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ggukkiereads · 3 years ago

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🌷 I wasn't feeling well for weeks and when I got a bit better, this is one of the fics I enjoyed reading and it was comforting somewhat? Here we have this spoiled heiress in a weird arranged marriage set up with a nice decent guy who I can not even use the word "hate" on. The concept of OC trying to atone for all the times she embarrassed and annoyed Yoongi was actually cute and romantic. Yoongi just lets her do it all and I find the whole thing so endearing. Definitely these two climb up my Favorite Couple List. Like most of the time I was just thinking "oh, they are so in love with each other" (with a stupid smile on my face I might add 🤣. I am whipped for these two).

Love the other characters too especially Seokjin who just had the funniest dynamic with OC. I think my heart melted at that part when he tried to comfort OC (never imagined that happening with all their bickering lol). Most of all, I like how you wrote Yoongi and MC's relationship. It's just sweet yet horny and they've got so much personality as a couple. I actually like MC's brand of brattiness because she's not annoying and maybe it's because I can feel how fond Yoongi is. He really adores her and it shows. I do wonder about this though. If he had someone else in mind to marry, how did things shift for him?

I actually felt a bit sad to finish the two-shot and the drabbles. I feel like I want to see more of these two and I don’t want it to be over just yet. Great arranged marriage scenario too - it’s just different and I like the concept of OC trying to win his heart. Just super cute 🥺.

Vows (Part 1)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 12k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Ah shit.

You lift the arm curled around your waist off you and commando roll out of the luxurious california king you’ve woken up in.

The beautiful man you woke up with shifts and his face presses into the pillow.

You tear your admiring eyes away from him guiltily and grab his shirt from the floor, slipping it on, buttoning quickly.

You’re tiptoeing to the door when a grumpy deep voice makes you freeze.

‘That’s my favourite shirt,’ your husband says.

You reach for your patience and don’t find it.

Min Yoongi has exhausted all your reserves of goodwill towards him.

‘I was trying to be considerate and not wake you up,’ you say through gritted teeth.

He snorts.

Your blood pressure spikes.

You unbutton the shirt and seriously consider throwing it at his beautiful head.

You’re so annoyed it takes you longer than it should to register the way his gaze is roaming your naked body.

‘Min Yoongi,’ you say, injecting as much ice into your tone as you can, ‘you know we can only tolerate each other when we’re drunk.’

‘My morning wood’s not picky,’ he drawls, like it’s a compliment.

You roll your eyes. You know Yoongi’s always been attracted to you physically.

It’s your personality he can’t stand.

‘I’m sore,’ you tell him briskly, putting your dress back on.

You’re not lying. You think Yoongi sometimes takes his anger with you out on your cunt.

You love it, really, but he’s got a generous dick and impressive stamina and you really are sore.

Yoongi, unusually, looks concerned. ‘Was it too much?’

You ignore the flutter in your chest as he picks your panties off the floor and passes them to you, smoothing a soothing hand over your lower back.

You step away from his touch as though his hand is burning.

His sigh of irritation gives you life.

‘You’re deeply annoying,’ he tells you.

You smile, brilliantly, at him.

‘Oh Yoongi, are you this sweet to all the women you sleep with?’

‘Are you this annoying to all the men you fuck?’ he snaps.

Your smile falters for a second before you pull your mask firmly back in place.

You turn away from him and leave his bedroom without a goodbye.

***

Yoongi stares at the mark on his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and thinks of you as he gets dressed for work.

Of course you’d had to mark him, even after he’d warned you not to.

Sometimes you’re so fucking exasperating he can’t stand you.

Now he has to meet his entire board, including his father and grandfather, looking like a horny teenager.

He has a flashback to your beautiful thighs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed behind him, as you begged him not to stop.

Yoongi tries to shut that image out of his head before the erection he’s had all morning returns, but the image is burned into his retinas.

Shit, it’s in living technicolour with fucking surround sound.

Yoongi finishes getting dressed and stops by the kitchen for a coffee.

Mrs Gye, his housekeeper, smiles politely at him as she hands him his flask.

Yoongi thanks her, and is about to leave when he remembers.

‘Can you make some herbal tea for Mrs Min, please? She’s not feeling too well this morning.’

Mrs Gye nods, ‘of course, Mr Min.’

‘Don’t tell her I asked you to do it, just say you made some,’ Yoongi instructs.

Mrs Gye looks like she’s about to protest, but Yoongi’s already out the door into his waiting car.

***

You sigh with pleasure as you sip your herbal tea on your way into work.

Mrs Gye, your housekeeper, is truly a treasure.

She’d assured you that Yoongi hadn’t noticed anything different about his morning flask of coffee.

Yoongi’s a man of habit, so much so that he’s predictable in every way.

One of the cleaners had dropped his favourite flask and cracked it yesterday.

She’d been apologetic, but you’d been worried.

You know he’s got a big meeting with the board of his company today and you’d been determined not to let anything detract from his focus.

You’d driven to three places after work before you’d been able to find a replacement. You’d bought five, just to futureproof against any other flask mishaps.

Of course, all that driving around had made you late for dinner and Yoongi had been sure you’d been late on purpose.

You can’t blame him, it’s the sort of stunt you’d have pulled five years ago when you first got married.

You’ve changed but you’re pretty sure Yoongi sees you as still the same spoiled, immature heiress he’d been forced to marry, as the oldest son and heir to his family’s vast business empire.

Anyway, Yoongi’d been seething throughout dinner.

He’d spanked you until your ass was red raw.

You’d begged for more.

You stifle the delicious shiver that runs through you at the memory.

Your mood drops as you remember him accusing you of fucking other men.

Sure, you’d accused him of the same, but you’ve always been faithful to him.

You just don’t know if he’s been as faithful to you.

You’d heard the rumours about him and his breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly talented media director.

Park Gyuri was a model and actress before she went to grad school and earned an MBA. She waltzed into Yoongi’s family company, and she’s been doing a bang up job of everything since then.

She’s also the woman Yoongi was dating before he was forced to marry you.

You stopped seeking out the rumours because it became upsetting.

In your heart of hearts, you don’t think Yoongi’s any more in love with you than he was when you got married.

In truth, you wouldn’t blame him.

You’d spent years being the exact cold hearted bitch he’d eventually accused you of being.

You’re surprised it took him that long to finally snap.

***

Yoongi smiles at Gyuri as she walks into his office.

She’s beautifully put together as always, and she’s wearing green silk today, a shade that complements her colouring well.

‘Free for dinner tonight?’ she asks.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Nothing, I just want to have dinner with my friend,’ Gyuri says, smiling affectionately at him.

There’s a pause before ‘friend’, so brief Yoongi knows anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but he did.

Yoongi would be lying if he said he’d never considered what his life would be like now if he hadn’t married you.

He’d probably be less annoyed on a day to day basis.

He’d probably still be a member of the country club you’d got him kicked out of.

He might be married to Gyuri instead.

He’s about to say yes when your face floats into his head. The look in your eyes when he’d accused you of being annoying, which is definitely true, and of fucking other men, which he doesn’t think is true.

Yoongi says, politely, ‘Rain check? I’d like to have dinner at home today.’

He’s been thinking about how you said you were sore, and he wants to check on you.

You’ll probably ignore him like you always do but he wants to see you’re all right for himself.

Also, he’s aware there’s an underlying frisson between him and Gyuri, and he doesn’t want to explore that just yet.

For once, Yoongi doesn’t linger in his office after everyone leaves. He picks up his bag and calls for his car and heads home.

When he reaches home, he walks into the kitchen. Mrs Gye is at the sink whilst something’s simmering on the stovetop. She startles when he sees him.

‘Ah, Mr Min, you’re back early.’

Yoongi murmurs something about working at home and hands her his flask. Then he stops, looking at another identical four flasks sitting to dry on the draining board by the sink.

Mrs Gye sees his line of vision.

‘Mrs Min bought them yesterday.’

Yoongi’s first thought is that you’re plotting something devious.

‘Where is Mrs Min?’ he asks.

‘She went up to her room.’

Yoongi doesn’t often go to your rooms, in fact he doesn’t think he’s visited you there this year at all.

He knocks on the door and there’s a muffled response.

‘I’m in bed, is it important, Mrs Gye?’

Yoongi says, ‘it’s me.’

He senses rather than hears your response. In moments you’re opening the door, pulling a robe tight around your waist.

Your hair is messy, your face devoid of makeup.

You look up at him self consciously.

Yoongi puts a hand on your arm. ‘Are you ok?’

You frown at him. ‘You didn’t kill me with your dick. I’m on my period.’

Yoongi bites back the laugh that threatens to erupt.

You ask, ‘would you like to come in?’

Yoongi follows you through your bedroom to your living area.

You pour both of you water and sit in your favourite chair, legs curling underneath you.

‘How are you doing, Yoongi?’ you ask, yawning.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly.

You choke on your water.

Yoongi waits until you’ve recovered enough to speak.

‘Right now? Jesus Yoongi I said I was on my period.’

Yoongi looks unperturbed. ‘I didn’t mean fuck, although if you’re down, I am. I meant sleep with me. Do you want to sleep in the same room?’

You stare at him.

‘Are we in danger?’

Yoongi stares at you.‘What? No, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You can tell me, Yoongi, my family have security contacts everywhere.’

Yoongi massages his forehead. ‘No. Forget it. Just forget it.’

You get up hurriedly as he looks like he’s about to ditch you. ‘Yoongi!’

He stops.

‘You want to spend more time together?’ You ask, doubtful as to what he really meant.

‘We’re married,’ Yoongi points out, patient. ‘We’ll probably have kids eventually. Shouldn’t we try to get to know each other?’

You have a flashback, vivid, of Yoongi calling you a spoiled, stuck up bitch.

‘Yes. Let’s sleep together.’

Yoongi looks at you for a moment.

He holds out his hand.

With a sense of trepidation, you take it.

***

‘It’s weird not to be fucking,’ you say to Yoongi, pulling the covers up to your neck, looking around his room curiously.

‘It’s also 9pm. Why are you already in bed?’

You hop out and trip over a pair of Yoongi’s slippers, sprawling on the floor.

Yoongi looks at you, shirt half unbuttoned.

‘I’m tired,’ you say, crawling back into bed.

You pull the covers over your head.

A moment later you feel him sitting on the bed.

He pats over where your head is.

‘Come have dinner with me.’

‘Is that an euphemism for a blow job?’ you ask from under the covers.

You sit up suddenly and realise Yoongi’s sitting on the bed in his briefs.

You can feel heat rush to your face.

It’s not like you haven’t seen your husband naked before, hell, it’s not even been 24 hours since you last fucked.

But this is different.

This is intimacy when you’re more comfortable with fucking.

Yoongi’s watching the way your eyes rove over his thighs.

‘See something you like?’ he asks, coolly.

You scoff. ‘Of course I like the way you look, Min Yoongi.’

You get up. ‘Let’s eat.’

****

Yoongi eyes you over the soup you’re stirring.

‘Why did you buy so many flasks?’ he asks.

Your eyes snap to his. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw them.’

You shrug. ‘You like them. I want you to have replacements if one breaks.’

‘That’s thoughtful.’

‘Just being a dutiful wife,’ you chirrup cheerfully.

Yoongi stares at you like you’ve grown another head. ‘You are definitely not that.’

You nod in agreement. ‘You’re right.’

‘Are you feeling ok? You’ve barely touched your soup and you already tried to get into bed.’

‘I’m on my period,’ you tell him, again. You get up. ‘I’m going to go get some of my things and bring them to your room.’

‘It’s our room,’ Yoongi corrects, gently.

‘Our room,’ you repeat.

By the time you’ve finished gathering your things, Yoongi’s just got to his door.

‘After you,’ he says, strangely formal.

You shoot him a look and head to his huge dressing room.

‘You can use that side,’ he says, pointing.

The entire wall he’s pointing at is made up of bare clothes rails at varying heights.

You pull open a drawer, intending to deposit your toiletries and underwear in it, and stop when you see the packages inside it.

‘What’s this?’ you ask.

Yoongi walks over from his side of the dressing room.

Together you look at the boxes from a well-known underwear brand. It’s the same brand you tend to wear.

You look up at Yoongi, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears are red.

Your impatient, unsentimental husband actually looks… embarrassed.

You wait him out.

Finally, he mutters, ‘sometimes if I see something I like, I buy it for you.’

You can’t believe your ears.

‘Did you buy this for — someone else?’ you ask quietly.

Another thought occurs to you.

‘Did you buy this for yourself?’ you ask.

Yoongi groans, irritably.

‘I bought all this shit for you. My wife.’

He opens the top box and rifles through what looks like a beautiful red silk and lace teddy. You glimpse the tags. It’s your size.

‘I got this after that night when you wore that red dress to meet the Hans because you look fucking breathtaking in red.’

‘How do you know my size?’ you ask weakly, stalling to give your brain time to catch up.

‘Your size is the only fucking thing I do know about you,’ Yoongi says, still irritable. ‘How many times have I taken your lingerie off?’

You stare each other into an uneasy stalemate.

‘You really didn’t buy this for anyone else?’ you ask.

‘Believe me or don’t believe me,’ Yoongi says, at the end of his tether.

He stalks out of his dressing room, and you blink blindly at the stack of boxes in the drawer.

By the time you re-enter Yoongi’s bedroom, the lights are off and he’s a lump under the covers.

You climb in the other side and after a moment, scoot over to be closer to him.

He’s got his back to you, rigid, cold.

You put your hand on his shoulder to warn him, then kiss the back of his neck.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

You’re half- asleep by the time he turns onto his back. His hand brushes yours under the covers, not holding it but touching you.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says.

You curl your pinky finger around his, like a promise, and go to sleep.

***

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi’s already gone.

His side of the bed is rumpled, and when you run your hand over the sheet it’s cold.

