#bts seokjin

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[yooboobies]

kim "never let them know your next move" seokjin

+ the hat TT

[achillesthv]

.•le 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗺 de 𝒫 𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨, ℳ𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗲𝘂𝗿 𝒦 ɪ ᴍ๑

[jksarchives]

volume 1

[ 35 / 35 ]

ᯓᡣ𐭩

❖ idealizations concerning real life relations — by @venusiangguk

jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return. — 40.9k [s, a]

❖ wishing for you — by @kookiestarlight

you and your husband decide to finally start trying for a baby. It should be easy enough, you thought. But it turns out getting pregnant is a lot harder than you expected. — 25.4k [s, f, a]

❖ visions — by @trivia-yandere

you’re convinced by your friends to go to a party and let go of the memories of your ex just for one night. unfortunately for you, jungkook doesn’t want to be let go. — 5.1k [s, a]

❖ espresso — by @joonberriess

14.6k [f, s]

❖ perfect — by @readyplayerhobi

Jungkook has always been in your life in some way, the friend that keeps coming back time after time and the one friends and family are convinced is the one for you. Yet despite so many perfect moments, it just never seems to work out between the two of you. — 13k [f, a]

❖ but we loved to young — by @jl-micasea-fics

Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed. — 10k [s, m]

❖ the blue princess and her red rose — by @cutaepatootie

After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. — 34.8k [a, f, s]

❖ rigor mortis — by @readyplayerhobi

A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city. — 28.5k [s, a, f]

❖ sweet apple biscuits — by @rosaetae

a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy. — 15.5k [a]

❖ i hate you, i love you — by @jungblue

You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends... and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you. — 19.4k [a, s]

❖ we can’t be friends — by @joonberriess

9.8k [a, s]

❖ do i wanna know — by @joonberriess

“Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for someone new. Now I’ve thought it through, crawlin’ back to you,”. — 19.8k [s]

❖ down bad — by @2hightocare

Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing. — series [a, s]

❖ sweet serial killer — by @explicit-tae

The city is shaken up by the sudden murders going around - all by a man who claims he is doing so in the name of justice. People are divided - those who agree with the mysterious serial killer to do what the justice system has not; and those who disagree and want him captured and sent to prison. — 12.2k [s, a]

❖ pent up stress — by @kissforyouu

? [s, f]

❖ shut up and drive — by @agustdtown1

Anyone could have predicted how bad it is to make a bet with your brother, yet you were hoping the outcome would be different. But alas, you were meant to be taught a lesson tonight; never go behind your brother’s back. — 23.7k [s, a, f]

❖ tempest — by @kooktrash

you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he’s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect. — 31k [s, a]

❖ safety net — by @pradaksj

on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together. — 40k [a, f, s]

❖ rattled — by @gukslut

series [a, s, f]

❖ how long will we fall — by @jiminrings

if it’s fate, it should already be set onto your skin — that’s why jungkook’s initials are already on your finger. he’s always there for you, but not only for you. if you’re his fate, he’d rather not have it. — 14k [a, f]

❖ sweater weather — by @mini-pretzel

You and Jeongguk have that unspoken rule; just sex, no strings attached. And it’s worked well for you for years. But lately, it’s been harder and harder to keep your feelings separate. — 14k [s, a, f]

❖ miracle of the season — by @cybrsan

Cast out of Heaven after a painful betrayal, you find yourself having to navigate the intricacies of human life without any guidance from the Creator or the family you have always known. Things only get worse as the holiday season reaches its peak, with reminders of the life you left behind everywhere you look. When a familiar face pops up, you aren’t sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse. — 17.2k [a, f, s]

❖ oath — by @bangtan-yeonghon

What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow? — series [a]

❖ pick & roll | la lakers — by @xpeachesncream

being one of the most popular players in the nba, jungkook takes absolutely no shit from anybody. he could give a fuck about the press, what people think about him, serious relationships. it’s a personal hell getting wrapped up with jeon jungkook— and you can’t help but fall into the same trap as every other woman who crosses paths with him. the more you fall, the more you realize that you will never be able to change a man who doesn’t want to change his ways. — 19.2k [s, a]

❖ when she loved me — by @jungkookstatts

How does one live when life is bound to end? — 11.2k [a, s]

❖ aim for the heart — by @writemywaytoyourheart

Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger. — series [a, f]

❖ bedeviled — by @writemywaytoyourheart

series [a, s, f]

❖ will it fit? — by @jeonsweetpea

So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom… — 6.7k [f, s, a]

❖ ultimatum — by @parkmuse

Your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed). — 10.3k [s, f]

❖ kaiho — by @99liners

7.1k [a, s, f]

❖ crybaby — by @lavishedinjimin

he calls you crybaby, crybaby. but you don’t fucking care. — 9.6k [s]

❖ commitment — by @eureka-its-zico

Everything seems to be going perfect in your life. Your boyfriend Jungkook is more than you could have dreamed of and there’s been a break in the case that could define your career — one of the members of the most elusive mafia, The Devils has been captured. Heading down to the precinct you couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling: Was everything too good to be true? — ? (incomplete)

❖ what was i made for? — by @spideyjimin

have you ever met someone with whom you instantly clicked? well yes, but never to the extent of how it happened with jungkook. in a matter of days, he made you feel like the prettiest and most special woman. right there and then, you understood what you were made for. — 8.8k [f, s]

❖ a lover’s bond — by @latetaektalk

what’s jungkook supposed to do when he loses you, but go beg the god of the dead and king of the underworld to give you back? — 18.7k [a, f, s]

❖ petals with luv — by @hisunshiine

Hanahaki Disease runs rampant, and Emperor Jeon Jungkook is able to change laws for common folk, but in the palace some rules are hard to change. When his Empress-to-Be arrives, your trysts must end, but when petals begin to be coughed up, someone could lose their head. Yoonstradamus has access to magical items that could cure the disease, but at what cost? Venture back into the past with this classic ‘Be careful what you wish for...’ fairytale. — 6.2k [a, f, s]

NEXT

↪︎ MASTERLIST

↪︎ FIC RECS

[btsiu]

JIN ‘I'll Be There’ MV (2024)

[f4iryhopie]

⠀⠀ ⠀𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾⠀⠀⠀𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅⠀⠀⠀·🔭·⠀⠀⠀𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 ㅤㅤ🕳

[d-iorpjm]

✿⠀ 𝀊 ⠀𝕻𝖮𝖤𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖩𝖴𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢𝖤⠀ (⠀𝟣𝟫𝟫𝟥⠀)

[i-am-baechu]

❀˖° Title: Never Knew I Needed

❀˖°Paring: Idol! Yoongi x Introvert! Reader 

❀˖° Rating: PG - 16

❀˖° Summary: Yoongi had his life planned out for himself. Studio. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. He always knew what he needed to do or what needed to be done but it all changed on a Tuesday morning with a girl who clumsily knocked into him. 

❀˖°Genre: Fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, slow-burn, reader keeps to herself, florist reader, some steamy scenes but nothing too crazy in this one

❀˖° Playlist: Never Knew I Needed - Ne-Yo

❀˖° Author's note: Second longest one shot I have ever written! When I say slow-burn, I mean it.

There’s something about the early mornings that brings this inner peace. It was quiet but not too quiet. It was cold enough to have a blanket around while you looked at the window with a cup of hot coffee waking up your soul, it was perfect. It also allowed you to plan out the day, that’s what Y/N did. She took advantage of the early mornings and got everything planned for herself. She knew of course stuff happened and something may not get done, as long as there was an attempt; That’s all that matters for her. 

She styled her hair and put her glasses on to finally get on with the day. She had a busy day today. A lot of idols ordered from her flower shop; Stardust and apparently today was one of those days that everyone needed flowers. She didn’t know why but she wasn’t going to question the business. She walked down her apartment stairwell with her music playing through her headphones. It was like any other day. 

She walked to the bus stop and smiled to herself. She took off her headphones and waved, “Good morning, Meria.” 

Meria was one of her closest friends, though she didn’t have many; Meria was top three. Meria was the star football player in their college days and was 7-2. Meria left the sport because she wanted to focus on something less focused on her limbs. Meria agreed to open Stardust with Y/N and never regretted it. 

Meria took the bun out of her mouth and waved, “Good morning~. Hazel and Nora are already at the store. They wanted help with some of the orders.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened at this and tilted her head, “They’re already there?” She glanced down at her watch and looked back at Meria, “It’s seven...that means they woke up super early.”

Meria nodded her head and took another bite of her bun, “Hazel was determined to get there before you and Nora wanted to get breakfast.” 

Y/N pouted at this, “They didn’t have to do this...I have to-”

“Y/N, shush. They wanted to help you, they love you. Don’t feel bad. Now get on this bus before I throw you onto it.” 

Meria, Hazel, and Nora were Y/N’s top three friends (and her only friends if she was going to be honest). Hazel was always keeping Meria and Nora in check with their teasing, something Y/N greatly appreciated. Hazel was also the first one to approach Y/N during their freshman year. Nora was the youngest in the group but she was also the brightest. Having an IQ of 120, she was bright but she was lazy. She barely showed up at her classes but would sleep at Y/N’s dorm as they ate breakfast together. The girls were always together, the perfect group of friends. 

Y/N nodded her head and glanced at the bus, “Can I have the window seat?”

“Of course you can, my little daydreamer.” 

On the other side of the city, Yoongi let out a loud groan. Apparently, his music file was corrupted which means his hard work was nowhere to be seen. He ran his finger through his hair and glared at the screen, “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Namjoon glanced at Hoseok who just shrugged his shoulders. Namjoon walked behind Yoongi in his chair and rubbed his shoulders gently, “You should walk away for now. It’s not going to be solved if you stay mad at it. If anything, you might make things worse.” 

Yoongi sighed and took a sip of his coffee, “You want buns for breakfast?” 

Hoseok nodded his head at this, “Nora Bun’s open in a few minutes. They have really good red bean buns.” 

Yoongi stood up from his chair (with a little stretch) and put his beanie on, “Whatever will get me out of here, I don’t care where we go.” 

Hoseok scoffed at this, “Let’s go sunshine.”

Namjoon sighed and rubbed his forehead, “It’s too early for this, let’s get food.” 

Yoongi put his jacket on and glanced down at his phone, “Did you order the flowers for TXT?”

Namjoon nodded his head, “Yeah, Stardust was super busy. I just hope they’ll get here.” 

“Y/N is really good at being on time. You don’t have to worry.” 

Yoongi closed his studio door and glanced at Hoseok with a raised eyebrow, “Y/N? Who is that?”

“She’s one of the owners of Stardust. Super nice and awkward. Fun to tease.” 

Namjoon shook his head as they walked down the hall, “I tell you all the time to leave her alone.”

“Why haven’t I met her?” 

Namjoon glanced at Yoongi and shrugged his shoulders, “You never come out of your studio.” 

“Whatever, just make sure the flowers get here.” 

Y/N opened her door and smiled at her friends who were hard at work, “Good morning...thank you for coming.”

Nora was the first one to look up from her work. She gave Y/N a thumbs up, “Don’t worry. We’ll always got your back. I brought some buns from my shop here.” 

Meria put her coat up and pointed her finger at Nora, “You told me you weren’t bringing any buns so I just ate one on the way here. How could you do this to me!?”

Nora let out a small chuckle, “I brought it for Y/N, you idiot.” 

“Idiot!?”

Hazel snapped her fingers and glared at the two, “Yah! This isn’t why we came early, Nora.” Hazel turned towards Y/N and gave her a soft smile. She walked towards the shorter girl and gave her a small hug, “Good morning, Y/N. Would you like some red bean buns?”

Y/N nodded her head, “That sounds wonderful...” 

After breakfast, Y/N put on her apron and got to work. She let the soft jazz play through her store and she ignored the bickering between Nora and Meria. Y/N smiled to herself and looked down at the paperwork, “These bouquets go to Hybe for TXT. It says Kim Namjoon ordered it, Meria, can you take this order?” 

Meria nodded her head, “You don’t want to see Hoseok?”

Y/N took a sip of her water and shook her head, “I have too much work.” 

Nora smirked at this and leaned forward on her table, “You don’t want him to tease you.” 

Y/N looked away and picked up the next order, “I’ll do the order for Itzy, Nora can you do this order for Aespa’s Music Core performance.” 

Nora nodded her head and took the paperwork, “Whatever you say, boss.” 

“Thank you.” 

Meria took the bouquets and smiled to herself, “Congratulations on the new release. Aww, that’s so nice.”

“Meria don’t read the note. It's private” 

Meria rolled her eyes and nodded her head, “Fine boss.” 

Hazel handed Y/N another order and grabbed her keys, “You're driving with me, Meria. Let’s go.”  

“What!? No, I promise I’ll get there-”

“Let’s go Meria.” 

Y/N gave them a small wave and continued to do the countless orders. Driving with Hazel was like driving with your mom, she would ask you how’s your day and all that. It made Meria laugh because they lived together, and Hazel knew everything. They parked in the employee parking lot and Meria groaned, “I really hate coming into this building.” 

Hazel put the parking paper on her dashboard and glanced at Meria, “Why?”

“It’s so tempting to talk to everyone. That’s why Y/N usually does it because she doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Just don’t talk to anyone.”

“That’s so hard to dooooo~.” 

Yoongi took a sip of his coffee as Namjoon took a bite of his bun. They were walking back to Yoongi’s office when they saw the bouquets of flowers making their way towards them. Yoongi tilted his head and wondered if this was Y/N (not that he cared...). Hoseok was the first one to greet her, “Hey Meria, where’s Y/N?” 

Meria pouted at him, “She had too many orders to come down...so here I am. Hazel told me to hurry up and not talk as much.”

Namjoon let out a laugh and handed Hoseok his bun to sign for the flowers, “Tell her we said hello.” 

“I’ll do that.” Meria glanced over Namjoon’s shoulder and saw Yoongi, “Hey you're the cat in BTS.” 

Yoongi felt his eye twitch and he raised his eyebrow, “Cat? The hell?” 

“Yeah, people say you're a cat. I don’t know what the internet says. Little meow meow or something like that. ”

“Don’t call me that. Why would you-”

Meria took the clipboard and smiled at Namjoon, “Thank you Mr. Kim. Hazel is texting me and she scares me. Have a good day!~” 

Yoongi watched the girl leave and shook his head, “Little meow meow...what the hell.”

“Just get back into your studio before you fight someone else.”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

Y/N was walking to her bus stop after the long day she had. She had around 120 orders to fulfill and she couldn’t believe that she got all of them done in a timely manner. She put on her headphones and waited for her bus. She looked up to the moon and gave it a soft smile. The moon was warm even though to others it was cold, the moon was Y/N’s favorite after a long night. She swiped her keychain and headed towards the back in the small corner that she loved oh so much. She told Meria that she didn’t want to go out for dinner, instead, she wanted to go home to her cat, Tuna, and have some tea. Meria understood that Y/N needed to unwind and didn’t push her. 

She stared outside as the streetlights shined against her skin. She watched groups of people walking on the sidewalk and she smiled to herself. She watched one group of guys laughing and pushing each other while one rolled his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel envious of their energy but she shook her head and glanced down at her phone. 

Yoongi glared at Taehyung and sighed, “Yah, can you walk properly? We’re in public.”

Taehyung pouted and stopped himself from pushing Jungkook, “Jungkook pushed me first. Why do you always let him do what he wants?” 

“Just keep walking.” 

Yoongi glanced at the bus next to them and he couldn't help but squint his eyes towards the silver vehicle. He wasn’t sure why but there was something about it, “Hyung! Are you coming?”

He glanced at Taehyung and nodded his head, “I-I’m coming.” 

Y/N tossed her bag on the hook and made her way to her couch. She plopped herself into the dark purple fabric and closed her eyes. It wasn’t until she felt the soft hairs against her fingers that she opened them. She petted Tuna and smiled, “I’m home.” She glanced at the window and her smile faltered a bit, “I’m home...” 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Hazel loved her job. She really did but sometimes it becomes too much. That’s why she asked the one person who would listen to her rant, Y/N. The Hybe building was like a castle that was beautiful on the outside but boy did it feel like a prison on the inside. Hazel ran her finger through her hair and took a deep breath. She went to the cafe downstairs ignoring her coworker's glances. She sat in the far corner and swiped through her phone. 

Y/N entered the building and looked around. It was clear that Y/N didn’t belong here. She made her way through the busy entrance and entered Hazel’s code into the building (it also made it easier that the front desk knew her). She quickly made her way to the cafe and ignored the pit in her stomach. It felt like all eyes were on her because it was clear she didn’t belong there. She saw Hazel in the corner and made her way to her. Y/N poked her shoulder and gave her a small wave, “I’m here.”

Hazel gave her a smile and stood up to give her a hug, “Thank you for making time for me. I appreciate it.” 

Y/N nodded her head and sat in the chair, “I was worried. You usually don’t sound that distraught.” 

Hazel sat back and sighed, “It’s so busy this time of year. Everyone is making their comebacks and they want me to try to schedule everything by next Thursday.”

Y/N frowned at this, “Isn’t that asking too much?”

“That’s what I’m saying...ugh. I don’t know what to do.”

Y/N bit her lip and glanced down at her fingers, “I could always help...”

“What was that Y/N?”

Y/N slowly looked up and gave her a soft smile, “I could always come and help...the store isn’t busy this week and Meria has the store under control. If you want?” 

Hazel gave her a soft smile and placed her hand on top of Y/N’s, “You would help me?” 

Y/N nodded her head, “I don’t like seeing you in such distress.” 

Hazel smiled and clapped her hands, “Thank you Y/N. Let me buy you a muffin.” 

Y/N watched Hazel jump out of her seat and she sat there blinking her eyes. She let out a small sigh, “What did I get myself into?” 

“What the hell did I get myself into?” Yoongi glared at the screen while Jin gave him a proud smile next to him. Jin pointed at the screen and Yoongi had to stop himself from smacking it, “I fixed some of the melody for you.” 

Yoongi glanced at Jin and then back at the screen, “This is completely different. When I asked for help this isn’t what I wanted.”

Jin crossed his arms over his chest, “I helped you. You could say thank you.”

Yoongi sighed and took a sip of his coffee, “Thanks...”

“That doesn’t sound convincing-”

“Hyung, leave him alone.”

Yoongi turned in his chair and looked at Namjoon who was giving him a worried look, “At least someone has some sense.” 

“Yah! I helped you!” 

Namjoon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, “We have a meeting, let’s go.”

“Do I have-”

“Yes, now let’s go.” 

Yoongi sighed and slowly stood up from his chair, “Fine. Who is it with?”

“It’s with Hazel. She wants to talk about scheduling.” 

Jin stretched his body and nodded his head, “We just had our comeback, what more do they want?” 

“Just go to the meeting before she yells at me. She’s scary.” 

Y/N took a small bite of her cookie and listened to Hazel rant. It wasn’t until Hazel’s phone buzzed. She flipped her phone over and cursed under her breath, “I have a meeting in ten minutes. I gotta go, thank you again Y/N. It means the world to me.”  

Y/N nodded her head, “I’m glad I can help...” 

“I’ll see you tonight at dinner?”

Y/N bit her lip and looked away, “Maybe.”

“Just let us know, okay? We miss you but we get it, bye, bye.” 

Y/N watched Hazel leave and when she was truly gone, Y/N looked through the window. I wonder what Tuna is doing...

Yoongi sat in the meeting room waiting for Hazel. He was just going through his phone but stopped when the door opened. Hazel gave them an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry I was having breakfast with my friend.” 

Hoseok's ears perked up at this, “Was it with Y/N?”

Hazel sat down and nodded her head, “Yes it was, and no, you can’t talk to her.”

Jimin pouted at this, “Why can’t we talk to her?”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow at this, “You know her too?”

Jimin leaned forward and nodded his head at Yoongi, “Yeah, Y/N always sends us flowers during promotion. She’s super nice.”

Yoongi nodded his head at this, Am I the only one that doesn’t know her? That’s annoying...

Hazel rolled her eyes and opened her folder, “Let’s begin.”

Y/N walked down the street and entered Nora’s restaurant. She knew it wasn’t going to be busy because it was after the breakfast rush and lunchtime doesn’t start until one o'clock, so she had time to talk to Nora. She knocked on her office and there was no answer. Y/N opened the door to see Nora leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed. Y/N shook her head at this but couldn’t help but laugh, “Neh, Nora.”

Nora opened her eyes and gave Y/N a lopsided smile, “Ello, what brings you to my shop?”

Y/N sat in the chair and looked at the dark wood in front of her, “Hazel said you guys missed me at dinner…”

Nora sat up for this and let out a nervous laugh, “We do but you know…we don’t want to force you. If you go tonight, Hazel is paying.”

Y/N bit her together and played with her fingers, “I’m sorry…I didn’t realize that I was-”

“Y/N, we get it. Don’t put pressure on yourself just to make us happy. It won’t make you happy.”

Y/N nodded her head, does it make me happy to stay inside all day and night? I don’t even know if that’s healthy. Y/N glanced down at the picture framed and smiled, it was a picture of them in college. It was right after one of Meria’s games and Nora had a camera. She said she needed prove to her family that she had friends and was normal. She missed her friends but she couldn’t help the pit in her stomach from the outside world. It wasn’t fair to her nor to them.

She smiled at Nora, “Where are we having dinner?” 

The rain was peaceful, it created a melody that either put you to sleep or put panic into your mind. Yoongi continued to flip his pen between his fingers as he stared at the blank pages. Nothing. He thought the rain would help him come up with something but this time around, he got nothing. He finally fixed the melody that was corrupted and he thought it was time to create a new song. Obviously, he thought wrong. 

