#jade the fluff writer extraordinaire

[echotoyou]

JABHAKSBAKA oh my gosh someone said this in the comments and i appreciate them for it but JADE the fact that this is told from

✨ his ✨

pov and not reader’s pov is BRILLIANT and causing me DEVASTATION

i love the journey of him figuring out that all is NOT okay in the house of the commons (which like WOOF owww yikes) but it’s incredibleeee

just the simple juxtaposition of him not wasting time to get out of the car, that all he wants is to be filled up and recharged with the comfort that reader provides to the absolute OPPOSITE that he is greeted with

the line about he flipped a switch but the light didn’t turn back on in reader’s eyes (AHHHH!!!!!!)

the pain of the dropping a full name instead of whatever pet name we all know they have for each other

the utter CJNWNAKSWJI of it all this is so well crafted jade you’re a mastermind!!!!

Jadie:) i would like to make a request!!

Reader having to spent countless night home alone because Jungkook’s busy working at the studio? They fight and she asks him to love her more than she loves him?

Honestly i feel like JK gets frustrated with fights so he says things that come out in a different way?? Thank you so much!!!!

i went in with the angst on this one 😳 i think most of us have had similar fights before, so i was definitely channeling some of that something here OPE

cw: verbal sparring, major angst, ending is ambiguous/unresolved

By the time his car rolls into the driveway, Jungkook has nothing left to give.

A vampire disguised as a weekday sapped every bit of energy he had left. His reserve tank is empty, and when he’s running on fumes like this, there’s only one way to top up. All he wants — now, then, any time — is to bury his face where your neck meets your shoulder; to revel in your steady pulse and soft breathing; to remember that there’s life here, outside his studio.

He doesn’t waste time getting out of the car, having summoned the last bit of willpower he had to unbuckle his seatbelt and slip from the driver’s seat. Jungkook locks the car behind him and within seconds, he unlocks the door to his home. To you. It feels like forty years have passed since he left that morning, but he can still smell the kimchi from the eggs you cooked.

Did hours always used to feel like decades?

One foot over the threshold, the toe of his boot collides with something in the dark. His eyes strain to see it; and his eyebrows furrow once he does. It’s a weekender. Yours, the one he bought you to take on little getaways when your schedules aligned like planets. It’s packed and ready, but Jungkook can’t put a finger on why that is.

Did he forget about plans again? Fuck. His mind never used to be a sieve, but that’s all it’s been lately. Jungkook has to be careful not to let you slip by.

He toes off his shoes and places them on the mat on the other side of your packed bag. As he heads off to find you, kiss you, breathe you in, Jungkook takes one backwards glance at that weekender. Nothing sparks.

Where were we going again?

There’s rustling down the hall and he follows it. Underneath his timid footfalls, there’s the quiet metallic click of the medicine cabinet door as you close it. Jungkook can’t see you, but he can feel you — you and the upset ebbing outwards from you. Little concentric circles, rage rippling his way like a stone has broken through the surface.

I dropped you, again.

Jungkook reaches the doorway to the bathroom just in time for you to exit. You gasp when you collide with his chest, but that shock dissipates quickly when his hands steady you by your forearms. You clutch the bag of toiletries that you nearly dropped like it’s all you have.

The expression on your face is less obvious now that the surprise is absent — and that scares him.

“Whoa,” Jungkook tries to chuckle to lighten whatever this crushing weight is, but there’s no humor in your affect. Flat. Despondent, like you cried out all you had and there was nothing left to animate your features.

Oh, this is bad.

He needs to fix it, so he tries again, “Where’s the fire, petal?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook flipped a switch alright, but it didn’t turn the light in your eyes back on. Ham-fisted and stuck in the garbage disposal as it —

“I don’t know, Jungkook. Where is the fire?” You have that tone when you reply. That rare and terrifying voice where you sound calm, but he can smell the venom hitting dead air.

You, petal, are soft, but you are not calm.

You’re excitable, vocal. Jungkook can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard you speak without your perfect, dizzying rollercoaster of intonation. It’s jarring, it’s whiplash, it’s clear as day that there’s something very wrong here.