You need to think.

Even better, you need a third party to do your thinking for you.

You send your best friend Nara a text, then notice the time.

Shit. You need to get to work.

You hop out of bed, trip over Yoongi’s slippers again and scurry to your own room to get dressed.

Your morning is pretty dull, a bunch of meetings with clients, a team brief before your new product launch tonight.

Nara meets you for lunch.

Kim Nara has been your closest friend since junior tennis club. She has an impressively strong backhand, a competitive streak a mile wide and is the most loyal person you’ve ever met.

She pours you some wine from the bottle she started whilst waiting for you, then sits back in her seat.

‘What was so urgent you had to meet today?’ she asks.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Did Min Yoongi knock you up?’

‘What? No. I’m on my period right now,’ you protest.

You take a gulp of wine to fortify yourself.

‘But it does involve him.’

Nara takes a matching big sip. ‘Hit me.’

‘I think I should try to get him to forgive me.’

‘For what?’ Nara asks. There’s a mischievous light in her eyes now.

‘For buying Kim Seokjin instead of him at that bullshit charity auction? For sending that chain email to all his employees with his STI testing results? For getting him blacklisted from every golf course in the country?’

You cringe.

You’d been young when you married Yoongi, spoiled and impulsive and naive and terribly, terribly selfish.

Nara sucks in a breath to power what you know is going to be a litany of crimes. You’d write it all down if it wouldn’t kill you to read what an asshole you were to him.

You have no idea why he hasn’t divorced you.

You guess this is why he tries to break you every time you have sex.

Nara’s talking about the time you ran off to Switzerland for three months, but you tune her out.

You need to make all this up to Yoongi, a man who buys you gifts even when you’re barely talking, and who wants to be closer to you despite everything you’ve done to him.

You figure ten is a nice round number.

You’re going to do it.

You’re going to find the ten worst things you’ve done to Min Yoongi and make up for every single one of them.

***

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Min, Mr Kim says he can’t see you until his bodyguard gets here.’

You gape at the expressionless secretary who’s been dispatched to give you the news. He nods apologetically, then withdraws.

The nerve of Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is Yoongi’s best friend, and instrumental in your plan to make things right with Yoongi.

It looks like he’s going to make you work for it every step of the way. You’ve been waiting outside his office for ten minutes already, and there’s no end in sight.

The first attack you’d launched on Min Yoongi after you got married was at a charity fundraiser where there had been, to your devious delight, an auction.

Not just any auction. Seokjin and Yoongi had been part of it, and you’d very intentionally bid on Seokjin despite wearing the Min heirloom pendant around your neck.

You’d bid a ridiculous amount and won him, a record that was shattered not long after by the ‘purchase’ of a man with a rakish glint in his eye, Jungkook, you think his name was.

Even worse, you’d paid a horny elderly society lady, Mrs Kang, known for her constant innuendoes and wandering hands, to purchase your then new husband.

He’s never told you what happened on their date.

On your date with Seokjin you’d dressed so provocatively you were a quick move away from being arrested for public indecency.

To his credit, you hadn’t once caught Seokjin’s eyes wandering below your neck.

He’d spent the whole date scolding you on Yoongi’s behalf.

You’ve had other shenanigans with Seokjin, but the auction is the most scandalous one by far. You’re not surprised he doesn’t want to see you.

You glance at your watch and realise you’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.

You get up to leave and you hear your name called in a deep voice that’s definitely not Seokjin’s.

It’s a man, around six feet tall, who looks the size of a refrigerator. He looks like he could break you in half and not break a sweat.

You’re escorted into Seokjin’s office.

‘Y/N,’ Seokjin says, formally, from behind his desk. ‘Have a seat.’

You aren’t sure if Seokjin realises that you practically grew up in boardrooms much more intimidating than this.

You sit behind his desk obediently.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Yoongi,’ you say, rushed, because you don’t know how much time you have.

Seokjin looks at you evenly. ‘I have no interest in discussing my best friend with you.’

‘We don’t have to discuss him. I just want to make up for all of the things I’ve done to him over the years.’

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. You’ve always found him intimidating, if you’re honest.

‘Anyway, can you convince him to put himself up for auction at the Rose Ball next month?’

‘Why?’ Seokjin snaps. ‘So you can humiliate him again?’

Your hackles rise at his tone, but you remind yourself of your end goal. You’re not sure you can make Yoongi cuddly but you think you might be able to make him like you.

‘I won’t humiliate him,’ you say, humbly.

Seokjin glares at you. ‘I need more assurance than your word, funnily enough.’

You like how loyal Seokjin is to Yoongi, but he’s sure being an ass right now.

‘I’ll pay you.’

Seokjin frowns. ‘Do I look like I need the money?’

‘I’ll cook dinner for Yoongi and you,’ you offer.

He snorts.

‘Can you even cook?’

‘Jesus what do you want Seokjin?’

You stand, and immediately his bodyguard takes a protective step forward.

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

‘Yoongi really wants to go to watch the Portland Trail Blazers when they’re in town next month. It’s right before the Rose Ball. Take him and I’ll get him to auction himself off at the Rose Ball.’

You put out a hand, forgetting about the bodyguard for a moment.

You pull it back quickly when he steps in front of Seokjin.

‘Deal,’ you call happily over the bodyguard’s shoulder.

‘Wait.’

Seokjin steps out from behind the human wall and holds out his hand.

You shake it.

‘Don’t fuck me or Yoongi over,’ Seokjin warns.

‘I won’t,’ you promise.

***

Yoongi’s already home when you get back after work.

He’s dressed in basketball shorts, a sweatband around his forehead.

‘You look hot,’ you say, absently, as you search through your drawer in his dressing room for a loose tee.

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. He tosses you a plain tee, one of his own.

You put it to your face and inhale.

‘It’s fresh,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘It smells like you,’ you say. ‘I like it.’

You step out of your work clothes and pull it over your head.

‘I’m going to bed.’

You pause before you leave the dressing room. ‘Hey, Yoongi. I got tickets to the Portland trail blazers game next month. Wanna go together?’

Yoongi gapes at you.

‘You didn’t seriously just ask me out to a basketball game with my favourite team whilst wearing my t-shirt and nothing else.’

You hadn’t been thinking about anything naughty but you snap to attention at his words.

‘Are you still on your period?’ Yoongi asks.

He’s already rounding the central island in the middle of his dressing room, where he keeps his watches and jewellery.

He’s heading straight for you.

You squeak and retreat to the bed.

He’s a second behind you, landing right on you before you can even yank up the covers.

‘Let’s make out,’ he says, voice husky.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

His lips are almost on yours when you stop him.

‘Do you still want to make out even if we don’t—‘ you trail off, and Yoongi looks at you oddly.

‘Fuck?’ he supplies, helpfully.

You nod.

‘Are you serious? What do you think I am? Some sort of brute?’

‘We usually just skip to the fucking,’ you point out.

Yoongi stares at you for so long you think he’s had a stroke.

Then he leans over and kisses your forehead.

Your eyes closed automatically when his lips touched you, so it takes you a moment to realise he’s pulling away.

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he says.

He’s out the door before you get a chance to say goodbye.

***

You’re trying to pick something to wear to the game with Yoongi. You’re not really a fan of basketball, not like he is. Your only knowledge of basketball consists of what you’ve gleaned from pictures of celebrities courtside and what you’ve seen in movies.

Once you’re dressed, you run downstairs to where Yoongi’s waiting.

‘They’re not courtside,’ you say, apologetic, as Yoongi drives.

‘You’ve said that a few times,’ Yoongi says mildly, signalling to turn.

‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed,’ you say.

‘I won’t be,’ Yoongi says.

‘I don’t know anything about basketball,’ you tell him.

Yoongi looks at you with such disappointment it feels like you need to seek his forgiveness for yet another thing.

‘I’m calling the best divorce lawyer in town right after this,’ Yoongi says. ‘But first, let’s watch the game.’

‘What? You’re divorcing me over a —- sport?’

‘Not helping the cause,’ Yoongi retorts.

You want to pout but you’re pretty sure he’ll just get annoyed with you.

Yoongi drives into a multi-storey car park and backs into a space so sexily you get a little wet just watching him.

He even does that thing where he rests his arm against your seat, as though it’s a habit he can’t break even though his car has a rear camera.

You want to hold hands with him as you walk to the arena, but you rarely ever touch when you’re not fucking.

Yoongi says, without looking at you, ‘what is it now?’

‘This is kind of like a date,’ you observe.

Yoongi sighs.

He’s never really indulged your fondness for romantic gestures, you guess he’s always seen them as childish.

‘It’s a date,’ he confirms. He leads you to your seats as though he knows the arena well.

You look around curiously. The seats aren’t courtside, but you’re only a couple of rows back, and the view seems fine to you.

‘Is this ok?’ you ask.

‘They’re perfect seats. Stop asking me or I’ll kiss you and ruin your lip gloss.’

‘This is kiss proof, actually,’ you say, seriously.

Yoongi turns fully to look at you. ‘Is that an invitation for me to test it out?’

‘Let’s just see how the date goes,’ you say, leaning back in your seat.

You can feel his eyes on you. He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed.

The game is an exciting one, but you spend it mainly watching Yoongi. He’s pretty even-tempered most of the time, but watching basketball really seems to get his blood going.

He cheers so loudly and enthusiastically you’re almost deafened. Once the game gets going he barely even seems to notice you.

You’re glad he’s enjoying himself.

At half time, you get him to take a selfie with you to send to Seokjin as proof.

You’ve just sent it when he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, quickly.

You turn to him, but he’s already turned away.

You think about the feel of his lips on your cheek for the rest of the game, and somehow the second half flies by.

Yoongi’s so hyped by the time the game ends that you keep smiling at how endearing he is.

‘I feel like you need to talk about this to someone who knows about basketball,’ you remark as you walk back to your car.

He grins at you. ‘I might stop by Seokjin’s place.’

‘Ah sure,’ you say, a little crestfallen that he doesn’t want to go home with you.

You fiddle with your phone, realising you don’t even know where Seokjin lives. ‘Is home on your way?’

‘I’ll drop you off,’ he says.

You’re quiet on the drive home. Yoongi pulls into your driveway and shuts the engine off.

‘Hey,’ he says.

You turn to him.

‘Thanks for getting us tickets. And thanks for coming with me.’

You smile. ‘It was Seokjin’s idea,’ you demur. ‘See you later, Yoongi.’

You get out of the car and are walking to the front entrance of your home when you hear the car door close behind you.

There’s footsteps, and by the time you turn, Yoongi’s standing in front of you, barely two feet away.

‘Hey,’ he says again. ‘Can I get a kiss goodnight?’

You reach into your brain for a snappy remark but come up with nothing.

All you can do is look up at him as he leans over you and kisses you. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, once, and then he’s pulling away.

He smooths your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

The action makes your heart flutter helplessly in your chest. He rarely ever touches you like this.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently.

‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get in.’

He waits, engine idling, until you’re safely indoors before he drives off.

***

You’re nervous. It’s the night of the Rose Ball, and the charity auction where you’re going to orchestrate the first stage of making up with Yoongi.

You’ve picked a red dress because of what he said about you looking pretty in red.

Yoongi knocks on your bedroom door, because you’d wanted to get ready alone.

You open the door and take in the vision of your husband in a white dinner jacket, hair pushed back from his forehead and styled beautifully.

There are silver earrings glinting in his ears, and his hair is currently silver to match.

‘You look very handsome,’ you tell him, honest.

He holds out his arm. ‘I think you’re wearing red on purpose to fuck with me, aren’t you? Quick, say something annoying so the universe can tilt back to its normal axis.’

Gamely, you pout at him and whine, ‘why didn’t you get me any new jewellery to wear, Yoongi?’

‘I’ve got some pearls I can put around your neck,’ Yoongi suggests.

‘I’d rather you put them down my throat,’ you say, suggestively.

‘There’s my spoiled little horny heiress,’ Yoongi says, approvingly.

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not spoiled.’

‘Try saying that in a less whiny tone,’ Yoongi tells you unsympathetically.

‘I’m not whiny.’

‘I hope you saved up some money to buy Kim Seokjin again tonight,’ Yoongi says.

You frown.

‘I’m gonna buy you, not Seokjin.’

He snorts. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to buy you.’

You pause. This is an angle you hadn’t even considered.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

At the ball, you read through the list of names up for auction. To your annoyance, Seokjin, Yoongi and you are all one after another, clustered together.

You think it’s an attempt to capitalise on the scandal of the previous time Seokjin and Yoongi were up for auction.

You’re nervous all throughout dinner, and by the time the auction starts you’re vibrating with nerves.

Seokjin stands when his name is announced, nodding at the emcee. Across the table from you, you can feel Yoongi’s eyes burning into your head.

The bidding starts at a cool 5 million won, and rapidly escalates.

Seokjin, devastatingly handsome in a beautiful tux that emphasizes the broadness of his chest and shoulders, doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be surprised.

You look at Yoongi and keep your hands perfectly still in your lap.

‘50 million won, do I hear 55?’

It’s a relief when the bidding closes at 75 million won. You don’t even see who the highest bidder is, concentrating on your husband sitting across from you.

When Yoongi’s name is announced, he stands and nods.

You think to yourself again how beautiful your husband looks.

You keep up with the bids easily. To your annoyance, the bidding is fast and furious, and it’s only moments before you’re holding at 90 million won.

‘Do I hear 95?’

‘100 million won.’

You turn, aghast, and look into the diabolical and devious eyes of Kim Seokjin.

Why the hell is Kim Seokjin driving up the bidding war on your husband?

Yoongi just looks amused when you stare at him, accusing.

‘110 million,’ you snap.

You try to stare the evil bastard down between bids.

By the time you get to 150 million won, you’re glaring daggers at Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘Sold to Mrs Min.’

