#ksj fanfics

[kingofbodyrolls]

Doughn’t Go Baking My Heart (m) | ksj

This Christmas season, you’re back in the kitchen, whisk in hand and determination in your heart, entering the annual holiday baking competition once again. The goal? Finally beat your long-time rival, the infuriatingly talented Kim Seokjin. But as the ovens warm and the ingredients come together, you realize it might not be just the doughs rising this year… Will the holiday spirit bring you closer, or will the heat of competition drive you further apart? 😜

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (female) → AUs: baking!au, competition!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 16.5k → Warnings + triggers: an insane amount of stupid and bad jokes with sexual undertones (like it borders on cringey), tension and a lot of it, sexual frustration, pettiness (briefly), jealousy (briefly), baking jokes turned sexual (I’m sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), missionary and very vanilla sex, kissing, tender but also a tiny bit rough (not really, lol), big dick Seokjin, nipple play, nipple sucking, breast play, creampie, multiple orgasms, mention of aftercare (but not described), other sexual encounters that aren’t described in detail, pet names (he calls her princess). → Author’s note: hiiiii!! Hello! Long time no see! I was in a Christmasy mood (written in the end of October lol), and I’ve written this cute and tension filled Christmas love story for my dear friend @allie-in-the-moon 💜 Thank you so much for always reading, commenting and loving my work so much; it means the world to me!!! 😭 So I hope that this story shows my deep gratitude for you—I hope you, and everyone else enjoys it ✨ Please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think with a comment, reblog and even an ask. I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just you spamming the keyboard or lots of emojis. There’s a lot of bad jokes and puns in this and you get bonus points if you know what song inspired this pun of a title! 😂 (also, I did not proofread this, I know there’s some mistakes, but I’m too lazy to fix them lol). → Read the spoiler? [JINtastic subreddit]  → Read on AO3? [link] 

With your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you tread the frosted path from the bus stop to the towering silhouette of the grand castle—the heart of the annual Great Christmas Bake-Off. The castle looms before you, its turrets crowned with glistening snow, twinkling lights casting a soft glow in the winter twilight. For three years now, you’ve returned to this place, yet this time, the air feels different, charged with a deeper longing. You clench your hands inside your pockets, the icy wind biting through the fabric of your jacket, as if the cold itself is testing your resolve. If only this could be the year—if only you could finally claim victory, or at least break into the top three.

But as your thoughts drift toward victory, a familiar dread settles in your chest. Kim Seokjin. Your long-time rival, the thorn in your side, always there to ruin your focus with his relentless, groan-worthy jokes. Of course, he’ll be attending again, as smug as ever. A sigh escapes your lips. Can you endure four more weeks of his puns? The mere thought grates at your nerves like a dull knife. Still, you take solace in the fact that there are other contestants—ten, to be exact. Perhaps you can avoid him altogether this year, lose yourself in the company of kinder souls. The thought lifts your spirits, and before you know it, you’re humming a soft tune to the melody of a Christmas song that drifts on the edge of memory—its name lost to the blur of countless holiday seasons, but its warmth still familiar.

Footsteps crunch behind you, but you pay them no mind, your gaze fixed on the castle doors. You can only hope that this time, luck will favor you with a decent room—not like the first year, where you were stuck in a damp, windowless chamber that smelled of mold. This year, everything must be better. Especially now that the world will be watching, with the competition broadcast live on national television. You can’t help but smile, a flicker of excitement mixing with your breath in the cold air, as the castle draws closer.

This time, you tell yourself, things will be different.

The castle stands as a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stones whispering tales of the past, likely from the 1800s or older—though you’re not quite sure. Normally, this place serves as a museum, preserving its history, but every December, it transforms into something magical. As the first of the month dawns, the grand structure becomes home to the Great Christmas Bake-Off, and its ancient walls are filled with the warmth of ovens and the thrill of competition. Surrounding the castle is a scene straight out of a holiday dream: towering evergreens, their branches heavy with snow, stretch towards the sky; a silver stream winds through the rolling hills, and the fields spread wide, blanketed in pristine white. It’s a vision of Christmas perfection, and you can’t help but love it, the landscape glowing with the enchantment of winter.

At last, you make your way up the gravel-strewn path, each step crunching beneath your boots, until you reach the enormous wooden doors of the castle. They are old and heavy, carved with intricate designs, and it takes all your strength to push them open. Inside, a familiar warmth greets you. The space is draped in festive splendor—rich red and gold hues, a plush crimson carpet underfoot, and ancient paintings adorning the white walls, their gilded frames thick with history. You step up to the reception desk, where a handsome blond man stands, his name tag reading ‘Park’. His eyes, a warm hazelnut brown, twinkle with mischief as he catches your smile. “Hi, I’m here for my room key. I’m part of the competition,” you say, offering him a smile that becomes even brighter when you sense the shadow looming behind you. You know exactly who it is without turning around. Determined not to give him any attention, you focus on Park, your smile sweetening as you push aside thoughts of the man behind you.

Park’s lips curl into a grin as he hands you a key. For a brief second, your fingers brush his, and the warmth of his touch is a small comfort against the cold that lingers in your hands. “I’ve given you the best room,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes, “the perfect room for someone as lovely as you.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, and you chuckle softly. Oh, he’s sweet, and trouble, you think. But you feel a surge of relief—finally, you won’t be stuck in the dreaded moldy room. Behind you, a familiar scoff cuts through the air, and you roll your eyes. You don’t need to look to know who it is, and you breeze past him, a skip in your step as you make your way to your room.

Finding it easily, you unlock the door and step inside. It’s small, yes, but far more comfortable than your first year here. A single bed sits in the center of the room, draped in dark green linens that match the heavy curtains cascading down from the tall window. The pillows, a deep crimson, add a touch of festive warmth to the space. Exhausted, you drop your duffel bag to the floor and fall onto the bed with a contented sigh, your eyes slipping shut. Tomorrow, the competition begins, and you know you’ll need every ounce of rest you can get.

When you wake, your muscles ache from the journey, and your face feels puffy from sleep. Groaning softly, you gather your things and shuffle down the hallway toward the showers, your fluffy slippers barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. The warm spray of the shower jolts you awake, and by the time you’re dressed, with fresh makeup and a clear mind, you feel ready for the day ahead. With a steady heart and your baking utensils in hand, you descend the grand staircase toward the great hall, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar will soon fill the air. The competition calls, and this time, you’re determined to make your mark.

The main hall is vast, its high ceilings echoing with the murmur of anticipation. Twelve baking stations stand neatly in two rows, six on each side, gleaming under the soft glow of hidden lights. The air hums with energy as cameras are discreetly tucked in the corners, their lenses poised to capture every moment, while the judges’ table—grand and imposing—commands attention at the front. A producer, dressed in black with a headset and microphone, guides you to your station, and you carefully set your supplies on the smooth surface. The shelves beneath the counter provide just enough space to stow away your ingredients and tools, your hands moving methodically as you prepare for what’s to come.

But then, your heart sinks as you catch sight of him—Kim Seokjin. To your horror, the producers direct him to the station right next to yours. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as he flashes you that signature smile, all too sweet and saccharine, with the familiar mischief sparkling in his crinkling brown eyes. “Fancy seeing you here,” he quips, as he ties his apron around his slender waist, his movements annoyingly graceful. “Back to get your ass kicked again?” His chuckle is low, smug, a sound that makes your blood boil beneath your skin. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to inhale slowly. Calm. You need to stay calm to bake well, you remind yourself, even as the heat of irritation rises within you. “Yeah,” you grunt back, your voice low with restrained anger. “I plan on wiping the floor with your face.” Why, of all people, do you two have the front row benches?

Around you, the hall grows busier. Cameramen move quietly through the room, adjusting angles, capturing every nervous glance and confident grin. The judges have arrived—Yun Christina, a legend in the baking world, with her sharp eyes and warm smile, and Kim Taehyung, whose playful charm hides a discerning palate. At the side stands the commentator, Jeon Jungkook. His tall frame is hard to ignore, built like an athlete with a face so soft it seems to contradict the sleeve of tattoos he wears with pride. There’s something effortlessly captivating about him, and his smile draws as much attention as his ink.

“We’re live in 10 minutes!” a producer announces, and the familiar flutter of anxiety churns in your stomach. No matter how many times you’ve done this competition, the nerves never quite fade—especially with the weight of live television hanging over you. The thought of making a mistake, of becoming a viral meme or the subject of a Reddit thread, haunts the edges of your mind. Seokjin knows this pressure all too well—he’s practically an online legend. His Instagram is filled with stunning images of his creations, each post a curated masterpiece, and he even has a subreddit dedicated to his handsome face and corny jokes. ‘Don’t get Jinxed,’ they call it. You’ve definitely never visited the site, but the stories of his fandom are everywhere, impossible to ignore.

The judges step forward, their presence commanding immediate attention. Christina beams at the group, her hands clasped in excitement, while Taehyung grins with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, everyone,” he begins, his deep voice resonating through the hall. “Today, we’ll start off easy. Your challenge is to create regular buns, but with the sweet taste of Christmas in them.” His smile broadens, and he pauses dramatically. “You’ll have one and a half hours to present Christina and me with six perfect buns. Let the magic of Christmas guide you.”

Christina claps her hands together, her joy infectious. “We can’t wait to taste what you create! Ready. Set,” she says, her voice lifting the room, and then— “Bake!”

The word slices through the air, and the competition springs to life. Your heart pounds as your hands move instinctively, the ingredients becoming your allies in this battle of skill and precision. Seokjin hums beside you, the sound grating against your nerves, but you push him from your mind. There’s no time for distractions—not today. Today, you’re here to prove yourself, to create something more than just buns. You’re here to craft a masterpiece, with the essence of Christmas baked into every bite.

In a flurry of motion, you gather everything you might need at your station—the gleaming kitchen machine ready to knead the dough, bowls stacked high, the flour, sugar, and baking powder measured with care. Your mind races as you dash to the refrigerators at the back, the cool air biting your cheeks as you grab fresh yeast. Spices linger nearby, their rich aromas filling the air, and you make a swift decision—cinnamon and apples. The sweet warmth of cinnamon paired with the crisp, tart apples is a classic, a comforting blend that whispers of holiday mornings by the fire. With practiced hands, you quickly dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, watching the delicate bubbles rise before adding it to the flour and oil. The kitchen machine hums to life, its rhythmic kneading a soothing counterpoint to the buzz of the room. Time is your greatest adversary—dough needs to rest before it can rise into perfection, and every second counts. While the machine works, you gather crisp apples, their skins glistening under the lights, and grate them roughly, the scent of fresh fruit mingling with the warm spices around you.

As you’re focused on the task at hand, Jungkook appears beside you, his presence radiating calm curiosity. “What are you making?” he asks, his voice smooth, as the camera zooms in on your hands, catching every careful movement. You glance up, giving him a soft smile, though your mind is racing. “Apple cinnamon buns,” you reply, juggling ingredients with a steady hand. His smile broadens. “A classic combo,” he says approvingly before moving to Seokjin’s station.

Your heart sinks as you hear Seokjin’s voice, his tone confident and infuriatingly charming. “I’m making pumpkin buns with cinnamon sugar on top,” he announces, and you can almost hear the smug grin in his words as he adds that he’ll be shaping them like pumpkins. Like pumpkins are even a Christmas thing? You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling as the camera lingers on him far longer than it did on you. It’s not that you’re jealous—not exactly—but it’s hard not to notice how much more attention he gets, how the spotlight seems to favor him, casting everyone else into the shadows.

Returning to your dough, you add the shredded apples to the mix, the machine whirring gently as it blends them in. When the dough is ready, you pull it from the machine, feeling the weight of it in your hands. There’s something grounding about working the dough with your fingers, shaping it, molding it—your hands know the rhythm of this dance well. You sprinkle flour across the table, working the dough slowly, savoring the texture, your hands moving in steady, practiced motions.

“Careful with that dough,” Seokjin pipes up from beside you, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t want you to get too kneady.” His pun hangs in the air, and you cringe, resisting the urge to groan as the cameraman swoops in, once again capturing his every move.

“That was so bad,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you divide the dough into six even portions. Each piece is dusted with flour, your hands working quickly, forming the dough into perfect rounds. A glance over at Seokjin reveals that he’s somehow ahead of you—some of his buns already resting, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knows exactly how much this irks you.

He chuckles, his voice low as he works his dough with casual ease. “You should watch yourself,” he teases, “or you’ll end up spread out like this dough.”

You stifle a groan, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you grab a baking tray, your movements quick and efficient as you line it with parchment paper. Carefully, you place your apple cinnamon buns down, spacing them out before covering them with a cloth, allowing the yeast to work its magic as they rise and puff up. Your eyes dart back to Seokjin’s station, and you can’t help but notice how far ahead he still is—his bench already wiped clean, his buns resting, as if he’s been playing this game for far too long.

But you remind yourself—it’s not about speed. It’s about the buns. And yours will be nothing short of perfect.

You glance at Seokjin again, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, and rush to clean your bench with hurried hands. His voice cuts through the noise, playful and sharp, “You keep staring at me like that, and I might think you’ve forgotten what we’re actually baking here,” he says, his laugh spilling out in waves—full-bodied and obnoxious, like a windshield wiper squeaking through a storm. God, how you hate it. That laugh grates on your nerves, scraping at the last of your patience.

With your bench spotless, there’s nothing left to do but wait. You cross your arms, eyes wandering, trying to ignore the anticipation that hums in the air. Jungkook is moving through the room, his voice soft but firm as he interviews the other contestants. You tune out Seokjin’s interview, determined not to let him rattle you, focusing instead on calming your breath. When it’s your turn, you speak with a quiet passion about your love for baking—how each year you come back, driven by the dream to win, just once, to finally claim the prize that has always been just out of reach.

The minutes trickle by, and after what feels like forever, you lift the cloth to reveal your buns, risen and perfect, their golden promise waiting to be fulfilled. Seokjin pulls the cloth off his buns at the same time, his voice dripping with mischief as he grins your way. “You really know how to get a rise out of me... or is that just the yeast talking?” His laughter fills the room again, and this time, it spreads like wildfire. You hear the other contestants chuckling behind you, and your stomach tightens with frustration. So lame. The joke was painfully lame, and yet they laugh as if he’s a comedy genius. You push forward, determined not to let him get under your skin. Brushing your buns with a delicate layer of egg wash, you sprinkle chunky sugar over the tops, watching it glisten in the light. The oven waits, hot and ready, and with practiced ease, you slide your tray inside. For a moment, you linger there, sitting in front of the oven like a camper before a flickering fire, watching as the buns slowly turn golden. You know this process well, the way the dough will puff and brown in exactly eleven minutes, and you double-check the timer, feeling a quiet confidence bloom in your chest.

When the timer beeps, you pull the buns from the oven, their perfect golden sheen filling you with a rush of pride. They look beautiful, warm and inviting, just as you’d imagined. To your right, Seokjin is already plating his buns with a flourish, his hands moving with an ease that makes you grit your teeth. You rush to do the same, arranging your apple and cinnamon creations with care, each one a testament to your skill.

The competition timer rings, and the tension in the room snaps like a wire pulled too tight. One by one, the contestants are called to present their work. When Seokjin’s turn comes, you can barely contain the roll of your eyes as the judges swoon over his pumpkin-shaped buns, praising his technique, his creativity. He stands there, soaking in their compliments with a smile so smug you can almost feel it radiating across the room. He eats it all up, every word, while you silently seethe, waiting for your moment.

And then, it’s your turn. You walk to the front, presenting your apple cinnamon buns with steady hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Christina and Taehyung inspect your work, and you hold your breath, but to your relief, their expressions soften into smiles. Compliments flow your way—no critique, no hesitation. They love the warmth, the balance of flavors. Satisfaction warms your chest, but you keep it inside, holding your victory close, knowing there’s still a long road ahead.

At the end of the round, a contestant is eliminated—a guy named Kwon, whose face you barely remember. Only eleven remain now. Ten more to beat.

The cameras finally stop rolling, the tension in the room easing as everyone begins to disperse. You head toward your room, eager to review your baking books, one of them authored by none other than Kim Taehyung himself. But just as you’re about to retreat into the quiet of your thoughts, you feel a hand on your arm. You turn, and there’s Seokjin, his smile sharper than before, his eyes glinting with something like challenge.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “Just remember, there’s only room for one winner here. But...” he pauses, his tone growing sweeter than honey, “I might let you take a bite of my victory… if you ask nicely.”

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to respond with the fire burning behind your eyes. Instead, you offer him a tight-lipped smile, letting your silence speak for you. You won’t let him win—not this time. Tomorrow, the real competition begins.

A good night’s sleep can cure almost anything—but not, it seems, the stubborn ache in your back. The new room may be a small upgrade from the first year, but the bed springs creak like old bones, refusing to offer even a whisper of comfort. You sigh, stretching your stiff limbs, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue. 

Yesterday’s competition left a flurry of emotions behind, but instead of retreating to your room, you spent time mingling with the other contestants, laughing, chatting, doing your best to dodge the dark-haired Seokjin whose presence you’ve come to despise. There are so many fresh faces this year, and a few familiar ones from the past—some that carry the weight of past victories. You’ve even found yourself thinking, more than once, that there should be a rule: once you win first place, you shouldn’t be allowed to enter again. Let someone else have a shot. Let you have a shot. It’s a wish that flickered through your conversations with the other women, murmured over cups of tea and shared frustrations. But rules are rules, and here you are—still in the shadow of Kim Seokjin. 

But not for long.

With newfound determination swelling in your chest, you stride down the grand staircase, each step echoing your resolve. The camera crew is already in place, their lenses trained and waiting for the drama to unfold. Not today. Today you won’t be sent home. You can feel it in your bones. You glide to your station, pointedly ignoring Seokjin’s casual wave and sugary smile—he won’t distract you, not this time. You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your focus sharp. Today, you’re here for one thing, and it’s not his attention.

The judges enter with a quiet authority that pulls everyone’s gaze. Taehyung, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, claps his hands together and greets the room in that deep, melodic voice of his. “Good morning, everyone! Today’s challenge is another easy one, yeah. We’re keeping it simple—cookies.”

Cheers ripple through the room from contestants behind you, their excitement palpable. But you know better. Cookies aren’t just cookies. There’s an art to simplicity, and you can’t afford to underestimate it. As Taehyung speaks, Christina steps forward, her voice soft but full of warmth. “You’ll be making two varieties of cookies. Six of each, so twelve in total. The flavors are up to you, but they need to complement each other,” she says with a gentle smile, her eyes scanning the room, lingering on the possibilities. 

Off to the side, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook—tall, tattooed, and sharp-eyed—ready to start the competition with his usual flair. Before he even has a chance to utter the word “bake,” your mind is already alive with ideas. Chocolate, orange zest, cinnamon, almonds—flavors begin to swirl together in your thoughts like sugar in a mixing bowl. Your hands itch to begin, your mind races, and your heart pounds with the thrill of creation.

This is your moment. You’ll make it count.

Before your mind has fully settled on a plan, your hands are already in motion—grabbing bowls, spoons, and flour the moment Jungkook’s voice announces the start. The familiar rhythm takes over, and you quickly turn the oven’s dial, ensuring it will be heated just in time for your dough’s transformation. Under the bench, you find a block of chocolate, its dark richness calling to you. With swift, practiced motions, you chop it into large, satisfying chunks, the knife’s steady rhythm keeping pace with your heartbeat. Chocolate chip cookies—simple, but timeless. Your grandmother’s recipe is legendary, the kind that lingers in memory, and you know it will speak for itself on the judges’ tongues.

Adding chopped almonds for texture, you blend the sticky dough, your hands moving as though by instinct. Soon, the dough is portioned out in neat mounds on parchment, each one promising gooey perfection. Into the oven they go, disappearing behind the hot glass, and already your mind is leaping ahead to the next batch. Orange zest, you decide—a bright, citrusy contrast to the chocolate, something both bold and nostalgic.

As you stir the second dough, the spoon moving lazily through the thickening batter, you catch sight of Jungkook and two cameramen gliding over to Jin’s station. You roll your eyes, already anticipating the onslaught of Reddit posts, memes, and fangirls swooning over whatever nonsense Jin is about to spout. No doubt, he’s ready to charm the cameras.

“So, Seokjin, what kind of cookies are you making? Just from the batter, they look really delicious,” Jungkook says, trying to sneak a taste from Jin’s mixing bowl like a kid caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m making candy cane cookies with vanilla, and a batch of chocolate peppermint crunch,” Seokjin replies smoothly, his voice practically dripping with the satisfaction of knowing all eyes are on him.

“Amazing! Can’t wait to taste,” Jungkook beams, while Seokjin slides his tray into the oven with a showman’s flourish. A burst of steam escapes as he shuts the door, and he turns to the cameras with that signature smirk of his. “Is it hot in here, or is it just the oven? Or maybe…” He pauses, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Maybe it’s just you?” 

You scoff, even though your gaze lingers on the scene longer than it should. That was painfully predictable, but no doubt, the fangirls will swoon. You shake your head, refusing to admit you’ve ever spent a moment browsing through Jin’s subreddit—no, not you.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, saunters over to your station just as you pull the first tray of cookies from the oven. The golden-brown chocolate chip beauties rest on the tray, and the smell of warm, melted chocolate fills the air. His eyes widen in anticipation, practically salivating. He reaches for one, but you gently swat his hand away, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “Careful,” you warn, “they’re hot—and there’s only six.”

Jungkook pouts, his lips forming a playful smile. “They look incredible,” he admits, his gaze still fixed on the cookies as though they were treasures freshly unearthed.

Before you can respond, Seokjin’s voice cuts through the moment from your right. “Looks like your cookies aren’t the only thing heating up in here,” he quips, his deep laugh filling the room—rich, unrestrained, and annoyingly confident.

You grit your teeth, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, unsure whether it’s from the oven’s warmth or Seokjin’s infuriating presence. His words swirl around in your mind, making your blood simmer, but you refuse to look his way. Not today. You won’t let him distract you. Not now.

Christina and Taehyung appear beside your bench like a pair of deities, their presence as magnetic as it is intimidating. Up close, Taehyung’s beauty is striking—flawless skin, eyes that seem to hold secrets, and a calm that makes your pulse race. You can feel beads of sweat gathering at your temples, heat rising not just from the oven, but from the thrill of standing before this legend. “What kind of texture are you aiming for in your cookies?” he asks, his voice rich and velvety as he watches you deftly portion the orange zest dough before sliding it into the oven.

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I’m going for crisp on the outside, soft and sweet in the center,” you say, cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Damn it. Get it together. You silently pray the blush on your face isn’t betraying you on national TV, even with the camera zoomed in on your every move.

A sudden, familiar laugh breaks your concentration—Seokjin. You glance over, and there he is, obnoxiously close, standing at your bench as though he owns the space. His broad shoulder nudges yours, his smirk devilish. And of course, he can’t resist. With a wink at the camera, he adds, “That’s just how I like my women.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his audacity. Is he really doing this right now? In front of the judges, in front of Taehyung? He’s hijacking your moment, stealing the spotlight you’ve worked so hard for—and making a joke at your expense. Your blood simmers.

“Go away, you jerk,” you mutter, shoving him back towards his own station, but the damage is done. You catch Taehyung and Christina exchanging glances—subtle, but there. You let out a sigh, feeling your frustration simmer just beneath the surface. Tackling Seokjin to the floor and giving him a piece of your mind sounds so tempting, but no. You rein yourself in, forcing a smile instead.

Seokjin, ever the provocateur, throws a wink at the camera and grins. “Impressed, Y/N. Not everyone can handle this much heat. Guess I’ll have to turn it up,” he says, his voice light but layered with something more. And as if to punctuate his words, you watch him out of the corner of your eye—he’s actually turning the heat on his oven higher. What on earth is he playing at? The hall feels warmer, sweat prickling your skin as the competition wears on. Is he talking about the ovens? The tension between you? Or the way he’s managed to catch up to you despite the chaos?

The cookies are nearly done, and you wipe your brow, wishing you’d made both batches at once instead of one after the other. Jin’s smugness only deepens when you realize he’s managed to bake both varieties simultaneously, and now, somehow, he’s neck-and-neck with you. Damn him.

With the final timer ringing out, you pull your cookies from the oven—golden, perfect. You carefully plate them, arranging them with precision. The judges make their way through the line of bakers, and soon it’s your turn. Walking up to the front, your heart pounds, but the praise that follows is worth every ounce of effort. Even if they’re ‘simple’ as Christina put it, the execution is flawless. You let out a quiet breath of relief, but before you can celebrate, Jungkook swoops in and steals a cookie right from Taehyung’s hand. The whole room erupts in laughter, and for a moment, the tension breaks.

Seokjin, of course, gets his perfect feedback too. Not that you’re surprised. The two of you are safe for another day, though as the announcement rings out, your heart sinks a little—Eun, one of the kind women you chatted with yesterday, is the one sent home. As she leaves, the weight of the competition presses down on you. Eight more people stand between you and victory, and among them, the one person you refuse to lose to—Seokjin.

The next two days blur together, a whirlwind of meringues and bread dough, flour dusting every surface like snow, batter splattered across your bench. Somehow, by grace or sheer luck, you’ve managed to hold your place in the competition. Now it’s the second week, day five, and the pressure is palpable—only seven of you remain, each step closer to the edge, and everyone is fighting harder, knowing the next misstep could mean elimination.

As you descend the grand staircase, the tension in the air feels heavier than before. You’re the last to arrive, the others already poised at their stations, judges watching with eagle-eyed precision. When you reach your bench, something catches your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hangs conspicuously in the center aisle, like a trap waiting to spring. You make a mental note to steer clear of that festive lure, no time for distractions, no matter how innocent.

Christina’s voice rings out, warm and inviting. “Today, you’ll be baking pies! Crisp edges, soft centers, and a filling that sings of the season.” Her smile is comforting, but Taehyung’s nod is all business, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “The filling is your choice, sweet or savory, but it must be in line with the spirit of Christmas,” he adds, his deep voice resonating in the hall like the toll of a bell.

You nod, the vision of your pie already clear in your mind—a memory-laden apple-pear lattice pie, passed down from your grandmother. The tart bite of apples softened by the sweetness of ripe pears, all tucked beneath a delicate lattice crust dusted with sugar. Nostalgia and tradition baked into every bite. You know this pie by heart—it’s your connection to the holidays, the warmth of home wrapped in pastry.

As soon as Jungkook announces the start, your hands move with purpose. You reach for the flour, the butter, the cold water—crafting the crust that will hold your memories together. Focused, you’re already mixing the dough when Jungkook’s voice cuts through the air. “Notice anything new?” he chuckles, pointing to the mistletoe overhead, “A little extra something to trip you up—or maybe bring you some luck!”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his playful tease. You didn’t come here for kisses or games. Your eyes flick to Seokjin, who’s snickering under his breath, ever the one to play along. But you push the sound of his laughter away, focus sharpening like a knife’s edge. He won’t trip you up this time—not with jokes, not with smiles. Your hands work swiftly, shaping the dough into something beautiful, knowing that every moment counts in this relentless competition.

No matter what mischief brews beneath the mistletoe, your eyes are on the prize.

As Jungkook drifts behind you, interviewing the contestants in low, animated tones, you’re relieved for the momentary quiet, allowing you to pour your full attention into the pie crust. This is where it all begins—the delicate balance between flour, butter, and water must be perfect. The crust is the foundation, the soul of the pie. You flick on the oven, feeling the heat radiate in waves, and start toward the supply table to grab a mold. But before you make it halfway down the aisle, you slam right into a solid wall of warmth. Seokjin.

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You sidestep to go around him, but Seokjin clears his throat, and you feel the annoyance bubble up inside you. You glance up at him, your lips tight. “What?” The word slips out sharper than you intended, but your patience is wearing thin.

He doesn’t respond at first, just raises a finger to point above your heads. You follow his gaze—mistletoe. Of course. The sight drains the color from your face. The mistletoe hangs above you like a mischievous sprite, and your heart drops into your stomach. No. Not with Seokjin.

“I’m not kissing you,” you hiss, crossing your arms defensively, feeling a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. The growing number of cameramen hovering around doesn’t help. You can practically feel their lenses zooming in, capturing every moment of your horror.

Seokjin’s smirk grows, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s tradition,” he says, his tone infuriatingly playful. “Don’t you believe in tradition?” His eyebrow quirks, daring you.

Damn Seokjin and his ridiculous smirk. You grit your teeth, a storm brewing in your chest. “Fine!” you snap, voice tight with frustration. With a huff, you step up onto your tiptoes, grab his annoyingly perfect face with flour-dusted hands, and plant a quick, perfunctory kiss on his lips. A fleeting touch—just enough to meet the demands of tradition, nothing more, nothing less. But the moment your lips brush against his, something stirs inside you, unbidden and unexpected. You pull away like you’ve been burned, cheeks blazing scarlet, heart racing as if you’d sprinted a mile. The cameras catch it all, zooming in on the moment—your moment with Seokjin, under the damn mistletoe. Your mother is probably watching this unfold, and you already dread the mountain of messages awaiting you back in your room. And Seokjin’s subreddit? You can only imagine the wildfire of jealousy that’ll sweep through it.

Mortified, you dart past him, heading for the pie mold like it’s the only lifeline left. Behind you, Seokjin chuckles, completely unaffected, while you feel like the floor might as well swallow you whole.

You slam the mold down on your bench, your body still buzzing with the embarrassment of it all. In a haze of frustration, you glance over at Seokjin’s bench. The idea forms before you even register what you’re doing. With a swift motion, you turn the dial on his oven a notch higher, a small, petty act of vengeance. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop messing with you.

“If you wanted me under the mistletoe, you didn’t have to bump into me, you know,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, teasing, unbothered. Before he gets back to his station, you’re already back to yours as if nothing happened.

Your fingers move automatically, rolling out the dough with steady precision despite the flutter of irritation still coursing through you. You lay the crust in the pie tin, pressing it gently into place, trying to focus on the task at hand. As you slide it into the oven for a quick pre-bake, your gaze drifts to Seokjin. He’s melting chocolate at his bench, completely at ease, while you’re still trying to get your heart to stop racing.

What the hell is he baking? You wonder, shaking your head. But whatever it is, it better not be good enough to outshine your pie.

Taehyung and Christina make their way around the room, their presence like an elegant breeze passing through the charged atmosphere. When they reach Seokjin’s station, Taehyung flashes his signature boxy smile, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “So, what are you baking today, Seokjin?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.

Seokjin grins, the kind of smile that holds a touch of mischief. “I’m making a Mississippi Mud Pie,” he declares proudly, his tone thick with confidence, as if he’s already envisioning the applause.

“Interesting choice,” Taehyung remarks, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “I hope you manage to keep that pudding silky smooth.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in playful encouragement.

Seokjin nods with a flash of determination before turning back to his task, while you continue preparing the glaze for your apples and pears, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’s making something as bold and obnoxious as a Mississippi Mud Pie. Always grandiose, always showy. You stifle a smirk and push forward, focused on your own pie. 

With nimble fingers, you weave the lattice atop your tart, dusting it generously with chunky sugar crystals before sliding it into the oven. The warmth of baking apples and pears is already beginning to dance in the air, a comforting scent that feels like Christmas itself. You glance over just as Seokjin slides his pie into his oven, and the question tickles the back of your mind—did he even notice the temperature? 

“I thought Christmas was all about giving,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, snapping you from your thoughts. “How about giving me a break and stop staring like that?” There’s a teasing edge in his tone, and for a moment, you falter. Had you been staring? Damn it. You avert your eyes quickly, but the truth is, you’re curious to see what havoc that tampered oven might wreak on his precious pie.

Time slips by, and as you clean your station, a faint smell begins to curl through the air—something acrid, something burnt. You can’t help the small, wicked smile tugging at your lips. It’s coming from his bench.

Before you can enjoy the moment, Jungkook materializes in front of Seokjin, all wide-eyed and concerned. “Uh, Seokjin... I think your oven might be burning something.”

Seokjin waves him off with the casual arrogance of someone who never second-guesses his skills. “No, no, it’s fine,” he says confidently, but Jungkook pushes further.

“Just check it, mate.”

Finally, Seokjin opens the oven door, and a thick cloud of scorching hot air bursts forth, like an accusation made of smoke. His expression falters. “Shit!” he exclaims as he rushes to pull out the pie, his face darkening with frustration. It’s burnt—not ruined entirely, but the edges are crisped more than they should be. You bite back a laugh, wishing it had turned to charcoal.

His gaze snaps toward you, sharp and piercing, like he knows exactly who’s behind this little mishap. “Well, well,” he smirks, eyes glinting. “Looks like someone’s been naughty instead of nice, messing with my oven temperature just to throw me off.”

You blink innocently, batting your eyelashes as you offer him your best impression of sincerity. “I’m so sorry,” you say, voice dripping with faux sweetness. Both of you know the truth—it’s anything but an apology—but you can’t help but find this moment deliciously funny.

Seokjin chuckles, the sound rich and unbothered as he begins to assemble the other components of his pie. “Oh, I get it now. Sabotage me, burn my pie, and then you try to sweet-talk your way out of it?” His words are playful, but there’s an undercurrent of challenge beneath his voice.

You turn back to your own creation just in time to pull your pie from the oven, golden and perfect. The scent of apples and pears wafts toward you, warm and inviting, and you feel a surge of pride. Perfect. 

Seokjin isn’t done yet. “Nice try, though,” he says, not missing a beat. “Your little ‘sabotage’ just makes me want to beat you even more.” Then, with a glint in his eye and a smirk playing on his lips, he leans in slightly. “Maybe even taste what you’ve got cooking.”

Your breath catches for just a second, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected flirtation. Did he just say what you think he did? 

You quickly shake it off, focusing back on your flawless pie, hoping that his burnt crust might just seal his fate. But fate isn’t that kind, and as the day’s competition ends, Seokjin survives. Someone else, with a pie more disastrous than his, is sent home. You’re both safe for another day, and as you walk back to your bench, you can’t help but feel both triumphant and a little unnerved. 

This isn’t over.

It’s the third week, the seventh day, and you’re already halfway through the competition. You stand at your bench, hands clasped gently in front of you, fingertips brushing and fidgeting, a small effort to calm your jittering nerves. Why you’re nervous is beyond you—yet there it is, that flutter, pressing into your chest. 

Across the room, Taehyung, Christina, and Jungkook step up to the judges’ bench, their faces alight with matching mischievous grins. An ominous spark flickers in their eyes, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. Whatever’s coming won’t be easy. Jungkook claps his hands together, a low, resonant sound that carries across the hall, his eyes sweeping over each of you.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greets, his voice cheerful and commanding. “I hope you’ve all rested well, because today, you’ll be making—sourdough bread!”

The words hit you like a chill down your spine. Sourdough, of all things! Your breath catches in a gasp; you’ve made sourdough before, but never with a timer breathing down your neck. The very essence of sourdough is its patience, its slow, careful fermentation. 

Before the panic can take hold, Jungkook flashes a grin, his bunny teeth peeking out as he adds, “Luckily for you all, Taehyung has prepared a batch of sourdough starter so you can skip the fermentation process.”

Relief trickles through you, the tension easing in your shoulders. A starter made by the Kim Taehyung himself—a legendary boost if ever there was one.

“All you need to do is turn it into a flavorful bread of your own design,” Christina chimes in with her warm, encouraging smile.

Taehyung nods, his voice soft yet firm. “But don’t forget—this is a Christmas competition. Bring those holiday flavors to life.”

With the judges’ call to begin, you spring into action, finding the precious sourdough starter tucked neatly under your bench. As you run through flavor ideas, one combination settles in your mind—walnuts and cinnamon. Yes, you think, a spiced walnut bread sounds just right. Your hands move almost of their own accord, gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, oil, walnuts. You fire up the mixer, combining everything with precision, your gaze flickering momentarily to your right. Seokjin, just as focused, seems to be neck-and-neck with you. You quickly turn away, determined to keep your attention on your dough. Yet as you slide the mix out of the bowl and start kneading, a creeping dread begins to gnaw at you. The dough doesn’t feel right; instead of that soft, slightly sticky texture, it’s dense and tough, refusing to yield beneath your palms. 

Your heart skips a beat. Damn. Something’s off. You must have slipped up somewhere with the ratios. You press on, kneading harder, trying to bring life to this obstinate mass, hoping a little coaxing will do the trick. 

But then you hear a soft chuckle from beside you. Seokjin, watching with a gleam in his eye, can’t resist the jab. “I hope you’re better at making out than you are at making dough,” he quips, his tone light yet cutting. “Because, judging by that disaster, you’ll need something to make up for it.”

Your blood boils, cheeks flushed with irritation. He has no idea what kind of kiss he missed under that mistletoe, when he only got a peak. His smirk grows as he turns back to his own bread, perfectly unbothered, and you clench your teeth. If he thinks he’s seen the last of your kitchen skills, he’s in for a surprise.

Focus, you tell yourself, hands pressing into the dough with renewed intensity. If anything, his teasing will only push you to rise—just like this stubborn dough is about to.

You knead the dough with an intensity that borders on frustration, each push and twist a quiet vent for the anger bubbling beneath the surface. The dough yields under your hands as you work it harder, almost punching it into shape. Suddenly, Jungkook appears by your bench, his brows furrowed as he takes in your struggle.

“Trouble?” he asks softly, voice edged with concern. You’re too caught up, too irritated to even answer, so you only grunt in response, lifting the stubborn dough and shoving it back into the mixer. A splash of water might save it, you hope, and you watch the machine turn, willing it to obey.

Jungkook and the camera crew linger a moment longer, their lenses capturing every sigh and furrowed brow, then slowly drift down the line toward Seokjin. The camera’s absence leaves a little more space to breathe, but as you finally check the dough, your heart sinks. It’s too sticky now, clinging uncomfortably to your fingers, almost mocking your efforts. Damn it. 

With no time to start over, you grab the flour, dusting it like a lifeline as you fold and press, trying to bring it back from the brink. Gradually, with each turn of the dough, it begins to take on the consistency you need. Relief washes over you as you shape it, finally, into the pan and slip it into the oven. You bend and arch your back to set it carefully on the rack, breathing out a sigh, satisfied at last.  

“Damn, Y/N—if you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a better job than the oven right now.” Seokjin’s voice floats from your right, low and casual, but with a playful glint.

Your mouth drops open before you can stop it, caught off guard as his words settle over you. Did he really just make a sexual comment about my body—right here, on national TV? Anger mixes with embarrassment, but with the cameras still lurking, you only manage a scowl and a sharp roll of your eyes. He grins in response, clearly enjoying your reaction.

When the oven timer finally dings, you take a steadying breath and pull the bread from the heat. It’s risen beautifully, with a golden crust that promises all the flavor and fluff you’d hoped for. But the moment you start to slice into it, dread tugs at you. The knife cuts clean through with too much resistance—too easily. You pull the loaf apart, and your stomach drops. No airy holes, no soft webbing—just a dense, compact mass. 

Damn it all. 

Your heart sinks as you stare at the thick slice, the reality settling in.

Fuck.

You let the knife slip from your fingers, a dull clatter as it meets the tabletop, and you sink to the floor, unable to hold back the weight that’s been pressing on you all day. Tears blur your vision, slipping down your cheeks as silent sobs shake you, and you curse the cameras that have flocked to capture every moment of your breaking. You hate that they’re filming this—that you’ve sacrificed an entire December, each day on display, competing beside someone you’d rather avoid. 