He stood up and left his studio. He walked down the empty hallways until he saw Jungkook walking towards him, “Hyung, do you want to come with me?”

“Where?”

“To Stardust. I have to pick a bouquet for my mom.”   

Stardust. That’s where… “Sure, I’ll go with you.” Curiosity was going to kill this cat, that was for sure. 

Stardust was everything Yoongi expected it to be. It was a light pink store with flowers through the window and door. The smell of fresh roses took over all his senses. They walked through the door and Jungkook waved his hand at the girl at the register, “That’s Meria, she’s great. She’s one of the owners of this place.”

Yoongi nodded his head at the new information and walked further into the store. He glanced around to see countless bouquets and balloons. It was so colorful that it would make Hoseok look black and white. 

“Ah, took your ass long enough.”

Jungkook pouted at her and rolled her eyes, “I just got your text.”

“So, I told you last night too.” Meria looked over his shoulders and smiled, “Hey, meow meow.”

Yoongi felt his eye twitch at this but gave her a polite smile, “My name is Yoongi.”

“No, I like meow meow. Kook, your bouquet was made by the one and only me.” 

Jungkook gave her a shy smile and Yoongi noticed the little redness in his cheek but didn’t say anything. Jungkook signed some paperwork and when he finished he looked around, “Where’s Y/N?”

This caused Yoongi to look around and Meria shrugged her shoulders, “She told me she needed to help Hazel with something and I don’t know what.”

Yoongi glanced at Meria, “Hazel? She’s with Hazel?”

Meria raised her eyebrow and slowly nodded her head, “Yes? Why?”

Yoongi let out a small cough and shrugged his shoulders, “Just asking.” 

Meria gave him a suspicious look but nodded her head, “Right, Jungkook follow me please~.” 

Yoongi watched the two leave and he made his way to the purple lilacs. They were shining so bright under the light and he couldn’t help but wonder about Y/N. She clouded his mind even though he had never met her. For once he didn’t want to stay in his studio. He was going to meet Y/N, no matter what. 

Y/N looked through the paperwork and glanced at Hazel who was stressed. It was Monday afternoon and even though they got most of it done there was still so much to get done. After four days of staying up, Hazel could finally see a dent in her work. Y/N frowned at her friend and gently took the folder out of her hands, “Hazel…maybe you should get something to eat.”

Hazel let out a sigh and nodded her head, “I do crave chocolate.” 

Y/N smiled at this and stood up, “I’ll get you some chocolate chip cookies from the cafe. It’ll make you feel better.” 

“Thank you Y/N, I appreciate it.”

Y/N smiled at this and grabbed her wallet and was off. She walked through the empty walls with awkwardness because she still didn’t know where to go. She walked down the stairs and took a sharp turn. She hit someone’s chest and she couldn’t help but gasp. She slowly looked up and she felt like a mouse.

“Y/N?” Hoseok gave her his signature smile and patted her head, “What are you doing here so late?”

Y/N glanced down at her shoes and then back at him, “I’m helping Hazel..”

“Oh, with scheduling? I knew she was having a hard time because she asked us directly what we wanted.”

Y/N nodded her head at this, “She overworking…I was going to get her some chocolate chip cookies from the cafe. I-I was wondering if you could-”

“I’ll help you, I’ll be your guiding light.” 

Y/N glanced down and saw Hoseok's arm was still around her waist. Y/N shimmed out of his gasp and bowed her head, “Thank you. I could buy you something if you want.”

“Nope, I won’t let you buy me anything. Now follow me.” 

They walked through the empty building and Y/N felt like she was in kindergarten following the teacher with rope. Hoseok opened the door and Y/N tilted her head, “Where are we?” 

“In the back room of the cafe. I’ll get you those cookies for free.”

Y/N shook her head, “I-I can’t do that. It’s not right.”

“Y/N it’s fine.” 

Y/N shook her head, “Let me buy…please.” 

Hoseok sighed and nodded his head, “Fine.” Hoseok grabbed three cookies and glanced down at her, “These would taste so good if they were free.”

“They’re going to taste better paid.”

Y/N walked through the halls with Hoseok and he was talking about the upcoming comeback. She listened and she couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. Hoseok tilted his head at her, “You know you remind me of someone.” 

“Who?”

“Yoongi. You guys are very similar.”

“Yoongi? Is he the cat one?”

Hoseok let out a loud laugh and patted her back, “That made my night.”

She looked at him with a confused look but slowly nodded her head, “You're welcome?” 

Yoongi let out a sneeze and Jin raised his eyebrow, “Someone is talking about you.”

“Shut up with that myth. It’s not real.”

Jin shrugged his shoulders, “Fine be a Debbie downer.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes and continued to look through his files. He couldn’t help but wonder who was talking about him (not that he cared…).

“Meria, can you please help my cousin with football? He won’t leave me alone.” 

Another dinner and Y/N nervously accepted it. It was the second dinner in a row that she went and it was Hazel’s choice this time. Hazel picked the ramen place near her work in case she had an emergency meeting. 

Meria slurped up her noodles and looked at Hazel, “Doesn’t he have a team to do that?”

Hazel played with her noodles and shook her head, “Half of his team has their own private coaches to help them out. Every time he asks they ask him why don’t you have a private coach.” 

Meria sighed, “I can make time.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Y/N took a sip of her water and glanced at Hazel, “Have you met Yoongi?”

Hazel raised her eyebrow and nodded her head, “Yeah, why?”

Meria glanced at Nora and had a mischievous smile, “I know Yoongi was looking for you the other day.”

Nora smirked at this and looked at Y/N, “Oh? Interesting.”

Y/N felt her face get hot and looked away, “I never met him…I was just asking.”

Hazel gave her a gentle smile, “He’s kind of like you but more blunt.”

Meria leaned back in her chair with a smirk, “Maybe you’ll guys meet and fall in love.”

Hazel kicked her shin under the table and looked back at Y/N, “Maybe you'll meet when you're over helping me out.” 

“Maybe..”

Tuesday mornings were always difficult for Y/N. It was the day when she went to therapy and talked about her problems. She loved her friends but she just didn’t know how to tell them how she was feeling. She knew they were all ears but she didn’t want to burden them with her problems. So she was paying someone to listen to her and it made her feel less guilty. Problem solve. 

She took a sip of her tea and headed into the Hybe building. She had her headphones playing comforting music as she made her way to Hazel’s office. As she made her way through the crowd of people, on the other side Yoongi was walking with Hoseok to the cafe. 

“I’m just glad you're finally taking a break.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “I was craving something.”

“Like what? Pure caffeine?” 

“Actually no, I wanted the chocolate chip cookies.” 

Hoseok raised his eyebrow and let out a chuckle, “Yesterday, Y/N wanted the same ones.” 

Yoongi stopped in his tracks and looked at Hoseok with wide eyes, “Y/N?”

Hoseok stopped and turned towards him, “Yeah, she was here helping Hazel.” 

“You took her to get cookies?” 

Hoseok nodded his head, “Yeah, she wanted to get some cookies for Hazel because she was working really hard.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and started walking, “That’s nice of her.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” 

Y/N entered the office and gave Hazel a small wave, “Good morning.” 

Hazel looked up from her papers and smiled, “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

Y/N put her bag down on the floor and looked at Hazel, “Sure?”

“I ordered some muffins in the cafe downstairs. Can you pick them up for me?”

Y/N put her arm back into her jacket sleeve and nodded her head, “Under your name?”

“Yes, thank you. I wanted to get you that chocolate muffin you like so much.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back.” 

Y/N went back out and made her way through the busy hallways. She liked it better when there were fewer people, it was easier to navigate. Y/N walked down the stairs as her music played through her white headphones. She made a sharp turn and she hit someone’s chest. She blinked her eyes and slowly looked up to see dark brown eyes already looking at her, “Oh, Y/N, Hey.”

She looked to the side and saw Hoseok giving her a small smile. She slowly turned her head and quickly backed away with a bow, “I’m sorry.”

Yoongi looked Y/N up and down, honestly, he didn’t know what he expected. She was dressed in all black (besides her headphones) but her glasses were light pink. She kept averting her eyes away and he couldn’t help but tilt his head at her. She had this comforting aura and he wanted to learn more about her. She seemed mysterious but at the same time an open book. He could tell right away that she had social anxiety just with the way she was standing but he couldn’t read her eyes. He wanted to read her, he wanted to understand her. She gave him an awkward bow and said sorry again before making her way to the cafe. Yoongi turned his body to watch her and Hoseok couldn’t help but smirk at his friend, “You met Y/N.” 

“Ye-Yeah, I met Y/N.” Yoongi let out a small cough and turned around to quickly walk off before Hoseok said anything else. He knew this session was going to be long. 

Yoongi continued to stare at his screen and he couldn’t come up with anything. He wouldn’t say it was writer's block, it was more like he was distracted. His mind went back to Y/N. Meeting her last week has really put him in a weird place. He only knew her name and he barely said two words to her. He closed his document and glanced down at his phone, 13:14. He has time to make a visit. 

He grabbed his keys and headed out with his mask and all. He parked his car on the side and he went inside Stardust. He walked in but it wasn’t the peaceful sight that he walked into before. Y/N was getting berated by someone and he couldn’t help but glare, “Oi, leave her alone.” 

The girl turned around and scoffed, “She shouldn’t be working in an industry if she can’t talk.”

“Well maybe if you clean your ears you can hear her.” Y/N smiled at this and she looked at shoes. Yoongi glanced at her when she did this and he felt his chest get lighter. Yoongi looked back at the girl and crossed his arms over his chest, “Are we done here?”

The girl scoffed at this and walked out but she made sure her shoulder bumped into Yoongis. He rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle when the door closed. Y/N looked up and gave him a small smile, “Sorry about that.”

Yoongi shook his head and walked closer to her, “You shouldn’t be sorry for someone else's actions.” 

“Still...”

Yoongi pulled down his mask and gave her a small smile, “I didn’t introduce myself last time...I’m Yoongi.”

Y/N looked into his brown eyes and then at her flowers, “I know...meow meow, right?”

Yoongi let out a small chuckle and nodded his head, “Yeah, meow meow. You already know me?” It’s cute when she calls me that. 

Y/N looked back at him and nodded her head, “It’s hard not to notice you. You’re the one that sets the team in motion with your lyrics...especially with your skills at conveying emotions...”

“You...you noticed all of that?” 

She nodded her head and looked down at her flowers. Despite the cold air from the AC, Y/N felt her cheeks begin to burn and she had to look away from his dark curious eyes. Throughout her final days at helping Hazel, she kept asking about Yoongi. Ever since Hoseok said she was like Yoongi she couldn’t help but be curious. All the stories that were told to her made her feel like an expert at knowing him but at the same time an amateur, “Well, you and the rest of the guys are kind of...kind of everywhere.” Y/N stammered out and she couldn’t help but play with her fingers, “I hear your music every day and it’s comforting-”

“You think my music is comforting?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

It was Yoongi’s turn to feel the heat from his face and he was thankful he wasn’t standing under the light. He rubbed his neck, “Th-Thanks.”

Y/N let out a cough and turned towards her flowers as she went through some paperwork, “Sorry...I talk too much.”

“I don’t think so.” 

Y/N glanced at Yoongi over her shoulder and then back at her paper, “Did you have an order to pick up?”

Yoongi cursed under his breath, he didn’t think he would get this far with talking to her. Yoongi looked up at the ceiling and then back at her, “No, I just wanted to introduce myself to you. I felt bad I didn’t do it on that day and I’ve been thinking about-sorry I’m talking too much.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, “I don’t think so..”

Yoongi stared at her face when he saw her laugh and in this moment he was undeniably happier (he wasn’t going to tell anyone that...) 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“I heard you met Yoongi.”

Y/N eyes widened and she dropped the flowers onto the table. She let out a small cough as she picked them up trying to act like nothing happened, “I told you I went to get pizza after closing the shop early and then I went to Tuna's vet appointment.” 

Meria pursed her lips and glanced at Hazel who was avoiding eye contact (she didn’t want to get ratted out), “That’s strange because an office lady that works god-forsaken hours saw Yoongi coming back with a small vase of flowers without any of his members around to annoy the peace.” 

Y/N picked up the bouquet and hid her face, “I may have left out some details.” 

Nora dropped her scissors, “What happened? The one time we didn’t come and help.”

“It’s not what you think...”

“Well it sounds like it was a good conversation” Meria joked as she walked towards Y/N’s table, “What happened? Pleaseeeeee telllll usss!~” 

“This was an angry customer...” Y/N placed the bouquet back on the table and stared at the dark wood, “She was mad that my voice wasn’t loud and started to go off on me. Yoongi came and told the girl off, making her leave. We talked for a little bit before I had to get food and take Tuna to her appointment.” 

“Wait...your appointment was at 15:00. You talked for two hours?” 

Y/N shook her head at Meria, “I told you to stop going through the logs.”

“I’m nosy. That shouldn’t be a crime.” 

Hazel scrunched her face at this, “It’s a crime.”

Nora rolled her eyes at this, “We’re getting off track.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about. Yoongi came in and told that girl off...he bought some flowers. End of story.” 

Hazel shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. When he came into my office afterward, that was the most I’ve seen him smiling without his members.” 

Meria snorted and looked at Y/N, “You heard that.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes (with her face feeling hot) and went through the paperwork, “No, I didn’t.” 

Nora looked at Meria and then back at Hazel, “Should we go through the video to find the girl.”

“Nora, you’re not going through my security tape to find the girl. The three of you give me a headache.”

Hazel smiled at this, “You’re welcome.” 

Y/N couldn’t stop herself from smiling and shook her head, “Thanks.” 

Three times a week, Y/N was at Hybe’s office helping Hazel with extra paperwork. Her office may be small but it was cozy with all her plants around. The new paperwork was on the business side and Hazel asked Y/N if she could help (since Y/N had a business degree). Y/N agreed because it got out of the flower shop and Meria asked her to take a break from the shop. She’s taking a break from her job just to be working another job. Sounds about right. She should be taking a break with her cat but she finds going through paperwork relaxing. 

Y/N handed Hazel a stack of paper and smiled, “I finished another pile.” 

Hazel smiled at this, “At this point, you should just work here.”

Y/N shook her head, “I just like helping you. I’m going to get some tea, do you want anything?”

“I’m good.” 

Y/N made her way to the cafe and sat in the back with her tea as she went through her music. She closed her eyes as she waited for her tea to cool down a bit. She let her music take her to her daydreams. Just as Y/N was doing this, Yoongi walked into the cafe with Jin talking his ear off. Y/N passed the tables but he noticed Y/N in the back and he turned away from Jin to glance at her. He turned away quickly because he didn’t want to hear Jin’s teasing. They stood in line and nodded their head at Jin but Yoongi couldn’t help himself to glance at Y/N. 

Jin stopped talking when he saw that Yoongi wasn’t paying attention and followed his eyes. It all clicked when he saw Y/N. He heard the story from Jungkook and Hazel about his interaction with Y/N at her flower shop the other week. It was rare to hear Yoongi getting flushed with a compliment. Usually, he would play cool with them but to get flushed, never. 

Y/N looked up and saw Yoongi looking at her. She gave him a soft smile and a small wave. Yoongi straightened up his back and gave her a small nod. Jin smiled and at that moment he found himself almost glad that Yoongi liked Y/N. (Not that he would admit but Jin knew all...obviously). 

Y/N picked up her tea and made her way to Yoongi. She smiled at him, “Hazel told me you have a performance coming up.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. It’s been a while since we performed.”

Y/N glanced down and then back at Yoongi. She gestured for Yoongi to lean in closer and he blinked his eyes in confusion before he obliged. Y/N tilted her head to whisper in his ear, “I know this is biased but...I think you’ll be the best performer there.” Her hair whipped around her as she turned away from Yoongi and before she could walk away from Yoongi, she glanced at him, “Good luck.”

Yoongi watched her leave the cafe and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Jin rolled his eyes and let out a small cough, “Do you want coffee or not loverboy?”

“Shut up.”

The next day, Yoongi made his way to the cafe to see Y/N with her tea. Yoongi rubbed his hands against his jeans and took a deep breath. Y/N took a bite of her cake and looked up when she heard footsteps. She took off her headphones and smiled at Yoongi, “Hey.”

Yoongi waved and pulled the chair out to sit in front of her, “Weird question...are you good with computers?”

Y/N tilted her head and nodded her head, “It depends. What's up?”  

“Just having issues with saving.”

“I can take a look but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

They walked back to his studio and the two made small talk. She was telling him about her cat and he was telling her how he wanted to adopt a cat. A black cat to be specific. She looked down at his doormat and laughed, “That’s very you.”

Yoongi smiled to himself as he entered the code, “It was mostly towards Jimin and Taehyung.” 

“I’m sure they got the message.” 

He closed the door and Y/N looked around. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but seeing real machines that make music left her in awe. She didn’t even know what they were called. She stood awkwardly and Yoongi spun the chair for her to sit. She gave him a small smile and sat in the black chair. She pushed herself near the computer and glanced up at him, “What did you want me to look at?”

“My music file...It was corrupted and I was wondering if you could help me. Hazel said you were good with computers.” 

Y/N shook her head at this and placed her hand on his mouse, “I wouldn’t say good...tolerable would be better.”  

Yoongi took another chair and sat next to her, “I would say good.”

“You haven’t even seen me work on computers.” 

“So, I just know it's going to be good because of you.”

Y/N felt her face turn hot but she shook her head and faced the computer, “I’ll try my best.” 

Y/N went through his computer and it wasn’t until she felt his hand on top of her other hand. She wanted to glance down but she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stay in the room with him. After twenty minutes, she figured it out. Yoongi moved his hand and she turned towards him with a smile, “I figured it out.” 

Yoongi smiled at her and looked at the screen, “Thanks, I’ve been having trouble with this stupid thing.”

“I’m happy I was able to help you. I have to go, Hazel’s texting me.”

Yoongi stood up and put his hands in his pocket, “Yeah, go ahead. Thanks for helping. I really appreciate it.”

Y/N looked away from his brown eyes because she felt like if she looked at him, she would steam up. She nodded her head and gave him a small wave as she closed the door, she didn’t hear the footsteps. 

“What did Yoongi need?”

Y/N jumped slightly and placed her hand over her heart. She turned to see Namjoon with a curious look, “He had trouble saving this corrupt file...I helped him.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrow at this, “Corrupt file? Yoongi fixed that a while ago.”

Y/N felt her body get hotter and she slowly nodded her head, “Oh? I-I’m glad I could help.” 

Hazel had snuck the girls into the after-party of BTS performance in the Hybe building, but the energy in the room was so excitable that no one even noticed them. The soju and beer was flowing and Y/N noticed some younger trainers enjoying the loudness. Y/N took a sip of her water and let out a small laugh when Jimin told her the story about Jungkook the other day at the gym. She leaned her tired head on Nora’s shoulder as she listened to all the stories being thrown at her in the small circle. 

Across the room, Yoongi stood with Hazel as he leaned against the wall with a beer. He glanced at Y/N and then at Hazel. Yoongi saw an opportunity and now that he was alone with Hazel he could ask, “So...Y/N.” Yoongi began, taking a sip of his beer to calm his nerves, “Is she dating anyone?”

Hazel let out a small laugh and took a sip of her soju, “Took you long enough.” 

Yoongi whipped his head and stared at her with wide eyes, “How did you know? I thought I was being subtle.” 

“That was you being subtle? It would be successful if I was blind.” Hazel emphasized, “Namjoon told me about the file thing.” 

He felt embarrassment flow through his body, “Shut up...do...do you think I have a shot?” 

Hazel raised her eyebrow and took a sip of her soju, “Y/N is the most genuine and kind person you’ll ever meet. She tends to keep things to herself and she tries to talk to us but she stops herself. I don’t even think she realizes she does it.” 

“How do you know how she's feeling?” 

“You take the time to get to know her. Between you and me...I think you might have a shot.” With that Hazel left Yoongi to join her friends from the other side of the room. Yoongi’s eyes searched through the crowd and he stopped when he saw Y/N laughing at something Meria said. “I think you might have a shot...” 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Spring flew by and before she knew it she was heading to the airport to visit family like she always did for spring. Everyone came to say their goodbyes and she was surprised the whole group had time to see her off. She was talking to Meria but her eyes kept drifting to Yoongi who was talking to Hazel. 

Her grip around Meria’s arm tightened and she looked down at her, “Nervous?”

Y/N nodded her head, “I hate going...”

“You love seeing your parents. Think of that and not the flight itself.” 

“I-I’ll try my best. I just don’t like flying.” 

Meria patted her head, “Just focus on your music or you can talk to one of us. Always here for you.”

Y/N nodded her head and she let go of Meria’s arm. She looked down at her phone and made a sharp turn but she collided with someone and nearly fell to the floor, “I’m so sorry-”

“Why is it that we’re always colliding with each other?” 

Y/N looked up and saw Yoongi giving her that smile that she only saw on Run BTS! She let out a small cough, “I can be a little oblivious but I’m usually not this clumsy.”

Yoongi chuckled at her nervous smile and helped her back to her feet, “Why did you make a turn?”

She felt embarrassment go through her body and she looked down at her shoes, “There's this cafe that has a cake that I like.”

“Oh is it that strawberry cake with champagne?” 

Y/N looked back up at him and her eyes were wide, “You remember that? I only mentioned it once.” 

“I remember what you like, don’t worry.” 