What did I do to you?

“I’d love to know,” You carve another slice as you back out of his grip. “Haven’t felt warmth in weeks. What about you, Jungkook?”

He feels concussed, in a way, like this is somehow a sucker punch you’ve hit him with. It feels like a blow when you say his name with that look in your eyes, but Jungkook knows it’s not. He knows exactly where this is coming from and he doesn’t get to pretend otherwise.

Desperate, he tries to hold you, but it’s like running underwater trying to reach you. By the time his lead limbs finally accept the signal and begin to move, you’re skirting around him and out the door.

You’re quick, but so is he. Jungkook’s long strides catch up to you easily, and when you sense him, you wheel back around to look up at him. Now, your face is crumpled and littered with tears. It’s even worse than the nothing you were wearing a few moments ago.

Jungkook pleads, one teardrop away from getting on his knees for you, “Tell me what I missed and I’ll make it up to you, petal. I swear I’ll fix it —”

“That’s the thing, Jungkook,” you sniff as you angrily wipe at your slicked-wet cheekbone. The worst part is that he knows you’re beyond the point of anger when it comes to him; it’s the fact that he’s caught you crying that bothers you the most.

“You miss everything. And you know it, too, because your first guess — your very first thought — was that you must have forgotten about me — again. What does that tell you, Jungkook? What does it say about us that this is an easy assumption for you to make? Because it sounds like a habit to me.”

There’s a montage broadcasting through the silence that settles between you. It’s every ‘I’m sorry I’m late, petal’; every ‘petal, I’m going to be here longer than I thought’; and ‘you don’t have to wait up for me.’ It’s all of those disappointed sighs you tried to swallow when you gave him grace he hadn’t earned.

A soundtrack delineating every instance where you held him up and he let you down.

It’s deafening.

“I just want you —” Your voice gives up on you halfway through your sentence. He knows better than to reach out for you now, but it’s all he wants to do. “I need you — just once — to love me more than I love you.”

There’s that sucker punch.

How could he? How could anyone love harder than you do? It’s impossible, Jungkook thinks, to try to mimic the way your heart holds everyone so completely. Laughable, almost, that no person on their best day could hold a candle to you — even on your worst. He thinks you’re pure magic.

But Jungkook has never been the best at putting the things he thinks into words, so he says, “Petal, I can’t.”

And he can’t backtrack or explain what he meant or beg you to listen because you’re grabbing that weekender off the floor. You’re slinging it over your shoulder, headed to your sister’s for the night. As he watches you leave, Jungkook recalls that there’s one thing he’s even worse at than communicating how he feels:

Sleeping without you.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for tagging me, @omgpurplefattie!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

78 😅

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

864,062 - this is apparently just a bit more than Gone With The Wind....twice. I don't know how to feel about this.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Untamed (I have also written a handful of fics for Word of Honor and a very tiny one-shot for Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, but I'm definitely a CQL/MDZS author lol)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

You Need Tending - A very young, tiny Wangxian meet as children in Yunmeng and canon diverges sweetly from there.

Unexpected Solutions - LXC POV - What if the other sect leaders got to see the Burial Mounds instead of taking JGS's word for it that WWX was raising an army?

You Are Of Their Ilk - Sequel to You Need Tending, a LQR-centric fic examining what it's like to actually raise the Jades (and WWX) when he's got a Sect to run and parenting insecurities to overcome.

Plans To Make - A Wangxian-centric Time Travel Fix-it AU, technically the prequel fic to my first 3zun fic (in which the fixings-of-it have already been done and the post-canon, 5-years-in-seclusion Lan Xichen wakes up in the altered timeline wondering how the hell he has two husbands who are definitely not dead).

Professor Lan, Babysitter Extraordinaire - Modern AU Professor!LWJ spends an afternoon minding A-Yuan for Mature Student!WWX and is instantly charmed.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Sometimes! I used to respond to every single comment I got when I first started posting, but then I just got really overwhelmed and had to stop, and I've never picked up the habit again. If I feel particularly strongly about a comment or have something specific to say I'll try to respond, but otherwise I bask in them all silently (sorry, and I love y'all, I really do read every single comment I swear).