Just then, a gentle hand rests on your back, tracing soft, steady circles that ease the storm a little. Surprised, you look up to see Seokjin crouched beside you, his face soft with a kindness you didn’t expect.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his gaze moving from your dismal bread to meet your tear-streaked face. “I’m sure it still tastes good. And remember—that’s what matters most.”

You blink up at him, catching his eyes for what feels like the first time. Have they always been this warm, this deep? Rich shades of caramel that seem to melt right through you, gentle but somehow grounding. Your chest tightens as something new stirs, fragile and unfamiliar, even as you brush the tears from your cheeks. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t tease, just holds you there in the quiet of his presence.

Your heart hitches, and you take a deep, unsteady breath. He’s right. Taste is what matters most, you tell yourself, though you know the truth—that texture, that mouthfeel, plays an equal role. But he seems so sure, and you let that comfort settle in for a moment before he gives you a last reassuring nod and returns to his station. You rise, still shaken, hoping someone else fumbled more than you did. In the end, it’s Leah who leaves, but that close call leaves a tremor in your chest that keeps you restless long after the day ends.

Sleep evades you that night, leaving you tossing beneath the weight of everything that happened. You can’t stop replaying that disaster on national TV, the sourdough fiasco, your tears on display. Dread tightens your stomach, the idea of what Instagram or Reddit might be saying about your meltdown twisting your mind in knots. You don’t want to know what people think, how foolish you looked. And then there’s Seokjin, adding to the confusion.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since that kiss under the mistletoe, as fleeting as it was. His lips were warm, soft as clouds, and that one moment had left you breathless. And yesterday, instead of pushing you with his usual banter, he was gentle, almost... tender. It’s left your heart skipping, the memory of his face, his touch, stirring something unnamed and unsettling.

Is he just being nice, or is there something more? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. Maybe this is just his tactic, trying to throw you off your game, to make you lose your focus so he can swoop in and claim victory. But as you lie there in the dark, his kindness replays over and over, leaving you uncertain. Something’s shifting inside you, something you can’t quite grasp yet—and whatever it is, you can’t afford to acknowledge it now. Not when you still have a competition to win. 

Exhausted but determined, you stand at your bench on this eighth day of the competition, avoiding even a glance in Seokjin’s direction. Just the thought of him, of how good he must look, sends your stomach into a whirl.

“Boy, have we got something special for you today!” Jungkook announces, his grin wide and electric. Taehyung chuckles, adding, “It’s team challenge day!”

Your heart sinks. You’ve dreaded this day since the start, hoping for the luck of a decent partner, as you had in past seasons. But as the names are read off, fate delivers the unexpected.

“You and Seokjin,” Christina calls, her voice carrying a mischievous note as your eyes meet Seokjin’s. There he stands, dark hair framing a face that’s far too perfect. He smiles, and your heartbeat quickens, rebelling against every ounce of sense you’re trying to hold on to.

“Do you want to know what you’ll be making today?” Christina beams.

The room’s voices echo in eager agreement—all except yours. You’re rooted to the spot, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Seokjin’s shoulder, aware of every traitorous thump of your heart.

“You’ll be making gingerbread houses!” Taehyung laughs, a spark of holiday pride lighting up his face. “We can’t wait to see your creativity—and bring that warm, familiar taste of home to life.”

The start bell chimes, and you and Seokjin exchange a nod before quickly settling on your plan: simple but elegant. As he dives into mixing the dough, you turn your focus to the sugar glaze and icings, choosing Christmas colors—red, green, and white. You work side by side, silent but close, the unspoken tension filling every touch and glance. Whenever your shoulders brush, heat flares up your neck, and you can only hope the cameras don’t catch it.

Then, in a moment of calculated ease, he leans in close, his shoulder pressing against yours. “See, I don’t need mistletoe to get you right where I want you,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You’re not sure if he’s talking about the gingerbread or something else entirely, but your cheeks flush, and the world narrows down to the steady beat of your pulse. Words escape you, leaving you flustered, almost dizzy, as you help him press the dough into shape, trying desperately to calm the storm he’s stirring within you.

He turns his head just enough to lean closer, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending an electric shiver down your spine. His voice, low and edged with something you can’t quite decipher, murmurs, “I can’t tell if this tension is from the competition… or just from you being this close.”

A hard swallow catches in your throat, and suddenly the room feels far too warm. Damn him for making you lose focus like this.

You manage to cut the dough into its final shapes, sliding them into the oven to bake. As they brown, you check on the icing, spooning through the white, glossy peaks to make sure it’s the right consistency.

“What do you think of this texture?” you ask, holding the spoon high as the icing drips, thick and slow.

His gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long. “Thick and creamy, just how we like it,” he replies, a smirk pulling at his lips. A wink flashes your way, and your face flushes hot. Thick and creamy. You banish the unbidden images forming in your mind, inwardly scolding yourself to get back on track.

When the cookies finish baking, you and Seokjin move in tandem, retrieving the trays and setting the cookies on racks to cool. Golden brown and perfectly crisp, they gleam in the warm light. “They look perfect,” you say, smiling, and Seokjin nods in agreement, arranging the pieces with careful precision.

With the cooling underway, he whips up a fresh batch of icing, the new bowl of white peaks tempting you. “Mind if I taste it?” you ask, reaching toward the bowl. “Just to make sure the sugar’s balanced?”

He raises an eyebrow, offering the spoon. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, tone laced with mischief. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you find yourself craving more.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air, and your pulse races, a current of anticipation tightening your chest. You take a taste, licking the spoon, but a little too quickly; icing slips over your lip and trails down your chin.

His eyes darken as he watches. “I must say,” he says softly, his smile curling with intrigue, “you look pretty with liquid dripping down your chin.”

Your cheeks burn, and something inside you clenches unexpectedly. The heat rising within you is almost too much to bear, and for a second, all you want to do is escape his gaze, escape this overwhelming feeling—run, hide, anything. But no, you won’t back down now. Not today.

Why the fuck are you getting turned on right now?

You shove your dirty thoughts aside, convincing yourself he couldn’t have meant anything suggestive. This is the competition, after all—focus. You set to icing the cookies, carefully piping along the edges as Seokjin holds each piece of the gingerbread house steady.

“You’ve got a real talent with that icing…” he murmurs, voice thick with suggestion. He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want to see how good I am at licking it off?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your voice escapes in a half-choked laugh, “No!” Yet you’re left wondering—did he really mean just the cookies? Your heart races, and by now, you must be as red as a ripe apple.

Seokjin leans in, his shoulder brushing yours, eyes glinting playfully. “Better let me handle this,” he whispers, “unless… you’d rather things get a bit messy.”

The closeness is dizzying, and a startled cough escapes you just as Jungkook wanders over, asking if you’re alright. You manage a nod, praying for the day to end so you can escape this charged atmosphere, your flustered nerves, and his honey-laced teasing.

You glance up to find Seokjin’s gaze locked on you, his eyes dark and glinting. “Keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs low, “and I might just let you have a taste of my frosting.”

A jolt shivers down your spine, heat pooling in your cheeks—and elsewhere, much to your horror. You exhale shakily, fingers trembling as you finish icing the final wall of the gingerbread house, praying for the cameras to cut so you can flee.

Finally, the house stands complete, a festive masterpiece that brings a surge of pride and relief. With a quiet thank-you to the heavens that you’ve made it through the day, you’re spared elimination. The moment filming ends, you bolt from the hall, the steady beat of your heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

Reaching your room, you swing the door open, craving solitude. But just as you go to close it, a hand stops the door, and a familiar foot wedges into the gap, preventing your escape. Seokjin appears in the doorway, his presence filling the room as he nudges the door open. You turn, surprised, meeting his gaze as he scans your face, concern softening his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low and gentle, and you catch a hint of genuine worry. 

“Y-yeah,” you manage, feeling your pulse skip. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in this moment. He steps forward, his gaze drifting around your room, but you instinctively retreat until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs. Caught between him and your own mounting desire, you feel strangely exhilarated, breaths uneven as anticipation rushes through you.

“You just seem…” His voice trails off as he draws nearer, his eyes tracing your features, “a bit… out of sorts.”

You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but his intuition sees right through you. “I’m… I—” You start to speak, but words falter. Say the truth, or shield it?

His eyes narrow slightly, his voice dipping into a whisper. “You’re a little… wet, aren’t you?” The question drips with suggestion, and heat floods your cheeks. Your breath catches, and he smiles knowingly—Seokjin has never been one to miss a tell. 

He’s so close now, his scent, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses. His lashes flutter as he leans in, and for a breathless second, your eyes lock. Without thought, driven by the longing pounding in your chest, you reach for his face, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss that’s anything but tentative. It’s intense, melting away whatever barriers you held, a wordless confession pressed from your lips to his. You lean into him, drawn, tethered by an undeniable need.

When you finally part, his dark eyes are fixed on you, filled with astonished heat. “Princess,” he murmurs, voice husky, “do you really want this?” He searches your face, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“I do,” you whisper, your voice raw with desire, “I don’t know why… but I need you, right now.” Your own need sounds urgent in the quiet of the room, and his gaze flickers, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls you close once more. 

You pull him close, kissing him deeply, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere, his warmth mingling with yours. Your hands trace the lines of his body, and he lets out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Well, princess is in a rush,” he murmurs, a teasing smile playing on his lips. You can’t help but giggle—he’s always had that look, one that riles and draws you in. His beauty, so effortless, had once made him feel like a thorn in your side. His charms seemed unfair, his confidence so maddening. But now, in his arms, all of that melts away; there’s no room for anything but this want, this anticipation.

“Call me that again,” you say, breathless. “I like it.”

“Princess,” he breathes, voice low and laced with desire. Your hands glide lower, feeling him pressed against you, hard and wanting. You bite your lip as you savor his reaction, and he smirks, lifting a hand to brush your cheek, before leaning close to press a kiss on your forehead, soft and unexpectedly tender.

“Let me taste your cream,” he whispers, eyes dark with mischief and longing.

A laugh bubbles up from you. “Really, Seokjin? Is that your best line?”

He chuckles, his gaze unwavering. “I’m serious. I’ve wanted you since we set foot in this castle.”

The admission catches you off-guard, your heart skipping as you meet his gaze, feeling that familiar, disarming warmth. “Wait… Since the start of the competition?”

He shakes his head, voice dipping to a whisper. “No. Since the moment I first saw you.”

His eyes, rich with longing, hold you captive. Corny as it is, it’s so him, and there’s something so undeniably real in the way he looks at you that you’re left breathless. 

“You mean it?” you murmur, still stunned, but unable to resist his pull.

He answers only by lowering you back onto the bed, his touch gentle, yet urgent, and you sink into the softness beneath, wondering if somehow, in his presence, everything feels warmer, softer, more alive.

Seokjin gazes down at you, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, infuriating smirk. “Oh, I know you’ve felt this too. The way you look at me says it all.”

Your lips curl in defiance, though your pulse betrays you, hammering under his gaze. “I looked because I thought you were ridiculous—and infuriating,” you murmur, heart skipping as he leans closer, closing the last sliver of space. 

“Yet here we are, and still… you want me,” he breathes, his words brushing your lips just before they meet. His kiss is deep, a slow surrender, and you moan softly, hands curling over his broad shoulders as though anchoring him there. Your kiss is hungry, desperate, as though he might vanish, and when he pulls back, you laugh breathlessly, “Yes, alright, I want you—even if you’ve been an ass.”

He grins, all smug satisfaction. “I do have a good ass, and so do you might I add.” His gaze glints mischievously as he traces a line down your body, catching the edge of your pants and slipping them down your legs. “Let’s take a proper look, shall we?”

The fabric slides away, leaving you in a sliver of lace. He inhales sharply, admiring the delicate pink, and you can feel his gaze linger as he teases, “Pretty soaked for someone who’s supposedly annoyed with me.” His hand hovers, like he’s savoring the moment, his voice low. “What would I find, I wonder?” 

Breathless, you lift your hips, letting him pull the last barrier away. His smile softens as he takes you in. “Oh, princess,” he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation, “you’re glistening. Like a rare gem.”

Heat pools in your cheeks, heart pounding at his words. No one’s ever looked at you like this, and he senses your shy retreat, gently catching your arm before you can shield your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he whispers, pressing a warm kiss to your wrist. “It’s just you being beautiful. Let me see you.”

Then he’s there, lips trailing down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a fire in their wake. You feel your body hum in anticipation, every nerve aware, waiting.

“Don’t tease me,” you murmur, fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging gently. 

He looks up, a satisfied glint in his eye, the corner of his lips lifting. “Oh, but I’m going to. Because this moment, with you… I want to savor it.”

Slowly, he draws closer, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin, his gaze heavy with intention. The first ghost of his lips on your pussy sends a shiver through you, drawing out a helpless moan. Instinctively, you arch toward him, craving more, but his hands are there, steadying your hips, holding you in place with gentle strength.

Then, his mouth descends, and the first touch of his tongue on your clit sends you spiraling. He moves with a softness and rhythm that leaves you breathless, and when he begins to press his tongue in slow, unyielding circles, a molten heat spreads through you, curling your toes. Each movement feels like a practiced art, his mouth relentless as he savors you, tasting every bit of your arousal with unhurried devotion. The pressure builds inside you, your breaths quickening, pulse pounding.

Your fingers clench in his hair as you gasp, “God, I’m already so close… How are you this good?”

He says nothing, only hums in response, and the low vibration nearly sends you over the edge. He keeps working, drinking you in, savoring every quiver and moan that slips from your lips. You can feel yourself cresting, a torrent of sensation washing over you as you tighten your grip, and he knows—you’re almost there, and he’s right there with you, groaning in satisfaction as he tastes every pulse of pleasure.

The release is all-consuming, a rush that lifts you, dizzies you, blurs the edges of the world. You’re floating, flying, a haze of pure sensation that fades only when you’re utterly spent.

You meet his gaze, dazed, and whisper, “Let me taste you too.” He smiles, standing to pull down his pants and underwear, and you sit up, eyes widening as he’s revealed, long and thick, every inch of him somehow as beautiful as the rest. You slide to your knees, your palms pressing into his hips as you look up at him, your lips parting. With one hand, you wrap around him, earning a sharp hiss as you bring your mouth to him. You start with the barest of kisses at his tip, savoring the salt and warmth of him, a hum of pleasure escaping your lips. His moan deepens, and you smile, swirling your tongue over him with languid strokes, focusing on every place that draws out his breaths and soft curses.

His eyes darken, his breathing growing ragged, and you feel the tension between you deepen, pulsing in rhythm with every touch. You want to make him feel everything he just gave you, and as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you know that the night is only beginning.

He’s breathless now, each exhale a shiver against your skin as you take him deeper, letting his pleasure guide your every move. His fingers rest in your hair, gentle but firm, grounding him as he struggles to hold back a moan. His voice is rough, ragged as he stutters, “Engh—princess…so good with that tongue.”

You glance up, catching his gaze, and hold it with a mischievous spark. In that moment, you give him a slow, deep pull that has his eyes fluttering shut, a strangled groan slipping free. Encouraged, your hand finds its way to his balls, caressing, and you revel in every new sound he makes—each one sending warmth surging through you, building your own need.

But just as he seems ready to let go, he stills your movements, framing your cheeks with both hands as he catches his breath. His thumb traces your skin, his eyes darkened with desire, and he breathes, “You’re incredible, princess, but…I need to be inside you.” 

He hesitates, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I don’t have a condom—do you?”

You pull back, a glistening thread connecting you for a moment before you smile, whispering, “It’s okay. I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” A small laugh escapes you as you add, “Besides, this wasn’t exactly on my itinerary for tonight.”

Relief softens his features, and he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further as he laughs with you. “Same here. And I’m clean too.” Then, without another word, he gently lifts the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until it catches briefly in your hair, pulling you both into a shared, breathless laugh as it’s tossed to the floor.

For a moment, he just gazes at you, taking in every curve, every rise and fall of your breath. His hands slide behind you, unhooking your bra, and as it slips away, his gaze drinks you in. “You’re…beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft with reverence, as though seeing you like this has stripped him of words.

You arch into him, and he cups you, his hands warm and reverent, kneading your skin with a tenderness that has your heart thudding. His fingers trace slow, teasing lines down to the soft, sensitive peaks, barely grazing them, sending delicious shivers racing through you. A moan slips past your lips, urging him on, and you feel his lips close over one, hot and soft, his tongue swirling in ways that leave you trembling. He alternates, his other hand grazing, then gently pinching, teasing out sparks of pleasure that arch through your body.

“Jin—oh god, it’s…” you gasp, but words fail as his mouth closes over your other peak, his hand tenderly attending to the first, each touch adding fuel to the fire raging between you.

He lifts his head, lips parting with a quiet sound as he whispers, “Good?”

“More than good,” you breathe, feeling yourself melt under his touch.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, so close it’s dizzying—but just as you reach for it, he pulls away. A fleeting pout crosses your face, only to be replaced by awe as he sheds his shirt, and god, he looks like a masterpiece. The warm glow of his skin, rich and golden, calls to you; the strong line of his shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist, and below that, his cock—full, hard, and yours to claim. The thought alone makes your pulse race. Every bit of him leaves you breathless, and suddenly, there’s nothing you want more than to feel all of him.

He leans over, guiding you down, covering you in gentle, feverish kisses that send giggles tumbling out between your sighs. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, his dick grazing against your thigh, and your pussy throbs in answer, sending shivers radiating out from your core.

“I want you, Jin,” you whisper, offering yourself to him, fully and freely.

“Oh, I want you too, princess,” he murmurs back, the words a caress against your collarbone as he trails his lips up to your cheek. Slowly, he guides himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully. His voice softens, “Ready?”

You bite your lip and nod, heart pounding, as he begins to ease into you. You feel every inch as he stretches you, filling you so deeply that it borders on overwhelming. You hadn’t prepared yourself, a detail you remember only now, and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, searching your face.

You chuckle, half-apologetic, “I forgot to prep. It’s…been a while, but keep going.” Despite his hesitation, you nod reassuringly, opening yourself to him fully. He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, and with a final glance for confirmation, he presses deeper, sliding into you with a controlled tenderness. The ache as he stretches you only heightens the pleasure, a sensation that grounds you in the here and now, and you find yourself craving even more, wanting him to lose himself with you.

“You’re so tight,” he rasps, still pressing in, his breathing labored.

A shaky laugh escapes you. “I did say it’s been a while. You’re so big—I think you’re almost splitting me in two.”

A chuckle slips from his lips as he strains to control himself, stilling inside you. “Oh? Now you’re joking?” he asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

“Maybe a little,” you whisper, breathless, “but it does feel incredible.” 

Finally, he’s fully seated within you, filling you completely. He takes a moment, his breathing uneven as he absorbs the sensation, and then he begins to move, a slow, intoxicating rhythm that has you clutching at his shoulders. Each glide ignites sparks that streak down your spine, stars already dancing before your eyes. Your toes curl, and that familiar knot tightens low in your stomach, winding tighter with every thrust, unraveling your senses until you’re completely, blissfully lost in him.

His whispered, “Fuck,” is thick with pleasure, a low groan as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, catching the dim light. He hovers over you, breath warm against your skin, hands planted firmly on either side of your head, grounding you in his intensity. He moves slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, unhurried, yet powerful, the rhythm coaxing cries of pleasure from deep within you as his body presses into yours.

“Seokjin,” you pant, voice trembling, each syllable tangled with need.

“Princess,” he echoes, a rough murmur that makes your body pulse in response, clenching around him. He falters, groaning at the sensation, and his eyes darken as he slides his hand beneath your thigh, lifting it to rest over his shoulder. The change is immediate; he fills you even deeper, his movements reaching an intensity that makes every nerve sing. The new angle has you gasping, clinging to him as he strikes that perfect spot, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.

“Right there!” you cry, vision spotting, as he picks up the pace, his breaths sharp and stuttering. Your whole body is alight, toes curling, heart pounding, the pleasure mounting too quickly to contain. He grins as he watches your desperation, his hand dipping between you to find your swollen clit, fingers circling and pressing, amplifying every sensation. You’re drenched, his fingers slipping over you easily, driving you higher as your breath hitches, your body shuddering, head thrown back as the climax crashes over you. His name escapes your lips, a cry filled with release, as you feel yourself clench tight around him.

You open your eyes to his face, gorgeous and utterly captivated, his gaze locked onto you, stunned and transfixed. “You…damn, that was beautiful,” he rasps, still circling your sensitive flesh as your body trembles in the aftermath. His own body tightens, breaths quickening, and he leans closer, groaning your name as he thrusts deep, finding his own release. A final shudder ripples through him, and he lets out a sound of your name you’ll remember, deep and raw, filling you with warmth.

As he pulls back, breath heavy, he reaches to sweep a damp hand through his hair. “That…that was amazing,” he murmurs, grinning, his face flushed and bright.

You can’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping, “I agree.”

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he whispers, tenderly withdrawing as he reaches for a cloth, gentle as his hands linger. You lie there, chest heaving, slowly returning from the edge, the two of you savoring the haze of satisfaction between you. You’d just shared something unforgettable with Seokjin, the man you once called an enemy—but now, that feels like another lifetime away.

Morning’s first light glows softly against the frost-covered castle walls as you step outside with a steaming cup of tea, hoping the chill might clear your mind. The steam from your cup swirls like a small, fleeting cloud in the crisp winter air, mingling with your breath as you stroll along the snow-dusted path. Massive evergreens stand cloaked in fresh powder, their branches heavy with snow, while the castle behind you sparkles with delicate strands of Christmas lights that flicker with a nostalgic warmth. The decor, the quiet beauty—it all fills the air with a festive, dreamy charm.

You wrap your hands tighter around the cup, its warmth spreading into your palms as your thoughts drift back to last night. Seokjin had come to your room, and the memories of the intensity between you still linger, bringing a flush to your cheeks. You can’t help the way your stomach flutters when you remember his touch, the way he melted through every wall you’d built around yourself. There’s no denying it anymore—you like him. Maybe you always have. Maybe all that tension you held against him was just your heart speaking the only way it knew how, because acknowledging these feelings felt too risky. But now it feels even messier. What are you supposed to do with this, with him, here, in the midst of a competition where every moment counts?

Lost in thought, you don’t even hear footsteps approaching until a familiar voice murmurs behind you, “Having regrets?”

You turn, surprised, and meet Seokjin’s steady gaze. He’s watching you intently, something unreadable in his expression, but the glint in his eyes makes your heart skip. Regrets? Not a chance. “No… Never,” you say honestly, the answer flowing out of you without a second thought. The surprise in his face softens, and he steps closer, his brow furrowing as he studies you.

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asks, voice low as if he’s afraid to break the quiet between you.

You hesitate, blowing gently on your tea as you gather your words. “I… like you. I like you a lot. But I don’t know what that means here, now, while we’re both still in this competition. I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Seokjin nods, a small, understanding smile spreading across his lips. “Well, I like you too,” he says simply, and his sincerity warms you even more than the tea in your hands. “We don’t have to make it complicated. Why don’t we just take things as they come? Let’s be in this moment, here together, and not let it get in the way of anything.”

You consider his words and feel a sense of ease settle over you. His simplicity, his kindness—they’re exactly what you need. “That sounds perfect,” you whisper, heart lightening.

He grins, reaching forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, and the moment feels as close to magical as the glittering snow around you.

For a while, you simply stand there together, absorbing the quiet. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but determined. “I’d better go in and get ready for the semi-finals. Coming?”

You nod, catching one last look at the snowy landscape before following him, feeling strangely certain that whatever happens, this memory, this moment with him, is yours to keep.

Inside the grand, echoing hall, the atmosphere thrums with anticipation—third week and it’s the semi-finals, and only four contestants remain. It’s another sourdough challenge, and the thought knots your stomach; but this time, you feel armed with everything you’ve learned, determined to redeem yourself from the last round’s missteps. You’ve reviewed every ratio, every technique, certain you won’t make the same mistakes twice.

Across the room, Seokjin catches your eye, flashing a small wink your way that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. You look down quickly, hoping the cameras miss your blush. You can already imagine the uproar if anyone notices the subtle shifts between you and Seokjin. His fans would be livid, and part of you shivers at the thought. But another part is thrilled—glowing, even—that his glance lingers on you alone.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the quiet as he announces the start. You reach for your premade starter, blending it with flour, water, salt, and crushed walnuts. A familiar recipe—but this time, perfected. As the machine kneads, you steal a glance at Seokjin, working at his own station. He looks over and smirks, nodding to the dough in your hands. “If you keep kneading it like that,” he murmurs with a glint of amusement, “I might have to admit I’m a little jealous of it.”

Your cheeks flush deeper, and you stifle a laugh, hoping the cameraman didn’t catch the exchange. You’ll knead him later, if he’s lucky. The thought amuses you, and you bury your smile, adjusting your focus as you work the dough in your hands until it reaches that perfect, silken elasticity.

Moving through the contestants, Jungkook stops by Seokjin. “That’s a beautiful dough,” he says, nodding approvingly.

Seokjin grins, a mischievous spark in his eye. “Thanks. I know this is a baking competition, but you can stop flouring me with compliments every time.”

Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the hall, and the room feels warmer somehow, each exchange brimming with camaraderie and friendly rivalry. You cover your dough to let it rest, feeling a swell of satisfaction as the texture is just right. Wiping down your station, you shift your focus to the next challenge—cupcakes, of course, because the semi-finals wouldn’t be complete without multiple recipes in one day.

You dive into the batter, drawing on the festive mood with a blend of cinnamon and shredded carrot for a Christmas touch, and creamy frosting chilled in the fridge, each detail meticulously planned. Into the oven go the cupcake molds, filling the hall with a warm, spiced aroma, blending with the yeasty scent of sourdough proofing.

Across the bench, Seokjin is working with a similar quickness, his gaze drifting to you with a gentle intensity that you can’t help but return. As you work side by side, sharing the small glances that carry more meaning than words, you feel a strange harmony, both within yourself and with him. You’re in the competition—but in these moments, everything feels like a rhythm, an unspoken bond both fierce and gentle, pushing you toward something extraordinary.

In goes the frosting to chill, waiting patiently in its piping bag, and now it’s back to the sourdough. You uncover the dough, marveling at its perfect rise, feeling a surge of confidence and—well, maybe a touch of mischief. Glancing over at Seokjin, you call out, voice low and playful, “You know, the only thing that should be rising faster than this dough is the tension between us.”

He lets out a deep, warm laugh, a sound that wraps around you and settles deep in your stomach, stirring something close to admiration—maybe even more. “Touché, Y/N!” he grins, pulling the cloth from his own dough with a wink. “Though, this dough isn’t the only thing that’s rising around here…” His words hang in the air as your mouth falls open. You give him a quick look, half-worried he’s serious, but you don’t find him popping a boner and instead find him grinning, reveling in his joke. The mischievous glint in his eye is impossible to resist, and you can’t help but laugh, enjoying the banter you two have woven between the flour and dough.

Focused, you place your dough on a baking tray, score a precise line along the length with a sharp knife, dust it lightly with flour, and slide it into the oven alongside your baking cupcakes. You’re quick to pull them out once they’re golden and perfect, setting them on a rack to cool as time dwindles. The kitchen hums with activity, everyone moving at a near-frantic pace, yet somehow you feel steady with Seokjin beside you. You glance at the clock—just fifteen minutes remain. The bread has to finish, and the cupcakes still need their frosting. Seokjin catches your anxious glance and gives you a reassuring smile, dashing to the fridge for his frosting. His calm steadiness eases the pulse of worry in your chest, and you follow suit, gathering your frosting bag and applying smooth, swirled peaks to each cupcake, finishing them with a sprinkle of walnuts.

As you pull your sourdough from the oven, the loaf is everything you hoped for—golden, hearty, the cut expanding beautifully along its edge. With a sense of quiet pride, you plate everything just in time, arranging the warm, rustic loaf and delicately frosted cupcakes into a small but satisfying spread. Relief washes over you when the round ends without either you or Seokjin being eliminated—though the victory feels bittersweet as Kevin packs up his station.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Seokjin retreat to your room to unwind, sharing stories and laughter until words give way to the kind of silence only the two of you can understand. And as the evening stretches on, he leaves you breathless in new ways, your bond deepening with every heartbeat shared between laughter and tantalizing touch.

With each passing day since the competition began winding down, you and Seokjin have become tangled in each other’s warmth, his presence as comforting as the scent of baked bread. But today—today is the final. Just the two of you remain, locked in a dance of rivalry and something deeper, unspoken. It’s week four, and the pressure sits heavy in your chest. You’re here to win, driven as ever—but some part of you almost wants him to take the victory, too. How strange, this tug of ambition and affection, both pushing you forward and grounding you at once.

The vast hall feels somehow larger with only two stations now, each of you taking your place under the blinding lights. Cameras linger, catching every nervous inhale, every flicker of emotion, and you steel yourself as Christina addresses you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Today is the finale, and we can’t wait to see what you’ll make. We’re asking you to prepare three distinct Christmas desserts.”

Your heart skips a beat. This isn’t just any bake—it’s a final act, a moment to define the entire journey. Taehyung steps forward with his trademark grin, “You’ll be baking the same desserts, so we can judge them side by side. They are: a chocolate raspberry roulade, a traditional Christmas pudding trifle, and finally, profiteroles.” 

Profiteroles. You feel a pang of dread—choux pastry, your nemesis. But there’s no time to overthink it. You exhale deeply, eyes darting to Seokjin, who meets your gaze with a soft, reassuring smile, and you offer one back, letting that silent exchange ground you. Whoever wins, it won’t be for lack of trying.

“Bake!” Taehyung shouts, clapping his hands, and the clock starts ticking. You dive in, gathering ingredients, organizing every move in your mind like a well-choreographed routine. Pudding layers, roulade filling—everything goes into the fridge and blast chiller to set, and you work swiftly, feeling beads of sweat prickling on your brow. Seokjin keeps pace beside you, and you can’t help but catch the gentle gleam of his focus. As you fumble with a pat of stubborn butter, Seokjin’s voice lilts beside you, “You think you’re so tough, but I bet you’d melt faster than butter in my kitchen.” His teasing catches you off guard, and you laugh, cheeks flushed, just as a cameraman swoops in to capture the moment.

Then, a murmur fills the hall—a door opens, and suddenly a chorus of voices drifts through. You pause, glancing up, and your heart stumbles as you see them: your mother, sister, nieces, and nephews, all holding balloons, flags and waving, their faces beaming. Behind them, an older couple you recognize from photos as Seokjin’s parents stand with pride lighting up their faces. More familiar faces follow—the eliminated contestants, cheering, their hands clapping, adding an electric energy to the air.

The crowd reminds you of what brought you here and what’s at stake, and it fills you with a quiet determination. It’s down to the two of you, and you intend to give it everything, heart and soul, even if it’s the final push in more ways than one.

“Welcome, everyone!” Jungkook calls out, his voice brimming with excitement. “We’ve prepared seating just over here, so you can sit, relax, and enjoy watching the grand finale.”

Your heart pounds as the realization settles in—you’d forgotten about this moment, the pressure of having every pair of eyes on you in the throes of your work. You’ve never reached the finale before, and the weight of the audience—family, friends, past contestants—is suddenly heavy, a slight quiver of doubt creeping into your hands. But before you can spiral, Seokjin darts over to your bench, leaning close enough for his warmth to steady you. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your nerves. “You’re doing great. But who would’ve thought baking with you could feel this... intense? Not that I’m complaining—I’ve always liked a challenge.” He throws you a wink before returning to his station, leaving you with a small, fluttering smile. Seokjin’s usual banter never fails to ground you, even if he’s technically still the competition, both of you eyeing that coveted trophy and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. A part of you can’t help but think, though, that he’s won enough already—why should he get this one too?

Returning to your tasks, you finish mixing the batter and pour it onto a tray, sliding it into the oven just as the judges approach, their expressions curious and bright. “How’s it going, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, his familiar warmth and calm demeanor making you smile despite your nerves. “Pretty good,” you answer, focusing on the profiteroles. “I just need to pipe the choux and bake it, and then it’s on to assembly. Just hoping to finally beat Seokjin for once,” you add with a sheepish laugh. It’s no secret—he’s always been the one to catch, and your admiration, even begrudging, is genuine.

“Think I’m playing hard to get, do you?” Seokjin’s voice calls out from his station, his tone teasing, playful, earning a burst of laughter from the audience. “Princess, I’m just giving you a taste of what’s coming.” At the word ‘princess,’ your breath hitches, a warm flush creeping over your cheeks. You chance a look toward him, and his eyes meet yours, a mischievous glint dancing in them. Thankfully, no one else seems to catch the slip, and you focus back on your profiteroles, steadying your hands and your thoughts.

As you start piping the choux, you toss a look back his way. “Well, Seokjin, I’ll have you know I’ve got a secret ingredient in my roulade this time—I’m feeling pretty good about taking first place.” 

He chuckles, your exchange laced with that familiar, easy banter you’ve shared a thousand times, though now it simmers with something deeper, something unspoken. “Oh, a secret ingredient, huh? Cute,” he replies, amusement thick in his voice. “But I already know your weakness, princess…,” he pauses for effect, the words rich with mischief as he slides his profiteroles into the oven. “Me.” 

The words strike a chord you weren’t prepared for, and your hands still, feeling exposed as his eyes flicker with a knowing gleam. He’s right—damn it, he’s right. He is your weakness, more than you’re ready to admit.

“For someone who talks a big game, you sure seem distracted by me,” he laughs, returning to his work. The sound pulls you back to reality, and you move to your next step, hoping the blush has faded enough to go unnoticed. Glancing toward the crowd, you catch sight of your mom’s watchful eyes, and you can only pray that neither she nor the cameras caught the moment.

You slide the roulade from the oven, transferring it to cool on a fresh tray, each step a carefully orchestrated dance of urgency and precision. Raspberries glisten in their bowl, their color vivid against the creamy filling you grab from the fridge, and you can’t help but smile—chocolate and raspberry, a classic match. I hope it’s perfect, you think as you roll the delicate sponge, sealing it with care before tucking it away in the fridge.

The hours slip by in fragments, your family’s cheers a soft echo at the edges of your concentration. Nearly everything is done: the roulade chilled, the profiteroles cooling on the tray, the trifle assembly is next with a bit of hope and a dash of doubt. You’re so close. You portion the trifle into gleaming glasses, slipping them into the fridge, then temper the final swirl of chocolate for your profiteroles, adding a whisper of orange zest for flair. Each element comes together like pieces in a puzzle, one you hope will capture the hearts of the judges.

Finally, you and Seokjin finish almost in sync, both of your creations plated to perfection. The judges, standing at their table with anticipation, gesture for you to present your roulade first, then Seokjin’s. Side by side, your roulades look like echoes of each other—his, perhaps a bit more precise, but the judges praise the flavors of yours, and you breathe a little easier. When it comes time to present the trifles, nerves flutter in your chest. Pudding has always been your challenge, and it shows. Taehyung’s gentle apology about its grainy texture confirms what you feared, and you nod, feeling the sting despite the kindness in his voice. It’s not over yet, though. The final moment comes down to the profiteroles. Watching the judges savor each bite, their expressions inscrutable, feels like holding your breath underwater. Did you get the texture just right? Are the flavors enough? You can’t tell if they favor yours or Seokjin’s, but the judges step back to confer, and the wait stretches on. Seokjin catches your eye, and the slight squeeze of his hand around yours is like a wordless reminder: Whatever happens, you made it this far. The audience hushes as the judges return, smiles lighting their faces.

“Seokjin is the winner,” they announce, and the room erupts in cheers, the joy swelling around you even as your heart sinks. You give a soft smile, watching as his family rushes to his side, while yours gathers around you, their hugs and warmth softening the ache of coming so close.

Taehyung clears his throat, addressing the crowd. “Honestly, Y/N, it was such small details that set you apart—mostly the pudding texture and the choux consistency.” You nod, grateful for the explanation even as disappointment lingers, a reminder of how hard you tried to make this win your own.

As your mom wraps you in a warm embrace, she whispers, “It’s alright—second place is still something to be proud of,” her voice gentle but consoling. You can’t help the small eye roll, even as you know her heart’s in the right place.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar arm around your waist, steady and reassuring. Seokjin pulls you close, leaning his head onto your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “How are you feeling, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and meant just for you. 

But the entire room seems to freeze. Conversations fade, and a hush spreads as everyone looks on, your mom’s jaw slack in surprise, cameras hovering so close they might capture the racing pulse at your throat.

You let out a breath, half-laughing as you shrug. “Honestly… a bit deflated,” you admit, feeling his warmth steadying you, “but I’ll survive.” You lean into his embrace, letting it soften the lingering ache of the moment.

Then he turns you toward him, his gaze intent, before he kisses you—fully, deeply, with a confidence that leaves you breathless. A soft sigh escapes, and you can hear whispers ripple through the room, a wave of disbelief from everyone watching. They had no idea that this quiet affection had been growing in secret all this time.

Seokjin pulls back, his eyes shining as he holds your gaze. “It’s okay. You can beat me next year,” he teases, a hint of laughter in his voice.

You pout, rolling your eyes with playful sass. “Oh, I plan on beating your ass next year,” you reply, certain and unflinching.

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you again. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his words a soft thrill against your lips. Then he pulls back, a sudden tenderness in his expression. “But… there’s something I want to ask you first.”

Curious, you tilt your head, waiting. “How would you feel about going on a date with me and spending Christmas together? Maybe somewhere special—a resort in the mountains, all-inclusive?” His words tumble out, eager, a little nervous.

“Trying to buy my love, are you?” you tease, grinning as you hear your sister muttering behind you, “Go! It’s all-inclusive!”

Seokjin stammers, his eyes widening in flustered surprise. “What? No, princess, I just—” 

You press your hands against his chest, silencing him with a soft smile. “I’m joking. Yes, I’d love to. To date you, officially. And spend Christmas with you. I like you. Might even love you a little,” you add, pinching your fingers close to show just a little, even though you know it’s more than that.

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of radiant. His arms tighten around your waist, and he lifts you, spinning you in an impromptu waltz that has you laughing breathlessly as he plants a quick kiss on your forehead. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever,” he says, his voice low and thrilled against your ear, his warmth filling you from head to toe. You hum in agreement, already lost in the certainty of it.

Seokjin may have claimed the trophy, but with him by your side, you know you’ve won something even better. And as the room erupts in applause, you realize this Christmas will be the start of something unforgettable.

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→ Author’s endnote: what did you think??? Please let me know. This one was so fun to write and I laughed multiple times. I hope you had fun reading too 🥰

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[httpknjoon]

suspects guilty | ksj

plot | the a-listers join in a tiktok trend (ft. more the a-listers lores).

word count | 1131

genres | humor, fluff, domestic au

pairing | actor!jin x famous!reader

main masterlist | the a-listers: confidential masterlist

Shot in the spacious backyard of their Massachusetts home, YN and Jin finally shoot their very first TikTok video. Of course, it was YN who asked the other to do it since she found the videos she watched hilarious. So, some time between breakfast and afternoon, the couple walked out to their quiet backyard to do it. All while their twins have their nap.

"So, I'll describe you with something mean and you'll do the same thing?" Jin asked, stretching his right arm over his chest.

You nod, "Yeah, we'll basically roast each other. But we'll start with the phrase: The suspect is. You know, like when cops look for their suspects."

"Okay, bub. I'm ready," he replied, this time, rolling his shoulders.

Your eyebrow raised while watching him warm up his body. A routine he usually does before working out.