There’s barely time to breathe a sigh of relief before you realise Yoongi and Seokjin are now patting each other on the back.

To your chagrin, they leave the room as your name is announced.

As the bids escalate on you, you pull your phone out and send Yoongi a rapid fire text.

Y/N: Buy me or I won’t fuck you tonight.

Yoongi, the bastard, makes you wait on read.

You’re dialling his number when you realise two things.

One, that the bidding’s somehow reached a hundred million won.

And two, that the main bidder is a very beautiful man whom you’ve never met.

‘Going once….’

You squirm in your seat as Yoongi and Seokjin walk back into the room.

If there’s any urgency in Yoongi at all that his wife is about to be sold to a random stranger, his face doesn’t show it.

You suppose this is exactly how he felt when you let Mrs Kang buy him.

‘Going twice to Mr Park Jimin.’

Yoongi lifts a brow, and his eyes snap to the beautiful man.

He nods to the auctioneer, and bidding resumes.

Park Jimin seems pretty determined, but he’s no match for your husband.

Yoongi buys you for a shade under two hundred million won.

***

You’re trying to unfasten your necklace whilst Yoongi gets changed after the ball.

‘Two hundred million won,’ you say, teasingly. ‘Guess I’ll need to put out.’

Yoongi grunts, and a moment later he says, ‘lift your hair.’

You pull your hair away from the back of your neck and he unfastens your necklace for you.

‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,’ he says.

Later, in bed, you’re lying awake next to Yoongi, thinking about the night.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper.

He sounds like he’s stifling a groan. ‘What?’

‘Thanks for buying me.’

It’s so dark you can’t see any of his features.

Eventually, he says, ‘there was never a possibility that I wouldn’t.’

‘What?’ you ask, surprised. ‘Say that again.’

‘Good night, Y/N.’

***

You think that one of the things that irritated Yoongi the most about you when you first got married was your total lack of interest in getting to know his friends.

And so part two of making up with Yoongi involves Kim Namjoon.

He’s an interesting man, from what you know of him.

Like Yoongi and Seokjin, he comes from a privileged background. Unlike Yoongi and Seokjin, though, he’s not in the family business. He runs an art gallery in the city with his partner, Nayeon.

You’re apprehensive about approaching Namjoon at the gallery but you can’t think of any other way to meet him.

Seokjin’s less icy to you since you took Yoongi to watch basketball and since the successful completion of step 1, but there’s no way he’d voluntarily help you.

You push open the glass door and decide to just walk around.

Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon doesn’t make you wait.

You’re barely in the cool comfort of the gallery before he’s standing next to you.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asks, politely.

You search his expression for hints of sarcasm, but he seems perfectly sincere.

To be fair, you’ve never tried to provoke him like you did Seokjin.

You decide to be as direct as he is.

‘I was hoping to invite you and Nayeon for dinner at ours,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer straight away.

‘I haven’t really tried to get to know Yoongi’s friends, since we’ve been married,’ you say, pointing out the obvious. ‘I’m trying to remedy that.’

Namjoon gives you a long look.

You wonder what Yoongi’s been saying about you to his friends.

Judging by how wary all his friends are around you, you don’t think he’s been singing your praises.

You’re just about to speak again, when Namjoon says, ‘Yoongi often comes to ours on a Sunday night for dinner. I’m sure Nayeon would be really pleased if you could make it with him this Sunday.’

You smile, grateful. ‘I’d love that.’

Namjoon gives you another long look, then a dimple flashes in his cheek.

It transforms his face, which up until now had been rather stern and intimidating.

‘I’ll see you Sunday.’

***

Yoongi’s watching you polish off the last of the bread at dinner, bemused.

You figure now’s as good a time as any to tell him about how you’ve invited yourself to dinner on Sunday.

He takes it in his stride.

‘I’ll try not to embarrass you,’ you say, jokingly.

‘Like when you sent my sexual health test results to my entire company?’ asks Yoongi.

You look down at your plate.

Shit, another thing you need to atone for.

‘Sorry about that,’ you tell him, contrite.

‘It’s fine,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. ‘I became a meme for a few months, I can cope with that.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘I really am sorry. Want a blow job?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes again. ‘Are we so emotionally stunted we can only communicate through sex?’

His tone is cutting.

You’ve been so soft for him lately that there’s a pang of hurt in your chest.

‘You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re fucking me,’ you say, coldly.

‘Likewise, princess,’ Yoongi snaps.

You get up from the table and go to watch TV alone in your rooms.

By the time you go in to Yoongi’s bedroom, it’s dark.

You slide in next to him and turn away, back facing him.

You hear a sigh, then his hand pats the sheets, looking for yours.

You tuck your hands between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand travels down your arm, seeking your hand.

His thumb brushes over your clit, and you let out a surprised ‘oh’.

Yoongi shifts over, spooning you, chest pressing against your back.

‘Can I touch you, princess?’ he asks, voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking about how you pouted at dinner and I’m so fucking hard.’

‘I don’t want to cum for you,’ you tell him, petulant.

Yoongi nibbles at your neck, sharp teeth sending shocks of pain and pleasure through you.

‘I’ll make you cum anyway, princess. Get you grinding against my hand and crying my name. You always sound so pretty for me.’

‘Yoongi,’ you murmur, but your legs are already spreading to make room for him.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says, fingers slipping through your slick heat like he hadn’t expected anything less. ‘Let me fuck the spoilt brat out of you until only my baby’s left, hmm?’

Yoongi talks dirty to you until you’re creaming around his fingers, then his cock.

***

Yoongi looks up from his phone and gives you a quelling look.

‘Stop fidgeting.’

You hug the bottle of wine you’re bringing to Nayeon and Namjoon’s place to your chest.

‘Who else is going to be there?’ you ask.

‘Usually it’s Seokjin and me. Sometimes Gyuri comes.’

You think about that and wish, childishly, that you’d chosen a nicer outfit.

You realise Yoongi’s watching your face.

‘I appreciate you wanting to meet my friends,’ he says, carefully.

‘Oh it’s about time I made an effort, don’t you think?’

Yoongi gives you a long look and rings the doorbell.

You’re greeted by a relaxed-looking Nayeon.

You don’t know her well, but she’s always struck you as nice. You feel an odd pang as you see the affectionate way Yoongi greets her.

Here’s a whole other aspect of his life you’ve never been involved in.

You volunteer to help Namjoon cook the rice. To your bemusement, he’s frighteningly accident-prone.

Within five minutes, you’ve saved him from putting his hand on a hot pan twice. You shudder when you see him pick up a knife to chop vegetables.

Nayeon nudges you. ‘Don’t worry. He’s not too bad. Someone always keeps an eye on him.’

‘Like a toddler,’ you mutter, then you remember where you are.

Nayeon just laughs. ‘I think of it as he’s still getting used to his size.’

You laugh. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get any bigger then.’

You look up as Seokjin enters the kitchen with Yoongi.

Your eyes meet Seokjin’s. He nods coolly at you.

You smile back.

To your surprise, Yoongi claps a hand on Seokjin’s back.

‘Yah, Jin, greet my wife properly.’

Seokjin pulls Nayeon into a hug, then stops just in front of you.

You put out a hand for him to shake, and instead, he pulls you into a hug too.

You look up at him, a little wary.

‘Don’t you need your bodyguard?’ you ask, unable to resist.

Seokjin narrows his eyes at you. ‘I’m watching you, brat,’ he replies, so softly only you can hear.

‘And Yoongi’s watching you,’ you return, snarky.

Seokjin’s eyes darken. ‘Clearly Yoongi’s too soft on you, given your attitude.’

‘Break it up,’ Yoongi’s voice says from behind Seokjin.

You slide around Seokjin and stand next to Yoongi. When Yoongi turns to talk to Nayeon, you flip Seokjin the bird.

He glares daggers at you but has to quickly rearrange his expression when Yoongi and Nayeon ask him a question.

You’re so busy fielding all the interactions that it’s a relief to sit down to dinner.

Ah shit.

There are prawns in the broth, the one thing in the world you’re allergic to.

It’s your own fault. Early on in your marriage, for reasons known only to you, you’d decided to let Yoongi think you were a snob about seafood rather than just telling him you were allergic. Cue a very uncomfortable dinner when you’d refused to eat anything one of his chef friends had cooked.

Seokjin, next to you, looks at your untouched bowl pointedly. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asks, voice so velvety it’s not immediately obvious he’s jeering at you.

You grit your teeth and pray the epi-pen in your bag is in date.

It’ll probably be fine, unless you have a whole prawn….

As if on cue, Yoongi hands you a prawn he’s just peeled.

You’d always thought Yoongi would be the death of you, but you’d thought the mechanism would be from hate fucking you into oblivion, or irritating you into apoplexy.

Not a fucking prawn that he’s peeled for you because he’s decided to be a solicitous husband for once in his life.

You can feel a few eyes on you.

‘Oh that looks delicious,’ you chirrup brightly. You accept the prawn, swallow it quickly, wait a beat, then excuse yourself.

You grab your bag on the way to the bathroom, fumbling for your epi-pen.

You jab it into your thigh just as the familiar tingling starts in your throat.

The door opens, and you’re faced with Yoongi, staring at you.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he hisses.

He grabs the epi-pen you’ve just dropped on the floor.

‘Are you shooting up in my friends’ house?’ he snaps.

You shake your head, voice raspy.

‘I’m allergic to prawns.’

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe his ears.

‘What?’

You want to repeat yourself but your voice is getting hoarser.

Yoongi seems to click into action then. ‘Fuck. Do you need the hospital?’

You nod.

Moving faster than you’ve ever seen him, Yoongi grabs your arm and hustles you out of the bathroom.

He scolds you all the way to the hospital.

‘You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you eat something you know you’re this allergic to?’

Two blocks away.

‘Why couldn’t you just tell me? Of all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled—‘

At the entrance of the emergency room.

‘If you die from this I’m going to follow you into the afterlife and kill you again.’

You’d snap back if he didn’t sound more worried than angry.

Yoongi sits beside your bed, filling in a form on a tablet with your details. You can see him typing in your name.

You grab his arm. ‘Not my name,’ you rasp.

Yoongi frowns at you. You fumble in your bag and pass him your driver’s license.

He looks at it for a long moment.

‘You changed your name? You said —-‘

He cuts himself off with visible effort. You can see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

He fills in the rest of the form, swearing softly under his breath.

You close your eyes and lose yourself to nightmares about prawns.

When you wake up, Yoongi’s sitting by your bed.

You say his name.

He runs a hand over his face. ‘How are you feeling, princess?’

‘I’m fine. Can we go home?’

‘They want to keep you in a little longer.’

You sigh.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to prawns?’ Yoongi asks.

He sighs. ‘That time, with Mingyu, when he made us all that food. I thought you were being such a bitch.’

‘I am a bitch,’ you say. ‘I hated you back then. I hated our marriage and I hated that it felt like I didn’t have any choice in anything.’

‘And so you decide to die because I fucking peeled you a prawn?’

‘Why did you do that? You always say if you can’t peel a prawn you don’t deserve to eat it.’

‘Jesus fucking christ. I just wanted to.’

‘What a time to choose to be the doting husband,’ you say, regretfully.

Yoongi snorts with laughter. ‘Are you allergic to anything else I need to know about?’

‘Assholes,’ you mutter. ‘That’s why Seokjin and I don’t get along.’

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re such a rude brat. He won’t stop calling me. He wants to apologise for putting pressure on you to have the broth.’

‘Nayeon and Namjoon want to know if you’re ok, too.’

‘Tell them I’m fine.’

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. ‘I’ll add you to the group chat and you can tell them yourself.’

You send off a few texts and put your phone down.

‘I need to call my lawyer,’ Yoongi says, running a hand through his hair.

‘You’re divorcing me over a prawn allergy?’

‘No,’ says Yoongi, patient. ‘Now that I know your real name, I need to get it changed in my will and also on all the properties I’ve invested in for you.’

‘Ooh, I’m in your will?’ you ask, intrigued. ‘What do I get?’

‘None of your business,’ Yoongi says.

You wave a hand threateningly. ‘I could kill you right now and find out.’

Yoongi fends you off easily. ‘You should be resting.’

‘We could be arguing about this at home,’ you point out.

By the time you’re discharged from the hospital, it’s the early hours of the morning.

When you get home, you’re greeted by Mrs Gye.

‘I took care of it,’ she tells Yoongi.

Yoongi nods and thanks her.

‘Took care of what?’

‘Mr Min rang earlier and told us to get rid of all the prawns in the kitchen and pantry,’ Mrs Gye says. She’s apologetic. ‘We didn’t know you were allergic, Mrs Min.’

You glance at Yoongi, who’s slipping off his shoes.

‘You didn’t have to —‘

He cuts you off. ‘It’s a risk I’d prefer not to take again.’

He starts up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

You hurry after him, because he’s not waiting for you.

***

You’re coming out of your meeting with the manager of the third country club you got Yoongi blacklisted from when you spot a familiar face.

A familiar, beautiful but unwanted face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nodding politely.

He leans down, and automatically you present your cheek to him for a kiss.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, courteously.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. ‘I’m fine. And yourself?’

To your astonishment, he actually seems to be a little shamefaced as he says, ‘I’m sorry I urged you to have the broth at Namjoon and Nayeon’s the other day.’

‘It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,’ you say, neutrally.

‘What are you doing here?’

It’s your turn to look repentant.

‘I got Yoongi blacklisted from all the country clubs. I’m getting him re-invited to all of them.’

Seokjin’s gaze is penetrating.

‘You seem like you’re really trying to make amends,’ he observes.

‘Yeah well, I was, like you keep pointing out to me, a brat.’

He’s been walking with you to the lobby.

‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’ he asks.

‘Ah, I’ll just wait for a cab.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t Yoongi have a driver?’