Jin looked over his shoulders and rolled his eyes, “Okay, lovebirds, Y/N you have a flight to catch.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes and nodded his head towards the cafe, “Let’s get you that cake before you board.” He grabbed her hand and his other hand took her luggage. She glanced down at his hand and felt a surge of happiness through her body. She bit her lip and she softly said his name causing him to glance at her over his shoulder, “I was wondering...do you want to share your number with me so we can talk? If that’s okay.” 

They entered the cafe and he ignored the teasing smiles from the group. He looked down at Y/N and gave her his gummy smile, “Yeah, let’s get your cake first.” 

She sat on the plane and she glanced at her phone with a smile. She brought up Yoongi’s name and she took a deep breath, I just got on :) 

Not even a minute passed and she felt her phone buzzing, Text me when you get there. Get some sleep. I know you worked late last night at the flower shop. 

I will. Thanks for caring.

Always for you. 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The trip to her parents was relaxing but it did feel strange not doing anything. During her time with her mom, she was taught how to knit. For someone who has never touched a needle, she was really good at it. She made everyone simple socks but for Yoongi she made him a beanie with a small Y on it. Summer was the time when Meria always had stuff planned for the group and usually Y/N would think twice about going. This year it’s different and Y/N was excited for whatever Meria planned. The summer felt slow but anything could happen with the summer sun blazing. 

“A football match?” 

Meria nodded her head and handed out jerseys from her bag, “Surprise” 

Y/N glanced at Nora who shrugged her shoulders, “I didn’t even know she could afford these tickets.”

“Yah, I have ears.”

“Unfortunately” 

Hazel put the jersey on and looked at Meria, “You do realize we have no idea what’s going on, right?”

Meria nodded her head, “My dad surprised me with these tickets and I wanted to go with my best friends.” 

“There’s a catch.”

Hazel smacked Nora’s shoulder and looked at Meria, “What’s the catch?”

Meria shook her head, “No catch, I didn’t want to go with my brothers.” 

When the group finally reached the stadium, they ended up having to climb more stairs than any of the girls anticipated. But the further they went up, Y/N ignored the ache in her thighs and focused on the excitement that was building up. 

Meria was the first to enter the box and when she looked inside she let a small snort out, “This is going to be fun.” 

Y/N looked at her with a confused look and walked in. Her eyes landed on the small group and she couldn’t fully recognize them until one of them fully turned, “Y/N?”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat when she heard Yoongi’s voice and she didn’t understand how he managed to get more attractive while she was gone. There was a small nudge on Y/N’s shoulder and she realized it was Nora who was pushing her forward because she was frozen in place. 

Y/N waved shyly at Yoongi as she made her way over to him, “I thought I was going to see you tomorrow but this is a nice surprise.”

Yoongi glanced at Hoseok to make sure he wasn’t listening, “It is. I really liked the beanie by the way.”

She looked at him with excitement, “Really? You liked it? I’m glad it got to you. It was my first time knitting and sending something out like that.”

Yoongi opened his bag and pulled out the black-knitted beanie, “I’ve been carrying it around ever since I got it.” 

Y/N felt her heartbeat get faster and she swallowed her spit, “Really? It’s not that special...”

“It's the most important part of my outfit. For every outfit.” 

Y/N let out a small laugh, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Oi, Y/N, our seats are over here.” 

Y/N turned around and saw Nora giving her that knowing smirk that she hated. She turned back to Yoongi and gave him a small wave, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, you will.” 

The next day, Y/N saw Yoongi. He texted her to come and visit his studio and she couldn’t help contain her excitement. She looked down at the familiar rug and entered the studio. She saw Yoongi on his couch on his phone and she raised her eyebrow, “You're not on your computer?” 

Yoongi looked up and locked his phone, putting it on the coffee table, “I was waiting for you.” 

She hated the butterflies in her stomach and she tried her best to swallow some confidence. She twirled her fingers together and gave him a smile, “You said you wanted to show me something?” 

“I do.” Yoongi made his way to his desk and picked up a bag behind his monitor. He slowly turned around and gave her a sheepish smile, “Don’t make fun of me.”

She glanced down at the bag and then at him as she blinked her eyes. He nodded his head and she gently took the bag. She slowly opened the black fabric and Yoongi could hear his heart through the silent room. She took out the knit with her initials and she glanced at him with a confused look, “Did...Did you make this?”

Yoongi rubbed his neck and nodded his head, “I went to visit my mom last week and I asked her to teach me...It was a quick lesson and I know-”

“I love it.” She put the beanie on and she gave him a wide smile with her eyes closed, “I really love it.”

Yoongi has never seen her do this type of smile and he could make a beat with how loud his heart was going. Y/N opened her eyes and knew the feelings she had for Yoongi couldn’t be pushed down any longer. And that was scary. 

Later that evening, Y/N invited Nora over to finish watching Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban. During the scene where Malfoy gets punched, Nora slowly turns towards Y/N on the couch, “You like Yoongi, don’t you?” 

Keeping her gaze on the screen, Y/N was quiet for a few moments before, barely above a whisper, she asked, “How did you know? 

“You're extra nervous around him and jumpy whenever you see Yoongi.” 

“Am I that obvious?” Y/N questioned in a horrified whisper as she looked away from the screen to look at Nora. 

Nora shook her head, “If you were more obvious, you would be with Yoongi at this moment.” Y/N glanced at the screen and then at her fingers as Nora continued to study her. Nora placed her hand on her thigh and gave her a comforting smile, “Why are you scared to admit you like him?”

“If I admit I have...feelings for him,” Y/N glanced at Nora, “Then he could be another person that could reject me...I can’t handle that.” 

“Trust me, if you saw the way Yoongi looks at you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

In Hazel’s office, she was typing away when the door was open wide. She glanced up from her paperwork and raised her eyebrow at the scene. Yoongi was with Jimin and Taehyung, it was clear Yoongi was embarrassed but she didn’t know why. 

She stopped typing and leaned back in her chair, “What the hell is going on?” 

“Tell him to ask out Y/N already.” 

“She talks about her every day and even re-read their texts. It's annoying.” 

Yoongi pushed Jimin’s arm around his shoulder and scoffed, “I don’t do that.” 

Taehyung turned towards Hazel and gave her a disbelieving look, “Hazel, he knitted her a hat.”

Hazel raised her eyebrow and let out a small laugh, “And she’s convinced that you don’t like her.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow, “What was that?” 

“Nothing, just know, you're stupid.” 

This dinner was different, Hazel invited the rest of BTS to it and Y/N was nervous and she hated the feeling of being nervous (well this was a different kind of nervous). Y/N sat at the table with Yoongi sitting next to her as she listened to the chatter around them. Yoongi glanced down at her and pushed some hair away from her face, “Deep in thought?”

Y/N looked at Yoongi and saw his dark brown eyes. Her chest started hurting and she knew she couldn’t hide her feelings for much longer. But right now, she's going to become the greatest actress in the world, “Just thinking about what I want. That’s it.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow and nodded his head, “What don’t you get that steak you like with the salad.”

He remembers... “Yeah, I was going to get that...”

Nora glanced at them and smiled. She leaned towards Hazel with a small smile, “I think it's going to happen soon.”

Hazel smacked Nora’s shoulder, “Don’t be so loud.” Hazel watched the two and how close they were getting, “But yes...I think it’s going to happen soon.”

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“A ball?”

Nora nodded her head in annoyance, “My father wants this grand ball for my birthday. So annoying.”

Meria glanced at Y/N and then back at Nora, “How dare he want to celebrate your birthday.” 

Y/N took a bite of her steak and shrugged her shoulders, “It could be fun...you never know.” 

Nora played with her meatball and rolled her eyes, “It’s in three days.” 

Hazel choked on her pasta, “Three days? Your birthday is literally in two months. Why three days?” 

“Complicated...” 

Y/N looked at Nora with a shy smile, “Did you invite BTS?”

Nora smirked at her and nodded her head, “Of course I did.” She glanced at Meria and gave her a small smirk, “I bet Jungkook is going to ask you.”

Meria picked up the knife and pointed at her, “I could cut you.”

Hazel flicked Meria’s forehead and looked around the restaurant in embarrassment, “You can act like that in our houses but in public, come on.” 

“She started it.” 

Nora’s family was known throughout college as the rich ones. Nora thought it was annoying to attend parties or even socializing with people with the same status. They were boring in her mind. The girls have been to her ball before but nothing like this. 

Hazel gave her a soft smile, “Was it because they forgot last year?”

Nora took a bite of her meatball, “That’s part of it.”

Meria raised her eyebrow at this, “What’s the other part?”

Y/N gently placed her hand on top of Nora’s, “You can tell us.” 

Nora sighed and nodded her head, “They're going on a cruise and I won’t see them until next year. They just told me this yesterday.”

Meria scoffed at this and shook her head, “Assholes.” 

Hazel gave her a comforting smile, “We’ll be together.” 

Nora shrugged her shoulders, “I honestly don’t care about the party. I asked for all of my favorite foods and that’s all I need. Y/N and Meria will probably have dates, so Hazel is all mine.” 

Meria rolled her eyes, “You're annoying, you know that.”

“I do.” 

Y/N bit her lip and the thought of having a date and there was one person that she wanted to be her date. Hazel caught this and smirked to herself. 

After dinner Hazel saw Yoongi going back to his studio and smiled to herself. She followed him to his office but put her bag in the middle of the door to stop it from closing. Yoongi raised his eyebrow and opened the door with his foot. His hands were already full with his notebooks because he was getting to write a song, “Hazel, what’s up?”

“I’m only doing this because I know Y/N is too terrified to do it herself. Plus, I know you're inevitably going to take her to Nora’s birthday ball.”  

“Terrified to do what?” 

“Admit she likes you.” 

Yoongi dropped his notebooks and looked at her with disbelief, “Y/N likes me?” 

“I’m not saying anything else.” 

“You barely said anything.” 

“I’ve said enough.” Hazel turned around to walk away and she knew Yoongi was following her. She turned around and looked at Yoongi with a know-it-all look, “Y/N likes you. Now do something about it, producer boy.” 

Y/N was going to her flower shop after having her late lunch. She unlocked the door and was immediately met with Meria with a suspicious look, “What did you do?”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, follow the candles to your office.”

Y/N raised her eyebrow and looked down to see the candles that Meria was talking about. She glanced at her with furrowed eyebrows, “Is this a prank?”  

“No, I wouldn’t prank...Hazel yelled at me last time. Just follow the damn candles.” 

Y/N placed her coat on the coat hanger and did what Meria told her to do. She opened the door and saw Yoongi leaning against her desk with a nervous look. She tilted her head at him, “I’m glad it's not a prank.” 

Yoongi let out a small laugh, “I have something to ask you.”

Y/N’s brain went into overdrive but she kept a calm face to him. She couldn't give her hopes up. Yoongi reached behind him and picked up a bouquet of purple lilacs. The calm face that she tried to keep on but it disappeared when the smell of lilacs hit her nose. She slowly walked towards him and her fingertips touched the petals. Yoongi watched her fingers trace the petals, “I-uh..These are for you.” 

Y/N grinned brightly and accepted the flowers, “What’d I do to deserve these?” 

“If I name all the reasons why you deserve these flowers then we would be here for eternity.” He took a deep breath and grabbed her free hand with his gummy smile, “Would you be my date for Nora’s ball?”

Y/N stared at Yoongi with shock. She couldn’t believe that Yoongi was sitting in front of her in the first place. She placed the bouquet of flowers on her desk behind him and interlaced their fingers together tighter with a soft smile as Yoongi returned the same smile, “I would love to be your date.” 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

She didn’t want to admit it but Y/N was weak at the knees every time she pictured Yoongi taking her to the ball. She felt like a girl in school when their crush asked them out (well she never had that but she watched netflix shows). She didn’t show anything to the girls but they could easily tell from the way she laughed much more and how she's more talkative, that something happened. 

Nora let her borrow her old dresses and it was the most beautiful dress that she has ever seen. It was a light blue ball gown with asymmetrical neckline with floral embroidery all around the dress. Nora has never worn it but it felt like it was made for Y/N. Hazel was brushing Y/N’s with a soft smile, “You look beautiful.” 

Y/N glanced down at the vanity and she felt the heat rise, “Thank you...you do too.” 

The girls walked out of Nora’s room and walked down her grand staircase. Sometimes seeing how rich Nora was, shocked Y/N. She watched Meria make her way to Jungkook while Nora and Hazel went towards the drinks and she was alone until she wasn’t. At the bottom of the staircase, Yoongi stared at Y/N with pure shock. He knew she was pretty and she was a cute girl but this...this was different. Her glasses matched her dress and her hair was done perfectly. Even though the staircase had a dim glow, she was the brightest light he had ever seen. He made his way to her and grabbed her hand as she glanced down at their fingers. Yoongi stared at her and let out an awkward laugh, “Hi.”

“Hey.” Y/N felt her cheeks burning so much it felt like they were on fire. She gave him a shy smile and then she looked down at her tulle skirt. 

“You look..you look beautiful.”

“You look amazing, Yoongi. I always liked you in a suit.” 

Yoongi glanced at the others in the main room and then back at Y/N, “Shall we?” 

Y/N nodded her head, “Yeah...” 

She intertwined their fingers and made their way into the main room with all their friends. The music began to play and Y/N glanced at Yoongi, “You dance all the time...are you going to show me your moves?”

Yoongi gave her a small smirk and fixed his tie in a playful manner, “I can try, Ms. L/N.”

They swayed around the room with Meria and Jungkook behind them for most of the time. At the moment, Y/N didn’t see them. She saw Yoongi and only him. They continued to dance and he twirled her around once more causing her to laugh at the gesture. This continued for four more songs and Y/N took his hand to head out of the main room. Yoongi didn’t question it because it was time with her. She made her way towards the door and gave Yoongi a small mischievous look, “There’s a good hiding place. I know.” 

They went through Nora’s parents' garden and Y/N sat next to the small pond with an abundance of flowers around them. Yoongi sat next to her and she leaned into him, “It’s peaceful here...I used to come out here all the time when I was sleeping over.”

Yoongi intertwined their fingers together and leaned his head against her, “Oh, Why?”

“I was overthinking...I couldn’t sleep because of it.”

“You tend to do that a lot...why were you overthinking?”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh and sighed, “I had a crush on this guy and...he rejected me. He was my first ever crush and he rejected me in a rude way. Not even nice and it made me feel like no one would...no one would accept me.” 

“He’s an idiot. He can’t see the bright light that you are.” 

She leaned away from Yoongi and sat up straighter giving him her full attention, “Bright light? Is that how you see me?”

“Bright light, the ending to my beginning...so much more.” Yoongi took a deep breath and he decided he was going to get over his fears, “I like you..I like you a lot, Y/N. I-I’ve felt this for a while now. I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t remember exactly when I started liking you. I just knew I liked you so much that music became my second thought. I don’t want to ruin anything-” 

Y/N cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile, “You're not ruining anything.” She whispered before pressing her lips against his. The two broke apart and Yoongi couldn’t help but let his gummy smile show up. Y/N intertwined their fingers together and she stared at his fingers, “I’m not the best at talking about my feelings...I’m trying my best to show how I feel. I like you so much Yoongi and I want to be with you.” 

“You do?”

Y/N laughed at his bashful smile and nodded, “I really do...I really do, Yoongi.” 

Yoongi leaned down and she placed his lips on hers again with the moon shining against the pond.  

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The start of Y/N’s and Yoongi’s relationship was soft and sweet (ignoring the embarrassing moments from Jimin and Hoseok the night after Nora's ball). Every time Y/N saw Yoongi, she felt a good nervous. It wasn’t like before but she was still nervous. Yoongi would show up at her flower shop and surprise her with her favorite lunch or he would come to her apartment to play with Tuna. It was the perfect pace for her and she couldn’t imagine her affection to Yoongi to deepen but it did. 

“What is this place?”

Yoongi gave her a chuckle and opened the door, “This is Hybe’s music room. This is where all the instruments are.” 

She walked up the piano and played a messy melody as Yoongi watched in awe. She turned around and looked at Yoongi, “I’m so jealous of you. The fact that you know how to play piano. I wish I had learned.”

Yoongi pulled the seat out and patted the dark wood, “Sit next to me.” Y/N did what Yoongi said and watched his skillful fingers play a melody. She watched like how a painter painted his work and Yoongi couldn't help but feel his pride spiked up. He turned towards her and grabbed her fingers, “I’ll show you how to play.” 

They played simple notes and Y/N leaned against him, “Has music always been your thing?” 

Yoongi nodded and kissed the top of her head, “I’ve always loved music...It started as rap verses I would write at school or even making random songs in my room. I guess music has always been there for me. What about you, has flowers always been your thing?” 

Y/N chuckled at this and nodded her head, “I love flowers. Each of them have different meanings and the combination of flowers can mean something...it’s so fun watching people’s minds come up with new combinations. It just shows how much they pay attention to the other person.” 

“That’s cute of you.”

Y/N shyly looked down at the ivory keys and a question came to mind, “When you asked me out with the purple lilacs...did-”

“I knew what they meant.” 

She stopped playing and turned to her side to face Yoongi, “You knew what they meant?”

“That’s why I picked them out...well I also picked them out because when I first came to your store, I saw purple lilacs under the light.” 

“When was this?” 

Yoongi pushed some hair off of her forehead, “When Jungkook needed to pick up an order. I came along...I came along because I wanted to meet you.” 

“Me-Me?

Yoongi chuckled at her reaction and wrapped his arms around her waist, “Everyone kept talking about you and I never met you. I wanted to know you but it felt like every time I tried I just missed you. Then that day when you ran into me...I met you.” 

“You never told me this.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

She shook her head and cupped his face. She placed a quick kiss on his lips and smiled, “I think it’s sweet.”

“Don’t call me that. I have an image to uphold.”

She chuckled and shook her head, “Well it's a good thing that things can change for the better.” 

Yoongi nodded his head and placed a kiss on her cheek, “Changing my plans and being my perfect distraction. What more can I want in this world?” 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It’s amazing how fast seasons pass when you don’t have anxiety building up. One minute it was fall and now it's winter again. Meria was finally going out with Jungkook after a wild proposal from him. Y/N helped Jungkook with the flowers but after that, it was all him. Stardust started to become busier because of the holidays and it felt like she hadn't seen Yoongi in forever. They’ve been together for seven months already and she couldn’t believe it. This was the first time she celebrated New Years with a partner, it was a good feeling. 

Y/N was finishing cleaning the shop when the door opened. She smiled because she already knew who it was. She turned around and placed the broom against the wall. She quickly made her way and wrapped her arms around Yoongi as he gave her a tight squeeze. He kissed the side of her head and smiled, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Yoon.” He put her back down and she glanced down at her feet with shyness, “I saw your concept pictures...a suit?” 

Yoongi smirked and ran his fingers through his hair. He did it just for her because he knew how much she liked him in a suit, “You like it?” 

She slowly looked up and nodded her head, “I do...”

Yoongi wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head, “Just for you baby.” 

“Do you want to go to my apartment or do you want me to go to yours?” 

Yoongi released and thought about it, “I want to see Tuna.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you're only with me for Tuna.” 

“Maybe I am, Ms. L/N.”

Y/N smirked at this and kissed the tip of his nose, “Then I’ll tell Hazel.” 

“I was joking, don’t do that. She’s scary.” 

She finished closing up the shop and the two walked to Yoongi’s car. The drive to her apartment was filled with laughs and soft touches. When they entered her apartment, Yoongi closed the door and pushed her against the door as she laughed, “What you doing, Mr. Min?”

“Showing my beautiful girlfriend how much I love her. Is that okay?” 

Y/N leaned in to place a passionate kiss against his lips. When she leaned away, she nodded her head, “Of course it’s okay.” 

He picked her up and she let out a loud laugh as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Yoongi closed the door (making sure Tuna was outside) and gently tossed Y/N onto her soft blankets. He took off his shirt and slowly made his way to her. He towered over her and kissed her lips as if he was going to die if he didn’t. When moved away he kissed her cheek, “I need you here...always. I love you.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, this was the first time they said it. Yoongi looked at her shocked face and kissed her lips again, “You don’t have to say it back-”

“I love you so much Min Yoongi.” 

Yoongi froze in his spot and glanced into her eyes, “Yeah?”

She nodded her head and cupped his face, “You made me realize I was missing something...I love you Yoongi.” She took his hand and placed it on her chest and he felt her heartbeat, “My heart beats like this for you...and only you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her again, “Do you want to?”

She knew what he was asking and kissed his neck (the sensitive spot), “Yeah...” 

He pushed her hair away from her face and smiled, “Whatever you want, baby.” 

The next morning, Y/N woke up early to feed Tuna and to make breakfast. Yoongi walked out shirtless and he saw her cooking in his shirt. He couldn’t stop his heart from beating fast. He quietly made his way towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, “Can you shut off the stove?

“Why?”

He ran his fingers down and she felt his cold fingertips against her stomach. She bit her lip from moaning and he kissed the side of her neck, “I wanted to take a shower with you.”

“I can have a shower...and then eat.” 

The breakfast that she was making was never finished and it stayed there until the afternoon. She blamed Yoongi for her wasting food. 

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Spring is when things are borned and Y/N experienced just that. Her Shop became plural. Stardust and Ethereal, the two light pink shops caught the eyes of anyone walking on the street. Spring time was a special time, especially the mornings. Mornings brought inner peace and it was the quiet that used to comfort her but now if she didn’t hear Yoongi’s deep voice saying good morning then the morning was ruined.  

She styled her hair and put her glasses on to get on with her day. She walked outside and said her good mornings to Tuna and the newest addition Toothless (a black cat that Yoongi begged for). She walked into the living room and plopped herself right next to Yoongi who leaned down to give her a kiss on the check, “Are you ready to go to work?” 