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Shadow's Call - An extremely depressed Lan Xichen is violently dragged out of his seclusion in the Hanshi 8 years post-canon by fierce corpse NieYao, who definitely aren't sentient at all but still somehow feel incomplete without their third.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Aside from The Shadow's Call all of my fics end happily!! I just can't do the depressing ones most of the time 😅 I think some of my favorite happy endings for various reasons, though, are The Sculptor, After Each Midnight Begins A New Day, anything in the Orville Peck Cinematic Universe, and anything from the 90's Strip Mall AU, Tales From Jianghu Shopping Center. (Everything in the last two especially is just pure feel-good fluff, not only the endings haha)

Do you get hate on fics?

Not anymore! The XiYao troll must have found something better to do so we can now like JGY in peace 😌

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I don't know what kind though 😅 the smutty kind? I don't really delve too deeply into kink or BDSM, and I don't write omegaverse or tentacles or anything all that creative; I just write what I would consider bog standard 'I'm ace and I understand people like doing this, I really hope the allos find this enjoyable to read' kind of smut. (Usually for me it's more about the emotional impact/character development use of it rather than the porn-y-ness of it, if that helps??)

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope! I like writing AU's of my favorite ships blended with other media I like, but not direct crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Вони — це ми/ They Are Us is a Ukrainian translation by sandbranco of 'They Are Us', El escultor By Eleanor_Fenyx is a Spanish Translation by ellieffect and KabiBaali of 'The Sculptor', and another Spanish Translation of 'The Sculptor' by GabyObando13. I'm always so flattered when someone likes something of mine enough to do such an incredible labor of love as translating it ❤

What's your all-time favorite ship?

3zun, my beloveds

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Plans To Make - In an ideal world I would finish this soon so I can stop being eaten up with low-simmering guilt about it (along with several other projects, let's be real), but the fact of the matter is that I never actually wanted to write the full fix-it for this universe in the first place. I started Lan Xichen's introduction into this universe after the fix-it has already happened partially because I find that dynamic of a depressed Lan Xichen suddenly partnered with a happily married NieYao really interesting, but also because I don't like all the tangled threads of a universe-wide fix-it and I knew I'd get way too bogged down in details to really enjoy it. That's exactly what's happened, and that's partially why the fic has been sitting so long without an update. I do really want to finish it one day, though.

What are your writing strengths?

I occasionally get comments praising my characterization/character voices, so hopefully that's one. I also like to think that I do a decent job with accurately communicating both relatable and not-quite-as-relatable experiences - queerness of various flavors, neurodivergence, strangely specific life experiences...I usually try to write what I know, and I'm always happy when it resonates with people in the ways that I'd hoped for while writing them.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel like I can get sooo long-winded, and I'm also kind of bad for setting up plotty bits in my longer fics that I never actually follow through on.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

The furthest I'll go is honorifics that I'm confident with using, I absolutely do not trust myself or any online translator to attempt whole lines of dialogue.

First fandom you wrote for?

BBC Sherlock - those fics are all orphaned now, though

Favorite fic you've written?

I'm going to choose three just because I can: After Each Midnight Begins A New Day (3zun), The Sculptor (Wangxian), and Main Objective : Destroy Yiling Laozu (Breath of the Wild AU, my beloved)

I'm going to tag: @little-smartass, @wei--wuxian, @scarlet-gryphon, @wishthatiwasnessiesgirl, @threephasebird, and anyone else who writes who wants to play!