"Why are you acting like you're about to run a marathon?" you scoffed.

The first one to be shown in the camera is Jin, in his favorite green hoodie, running while your voice can be heard in the background.

"Suspect claims to be a responsible drinker but posted his personal cellphone number online when he was drunk." Giggles were in between your words when you said that.

Jin stopped, "That was years ago! It was one time."

You laughed as he defended himself, remembering the time you witnessed Jin's manager stressed out the morning after Jin shared his phone number through Instagram Stories while Jin was guiltily nursing his hangover. It was around the time you two were doing press junkets for your second movie.

"Suspect had a very public crush over a co-worker when she was fourteen."

Jin grinned as you stopped from jogging. Your jaw dropped while the cringy memories of your past came running back to you.

"Oh my god! Stop bringing that up. It's embarrassing."

Everyone knew that you loved musicals, especially the movie Hairspray with Zac Efron in it. So when you were younger, you were never shy about expressing your adoration for the actor, mentioning him in interviews in teen magazines and television talk shows a handful of times. He was kind enough to surprise you one time during your appearance in Ellen. You were telling a behind-the-scenes story to the host and audience when Zac quietly walked behind you and sat next to you. Everyone laughed at your flushed reaction when you realized who was sitting beside you. Your hands were even shaking when he introduced himself to you. Up until now, you still see GIFs and memes of your reaction online being used in various contexts.

Before moving to the next clip, your husband was heard whispering under his breath, "It's cute."

"Suspect thinks he is slick every time he's shy. His red ears always give it away!"

Jin stopped and laughed at that, so hard that his hands are on his knees. You didn't stop, zooming the camera to his ears that are slowly turning crimson red.

"See! See!"

"Suspect claims to be a writer but has three thousand unfinished drafts in her computer!"

You stopped in your tracks and slowly looked back at the camera. Staring, you crossed your arms while acting really offended by that. Jin laughed at your dramatic reaction.

"That was personal, Jinnie! How could you say that?" you shook your head, feigning disappointment. "Writer's block is a worldwide issue. You know, five out of five writers get affected by it. It's a real problem."

"Suspect acts so innocent but likes to be called---"

"No! No! No!"

Jin stopped you before you could even finish your sentence. His tone seemed panicked. The camera was later focused on the ground while you two were heard whispering.

"We cannot share that online, bubba. It would generate articles."

"It's not like it's a bad kin---"

It was cut off to the next clip.

"Suspect called me the wrong name during our first and second date."

This time, it's your turn to laugh so hard that you fall on your knees on the grass. Jin was also laughing after mentioning that time.

"It was two different names!" he added, making you laugh even more.

To be fair, the names were his characters' names in two different projects he worked on. One is for his Netflix series and the other was his character's name in your second movie together. It was an honest mistake by you since you were really tired at both times it happened. Jin too. You two would just sneak in your first few dates in between your tight schedules.

"The suspect cannot tell his children apart."

Your husband was clearly taken aback by that, maybe dramatically offended. Knowing it was true, he didn't even deny it.

"That was only a few times--"

"Specifically, nine times!" you counted, trying not to laugh.

His eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms, "It was those days when they wore the same matching clothes."

"One is a boy and a girl, Jin," you told him, reminding him that your twins wear different colors of the same type of clothes.

"They are identical twins, bubba. You know that I have bad facial recognition!" he whined like a kid while you laughed.

"Suspect ghosted everyone for almost two years."

Although you stopped jogging, you just put your wrists together like you are surrendering, willing to be handcuffed. You walked back to him as you spoke,

"The suspect is guilty. She said she regrets nothing over it. She is happy with the choices she made."

Jin smiled upon hearing that. He remembered you two talking about your plans to have a hiatus in the middle of your piling projects. It was after you learned you were pregnant. As soon as you made sure that you indeed were, you immediately thought about taking a break since you already had your priorities straight. It was not just a decision you made in the spur of the moment. It was something you promised to do before you even met Jin.

As someone who grew up in a complicated family, you wanted different things when starting your own. You were willing to literally drop everything, leaving movie projects that you were dreaming of working on.

Jin wanted to do the same thing, so he could be with you. But you encouraged him to just finish his remaining commitments at the time. He was in a more tangled situation since he already started filming for those projects and couldn't afford to stress everyone with a sudden leave.

"Oh, bubba. I love you." he whispered.

He was about to lean in to give you a kiss. But you spoke,

"I love you too, si--"

"No!"

You laughed as he walked back to your house, enjoying his flushed reaction over your jokes.

note | unedited. not a comeback. this is just a random blurb in my head. sadly, I haven't written anything for months now. i feel bad leaving a lot of my works here on a cliffhanger but idk when will I update again. but thank u so much for reading and being here :)) hope ur having a great day.

THE A-LISTERS: CONFIDENTIAL TAGLIST

@xiumo @joonsbvtch @firesighgirl @qualityjoonie @lojocas @txtlyn @yoontaethings @zwiehe

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[pynkgothicka]

ＸＳ ＫＳＪ

Pairing - Jupe! Dark! Kim Seokjin x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis-Based off NOPE, you and your friend visit a new attraction called Jupiter's Claim, and a grown up child actor begins to fall for you. Part One of the Movies Series

Featuring - Megan Fox

Word Count - Around 2k

Tags and Warnings - Kidnapping, Allusions to Death

Authors Note - While studying the movie and pulling what I wanted, Steven Yuen was looking FARRRR TEW FINE. Also cried at the end, the unknown is scaryyyy

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

You hated RV parks.

You felt trapped at Megan's make-up artist job. The only benefit you had was being able to be around the horses they had brought in regularly. You stood by one in particular, Lucky, and next to .him was a quiet man, who you learned his name was Oj.

You knew better than to not bother him as he seemed on edge, but you liked being around Lucky. You would pet her mane, and just like being around her.

Soon however, Megan finally had her things together and motioned towards you. Letting out a sigh you wave towards Oj. “Bye, thanks for letting me hang out with you.”

“It’s nothin’.” He mumbled singling you off with a hand gesture.

“You like him or something?” Megan said walking next to you as you guys walked to her RV. You laugh her off slightly shoving her.

“Nah, I liked Lucky though. Oj was pretty chill, he just kind of let me be around. Guess I wasn't pestering him like the rest of that crew…” You deduct making your way inside her RV. You had your own space, in which you settled in. You dropped down on your bean bag exhausted. “Besides didn’t you want to go to that attraction or something?”

“Jupiters Claim? Of course, I paid good money for it, so you can bet your candy ass we’re going to see what's there.” You groan at Megan's want to go to some random attraction. You honestly rathered the RV at that point.

“Fine, just let me rest before we head out. You know I hate being out there in the sun like that.” You complain. Megan lets out a small squeal as she tackles you onto your small bean bag.

“Thanks! I could just kiss you right now!”

“Mhmm, the things I do for you.”

🏇

Walking into the attraction you were quickly put off. The old-time Western theme wasn't appealing to you at all. But from what Megan had told you on the way there, she wasn't there for the actual attraction. “I’m telling you, that kid Jupe, from Gordies Home, he owns this place.” Megan raves leading you towards the back of the attraction up towards the staircase to the main office. “I paid good money to see his memorabilia and talk to him.”

“Why not use it for something valuable, like a nice piece of jewelry or something?” You say walking behind her as she opens the door.

“Because I had extra money lying around and well I wanted to spend it.” Walking inside you were greeted by two people, one of them being a lady in a baby blue dress, cowboy hat, and boots complete the look. She stood talking on the phone and Megan tapped on the class making a motion towards the back door.

The lady smiled and gave a thumbs-up before getting back on the phone. Megan led you into the back office space. Sitting behind the desk was a man in a white top, obviously fitting the western aesthetic. His hair was black and slicked back, lips curving into a sweet smile. “Megan right?” He asked looking at her and shaking her hand.

Then his eyes turn to look into yours. He stood in a daze looking at you.

You give him an awkward smile and take his hand. He shakes his head and takes your hand in a firm grasp. “Sorry, I should’ve said something about bringing her around,” Megan begins clearing her throat. Even she could tell it was awkward. “She's cool people trust me.” Jupe seemed to be in his own world before finally pulling away.

“Oh it's fine, you know I don't usually let people bring others around, but just this once I'll let it slide.” He says laughing. He steps from behind the desk and puts a hand on the small of your back to move past you. You jump and look at him, Jupe giving you a smirk before continuing to move past you.

Megan smiles laughing along with him. “Trust me she's like a tag along, real chill.”

He smiles turning to look at you. “Let's just hope you’re a real Gordies Home lover.”

“Trust me, I’m really not.” You say laughing awkwardly. You really wanted to leave already.

🏇

Once his tour was over you felt weird about it all. Megan was ecstatic though, finally coming one step closer to one of her special interests. She asked questions the entire time, while you stood at the door pensive.

Megan then dismissed herself to take a call. This left you inside with Jupe. “So, are you usually traveling with her while she does makeup?” He asks as you stand near the window peering outside, watching Megan. You turn around nodding at him.

“No, I just tagged along when she invited me.” You say before speaking up again. “Listen I’m sorry if she was just being a lot in there. She's my friend but I know you have feelings and all.” You say looking at him. He seemed to be lost in his own world before snapping back to reality.

He blows out smiling. “It's right really, thanks for caring though. But let's not focus on that. What do you do for a living?” He said standing up and laughing, making his way closer to you.

You laugh with him awkwardly. “A horse jockey. Yeah, I mean when I saw some of the horses you guys had, I was excited. Like a way to be committed to the western theme.” You ramble on leaning by the window. You really just kept talking to not focus on how close he was getting towards you.

He nodded smiling towards you and sat on his desk, his body close to yours. “Yeah, I know a ranch where I get them, real quiet bunch… I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He said looking at you.

“Like what?”

“You don't seem to fit the whole being a side character to Megan's story. Like just look at you, you’re just gorgeous.” Jupe rambled leaning in. You leaned back as he got closer. “I think honestly you’d like it here. I can make you a star ya’ know.”

You tilted your head shaking it at him. “Listen Jupe-”

“Jin. The name is Jin.”

“Jin, I’m not really interested in whatever you’re trying to do. I’m just here because I want to support my friend.” You say putting your hands out to put some space between the both of you. “I’m not here for my claim to fame moment.” Jin shakes his head, pursing his lips together.

“You sure you don’t want more than what you have? You never even considered all you could have is someone, who gave you a chance at getting it?” He rambled. His hand went back as he grabbed a stapler on his desk. “I can make you happy… happy with me.”

Seeing him go for it you ducked as he first swung it. Your back hit one of the walls, your hand trying to stop the blow. But that failed as you instead injured your wrist. You held onto it losing your grip on the wall. “Get the fuck away from- AH!” You’re cut off by the stapler hitting your head. You see a bright light before you officially are knocked out.

Jin let out a deep breath as he dragged you into his memorabilia room. Jin closed the door, locking it, but not before making sure you were knocked out. Just around then, Megan comes back inside looking around. “Sorry, did she leave or something?” She asked looking around. Jin nodded going to sit back behind his desk.

“Yeah, she said she had a headache or something. Talked about going back to you guys RV.” He said snidely. “Did she not tell you before leaving?”

“No… Thank you once again, I'll head back now.”

🏇

He kept you in that room for weeks.

Only just recently were you moved out from there, and put in one of his set dressing houses.

He preached about falling for you and wanting to spend his days with you. Laying with you late at night, his hands around your waist. He laid kisses on your neck as he would tell you sweet nothings, yet what was even more messed up was that the entire time you were chained to the foot of the bed.

Of course, the chain had some length but still, you felt as if it was fruitless to escape. But you didn’t dare stay locked up forever. Especially after he told you Megan filed a missing persons report for you and had been asking around for and about you.

She even decided to go to his live show just to get her mind off things.

So you began walking and dragging the bed as you walked around the home. The bedframe would hit the door and you pulled at it hoping to snap off the leg the chain was hooked to. You kept doing it until it was the day.

The day of Jins live show.

Jin stood in front of you showing off his tailored suit. “Do you like it my Star?”

You hated that nickname.

“Yeah, I-It’s amazing… It’s really fancy.” You replied feeding into his decisions. Jin smiled and kissed your lips. Before standing up and heading for the door.

“Be safe okay, after this I’ll be back, and Amber will be gone.” He smiled wickedly walking out and locking the door. She was one of the reasons he moved you here. He wanted you away from his wife, who obviously hated you. You could've sworn whenever you did have to stay trapped in his office, that she tried to poison you more times than once.

But that's beside the point.

You heard the sounds of people, music everything. You spent that day continuing on your escape. You finally pulled off the leg and started banging a heavy piece of the chain on the doorknob.

The loud PA system made you speed up as you growled slamming the chain on the knob. The incessant drone of Jin talking acts as background noise to what you are focused on.

“And so, as I said, in just under an hour, ‘The Star Lasso Experience’ is gonna change you.“

CLANG!

“Stay in your seats. So that was new. They’re early...”

CLANG!

You let out a loud fuck as you cry out.

Then you hear it.

Screaming.

You stop what you're doing as the wind blows in the distance, the same amount of distance as you hear the screams. It's droning and you stop what you're doing to cover your ears, your head hurting at the sound. You wait as it all goes away before you put down the chain realizing you were probably in a life-or-death situation. With one final kick, you knock the door down.

Looking around you see that Jupiter's Claim is a mess. You couldn’t even begin to figure out what happened. But you begin to clamber away, your body hurting as you do so. You hadn’t moved like this in a while.

You make eye contact with a man. It hits you exactly who it is, Oj.

He stares at you too in shock. “Help…” Was all you could muster up to say to him. He makes a motion for you to follow him and you do. You speed up getting into the truck as he grabs Lucky.

“Just get me the fuck out of here now.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops @mayvalentine33

[k-nayee]

Lashes Kim Line + Jungkook

wc: 1.7k

Dreamer M.List

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 stumble into your bedroom with a tired sigh, body sagging in exhaustion from working all day.

"Hey baby," The sound of your lover's voice reaches your ears as you finally kick off those dammed heels, "tough day?"

You could only let out a dry laugh at his question. "Yeah, you could say that. Was this close to finally beating Mal's ass though."

Already knowing who you were talking about, he chuckles. "That lady from HR? What she do now?"

Rolling your eyes, you walk towards the closet, giving him a quick peck on the lips before continuing on. "The bitch gon have the audacity to make the only unit consisting of Asian and Black people do a racial diversity and inclusion seminar due to the complaints of microaggressions being made."

If it weren't for the frustration laced in your voice, the stiff and rough movements of you changing into comfier clothes made it apparent of your anger.

Knowing its best to just let you burn it out instead of trying to calm you down, he hypes you up. "You lyin! She did that? Mmmm mmm mmm! Trifling as hell for that..."

You turn to face him with wide eyes, hand on your hips. "Right?! As if we weren't the ones who made the fucking complaints in the first place! Ended up having to do overtime to make up for the work we missed all day."

He only shakes his head in disappointment. "I'm not surprised."

"Yeah, would've been high-tailed my ass outta there if the pay wasn't too good to give up." You grumble, sliding into bed to get ready for sleep.

Twisting and turning around to get comfortable, you stop at the heavy feeling of someone gazing at you.

"Why are staring at me like that? I got something on my face?"

He breaks out of his trance and give you a sheepish smile. "I just realized you still had makeup on. You sure you wanna sleep in it?"

A moment of silence pass before you let out a groan. "Damn! Forgot I had some on. Was so tired I skipped my whole night routine."

Throwing the off the blankets with a sigh, a pout appears at thought of being in the bathroom longer than you wanted.

"You know...I-I can help. Especially since you don't wear that much makeup."

You freeze at his proposal, eyes narrowed at the pros and cons.

"And you'll be done much faster~"

At those words, you immediately give in. "Okay I guess"

"Yes!" He jumps up in excitement and scurries after you like a lost puppy. "So what I'm gonna do? Will I put on the face mask? Rub in your face serum? Ooo! Can you do me too—"

"Wooooah! Slow down! We taking one step at a time. So to start, you can help take off my eyelashes."

SEOKJIN

The excitement he had in the beginning quickly faded away into nervousness once he was actually doing it.

"Okay...so...do I just—"

"Yes Jin. For the last time, I promise it doesn't hurt when taking them off. Just use the cotton ball I gave you, put some coconut oil on it, and wipe it on my upper and lower lashes."

'Oil? What if she get some in her eyes? Is she sure about a cotton ball? Won't a q-tip work better?' Despite being confused and having many questions, he carefully follows your instructions.

Ten minutes pass of him slowly dabbing at the glue that's on your real lashes to ensure everything will come off.

Even though you're touched at how careful he's being, your fatigue causes you to become impatient, lips pursed to prevent yourself from cursing him out.

Right as he's done with the first eye, you step back with a bright smile. "Alright! I can take it from here babe."

Jin looks at you in confusion, though internally happy with no longer having to do the next one. "But I didn't get to the second o—"

"Don't worry about it! You did so well I realized how bad I usually do it myself. So Imma start practicing," spewing out the first bullshit that came to mind, you push him out the bathroom door.

Jin could only blink, raised hands still holding the cotton ball and removed eyelash. "O-okay. Let me know if you need help with—"

"Won't be necessary. See you in a little bit!" Before he could get another word out, you shut the door in his face.

∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘

TAEHYUNG

"Okay Tae, all you gotta do is put some oil on the cotton ball, rub it on the lashes, and viola~ them bad boys coming off."

Taehyung could only narrow his eyes at the instructions. "Why can't you just take them off? I saw you do it before."

You scratch the side of your with a sheepish grin. "I did do that huh? Okay, let's just pull 'em of—"

"Aight, bet." Just as he finish those words, he reaches up and rip them off.

Mouth gaped open in shock, your mind tries to process what just happened. It wasn't until Taehyung's poking broke you out of it.

"Motherfucker! You almost pulled out my real ones!" You exclaim while rubbing your eyes.

He visibly deflates at the realization at what he'd done. "Sorry, I was too excited."

Seeing how genuine he was, you decide to forgive him.

"You know," as he continues to pout, you discreetly pick up the eyelash glue and another pair of lashes, "I can put some on you if ya want~"

Perking up at the sight of the materials, Taehyung's excitement appears. "Really?! Can you get me some bigger ones while you're at it?"

"Alright, but you have to hold still if you want me to do them right."

He scrambles to the toilet seat and sit down with no hesitation. After minuets of constant scolding to get him to stop squirming, you're finished putting them on.

"All done!" With a clap of your hands, you step back to take in the final result.

'Damn! He pretty as fuck!' You almost couldn't believe how good he looked with them on, a twinge of jealously shooting through your mind at how natural it seemed.

"Soooooo...how do I look?"

Shaking your head to get rid of the jealous thoughts, you look at him with giddy smile of your own, pulling him up to the mirror. "Why don't you come see for yourself?"

A low gasp of awe escapes the vocalist as he studies the long lashes on his face. "This. Is. So. COOL!"

Bouncing on his feet in excitement, he runs out of the bathroom with a big smile.

"Wai-where are you going?!"

"Oh nothing..." He pokes his head back into the bathroom with a mischievous grin. "Just finna go fuck with Yoongi and give him some butterfly kisses."

"See that's why you keep getting your ass beat! You know he hates it when you mess with him."

"Nah, he ain't gonna do shit. Besides, I'm too cute to get hit" With an air kiss and a flutter of his lashes, he runs out of the room once more, "toodles~ be back in an hour."

"This dumbass right here!"

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NAMJOON

"Um ____?"

"Yes Joon?" Back facing him as you collect your cleaning materials, you're unable to see his fidgeting.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?"

You let out a small laugh and turn towards him with a smile. "Of course! Now come here so you can help."

With small timid steps, he's finally in front of you.

"Now," you lift up the bottle of coconut oil and a cotton ball, "all you need to do is put some of this oil on the ball and wipe it like this."

Carefully wiping some of the oil on your upper and lower lashes, you wait a moment and simply pull the lash extension off. "And tada~ As easy as pie. I took the liberty of doing one for demonstration. You think you can do it?"

Seeing how simple the action was, Namjoon gives a dimpled smile. "Sure, of course."

"And to lessen the pressure, I'll have my eyes closed." Following through with your words, you close them. "Ready when you are..."

Namjoon's nerves gets the best of him once more and causes his mind to blank out for a moment before shaking his head.

'Alright Joon, its a simple task. Just dab the eye and take them off. What's so hard about that?'

Shakily picking up a clean cotton ball, he rubs it on your lashes.

'Rub the cotton ball on the eye? Check...Now to just take it off.'

Your brows slightly furrow when he rubs your eye with the soft material. The usual feeling of the oil weighing on your eyes was absent. 'Damn...this feeling kinda dry'

"Hey Joon?"

He subconsciously lets out a hum as he continue to focus on taking your lashes off. 'Just take it off like a bandaid. Aaaaaand...'

"Did you remember to add oil to the cotton ball?"

'NOW!'

"FUCK!"

Namjoon rapidly blinks at the sound of your scream as he breaks out of his trance. "Huh?"

"Joon!" Your pained cries fill the bathroom as you hold your eye in pain. "What the hell did you do?!"

Looking down at his hand, he sees that he succeeded in taking off the lashes. Only to do a double take when seeing a smaller set with small white hair follicles attracted to the bottom. "Oh..."

....he ripped off your real eyelashes

"GODDAMITNAMJOON! YOU HAD ONE JOB!"

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JUNGKOOK

"C'mon ____, you taking too long! Hurry up!"

You roll your eyes at Jungkook's constant pestering. "Kook calm down! Just let me oil the lashes up first."

It was Jungkook's turn to roll his eyes. "You doing too much. If you just don't rip them off!"

"Rip them off?! Do it look like I wanna be bald in the eyes?"

He smacks his lips at your words. "I've seen people do it plenty of times. Just a lil pull and they off."

"Do I look like other people? If everybody else jumping off a bridge, you gonna do it too?"

"But ____!" Jungkook lets out a whine, stepping closer to you with a pout as he eyes the lashes.

Picking up on what he was going to do, you immediately back away with thrown up hands. "Back the fuck up Kook! I know what you trying to do. You rip off my lashes and imma beat yo ass."

He steps back with a sigh. "Fine."

"That's what I thought." You turn back around and grab the cotton ball and coconut oil, ready to start the process.

As you pour the oil on the ball, you fail to notice Jungkook sneaking up beside you.

"Hey ____?"

"What?"

After a moment of silence, you look at him with furrowed brows, mouth pull into a sneer of irritation. "Dude I just said what! Stop playing arou—"

"YEET!"

Quicker than you could react, Jungkook grabs both of your lashes and yank them off.

"WHAT THE FUCK KOOK!?"

He cackles at your angered expression, holding the fake lashes in his hands as if they were a trophy. "Told you they'll come off~"

You swiftly look in the mirror only to silently release a sigh of relief when seeing that your real lashes are still intact.

"You better be lucky I ain't missing nothing! Cause if I was, I'm cutting your shit off too...that and your eyebrows. Gone end up looking like Voldemort in this bitch!"

"Yeah yeah," he brushes off your warning with a flip of the wrist, "let me know when you need some more help 'kay?"

"Tough titty, cause this the last time you ever gonna help me!"

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks For the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Two

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 13.7k

Release date: Mon. February 5, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: Now aware of Seokjin's secret, you try to take some of his...techniques into your next stream. But how well will they pay off?

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, discussion of boundaries and triggers, Seokjin explains what bdsm is supposed to mean to us watching at home, internet/cyberbullying dynamics, boss/employee power struggles, discussions of consent, peer pressure, mention of threesome, implied chubby/fat reader (it's vague enough to not adopt a specific size), mention of sex toys, swearing, sexual fantasies, m masturbation, damn Seokjin has a boner so many times in this sorry, size kink, y/n assumes Seokjin's sexuality, porn simulation games, 1 (one) reference to Vine (RIP), Dom Seokjin, kink negotiation, mention of choking and improper bdsm practices, mention of urethral sounding (but not actually happening)

a/n: Ahh hello! First of all, thank you to everyone who has read TFTS so far! It really warms my heart knowing how well received it's been, and your comments and messaged have meant so much. I really wanted to emphasize discussions of consent and boundaries in this chapter. I was struggling to write for a little bit, and then suddenly I saw this one gif of Jin on my feed and my brain jimmy neutron brain blasted my way to a 13k length chapter. Hopefully I've proofread well enough, but if you spot some serious errors please let me know. -h

On Saturday afternoon, Seokjin woke up for the first time in what felt like forever feeling rested. After checking the weather app on his phone constantly throughout the night, he received the alert that heavy snowfall was causing delays in plowing and public transit. He messaged the opening crew, encouraging them to also enjoy the lie-in and prepare for a delayed open. Instead of falling into the semi-sickening lovefest of couples peeling each other’s perilla leaves or trying to feed each other lunch, he could be spared until the evening. 

Which was good, because Seokjin was exhausted. His live last night was not planned, but after closing and apologizing to you about his gross mismanagement of power, he needed to get out the pent-up frustration that crumbled the bones in his body from pressure. 

Sure, it was the right thing to do to apologize, even though he knew he would never be able to look at that prep counter, your wide, glassy eyes, and swollen lips the same way again. But it was important to him. He could never become the kind of man he watched his boss be to him or his wife, forcing his way past someone’s boundaries to get what they wanted. 

Even years later, Seokjin was convinced that had he not shared information about Soon Yi that intrigued his boss, if he’d maybe kept his personal and professional lives separate, things maybe would have been different. And now that he was in the position of power where he was someone else’s boss, wasn’t it his duty to make sure that didn’t happen to you too?

Seokjin almost lost all his control with you yesterday. From the moment you came in with a tired, croaky voice that greeted him “hi” before the sun had even come up, he knew he would be struggling for the rest of the day. 

During multiple points of your training, he had the urge to touch you, which was nearly impossible not to do, since so much of the guidance you needed came from hand-over-hand instruction as he showed you the fluid motions of safe chopping. When his large hands covered yours, Seokjin became aware of how tiny you were to him. Maybe not in all the places, but your height, your smaller hands, they showed him how easily and perfectly you slotted into his body, like a puzzle piece he didn’t know he could ever feel matched to. 

Maybe Seokjin executed this desire to touch you a little too dramatically. When he saw your misplaced cutting knife, he let that excuse lead him head-first into white hot desire, scolding you, watching you squirm a little as you felt embarrassed for losing focus. And that seemed to unlock some feral need in him, to get you to squirm a little more, to touch you and feel the velveteen softness of your forearms as he pinned you against the prep table. 

The little gasp you’d let out sent the blood straight to his cock, and to avoid you seeing how easy and embarrassingly you could undo him–how quickly one singular sound from you would make Seokjin rock hard and panting and under your complete power–he reacted, clasped your wrists, used some set of excuses to get closer, let his arm skim across your cheek to grab a packet of whatever the hell was above you. And the way you didn’t resist, didn’t pull away from his grasp showed him how good you could be, how obedient you were as you turned around when told. 

He should’ve stopped there, but you were standing in front of him, smelling a little bit like coffee and a fruity shampoo you used, your bodies only mere inches from full on contact. And Seokjin wanted more of a reason to hold onto you, to see what ways he could rile you up, whether you were cognizant or not of how, well, submissive you were to him. 

Most of his income from streams came from scenarios where Seokjin played into a softer role, which translated into the role of a submissive pretty boy, and usually a bottom. But for the first time in years, a rich, satisfying wave of dominance rolled back into his body and he welcomed it.

Seokjin knew better, but he couldn’t help himself. The one bit of control he maintained was in his refusal to let go of your hands, even after you had mastered the motions of your knife, possibly even better than Seokjin himself could chop. Because if Seokjin declawed himself from you, his hands would absolutely wander. Up the sleeve of your exposed forearms and down the swell of your breasts and full hips. 

His cock ached thinking about how plush and soft your body would be under his hands, how he wouldn’t have to worry about breaking you. He could safely grope your sides and not feel like he would pinch your bones together, and that was important, because Seokjin liked to be rough.

When that carrot fell, you couldn’t shake Seokjin’s desperate hands off yours and you carried him with you as you curved your body toward the floor to pick up your mess. Seokjin was blessed and cursed with the brief moment he got to touch more of you than he ever had as your ass rocked back and ground gently into him. 

He’d moaned, though he tried to disguise it as a grunt or scoff, but the way your delicious ass attracted him right in between the line of your cheeks practically begged him to rut against you. 

Your reaction of shock, though, halted him as he remembered you two were in the kitchen of his family’s restaurant. He scrambled to cover his dick before it became even more obvious and humiliating. 

And then you fell, because Seokjin was an idiot and forgot he had been holding onto you. 

The sound of your head crashing into the metal ricocheted through his ears, and your pained moan sent him spiraling in panic. He didn’t think. Seokjin wasn’t the best at remaining calm during potential medical emergencies, instead of electing to assess your wellbeing and check-in with you, he just reacted, plucking you off the floor and onto the counter.

You can’t manage a restaurant without carrying heavy sacks of rice or flour, cartons of vegetables or gallons of oils and liquids into the space. That, plus the fact that Seokjin did go to the gym to keep his figure, ensured that when he had to pull you up from the floor, he could do so with ease. Which thanks to his awful, overly enthusiastic libido, was really locking in some potential size kink. If Seokjin could hoist you onto the cold prep counter without breaking a sweat, it meant he could also hoist you onto other things, like his cock. Could bounce you up and down and see how those delicious, large tits would follow his pace.

Fuck. 

This was when Seokjin realized even though he was deeply, deeply interested in these fantasies, his reality was different. Because too easily he had dipped into some innate submissive part of you and decided to play with it and tease you for it. Too easily, he has erased any boundary between professional and personal, and now you are walking around with a giant bruise on your forehead. He used his power to manipulate you, didn’t he? While the tiniest part of him argued back, suggesting it was purely mutual attraction and biology, that he shouldn’t apologize because he swore he saw something in your eyes that almost guaranteed you wanted him too, this is why Seokjin had to apologize. The “almost” of it all. He wasn’t sure, which meant the uncertainty was a risk and just because he wanted something to be true didn’t mean it was. 

By the end of the day, the intense proximity to you and the memory of your lips parting to suck his tongue into your mouth had become too much. Seokjin turned on an impromptu stream to wallow in his self pity and direct that dominant energy into something that was far less harmful and at least lucrative. 

Now, as the winter’s dull afternoon light glowed through the city, Seokjin checked his phone, seeing that the evening crew leader had arrived and informed him that everything was covered and they wouldn’t need the extra help. 

With that update, Seokjin’s entire evening just became available, which was a rare thing for him since he moved up in his job role. But because of this, he was unsure what to do to pass the time. He cooked himself dinner, cleaned, and organized the jars in his refrigerator, needing to keep his hands busy to distract himself from thinking about you. 

His apartment looking immaculate and there no longer being anything else to clean, he finally fired up his computer to play games. Maybe this would serve as a proper distraction. His new PC was set to come early next week after being delayed by the snow. Despite Seokjin’s financial success since his start as a streamer, money to him was still something he wasn’t sure what to do with. 

After Worldwide Handsome took their cut from last night’s fifteen grand in earnings, he would be walking away with about ten thousand dollars. He would, albeit quietly, pour around seven thousand of those dollars into the restaurant, where the mom-and-pop feel of the small shop was starting to show its age.

Last week, he’d called a repairman to give him a quote about fixing a broken coil on one of the griddles. After a quick inspection, he was informed most of the unit was corroding, and it was time to seriously consider a replacement. Between that, the new register he ordered, and the walk-in freezer that was coughing its last breath, probably as we speak, Seokjin spent nearly forty grand in the last month with repairs and replacements to keep the shop running another day. 

His parents had insisted they’d pay for the expenses, but after the first few discoveries he’d made of the DIY wiring his father had tried in earnest to configure, Seokjin stopped alerting them to the updates he was making, hoping that distance, age, and some fairly similar looking appliances would allow for these changes to go undetected when they returned. He had seen what this place made. He’d seen his paycheck. There was no way in hell his father could afford an $18 to 25,000 walk-in freezer on their operating budget. 

Overall, Seokjin made plenty of money with streaming, but beyond some investments and his nice apartment, as well as a savings account to ensure he wasn’t completely destitute, he lived much below his means. When he hit goals during his streaming, it did really feel like he was winning big. To buy himself a new PC was something he knew he worked for.  

Just as he was browsing the new skins in the game store, he heard the familiar chime and his heartrate picked up. 

You were live. 

He hesitated. “No,” he said out loud to himself, his voice croaking after hours of not speaking. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He knew if he looked at you right now, all the distractions, the cleaning, the dedication to keeping himself busy, would be for nothing. It would be painful to look at you–probably all cozy with your hair pulled messily away from your face, your glasses hanging off your nose instead of your usual contacts–and not think about how merely hours ago he had your heat rubbed up against him. 

If he really wanted to torture himself, he would also think about how the casual, disheveled look you sported could have been something he woke up to this morning if he’d tried a little harder, the loose t-shirt you probably wore rising up while you slept next to him, exposing the soft tummy he knew hid under it. Maybe even one of your nipples would slip out, hard from the chill of the cold winter air bleeding into his apartment. 

But Seokjin wouldn’t torture himself. He knew better. When he exited his game, he definitely didn’t launch his web browser and go to your channel that was on his Favorites tab. And he definitely didn’t cup himself through his sweats as he watched you appear before him. 

If the idea of you in casual wear could make him this hard, the view of you now, as you sat on stream with a tight, low-cut top that showed the curve of your breasts and their delicious, lickable valley between them, could easily turn every part of him into stone. You did your makeup today. Let your hair delicately frame your face. You looked like you were logging on to lure your viewers to come to you like a siren. Seokjin wanted you to devour him. 

His cock twitched and he groaned. He was such a pervert. But whoever this Y/N was, she looked like she was ready to play some games, and not the kind that Seokjin was used to seeing on stream. 

“Well, hello,” you purred. Was this really happening? Who the fuck had possessed the wide-eyed, awkward gamer he was used to watching?

“I thought, given that it’s so close to Valentine's Day, and because I missed the stream last night, I would make it up to you.” 

Seokjin froze. How had he not known you were supposed to stream yesterday? He would’ve never let you stay so late. He shot you an apologetic text,and when he looked up from his phone, he saw some of the comments flooding into your feed:

Mingisaysrelax: Um…am I on the right website? 😏💦

MountainSan88:😳 

PizzaBoy97: You look really pretty 😍

MizzVyne: Is this allowed? IS THIS ALLOWED?

Seokjin watched as your chat exploded in response to your new look, clips being taken by the hundreds when you leaned down to adjust your seat and the tops of your breasts jiggled. Your mods seemed to be on top of things though, because as soon as he saw raunchy or hateful comments, they were swiftly being taken down. 

“I’m not going to read my comment section right now, but I assume you’re all a little shocked by my appearance. I don’t know, I was feeling a bit inspired by another streamer I watched last night when I got home from work. He had some really good ideas on um…stuff, and no I’m not going to share who he is because some of you will absolutely cyber bully him for being associated with me and he deserves better than that.” 

He. A pang of bitterness surged through Seokjin. It was laughable, really, how he was jealous because you were watching other male streamers when you got home from work, completely oblivious to how on another site he was jerking his aching cock to his viewers thanks to how worked up you made him. 

“But yeah, I’m going to switch up the stream in the second half, if you want to stick around and see.”

This really piqued his interest, pressing his palm down onto his erection to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

You frowned at your screen as you launched your game, some first person shooter that would hold your attention so you wouldn’t have to talk.

You opened your mouth to add something, but you were immediately dropped into your game, setting your jaw as you focused on the controls in front of you, occasionally panicking, key smashing so loud that it drowned out your squeals when you were knocked over and over again and needed a revive. 

Seokjin assumed whatever teammate who kept reviving you must’ve been a subscriber who was stream sniping…or reverse stream sniping? Stream assisting and reviving as you struggled your way through the game. 

Something really stuck with him as you played. Whoever this “mentor” was must have been well versed in the knowledge that on any streaming platform, sex sells, especially for women. Your new look was drawing in quite the crowd. He wasn’t sure he’d seen you have this many subs, points, or viewers while streaming before. It was like a switch flipped. 

He felt a tiny flutter of something like pride swell into his chest. You were becoming more confident every day he knew you, from your knife skills to school teaching to now streaming. 

“Oh shittttttt,” you groaned into your mic, ripping Seokjin away from his soft reverie and back into full on, desperate wanting. Maybe you were toeing the community guidelines with this stream, but that groan sounded almost pornographic coming out of your mouth, and any chance Seokjin had at trying to be respectful was long gone. 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh you’re being a bad girl tonight I see,” he chuckled to himself.

Almost as if you heard him, you giggled back, biting your lip playfully. Fuck, what were you doing to him? Your chat seemed to be in a similar standing. 

As a result, One of the mods pinned an announcement to the top:

W0nW00: To maintain community guidelines and compliance, we are labeling this channel as 18+. We ask that you be respectful to Y/N and her moderators as we continue with this stream. If your account is set to under 18, you will be redirected in 2 minutes. 

Shit, all for a simple moan? 

You paused the game. “I’m going to go for a bio break. Be right back.” You set your break screen, and instead of the usual, cutesy graphic of a cherry blossom tree blowing in the wind that said “Spring Day Streams”, it was now a neon, vaporwave cityscape and said “Join Us For Spring Night Streams, An After Dark Experience”. 

Seokjin’s eyes wide, he finally released his cock from his sweats, and took himself in his hand. Oh, this was going to be good. 

Seokjin is a camboy.

That’s the only thought splitting through the headache you’ve had all morning. Is there such a thing as an orgasm hangover? Because if so, you’ve got one. If not, maybe you were concussed in the kitchen yesterday.

You’ve spent most of the day trying to clean up the mess of your apartment and frankly, your mental state. Seokjin spends his Friday nights Daddy domming his humble pool of viewers and making thousands of dollars doing so. To even think that sentence feels insane. 

And humiliating. Because attached to that sentence is the realization that Seokjin’s major success as a gay camboy means that he is absolutely not thinking about you the way you are of him, and the kiss you imposed on him at work was definitely not consensual after all, which when you think about it, is obvious based on how frantically he apologized and assigned himself at fault for what happened. He was trying in the most polite way to reject you. 

You’re an idiot. And despite all of it, the shame of your action isn’t what’s delivering the heavy punch; it’s the fact that your crush didn’t die the second you found out last night. If anything, you’ve been silently wallowing in your sadness since you woke up, your stupid heart not processing that there’s one significant reason for why you can’t have him. 

You try to trudge through the fog of it all, placing your newly cleaned toys back into their proper dust cases and compartments before returning them to the drawer next to your side table. You switch loads of laundry and drop the warm pile on your bed, grimacing at the idea of having to fold it all. 

You shouldn’t be disappointed. This is a stupid crush that was never meant to go this far. Not to this place where you aren’t just humiliated, but the loneliness that you often avoid feeling has been spilling through the cracks of your life all day. 

The laundry is the only thing that occupies one side of your bed. Never another body, his warmth, his weight existing as another living thing keeping your living thing company as you fold laundry or wash dishes. 

No, you shouldn’t have projected this crush or obsession or whatever you want to call it onto Seokjin, but in these months of conversation and blooming friendship, you’ve found your mind beginning to wander into the fantasy of not just sex, but safety and connection. He’s a man who has always treated you with the utmost respect, even now in how he has maintained a boundary that gently rejects you, even if it’s confusing. 

