You pat your soft cheeks as you leave your favorite spa with refreshed skin and renewed dignity. The facial you just dropped a pretty penny for was meant to erase your clogged pores and mental stress.
Yet, you feel no better than when you awoke this morning with rampant thoughts of Park Jimin tickling your brain. You tried your best to push them out, but as one thought faded, another rotated into play.
A trip to the nail salon offered momentary refuge, but the relaxing foot massage reminded you of his hands massaging your most sacred parts, making you feel the best you ever have. You close your eyes and feel everything again.
The hour at the hair parlor was indeed a treat, the warm wind and whir of the blowdryer reminding you of the time he gripped your hair to hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth at the office.
You squint your eyes and lightly slap your face. What are these vulgar thoughts?
You should be meeting with your older brother soon, and you're in no condition to sit properly for a late lunch affair. It takes a half hour to get home, and you quickly rush to your closet to yank a modest dress off a hanger. You slip into the soft fabric and glance at yourself in the wall mirror, nodding curtly and glancing to your window.
"Don't look at me like that. You wear the same thing everyday. Grow a new leaf," you chastise your plant. A second later, you finger the soil and face the small pot towards the sun. "Sorry, you're beautiful the way you are," you croon. "I'm just a bit on edge."
Conveniently, your hair, nails, and face are already done-up from your early morning efforts. Mainly, you can thank Park Jimin for that. You apply a light gloss to your lips and rummage the ottoman for a sensible pair of heels. Meanwhile, a persistent, non-rhythmic honking from outside your window annoys you.
"Fuck. He's always early," you mutter to yourself, rashly opting for a boring pair of flats and flying out the house, skipping steps to speed your arrival.
"Baby sis, always in a rush," he teases, ruffling your perfect hair and unexpectedly flicking your bare forehead.
"Ouch! Yoongi!" you whine, rubbing the tender spot on your forehead. "I wouldn't have to rush if you would just pick me up when you say you would. You're always an hour early."
"If you know that, why are you surprised?" he muses, focusing his eyes on the road and ignoring your pout.
Yoongi is a big-time lawyer at a large law firm. His schedule is as packed as a can of sardines, and his patience as thin as a sheet of ice. But he always makes time for his baby sister.
"Why the nun runners?" he asks.
You look to your feet and sink into your chair, embarrassed. "I was looking for heels but got bombarded mid-hunt."
He laughs and turns up the radio, drowning out your unimportant thoughts and helping you to enjoy the moment mindlessly. You open the window and let your hair billow around your face, curling against the shape of your neck and tickling your shoulders. You feel normal.
At the restaurant, the hostess notes your early arrival and nervously jokes with Yoongi, stealing apprehensive glances at you. You shake your head with a grimace. "He's my brother," you assure.
The hostess relaxes and rests a hand on Yoongi's arm before escorting you to your reserved table. His smirk disgusts you.
"Can you tie the knot already? You're only getting older," you say. "You've already got the grandpa look nearly perfected."
He chuckles and thoughtfully rubs his chin. "For some people, relationships just suck."
You nod and sip your water. "Yeah, it sucks ass."
YOU ARE READING
Control | PJM
Fanfiction"We shouldn't do this here," he realizes minutes after already committing the sin. "So, take me to your office," you say, completely willing and hungrier than before. - A woman lacking control of her life, and a man with too much of it. When their w...