Y/N shook her head, “Ten more minutes. Meria can survive.” 

“Can she? She’s already texting me.” 

Y/N chuckled at this and stood up from the couch, “Fine, I guess I’ll go to work.” 

Yoongi took his keys out of his pocket and smiled at her, “I told you no more bus. You got me.”

She let out a puff of air and nodded her head, “Fine, let’s go stubborn.” 

Yoongi held her hand as they walked down her apartment stairwell while her headphones were softly in her bag. He listened to every word of her story and how busy it was today because it was the first day of spring. The countless orders from idols was nothing new but the sheer amount at both stores was new. Yoongi opened her car door and she gave him a kiss on his cheek. It was like any other day. 

He placed his hand on top of her thigh as he drove through the semi busy city, “Namjoon texted me to get my ass in the studio before he locks me up in there.” 

Y/N let out a laugh and stared through the window, “It was our date night. He knows the drill.” 

“He said, " Who would’ve thought I’m telling you to work on music.”

She turned her head and gave him an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry...am I taking you away too much?” 

“No, you should just keep me in your room forever.” 

“Is that where you want to be?”

“Honestly, anywhere with you, I’ll be perfectly fine with.” 

Y/N opened her door to Ethereal and smiled, “Good morning, Meria.” 

Meria turned around and glared at her, “You're late.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and placed her coat on the hook, “I wasn’t late and you know that.”

Nora pointed her finger at Meria, “She just came a minute ago. She was too busy with Jungkook in her-”

“Shut the fuck up Nora.”

Hazel sighed and walked up to the shorter girl and gave her small hug, “How was the ride with Yoongi?”

“Perfect.” Y/N clapped her hands together, “Okay, we have a busy day. We have multiple orders from SM and JYP. Let’s start with the biggest orders because that’s going to take us the longest.” 

Nora nodded her head, “Yes boss. I bought buns, it’s in your office.” 

“Thank you Nora.” 

Y/N put her apron on and let the soft jazz play as she ignored the bickering between Nora and Meria, “These bouquets go to Seventeen at Hybe, Hazel can you take Nora for that?” 

“Yeah-”

“I want to go to Hybe.”

Y/N looked at Meria and shook her head, “You just want to see Jungkook. No.”

Meria pouted and sat back down at her station, “Fine.”

She rolled her eyes and felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She took her phone out and she smiled when she saw Yoongi in the studio working. She never thought that his smile would bring her comfort nor would she ever experience his rare friendship. For the ending of her first beginning, Yoongi was everything she needed and more. She never knew she needed him and vice versa. 

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

She shook her head, “What was that, Meria?”

“Yoongi is here with your tea.” Y/N smiled at this and walked towards him placing a kiss on his lips, her accidental happily ever after and she was his perfect distraction.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Tag list:

@forever-atiny @wobblewobble822 @jajabro @busanbby-jjk @lynnnnnnn23 @dna-black-and-blue @amaroho @shinaely @ukndtwme

[ahn-maria]

selfie time with jin!🤳

[snowithv]

𝓲. 바다 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞

𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖾̂ 𝗏𝖾̂, 𝖾𝗎 𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗆𝗈, 𝗆𝖾𝗎 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖾̂ 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗋 (𓇼.) 𝖺𝗆𝖺 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗈 𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗎 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝖽𝗋𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖾̂, 𝗌𝖾 𝖣𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗋. ───── 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘇 𝗸𝗮𝗳𝗸𝗮

𓂂 🐚 ׁ ❀

[smoothlikealikeasnake]

Strong Coffee and Sweet Cakes

Chapter Two ‘The Curse of Exhaustion’

Genre - BTS FF, a/b/o dynamics, a/b/o BTS and MC, Ot7 x fem MC/reader, so fluffy, little angst, eventual smut

Warnings - Very fluffy! Angsty themes like loneliness, sadness, light insomnia - let me know if there’s any more! X

Summary - A new cafe near the Hybe building will change the 7 members of Bangtan’s lives forever, 7 alphas in a pack? A recipe for disaster. Until a sweet omega starts to stir up their world with a little bit more sugar and slowly their loneliness dissolves

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Author Notes - Chapter 2 is here! It’s starting out slow right now! I’m mostly focussing on introductions, world building, introducing you to the characters and dynamics of this story so the plot can progress!

Sorry I didn’t post this yesterday like I said, I got caught up longer than I expected to in the day and didn’t have time to write xx

The final scene was a last minute addition and idk why I just love it!

With Namjoons new energy, the producing process seemed to be much easier, atleast one out of three minds was inspired and had some encourgement. But, all things come to an end, by 5pm, Namjoons motivation has deteriorated and the lack of sleep begins to catch up, fast. Its catching up for everyone, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon have been stuck in the studio for the last three days and only slept once, unhealthy habits that they continue from years ago because three perfectionists, trying to produce an album on a timelimit, all thats in their minds are caffeine and work.

All three are rubbing at their eyes, heads heavy and thoughts beginning to process and thats when they have to call it quits, for the night atleast because without a single present mind, no work was going to be produced at all and theyd be back in the situation they thought they would have had all day, exhausted, drained and unmotivated. Atleast a few hours of sleep is needed right now.

"I cant even think" - Hoseok groans, rubbing at his neck and clicking it as if it will wake him up some and help him, legs aching from being sat for so long

"Neither, maybe this is it for tonight" - Namjoon agrees, slumping in his chair just a little

"Just another hour or two and then we can call it off" - Yoongi mumbles, not even taking his eyes off the computer, more just commenting half passively to encourage them to keep going just a little longer but the thing is, that little one or two hours is a whole lot when you havent slept in days

"We havent left the studio all day, lets just take a short break and then we can keep going" - Namjoons groaning out finally accepting near defeat

"Yeah, you know what, how about we go to this cafe your talking about and just get a drink to bring back" - Hoseok mentions it, curious but also just more eager to get a stretch of his legs because its what he desperately needs right now.

"What do you think hyung?" - Namjoon knows Yoongi could turn around and flat out say no, he doubts it, but he could and as much as they could fight, they are all reaching for the same thing right now.

"Yeah, okay we can take a short break" - Because as much as Yoongi wants to just stay and work, his pack and how they feel both physically and mentally is incredibly dear to him, even if it isnt always openly shown, even if he grumbles out his agreement and huffs, he doesnt mind taking a break for them.

Quickly having one last listen and making sure to save and close the computer just in case, the tired alphas groggily make their way into the biting air under the sunset, 5:15pm. Yoongi doubts the cafe will even be open anymore, Hoseoks yearning for his americano and Namjoon is maybe a bit too excited to go back so soon.

The two who havent yet seen the cafe pause for a moment when it comes into view, furrowing their eyebrows and taking in the scene because they instantly understand the appeal atleast visually, Their warm fairlights and string lamps set up outside lighting up the seating area and the atmosphere is like that of a movie in the moment, they'd seen hundreds of beautiful places in all of their travels but this is different, the small details Namjoon had noticed earlier making their way into the two alphas attention too. The 'Open!' Sign is still flipped how it was this morning, Namjoon sighing out in relief because he really does need the caffeine. Because thats definitely, definitely the only reason he wanted to come back. He too is surprised your open and it isn't too busy inside from what can be seen through the windows, tables occupied but not packed.

The little bell jingles as they enter, the two elder alphas taking moments to observe the inside, inhale the still strong scents of coffee and baked goods and yeah this was starting to make sense why Namjoon liked it here so much after just one visit. And then they see you, instatly knowing your the omega Namjoon mentioned as you bring over the teapot of chamomile tea to Mrs. Han and engage in a light conversation with the sweetest smile gracing your lips. Your eyes flicker to the door at their arrival but you dont stray your attention from Mrs. Han too much knowing your conversation would be short and you'd be back behind the counter shortly.

The earthy scent youd enjoyed this morning briefly fills your nose from across the room and your eyes light up a little, hes back, so soon and with two? other people, other alphas. One is a strong, heavily masculine sort of burning wood smell, theres hints of sweetness underneath, if you were to guess its- marshmallow? but its subtle and oh so complimenting with a hint of whiskey, just a little, its warming and while its a combination youd never imagined before it works so well, like a summer night out in the forest, a wood cabin and a fireplace maybe. The other is musky, the kind of musk only an alpha can have in their scent which can easily be overwhelming, unpleasant even, but its mellowed out with hints of crisp green apples and cedarwood, its lively, masculine and perfectly balanced, refreshing and so alluring. You try to resist the urge to breath a little deeper to take in more of their scents as you listen to Mrs. Han and finish up your conversation but as you begin to walk towards the counter and allow a little more of the scent to invade your senses, you cant help but frown at the bitterness of exhuastion that is laced over each of their scents, its unsettling to you, the type of tainting you really dont like to smell on others and you walk a little faster to take their orders and hopefully make it even a little less bitter.

Namjoons smiling as he approaches you at the counter, looking over your clear window showing off the bakes and noticing how its nearly empty now, just a few of each left, some only having one or two, some actually empty but there it is, the apple and cinnamon pretzel that made his morning and then he looks back up and he wants to coo at you, your hair messier than it was this morning, a little fluffy and your wearing a pair of glasses now, adjusting them on your nose as you approach them quickly, your sweet smile back again.

"Hello! Back again already" - You giggle out and Namjoon goes a bit pink with realising how yeah hed come back under 12 hours after he came for the first time and swooned over your coffee and bakes. Yoongi and Hoseok stand slightly behind him watching with intrigue and taking you in, a little warmth filling thie chest at your soft appearence and voice, they can also feel the shift in Namjoon's scent as it twists just a little stronger and sweeter, your nose twitching in response in a way that they find utterly adorable.

"Haha- yeah" - Namjoon awkwardly laughs out, practically facepalming in his head at the awkwardness in his voice but you really dont mind, its cute to you. Its cute in a way you'd never really thought of alphas like before, his clumsiness in body language and words just making you smile wider. Its so common for alphas to purely exude confidence, overhwelmingly strong and often pride too, which, of course is bad to stereotype but its one youve actually experienced. The lack of those two qualities, the slight uncertainty and natural tinge in Namjoon's actions are refreshing, its welcomed.

"What can i get you?"

"Ill have an espresso- uh the blend from earlier if that isnt too much trouble" - Namjoons cursing himself for not asking what it was because youd been working all day and probably had tens to hundreds of customers in that time why would you remember tha-

"Of course its not! Anything else?" - Ah, you cut off his doubt and awkwardness in a second and hes grateful, incredibly, for how attentive you are, even if you dont have to be at all

"What do you guys want?" - Only then do you bring your focus back to the two behind him and the way they step forward a little, not intimidatingly on purpose, but just naturally makes your eyes widen a little, brain falter for a mere second from the power of their scents but you force yourself to relax in order to listen.

"Ill have an americano " - For hoseok, looking forward to trying this coffee that transformed Namjoon

"A cold brew for me please" - Yoongi mumbles out, just loud enough for you to nod enthusiastically and you tap a few times on the screen and read over the order, routinely about to ask about what coffee blend theyd like but something comes to mind.

At 6am Namjoon had ordered two espressos, looked exhausted, wasnt even going to eat anything with it, hed left with some energy which made you happy but now hes back with that same exhaustion, at 5:30 and ordering more coffee? Its not your place, you havent even known him 12 hours but you cant stop the concern, the gentle scolding you want to give for how it cant be good for his body to have such strong coffee at this time in the day when he should begin to unwind.

Your eyebrows furrow, a little frown settling on your face and all three alphas feel their heart jump when you look back up at them, specifically speaking to Namjoon to hesitantly address your concerns, your breath hitching before you speak because this really could come off as rude potentially and thats so far from what you want but you cant help it, maybe you could atleast suggest something else, just playful concern, right?

Unfortunately it comes out more sad and concerned than you wanted it too. You want to sound teasing but your voice fails you along with your expression and you curse yourself for sounding too pushy but none of them see if that way.

"More espressos? Its evening now and you had an early morning" - Namjoon faulters at your words, lips parting in surprise and he can feel the strings in his heart pulling in everywhich way. You watch him struggle to reply for a moment but then you look at the other two criminally handsome men and one (Yoongi) suddenly smiles amused at your bold confrontation despite not knowing him long at all and Hoseok tilts his head with a smaller smile in further curiosity, waiting to see how this plays out.

"Ah we still have some work to do" - Namjoon eventually manages to get out but he instantly regrets it when your frown deepens, you arent going to argue because its not your place but the lack of approval in your expression has Namjoon spinning back on his words with a hand scratching his neck awkwardly, hes giving in to your every concern and wish without even realising because it feels good to be cared for, concerned for, its not common ehich is odd to think considering the millions of fans who wish them well at all times but this is personal, real, raw concern and its not because hes an artist, not because hes someone you admire but simply because hes human. And thats something that feels new.

"But... what would you suggest instead?" - The way your expression lights up and smile regraces your face is enough compensation for giving up the caffeine he holds close to his heart, this feels warmer, more rewarding. You instantly reply bubbly at his acceptence of your not so subtle suggestion.

"I can make you a mint tea? Its relaxing, less caffeine, good for your throat" - You list off a few benefits happily and its clear youd chosen something you found suitable to him because chamomile was too relaxing, fruit tea possibly too sweet, mint was just right in your opinion.

"I'll have one of those then instead, and uh another apple and cinnamon pretzel please" - If he's going to differ from his usual choice he might aswell indulge in another one of the sweet, filling treats he so enjoyed before, the way you light up impossibly brighter in the dim ambient atmosphere pulls a more permanent smile onto Namjoons lips, he can see you teeter on your feet because he'd indirectly admitted his adoration for the bake.

"Of course!" - You tap it in satified with his change of heart, more than satisfied, fulfilled and warm inside, holding back a purr from showing how much it warms your heart to care for and treat people, especially those who work too hard for their own good which is what these alphas give off.

Your looking over the other two alphas remembering their presence instantly, this could be their first coffee of the day for all you know - you doubt it - given they look the same as Namjoon in terms of exhaustion but you dont know anything about them and your interference with Namjoon's order is as far as you'll push for now so you just give them the same smile you give Namjoon and look over all three as you ask your next question, really trying not to shrink under their strong presences. Its hard to ignore the swell of pride that fills your heart realising not only had Namjoon returned so quickly but he had also - supposedly - brought his friends here too, its an indirect praise that just makes you smile a little wider, your cheeks a little warmer and fingers a tad more fidgety but you try not to show it.

"Anything else?" - Hoseok looks over at the bakes display because Namjoon had ordered something from there and then something catches his eye

"Is that banofee pie?" - One, pristine slice remains under the cake cover and when does he ever resist a banoffee pie, especially one that looks so good.

"Yes! It is" - Your nodding and watch Hoseok pause for a second, heart lips pulling into a tempted smile, nodding to himself and you

"Ill have that slice then please" - The smile widening on your face a little is once again rewarding and Hoseok wants you to always smile like that- even if hes only just met you.

Yoongi has been watching the interactions silently, observing you, the way your so expressionate in your body language and face, saw the way your body lit up like a live wire both times the alphas requested one of your desserts and while he really did want to get back to finish up and finally sleep a bit, he wouldnt mind staying for a while in the cozy atmosphere of your cafe.

"Okay! Is that all for you?" - The three are nodding quickly at your question

"To go or sit in?" - They should go, get their drinks and go back to the studio but something in each of them is tempting them to stay. To indulge. Namjoons looking back at the other two quickly because he knows they said theyd go back but admitedly he doesnt want too and when he looks at Yoongi for his decision and when the man simply shrugs, avoiding looking him in the eyes and pushing his long hair back, Namjoon feels like hes won something, turning back to you waiting and nodding before he answers for the three.

"Sit in please" - You quicly ring them up and repeat what youd told Namjoon this morning, that they can sit anywhere and they find a small corner, three comfortable seats and a window for a gentle, fresh breeze. In your negociation with Namjoon youd completely forgotten to ask what the other two alphas would like coffee blend wise and you panic for a moment, looking back and forth as they sit down and noting the deep sighs they exchange purely from thie minds clouded with stress, you take the decision for yourself to give them the least disturbance, a honey roast for Yoongi and a Medium roast for Hoseok, mint tea for Namjoon with a little pot of honey he can choose to add or not and prepare all of it on a tray with the two treats they wanted.

Meanwhile around the table, the three begin to talk, taking in the night settling outside the window and taking a well needed moment to breathe

"She is sweet" - Yoongi mutters with a confirming nod of his head

"Very cute, caring too" - Hoseok instantly agrees, eyes watching you spin around behind the counter preparing their different drinks, intrigued.

"Yeah i mean i did say" - Namjoon’s eyes are also on you, thinking about how you’d thought about his health before anything else and it was just sticking with him.

"Bold of her to suggest you not have what you originally order... i like it" - Yoongi gives a small huff and smile.

"So we going to finish and go back to the studio"

"Thats the plan"

"We just have to review the last track again, make any last changes, it feels like its missing something but im not sure what yet" - Yoongi tells them with his eyebrows pursed because if any of them are the hardest on themselves when it comes to work, its him. Hoseok's a bit too distracted by observing all the patterns youve decorated this place in to think about what exactly is missing in the track but luckily for him, Namjoon answers.

"I get what you mean, just something small but definitely vital, it could just be the backing vocals we need Jin to record though"

"Maybe" - Yoongi hums out, imagining the song in his head and trying to work out if spending another few hours will even do anything or if Jin's vocals are all the track really needs.

"Choreography is coming along alright, pretty sure we can start to learn it next week" - Hoseok finally refocuses on the work topic and he recalls back to him and Jimin struggling to bring some of the choreograpies together, of course some of them are choreographed by other people but dancing is him and Jimin's passion, it just makes him cringe recalling the pure frustration and tension building when things just dont work or dont play out how they envisioned.

Before anyone can reply, they're distracted by you teetering over, silent on your feet but your sweet scent gives you away, unknowingly lulling some of the tension in thier muscles away, each of them slightly melting into their seats. You entirely focus on putting each of their orders infront of them, repeating them outloud quietly and being careful not to spill anything from the tray. The three watch you, expertly moving each of their cups around one by one with barely a few taps on the table, only then do they take you in further.

Your apron is tied tight on your body, secured with a bow in the back that Hoseok notices, fitting, he thinks. Your hair is tied back but a few strands have fallen from the ponytail and framed your face, the hairs tickling you and making you twitch but it doesnt set you off task for a single moment. Energy seems to bound around you but Yoongi notices the tiniest shake of your fingers and just slightly laboured breathing as your omegan body tries to keep up with the pace you set yourself, its something youve taught yourself to get used to and you have built a significant tolerance to it but at the end of long days like this one, it starts to catch up to you, makes you jittery and has you yearning for your nest at the end of the day more than anything.

You dress simply for work, just in a t-shirt and jeans that are for the most part comfortable but at the end of the day begin to make your skin feel a little scratchy and sensitive, nothing you can help or avoid. They do little to hide the curves of your body but its not something the three men spend time dwelling on because they arent some freshly presented alphas or disrespectful in general. With all of the dishes and cups placed down you quietly repeat everything back to yourself, a look of concentration on your face that makes the three watch you intently, making sure everything is there and when your content you shoot up from your slightly bent position, hands clasped infront of you and expression bright besides the impending tiredness that is due to settle over you soon and they can see it, as much as you try to push it down and only want to wrap you up in one of the many blankets settled all around and guide you to rest. You want the same for them however, and you express that, gently.

"Enjoy! And please do try to rest soon" - You say your last part quieter, hesitant but it’s appreciated by the three, and maybe your words settle in sooner than they'd planned.

You make your way back to the counter and occupy yourself with your tasks but the three can feel you trying to subtly glance over to gauge their reactions, they dont mind, more curious and intrigued more than anything. The sips they all take have them simultaniously groaning, kind of animated, seeming almost fake because it feels luxurious, smooth, perfectly suited to their tastebuds. Your smiling to yourself at their reaction and it only gets bigger when Hoseok tries his pie and his eyes practically gauge out of his head, taking an even bigger bite than before.

They find themselves not drinking and eating for fuel, but for enjoyment, slower than usual and certainly slower than theyd planned. Theyre sinking into their chairs, Yoongis slowly blinking in that catlike manner he has, Hoseoks slumping in the chair and definitely would usually mentally scold himself for how hes acting as if hes in his own home with his head leant back against the chair and manspreading but he didnt really care right now for some reason. Namjoon is feeling particularly heavy, sleepy with the warm, soothing drink youd carefully prepared for him, finding himself running his hands through his hair in an effort to try to keep himself awake. Without realising, half an hour goes by, 6pm and the cafe is slowly emptying, the three half asleep, incredibly relaxed alphas realise they should probably get up, so slowly they do, trying to blink away the sleep.

"So we best get back huh?" - Namjoon gets out, rubbing his eye but Yoongi shakes his head, surprising them both

"it can wait, lets just get some sleep" - Yoongi can practically feel the joy radiating off the two others from his words

"Look at us, taking her advice without even realising" - Hoseok jokes about it but its the truth and walking over to the counter to drop off their plates, they can see the tiredness in your own body a lot more clearly now, trying to keep up with quick movements but your hands are shaking more than before and your faltering in your movements, seeming to forget your actions every few seconds but your trying and its so clear it makes them frown.

"That was amazing thank you"

"Truly" - Hoseok throws in and they see you spin around at their words and muster up a warm smile, wishing them a good evening and telling them to remember your words from earlier playfully. Namjoon and Hoseok begin a slow walk to the door, Yoongi about to follow but he looks at the two, sees them about to reach outside and turns back to you, capturing your attention.