Before his promotion at the restaurant, there was collaboration that fostered your trust in him; your bodies started working around each other like dancers, fusing your movements with a natural flow. You’d seen some of that pop up throughout the day yesterday, which you couldn’t help but feel like delivered a bit of hope in your stomach. 

You know it’s useless to continue hoping that something will change. Maybe he’s bi, you’ve thought a few times since you went to bed. He did call everyone a good girl. But, don’t some guys call each other girls as some kind of kink? But even hoping for that still feels wrong in your gut. Instead of wishing he just so happens to like pussy, you should be redirecting yourself from the fact that it doesn’t even matter. He said so himself, he’s your boss. 

“Ugh,” you groan into your unfolded laundry. Why can’t anything ever be easy? 

You shove the clothing pile to one side of your bed as you lie down, staring up at the ceiling, your eyes following the soft pattern of cracks that have begun to appear through the paint. You already know that going back to work on Monday will be awful, not just because this crush won’t crush itself, but because you clearly now know more about Seokjin than he perhaps ever wanted you to know. Won’t it be awkward trying to talk to him? And if he asks why you’re being so weird, what will you even say?

Sorry Seokjin, I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore because I spent Friday cumming while watching you on your gay cam show as you stroked your huge dick and admittedly once I saw your face connected to your dick I had the best orgasm of my life that rendered me useless the next day.

Perfect. This won’t be absolute hell at all. 

Your stream alarm rings on your phone. You sigh. That’s right. You promised a makeup stream to your followers. 

How did Seokjin stream so confidently? Last night, the way he just exuded dominance and control, how he managed to get so much money from sitting there and making his chat do the work? It’s not only impressive but also inspiring. If you were able to have that distance from your chat, maybe things would be a bit easier, and the questions that were so personal and directed would fade into the background while ones of adoration and impersonal fantasies could take their place. 

And the money, god. If you had money like that, you wouldn’t have a stack of financial aid forms sitting on your dresser right now waiting for you to basically jump through hoops to ask nicely for a loan. 

The way he was able to be so different and make money off of it? That feels promising to you too. Because whoever Daddy Dom Seokjin is, he isn’t just walking around in the world being “on” all the time. You know him as someone whose ears flush with embarrassment the second one of the delivery guys tells him he made an error with the order and tries to diffuse the tension with some free snacks; who often hums game scores and whose laugh sounds like a squeaky windshield wiper swiping across dried glass. 

What if you could be more like that? 

Not Daddy Dom or Mommy Y/N, but more casual and detached? You could stop reading your chat and answering questions. Or if you did want to play into some of Seokjin’s sex appeal, you could dress slightly more suggestively or do your hair and makeup to exploit the male gaze’s money a bit, just like how Seokjin did. 

In this world of streaming, where everything feels like fractured versions of reality, parts of you being split among the pixels and delivered and digested into someone else’s home for their entertainment and pleasure, it’s hard for you to ever feel like you can have some close community with your followers. Not like Wonwoo does with his. Because of your start and how people perceive you now, there just doesn’t seem to be a way for you to have intimacy. Even if you tried, your chat flies by so quickly now that unless it’s a notification from a mod, any usernames and personal anecdotes are lost before you can even know who’s who. 

You think about it for a bit. It can’t hurt to try, right? It’s not like you being a little less reserved would automatically launch you into a career in porn. And if it will help bring a little more income in, lessen the blow a tiny bit, you can’t really see why it would make sense to keep doing things this way when you are this miserable by the idea of it. 

Spring Day Streams holds a standard image that is pink and soft, and you know some people love watching you because you’re hitting some fantasy they have. The woman who looks like an angel but swears like a sailor and as stereotypes often assume, fucks like a demon. 

What could “fuck like a demon” look like on an often all ages game streaming platform, though? Well, not all ages. Some streams are only accessible to registered users over the age of 18. Usually the age filter is there because the game is super graphic, or the streamer is a sex educator or swears so much the algorithm has started penalizing them. A few times though, you’ve seen some streamers playing games that are so raunchy they’re basically porn. And porn versions of those games exist, but to keep some of them streamer-friendly, they also sell versions that don’t have uncensored anime girls receiving creampies. That would definitely maintain the brand without going too far, right? 

You open your phone, typing in some of the titles of games, mostly dating simulators you’ve seen other streamers play before, and then you stumble across one called MiCamStudio, a puzzle game with the plot where you’re the manager of a camgirl enterprise and your goal is to become the most successful, richest entrepreneur while keeping your girls happy. 

You laugh. It feels a bit on the nose, but a fun way to shake things up in an after-dark concept. And it’s not too expensive, which means if this entire plan bombs, you won’t have invested much into it. Fine, you’ll do it. 

Wonwoo responds right away after you shoot a quick message with your idea to your mods on discord to help them prepare. 

On it. 

With a deep breath, you start to get ready. 

As you brace yourself to come back from your short bio break and announcement, your heart is hammering in your ears. What if everyone left? What if things get weird or gross or you think you’re being kind of sexy and cute but are really just being an idiot? 

Suddenly, this entire idea seems so stupid. What if your mom decides this is finally the time she wants to watch you stream? She hasn’t ever had the interest to, but what if she finally thinks to herself on a random Saturday night in February, “Wow, I sure do crave watching some video game streams! Say, I know my daughter Y/N streams. I should check it out!” or worse, what if someone she knows sends one of the clips or a screenshot of you with your tits practically out? 

Your anxiety is starting to win in this battle, and as you pace back and forth in front of your computer, shaking your clammy hands and trying to remember how to breathe, you see the number of viewers has dropped since the stream moved from all ages to 18+. Which means that you can now read your chat again. 

The comments are actually really supportive. Among them are some of your mods cheering you on, but one username anchors you back into your chair as you watch the notification dance across the screen. 

JokeJinSeokjin has subscribed for 3x months!

Seokjin. Seokjin is live and watching you. Which you expect to be the thing that will throw you over the edge. Seokjin, your boss. Your kind of friend. Your crush. The man who you are trying to emulate in this attempt to be sexy and earn more money and confidence. 

Surprisingly, a warm glow of comfort settles in you stomach instead. Because while maybe in all of this mess there’s plenty to be anxious about, you feel a part of you that’s determined to make him proud, to show him in this rejection what he’s missing out on. You take a deep breath to steady yourself as you hit the button to come back. 

“Ah, hello! I mean-um, hello,” you catch the nervousness pouring out of your shaky voice and clear your throat, trying to sound more composed. 

“I wanted to try something new today. Well, tonight. Welcome to Spring Night Streams, where I’ll be playing some not safe for work in more of a raunchy way type of games. Because as we know if there’s blood and guts and horror, it’s all ages! But boobs, those are a no no!”

You shakily laugh and suck your lip into your teeth. The taste of your lipstick laths over your tongue and you try not to think about how messy you just made it look. Or how you might now have lipstick on your teeth to really add an effect of clownery to your poor jokes. 

“I’m going to play this game? It came out a few years ago, but it’s a puzzle game called MiCamStudio. Maybe some of you have played it. But uh, yeah if you don’t like things like that I can always um…well I’ll just try it and see…” you trail off and nervously fidget with your controls as you open the game. 

Whatever you were expecting out of a dating simulator type game where you were in charge of cam girls, it wasn’t this. When you open the menu to start a new game, the animation that loads after you click “Start Streaming” is dozens of bra-clad boobs bouncing across the screen as it transitions you to the story line menu. 

Jesus Christ. Heat floods your cheeks. This somehow feels worse than the time your earbuds died and you didn’t notice that the audiobook of a very spicy holiday romance you were listening to wasn’t coming through them, but your phone. On the bus. And to make matters worse, you were at a part where the narrator was very generously providing sound effects and moans for the main character as she participated in an orgy with triple penetration. Yikes. 

You begin the walk-through of the storyline, greeted by Candy, a pink haired, busty camgirl who is looking to expand her horizons in the business. As you tap through the prompts, Candy starts to become less dressed, abandoning her already tiny skirt and crop top combo for a barely-there set of lingerie that covers just her nipples and vagina. 

“I need your help!” Candy pouts, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I need 400 new fans for my business or else I’ll be out of work! Quick, use this magic wand as you solve puzzles to help me get closer to my goal!” 

The wand is, of course, a vibrator. When you play through the first level tutorial and are prompted to use the wand, it vibrates the blocks, shifting them into new positions on the screen to match colors together. If you get enough combos, she has a giant orgasm, which increases her fans so you can pass to the next level. 

As you work through some of the first few levels, you notice that your view count has recovered somewhat from earlier, though the comments are kind of off-putting. Not because people are being sexually inappropriate, but because they’re mad you’re not interacting with them. 

NGL I thought this was going to be more fun and naughty. 

Yeah now she’s not even talking to us at all. 

I miss when she was bad at games and it was at least interesting. 

Someone come get me if she starts moaning again like she did earlier. 

Fuck. You are fucking this up. And your viewers are right, you haven’t been talking to them. Or really doing anything but playing the game and trying not to wince from embarrassment every time Candy moans as you make her a star. 

There’s got to be something you can do. You think about Seokjin again, who you’re not sure is still watching, but you hope some of that confident edge he had last night starts to come over you, too. What was it that he did to keep everyone engaged? 

He gave them incentive. A goal. He didn’t have to say much to them but tell them what to do and they happily did it. And that also took the pressure off of him to keep talking. 

With a deep breath, you test the waters. “Oh, you wanted more fun and naughty? Well, you didn’t really work for it did you?” 

You hate the words as they come from your mouth, but they have an immediate result. 

Loyal2You tipped 1600 points. What do you need us to do to earn it?

Your face burns hot, and you sip some water to try and cool yourself, playing it off as nonchalance rather than anxiety. You feel your stomach threatening to lurch into your throat as you force out the next sentence.  

“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe you need to show me what I need,” you smirk. You really don’t know. Money? Subs? People not questioning you? This to be over?

LongJohn69 gifted 10 subs. Maybe this will help? 😉

“Well, it’s a start. Thanks for the sub,” you giggle, forcing yourself to relax into your chair. 

“Hmm, what can I give you all as a reward? I feel like I could really use some cute new clothes that I can wear for you next stream if you help me?” 

Your voice is softened and the pitch is a bit higher. Maybe Candy’s baby voice is having an impact on you from the game, because your normal, even paced tone is taking a turn. Is this the persona you’ve been trying to find? 

But you need this money. School, your future. You can’t just keep living the way you have been. 

7DaysAWeek tipped 10,000 points. Please, say “thank you 7 days” in that adorable whiny voice, baby. I’ll double tip if you do.

You freeze. 20,000 points is $200. All for you to say something so simple and stupid? 

God, but it doesn’t feel right to do it. You could ignore it, you think. And walk away with $100 before your commission rate is taken out. Which will end up being nothing, you realize.

“Oh, hmm.” You pause and then just do it. “Okay. Thank you 7 Days for the points. I really appreciate it.” You drum up the dramatics, eliciting some horrible, embarrassing baby voice that makes your vowels stringy and weak. 

Yuck. More requests pour in, people eager to get you to recite some innocent seeming phrases that you know are fodder for their spank bank. 

You see a tiny notification flash in the bottom right corner: a private message from Wonwoo. 

Y/N, you could get into deep shit if you aren’t careful. This could potentially violate your terms of service. 

You frown at the message but nod to let him know you read it. 

“Okay, well, I think it’s time we get back to the game!” You awkwardly divert your attention back to the screen, letting Candy’s moans fill the silence as you ignore the new requests and subs for the rest of your stream, too humiliated to think about what they could be saying.

After you end your stream, you feel the damn of tears that was welling your eyes for the last half hour spill. 

What a fucking disaster. What started as a hopeful night turned out to be one of your most streamed yet somehow also least successful broadcasts. The rush of viewers at the start provided you with a great boost, but after you didn’t engage again with the requests, your views, subs, and points plummeted, leaving you with a very slim payout for the day. This wouldn’t be much of anything for your bills once commission is taken. 

You don’t know how people do this. You feel like absolutely dog shit, and you even wrapped early, pretending that you were sick. But maybe you also aren’t really pretending, your stomach feels knotted and sour. 

Something about that felt wrong, but you don’t really understand why. It’s not like you’re prudish or fear sex. On any given day those kinds of requests stack up by the hundreds. But maybe it’s because tonight you finally peeled back the dismissive layer and let them in that has you feeling vulnerable and honestly, a little dirty. 

You wipe some stray tears from your eyes, stretching across the desk to grab your phone and pull it off of do not disturb mode. You see a few texts from Seokjin that he sent while you were streaming. 

Seokjin (8:17PM): Hey! I didn’t know you were supposed to stream yesterday. I would have let you leave early if I’d known.😞

Seokjin (9:15PM): Hey, are you okay? You look really uncomfortable. I know you’re playing and won’t see this until after you’re done but I wanted to check. 

Seokjin (9:47PM): Y/N, please don’t feed into these requests if it’s not what you want. 

Seokjin (10:02PM): Call me. The second you get this. Urgent.

You read the last text, which was sent twenty minutes ago. Shit, did something happen to the restaurant? 

“Y/N,” Seokjin says after one ring, his voice strained. 

“Um, hi Seokjin. I’m just calling you back because you said it’s urgent! Is everything okay with the restaurant? Did the snow knock power out or something? If you need me to come in tomorrow too I can help with stuff.”

“What?” Seokjin pauses for a second, his exasperation now turned to confusion. “No, Y/N. Everything with the restaurant is fine.”

“Oh. Then why did you call?” you ask. 

“Well, if you saw all my texts then you know I was watching your stream. And I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay after that? Near the end you looked pretty upset.”

The warmth in your stomach you felt when you first heard his voice is gone, replaced by a sharp, gritty unease.

“Oh. Um, yeah I’m…fine,” but the tightness in your throat betrays you and a tiny sob escapes as the tears begin falling again. 

Seokjin doesn’t say anything as you sniffle into your phone, scrubbing the dribble away from your nose and cheeks with your sleeve. 

“Hey,” he says as your cries become softer. “Do you want to get out of the house for a bit?”

“It’s kind of late, isn’t it,” you say weakly. 

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to get out of the house for a bit?” He repeats. 

Do you? Part of you is exhausted, tempted to just go right to bed. But you know if you lie down right now in the rest of that unfolded pile of laundry you might never emerge. 

“Ok,” you whisper into the receiver. 

“I’ll come get you,” Seokjin says. “Dress warm. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

When you were little, your parents took you on a road trip to get away from the city. You sat in the backseat, kicking your father’s chair grumpily on the first day, tired from waking up early and having to be stuffed into the car with the mountain of snacks, toys, clothes, and camping gear you had shoved in beside you. Your father was patient for the first hour of your kicks, but before long the steady thump thump thump on his lower back was becoming a strong annoyance as he navigated further away from home. 

“Y/N,” your father had sharply warned once he’d had enough. “Keep it up, and I’ll take your feet off and put them into my pockets.” 

While in retrospect the threat is silly and impossible, at the time, your five-year-old self was struck with horror as you imagined him sawing your feet off like the patients who were out in the snow for too long in that medical TV show you saw at your grandparents’ house once.

You’d tucked your feet underneath you until you were at a rest stop, where picnic tables and a small garden scape awaited you, filled with native wildflowers and lazy, fat bees that hovered from flower to flower. 

Your mother smoothed your hair with her hand, guiding you through the garden as your father bought your lunches from inside the building. 

“He didn’t mean it,” she’d said softly, feathering the tips of your hair across your cheek. Goosebumps prickled along your arms and you shivered, even though the sun was heavy and hot on top of you that day. “No one will take your feet from you.” 

You’d hugged her tightly then, still unsure as to why someone would try to take your feet from you. Your tapping in the car was mostly to keep you from feeling like you were going to be sick, but back then you didn’t really have the words to express yourself. 

When your father returned, he wordlessly placed your meal in front of you, including a large, fudgy cookie for dessert. Your father had always been proud, and even then when he didn’t apologize to you and promise he wouldn’t saw off your feet, being given a dessert was as good as any apology. 

He smiled when you licked the smudged chocolate off your fingers, eventually tutting impatiently so your mother would take you to the bathroom to wash up. Afterwards, you found him looking at a map on the building’s outside wall, with a bright cherry red You Are Here sticker signifying where in this confusing picture you were supposed to be. 

“There’s an observation point a few stops away from here. It’s supposed to be a really nice view over a valley. Y/N, do you want to be our navigator for those and help me decide when we should stop to look?” 

Laced in there was his apology. An opportunity at redemption, connection. You’d nodded instantly and scrambled back into the car, no longer upset about having to share your space in the backseat with all the cargo, ready to take on your role as your father’s co-pilot. 

You visited every observation point along that freeway that trip, all the way from the rest stop to the campground in some rural village. Some of the spots were lackluster, now overgrown and showing a view of a wall of trees and bushes and not some regal cavern or farmland below. But there were also the ones that, had you never insisted on visiting, you would have never seen half as much of the flora and fauna you’d expected to see on your camping trip. And it was the one major trip your family had ever had that made you all feel like a collective unit, ready to fight against the forces of grumpiness or foot-sawers together.

From that point on, whenever you saw the sign marker, you couldn’t help but feel a smile bloom on your face, which is why at this moment you are sitting next to Seokjin in his car, bundled up and stupidly beaming at him as he mirrors a happy but confused smirk back at you.

When he’d picked you up, Seokjin didn’t say much, just started driving north, through your neighborhood and into the rolling hills outside of the city. While this morning’s snow still clings to the trees and rooftops of some hillside buildings, surprisingly, the plows have done a good job of ensuring the road is safe and salted. You can feel the tense knots in your shoulders starting to lessen a little just from the feeling of being somewhere else for a while.

As you weave up the mountain side, toward the observation point, you gasp. 

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?’ His eyes bulge from his head. 

“It’s just that, I love observation points,” you say sheepishly, not sure if you should divulge your entire story. 

Seokjin nods, thoughtful. “I like to come up here sometimes when I’ve had a really bad day. Just need to clear my head. Seemed like you needed to do that too.” The car curves along the bend, some of the wind fluttering clods of snow from the trees and onto the road. 

“Yeah, I do…” You trail off, letting him take you higher into the mountain before pulling into the observation point. This one has some small cafés and despite the late hour and snowfall, there are still quite a few cars parked in the lot, some sets of families and couples strolling around with warm drinks and peering out onto the twinkling, snow-covered city below. 

“How’s your head,” he asks gently, and it takes you a minute to remember what he’s referring to. You touch the make-up covered bruise and shrug.

 “Eh, it’s not so bad.” Truly, as the day wears on, you are feeling a bit tender, but the swelling has gone down, and your worry has gone with it. 

Seokjin opens your door for you, ever the gentleman, and you try to fight off the harsh tug in your chest that likens this behavior to a date. 

The two of you head over toward one of the lookout points, leaning against the rail posts. You take in the rolling hills below, how soft and plush the city looks now, almost like it could never be a place where you feel sadness or loneliness. You sigh. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Seokjin begins gently, “but I was wondering what happened during your stream tonight.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure him. 

Maybe this conversation would feel more uncomfortable if you didn’t already feel so awful. You are just trying to feel a little bit better about this whole ordeal. Trying to find in you some nugget of comfort to ensure a more stable future. And hell, Seokjin had made it seem so easy. But now, you are humiliated. You aren’t sure how you are going to go live again and go back to how things were before when the internet is probably making a giant laughing stock of you, or fetishizing you. You’re not sure which one is worse. 

“So, I know when we used to be, um, friends, I had mentioned to you that streaming is something I fell into. And as you also know from working with me, I don’t have the best social skills. Or I can, maybe, I don’t know. Anyway, I haven’t been liking it that much, really. Mostly because people in the chat always ask really personal questions about me and it feels weird. Like they’re real people but they can’t be real, to me. Does that make sense?”

He nods once, urging you to continue. 

“Right, so, in all of this, I’ve been trying to think of ways to make it more fun for me. And last night I saw you-YouTuber. I saw this YouTube streamer and on his stream he just seemed so cool, and smart. And he was able to both stay engaged without telling everyone everything and had distance. But he also was kind of domin-strong, he was just really good at telling people to meet goals and incentives. And it worked, they did it. I thought, maybe this could help me be better at this so I don’t hate it so much. I could make some persona, do something different that helps me better enjoy it or make more money. I don’t know. It seems stupid now when I think about it.”

“It’s not stupid, Y/N,” Seokjin says, turning to you. Your eyes flit to his face. His nose is pinkish from the cold, and his broad shoulders are tightly bound up to his ears to avoid the chill from spreading. 

“Of course you should like streaming, but if you don’t, if this isn’t the formula that works for you, then maybe you should try something different to help you.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, realizing too late what you are saying. 

Seokjin freezes. “Do what?”

“Um, how do you maintain confidence all the time? Like at work and stuff.”

Seokjin scoffs. “I don’t. You know that. Weren’t you just with me last week when I was bowing and spluttering like an idiot to Mrs. Yoon because that one repair man backed his car over her potted azalea? I was anything but confident then.” 

You fight a soft smile. Seokjin had been trying to scoop the twiggy, out of season bush into a bucket to salvage it before offering to replace it. Mrs. Yoon however, was having none of it, chirping on about how that plant had been germinated from her ancestors’ hillside home generations ago, and despite her choosing to carelessly plop it into a busy alleyway, she was sure there was no replacement that could soothe her aching heart. Seokjin handed her a wad of cash, and a gift certificate to the restaurant in an act of good faith. That seemed to shut her up. 

“You know what I mean,” you nudge. “You have an ability to talk to people though. Even Mrs. Yoon can’t say no to your mother’s bossam recipe when you charm her like that.” 

“First of all, no one can say no to my mother’s bossam recipe, regardless if I’m there to grovel or not. Secondly, you’re charming too, Y/N.”

You chortle at this. You? Charming? “Ha, I wish. But really, Seokjin. Half of that stream was an awkward setup and I thought I was going to puke. And not because of how I was dressed or anything like that. It’s so weird. I don’t really care about if people make comments like that about me because they’re impersonal. But knowing that I am sitting there, and everyone has some expectation of how I’m going to perform for them, it makes me feel awful.” 

“Tell me about it,” you hear him mutter, but he then recovers. “It sounds like that crossed one of your boundaries, then. Just because some explicit stuff doesn’t bother you, doesn’t mean that nothing ever will. And it doesn’t have to make sense. You can not care if strangers are talking about you sexually but care if you’re engaging with them and using sexual innuendos to do so.” 

Part of you is tempted to engage with the comment, to press him to explain and pretend that you have no idea what he’s speaking in regard to. But what good would that do here? Please Seokjin, can you share with me how being a gay sex cammer, which I absolutely already know about after watching you and masturbating to you, has impacted your life? 

God, how mortifying it would be for you. 

Instead, you let the comment go, cutting him enough slack so he can assume you didn’t hear him. 

“You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Seokjin adds. You shoot him a look. 

“I don’t really have much of a choice at this point! No offense, but it’s not like I’m making bank at the restaurant, and I already have chosen to withdraw from this term because of billing issues and–” 

“You’re withdrawing from school? Y/N!” He yells,  and you feel a heat of shame flood your cheeks as you see some scattered people shift their attention toward you. 

Now you were both embarrassed and pissed. How dare he scold you?

“Not from school, just the term!” you yell back. You’d made the choice in your spiral this evening, in between bio breaks. It was haunting you as you stared back at the packet of financial aid papers and billings notices. Streaming, you’ve now seen, is such a hit or miss game. And you truly can’t maintain the expenses that can cut into your work hours. Especially if you need to get a different job that isn’t streaming or working at the restaurant. 

“Is..is that where Spring Night Streams is coming from?” he asks, face flushed with embarrassment at his outburst. Your anger dulls.

“Partially. This felt like some way to sustain myself without it draining me. I thought maybe if I look pretty, people won’t just come and try to either ask me super personal things I don’t want to share, or they’ll just feed into basically the illusion of sex and pay me that way. And I can continue to play games and suck at them or be good at them, but the original reason behind why they came to my stream could be replaced with a different person, someone who isn’t so closely trying to dig into me.

“But, then I fumbled the bag, and you saw it. The viewer count was fluctuating so bad, and the second I interacted with that one comment, suddenly I was toeing the line for TOS and could easily have jeopardized my entire branding and be permanently banned from the website for sexual activity. Tonight was one of the lowest payouts I’ve made since I started. And now I know too, this could all just as easily go away if I’m not being…I don’t know. Compliant.” 

Seokjin makes a dissatisfied grunt, his breath coming out in a white puff. Now past eleven, most of the couples and families have dispersed, and the cute café that had advertised decadent looking hot chocolates is closed. The only thing remaining open is the tiny convenient store. 

You try to suppress a shiver but fail. 

“Come on,” he says, guiding you away from the railing and toward the store. 

Inside, the shopkeeper doesn’t even flinch or look away from his phone, which is streaming some sports match in Spanish. 

Seokjin places his hand on the small of your back as he guides you over to the drinks section, gesturing for you to select something from the warm options. 

“I wouldn’t recommend anything pre-made,” he warns, his voice low. “That stuff has probably been here since this morning.” He helps himself to a tea packet and the hot water dispenser. 

You browse a little and find a packet of hot chocolate. While it may not be the fancy, marshmallow delight pink drink that the café had advertised in their window, this will do just fine. 

By the time you’ve gotten your drink mixed together, Seokjin is waiting for you at the counter, a selection of different snacks piled high and a gentle smile on his face despite how bothered and grumpy the shop worker is toward him, practically smashing the food into a bag and muttering a total. 

You hadn’t given yourself a chance to really look at him before, but as he stands before you, you can finally take in how incredible he looks. While he’s wearing some gray joggers underneath, he’s elected for a long black puffer coat and green knit sweater and somehow looks so put together, so…boyfriend. 

Your heart flutters a bit and you try to tamp it down. This isn’t a date, you remind yourself, Get a hold of yourself Y/N. 

As you head back out into the chilly air, you both settle into a table outside of the convenience store, and Seokjin pulls the snacks out of the bag, all of which are your favorites. 

“You remembered?” you ask, a little stunned that he would commit all your tiny convenience store runs to memory over the months you’ve worked together and would split packets of sweet potato puffs and tiny, sweet cakes. He shrugs. 

“Morale is low. You need the boost. Now pass me some of those chips, I’m starving.” 

Your stomach growls in agreement, and you pop open the bag, nibbling away quietly. 

“You don’t need to people please to be a good streamer,” Seokjin says finally, rinsing his mouth with his tea. You chew your bottom nervously but wait for him to continue. “There’s tons of people on the internet who do streaming for all kinds of uh, stuff. And they make a ton of money without compromising their values to do so. Maybe instead of focusing on what you think people want in a stream, do what you want instead.” 

You sigh. “See, that sounds great and all, but when I tried that today, people got mad and left. Did you see all the donations trying to get me to say things or do stuff after that first one?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, taking a big bite of a chocolate cake thing and chewing diligently. “Welrr,” he begins, his mouth stuffed full, “I guesh you have to undershtand dat peepo on dee internet will always chewz sex first to get what dey wan.” He swallows. “And if that doesn’t work because someone sets a boundary, fuck them.” He pauses. “Not literally!” A blush creeps up his neck. 

You laugh. “I thought you limited your swearing to mostly angry kitchen interactions,” you say, and sip the watery hot chocolate. You wince. 

“You chose wrong with that hot chocolate. I’ll make it up to you next time.” Next time. Your stomach leaps. 

“But you don’t see it because I’m trying to maintain a professional air most of the time. But I say shit, piss, cock and fuck pretty regularly.” Like when you’re camming, you mentally note. 

“Yeah, so, speaking of that. And boundaries. This isn’t really the most professional boss-employee relationship happening right now.” You gesture around you. You didn’t want to say it, but you know it needs to be addressed. Seokjin and you really need to figure out a new set of rules, especially now you know what he does after dark, and he’s watching your streams, too. 

He pauses and sighs. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Look Y/N, I do want to talk about that. And we can address it. But before we do, I want to finish talking to you about what happened earlier today. Can we do a brief boss-employee dynamic halt for the rest of the time we’re up here? I want to talk to you as a friend right now, which we once were, even if it was for a short time. Will you let me do that?” 

You look up at him, and he’s gazing back with intensity, and also something that looks almost like desperation. 

“Okay,” you say. “For the rest of the time we’re out of the city. We are just two people. Friends. Not boss. Not an employee. Just us.” 

He smiles at that. “Yeah, just us.” 

Seokjin tried to not kick himself in his own ass for doing what he was doing now. Bringing you up here, to his safe place, was far too intimate of a decision. But when he’d watched the rest of your stream, watched you do stuff that– while he couldn’t be absolutely sure but he could assume– tested your boundaries and comfort, he knew he couldn’t just let you spiral by yourself. 

He’d been there before. During a show earlier in his cam career, Seokjin was once asked to try a more extreme kink on his stream which involved a thin metal rod that he would push into his urethra for pleasure. 

He’d agreed to try it before he’d even looked it up, and even when purchasing the equipment, he’d felt really queasy and knew he would hate it. But he’d promised, which he now understood was a fake law people set for themselves to push them past their limits. On the stream where he tested it out, he started shaking and crying, stopping before he could even open the package with the rods in it and ended his stream early. 

From then on, he had spent more time learning about kinks and BDSM. It was much more psychological and technical than he’d realized, with precise and careful movements, components of care, and more thoughtfulness than he’d ever really learned from porn or the internet. 

While he and Soon Yi had been exploratory in their sex life, it wasn’t like they’d ever done proper research when they were together. Looking at things now, he felt a little sickened knowing she could have gotten seriously hurt the times he choked her, not knowing the right placement of hands or pressure to make sure he didn’t cause permanent damage. 

Seokjin then reassessed his boundaries. He never wanted to position himself on his streams where he would succumb to pressure for money and compromise his own safety or desire. This was supposed to be fun.

The main tenets of BDSM are safe, sane, and consensual, which is hard to define on the internet. When something is leaked or found by the wrong party, it can especially compromise consent. With a permanent imprint of something existing once agreed upon, at any point someone’s right to withdraw consent can be invalidated simply because there’s a paper trail. And if that happened, then safety and sanity were sure to be called into question too.

Which is why Seokjin couldn’t stay silent after he saw you drawing breath after shaky breath after the first exchange with that follower. The instant regret that bloomed on your face as you so easily traded your comfort to make money, he never wanted you to feel that or experience it again. 

Which is why you now sat before him, the residual makeup from your stream still there but smeared, a thin looking peacoat doing a lot of work to protect you from the elements. This is why he said dress warm. Why were you wearing a glorified blazer in this weather?

He knew his time was limited with you, and that yes, he was already compromising this boundary that he’d set. But boundaries could be redrawn, and in this moment, he didn’t want the only thing protecting you right now to be that peacoat. He needed to protect you too. 

Granted, you probably were questioning his qualifications in this, and for a brief moment he considered telling you, but he quickly dismissed the idea when he remembered the video of him cumming and saying your name existed on his page if you’d ever gotten curious. Behind a paywall, sure, but it was there. 

No, for now, it was Seokjin and Y/N, friends. Us, he thought, and his pulse quickened unhelpfully. 

You sat in front of him, sipping at that awful hot chocolate, waiting for him to deliver more of his advice. He hesitated to speak more. Here you were, attention fully focused on him, and the dependence on him to get you home tonight, to move back into a world that wasn’t just you two and your own little universe, and all Seokjin was doing was considering how long he could carry on the pause. 

Maybe he would never speak again, and you would have to stay here forever, on top of the mountain as the snow began to gently fall around you two like you both lived in your own private snow globe. 

Wait, snow? Seokjin blinked, and sure enough the flakes were swirling around you both again, the wind kicking up your hair. You let out a sharp shiver, and that broke the fantasy of staying here. 

He ushered you back to the car, where now the snow was coming down in thick, heavy globs that signified the moisture in the air had increased, which made sense. Back in the city, the forecast had said it was set to rain, but he’d forgotten elevation impacts the weather, and that the change of moisture in the air also could result in ice on the way down. 

As you warmed your hands in front of his heat vents, he tried to think of his next move. It was now after midnight, which meant the road authority was probably not planning on plowing the roads anytime soon, and the accumulation quickly erasing the parking lot around you was a sure sign that it soon would be unsafe to drive. 

If you stay here any longer, you might be stuck together all night, an evil idea glinted through his head, and he felt a pulse of desire run through him as he caught a whiff of your soft, sweet scent. 

It would be kind of hot, the two of you snuggled in the backseat of his SUV, you clinging to him tightly to keep yourself warm through the storm as you used his parka as a blanket, the windows fogging up to give you two privacy as you moved tighter together, panting into each other’s mouths when you rubbed up against him and–

No. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Urging his steadily inflating erection down, he glanced over to you, noticing you were still shivering. 

He sighed. God, why did he have to get hard right now, in gray sweatpants no less? Nothing screamed “boner alert” more than seeing a dick swelling in light colored sweats. But you were still cold, and he decided he would rather risk you seeing him hard than your teeth chattering or you getting sick. 

Seokjin removed his puffer, handing it to you. “Here, put this on,” he ordered, and you looked at him, a tremor rocking through your body as you tried to eke out a “thank you”.

You began to put the puffer over your peacoat, but Seokjin shook his head. “I think your peacoat is useless right now. Maybe you should take that off and just wear mine. And then, consider getting a new coat,” he teased. 

You hesitated. “Uh,” you said. Seokjin’s eyebrow raised, and he swiftly adjusted himself in his joggers while you looked down at your coat before sighing and unbuttoning it. 

Fuck. You still had on that same top from earlier, and Seokjin could now see that it wasn’t just a sexy, low cut top that showed your heavy and full breasts, but that it also had a large keyhole cutout through the back, which meant you didn’t wear a bra with it. He bit his lip as he took in your hard and prominent nipples. God, no wonder you were cold. You were practically naked. 

His cock twitched, and any attempts he had at concealing his erection were useless. He was now definitely going to be fully hard for the rest of the drive. 

You zipped yourself into Seokjin’s puffer and let out a satisfied sigh as you nuzzled into the warmth. Seokjin took the opportunity to snatch your peacoat from your lap and drape it over himself, praying that would help conceal some of the compass-pointing-north bullshit he was trying to stave off. 

Unfortunately, you snuggled into his coat was just making it worse. 

Clearing his throat, he started the car, and slowly began testing the surface of the parking lot. It was a little slick, but nothing too bad. If you stayed any longer, though, you would definitely be here overnight. 

With a silent, sad nod to the outlook point, Seokjin prepared himself to head back to reality, where your moment of connection would be replaced by workplace congeniality. 

About halfway down the mountain, the snow surely turned to a heavy rain, aggressively battering down on the windshield and making it nearly impossible to find the lines on the road. 

“I’m sorry, I think I should pull over,” he apologized and you agreed easily, your shoulders relaxing a bit as he pulled over to the side of the road. 

“Well, we never really got to finish talking about stuff anyway,” you offered generously. 

Seokjin smirked back. “Yeah, we didn’t. Look, what I wanted to say earlier was that with streaming, you shouldn’t have to compromise on what you want to be successful. If people leave your stream because they can’t hear you baby voice their requests so they can get off, then fuck them. They aren’t the community of people you want to watch your content, anyway. Those are the type of people who are never satisfied, who will just demand more from you. Sooner or later they’ll be less kind and be aggressive and threatening. And you don’t deserve that, Y/N.” 

He sucked in a breath. “You just need a chance to build confidence, that’s all. Assuming you even want to continue doing these streams. I know you said you don’t feel like you have much of a choice, but maybe I could help you out. Uh, I could give you a raise or something so you could quit! And with school, too, I’m sure we could figure out something! Maybe if it’s not too late you could go back and––”

You held up your hands, signaling for Seokjin to stop talking. 

“I’ve made up my mind! And I don’t think giving me a raise or trying to help me with school would be a great way of maintaining that boundary we are supposed to have, remember? Something tells me a boss isn’t supposed to offer his employee an undeserved pay raise for her personal issues.” You huff.

You were right. Seokjin chuckled. “Okay, fair. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to throw everything away like I did.” 

You whipped your head over to him. “Listen, Seokjin. I appreciate that you care and don’t want things to happen to me. But I’m also not you. And you also didn’t throw everything away but that’s another topic completely, one I thought we discussed yesterday morning. Regardless, I’m getting a lot of mixed messages here and I need you to help me understand what exactly is happening right now. Are you my friend or my boss? Because right now it feels like you’re telling me what to do like you are in charge of me but hiding it behind the guise of friendship and that’s not how this works. So explain. Ideally before you drop me off and we don’t speak again until Monday.” 

Seokjin swallowed hard, an anxiousness beginning to swirl in your stomach. This whole conversation felt like it was going south really quick. He scrambled to steady himself and took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t styled it today, and the black strands were sticking to his forehead from the melted snow. “I’m sorry. You have every right to decide. And you’d said before that this was a temporary pause. And even if it wasn’t, that’s also your choice.”

“Again, yes, you’re right. But I also don’t see why you seem to care so much!” Your volume raised in annoyance and you crossed your arms over your chest in a puff. “You don’t get to decide I’m some soft little flower who can’t advocate for herself! Like yeah, I feel shitty about what I did but I’m just trying to figure out my boundaries, just like you said earlier! So yes, I have the right to decide if I want to go back to school or not! Thanks for pointing that out!”

If he hadn’t been getting chewed out right now by you, Seokjin would’ve thought you were the cutest thing he’d ever seen, your mouth settled into a sharp frown and your eyebrows knit together as you argued with him. 

Instead though, he felt like a jackass. He’d seriously overstepped in his attempts to protect you, and guilt washed through him as he realized he was placing himself into your shoes. Even if your situations were scarily similar, you still had the right to do what you wanted without his interference. Besides, his intention was to provide safety for you, not control. Maybe he’d underestimated you earlier and how you were utilizing your stream. Yes, you were uncomfortable, but it’s not like you were a child who was set to be taken advantage of, or that you’d make the same mistakes he would.  

“I-I care about you, Y/N. We’re friends. I know being your boss changed a lot, and while I sign your paycheck and have to give you orders, it’s not like that change in role made me care less. It’s not that easy.” 

You uncrossed your arms. “But,” you started, your tone softening, “you can’t both tell me what to do as my boss and tell me what to do as a friend. I’m not clocked in, Seokjin. And that’s why this is so fucking hard. Because my boss is the one who took me up a mountain after apologizing to me yesterday for his “gross misuse of power” when I’m the one who kissed you sitting on a fucking prep counter! And yeah, we were friends before you were my boss, and that means I learned to work with you and trust you as my coworker, and we shared interests so you can watch my streams and tell me about MapleStory. We have history and it’s not something we can deny. But you keep acting like I am not in control, like I am not an adult. 

“I would love it if we could stay on this mountain forever,” you added, taking the words Seokjin was thinking earlier and making them real, “because, maybe then we could just stay friends. I miss you as my friend! And I wouldn’t feel so…weird now trying to figure out which guy, Boss Seokjin or Friend Seokjin, is talking to me.” 

Seokjin was unsure what to say, just that he knew he’d fucked up yesterday not just with his behavior in the kitchen, but ultimately how he set boundaries with you. 

“I don’t know what to do about it, Y/N,” he said weakly, honestly. 

“Can I then offer a suggestion?” Your voice sounded frustrated, on the verge of yelling. He nodded. 

