ll come around.”

“Do… do you think I should.. talk to him about this?”

“No. You can just shut up and hope he can read your mind.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, heavily sarcastic. “Talk to him, Y/N. You trust him, right?”

“I do.” You whisper to yourself, strangely motivated. “I do trust him.”

Well, it turns out trust is not a really firm base for confronting your own husband to the mess you made. After you called Seokjin to pick you up after work to get dinner together, he was visibly surprised at your request since you’re usually not the type to begin conversation after a fight—you never even asked to be picked up before. You yourself don’t even know whether it would be a good idea, but Seokjin’s easy agreement does make it better.

When you enter the car, he is the first to greet with a warm smile, and it reminds you that you haven’t seen it for so long now—you might even miss it. “Hey.”

“Hi, Seokjin.” You let out a nervous chuckle. “Thank you for picking me up. I’m just.. feeling a bit out of it to take the train. I hope it’s okay.”

“Of course it is. I told you a million times I’ll pick you up if you can, you’re the one who rejected me.” He giggles lightly, glancing at you. “Thank you too.”

“For what?”

“For reaching out? I know past week we’ve been.. kinda avoiding each other. I didn’t know how to.. start since I was the problem in the first place.” He scratches his nape in shame. “I am very sorry, by the way. It was very immature of me.”

“No, it’s not. I totally understand.” You respond quickly. “And I didn’t know what happened, I have no rights to judge. It was your pain, and I am just glad you want to share it with me.”

Unexpectedly, Seokjin chuckles. “Why are you so sweet today.”

“Let me know if you want my sass back, I’ll gladly serve it to you.” You retaliate, even your inside are churning with nerves.

“You know I accepted you for who you are—you can be anything you want.” Seokjin brushes the top of your head with a toothy grin that leaves you a breathy mess.

“You are so cheesy today.” You respond briskly, noticing that you have arrived at the designated restaurant. Seokjin parks the car swiftly, and when there’s only silence inside, he turns on the lights on top of him.

“I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Look at the backseat.”

You glance at the backseat, finding an oak brown bag that somehow feels familiar. You quickly pick it up and open it. Turns out it is the exact beautiful brown bag that has catched your eyes from your previous window shopping session—before Jimin comes into the picture. You squeal in delight. “What is this?! Are you seriously giving this to me?”

“No, I’m giving it to Grandma Lee, our neighbor. Who else?” He smirks and you smack him lightly on the shoulder before adoring your bag once more.

“This is very pretty, though. How could you know which one I liked?”

“Well, let’s just say I know you better than you think? I practically know what you liked. This one greatly matches your outfits too. You know I have a great fashion sense.” He winks.

“I’ll let your last sentence pass because I’m very touched right now. Thank you, Seokjin.” You beam in joy, adoring the bag.

Seokjin nods, and when you rest the bag carefully on the backseat, he suddenly pulls you close for a hug—his arms around your waist, your chin settles on his shoulder. His spontaneity literally leaves you breathless, the heat is blooming around your cheek at the close proximity. God, you wish he couldn’t hear your drumming heartbeat.

“Thank you for being such a great friend and partner. I’m so thankful we are married, you know?”

You grimace in pain. God, the sound of your heart breaking is really audible in your ear. Oh, how you wish he had known.

And in the end, you are the loser in this game you played with yourself, because you most absolutely didn’t say a thing, yet you’re enjoying every second of being in love by yourself, making up scenarios and wondering if he feels the way you do.

It is ridiculous how greatly it has been played—considering how caring he usually is, yet it’s not even rare for him to say that you’re different in a way. He never explained in detail, but even you know what’s different. You started calling him frequently between work, asking when he’ll be home, his opinion on little things, or if he wanted to eat anything. It’s the small things that you’re hoping he’ll catch, yet it seems like something trivial for him and it lowkey upsets you.

One evening, you’re already waiting for him in the apartment, determined to finally tell him about what you feel—that you love him and hope he feels the same way. Jungkook was right—you can’t lounge around waiting for him. There’s no shame in starting first, especially when knowing it’s him you’re falling in love with.

Yet the clock strikes nine, he has not arrived yet. The food you prepared since six has already turned cold, and you start to feel wary, glancing nervously at the door—since he said he’ll be home around eight and is already late by an hour. You already tried calling him, but it is met with no response. His phone is on and well, yet he’s not replying. So you wait while watching the news.

Car crash. A man. Blue toyota. On the road of his way back home. You immediately reach for your phone, calling his number in panic.

Could it be?

It’s already midnight when Seokjin opens his apartment door, expecting darkness—but instead he finds you sleeping on the couch, phone clutched on your chest. He closes in, a thin smile formed on his lips as his fingers soothes the creases of your crouching eyebrows, but it somehow sends you flinching on your spot. You are now wide awake.

“Seokjin, when are you home?” You demand, as his pupils dilate of confusion.

“I just arrived. Sorry, I was—”

“I thought you died, you moron!” You shouts immediately. “Car crash news was on, man driving a blue toyota. I was so scared it was you that I even called the police, yet they said the victim is still in the hospital, I couldn’t know the identity. I was so scared...” You don’t even know why you’re tearing up right now—but the emotion is overwhelming, you must be talking nonsense.

Seokjin blinks, confused. “I’m sorry, I left my phone on mute. I forgot to let you know...”

You don’t even want to hear the rest, as you quickly storm off to your bed and force yourself to sleep, muffling your cries. The feeling you had for the last few hours, the horror of thinking Seokjin might be laid in blood on the street is something you’d rather not experience now or ever.

In a few minutes, you feel the bed dips beside you. Seokjin is there.

“Are you still awake?” He softly asks, but you decide to ignore him and closes your eyes.

“I am very sorry. I didn’t know… this would happen. But I should’ve let you know.”

You clearly know what he refers to. You usually don’t give a shit if he’d even come in dawn, but now you’re crying and throwing a fit when it’s not even something to fuss about. It’s only you and your overreacting fear.

“Get some sleep, we’ll talk in the morning, okay?” He whispers as he tucked the blanket closer to you, stroking the top of your head carefully.

The next morning, you wake up to the delicious smell of baked cheese. Unable to hold your scoff, you decided to stay a little bit on bed just to pisses him off. Frankly, you are still slightly vengeful for last night, with this urge to let him know your annoyance has not worn off.

So when he walks in and softly taps your shoulder, you are silent. “Hey. It’s already seven, you need to take a shower and come eat breakfast, hmm?” He persuades, but you turn your back to him, and Seokjin huffs at your petty acts, yet the guilt is still seeping in his chest.

Seokjin sighs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t let you know work is unexpectedly late. I don’t want to make excuses, as I know it’s all my fault. I won’t do it again.”

At the sincerity in his tone, your anger quickly washes off, but still you’re doubtful on how to answer his apology. Should you just say yes? Or should you pretend anger?

“Hey, look at me.” Seokjin impatiently pulls you to face him, both his palms are on the sides of you. His eyes bore into yours, and you instantly turn stiff with his face so close.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m very, very sorry, Y/N. I promise I’ll do my best in letting you know if something came up at work and not make you worry anymore.”

“I like you.”

You wonder whose word that is, but it turns out to be you. It’s literally you who said those three words that you have been practicing since last night. You didn’t even know why it’s coming out right now, it’s just the way he looks at you right now—it’s the first thing you want him to know.

“What?” He looks mildly bewildered.

“I like you, Seokjin. I… I don’t know when or how, but I really, really like you.” You confess. You finally confess, yet the way Seokjin looks immediately puts you in horror. That’s absolutely not the look you expected from him.

He laughs with sheer awkwardness. “Of course, we are married. You know I like you too, Y/N.” Yet you know he meant differently.

You know everything will go south the moment you try to say what you truly meant, yet you don’t want to lie anymore. You are tired of hiding what you’re feeling. “I am serious. I like you, in that way. I might even love you. The past two years, we’ve been with each other and I seriously couldn’t be happier with what we both had. I know this is not what we both planned—”

“It’s most absolutely not.” He cuts, distancing himself from you, face filled with panic.

“—but I want you to know. I want to try this, Seokjin. I know you might need some time, and what I feel might be one-sided, but I want you to know and try this. With me.”

A moment of silence to tense that you can slice it to choke yourself—when it’s only you and him who is avoiding your gaze. He then scoots off the bed, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“I… I’m gonna go. You should finish your breakfast.”

And then he left.

The misery doesn’t end there. You never felt someone could be so physically close yet so far away like what he’s putting between the two of you right now. For a straight week he literally never came home earlier than nine, and when he did, he’d sleep on the couch. And fuck did it hurt to sleep knowing he is out of your reach. You never know love could hurt like this—maybe you trusted him too much with your heart.

Saturday, you left a note that you’ll be off to your parents house for the weekend, and even then Seokjin didn’t contact you. And coming back home, your parents fortunately didn’t fuss as much, maybe since you just said you needed time away from him.

The night comes, you are lounging in your room when your phone rings. At once you quickly jump to retrieve it, frown when seeing its a social media notification instead.

From : @pjmin

Hi, Y/N, this is Jimin! Hope you are doing well :) [21:29]

I know this is a bit hurried, but if possible, are you up to meet for coffee tomorrow? [21:29]

It’s okay if you can’t, just want to talk and catch up while I’m in town [21:30]

Let me know! [21:31]

Albeit doubtful, you are indeed curious about what he wants to talk about, knowing it must have something to do with Seokjin. Unable to hold your curiosity, you agree to a time and place with him.

Tomorrow, you walk into the agreed coffee shop, finding Jimin already seated, sipping on his beverages. You carefully pay attention to him, and notice he indeed has changed so much from that average kid you met when you were kids. Well, not that you have any rights to comment though.

“Hi.” He greets with a smile after you are seated in front of him. “I ordered you something. Hope you’re okay with caramel frappucino. You still like sweets?”

“Ah, I’m fine with anything. Thanks. And yes, I still like them. Kinda surprised you still remember, though.” You joke. Jimin lips curls.

“Well, the memory of a kid eating four cotton candy in one sitting until she passed out from high blood sugar is not really something one could forget.” He giggles, and you roll your eyes. Well, your childhood is indeed not a pretty one. “It was rather traumatizing, I could say.”

After a moment of catching up on how he’s currently doing right now, you mindlessly ask him. “So, where is your fiancé? I thought she’ll be with us here.”

Jimin instantly dims at the mention. “Uh… We broke up.”

You stop your movement and gape at him in disbelief. “Seriously? Why?”

“Well, let’s just say once a cheater is always a cheater?” Jimin stares down at his drinks. “Not in that way, though. In the beginning, my family never really liked her, that’s why I’ve been holding off from marriage—no matter how much she pleaded to. We actually came back to get married, and get blessings. And just yesterday, my father sent me a whole report of her financial statement, slush funds, and everything. Well, there’s just too much thing she’s hiding behind my back.”

“Jimin…” You mutter, feeling bad for the guy. But still, you are unable to scoff at how blinded he has been. The girl is no doubt is using him for his money—and he just realized it now?

“I know what you’re thinking. I must be a damn fool to just realize it now.” He humorlessly laughs, correctly reading your mind. “But maybe I was hoping she’ll one day change. I must be a total dumbass.”

“Yeah, you kinda are.” You had enough of holding back, and it surprises Jimin with your forwardness. You grin regardless. “But that’s okay. Everybody makes mistakes, right? We just gotta live with it.”

“Yeah.” He agrees with a saddened smile. “I know it doesn’t quite make sense telling this to Seokjin’s wife, but… I don’t know. I want you to know that I regretted it. I really shouldn’t have done that—cheating behind his back. Maybe this is karma, anyway. I deserved this.”

You sigh. “You know that you shouldn’t be saying that to me, right? You should tell it straight to Seokjin.”

Jimin sighs, like it has been bugging his mind for a long time now. “But of course he wouldn’t want to see me. And I have a flight tonight, back to Sydney, so I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“Well, maybe an apology had to wait, then.” You shrug, and Jimin frowns. “You were his friend, Jimin. And I know if I were him, I’d want it coming from you.”

“I guess so. You were right.” He exhales loudly. “Thank you for that too. And agreeing to meet me. I’m really glad we talked. And don’t forget to stay in contact, okay?”

You hum with a wide smile. “Thank you too, Jimin.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot. I brought this for your wedding present.” Jimin crouches, retrieving a gift box as he displays a sincere beam. “I don’t know if Seokjin would like that I’m giving you this, but, yeah. I am very glad that you’re together. You guys seriously could be the best couple I know.”

You fiddly laugh when reminded of the current turmoil of your marriage. Well, he's better off not knowing, though. “You really shouldn’t have, but thank you for this.”

Well, you do hope that whatever Jimin’s gift is, Seokjin is still there to use them.

Sunday, you spend lounging on your bed, staring at the gift from Jimin, opened and stacked on your desk. You are still unable to comprehend his thoughtfulness. He gave you a couple bathrobe, a bottle of expensive Bordeaux Wine with two antique wine glasses. You messaged him thank you, and Jimin only sent a wink emoticon as an answer.

And then you are reminded of Seokjin’s scar. What happened with his ex, it was because he was too kind. He was too trustful, and it hurt to let go of someone you’ve been with for nearly half of your life and betrayed you like that. He is really the kindest soul out there—and then you realize that you missed him dearly. You wonder what he might be doing right now. Is he just as distraught as you are? Is he thinking about you as well?

In the middle of your wandering thoughts, your phone abruptly chimes. Finding an unknown number in the other line, you answer hesitantly. “Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N. This is Yoongi, Seokjin’s friend.”

It’s been a long time since you heard from him and you rise to sit, mildly perturbed. “Yes. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not really. Apologize if I’m too forward, I know there’s a bit of problem at bay, but I know Seokjin’s dying to talk to you, and has been stressing about it since god-knows-when. He’s in my apartment now, can you… get him? Lounging in my apartment drinking is not going to solve anything.” He huffs lightly, and you sigh in distress.

“I know. But I am now in my parents house. Do you think.. I should just come?”

An evil laugh is heard on the other end. “No, that’s unnecessary. I know what’s even better that will help with this whole thing.”

Closing his call in daze, you are still waiting for the plan—but not even an hour in, a rushed knock is already heard from your front door. In a blink, Seokjin is on your bedroom door, carefully opening it.

“Y/N?” He softly calls your name. “Are you… okay?”

Well, the scared look on his face does make you kind of guilty. Yoongi must have told him lies that you’re sick, and then he didn’t even spend another second and went straight to you. You have no idea what to feel, decide to hide yourself under your blanket.

“Hey, look at me.” He rushes, tapping the side of your arm carefully, but you are still unbudging. Impatiently, he effortlessly tugs the blanket off of you, until you are looking at him with a frown in your face. He rests his palm on your forehead, to your neck, baffled. “Are you sick? Yoongi told me you have high fever.”

“Well, I think Yoongi lied because he wanted to chase you out of his apartment.” You scowl, turning your face with a hint of blush on your face. You never know seeing him again could be this difficult. “I heard you’ve been a parasite to him.” You tease, slightly smiling.

“Yoongi, that disrespectful shithead.” Seokjin hisses under his breath, but it’s obvious that he is avoiding your eyes. He straightens and clears his throat. “Okay then. I think… I should go home. Are you going to stay here?”

“Seokjin…” You call, holding on his wrist from leaving. “Are you angry at me?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I am not angry at you.”

“But you are avoiding me. And we don’t even talk anymore. This is not how we used to handle problems. What’s wrong?” You persist, determined to end this cold war with him.

Seokjin sighs. “I am just… scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I am scared of disappointing you.” He is visibly downcasted. “I know what you meant, Y/N. But I also know that I can’t be… what you want me to be. I can’t seem to forget... her. I don’t want to hurt you, or myself. And I know It’s difficult, and I don’t want to put you into that pain. It’s better this way.”

“I never pressured you into anything.” You reply, your voice started shaking. “I just want you to know, and try this with me. And you know holding onto something that has hurt you is not going to work, Seokjin. Please, please stop hurting yourself and try this. With me.”

“I-I can’t.” He hurriedly mutters, intending to walk out before you hold him back, crushing yourself into his arms, your tears burst into loud sobs.

For a good ten minutes, you spend it crying on his arms, tears wetting his white shirt. You don’t know what you feel—you’re dejected, sad, disappointed, angry, too many emotions that overwhelms your whole being but can only come in tears when he’s around. “Seokjin, I like you. Why can’t you give us a chance? Are you… that disgusted with me?”

At the self depreciating cries, he quickly looks down, both palms are on either side of your face. “Don’t be like that. I adore you so much, Y/N. Don’t hurt yourself because of me.”

“There’s no way I can’t be sad if you’re still hurting yourself. I just want you to be happy—with me. Is that so hard?” You weep, hiding yourself back to his chest. “I hate this. You know how much I hate crying.”

“Then you shouldn’t have cried that much.” He scolds, stroking your scalp like he usually does—and you slightly feel comforted at his familiar gesture.

After another ten minutes just hugging it out, he finally leans into you resting his head on top of yours, taking a deep breath of nerves.

“Okay. Let’s try then. But please be patient with me, hmm? I’ll try my hardest for us.”

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He shuffles in his sleep, but is unmoving. You frown, and call him one more time yet still met with no response. Huffing, you scoot closer to him, and clasp his nose to hamper him from breathing. At your disturbance he groans, finally opening his eyes. “Why are you waking me up now… This is still dawn.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have started getting back into gaming now. This is already half past seven, mister. Take a shower before you’re late.” You remind him, and as expected he already has two feet on the ground, running to the shower.

And as a kind and dutiful wife, you help him by preparing his outfits. You chose a nice blue themed suit this time, paired with a nice tie you bought him a few months back. Walking out with a towel wrapped around his waist, you are unable to hold your eyes from straying low. Damn, he really be packing like that, huh?

“What are you looking at, huh?” Seokjin squints his eyes at you, taking the prepared clothes. “Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m a whole snack, but I’m not a sexual object.” He jokes while wiggling eyebrows, and you scoff loudly when you can’t find a sassy reply for him.

You decide to wait in the living room, trying to calm your heartbeat. God, you’re such a loser, now even his bare chest can stupefy you like that.

Regardless, you're more than content with the current relation with you and Seokjin. Both you definitely have gotten better, a bit more identical to wife and husband—even if it's probably only for you. You are trying your hardest for him, and when you know he can’t instantly fall at your feet and love you the way you do, you are satisfied. At least he’s not pushing you away.

“I’m a bit late for breakfast, but thank you for this.” He whispers, pointing to the pack of food you prepared for him. Noticing what’s missing, you pick the tie from his grasp, and circle around his neck and putting it on for him. He visibly stiffen on your arms.

After finished, you brush his suit’s shoulder and take a step back with a smile. “Let me know when you’ll be home, okay?”

“Okay.” He agrees and softly smiles. “See you.”

And then, he leaves a tender peck on your left cheek and exits the room.

You literally can’t stop smiling the whole day.

One thing that you never really told anyone, is that you never had true sex. Like you had it once or twice in high school, but those annoying jerks never let you even finish and all you were left was disappointment. During college, you were too ambitious for your studies, so the thought of sleeping around was not on your agenda, and you never really believed in love or relationships. So when the thought of sex enters your mind this morning, it was quite frightening.