‘He does. I don’t.’

Seokjin nods to the car waiting for him. ‘Do you have other country clubs to go to?’

‘I have four left,’ you say.

Seokjin looks at you in firm way he does. ‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

You climb into the back seat with Seokjin.

‘You’re not taking me somewhere to murder me and dispose of my body, are you?’ you ask, only half-joking.

Seokjin settles back in his seat and loosens his tie.

‘I’ve got the afternoon off, and I’d prefer not to commit murder during it,’ he says, not reassuringly.

With Seokjin by your side, the next meeting is almost enjoyable. You even get offered champagne, which you gulp down.

Seokjin looks at you, amused. ‘Stressful day for you?’

‘You make me nervous,’ you admit.

‘I just don’t want Yoongi to be hurt anymore.’

You digest the idea that Yoongi wasn’t just inconvenienced and embarrassed, but actually hurt by your actions of the last few years.

That would imply he cared.

You’re staring out the window, thinking, when Seokjin says. ‘Of course, he didn’t want to marry you either, at the beginning.’

You chew on your lip.

‘But he was willing to make his best effort to be a good husband to you. He’s decent like that.’

You turn your head so Seokjin can’t see your face.

He’s not wrong. Yoongi’s never once retaliated for anything you’ve done to him.

Instead he’d grown progressively more cold and impatient and distant.

The wave of guilt surprises you with its depth.

‘I’ll make it up to him,’ you say, quietly.

Seokjin puts his hand on your arm so you’ll look at him.

‘He has a real soft spot for you,’ he tells you. ‘God knows why, I would have punished you long ago.’

You flick your eyes up at him. ‘Luckily I married a more forgiving man than you,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘We both want the best for him,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’re not such a cold hearted bitch after all.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. We aren’t friends,’ you sneer, out of habit.

Seokjin turns away and laughs quietly to himself.

At your next meeting, Seokjin gets whiskey served to you.

You’re a total lightweight, and with your empty stomach, you know you’re heading to a danger zone.

But damn, it’s also intoxicating having polished, suave Seokjin by your side at these meetings with older men.

It’s after your final meeting, three drinks later, that Seokjin says, ‘dinner?’

You hold on to his arm to steady yourself.

‘Maybe we can have dinner at mine,’ you suggest.

‘Great idea,’ Seokjin beams. ‘I love Mrs Gye’s cooking.’

You never actually make it inside the house.

Yoongi finds you and Seokjin sprawled on the front steps, arguing about which country club offered the best membership package.

You slap a brochure onto the steps between you.

‘This was clearly the best deal,’ you announce. You squint but it doesn’t make the words any clearer.

Seokjin sweeps the brochure away dramatically.

‘Wasn’t.’

‘Wassss.’

Yoongi says, dryly, ‘why do people who can’t handle their alcohol go drinking?’

Both you and Seokjin glare at each other, then at him.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I can’t carry both of you at once.’

‘Take the asshole first,’ you snap.

Seokjin leans towards you menacingly. ‘What did you call me?’

Yoongi hurriedly lifts you up under the arms, and you curl into his chest.

‘Take me to bed, Yoongi,’ you say, looking up at him.

‘You’re heavier than you look,’ Yoongi grunts.

‘It’s my brain,’ you say, trying be helpful.

Seokjin snorts rudely behind you.

Yoongi says, voice low, rumbling in his chest, ‘ignore him.’

You press a kiss to Yoongi’s chest. ‘Sorry I’m so heavy.’

He smiles at you with that looks like affection.

‘It’s fine. I’ll just drop you if it’s too much for me.’

Yoongi helps you into bed and unzips your dress.

‘Can you do the rest so I can get Seokjin?’ he asks.

You nod, convincingly. You’re still trying to tug your arm out of the sleeve when you give up and pass out.

Yoongi helps Seokjin into your bed and returns to his room to find you sprawled exactly where he left you, half undressed.

He slips your dress off you. You crack an eye open.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, whiny.

Yoongi replies, ‘yes?’

‘I just want you to like me,’ you say. For a moment you look completely lucid, and sad.

His heart gives a dangerous jolt then, like somehow, you’ve worked your way into it. Like a household pest.

Yoongi can’t bear the thought of exterminating you.

‘Stop being so annoying then,’ Yoongi says, trying to be stern but it comes out weak. He’s not even convincing himself at this point.

You put your hand over your heart. ‘I’ll try my best,’ you promise.

***

At breakfast, Yoongi frowns at his phone.

‘Why am I getting invited to become a member of every country club in the vicinity?’

Seokjin, dressed in Yoongi’s clothes, mumbles something unintelligible into his cereal.

You look up from your pancakes and through your sunglasses at your husband.

‘I got you blacklisted from every single country club in the area when we first got married, so I spent yesterday getting you reinvited.’

You point your fork at Seokjin and say, grudgingly, ‘Seokjin helped.’

Seokjin sips his juice.

‘Why did we drink so much?’ he asks.

‘You’re the one that kept asking for drinks,’ you point out.

Yoongi holds up a hand between you to break you up.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘I’m making up for being awful to you,’ you tell him.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Is that why you’ve been so erratic lately?’

You’re offended. ‘I’m not erratic.’

‘Taking me to that basketball game? Buying me at the auction? Dinner at Namjoon and Nayeon’s?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Riding you in the shower yesterday,’ you add.

Seokjin covers his ears.

‘I’m being nice,’ you say.

Yoongi says, ‘I appreciate your efforts, but you don’t have to make anything up to me.’

‘She does,’ Seokjin interjects.

You toss a pancake at him.

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he says to you.

‘I don’t know why he’s still here,’ you say to Yoongi, like Seokjin’s not in the room.

Yoongi pushes your coffee towards you. ‘Drink. Finish your breakfast. Seokjin and I have a meeting to get to. Let’s talk later.’

‘I have a surprise for you tonight,’ you say, remembering.

Yoongi leans down to kiss your cheek.

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘You’ll like this one,’ you promise.

***

You once sent a troupe of strippers to put on a show at an important business meeting Yoongi had organised with a notoriously conservative client.

The deal had fallen through despite months of preparation and expense.

It was then that Yoongi had finally snapped and called you a cold hearted bitch for the first time.

You’d thought long and hard about how to make this up to him, and you don’t know enough about his company to source an equivalent deal.

You’re hoping dancing for him in the red teddy he got you will help.

You’re not a bad dancer, and you’ve been taking lessons for weeks, enough that you’re pretty confident you can pull it off.

You’ve hired a room in an underground sex club, hoping the gritty feel will add to the thrill of it.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows when you lead him through the private entrance off the street, down a flight of stairs, to a darkened corridor.

You lift the keycard out of your thigh-high stockings and unlock the door.

You’d shared a bottle of wine at dinner, and you’re feeling good.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, like you’d specified. The lights are off apart from a blue glow. It’s dark enough to lend a sense of intimacy, but light enough that you can see Yoongi’s gorgeous face clearly.

God, your husband looks beautiful tonight, all in black, his lips stained from the wine.

He leans back on the chair, legs spread, watching you.

The one thing you’ve always liked about Yoongi that he knows when to keep his mouth shut.

His lips part as you turn in front of him and unzip your dress. It puddles on the floor in a shimmering heap.

You hit play on the music and start dancing.

Yoongi’s gaze focuses intensely on you as you dance for him. You put your legs on his thighs, pushing them apart to make space for yourself as you shimmy between them.

Your ass brushes his crotch, deliberately, lingering longer and longer with each pass until you’re grinding against him.

Yoongi, like a seasoned strip club connoisseur, keeps his hands to himself, braced on his thighs.

You turn so you’re facing him, leaning forward to encourage him to look down the top of your silky teddy. Your nipples are stiff, pushing against the silk, and you put two fingers in his mouth.

He needs no prompting, sucking on your fingers, tongue delving between them suggestively.

You put a hand on his shoulder and run your wet fingers over your nipples.

Yoongi grunts, eyes fixed on your tits.

You slide your hand down between your legs and lean over him to whisper in his ear.

‘I’m imagining your fingers here, Yoongi,’ you purr, gratified by how you can see his skin prickling with goosebumps.

Yoongi licks his lips. His voice, when it comes out, is so deep you’re wet just listening to him.

‘You know you really fuck me off sometimes,’ he says.

For the first time since you started dancing for him, you falter.

You look at him uncertainly.

His hand comes out, landing on your silk-covered hip, long fingers splaying over your ass.

‘I think it’s your face,’ he muses, almost like he’s talking to himself. ‘Your face is so fucking bratty I want to shove my dick in your mouth just to shut you up.’

He pulls you down so you’re sitting in his lap, straddling him.

He cups your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, teasing at the seam of your lips until your lips part enough for him to slip his thumb in.

Automatically, you suck.

‘There,’ Yoongi says. ‘You always look so pretty with me in your mouth.’

You can’t help yourself. You whimper around his thumb.

‘I like this even more though,’ he says.

Eyes on you, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping you between your legs, parted on his lap.

Like this, you’re spread out on top of him.

Yoongi hisses as he feels how slick you are. He teases at your clit, one finger slipping into you.

You say his name. God, he feels good.

He curls his finger, and you whimper again.

‘Your little pussy knows it belongs to me,’ he says, almost conversational, as he strokes your clit.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your breast as he fingers you, tongue laving the red silk.

You slip a strap down your shoulder so your breast is exposed, nipple taut for him.

‘Do it properly, Yoongi,’ you whine.

Yoongi laughs darkly. ‘Where’s your manners, baby?’

Your mouth snaps closed, lips thinning into a straight line. Your eyes flash at him.

Yoongi’s looking at you.

‘There you are,’ he says, but oddly, there’s affection in his voice.

He tilts his head to slant his mouth over yours in a slow kiss at the same time his fingers start scissoring inside you.

He smells so good. He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours.

‘I kiss you all the time, brat, how could you say we skip straight to the fucking?’

You’re hazy with pleasure, his fingers haven’t stopped moving inside you, and he always seems to go unerringly to the spot that makes you cry out his name and beg for more.

You’re begging now.

‘Yoongi,’ you moan.

‘Who fucks you like this, brat?’ he hisses.

‘You,’ you answer, ‘please, Yoongi.’

‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘That’s fucking right.’

You’re grinding against his hand now, each movement making you flutter around his fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, chasing your high.

Yoongi pulls his fingers out, and you cry out.

‘Yoongi!’

‘Cum on my cock, let me feel you.’

You fumble with the zipper on his pants, and he hisses as you draw him out.

He grabs your hips and sinks you down onto his cock.

Fuck, he’s so thick and hot you could cum even if he stayed perfectly still.

Yoongi shudders. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Feel me, baby? You get me so hard for you it hurts.’

Your eyes are squeezed shut, concentrating on the feel of him.

‘So fucking tight for me, shit.’

You’re already starting to tighten around his cock when he slaps your thigh. ‘Go on, this is what you wanted isn’t it? Fucking take it, baby.’

His voice is low, slurred, pupils blown all the way.

He’s rude as fuck, and you’re about to cum your brains out thinking about it.

Only Min Yoongi could do this to you.

He knows it. His breathing is ragged, but he somehow has the presence of mind to say, ‘fuck. Does my baby want tenderness too?’

His lips press against yours, he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

‘Fucking cum for me,’ he murmurs.

You slam your hips against his again, and finally, finally, you cum.

You curl into his chest, and he’s there, mouth on your hair.

‘You did so well,’ he tells you. ‘Waving that ass in the air for me, shit. Wearing this. You’re gonna need to do this again.’

‘I want to be good for you,’ you say.

Yoongi tilts your face so you’ll look at him.

‘Why? I’m a cold bastard most of the time.’

‘You have a nice cock,’ you offer.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You can have my cock anytime. It’s all yours.’

‘Oh are we exclusive now?’ you tease.

‘I’m wearing your ring around my finger,’ Yoongi reminds you, showing you his hand.

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it.

‘I’ll get you another ring to put around your cock.’

Yoongi grins and slaps your ass, gently. ‘Come on, get dressed. I want to get into bed with you. It’s my favourite part of the day.’

You want to ask if he really means that, but he’s already opening the door.

***

Yoongi looks pretty sexy when he’s concentrating, you decide.

You’ve graduated from sleeping together to also spending time together in his study sometimes in the evenings.

You’re trying to concentrate on reading a brief your social media manager prepared for you, but really your husband who isn’t doing anything other than frowning at his work, is distracting you.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Need help with anything?’

You hum.

He walks around his desk to stand next to you.

‘What are you working on?’

You show him your brief. ‘Just prepping for a meeting tomorrow.’

Yoongi looks like he’s concentrating again, reading over your shoulder.

‘I’ve got it, Yoongi,’ you tell him.

He glances at you.

‘I didn’t say you didn’t.’

You try to ignore the flare of irritation as Yoongi walks back to his desk.

You know Yoongi has a sharp intellect and great business instincts. He’s earned every bit of his impressive reputation.

You’d be a fool to turn down his help.

Maybe you are a fool. But you don’t want him to see you as the impulsive devil-may-care hellion he married. You want to show him that you, too, have earned your right for respect in your role.

You chew on that for a bit, and finally, sighing, give up and go to bed.

You guess it’s going to take a bit longer to change Yoongi’s perception of you.

***

You got up to a lot of shenanigans on your honeymoon with Yoongi.

You were drunk for a lot of it, so you don’t remember much, but the bits you do remember are all bad.

You’d started drinking on the plane and spent the first night throwing up in the hotel bathroom.

And the second. Possibly the third.

You’d straight up disappeared after breakfast one day and had spent a day wandering the city on your own.

You’d also refused to sleep with him, claiming you were being treated for gonorrhoea. You’d accused him of giving it to you, which was how you’d ended up getting your hands on his test results to send to his company.

At least this is an easy thing to make up to Yoongi.