“On this mountain, right now. You are my friend. And any other time when we aren’t at work, we are friends. We are not the first two people who started a friendship and had a power dynamic at work. I don’t know what happened in your past that makes this so hard for you, and you don’t need to tell me. But whatever you said yesterday, it wasn’t true. I want you to trust me when I say you didn’t take advantage of me. Was it kind of stupid and inappropriate on both our parts? Sure. But I’m not this weak, breakable thing. You said so yourself with my boundary-setting for my stream that I just need confidence to assert myself and make sure I don’t get taken advantage of. So let me start with you. Help me start with you.” 

You leaned a little closer and Seokjin’s heart beat erratically. “I promise, Kim Seokjin, that whatever happened in the kitchen yesterday was consensual. At least on my end. And that I do hold you in regard as my boss during work hours most of the time. But I can’t fucking stand if you continue to uphold this standard when you talk to me as an authority and then immediately pull a hypocritical move and try to be my friend after. It’ll drive me crazy.”

Your voice was shaky now, like you were holding back tears. Seokjin fought the urge to pull you close to him, but god, how he wanted to. 

“What you do need,” he asked and you sighed. 

“Clear communication. On both sides. No more deciding for me. On anything. If I say no at work, it’s just as valid as saying no in private, even if it’s something you think is what’s best for me. Even if you don’t like it. Because you don’t know what really is or isn’t until I tell you.” He nodded in agreement. 

“I can do that. And I’m sorry again, for how confusing this must’ve been. I acted selfishly when I decided that my position as your boss overruled and negated any of our history. It was never going to be as clean as I wanted it to be,” he apologized. 

You managed a sad smile but nodded, a sign you accepted his apology. 

“Thank you. And also, I do want to continue doing the streams. I didn’t get to say that before. I do want to try after dark stuff. Because it feels like it could be fun, could help me stay involved but less personal if that makes sense. And…” You trailed off, humming to yourself as you tried to find the words for your final thought. 

“I really would like it if I could have your help in this. To help coach me in a way to maintain that boundary. You did have some really great points on execution. And I think maybe your experience in cam-leadership and management could help me both continue doing this but also finding what I want. And I need a friend for that. Not a boss or manager.” 

Seokjin’s eyes widened as he caught the last of what you were saying. 

“Wait,” he said, trying to put the pieces together. Were you asking what he thought you were asking? “So…you want me to help you run an adult-only, after dark gaming stream?” You laughed. 

“I need you to be my confidence coach,” you clarified. “Help me learn how to say no to my fanbase and keep myself calm throughout a stream so I don’t compromise. And like, I don’t know. We can iron out the details, the idea is so fresh to me, but I need you, my caring friend Seokjin, to make sure I don’t break the terms of service again and ban me from streaming.”

He blinked a few times, unsure how you’d arrived at the conclusion that he would be any good at this. 

But Seokjin knew he would be. He did this multiple times a week, and it’s how he knew you were heading toward trouble. What if he could help you learn how to protect yourself? Because you were right, you didn’t need anyone to save you. But you maybe needed someone to show you. And he could be that person. 

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

As Seokjin pulls up to your apartment nearly an hour later, you feel a slight sadness that your night is over. On the way home, as the rain steadily poured and the city lights came back into a clear view, you’d felt a tug of worry in your gut that because you were back in the city, your agreement to stay friends wasn’t real, and that any moment Seokjin would be cold and formal, withdrawing his agreement to help you with streaming. 

You’d had the idea in the car in somewhat of an epiphany, sorting through the confusing dynamic you’d been shoved into. It made sense to you, now. Instead of trying to model yourself after the master, why not learn from the man himself? 

Despite your initial anxiety that he would back out, Seokjin if anything is all the more reassuring, gently nudging you with your peacoat in his hands to signal it is time to trade. You nod sleepily, shrugging it off your shoulders and trying to ignore the disappointment you have in no longer being enveloped in his warm scent. 

As you tuck your arms back through your sleeves, Seokjin gets out of his side of the car, the rain still beating harshly, but he appears even more determined to open your door for you, opening an umbrella to keep you and your coat from getting pounded on. 

You try to insist on sharing the umbrella, but Seokjin shakes his head, guiding you forward toward your apartment complex’s front door. 

“Thank you,” you say as you step under the lip of the roof with him, smiling up at Seokjin, who is already soaked. His black hair is piecey and dripping down his face, plastering a few disheveled pieces across his forehead. “God, you really should’ve used the umbrella too! You’re drenched!”

Seokjin laughs a hearty laugh, the squeaky, windshield wiper one that makes your chest burn. “Please, that coat you’re wearing is pathetic. I had said dress for the warmth and you picked one of the worst things you could find. Even a standard issue blazer has more weather resistance than that thing!” 

“Excuse you, but this coat most of the time is fine. And also, I thought you were just saying it as a formality! If I’d known we were heading into a literal mountain I would have changed my clothes!” You bicker back, your laughter filling the space between you two. 

“Yeah, well, now you know for next time,” he says, eyes flickering with something you almost categorize as lust. 

You beam. This time the idea of next time feels possible. If Seokjin and you can work on these weird work boundaries, there might be a hope something comes from this after all. Unless he’s gay, which you still can’t quite figure out, but you try not to think about that as he shakes his head like a big dog. 

“Okay, Sparky,” you joke and glance down at your phone. It’s very late now, and your body is quickly succumbing to the exhaustion of the day. “I’ll see you Monday?”

Seokjin’s shoulders sag, and he sighs, stepping back into the rain. “Yeah, I should probably let you go now. I’ll see you on Monday. And Y/N?”

His lips turn into a smug smirk as the rain soaks through his clothes. “Don’t forget that you promised me a crate of julienned carrots”.

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[oftenderweapons]

Down The Rabbit Hole | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Fawn)

Wordcount: 12.5k

Genre: one shot, pwp, smut, fluff, only mild angst, fwb au (?) kinda(?)?, divorced! seokjin, dilf!seokjin

Rating: 18+, minors please do not read or interact

Synopsis: Seokjin has been meeting Fawn at The Rabbit Hole for a while now. A place of debauchery and foregone inhibitions, and yet only one rule would not budge. Will Fawn finally have a taste of the forbidden fruit?

Warnings: DILF!Seokjin (it's a trigger warning in and of itself), oral sex (female receiving, attempt at male receiving), masturbation (female receiving), degradation kink, corruption kink, handcuffs, sex toys (vaginal sphere), dry humping, unprotected sex, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breast slapping, voyeurism & exhibitionism. Mentions of divorce procedures, mentions of Seokjin's three precious daughters. Brief cameo of our lovely darlings Namjoon & Mia.

As always, thanking the magical girlie that made this fic a bit more coherent @nervous-moon and the special friends that made me get here. Also, a special thank you to past me, who persevered and got off birth control for this fic LOL

As always, please remember that showing some love to fics will power authors through the major struggles of this platform and will eventually make them write bigger, better, bolder fics 💕

You’ve known Seokjin for two months. He’s stunning, he’s smart, he’s friendly and adorably chirpy — before the games begin.

Here's my masterlist, enjoy you spicy little nuggets

Read more of this AU | MYG | KNJ

You’ve known Seokjin for two months. He’s stunning, he’s smart, he’s friendly and adorably chirpy — before the games begin. 

Once you’re in the room, the sweet father-of-three turns into a man with no restraints. He has an appetite for all things cunning and controlling. 

He tells you how to do things. He tells you when, for how long. Harder, faster, rougher, deeper. 

He always asks for more, 

He is insatiable and ruthless. 

However, despite what that introduction might make it sound, there’s so much more of him you haven’t had: all your previous encounters were only foreplay. 

His list of previous inhibitions was so long that in two three-hour-long sessions you hadn’t yet tackled anything regarding his dick inside your vagina — truly a shame, since that’s a perfectly beautiful, perfectly thick, perfectly long dick, and you would know since you’ve acquainted with it through your hands, mouth and boobs. 

Seokjin is the most promising man you’ve never had sex with; that is, you’ve had sex with plenty of mediocre men, and a couple good ones, you’ve double checked handfuls of men on the streets, but he’s by far the one you can bet will give you the ride of your life. You don’t know why, you just know.

And maybe, if you’re lucky enough, that will happen tonight. 

“Here’s my pretty fawn,” he says once he notices you at a corner table, out of the main floor where people are starting to mingle. He kisses the too of your head. “How were these weeks apart?”

“Hi,” you tell him, and from the little somersault of your rib cage, you can tell the distance did make the heart grow fonder. “It was chaotic, but I survived.”

“You’re a tough cookie, Fawn. By now you should know there’s nothing you can’t overcome if you put your mind to it,” he says, proud, reassuring. 

It’s the same tone he uses for ‘you take it so well” and ‘that’s my golden girl’ and ‘come on, Fawn, just one more, sweetheart’.

You melt. You know you melt, and your body betrays you because you can feel the heaviness in your lower belly, and you can tell that your core will be coated in wetness in about eight seconds. 

“As for my past few days, I’ve been busy, as usual.”

“How are the girls?” you ask, eager to imagine more bits of them. 

“Lily is turning ten next week, as I told you. Rose is getting better at biking, and soon we’ll be able to go for short outings in public together, And then darling Daisy has just called a truce with spinach so we have added one more ingredient to our weekly rotation.” As Seokjin talks about his daughters, something in his face lights up and you can imagine the man he must be outside these walls, far from the reign of debauchery he slips into once every other week. A dedicated man, committed, domestic, devoted. He smiles when he talks about his girls, his whole world brightens, like they were his personal constellation showing him the way. 

“Did you recover from our last session?” he asks, concerned, meek, respectful. He is so kind to you, always. 

“I did…” You keep it vague because telling him that you've been laying on your back, fucking yourself with your largest toy, gasping and hiccuping his name doesn't feel like a productive angle for an answer. Not the kind of answer you want to give him in public anyways. 

“Any notes about what we did last time? Anything relevant we should renegotiate?” 

I want us to walk through the door tonight and I want you to throw me on the bed, bend me over, lift my skirt and fuck me straight up, because you are the reason I'm going commando under this effing tight dress, you try to tell him with your eyes, the tilt of your head, the little lick of your lips and the light bite at your lower one. 

“No, nothing relevant, really.” 

He stares at your mouth for a hot second, and you can only hope he's thinking about the last time he's come on it. 

“So you want…” He hesitates as he thinks about the next step. “You wanna keep this foreplay only.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, then you take a sip of your drink, and click your tongue a couple times, as if trying to savour the wine. “You're the one in command. You know that.” 

“I command you when you're naked. And you're dressed now, alas.” He cocks an eyebrow right back at you, mirroring your sarcastic snare. “And this is a matter of consent and limits, which means we're equals right now. The games haven't yet begun, Fawn.”

You look around, as if the other clients could possibly help you in this situation. 

You want him, you're dying to have him, and if he could bend you over, spank you and fuck you right over one of the entrance tables, you'd let him. 

You'd probably also let him come inside, or do other slightly demeaning acts to humiliate you. 

“We can play it however it lays, no pressure.” That's what you tell him, really trying not to betray your true intentions. 

“Do you, or do you not?” he asks, and you do feel pressured. 

“What do you want me to say?” You provoke him, staring him down. “Because this is sounding like you have indeed an answer you want to hear from me.” 

He shakes his head, exasperated. “Fawn. You don't usually struggle with telling me what you want. You want foreplay or you want us to fuck?” 

“Either is fine. We'll see that later.” You down more of your drink and he stares at your throat as you swallow. You catch him staring and you feel heat creep to your cheeks, but you’re not embarrassed, rather pleased with his distraction. 

Too bad you’re not him and you can’t tell he’s been sizzling with want for days. He’s been separated for years now, but with the divorce practice being completed in a few weeks, he’d been more tense than usual. He knows he’s doing the right thing leaving his marriage behind, however the idea of raising three daughters alone, and giving his ex-wife the chance to start the kind of life she’s been too ashamed to pursue is terrifying. 

Lily, Rose and Daisy are the joy of his life, but soon Lily will enter adolescence and her mother will be there for her, sure, but he’s been the one consistently raising them for the past five years, almost turning into a stay-at-home dad for them, while Ara was busy rebuilding her career and travelling and saving money to afford moving out by herself. 

He supported her. Their marriage had ended for all the best — though most painful —  reasons: they didn’t love each other anymore, not as partners at least. He could tell she was no longer happy, she hadn’t been since Rose had been born. Daisy was probably the last straw. He’d rather have his girls having a happy mother than have a miserable spouse for himself and a mediocre parent for his children. And he knew the girls would learn the right lesson from this: you can only be loved right when the one you love knows how to love themselves. 

Plus, he could tell he hadn’t been loving Ara right for a while. He could bring himself to stay loyal to her and respect her and be there for her; still, he also knew he owed himself actual happiness, and he would be a coward if he refused to go look for it because he was afraid of not finding it, or getting hurt in the process. 

And now you’ve entered the picture. He’s seen a bunch of people before you, but he knew they weren’t quite right — he’d even issued post-session feedback where he stated he didn’t want to be matched again with two of the women he’d spent the night with. 

He’d entered the Rabbit Hole with the purpose of some light-hearted fun with other adults who, like him, had already seen a fair share of life and could also have the same mature and intellectual approach towards intimacy. 

A friend of his had driven him here after a particularly bad date with a woman almost twelve years younger than him who seemed more interested in being the girls’ mother than his girlfriend first. 

Being honest, he’d spotted you the first time he’d seen you at the Rabbit Hole, but he’d never pursued you because he believed in the system matching him according to his profile. He assumed you wanted something off-limits to him — maybe you were into getting your partner tied up, or leashed like a pet, or entirely enslaved — but apparently it was just a matter of letting the match play itself. 

It happened around his fifth or sixth party: he had entered the foyer thinking he would once more spend his pregame staring at you from the opposite table, drinking, getting riled up at the thought of you kneeling before him, his dick in your mouth. He had fixed his trousers and headed to the room at the sound of the bell, and a few minutes later, as the lock turned and the door opened, he had found you there, with your pretty doll mouth and your plush cheeks and your round, doe eyes, innocence personified. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask him, your fingers tracing his elbow, calling for his attention. 

He shakes his head. “I’m thinking of the first time we matched.”

You smile, then catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Interesting.”

He takes hold of your hand, so gentle, then caresses your knuckles, the touch as shy as a whisper. “What did you think of it?”

“The first time I saw you?” you ask, curious and surprised at his question. 

He nods and you giggle, embarrassed. “I had caught you staring a few times before. I was intrigued.”

He gives a bright, although secret smile, and his fingers flirt with yours, dancing in between each other. The mere touch of his hand against your own is turning you on. 

“I was wondering if I’d ever match with you. If we didn’t because you were into hardcore stuff, or maybe you wanted to dominate and I was not… I’m not submissive.” His eyes play hide and seek with yours, as if he were ashamed. 

“Well… That gives…” You let him hang in that pause for a few seconds, then give him the word, “It’s a new perspective.” You can feel him exhale in relief at that. “I wanted to see what you were into too. Too bad we were too shy to approach each other.”

“But apparently we were meant to meet.”

“Just a matter of time…” you tease him. 

That night, when you’d first met, you’d clicked immediately. In less than fifteen minutes, you were kissing, and within that first half hour, you’d never been happier to be naked with a man. 

He was attentive, touching and kissing places that almost no one had ever paid attention to. He tickled the back of your knees, and pressed the plush petals of his lips to the arch of your feet. He nipped at the edge of your ribs, and licked at the small dip at your hip, where the sinew of your quad attaches to the bone of your hip crest. He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and dipped the tip of his tongue at the twin hollows at the base of your spine. 

When they talk about being worshipped like you were the only woman left on the face of earth, that’s probably what they mean. 

It made you really generous — the kind of generous that makes you end up on your knees with a very messy mouth. 

It was surprising, how you went on for one full hour dragging pleasure out of each other in an almost torturing way, so close to him entering you, and never doing so. 

At the end of that, you’d suggested staying till morning, but he’d explained how he was a single dad and he really should be there in the morning. 

“And that second time?” you tell him. 

He blushes to the tip of his ears and it makes you giggle sweetly. 

You’d entered the room already fully immersed in your role. You’d called him sir, made it clear you were his efficient, loyal assistant who’d been nursing a crush on him for so long. And he’d been playing along phenomenally, barking orders at you, and fucking your mouth, praising you so sweetly while mascara tears ran down your cheeks — just to draw a line when it came to him using you to cheat on his wife. 

The fantasy had been brusquely interrupted when you realised he could actually be cheating — he was a father after all, from what you’d understood. He was quick to explain he’d been separated and that was the best decision he and his ex-wife had taken; and he’d shown his interest in your game by returning to it by saying how his sweet secretary had come into his life to make him realise he’d never truly had passion with his wife. 

“You were surprising,” he admits. “Unexpectedly resourceful.”

Tonight the bell can’t ring soon enough. You just want to drag him to a dark corner and cover him in you. You want to rub yourself against him, all over him. You want to see him covered in your own wetness, and the lack of panties is only making you more sensitive. 

“Would you do it again? A little roleplay?” you ask him. 

He arches both eyebrows. “I thought I was clear about it. Adamantly, yes.”

“Hi there,” you hear, and turn around to be faced with two familiar faces. Right there, remnants of your third encounter with Seokjin. 

Namjoon and his Mia, the latest hype of the club. They’d been performing together for some months now, and everyone said their sessions were something else entirely. You and Seokjin had started your third encounter by watching them in the voyeur area; there, they could perform within the three walls of a private room and a large two-way mirror, behind which people could watch those who consensually exhibited their encounters.

“Lovely to see you, Mia,” you hugged the woman and kissed her on both cheeks. It could have been awkward to interact with someone you’ve watched having sex, but with her — maybe also thanks to the environment of the club — it was liberating, almost exciting.

Meanwhile Namjoon and Seokjin shook hands, starting to chat with ease. 

“So, how’s it going with your wet dream prince?” she asks, knowing perfectly well how long you’ve been pining for Seokjin. “Is he worth the hype?”

Your expression could be the definition of ‘the cat that got the cream’. 

“Girl, tone it down a notch,” Mia says playfully, hitting your arm. “Is it getting official or is it a no work all play kind of game?”

Your grin tones down a little. “He’s a father, Mia. He has obligations.” 

Her face looks entirely sympathetic. “I see. But there’s nothing wrong with asking, you know? If you’re interested…”

“I’ve got no interest in getting my heart broken,” you say, your tone final. “He needs to focus on his girls and only wants to relax and be selfish when he comes in here. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Mia shrugs and gives you a little curl of her lip. “I don’t think he sees you as a burden, but you should check that out. In person.”

“There’s other stuff I want to see in person, but it’s been…” You lower your voice to a whisper. “We’ve only kinda foreplayed so far.”

Mia tips her head to the side a little, as if confused. “Well. That's interesting. I mean, foreplay is the main act, if you ask me about it. I think—” She turns to the side and addresses Namjoon, “Darling, what would you think if we only did foreplay, no sex?” 

You feel your entire head explode with shame, and you assume Seokjin is having a similar reaction. 

“I would think you really like foreplay, or — given that this context calls for transgression — you've probably been raised to think that foreplay is taboo. Maybe it's something you've been deprived of, and here you want to claim it back.” Namjoon's hand lands on the small of Mia's back and from the way her eyes roll closed and her lips part softly, you can tell that his touch has a certain influence on her. “I know I don't usually deprive you of it, quite the contrary, but if it's affecting you so gravely tonight, then I might as well deliver.”

You look at Seokjin and he's giving you a certain look that you can't quite interpret. 

“You know, if my partner only wanted foreplay, I would simply assume that they really like it,” adds Seokjin, his gaze rolling off of you as he continues. “And that maybe sex is a meaningful experience to them, and they really want to work out all the kinks in it.” 

You stare at him, entirely too surprised at his comment, but he's looking at Namjoon this time. 

The man is giving him a sombre, polished look and you understand his appeal — too bad you've been captured in Seokjin’s orbit a long time ago. 

Within that expectant pause, the bell finally rings. 

Namjoon can't put his hands on Mia fast enough. The woman is thrown over his shoulder as soon as the bell stops ringing, and he's taking large strides towards the private wing. 

“Guess tonight is not for show,” you murmur, then turn to Seokjin. 

You're afraid he's going to chastise you for your confession to Mia, but he doesn't. He's giving you a blank look, his mind impenetrable. 

For a moment you think he's going to deny you, and frankly you wouldn't be too mad. He would be entirely too right, after you violated his trust and his privacy. 

“Seokjin, I—” 

“Behind closed doors, Fawn.” And he leaves you there. 

If you had any chance of going through this unpunished, that chance withered right about now — or rather, a minute ago with the ring of the bell. That's the signal for his personality switch and he's just flipped from cute and quirky father to demanding and domineering sex god. 

You watch him enter the private wing alone, and you can only hope for your room key to be matching his. 

Five agonising minutes later, you realise it does, and it takes you only half a second to realise that you're tragically unprepared for what's waiting for you. 

“On your knees,” he orders as soon as you walk through the door. “We're gonna bruise them tonight, Fawn.” 

You obey, any objection dead on the verge of your lips. 

“I thought I'd been clear about my intentions last time.” 

He had been, fairly so. He'd addressed the foreplay situation and he'd planned on going all the way, which was still sort of new to him, especially considering that he'd been with only three women except his ex wife. And then again, most of that stuff wasn't too daring an experience. He felt a little under pressure with you, and he knew he couldn't quite yet control himself when it came to seeing you naked, much less touching you. 

He had been taking his sweet time when his phone had started blaring. He'd taken five, maybe six seconds to understand what was happening, and then he'd dashed off you, picking up the phone. 

You'd been too confused to understand, and even when he explained, it took you five lonely and cold minutes abandoned alone on the bed to realise he'd left. 

Rose had apparently caught lice from a classmate, the nanny was on the verge of burning the house to the ground and Lily and Daisy were quite panicked by what was going on. Before you could get dressed, he was already on his way home doing damage control. 

“I have responsibilities, Fawn. You know that. I wouldn't have answered that phone call, and I would have taken proper care of you if it had been an option.” He lowers to you on the ground, pleased with the way your eyes look like dark beads of obsidian in the softly lit room. 

He was probably the one who asked for the fireplace to be lit and for a velvety alcove to be prepared right in front of it. 

“And I meant it when I said I wanted something special with you.” He grips your chin, angling your face so that the light from the fireplace can caress the apple of your cheek in a way that makes it most biteable. “I meant it when I said I want to do this right. We can have that now.” 

You lick your lips, trying to smoothen the ugly feeling of a dry mouth. It's hard to think and talk at the same time. 

“I appreciate that you're there for your girls, I just wish you hadn't left me hanging.” You sit on your heels, then shift on all fours and crawl a flirty half step his way, your lashes like expensive and seductive fans of ostrich feathers luring him in, caressing the most tender spots of his body with your gaze. 

You're pleased to notice he's entirely charmed by your allure. 

“I won't deny you tonight, fawn,” he says. “I might as well give it to you right away.” His hand dives for your hair and grips it at the base, giving two subtle and suggestive tugs. You feel a low purr emerge from your throat and he smiles. “Welcome back, my naughty girl.” 

You crawl one more step in the direction he drew you to, and he understands that you got his message. He rises to his feet, then dives his fingers once more in your hair and leads you to the plush lair sprawled in front of the fire.

“Such an obedient little pet,” he praises you. “I wonder what you got for me tonight.” 

He's used to sexy little lingerie numbers — stuff with lots of lace and lots of ribbons. What he's not expecting is for you to drop your chest to the floor, arch your ass up in the air and expose your naked, blooming folds. “I thought I might surprise you for the night.”

Seokjin takes a few seconds to realise there's no g-string, no thong, no wicked contraption waiting to trick him.

Just naked truth, wet, warm skin, laying there for him to claim. 

“Naughty indeed.” He kneels behind you, and he's tempted to rub himself against you and slip inside you after you've begged and prayed and cried for a while; however, he's under the impression that's exactly the game you want him to play.

So he simply sinks his teeth into your ass cheek, then licks the bite away.

“Stay right there.” And he disappears. 

Footsteps echo around the room, then you hear the slide of a drawer. 

He's probably choosing his instrument for the night, and you're aching to turn around and see what he's inspecting. 

You'd also pay good money to know what he felt when he found you naked. 

You'd mostly pay all the money to know what it takes to lose a man like him. 

But that's another story, one that you don't intend to follow, especially since Seokjin is returning to you. 

“We're gonna train you for me.” He kneels behind you and the feel of something extremely cold against your folds causes you to arch your spine up to the ceiling, your pelvis moving away from the sensation.

Seokjin, however, is merciless. With his forearm braced against the middle of your spine, he forces you to arch your spine back down, your entrance bared to him in a lewd, unmistakable way. 

“I want to fuck you with my tongue. You look like dessert covered in icing. You're gleaming with arousal.” And as he talks, he keeps sliding the sphere up and down your folds, your skin so disturbingly sensitive. 

At some point, your hips escape your control and you tilt your ass further up to the ceiling, chasing Seokjin's hand in hope he'll offer you some reprieve. 

But he doesn't. 

Instead he slides something warm and thin inside you, that wiggles and then unfortunately, sadly retreats. 

You only have the time for a hiccup of disappointment before he returns to toy with your folds. 

Seokjin watches you writhe as he sucks on the finger he just extracted from your cunt. It makes him feel powerful, but most importantly, it makes him feel alive. It makes him feel wanted. 

It makes him feel like his own needs matter, that he comes first, which is not an ordinary feeling for a father of three. 

He loves this about you: you put his needs first and you don't make him feel bad about it — that is, he doesn't feel bad about coming first with you. Maybe that's also the reason why he's reluctant about introducing you to his family life. He doesn't need a nanny, or a cook or a housekeeper. He just wants someone he can enjoy those crumbles of spare time he has for himself. 

He freezes. 

Someone to date. 

Realisation is like a mirror shattering to the floor, each shard reflecting one different aspect of him. Father, ex-husband, manager, employer and employee, overachiever, knight-in-shining-armour, but also, somewhere, needy, dark overlord. 

He is all of that. And he is curious about seeing whichever many ways you can stand by his side in every role. 

“Seokjin,” you whisper, barely a moan. You try to lift your hand from where it fell before, abandoned on the lush carpet below you, but it lands again, and grips whatever it can as he slips one sphere inside. 

“There, Fawn. What is it?” He chuckles and the sound that follows — the silvery tinkling of a belt — is like mockery to your ears. 

“Bet this isn’t enough, huh?” He stares at you, at your position on the floor, cheek pressed to the carpet, dress pulled up, and shakes his head. He’d never have thought he could enjoy this, and yet… He loves this. He’s hard from this. 

He kneels down, rotulae hitting the floor with a mildly disturbing thud. He rolls up the hem of his button down, dick so hard it’s reaching his navel. He grips your hip and pulls you closer, the heat of your ass slamming against his hips. 

You gasp. It’s finally happening, you tell yourself. 

“Why so quiet, darling?” he says, bending over, speaking against the shell of your ear. “I thought you’d at least thank me, you know?”

Rubbing your ass against him gives you a rough estimation of how he’d fit against you, inside you. 

He teases his tip against your entrance, slow and wet. The sound of it is slick and lewd, and he can swear it’s the best he’s ever had. 

“Please,” you manage to squeak out, so pathetic, and even needier than that. 

He makes a weird sound in his throat, like a muffled groan, and it makes you even wetter. As your muscles clench, you feel the sphere inside you readjust, massaging a different corner of your inner walls, and it steals a hum of pleasure out of you, a guttural sound, something as animalistic as your current position. 

“Just the tip,” you beg, your voice weak, frayed at the edges. 

You expect him to mock you and deprive you, but the heat of him corrects its trajectory and it’s right up against your centre. 

“How can I not…” he murmurs. “You’re here. Ass up like a bitch in heat.”

Heat bubbles to your cheeks and your back arches even further, offering yourself up. You’re even more embarrassed, but there’s no need to run from him. 

Not after you’ve seen his eyes flicker, wicked, as he cleaned your orgasm from his chin with the back of his hand; not after he’s stuck his fingers in your mouth, his cum still dripping from them, in an attempt to quiet you down from screaming his name through your orgasm. 

“I can’t wait to see how dirtier you can get,” he tells you, then grabs your earlobe with his teeth, tugging a little. 

Saying you grind yourself against him is the largest understatement you could ever concoct. You hump in the most unmistakable way you can. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me. How much longer do you want me to—?”

And he dips in. Just dips, really. Only the tip. “God. Tight,” he gasps. 

You try to push yourself up against him, make him sink deeper, faster. You want to ride him. You want to be the one doing the fucking. 

He can lay back and enjoy, for all that matters — you’re sure you can bounce on his dick until your thighs cramp and you collapse on his chest. And at that point, if he hasn’t come yet, you’re pretty sure you can roll over and he can take over.

“Too greedy, my pretty fawn.” 

And he moves back. Away. 

“You’re gonna make me fold, Fawn,” he whispers. “Too soon.”

And he stands. And there’s that silvery tickling again. 

“No,” you cry out. You turn and rise, just in time to catch him tucking his shirt in. 

Your ass plops down to rest on your heels and you feel tears of frustration bubble up against your lower lashes. “No, please.”

“Too soon, sweet cheeks. Now get back in position.”

You frown. “But—” 

“Fawn, darling.” He gives you a patient look, so sweet, so understanding. 

God, he must be such a good dad, you think for half a second. “But Jin—”

“You know I’m gonna take care of you. Now, if you do as I tell you, we can get this—”

Something vicious snarls inside you. You’re not sure where it comes from, but you bark out, “No.”

Seokjin arches one beautiful eyebrow. “Come again, darling?”

“I said no.”

“Bend over, Fawn.”

You can barely keep a straight face as you finally say, “Make me.”

Seokjin shakes his head. He knows he’s gonna love this. “That's it.” On the inside he's glowing with joy, but he cannot show that, he must punish you. 

Except he knows you love this too. 

He grabs your hair and moves you so that he can make sure you're not going to hurt yourself if you fall: he will be cuffing your hands behind your back, which means you wouldn’t be able to stop your fall if you were to lose your balance, and he needs to be careful.

You're still kneeling on the ground when he lowers himself and uses his own torso to push your own to the plush carpet in front of the fireplace. 

“And now stay. You're playing with fire, Fawn.” 

You feel him step back and remove himself, and you're tempted to disregard his petty request and follow him to the drawer. 

Except you don't, because you know you're already getting what you wanted. And you can still rouse him later if he's not sufficiently harsh. 

“God to know you can still follow a basic, easy order, darling.” The first cuff snaps around your left wrist, and he slips two fingers between your flesh and the metal to make sure it isn't too tight on you. He repeats the same procedure with the other wrist, and the gentle way he checks makes you want to submit immediately. 

He suspends the scene just enough to kiss your palm before caressing the curve of your bottom. “If you want to safeword, remember it's your right, and you can do so at any moment,” he reminds you, practical and kind. 

“I will if I need to,” you say, reassuring him, but also trying to move on to the actual scene. 

“Good. Cause I want you to remember about tonight every time you walk or sit in the next three days.” 

Your stomach knots, awaiting, and you wiggle your ass in the air, your torso still disappointingly clothed. “All I hear is empty threats.” 

That's when the first slap hits. 

It's Seokjin's hand against your ass, but it's harsh and angry, and you know you're going to get exactly what you wanted. 

The impact makes your insides clench, and the sphere shifts against your inner walls. 

You hum in pleasure, your fingers twitching as you try to make the sensation bearable. 

It's truly torture. You're wet, and this weight inside you keeps massaging you, taunting you suggestively. 

“This what you want?” Seokjin asks you, and you nod, knowing that you can tell him, you can trust him. That he will give you more of it because this is all about trusting each other, and giving each other pleasure, and just—

“Fawn. I swear I'm gonna fuck you tonight. But for the love of fuck I need to take the edge off myself or I'm gonna be pathetic.” 

You're currently spooning on all fours, you propped on your knees, breastbone and cheek, while he’s caging you in from above, his thighs bracketing yours, one of his arms pinned just beside your shoulder, the other hand free to roam. 

And right now it lands right on your pubic bone, the ball of his palm resting right against your pelvis. The moment he starts drawing slow circles on your clit, finding just the right spot, your body gives in, and some grinding resumes. 

“You're so fucking hard,” you tell him, and you know just how banal your statement is, but historically, you're not usually smart when he's coercing orgasms out of you, especially with his fingers. 

You grow dumb. 

Your brain can only focus on sensation. 

And there's the sphere situation happening too, just to complicate this further. 

“I told you I need to take the edge off.” 

“You can come on me, you know?”

He chuckles. “Oh darling, that one you'd made clear already.” He registers your sharp inhale and moves more delicately. “Do you need me to slow down?” 

It makes you snort a little petty laugh. “No, it's just—” You release an exhale and move against him more openly, unbridled and luxuriant. “It's strange with the sphere.”

“I just want you to be all relaxed and warmed up when I slip inside you,” he tells you. 

“And I think I'll have to get you some kegel balls. So you can train during the week, when we don't meet.” He kisses your spine and your eyes roll closed. 

All you need is the sensations he's giving you, your body awakening piece by piece. It's like every molecule of you is finding new meaning, new depth, new sensitivity. 

You've never been so aware of each muscle pulling taut. 

“Seokjin,” you whisper, and he hums, he realises you called him and he replies simply, but neither of you can really string words together at this point. 

“Jin… If you—” You're trying to connect word after word, looking for meaning, but your tongue is uncooperative, and you can't quite make sounds into words. 

You want him to keep going. You really do. 

But you also need to take one or fifteen breaths because this is getting too good — maybe too important too. Because you want him now, but it also dawns on you, quite rudely, that you want him all the time. That you've been thinking about him too much lately, even when it's a silly sweet nothing like ordering pizza or washing the sheets. 

What kind of pizza does he like most? 

Would he like the smell of my sheets? Would he find them too light? Too warm? Not soft enough? 

Does he shower warm or cold? 

He moans your name and you shake your thoughts awake — as awake and aware as you can be underneath him.

“Are you close?” he asks, and you know you are, but you can't quantify how long it's going to take you. You were closer for sure before your thoughts had wandered towards the day-to-day life of him.

It's so strange that you would need to focus to stay tethered to your own pleasure; however, quite disappointingly, that's the way it seems. 

“I don't know,” you tell him, not bothering to hide your perplexity. 

“Okay,” he says calmly, then he sucks at the curve of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. “I'll be good,” he says, like a promise. 

You're not used to this amount of patience from him, to this pliability. 

He lifts off of you, his thigh still aligned with yours as his torso separates from your back, then suddenly a liquid coldness spreads over your ass cheeks, and you feel him shudder. 

You turn, curiosity picked by that unexpected feeling, and you spot a bottle of lubricant in your peripherals. Makes sense. 

His hands immediately land on your glutes, spreading the liquid, and he hisses as his dick meets the cold. 

Soon, however, the lube is warmed by the heat of your own skin and he finds himself grinding against you, needy and rough. He grabs at your hips guiding you as you move up against him. 

“Touch yourself, Fawn,” he orders, and you don't make him tell you twice. 

The idea of him using your body, and finding pleasure in it, and marking it as his own arouses you desperately.

You want to be his, and you want to pleasure him. You want to be the thought he conjures about next time he's had a rough day and simply wants to jerk off. You want to be the one he dreams about while he's lost in his huge bed, humping a pillow in his sleep. You want to be the reason he's late in the morning because he caught a thought of you in the shower and he couldn't keep his hands to himself. 

Ultimately, you want to be the reason why this accomplished, bright man gets a little messy once in a while.

You want to be the motive behind his little crimes. You want to be his gateway to temporary thoughtlessness. You want him to be as human, as fallible, as exhausted, as despicable as he needs to be and never allows himself to be. 

You wish to liberate him. 

“I'm gonna—” The words die on his lips as he finally spills against you, your orgasm once more incumbent but also far removed, as if that very close destination could only be reached by an impractically long journey. 

You hear him come, disappointed by the lack of closeness between the two of you, by the fact that this position doesn't allow you to kiss his mouth, or quieten him down, or watch him frantically reach for your breast with his lips so he can muffle his cries against your chest. 

“I thought I had more in me,” he says. “I’m sorry.” 

You assume he's referring to this night. Maybe he's done. Maybe he's not thinking about you at all. 

Maybe he just wants to be serviced, and he's realised just now, and you're on your way to be dismissed.

“It's okay,” you tell him, but you're pretty sure your disappointment bled through the words. Your logical brain is telling you that he’s just referring to coming this fast and not dealing with you first, but you’ve discovered you’re not strong on logic when it comes to him. 

Too bad you can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s embarrassed, and breathless, and truly madly deeply blaming himself for putting you through such a sorry mess. 

Such a disappointment. 

He wants to make it up to you. And he starts doing so with slow, gentle kisses on your nape, a gentle caress of his fingertips moving your hair to the side. 

Dammit, he loves your hair. So soft, and always smelling like vanilla. 

It makes him want to keep you on his lap all the time, so he can dive his nose in it when he’s feeling stressed, inhale you and get high from it. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says simply, studying the viola-like shape of your torso, still wrapped in the tight fabric of your dress. His hands glide reverently from the edges of your shoulders to the narrowing of your waist, admiring your back, then slide to your navel, on your front, climbing back up so he can cup the roundness of your breasts. “The geometry of you… If you could see yourself…” 

He can’t ever bring himself to finish one damn thought. The sight of you gives him no reprieve: he’s entirely overstimulated by everything you offer to him, defeated, even, by it. 

His fingers tease your nipples through your dress and your insides clench from it, the kegel ball rolling inside you and making you purr from him. He smiles and brings himself back on track. 

No distractions this time, he scolds himself, and his body bows off of you. He backs up slowly, unrushed pecks of his lips climbing down the ladder of your vertebrae, and in the meanwhile he undoes the handcuffs. 

You would maybe complain if it weren’t for the fact that you trust him with your own pleasure, blindly.

When the salt of his spilled orgasm meets his parted lips, he lets his tongue slip out, giving a full sweep of a lick, lush, wet and hot. 

You shudder. “What you up to?” you ask, surprised, confused, almost coherent. 

“Just a casual snack,” he murmurs against your wet skin. “It’s not like I’m done with you here.”

You chuckle, nervous, but also thankful. Your heartbreak has been postponed. You push your body back, trying to move closer to him in whatever intuitive way you can. You turn your face on the other side as you know that by now there must be an imprint of the carpet against your cheek. 

The blaze coming from the fireplace in the distance warms your face, and once your eyes roll closed, you realise just how pleasant it is to vaguely perceive the orange of the fire from the back of your eyelids. The flames whisper like lovers, like a hushed breathing sound, like exhales and inhales sharply syncopating each other. Then there’s the cracking of the logs, which perfectly echoes and alternates with the sound of Seokjin’s wet kisses, the clicking of his tongue, and the sucking. 

The sensations come in so sharply in the empty space you’ve carved for yourself. It’s like you’ve muted the rest of the world except Seokjin and that eyeless voyeur that is the fire. 

When Seokjin speaks again, it surprises you and causes a somersault to your stomach, for his voice his so deep and quiet and intimate. It’s the sexiest you’ve ever heard from him. 

“Spread your pretty thighs for me, darling.”

You can tell you just gushed out more wetness at your core. That’s what he can get from you, just by using his voice alone. 

As soon as you follow his order, he lays with his back on the floor, the width of his shoulders finding its slot in between your parted knees. His hands find your butt and he uses it to readjust your stance. 

“Won't you give me just a taste, darling, please?” he says, and you adore just how imploring he is, but at the same time smooth and gallant too.