"Take care of yourself, hm? Get some rest" - Yoongi's quiet, making sure no one else can hear and his tone is soft but assertive, a small frown on his lips, you stare for a moment a little shocked, opening and closing your mouth like a fish because you hadnt realised anyone else could see the indicators of your tiredness but his expression made it clear he had noticed and he cared. You like to show care to others, it makes you happy but oddly enough, you dont often recieve the same, not that you ever expect it but just as an obersvation. He makes you stutter and blush, warm inside and all you can do is nodd furiously with a smile and a quiet assurance that you will.

Yoongi nods back, huffs in satisfaction and your small interaction plays on repeat for the rest of both of your nights. Yoongi revels in your sweet reaction, the "i-i will" you let out even if the surprise you showed unsettled him, the pink tint of your cheeks is cute, the fluster different from your confidient and bubbly personality he'd seen before that but he wanted to see it over and over again. Hes unknowingly smiling as he leaves until Namjoon and Hoseok ask him why he looks so giddy, brushing them off and telling them they should all get home and sleep, which they do without a second thought.

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Your cafe is open early and late everyday, 6-6:30 monday to saturday but thats exactly why your friends are vital to any sort of success you have because without them, you simply wouldnt be able to run the hours you do. Mondays you do the entire day, along with wednesdays and fridays, one of the three will always be there during rush hours to help but for the most part you are set to work the entire day. Unfortunately, the long hours completely take it out of you and you also have to do the baking so to manage, you focus in the kitchen on Tuesdays and thursdays, maintaining prep for the rest of the week and having time to recharge whilst one of the others take front of house or two of them somedays. This way, you have much shorter days on those days and get the rest you need, you get to sleep in and leave so much earlier too.

Its essential - the rest - because as an omega you naturally crave and require more sleep than betas and alphas, its in your genes and although you absolutely use every ounce of your energy and some to work as much as possible, it does catch up to you. A lot of days youll walk in to your home, barely functioning and b-line for your nest, sleep an insane amount without much time to yourself. Of course you get breaks during the days you work long hours and you'd recently hired some part-time staff to help throughout the day alongside Yuqi, Soyeon and Soojin and its taken some weight off of you but you still often find yourself in the exact same position as you are today.

Not having a pack as an omega is hard, most would find it impossible but your situation isnt something youd change in desperation, your not in a pack by choice, not by force because your entirely waiting for the pack that feels right to invite you, if that day ever comes. It's hard because you crave the comfort and safety betas and alphas - especially - naturally provide to omegas in their pack, the ability to exude their scent in waves to lull their omegas into a softer, less anxious state - which you often get - and in return omegas are naturally nurturing, calming to those around them and balance out a pack, taking away stress.

For you, after a long day you begin to get jittery, shakey and lose focus in moments, you get out of breath incredibly fast, your eyes grow heavy, your mind slows down and tasks that would usually be simple become incredibly hard. You do your absolute best to hide it, to never show it infront of customers or even your friends but sometimes your friends notice and silently come to your aid just a little more than usual, something your grateful for, incredibly. No customer has ever noticed it though, atleast never enough to ever comment on it but Yoongi did and it made you freeze up, almost like making your mind catch up with your body and you felt even more sluggish than before but for some reason, it felt- okay? It would usually make you frustrated but today it felt okay to let yourself be tired, okay to be a bit more lenient on yourself.

After closing up, your walk home is slower than usual, not forcing yourself to keep at a pace that makes your muscles burn and lungs scream. You have the same issue as usual when you get in though, entering your own cozy space puts your body on sleep mode, tells you your finally in some kind of safe environment so you make yourself a quick dinner, half asleep already and moving sluggishly and as soon as its down, a quick shower so you dont get your nest dirty where the hot water feels especially scalding on your sensitive skin, sometimes makes it a little irritated but it all is well when your nest comes into sight.

You barely throw on your pajamas before bounding into the soft cocoon, purring in an instant, body finally allowed to properly rest, clutching onto the variety of blankets and not attempting to even check your phone because your hands are shaking too much. Somehow youll manage to put on a show to watch for .5 seconds before descending into a deep sleep but most nights its unfortunately interuppted. Not by anything but yourself, thats another reason beta and alpha pheromones are essential for most omegas, they help you sleep and stay asleep. Without, you end up waking up multiple times in the night without reason and its annoying along with incredibly tiring. Jolting awake isnt new to you, just not exactly what would be the ideal situation with how hard you work everyday.

Bangtan's pack experience the same, work long hours everyday, hardly see a few weeks of break a year - if anything - and in the time they do have to sleep, they struggle, tossing, turning, jolting awake. They put it down to the stress of their idol life but deep down they all know theres something else factoring in, the absence of something theyve yet to find. Its gotten especially hard for them recently, back from the military. Before, they could bury themselves in military tasks, exhaust themselves into a slightly deeper sleep, just as they could usually do before from their idol activites but now? Its started to stop working, as if their bodies have grown immunity to their tactics and are still pushing for something they dont know. Between consistent stress from the comeback, catching up with everything theyve missed and having to become accustomed to their pack/group life all over again - which theyd never imagined would be so hard to do, they never noticed just how routine it all was until they split apart - their bodies are in overdrive and their emotions? Yeah, not great to say the least.

The songs their writing themselves are getting more and more negative, forcefully positive in some cases but its so fake that it just feels wrong. Their unhealthy habits become more and more frequent, hormones are all over the place and their struggling, possibly more than ever. They bought a penthouse recently, collectively, its huge, big enough for all of them and they claimed they can stay there during group activites for convenience but realistically they share comfort in eachother, not just because they are a pack but because they share this deeprooted loneliness that those around them won't understand.

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"Is it hard? Being an omega, not in a pack?" - Yuqi asks, blunt as ever and you know she means no harm, no intention to upset you at all so you take it with no offence even if Soojin elbows her hard for how she says it

"I dont know, i guess it was but im used to it now" - Theres not a hint of solemness in your voice, no search for sympathy because this is just how it is. It still makes the six - Yuqi, Soyeon, Soojin, Shuhua, Minnie and Miyeon (your friendS for years now) - cringe and frown, always ones to be concerned for you no matter how much you try to brush it off.

"You always have any of us you know?" - And you know Soyeon and the rest of them mean it, you shove another mouthful of rice in and smile through your cheeks with a nod, if you need them theyre only a call away but you understand why they're concerned, Alphas and Betas such as themselves have a significantly easier time without packs because they genetically arent as dependent on others usually.

"Aishhh always getting solemn Soyeon" - Miyeon scolds, nudging her because you clearly wont speak more on this topic, you never do, its a jar you dont like to open, one filled with old memories and Miyeon knows that.

"Sorry sorry- So, hows Leila, Shuhua?" - Ah this is a happy topic, Shuhua's neice, a little omega who isnt even one yet, the baby she sontims brings to your cafe when she babysits and just has you gushing and fretting over every little thing about her. Everyone can feel you brighten up, your scent sweetening as the hint of strawberry thickens balanced with the sweet cream.

"Yes! How is the little potato" - Yuqi asks and you push her shoulder with a playful frown, scolding her for teasing the cute baby. She does have the most adorable chubby little face and hands and legs and just everything- a little marshmallow if you were to compare her to anything but Yuqi liked to call her a potato

"If you keep calling her i think Y/n's going to explode one day Yuqi" - Minnie playfully teased and faux pouted at you but Shuhua brushed them both off, just continuing

"Anyway, she's great! My sister said she Doesnt let go of the blanket you gave her Y/n" - Thats the other thing, both Shuhua's sister and her husband are beta and alphas, Leila is an omega, its a rare occurence but far from impossible. They have barely any omegas in their family and no matter how much research they do sometimes they still struggle or Shuhua will struggle will babysitting but thats where you come in.

You understand, you can understand in ways alphas and betas cant because your an omega and while she isnt your daughter or related to you in any way so you dont know her every tendency like her family do, you can help in some cases. Like a few weeks ago, when Shuhua had come in with her and you'd been working in the kitchen that day but youd whizzed out, flour all over your apron and rushed over before youd even heard Leila's first cry because you could sense the distress before they all could. Soojin had stared in surprise as you'd practically sprinted past her and reached the two just before Leila began to cry and saw Shuhua's face morph into one also of distress because she was fed, changed, being held after not wanting to crawl or walk for the moment, all of the things shed routinely check, indicated that Leila should be just fine and you knew that Shuhua had obviously done everything right but you could feel and see some unresolved discomfort.

You didnt know what from, but it was the kind you'd get when you just needed an extra layer of comfort when you were younger especially, its how you ended up with a collection of soft blankets to bring with you to places - which now are carefully placed in your nest after years of wear - its a hunch but it was worth trying and you'd wide eyed rushed around, to your small office in the back, past Leila and Shuhua and Soojin again, practically throwing blanket after blanket out of the box you have kept in the office, unscented new blankets that you kept just in case until you found the exact one you were looking for, its soft, crotcheted so she could slip her fingers through it easily, long enough for her to drape over her body for years to come and with a quick feel yourself, you just knew it was right so without another word you were draping it over her and gently encouraging her hands to hold onto it, her wails soothing until a wave of tiredness settled over her and she was asleep with pink cheeks and sniffles within just 2 minutes.

Shuhua had looked at you in pure astonishment, even though shed watched you be especially nurturing to omegas before, those in distress, discomfort, just a little sad or even those who you just sensed needed it but Leila couldnt even speak yet you'd just known and back to now, it fills you with joy and warmth that youd made the sweet little thing happy.

"When doesnt our Y/nie know best" - Soyeon exclaims dramatically, hand over heart for added flare and everyone laughed at her tease while you grew red cheeked and shoved in anoher mouthful of meat from the hotpot youd all gotten. Every friday night youd all go out for a dinner at the same restaurant in the area, a smallish one that just did the absolute best hot meals ever. You were exhausted every time but you kept it together throughout the day and evening because you look forward to this time with them, its rewarding after a long week and you cherish it. Absentmindely, the six always pick up on your needs, never forgetting to pick up the blanket from your office chair to drape over your shoulders or lap for that extra layer of comfort you just need after the day and they make sure your drink is always topped up, usher you into the middle of the booth between them and make sure you always walk home with someone even if youd tried multiple times to resist their fussing, they just know you, and they care.

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"Jungkook why have we just got a huge delivery of pillows, blankets and duvets?" - Seokjin asks over the phone watching as box after box gets piled into the entry way of their penthouse, utterly confused when he read the box contents on the top of each one. Its absurd, the place is already decorated.

"I just wanted them hyung..." - Jungkook quietly mumbled out, he cant explain it to Seokjin because it sounds silly, he just got an urge, he felt an itch and he scratched it. Seokjin was running his hand through his hair seeing more and more come through the door and just standing in utter disbelief.

"What are you even preparing for?! An apocolpyse? The biggest movie night known to man? Have you suddenly turned into a bear and not told us your preparing to hibernate for winter?!" - Seokjin rambles into the phone, words spitting like fire.

"Hey i get it, the place definitely needs to be cozier" - Jimin agrees from Jungkook's side of the line, adding to his purchasing choices and Seokjin just cant believe it because in what world would they need anywhere near this much?!

But whats the point in arguing when Jungkook already sounded scolded and sad, its been hard for them lately, theres no point adding to the stress. With a deep sigh, Seokjin just bites his lip and nods to himself, mentally agreeing with the new arrangement.

"Do you want me to arrange them or just put the boxes in your room?"

Just two nights before, Jungkook had been browsing on his phone when he saw a tiktok of an omega preparing their nest, so many blankets and cozy things and his body went on autopiled, he acted without a single thought for some reason and for the next three hours, he ordered every type of blanket and pillow he could find on the website the omega linked for their primary usage, of all different materials and sizes without much of a plan at all. It was also clearly out of place for Jungkook because he barely ordered anything in black, white or grey, more white than the other two but everything else was mainly soft pastels, a few brighter pieces here and there. Its odd, but he let it happen because in the state hes been recently, he just needed to do something that felt right and it also felt right to order it to the penthouse and not his personal house, so he did. He didn't want to explain how the urge clawed at him until he gave in, how afterwards he slept better than he has in a very long time because theres no logical explanation for it.

Except there is, Jungkook is instinctively preparing for a omega to enter their lives and he doesnt even know it.

Thank you so much for reading I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Hoping to get the next one out very soon xx

Please let me know what you think! My asks are open and I try to reply to comments as fast as I can

Side note, I watched Are You Sure for most of the writing of this, not relevant but I just did because I love it.

Mwah 💖

ཐི♡ཋྀ

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@m00njinnie @imeverycliche @kiki-zb @meowforluv

[shadowkoo]

Very Bad Behavior

→ Summary: Tall, dark, and dangerous. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. They say bad things come in threes, and you’ve spent your entire life steering clear of every troublesome temptation. But when a familiar stranger catches your eye one night at work, resisting suddenly feels impossible. You might just start to wonder how bad can indulging in a little bad behavior really be? Especially when it feels so good…

↠ seokjin x f.reader | 6.9k words | 18+ ↠ genre: rockstar au, one night stand, famous guitarist!seokjin x oblivious/non-fan bartender!reader, smut, strangers to lovers

→ Warnings: explicit sex, protected sex, rough sex, strong language, drug usage, alcohol consumption, praise kink, hair pulling, biting, mutual masturbation, manhandling, nipple play, breast play, begging, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, exhibitionism, doggy, deep dicking, size kink, Seokjin is (rightfully) cocky about his huge dong, belly bulge, getting off from the vibrations created by jin’s motorcycle 👀, cocky dom!seokjin, oh and i almost forgot… jin’s got a magic cross dick piercing 😈

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq

→ Author Note: This is long overdue (me and collab deadlines don’t have the best relationship lol), here’s my part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by Sav @jeonjcngkook. Also a big thank you to Ley @pars-ley for beta reading this for me, I adore you!!!! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 divider credit

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˙⟡˙ the new insane — counterfeit ˙⟡˙ what do you want from me? — bad omens ˙⟡˙ antimatter — silent planet ˙⟡˙ (pls) set me on fire — enter shikari ˙⟡˙ code mistake — corpse x bring me the horizon ˙⟡˙ bang bang — revnoir ˙⟡˙ instead — xdinary heroes, yoon do hyun ˙⟡˙ apathy — windwaker ˙⟡˙ die mf die — dope ˙⟡˙ self sacrifice — wage war ˙⟡˙

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“What can I get you?” you holler over your shoulder to the new body sitting on an open stool. Quickly stuffing the cash into the register, you turn around with your usual customer-service smile and hand the remaining change to the couple as they gather their things, preparing to leave.

It’s been busy all day, with waves of customers coming and going, but now you’re in that brief lull after the dinner rush, just before the night crowd starts to fill the room. With the peak of the summer season in full swing, business has been non-stop. And tonight should be even more hectic as it’s Friday night.

Walking toward the new guy waiting, you look him over while trying to get a good read. You first notice his glazed-over and slightly red eyes, a trait you easily recognize as a bartender at a popular downtown dive bar. He has a half-smoked blunt hanging between his fingers, somehow making himself look even more attractive.

Next, your vision trails along the black ink covering his tanned skin; a lightning bolt at the corner of his right eye, Fearless scribbled below his left, and a large piece with skulls and roses took up most of the space on his neck. And even though he’s wearing a leather jacket, it’s not hard to guess that his arms and other places are most likely covered by tattoos too.

“Surprise me, gorgeous,” he says, leaning forward with a dangerous smile.

Rolling your eyes at the overused line, you reach for the ingredients you need to mix something this pretentious guy would never order for himself. You do your best to hide your smirk as you grab the bottle of peach schnapps from the sea of other liquors and the orange juice from the cooler near your waist.

His gaze wanders from your curvaceous backside to what you’re making. “Ah, Sex on a Beach,” he notes, as you hand over the cherry-colored drink, with the umbrella and all. “My favorite.” His sparkling eyes lock with yours when your hands touch during the exchange.

“Really? Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Well, that’s fair. Would it be more believable if I said I’m usually more of a Jack and Coke guy?”

“Oh wow, now that is surprising,” you tease. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Alright, what’s your go-to then? What do you recommend?”

You lean against the counter, pretending to ponder deeply, “I would have to say peanut butter flavored whiskey has my attention at the moment.”

“Fuck that,” he says with another grin that shows off his perfectly white teeth.

Who is this man, and why is he such a stunner?!

“You can’t be serious?”

A smirk grows on your lips as you grab two shot glasses and the bottle of Skrewball. You fill them without looking, a fun bartender trick of yours, keeping your eyes locked onto his. You pass one to him, keeping the other for yourself and lifting it to cheers, “Bottoms up.”

He lets out a sigh, “Here goes nothin’...” His face immediately twists up in disgust, and he sputters after swallowing. “Oh my god,” he clears his throat. “That has to be the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure nastier things have found their way between your lips,” you joke, laughing while he finishes the glass of water you also set out for him.

“You have no idea…” he says, playing along.

“So, what brings you to town?” And more importantly, how long are you here for?

“Ah, I’m just here for the weekend with my buddies,” he smiles, before taking a sip of his sex on the beach.

The front door opening interrupts your conversation, and a group of college-aged guys walk in, who immediately wave you down to get their drinks.

“Hold that thought,” you say, eyes drifting back to the door as it opens again for the next group that struts in and joins the guys who are now whistling for your attention. “I’ll be right back, gotta take care of these assholes.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. When I need another I’ll just whistle for ya.” He smirks, and your insides heat up while you walk away. You don’t know him, but you like him.

Unfortunately, that lovely group kept you busier than you would have liked. By the time you can satisfy them and the girls whose drinks they also bought, the handsome stranger is long gone.

All that remains is an empty glass sitting on top of a napkin with the words, “Thanks for the chat and the amazing sex (on the beach), See you around!” scribbled along with a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again. The odds are slim, and you try not to let that sting.

The rest of the night flies by, and before you know it, it’s approaching 3 a.m. Much to no one's surprise, you’ve made your entire month’s rent in tips tonight, which is why you love working closing shifts when everyone else would prefer to already be home and in bed.

Bartending is typically an easy job if you like being social. Drunk men are easy to flirt with and the money flows if you can bullshit with them for long enough.

“Have a good night, guys,” you say, waving goodbye to Jenny, the other bartender working with you tonight, and her boyfriend Dino, who also happens to be the bar’s bouncer.

They wave back and say goodnight before turning to walk home together, leaving you to finish locking up.

Your loud yawn is hidden by the low rumbles of a nearby motorcycle, and the exhaustion of the busy night finally hits you. Dropping your keys into your purse, you turn in the opposite direction to head home.

“Calling it a night this early?” a familiar voice says from the darkness surrounding you. You freeze in place, trying to make out the shadowed figure.

“Oh,” you say in relief, after taking a couple of steps closer and seeing the hot guy from earlier. “It's you.”

“I was wondering when you’d get off,” he says, his smooth voice making your skin shiver.

“Aww, have you been waiting this whole time?” you ask, a slight tease in your tone.

He leans casually against his bike, the city lights flickering in his eyes. “Nah, I met up with my friends for a bit. Then realized I forgot to give you something.”

You tilt your head, with a playful smirk on your lips. “Let me guess, your number? Or your name?” Heat curls in your stomach; either one would be a win.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his gaze trailing over you like a slow caress. “But you gotta work for it.” He swings a leg over his motorcycle and taps the empty space in front of him. “Sit.”

You raise a brow but obey, straddling the bike backward so you're facing him. It’s not like you’re going for a ride, so what does it matter? He doesn’t complain about your positioning. His hands quickly find your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, intoxicating circles into your skin.

“So…” you exhale, pulse quickening under his touch. “What did you forget?”

His smile turns cocky, and without warning he leans in, his lips a breath away from yours.

“This,” he whispers before kissing you. He claims your mouth with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt and certainly no space for air. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you.

You can’t believe this is happening, you’re practically straddling a hot stranger’s lap, tangled in a very heated kiss. Even the cool night air does nothing to tame the fire licking at your skin.

Threading your fingers through his thick hair, you tug just enough to draw a low groan from him. Your hips shift instinctively, and the moment you do, a gasp slips from your lips. The deep purr of the motorcycle beneath you vibrates through every inch of your body, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves through your jean shorts.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your lips. “Does that feel good, gorgeous?” His voice is low, dripping with sin. “Are you a needy little whore who just has to get off?”

Before you can respond, his strong hand presses against your lower back, guiding you down against the hard metal of his bike. The vibrations intensify, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Grind those hips, baby,” he purrs, his other hand still gripping your thigh. “Show me how needy you are.”

A whimper escapes you as your hips obey, moving with desperate friction, chasing that delicious edge. He leans in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers filth that only makes the ache worse.

“You’re such a pretty little whore,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “But I think you need to show a little more skin for me.”

He tugs down the scoop neckline of your shirt, exposing the delicate lace of your bra. His eyes darken, admiration flickering in them as he takes in the sight of you.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric before he presses his mouth against it. Leaving a teasing kiss, then another. His tongue traces over the lace, dampening it, before he tugs it down, both layers of fabric pushing your breasts up enticingly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and he grins devilishly as he watches them bounce in time with your desperate movements.

Without warning, his lips latch onto the soft peak of your flesh, sucking greedily before biting down just enough to make you gasp. The sharp pleasure sends another jolt of heat pooling low in your stomach. He moves to the other nipple, his tongue teasing you and savoring this moment.

He doesn’t need to hear you say that you’re close; he can feel it in the way your hips stutter against his bike. Your movements growing erratic, more desperate.

He groans against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. “Come undone for me,” he commands, his grip tightening. His voice is possessive and downright dangerous. “Right now.”