You couldn’t possibly make it a worse experience.

You’ve organised a weekend away with him, in a rustic little cabin by the lakes.

It works on many levels. The cabin’s a fair drive away, which means you get to watch your husband drive sexily. You think Yoongi likes nature, and you envisage doing a bit of paddling, maybe some fishing.

Also, the isolation of the cabin means you won’t get any noise complaints, important because you intend on fucking Yoongi constantly this weekend.

You’re still congratulating yourself on your genius when Yoongi wakes up the morning you’re due to leave.

You’ve been awake for hours.

The smile you turn on him is so bright he grimaces.

Ah. You keep forgetting he’s not a morning person. Also you have no idea what time he got in last night.

You scurry out of bed to grab him a coffee and promptly trip over his slippers.

Yoongi swears behind you. ‘Why do you keep falling over my slippers? They’re in the same place every time.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave them there,’ you retort, hurt.

Then you remember you’re on your best behaviour.

You bite your tongue and go to grab him a coffee.

When you get back, he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling.

‘Got you coffee,’ you say, holding out his mug.

He accepts with a gravelly ‘thanks.’

You’re brushing your teeth when he says, ‘there’s been a supply problem with the new line we’re launching. I may need to spend time this weekend on the phone.’

‘That’s fine,’ you say, brightly. You’re determined not to let anything mar your new honeymoon weekend.

Yoongi says, gently, ‘is there any way we could reschedule?’

You stare at him. ‘Do you not want to go?’

The words are out before you get a chance to think them over. You could kick yourself at the neediness in your tone.

Yoongi says, ‘of course I want to go, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’

You’re starting to wonder if he’s trying to tell you he doesn’t want to go.

‘I won’t be disappointed,’ you say, watching his face carefully.

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Then let’s set off after breakfast.’

Yoongi’s quiet as he’s driving, and you notice how tired he looks. You’re just about to suggest he pulls over to let you drive when he says, ‘something on my face?’

‘You look tired,’ you say.

‘I am tired,’ he tells you. He smiles at you, faintly. ‘This upcoming collaboration with Novatech will be the biggest, most high-stakes project I’ve started since I took over from my father. I can’t afford for it to fail.’

‘Why would it fail?’ you ask.

‘There are a lot of moving parts,’ Yoongi says, vaguely.

‘I’m sure it’ll be a roaring success,’ you say, faith firmly in your capable, successful husband.

Yoongi says, ‘just don’t try to sabotage me.’

You say, earnestly, ‘those days are behind me.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Yoongi says, ‘I’m going to miss spanking you for misbehaving.’

That reminds you.

‘You can spank me anytime,’ you tell Yoongi. ‘Also, check out these new panties I bought.’

Yoongi glances at you and nearly swerves off the road.

‘Are you wearing crotchless panties?’ he asks, and he looks intrigued and flustered all at once.

‘It’s called an ouvert,’ you explain. ‘That’s French for open.’

Yoongi mutters something to himself you don’t quite catch.

‘What did you say?’ you ask, sweet as pie.

‘I said, your fucking pussy is going to kill me,’ Yoongi says.

He gives you a half smile, lazy, devastating.

‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’

***

Yoongi’s phone rings the moment you step into the cabin.

You wonder if you should have plumped for somewhere more rustic with no cell reception.

You unpack half-heartedly, watching from the window as he paces around outside the cabin.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, looking more stressed and tired than you’ve ever seen him.

Maybe he’s been stressed like this before but you haven’t been paying attention.

You come out to bring him a glass of water.

He smiles at you, still on his phone.

You flash him your ass and glance back to see if he’s watching.

He isn’t.

When Yoongi’s done on the phone you grab him.

‘Want to go for a walk? I’ll protect you from the wolves.’

‘I am the wolf,’ Yoongi says, but it’s half hearted.

‘Hey, why don’t you take a break. I’ll rub your back.’

Yoongi perks up at your suggestion, and it’s the most animated you’ve seen him all day.

You get him to lay on the bed just in his briefs.

You wonder if you’ll ever get used to how beautiful his body is.

You put your hands on his shoulders and knead, and his deep groan makes you feel good in so many ways.

You can feel Yoongi’s muscles relax as you massage over his shoulders and down his back. When you get to his legs he twitches a little like he’s falling asleep.

By the time you get to his feet he’s dead asleep.

You cover him with a blanket and a kiss and head out for a walk.

When you get back he’s still asleep, so you make a space for yourself next to him and join him.

You’re awakened by Yoongi’s hand on your shoulder.

‘Hey, I made dinner for us.’

You blink, disoriented. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s late. Come on. We’ll sleep better when we’re full.’

Yoongi’s made ram-don. You sigh happily as you sit down in front of the steaming bowl. Instead of sitting across from you, Yoongi slides in next to you.

His thigh nudges yours. He puts his free hand on your thigh.

You look at him curiously.

Yoongi says, ‘eat.’

The noodles are delicious, but you find you’re enjoying Yoongi’s hand on your thigh just as much.

You put your hand on his, and smile at him as he knits your fingers together.

It’s sweet, and silly, and something you wouldn’t expect from your normally brisk, impatient husband.

Yoongi watches you finish your noodles, enjoying the warmth of your thigh and hand. He shifts a little, because he’s quite sure he shouldn’t have a raging hard-on from doing something as innocent as holding your hand.

You’re smiling at him so happily. If Yoongi’d known that holding your hand would be enough to make you smile like that he’d have tried to hold hands with you this whole time.

You’re finished with your late dinner. Yoongi stops you when you get up to start clearing up.

‘Let me do it. Why don’t we watch a movie? You set it up and I’ll clear up here.’

By the time Yoongi finishes clearing up, you’re ensconced on the couch, so covered in blankets he can barely see you. The lights are low, the TV on playing some movie Yoongi knows he’s not going to get into.

He’d rather watch you.

He slides in next to you and holds out his arm.

You look at him like you’ve never been invited to snuggle before.

To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t think you’ve ever done this together.

He lowers his arm like he’s changed his mind, and you’re next to him so quickly he has to bite back a smile.

You rest your head in the curve between his neck and shoulder, cheek on his chest.

Your hand flutters over his torso, finally landing on his stomach. You turn in, nose against his chest, breathing him in.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable.

Yoongi wants to fight dragons for you.

He leans down and sniffs your hair as quietly as he can.

Your breathing is easy, slow, and Yoongi realises you’ve fallen asleep when you go boneless in his arms.

He wonders if you know how much he’s prepared to do for you if you ever asked.

Part 2

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thejaeyonglibrary · 7 years ago

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airplane mode

Author: lotusflowerbomb Status: complete Length: drabble Rating: general Genre: non au, fluff Warning: none Summary: In between hectic flights and busy metropolises, Taeyong and Jaehyun find home in each other.

[ao3]

#taeyong #jaehyun #jaeyong #jaeyong fic #nct #nctu #nct127 #s:complete #l:drabble #r:g #g:nonau #g:fluff #ao3

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dimplereads · 3 years ago

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𖦹 kabira -> tell your cat to stop shitting right at my doorstep

ʚїɞ 431 . kwon soonyoung

🪷 wait so cuuuuute !! hehehehe giggle worthy, i feel so bubbly inside. we luv lil pure drabbles ugh my heart.

#gr:svt #m:hosh #g:fluff #l:drabble #under5k #au:neighbors #rating:sfw

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dimplereads · 3 years ago

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𖦹 by-moonflower -> when you start to see blue

ʚїɞ 1.7k . kwon soonyoung . when fate rewrites itself but soonyoung doesn’t realize it, even though he’s been seeing the colors you feel

🪷 .

#gr:svt #m:hosh #g:fluff #l:drabble #under5k #au:soulmate #r:s2l #rating:sfw

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dimplereads · 3 years ago

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𖦹 ubemango -> omg here’s big poopoo at the bar ʚїɞ jeon jungkook . best friends who refuse to admit they’re in love with each other and they kiss like… a lot for some reason drabble au with jk

🌷 this was cute, in a weird way lmao

#gr:bts #m:jjk #g:fluff #l:drabble #under5k #r:bf2l #rating:sfw

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dimplereads · 3 years ago

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𖦹 scriptaed -> friends with snacks

ʚїɞ 2.8k . kim seokjin . after your roommate jin commits yet another dire misconduct, you come to the revelation that you two would never work out as more than friends. ‘what could he have possibly done? did he cheat on you or something?’ your friends ask you, but it’s far worse than that, no one would understand the repercussions of his actions - no one but you and him, a couple founded on the concept of friends with snacks.

🌷 this one has a special place in my heart since i believe it was the very first bts/kpop fic i ever read like circa 2017/2018 ish

#gr:bts #m:ksj #g:fluff #l:drabble #<5k #au:roomates #r:f2l #rating:sfw

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thejaeyonglibrary · 7 years ago

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jaeyong drabble dump

Author: basurahansol Status: complete Length: drabble Rating: teen Genre: non au, fluff Warning: none Summary: An archive of my Jaehyun x Taeyong drabbles.

[ao3]

#taeyong #jaehyun #jaeyong #jaeyong fic #nct #nctu #nct127 #s:complete #l:drabble #r:t #g:nonau #g:fluff #ao3

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ggukkiereads · 3 years ago

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🌷 I AM SCREAMING!!! 🥵 Glad this is just an imagine because people will d-word over the finished product. D-icon suddenly takes on a different meaning lol. We’re saved but also take my money please let me see the shot. This is so good for a quick, dirty, and filthy imagine. 🔥

Jungkooks full sleeve photo is the most coveted and valuable picture in the industry. Every photograper is waiting for him to slip up and show some skin. Hired by Dispatch to catch him when he's most vulnerable, will you be able get the money shot? 18+ Smut

Exposed

Scheduled to go last, Jungkook nervously stood watching Taehyung finish his session. Not only was the concept of the shoot strange for him, the photographer was also really sexy, the guys had spent the day texting back and forth about her. Of course Tae had nailed it, they were looking for raw sex appeal and vulnerability but Jungkook was afraid all he could pull off was cute baby bunny.

The next comeback was supposed to be about ego and personal identity, basically them stepping out of their fan assumed contrived personas. A more grown up take on their image was in order, and Jungkook just hadn't been able to figure out who he really was yet, let alone how much of himself he was ready to reveal.

"Thanks Tae, you're a superstar" you high fived him as he gathered his stuff to leave. Jungkook apprehensively approached introducing himself. His hair was long and wavy and his stylists chose a wardrobe of a loose fitting button down with ripped jeans and black combat boots. He looked delicious but it was a look you'd seen a million times on him in every other magazine spread.

"You look nervous Jungkook, what can we do to fix that?" His shy smile made him look so young. "I'm just not used to this type of shoot, I don't know if I can do sexy," he giggled at his own words.

Perhaps pulling him out of his shell would be harder than you thought, "I think we're going to be ok." You pushed his hair back a little and stared at him, "It's not the sexy that's lacking here, it's your confidence Guk. Sorry, is it ok if I call you that?" He nodded, "So where do you want me? You knew exactly where you wanted him but didn't want to make it look calculated.

Looking around the set you mused out loud, "I shot Tae on the couch and Jimin felt comfortable doing his in the shower so why don't we get you to take the bed" his eyebrow raised and his lips pursed together. "I heard you may be a bit shy so I ordered a closed set. It's just us okay? Why don't you go and just hang out on it and I'll get the lights set up."

You looked over and he was laying on the bed texting, taking your time you wanted him to relax.

Group Chat

J.K: She is HOT. Her skirt is so short, holy shit. I have to shoot on the bed, should I make a move? Did anyone?

Jimin: I made sure to "accidentally" splash water on her white shirt while I did my shower shots. She seemed immune to my charms 😞

Jin: We had to do ours outside too many people watching to openly flirt.

Yoongi:JK, I'll give you a million won if you can get through your shoot without cumming in your pants.

RM: So disrespectful, she's a professional. Those tits though 👌

"Are you ready to start?" You asked trying to pull his attention away from his phone. "Yeah, I think I'm ready now." Moving around the room with the camera you tested several angels as he posed, laying back, leaning over, grabbing the pillow.

Shaking your head you weren't satisfied, "Jungkook, when you're at home relaxing do you wear combat boots?"

He laughed, "No, especially not while I'm laying on the bed." Walking over to him you bent down and started undoing his boots, "What about that shirt? Does it need to be buttoned right up? Maybe we could lose a few?" You threw his boot across the room, "May I?"

You asked tugging at the toe of his sock. "Ahhhh you're one of those foot people" he chuckled. "Well I'm not, but if I was, your feet are actually pretty nice." He blushed turning his attention to his shirt, "is this better?"

Leaning over you crumpled the sheets around him, it was 100% intentional that your breasts just happened to be in his face while you propped the pillow under his head. His hand moved swiftly to pull his shirt over his growing hard on, he was fucked and he knew it.

"Looking better," you coached his posing as you snapped off a few more shots. "Just better?" he sounded disappointed that he couldn't pull sexy off for you.

"Will you trust me Guk?" You asked him as you stood up on the bed over him. Gulping hard he nodded, he wasn't sure what you had planned but being as he could see your panties he was sure he wouldn't mind.

You set the camera down beside him and leaned down to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. Exposing his chest and abs you let out a subtle hiss, "well, that's something. Close your eyes okay… trust me, this is going to make the shot incredible."

Closing his eyes his brain went into overdrive trying to figure out what you were up to. Goosebumps took over his body when he felt you straddle his lap, your hands moved through his hair disrupting the perfection and your chest pressed softly against him as your mouth connected with his. His lips were soft and his tongue worked quickly to gain entry into yours. He was about to wrap his arms around you, when you stood up and grabbed the camera.