Having your lunch with only Jungkook, you decided to tell him your concern. He is quite shocked to say the least. “What the—you want to have sex with him? Finally?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You exhale, pushing away your food in disinterest. “This few days we are making progress. So I don’t know—isn’t sex always the solution? I thought it would do some good for us.”

“Well, it’s indeed a solution for most problems, I would say.” He giggles between words, and you roll your eyes in disgust. “But I don’t know about Seokjin. I must say—the man really has outstanding self control. Sleeping on one bed with a woman for two straight years and still hasn’t initiated sex? Crazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been sleeping around before.”

The thought immediately darkens your whole mood, and Jungkook realizes his slips. “—or, he’s just a good masturbator? Nobody knows, Y/N, especially not me. Ha ha ha.” He nervously chuckles, sipping his drinks. “And the minority of men are not that much of an sex-fueled animal. He must be good at keeping his hands to himself, and please don’t mind what I said.”

What Jungkook said might be haunting you a bit that you request to get home early—when instead you’re going to the mall for shopping. You went straight to the ladies side where all kinds of bras or lingerie is available, but you literally have no clue what��s useful for your case. Already desperate, you finally call Jane for advice, discarding the huge probability of damage that you’ll be teased or ridiculed.

“Oh my god! That’s very fun. I still can’t believe you lied to the boss because you’re preparing to bone your husband tonight.” Jane cackles, truly amused. “God, I miss those alone times with my husband. Don’t have kids too soon, Y/N. Be happy with your husband.”

“Stop rambling and help me pick!” You hiss, realizing a few stares has caught on you. She giggles, and then proceeds to help you pack home a black lacy three piece lingerie that will instantly shock your mother if she ever sees—which she said would ‘even spice up a fifty years old marriage’.

You don’t even know how that’s possible, or why you even asked her for advice in the first place.

Waiting for your train home, you hold your shopping bag close to your chest, slightly embarrassed. You don’t know what you should do then—should you just wear it and surprise him in the living room when he comes home? Or lay in your bed while trying to tease him? How does that actually work?

In front of your apartment, suddenly a call arrives. Seokjin. “Hey, Y/N. Work is a bit much today, I think I’ll be late. Will be home around nine, maybe. But can you wait for me? I forgot to bring my keys.”

Agreeing mindlessly, you sigh after ending the call, looking to the bag on your grasp. You really had a bad feeling about this.

It’s quarter to nine, Seokjin is already on the way home and you are already all cleaned up. You started with a good, long warm shower and shaves, curled your hair, and put up a light makeup. You even tried watching porn for learning purposes—but instantly grossed out after a few failed attempts at finding a good one. Well, maybe you should just kiss him and not say or do a thing you’ll regret.

Jungkook was right, though. There’s no way Seokjin can handle two long years without sleeping around. Yet even the thoughts of him sleeping with other girls leaves you qualmish. In the middle of your busy thoughts, the bell suddenly rings at the door.

“Y/N? Are you there? Can you please open this?”

Walking with your heels on, your head is in haze at the thoughts of him seeing you like this. God, you start having second thoughts. Should you just run inside and change your clothes? But the remembrance of the price of this lingerie instantly blanches you. You’d rather be shamed in front of your husband than wasting his much money for nothing.

“Good ev—what is this?”

Seokjin looks at you, visibly flabbergasted at your unexpected fit. Not even once that he would think you would wear something like this, especially for him—and now your face is already beet red. You are far too shy to do or initiate anything.

“Are you okay? What are you—”

Before he can say other things that will embarrass you even more, you quickly crash your lips to his, kissing it frantically while trying to make it as pleasurable as possible. Seokjin instantly gasps, his bag falling to the floor beside him. His hands rest on your back while you are focusing to make it as good as it can get for him.

You bite his lips for entrance, and as he moans you slips your tongue inside, tasting the sweet beverages he just drank. At one point, he finally responds—kissing you back with tenderness instead that helps manage a pace that won’t leave you breathless.

Few more minutes of tasting his lips against yours, Seokjin finally lets you go, and unexpectedly laughs. Realizing how foolish you must have been for him, you quickly flee inside the room and jump under your blanket. You hiss and close your eyes, cheeks flushed at the remembrance of the kiss and his amused face staring at you—God, can you be more humiliating?

After taking a shower, Seokjin jumps on the bed and you instantly scoot yourself further away, with your back facing him. The silent giggle is still heard and frustrated, you sent him a glare. “Why are you laughing?! There’s nothing funny.”

“I’m laughing not because it's funny, but because you’re extremely cute.” He hums, probably noticing how the blush crept back on your cheek. You scowl in annoyance. “You’re so aggressive today, but how can you’re still so cute? What happened, hmm?”

“No, I just…Ugh, I’m trying here, okay? I know these past two years might have been frustrating to you, I won’t even be surprised if you’ve been sleeping around—”

“What? What are you saying? Who’s sleeping around?” Seokjin asks, puzzled. You bit your lips, looking down in shame.

“I don’t know, maybe because my friends told me they wouldn’t last without sex and I just… I thought you’re like that too. And we haven’t really talked about that, so...”

He laughs, pulling you close until you flush against his chest. He smells like oak and citrus and it entices you at once. “I haven’t been sleeping with anyone for the past two years. My last time was probably with a stranger when I broke up, I think. I don’t really remember.”

“Really? You don’t have to lie to me, I know it’s really—”

“I am serious. And why would I lie? I just… think it’s not right. To be truthful, I also don’t want you to sleep around with someone else when we’re married, I’m just trying to keep this as pleasant as it could be for us.”

Humming against his chest, you feel your heart warming at his considerate act. You really are marrying the right person—regardless of how unconventional it started. You can’t even imagine if it was someone else. Few minutes of silence just feeling his arms around yours until you speak and ruin the whole conversation.

“So does it mean you’re a great masturbator?”

Seokjin laughs until his whole body vibrates. “Well, maybe you could say it like that.”

“So, are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Jane asks during your lunch with Hoseok, Jungkook, and Namjoon with a hint of teasing on her tone. “I am surprised you even came to the office today. I thought you’d call in sick.”

“What the hell—it’s not like that.” You hiss at her, hoping she’d get your subtle message to quit it. Jane groans.

“Come on, Y/N, we are all adults here. Tell us! At least tell me how many rounds. What was it like? Did you use any other tools—like ropes or vibrators?”

Hoseok and Namjoon literally choke on their drinks, while Jungkook smirks in amusement at your flushed cheeks. “Don’t say it. Damn, Jane, it’s not it! What the hell are you saying?!”

“Well, I mean you literally called in sick to buy a lingerie—that I chose, for those taking notes—which literally will get him hot and erected in no time. How can I not be wondering?! What was it like? Tell me, I’m a lonely mother of two, Y/N. I just want to know, hmm?”

“Yes, tell us, Y/N! How’d it go with your lawfully wedded husband?” Jungkook joins in, giggling in mischief. You shot him an unamused look.

“Ah, I remember those days. Fucking till morning with my wife. Well, before the baby arrives.” Namjoon sighs dreamily, and you are visibly repulsed at his sentence. “I agree with Jane, Y/N. I love my child to death, but I’d rather wait for maybe another year or two.”

“It’s not like that!” You hide your face on your palm. “There literally nothing happened. I wore that lingerie, and surprised him when he came home, but we ended up doing nothing but kissing. He laughed, by the way. Thanks for that, Jane.” You glare at her, and she shrugs.

“Only that?” Hoseok asks, uncertain. “You’re already wearing lingerie and nothing happened?”

You vengefully nod. “That’s really all. Then he took a shower, we just talked until both fell asleep. Done.”

Namjoon contemplates, fingers on his chin. “That’s weird. Hmm. You don’t even bother jumping in the shower?”

“You are an idiot.” You sigh, massaging your temple—even if the idea struck you in a way. Should you have jumped into the shower with him? But you did your make up and all... “Even kissing him was already—”

Jungkook quickly cuts with roaring laughter. “Wow, I never know you’re that much of an idiot, Y/N! Ha ha ha I’m hungry, does anyone want to order food now?” As others are focused on skimming the menu, he sends you a look, and you just register that you were about to blabber the reality of your marriage. You grimace and mutter your thanks to him.

Two weeks have passed in a blink, and you are seriously pleased with the way things are. It feels like the boundary has been torn down between you two, and pretty clear that Seokjin’s been making an effort for your relationship as well. Usually, you always feel the things he does is based on mere obligation, but you know it’s no longer the case for him. You can feel how much he cares and adores you—receiving your bear hugs whenever he comes home, holding you close before coming to bed, kissing your forehead whenever it feels right.

Just like today. You are feeling a bit feverish, and when you reply to his message asking how’re you doing, he immediately calls.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks after the first beep, tone laced with concern. “If you’re not feeling good, you should go home. Do you want me to call a taxi? Or can you wait for an hour, I’ll take you home.”

“I’m fine. This is not really rare. I’ll be fine soon.” You giggle, even inside of you tickles on the wondrous feeling of him caring for your well being. “I’ll go straight home after this.”

“Okay. I’ll get you.” He reminds and you hum in agreement. “Stay put until then, okay?”

I love you. “See you.”

I love you too. “Bye.”

And while driving home with Seokjin, you don’t know why but you feel physically much better than before. It just feels so right with him beside you. Especially when you initiate to hold his hand, he lets go for a second and repositions himself so he could hold your hand better—you seriously think you could fall sick on how jumpy you’ve become because of him.

“Are you sure you’re sick? Or you just need some attention, hmm?” He teases, lightly pinches your cheek. You huff in embarrassment.

“You’re annoying.” You are about to pull back your hand to your lap when he holds it tighter.

“Who says I wanna let go.” Seokjin’s lips curl into a hearty smile. You still maintain your fake scowl. “You’re just so cute, that’s what.”

“Why are you so cheesy nowadays.” You burst in laughter, unable to hold it back. Seokjin beams, and reliably parks the car in your apartment’s basement with one hand. Finally silence, it's only you and him with the soft engine sound when he pulls you to his arms.

“Thank you for loving me. I seriously don’t know what you see in me, but I seriously can’t believe that you really like me and want to go through this.” He exhales softly, his left arms holding you by the waist, his right stroking your hair. “I hope that you know that I’m trying my best here. But I don’t know why, it doesn’t even feel like trying. Everything is so easy with you.”

“That’s really cheesy.” You chuckles, but tighten your arms around him regardless. “I’m also very thankful that you’re giving us a chance. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you. I keep on making a mess, falling in love when I shouldn’t—”

“Hey, don’t say that. I am really happy we’ve been through this, or I might always chicken out. Even if it could be better if I wasn’t such a jackass, but I’m still grateful.” He coos, pecking your forehead.

Releasing his hug, you are about to mutter something when he cuts with his lips lurching unto yours, cutting whatever sound beside loud moans. You are taken aback, falling a step back before steadying yourself by finding purchase on his shoulder. His palms are on either side of your face, pacing himself.

You spend no time responding, savoring the tender taste of his lips. He tasted just the way you remember, sweet and addicting that leaves you wondering why you haven’t been doing this since the beginning. Catching a breath, he laps at your lips for opening, and as you comply, he roughly pulls you closer by the nape, tangling his tongue like he is a man starved all this time.

“Did you eat a donut?” You giggle when he lets your lips go, trailing pepper kisses on your neck instead. When his lips ghosts to the succulent curve of your v-neck top, you abruptly pull him up to see you in the eye.

“Baby, don’t. Not here. We’re just steps away from the apartment and we’re not getting reprimanded of public indecency.” You remind him. Seokjin scoffs, letting out a deep sigh.

“You shouldn’t wear this top. This is not good for my health.” He frowns as you laugh. “And what are you thinking, I’m not going to have our first time in this car. It was just an intro, so you better be prepared.”

“Ooh, consider me spooked, then.” You smirk in mischief. It is somehow proven by the way Seokjin cannot take his hands off of your waist, ghosting right above the bump of your ass while ascending to your apartment. At all the action you feel the discomfort between your thigh—high chance you are already dripping wet. You have been feeling exceptionally horny this few days, anyway.

“And don’t think I didn’t know the way you’re invading my space and grinding your ass last night when we went to sleep.” He suddenly mentions the event that leaves you all blushing—especially with the other residents on the elevator. You elbow him right away, finger crossed they won’t hear a word he’s saying.

Arriving in your apartment, Seokjin doesn’t hesitate when he pulls you for a deep kiss, his fingers hovering on the hem of your top to detach it from you, flinging it to wherever. Your skin shivers when his fingers are in contact with your bare skin, and to your bra as he grabs the succulent flesh that leaves you a moaning mess.

“Baby, wait. I need to go to the restroom.” You whisper between the kiss, when the incessant throb quite overwhelming your good sense now. Seokjin huffs in pout but let go either way. There’s no way he will say no to whatever request you have for him.

“Don’t be long, sweetheart.”

Running to your toilet with a qualmish feeling on your stomach, you quickly discard your panties with a hypothesis—to have it confirmed by how it has been ruined… with your period blood. You hiss, the frustration building up in your head. You are just about to have sex with your husband after long days of pining, and you just had to have the period on the exact same day. There’s gotta be wrong with your luck.

Finally cleaning yourself, you walk out to find your husband is sitting on the couch, a visible hard-on from his trousers. At the sound of you walking out, he stands but to find your deep frown. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, I hate this so much. I can’t believe we’re about to do this but I got to have my period.” You run to his side, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m sorry for ruining this.”

At your visible dejection, Seokjin can’t bear but to giggle and it leaves you puzzled. How can he be laughing now? “Hey, it’s no matter to me. We can do something else about it, okay? I’ll take care of you. And we can leave that one for raincheck, so don’t be upset.”

Seokjin spends no other second in ravishing your lips while detaching your bra, discarding it in the same manner. His large palms grab the mounds, giving it a little squeeze before pinching your sensitive buds, especially now that you’re in your period. “Ugh, god. You’re so beautiful.” He gruffly mutters before taking your left mounds into his mouth, giving it a hard suck that you have to tug on his fluffy hair on how the pleasure has engulfed you.

“Seokjin...” You moan his name as he shifts to the other mounds, his other hand strays to your clothed core, giving it a feathery touch before he pushes his digits. You bit your lips, holding back a sound.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart. I want to hear all of you tonight.” He reminds. You nod, feeling your mind has clouded in haze and all you can feel is how great he is with his deed.

Noticing how he has been focusing on your pleasure and satisfaction, you push him back to the couch, your knees on the wooden floor before taking a ride for yourself by opening the fly of his trousers. Seokjin gasps at your cold hands on his erected cock before it springs free in all its glory.

“God, you’re so big. I’m not sure if I can take you end when this fucking period is over.” You are shocked at the size of his girthy dick, the precum is already leaking and you can feel your saliva swimming in your mouth—desperate for a taste.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I told you I’ll take care of you, okay?” He comforts, before his tone drops. “Now suck on my cock like you’re a bitch in heat.”

You give a kittish lap on the slit, tasting the saltiness that is unfamiliar to your tongue, but is easy to discard when encouraged by the moan he is letting out with such favor. Noticing that it might hurt him to be blown without proper preparation, you spit on his dick, before giving him a sensual pump. “Fuck, Y/N, where did you learn to do that—god!” He moans in rapture.

Your mouth closes in, sucking on the tip before taking him in your mouth. You run your tongue along the vein of his beautiful cock, wrapping your lips tight around it, feeling how it throbs in your mouth. “Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” He hisses, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. But for the intention of teasing, you’re detaching your lips, going to the ridge of his cock’s length for a lick.

“Damn it, baby, why are you such a tease.” He groans, but is cut with your palm wrapping around his dick, the other slides up to his ball. You can feel a new wave of arousal coming out from your pussy. “Now let me fuck your throat.” He stoutly orders with hooded eyes, forcing your mouth back to take in his red tip and length until it hits the back of your throat—resulting in a gag. Seokjin gathers your hair, helping it out of your way before he raises his hips, feeling the wondrous feeling of your mouth clamming on his dick.

“Don’t flex your throat, sweetheart. Relax, okay? Tell me if you want to stop.” He stares at you, and you nod. You fucking love this, and you’d literally do anything to make him satisfied tonight. Your throat relaxes, and you savor his satisfied groans after feeling the back walls of your throat, with the tears streaking your cheek at his pace and feeling the burn.

“O-oh g-god, F-fuck y-yes.” Seokjin pants, each syllable coming out as he thrust into your throat. “Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see your pretty face while I fucked your mouth hard.” He angles you better until he is satisfied, the lewd image of his cock stuffed into your mouth instantly sends him jerking faster.

A throaty moan slips out of you, and the action successfully sends him to his edge, feeling the vibrations cause his cock to throb in your pretty mouth. “Fuck, this is amazing. You’re so fucking great.” The compliments earns him another groan from you, and it ignites the leading to his awaited orgasm.

Few other thrusts in your throat, you finally feel Seokjin constricting inside of you. He’s about to come, and you’re expecting him to release his load for you to swallow—you were prepared, overall—but unexpectedly he retracts from your mouth, instead jerking off in immaculate pace, and the loss of his dick leaves hollowness inside your throat. “I wanna cum on your tits, baby.” He gruffly whispers.

“Give it to me, daddy.” You persuade, as he pants, still working on his red cock—on the edge of his orgasm. Yet not even once he turns his gaze from you, all red and high with lust hooded in your eyes, the trace of tears on the side of cheek, the swole of your plump lips coated in his pre cum and spit. You look surreal.

“Fuck-fuck! You’re so fucking beautiful.” He hisses, increasing the pace of his pumps before releasing his massive loads on your tits, painting it white. You look down to yourself, feeling his cum trickles down to your nipples and to your thigh. You swipe the liquid with your forefinger, before lapping it clean inside your mouth, internally revolting at the taste.

“Damn, this is crazy. How the fuck you are so good at that.” He sighs in delight, looking at you with lidded eyes and evident aftersex glow. “Let me clean you up.” He reaches for the tissue, cleaning his loads on your breast. Both of you involuntary laughs at the current event.

“Come here.” He crouches down, scoops you into his hold before moving to the bedroom. You abruptly circle your arm around his neck, he closes in for your lips for another make out session on bed. While his tongue is lapping at your own, his fingers move to stimulate you with your hardened nipple until your breath is rigged. His right finger cups your clothed core, giving it a welcomed pressure and humping it until you’re left with moans and satisfied sighs, your finger clutches on his hair, tugging it lightly.

Seokjin’s lips advanced to your ear,giving it a kittish lick. “And you better be prepared, I will eat you out and fuck you all night afer your period is done, sweetheart..”

It’s finally Friday, and you are at your desk for work after lunch. Suddenly, Jane closes in at you. “What are you looking at that seriously?” She inquires, noticing you’ve been staring at the calendar on your desk for longer than anyone should. You turn to her, and shake your head silently.

“No, I just realized that it's soon December.”

“So?”

“It’s soon will be Seokjin’s birthday. He’s turning 34.”

Jane nods in understanding. “Will you get him anything?”

“I don’t know.” You tap your chin, thinking of what to get him. You’ve been scrolling through commerce websites, yet to find even an idea about what to give to him. And it hits you—maybe you don’t really know him after all. “What did you get your husband for his birthday?”

She chuckles. “Last birthday I gave him a responsibility of a lifetime—my pregnancy test came out positive. I wouldn’t say it was a very good birthday present though, as we didn’t really expect a pregnancy after all.”