[echotoyou]

I've just discovered this did not make it out of my drafts last week when every other thing I read was a jade fic so HERE YOU GO

i’m on a jade kick and i’ve never been happier i’m so glad to be here HI AGAIN

THIS HELD ME IN A COCOON gently patted my head and whispered it's going to be okay and I'm now crying. jade idk how you just do it again and again thank you from the bottom of my heart 💖

If you didn’t love yourself like this, how could he be expected to? 😭😭😭

you so perfectly captured the anxiety of someone seeing and witnessing the mess (when the phone rang outside the bedroom door my heart DROPPED with mc's)

and then it was immediately soothed and his gentle kindness and love is just mind blowing iiiiiii

he washed the dishes 🥺 took out the trash 🥺 organized The Chair 🥺 AND UNTANGLED MC's CROCHET?!?! 🥺🥺🥺

“I love you including.” 😭😭😭

I can't even begin to explain how much this fic touched my soul. I loved every single line and word (your bed as a tool not a tomb?!?!?) and will be returning to it when I need that hobi hug) thank you for writing it and sharing it 💜💜💜

can you please write about hobi helping his gf!reader with depression? thank you so much. I love your writing style.

Did I narc on my own depressive-episode habits? Yes. Yes, I did. 🫣 Shout-out to “the chair” - you keep me together, bb.

It’d been hours since you checked your phone. Maybe days, but it didn’t matter much to you. You lost the plot of linear time a while ago.

When you finally mustered the willpower to search for your phone, it took longer than you’d ever admit to find it among the battalion of cups assembled on your nightstand. For the past few days, their numbers grew; and so did your frustration with yourself. Most of the time, you laid with your back turned to your mess so you could forget that it existed. Who needed object permanence, anyway?

It shouldn’t have been so difficult to force your body out of bed, but it was. Eating, showering, staying adequately hydrated - it all cost more than you could currently afford, and you hated feeling this broke. But you had cement in every cell, and dealing with the fog in your brain was already exhausting enough. How could you practice “self-care” if you simply couldn’t give a shit?

The only force stronger than your desire to stay in bed was the guilt you felt in wasting another second there. It was supposed to be a tool - a respite - not a tomb. So why did you keep yourself buried there?

With a groan, you pulled yourself up into a sitting position and checked the stockpile of notifications on your phone. It was a cyclone of texts you hadn’t read, missed calls, and voicemails likely asking why you’d ignored the previous two attempts at contact. Even when faced with the consequences of falling off the radar, you didn’t care to put yourself back on it. Admitting that to yourself only made you feel even worse.

Still, there was one person who was entitled to proof of life. One person whose presence recharged your battery rather than depleted it. He didn’t deserve radio silence, even if you hadn’t gone dark of your own volition. The least you could do was verify your continued presence on this mortal coil.

Hoseok was pure magic - beautiful, baffling, and effervescent. No one you’d ever met was as intuitive as he was; and nobody had the capacity to care about anything as completely and genuinely as he did. He gave you space when you wanted it and closeness when you needed it. And he could tell which of those to provide without you having to say a word - even if you couldn’t make that determination yourself.

He knew you, and that’s precisely why you felt you didn’t deserve him.

Swallowing that thought before it could tug you deeper down the rabbit hole, you dialed his number. And when you heard it ringing outside your bedroom door, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

Oh god.

Your apartment had turned into a depression pit over the past two weeks. Incrementally, too, like a rot had taken over in slow motion. A scourge you couldn’t bring yourself to tidy up. Even the thought of someone seeing your uncharacteristic mess made you nauseous.

This was a side of you Hoseok was permitted to know about, but not one you ever wanted him to see. It’s why you dodged the question any time he asked about moving in together. There was a difference between discussing your insecurities and having him witness the root of them firsthand. If you didn’t love yourself like this, how could he be expected to?

You kicked the blankets off your legs as quickly as you could and scrambled up to unsteady feet. Your joints weren’t prepared for any movement, let alone this frantic of a pace, but you couldn’t hide forever. Your deep, dark secret was now out on display, and you needed to get this awful confrontation over - and him out - before your shame could kill you.

He froze when you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the living room. Standing several meters away in the adjoining kitchen, he held a duster in one hand and his ringing phone in the other - eyes wide and mouth frozen into the shape of an ‘o.’ Like he’d been caught red-handed with the gun still smoking.

“I figured you were sleeping,” He stammered as he turned around to tuck the duster back into the cabinet below your kitchen sink. The look on his face screamed please don’t hate me. “I thought I had more time.”

Your brain was so shell-shocked, you couldn’t form words - you couldn’t even blink. You had no idea how long he’d been in your apartment without you noticing, but in that amount of time, he’d made it unrecognizable.