Snapping just as he opened his eyes in wonder, "What the fuck was that?" holding up the digital screen you smiled proudly. "This Jungkook, is sexy. Look at your face, you look totally needy and unravelled. "Taking the camera out of your hands he inspected the photo and smiled. It certainly wasn't a side of himself he'd ever seen before. "Shall we continue then?" you asked. "I'm yours, use me however you see fit," he conceded.

"I was really hoping you'd say that," resuming you stance over him you took control. "Let's show them you're a man now, it's time for everyone to accept that you have desires, I'm going to put my leg in the frame and I want you to run your hands over it like you want me." Closer than before, he could now see your panties had little pink polka dots adorning them, "shouldn't be a problem" he muttered under his breath.

You egged him on, the camera clicking frame after frame, he was getting totally lost in the moment. Sitting up he wrapped his arm around your thigh and brought his face as close as he could to nestle beside your mound. "Fuck Kookie, stay just like that but move your other hand so it's resting on the bulge in your jeans."

His mind was swimming with dirty thoughts as you spoke so frankly. You'd gotten him into a zone, was he just posing or was he just as turned on as you?

The answer came soon enough as you felt his hand move under your skirt. His fingertips ran over your wet panties and you could feel his breath on your thighs, "Is this sexy?" He asked while brushing his nose into your clit, "It's amazing Guk," Hooking his finger into the elastic he pulled your thong to the side and his warm tongue lapped against your folds. "That feels really good baby but we still have to get a few more shots. Let me take care of you okay?"

You tried to back away from his mouth but he got in a few last greddy sucks before detaching his lips and wiping off his chin. "You should have left that there, it would have made a great addition to the pictures."

He grabbed you around the waist pulling you on top of him "Let's put it back then." You had to stay focused, "Can we take some with your shirt off?" You began running your hands over his chest, kissing his abs. He was hesitant,

"I'm not supposed to show my tattoos, management won't let me." Moaning you sat up and took your shirt off, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He couldn't help but stare at the metal piercings that ran through each of your nipples. "I don't care what anyone thinks about my piercings, I did it for me and for my pleasure, who gives a shit about anyone else's opinion. These tattoos represent you, you should be proud to show people who you really are."

He sat up with you still straddling his lap and let you push his shirt off down his arms. Your fingers traced over the details as you admired the artwork over his bicep.

"This is sexy, you having the confidence to do what you want with your body." Kissing your breasts he was lost in the empowerment you were giving him, "Do you know what I really want to do with my body?" You couldn't help but smirk, "I want to fuck you and I want you to take pictures while I do it."

"That's one way to get the shot, fuck Jungkook I didnt think you would be so into this." Grabbing him away from your chest you pushed him flat on his back. You let your hands and fingertips admire his body before they made their way to his zipper. Pulling it down slowly his cock strained against the elastic of his black boxers. Palming him gently you grabbed the camera with your free hand and took some pictures of him, "These are phenomenal Kookie, why don't you take the camera while I put your cock in my mouth."

Pulling his boxers down just enough to free him, you smiled, "how the hell do you manage to look so innocent when you're walking around with this in your pants?"

His dick was a smooth honey brown that curved upwards, thicker than you thought he'd be with a beautiful cut tip. You saw the flash and looked up at him, "This ones for me." You weren't often the subject of photos but Jungkook was a photographer too and he'd decided two could play the game of directing the shot.

"Wrap those lips around me and fucking suck it," God you loved dirty talk. He wrapped your hair around his hand pulling it off your face, "that's beautiful, eyes up here, look at me while you're choking on it."

Abandoning the camera to get lost in the pleasure, he fell back on the bed. Popping him out of your mouth he whined at the loss of sensation, "You want more Kookie?" he nodded. Laying on top of him you sucked marks onto his neck, "You want me to ride your beautiful cock?"

He still had his pants on, laying vulnerable, bare chested with his dick out begging for attention. Pulling your panties to the side you lined him up with your entrance and sank him deep inside you. The gutteral moan he let out was animalistic, he was so far gone in pleasure that you'd never seen a more beautiful surrender. He was calling out your name as you snapped pictures of his ecstasy, sweat making his skin glisten under the set lighting.

You abruptly got off him, "why do you keep stopping?" You laughed at his desperate voice, "I want you completely naked Jungkook, I'm not done with you yet." He eagerly moved to get the rest of his clothes off and grabbed you so your bodies were pressed together.

He stared at you for a minute, tucking some hair behind your ear, "Why are you staring at me?" He smiled, "I want to capture this picture with my memory," he kissed you softly on the lips. Just as you started to blush at his tender response he smacked your ass and said "flip it over, I'm using the camera for this one."

Grabbing your waist firmly you laughed and squirmed as he wrestled you onto your stomach. "All fours babe," he commanded as you complied wiggling your ass at him, "I'm really into the bold side of you Guk." Positioning himself behind you he gave you a hard squeeze as he stuffed his dick back inside you. He was rough with his thrusts and little cries left you every time he bottomed out. The curve of his dick had his head rubbing into your g spot perfectly, the pleasure and pain brought you to orgasam quickly as you clenched around him milking his cock as he came hard inside you.

"Hold still," he demanded, grabbing your camera you could hear the clicks, "so fucking beautiful." Laying down together spent he pulled up his final shot, his cum was dripping out of your pink abused pussy. "I think this one's my favourite."

As much as you wanted to lay here in post coital bliss, you still had a job to finish. "This is it, the final shot, Jungkook all fucked out." You arranged the top sheet to just cover his tired cock, pubic hair peeking out, muscular tattooed arms on display, sheets disheveled, hair wild and a grin that could only be caused by one thing.

"That's a wrap"

#ggukkierecommends #jungkook x reader #m:jjk #l:drabble #>3k #2.1k wc #g:smut #hot:filthy #au:photographer #au:idolverse #au:tattooed #rate:explicit #s:unprotected #s:riding #s:oral #s:doggy

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thejaeyonglibrary · 7 years ago

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untitled

Author: youngho Status: complete Length: drabble Rating: general Genre: hurt/comfort, non au, romance Warning: none Summary: They’d agreed not to read online comments, but Taeyong can’t help himself.

[ao3]

#taeyong #jaehyun #jaeyong #jaeyong fic #nct #nctu #nct127 #s:complete #l:drabble #r:g #g:hurt #g:nonau #ao3 #g:romance

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chansoobookshelf · 8 years ago

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Northern Lights (1,942) by AestheticNico Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: EXO (Band) Rating: G Relationships: ChanSoo Characters: Do Kyungsoo | D.O, Park Chanyeol Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort AU: College Summary: Chanyeol just wants some love. And Kyungsoo is concerned. Or; Chanyeol is a lovesick loser losing his mind over his affections for his College Roommate who has no idea what the hell is wrong with him.

Follow chansoobookshelf to see more Chansoo fics. :)

#EXO #ChanSoo #Chanyeol #Kyungsoo #chansoo fanfiction #fin #s:ao3 #l:drabble #one-shot #r: g #g: angst #g: fluff #g: romance #au: college #otp #anon rec #g: hurt/comfort #lang: english

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theedphub-blog · 6 years ago

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Beyond the Surface

What on Earth had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this, she’d been crazy to ever think that she was cut out for any of this.

Clutching at the railings with a white knuckle death grip Jemima cries out, squeezing her eyes shut firmly as she continues to breathe rapidly through the pain. So much for all those fancy techniques she’d learned in those pregnancy classes, she could hardly think straight never mind remember to breathe at a certain rate. In her time of need it was all proving to be a bit useless, and if anything the classes had only made her more scared of it all to begin with. Not that she had ever dared to confess as much to Jamie, she couldn’t do that to him. As this latest contraction subsides she collapses back against the pillows her body reeling from exhaustion, sweat drenching her forehead as her bangs cling to it and her chest rises and falls with the effort it takes to regain her control.

A nearby nurse dabs at her forehead with a damp cloth and Jemima can’t help but whimper a little with relief at the cooling rag against her fiery skin, she’d been at this for hours and she was truly starting to feel the toll on both body and mind. The steady pace that the nurses worked around her didn’t exactly reassure Jemima that it would be over any time soon either, instead she was lying alone in the hospital bed her body writhing as she feels the next contraction coming on. As soon as her waters had broken and the contractions had started hours beforehand it hadn’t been until the pain became too frequent that she had even called for the ambulance, though she hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time Jemima was sure she had been trying to delay all of this for as long as possible. Now she was very much running out of time.

Up to this point she had believed that getting into and through Harvard had been one of the hardest things she had ever done, but compared to this Jemima would happily take the bar exam ten times over. She had succeeded in her degree even with all of the mental trauma she carried from a childhood scorned by most of her family, it had made it incredibly easy for Jemima to turn her back on them after they lost the only tie that held them together in the departure, her mother. But now she was in this hospital room alone, she had gone above and beyond to make them all proud despite how little they cared for her and yet she had still been surprised when it had not been enough for them. Jemima had been fairly sure right from the start there was no way she could prove any different to her blood and be a good parent, she had been dreading this moment as soon as she had seen those two little lines appear on that pregnancy test. If it hadn’t been for Jamie’s elation and how much she truly loved him there was no way Jemima could have done any of this, but any hope that it would help her through the rest was starting to dwindle out. Neither of them had had big warm families full of love, would just the two of them be truly enough for this child?

With a groan her body tenses up under the latest bout of pain and for a second she remembers to do one of the breathing exercises, though she isn’t entirely sure it actually helps her at all. Somewhere in her consciousness she’s aware that one of the nurses is telling her she needs to get ready to push soon as another one disappears to grab the doctor, if it wasn’t feeling real before suddenly Jemima was very aware that she was lacking the willpower to go through with this. Her body was at breaking point, just the idea of pushing was making her more exhausted. In her delirium she must have spoken her fears aloud as one of the nurses, an older woman with a kind face, came over and gave Jemima’s hand a gentle squeeze, though it felt off as hers was covered by a stark blue latex glove. The woman’s attempt at reassuring her though kind wasn’t really having the desired effect, instead it was just yet another reminder of the seriousness of the situation Jemima found herself in.

At the same moment Jemima cries out from both the intensity of her labour and her utter frustration the door to her room swings open with a bang, she manages to catch a glimpse of Jamie still in uniform over in the doorway looking as out of breath as she feels before he dashes to her side. Her hand suddenly in his feels much more comforting than the nurses attempt, though she was sure her grip was on the verge of crushing his though he didn’t seem to mind. Somehow through this small gesture she was able to find her strength again in his, and looking up at the awe on his face reminded her why she was doing this. No matter how scary it was, this was for them. And then as if her heart couldn’t get any fuller her attention is drawn to the doorway once more as she doctor comes through, where she now spots Isaiah lingering in the doorway and already she knew Fern, Lois and Uriah wouldn’t be too far behind. It may not be a conventional family to offer to their child but Jemima who had been searching her whole life for people to love her as much as she loved them finally knew that she had found it here, she had stopped moving and set down roots when she truly had never expected it to happen. They were here as her friends, rather than colleagues or bosses. Jemima had finally found her family and suddenly it all felt a little bit less overwhelming.

Now all she needed to do was push.

#&l #&l:drabble #&drabble

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ggukkiereads · 3 years ago

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🌷This is so hilarious! I think I am half in love with Mrs. Yun for her ridiculous methods in making sure our poor OC get some Jimin action. This is like straight out of a sitcom with characters so vividly funny and the scenes just keep getting better and better. yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ] - lol this! Let's all be ready for days you encounter a Park Jimin. I love this! Had so much fun reading 😁

adonis | pjm x reader

🚨 summary: your crackpot of a neighbor will not rest until you throw yourself at the gorgeous paramedic in town. she's nuts, y'all.

🚨 pairing: reader x paramedic!jimin

🚨 genre: meddling neighbors? horny little old ladies with bad-slash-good intentions? awkward OCs who can't find the words to speak in the presence of greatness?

🚨 warnings: one very mouthy senior citizen, sweet/shy jimin, an OC who can't find a clean shirt throughout the entire fic, one very spoiled pomeranian, smoking, sexual innuendo, literally one line of implied smut

🚨 word count: 3.4K (lmao)

🚨 notes: this is my drabble *snort* for the possum anniversary and i am celebrating the wonderful @starlostjimin who is such a cool, funny, amazing, talented person. did you know that 911 is 911 in america AND canada? anyhoo. i hope you like my very first jimin fic ever, and i hope it delivers on the things that you wanted 💕

thank you always to @hobi-gif for being the most amazing beta and person in general.

If you had to wager a guess, you’d say it was Mrs. Choi from the fourth floor who’d dialed 911. That miserable old bat has always struck you as kind of a snitch.

At any rate, that’s how you find yourself standing outside your condo at ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a faded bathrobe and a pair of worn-out house slippers. Lights mounted on top of the fire truck idling at your building’s entrance turn the courtyard into a tragic makeshift disco, everything and everyone splashed in flashes of red and white.

You mill around on the damp grass with the rest of your neighbors, each of you turned into temporary exiles in mismatched sleepwear.

Mr. Nam from the sixth floor is yelling into his phone as he paces, giving someone an earful about the disruption. Mrs. Song from the seventh floor was smart enough to grab a lawn chair and she watches the scene unfold like it’s one of her beloved dramas. Mr. Baek from the first floor doesn’t pay any mind to the fuss around him, engrossed in a book good enough to drown out the grumbling and sirens.

But you don’t spot the woman who lives in the unit next to yours – not right away – because it takes her an absurdly long time to heed this whole evacuation business.

When Mrs. Yun finally breezes through the condo’s glass doors, she does so with all the subtlety of a pageant queen. She makes a beeline for you, decked out in a Hawaiian-print muumuu loud enough to wake the dead – accessorized by a full face of makeup, a full set of curlers, and her trusty Pomeranian tucked under one arm.

“What is all this fuss about?” she pouts, giving Chichi an affectionate scratch. You lean over to give the dog your own scratch and she licks your fingers as thanks.