It dims you right away. Pregnancy? It is too far fetched, right? You haven’t even discussed it with Seokjin—and you don’t want to directly throw him a responsibility for another life being when your romantic relationship has basically just started. Days after days of late nights humping and blowjobs, waiting for your period is over is not basically a very firm foundation for having kids. You don’t even know if you’re ready for it.

And today is the last day of your period. Seokjin has actually asked if you want a dinner together—and you said yes. Based on his promise, today should also be the day you will be making love till dawn. But this dampens your mood a bit, at the thought of having kids frightens you.

Scrolling through instagram, you see that Tasha, your sister-in-law has posted a series of photos from the previous birthday lunch of your father-in-law. The first photo is the five of them smiling together, the second is their three children with the grandparents, and the next one is Seokjin, smiling while he’s caging Taehyun’s little frame inside his arms. You smile longingly at that. Nobody can deny it though—Seokjin is amazing with kids, you know how much he loves them. And there are countless times you pity him for marrying you—as children were never part of your plan before.

But now you love him. And so does he.

And the thoughts have been haunting you that even when you’re seated in front of him in a high class restaurant, Seokjin can sense something is bothering your mind. He holds you by the hand across the table, and how you instinctively flinch confirms his suspicion.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

You smile nervously at him, shrugging. “I am fine, but yeah.. Something is just.. bugging my mind, that’s all.”

“What is it?” He asks softly, a bit worried. “Don’t you like this place? Are you cold? You’re not sick, right?”

“It’s not it.” You giggle at his cute attention. “I just... you know, I saw the date and realized that you’re having a birthday soon. I just don’t know what to get you. A bit upset that maybe it feels like I don’t know you that well, that’s all.”

His face lightens at that, the creases of his smile evident. “No, you don’t have to get me anything. I’m just happy with what we have right now.” He gazes at you, pulling your hands to give it a light kiss. “I am just.. very thankful that you’re here.”

“But I want to give you something.” You frown, looking down. “It feels like you’re always taking care of me, and I’m always at the receiving end.”

“Why are—Y/N, you are the most selfless person I know. The way you take care of me just shows how much I owe you with anything I have. I want to make you happy, as you already made me the happiest I can be.” He explains in rush, like he’ll suffocate if you don’t realize how precious you are to him any time soon.

“Thank you.” You gratefully replies, holding back the tears from falling.

The next two hours, you’re already in bed with Seokjin on top of you, both your clothes are far long discarded on the floor. His palm is grabbing your succulent mounds, his right palm on the bed beside your face. His lips are lapping at yours, savoring the wine you consumed from the previous dinner.

“Seokjin, please put your dick inside me.” You moan before biting his lower lips. He smirks haughtily.

“Not so fast. I promised I’d eat you, didn’t I, kitten?” He questions, before moving his kisses to your neck, breast, stomach and to your thigh. You bite your own lips, your breath hitched when feeling the cold air he blows to your throbbing core.

He laps at your cunt, his fingers sensually moving in circles for stimulation, and when his tongue is finally in contact with your clit, you feel the new wave of arousal is dripping out. Seokjin grins, instantly welcoming it with his tongue that leaves you a moaning mess. “Kitten, you’re dripping so much. Do you want to be fucked that badly?”

“Yes, yes, daddy. Don’t hesitate, please fuck me.” You breath out, finally pulling his face closer to your cunt. Seokjin slaps them harshly, eyes turning dark at your disobedience.

“Are you not going to be patient, kitten? Do you want daddy to stop fucking you?”

The thoughts literally scare your whole being that you deters from touching him. “Daddy, please. Fuck me, stuff me with your big cock.”

After that he continues on with his crazy good tongue, moving in and out of you until you screams his name in pleasure. Not only his tongue, his digits enter you in exchange, furthering them inside to scissors you until you are crying of ecstasy. As your orgasm builds up, he circles your clit in wondrous motions with simultaneous licking your cunt which helps you reach your edge. And not even another minute, you cum generously on his tongue.

Few minutes of reaching your breath, Seokjin laughs at your fucked out expression, your orgasm has caught up with you. You are literally glowing with sweat and satisfaction that it literally takes his breath with how blissful you feel, because of him.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby. I still need to ride you, need you to cum inside me.” You remind him right after finding his strangely contented expression staring down at you. “Just... let me take a breather, okay?”

“Are you sure you can ride me? It seems like you lost all your energy.” He giggles, plopping beside you on bed, pulling you close to his chest, that you are leaning on his arm. “I am marrying a fifty years old. How come you already lost your stamina after an orgasm?”

“It’s not it! I’m just a bit tired after work.” You scowl, rolling your eyes at his teases. “You are so annoying.”

He smirks, pecking you in the lips. “But you love me, right?”

“My fault, I know.” You huff. In Seokjin's hearty smile, and you suddenly are reminded of the photo of him Tasha posted this afternoon.

“Seokjin. Can I ask you something?” You ask, fidgeting your finger. Seokjin hums. “You know, I saw Tasha posted a photo of you and Taehyun this morning. And I was just thinking… if you want a child?”

“What?” He looks down at you, a bit of confusion written on his face that it scares you he’ll not take this like you want him to.

“No, it’s just—I just think that you like kids very much and they like you too, I am just thinking if you want a child. I don’t mean it now, b-but if y-you want now—”

“Sweetheart, has this been bothering your mind when we had dinner? About having a child?”

You look down, suddenly not courageous enough to face him, afraid of finding the disappointment or doubt in his eyes. “Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t know.”

Seokjin closes you again now that you are chest by chest, face by face, his arms circling your back. “I want everything with you, Y/N. At the right place, at the right time.”

He continues, fixes your locks and rests a few lost strands behind your ear lovingly. “I know this has been hard, especially for you. Pregnancy, birthing is never easy, and I know it’s not really in your plan, even including me. So I will never force you to anything. I want everything you want, okay? And it’s your body. It’s your choice.”

You nod, burying your face on his shoulder, finding purchase on the musky scent of his. Oh, how much you love this man. “Thank you. I don’t know why you always have the rightest thing to say. I really, really envy and love you for it.”

“You went through for me. Of course I want to give you everything. I love you, Y/N, until the sea sleeps.”

“Until the sea sleeps?” You cocks your head in questions. He nods affirmatively.

“Yes. If life is the sea, I want to go through it with you. Until it ends. Until it sleeps.” He plants kisses lovingly on your forehead, to your nose, and finally, to your lips. But at once you finally push him on his back, internally shouting in joy at his choice of grand large bed.

“How can you say such thoughtful and beautiful words with your dick is pressing on my stomach.“ You hisses in fake chagrin, before continuing.

“I love you too, but for now let me ride you, daddy...” You whisper sensually, grinding at his half-erected cock. Seokjin smirks in amusement, resting both his palm behind his head as he enjoys the lewd sight, your breast jiggling wonderfully, your cold hands palming his dick.

Oh god, how much he loves you...

2 Years Later....

“Honey, can you help grabbing the diapers?” You pleaded from your bedroom, carefully cleaning your five months old baby girl, throwing away the spoiled diapers near your feet. Seokjin quickly arrives with a fresh set of diapers, baby oils, a fresh pair of baby overalls and beige shirt.

“Thank you, honey, you’re the best.” You smile as he pecks your lips slightly. You continue your work in changing Mina’s clothes as the baby lets out a light gurgles, Seokjin sitting across the bed, his lips curling at the beautiful sight.

After finally falling in love with each other two years ago, you and Seokjin decided to go with your own pace and did not rush into having kids. It was the best decision after all, not a hint of doubts when you knew he’s just as invested as you are in this marriage. You decided to savor it all, both you and Seokjin took leave from work and humdrum life to explore the other side of world together.

And eight months together passed, you and him both decided it would be the perfect time for you to start getting off the birth pill. Few months of trying and getting pregnancy, you and Seokjin are granted the beautiful healthy baby girl, whom both you named as Kim Mina.

Holding her then or now, you just know she’s already the best gift of your life that you’d do anything for her happiness and well being.

“So, is Taehyung and Tasha anywhere near our house?” You ask, glancing at the clock. “They are probably the only people I’d worry at this point. All my work friends are already on the way. Yoongi is already in the way, right?”

“Yes he is. But no worry about Taehyung, sweetheart. I have made him promise or else he’ll have to be a clown for Mina’s birthday party.” Seokjin laughs. “All the food is served, everything is in the way it should be. We are going through this.”

“I can’t believe we’re finally having a housewarming party. And a baby too.” You laugh dreamily, picking up Mina to cradle on your chest. “Four years ago us would never believed this.”

“Four years ago Seokjin was a blind fool, I had to say. He almost missed the greatest woman on the planet.” Seokjin warmly back hugs you, kissing your cheek lovingly. You hum in mirth. “Luckily this greatest woman is willing to fight for him. The greatest gift for that lucky bastard, I have to say.”

“Well, she loved him too much, I have to say. It was all worth it.”

With the end of the sentence, a chime of bell is heard—somebody is coming. You quickly walk to the door with Seokjin on your side. The first one to arrive is Hoseok and Jungkook, the only single bachelor of the party. “Hi, Y/N, Seokjin! Congratulations, the house is incredible.” Both of them give you a sided hug, and Jungkook shoves two bottles of wine on your hold.

“Drink up!” Jungkook giggles, kissing your baby’s cheek as he taps on Seokjin’s shoulder as a greeting, walking into your house to your tables of served dishes.

In a spare of minutes, few of yours and Seokjin friends are walking in—Jane and her family, Namjoon and his wife and kid, and Yoongi with his girlfriend. You welcome them all with a wide smile, thankful for their presence.

Your parents and Seokjin’s surprisingly arrive right after each other, simultaneously gushing at their grandchild. “Mina! My very cute grandchild!” Your mother squeals in delight after giving you and Seokjin a greeting hug. Seokjin’s mother immediately scoops Mina out of your grasp, moving inside the house to play with her.

Walking around talking with your friends, another bell chime is heard from the door. You and Seokjin walk to open it, finding Jimin on the door with Yoonji, his wife of three months. Their face instantly lightens up at you, and you move to hug the blissful new couple.

About Jimin, he finally moved back from Sydney to Seoul for good one and a half years ago. He was taking over a few branches of his father’s business, and you started rekindling the friendship with him. And you don’t want to brag, but you are the matchmaker for Jimin and Yoonji. She was the new assistant manager at your unit, and one dinner, you invited Jimin for dinner with your work friend’s and they instantly hit the bat right away. It doesn’t even take a year for Jimin to get on one knee and propose to her.

“Hi, Seokjin.” Jimin grins in courtesy. Seokjin answers with a laugh, pulling the younger guy into a side hug. You point Yoonji her way to Hoseok and Jungkook. “Congrats on the new house, man. This place is great.” Jimin sincerely compliments, handing him a large box of housewarming gifts which Seokjin gladly receives with loud squeaky laughs of thank you.

It’s also been a year since Jimin had the talk with Seokjin, in which they bonded over alcohol and food. Jimin also apologized to what he did a few years back, and Seokjin instantly accepted it—no hard feelings, knowing that it was for the best as he finally found you, the best thing that happened to him. After that, Jimin basically joins the gang with Seokjin and Yoongi, and also hangs out with your friends slash his wife’s friend. It was all good.

After the housewarming party time finally arrives, the helper hands the drinks in tray for a toast. You lean onto Seokjin’s chest, as he begins the welcoming toast.

“Thank you everyone for coming. This hasn’t been a very easy ride with me and Y/N, but we are very thankful to where we are right now. A beautiful baby, a great house, a great loan—” Everyone chuckles at his joke. “ —but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wanna say thank you to my wife, who has stood by me through thick and thin. I’d never be able to do it without you.”

Suddenly, the shouts to kiss are visible—high chance initiated by Jeon Jungkook—and you giggle before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. The aws are heard, and Seokjin looks back to the audience. “Thank you to my family and friends. Your great support is the reason we are here right now. I am very grateful.”

“Let’s toast, for this wonderful day. May we always be healthy and happy. Cheers!” Seokjin smiles and clinks his glass of champagne to yours. The sound of glass clinking against each other is heard simultaneously, and you sips on the beverage. Seokjin gazes down on you, a toxicated smile on his lips.

“What?” You ask, falling a bit shy.

“I am so happy. You make me very happy, and I thank you for that.” He closes, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you, sweetheart. Until the sea sleeps.”

You hum in serenity, savoring his wondrous scent. “I love you too, baby. Until the sea sleeps.”

Suddenly, the doors are busted open, Taehyung rushed eyes staring confusedly at the large group of people settling on their places, Taehyun on his grasp. “Am I late? I don’t have to be a clown, right?!”

Just an disinterested glace before the crowd disperse around the home in group. Seokjin cunningly smirks at him, walking closer and taps his shoulder in a fake comforting manner.

“Sorry, brother. Looking forward to you coming as a clown in Mina’s birthday party, okay?”

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, but is not missed by your approaching mother-in-law. She immediately screeches loudly in anger, completely enraged with both hands on hips.

“Kim Taehyung! Your son is there, and you curse?! How dare you set out a bad example for your son?!”

He grimace, glaring at you and your husband who are laughing heartily at his clear misery.

“Lord, have your mercy.”

Thank you for reading! it’s such a great ride writing this. Credits to one quora answer I read that inspires this whole fluffy prompt. And all the smut writers that inspired me on writing such unholy scenes lol

Do slide into my ask box and let me know what you think! 🤩💜💌 And check out my other fics ➡ (click here)!

#bts #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts jin #bts fanfic #bts x reader #seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #bts seokjin smut #taehyung #jungkook #ot7 #ot7 smut #seokjin x reader #taecalikook #bts marriage au #bts strangers to lovers

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razrbladekiss · 3 years

Text

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

#tig trager #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy #jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

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veliseraptor · 3 years

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mmkay I think it’s time for another 150 words meme because I have too many different projects and feel like I could use some pushes also just generally since my motivation writingwise appears to have, uh, slipped a little

so hit me. send me up to three numbers and I’ll write 150 words in the given project. ten options this time, two of them are literally just plotless porn, see if you can guess which

1. Then he moved to his right shoulder and felt Xue Yang flinch away from him. A very slight and plainly involuntary movement, and satisfaction crashed over Song Lan followed almost immediately by frustration that this was what Xue Yang did to him, what he made of him: someone vindictive and cruel and taking pleasure from the pain of others. Making him like Xue Yang.

He unwrapped the bandaging briskly, not gently but not deliberately hurting him either. It was an ugly wound, even for the work the midwife had done.

The urge rose to dig his fingers into the wound, break it open again, and he recoiled from it, the vividness of it, the near longing. He could feel the slightest tremor in Xue Yang’s body under his hands. Minute, but present. He was very still otherwise, and surprisingly quiet. (Walking Far From Home)

2. “Was he hot?” she asked.

Xiao Xingchen shot her a dirty look. “I thought you didn’t want details.”

“If you’re going to make terrible choices I at least want to know if your terrible choice was hot.”

Xiao Xingchen debated with himself how much judgment he could take this morning, and decided that he might as well finish it out. “It was him,” he said. “Xue Yang.”

“Who?” a-Qing said blankly.

“The guy from the hospital,” Xiao Xingchen said helplessly.

“Dumpster guy?” Xiao Xingchen didn’t bother to confirm. “You fucked dumpster guy?” Xiao Xingchen could feel his face getting even hotter. (Redux)

3. “Wang-popo’s roof is rotting through,” Xiao Xingchen said.

“It probably won’t last through the winter,” Xiao Xingchen said.

“With her husband gone, she can’t afford to hire someone to fix it,” Xiao Xingchen said.

Xue Yang was doing fine at ignoring the increasingly unsubtle hints right up until Xiao Xingchen turned his stupidly beautiful face in his direction and said, “would you be willing to lend her your skills, my friend?”

Absolutely not. “I don’t work for free,” Xue Yang said immediately. Xiao Xingchen’s face fell. (splinters)

4. “Jiujiu?” Jin Ling said.

“What,” he snapped. Jin Ling opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Nothing,” he said, altogether too innocently. “Nothing. Thanks for coming, Jiujiu.”

“You asked me to,” Jiang Cheng said flatly. “Though I notice you didn’t mention who the other guests would be.”

“Oh,” Jin Ling said. “I didn’t?”

Jiang Cheng was going to throttle Jin Ling for this. “No. You didn’t.”

“Sorry,” Jin Ling said. He did not sound sorry. “I didn’t expect there’d be any problems. Is there a problem?”

Throttling was too gentle. “No,” he said. “There’s no problem.” He paused, and then said pointedly, “interfering in others’ personal lives is unlikely to do anything but get you into trouble.”

Jin Ling gave him a long, hard, and uncomfortably familiar stare. “Okay, Jiujiu,” he said.

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “So…?”

“Thanks for the advice,” Jin Ling chirped. “I’ll remember it if that comes up. I’ll talk to you later - I have go ask Sizhui about something.”

And he was off. (Slippage)

5. Chengmei laughed, the sound bright and sharp as the blade of the knife he was holding. “I like you,” he said. “No wonder Lianfang-zun told me to stay away.”

It should have sounded like he was flirting with her. It didn’t.

“You should treat him with more respect,” she said, making her voice firmer. “He deserves it.” Chengmei burst out laughing, and Jiang Yanli felt a flare of defensive anger.

“Don’t worry, jiejie,” he said. “I know what he’s worth. He puts up with me because he knows what I am. We understand each other.”

Jiang Yanli frowned. “Knows what you are?”

Chengmei bounced to his feet and stretched up on his toes. “Yeah,” he said. “His pet project.” (this world is gonna break your heart)

6. The sun was starting to poke weakly through the heavy mist by the time Xue Yang stopped working.

The veins and arteries in a person’s neck were delicate things. Easy to cut open. Much, much harder to put back together. Good thing he’d never shied away from challenges. Good thing he’d been quick enough. Sure, better if he’d been quicker but - no point dwelling on that, it was fine, it’d worked out, hadn’t it?

He glanced at his patient, watched his chest move with his breathing. Shallow, and he was pale as shit but still breathing, which was the important thing. Stupid thing to try to do.

“What if I hadn’t been paying attention?” Xue Yang asked him. “Where would you be then, huh?” (xxc survives and it isn’t fine)

7. He’d been scouring the cultivation world for a year and a half so far, chasing hints and scraps and rumors, cobbling together his own methods from fragments of theory and experimentation. He’d tried calling, again and again, trying to coax Xiao Xingchen’s soul back into his body. He’d caught a Lan cultivator and forced her to play Inquiry for him to no response; she’d said there wasn’t enough left to communicate with and he’d left her slit open but alive for the scavengers to find.

He poured vitality into Xiao Xingchen’s body to keep it from deteriorating, to keep it perfect, whole, ready for him to come home.

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing and the doubts gnawing at him like jackals on the Lan cultivator’s guts kept getting stronger, whispering he’s not coming home. You’re never getting him back. He’s broken and gone and he doesn’t want to come back to you-

He’d thought of the Burial Mounds before. Obviously. The place where the Yiling Laozu had gained his power, where he’d held sway, taken control of a place where everyone said no one could live. (a symphony for the departed)

8. “What did I do,” he asked. His voice sounded small and weak.