Your sink, once full of the dishes you hadn’t tended to, was both empty and spotless. The rest of your kitchen was immaculately organized as if it wasn’t just littered with recycling you kept forgetting to take to the curb, and haphazard piles of items you needed to do something with. Even more confusingly, the long to-do list on your countertop now had every line crossed out.

Your wide-eyed gaze trailed over to the living room. The last time you stepped foot in there, it looked like ground zero of some major disaster. Now, thanks to Hoseok, it looked like home again.

The armchair that previously held the majority of your belongings - the island of misfit toys - was vacant. Everything you’d abandoned there over the past two weeks had been returned to its proper place. The mountain of throw blankets had been bulldozed as well. Its disembodied remnants were either neatly folded in the designated basket, or artfully draped over the back of your couch.

He’d even untangled the knot of yarn clinging to your abandoned crochet project.

Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken him to sort this all out - and how quietly he’d had to maneuver to avoid ruining his surprise - led to an explosion of tears. It was monsoon season, and you braced yourself before the flood could carry you off, out the door.

He exclaimed in horror when he saw the way your shoulders shook, struggling to carry the weight of your sobs. You couldn’t bear to see the look on his face, so you hid behind your hands and wished yourself invisible. Accordingly, you didn’t see him race over to you. It was the suddenness of his arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into his chest, that alerted you to his presence.

“I’m sorry!” His rapid, repeated apologies spewed out like machine-gun fire, “I just - I know your brain isn’t cooperating with you right now, so I wanted to - and I know you’d never ask, but you- “

You dropped your hands and buried your face into his sweatshirt; praying to any god that your running nose wouldn’t ruin it. It came out as an exhale, weightless and automatic: “Thank you.”

“For cleaning? Baby, you don’t need to thank me.”

With a sniffle, you pulled away from him just enough to meet his eyes. “For loving me despite all this… mess.”

His face dropped like a brick. You could feel the slight shift in his posture, and you wanted to disappear entirely. Maybe this was one final courtesy before he washed his hands of you. After all, why wouldn’t he? Were you worth any of this?

“I don’t love you despite,” his incredulous tone corrected you, but his subsequent, petal-soft words cradled you, “I love you including.”

[echotoyou]

JADE HELLO OH MY GOODNESS MY HEART IS SO FULL AHHHHHH 💜✨💛🥰✨🥰

sorry i’m CRYING this is simply so sweet and jimin is SO CUTE AHHHHHHHH

“Baby, we bought synonyms”

SIMPLY STOP IT RIGHT NOW (please keep going dear goodness please keep going and never ever stop how do you do this thing with the words 🥹🥹) AND THEN his little soft whine!?!?!? when he realized they’re the same 😂😭

“you’re not sure how it’s possible for a person to sparkle like that”

i LOVE that description of him he does indeed sparkle like a damn disco ball (like i feel like j hope shines like the sun but jimin is one HUNDRED THOUSAND PERCENT ✨ sparkly ✨)

ALSO THE HP BOOSTS CHHAHDIWMFHWJ JADE that is the cutest little detail i love that to PIECES it’s so precious and and and and

forehead kisses always make me 🙈🥰

i love love love your writing SO much 🥰🥰 and this was the sweetest drabble to open tumblr up to find 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

jade, my dear, my darling, my husband. i have darkened the threshold of your inbox once again for your 2k drabblepalooza (congratulations by the way no one deserves the attention and recognition more than you ilysm) to ask you about park jimin. are you currently writing a miniseries for him? yes. is it enough? also yes. let's just say i'm here to even out the playing field of your requests. i'm doing this for you- nay, for US.

i have been overwhelmed and moody lately and was looking for maybe an established relationship!au with like hurt/comfort or sickfic but make it mental health? this is boring i am sorry LMAO please feel free to disregard i just have many feelings thank you for your time and energy and love OK BYE

happy wife, happy life!!!!! 🥹🩵

pairing: park jimin x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 700 genre: hurt/comfort, fluff au: established relationship, sick fic rating: pg-13 (minors DNI w/ me regardless!) summary: a lazy day at home with your boyfriend is “self-care,” thank you very much. cw: none!