“Hell if I know,” you shrug. “I came outside when I heard the sirens. Which, by the way, was about ten minutes ago.”

“I was busy,” Mrs. Yun sniffs, affronted by your reprimand. She sets Chichi down to pat her curlers and make sure each is still in place. “I have a friend coming over tonight.”

“A friend.”

“Yes honey, a friend,” she echoes, tone haughty. “You should try it some time.”

God, you really should. The only man in your life these days is the Doordash driver and the last time he’d come by, he’d made a clumsy joke about your sodium intake. You’d been embarrassed, sure, but somehow that pales in comparison to this reminder that you’re being outsexed by the little old lady next door.

“You should ask someone when they plan to let us back in,” Mrs. Yun says, tapping her foot impatiently. “You should ask – ” she pauses to look out over the crowd, eyes lighting as she points one fresh gel nail in the direction of the fire truck, “ – him.”

You follow the trajectory of that thin finger with your gaze until your eyes land on Mrs. Yun’s intended target. And then you blink as you take in what is surely the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark eyes and sandy blonde hair and a jawline so sharp, it could have been cut from granite.

Holy shit.

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Yun grins, and your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’ve spoken out loud. It flames even hotter when she raises an arm to wave him over.

“Sir? Sir!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” You panic, whispering in the most threatening tone you can muster. “Put your hand down. Don’t – ”

But it’s too late. Mrs. Yun has already caught the attention of this Earth-bound Adonis. He makes his way towards you both without delay, wearing an easy smile so devastating it makes sweat bead at your temples.

“Hi there,” he greets kindly. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mr. – ” Mrs. Yun pauses to squint at the name embroidered on the man’s dark navy uniform, “ – Park. What’s all this uproar about tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckles, and you find yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Someone called 911 because they smelled smoke, so we had to come check it out.” A radio secured to his shoulder crackles with an incoming transmission and he pauses to listen before he speaks again. “Pretty sure they’re almost done checking the building. Old places like this, we’ve always got to put in a bit more attention where the wiring is concerned. Wouldn’t want to leave you ladies in a dangerous situation.”

“Oh, of course not,” Mrs. Yun purrs, making no effort to hide the cheeky once-over she gives him. “We certainly appreciate you being thorough.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – flushes, clearing his throat as the tips of his ears turn pink. You make a mental note to sit Mrs.Yun down later to explain that a few things have changed since her heyday.

The radio crackles again, a garbled voice coming over the line.

“Sounds like they’re almost done,” he explains, looking down at his feet to find Chichi sniffing at his boot. He crouches down to pet her and she curls into the curve of his hand, eager for his touch.

Somehow you’re willing to bet this man has that kind of effect on everything in his path – men, women, and houseplants alike.

He gives Chichi a few firm scratches before getting back to his feet. The rigid fabric of his uniform pants strains against the lean muscles of his thighs as he moves and Mrs. Yun’s eyes practically bug out of her face. You’d jam an elbow in her side if you thought there was a chance you could pull it off without being caught.

“I’d better get back,” he says, turning to you with one of those debilitating smiles. Your toes curl inside the shabby velvet of your slippers. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Mrs. Yun calls out, appreciating his retreating form with a lifted brow. You wait until the man is well out of earshot before turning on her.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“That – ” she says with her nose in the air, “ – is why you never leave the house without your face on.”

“You were practically undressing that man with your eyes,” you accuse hotly. “You do know what sexual harrassment is, don’t you?”

Mrs. Yun huffs as she bends down to scoop up Chichi. “I wasn’t harassing the man, I was appreciating him. Fine art is meant to be admired.”

“Oh, please,” you grumble. “And don’t think I missed that little detail about the smoke.”

She narrows her eyes at you.

“Mind your business.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

One week later, a knock at the door nearly startles you right off the couch. You frown into your half-eaten carton of ramen and set it down on the coffee table, taking a moment to seriously contemplate pretending not to be home.

But then there’s more knocking – more insistent this time.

You pad across the floor, crack the door open and the ramen in your stomach threatens to come right back up.

“Hi again.”

You blink.

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that your neighbor suffered a fall and she said you would have a key to get into her place.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – looks a little sheepish as he stands in the doorway, waiting for you to speak like a normal human being with a passable set of social skills. He shoves one hand through his sandy blonde hair and the locks seem to fall back in slow-motion.

“I – y-yes of course,” you stutter, so flustered that you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to scramble for the kitchen. You dig Mrs. Yun’s spare key out of the silverware drawer and rush back to drop it into his waiting palm.

“I hope she’s okay,” you worry, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I’m right here if you guys need anything else.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” another voice promises, and you crane your neck to peer past the stunning Mr. Park to search for the source of it. A second man stands out in the hallway, a heavy duffel bag slung over one muscular arm covered in a myriad of tattoos. His face is boyish and beautiful and soft, a stark contrast to his powerful body.

Jesus. Who’s doing the recruiting in this city?

“We’ll have this back to you right away,” Mr. Park promises, and your neck heats when he rewards you with one of his sweet smiles.

The second they leave, you make a beeline for the bathroom – and cringe as you stand in the mirror and peel one half-dried ramen noodle off the front of your shirt.

🚨🚨🚨 🚨

15 minutes later, Mr. Park’s picture-perfect partner is knocking at your door.

“Hey there.”

You might have run a brush through your hair and dabbed on a bit of tinted chapstick in the last five minutes, but he notices that – or the absence of one half-dried ramen noodle, he makes no indication.

“Hi again,” you say. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, for sure. Maybe a little banged up, but otherwise she’s alright. She’s asking for you though, if you can walk over with me.”

“Yes, of course.” You shuffle into the hall and let him lead the way, through the open front door to Mrs. Yun’s unit and the narrow foyer that opens up into her living room. She’s upright on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. The glorious Mr. Park is bent down on one knee at her side.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, looking as pleased as a queen holding court, “I’m grateful every day for the very dedicated public servants in this city. That was terrifying.”

“But you’re okay, right?” you ask.

“Nothing broken, so far as we can tell,” the Adonis says. “She’s probably going to be good and sore tomorrow, but for now she’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks to Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon here,” Mrs.Yun says sweetly. A little too sweetly, in fact. The wheels in your brain start to turn and you eyeball her from across the room. She peeks at you from behind the ice pack and dons an angelic smile.

“Yes, they are certainly appreciated,” you say slowly, the skepticism in your voice vibrating at a frequency only Mrs. Yun can hear. She beams at Mr. Park as he gets to his feet and starts to pack up his things.

Mr. – Jeon, was it? – slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. “Be sure and take those anti-inflammatories tonight, okay? You’ll be all locked up in the morning if you don’t.”

Mrs. Yun practically preens at the personal attention she’s gotten from these two insanely good-looking men. “I will.”

“You’re lucky to have a good neighbor,” the Adonis says to Mrs. Yun, turning to you with a genuine smile. Your heart thuds in response. “If it’s alright with you, keep an eye on her tonight? She might need your help.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, alright,” you say with a tight smile, and Mrs. Yun clears her throat.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

“Promise me – right now – that you really fell.”

“What did I tell you about leaving the house with your face on?”

“Answer the question,” you fire back and Mrs. Yun sighs, tossing the ice pack down on the couch.

“Yes, honey, I did fall. I fell in love with that scrumptious Mr. Park the second I saw him. And if I were a woman thirty – ”

You raise an eyebrow.

“ – Okay, fifty years younger than I am, I would be taking him for a spin myself. But since I’m not, I’ve decided that you should have him. Did I bend the truth a little? Yes. But for a good cause. I’m a very thoughtful person, you know.”

“You are outrageous,” you hiss, pacing as Mrs.Yun pretends to look for dirt under her fingernails. “This is a waste of public resources! They’re supposed to be responding to emergencies. Real emergencies.”

“First of all – ” Mrs. Yun is defiant, chin in the air, “ – Nothing ever happens in this town. Nothing. And second, there’s dust in your panties, sweetheart. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and Mrs. Yun ignores it, climbing off the couch with ease to cross the room and crack open a window. She pulls a box out of the tiny accent table perched beneath it and proceeds to light an absurdly long cigarette.

“You’re too damned young to be shut away in your house all the time,” she argues, pursing her lacquered lips to blow a stream of smoke out the window. “Work. Couch. Work. Couch. How can you stand it? Let me tell you what I’d be doing right now if I could turn back the clock and have your youth again: Mr. Park. I’d be doing Mr. Park. You should be doing Mr. Park.”

You stifle a disbelieving laugh. The novelty of your neighbor’s loose lips and bad habits wore off a long time ago, but sometimes she still manages to catch you off guard.

“Well, I’ve got an early morning so unless you have any more unsolicited sex advice to share, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Mrs. Yun blows another long stream of smoke out the window.

“Nope. I’ve got it all off my chest.”

“Good then,” you say, turning on your heels. You make it all the way to the door before you pause and call out to her.

“And put that thing out!”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Three days later, you find yourself struggling with an overloaded paper bag from the grocery store. Yes, you’ve purchased the reusable ones and yes, they’re a hell of a lot stronger – but you never miss an opportunity to leave them hanging in the closet on your way out the door.

Something in the bag is wet – well, moist at the very least. And it’s enough to have you gripping the bottom tight with both hands as you try to maneuver your way through the revolving door at the entrance to your condo. It’s an awkward fit inside the narrow sliver of space and as you’re shuffling forward, the door’s momentum dies. You push at it with one foot and lose an onion from the bag, nearly losing your balance in the process.

You blow out a heavy breath and go to push the door again, only this time it smoothly glides away before you even make contact. The misstep makes you jerk forward, but at least the door keeps moving long enough for you to step out of it.

“Think you lost something back there.”

Most of your hair has slipped out of your ponytail holder by now, the strands matted to your forehead with the sweat you worked up on the walk from the car. But when you turn, you can still make out the glorious Mr. Park quite clearly. He drops the onion back into your bag and smiles at you.

“Please, allow me.”

He lifts the bag out of your arms, carefully securing the bottom like you’d done just moments before. With your hands now free, you push your hair out of your face and silently pray that you don’t look as unfortunate as you suspect you do.

“You don’t have to do that,” you demur. “But I appreciate it anyway. Mr. Park, right?”

“Well, I’d much prefer you call me Jimin,” he laughs, the sound of it making heat bloom inside your chest. “But yeah, it’s me again.”

He’s not wearing his uniform, you realize. And though some small part of you mourns the loss of those fitted shirts and pants, his off-duty look – an oversized sweater, jeans and pair of sharp boots – sure as hell doesn’t disappoint.

“Do you… live here?” you ask stupidly, as though a man this handsome could live anywhere on this entire street without someone taking notice. “Or – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I came by to check on your neighbor. You know, after the fall and all. I told her she could call me if she ever needed anything and she asked me to stop by.”

“You gave – ” you pause, shock forcing your voice at least an octave higher, “ – You gave Mrs. Yun your phone number?”

His cheeks pink at the observation. “She’s in her 70s, you know? Lives alone. I really don’t mind.”

You truly have no idea how your chain-smoking, jazzercising, oversexed hellion of a next-door neighbor has managed to convince this man she’s a frail old woman in need of a hero.

Will wonders never cease?

“Besides,” he says, “She’s kind of...quirky, you know?”

“That’s a very strange way to say unhinged,” you counter.

He laughs.

“You’re funny. Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: he told me he helped you with your groceries [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: now tell him to help you out of your clothes [ 9:16 PM ]

you: go to bed [ 9:16 PM ]

Two days later, legs like noodles from spin class, you limp through your front door and sag onto the couch. You might have napped for a second, you’re not entirely sure – but after a knock sounds at your door, you are most definitely alert. Your thighs protest as you force yourself off the couch to answer it.

You crack the door open and it’s him. Adonis. Mr. Park. Jimin.

And you’re wearing a gray workout shirt with what you are certain is one very sizeable sweat stain down the front. Good God, will there ever be a time when you see this man and don’t look like a complete wreck?

“Oh my gosh, did she call you again?” you ask, incredulous. “You are so sweet to do this for her, really but this is too – ”

“ – She didn’t call,” he interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit bashful.

“Oh.”

“Listen, this is kind of embarrassing and maybe not entirely appropriate given I know where you live, but it’s just that I don’t have your number.”

Your eyes widen and your already distressed legs start to feel a bit more weak. Jimin scrubs a hand down his jaw before he speaks again.

“I was actually wondering if you might let me take you to dinner sometime.”

You blink.

“Or I could cook you dinner. I make this really great prawn dish? But again, I’m not trying to be a creep or anything and it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with that – ” he’s backpedaling now, his words coming out in a rush.

“– You are not a creep,” you insist, when you’ve finally come to your senses and figure out how to access your words and use them to form sentences. “I just – I was just not expecting that. But yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at the slow smile that comes over him.

“That’s great.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You fling the silverware drawer open and practically rip Mrs. Yun’s key out of it in your mad dash to her apartment. No, you do not feel guilty for letting yourself into her house, the woman has absolutely no boundaries and could use a taste of her own medicine.

You slam the door behind you when you walk in, and Mrs. Yun squints at you from her perch in the window. She blows out a perfect ring of smoke and then raises a brow.

“Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Give me one of those,” you demand. “Right now.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

There’s a knock at your door – again – only this time, you already know who’s on the other side. It’s your beloved Doordash driver, bringing an order of your beloved shio ramen. Two, actually.

You open the door to grab your food and Jimin calls out from the couch.

“Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you say over your shoulder.

When you turn back to thank the Doordash guy, he’s staring into your living room, eyes wide and trained on Jimin. You clear your throat and he snaps his focus back to you.

“Have a good night,” he says pleasantly.