Your body shatters, pleasure ripping through you in the form of an uncontrollable moan spilling from your lips. He holds you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he chuckles, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs smugly, his voice laced with approval. “That’s it.” He pulls your bra and shirt back up, covering your exposed skin just before a car drives by.

You’re still catching your breath, pulse hammering, when reality crashes back in. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your face. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Oh, you better believe it, sweetheart.” He lets his fingers trail over your thigh before reaching into his leather jacket, pulling out a small envelope.

“Here.” He holds it out to you, his smirk sinful. “Save a little of that bad behavior for me tomorrow.”

You take the envelope, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Open it later and find out.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing glint in your gaze betrays your curiosity. “Mysterious and cocky. Dangerous combo.”

“You’re into it,” he counters smoothly, reaching around your body and revving the engine beneath you. The vibrations send a wicked aftershock through your overstimulated body, making you shiver. His pleased smirk deepens. “Time to hop off, baby.”

You bite your lip, still breathless. “All that, and you’re still not going to tell me your name?”

He shakes his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Show up tomorrow, and maybe I will.”

With one last lingering glance, you slide off his bike, your legs still unsteady as you head back to your car.

He watches you with that devilish smirk, like he already knows you’ll meet him damn near anywhere tomorrow. Just for a repeat of something similar to tonight.

And dammit, he’s probably right.

Everyone told Seokjin that bringing his motorcycle on tour was a bad idea.

It’ll take up too much space. It might get damaged. Some unhinged fan could steal it and sell it for a million dollars.

But none of those reasons had been enough to stop him. Especially when the pro list included making you come undone last night, riding the vibrations of his engine like a damn symphony.

That memory alone? Worth every logistical nightmare.

He smirks to himself, leaning against a wall backstage, eyes scanning the slowly filling venue. Doors had opened thirty minutes ago, and the first opener is about to hit the stage.

But so far…there’s no sign of the pretty brunette that he’s been unable to stop thinking about.

“There you are,” a deep voice says from behind.

Startled, Seokjin turns slightly to find Yoongi, one of the band’s other guitarists, watching him with mild amusement.

“Didn’t think you were the crowd-watching type,” Yoongi adds with a raised eyebrow, stepping beside him.

Seokjin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just scoping the energy.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like you’re looking for someone?”

Jin manages to dodge the question when Taehyung, their lead singer, bursts out of the dressing room with a parade of barely-dressed women behind him.

“Dude,” Taehyung groans dramatically, “Where’s the fucking booze? The dressing room’s already dry. Can you believe that shit?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Yoongi deadpans.

The two immediately fall into their usual back-and-forth, trading sarcastic barbs and wild theories about who drank the last bottle of whiskey. But Seokjin tunes them out.

His gaze is still locked on the crowd, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. You’d never confirmed that you were coming tonight, despite him counting on it.

Did you look up the band after opening that envelope? The one he slipped into your hands right before you walked away, while you were still flushed and a little breathless after your little exhibitionist act? The one containing a ticket to tonight’s sold out show, with an all-access pass that gets you the best view inside the barricade, plus allows you backstage.

He wonders if you pieced it together, if you made the connection about who he was.

You two hit it off instantly. It was far more than he ever expected when he stopped by that bar for a quick drink, barely an hour after their tour bus pulled into the venue lot. He’d debated it. Going out without security wasn’t exactly recommended, not with how massive their fanbase is. But it was still early enough in the night before it would be too busy, and surprisingly, no one recognized him.

Not even you. That was the most refreshing part.

You didn’t look at him like he was Seokjin, popular rhythm guitarist of Dark & Wild, the notoriously reckless band that had carved its name into rock history with more scandals than awards. You weren’t starry-eyed over the media headlines, the platinum records, or the chaos they left behind in every city.

You looked at him like he was just a man.

Not a musician, not a rockstar. Just a stranger with a sharp jaw, a dirty mouth, and a bike that made you blush.

You didn’t know he was in the middle of the Can’t Be Tamed world tour, one of the most anticipated events in music, already dubbed by critics as legendary, unfiltered, and unforgettable.

And that’s what made last night feel so real. It was raw and unscripted. Something he hasn’t had the pleasure of enjoying in quite some time.

Now, with adrenaline in the air and the crowd getting louder, he’s wondering if you'll stand out from the sea of faces. Or if you’ll remain hidden at the back of the crowd. He hopes you’ll use your advantage and be right up front. Right below his spot on stage, so he can tower over your pretty frame and show off.

God, he really hopes that’s the case.

As the bass echoes off the walls and stage lights flash when the first band takes the stage, Seokjin can’t help but wonder if last night was the last time he’ll ever see you?

With a quiet sigh, he turns away from the crowd and heads back to the dressing room to finish putting on his makeup and stage outfit. Still, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

His lips curl into a smirk at the memory of your face last night. How gorgeous you looked as you came undone in front of him, bold and unfiltered, grinding against the vibrations of his bike like you had nothing to prove. Damn, you were daring. Something refreshing that he found sexy as hell.

Jin chuckles under his breath, the memory fading as another wave of uninteresting women spills into the room with the company of his other bandmates.

A concert ticket… and an all-access pass? Is this what he’s in town for?

You turn the items over in your hands, reading the details printed in bold ink. Dark & Wild – Can’t Be Tamed World Tour. Your eyes widen slightly. That’s tonight.

You bite your lip, thinking it over.

Dark & Wild. Is that his favorite band? It would make sense, he definitely looks like the type who enjoys heavy guitar riffs and screaming fans. And he did mention he was only in town for the weekend.

But how the hell did he manage to score tickets? You remember hearing on the radio at work that the concert had completely sold out weeks ago.

Maybe he works for the band? A roadie, perhaps? He did have that confident, edgy energy. Like someone who thrives in the chaos of tour life, all the late nights and loud music.

Whatever his connection is, it doesn’t really matter. You’re just excited to see him again for your date tonight. Sure, it was technically just an invitation…but in your head, it counts as a date. And the butterflies in your stomach haven’t stopped fluttering since you opened the envelope earlier.

You can’t even remember the last time you were this excited for something. It’s been forever since a guy made your heart race. And, if you’re being honest, even longer since someone made you come like that.

So yeah, you’re definitely going.

You even decide to dress up more than you normally would for a concert. Not that you like to try hard, but hey, you’ve got someone to impress. Slipping into a black mini skirt that hugs your hips just right, you pair it with a black and white leopard print corset that cinches your waist and shows just enough cleavage to tempt. Then come the knee-high red leather boots that make your legs look a mile long and are impossible to ignore.

You twist your dark hair up into a messy-but-intentional style, securing it with a sharp chrome hair clip that glints under the light. With a swipe of eyeliner and a touch of red lipstick, you take one last glance in the mirror. Perfect timing, because your phone buzzes soon after.

Grabbing your purse, you sigh in an attempt to calm the nerves glittering beneath the surface as your Uber pulls up. The ride is short, or perhaps your mind is just preoccupied with the possibilities of tonight. 

After getting dropped off, your heart flutters with each step you make toward the venue doors. The closer you get, the more real it feels.

Once the staff member waves you through after scanning your ticket, your pulse quickens. You’re about to see him again. The mysterious stranger who took one ordinary night and turned it into something wild. You wonder if he’s already arrived, if he’s waiting for you. If his face will light up when you walk toward him.

An hour later, your excitement slowly starts to unravel. The second act is about to finish their set, and there’s still no sign of him. You’ve been scanning the crowd nonstop, but the faces blur together under pulsing lights and stage fog. Though you know you’d be able to sense him.

But he’s not here.

Your stomach knots a little tighter with each passing minute. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he’s still on the way. Maybe he’s at the bar. Maybe–

You chew your bottom lip, clutching your purse a little tighter.

Maybe he changed his mind.

As a last resort, you make your way toward the security guards stationed at the far left side of the barricade, right by the emergency exit doors.

You’ve been quietly watching from afar as a couple of crew members flash their passes before slipping past security like it’s no big deal. You hadn’t wanted to go that route unless you had to. But now, with no sign of him in the crowd and your hope thinning by the minute, it feels like your only shot.

You hesitate; the idea of being so close to the stage makes you uneasy. Especially when you barely know anything about the headliners who are about to run out. You don’t want to look out of place, like someone who doesn’t belong.

Still, you have to do it. You internally groan as you approach the guards, trying to look casual as you hold out your pass. They barely glance at it before nodding and letting you through. You step past the barricade and find a spot that hugs the left side of the stage, doing your best to stay out of the spotlight. 

This side of the barrier is mostly empty. A few photographers are positioned with heavy cameras and media badges dangling from their necks. Past them and off to the right, you spot a small group of women. Probably girlfriends, or maybe groupies, laughing amongst themselves, already at ease.

He’s not here either.

You scan again, just to be sure.

Still, there’s no sign of the handsome stranger.

You’re about to give up and leave, heavy disappointment beginning to settle in. Of all the people to get stood up by, it had to be someone who was really nice, actually funny, and insanely attractive.

Boy, do you know how to pick them.

Just when you’re ready to call it a night, you catch yourself and halt your mood from worsening. Fuck it. Why should you miss out on the show? It’s free, after all. Now that the popular band is about to take the stage, you might as well stay and enjoy the music. It sure as hell beats going home to another lonely evening.

Suddenly, the stage lights dim, and the crowd roars as members start stepping into their places. As the intro of their first song begins, the lights flash back on and the screaming intensifies. That’s when your heart does a little flip, as your eyes fall on him.

Wait.

Holy shit.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but when it does, you inhale rapidly. Your stranger isn’t a fan or roadie…he’s in the band.

His eyes lock onto yours across the stage, and you freeze, completely stunned by this new information. He smiles, pleased to see you, and then bam. That familiar smirk spreads across his face. He winks next, which makes your stomach flip as the barricade of fangirls behind you scream even louder.

What a fucking tease.

The roar of the crowd, the pounding beat of the drums, and the electrifying guitar riffs all hit you at once. You feel the vibrations from the amps in your chest. As they dive further into their set, something clicks, you actually know some of these songs; sometimes they’d play over the radio at the bar during your shifts. Catchy enough to hum along to, sure, but never quite playlist-worthy. At least, not until now.

Because hearing them live? It’s something else entirely. The sound wraps around you, enveloping you in heat and haze, and you don’t even try to fight it as the music pulls you under its spell.

Your motorcycle-riding, guitar-playing, dangerously handsome stranger moves across the stage like he owns it. Every step, every strum, is perfectly in sync with the rhythm. There’s a swagger to the way he plays, like he knows exactly how good he is. And how good he looks doing it.

Seokjin knows you’re watching him. He loves that your eyes trail him no matter where he moves on stage. He’s an entertainer, after all. He’s used to having thousands of women’s eyes on him. But tonight he only cares about yours.

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’ve let go completely, swaying your hips and dancing without a care. He smiles, he’s maybe even a little awestruck, as he takes in how much fun you’re having. He can’t help but stare like you’re the only person in the room.

And every time your gaze flicks back up to him, he’s already looking. 

You lock eyes again and again, holding each other’s stare until he breaks it to look out over the crowd or exchange a nod with another band member. The smoldering glances you share make your stomach do flips and your knees feel a little weaker than you'd like to admit.

You came to this show expecting just to see him. Now you’re not sure how the hell you’re supposed to walk away without wanting more. Without needing to know what it would be like to have one night with him.

Last night was just the preview.

He and another member run off stage, prob to get a water or something, you don’t think anything of it because not even a minute later they're back on stage and starting the next song.

It’s a ballad, and you sway along to the romantic lyrics, when someone suddenly taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, Seokjin sent me down here. Do you have the pass he gave you?”

Seokjin. That’s his name.

You nod and lift it off your neck.

"Perfect. Once the band comes back out for their two encore songs, head over there,” he points toward the other end of the stage, “And show your pass to the security by the stairs. They’ll let you through so you can watch from side stage until the set's over."

Jin can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across his face the moment he spots you standing side stage, tucked behind a couple of crew members. The lighting casts a soft glow on your face, and for a second, the chaos of the show fades into the background.

He still can’t believe that you’re here.

The band powers through the final encore, leaving the crowd screaming for more as they belt out the last note. After one final strum, Jin tosses a few guitar picks into the sea of fans, flashing a wink to the front row before stepping off stage, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

He heads toward you, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, only stopping when the rest of the guys crowd around him. Peering over their shoulders, he catches your eye and waves you over.

"Come here, I want you to meet everyone," he says, without any hesitation. He gestures to the group of men, each in various states of post-show chaos, shirtless, sweaty, all grinning. “This is Yoongi and Jimin, our other guitarists. Joon plays bass. Hobi and Tae are our lead vocalists—”

“And that,” a new, cockier voice says, cuting off Jin, “Leaves the best for last.”

A tall, inked-up guy with loose dark curls and a smirk that screams trouble steps forward. He extends a hand toward you, “I’m Jungkook. I slam the shit out of the drums…among other things.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Jin rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost audible. Jungkook enjoys riling him up, especially in front of a gorgeous girl. His grin only widens when Seokjin shoots him a warning look.

“Don’t mind him,” Jin mutters under his breath, his hand grazing your lower back possessively. “He’s still trying to figure out how to flirt without being a menace.”

You laugh when Jungkook winks at you. “What can I say? I’m a crowd favorite.”

Jin snorts. “Sure, dude.”

The guys chuckle before greeting the other women who walk up to the group. But Jin lingers beside you, eyes never quite leaving your face.

“You looked good out there,” you say, still buzzing from the show.

He smirks. “You looked better.”

“You guys ready to party?” Jimin hollers, already halfway toward the exit with a couple of girls on his arms.

Jin doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing over the bare sliver of skin between your corset top and your skirt. The light touch sends a trail of goosebumps up your spine.

“We’ll meet you there,” he finally says, not breaking eye contact with you.

He hadn’t fully registered what you were wearing earlier. He’d been so caught up in the fact that you were here, he missed the finer details. Now he’s taking in every inch of you; the curve of your hips, the way your corset hugs your curves, especially the flash of thigh above those red boots.

And all he can think about is how badly he wants enjoy you.

Jimin catches the look on Jin’s face and raises an eyebrow knowingly, but he doesn’t say a word. Just smirks, wraps his arms around two women like the rockstar he is, and calls out, “Alright ladies, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He disappears, leaving you and Jin in your little bubble while the crew begins to pack up around you.

“Come on,” Jin murmurs, leaning closer to your ear, his hand still on your back, “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

He pulls you into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you before he swiftly locks it. In the next second, your back hits the door with a soft thud, his body pressed against yours.

“So…Seokjin,” you tease, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in. “Mmm, no secrets,” he murmurs, eyes dark with need. “But say my name again.”

You obey, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Seokjin.”

He groans softly, like the sound of his name on your lips is something filthy and divine all at once. “Shit, baby. It sounds so good coming from you.”

His hands roam your waist, gripping the curve of your hips like he’s already imagining what they’ll feel like wrapped around him.

“Now that you know who I am,” he breathes, brushing his lips along your jaw, “You understand this can only be a one-time thing.”

You meet his eyes, unbothered by that fact, and your breath hitches as his fingers play with the hemline of your miniskirt.

“So fucking worth it,” you whisper, before crashing your mouth against his, your hands tangling in his hair.

It’s all heat and hunger, there’s no hesitation between either of you.

He presses you harder into the door, pinning you between the solid wood and his firm body. Without warning, he lifts you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. 

Jin’s mouth is everywhere; your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your chest. His hands slide over the curve of your ass, kneading possessively, before one dips lower. His fingers curl inward, teasing your aching core through the thin fabric of your panties.

You gasp against his lips, moaning softly as his fingers graze right where you need him the most. But just as you start to roll your hips into his hand, he pulls away.

The sound of your whimper is swallowed by his deep groan as he grinds his hips into you. The thick, hard length of him presses right against your center, and you swear your body trembles at the contact.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, head falling back as you feel just how big he is, even through layers of clothing. Your body clenches in anticipation.

“I can’t wait to sink into you,” he growls against your throat, his voice deliciously rough. “You ready for me, baby? Think you can handle all of me?”

He thrusts his hips again, making your breath hitch.

“I bet you can’t wait for me to split you open,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Stretch you so fucking wide, you’ll feel me for days. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Seokjin, please,” you beg shamelessly.

That’s all he needs to hear.

He turns, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing, and tosses you down onto the leather sofa. You land with a bounce, your heart pounding and thighs clenching.

He stands over you for a second, his dark eyes raking over your body below, savoring the way you look spread out and desperate for him.

“Take off your panties,” he commands, “I want to watch.”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your fingers beneath the fabric, you begin to slide the soaked lace down your thighs. They snag slightly on your boots, but he’s already kneeling to help, tugging them the rest of the way off with a growl of frustration and want.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes darkening as he takes in the slick glistening between your thighs. “You’re already dripping for me.”

He rises and takes a few steps away, grabbing a condom from a torn-open box on the counter, clearly left out by someone else’s pre-show indulgences. But when he turns back around, what he sees nearly sends him to his knees.

You’ve leaned back into the couch, one arm propped behind you, the other between your thighs. Your legs are spread wide, shameless, your skirt hiked up around your waist as your fingers slowly circle your clit before slipping lower, dipping into your soaked entrance.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, hand moving to palm himself as you moan and bite your lip, teasing him with a second finger. Your eyes meet his, heavy with lust, and the raw hunger between you thickens.

He pulls his cock free from his pants, and your gaze drops instantly—only to widen at the shimmer of something silver catching the overhead light.

He strokes himself with the same speed as your fingers, letting you see every inch of what you’re about to take. The thick, veined length of him is beautiful, but it’s the four tiny silver beads at the crown of his cockhead, encircling his tip in a perfect ring of piercings, that leave you breathless.

Your core clenches around your fingers at the sight.

He sees your reaction and smirks, lazily making his way back toward you with that same infuriating, devastating confidence, and still pumping his cock as if he has all the time in the world.

“Curious?” he rasps, towering over you.

You nod, lips parted, breath shallow with anticipation.

He strokes the head of his cock once, collecting the bead of precum glistening at the tip. Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings his thumb down to your mouth.

“You’ll find out what they do soon enough,” he murmurs.

Your lips close around his thumb without hesitation, sucking softly. Tasting him, teasing him.

That last thread of Seokjin’s composure snaps. He swears under his breath, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tears open the condom with his teeth before swiftly rolling it on over his thick, pierced length.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hips and slams into you in one devastating thrust.

The force rocks you back into the cushions, a sharp cry escaping your lips. If it weren’t for the vice grip he had on you, you might’ve been launched right off the damn couch.

“Fuck,” he growls, head falling forward for a moment as he adjusts to your tight, wet heat. “You feel better than I imagined.”

You’re breathless, body arching to take him deeper as the metal beads drag against your inner walls with every slow pull back, sending sparks shooting through your entire core.

Your hands clutch at the edge of the sofa, eyes rolling back as he thrusts hard again.

And just like that, you're ruined.

“You love how I split your pretty little pussy open, don’t you?” he growls against your neck, voice dark and possessive. “No one else is ever gonna compare to me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this. This deep, this hard.”

You let out a broken moan, your entire body trembling beneath him. Words are useless now, your brain is too foggy, too overloaded with pleasure to even form a sentence. All you can do is gasp and cling to him like your life depends on it.

“Look at how much of me you take,” he grunts, pulling back just enough to force your gaze downward.

The sight between your thighs is obscene. His thick, pierced cock driving into you over and over, glistening with your slick. You can see the slight swell in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, a bulge pressing up under your skin.

“Oh my god,” you whimper.

“I don’t even know how I fit,” he teases, panting now, a wild smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s like a goddamn magic trick, huh?”

Then he shifts, just a slight change in angle, but the second those cool metal beads drag across your sweet spot, everything inside you unravels.

Your body arches, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. You clamp down around him, shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it,” he growls, losing his rhythm just a little as you tighten around him. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Before your body even has a chance to recover, he flips you over onto your hands and knees, your limbs still trembling from your last orgasm.

His grip is firm, one hand wrapped around your waist to steady your quivering body. You barely have time to brace yourself before you feel the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into the plush of your ass, followed by the loud crack of his palm slapping the other cheek.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, admiring the fresh red print blooming beneath his hand and the indents of his teeth on your skin. “You wear me so well.”

And then he’s sliding back in, fucking you from behind with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, mingling with your breathless moans and desperate cries of his name.

“Seokjin!” you scream, back arching as overwhelming pleasure rips through you.

He fists a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, hard. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips slamming into yours with punishing rhythm. “You love it rough like this, don’t you? Getting ruined like a fucking cock whore. Getting treated like the nasty girl you are.”

The pain and pleasure blur into one intoxicating haze as he brings his hand down on your ass again, another sharp spank that makes your legs shake and your core leak.

Just when you think you can't take any more, you feel his thumb press against your tightest hole, teasing as his cock drives into your soaked center. You whimper, your head dropping forward.

“Gonna fall apart for me again?” he pants behind you, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your walls already fluttering around him.

Then it hits you, your second orgasm tearing through your body, wave after wave of overwhelming ecstasy leaving you breathless and undone. Your vision goes hazy, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and your entire body quakes under the weight of it.

You collapse forward, barely holding yourself up as your slick walls flutter wildly around him, clenching down like a vice.

“Jesus,” he grits out, his control unraveling in the heat of your orgasm. The way your body grips him, so fucking wet and perfect, drives him straight to the edge.

With a deep growl, he slams into you one final time, hips flush against your ass as he spills into the condom. Pulse after pulse of release torn from his body, as he holds you there, buried deep, his head thrown back as you milk every last drop from him with your trembling cunt.