“Do? What do you mean? Don’t think it’s your fault this fucking cave fell in on us, unless you knew that that thing would bring down the ceiling in its death throes. Did you know that, Daozhang? Cause if you did then–”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen said, though he wasn’t following anything that his - that his friend was saying. And who was his friend? How did he know him? How had they met? He couldn’t think of anyone he would call a friend, other than Zichen and...and Zichen was gone.

“Yeah, I know,” his friend said. “Of course you didn’t. Hey, c’mere, let me–”

He drew back, shaking his head, “no, I don’t mean - I did something, something bad, and…”

The thought wouldn’t finish. He waited, hoping his friend would fill it in, or hoping his friend would tell him he was wrong.

“I’ve got no fucking clue what you’re talking about, Daozhang,” he said, and Xiao Xingchen took a wavering breath. (xiao xingchen + concussion)

9. It was a restless day - one of those days where he just couldn’t stay still, where he felt like crawling out of his skin and like if someone looked at him wrong he was going to spill blood. If he could manage it getting fucked within an inch of his life was usually pretty effective at dealing with it but if that wasn’t an option - if, say, some daozhangs were off dealing with laying someone’s dead grandmother to rest (he skipped out on those, these days) - the only thing to do was clear out and get some space from anyone who might look at him wrong.

Xue Yang didn’t think anyone would accept they pissed me off as a good reason to kill somebody. (reconfiguration)

10. Stuff happened. Presumably. He could tell that stuff happened, but not a lot more than that. He didn’t make much of an effort, either, enjoying the drifting, the blank quiet nothing.

He settled back into his body slowly, in bits and pieces of sensation: someone petting his hair, his face smashed against someone’s shoulder and another body bracketing his other side. He opened one eye but all he could really see was chest. He was pretty sure Song Lan’s chest. Which was nice.

“Fuck,” he said, when he thought he had his voice back. (something about the number three)

#fic excerpt #150 words meme #ok ok i'll be back to make a go of actually working on these later

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feelingfredly · 4 years

Text

The Hunting of the Snark... I Mean Spark

Part 1 of What I Tell You Three Times Is True

Peter listened as the water stopped and various cabinets in his bathroom were opened and closed and waited for his guest to reappear. Stiles, scrubbed red from the shower, walked into the room rubbing viciously at his hair with a towel. The fragrance of borrowed shampoo clung to him even more tightly than the damp fabric of Peter’s bathrobe and seeing the young man like that, covered head to toe in Peter’s things, in Peter’s scent, caused his wolf to lift its head and rumble in satisfaction, even if the reason the boy was in his den was less than optimal.

“Three times, Peter.” Frustration sharpened Stiles’s voice, pulling the man’s attention back from his wolf’s wanderings. “You know what that means.”

Peter knew. One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three's a pattern, and four is enough for a warrant. Not that they could get a warrant, even if they did end up with a fourth victim. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. He, like his father, was a cop at heart—protect and serve was etched in their bones. Usually, Stiles also had a streak of ruthless practicality that balanced that idealism out, but this time was different. Peter hoped it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“Proving the pattern to the rest of the pack is going to be… difficult.”

Amber eyes rolled and Peter smothered a smile. It still surprised him how much pleasure Stiles’s snark generated in him. Like calling to like.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stiles flung his towel at the hamper and missed. From four feet away. Peter shook his head. How the boy had survived this long in a world full of predators was truly a mystery. “Lydia will believe me. Probably. And Danny. But…”

“But they’re not wolves.” Peter nodded and leaned back in his chair. “They aren’t the ones who’re going to want to believe it’s possible in the first place.”

Stiles walked to the corner of the desk that dominated the office and propped one hip on it, everything about his posture telegraphing his irritation with the situation.

“Scott’s going to think I’m crazy—literally—and he’ll suspect anything coming from you because you’re clearly still trying to manipulate him.” His lip curled a fraction and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of a smile or a snarl. “That means we’re going to have to go at the problem sideways, again, because as much as I’d like to say he wouldn’t go there again, I’m sure you’re with me on the Never Going Back to Eichen bandwagon.”

Peter gave his own eyeroll at that. “Our True Alpha does have a limited repertoire of responses, and you’re right, Eichen House is not on my list of spa retreat destinations. My question for you is simply: since we know he won’t listen to reason, why bother trying to convince him? It isn’t as if the people Hengstrom is using aren’t willing. If Scott wants to throw in with the crazy mage, why not let him?”

Stiles shifted his weight, swinging a lean leg absently. “I guess it’s the lying that gets me, because I don’t believe he doesn’t know exactly what his miracle cure does. You can’t wield that kind of magic if you don’t understand it intimately. That leaves two options,” he held up one long finger. “One, he’s leaving details out because he doesn’t think they’re important—which would be stupidly shortsighted—or two,” he held up a second finger, “he knows the details are important and he’s not telling people on purpose, which leads to another whole line of questions about why he’s keeping them secret and what he’s getting out of the de-wolfing process that’s so important that he doesn’t want to risk scaring his victims away.”

Peter nodded. When the mage arrived, he’d introduced himself to the local Alpha and had bemoaned the fact that Deaton wasn’t currently in residence because he wanted to share his new skill with the druid. Invoking the emissary’s name worked like magic—all puns intended—and the True Alpha had warmly welcomed the man to the territory and had immediately begun questioning him about this new and wonderful spellwork he’d invented. Hengstrom had been hesitant to speak of it, saying he didn’t want to step on Deaton’s toes—but Scott reacted the way he always did when there was something new and shiny that he wanted: he poked and prodded and wheedled and insisted until the mage caved and laid out the framework of what he called his “life’s achievement.”

It was delicate work and Peter had been impressed with Hengstrom’s ability to play the young Alpha right up until he uttered the phrase “werewolf curse.” McCall’s spine had stiffened and red crawled up his neck as he ducked his head and looked away, shame and self-loathing oozing from every pore. Every wolf in the room stiffened, feeling the negativity of their leader through the pack bonds, and Peter was no different. His gums itched and his fingers ached, claws and fangs closer to the surface than they should be, and he knew his wolf was feeling threatened in a way that born wolves weren’t supposed to feel.

The mage promised Scott, and any other bitten wolves that were interested, the chance to be human again, and he knew immediately what the True Alpha’s reaction was going to be. Hell, anyone with a braincell that had known the boy for more than two seconds knew what he was going to do. He never even paused to think how giving up his wolf would affect the rest of the pack. No, McCall was consistent—he wanted what he wanted and screw anyone that might get in the way of him getting it.

He did, at least, ask a few questions and the mage passed his minimalist lie detector test—Yes, he’d performed the rite dozens of times. The rite had 100% efficacy. All the people he helped went back to their human lives with nary a trace of wolf left in them. Here’s an oddly convenient list; call them if you want to.—And then the idiot didn’t think, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate for a minute, he simply reached out and swept the mage into the biggest hug Beacon Hills had ever seen, and then had run off to tell Kira the good news.

Stiles and Peter watched the interview silently, doubt clear on both of their faces, but once their Alpha had made his approval clear, Stiles shook the man’s hand briefly, took the list of “cured” that was proffered, and directed the mage to the hotel in town that the pack had an arrangement with.

Then Stiles went to work.

It took the Spark six hours to contact most of the people on the list, but there were a few he hadn’t been able to get through to. Finally, one number that had been calling incessantly—his magic nagging at him that it was important—picked up and the tearful woman on the other end informed him that yes, her husband, Oscar, had undergone Hengstrom’s procedure and had been thrilled with the results. Unfortunately, he’d died a few months later. They hadn’t been able to determine a cause of death—he simply didn’t wake up one morning. It was possible that the procedure had been hard on his heart or something, but no one could really say. She was sorry she couldn’t be more help.

After another six hours he’d found two more people who’d had their wolves removed who had mysteriously fallen ill afterwards. One was currently in a coma, and the other had been committed to a mental institution after having attempted to kill his family, the whole time screaming for them to kill him, please kill him. That he couldn’t stop it. It wouldn’t let him.

That report reminded Stiles too much of his possession by the Nogitsune; he and Peter were on a plane the next morning. Three hours and several Jedi mind tricks after landing, they’d gotten to visit the last victim… and the minor demon that was squatting in his soul. Peter had struggled with seeing the man strapped to his bed, flashbacks of his own time imprisoned in a similar bed with nothing free to move but his head setting his teeth on edge, and Stiles… well, the Spark had his own fight to fight. His spark hovered just beneath his skin, setting the boy almost aglow, and while his wolf was used to the temptation, the demon was immediately overwhelmed with hunger.

The body on the bed strained and lurched against its bindings as they listened to it rave about how Stiles was perfect, how the fire under his skin was nice but the darkness around his heart was beautiful and infinite and vicious, how he had a demon-shaped hole in his soul that just cried out to be filled. Stiles waited as every word left a wound behind, and Peter could smell the blood on him as he bit his lips to remain silent. Finally, the demon released its host deciding that it was worth giving up the body it had for the chance of controlling the power of a Spark. Peter sucked in a breath, terrified that they wouldn’t make it out of the hospital without a demonic stowaway, but then his impossible, incredible boy burned the creature out of existence in the flash of an eye before it could jump bodies. He listened as Stiles’s breath caught on a silent sob in his throat, and Peter ached to gather the bowstring-taut Spark into his arms and tell him that yes he was perfect, that the demon had no idea how beautiful his darkness truly was because he used it to defend the ones he loved, that if there was a hole in his soul Peter would crawl into it and fill it and wrap him up in protective arms, keeping him close, and safe, and his… but he knew that all it would take would be one uninvited touch and Stiles would shatter, so he kept his hands to himself, and bided his time.

A moment later the victim woke from his possession in grateful tears, but when Stiles explained that he couldn’t repair the holes in the man’s spirit that had allowed the demon to take up residence in the first place, he insisted they leave him in the hospital, that it was where he wanted to stay, where he needed to stay. He’d do anything to protect his family from going through that nightmare again.

Stiles told him that evening that he suspected the man wouldn’t be around long enough to regret that decision; his life force was already leaking out through the holes in his aura. Listening to the Spark whimper in his sleep as he thrashed on the hotel bed that night, Peter knew Stiles would regret the decision enough for the both of them.

One good thing came out of the whole nightmare. After explaining what had happened to her husband, the last victim’s wife was more than willing to answer their questions, and she was much more expansive than the mage. She told them that Hengstrom only pursued weres that had been changed within the past five years, claiming that anyone that had been a werewolf longer than that wouldn’t ever be able to truly erase the behaviors they’d learned. He’d asked other questions—where her husband fit in the pack hierarchy, how he’d been turned, whether his wife was a wolf—before agreeing to remove her husband’s wolf, but that the one thing that seemed most important to him was whether they were going leave the territory after the procedure. He implied that continuing contact with the members of the pack would hinder her husband’s healing process. He said that her husband’s scent would change, and the other wolves wouldn’t be able to trust him anymore and that it would be safer for everyone if they cut ties completely, but he’d also said that any exposure to the supernatural would make it harder for her husband to transition back to his human life. She hadn’t questioned it at the time, but it had made the whole situation more difficult when he’d started showing signs of deterioration because she didn’t have the pack as a support system and since they didn’t have their emissary available to ask for advice.

Oh, and their emissary hadn’t been around when Hengstrom had arrived, either.

Stiles had looked at Peter at that point and quirked an eyebrow, an entire conversation in the tiny movement. Who knew they would ever actually be sorry that Alan Deaton wasn’t around?

Stiles stopped swinging his leg suddenly. “Did Scott ever mention that Kira was a kitsune?”

Peter thought back over the conversation he’d witnessed and shook his head. “No. Hengstrom asked if he was mated to another wolf and Scott said no, but that was as far as it went. Why?”

He paused and raised his eyes to the Spark’s as the penny dropped. Oh. Ohhh.

Scott was going to have a problem. Kira wasn’t a wolf, but she was a kitsune but more importantly—she was pack. The only thing McCall valued more than his own vaunted humanity was his mate, and after the youngest Argent died, he’d become even more protective of the little fox.

Stiles grinned, sharp and vulpine, clearly ready to hunt. “I think we need to have a little chat with our Alpha’s mate.”

Peter grinned back letting his own fangs drop a fraction and resting a heavy hand on Stiles’s knee. “You know, sweetheart, I think you’re right.”

***

Kira wasn’t alone when they got there, but it could have been worse. Ms. Yukimura wasn’t a fan of Stiles’s—she still saw too much of Void in him to ever be comfortable—but she would listen more than Scott would, so Peter considered it a win.

“And you destroyed the demon? You’re positive?” She lifted a delicate hand and poured another cup of tea. If Peter hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed the fractional tightening of muscles in her fingers.

“As positive as I can be,” Stiles replied. “I know it isn’t in Peter, and I know it wasn’t in Mr. Anderson when we left him. If you’d be so kind as to make sure I haven’t brought him along with me, I would be… grateful.”

It cost the boy something to make the request, but when the older woman’s eyes settled on him and she nodded once, the silent stress that had been hiding in his spine melted away and Peter could almost feel a sigh of relief pass over him.

“There is nothing… new in your aura, Spark,” she said with a dip of her head, and Peter had to fight back a growl at the cautionary phrasing and silent implication that there was something extra in his aura already, but that was a fight for another day. “The demon must, then, have truly been vanquished. Your skill has grown. I congratulate you.”

Stiles forced himself to dip his head in acceptance. His skills had grown through necessity, and so much of that necessity could be laid at this woman’s feet. It was amazing that he was even able to stay in the same room. Peter wasn’t sure he could have.

“I am simply sorry that I wasn’t able to do more for Mr. Anderson. As I said, the procedure that Hengstrom subjected him to has left his spirit shredded. He will die; it’s just a matter of how long it will take.”

Kira twisted her hands in her lap. “You’re sure? There isn’t anything else that could’ve caused the damage?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kira, but you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I know how much this means to Scotty, and yeah, him giving up his wolf would throw the pack into chaos, but we’ve dealt with chaos before and survived. I wouldn’t take this chance away from him on a hunch. The problem is that because of the chaos we’ve been through,” he threw a hard glance at the elder kitsune, “Scott doesn’t trust my judgment. He thinks I’m paranoid.” He let out a bark of laughter. “He isn’t wrong. But neither am I about this.”

Kira pushed her hair behind her ear and sighed. “I believe you. I was talking to mom before you came about how something about this just felt off. Hearing you explain what you’ve found just makes that feeling stronger.”

Peter sat back and crossed his legs. “So, how do we make your husband listen to the truth?”

Kira quirked a lip and tilted her chin to one side, her inner fox clear and sharp. “The way I see it, the only way he’s going to believe it is if it comes from Hengstrom himself.”

Stiles’s whole body stilled, his normal state of constant movement frozen. “I like where you’re going with this, but it’s going to be tricky.”

Kira looked at her mother and they both smiled their trickster-kitsune smiles. “Leave that to us.”

***

In the end, it was surprisingly simple. Painful, but simple.

“You should let him try this on Peter, first.” Stiles said, innocence personified.

Scott perked up. “On Peter? But he wouldn’t want to…” he swallowed what he’d been intending to say and turned to look at the mage. “Could you actually do that? Take the wolf from a born wolf?”

Hagen Hengstrom looked as Swedish as his name sounded. Tall, blond, buff—he didn’t look like any of the mages Peter had ever met, but then Stiles himself didn’t look like them, either. His blue eyes were pale and clear and there was something old and cold in them that Peter didn’t want to be close to, but he was bait, so, he stepped forward.

Hengstrom shook his head, one fist tightening minutely. “No. Definitely not. There is nothing in him that isn’t infiltrated with wolf. He’d go mad without it.”

Stiles snorted. “Like we’d be able to tell the difference.”

Scott looked surprised that he would say such a thing, but then laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Not much to compare it to as far as sanity goes.”

Peter forced himself not to snarl at the boy and let Stiles go on.

“I mean, if the procedure is 100% effective…” he left the sentence hanging, and the mage stepped right into it.

“It is 100% effective,” he insisted, “it’s just that his wolf is so embedded in him that it would rip his soul to pull it out.”

Stiles tilted his head and raised an innocent eyebrow. “Rip his soul? That doesn’t sound good.”

Kira shifted closer to Scott and put an arm around his waist. “No. No it doesn’t.”

Scott looked down at his wife and frowned. “You said before that it didn’t hurt.”

Hengstrom froze and then shook his head. “That isn’t what…”

Scott frowned harder. “You said you’d performed this rite dozens of times.”

Hengstrom nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I’ve done this dozens—hundreds—of times. It does exactly what I’ve promised.”

Stiles made a non-committal sound. “But actually, all you said was that it removed the wolf and the people went back to being human after. You didn’t say anything about whether they were healthy and happy, did you?”

Kira tugged on Scott’s shirt. “Did he?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t actually remember. I was so excited by what he was telling me that I don’t think I asked.” He turned back to the mage who looked decidedly paler under his golden tan. “What happens to the people after you take their wolves? Are they healthy? Can they… have families? Does it mess with any of that?”

The mage frowned and took his time before answering. “I don’t stay in touch with all of the people I’ve helped, so I don’t know exactly how they all are. But I can assure you the rite did exactly what it was supposed to do, and they were all completely human afterwards.”

Stiles made another noise. “I’m sure it’s fine, Kira,” he waved his hand between Hengstrom and Scott, “I mean, if there was a problem I’m sure Deaton could fix it, and the pack would be here to…”

Hengstrom lurched forward, hand up. “Um, that’s not…” he swallowed, “I mean, I’m certain that Druid Deaton is very skilled, but this magic is specialized, and he wouldn’t be familiar with the process. It’s best if the blessed can accept the return of their human status completely, make a clean break with their previous packs and limit their exposure to the supernatural. As humans they’re so much more susceptible to injury and you wouldn’t want to endanger your family that way unnecessarily, would you? You and your wife would be able to move on, have children, start your own veterinary practice without all of this hanging over your head.”

Scott’s frown had deepened to the point that Peter thought he could get a playing card to stick in the crease between his eyebrows.

“My wife is supernatural.” He hugged Kira tighter to him and Hengstrom frowned.

“But you said you weren’t mated to another werewolf!”

Kira looked at him, adorable confusion on her face. “He’s not. I’m a kitsune. I’m surprised you couldn’t feel my magic. Dr. Deaton says it’s unmistakable. Plus… I’m pack.”

Hengstrom looked bewildered, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.

At that point Liam stepped forward, his back stiff and eyes slitted. “It seems to me that there’s more to this rite than you initially let on. So, tell me just one thing: If Scott lets you take his wolf, what will happen to his Alpha spark?”

Peter forced his face to stillness. Finally, someone was asking the right questions.

The mage frowned. “I’m not sure. I’ve never removed the wolf from an Alpha before.”

The whole pack took a step towards Scott, suddenly sensing the threat to their Alpha.

“You don’t know?” Liam sounded strangled and he turned to look at Scott. “You mean you didn’t ask? You were just going to let him take your wolf and leave us all omegas?”

Scott deflated a little. “I just figured it would go to the next person in line in the pack. Maybe you. Maybe,” he frowned, “maybe Peter. I mean, he’s been an Alpha before. Not a good one, but still.”

Liam was livid. “You were just joking about him being crazy, Scott! Plus, you’re a fucking True Alpha! It isn’t like it’s got a line to revert to. Maybe it just disappears into the ether it came from, and then what would happen?”