You love it when he asks you, all chivalrous, about treating you like his own personal slut. 

He kisses the inside of your thigh and you find your thighs spreading even further, as you lower your hips a tiny inch closer to the floor — or rather, closer to his awaiting mouth. 

“I swear I'm gonna beg if I have to, Fawn. Fucking please.” 

He twists his head to the other side and bites the soft flesh on the inside of your leg. His teeth sink gently, sending sparks of pleasure all over your body. “Won't you put me out of my misery, darling?” 

“I love it when you beg,” you admit, propping your front up on your elbows first, then on your palms. “It's different from your usual demanding self.”

Your eyes meet his and you notice a spark of uncertainty there. “Do you want me to be harsher? To command you?” 

You smile meekly, fondly. “I like you best precisely the way you are.” 

You can't see it in the penumbra, but heat has crept to his cheeks, and it's mostly your compliments' fault.

He grabs your waist, appreciating how easily his thumb and forefinger rest at its narrowest point, then invites you to lower your pelvis some more.

At this point, you find yourself more comfortable in a kneeling position, your chest lifted, your thighs in a slightly narrower stance as you lower your ass to his chest, your weight still partially held by your hands, propped on the floor near your knees. 

He doesn't speak before he acts. He simply grabs your ass again and zeroes in with his lips on your clitoris. 

Bliss is instantaneous. 

He starts torturing you immediately with long sucking motions, driving you insane, and when you try to remove yourself, he doesn't allow you to. 

Your brain immediately recalls your safeword, but you can't find the final straw that urges you to use it.

You're feeling pleasure— no, actually you are pleasure. 

It blooms from you immediately, six or seven slow, stubborn licks after. You brace yourself for the tide rising, but you can't resist it anyway, and soon you find yourself fucking his face, so sexy as it appears in between your naked parted thighs, your dress still on, hitched up around your waist. 

His eyes are closed, as if he were feeling it too. He’s the picture of passion, entirely dedicated, single-minded about your ecstasy. 

As you’re coming down, you reach for his hair with your left hand, your fingers digging through his luscious locks, tugging just the way he likes, with intention, but also not too roughly. You expect him to back off, but he opens his eyes, stares at your open mouth, at your feverish gaze— and keeps going. 

You swear as he starts veering into overstimulation, his nails digging in your ass. 

Pleasure becomes pain, which feeds pleasure even further. 

Fire blooms inside you, its many tongues setting each of your limbs ablaze. 

The second orgasm comes with a scream — your own — and some moaning from Seokjin which only confirms a certain sense of accomplishment. 

Meanwhile the kegel ball has warmed to your inner heat, your muscles constricting around it in a vicious grip, giving you that fullness that is enough to enhance your pleasure without truly fulfilling it. 

“God, more, please…”

Seokjin chuckles, bathing your inner thighs in soft kisses and sweet little bites. “I love it when you call me god.”

You sit yourself back on his face and giggle. “Oh, shut up.”

His arms tighten like a vice around your legs, his hands pushing your dress further up, exposing the hill of your pelvis, just above the parting of your labia. 

He lands some kisses there, sucking, enjoying the soft, plump skin, and the plumpness he leaves in his wake. 

Heat rushes wild under the flesh he kisses, sensitivity heightened, capillaries blooming with fullness. 

“Lower yourself to the floor, pretty thing,” he hums, and he’s so cruelly persuasive that you obey, your shoulders pressed to the back of your hands, elbows tucked in tight by the sides of your waist. “As low as you can, Fawn,” he recommends. 

Once you do, he gives a powerful swing with his shoulders, causing you to swap positions so that your back ends up on the floor and he is finally on top of you. 

“Back the way it's supposed to be,” he says, at once free to exercise all the control he needs. “I'm not even sure I need you naked,” he says, kissing your navel, the crests of your hips, the junction between your thighs and your hips. 

He lifts the hem of your dress, the stretchy knit giving him room to stick his head under the fabric. 

He attaches himself to your nipple as soon as he finds it, his hand climbing up to your chest and starting to toy with your other breast. 

“You could also undress me, you know,” you tease him, but apparently he is really busy and your spine is arching off the floor, and you can feel the wetness of his mouth against the precious lace of your bra. 

“Shut up,” he says, his voice lost in bliss, and he's moving the cup of your bra just below your breast, baring your nipple. “I'll be busy for the next three working days. Do not call me, email me, or text me. I'm worshipping nipples.” 

You laugh and you suddenly clench at the way the laughing twists the sensation of his sucking your breast, making it a fluttery and yet intense feeling. 

He gets his head out of your dress and kisses your neck instead. “I really like this dress,” he tells you. “I also really like the lack of panties, though that must have been slightly uncomfortable.” 

“It felt a little bit weird, yes. I was afraid I was going to flash someone.” 

He chuckles, then freezes. “You might have. Are you sure you haven't?” 

Feeling him all serious, you become serious too. “I don't know?” You start worrying a little. Would that be a violation to the rules of the club? 

“You're telling me someone else might have seen this?” He cups your vulva with his hand, and the pressure is mind-numbing. It takes you maybe two or three seconds to respond, your thoughts like arrows that deviate their trajectory towards your crotch. 

“Seokjin, I—” 

He sticks two fingers inside you and tightens his grip on you. “Fawn. This. This belongs to me. Okay?” 

You shiver at how stern he sounds. “Yes.”

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes, I do.”

Seokjin nods to himself. “Good. Now get out of this damn dress.” 

“You, get out of your clothes too,” you order, trying to be just as stern, but he laughs at you, rubbing your G-spot inside you. 

“I think your silly, sex-addled brain got confused.” He grips your face with his free hand, squishing your cheeks together. “I tell you what to do, Fawn. And you do it.” 

You're taken aback by just how patronising his words are. How silly and insignificant they make you feel. How even wetter you get. 

You arch off the carpet and slip your dress off, tugging and pulling, until your body is finally free. 

Seokjin studies the way the fire dances on your skin, the way your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breathing. 

“Good girl, Fawn.” He leans over and kisses your breast, then gives a fat lick to the sensitive skin before blowing over it in a way that makes you shiver. “So fucking sensitive.” 

He's beginning to undo his shirt, towering over you as he sits up on his knees and lets his fingers make a quick work of the buttons, his teal satin shirt coming undone quickly. 

He manages to shrug it off easily, the expanse of his chest finally emerging in front of you. He notices how enchanted you are by it, how mesmerised. 

The contrast between the fairness of his skin and the raspberry pink of his nipples is stark and seductive. You now understand colour theory and why animals always eat at the brightest-coloured fruit. 

You sit up, leaning on your hands, your mouth searching for his chest, but with a finger pressed to your sternum he pushes you back down. 

“Sit still for a second, for fuck’s sake,” he scolds you, then tries to get rid of his trousers, which proves to be truly challenging in a kneeling position. 

He tuts, frustrated, then convinces himself to stand back up, finally pushing his trousers and briefs down, shimmying out of them too in an attempt to get naked faster. 

You’re already on your knees in front of him, waiting, lips parted, hoping he’s going to use your mouth for his pleasure, and you try to invite him to, kissing his thigh, caressing it with your teeth, then giving it a kittenish lick. 

He grabs you by the cheeks, then forces you to look up at him. “I thought you were a smart, obedient girl, Fawn. Are you not?”

You’re still kneeling in front of him, mouth parted, eyes wide aimed at his face. You try to appear as dollish and harmless as possible. 

“I wouldn’t like to think wanting to get fucked turned you into a silly girl, mh?”

He’s so hard, right in front of you, and the sphere inside you is not enough, not anymore. You need him moving in and out of you. You need fullness, you need to be more than what you can take. 

You need him rough, needy, harsh, unforgiving, relentless and fastidiously specific about how he wants to fuck you.

You can almost put your mouth on him. Almost. 

You frown. “Please,” you whine, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. 

He smiles, then snorts. “So desperate…”

Your inner muscles flutter at his cocky tone. 

He kneels back, at your same height. “Spread your legs, love,” he tells you, and you keen at the pet name, which makes him caress your cheek fondly. “Come on, let me fuck you, Fawn.”

You part your knees further and his hand slips from your cheeks to your chin, then to your neck, gripping it suggestively, then caresses your breast and follows the axis of your midriff, twirls around your navel and settles at your pubis. 

You wet your lips again, your breath caught in your throat, your gaze tantalised by the movement of his hands. 

He spreads your labia, covering his fingers in your wetness, then he dives for your entrance, catching the sphere inside and helping it out. 

“You should be warm and stretched now, right?” he asks you, then brings the toy to his mouth. 

You stare at him, daring him to do exactly what he does next. He opens his mouth and takes a lick at the ball, tasting you. 

“This wet cause I made you come?” he asks, and you nod, stunned. He brings the sphere to your nipple and rubs it against your breast gently, drawing a small circle on it. “Sweet,” he coos, then sucks your freshly moistened nipple in his mouth.

You moan like you never have, your hips starting to move in an attempt to grind against something. 

You’re almost on the edge by the time he releases your skin from his lips. “Seokjin,” you beg, grabbing his hair and combing it back. “Please, Seokjin, I need it. I need it.”

He sits on his heels, his free hand landing on the small of your back and pulling you closer. “Come close, Fawn. I want to look into your eyes as you take it.”

Your frown can’t even begin to express how desperate you feel. You want him, now, and you’re about to have him. But a part of you is suddenly remembering that you’ll have to let go of him again at the end of the night. 

You shake off the bad thoughts and take him in your hand, but he swats it away. 

“When I say so,” he scolds you, so you place your hands on his shoulders for leverage and when you’re ready to sit on his lap, he grips himself steady and aims his tip at your entrance. 

“Can’t wait to hear you moan as I fill you up, love.”

You bite your lip and the head of his dick slips in effortlessly, smooth and hot. 

A sigh of relief leaves your throat and he smiles. “Goddamn, so warm,” he whispers, then gives you a few more inches — just three or four. Not yet all of them. 

“How does it feel, my Fawn?” he speaks softly. “Still hungry for more?”

You nod, feeling just how full, how magnificent it feels to have more, and to know there’s more to take. 

“You really needed my dick, mh?” He gives you one more inch and you start wincing, just a little. It’s thick and it’s warm, and it feels so right to squeeze it with your muscles, your orgasm starting to build. 

Seokjin looses control for a moment, and that’s all it takes for him to conclude his stroke, sinking all the way to the hilt. 

A gasp escapes you and he seems surprised too. 

He blinks a few times, then his gaze seems to focus on you. “Hello,” he says, with a large smile. “Fawn, I guess I needed inside you just as bad as you did.”

You chuckle and he grips the back of your neck and dives to kiss you. 

The tang of your taste is strong on his tongue, but you don’t dislike it. The kiss is soft, gentle, unrushed and tender. 

“Let me know when I can move,” he tells you. 

You nod. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders you, then starts stroking for real. 

He’s deep and slow, like he’s keeping himself in check, aiming at you coming undone. 

Which you do, in record time, moaning like you’ve never had good sex in your entire life, and at this point you’ve come to suspect so. 

You’ve given yourself good sex. You’ve splurged on a good realistic dildo, and you’ve learnt to fuck yourself right with it, but when Seokjin moves inside you, you doubt you truly ever reached ecstasy in your decades of existence. 

When you do come, it’s his name you scream, shameless, loud, and you don’t care since the entire building is made of people who are in several different states of erotic debauchery. 

Seokjin is proud, fulfilled, your pleasure finally achieved. 

He can now focus on his now. 

He recovers the kegel ball he slipped out of you, still hooked on his finger by the strap, and brings it in front of you. “I might get rough.” He seems unsure, and cheeky too, as he adds, ”How do you feel about a muffler?”

Your eyes widen. You think about it for a millisecond, then it seems obvious. “Go ahead,” you tell him, then open your mouth. 

“God, I love you,” he says. 

And you both stop. 

“Shit, I mean—” Seokjin is panicking. 

“I know,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him. 

He seems like he didn’t mean it. Not like that, at least. “I love this. Between us,” he adds

And you can agree about that. “I do, too.” 

He seems conflicted, unresolved. “Fill my mouth then fill me up, Seokjin. It’s not complicated.”

It really is, because you want all the feelings that come with this, and that are plenty more complicated than two hours of giving and taking everything you need for yourselves. It’s more than getting rid of tension and snatching all the pleasure you can.

He’s still hesitating, so you nudge the sphere with your nose and chin until you manage to catch it with your mouth. 

Both his hands are free now and he decides to grab your ass immediately, shoving your hips back down on him. “Damn right,” he grunts. 

He’ll give you what you want, he’s decided. Everything you want. He’ll keep to himself the complicated bits. 

You hum a short, clipped sound as he lifts you just a little and pulls you down again. Again, even faster than before. 

You start getting his pattern, cooperating as he gets more frantic, more forceful. 

Saliva is starting to gather in your mouth, the ball making it too difficult to swallow. You’re getting messy, and you decide to get messier still, to fuck the worries out of his brain, out of your own too. 

You’re glad he’s flexible, because you manage to make him shift from a lotus position to a rowdy cowgirl. There you go faster still, and he’s gasping your name, staring at your breasts, gripping them, slapping them too as they dangle over his face. 

You clench on him as he does, and he whines even louder. 

It makes you territorial, and maybe sadistic, because next thing you know, you’re removing the toy from your mouth and placing it on the floor — it is no longer welcome in your and Seokjin’s little game. 

Now it’s only the two of you, and may the strongest opponent win. 

You trace his pout with your fingers, and he parts his lips easily. Your middle and ring finger slip inside, and he lets you open his mouth wider. 

You lean over him, lower yourself to him, closer, your bellies sticking together, your hips still pistoning on him. 

Your tongue and cheeks are still coated in the thick wetness and saliva from the improvised gag-ball, so you just leave your lips agape and the thick liquid plops out, from your tongue on his. 

His eyes go wide and he grows more frantic still, going desperate while he licks his lips clean. “God, Fawn. Please,”

“Oh, did the tables turn…”

He smiles a desperate smile, begging you with his eyes. You allow him the final squeeze of your kegels, and he finally, finally comes. 

His arms wrap around you like vines, like he’s ivy, and he depends on you, needs you, wants to cling to your forever. 

He starts pushing from below and it’s a punishment divine and sinful at the same time. 

It shouldn’t feel this good, and yet it does, so you take it as best as you can. 

It feels like stealing, and you’re not sure you’re okay when he slips out. “A quick break, let me recover,” he begs. “Not done though.”

Seokjin is great at recovering, this one you’ve learnt. Maybe he doesn’t jerk off by himself. Maybe he keeps himself at bait so he can go all out when he’s with you. 

Nevertheless, he takes ten or so minutes to himself, where he just lays with you on top of him, his dick inside you, softening, while he strokes your body. 

“I don’t know what I meant with what I said earlier,” he admits. 

“We don’t need to talk about this right now,” you tell him, and maybe you’re just trying to save your poor little heart. Sure, saying you love him would be an exaggeration, but you definitely like this man, and you like his heart, his personality, and most importantly, the way he treats you and understands your needs. 

“I feel like we should.” He’s caressing your spine. “I—”

“Why did your ex-wife let go of you? How did she give up on sex this good? How did she get this and not…? Stay?” You ask. And you need the answer. Maybe that will make you swallow the lump in your throat. He wants to discuss difficult topics? Then let’s do that. 

“I—” He’s clearly caught by surprise. “I was not like this. With her. With other women.” His hand stops, resting on the curve of your ass. “We were just… No longer in love with each other. We still love each other, but we don’t long for each other anymore. We love each other for the three beautiful lives we created together, for our family, for the memories, but we don’t… We want to build different paths. And that’s fair.”

You nod, then settle back on his chest, drawing patterns on it with your fingers. He’s starting to stir inside you, you can tell. Feeling him awaken like this is fulfilling, arousing too. “And you let go?”

“We did.” He squeezes your butt fondly. “We— Me and my ex didn’t have sex often. I needed it, I guess, but I never asked. She didn’t seem to want it. Passion was never part of the equation.”

“But three kids? I—”

“We wanted a big family. She did, especially. But it’s not like we tried a lot. We were just lucky. And I don’t regret that, not even a second. After Daisy we stopped altogether. We were basically celibate for more than a year.”

You nod, then look at him. “So this thing with me is like—?”

He chuckles, his hips shifting in a way that tells you he’s ready again, or soon will be. “This is the most selfish and passionate I’ve been in the last five years. I guess that’s why I said what I said earlier.” He’s blushing, eyes averted. “But that doesn’t mean I value you only for selfish reasons.” He forces himself to look at you again. “I actually like you a lot. But I don’t know what to do because stuff gets complicated when you have kids, especially young kids like mine.”

You nod some more. “You like me?!” You say after three seconds, tires screeching in your brain as you process his words. 

He smiles, his laugh rippling from his stomach to yours. “Yeah, that one sure. Pretty sure about it, yeah.”

“And—”

“And I waited this long to tell you because I wanted to be sure, but also because I wanted to be sure it meant something to you too. I wanted to feel safe with you.” He smooths your hair by your temple, removing a strand that was obstructing your eye. “I wanted to have sex when I was sure you meant something for me. I think sex is something meaningful. Important. I wanted to get there step by step.”

You rise from his chest, stare at him, confused, like your world has been just flipped inside out. “I thought you didn’t—”

“I did.” He chuckles, just a little, then places a hand on your waist and flips the two of you upside down. 

He’s on top of you, and he’s got a point to prove. “Last time I really did. I was this close,” he says, and he strokes out, then in, slowly.

You moan his name, and he dives to your lips. “Such a pretty way to moan for me, Fawn. Telling everyone who’s fucking this sweet, warm, cosy pussy.” He stops once he bottoms out and speaks through gritted teeth: “As I was saying before you interrupted me, I really wanted to, last time. I was sure I was going to get your number and invite you for dinner afterwards. But the babysitter and fucking lice and—”

You laugh. He’s fucking you so good and yet you end up talking about mundane stuff and he’d so handsome above you but you really want him to take you from behind — your mind is frazzled. 

“I wanted to fuck you and keep you till morning, and then get you breakfast, and ask you for a date.”

Your heartbeat stumbles. “A date?”

He stops. “God. Don’t tell me you—” He slips out. “You don’t… Uhm. It’s— You don’t see me like that, right?”

He seems defeated, embarrassed too, maybe, but mostly lost.

“Oh, not that!” You rush to clarify, “I mean, I do! I do see you like that, I mean!” You grab him by the shoulders, then cup the sides of his neck and kiss him, because you’re making a mess and you know that you’re going to kiss him right and show him just how much this means to you. 

“I love that you waited to have sex with me.” You caress his face. “It meant a lot, because I don’t think I was ready to have sex straight away.”

“I wanted to since I first saw you,” he says, and you kiss him some more, to show him you like what he’s telling you, that you want him to keep going. “But I needed time to process just what I wanted, and how.”

“I noticed you staring.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. I wanted to be matched with you so bad, but I was scared we wouldn’t combine. Maybe we were incompatible.”

You smile. “I’m so glad this is happening.”

He slips an arm underneath your back and helps you up, until you’re both sitting up again, your chin resting on his shoulder, and you’re about to abandon yourself in his arms when you notice something in a corner of the room. 

“Hold up,” you tell him. 

He pulls back, looking you in the face. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head, then kiss him softly, gingerly. “Just wait.”

You rise and let him slip out of you, his dick deliciously covered in your and his cum. 

He watches you rise and follows you with his gaze, studying the way the fire dances on the planes of your skin. His mouth waters. “Fawn, love, no need to—”

“Yes!” you exclaim, then he notices you’re moving a full-length mirror closer to your alcove by the fireplace. It’s a wheeled mirror, which can be rolled around to better be included in the scene. You place it in front of Seokjin, who studies you standing beside it, then looks at his reflection. “I wanted this so bad,” you tell him, “but I wanted to look you in the eye and I don’t like the fact that you gotta face away for it.”

You sit in front of him, then turn your back to him and head back to your position on all fours, just like you started. 

Seokjin shakes his head. “I’ve never understood doggy before hitting it with you,” he says, his hands skating down your sides. 

He slips in and you both hiss, but pleasure rises faster than pain. The first stroke is heaven already. “I’m gonna be fucking you like this for weeks to come.”

“I’m gonna hold you accountable for that,” you tease. 

He nods, then wraps an arm around you, his hand sprawled against your sternum, and he pulls you up, with your back against his chest. 

He can feel your crazed heartbeat, and you can feel his against your spine. 

“I’m gonna get rough, Fawn.” He bites your neck, not aggressively, but with passion. “Fuck, you make me wild.” He jabs into you. “With your pretty eyes.” Once more. “And your pretty, dirty mouth.” He slides out, then stuffs himself back in and you gasp. “And the way you get dumb and filthy when you need to come.” His hand climbs to your throat, without gripping, just a gentle warm caress, as if to protect it, and help you hold your head upright. “The way you mix innocence and debauchery.” It’s like he’s trying to burrow himself inside you, swallowing your frame into his. “You’re a delight of a little bitch.”

You’re touching yourself now, and he stares at it in the mirror, at the frantic circles of your fingers on your clitoris, at the way your tits wiggle at his thrusts.

Your lips are parted wide, and you’re starting to fall, he can tell, your eyes closing slowly. You’re fluttering for him, inside, and he’s gritting his teeth, plunging inside you more furiously. “Come on, come for me, my little bitch. Show me how much you love this dick.”

And so you do.

He thanks you softly and compliments you as you start coming apart for him, his own pleasure coming together and unraveling at last as you both spiral into each other. 

It’s apotheosis, the way you melt into each other, your essence becoming one. It’s completion. It’s finality. It’s your destination. 

You’re both left panting, exhausted, and this time you’re not sure Seokjin will recover as easily as he had before. 

“Holy smokes,” you exhale, and he meets your eyes in the mirror. His cheeks are adorably flushed, and his eyes are dark and drowsy. He’s still panting. “Very worth it. Every second.”

“Kudos for the mirror. Excellent idea.”

“We need to add that to the list.”

“Definitely.”

He kisses a spot near the hollow of your throat, nibbling the skin there just right. 

He stays buried inside you still, and has pretty much no intention of getting out. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you, his fingers skimming your belly, caressing you, but also trying to keep you warm. He wants to grab a robe for you, but he doesn't want to be detached from you yet. 

“I'm just fine,” you reassure him, rubbing his thigh to comfort him. 

“Was it too rough?” he asks and you shake your head immediately. 

“Are you kidding? It was just perfect!” you tell him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

He stays quiet for a while then says, “Are we okay with… With what I said earlier? About… About feelings?” 

You blink repeatedly. “I think…” You pause. “I think it's fair, what you feel. And—” You shake your head and giggle. “I hope you did mean to ask me on a date.”

He chuckles, then wraps his arms more tightly around you. “Breakfast. The girls are with their mom tonight, we could sleep here—” He kisses a sweet spot at your nape— “Or not sleep at all,” he suggests, “and wake up in the morning and go for breakfast.” He contemplates the option, studying your face in the mirror. “It's up to you, my beautiful Fawn.”

You just shake your head yes, smiling brightly.

“I need to be clear from the start, though. If my situation with my terminated marriage, and with my kids scares you or disturbs you in any way, I would like to know it right now.” 

You shake your head vigorously. “I'm okay with that, as long as you're sure you're ready to try this for real.” You feel your eyes grow avoidant and your cheeks heat as you add, “I must admit, Seokjin, that I got it quite bad for you. If you were in this with no intention of things getting serious, I think I would be—” You search for the word. “I'd be disappointed. Strongly.”

He nods, then swallows you in his frame, your torso and his like two juxtaposed crescents. “I'm looking for something real. Something passionate and steady and reliable. Someone I can be a man with, a friend, and a father, and a partner too. I need someone for myself. Someone who can be mine, but also someone I can belong to.”

You nod then turn to look him in the eye, your bodies still spooned. You stretch to his lips and he kisses you, his eyes staring at your mouth before it goes out of focus.

It's immediately a matter of tongues and wetness and sucking, with just the right amount of teeth. His hands lose their peaceful rest and return to tantalising, seductive touches, veering south. 

“Already?” you purr against his mouth, a slow smile already crumbling. 

“You've got no idea what you started,” he says, tempting. 

You chuckle, your laugh and his mixing. And you tell him, “Show me.” 

More in this AU | MYG | KNJ

General masterlist

[hot-soop]

don't let me tempt you / ch.1

pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader ⇢ au: Good Omens universe (none of the characters or the plot are mentioned so this fic can be read without knowing anything of Good Omens) ⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter) ⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork. ⇢ chapter wc: 4.5k ⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you. ⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery bc this is set in the Good Omens universe and there's gonna be a bunch of biblical references, but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate. Author is an atheist. Author did next to no research on calendars that pre-date the Georgian one bc she is lazy and can't do maths. Swearing. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort <3 ⇢ a/n: thank u to my beloveds @the-boy-meets-evil and @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and thinking my babies are cute. thank u to my angel @effortandmore for your encouragement! Ur all cute too. Ily

1106 BC

Time in 1106 BC follows some kind of construct that the author has not deemed necessary to research, but if the Georgian calendar (or indeed days of the week) had been invented, the day our story begins would be in mid April, on a Tuesday, around 3pm. 

The weather in Heaven is, as you would expect, perfect. The company is not.

“Sorry to bring you in here like this,” you say, as the thirteenth angel of the day takes a seat on the other side of your desk.

There’s a spiel to this. Angels have a tendency to lean towards the dramatic, so you’ve learned the ways of ‘softening the blow’, as the humans call it. Doling out God’s punishments wasn’t your preferred assignment, but it’s the role that was dropped in your lap after you quit the last - and you’re not in a position to refuse Her again. Here goes another. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but-”

“Let me guess,” the other angel interjects. “She’s demoting me?”

This is unusual. The angels know God’s wrath, but they’re usually surprised to find out when said wrath is directed toward them specifically. Not this one, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, waiting for you to rip off the bandaid. 

“Uhh. A temporary banishment actually.”

He stares at you. “It was only a little miracle.” 

“Three very large miracles, I’ll have you know. We’re not supposed to be bringing people back from the dead anymore.”

“Since when?” he asks, rather like a petulant human toddler. 

You frown. “Since protocol changed - didn’t you read the memo?” The angel shakes his head. “God’s decided to save those types of miracles for someone really special in-” You pause to check your watch “- a thousand years, give or take a century.” 

“Special how?” The angel asks, sitting up a little straighter. 

“You know we’re not told details of The Great Plan.” You flip the file shut. “Well, it seems like you know the issue at hand, and there’s little else to discuss-”

There’s a look of unease creeping over his assigned face that gives you pause. His fingertips drum on his knee. Too human for a heavenly body. “Are you alright?”

“She’s not- they’re not going to cut-”

“Oh! Goodness no,” you’re quick to reassure. “Oh no, you’d have to do something really awful for that, like, question her authority like Lucifer did.” His laugh comes out like a bark, and you’re confused because it wasn’t a joke. “No, but I am terribly sorry to say that you’re being sentenced to four-hundred years on Earth.”

He blinks twice. “Excuse me?”

“Four-hundred years - horrid, I know. But God does say the punishment must fit the deed-”

You’re interrupted again, this time by the kind of laughter that starts as disbelief and quickly has his shoulders shaking and tears rolling down his cheeks. Most unusual. 

“You’re telling me I get to spend near half a century on Earth?”

“What do you mean ‘get to’?” The thought of even spending ten years in such a place sends shivers right through your wings. “You won’t be able to return to heaven at all during that time. No correspondence with anyone, unless of course we contact you first.” He’s positively glowing and you can’t understand it. “You’ll have to live amongst humans-”

He’s standing now, moving to the screen and zooming in on earth. “Can I pick where?”

You move to stand next to him. He’s zoomed in so far, you can’t quite tell where it’s supposed to be. In truth, you spend very little time looking over God’s preferred planet, choosing instead to focus on the vastness of the universe in all its glory. You prefer the stars and the galaxies and all of their colours. 

“May I?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Can I choose where to live? Will I have a role?” 

There’s nothing like this in the training manual. No one ever has these questions. They’re too busy crying, wailing for another chance to stay in heaven, let alone look excited as this one does. 

“I suppose you could,” you say slowly. “And no - there’s no role.” You wait for the penny to drop, but he doesn’t seem to get it. “Pointlessness is the point of this sentence.”

Wonder breaks out in his expression, and he turns back to the screen and zooms in on a peninsular you’ve never noticed before. “Can you drop me here?”

“Where’s here?”

“Gojoseon.”

“Why?” 

“Good people.” His smile spreads wide. “Good food.”

You gasp. “You’ve consumed their provisions? You’ve eaten?”

He looks at you in shock. “You haven’t?”

Of course you flaming haven’t! Even if you could stomach it - how in heaven would you get the opportunity to dine on Earth, what with all the work piling up in your pigeonhole and the lack of angels rights to paid time off, not to mention a union?

Your expression must say it all because he laughs again and says, “Well then visit me sometime, I’ll cook for you.” 

“You’re very peculiar.”

“Yes,” he says with a shrug. “I get that a lot.” 

You move back over to the desk to complete the rest of the paperwork while he stands there, still looking at the map with a satisfied smile.

After a few moments, he says, “I’ll need a name if I’m to live with humans.”

You find his given name at the top of the page. Soterasiel. 

“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

He shrugs again. “Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue for everyone.”

“I hear John is rather popular these days,” you muse, still checking boxes. “And Abraham. Or what about Jos-”

“Seokjin.”

“Bless you.”

“No, I mean- Seokjin.” He moves to sit back down. You don’t quite like it, the way he walks, like he’s got a bravado he hasn’t done anything to earn - rather the opposite in fact, given his grievous error in judgement. “That’s my new name.” 

“Oh-” You glance up at him. “It suits you.”

Seokjin beams. He’s quiet for the next few moments, but you can sense his eagerness as he watches your fingertip move down the page. When all the documents are signed, you show him over to the chute, and he peers into it.

“This is the one-way?” 

You nod. “We’ll send someone to relieve you once your sentence is up.”

He steps inside without hesitation, and it’s almost too late. You've been itching with curiosity since you opened his file, so you blurt out exactly what you’re not supposed to ask.

“Why did you do it?”

Seokjin tilts his head, confused.

“Why did you bring those humans back from the dead?” you clarify.

His eyes soften. “They’re my favourites.” 

There’s a pregnant pause as you regard him. You don’t understand. Favourites? Angels aren’t supposed to have favourites. Angels aren’t supposed to be anything like him. Maybe you haven’t met enough to speak on the matter.

“Come visit me, won’t you? I get the impression you’ll like it down there.”

And before you can scoff at the very idea of visiting a banished (albeit temporarily) angel on earth, the chute opens up below him and he’s gone.

It’s difficult to get back to work after all that. All day there are punishments to give out in God’s name, but thankfully they’re nothing as extreme as that one. You get through a few sanctions, several warnings filed, and a strongly worded letter to the Department of Animals to remind them to stop creating wasps (apparently earth has enough) and then (at what would usually be known as 6pm), like clockwork, Turiel enters your office. 

He’s another one you can’t get a read on, but in an entirely different way. He came up the ranks quickly, and became your boss without the necessary qualifications within a single century. He’s kind of course, but he’s a Watcher, so naturally he watches everything. Being watched makes you uncomfortable. 

“How is everything?”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

“What happened with the banishment this morning?”

“With Seok- Soterasiel? He took it rather well.” Turiel stares at you, and you clear your throat to fill the awkward quiet. “Seemed quite happy about it, actually.”

Turiel frowns. “That’s odd.”

“Yes, quite.”

“We should watch that one,” he says, already making his way out. “Oh- you remembered to strip his miracles, correct?”

Strip his- why in heaven would you do that? It seems horribly cruel enough just to leave them there, let alone take their ability to do anything worthwhile. 

“Sorry?”

Turiel stops on the spot and turns, frown deepening further. “Tell me you saw the memo from Metatron? We’re to strip any and all banishments of their miracles going forward. Too many mishaps and too many angel turned demon that still have their powers.”

If you had any blood in your face it would surely drain. No, you haven’t seen any blasted memo. The pigeonhole is stuffed to burst and it’s something you’ve been meaning to work through, you truly have, but there’s so little time in the day and- and- heavens, he’s still staring at you. Tell him the truth. Tell him you didn’t take Seokjin’s miracles. They’d overlook one error, especially as it’s the first offence. Surely?

“No need to worry,” you hear yourself say, voice unnaturally high. “Of course I did.” 

Turiel blinks, smiles with relief, and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

For the first time in your existence, you’re tempted to curse. 

879 BC

6:43pm. Patchy rain showers through til 8.

Seokjin’s home looks like nothing. A shack at best. It’s hardly worthy of the name home but you still need his sodding permission to cross the threshold, so you knock and wait, huddling as close to the door as possible to keep dry. As the rain pelts your back you bitterly wonder why angels have to wait at the threshold for permission to enter. It’s utterly beyond you, surely such a restraint could be reserved for those who are up to no good?

(You pointedly ignore the little voice saying that you are actually up to no good.)

“Oh my God,” Seokjin says when he opens the door (if it weren’t for the threshold force you’d keel over) and your nose wrinkles automatically at the blasphemy. “It’s you.”

“May I come in?” you say, too busy watching for Watchers in your peripherals to take in the sight of the angel in front of you. It would be terrible to be caught now, after the web of lies you weaved in order to get an hour off work. 

“Why?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. “You’re not bringing me back early are you?”

“Oh heavens no,” you say, starting to feel a little desperate, pushing the wet hair from your eyes. “I forgot something in your documents, a quick signature and I’ll be off in a jiffy.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yes-” 

“And you decided two hundred and twenty-seven years later was the right time to fix that?”

“Time slips away when you’re working!” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Your lot really need to unionise.”

“Shh!” you hiss. “Let me in, please?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, stepping aside. “Come on in. Take your shoes off at the door.”

“I don’t have shoes,” you say as you push past him. A little miracle as soon as you’re out of the rain has you dry and warm again. What a pity, you think, that Seokjin will have to live without these little perks for the rest of his banishment. The sympathy you feel for him catches you unawares.  “What are shoes?”

Seokjin smiles. “Thought you were a watcher?”

Part Cherubim part Virtue actually, but you won’t be telling Seokjin that. That’s between you and God. You bustle past him inside the shack and you can finally relax. All protocols are being broken right now, but with the teeny tiny miracle that you performed earlier, only you and Seokjin will know about this clandestine meeting.  

Seokjin’s home is much nicer on the inside. Rather homely. And clean. And it smells good. What is that smell? 

“I just made some tea, would you like a cup?” 

Drinking? Apparently you can’t hide your expression because Seokjin's responding smile is mirthful. “Haven’t changed much, have you?”

“I suppose not, no.”

There’s no time to dilly dally like this. If you’re not back in the office soon, there’ll be questions you won’t know how to answer without twisting the truth. An angel can’t be going around telling lies. It’s uncouth. 

Seokjin busies himself at the table while you unroll the documents. The scroll is horribly long, but eventually you find the line you missed all those years ago. You cough to get his attention, and he looks up and takes the scroll from your outstretched hand. 

But then he starts to read. Oh goodness gracious. You hadn’t expected that. He seemed the sort that wouldn’t get hung up on the details, that would trust an angel (one like yourself in particular) implicitly. It’s offensive, actually, that he doesn’t trust that you’re not trying to pull the wool over his eyes, even though that might be exactly what you were trying to do. Are you not trustworthy? Are you not angelic?

Seokjin frowns. Uh oh. 

“You’re taking my miracles?”

“Uh-”

“Why?”

“Well- uh. It’s protocol, you see.”

Seokjin stares. The silence is palpable.

“You fucked up.”

You gasp. “Don’t curse!”

“You did!” he says, eyes wild. “You fucked up when you sent me down here!”

There’s heat creeping up your neck.

“It really doesn’t need to be such a big to-do,” you splutter. “Just sign the form, and I’ll be on my way and then you’ll be back in Heaven in no time at all!”

“But I won’t have my miracles?”

“You’ll get them back on your return!” 

“What if I need them?”

“You won’t.”

“I’ve needed them a lot, actually,” Seokjin insists. “You’ve no idea how many sticky situations I’ve been in thanks to all the creatures our Heavenly Mother made!”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Have you seen a tiger yet? Those are my favourite.”

Seokjin looks like he might slap you.

The door opens.

“Seokjinie-hyung! We’re back!”

We? Who’s we?

We are three men, one short, one tall, and one somewhere in the middle. 

The room is very suddenly too small and too quiet as all of you stare at each other. 

The small one’s eyes, wide and curious, dart between you and Seokjin. 

“Who’s this, Seokjin hyung?”

“Uh-” you say.

“Uhh-” says Seokjin.

You can’t think of a human name. Not a single, blasted one comes to mind. Of course, humans know angels exist, but you can’t go around telling everyone who you are when you’re not exactly here on official business. Their mouths blabber too much. Word on Earth gets around faster than in Heaven.

“This is-”

“Oh my God-” the somewhere-in-the-middle one exclaims, while you grimace. “You’re that angel hyung told us about!”

You turn to glare at Seokjin, who is all of sudden very interested in the wood grain on the table. His ears are strawberry red. Strawberries were one of your ideas, you’d know that colour anywhere.

“You told them?” you say, incredulously. “What were you thinking?”

Seokjin sighs. “They’re not going to say anything.”

“Yeah!” the small one says. “Don’t worry, we’ve kept Seokijn hyung’s secret for two cent-”

He’s cut off by a loud cough from the tall one, but you’re not stupid. Humans aren’t supposed to be alive that long anymore, not since The Great Flood when God finally got sick of Noah and his bothersome family - that was one of the few memos you read. 

“Seokjin-” you say slowly. He’s pointedly looking everywhere else but your face. “Are these the same humans you told me about during our first meeting?”

The small one grins. “Oh hyung, I knew you loved us more than you let on.”

Two centuries they’ve been alive - at least. Oh Goodness. You need to report it, but how could you without telling them you didn’t do your job properly. 

“You don’t need to say anything to Heaven,” Seokjin says. “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”

“The protocol-” you start, but you’re cut off by a groan.

“Fuck the protocol! Don’t you want to think for yourself for once? Didn’t She give us free will for a reason?”

“She gave them free will, not us!” you reason. “We’re to do as we’re told!”

“Why? What for?”

“The Great Plan!”

“The Great Plan-” he parrots in the most condescending tone. “-is supposed to be ineffable. If we knew what was in it, we wouldn’t have a choice. If I didn’t have free will, I wouldn’t have been able to turn them into vampires.”

You frown, confused. Vampires weren’t in the handbook, but then you never could keep up. “What’s a vampire?”

Seokjin swallows thickly. “Uh. Nevermind that. The point is, if this wasn’t in The Great Plan, if it wasn’t written, would I have even been able to do it?”

The thought gives you pause. He’s got a point, actually. The Archangels talk often of fate and destiny and what She wrote. No one knows the plan, of course, and it can change at Her will, but the whole point of this charade is that you’re all to trust in God’s Plan, regardless of what happens.

There’s a long moment of silence. The three men- or rather, vampires- are still just standing there watching the two of you argue. 

The small one finally breaks the tension and introduces himself. “I’m Jimin,” he says.

You nod, and give your name. He repeats it, butchering the pronunciation, but of course you expected that. Humans have never quite managed to get their tongue around it. You muse for a moment if you should give yourself a more human name, like Seokjin, but your thoughts are interrupted by the large one. 