And then he gives you a thumbs up.

yun: can the two of you keep it DOWN [ 11:22 PM ]

yun: some of us need our beauty sleep [ 11:22 PM ]

#ggukkiefaves #ggukkierecommends #jimin x reader #m:pjm #l:drabble #3kto5k #g:humor #g:fluff #superfunny #r:s2l #meetcute #au:paramedic #rate:g

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hdarchive · 10 years ago

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Summary: Skank!Kurt gets paired up with Blaine for the baby project in Home Ec. | AO3

A/N: Definitely the hardest project I ever had to do in high school. And then we pictured skank!kurt and thought, ‘lets give him and Blaine a fake baby!’ Thanks to kurtfer and amemorymaze for the inspiration.

He’s only late to Home Ec by six minutes, but unfortunately for Kurt he missed the six most crucial minutes of the entire class.

Everyone’s been paired up, babies already given out.

If he knew today was the day they’d be assigned partners he would have showed up early, anything to escape being paired up with him. But he’s the only one left.

Kurt sits at his table and sighs, crossing his arms and glaring at Blaine. It’s not that he hates Blaine, he just can’t stand him, something about him like sandpaper against the backs of his hands.

He only took this class because Quinn said it was an easy A.

“I can’t believe this,” Kurt gripes, eyes now pointed at the robotic baby doll in Blaine’s arms.

Blaine rocks the baby gently, as if it were real, and says quietly, “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, but we have a responsibility now to be the best parents we can be.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, propping his chin up off the table with his hand and sneers, “I’m sorry, too.”

Blaine turns to face Kurt and offers the baby towards him. “Do you want to hold her?”

“It’s not a her, Blaine,” Kurt bites, leaning further away in his seat from him. “It’s a robot baby.”

Blaine shrugs, goes back to rocking her. “She needs a name. Any suggestions? I was thinking something historical, somebody to pay homage to.”

“I don’t care.” He bends over to rest against the table, closes his eyes and thinks, then says, “Cannelloni.”

Blaine asks, appalled, “You want to name our baby after pasta?”

“I’m hungry,” he says dismissively.

He opens one eye, squints up at Blaine, who’s looking at their baby like it could actually be real, like he actually cares for it.

“Fine,” Blaine sighs, then smiles affectionately at the doll. “Little Loni.”

It won’t shut up. He considers putting duct tape over her mouth or leaving her in the middle of the football field and running away. But he really wants a good grade in this class, he can’t imagine the disappointment and humiliation of failing when it’s supposed to be easy.

Nothing about this is easy. It sounds like he’s torturing her, and for the past hour people have given him sharp looks or strange glances because he’s been carrying around a crying fake baby, and he doesn’t look like the kind of person to be carrying around a baby of any variety.

He sits underneath the bleachers with Quinn, mostly to be away from prying eyes, but also hoping she has a trick to get the baby to stop.

“When do they stop?” Kurt asks, drained, holding his head in his hands as he rocks her car seat with his foot.

She wails, her cry the noise a cat makes when you step on its tail.

Quinn snickers, joining him by putting her boot on the edge of the car seat. “They don’t.”

“How do I get it to shut up?”

“You can’t.”

They rock her faster, the baby’s cry somehow increasing in volume, and Kurt stops breathing for a long moment, has to, or else he might pick her up and throw her.

“Do I feed it?” he asks frantically, taking her out of the car seat to cradle her close, imitating the way Blaine held her earlier. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t have the first clue of how to feed her or change her or make her happy, and it scares him in ways he won’t admit. If it were a real baby . . .

“Where’s Blaine?” Quinn asks, blowing cigarette smoke through her lips. “Shouldn’t he be helping you?”

Kurt says, annoyed, “He has gym class and didn’t want to risk hitting her with a dodgeball.”

“Ah,” Quinn says, tapping the end of her cigarette, ashes fluttering to the ground. “Real partnership you have going on here.”

“This project is so pointless,” he sighs, ignoring the ache in his arms from holding her. She’s heavy after awhile, not something he expected from a fake baby. “It’s not like Blaine and I can get anyone pregnant.”

Arms tiring, he continues to rock her, and after a few moments, the cries quiet down. They don’t stop, not completely, because she keeps whimpering every few seconds, but it’s almost tranquil, and his heart feels calm.

Until Quinn leans over, blowing out a stream of white smoke, slowly, aiming it right at his baby’s face.

“Watch it!” He jerks her away, her cries starting back up, and jumps to his feet. He grabs her diaper bag, slinging it over his shoulder and picking up the car seat, then starts to walk away.

“Calm down, Kurt,” Quinn yells after him. “It’s not real!”

“I don’t care,” he shouts over his shoulder. “If you wouldn’t do it to your own baby, don’t do it to mine.”

He’s doomed. Cursed even, for being so nice. He’s the one that raised his hand and said, ‘I’ll be Kurt’s partner!’ when the teacher said, ‘Looks like Hummel will have to do this one alone.’

Why did he do that? It’s not like Kurt’s ever been nice to him. It’s honestly a surprise that Kurt even remembers his name.

He’s going to have the worst grade in the whole class. Maybe in the whole history of this project. Because by now, their baby probably has three piercings and a tattoo that says ‘no regrets’.

When he gets out of gym class, Kurt’s waiting on the floor by his locker, head tipped back and eyes closed, car seat next to him. Their baby is - well, not crying, but screaming.

He quickly walks over, seeing now that Kurt’s rocking the car seat in a rhythm that seems to be practiced. He sits down next to him and says, “I think the point of the project is to prove how hard it is going to class with a baby. Meaning, you have to go to class.”

Eyes still closed, Kurt mutters, “She wouldn’t stop crying. I got kicked out.”

“Have you tried feeding her?”

“Yes, she just keeps - crying.” Kurt sounds on the verge of hysterics, voice close to breaking.

Blaine thinks, and hums, “Maybe her diaper needs changing.”

Kurt sits up, eyes opening wide, and snaps, “I am not changing her diaper here in the hallway.”

He sighs, takes a turn in rocking her. “Then come on, let’s go to my house. Maybe my mom can help.”

“TAKE HER BATTERIES OUT.”

Blaine is screaming, screaming, from across the room, fingers in his ears and eyes wide in horror.

Kurt screams back, “You can’t! Everything we do with this damn robot gets recorded!”

Despite Blaine’s enthusiasm, his mom was absolutely no help in stopping their baby’s cries, claiming that Blaine was a ‘perfect angel’ and stating that ‘he never once cried, not even when I dropped him!’

Tufts of Blaine’s hair are standing on end, the gel picked apart from the constant pulling. This is the first official day and there are circles forming under Blaine’s eyes, and Kurt imagines he must look similar.

Blaine presses his palms to his eyes, mutters to his wrists, “- make her stop please -”

“Here!” Kurt spits, marching across the room and dropping the baby in Blaine’s arms. “You try!”

They must have a defect baby. Something must have malfunctioned at whatever factory they make these creepy things, or maybe the previous students spilled water on it. There’s no other explanation for why they can’t make her stop, why they can’t take care of her. Babies can’t actually be this hard.

He sits down on Blaine’s bed, watches with tired eyes as Blaine gently swings the baby, trying desperately to get her to drink from the bottle.

“Come on little Loni,” Blaine sings sweetly, breathlessly, flashing a smile at Kurt when her cries quiet into whimpers. “Please eat, please sleep, please stop crying.”

Kurt rubs at his eyelids, feeling stress like cement in every bone. He wants to go home and apologize to his dad for whatever he may have done as an infant. He wants to personally go around town and shake the hand of every parent he comes across.

“Lesson learned. Never have children.”

“I don’t think most babies are like this. I think this baby is the antichrist.”

“Don’t call our baby satan, Blaine.”

Blaine huffs, then coos at the baby, “I’m sorry little Loni, daddy’s sorry. But other daddy is going to hold you now so that this daddy can go eat.”

Blaine smiles softly at Kurt as he hands her over, and the word - something about the word wraps around Kurt’s heart and squeezes it. He stares at Blaine, mouth slightly open, unable to think of a response.

“I’ll be right back,” Blaine says to him. “Did you want anything?”

Kurt shakes his head, still stunned, still tongue-tied. “No - no, I’m good.”

It’s hard to tell if she’s still crying or if it’s just an imprint in his brain. His arms are sore, his head hurts, but - it’s kind of nice. To have this partnership, to be in this with someone, even if that someone is Blaine . .

He could really go for a cigarette, because all his hair is close to falling out, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It doesn’t feel as necessary now.

So he sings instead, a song that’s been stuck in his head since he heard it on the radio this morning. Just a quiet whisper, in case his voice startles her back into a screaming match, but it seems to work, seems to soothe her, her whimpers eventually fading into snores.

He laughs weakly, his smile coming through so hard it hurts, and he thinks he feels tears prick at his eyes. She’s asleep, she’s asleep. For a half second he contemplates calling for Blaine, but he waits, keeps singing, “Take a bottle, shake it up. Break the bubble, break it up -”

“Are you singing Def Leppard to our baby?” Blaine asks from the doorway.

Kurt looks up briefly and smiles, then whispers, “Shh, it’s working.”

Blaine laughs the way Kurt did, tearfully and overwhelmed, and he sits down on the bed next to him and places a hand on his back. They both just stare at her, awestruck and wide-eyed.

Blaine says, “I can take her if your arms are tired.”

They are, but he just can’t bring himself to hand her over, so he says, quietly, “No, it’s okay.”

In Home Ec the next day, Kurt comes in carrying a small bag. He’s never looked so happy before, not while Blaine’s known him at least. And he doesn’t look away when Blaine meets his eyes, doesn’t scowl when Blaine smiles at him, and sometimes, if Blaine’s lucky, he smiles back.

Kurt sits down and turns to him, says excitedly, “Look what I found.”

He opens the bag, pulling out a small black hat with a skeleton face on the front, sized perfectly for a baby.

“Where did . . I don’t think we had to buy her clothes, Kurt,” he says, eyeing the hat skeptically.

Kurt shrugs, taking off their baby’s old hat and slipping on the new one. “We’re supposed to treat it like a real baby, right? Well no child of mine is wearing whatever abomination this is. Look what else I found.”

Blaine’s about to ask ‘what?’ when Kurt hands him the bag, Blaine hesitant to open it.

It’s a white onesie with a light blue bowtie printed underneath the collar.

Blaine’s heart - melts. He inhales desperately, trying to solidify the liquid puddle of love in his chest, tries not to do something stupid like squeak.

“This might just be the cutest thing I have - Kurt! What on earth is that?”

Kurt’s in the process of changing her, but Blaine bats his hand away, staring in horror at the black ink marking up their baby’s tiny bicep.

“It’s a rose,” Kurt says calmly, throwing a sideways glance at Blaine before he continues changing her. “Relax, it’s washable.”

Blaine licks at his thumb, frantically rubbing the ink off. “She’s too young to be getting ideas like this from you. Next you know she’ll be smoking!”

“No. I quit.”

Blaine stops, freezes, looks over his shoulder at Kurt, who has his eyes trained on the table.

He swallows, and asks quietly, “Like, forever?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Until we have to give her back . . but maybe.”

Blaine grins wide at Kurt, because he can see it in his eyes, as hard as Kurt tries to deflect it. The wearing down of hard edges, the softness to his smile. He looks at their baby, their baby named after pasta, wearing a bowtie onesie and a skeleton hat, and it hurts in ways he didn’t know he could hurt. Just how much he can feel for a robotic baby who never stops crying.

But really, he thinks, maybe it’s what he feels for someone else.

“I don’t want to give her back,” Blaine whispers sadly.

Kurt turns and looks at Blaine, gives him a sad smile and says quietly, “Me neither.”

The rest of the week passes slowly, yet far too quickly.

On Wednesday, neither can get her to sleep. They’re both in hysterics as they pass her back and forth, each taking turns walking her around the room and singing to her. Her musical taste is questionable, quieting down for Def Leppard, crying up a storm for Queen, and Kurt won’t even let Blaine utter the name ‘Wham!’ near her or else all hell will break loose.

They wake up Thursday morning on the bed together, with Kurt flat on his back and Blaine’s head resting on his stomach, their baby sleeping in the car seat next to them.

Later that day they get into an hour long fight over how to hold the baby. It’s just a robot, Kurt knows this, but it’s supposed to be real, they’re supposed to treat it like it’s real, meaning Blaine has to support the head no matter what, and not carelessly drop it just because his arms are ‘getting tired’.

Kurt gives her more tattoos. Writes the chorus of ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ down her arm because that seems to be her favourite.

Blaine doesn’t wash them off.

Kurt doesn’t cry when they hand her back in because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, but he wants to.

The teacher glares at the both of them, mouth twisted up as she takes in the marked up baby, smudged ink up and down her arms. They’ll lose a percentage for that, he’s sure, but otherwise he fully believes they did the best they could.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” Kurt says, words slow, exhaustion finally consuming him as he collapses to their table, head resting on his folded arms. “I forget what sleep feels like.”

“Me too,” Blaine whispers hollowly, staring blankly ahead. “Every time I close my eyes I can hear her crying. I can still hear you singing to her.”

Kurt smiles faintly, cheeks turning red, trying to ignore the jump to his heart and failing miserably, just as he has this whole week.

“I don’t care what that baby thought, your George Michael impersonation was spot on,” he teases, smile morphing into a smirk.

Blaine laughs, dropping his head. “I’ll try that one in glee club this week.”

“I’ll be sure to miss it.” Kurt laughs, muffled against the sleeves of his hoodie, then adds as an afterthought, “Sorry for nearly killing you seven hundred times.”

Blaine turns his head and looks at Kurt, eyes tired but shining, smile slow but soft.

“It’s alright,” he says, nudging his elbow off Kurt’s. “I can’t imagine being partners with anyone else.”

#holdingdaylight writes #skank!kurt #klaine fic #my fic #l:drabble #r:g #g:fluff

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