The mage was slowly stepping away from the angry young wolf, trying not to draw attention to himself, but Peter’s Spark was having none of it.

“All politics aside, the thing I worry most about is what would happen to Scott’s soul if you ripped the True Alpha spark out of it. I mean, think about it Scotty. The only reason you’re an Alpha at all is because of your soul---it’s got to be tangled up tightly in there. If there is, what did you call it? Tearing? When you remove the wolf? What? Does it leave holes in his soul or something? Mess with his aura? Is that why he shouldn’t be around supernatural stuff afterwards, because something could get in through those holes?”

Kira took her cue like a professional, one dainty hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in fear for her beloved. “Oh my God, that can’t be, right? Nothing could get into his soul, could it?”

Hengstrom knew he was trapped. A room full of wolves would hear if he lied. “It’s… possible. But, in a world of magic anything is possible.”

Kira moved to stand in front of her husband. “I’d think you’d have led with that fact. As a matter of fact, the fact that you didn’t makes me wonder what else you don’t tell people about your precious rite.”

Mason gave a side-long look to the man. “Makes me wonder what he gets out of it.”

Peter allowed himself a smirk. Mason certainly had potential. He would have to spend a little more time with the boy. The True Alpha needed someone who could see through false altruism that didn’t have a history with him. It would be much easier to get him to listen, then.

A rumble from the back of the room drew his attention. Ah. Reinforcements.

Alan Deaton swept into the room with all the gravitas of an opening night diva, every eye upon him, and he glided to a stop beside his wide-eyed protégé.

“Remind me never to accept an invitation to a conclave I am unfamiliar with, Scott. It always seems to lead to trouble,” he said, dark eyes resting on the now surrounded mage.

Peter wondered if that meant that the druid had been lured away somehow, but that could be sussed out later. Right now, he wanted to know what the man intended to do with the interloper.

Deaton was a terrible emissary, but he wasn’t a bad magic user and when Peter saw his eyes widen and a rim of green flash in them, he couldn’t help but wish he, too, could see things with druid’s sight.

Whatever it was, it didn’t make the man happy.

“Scott?” The druid didn’t look away from Hengstrom. “Have you allowed your guest access to you or any others in the pack?”

Scott shook his head, a little sheepishly. “No. We were about to get to that. Lucky for me, Kira was here. She seemed to know right away that something was weird.” He hugged his wife tightly, and the little fox met Peter’s eyes and smiled. Leave it to her, indeed. It was a good reminder never to get on the woman’s bad side. He looked at Stiles and they shared an incredulous look that quickly devolved into twin smiles of satisfaction. Working together like this behind the scenes was often frustrating, but the connection it built between the two of them wasn’t something Peter was ever going to willingly give up.

“I believe Mage Hengstrom and I have some things to discuss. I’d appreciate it if a few of your pack members would escort him over to my offices. Then, I think you all could do with a quick check up. Just to make sure that there isn’t anything… missing.” His voice softened. “Or extra.”

A noisy exodus followed, leaving Stiles and Peter alone. Together. Again.

“She’s impressive,” Peter nodded his head in the direction of Kira’s disappearing back. “I don’t know what she sees in him.”

Stiles laughed then, only a little bitterly. “She sees what I once saw in him. A bottomless well of faith and singlemindedness that sometimes,” he sighed as he watched everyone leave, “sometimes feels like devotion. I hope she never loses it.”

Peter looked at the Spark and wished with all his heart that he could erase the heartache that Scott McCall’s fickleness had caused. Since he can’t, though, he will make do with replacing fake devotion with constancy, and human fickleness with a loyalty that the wolf-kings of old would bow down to.

“Since Alan has the mage under control, what do you say to a milkshake? My treat.”

Stiles smiled then, weak but sincere. “And curly fries?”

Peter wrapped his arm around the Spark and guided him towards the door. “Of course, sweetheart. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Stiles’s smile got a little more mischievous and Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer that.”

The smile brightened even more. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Zombiewolf.”

And well, if the boy’s heart stuttered on the lie Peter wasn’t going to call him out for it.

***

Peter listened to the water falling in his shower and the one monopolizing it. Again.

“Three times, Peter!” Stiles was ranting. “I told him. I told him after the first time. I told him again after the second time, but this is three times.” The water stopped and the glass door opened with a tiny squeak. Peter imagined what Stiles looked like, skin red from the heat of the shower and his own frustration, and wished that just once the boy was flushed and rosy in his shower for a better reason than Scott fucking McCall’s incompetence.

Peter lounged on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and waited with calculated patience. It didn’t take long.

Stiles stomped in wrapped in Peter’s robe, a wave of scented steam swirling around him and a prickle of agitated magic washed through the room causing the fine hair on Peter’s arms to stand. The Spark was actually angry this time.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Stiles stomped into Peter’s closet, opening and shutting drawers more violently than necessary, looking for something to wear. Peter didn’t mind. His wolf loved seeing the boy in his clothes, and if he’d bought a few things that ran a little smaller just for the Spark to “steal” well, his tailor didn’t need to know.

“Can’t do what anymore, dear heart,” he asked, aiming for calm. He watched the shadows move on the floor as the boy stripped just around the corner from him. It was a good thing the Spark couldn’t hear his heart. He’d probably run out of the apartment faster than he ran from the troll earlier.

Peter was always the scariest monster when it came down to it.

“I can’t keep trying to save his ass and having him ignore me. I can’t keep manipulating things from stage left hoping that it works out and that nobody fucking dies.” He stomped out of the closet, a pair of Peter’s jeans slung low on his hips and a V-neck that was a size too large falling off one shoulder. He tossed his towel at the hamper. He missed. Again. At least some things never changed.

“Mason almost died tonight, Peter,” Stiles flopped, all long legs and arms like a puppet with its strings cut, on the end of the bed. “If Liam hadn’t doubled back for him, he wouldn’t have had a chance. And it could have all been avoided if Scott had just listened to me.”

Peter rumbled sympathetically. Stiles needed comfort, not fuel for the Scott McCall Is A Terrible Friend fire.

The Spark sighed and dropped back onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’d gotten better in the years since Peter bit Scott. He was stronger. Had more stamina. Had magic to reinforce his bat when he swung it, and potions to help him heal faster when he didn’t manage to get through a fight unscathed… but he was still human, and he was tired.

“You did what you could, sweetheart,” Peter tried to console, but it was hard. He’d love to point out every flaw, every shortcoming, every insult and betrayal, but his boy was smart. He already knew all those things; pointing them out would just hurt. “It’s Scott. It isn’t like he’s finally going to learn a lesson from all of this. Deaton will support him no matter what, and until either he or Kira force him to change, he won’t.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long time. If his breathing hadn’t stayed the same Peter would have thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Scott won’t change, so it’s up to me.” The words were soft, but very final sounding.

“What’s up to you? Do you have a plan for forcing him to change?”

Short curls shook in a negative. “I can’t change him, but I can change me.”

Peter’s wolf growled in the back of his mind at the thought of Stiles changing. He was perfect. He shouldn’t have to change because his packmate—his so called Alpha—wasn’t worth his teeth.

“And how do you intend to change? More Spark studies?”

Stiles rolled onto his side and gave Peter an assessing look. “I got a call from a pack outside of Las Vegas last week.”

Peter stiffened and curled his fingers so that Stiles wouldn’t see his popped claws. NO. He couldn’t leave. Peter wouldn’t have it. He’d…

“Calm down, Zombiewolf,” Stiles said, sitting the rest of the way up and smirking a little. “It wasn’t like that. They aren’t looking for a new packmate, they just need a little help.”

Peter felt the panic drain away, and a new kind of caution take its place. Trust his boy to read him so well. He’d have to be more careful.

“What kind of help?”

“Seems they have themselves an aqrabuamelu.” Stiles watched him for recognition, and Peter couldn’t help feeling satisfaction when the Spark looked proud that he nodded.

“Scorpion man. Not native to the area… how’d it get to Nevada?”

Stiles shrugged carelessly, the V-neck hanging even lower to expose the shadow of a collarbone. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think the Spark was teasing him. “What happens in Vegas rarely stays in Vegas, dude. I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet someone brought the fucker in for some sort of supernatural freak show and it got away from them.” He grinned, looking all of ten years old and full of mischief. “Like the alligators in the sewers where someone flushes an overgrown pet.”

Peter shook his head. The boy was a menace. “I’m assuming they don’t know how to handle the creature?”

“Got it in one. They’ve heard about our successes in driving off weird monsters and were wondering if we could help. I thought about telling Scott and seeing if he wanted to curry some favor with a relatively close pack, but…”

Peter watched and waited. Then he prompted. “But…?”

“But… I was thinking maybe I’d go out there and take care of it for them. Maybe negotiate a non-treaty kind of fee for assistance. Like a contract hit without the Mob, I mean, Pack involvement.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. As long as McCall didn’t get his knickers in a knot over Stiles killing things again. That problem didn’t seem to be that much of a factor in Stiles’s calculations, though.

“McCall won’t like it. He’s made it clear how he feels about this kind of extermination.” There was no judgment in his tone, but Peter couldn’t let him commit to something like this without being sure he knew what he was getting into.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Not after yesterday.” Stiles’s scent soured under the cucumber-citrus bodywash.

“Yesterday?”

The Spark flopped back onto the bed again, this time more hopeless than boneless. “Yeah. When I was trying to convince Scott about my plan for the trolls, he said it again.”

Fuck. That idiot.

“You know he doesn’t mean it.” Peter tried to soothe, but he was just a little too angry on Stiles’s behalf for it to be truly soothing.

“Oh, he meant it. And I know he meant it because of this.” A long arm shot up from the bed and the Spark shook the thin black leather band dangling from it. “I made it last new moon. A charm bracelet to beat all charm bracelets. Take that, Pandora!” There was an almost hysterical edge to his tone. “The emissary of the Parker pack taught me how to make it. She uses one to allow her to stand on equal footing with her wolves—she can scent them and listen to their hearts with it, even though she’s human.”

Peter couldn’t stop the rising of his eyebrows as he stared at the innocent looking thing. Stiles had been able to hear his heart. To read his scent. His brain spun in denial. For a month.

Stiles hadn’t said anything, though, so he would do the same. Maybe he could salvage things.

“So, you listened to his heart when the two of you were planning?” He tried to steer the conversation back onto slightly less terrifying ground.

“You mean when he told me, again, that I shouldn’t worry about planning because I wasn’t pack?” Pain was threaded through Stiles’s words, but under it there was a clear note of just being done with it all. “Yep. And Scott’s heart was clear as day---not a flutter to be heard. He truly believes I’m not pack, and if the Alpha says I’m not pack, then I’m not pack. That means, among other things, that that self-same Alpha can’t tell me what to do. As a best friend Scott could still do that, but he hasn’t been a friend, not to mention a best friend, in a long time I think.”

Peter didn’t argue. The brat had been many things over the past few years, but a good friend was rarely on that list, and even more rarely as far as it applied to Stiles.

“I don’t believe McCall will see it that way,” Peter poked at the argument gingerly, trying to see where Stiles was going with this. “Is that why you’re telling me? Do you want me to cover for you while you’re away?”

He couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by the idea that Stiles would be moving on without him, but he knows that getting out of Beacon Hills even for a little while would only do the boy good. As long as he intended to come back.

“No,” Stiles shook his head and levered himself up and off the bed, whiskey brown eyes fixed on his in the lamplight. “I want you to come with me. I mean… how often are you going to get a chance to face off with an aqrabuamelu? Plus, Vegas. Who wouldn’t want to go to Vegas?”

Peter’s wolf sneered. Who wouldn’t want to surround themselves with perfumed, alcohol soaked, despair ridden people in buildings full of too-bright lights, and bells and whistles shrieking twenty-four hours a day?

“Sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” He found himself saying, even knowing that the Spark would hear the lie. “When do we leave?”

Stiles grinned—a wide, true thing that made Peter’s chest tighten. “Well, first we need to swing by Home Depot. I need to buy a fuckton of diatomaceous earth.”

***

They stood in the Vegas packhouse, a wolf and a Spark, covered in diatomaceous earth and blood.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Spark Stilinski,” the Alpha would have bowed if there had been an ounce less steel in her spine, Peter was sure. As it was, she dipped her head in thanks and held out a leather satchel full of goods. “I know you hadn’t expected to walk into a hostage situation, and because of that I’ve added a few,” she made a vague gesture to the bag, “items to our payment agreement. My niece’s life is priceless to me; I only hope that this is satisfactory recompense.”

Stiles took the bag and shrugged it over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that, Alpha Garcia, but your generosity is appreciated. I’m just glad that Peter and I were able to help.”

The Alpha looked at Peter and he forced himself to stillness. A Beta this far from his Alpha, without his Alpha’s approval… well let’s just say he didn’t want to get into the matter if he didn’t have to. I appeared that today was going to be a good day, though, as Alpha Garcia just nodded to him as well.

“The two of you fight well together,” she said, “I can see how it works.” She looked between the two guests, filthy and tired, and bowed deeply. “Your sister would be happy to see you so settled, Beta Hale. May your moons be ever bright.”

Peter felt his breath catch and chanced a glance at Stiles, but the Spark’s expression didn’t change except for a tiny arch of an eyebrow, almost challenging him to respond to the Alpha’s blessing. His wolf, though… his wolf wanted to howl and preen that the Alpha thought Stiles was his mate and would bless such a union so publicly. It made the blood in his veins rush and his heart pound, and then, then, Stiles smiled, soft and fond, and he knew the little monster had let the Alpha believe they were mates from the beginning. Had wanted her to see them that way. Had wanted all of them to see them that way.

Had wanted him that way.

Peter was many things, but a fool was not on the list. He gave Stiles one piercing look before turning back and bowing to the Alpha, grasping this last best chance at happiness with both his clawed hands. “May your days be ever joyful. My sister spoke highly of you and your pack. Your blessing means more than I can say. Thank you.”

He let the truth of his words ring clear and watched, fascinated, as Stiles’s skin pinked in pleasure. Oh, how he looked forward to exploring how far down that blush went.

“Yes, Alpha Garcia,” the Spark said, not meeting Peter’s gaze. “Thank you. But, if you don’t mind, my…” he stumbled over his words and the blush deepened when he accidentally made eye-contact, “Peter and I need to get all of this stuff off before it begins eating through our skin the way it did the aqrabuamelu’s. Spells can be made to be specific, but potions can’t really differentiate between types of skin.”

He sounded sheepish and young and it must have appealed to the Alpha’s protective instincts because she immediately acquiesced and sent them back to their hotel to rest and lick their wounds with a smile and an open invitation to visit whenever they were in the area. It was, in Peter’s not so humble estimation, the best possible outcome.

***

Stiles wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in an acre of terrycloth and a haze of Peter’s shower gel. Again. The boy had made a break for the bathroom claiming dibs on the first shower as soon as they’d arrived, and Peter had been impatiently waiting his turn alternately trying not to think too hard about the stuff on his skin or the naked young man in the shower. One was decidedly easier to ignore than the other.

While sitting there it occurred to him that Stiles taking over his shower and appropriating his bath products was becoming a habit he didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, he thought he could be happy smelling that particular combination of scents for the rest of his life. That was a thought for later, though. For now, he had another priority, and he pushed his way into the shower stall, determined to scrub himself raw if necessary, to get the noxious paste of blood and potion off his skin. Once he was behind the shower curtain, though, he was practically overwhelmed by Stiles’s scent. Clearly, he had been enjoying more than just getting clean, and it made Peter’s wolf whine with want. His mate was teasing him, but he’d get even soon.

It took longer than he wanted to get the hardened goo off, but he managed without causing too much secondary damage. Finally, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sauntered back into their room.

Stiles was stretched out on the bed he’d slept in the night before, eyes slitted, almost closed, and Peter could smell exhaustion on him. “Tired sweetheart?” he asked, and the boy made a grumble of acknowledgment.

“Killing giant scorpion monsters in the desert takes it out of you. Who knew?” Stiles yawned, jaw cracking. “The desert always does this to me, though. I remember being bedridden for two days after mom dragged me and dad to White Sands National Park. It made no sense—nothing but gypsum sand for miles. Not a milkshake or a curly fry in sight. I was miserable. At that point I was like, screw this dry heat/wet heat argument. How about a nice place where it never gets hot enough to melt your balls or cold enough to hurt your face? That sounds good to me.”

Peter perched on the edge of the bed and reached out to lightly touch Stiles’s knee. The skin was still slightly tacky with damp but soft under his fingers, and he didn’t think he imagined the delicate shudder than ran through the young man’s body. “I’m not particular,” he said. “I find that good company makes up for a multitude of environmental sins.”

Stiles looked at him, gaze steady. “So, you don’t have a dream destination? Chalet in the Alps? Cottage in the south of France?” He paused and licked his lips. “Red-tile roofed villa in Argentina?”

Peter stopped his exploration of Stiles’s skin. “Argentina? What ever made you think of Argentina?”

Stiles shifted, the robe slipping and baring yet more long leg. “Well, you said good company was important. I thought maybe that included, I don’t know… extended family?”

Peter’s heart stuttered at the thought. Derek and Cora. They’d been gone long enough that he’d begun to accept that he wouldn’t see them again. “I’ll admit, the idea of family has its pull, but family of choice, pack and mate, is more important.” He cupped the back of Stiles’s knee and squeezed. “I wouldn’t run off chasing rainbows when what I really want is already closer to home.”

Stiles rolled over on his side. “And what do you want, Peter?” The fact that he used Peter’s name instead of a silly nickname brought home how serious the Spark was feeling. “If you could have anything, what would you ask for?”

Peter stared down into amber eyes and gathered his courage in his claws again; facing Alpha Garcia was nothing compared to baring his soul to Stiles. “If I could have anything, I would have everything, sweetheart.” He shrugged a carefully careless shoulder, trying not to show just how vulnerable he felt. “I’d take you as my mate. I’d be an Alpha again. I’d bring Derek and Cora back and have them become pack again. We’d find our own territory—it wouldn’t have to be Beacon Hills; Hale territory stretched much farther afield than that. We’d rebuild the Hale Pack.” He dropped his gaze to his curled fingers. “Maybe adopt a couple of pups to raise. Sell our services to smaller packs to refill the coffers and regain the respect that the Hale name used to command.” He reached out and grabbed Stiles’s hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a fang-laced kiss to the knuckles there, emotions riding him too hard for him to hide them anymore. “But if all I could have was you, forever? I’d be the happiest wolf in the world. Never doubt that.”

Stiles sat up and pulled Peter into a hug. “I’m glad you weren’t upset that I let Alpha Garcia think we were together. I thought… well, I won’t go into what I thought. I’m just glad I wasn’t wrong. I mean, I could have been. You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”

Peter rumbled deep in his chest, arms snaking around Stiles’s waist. “An oversight I intend to rectify immediately, if not sooner.” He dragged his cheek along the Spark’s neck, scenting him heavily before pressing their lips together, reveling in his boy’s trembling breath and grasping fingers. “Kiss you. Touch you. Cover every inch of your skin in my scent so that any were that comes in contact with you can smell that you’re mine.”

Stiles’s groaned and leaned into him. “Want that,” he pressed hot lips along the edge of Peter’s jaw, and they both shivered, “want that so much. Want everything with you.”