“I’m Namjoon,” he says, and points to the last one, who gives a tentative wave. “This is Taehyung.”

You nod again, and start to feel a little ridiculous.

Okay, so the plan needs to be adjusted. You can’t take away Seokjin’s miracles without getting him to undo whatever he did to the human-vampires. 

“How long have you all been alive?” 

Namjoon glances at Seokjin, who nods. “Around three hundred years.”

“Okay,” you say. “And do you plan on dying any time soon?”

The three of them stare at you. “It’s not something we’d considered, no,” whispers Jimin. 

“Right,” you say, and then turn to Seokjin. “You need to fix this, make them human again. I’ve got to go, they’ll be looking for me, but I’ll be back soon to check in on you so you’d better have done it by then.”

Seokjin’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat. It’s… somewhat pleasant to look at.

“Pleasure to meet you everyone,” you say tightly to Seokjin’s friends. “Enjoy the rest of your lives.”

You catch their confused expressions shift into something horrified before you appear back at your desk in Heaven. It leaves you befuddled. That was a perfectly pleasant first interaction with humans that are aware of your celestial-ness - you’re not quite sure what they could be so bothered about.

827 BC

Early Autumn. 8:12am. Current Earthly conditions: foggy

It’s another fifty years or so before you can catch a break long enough to get back down to Earth. The shack has improved drastically - quite the pleasant looking home in fact. There’s flower boxes on the windowsills that are covered in a light morning dew, but the plants seem hardy. Purples and yellows. Dainty looking little things. You wonder what they might be. 

The door opens as you bend to smell them, and you look up to find the angel wrapped up in the largest item of clothing you’ve ever seen for something that just seems to be used for a neck. It’s ever so bright. Mismatched colours and patterns that don’t seem to line up. One end of it drags along the floor. Seokjin doesn’t appear too pleased to see you. 

“What are you wearing?” you ask, amused.

“Taehyung made me a scarf.”

“It’s very big.”

Seokjin glares.

“Did you really come to ruin my life so early in the morning?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re immortal. I hardly doubt this little blip will destroy you. More like God would if you don’t pull it together.”

“I could say the same about you.”

He’s got you there. But as you hold his gaze something in the air shifts, and he reluctantly lets you in. This time you take his offer of a cup of tea. You take a tentative sip, and it warms your belly in such an unexpected way. The weight of the cup is heavy in your hand, and the warmth of it seeps into your palm. It’s rather nice. 

You sit at the same table he had fifty-something years ago. There’s a few more marks in the woodwork by now. 

“Shall we get it over with then?” he says. “Where do I need to sign?”

You stop his hastiness with a gentle touch to his arm. He stares at your hand.

 “Did you get everything in order first?” you ask.

Seokjin coughs. “Yes, of course.” 

His ears are strawberry red again. The colour really is pretty, you’re glad you chose it. You’re glad you see it in other things, even if they are the tips of this angel’s ears. 

“They’re dead?”

“Not yet,” he says, lips twisting bitterly around the words. “They’re living out the rest of their lives. You might get a chance to see them, if you stay awhile. They said they’d be popping by later.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s something. You know, I am really sorry about that. I thought about it after my last visit, and I think I understand now why you’d want to keep your friends around for longer.” 

“Feeling lonely up there?” he asks, voice gentler than usual.

“No!” You snort with (only slightly put on) derision. “Of course not. Too busy for such a thing as loneliness.”

He chuckles. “Maybe I wasn’t busy enough then.”

You ignore what feels like a thimbleful of sadness dropping into your stomach.

Seokjin does most of the talking while you drink your tea. He talks about what he does down here - cooking mostly, but also a little pottery. He’s been training under a man called Yoongi. Says he made the cups you’re holding, and you inspect them. They’re quite ugly, thick and uneven- and you’re about to say as such, but Seokjin looks proud, so you smile and tell him he did very well, and that you like the colour of the clay. You wish you could bottle the way he beams.

All too soon the tea is finished, and Seokjin signs the document. It’s done. His eyes still shine, if a little less bright now. 

“What now?” he asks.

You suck in a breath. “Your miracles are in trust until your return to Heaven. Until then you can live as a human. More or less.”

His eyes snap up. “I’m still immortal, right?”

“Oh of course,” you say with a laugh. “You think they’d go through all this trouble just to risk you being eaten by a giraffe?”

“Do you know anything about Earth?” Seokjin says it like you’re an idiot. “At all?”

You’re tempted to roll your eyes. “I know plenty-”

“Name one thing,” he interrupts, crossing his arms and looking at you with an almost amused expression. 

You draw your shoulders back. You’ll give him three. “It weighs five point nine-seven septillion kilograms.”

Seokjin blinks three times fast. You must’ve caught him off guard with your knowledge. Good.

“It’s made up of thirty-two point one percent iron, fifteen point one percent silic-”

“Alright,” Seokjin says, lips twisting into a small smile. “I get it. You don’t need to prove yourself.”

You grin, ever so pleased with yourself, and Seokjin laughs.

“You’re cute.”

“What?”

“Cute,” he repeats. “It’s a compliment.”

“Oh,” you say, wondering why reciting facts from the Earth’s handbook would warrant a compliment on your character. “Okay…” You look down at your mug and see it’s empty and you’re struck with a surprising pang of disappointment. The tea was really rather good, it’s something of a pity as you realise you won’t be able to make it the same back in Heaven.

“Well, I’d better get going. Paperwork to do. Miracles to take.”

“Of course,” says Seokjin, and stands to see you off. “If you visit again will you let me know in advance?”

“Why?”

“I’ll make dinner.”

You smile without thinking. “I don’t eat, Seokjin.”

“You know,” he says, in a very matter of fact tone. “Despite the fact that every time we meet you’re taking away something of mine, I’m growing quite fond of our meetings.”

You blink. 

His eyes are so big and gentle and- “Let me know- okay?” he says with earnest.

“Okay,” you promise, already wondering when you could possibly get away long enough to watch Seokjin eat dinner.

“Would you like to take some flowers with you?” he asks suddenly. “I saw you smelling them.”

“Oh! Ye-” you start, and then you think better of it. So you plaster on a smile and say “No, that’s quite alright, I can whip some of my own up in no time at all.”

Seokjin nods. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but time is getting on and you’re not used to these odd goodbye rituals the humans (and this angel in particular) seem so fond of, so with a flash of a smile you’re back in Heaven. Seokjin and his lovely brown eyes remain on Earth. 

Your office looks so bland in comparison to Seokjin's home.

It takes a second to notice that the cup he gave you is still in your hand, remnants of the sweet tea drying on the bottom. You briefly consider going back down, just to hand it over and say goodbye properly, but in walks Turiel to squash any ideas you have about leaving your post again.

“Great, you’re finally back,” he says, dumping a stack of files on your desk. “We’re swamped.”

“What happened?” you exclaim. You��re barely able to see him over the pile. 

“Some bright spark in Organisms made a new virus. Let it loose in Greece without proper authorisation, killed half of them,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “The higher ups are fretting because one of the dead ones was supposed to be a prophet.”

Oh dear.

Turiel leaves without display. No time for pleasantries like offerings of tea and flowers up here. You sigh, dejected. 

Being around Seokjin makes you wistful for things you didn’t know you wanted. You set the mug on your desk, turning it to and fro so you get a view of the prettier side- and with the smallest of miracles, there grows delicate flowers, in purple and yellow.

[kiestrokes]

How BTS Would React to You Coming Home Drunk (and Horny) from a Night Out with Friends | NSFW

Pairing: BTS x Reader/You/Yn (some gendered + some non-gendered) Rating: NSFW! Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 691ish Genre: scenario/imagine, smut, sprinklings or crack/fluff, established relationships. Warnings: mentions of drinking (consensual drunken behavior between partners), reader is wearing a dress because ease of access.

Sexually Explicit Content: penetration (penis is whatever you want to imagine: vagina/ass), cunnilingus, fellatio, nipple play, cockwarming, kissing/making out, overstiumulation, cuddling. Let me know if I missed anything!

🗝️ Note: I’ll format this tomorrow. But in tradition of when this imagine was made, that’s a sober Kie problem. A repost from @/goodsoop. Edited 8/20/23 to include warnings!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted here. 

KSJ: would be mildly "unapproving" of your loose behavior but would fix himself a double and quickly get on your level. Until you both were drunk, loudly playing video games on the couch of the game room. This of course escalates into you attempting to cheat by climbing into his lap. You end up getting distracted by his beautiful lips and it turns into a sloppy, laughter filled fuck on the sectional. Jin boasts that he, of course, won. In the game and in getting you off.

MYG: was asleep when you drunkenly climbed into bed, laying on top of him Jung-Hoseok-spread-eagle style. Grumbles about the fact you’re going to have a hangover tomorrow. Slips out from under you and begins to remove your clothes. Batting away your wandering hands that are attempting to climb under his shirt. He leaves you passed out on top of the covers to get water and pain reliever. Returning to your sad attempt at getting yourself off. Huffs at you to let him do it, because he secretly loves how pliable and vocal you are when he gives you head this way.

JHS: is also in bed, you strip down to your panties and climb under the covers with him. He sleepily pulls you back into him, large hands drifting down your bare body. You have no trouble rousing Hoseok for drunken foreplay, he’s already hard. But he just wants a little cock warming tonight. To feel you clench around him as he plucks your nipples between nimble fingers and drifts off into the wettest dream of his life.

KNJ: was up late reading, stands up to greet you, reading glasses still on. Catches your mouth just as you tug his face to yours. The two of you clumsily fumbling with each other across the living room. He curses as he accidentally drops you onto the coffee table. But you’re unharmed and laughing, hands already reaching to tug down his sweats. Giving him a thoroughly dedicated blow job. Until he coats your throat and is moaning at you to stop.

PJM: is waiting for you in the bedroom, watching a new drama. Waiting in his boxers for the return of handsy and affectionate you. This is the only time that you’re almost as touchy with him as he is you. You don’t even take your dress off, just drop your panties at the bedroom door. Climbing onto Jimin’s lap to kiss the lips you had been thinking about since your second drink. It’s slow and intense sex that has you both crying out from overstimulation.

KTH: is mopey of course that he couldn’t go with you and the "girls". Has a bit of a wine buzz and is dancing around the kitchen to some Leon Bridges. You slip into his waltz and Tae serenades you, spinning you around the island. Until you’re pulled into a mutual kiss like two magnets, charged by the music and alcohol pulsing through your veins. He pins you against the island with his husky, low groans. Fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, and under your panties until his fingers are coated in your essence. He swallows your cries of pleasure, murmuring quiet pleas against your lips, begging for you to take him out next time.

JJK: he of course is gaming when you get home. So you slip past him, dropping your clothes along the way to catch his attention. He grumbles to his teammates in frustration, excusing himself from the game. Running to catch up with you just as you make it to the bedroom door, nude as fuck. You squeal as he spins you around and peppers wet, open mouth, kisses from your neck to the top of your knees. Before folding you across the edge of the bed, ass bare to him. Making quick, erratic work of your orgasms. Before collapsing on top of you, his t-shirt collecting the sweat that had accumulated on your back. He abandons the game to climb into bed with you, cuddling naked.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[jungkwok]

once upon a dream | ksj fluff | bts disney series

jungkook | taehyung | jimin | namjoon | hoseok | yoongi | jin

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

pairing: seokjin x reader

tags: fluff duh, prince!jin x reader, based off plot of 'Sleeping Beauty'

word count: 458 words

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The moon bathed the room in a soft, silvery glow as you, Y/N, and Jin, the prince who stole your heart, slept in each other's embrace. The peace of the night was shattered when you awoke with a gasp, your heart racing from a vivid nightmare that had gripped your slumber.

Terrified, you found solace in Jin's arms, shaking him gently to wake him from his peaceful dreams. His eyes fluttered open, concern etching his features as he took in the fear in your eyes.

"Y/N, what happened?" he whispered, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet night.

You hesitated, the remnants of the nightmare still haunting your thoughts. "I... I had a nightmare, Jin. I'm scared."

Without a word, Jin pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. "Shhh, my love. I'm here. You're safe."

As he held you, Jin began to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, a gentle reassurance that the nightmare was just a fleeting moment. His words were a balm to your wounded soul, and you felt the tension in your body slowly melt away.

"I'm right here, Y/N. You're not alone," Jin murmured, his voice a lullaby that eased the restlessness within your heart. "I'll always be here to chase away the shadows, to hold you close and keep you safe."

His words were a promise, and you found comfort in the safety of his embrace. The room was filled with a hushed intimacy as Jin continued to whisper words of love and reassurance. The rhythm of his heartbeat matched the cadence of your own, creating a symphony that drowned out the echoes of the nightmare.

Gradually, the fear that had gripped you began to fade, replaced by the warmth of Jin's love. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the serenity he offered. With each whispered declaration of love, you felt a sense of security that anchored you in the present moment.

As the tension left your body, you succumbed to the tranquillity that Jin's presence brought. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours, the quiet murmurs of love, and the soft caress of his fingers in your hair were the lullabies that guided you back to the realm of dreams.

With a final, tender kiss to your forehead, Jin watched as your breathing steadied and your eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Admiring the serenity on your face, he whispered, "Sleep well, Y/N," before allowing the quiet of the night to embrace his own dreams.

And so, in the stillness of the night, Jin held his sleeping beauty, their hearts entwined in the delicate dance of dreams and love.

[mrworldwideshoulders]

on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable​)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot. 

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?” 

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth. 

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.” 

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him. 

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right? 

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.” 

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp. 

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.” 

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.” 

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.” 

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin. 

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further. 

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training. 

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice. 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?” 

You scoff. “I get by just fine.” 

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks. 

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand. 

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.” 

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer. 

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.” 

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him. 

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.” 

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow. 

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?” 

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far. 

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?” 

“Well, someone has to, don’t they? 

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.” 

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?” 

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.” 

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?” 

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?” 

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction. 

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.” 

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?” 

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?” 

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.” 

“Then why did you agree to it?” 

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk. 

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.” 

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”  

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?” 

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?" 

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.” 

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?” 

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.” 

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank. 

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all. 

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own. 

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it. 

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes. 

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him. 

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much. 

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests. 

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?” 

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed. 

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[iamthecatwhotypes]

the letter (bts)

It started with an unsigned letter...

💘Pairing: Fem!OC x Yongbok/Secret Admirer | Sincerely AU 📚Genre: Sincerely... AU (m.list) | Romantic Angst 🔞Rating: 18+ ⌨Word Count: 4.4k ✋🏽Warnings: Unhealthy relationship (edging on neglect; quick to anger) 🗣Summary: Jinju's birthday started out rough... but a curious letter from a secret admirer gives her new hope. The problem is, which of her friends has a crush on her? 💌A/N: Hi! I'm new, but have been lurking for a while. I've had this idea in my head for a while and wanted to give this a try. If you have any constructive criticism or anything you want to say about this, please feel free to reach out. I'd love to hear from you! 😁If you want to read on AO3, you can! 🥰 I know a lot of people prefer to read a whole story when it's done. If you want me to tag you when this series is finished, let me know and I'll tag you when the finale drops.

There was something in the air that Friday night.

It felt… maybe a bit romantic, really. The sky had faded to a soft blue with fluffy clouds bathed in pastel pinks and oranges while the horizon was aglow in dazzling gold. Chasing after the cotton candy clouds from the east was a storm the color of spilled ink. They sprinted along the sky, gobbling up the half moon that hung low and bright.

Rainy nights were my favorite. I was convinced they washed away all the negativity of the day or week and left me with a clean slate.

Maybe it’ll sound a little crazy or overdramatic, but it felt like there was something fated in the crisp breeze that whipped through my hair. It felt like I was on the precipice of something exciting and new starting.

I loved the way it seemed like everyone around me was so happy while being bathed in the soft glow of the street lights that were flipping on one street at a time.

I loved nights like this. They made me think of home when I was young. I'd sit with my mom and brother and watch the lightning until either the storm ended, or I fell asleep. 

In my moment of nostalgia, I looked around for my boyfriend, Yongbok, hoping to wrap my hands around his arm and walk tucked up against him, but saw him already so far ahead of me that he was almost to the restaurant we were going to meet our friends at. 

I paused for a moment, my shoulders slumping against the sudden brunt of disappointment. My jaw went slack as my heart slid down my ribs into my gut and dissolved in its bath of acid.

Why was he so far ahead? He almost always walked with me. I mean, yeah, he was a much faster walker than I was, but he had a bit of height on me and naturally had a longer stride.

I blamed my outfit. I didn’t often wear skirts or heeled sandals. Even though the long champagne colored skirt I wore had a slit up to the middle of my leg, I felt awkward walking in it. It felt almost alien to dress this feminine. The bag I had brought was bulkier than I was used to as well.

I guess I felt a bit like a puppy that had yet to grow into its paws.

Despite all of that, he should have been walking beside me like a proper boyfriend would.

Although… we have been going through sort of a rough patch, I guess. We’d made plans to go out tonight to celebrate my birthday months ago. Maybe he felt like if he didn’t show up tonight, then all our friends would know we were having problems and he didn’t want them to notice. 

I hoped that meant he still wanted to try and work things out with me.

I heaved a sigh and hurried after him, nearly breaking into a sprint in order to meet him at the door. He held it open with his foot and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

A small part of me was worried he'd started to be embarrassed by me. I had gained a bit of weight since I stopped doing my normal dance classes. I didn't think it had been a lot, but I had caught him looking at my tummy a couple of times.

Maybe he was just excited for everything that we had planned to do tonight. 

I felt myself get excited at the idea he'd gotten me something nice.

Maybe he was going to finally propose and was just nervous.

Why would he be nervous though? It wasn't like I would say no!

I smiled up at him sheepishly when I lowered my head and slipped past him and into the restaurant.

I loved this restaurant. The walls were black and the lights that hung overhead were low. It smelled of meat and fish and spices.

It reminded me of how my family's house had smelled when I was a child and my grandmother was cooking.

I looked around, plastering a smile on my face and searching for my friends.

I spotted Namjoon’s freshly dyed purple hair in a far corner and grabbed Yongbok's wrist, pulling him along with me as I navigated towards the group, my smile full and authentic now. 

Yongbok pulled his hand from mine and skirted past me, almost bumping into a waitress with a tray full of sushi, gimbap, and a delightful smelling udon. 

She gasped and steadied the tray with her free hand, her mouth agape as I waved her on, apologizing quietly for his rudeness.

Why was he acting like this? He was being so rude and embarrassing!

I scowled at him and walked over to the table, forcing the smile to grace my face again as almost everyone looked over at me.

I could almost feel the judgement in their eyes as Jimin pulled a chair out for me and pushed it in as I sat while everyone at the table wished me a happy birthday. I smiled shyly at them and bowed my head several times in gratitude while holding my hands together in thanks.

Even though it should have been Yongbok seating me, I thanked Jimin anyway. 

He was always a gentleman.

I looked at Yongbok and sighed again when I saw him already deep in conversation with Jungkook who had just started getting a full sleeve of tattoos and, of course, Yongbok was curious about it. He’d wanted to get tattoos for a while now and Jungkook had been the only one in our friend group brave enough to start.

The tattoos I could see on his knuckles were hard to read in the quick moment I looked at, but they looked crisp enough to look decent.

“Look at you!” My best friend, Chaeyoung leaned close to whisper into my ear as she took my bag and admired it for a moment before hanging it from a hook under the table I didn’t know existed. “I bet Yongbok is just itching to get his hands on you tonight!”

She hid her giggle with her long, slender hand. I did my best to laugh along with her to avoid suspicion. It’d been such a long time since Yongbok had touched me… since he’d hugged me… I thought I would probably erupt with joy as soon as he even so much as held my hand.

“Well, you look stunning.” Chaeyoung continued sincerely before letting her eyes gaze at the candles flickering in the center of the table. She went far away for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I am a little jealous you have a boyfriend on your birthday. Mine was so lonely.”

I looked her over and scoffed. She was always so elegant with her high cheekbones, small forehead, and full hips that swung like a pendulum when she walked. She was everything I considered to be perfect. I couldn’t understand why she was still single. “You’ll find the right guy soon!”

“I hope so.” Her shoulders slumped enough for her collarbone to peek out from under the sleeveless black cocktail dress she wore.

I nudged her with my arm and leaned close, glancing around the table quickly to see who was watching us. “Have you told… you know… how you feel?”

Her eyes flicked up to the man who sat quietly on the other side of the table, between Jungkook and Namjoon, staring at a glass of water that was sitting in a pool of its own condensation. She shook her head and pulled her waist length black hair behind her ear. “No. If he likes me, he needs to approach me.”

“What if he’s shy?”

She gave a nonchalant shrug and took a sip of her red wine, the glint of the candles catching her long, almond nails painted in a nude shade. She thought carefully for a moment and met my eyes. “I think he likes someone. He’s been acting differently recently.”

I nudged her again as a pair of waitresses came around, setting steaming bowls of clear soup in front of us and taking our entree orders. “It could be you.”

She offered me a smile. “I hope so.”

We giggled together before beginning to eat our soups.

I looked around the table at everyone laughing together and sat back with a smile. 

I hadn't known anyone when I moved to Seoul as a teenager. It was only once I had met Yongbok that anyone at this table came into my life.

My life had become so rich and full with everything everyone brought to share with me.

I couldn't imagine my life without them.

“So… Jinju….” Jimin rubbed his hands on his trousers and looked over at me with a smile. I met his gaze and raised a brow, waiting for him to continue, watching as he ran a hand through his thick blond hair and cleared his throat. He shifted his weight and turned towards me. “What… um… what are we doing afterwards? I think it's been kept a surprise from us when, really, we should have been the ones to surprise you.”

I laughed as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes roving my face. 

His sudden attention on me was a little confusing for me. Jimin had always been kind, but I had written it off as him being polite to his friend's girlfriend. 

I couldn't lie though, it was nice to have a man talk to me so kindly.

Yongbok looked up at us too. His large eyes narrowed suspiciously while going from Jimin to me and back again.

That was odd. 

Was he jealous or had he just forgotten our plans? I couldn't be sure. 

I came back to myself and put on my friendliest smile while laying my hands on the wood table.

“But I love surprising you all! I hope you don't mind.”

I dipped my head shyly. I hoped I hadn't inadvertently caused offense. I really didn't think anyone would mind. I had never been a fan of birthdays and really just wanted the attention to be off of me.

Jimin chuckled and ran a hand down the black blazer he wore, waving the other to dispel my worry. He softened his hand and offered a gentle smile. “Of course not. 

“I thought that since we were so close to Lotte World, that we could go there after we eat and do a scavenger hunt. I have a little gift for the winner.” I had gifts hidden away in my purse for everyone though, but I wasn’t going to admit that now. 

“It’s raining now though, my dear.” Yongbok interjected, his deep voice tinged with a gravelly undertone, hinting that I was being ridiculous. He used the endearment to try and soften his tone.

“I…,” I didn’t have much time to respond before Taehyung piped up, his eyes still on his glass.

“I drove.” He pushed his white linen napkin along the edge of the glass before looking up at me first then quickly around the table and back to his glass again. He swallowed hard and shrugged a shoulder as the weight of the collective stare went to him. “I can’t fit everyone, but….”

He let his words fall away, thankfully saved by the waitresses and a pair of runners who came up to our table and laid our meals out before us.

I couldn’t help but notice Yongbok glower at him for a moment before whipping open his napkin and laying it over his lap.

What was wrong with him?

I glanced at Chaeyoung to see if maybe I was overreacting, but she was watching me worriedly as she plucked up a piece of beef.

I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I knew it was hollow. I couldn’t lie to her very well.

We fell into eating a bit quieter than before.

I appreciated Taehyung stepping up to help keep my birthday perfect. At some point in time, without me even realizing, he and Jimin had become my friends too… genuinely.

I didn’t know what I had done to earn that, but I was very grateful. 

The world felt a little smaller and less scary with them in it.

Eventually, we finished our meals and looked outside to see the rain had become so heavy that the street was practically empty save for a few stragglers who were drenched and huddled into their jackets and wincing against the elements.

Jungkook was the first to speak, always quick and eager to help in any way he could. “I think we should take Jinju to the zoo tomorrow. Or… maybe the aquarium.”

Namjoon nodded, pointing at him as he clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the table. “Namdaemun would be cool too.”

“Oh… the Seosomun Museum is close to there.” Jimin chirped, glancing at me as he crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. “We could make a day of it if we wanted to.”

“Oh!” Chaeyoung cried out and leaned forward, her brow pinched and her eyes narrowed. “We could go to Sky Pizza!” She turned to me and put her hand on my arm. “That’s Bong Joon-Ho’s restaurant in Parasite!”

“We’re taking a tour of Seoul tomorrow.” Yoongi suddenly spoke with a breathy, deep laugh. “We may as well go to the National Park Mountain Museum.”

“Where is that?” Chaeyoung pulled her phone from her purse and tapped the name into her map app then looked up with wide eyes. “Bro! That’s so far away!”

Namjoon smiled until his eyes were half moons and shook Yoongi’s hand. “I see you’re getting out more.”

“That’s almost in Gyeonggi! That’s like an hour away!”

I was about to say that I loved getting out of the city, but Yoongi spoke again, waving his hand, his pinky slightly curved.

“Jinju, what would you like to do tomorrow?”

Everyone’s eyes shifted over to me and it was suddenly hard to breathe. I blinked rapidly and felt my mouth grow dry as my jaw went slack.

I couldn’t choose the museum Yoongi had suggested even though it sounded wonderful. Chaeyoung would be too miserable travelling that far. I made a note to go there later on my own. I sat up straight with a bright smile, watching subconsciously as almost everyone mirrored my movement. “I think we should go to the aquarium, Seosomun Museum, and Sky Pizza. If that’s okay?”

I looked over at Chaeyoung as she wrapped her arms around mine with a giggle. “That’s gonna be so fun!”

“Let’s see if it’s still raining tomorrow.” Yongbok’s voice was drowned out by Taehyung and Jimin offering to drive all of us, which made him roll his eyes.

Part of me felt bad for him to be ignored. I knew he hated it, but maybe the others were ignoring him since he was in such a foul mood.

I tried to compensate for him by being the brighter one.

“I’m really excited. It’ll be nice to do some new things.” I smiled at no one in particular.

My eyes flicked to Yongbok as he clinked his shot glass together with Jungkook’s and threw his drink back. I hadn’t even realized the grapefruit soju on the table. Yongbok locked eyes with me and pointed at me with a grin on his full lips then poured himself another shot. He raised it towards me, waiting for a moment for our bewildered friends to quickly follow suit when they realized there was going to be an impromptu toast. 

“Here’s to our beautiful Jinju on her birthday.” Yongbok smiled and gave a chuckle, the mood brightening for a moment as our friends broke into a smile and parroted him before he continued, interrupting a few of them. “May we all be so accommodating.”

I thought I heard a hint of sourness to his tone that the others seemed to gloss over. 

I smiled and bowed my head in thanks to my friends before a crack of thunder shook the building and made the lights flicker. We jumped and looked to see if the building had been hit.

“I think that's our signal to go.” Namjoon finished off his beer and stood with the rest of the table following suit quickly. We followed him to the counter to pay.

“Thank you all for such a lovely evening.” I bowed to the group at the large double doors that were painted black with an ornate design painted gold in the center of both of them. “It was good to see you all again and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!”

I gladly accepted a hug from Chaeyoung, Jimin and Taehyung then shook hands with Namjoon and Jimin. Yoongi and Jungkook both gave me a small bow before looking out the windows as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky for a moment.

“I'll drive you home, Namjoon.” Taehyung patted the man on his shoulder as Jungkook fished his keys from the pocket of his black trousers and Yoongi pulled his black blazer over his tight black turtleneck.

“You two walked, right?” Jimin turned to us, raising his brow as Yongbok nodded, a sense of disappointment seeming to wash over him as his shoulders drooped a little. “I'll drive you home.”

I stepped up to him with a smile and held my hands demurely before me. “Thank you for your help, Jimin. Yongbok and I appreciate it very much.”

The tips of his ears grew red as he tipped his head away with a smile and ran his hand through his hair again as Yoongi swung the door open for us, his hand up to shield himself from the rain.

“Thank you!” I put my hand on his shoulder as I brushed past him, my skirt quickly becoming plastered to my thighs as the rain threatened to drench me entirely. He nodded and gave the fastest smile I had ever seen before looking away. 

Yongbok put his hand on my waist, pulling me close and guiding me quickly to Jimin’s car. He pulled away and sat in the front, leaving me to start to slip in the back before remembering I didn't have my purse.

“I forgot my bag!” I stood despite Yongbok's grunt of disgust and shielded my eyes with my hand as a waitress came out with my bag. I took it from her with a bow. “Thank you!”

“Jinju! Get in the car!” Yongbok yelled through the window at me as I opened the door and dropped inside, thankful for the quickly heated interior.

“Sorry.”

“It’s…”

“Next time be more mindful.” Yongbok barked over Jimin, glowering at me from his spot as I sank into the back of my seat with wide eyes. “You're ruining the interior.”

My jaw went slack.

I was so confused.

He’d never berated me in front of other people before, let alone his closest friends. 

I don’t think he’s even ever raised his voice to me before. Why was he being so cruel? And on my birthday too. 

It made my heart drop as I lowered my head while Jimin stared at him, his playful, sweet eyes now dark and hard.

He moved his jaw from side to side before taking a deep breath and holding his hand up, palm down, trying to diffuse the situation. “Let’s not let a little rain ruin tonight. This car’s been through much worse than this.” He laughed, bringing me, at least, a little lightness and I relaxed. “I was getting the car washed one time and forgot to roll my window up until I was being sprayed in my ear.”

“Bro… you did what?” Yongbok stared in confusion at Jimin as he covered his face with his hands and laughed. 

Perhaps it was mean of me, but it was nice to see him be humbled after being rude to me.

“Yeah, I drove home with all the windows down to try and dry it out.” Jimin sighed and looked back at me when I covered my mouth as I giggled. “But anyway, don’t even worry about it. You’re fine, I’m not mad.”

I smiled and looked up at him through my lashes. “Thank you, Jimin.”

Jimin tried to get a conversation going, but with Yongbok’s mood, the short trip to our apartment felt like an eternity.

Jimin pulled up to the curb and put the car into park, twisting in his seat and reaching back to smile at me. “Happy birthday, Jinju. I’m sorry it rained, but hopefully tomorrow will be better.”

“I'm sure it will be. Thank you again for coming out with us and driving us home.”

Yongbok was out of the car and opening my door suddenly, his voice . “Remember your purse this time.”

I tried to smile but my lips refused to pretend.

I grabbed my purse and stepped out of the car, waving to Jimin before hurrying to catch up with Yongbok who was practically at the door of our building already. 

“What's wrong with you?” I glared up at him, watching as he threw his hands up and walked away. He went through the door to the stairs and let it slam behind him. 

I stood staring after him.

What happened? What had I done?

All I wanted to do was cry. 

I felt my chin tremble and remembered that my clothes were still wet. Even if my heart was breaking, I had to go take care of myself.

I went to the elevator and trudged my way to our door and tapped in the code. I slipped inside and stepped out of my shoes, holding my purse to my chest.

It only took a moment for me to hear him playing a video game loud enough that I was sure our neighbors would hear the woman screaming alongside the gunfire.

I felt so completely defeated. This wasn’t how I planned on my birthday going.

I had been so hopeful that today we would play nice and maybe it would start feeling like we were a couple again.

I wiped my eyes and went to the closet, dropping my bag into its place in the corner of my side. I went into the bathroom and began to draw a hot bath with a healthy scoop of lavender epsom salt.

I sank into the hot water carefully and sighed as I laid my head against the pillow, completely encased in the water.

I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. 

What was I supposed to do? Was there anything I could do to save the relationship?

It was just a rough patch. All couples go through rough patches. I did love him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I didn’t want to just throw it away without trying.

The next morning as we were rushing to get out the door to meet with Jimin and the others he had picked up, I remembered at the last moment that I had forgotten my wallet inside my purse. When I grabbed it and yanked it free from my bag, a sloppily folded piece of paper fell to my feet.

What was this?

I crouched down and picked it up, tipping my head as I unfolded it, thinking it was a receipt.

Hello darling,

The words met me in a neat hand.

I drew a deep breath and glanced over my shoulder. It wasn’t Yongbok’s handwriting. Even when he did his best handwriting, this was remarkably different.

I continued to read it, grateful for the brevity of it.

I know I shouldn’t be writing this to you, but I feel that if I don’t do something to give me freedom from you, I’ll go mad. So, here’s the truth: I’ve liked you for a long time and wish you all the happiness and love in your life. You deserve the best life and to be treated like a queen. You inspire me to be a better man and I thank you for that. Although I don’t think you’ll ever know who I am, I am grateful to have you in my life.

My mind raced and my heart thundered.

Someone had… what? A crush? On me?

Who could this be? Why did they choose now to tell me? When had they put this in my bag? Had it been there for long and I just hadn’t noticed it?

No. It had to have been from last night since it was on top of my wallet.

I blinked several times as Yongbok called for me.

Someone from last night had a crush on me. One of my friends felt something for me.

Had they sensed things hadn’t been well between Yongbok and I and was aligning himself up to be my next beau?

Who was it?

I was going to end it there and wish you all the best, but my soul won’t let me sleep without saying the deepest secret I have. I know you’re taken and I am sorry to drop this in your lap now, but please forgive a poor, heartsick man because I do wish you were mine. Will I give this to you? I know I shouldn’t, but the thought that maybe, just maybe, one day it could happen, is to strong to resist. We’ll see what happens, I guess. But, for now, I am happy to have you as a friend. Take care. Eat well. Sleep well. Study well. You are loved.

It ended there without any mark of the sender.

I swallowed hard and felt my eyes prick with warm tears. I trembled as I brushed them away and stuffed the letter into my everyday bag.

I should have thrown it away. I should have been loyal to Yongbok, especially if I wanted to keep our relationship alive.

Why did I keep it?

I brushed past Yongbok, staring at his thin, well-shaped jawline and cool eyes and went out to Jimin’s car that was idling by the curb.

I looked up at the fluffy white clouds in the brilliant blue sky. 

Someone who loved me was looking at those same clouds.

What a strange and wonderful thought.

[kingofbodyrolls]

I will come to you (m) | ksj

When the first flakes of white snow fell, the world shifted, draped in a quiet, uncanny veil. Then came the air raids—a brutal, unrelenting scream that tore through the silence, and Seokjin feared he had lost you forever. He wandered through the wasteland, searching, aching, haunted by the memory of your touch—warm, tender, as if sunlight itself had lingered upon his skin, even as darkness closed in. And now, as he feels your heart beat against his, he wonders, barely daring to breathe: can this be real?

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (genderless) → AUs: apocalyptic!au, survival!au → Trope: established relationship → Genres: angst (heavy) + fluff (heavy) + poetic → Rating: mature (though this mentions an apocalypse and there’s no sexually explicit stuff, please tread carefully.) → Word count: 1.6k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mention of nuclear war (bombings), fire, lost love reunited, FLUFF with a happy ending → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: so… I listened to Jin’s album—I don’t know how many times (I’ve lost count), and I kept replaying ‘I will come to you’ and so this one was born while I cried my eyes out. It’s a very poetic piece, inspired by Jin’s new Album ‘HAPPY’ but mostly the tracks ‘Running Wild’ and ‘I will come to you’ and you know what? It fits perfectly into my End of The World series 🤧 I remember once, there was an anon who asked if I would make a story in this universe for each member, and I’m still not sure. This one kinda just happened. I do really hope you’ll love it. I promise; it might sound really sad, and it is, but it’s just as much a hug and a promise of forever 🫂 I love you 💜

[series materlist]: End of the World* *this story is a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is a part of my End of the World series, so if you haven’t read it you can give it a read 💜

The day the white snow fell, the world transformed. A pristine veil descended, cloaking not just the streets but hearts and hopes, painting everything in hues of ash, bone-white, and the ghostly luminescence of distant fire. The afterglow of atomic storms lingered on the horizon, a reminder of ruin.  

When the air raids screamed—a piercing, merciless wail—it felt as though the earth itself recoiled. The sound rippled through him, sharp as shards of glass, setting his skin alight with dread, each nerve taut as a bowstring. And then he turned to you.  

For the briefest heartbeat, he saw it—fear etched in your gaze, crystalline, like a reflection caught in a frozen pond.  

And then the world ruptured. Explosions clawed at the heavens. Buildings fractured, shards spinning like deadly constellations. Falling.  

His reality tilted, a kaleidoscope of chaos. Heart pounding a desperate rhythm, he stumbled through the wreckage, blinded by dust and despair, grasping for some sign—anything—of you.  

But you were gone. Where were you?  

He had scoured the ruins, stumbling through the shattered remnants of a world undone, as shadows of planes etched cold, cruel arcs across the ashen sky—each one a harbinger of annihilation. Above him, the heavens carried a promise of total destruction; below, the earth whispered only despair.  

Tears carved rivers down his soot-streaked face, his bones heavy with dread, each step forward an act of defiance against the weight of grief that clung to him like iron chains. He didn’t know how to exist in a world where your smile, radiant as sunlight breaking through a storm, no longer graced his days. Your laughter, a melody that once brightened even the darkest hours, was now an aching echo. Your warmth, the heart of every moment, felt as distant as the stars.  

And yet, something within him—a fragile ember of you—urged him onward. His heart, though fractured, whispered to push through the bitter snow, to carry the memory of you as a flame against the encroaching dark. He vowed to keep it alive: the memory of your boundless kindness, your tireless hands shaping a future together in the lab, side by side, crafting medicines to heal a broken world.  

But now, that world was gone. You were gone.  

And he stood on the edge of the abyss, a lone figure amid endless ruin, asking a question with no answer: What should he do now?  

The weight of it all threatened to crush him, a pain so vast and unrelenting it seemed unbearable. The burden of your absence was a mountain, a storm raging in his chest. Yet still, he carried it, each faltering step a testament to the life you had shared, the dreams you had dared to dream.  

Even as the universe itself seemed to collapse around him, he clung to the one thing that remained: you, alive in his heart, guiding him through the endless night.  

When he looks back, he marvels at how much time has slipped through his fingers, yet you remain vivid—a ghost etched in his heart, haunting every corner of his barren world. Your image lingers, unyielding, like the golden trace of sunlight that kisses the horizon even as night falls.  

The world may be gray, its hues leached by sorrow, but you remain—an unbroken thread of warmth, a tender caress on his cheek, softer than the whisper of the wind. Each night, he seeks you in his dreams, wandering through shadowy corridors of memory, chasing the echo of your laughter, the light in your eyes.  

He swears to you: when the warm breeze stirs again, carrying the scent of renewal, he will come to you. No matter how long the journey, no matter how heavy the ache in his soul, he will find his way back to you.  

Until then, as sleep takes him, he surrenders to your memory—an embrace of all that was beautiful, a sanctuary where he can still feel your presence. There, you are whole, alive, and radiant.  

Without you, the world is stripped bare. Color fades to ash, the air turns cold, and life feels like an endless winter. You were the fire in his soul, the summer in his heart. Without you, everything is still, silent, and gray.  

And when he finds himself wandering a dark and desolate road, he sees it—a glimmer of light, distant but steadfast. It pulls him forward, a quiet beacon in the endless night, and he thinks of you. Of his promise. 

He will come to you.