“Hydrating, detoxifying, brightening, or — uhhh, purifying?”

You lift your head up off the arm of the couch to peek over the back of it. It’s more physical effort than you’ve expended since you sat down two hours ago, but the sight is worth it: Jimin in a frenzy, half-buried in the cabinet below the bathroom sink, barely audible over the sound of his rummaging.

A man on a mission.

You snort. “Is all of the above an option?”

The past week took a lot out of you, and at this point, you’ll take whatever you can get. So far, you’d taken a day off of work, yourself off the grid, and your favorite throw blanket from the basket next to your couch. Your boyfriend — true to form — has taken it upon himself to do the absolute most.

Phase one of Jimin’s unspoken plan started before you’d even gotten out of bed. He’d left to get you boba and came back with not only your favorite tea, but every imaginable impulse buy he encountered on his way home that may come in handy.

Or make you laugh.

Or that smells nice.

Now that you’d been thoroughly showered in unanticipated gifts, Jimin was moving on to phase two. From what you’ve gathered, it includes literal, physical pampering.

Jimin sits back on his knees — careful to avoid bumping his head as he does so — and stares down at the impressive bouquet of plastic packages he’s accumulated. At least ten different types of sheet masks from as many different brands. Even though he’s angled away from you, you can see the way his face scrunches up, deep in thought.

“Are detoxing and purifying not the same thing?” Jimin mutters to himself without looking up.

Instead, he holds one of the mask packets as close to his face as possible, scans the tiny print with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Suddenly louder, he tosses his head back and confirms with a whine, “Baby, we bought synonyms.”

You’re too fond for words, especially when Jimin hears you giggling and looks at you, pouting. There’s a beat, then your laughter makes him laugh; and then his eyes disappear as a grin consumes his whole face. You’re not sure how it’s possible for a person to sparkle like that, but watching the way he lights up restores some of your depleted battery.

If life were a video game, there’d be a tiny, 8-bit heart reappearing on your screen.

+5 HP.

Out of spite, Jimin tosses the duplicate masks back into the plastic organizer they’re kept in, takes his final choice in hand, and climbs to his feet. It doesn’t take him long to cross from where he sat to where you sit. It takes even less time for him to launch himself over the back of the couch, where he lands gracefully in the empty spot at your feet.

Like the heartthrob he knows he is, he runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and pushes the strands out of his eyes. You blush — you always blush — and even though he’s not looking at you, the smirk tugging at his lips confirms that he knows that, too.

Jimin shifts on the cushion he’s claimed to face you fully. The untouched bottle of water on the coffee table catches his eye, though, and he frowns — first at it, then at you. Before he can remind you with words, you grab it, unfold the straw, and make a big show of taking a large gulp. Your cartoonish sigh after swallowing earns you exactly what you wanted: an eye roll and an affectionate squeeze on your bent knee.

With the straw still between your teeth, you mumble, “Does dating me ever feel like playing the Sims? You know, making sure my hunger and energy meters aren’t in the red?”

“Of course not.” He reaches out to cup your cheek with his hand. On instinct, you lean into the touch. With all the seriousness in the world, Jimin declares, “I would never stick you in a swimming pool and delete the ladder.”

Your laugh comes from deep in your belly, warms every part of you on the way out of your mouth. You tingle all over when Jimin leans over your bent legs to press a kiss to your forehead.

+10 HP.