Peter grinned into his skin. “Everything, hmmm? I like the sound of that.”

Stiles made a noise of frustration. “Yes, everything, but it’s going to have to wait at least a little bit longer.”

Peter made a moue of distaste, dropping another kiss on Stiles parted lips. Stopping was the last thing he wanted, but he refused to rush his mate in this. “I do not like the sound of that. But you’re probably starving. You’ve only eaten four times today.” He pulled Stiles tightly against his side, letting his hands trail under the edge of his robe one last time to tide his wolf over. He wasn’t a saint, after all. “Let’s put our clothes on—dear God I can’t believe I’m saying that. You are a terrible influence on me.—and I’ll take you out to dinner and to see a show. It is Las Vegas, after all. It would be a shame to leave without seeing a tiger or Celine Dion or something. Something that isn’t likely to attack us, anyway.”

Stiles rubbed his face into Peter’s neck, mouthing gently along the skin and nipping at it for his teasing, but there was breathless laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Yes, being attacked by Celine Dion would be terrifying. Regardless,” he said, sitting up and moving so there was a little space between them. “We at least need to go to Caesar’s Palace.”

Peter laughed, heart lighter than it had been in years. Caesar’s Palace? Why not? “Is Caesar’s Palace on your bucket list, dear heart? Or is it just the pinnacle of tourist trap kitsch and you feel the need to commune with it somehow?”

Stiles shook his head and gave him a mischievous smile. “No. It’s just that Caesar’s is where Derek and Cora are going to be staying. They should be getting into town in about, oh,” he peeked around Peter’s shoulder and glanced at the bedside clock, “two hours. Just long enough for us to make out a little before we have to go meet them. Or get some dinner. Whichever you want.”

Peter was stunned. Derek and Cora were coming to Las Vegas? And Stiles had already arranged it? What else did his Spark have planned? He looked down at the force of nature in his arms and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to find such a perfect mate. He forced his words through a dry mouth. “And what if I want everything, Stiles?”

Golden eyes glowed and the mischief faded into determination. “Then you’ll have everything, Peter. I knew when I made this move what I wanted; luckily, my wish list and yours are almost identical. I know that you were waiting until I was ready before you made any sort of move, but you were never going to believe that I was unless I did something drastic, so… I did something drastic. The Alpha’s blessing was an unexpected bonus. Derek and Cora were the easy part. They know you’re not perfect, and it’s going to take a lot of work to build your relationship back to anywhere near where it needs to be, but they’re willing to give it a chance if you are.”

“And the rest?” Peter asked, almost afraid of the answer. “There’s no pack without an Alpha, and I lost my red eyes a long time ago, sweetheart.”

Long fingers combed through the scruff of his beard. “About that,” Stiles tilted his head to one side and smiled. “I got a call from an Alpha in Saskatchewan. Seems they have a rogue Alpha running around biting people without asking first, and you know what they say.”

“No, sweetheart,” Peter said, closing the space between them, thoughts flashing through his mind and hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “What do they say?”

Stiles pressed even closer. “Well, it’s like it was the garage.” He held his wrist up and shook the little black bracelet that covered his pulse point just a breath away from Peter’s fangs. “Consent is sexy.”

Peter stared at the limb, longing to bury his teeth in the tendons, and thought, not for the first time, that this boy would either be the life or death of him.

***

“Canada?” Scott sounded confused. It was sad that Peter could identify the flavor of confusion. This one was Someone is offering me something that’s too good to be true, and I want to believe them, but the last time I did I ended up with no motorbike, a pocket full of magic beans, and sleeping on the couch.

There was a reason Kira was Peter’s favorite packmate. Or… soon to be ex-packmate if all went well.

“Yes, Canada, Scott. There’s a pack in Saskatchewan that Talia had a treaty with, and they’ve reached out and asked if I could come up and help them with a training program for some of their younger wolves. They don’t have much interaction with other packs because they’re so isolated, and their Left Hand is getting old enough that he isn’t able to keep up with the young ones’, ah, enthusiasm.”

Scott grinned. “You mean you’re volunteering to move to the Great White North and let a bunch of teenagers beat up on you?”

Peter sneered a little. “It isn’t like I don’t have experience with it.” He gave the teenagers that surrounded them a significant look. “And they don’t have anyone else to turn to. I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a little… time away. In the name of pack inter-relations.”

Scott waved a hand. “No. No, of course not. Take all the time you need.” He looked at Liam and grinned. “In Canada. I’ll let Deaton know that you’ll pass our good wishes on to the Alpha there. Hey, maybe we can even get some sort of treaty out of it.”

Peter simply stared. “Perfect. I’ll have their emissary contact Alan after I arrive. In the meantime, since I’m not going to be in residence, but since I intend to keep the property in my portfolio the pack should continue to use the loft as a base. I know it is hard on Kira to try to host everyone at your apartment.” He gave the kitsune a half-smile and she nodded back, grateful of his consideration. He almost felt guilty for all the listening devices he’d hidden around the loft over the past week.

Almost.

With Scott McCall and Alan Deaton in charge, it paid to keep a close eye on things.

“Alpha McKittrick is expecting me by the beginning of next week. Will that be a problem?”

McCall looked like Christmas, New Year’s and his birthday had all come at once. “Not at all. Not at all. Next week sounds great, doesn’t it, gang?”

The gaggle of teenagers made approving noises, even if Mason and Kira shared a look that held more understanding than Peter was comfortable with. It didn’t matter. As long as they kept their thoughts to themselves for a couple of weeks, everything should go as planned.

He’d braced himself for questions when he returned from Nevada, but no one had even missed him. He didn’t know whether it was better or worse that McCall hadn’t realized that Stiles had been gone as well, but he’d take the oversight it if it meant that his mate had less confrontation to deal with, even if it meant having to face the unpleasant fact that his former best friend had completely left him behind.

Peter couldn’t wait until the truth came out and McCall realized what he’d thrown away. He’d be a laughingstock amongst the packs, no matter what his pet druid told him, and he’d known men like this True Alpha before. Looking the fool was the one thing they couldn’t abide. It would eat him alive, and Peter looked forward to watching the feast.

He cast a look around and realized that the next time he saw these faces it would be with an Alpha Mate Spark and red eyes. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Alpha power scoured through him, blasting away at his control and consciousness, and he howled in pain and confusion as his soul was re-written.

“Hell of a power-up, huh, Zombiewolf?” Stiles was there by him, hands warm against his wrists, magic washing over him like warm ocean waves, voice soothing and comforting the terrified animal in his mind, and Peter nodded to show he was there and aware even if speech was impossible around the mouthful of fangs he was sporting.

“You’ve got this,” his mate sounded so confident, so calm, “you’re stronger than you were last time. Better. You’re going to be an amazing Alpha. My Alpha, Peter. My mate. Just hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Peter could feel Derek and Cora running over the snow-covered ground. They’d stayed out of the fight on his order; he wouldn’t have been able to focus if he’d been worried about their safety, too. Stiles had also stayed back, but his skills worked from a distance, and his added magic made the fight much less painful than it would have otherwise been.

He remembered what the Las Vegas Alpha had said, that they fought well together. It was true. They did everything well together. As Alpha mates they would be amazing together.

A rumble started low in his belly at the thought, hungry and wanting, and he breathed in Stiles’s scent—ozone and petrichor, the camphor of ancient forests, the sweet notes of apple and woodsmoke, and over it all Peter’s own god-damned shower gel—and he managed to put hid fangs away, his desire to keep his mate safe stronger than the wolf’s yearning to rip and tear and wallow in the meat of battle.

“You with me, Peter?” Long fingers stroked up his arms, and Peter nodded. Stiles let out a satisfied hum. “Told you. Told you you’d be perfect like this. Powerful. Beautiful. Perfect Alpha. Just perfect.”

And it felt perfect—like he always it imagined it would after he watched Talia become Alpha. Like it should have felt when he took the spark from Laura.—red tingeing the edges of golden pack bonds between him and Derek and Cora. He could sense their emotions now, their hunger for a strong pack, their hope that he’ll become the Alpha they need as well as the family they want. And Stiles? Even without the bond in place yet, his wolf knows his mate. He could pick that heartbeat out of a thousand. Could scent him from a mile away. Already his in so many ways.

“Think you can stand up now?” Stiles asks and Peter realizes they were still crouched in the snow where he’d fallen after killing the rogue, legs knocked out from under him by the strength of the Alpha spark.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, pushing to his feet and pulling the younger man up with him. “If I needed to, I think I could almost fly.”

Stiles snorted and gave his chest a thump. “Riding that high, are we?” Derek and Cora were standing just beyond arms reach sharing a smile and for once Peter didn’t feel like he was being laughed at. No. His pack was laughing with him, joyous in the moment, and he shook his head and let them laugh.

“It feels,” Peter tried to find the perfect words and couldn’t, but he needed to explain somehow. “Good. Right. Last time it didn’t feel like this, but now it’s like a shoe that was too tight finally stretched and now fits.”

Derek nodded. “That’s what happened when I was Alpha. It was like the Alpha power didn’t fit. I thought at the time it was just because I hadn’t been trained for it, but I think it’s more than that. I think the person has to fit the Alpha-power instead of the other way around. Whether that’s from birth or growth or whatever: you can’t fake it and have it work right. This,” he waved a hand at Peter and looked at Cora for confirmation. “This feels right.”

Cora leaned into her big brother and Peter could see relief in every line of her body, as if she’d finally been allowed to stand down from a perpetual state of alertness. “It does. It hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since…” her voice faded, and Derek hugged her hard. “Not since mom.”

Stiles had been silent during this exchange, allowing the remaining Hales their moment of healing, but he wasn’t one to be quiet for long. “Awesome. Glad to hear it. Couldn’t be happier about it, and am looking forward to talking about it more, but as the token human I need to say something.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, dear one? Have you some hidden wisdom concerning the nature of the Alpha spark?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, but I do have some wisdom concerning the care and keeping of pack humans. The instruction manual says that humans aren’t meant to be kept out in the snow this long, and that means that if you three wolfy space-heaters don’t get me inside soon, I’m going to be a Spark-cicle.”

Peter barked out a laugh and swung his mate-to-be up in a bridal carry, pulling him against his chest and letting him bury his face in the heat of his neck. “Well, there are too many things that I’d miss if they froze and fell off, so I suppose we should head back to the cars. I, at least,” he wrinkles his nose and then rubs it into Stiles’s hair, “need to change. I don’t think the hotel will let me in looking like a serial killer.”

Stiles smirked into his skin. “I’m sure hunting is a thing around here. You could always say that Bambi fought back---if your wolfy pride could stand it.”

His wolf chuffed at the insult. A deer got the better of an Alpha werewolf? Never. Peter sniffed dismissively. “I’d rather walk up to the reception desk naked.”

He didn’t tell the Spark that his murmured I wouldn’t mind wasn’t quiet enough to not be heard, but the peal of laughter from his niece and nephew made it clear. At least Stiles’s ears were warm after that.

***

Later that evening they lay together bundled up in blankets in front of an unlit fireplace. Stiles had lined every shelf in the cabin with battery powered candles and had brought out a pair of enchanted logs that he placed on the andirons. They radiated heat without flame, and Peter had to fight back tears in the face of his Spark’s sensitivity. Maybe it was the new Alpha power making him overly emotional. Maybe it was just Stiles.

It was probably just Stiles.

“Feeling okay, Z?” Stiles rolled in his arms and looked at him with concern. Apparently, he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. “Not having Alpha blowback or anything, are you?”

Peter tightened his hold and shook his head, trying to find his voice. “No. I was just thinking about how I never thought I’d get this.”

His boy nodded and settled back down. “You’d probably written the whole Alpha thing off. I’m glad it worked out, though. Thanks for going through with it. I know it’s hard.”

Peter shook his head again. “That’s not it. Honestly, the Alpha spark has been the easiest part of all of this. I’d always believed that I’d manage to get my Alphahood back someday. It’s…”

A cold nose pressed against the side of his neck and Peter could feel him nod more than see it. “Having Derek and Cora back. Family. Pack. I get it.”

That just made the wolf growl and grumble in the back of his mind, because clearly he didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all. “No, Stiles, that isn’t what I meant either. Don’t you understand yet? All these other things?” He tried to calm his voice, but his wolf was riding him to make his mate understand. “The pack, my niece and nephew, the Alpha spark---all of these are wonderful, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything now that I have them, but they would never have happened without you. You are the everything. You are my everything. I never thought I would find a mate, find my soul’s match. Hell, for more than half my life I was convinced I didn’t have a soul, and then you came along. Brighter than any flame. Stronger than any force of Nature. You crashed into my life and nothing has been the same and I am so fucking grateful.”

He pulled Stiles up so he could look into the whiskey depths he dreamed of every night. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” Stiles opened his mouth to argue, because his boy always argued, and Peter shushed him. “No. I mean it. If I hadn’t scented you in the woods. Hadn’t had you so close to me in the garage. If you hadn’t killed me and then taken me back in when I was too stubborn to stay dead. If you hadn’t found something in me to value, something you could care about…” he pressed their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t be here.”

Peter resettled them, pressed his lips against Stiles’s temple, and listened to his heart race in his chest. “I am a selfish bastard. I’ve been called a narcissist more times than I can count and until the past few years I’d have agreed with that assessment and embraced it proudly. Now, though, I know it isn’t true because I know, just as surely as I know your scent and the sound of your heart, that there is no me without you.”

Stiles laid in his arms unnaturally still. “Oh.”

That one syllable conveyed a whole conversation full of self-doubt and fear and isolation and yearning, and Peter’s wolf finally settled when a sweet cherry-blossom note of hope threaded through the Spark’s scent. “You really mean it. It isn’t just that I’m useful.”

Peter frowned and a frustrated rumble rolled through him. “You’re everything. You could sit on the couch and read comic books and demand foot rubs and curly fries every day for the rest of my life and I would thank the Moon that I had you to love and cherish and care for. You’re my mate, Stiles.”

“I just thought that since you hadn’t…” Stiles’s voice faded into an insecure mumble and Peter recognized the damage he’d done by not explaining himself earlier.

“Sweetheart, if the only thing on the table had been our relationship, I would have asked you to mate me as soon as you were legal. First, though, there was the problem of McCall, because as much as I loathe the brat, he was important to you and I wasn’t going to ask you to choose between us. If I’m honest, I was afraid if I pushed, you’d choose him, and I wasn’t willing to give up the parts of you I had for a slim chance at more. After Las Vegas, everything was different. I knew you wanted me, and I wanted you more than anything—there were full moons I had to leave Beacon Hills so I wouldn’t find you and drag you off to my bedroom to mark you, to mate you, to make you mine in ways that no were could mistake. You had a plan, though, and if that worked out, we could have everything together, and I wanted to give you that, to give you everything. I couldn’t mate you before I fought the Alpha, though.” He squeezed tighter. “If… if it hadn’t worked… If I failed to defeat the rogue, you would have suffered terribly if you had a mate bond already in place. You’re not a wolf, but as a Spark, you’d have felt all of it—all my pain—and if I’d died? Well, let’s just say I wasn’t willing to run the risk of putting you through that.”

Stiles was shaking in his arms by that point, and Peter ran a comforting hand down his spine. “The worst didn’t happen, though, and now that the threat has passed, I want you in every way I can have you.” He grasped the boy’s chin in his hand and turned his face so he could see him in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were wide and wet, his lips pink and bitten, and Peter had never seen anything more beautiful. “Can I have you, sweetheart?” He was so close they were sharing breath. “Will you be my mate? Be my everything?”

He should have been expecting it, but the Spark still managed to catch him by surprise, lunging up and flipping them in their blankets until Peter’s back was against the couch and he had a lap of warm, clinging boy. He waited for the Alpha wolf to rebel, to push back and demand submission, but all it did was rumble pleasure at his strong mate.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stiles dropped a kiss on Peter’s open lips, chaste and sweet, and then another, this one hot and hungry, while threading his fingers through the short hair at Peter’s nape. He tugged gently and the wolf tipped his head back so his mate could lick into his jugular notch. The Spark made a low satisfied noise before pulling away and smiling, trust and happiness glowing in his eyes and magic flaring and rippling around them.

Peter remembered something his Grandfather had told him, long ago under a forgotten full moon: “Faint heart never won fair maiden.” His life had proven that to be true. If he hadn’t finally bitten the bullet, finally put himself on the line, he’d have missed this. Missed everything.

He pulled Stiles back down into another kiss and then flipped them back over, pinning his boy under him. Stiles squawked in surprise and Peter grinned. His mate was going to hate finding out he was the fair maiden in their story, but Peter had definitely come out on top this time.

Maybe next time he’d let Stiles come out on top. He was flexible.

#teen wolf #steter #spark stiles #peter hale #stiles stilinski #developing relationship #bad alpha scott mccall #getting together #first time in this sandbox #canon I don't know her

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thedefinitionofendgame · 3 years

Text

baseball takes your mind off things

Slexie, Merder and Cristowen one-shot | Rated T | Canon-compliant with 6x03

A/N: The baseball scene at the end of 6.03 after Lexie doesn’t get fired with the hospital cuts (and neither did Meredith or Cristina). Will go down as one of my favourite “couples” scenes on grey’s and I literally don’t know why. Maybe because everyone looks so happy, and both Derek and Meredith are cool with Mark and Lexie being together. All is well, aka the calm before the storm that is the Mercy West merger.

•

You can read this work on ao3 and fanfiction.net as well

Written and cover by @thedefinitionofendgame (aka me)

It was just six doctors off-duty-three medical students, three well-known surgeons-all just messing around with baseballs and beer bottles in their hands. For the surgeons, it was another night of fun with their girls and the boys. For the medical students, it was a way to take the edge off as they had all just survived the first round of merger cuts. Meredith wasn’t surprised all three of the women had made it; they were all more than capable. Cristina especially, although sometimes her actions were a little questionable. Lexie, as Meredith’s younger sister, had a legacy to live up to but she also was becoming a very talented surgeon. Mark never hesitated to tell her that.

Meredith was still trying to figure Mark Sloan out. Sure, he was a player and slept around a lot prior to getting together with Lexie Grey. It was one of the reasons why Meredith was very against Derek’s best friend and Lexie at first. She was the one who told Derek to tell Mark to keep “little Mark” in his pants when it came to Lexie. That was her first mistake, because all it seemed to do was make Mark want Lexie; a guy clearly likes the challenge of fooling around with someone he can’t have. Although they weren’t just fooling around; Lexie loved Mark and Mark loved Lexie. Lexie had assured Meredith he wasn’t taking advantage of her and that they were going to be together, blessing or not. Meredith didn’t want to lose her sister that she had only recently found out she had, so she caved. Now here she was, with her sister, her best friend, her husband, his best friend, and then Owen. Meredith supposed everyone had a connection to her somehow, except for Owen Hunt. Sure, he was her best friend’s boyfriend but they weren’t super close. Anyways, that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Meredith, Cristina and Lexie had all made the first round of cuts. Cristina had to go and put a damper on their good news by stating it was the first round of more to come. Nevertheless, Meredith was happy for all of them. The men had decided that a game of baseball was in order, not so much a game as a chance to blow off some steam. Originally, Cristina was going to stay at the hospital, and Meredith with her. Then Owen came along with beers and announced that baseball was necessary, rounding up Meredith and Derek. They found Mark comforting Lexie in the foyer; Meredith’s first thought was that she had been cut when she saw the tears on Lexie’s cheeks. But they were actually tears of joy, and Mark was doing his boyfriend-ly job by soothing her regardless of it being a victory or loss.