You’re both breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and every nerve on fire from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you move, slowly coming down from something so fucking feral it barely feels real.

“So,” he says with a lazy grin, still catching his breath, “If I leave tickets for you next time we’re in town…you want a repeat?”

You stretch out beneath him, lips curling into a playful smirk. “Only if you promise to bring your motorcycle again.”

His eyes darken instantly, with a wicked glint. “Mmm, that’s a damn good idea.” He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Next time, I’m making you come twice before we even think about getting off that bike.”

You bite your lip, pulse quickening. “Sounds like a plan.”

He grins smugly. “Nah, baby…that sounds like a date.”

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[yooboobies]

two types of people | for @rjshope

[o97is]

[gukcnt]

۶ৎ FLAVORS OF DESIRE —

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, thick with emotion. “Every time you walk in here, all quiet and shy, I lose my fucking mind. I’ve been trying so hard to keep my distance, but you… you’re under my skin.”

pairing: boss dom!seokjin x employee sub!femreader

genre: workplace romance, restaurant owner!jin, chef!jin, shy!reader, waitress!reader, professinol setting, candlelit ambiance, storm setting, pining, forced proximity, romance, smut, fluff

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, angry!jin, desperate!jin, possessive!jin, tension and attraction, subtle touches, weather build up, power outrage, emotional vulnerability, confessions, seokjins revelations, intimate dialogue, storm induced isolation, slight mentions of blood, post storm calm, internal conflict, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, tongue fucking, clit stimulation, face riding, face sitting, cum swallowing, hair fisting, making out, hickies/marking, praise kink, dirty talk, longing, desperation, semipublic sex, missionary sex on countertop, back shots, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, creampie, rough sex, tender sex, unprotected sex, partially clothed sex, breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, fingering, power dynamics, desperate/passionate sex, emotional intimacy during sex, overstimulation, body worship, oral sex (m. receiving), cock palming, cock sucking, face fucking, cock worship, several physical and emotional reactions during sex, begging, crying, teasing, erotic vulnerability, post sex tenderness, emotional confessions and bonding, aftercare

wc: 10k

masterlist

۶ৎ

The restaurant, "Jin’s Table" throbs with a life of its own, a living organism fueled by the clatter of porcelain, the sizzle of pans, and the low hum of voices weaving through the air. The dining room is a tapestry of sensory overload: the sharp tang of roasted garlic mingles with the earthy richness of truffle oil, while the faint sweetness of caramelized onions curls like a whisper through the chaos. Candlelight flickers on polished tabletops, casting golden reflections that dance across wine glasses, their ruby and amber contents shimmering like liquid jewels. The walls, adorned with abstract art in muted golds and reds, seem to pulse with the rhythm of the evening rush, absorbing the laughter of diners and the clink of silverware into their very grain.

You stand at the edge of this orchestrated madness, a shy waitress in a crisp black uniform, your apron tied tightly around your waist as if it could anchor your fluttering nerves. Your name tag, a small silver rectangle pinned to your chest, reads “Y/N,” but you feel like a ghost, slipping through the vibrant chaos unnoticed—except by him. Your hands, clammy with anxiety, smooth the apron repeatedly, a nervous tic you can’t suppress. The fabric is slightly rough under your fingertips, grounding you as your heart races in the presence of the restaurant’s beating heart: Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, the owner and head chef, is a force of nature, a storm contained in human form. He commands the kitchen with the precision of a general, his broad shoulders filling out his tailored chef’s coat, the white fabric stretched taut across his back. His dark hair, swept back under a black bandana, glistens faintly with sweat under the harsh kitchen lights, and his sharp jawline catches the glow as he moves. His voice, deep and authoritative, slices through the din of sizzling oil and clanging pots, barking orders with a clarity that demands obedience. “Faster on the garnish, Min! The risotto’s plating in two!” he calls, his tone brooking no argument. Yet, when he steps into the dining room to greet guests, his demeanor shifts like a chameleon. His smile is a weapon, disarming and warm, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he charms a table of regulars. You’ve seen women lean forward, their cheeks flushed, their laughter too bright, their gazes lingering on the way his lips curve or the confident tilt of his head.

You’ve been at "Jin’s Table" for six months, and every shift feels like walking a tightrope over a chasm of your own making. Seokjin—"Mr. Kim" to you—is both your anchor and your undoing. It’s not just his striking looks, though his high cheekbones, full lips, and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw are enough to make your breath catch. It’s the way he sees you, his gaze lingering a heartbeat too long when you approach the pass to collect an order, his voice softening imperceptibly when he says your name. “Y/N, table six is ready for their mains,” he’ll say, and the way his eyes hold yours, dark and unreadable, makes your skin prickle with heat.

Tonight, the restaurant is at its peak, the dinner rush a whirlwind of motion. You’re balancing a tray of delicate wine glasses, their stems cool and fragile in your hands, when his voice cuts through the noise like a blade. “Y/N, I need you at the pass. Now.” The command is sharp, urgent, and your stomach lurches, a mix of dread and anticipation. You set the tray down on a sideboard, the glasses clinking softly, and wipe your sweaty palms on your apron, the coarse fabric catching on your skin. Your pulse hammers in your throat as you weave through the bustling dining room, dodging a server carrying a steaming plate of osso buco, its rich, marrow-laden aroma trailing in her wake.

The kitchen is a furnace, a wall of heat slamming into you as you cross the threshold. The air is heavy with the metallic tang of seared meat, the bright zest of lemon, and the faint smokiness of charred herbs. Stainless steel counters gleam under fluorescent lights, littered with mise en place: tiny bowls of chopped parsley, slivers of garlic, and vibrant pools of olive oil catching the light like liquid gold. The sous-chefs move in a frenetic ballet, their knives flashing as they dice vegetables, their faces slick with sweat. Seokjin stands at the heart of it all, leaning against the pass with a towel slung over one shoulder, its white fabric stained with faint streaks of sauce. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour, the muscles flexing as he adjusts his stance. His presence is magnetic, drawing your gaze despite your efforts to focus on the task.

“You’re moving too slow out there,” he says, his tone firm but laced with something softer, a thread of concern that makes your chest tighten. His eyes, dark and piercing, flick over you, taking in the flush in your cheeks, the way your hands fidget at your sides. “Table twelve’s been waiting ten minutes for their appetizers. Pick up the pace, Y/N.”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you stammer, your voice barely audible over the hiss of a nearby sauté pan. Your cheeks burn, the heat of embarrassment mingling with the kitchen’s oppressive warmth. You step forward to collect the plates he’s prepared, your eyes darting to the food: a vibrant bruschetta, the tomatoes glistening with olive oil, their ruby hue vivid against the toasted bread; a seared scallop, its golden crust nestled in a pool of saffron cream, the aroma delicate yet intoxicating. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the plates, the porcelain warm from the kitchen’s heat, and his hand brushes yours as he steadies one before it tips.

The contact is fleeting but electric, a spark that shoots through your veins, making your breath catch. His skin is warm, slightly rough from hours of handling knives and pans, and the brief touch leaves your hand tingling. “Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble that feels meant for you alone. “I don’t want my food hitting the floor.” His lips curve into a half-smile, not quite a smirk but close, and his eyes hold yours for a moment too long, their depths glinting with something unreadable—amusement, curiosity, or perhaps something hungrier.

You nod, your throat too tight to form words, and clutch the plates to your chest like a shield. As you turn to leave, you feel his gaze on your back, a tangible weight that follows you through the swinging doors into the dining room. Your heart pounds, a wild rhythm that drowns out the chatter of the guests as you deliver the appetizers to table twelve. Their compliments—“This bruschetta is divine!” “The scallop melts in your mouth!”—barely register, your mind consumed by the memory of his touch, the way his voice wrapped around your name like a caress.

Back at the server station, you pause, pressing a hand to your chest as if you could slow your racing pulse. The dining room buzzes around you, but all you can see is Seokjin’s face, the intensity of his stare, the way his presence lingers like the aftertaste of one of his dishes—complex, unforgettable, and dangerously addictive.

“Y/N, you okay?” another server, Mina, asks, her brow furrowed as she refills a water pitcher. Her voice is kind, but it feels distant, like it’s coming from underwater.

“Y-Yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels brittle. “Just… busy.”

She nods, unconvinced, but doesn’t press. You turn back to your tasks, wiping down a table, the cloth gliding over the smooth wood, but your thoughts are in the kitchen, with him. You wonder if he’s watching you now, through the small window in the kitchen door, his eyes tracking your every move. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and longing that you don’t dare name.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you whisper to yourself, your voice swallowed by the restaurant’s pulse. But as you move through the rest of your shift, the weight of Seokjin’s gaze, the echo of his voice, and the ghost of his touch cling to you, a promise of something yet to come, simmering just beneath the surface.

The air carries a constant hum of life, a blend of sizzling butter, fragrant herbs, and the faint tang of red wine reductions that cling to the walls like a second skin. The dining room buzzes with the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from a table of regulars. Your hands tremble slightly as you clear a table, stacking plates with meticulous care, the porcelain cool against your fingertips. Every movement feels scrutinized, not by the patrons, but by him, the man who commands this place like a king.

His presence is inescapable, his gaze a weight you feel even when you’re not looking. It’s in the way he watches you from the kitchen pass when you deliver an order, his eyes lingering on the curve of your wrist as you set down a plate. It’s in the way his voice softens when he says your name, a subtle shift that makes your pulse race. “Y/N, table six needs more water,” he’ll say, and the way his lips form the words feels like a secret meant only for you. You’re painfully aware of him, your body betraying you with every flushed cheek, every fumbled response.

Tonight, the restaurant is in full swing, the dinner rush a relentless tide. You’re wiping down a table, the rag damp and cool in your hand, when you feel it—that prickle at the back of your neck. You don’t need to turn to know he’s watching. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder, and there he is, leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his chef’s coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin at his collarbone. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but they pin you in place, a predator sizing up prey. Your breath catches, and you drop the rag, the soft thud loud in your ears. You bend to pick it up, your fingers brushing the polished wood floor, and when you straighten, he’s still watching, his gaze heavier now, tracing the line of your body as you rise.

Your cheeks burn, and you turn away, busying yourself with refilling a water pitcher. The glass is cold against your palms, the water sloshing softly, but it does nothing to cool the heat spreading through you. You’re shy, cripplingly so, and every interaction with him is a battle against your own nerves. Last week, he’d asked you to taste a new dish—a velvety butternut squash soup, the spoon warm from his hand as he held it out to you. The flavor had burst on your tongue, rich and earthy, but all you could manage was a stammered, “It’s… really good, Mr. Kim,” your eyes fixed on the floor. He’d chuckled, the sound low and warm, and said, “You’re too quiet, Y/N. I want to hear more from you.” The words had haunted you for days, replaying in your mind as you lay in bed, your heart racing at the memory of his voice.

Now, as you carry the pitcher to a table, you feel his eyes again, a caress that follows you across the room. You pour water for a couple, your hands steady despite the tremor in your chest, and when you turn, he’s closer, standing at the edge of the dining room, wiping his hands on a towel. The movement is casual, but there’s nothing casual about the way he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. You freeze, the pitcher heavy in your hands, and he steps forward, closing the distance.

“You’re doing well tonight,” he says, his voice low, meant for you alone. The words are simple, but they land like a touch, sending a shiver down your spine. The dining room fades, the chatter and clatter dimming until it’s just him—his scent, a mix of cedar cologne and the faint smokiness of the kitchen; his warmth, radiating even from a foot away; his eyes, searching yours with an intensity that makes your throat dry.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. You clutch the pitcher tighter, your knuckles whitening, and his lips twitch, not quite a smile but something sharper, hungrier.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” he says, stepping closer still. The towel dangles from his hand, brushing your arm as he leans in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’m not as intimidating as you think.” His breath grazes your ear, and you feel it in your core, a pulse of heat that makes your thighs press together instinctively.

You swallow, your mouth dry, and force yourself to meet his eyes. They’re molten, dark and deep, and for a moment, you’re drowning in them. “I… I just want to do a good job,” you say, the words shaky but honest. Your heart pounds, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it.

His gaze softens, but there’s an edge to it, a flicker of something raw. “You do,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But I want more than that. I want to know you, Y/N. Not just the waitress who blushes every time I look at her.” His fingers brush your wrist, a fleeting touch that sears your skin, and you gasp softly, the sound swallowed by the noise of the restaurant.

“I’m… I’m not good at this,” you admit, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. “Talking to you… it’s hard. You’re so…” You trail off, unable to find the words, but he doesn’t need them.

“Too much?” he asks, his tone laced with something like regret, but his eyes are still locked on you, unrelenting. “Or not enough?”

You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. “Too… everything,” you whisper, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him. His expression shifts, a crack in his composure, and for a moment, you see it—the want, the frustration, the way he’s been holding himself back.

“Then let me make it easier,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me see you. Really see you.” His hand hovers near your face, as if he’s tempted to touch you again, but he pulls back, his jaw tightening. “Go back to your tables. But don’t think I’m done with you.”

The words are a promise, heavy with intent, and they linger as you nod, your legs unsteady as you turn away. The pitcher trembles in your hands, water sloshing over the rim, and you set it down before you drop it. The rest of your shift is a blur, your body moving on autopilot while your mind replays every word, every glance. You feel his eyes on you still, even when you’re not looking—when you’re serving dessert, when you’re clearing plates, when you’re wiping down the bar. It’s a tether, pulling you back to him, and the weight of it is both terrifying and thrilling.

Later, in the break room, you’re alone, sipping water from a plastic cup, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the fire in your chest. The room is small, the walls lined with lockers, the air smelling faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. You’re leaning against the counter, your uniform slightly wrinkled, when the door swings open. Seokjin steps inside, and the space shrinks, the air thickening with his presence.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his chef’s coat unbuttoned further now, revealing the taut lines of his chest. His hair is slightly mussed, the bandana gone, and he looks less like the untouchable chef and more like a man unraveling. “You’re hiding,” he says finally, his voice low, almost accusatory.

“I’m not,” you lie, your voice soft, your eyes fixed on the cup in your hands. The plastic crinkles as you grip it tighter.

He steps closer, and you feel the heat of him, the scent of him, wrapping around you. “You are,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “You’re always hiding. From me. From this.” He gestures vaguely, but you know what he means—the pull between you, the unspoken thing that’s been building for months.

“I don’t mean to,” you say, your voice breaking. You look up at him, and it’s a mistake—his eyes are too much, too raw, stripping you bare. “I just… I don’t know how to handle you.”

His laugh is low, bitter, and it cuts through you. “Handle me?” he echoes, stepping so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. “Y/N, I’m the one trying to handle you. Every time you walk by, every time you stammer my name, it takes everything in me not to—” He stops, his jaw clenching, his hands flexing at his sides.

“Not to what?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s a challenge in it, a spark of courage you didn’t know you had.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then he leans in, his voice a growl, his words dripping with need. “Not to pull you into my office and find out exactly how you taste. Not to make you say my name until you can’t stop.” His gaze drops to your lips, and you feel it like a touch, your body responding before your mind can catch up—your breath quickening, your nipples tightening against your bra, a pulse of heat between your thighs.

You’re trembling, your shyness warring with the want coursing through you. “Seokjin…” you breathe, and it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that, soft and desperate, and it breaks something in him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hand raking through his hair. “You can’t say my name like that and expect me to stay calm.” He steps back, putting space between you, but the air is still charged, crackling with what neither of you will fully say.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your default response, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice softer now, laced with something like pain. “Just… don’t hide from me anymore. I can’t stand it.”

You nod, unable to speak, and he turns to leave, his shoulders tense. The door swings shut behind him, and you’re alone again, the cup still in your hands, now crumpled from your grip. Your heart pounds, your body alive with the memory of his words, his closeness. The break room feels too small, too quiet, and you know nothing will be the same after this—not your shifts, not your thoughts, not the way you look at him. He’s seen you, and now, you’re not sure you can ever hide again.

The night is heavy with the weight of an approaching storm, the air thick and charged as if the world itself is holding its breath. "Jin’s Table" is a ghost of its usual vibrancy, the dining room nearly deserted, its polished wooden tables gleaming faintly under the dim glow of the overhead lights. The last patrons, a couple sharing a bottle of merlot, hurry out into the night, their coats pulled tight against the first sharp gusts of wind. You watch them go, your hands nervously wiping a damp cloth over an already spotless table, the faint scent of lemon polish clinging to your fingers. Outside, the sky is a bruised purple, clouds roiling like a restless sea, and the distant rumble of thunder sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re alone in the dining room, the other staff dismissed early due to the slow night and the looming weather. The restaurant feels too big, too quiet, the only sounds the soft creak of the floorboards and the occasional clatter from the kitchen where Mr. Kim—is still at work. Your heart skitters at the thought of him, as it always does. He’s been a constant presence in your mind since you started working here, his commanding presence and piercing gaze unraveling you in ways you can’t articulate. You’re shy, painfully so, and every interaction with him leaves you flushed and fumbling, your words tripping over themselves under the weight of his attention.

“Y/N!” His voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and authoritative, yet laced with a warmth that makes your stomach flip. “Get in here. I need you to help close up.”

You drop the cloth, your hands trembling as you smooth your apron, the black fabric suddenly feeling too tight against your skin. The kitchen door looms like a threshold to another world, and you push through it, the heat hitting you like a physical force. The air is thick with the lingering scents of the night’s service—roasted garlic, seared herbs, the faint tang of reduced wine. The stoves are off, but the residual warmth clings to the stainless steel counters, and the space hums with the faint buzz of appliances. Seokjin stands at the center of it all, a towering figure in his chef’s coat, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with flour. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, a few strands falling across his forehead, and his bandana is loosened, giving him a rugged, almost dangerous edge.

“Everyone’s gone,” he says, not looking up from the skillet he’s scrubbing, the muscles in his arms flexing with each vigorous motion. “It’s just us. Start stacking those plates.” His tone is clipped, professional, but there’s an undercurrent to it, something that makes your pulse race.

“Yes, Mr. Kim,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the growing howl of the wind outside. You move to the stack of dirty plates, your fingers brushing against the smooth porcelain, still warm from the dishwasher’s heat. The kitchen feels smaller with just the two of you, the space shrinking under the weight of his presence. You’re hyper-aware of every sound—his steady breaths, the soft scrape of his sponge, the drip of water from the faucet. Your skin prickles, and you keep your eyes fixed on the plates, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid of what you might see there.

The storm outside grows louder, the wind rattling the windows, rain beginning to lash against the glass in sharp, staccato bursts. Thunder rolls, closer now, a deep growl that vibrates through the floor. You stack the plates carefully, your hands unsteady, your heart a wild thing in your chest. You can feel him watching you, his gaze a tangible weight, and it makes your movements clumsy, your fingers fumbling.

And then, with a sudden flicker, the lights stutter. A loud pop echoes through the kitchen, and the world plunges into darkness. You gasp, the plate in your hands slipping from your grip. It hits the floor with a shattering crash, the sound sharp and jarring in the suffocating silence. Your breath catches, your body freezing as the darkness swallows you whole. The air feels heavier now, charged with the electric hum of the storm and something else—something alive and pulsing between you and Seokjin.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim,” you stammer, your voice high and panicked, your hands fluttering uselessly in the air. The darkness is disorienting, the kitchen a maze of shadows, and you feel exposed, vulnerable, like the night has stripped away your defenses. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Easy,” Seokjin’s voice cuts through your panic, calm but closer than you expect, a low rumble that grounds you. You feel the heat of him before you see him, his presence looming as he steps nearer, his hand brushing your arm in the dark. The contact is brief but searing, a spark that ignites your nerves, sending a jolt through your body. “It’s just a plate. Stay still.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it, an edge that makes your heart stutter. You hear the rustle of fabric, the soft scrape of his boots against the tile, and then a faint click. A tiny flame flares to life as he lights a match, the glow illuminating his face in sharp relief. His features are striking in the flickering light—his sharp jawline, the curve of his lips, the intensity in his eyes as they lock onto yours. He moves to a candle from the dining room’s stock, one of the heavy glass votives used for ambiance, and sets it on the counter. The flame steadies, casting a warm, golden glow that dances across the stainless steel surfaces, painting the kitchen in shifting shadows.

The candlelight softens the harsh lines of the room but does nothing to ease the tension coiling in your chest. Seokjin’s eyes are still on you, dark and unreadable, and you feel like prey caught in a predator’s gaze. Your cheeks burn, your breath shallow, and you kneel to pick up the broken pieces of the plate, desperate for something to do with your hands. The shards are sharp, glinting in the candlelight, and you wince as one pricks your finger, a tiny bead of blood welling up.

“Leave it,” Seokjin says, his voice low and commanding, almost a growl. He crouches beside you, his body close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint musk of his sweat mixed with the clean scent of his cologne. His hand closes over yours, firm but gentle, stopping you from touching the shards. “You’ll cut yourself.”

You freeze, your hand trapped in his, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark contrast to your soft skin. The candlelight flickers, casting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes, the slight part of his lips. Your heart pounds, the sound loud in your ears, drowning out the storm. The air between you crackles, thick with unspoken words, unacknowledged desire. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you don’t look away, drawn into the depths of his eyes like a moth to a flame.

“Mr. Kim…” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the rain’s relentless drumming. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, only that his name feels like a plea, a confession, a surrender.

“Seokjin,” he corrects, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, deliberate caress that sends a shiver down your spine. “Call me Seokjin.”

You swallow, your throat dry, your lips parting as you try to form the word. “Seokjin,” you repeat, and it feels intimate, forbidden, like crossing a line you can’t uncross. His eyes darken, a storm of their own brewing in their depths, and his grip on your hand tightens, his breath hitching.