[echotoyou]

JADE OH MY GOODNESS THE QUIPS ALREADY HAVE ME BY THE THROAT AHHHHHH

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it

*i* died laughing

You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

HAHAHAHA oh NO

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

oh dear lord that’s me jade how could you perceive me like this

Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

OH DEAR LORD JADE

ok i didn’t go to law school but i did go to grad school and the hellsat is the funniest thing i’ve heard it called

might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis.

have you heard this song (https://open.spotify.com/track/7BmpRLqZg1vLheYi1SI1Rw?si=NuKNeoAQTAK-ctr-p8aGpw) bc YES CAN CONFIRM

After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

HAHHAAHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHH THAT IS PAINFUL AND SO TRUE

wow if only i had a seokjin disassociating next to me in orientation where would i be now WHERE

scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse

HAHHAHHAHAHAHHA

MY HEART JADE THIS IS PRECIOUS

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches 🥹🥹🥹

GRABBY HANDS

If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

HAHHAAHAHHA

“Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

SO TRUE

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered 😂😂😂😂

“Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

HAHHAHAHH

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself.

oh oh OH JADE

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

OMG JADE

JQBSIWOKWNSNWN

Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this. 🥹🥹🥰🥰🥰

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?” “Absolutely not. Next question!”

HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

There’s one person he responds to, no matter what.

eeeeeeee!!!

None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

oh my oh my oh my

ITS ALL LATIN 😂😂😂

You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless.

EEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

omg he is so DOWN BAD JADE THIS IS PRECIOUS

OMG THE GAME

AHHHHH THEYRE SO CUTE

Fuck, he wants to get you off. 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around. 🥺🥺🥺

OH. MY. FUCKING. JADE. GOD. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HAHAHHA THEYRE SUCH NERDS I LOVE THEM

He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you

ICHAHAIKFNAJSJJFHAJKDNBDS AHHHHHHH

It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. 😩😩😩😩

and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window

HAHAHHAHAHA SO TRUE BESTIE SO TRUE

🥰💕😂😮‍💨🤪🤗✨☺️

JADE IM SCREAMING I WANT SO MUCH MORE OF THEM AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

absolutely obsessed when two people are whipped for each other oh my gosh this had excellence of a 400,000 word 30 chapter slow burn IN SEVEN THOUSAND WORDS

JADE

WHAT

they are just too darn sweet and their back and forth banter is EVERYTHING. this had me dying laughing every other line (the law jokes got me EVERY DAMN TIME) there’s no way this is your first jin smut no WAY he’s PERFECT

holy damn i’m gonna need a min (or five 🤪) have i told you recently that i love you?!?! and your BRILLIANT brain?!?!?

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it. 

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it —  your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain. 

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student all was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance. 

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone. 

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however. 

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs. 

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind. 

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was,” he gestured vaguely, “To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night. 

That rush of warmth you felt then  — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job. 

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted, “Was that a windshield wiper?”  

“No, that was embarrassing.” 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink. 

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours, “And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?” 

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you snort, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —” 

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage. “— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point: 

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off, “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise. 

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning. 

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict? 

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.  

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex. 

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk. 

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer. 

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own. 

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness. 

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars. 

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more. 

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank. 

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now. 

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can. 

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement. 

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No. 

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going. 

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap. 

Once more with feeling: thank god. 

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance. 

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances. 

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it. 

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning. 

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all. 

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded. 

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances,  “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck. 

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you: 

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours. 

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours. 

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?” 

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms. 

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod. 

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh. 

Fuck. 

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you. 

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for. 

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap. 

Strike that. 

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive.  “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.” 

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes. 

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks. 

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs. 

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?” 

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear. 

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.” 

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist. 

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear. 

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow,  he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please. 

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @jihopesjoint @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @bbyorchid @persphonesorchid @quarter-life-crisis2 @zelchena @withluvjm @firesighgirl @whatthefsposts @iadelicacy @chimmisbae @cowboylikeyoongi @sailoryooons @axialitae @ugh-yoongi @minholykingofkorea @kookstempo @gimmethatagustd @Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhintothevoid

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[eoieopda]

you’re so fcking cute 😭

aaahhhh, thank you so much for this. and for the memes, which i will be saving expeditiously. i did lol @ the tag “jade the fluff writer extraordinaire” because i’m still like ??? fluff ??? me ??? no, sad boi! only sad!! ANGST — even though most of my requests are fluffy, lol.

ily!!!!!