Okay, maybe former-womanizer Mark Sloan could be a good guy. Guess he just had to find the right girl.

Meredith snapped back to focus to cheer Cristina on, after she managed to hit the baseball flying at her face. Lexie wanted a turn next, so she handed her beer off to Mark, slapped one of the helmets on her head and headed to take a crack at it. Derek, who was playing back catcher, caught Meredith’s eye and winked; he really did love his complicated-but-loving wife.

Meredith and him, well they’re love story hadn’t been a smooth one. It started with a one-night stand that ended up being taken to work of all places. Turns out Seattle wasn’t as large as they thought. But Derek wouldn’t change all the bumps in the road, including his ex-wife coming back into his life and then leaving almost as fast, to go back and not meet Meredith. She was his endgame, his ride-or-die and his forever. Post-it or not, they would always be married and love each other until the ends of the Earth.

It was the love he felt for Meredith, that made him reconcile things with Mark. Mark Sloan had had the tendency to make jackass moves all his life; sleeping with Addison being one of many. But specifically going against Derek’s only ask that he didn’t date Lexie, well that had been a bit far. They had fought it out like teenage boys, despite the fact they were grown men, and with the girls’ help had then talked it out. Mark had assured him that Lexie wasn’t another fling that he’d get rid of in a couple weeks. She was the real-deal. And even though Derek doubted it at first, there was no denying that Mark Sloan loved Little Grey. It took Mark a lot to ever say the word “love” about a girl, for the long term. Confessing his relationship status to Derek had been tough, but it only made Derek realize how much Mark actually cared for Lexie; he was willing to lose his best friend over the girl he loved.

Derek liked Meredith’s “sisters” both the blood-related and the symbolic one. Cristina Yang was all shades of talented, and while she wasn’t all smiley like Lexie, she knew how to perform surgery like a boss. She and Meredith had been there for each other through a lot, and Meredith needed good friends like Cristina. She needed her “person”; someone who would be there through the thick and thin. Best friends don’t come along often, and Derek of all people knew that in regards to Mark. His and Mark’s friendship hadn’t been smooth-sailing, but deep down they cared for each other. He was the brother Derek never had, because God or someone else had cursed him with sisters.

Crouching behind the batter, who at the moment was Lexie Grey, Derek turned his attention to the baseball winding up inside the machine. Owen Hunt had been speaking all kinds of smartness when he told Cristina she needed to focus on what was in front of her, in that very moment. The ex-army trauma surgeon did know what he was talking about and while he didn’t always make the best choices, he sure knew how to give a short but sweet peptalk. Derek smacked his hand into the glove and waited, ready for whatever life threw at him.

They took shot after shot, of both alcohol (well more like sips) and baseball. It was a wild night, as the three couples laughed and had fun just being. No cares were in their minds anymore; even Cristina had stopped fretting about the next round of cuts. Meredith had Derek’s jackets wrapped around her shoulders, while Lexie snuck drinks of Mark’s beer, and Owen helped Cristina work on her swing stance. It was peaceful and though Cristina didn’t like to admit it, her boyfriend’s idea was a good one.

It felt good to clear her head, to take her mind off the rush at the hospital. Nothing could ever feel as good as the rush of surgery but hitting a baseball swung mighty close. At least in this moment right now. She might feel differently if she woke up the next morning with a sore arm from taking hits all evening. Although Owen had already whispered in her ear about promising to massage her back if her muscles were tight. It was an opportunity Cristina was prepared to take full advantage of.

She and Owen were something else. Not fierce, but good. Comfortable. They were good together and they knew what the other wanted, at least they both thought they did. Sure, they would never get married on a post-it note like Meredith and Derek had, although who could really match with Meredith and Derek? They were utterly perfect and utterly in love. It was a miracle they were here tonight, actually, and not Christening more surfaces in the house. “Newlyweds” had been their excuse, according to Lexie. Little Grey was here tonight having a blast and the beer in her system made her a little more rowdy than normal. Cristina couldn’t help but enjoy this new side of Lexie.

Mark was also enjoying it, watching his girl jump up and down when she hit the ball square on the bat, making a nice crack sound and sending the little white sphere tumbling through the air. He wouldn’t help but stare at her ass too, because damn did Little Grey have a nice ass. She had a nice everything, but of her physical features her ass was his favourite. Mark shook his head as Derek stepped up to plate next; he did not want to think of his best friend’s ass at all.

It was Owen who was the most observing throughout the night. He watched his girlfriend loosen up and start to feel more like her regular self. Cristina was normally uptight but she had been very uptight recently. A night of hitting a ball around was clearly doing some good, and it was good to see Mark and Derek getting along as though nothing had happened between them. Owen didn’t know much about the fistfight that went down, besides the fact that Derek had thrown the first punch, but whatever it was hadn’t managed to tear the two guys apart. If the cost was being the third wheel amongst the bros for them to get along, then Owen was happy to pay the price.

At last everyone started to lose energy, and the baseball night drew to a close. Lexie took off her sweaty helmet and threw it into the back of Mark’s vehicle. She said goodbye to her sister and her husband with hugs; Cristina and Owen got a wave as they headed for the opposite side of the parking lot. Mark drove away with a smile on his face and Lexie’s fingers interlaced with his.

They didn’t speak, but Lexie knew what he was feeling. They were happy, they had their jobs and they loved each other. That was all that mattered; it was all that ever mattered. Tonight had been a whirlwind, though Lexie loved it. She loved her life, she loved the man sitting beside her, and she loved her newfound sister. Life was good.

So good, in fact, that she didn’t even think about the Mercy West merger that was about to take place.

Not one thought.

#grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy fanfic #meredith grey #lexie grey #cristina yang #owen hunt #mark sloan #derek shepherd #meredith x derek #lexie x mark #cristina x owen #slexie fanfic #cristowen fanfic #merder fanfic #the definition of endgame

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blonde-toddy · 4 years

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Random and Not So Random thoughts while watching Bridgerton: Season 1, Episode 4

Oh they're at court.

Also she's not a commoner. She's the daughter of a Viscount.

Another Daphne brag moment, but homegirl really got the juice. She's bagging mfs over hand holding and dancing.

Violet dgaf. She's hungry now, damn it!

Oh he's buying jewelry already.

Ooooooh the way she imagines the Duke behind her. Honey yes. That scene was hot.

Too bad she came back to reality.

Hyacinth is my spirit animal.

Lady Whistledown ain't ready to write Simon off yet. She's waiting on the Dukes Hail Mary.

Shit. So am I.

I have never seen someone look so depressed in such an exquisite piece of jewelry. It's like the necklace chokes her. Testament to the acting and script for that though. It truly represents a trap.

Awww Simon is wearing that heavy bag out. I would say poor Simon, but he made this damn bed.

I love Alice and Will. They are the kind of wholesome love I need to keep my heart steady watching this damn show. She's his rider and I love it.

Alice roasting Simon over Daphne. Get. Yo. Girl. Mane.

I always cringe when a man tells a woman to smile.

Poor Marina. Portia is determined to find her the oldest mf. She's playing smart though.

Those damn dingbat sisters.

Maybe Penelope does care.

Well at least the least mean sister got a caller. They're awkward/cute.

Eloise girl, I love feathers in hair. Your one dimensional preaching is wearing me out again.

A boxing match date? I'd be down.

The prince legit seems like a nice guy. And Daphne is trying....but she's CLEARLY hung up on Simon.

Oh look Simon's losing focus on his friend because he's too focused on Daphne and the prince.

Ok mf! Take that shit off and roll them sleeves up. It turns me on too sis!

Oh look at the sweet family talk with the prince. Girl he'd give you any and everything you wanted.

But you and the Duke are just ATE TF UP about each other!

Mondrich for the win!!!!

Oh Benny. You've got a new friend. But what kind of friend? Give me more of this.

Well Anthony is smug and pleased as punch. Simons courtship of Daphne has ended. She has her perfect suitor. And Simon is leaving England to go rake and fuckboy about.

Though Simons hard slammed shot when the prince approached says he's anything but happy.

Violet always worries about the wrong shit.

Hyacinth always wants to know the good shit.

Be Hyacinth.

Oh fuck the prince is ready to propose. That shit escalated quickly.

SIMON!!!!!! Now would be a good time for that Hail Mary.

Good job Anthony. Way to realize that the women in your life have agency over THEMSELVES.

Violet always beating around the damn bush.....but she is still 100% #teamduke

Aw Daphne you're gonna break down snitching on yourself.

If it wasn't real with Simon you wouldn't be so ate up about it, and you would be rocking tf out of that necklace from the prince instead of crying.

There's a reason for the black in her outfit. For Daphne, who is normally all pastel blues, that black is her mourning. It's her 'attempting' to put to death her feelings for the Duke. And also I think mourning the loss if the bond they shared. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. But this seems like a very deliberate show with it's details.

Danbury ripping Simon open before she sends him off. Big energy.

She knows everything you thick headed mf. Why won't you just listen?! You letting your rank ass daddy live rent free in your soul.

He's so jaded it hurts.

Ayyyye this Trowbridge party looks like the real deal.

Oh gawd. Marina and the old man.

Mr. Finch and the cheese frock. Jesus who wrote this. I love it

Cressida you have been Daphnes biggest hater all season and now you're mad that she's with the prince. He was never gonna marry yo basket headed ass anyway.

Oooooh shit Simon sees the 'intimate painting' and has 2nd thoughts.

Go. Get. Yo. Girl.......Bitch.

Ooooh Benny's at the new homies spot and it's lit!

Naked models, easels, mingling between the classes. Yes indeed.

2nd sons having fun. Hell yes.

Damn Even Sienna at the ball...as a performer of course.

And Anthony looking tongue tied.

Violet....you need to chill. There take another sip.

Portia trying to shade Lady Trowbridges style is comical. Both of y'all bitches gaudy as hell.

Oh shit Phillipa lost her man.

Wtf is wrong with Lord Featherington?

And wtf are you doing Eloise?

Ayyye she just let her have it. You think servants have the time to be Lady Whistledown? I'm dead.

"Get out."

Ok Penelope with your saucy ass.

Well fuck! You just pushed him right to Marina. You played yourself boo.

Oooh the prince is about to shoot the big shot and Daphne keeps running away.

She done spotted Simon. Its over.

Fuck off Cressida.

Rip that mf necklace off girl.

Simon followed her ass outside.

"Miss Bridgerton." Motherfucker, call her Daphne.

"I came to say goodbye." Man. Go to hell.

Daphne serving those barbs. You not ready to keep playing with her.

Damn, Simon. If you're not gonna give her what she wants, get out the way.

Tell his ass sis.....even if you don't believe it yourself.

Really Simon? You stand there quiet as a mf church mouse whiles she's pleading with you to say something.....then you take off after her once she walks away from your shit

I swear.....men.....yall mfs really do shit like this. Speak up! Or...LET. ME. GO.

She's really cracking on his ass and I'm here for it....but wtf us up with his "I forbid you." Who tf are you to me? I'm glad she ain't playing with his ass.

Ooooh he called her Daphne and grabbed her.

Oh honey this is what fulfillment feels like, isn't it?

He's definitely fulFILLing her all the way up!

Oh shit Anthony caught them.

At least he finally landed some decent blows on Simon.

This RAKE ass mf still won't marry her.

Oh Simon.....for once.....Anthony is in the right and you the wrong. You are really about to die over your fucking daddy issues. Boy bye. Again.

Poor Daphne.

Wait, how did Cressida know she was in the garden?

That can't be good.

At least Benny is having a good time.

Dearest Portia, when you go looking for shit, it usually falls in your lap.

Marina keeps carrying on about Colin and Penelope is crushed.....or scheming....or both.

Aww Penelope let her hurt feelings cause a fight with her bestie. Her jealousy is seething.

Daphne still out here having to educate Anthony....though I get the need for the duel. And he still thinks he's running something.

Ooooh this is why they brought up 2nd sons.....Anthony is prepping Benny to take over. Well Benny, at least you had one good night out.

Colin caring for drunk Violet is parenting goals one day.

Oh great, now yall wanna bring Colin into the shit.

Simon raiding Wills spot for booze was so uneccesarily loud.

So Berbrooke alludes to her dishonor and Simon caves his fucking head in. Simon legit dishonors her and he's just like ,"Kay, guess I'll go get shot now." Someone get this man some therapy.

Oh great Anthony is back at Siennas door with more of his bullshit. Girl. Close that door.

No, not after you've let him in and climbed his torso. I guess y'all fuckin again.

He lost all the money and now he's fucked up.

Her face while he cried, is literally the face of every woman sick of a mediocre man's shit.

Oooh now they're all riding off into battle like the fucking idiots they are.

Colin is so pure.

I knew that Cressida shit would come back.

Well at least Anthony was willing to care for Sienna in his death....but damn mf, treat me right while WE'RE here.

Oh the dramatics of drawing a gun.

Nobody is here for Simon's weak ass apologies and I'm okay with that.

Hurry hurry Daphne.

Daphne down....but she's alright.

Call them idiots just like they are.

Simon still being a hoe about this shit. You really about let her be ostracized because you're a fuck boy.

Ultimate fuck boy line...I can't be with you because I love you too much. Fucking hell.

They do obviously love each other though.

Hold up.......you CAN NEVER, or WILL NEVER give her children. Don't play this like you have a reproductive issue.

So your reason for not marrying her is that you "can never" give her children and you know that's what her heart desires.

You playing with fire, Simon.

I wonder how much shit I let slide with his character just because he's portrayed so well by the phenomenal Regé-Jean Page.

No, I do love Simon's damaged ass. He just makes me so mad.

So the duel resumes......or not.

Daphne said, "Fuck them kids, give me my husband." Or something like that.

Well. This us an uncomfortable arrangement even though both of these idiots are in love.

Simon's evasion will most certainly come back to bite him in the ass.

But I'll be here with my popcorn and tissue, rooting for these cool kids to make it!

#bridgerton #bridgerton reaction #bridgerton season 1 #simon x daphne #daphne x simon #lady danbury #the duke of hastings #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #penelope featherington #marina thompson #portia featherington #will mondrich #violet bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

The Lions Den

Mafia!Yoongi x Wife!Hyunah

Genre: Mafia!AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Chapter 12.

Warnings: Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), Mental Health Issues

Warnings In This Chapter: Sub!Yoongi, Dom!Hyunah, Mistress Kink, Pain Kink, Degradation, Cigarette Ashing, Begging, Use Of A Cock Ring, Edging, Mentions Of A Safeword, Fellatio, Riding, Dry Orgasm, Impreg Kink (Sorta), Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Gorey Descriptions, Cut Body Parts

A/N: Shout out to @xjoonchildx and @ladyartemesia for beta-ing this and rooting me on

TagList- @ayyyocee, @mysugabear03, @wisebtsgot7prune, @imaforeigner, @yeonkiminnie, @stories1907, @ppersonna, @brilee64, @gooplibrary, @vivpurple7, @xjoonchildx, @brightwingr5, @yaniposts22, @rjsmochii, @taeslittletiger, @pjmcth, @bts-chub, @kpoppingthempills, @kim-ji-hyeons-world, @jikooksgirl19, @yoong-i, @ruinsofangels, @absolutefantrash, @chiminies-noona, @eclectically-esoteric, @simplybree

Sequel to The Bird Cage

Mirrors are a good way of reflecting. A good way to stare deep inside yourself and see who you really are. See what has made you become the person you are.

Yoongi stares at the mirror for hours at a time. Just like today.

His fingers traipse up and down the long scar on his face as he stares at his reflection.

He can barely remember how he got it, he feels like he's had it for as long as he can remember.

He can barely feel through the gnarled skin as he touches it. It's been a long time since he's seen his unmarred face. When this happened to him he was still living in Daegu with Taehyung by his side.

They roamed the street. The worst of their kind. When Jimin found them it seemed to just make sense. For Yoongi, anyway.

A brotherhood. A family. God, he had gone his whole life without knowing what that was. He used to believe he was the devil incarnate. Thinking everything he had done was due to something wrong inside of him.

But Jimin helped him. Helped him to change his anger into something more constructive.

He had been given responsibilities then. The heavy load of moving illegal guns and shipments all on him. And, he found pride in that. He was worth something because of Jimin. He owed him his everything.

He found camaraderie. He found his place in a world so dark that it no longer begged the question when would light ever come?

Finding himself meant finding his heart. Somewhere along the lines they became blurred. He had countless bodies drifting in and out of the large mansion he once lived in with his brothers.

As he touches his scar, he lets out a gentle snort. He remembers when he saw Y/N for the first time. He had been sleeping with Hyunah every so often even back then but Y/N now she was something new.

He can remember how appealing he found her. He wanted her. He wondered if he could ask Jimin for her, quite like Taehyung did with Hyejin. But, it wasn't in the cards. Literally.

He and Hyunah were together one night and she read him his fortune. Y/N was not for him, but Hyunah was.

There lied the problem then. This gorgeously fierce married woman was his destiny and he had to patiently wait for her husband to die. It was harrowing.

Gut wrenching even. But, in the end he had her. And oh, how he adores her.

Truly destiny was shining upon him.

She taught him and continues to teach him.

Teaches him to free himself from all of his burdens. All of his chains. And, his own mind.

Lighting a cigarette his fingers trail to the back of his neck. Inhaling deeply, his eyes flutter shut as he feels the scarred skin. He can feel the olive branches and the incredible detail.

Exhaling the toxic smoke, he can hear the sound of heels behind him. The noise was once off putting but now it turns his bones to jello.

"Yoongi?" Hyunah's voice is gentle as her hands wrap around his bare torso.

Her lips glide over his scar and he lets out a small sigh at the feeling.

"Hmm." He whispers as a hand trails lower. She gropes his crotch roughly earning a groan from him as his cigarette dangles from his lips.

"Do you need to be distracted? Are you caught up in your demons again?" Her voice is filled with taunting notions riddling him useless.

He gives a small nod with a whine, his head lolling back onto her shoulder. Taking the cigarette from his lips, she puts it in her own parted lips before squeezing his balls harder.

“Let me hear you say it, darling. Let me hear it.”

His body goes stiff as his mouth opens. Adoring the painful pleasure his wife gives to him so freely.

“Yes, Mistress. I need it. I need to be distracted, please.”

She hums into his ear, tugging him by the belt towards their large bed. Dripping with power and allure, he finds his cock hardening at the thought of being dominated by his wife.

It takes a big man to admit he needs distracting. And, it takes an even bigger man to give his pride away in times of sexual need to his woman who transports him onto a different plane.

She steps in front of him. His eyes on her low cut gown before being shoved backwards onto the bed. Hitting the pillows, he watches her inhale from his cigarette. His mouth opens slightly as she narrows her eyes down at him.

God, she was so good at making him feel feeble and small. So good at taking away his thoughts and bringing him to a state of complete need.

She starts to undress in front of him. Slowly dragging down the expensive fabric of her gown and he finds himself enraptured by the sections of skin she begins to show. His hand reaches up to touch her and the sharp breath she takes between her teeth has him recoiling in seconds.

“Did I say you could touch?” The sharpness of her voice makes it difficult for him to swallow.