“You’re shaking,” he says, his voice softer now, laced with something tender yet possessive. He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours, the contact sending a spark through you. “Are you scared?”

You shake your head, your voice caught in your throat. “No,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s not that.”

“Then what?” he presses, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek. The candlelight catches the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “Tell me, Y/N. What’s got you trembling like this?”

Your heart lurches, the weight of his question pressing against the fragile walls you’ve built around your feelings. The storm outside mirrors the chaos inside you, the wind howling, the rain pounding, urging you to let go. “It’s you,” you admit, your voice breaking, raw with vulnerability. “You make me nervous. You… you make me feel things I don’t know how to handle.”

His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise breaking through the intensity. For a moment, he’s silent, the only sound the storm’s relentless assault and the soft crackle of the candle. Then he exhales, a shaky breath that betrays the control he’s been holding onto. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, thick with emotion. “Every time you walk in here, all quiet and shy, I lose my fucking mind. I’ve been trying so hard to keep my distance, but you… you’re under my skin.”

Your breath catches, your body trembling not from the cold but from the raw honesty in his words, the hunger in his eyes. The candlelight flickers, casting fleeting shadows that make the moment feel surreal, like a dream you’re afraid to wake from. “I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I thought… I thought you didn’t see me like that.”

He laughs, a low, bitter sound that cuts through the tension. “Not see you? Y/N, I can’t stop seeing you. Every time you smile, every time you blush, it’s like a punch to the gut. I’ve wanted you since the day you walked in here, and it’s been killing me to hold back.”

The confession hangs between you, heavy and electric, the air crackling with the weight of it. You’re still crouched together, the broken plate forgotten, the storm raging outside a distant echo compared to the storm within. His hand is still on yours, his touch an anchor, and you feel the pull of him, the inevitable gravity drawing you closer.

“Seokjin,” you say again, his name a prayer on your lips, and it’s like a dam breaking. His eyes flare with something wild, something desperate, and he leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath mingling with yours in the candlelit dark.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice a plea and a command, raw with need. “Say my name.”

“Seokjin,” you breathe, and it’s the last word you manage before the space between you collapses, the storm outside fading into nothingness as the real tempest begins.

The air crackles, the storm outside a mere echo of the tempest between you. You’re still crouched together, but the space feels smaller, the world narrowing to the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, the intensity of his gaze. Your hand is still in his, but now your fingers curl around his, a silent acceptance, a bridge crossed.

He moves first, a sudden, decisive shift, his hands releasing yours to cup your face, his palms warm and rough against your cheeks. His touch is firm, possessive, but there’s a tenderness in the way his thumbs brush your skin, like he’s memorizing you. His eyes search yours, a final question, and then his lips crash into yours, a kiss that’s all hunger and heat, a dam breaking after months of restraint.

The kiss is a revelation, a collision of need and desperation. His lips are soft but demanding, moving against yours with a rhythm that steals your breath. You taste salt, a hint of the wine he sipped earlier, and the raw edge of his desire. His tongue teases the seam of your lips, and you open for him, a soft whimper escaping as he deepens the kiss, claiming you with every stroke. Your hands clutch his chef’s coat, the fabric coarse under your fingers, anchoring you as the world tilts.

He pulls you to your feet, his hands sliding to your waist, pressing you against the counter. The edge digs into your lower back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours. His lips leave yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, and you gasp as he nips the sensitive skin just below your ear, his teeth grazing, his breath hot and ragged. The sensation is electric, your body arching into him, your hands gripping his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls, his voice thick with need, vibrating against your skin. “Tell me, Y/N, and I’ll walk away right now. I’ll let you go, I swear.”

The words are a plea, a last thread of control, but you hear the strain in them, the way he’s fighting himself. His hands tighten on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, and you feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, a hard promise that makes your core ache.

“Don’t,” you breathe, your voice a desperate thread, your hands pulling him closer, your nails scraping his scalp as you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Don’t stop, Seokjin. Please, I want this. I want you.”

His groan is raw, a sound of surrender, and he kisses you again, fiercer this time, his hands roaming with purpose. One slides up your side, brushing the curve of your breast, and you moan into his mouth, your body trembling with need. The candle flickers, its light a fragile witness to the storm breaking between you, and the kitchen fades, the world reduced to the heat of his touch, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice whispering your name like a prayer.

The kitchen is a crucible of heat and shadow, the air heavy with the mingled scents of rain-soaked earth seeping through the windows and the sharp tang of arousal that clings to your skin. The single candle on the counter burns low, its flame a trembling pulse of gold that casts flickering shadows across the stainless steel surfaces, painting Seokjin’s face in stark contrasts of light and dark. His eyes, molten with hunger, hold you captive as he lifts you onto the counter, the cold steel biting into the backs of your thighs, a sharp counterpoint to the fire racing through your veins. Your uniform skirt rides up, the fabric bunching around your hips, exposing the soft expanse of your skin to his gaze. His hands, calloused from years of wielding knives and searing pans, find your thighs, his touch both possessive and reverent, as though he’s claiming you and worshiping you in the same breath.

Your blouse hangs open, the buttons undone by his deft fingers, and the lace of your bra is a fragile barrier against the heat of his stare. Your nipples, already hard, strain against the fabric, aching for his touch, and when his thumbs brush over them, the sensation is a lightning strike, a jolt that arches your back and draws a soft whimper from your lips. The sound seems to unravel something in him, his breath hitching as he leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, thick with need and something deeper, something that feels like longing. “You’re so responsive. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Your cheeks burn, your shyness warring with the desire that coils tight in your core. “I… I feel it too,” you whisper, your voice trembling but honest, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’ve always felt it, Seokjin.”

His eyes darken, a storm brewing behind them, and he cups your face, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. “You’ve been hiding from me,” he says, his tone a mix of accusation and awe. “All this time, you’ve been right here, and I’ve been losing my mind trying to keep my hands off you.” His voice cracks on the last word, and the vulnerability in it pierces you, stripping away the last of your defenses.

“I was scared,” you admit, your hands clutching the front of his chef’s coat, the fabric rough under your fingers, grounding you in the moment. “You’re… you’re you. And I’m just—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp, almost commanding. “Don’t you dare say you’re just anything. You’re everything I’ve been wanting, Y/N. Every shy smile, every nervous glance—it’s been driving me fucking insane.” He kisses you then, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming every inch of you. The kiss is a storm, all heat and hunger, his teeth grazing your lower lip, drawing a moan that he swallows greedily.

His hands roam, sliding under your blouse to cup your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the lace. The sensation is overwhelming, a sweet ache that radiates through you, making your pussy clench with need. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and when he pulls the bra down, exposing your breasts to the cool air, you gasp, your skin prickling with goosebumps. “Beautiful,” he breathes, his voice reverent, his eyes drinking in the sight of you like you’re a feast laid out just for him. He dips his head, his lips closing over one nipple, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. The wet heat of his mouth is a shock, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle beneath his shirt as you arch into him, a cry spilling from your lips.

“Seokjin,” you gasp, your voice breaking, and he hums against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight to your core. His other hand kneads your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and the dual assault has you trembling, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache between them. He notices, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin, and he pulls back, his eyes glinting with mischief and promise.

“Needy, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. His hands slide down your sides, leaving trails of heat, and grip your thighs, spreading them wider. Your skirt is a crumpled afterthought, your panties damp and clinging to your folds, and when his fingers brush over the fabric, you jolt, a whimper escaping you. “So fucking wet,” he growls, his voice thick with approval, and the sound alone makes your pussy pulse, slick with want. He slips a finger beneath the fabric, tracing the seam of your folds, and the slow, deliberate touch is torture, your hips bucking to chase his hand.

“Please,” you beg, your voice raw, your shyness burned away by the fire in your blood. “Seokjin, I need you.”

His eyes flash, and he yanks your panties down, the fabric tearing slightly as he tosses it aside. The cool air hits your heated core, and you moan, your pussy glistening in the candlelight, exposed and aching for him. He kneels between your legs, his broad shoulders filling the space, and the sight of him there, his face inches from your most intimate place, is almost too much. His breath is hot against your folds, and when his tongue flicks out, lapping at your clit, you cry out, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He devours you, his tongue swirling over your clit, sucking gently, then dipping lower to taste your slick heat. The sensation is a tidal wave, pleasure crashing over you with every stroke, every curl of his tongue. His fingers join in, two sliding inside you, stretching you, curling against that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. The wet sounds of his mouth and fingers fill the kitchen, mingling with your moans and the distant rumble of thunder, a symphony of want and surrender. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, desperate for more, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against you, his voice muffled but fervent, and the words are a spark, igniting the coil of tension in your core. “I could eat you all night, Y/N. But I want you to come for me first.”

“Seokjin, I’m—” Your words dissolve into a moan as he sucks hard on your clit, his fingers thrusting faster, relentless. Your orgasm builds, a white-hot wave, and when it breaks, it’s shattering, your body convulsing, your pussy pulsing around his fingers, your cries echoing in the empty kitchen. He doesn’t stop, lapping at you through the aftershocks, drawing out every shudder, every gasp, until you’re boneless, trembling, your hands limp in his hair.

He stands, his lips glistening with your release, and kisses you, deep and possessive, letting you taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. The kiss is a promise, a claim, and you cling to him, your hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him. “I need you inside me,” you whisper, your voice raw with need, and he groans, his hands helping you free his cock.

It’s thick, hard, the skin velvet-soft under your fingers as you stroke him, marveling at the weight, the heat. Pre-cum beads at the tip, and you swipe your thumb over it, making him hiss, his hips jerking. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, his voice breaking, and the sound of his need fuels your own. You sink to your knees, the tile cold against your skin, and take him in your mouth, your tongue swirling over the tip, tasting the salt of him. His hands grip your hair, guiding you, his breaths ragged as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size.

“You’re so good,” he groans, his voice a mix of awe and desperation. “So fucking perfect.” You hum around him, the vibration making him curse, his hips thrusting gently, testing your limits. You take him as deep as you can, your hands stroking what your mouth can’t reach, and his control frays, his grip tightening, his voice a litany of praise and need.

He pulls you up before he loses it, kissing you fiercely, his hands lifting you back onto the counter. “I need to be inside you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve waited too fucking long for this.”

“Then don’t wait anymore,” you say, your voice steady despite the tremble.

The storm outside rages, rain lashing the windows in a relentless tattoo, but inside, the world narrows to the space between you and Seokjin. The flickering candlelight bathes the stainless-steel counters in a warm, amber glow, casting shadows that dance across your skin like whispered secrets. Your body hums with anticipation, every nerve alight as Seokjin stands between your thighs, his cock brushing your entrance, a teasing promise of what’s to come.

His eyes, dark and molten, lock onto yours, searching, questioning. The intensity in his gaze is almost too much, a raw hunger tempered by something softer, something that makes your heart ache. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding you in the moment. The counter beneath you is cold, a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the roughness of his chef’s coat brushing against your bare thighs where your skirt has ridden up.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and rough, laced with a vulnerability that catches you off guard. His breath is warm against your lips, carrying the faint taste of the wine he sipped earlier. “I need to hear it, Y/N. I need to know you want this as much as I do.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling—desire, fear, and a desperate need to be seen by him. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling but resolute. Your hands slide up his arms, feeling the taut muscle beneath the fabric, and you pull him closer, your fingers curling into his shoulders. “I want you, Seokjin. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His breath hitches, a low groan escaping his throat, and the sound sends a shiver through you, your pussy clenching with need. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment, his breath mingling with yours. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Every fucking day, watching you, wanting you… it’s been torture.”

Before you can respond, he pushes inside you, slow and deliberate, stretching you with a delicious burn that makes you gasp. The sensation is overwhelming, his cock thick and heavy, filling you completely. Your walls flutter around him, slick with your arousal, and you clutch at his shirt, your nails scraping the fabric. The fullness is exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure, and you tilt your hips, urging him deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice a ragged growl as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours. “You feel so good, Y/N. So tight, so fucking perfect.” His words are a litany, each one stoking the fire in your core. He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. The tenderness in his touch contrasts with the raw need in his eyes, and it makes your heart stutter.

Then he moves, his thrusts deep and measured, each one driving him deeper, claiming you in a way that feels both primal and sacred. The counter creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Your pussy is soaked, the slickness easing his movements, and every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your clit throbbing with need. The candlelight catches the sheen of sweat on his brow, the sharp line of his jaw as he grits his teeth, fighting to maintain control.

“Seokjin,” you moan, your voice breaking, your head falling back as the pleasure builds. The air is heavy with the scent of your arousal, the faint spice of his cologne, the lingering aroma of roasted herbs from the kitchen. Your nipples are hard, straining against the lace of your bra, and he notices, his hand slipping beneath your blouse to pinch one gently, rolling it between his fingers. The sensation is electric, a direct line to your core, and you arch into him, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low rumble, laced with a dominance that makes your toes curl. You obey, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly undoes you. “I want to see you when you come. I want to see every fucking thing.”

You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his thrusts harder now, more urgent. Each one hits that sweet spot inside you, the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly. His hand slides between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles that make you cry out. The pleasure is blinding, a white-hot wave that threatens to consume you, and you grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent marks.

“Seokjin, I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice raw, your body shaking with the effort to hold on. “Please, I need—”

“Come for me,” he growls, his voice thick with need, his fingers relentless on your clit. “Let go, Y/N. Let me feel you.”

The command tips you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing wildly, and you scream his name, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. Your vision blurs, stars bursting behind your eyelids, and your body shakes, every muscle taut as the pleasure wracks you. The sensation is overwhelming, your slick walls gripping him, pulling him deeper, and he groans, his control fraying.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, his thrusts erratic now, his cock throbbing inside you. “You’re so tight, I can’t—” His words break off as he comes, his release hot and fierce, spilling inside you in thick, pulsing waves. His groan is primal, a raw sound of surrender, and his hips jerk, driving himself as deep as he can go. You feel every pulse, every shudder, your pussy milking him, drawing out his pleasure as your own lingers, a soft, tingling aftershock.

But he’s not done. Before you can catch your breath, he pulls out, his cock still hard, glistening with your combined release. He flips you over with a swift, commanding motion, bending you over the counter. The steel is cold against your breasts, your nipples scraping the surface through your bra, and you moan, your body still buzzing. Your hands grip the edge, knuckles white, as he spreads your legs, his hands rough on your thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, reverent growl as he runs a hand over your ass, squeezing gently. “So fucking beautiful, dripping for me.” His fingers brush your pussy, teasing your oversensitive folds, and you whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily. You’re soaked, your arousal coating your thighs, and he groans at the sight, his cock twitching against you.

He enters you again, this time from behind, and the angle is devastating, his cock hitting deeper, stretching you in a way that makes you see stars. The sensation is almost too much, your pussy clenching around him, still sensitive from your orgasm. He thrusts hard, fast, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force, and the sound of his skin slapping yours fills the room, raw and unfiltered.

“Seokjin,” you moan, your voice trembling, your body surrendering completely. “It’s so much, I—”

“You can take it,” he growls, his voice thick with possession, his hand sliding up your spine to grip your hair, pulling gently. The tug sends a jolt through you, your pussy tightening around him, and he curses, his thrusts faltering. “You’re mine, Y/N. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, the words spilling out, raw and desperate. “Only yours, Seokjin.” The confession feels like a release, a truth you’ve been holding back for months, and it sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, your pussy dripping, coating his cock.

He groans, the sound almost pained, and his hand slips between you again, finding your clit. His fingers are relentless, rubbing in tight, frantic circles, and the pleasure is blinding, building too fast, too intense. “One more,” he commands, his voice rough with need. “Give me one more, baby.”

You can’t hold back, your body obeying before your mind catches up. Your second orgasm hits like a storm, your pussy spasming around him, your vision going white. You scream, your body collapsing against the counter, your legs shaking as the pleasure tears through you. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve alight, your slick walls pulsing, gripping him so tightly he can barely move.

He follows, his release a hot, shuddering wave, his cock pulsing as he spills inside you again. His groan is raw, his body trembling against yours, his hands clutching your hips like a lifeline. “Y/N,” he gasps, his voice breaking, and the sound of your name on his lips, so raw and vulnerable, makes your heart ache.

You stay like that, breathless and entwined, the storm outside fading to a distant hum. The kitchen is warm, the air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, the candlelight flickering weakly. Seokjin’s hands soften, sliding up your sides, and he pulls you upright, turning you to face him. His eyes are softer now, the hunger tempered by something deeper, something that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says, his voice low but firm, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not after this.”

You nod, your throat tight with emotion, and lean into his touch, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “I don’t want you to,” you whisper, and the words feel like a vow, sealing the night in the heat of the kitchen.

The storm has softened to a gentle murmur, the rain now a delicate patter against the restaurant’s windows, like a lullaby soothing the raw edges of the night. The kitchen, once a battleground of desire, is now a sanctuary, steeped in the lingering scents of melted candle wax, the faint musk of sex, and the earthy warmth of Seokjin’s skin. The single candle has flickered out, leaving only the dim glow of emergency lights casting long, soft shadows across the steel counters and tiled floor. The air feels heavy, not with tension but with something deeper—something unspoken yet profoundly felt.

You’re cradled in Seokjin’s arms, your body pressed against his, the heat of him grounding you in the aftermath of your shared surrender. His chef’s coat is unbuttoned, the fabric hanging loosely to reveal the smooth expanse of his chest, still glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. Your blouse is barely buttoned, your skirt still hiked up, but there’s no urgency to fix it. Your legs are tangled with his, your bare thighs brushing the rough denim of his jeans. The counter beneath you is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands, one resting possessively on your hip, the other tracing slow, absent circles along your spine. Every touch sends a shiver through you, not of arousal but of intimacy, raw and unguarded.

Your breaths are still uneven, your chest rising and falling as you try to anchor yourself in the moment. Seokjin’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek, a rhythmic thud that feels like a promise. His scent envelops you—salt and spice, the faint tang of his cologne mingling with the kitchen’s lingering aromas of garlic and thyme. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you press closer, needing the reassurance of his solidity.

He shifts, his lips brushing your forehead, soft and reverent. The gesture is so tender it aches, a stark contrast to the fierce hunger of moments ago. His breath is warm against your skin, and when he speaks, his voice is low, rough with emotion, like he’s peeling back layers he’s kept hidden for too long. “I meant it, Y/N,” he says, each word deliberate, heavy with conviction. “I want you. Not just tonight. Not just like this. I want you—all of you.”

The words hit you like a wave, stirring something deep in your chest. You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. In the dim light, they’re endless, dark pools of sincerity, flecked with vulnerability you’ve never seen before. His jaw is set, but there’s a softness in his gaze, a quiet plea that makes your heart stutter. You swallow, your throat tight, the weight of his confession sinking in. “Seokjin…” you start, your voice trembling, not from fear but from the overwhelming truth of your own feelings. “I want you too. I’ve wanted you for so long, I just… I was scared. Scared you didn’t feel the same.”

His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it softens into something achingly tender. “Scared?” he repeats, his voice breaking on the word. He cups your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. His touch is warm, calloused from years in the kitchen, but so gentle it feels like a vow. “Y/N, you’ve been under my skin since the day you walked in here. All those times I watched you, teased you, tried to get you to look at me… it was because I couldn’t stand the thought of you not seeing me the way I see you.”

Your breath catches, the raw honesty in his words unraveling you. “I saw you,” you whisper, your hands gripping his shirt, the fabric creasing under your fingers. “I always saw you. But you’re… you’re you. Mr. Kim, the chef, the owner, this larger-than-life man who makes everyone fall for him. I didn’t think I could ever be enough.”

He shakes his head, a low, frustrated sound escaping him. “Don’t say that,” he says, his voice firm but laced with pain. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything. You’re the one who makes this place feel alive, not just for the customers but for me. Every time you smile, every time you blush when I catch you staring, it’s like… fuck, it’s like the world makes sense again.”

His words are a lifeline, pulling you from the doubts that have held you back for months. You lean into him, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. The warmth of his skin, the faint stubble on his jaw, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it’s all so real, so overwhelming. “I’m yours,” you say, the words spilling out like a confession, raw and unguarded. “I’ve been yours for longer than I knew how to admit.”

Seokjin’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he’s still, like he’s savoring the weight of your words. Then he’s kissing you, slow and deep, not with the desperate hunger of before but with a tenderness that feels like worship. His lips are soft, tasting faintly of salt and you, and the way he moves against you is like he’s trying to memorize every second of this moment. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

When he pulls back, his eyes are bright, a smile breaking across his face—not the cocky smirk you’re used to, but something genuine, unguarded, like he’s letting you see all of him. “Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

You laugh, the sound light and free, bubbling up from a place you didn’t know existed. It’s a release, a shedding of the shyness that’s defined you for so long. “You’d better not,” you tease, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, vibrating through you where your bodies touch. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “Stay with me tonight,” he says, not a question but a quiet hope. “Not here, not like this. Come home with me. Let me hold you, wake up with you.”

Your heart swells, the invitation carrying more weight than the physical act. It’s a promise, a future. You nod, your smile soft but certain. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

He kisses you again, a brief, sweet press of lips, before helping you down from the counter. His hands are steady, guiding you as you adjust your clothes, your movements slow and languid in the afterglow. The kitchen feels different now, not just a place of work but a witness to something new, something sacred. The rain outside continues its soft song, and as Seokjin takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours, you feel like you’re stepping into a new world—one where you’re no longer just the shy waitress, but the woman who holds his heart.

[btsiu]

JIN 'Running Wild' MV (2024)