jade, my dear, my darling, my husband. i have darkened the threshold of your inbox once again for your 2k drabblepalooza (congratulations by the way no one deserves the attention and recognition more than you ilysm) to ask you about park jimin. are you currently writing a miniseries for him? yes. is it enough? also yes. let's just say i'm here to even out the playing field of your requests. i'm doing this for you- nay, for US.

i have been overwhelmed and moody lately and was looking for maybe an established relationship!au with like hurt/comfort or sickfic but make it mental health? this is boring i am sorry LMAO please feel free to disregard i just have many feelings thank you for your time and energy and love OK BYE

happy wife, happy life!!!!! 🥹🩵

pairing: park jimin x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 700 genre: hurt/comfort, fluff au: established relationship, sick fic rating: pg-13 (minors DNI w/ me regardless!) summary: a lazy day at home with your boyfriend is “self-care,” thank you very much. cw: none!

“Hydrating, detoxifying, brightening, or — uhhh, purifying?”

You lift your head up off the arm of the couch to peek over the back of it. It’s more physical effort than you’ve expended since you sat down two hours ago, but the sight is worth it: Jimin in a frenzy, half-buried in the cabinet below the bathroom sink, barely audible over the sound of his rummaging.

A man on a mission.

You snort. “Is all of the above an option?”

The past week took a lot out of you, and at this point, you’ll take whatever you can get. So far, you’d taken a day off of work, yourself off the grid, and your favorite throw blanket from the basket next to your couch. Your boyfriend — true to form — has taken it upon himself to do the absolute most.

Phase one of Jimin’s unspoken plan started before you’d even gotten out of bed. He’d left to get you boba and came back with not only your favorite tea, but every imaginable impulse buy he encountered on his way home that may come in handy.

Or make you laugh.

Or that smells nice.

Now that you’d been thoroughly showered in unanticipated gifts, Jimin was moving on to phase two. From what you’ve gathered, it includes literal, physical pampering.

Jimin sits back on his knees — careful to avoid bumping his head as he does so — and stares down at the impressive bouquet of plastic packages he’s accumulated. At least ten different types of sheet masks from as many different brands. Even though he’s angled away from you, you can see the way his face scrunches up, deep in thought.

“Are detoxing and purifying not the same thing?” Jimin mutters to himself without looking up.

Instead, he holds one of the mask packets as close to his face as possible, scans the tiny print with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Suddenly louder, he tosses his head back and confirms with a whine, “Baby, we bought synonyms.”

You’re too fond for words, especially when Jimin hears you giggling and looks at you, pouting. There’s a beat, then your laughter makes him laugh; and then his eyes disappear as a grin consumes his whole face. You’re not sure how it’s possible for a person to sparkle like that, but watching the way he lights up restores some of your depleted battery.

If life were a video game, there’d be a tiny, 8-bit heart reappearing on your screen.

+5 HP.

Out of spite, Jimin tosses the duplicate masks back into the plastic organizer they’re kept in, takes his final choice in hand, and climbs to his feet. It doesn’t take him long to cross from where he sat to where you sit. It takes even less time for him to launch himself over the back of the couch, where he lands gracefully in the empty spot at your feet.

Like the heartthrob he knows he is, he runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and pushes the strands out of his eyes. You blush — you always blush — and even though he’s not looking at you, the smirk tugging at his lips confirms that he knows that, too.

Jimin shifts on the cushion he’s claimed to face you fully. The untouched bottle of water on the coffee table catches his eye, though, and he frowns — first at it, then at you. Before he can remind you with words, you grab it, unfold the straw, and make a big show of taking a large gulp. Your cartoonish sigh after swallowing earns you exactly what you wanted: an eye roll and an affectionate squeeze on your bent knee.

With the straw still between your teeth, you mumble, “Does dating me ever feel like playing the Sims? You know, making sure my hunger and energy meters aren’t in the red?”

“Of course not.” He reaches out to cup your cheek with his hand. On instinct, you lean into the touch. With all the seriousness in the world, Jimin declares, “I would never stick you in a swimming pool and delete the ladder.”

Your laugh comes from deep in your belly, warms every part of you on the way out of your mouth. You tingle all over when Jimin leans over your bent legs to press a kiss to your forehead.

+10 HP.