“No, Mistress. I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” She scoffs at his words gently before raising her heeled foot and pressing it into his chest.

Groaning at the sharp twinge of pain as her pointed heel digs into his sternum, he can’t help but feel his cock twitch and grow with need in his briefs.

“Looks like you, young man, need to learn some manners.” She whispers before discarding her dress from her body.

The black lace bodice she adorns hugs her body perfectly, thrusting her large breasts up to the heavens as she ashes her cigarette on the floor.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Yoongi gasps as she digs her heel deeper into his chest.

Laying back fully he submits himself willingly to her. Anything and everything she wants, he would more than happily provide.

“What should I do for you today? Hmm? Should I make you ravage me till you’re crying to cum? Should I fuck your tight little hole until you beg for release?” She teases before ashing on his briefs.

His eyes roll back as she replaces her foot on his chest with her hand. She gives soothing strokes before burning out the cigarette on the floor.

“Anything Mistress. Please.” Yoongi can barely recognize his own voice, so needy and whimpering. But, that’s when he’s the best. When he no longer feels like himself.

She turns her nose up at his words before walking away and he can feel his need for her growing as he stares at the globes of her ass as they jiggle. She leans against the bureau of bedroom treasures before opening the double doors wide.

“I think you need some good old fashioned edging.” She says as she grabs the tightest cock ring from the loop on the wall.

He would normally protest but with all this Im business lately, all this stress, he wants to be so frustrated.

Licking his lips, he nods to her as he leans up on his elbows. She watches him stew and fester for a few minutes, letting his eyes roam over her body. She feels powerful off of his love. If there was one thing about Lee Hyunah, she loves the human body and the power you can have by taking others' power away.

She prowls over slowly, relishing in the way he palms at his fully erect cock. She relishes in the whine he gives as she straddles him.

“Baby.” She whispers in his ear and his eyes are trained on her breasts as she bends down.

“Y-Yes Mistress.” He mewls as she tugs his hair roughly.

“Mistress loves you.” He sighs gratefully, eyes squeezing shut at the pain as his tongue licks at his lips.

“Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for loving me. I don’t deserve it.” He mumbles as she kisses down his face. Stopping at the gnarled scar before licking it.

He shivers beneath her, hands gripping at the bedsheets knowing better than to touch without being told to.

“Down, baby.” She instructs and his elbows cave in on the mattress within seconds of her instruction.

She kisses down his chest, taking it slow where his cigarette burns and his large scar is that Y/N so dutifully stitched up many years ago. His gasps and groans make her smirk against his skin.

It’s powerful, isn’t it? The bond between two people when you truly just let things be. He trusts her completely, and in turn she is his biggest failsafe.

“Tell me your safeword and we can play.” She says as she hooks two fingers into the band of his briefs.

He clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from her breasts to look at her.

“Feather.” He whispers.

Snapping the band back to him, he grits his teeth as her lips explore his lower half. Her teeth nip gently at the skin above his underwear and he finds it difficult to keep his ass planted on the bed.

She tugs down his briefs roughly, raising an eyebrow at how angry red the mushroom tip is today. He must really need to be distracted.

His cock is bigger than her late husband, slightly curved with pretty rose veins that litter the long length. He was the perfect thickness. He was perfect, in all truthfulness. Everything about him was made for her. Destiny smiled upon them in this lifetime.

She kisses down his long length earnings gasps and whimpers. His eyes fall shut once more, adoring her plush lips against his heated member.

“Thank you Mistress. Thank you for touching me.” He gasps out as her sharp nails dig into the taut skin of his thighs.

Precum beads mercilessly at the bulbous tip, Hyunah watches with patient eyes as it slowly begins to glide down the considerable length.

“Look at how much of a fucking baby you are. I haven’t even really touched you and you’re begging to release.” Her finger picks up the precum before entering the single digit into her mouth.

Yoongi’s hips thrust upward at her sensual action, watching how her tongue swirls around her finger with precision.

“Jesus. Please, Mistress. I’m so fucking hard. Please touch me more.” She clicks her teeth at his words before grasping his face in her hand. Smushing his cheeks as her nails dig into his skin.

“You get what I give and you’ll appreciate it. Do you understand me?” With a feeble whimper he nods to her.

She was painfully good at the long game. She has gone hours with him, teasing and turning his cock purple before even letting him orgasm once. And, if he kept it up today, it would be a repeat if he didn’t get his head on straight.

Sliding the cock ring on, he takes in a sharp breath at the tightness. She strokes his cock once, twice, three times just to hear her name tumble from his perfect lips before stopping.

“You had bad thoughts today, didn’t you Yoongi? That’s why you want to be punished?” His wife asks as she points to the headboard.

Scrambling up to the top of the bed, he curses beneath his breath. Of course, she would know.

“Yes.” He admits as he situates himself as she wants.

“And what did you think of that got you in this mournful mood?” She asks, straddling his thigh.

In the short amount of time it took for him to get to the top of the bed, her pussy was already unsheathed from her lace panties. Gleaming wet in the daylit master bedroom. She begins to ride his thigh, bottom lip purchasing between her teeth.

God, she’s a fucking masterpiece. He can feel his cock throbbing harsher with the cock ring. Begging to be touched, to find any relief at all.

“I saw Y/N this morning.” He whispers nervously.

She hums to him as she brushes her hair over her shoulders. His eyes fall to her arousal on his thigh and he flexes his muscles just to hear a wanton gasp of approval from his wife.

“You did?” She asks as she closes her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure.

“Yeah. She had on that nightgown. The one I like. With the- fuck.” He groans out as his wife strips himself of her corset.

Her breasts bounce out, free from the leather and he whines as her nipples begin to harden in the chilly air of their home.

“Mistress, may I? Please? Your tits are so beautiful.” He begs her, his eyes turning as big as saucers as he looks up at her.

“Go ahead, baby.”

His arms wrap around her back quickly, tugging her roughly to his body. Snaking his tongue out, he runs circles around her areola before encasing her stiff peaked nipple with his lips. He groans loudly as his hands grip at her flesh.

Her scent is vanilla and lavender and it brings him comfort smelling it. She was his home and he knew it all too well.

“Good boy.” She moans gently as he abandons one breast for the other. She rocks quicker against his thigh, chasing her own high as his cock leaks more precum in its forsaken state. Her nails run down his chest, leaving bright red lines in their wake.

“You’re so gorgeous Mistress. Thank you for using me.” He whispers out.

“Why am I using you, baby? Tell Mistress.”

“Because I don’t deserve to be touched or pleased. I don’t deserve to feel your beautiful cunt around me for having such thoughts today.” He chokes out as she shoves him back against the headboard. His mouth gives an audible pop as he is ripped away from her breast.

He curses gently as he watches her reach the peak of her pleasure. Adoring the small simpers and whines she gives out before her hips stutter. He pulls her hips roughly, earning a loud moan as she orgasms. Her body undulates in his grasp as she rides out her pleasure.

He grits his teeth as his cock throbs. The pain becoming almost unbearable.

“So you saw Y/N today.” Hyunah says as she hops off of his thigh and he sighs.

He was always truthful with his wife. He didn’t love Y/N, of course. His wife had his heart and more, but yet there was still this pressing attraction to the woman who he has known for years.

“Yes. And she was wearing that nightgown.” Hyunah hums as she inhales from her cigarette.

“So your prick got hard because the pretty girl was wearing a nice dress? Hmm?” She mocks and his cheeks blush pink at her degradation.

“I’m sorry Mistress.” He murmurs as she spits on his cock.

“It’s because you love power. You love a woman that can hold their own and you’re just a simpering little man that needs to be punished. Isn’t that right?” He nods fervently to his wife as she presses the cigarette to his lips.

She lets the cigarette dangle as she bows down. Her tongue licks a circle around the head of his cock and his back smacks into the headboard at her action.

“Oh, fuck. You suck my cock so well. Thank you Mistress.” He whines before inhaling.

“Tell me why you like to see the powerful woman you work for.” She taunts as she bows her head down on him. Working assiduously on his cock, she smacks his inner thigh as he finds it difficult to concentrate on any words.

“She just...fuck, baby.” He whines as he cards his fingers through her long hair.

Smacking his hand away from her head, he closes his eyes before pulling the cigarette from his lips. Her mouth was so wet and warm on him, tears pool in her eyes as she deepthroats his large cock.

“You know me. You know I only love you baby.” He murmurs and he knows it’s the wrong answer as she pulls off of him. He groans loudly in frustration as his pleasure is ebbed away.

“I know you do. I don’t want those words. Tell me or I’ll leave you here like this.” He scoffs gently before nodding as his wife bends back down.

“She just looked pretty and soft in the nightgown. She’s pregnant again and I-” Hyunah lets her teeth graze the long length of his cock and he shivers mid sentence.

Pulling off of him, she straddles him fully before slowly sliding down on his cock. “God, your pussy feels so fucking good Mistress. Thank you for fucking me.” He groans out as she stills on top of him.

“That's what it is? You like to see your boss all pregnant and still so powerful?” His cock throbs within her and she raises her eyebrows impressed.

“Can we stop talking about it? You know I’m faithful to you and only you. I’m sorry I had those thoughts… I need to be punished, baby.” He whines out as he ashes out the cigarette. His hands find their place on her hips as she begins to bounce on his cock.

He watches her breasts sway with each bounce. Watching how her mouth opens at the pleasure of being filled so nicely with his large cock.

He could feel his pleasure coming too. Feeling his cock thickening and throbbing as he throws his head back with a loud moan.

“I know you’re faithful, baby. Or else you wouldn't have a cock or balls left. But, you shouldn’t be ashamed of finding your boss attractive. The human body is so beautiful. Like now, I’m going to make you cum and you’re going to cry. And, it's going to be beautiful. ” She whispers in his ear as she presses her breasts to his chest.

His fingers grip harder at her skin as she rides his cock. His eyes wander to the place where they’re joined and he bites his bottom lip at how much of his wifes arousal is on his cock. How slick and messy she was for him. His neck veins jut out as he swallows thicky, savoring this pleasurable pain.

His cock was so relentlessly hard, begging to cum. She nips at the skin of his neck, adoring the way he holds her closer as he moans her name. He becomes lost in the sensual act, forgetting his role as submissive and just teetering on the edge of pleasure.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck. Baby, please let me. I’m dying.” He begs of her and she pulls off of him. He sobs loudly at the loss, his head tilting and eyes shutting as his orgasm slips away from him.

“You find her so attractive when she’s pregnant because you can’t help but think about how Jimin drilled that child into her cunt, don’t you? You would love to have the balls to be that confident.” He wipes at his cheeks before clearing his throat.

It’s true. He knows it. His wife certainly knows it.

She slaps his cock, earning his eyes on hers as he stares into her black irises.

“Yes.” He whispers.

“But you're not that confident. What are you?” She asks as she slides back down on his cock.

With a stunted gasp, his hands reach up for her breasts and she allows it. She coos gently as she wipes his cheeks as more tears fall.

“I’m just your weak baby. Just want my Mistress to fuck me good and make me beg for it.” He whispers and she hums to him.

Kissing him hard, she begins to bounce on his cock again. Their tongues sliding over one anothers and he can taste alcohol on her tongue. Biting his bottom lip harshly, she whimpers as he pinches and rolls her nipples between his fingertips.

“You’re such a good boy. Your cock fills me so nicely.” She moans out as her head lolls back.

His hips lift meeting her every bounce and he takes pleasure in the way her thighs quiver. She was close to her next orgasm and he wants nothing but to please her. He fucks up into her faster, adoring her gasps and hearing his name from her lips.

“Please Mistress, please say my name again. Let me hear you say my name.” He begs as he pulls her close. Her arms wrap around his neck and his cock shudders within her as her ragged breath fans over his ear.

“Yoongi.” She whispers before biting down on his earlobe.

Without warning he orgasms. Groaning loudly in her ear as his hips still. It doesn’t confuse him anymore but it still hurts. Dry orgasms were his worst form of punishment and his eyes well up with tears as the short pleasure turns into sharp shooting pain.

“Fuck. Your cock is so amazing. Just a pretty little toy for your Mistress to get off on.”

“Y-Yes Mistress. Just your little sextoy.” He chokes out as tears streak over his cheeks.

Rolling her hips, his cock fills every part of her and she sighs wantonly as her pleasure builds. Even in his pain, he adores her. Adores how her chest heaves towards him as she lets out small squeaks and moans.

“I’m going to cum on your big cock, baby. Wouldn’t that be so nice? To have your Mistress cum all over you?” He nods fervently as she tugs at his hair.

“Yes. Please, please cum on my cock. Show me how much you love your toy.”

“Such a good boy.” She praises and his heart swells at the compliment.

She orgasms again, her cunt tightening and milking his cock as she whines out his name.

She caresses his face as she goes through her pleasure. Ears ringing with white noise as she watches him bite down on his bottom lip.

“Would you let me give you a baby, Mistress? Would you?” He asks as she hops off of him.

Taking off the cock ring, he chokes on a gasp as the blood rushes back into his cock. He preens as she strokes him, the sensitivity almost making him scream out his safeword.

“Of course I would, baby.” They both knew that Hyunah couldn’t- and wouldn’t have anymore kids. But it wasn’t about really wanting a baby for Yoongi. It was about “wanting to be man enough to do it.” He envied Jimin sometimes. He always found it easy to get what he wants and being man enough to take it.

Although his persona was one to be rivaled with, Yoongi was just feeble. Needing to be controlled and begging to be distracted.

“You know your Mistress would let you put a baby inside of her. Let you get me knocked up and rely on you to take care of me.” He nods at her words as she lays back. Her legs spread for him and he jumps at the chance to situate himself inside them.

He prods at her entrance, tongue licking over her neck as he inched his way inside. He gasps at her tightness, burying his face in her neck as he bucks into her with all of his strength.

“Yeah? You’d let me get you real big with my baby and make me take care of you? I’d wait on you hand and foot. Make you know how great of a man I am.” He mumbles through gritted teeth.

Her nails rake down his back as she moans his name. He fucks her with force, almost sending her body down the bed if he didn’t have a good grasp on her.

“I’m your little bitch with a big, fat cock but if I got you pregnant you’d need me to take care of you. You’d beg me to help you.” He seethes out and she screams in pleasure as he presses her knees to her chest.

“You let my cock get so hard that it’s painful Mistress. Fuck, your pussy feels so good!” He whines as she kisses over his scar.

“You’re such a good boy for me, you deserve to cum a big load in my pussy.”

“Yeah, shit. I love pleasing you, Mistress. I love being so good for you.” His cock thickens and throbs with each thrust and he finds himself sobbing again. He pleases her? If that’s the case it’s tenfold for him.

His body wracks with pleasure. White hot and nerve tingling pleasure courses through him as he finds himself close to his release.

“Hyunah. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much baby. Christ!” He sobs out as he feels his balls tighten.

“I love you too, baby.” She whispers before running her fingers through his hair.

With a loud groan, he orgasms. He hugs her tightly to his body as ropes of cum paint her inner walls.

“Yes.” He whines loudly before sighing. It seems to be never ending, the amount of cum he lets out.

Finally, he lifts off of his wife before pulling out of her gently. With a hum, she closes her legs and he smirks at her as she grabs two cigarettes off of the bedside table.

He lights them for them before leaning back against the headboard. “Thanks, baby. I needed that.” He murmurs as he slings his arm over her shoulder. Her fingers glide over the large scar on his stomach and he looks down before putting his head back.

“You know how much I love you, right?” He asks as his thumb rubs comforting circles on her shoulder. She smiles before nodding and pressing her bare body into his side.

“I know. I love you too.” He closes his eyes as he pulls from his cigarette.

“You’ve been having a rough week. With all of the Im stuff and everything and I know you need to be distracted.” His wife says as she ties her hair up into a bun.

He clears his throat before looking out the large windows of their shared home.

“Something is looming around here. A dark spirit. An aura black as coal. And, we need to be ready when it wants to come and shroud us all.” Hyunah whispers as she stares off into the distance. Her voice was her own and yet completely disembodied.

He’s gotten used to it by now. Everything that she predicts, everything she sees always rings true. With a sigh, he buries his face into her neck.

“Something is coming.” She whispers.

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke from his nap, he was groggy and more tired than when he fell out. His wife wasn’t in the bed with him and it was dark outside already.

“Mr. Min, sir.” That voice, the voice of death.

Rolling his eyes, he leans across the bed before grabbing a cigarette and packing it against the table.

“What Jeeves?” He mocks Hyunah’s loyal butler.

“It’s Ohshin, sir.” He always has to tell Yoongi his real name as if he hasn’t learned it by now. He was too old and decrepit to understand his humor, or so he thinks.

“Yeah. I’m aware. What do you want?” He asks, lighting his cigarette and watching the white smoke lazily rise towards the ceiling.

“You have a package. Someone left it on the doorstep for you. No return to sender.” The old man says and Yoongi nods before waving him out of the room.

Entering the grand kitchen, he takes in his older wife as she stares at the large box on the granite countertop.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He questions before yawning loudly.

She doesn’t acknowledge him as she stares at the white cardboard.

“This box is filled with pain and misery. I can hear...screaming, can feel blood splattering.” He takes in her shaking hand as she lifts it to pull from her cigarette.

“Hey...Hey.” He whispers comfortingly as he walks around the counter to hold her.

“I can feel the sorrow. The confusion. Something horrible is in this box.” She seethes through her teeth and Yoongi can sense her nerves.

He rubs comforting circles on her bare back as he kisses her cheek. He can feel her body trembling. His eyes flit to the box before tilting his head.

“Jeeves!” He calls loudly to the empty kitchen and he waits patiently as he coddles his wife to his side.

“Sir.”

“Get my wife a glass of wine and bring it out to the patio.” He says before kissing her temple. She looks over at him as her eyes become glassy.

“I can feel the pain.” She whispers, tapering off and broken at the end.

“Okay, baby… Alright.” He whispers gently.

Taking her hand, he leads her to the back patio before opening the door. “Just smoke a cigarette. Drink the wine and relax. Alright? I’ll get rid of the box.” He tells her before pecking her lips gently.

She gives a shell shocked nod. Her legs are trembling as she takes small steps to the chaise lounge beneath the beige canopy. He waits for her butler to hand her the glass of wine and he nods to Ohshin to stay outside with her.

He shoves the box, pulling his gun out from the back of his waistband. It makes no movement. There’s no smell. It’s just a white cardboard box.

He lights a cigarette before opening the flaps of the box. He shivers in the eerie quietness of the house before peaking into the box.

“Oh Christ!” He yells as he backs up.

A hand with no fingers and a scalp of hair sit prettily inside the box.

Yoongi’s stomach rolls and he closes the box quickly. Pressing both of his hands to the counter, his body heaves forward. He tucks his head between his arms as he takes a deep breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbles before cracking his neck.

“What is it?” He hears from the patio. His head lifts quickly before grabbing the box off of the counter and angling his face away from it.

“Just stay inside and don’t go out. Do you hear me?” He asks his wife as he takes off towards the entryway of their home.

“Baby?” His wife calls confused.

“I have to speak with Jimin. Stay inside, babe.” He repeats before ripping open the door and heading towards the other mansion.

#the lions den #btscreatorscorner #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #mafia!au #bts smut #mafia!yoongi #mafia!jimin

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