With trembling resolve, he steps toward the light, each stride shedding the shadows that cling to him like ghosts of the past. His hand reaches out, and in the glow, he feels it—the warmth of your presence, as if the very air hums with your essence. Your fingers graze his, soft as whispers, anchoring him to this moment.  

And then you hold him, drawing him into an embrace that feels like coming home. The world could end again, collapsing into chaos, but none of it matters. Not the ruin, not the loss, not the pain. Not while he is here, held in your arms, the fragile promise of forever whispering between you.  

Please give me forever, he thinks, the words a prayer that rises from the depths of his soul.  

His cheek presses against your shoulder, and he feels the wetness there—tears he hadn’t realized were his own. Sobs shake his body, raw and unyielding, as the weight of your reunion crashes over him like a tidal wave.  

“Is this real?” he whispers, his voice breaking, fragile as the first crack of dawn.  

Your touch is warm. Real. Tangible in a way he almost forgot could exist. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, the darkness doesn’t seem so vast.  

The pulse beneath his hand—steady, alive—grounds him as his palm rests against your chest. He feels your heart beating, each rhythm a melody of life, a reassurance so fragile it terrifies him. He doesn’t dare wake, doesn’t dare let the delicate warmth of this moment dissolve like mist at dawn.  

“I missed you,” you breathe, your voice low, soft, trembling with the weight of emotion. Your arms encircle him, holding him as though tomorrow may never come, as though this embrace is the only thing keeping the universe intact.  

Tears spill down his cheeks, unchecked, uncontainable. He sobs, raw and unguarded, the pain and joy of reunion too much to hold inside.  

“Seokjin, stop crying,” you murmur, your fingers tender as they wipe the tears from his face.  

“But I don’t want you to leave,” he chokes out, his voice cracking, each word heavy with fear.  

You cup his cheek, your touch gentle, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, and your voice carries a quiet strength, a promise woven into the very fabric of his soul.  

Still, his eyes search yours, confusion and disbelief flickering like shadows. He’s afraid to believe, afraid to hope.  

“I’m here,” you whisper, leaning close. The brush of your lips against his cheek is featherlight, a kiss that feels more real than anything he’s known in so long.  

He blinks, his breath catching as if the world itself has paused, waiting for him to believe in the impossible.  

“You’re here?” he whispers, his voice trembling with disbelief, as if the words might vanish the moment they leave his lips. His gaze searches yours, desperate, yearning, still caught between the shadow of doubt and the light of hope.  

You smile softly, a sound like a distant melody escaping as you chuckle, your fingers reaching out to pinch the cheek you had just kissed.  

“Ouch!” he exclaims, rubbing the spot, his lips curling into a faint, startled smile. But he felt that.  

Felt it. You’re real? You’re alive?  

Before the thoughts can fully settle, he pulls you into his arms with a fierceness born of desperation and relief. He holds you as though you’re the last thing tethering him to this world, so tightly it feels as though you might break—and yet, neither of you lets go.  

Finally. After all the ruin, all the searching, he has found you. His heart pounds against yours, a frantic rhythm that echoes the mantra he’s carried in his soul all this time: If you need me, I’ll come to you.  

And now, here you are.  

He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, and breathes in your presence, the scent of you, the reality of you. You are here, in his arms, alive and whole. And he vows, silently, fervently—never again will he let you go.

Together, you’ll run wild—you’ll face this apocalyptic world, a fractured place of ash and ruin, armed with nothing but your unyielding love. That love is your fire, your lifeline, a force wild and untamed, propelling you forward when the weight of despair threatens to pull you under. Side by side, you’ll find a way to mend the shattered pieces—not just for yourselves, but for a world that still aches for healing.  

His hand cradles your cheek, his touch a silent vow, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips—tender, lingering, a spark of life in a barren landscape. Then his lips find your forehead, and this kiss is different: it carries a promise etched into the very fabric of his being.  

Forever.  

He whispers it softly, though the words hold the weight of eternity. His promise is clear, unbreakable: he will always come to you.  

If you need him, no force—neither time nor distance, neither chaos nor destruction—will keep him from finding you.  

And at this moment, nothing else exists. The world may crumble, the sky may fall, but as long as you have each other, as long as his arms can hold you and your heartbeat echoes his, you are infinite.  

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle

→ Author’s endnote: what do you think?? And what do you think of Jin’s new album? What’s your favorite track? Please let me know what you think of the story that honestly was a mixture of a poem and a story, there wasn’t really any character growth or world building in it, but I hope it was good anyway 🥹🫶

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[httpknjoon]

marry me chicken | ksj

plot | After this dinner night with Jin, you learned how far can a chicken dish go.

word count | 1.9k+

genres | fluff, humor, slight angst, established relationship au, celebrity au

pairing | actor!jin x famous!reader

note | i love this couple so much. it's always easy writing about them two <3 enjoy reading!

main masterlist | the a-listers: confidential masterlist

"I don’t think I’ll marry. I mean it’s not like I’m against marriage. It’s just that I really enjoy being on my own for now.”

That line was your answer in one of the interviews you’ve done for a magazine cover when you barely turned 20. You don’t even remember why the interviewer was asking such a thing who just entered their twenties, but you remembered why you answered that.

At the time of that interview, you were living alone for the longest time. You have been residing in your own house since you were fifteen, learning to do things on your own. When you don’t have any agenda, you usually find yourself silently reading books in your then-small garden while wearing your pajamas or writing random thoughts in your room while playing some music in the background. You avoid going out then as you feel like the paparazzi are just burning holes in your skin. Every time you go out before, you would hear new made-up stories about you.

But now, you’re sitting on your kitchen counter, watching this man prepare tonight’s dinner with his favorite apron on. The appetizing aroma of butter and garlic makes its way through your senses. He loves cooking, you learned about that fact before you two even began dating, and you love watching him doing things he loves. This is how you usually spend your date nights for the past two years: in each others’ houses, enjoying the company of one another without cameras following you around.

Moments like this, where it’s just you and Jin doing things alone, make you think about the things you said. You would simply take that back and burn every print of paper with that statement. You two already discussed your future plans but when it came to marriage, it was vague and rarely mentioned.

‘Bub, I’ll melt.” Jin suddenly said as he placed a piece of chicken on a plate.

Your head lifted since you were resting it at the palm of your hands, “Hmm?”

Jin looks at you. He can tell that you didn’t really get what he said. You had a confused look on your face and he just shook his head with a smile and chuckle.

“You were staring at me,” he told you.

You laughed before making a dramatic eye roll, “Oh, please. Can’t a girl lovingly watch her boyfriend making dinner for her?”

“No, she can’t because her boyfriend gets so self-conscious when he feels her eyes on him,” Jin replied.

You laughed once again, now walking in his direction, and slowly wrapped your arms around his waist while Jin tried to focus on garnishing his dish. Taking in the smell of his perfume and the softness of his sweatshirt, you mumbled behind him,

“We’ve been dating for more than two years now. I really expected you not to blush every time I watched you focus on something. You should get used to it or else…”

“Or else what, Bub?”

Suddenly, Jin turned around still caged in your arms. His chin sticks on his chest as he tries to meet your eyes. There, he sees a cheeky grin on your lips.

“Or else I might look at something else—”

“Now that you wouldn’t do,” he smirked, wrapping his arms all over you. ‘Because I won’t let you. I’ll just make you look at me while I feel shy rather than letting your eyes go somewhere else. I won’t let that happen. Your eyes can’t look at somebody else. Just me. Only me.”

“Ooh, possessive. I like it.” You squinted your eyes at the same time you wiggled your brows, making him chuckle.

“You know I am.” he teased back. “Anyway, let’s go enjoy what I cooked. Prepare the wine while I put these on the table.”

You nodded, “Okay. Noted, sir.”

He snickered with that. The dinner went on with you, Jin, and your dining table with a lit candle for a romantic effect. Your daughter, Francheskat, was also quietly walking around the whole time. She was just observing you and your boyfriend while you chatted about different topics, looking judgy the whole time.

“How was it?” your boyfriend asked with a small piece of chicken left on your plate.

You hummed at first, chewing on the meat, before answering with your mouth full, “It’s creamy, it’s juicy. It’s perfect, I love it! Where did you find this recipe?”

You were so lost in the meal that you didn’t notice Jin shifting on his seat and gulping down, “Online…”

“Hmm, okay.”

Throughout the whole home date, Jin didn’t let you do anything except pour the wine for you two. He was the one who cooked and cleaned up even though you insisted on helping him in your own house.

“At least let me wash the plates.”

“No, you’ll sit down right there or I’ll tie you up–”

Jin just realized what he was saying as soon as it came out of his mouth. He turned his head to the side, where you sat again on the kitchen counter with your chin on your palms. You squinted again,

“Ooh, that’s so kinky of you, Sir.”

You wanted to laugh out loud at how he looked away with flustered red ears and neck. Ever since that time, you two did that thirsty tweets segment for Buzzfeed, you liked teasing him with anything that had something to do with him that had sexual undertones. Jin can’t do anything about it since he finds it hilarious how good you can always circle back on that kind of topic when he’s talking about other topics. It shuts him up sometimes. It didn’t help that he easily blushed and you knew a lot about him after that thirst tweet segment.

“Guess, I’ll just go wait outside.” you stood up with a playful smirk. “Francheskat, honey, let’s go.”

Almost an hour later, you and Jin are just chilling in your backyard. You had your favorite picnic blanket laid out on the green grass with your pillows. The fairy lights you had installed when you bought the house set up the mood perfectly. You sat there while Jin laid his head on your lap. He was talking about a project he auditioned for while you read the script he got for it.

“It was nice. The character seems well thought out and so is his backstory…”

You tried to stay present and listen to his enthusiasm for the role but he mentioned something that you have been thinking about for the last few months.

“Like, he was doing what he was asked to do for the sake of his marriage with Jen’s character–”

“Do you think you’ll ever marry me?” you blurted out of nowhere.

Silence became so loud as you felt Jin slowly move away from your lap. You pursed your lips, looking away while feeling the embarrassment boiling in your stomach.

“What?” Jin asked in a tone you cannot comprehend. Happy? Shocked? Confused?

Well, you can’t tell because you won’t look at him, “Nothing. Nothing. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Maybe I should get more wine–”

You were about to get up, wanting to leave the scene you began, but Jin held your wrist to stop you from going. Finally, you looked at him. And you don’t know if it’s the fairy lights or the wine but his eyes seemed to sparkle more like a little kid. His lips were slightly opened and seemed to form into a small smile.

“Stay.”

Sighing, you sat back down and your boyfriend did the same thing, properly meeting your eyes. You bit your inner cheeks. It felt like there was a drum inside your chest while you asked yourself in your head why you asked such a question. But Jin’s face remained calm— or happy? His lips were pursed but you can see the ends of his lips turning upward.

“Let’s just act I didn’t ask that. It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled, looking down.

You heard him chuckle. He reached for your hands and subtly played with your fingers by clasping them with his. You felt his lips, light as a feather but soft as a pillow, on your knuckles.

“You know… I have no other person in mind if someone would ask me who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Except you. If I were to write my vows, I would like them to be dedicated to you and no one else. So yeah, I think I would marry you.”

Fuck wine. Yes, you’re blaming it on the wine because how can you sob over three sentences your boyfriend just said while you two sat under fairy lights and a starry night sky. You closed your eyes for a second, letting the tears flow down your cheeks while letting out a shaky laugh. You felt stupid for even feeling nervous around Jin. but now, a sense of relief grew inside you. You opened your eyes and instantly instantly saw his smiling face. You were about to lean in to give him a kiss. But he continued,

"And when I bought the ring, I made sure to have it exactly on your ring finger’s size.”

Your eyes widened, eyebrows raised. You audibly gasped when you realized what he just told you. The edges of your sight are just blurry with tears just continuing to go from your eyes. Jin gently wiped it with his thumb before asking something out of the blue,

“Do you know what I just cooked for you earlier?”

“Is it relevant to what are we talking about right now?” you asked tearfully.

He laughed before reaching for his phone, “Wait, I’ll show you.”

All you can do is nod while sobbing over this overwhelming joy and love you have been feeling inside of you. Jin then handed you his phone and you see it was the screenshot of a recipe. An image of the same dish he cooked earlier was shown. Then, you read the name of the meal.

“Marry me chicken?”

Still, in tears, you asked Jin confusedly. He laughed at your reaction, “Yes. It says that it was named like that because it was so good that you’ll partner ask for marriage if they taste that meal.”

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand while weeping like a little kid, “That was so lame. But effective.”

With that, Jin stood up and softly pulled you along with him. So, you two stood barefoot on your picnic blanket. He looked directly into your eyes while he reached for something in his pocket. He slowly gets on one knee. You felt butterflies in your gut as he took out a familiar rose gold ring. A Tiffany Harmony.

Your jaw dropped open and your hand covered your mouth, “Oh my god, it’s the one I told Hailey about.”

“Yes.” Jin nodded and his eyes turned glossy. “I-I’ve been keeping this for almost a year now.”

His voice breaks in the middle of that sentence and you were just basically waterworks at this point.

“Bub, YN, Francheskat’s mom,” you two tearfully chuckle at that last title. He resumed, “Will you marry me?”

You were sobbing and nodding uncontrollably as you answered a shaky “Yes, of course.”

He swiftly slid the ring on your finger and got up. You immediately pulled him for a kiss with the overflowing emotions in your body. Then, you pulled away and rested your forehead on his. He whispered,

“I love you so much, bub.”

“I love you too.” you sobbed and wrapped your arms around him.

He hugged you back, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your head rested on his chest and your own heart skipped, hearing how close his heartbeats were.

It happened in the first week of November. Unbeknownst to both you and Jin, you would exchange your vows three weeks later.

taglist rules

THE A-LISTERS: CONFIDENTIAL TAGLIST

@xiumo @joonsbvtch @firesighgirl @qualityjoonie @txtlyn @yoontaethings

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[pynkgothicka]

Ｐｉｎｋ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ｎｉｇｈｔ ＫＳＪ

Synopsis - After stranding off from your vacation group, you meet a merman at the dock of the sea. (Part 3 of the Monster Collab)

Pairing - Merman! Dark! Yandere! Kim Seokjin x AFAB! Reader

Featuring - Algee Smith

Tags and Warnings - Violence and Kidnapping

Authors Note - Finally got to my literal loml, missing him everyday

You were out for a walk.

Needing to get away from your group you went with on vacation with after a argument over staying in or going out to party. You of course wanted to stay in, because it wouldn't make sense for you to go out after a long day of sight seeing and traveling.

On your walk you found yourself at the shoreline of the island. It was dark with only a few lights. Walking on the wooden dock. You made your way to the end, where ships would dock and release passengers. You sat there and dangled your feet off the side, water brushing against your sandaled feet.

“Hi.”

You jumped at the sudden sound of the voice beneath you. You look down you and sure enough there was a dark haired man. He had on his head above the water and bobbed up and down with the waves.

“Um… hello?” You said awkwardly. He seemed to like the acknowledgement and smiled.

“You're really pretty. Like really really pretty.” He said rising up further. Then you saw his waistline. It was a transition from human skin to scales.

Pink scales at that.

Your eyes widened.

“What are you.. like a mermaid…”

“Oh, um… well merman per say. That thing of myth and legend… that's me. Please don't be scared!” He quickly rambled out. He looked up at you with pleading eyes.

You were about to get up but you started to feel bad. It's not like he was about to hurt you. In fact he just seemed really anxious around you.

“I'm not scared… trust me. If anything I'm just stunned… the island here does have a weird fascination with merpeople…” You say quietly. On your way here you saw so many different mermaid statues and souvenirs you could fill your apartment back home and then some. “It's almost like they made a religion around you guys or something, are you like a god?”

The merman laughs at that. His laugh is so intoxicating. You can't help but laugh along side him. “Your funny. What's your name, I'm Jin.” He sticks our a clawed hand and you hesitantly take it shaking it before giving him your name. “And not a god, just different. People lean towards things that are different, see them as either a hindrance or a higher being.” He seemed pretty educated on human behavior or just really philosophical.

“Well that's pretty much true. So why are you up here… I mean it can't just be up here because you saw me.” You ask climbing down the dock and sitting on the support wood, allowing you to get closer to him.

“Well, I like to um, take things. Things I find interesting!” He says enthusiastically, showing you his brown sling bag. It was huge and and reeks of seawater. He digs in and pulls out a small glass figurine. It's of a cat, the features smoothed out. He passed it to you watching your reaction. “Pretty isn't it?”

Your fingers ran over the smooth cat. You nod in agreeance. “Very, where did you get this from?” You ask genuinely curious.

“A shipwreck. They have lots of those on the ocean floor. Filled with so many fascinating things.” Jin says moving to be closer to you. He had such an amazing wonder for the world, and everything in it. It was refreshing to be around someone like that.

His hands touch your leg, your calf in particular. He ran them all the way down to your feet. You let out a small giggle as he touches the top of your sandaled feet. He retracts quick. “Did I hurt you?”

“No not at all it just tickles.”

“Awww thats cute. It's just that I've never touched one before… human legs I mean.” Jin said going back to drag his claws along your leg gently. “Your skin is really soft.”

You smile at him and blush. You continued to talk with him, Yom telling him about your world and you talking about your vacation. You were about to speak before you were quickly cut off. A yell was heard. It was the yell of your name.

“We're sorry! Just come back inside it's unsafe out here.” You recognized it as Algee, one of your closer friends. You saw his form on the distant dock.

“Shit, I'm sorry Jin. I have to go…” You say climbing back up. Jins face instantly dropped, his eyes full of remorse and sorrow.

“Will you come see me again, before your vacation ends?” He asks looking at you. You nod your head as you begin to head away. You look back seeing he was still there, just watching you leave. It only hurt your heart more to have to leave him.

🦪

Around 2 days had past. You had been talking to Jin every night, him becoming more and more open with you and vice versa. He gave you so many gifts he has uncovered, most of your souvenirs being those gifts.

It was mid day and you stayed back to cook for the group rather than having to eat out again.

You then heard a loud bang and people bringing Algee in. You ran to the living room of the Airbnb to see him with slashes on his chest. “What happened?!” You ask looking at one of your other friends.

“Something attacked him, we were at the beach and he went into the water and kept walking and when he was deep enough something dragged him under.” She explained going to get a wet towel and a bowl of ice. You took the towel and began to dab at the wounds on his chest. He hissed at the feeling.

“We.. we need to leave…” Algee says in-between heavy breaths. He looks at you with nothing but fear. “There's something out in that water, and it wants to get me.

“Okay, we leave tomorrow morning okay?” You whisper, kissing the top of his head. This successfully calmed him down a bit as he laid on the couch, the towel stopping his bleeding and wounds temporarily. “I'll pack your things okay?”

🦪

Late that night you were on a mission. You had to tell Jin goodbye for good. With what happened earlier you and your friends were for sure not returning.

“Jin!” You yelled hoping to catch him before you left. You were at the shoreline, your sandaled feet touching the water. You then see your new found friend swimming towards the shore. He perches himself to where he was almost emerged from the water.

“What brings you here? Usually I'm the one waiting for you.” He jokes, laughing boisterously. But he stops upon realizing your sad face. “You're not laughing… did I do something wrong?”

“My friends… were leaving tomorrow.” You say, voice filled with sadness. Jin face goes into a one of almost shock.

“I thought you were leaving in a week.” He said almost desperately. “Why? Why so soon?”

“Jin, something attacked Algee.” You said sitting down and slumping forwards. “He had these deep wounds on him. There's no way we can stay after that.”

“But… You can't.” Jin grabbed your leg, gently looking up at you. “You're my friend. My only friend… you've shown me so much joy and happiness. I can't go back to how I was before.” You kneeled down and gave him a hug. You could feel tears cascade down your back as he sat up hugging you.

But once you pulled away Jin quickly connected your lips. Upon that connection you felt as if your body had went numb and you brain turned off. You collapsed to the sand, still aware of what happened around you. “Shhh, it's okay. Your not going anywhere, your coming back with me baby okay?” Jin rambled as he leaned over you. His fingers hovered over your face and went to snap in front of your eyes which you could barely process the loud sound. He let out a hum before digging into his bag again. He pulled out a unnaturally pink pearl and pushed it past your lips.

“That should dissolve so you can breathe underwater… like me.” And he wasn't wrong, as he began to drag you to the water, you could breathe perfectly fine.

“I attacked him. But it's all going to be okay. I'll bring you home, we can work past this. Together.” Jin admitted as you felt your body submerge in the water.

In the back of your mind you really hoped your friends noticed your disappearance but, you knew they haven't. You were truly trapped.

Let me know through a dm or ask or comment to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @fangirl-death-rose @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops

[k-nayee]

Growing Pains

wc: 4.7k a/n: just know this was written YEARS ago when I was dealing with insecurity issues and such💀 I promise my writing ain't as dramatic as this

⚠𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆⚠: Eating Disorder topics such as Anorexia will be mentioned/insinuated. To those that may find this triggering, please skip to the next chapter or read with caution

Dreamer M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

′𝐈 have to do this′

′I NEED to be perfect...'

Staring at the food spread across the table, I muster a smile as a plate is handed to me. Yet once I'm alone, it ends up in the trash, unseen.

'...and I'll do whatever it takes for it to happen.′

I ignore the low growls and take a sip from a water bottle, finding comfort in the temporary fullness it does to my empty stomach.

"All right guys! We gotta do some warm-ups to get our muscles ready: Arm circles, leg stretches, high knees to complete before we dive into the regular twelve count of squats and jumping jacks with five laps to wrap it all up!" The instructor's upbeat and encouraging voice cuts through the air. "And then we can start with today's dance!"

Groans of protest bubble around me, but they do the tasks anyway in order to avoid getting scolded.

I breeze through the majority of activities with ease. It wasn't until when those all-too-familiar black spots forming at the edge of my vision did I become wary.

Luckily, I managed to get rid of them or at least slow the process by slowing down my pace.

"Hey, you okay?" The worry in his tone interrupts my focus.

Offering another smile, I dismiss my body's weaking state. "I'm f-fine."

Not a moment later my legs suddenly gives out.

A pair of hands catches me in time and look into my exhausted eyes.

"Hey, I think you need to lay down. You don't look too good. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

Their worry tugs at my heart; the reflection of my gaunt face in their eyes feels like a dunk of cold water.

′Maybe this isn't right...I...I should stop.′

I almost confess—about starving myself for weeks. Hoping to get small and beautiful enough, to get what everyone told me I'm the opposite of. Th-

"Come on now! I know we joke you act like a Panda, but I didn't think you'd get tired that fast! Maybe it's time you stop eating like them before you start to really look like one!" Someone calls out, laughs echoing around.

The vulnerable expression I once had hardens into a cold, emotionless mask.

′No. I can't give up now...not when they all still see me as fat. I can't continue to embarrass them anymore.′

"Hey ignore them, they're just playing. But seriously though, you should lay down and eat something. It looks like you've been starving yourself or something...have you?"

The handsome male's concern is met with my cold glare.

"Leave me alone. You never cared then, so don't now!" I break from his hold with a sneer and start back running.

The black spots returns with a vengeance, but they only push me to go even faster. A twisted motivation if you will.

After an agonizing ten minutes, I complete the laps with nods and pats of approval for being one of the first.

My body screams for rest so I sluggishly make my way towards the seats.

Each step is heavier than the last, the world blurring into a bright haze as the sounds around fade into the distance.

′Just a bit further...′

But my body can't go anymore.

With one final step, I collapse onto the floor.

The sickening sound of my head hitting the ground causes everyone to go silent in shock as a shockwave of pain zipped through my skull.

I feel a wet warmth slowly seep against my head causing my hair to go damp.

A panicked voice cuts through the haze. "O-oh my god! Somebody help! T-there's blood!"

"Call the ambulance!"

Hands cradle my face as a light flashes into my eyes. I don't feel my pupils reacting properly.

"Hey hey, look at me. Are you alright? Just focus on me."

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

"Don't talk, conserve your energy. Help is coming," a soothing voice promises, but my consciousness is slipping away.

With the last of my strength, I want to scream, admit that I was wrong. That I should've said something.

But only a whisper escapes.

"H-h..."

My eyes roll back as darkness surrounds my vision.

I gladly accept and let it take me into its welcoming grasp with two words that I wanted to say before I'm all the way gone...

Help me.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

It was a regular day at the band's dorm.

Jungkook was currently teaching Jin how to play a racing game after the elder had continuously begged him to.

"Press the left button."

"Left?"

"No, just flip the controller and it'll run on its own—of course the left button!"

Jin shoots him a glare. "Well damn! Actin' like it's easy for me to adjust to these types of controls like you do, oh so great Golden Maknae. Maybe tone done the arrogance a little yeah?"

Jungkook could only scoff in response with an eye roll. "Honestly, after being taught the instructions for thirty minutes straight, you'd think you'd at least know how to make the car move. But then again, if it doesn't involve food, you're pretty much stupid."

Jin's eyes widened, a mix of shock and indignation flashing across his face. "You little shi—"

"Guys we have to go now!" Their playful squabble is abruptly cut short by a frantic, wide-eyed breathless Taehyung with a grave Namjoon silently in tow.

"Now what is it-oh, my god! What happened?!"

The vocal duo's facade of annoyance immediately drops upon taking in the usually tanned male's pale visage.

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something, but his emotions get the best of him rendering him speechless and teary eyed.

Namjoon quickly wraps an arm around the idol in silent support while Jin exchanges a worried and confused glance with Jungkook.

"What happened, Namjoon? Is everything okay?" Jin asks the leader in concern, leaving the forgotten game behind in favor of embracing a trembling Taehyung.

Namjoon releases a shaky breath, the tension in the room palpable. The sound of the front door slammed echoes into the heavy silence.

"What was that?" Jungkook questions as he grabs his jacket and hat after turning off the TV, ready to spring into action

"That was Yoongi."

Tired of the useless clues and wanting to get straight to the point, Jin presses. "Okay...and why did he leave in such a hurry?"

"It's Jimin...he's in the hospital."

|

|

"We have to hurry up!" Yoongi's voice is thick with urgency, his leg bouncing uncontrollably as dread twists his stomach the closer they get to the given location.

"Calm down Yoongi, everything's going to be alright" Jin sends the tense male a small smile while trying to keep his own distress from showing.

The rapper isn't easily soothed. "That's easy for you to say! You wasn't the fucking one to hear Hoseok's voice over the phone—panicked, scared..."

"Okay, but—"

His words are cut off as they pull up to the hospital. Yoongi doesn't even wait for the car to fully stop before he bolts out the door.

Jin lets out a sigh of resignation before slowly unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on, let's go."

"Where is he?!" The moment he's near the reception desk, any and all thought of concealing his identity from public's eye is forgotten.

The nurse, unflustered by his panic, maintains her composure. "Sir, you need to calm down and take a seat. We're—"

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! I am not in the mood to listen to whatever useless bullshit you wanna say unless it has something to do with Jimin," Yoongi interrupts with a sharp glare, his tone bordering on hostile.

The nurse says nothing at first, only staring at him with a blank expression before a low and slow sigh escapes her.

"First of all, I work damn near eighteen hours a day getting piss, vomit, and maybe even shit on me. And I'm also forced to have a smile on my face when assholes like you come up and order me around as if I work for them. I am my own person, and I should not-no, WILL not let some pale ass skinny idol come and boss me around. So sit your ass down in the chair!" She snaps causing Yoongi's eyes to widen in shock before quickly doing what she says.

The woman shift her gaze towards the frozen onlookers who witnessed the whole scene with wide eyes.

An arched brow was all it took for them to follow along and scramble to the seats to avoid her wrath.

Satisfied with their obedience, her stern expression melts into a warm, beautiful smile that seems to make the band's hearts as she step closer.

"Now that we're all on the same page...hello! I will be at your service today. Kingly fill out this form for any future visits." she said,  voice a blend of authority and welcome.

A moment of silence pass before Jin breaks out of his daze and accept the clipboard from her.

"Um, w-we were told by one of our bandmates -Jung Hoseok- there has been an altercation with another bandmate -Park Jimin," he says nudging his head towards a silent Yoongi. "That's why we rushed, hence his behavior and actions."

"Well, I was going to tell you that the room you're looking for is number 256. Your friend Mr. Jung Hoseok already notified us you all were on the way. But I couldn't explain that due to a rude interruption," she states, giving a pointed look to Yoongi, who suddenly found the dirt at the bottom of his shoe the most interesting thing ever.

Namjoon stepped in, smoothing over the tension. "And for that, I give you his sincerest apologies. I can assure you he's normally more considerate, right Yoongi?"

Chastened, the guilty male bashfully nods and offers a quiet apology just as the nurse's phone started to ring, demanding her attention.

"Hello? Oh, Oppa!~" Her smile doubles in brightness, the group watching her becoming so captivated with the woman's sudden butterfly-like personality that no one noticed a male creeping into the building.

"Have you eaten today?" Whatever that is said on the other line causes her to pause with a gasp of shock. "No?! You need to take better careful of yourself and health. I can't have you walking around with an empty stomach...What?"

Her scolding morphs into confusion. "You can't dine with me if you're busy with rehearsals...You're not? T-then where are you?...Turn around?"

With hesitant moves, she follow his request only for her eyes to brim with tears at what—or who—awaited her.

Curious for the reason of her sudden emotion, the group's attention diverts to a handsome male causing their eyes to widen.

"Holy shit!" Taehyung's mouth drops at the sight of the very familiar face before him, "Her Oppa is—"

"Impossible...i-it can't be. You're supposed to be all the way across the world doing your tour right now," she softly says before quickly running into the open arms of Byun Baekhyun. [Hehe, Get it? Because EXO did a cover of 'Open arms'?...No?...Okay Imma stop]

"The fuck? Baekhyun is her boyfriend?! Where? When? Why? Shit better yet, how?" Jungkook bitterly questions as he watches the heartwarming scene happening before him.

"Now now, let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe he's a brother or family member. She did call him 'Oppa' after all," Jin weakly says knowing that his theory was a stretch.

Even so, the small part of him that hoped for it to be tr—nevermind...they're kissing.

"You were saying Jin?" Taehyung mumbles with a sad pout, voicing out the same the others felt regardless of just meeting the woman that same day.

"Quite a beautiful looking couple, am I right?" Jin releases a startled yelp at the unexpected voice as it cuts through the dejected air. 

Turning from the two lovebirds, they're met with a man in a white lab coat casually checking the charts on his clipboard.  "And a little word of advice: he's quiet possessive of her, so I wouldn't try anything if I were you..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Oh, where are my manners! My name is Dr. Choi, I'm the assigned doctor of your bandmate Park Jimin." Dr. Choi introduces himself with a sweet smile, continuing to review the charts at hand.

"Wait. So...so that's her...boyfriend?" Jungkook gasps in disbelief, barely latching on to anything but the word 'couple' in the doctor's previous statement.

"Fiancé actually. I believe you're all acquainted with him and his group? Um...it's EXO...yeah that's the name. Baekhyun here has been working with his idol group while she decided to go to a college that's close to the hospital. Despite how hectic both of their schedules are, they remained together. Just recently got engaged after deciding to get married once she graduates and gets her degree. Anyway back to your friend, Mr. Park...He's been asking for you. So if you would please follow me." Finishing those final words, Dr. Choi pivots and briskly strut down the hallway.

Alerted, Yoongi quickly rise from his seat and follow with the others in tow.

|

|

"Jimin!" A chorus of voices shouts as they burst through the door, startling the oldest maknae from his TV watching.

"Oh~ Hi guys~" Jimin sings out in happiness as he continues to consume the chocolate pudding in front of him.

The room goes silent for a moment as the newly entered group analyzed him with confused gazes.

"Um...w-what's this?" Jungkook exclaims, tense body expecting to see the older male laying in bed with a life support machine hooked up to his broken body.

But instead? He only sees a foot brace adorning the lead dancer's right ankle.

"What? Oh, you mean the cast right? I know it's cool, they decorated it with glow-in-the-dark stickers and markers." Jimin boasts, making Taehyung's eyes widen in awe and quickly approach for a closer look.

Jungkook follows the other maknae in curiosity while Jin and Namjoon go to a corner to check their social medias, leaving a dazed Yoongi alone in the middle of the room.

"...You're okay," Yoongi breaths out in amazement; but as he continues to chant those two words, his face once soft of worry turns into a statue of anger. "Not only did I run out of bed in sickening worry, but I also got my ass handed to me by a nurse just to find out that you're fucking okay?!"

Jimin pouts, a hint of guilt in his tone. "I mean...the fall wasn't just okay. They even said that it's one of the most severe ankle sprains they've had this entire day."

Yoongi scoffs at the response as he begins to pace along the tiled floor in hopes of calming down.

"I can't believe this! Hoseok was literally bawling his eyes out on the phone, saying you were hurt really badly and that there was blood everywhere."

It was now Jimin's turn to frown in confusion.

"Blood? There wasn't any blood. If anything the only red thing there was the fruit punch he wasted on me when he saw me fall. Which, by the way, ended up in my hair and became sticky."

Yoongi's face goes blank. "I'm...I'm gonna kill him."

"Kill who?" Hoseok's light and unsuspecting voice fills the room, everyone silent as they turn to the cheerful man holding bags of food in hand.

"Run bitch, ruuuuun!" Taehyung screams, half-joking and half-serious once seeing Jin and Namjoon stand next to Yoongi.

Hoseok looks confused as he place the food down on a table nearby.

"Huh? But I just got...back..." his words trail off, atmosphere thickening upon catching the stern looks of his bandmates.

"Oh h-hey, Jin...Yoongi...Namjoon," Hoseok quietly greets the three after letting out an audible gulp.

Jin's rebuke is swift. "Don't hey us! Why the hell were you crying and blubbering into the phone like that?! Actually made us fear for Jimin's life and think that something had actually happened to him."

Hoseok holds up his hands in defense with wide eyes. "B-but he really was in serious danger! He could've broken his ankle or leg."

"Yeah, but the way you said it made it seemed like he broke his neck. Especially when saying there was blood everywhere, when in reality it was only the red juice you dropped." Jungkook interjects with raised eyebrows.

"I was in panic and they both look very similar in the practice room's lighting okay?!" Hoseok snaps, the fear he once had quickly replaced with irritation.

Jungkook mockingly shrugs, feigning defeat. "Hey, I'm just stating facts here. But at least you're not a complete crybaby and drama queen who makes everything seem worse than what they are...oh wait."

Hoseok could only stare at the maknae before suddenly lunging towards him, only to end up being constrained by Yoongi and Jin.

"Man this bastard's been on a roll today...first me, now Hoseok. Someone needs to teach him as a lesson." Jin bitterly mumbles as he continues to keep the seething Sunshine from beating Jungkook.

"I'll do it! Just let me go, I promise it won't be that damaging. Maybe a little bruise here or there but that's nothing makeup can't fix." Hoseok pleads upon hearing Jin causing Jungkook's eyes to slightly widen at the threat.

"D-don't let him go!" The once smug male nearly cries, having already experienced how painful the third eldest of the group's hits are.

Jin looks at the shivering maknae with a smirk. "I don't know, it might be good to put you back in your place...should we let him go Yoongi?"

Yoongi shrugs, acting along with Jin as he too found Jungkook's behavior wrong. "Sure, it'll do him some good."

The two began to ominously loosen their grip on the vengeful dancer while Jungkook, on the other hand, starts to panic more.

"ENOUGH!" Namjoon's voice slices through the chaos, making everyone stop. "Jungkook, you know that's not how we treat one another, especially those older. You need to apologize."

"I-I'm sorry Jin...I'm sorry Hoseok. I know I've been raised not to act such a way towards you two. Must've gotten too comfortable." Jungkook softly voices out with his deepest sincerities.

"It's okay, I forgive you. Just don't do it anymore, I find it very hurtful when you do things like that." Jin states as a now calmed Hoseok nods his head in agreement.

Namjoon nods his head over the now mended problem. "Now that one of the situations is solved...Hoseok" the sound of his name being called out caused the male's body to stiffen.

"Y-yes Namjoon?" He cautiously questions already knowing a scolding is about to happen.

"Please wait until they inform you of the situation before you go and call what happened next time. We can't keep doing things like this okay?" Namjoon gently says, desperately wanting to go back home and rest at the moment.

A sigh of relief leaves the older of the two, happy that nothing worse came as he nods his head.

"Good now—"

Namjoon pauses mid-sentence at the sudden knock of the door, opening it to reveal Dr. Choi and the pretty nurse from earlier.

"Apologies for the intrusion. It's time for Mr. Park's vitals check. Please, feel free to wait over there," she suggests, soft yet authoritative as she dons her gloves.

Not wanting a repeat of before, the group obeys and relocate to the chairs, gazes remain fixed on the nurse and her captivating presence.

Noticing their intense entrancement, Hoseok lets out a snort.

"Gonna take a guess you all got the honor of meeting Miss Nurse there. Maybe ease up on the gazing, yeah? She's not an exhibit," he teasingly chides, sparking a wave of sheepish glances among the others.

"I-I can't help it! It's...she's just so..." Taehyung trails off, gaze lingering as he release a dreamy sigh.

"I know, I was a stuttering mess when I got here," Hoseok confesses, cheeks tinted with a rare flush as he remembers the way she giggled when he was making a fool of himself.

"Yup," Jungkook speaks up, tone heavy with envy, "Too bad she's got a boyfriend—fiancé, actually."

Hoseok chokes on his spit in surprise. "She's engaged?!"

Question answered by solemn head nods, his once bashful demeanor morphs into one of downhearted.

"Man...that's a total bummer. I was really hoping she was single. Well, maybe we can be friends if her fiancé isn't the jealous type." Hoseok muses out loud a small smile that quickly turns into a frown once he saw the others' faces.

"Really?! You've got to be kidding me! Dammit...can't meet anyone nice without being already spoken for or getting tangled up in dating rumors."

The disappointed dancer huffs, shifting his gaze causing a smile to appear. "At least Jimin's having a good time." Following where he was gesturing to, they all collectively look towards the said male.

"Look at him! Using his injury as a boost just to get closer...this is so unfair." Jungkook kisses his teeth, forced to watch idol cutely flirt—even going as far as holding her hand due to being afraid of needles, which the woman giggled at in fondness.

"Hey, remember when ____ begged us to ask the company to make a fake doctor's note about her leg being broken so she won't have to participate in that dance fitness class?" Jin lightly mumbles out trying to bring up the others sour moods.

And thankfully it did.

"Yeah, I remember! She was so pissed when the university she attended made it a mandatory course. Literally threatened us that she'll break her leg on purpose when we refused to do it."

"Ha! She wouldn't dare. We all know how much she's afraid of getting hurt."

"It's funny how she decided to stay in the class all of a sudden huh?"

"And going out more for jogs? Yeah, I've been noticing that too. She needs to start taking a few breaks."

"Maybe she wanted to get thicc like me?" Taehyung casually says as he flutters his eyelashes causing the others to scoff.

After ten quick minutes of the group talking about random things while their injured bandmate try woo taken woman with his sly attempts, the checkup was finally over.

"Alright, so far vitals seem to be in check. I'll prescribe some painkillers for the sprain. Though because of the severity of the twist itself,  he'll have to stay for the next two days in case it's something more other than a sp—"

Distant shouts and an emergency ambulance siren cut off the doctor as his pager goes off, mirrored by the nurse's tablet in hand.

A silent exchange passed between them, a prelude to the storm brewing beyond their immediate sight.

Swiftly taking a look at the noisy devices, the two exchange a look of wary realizing they were ringing for the same patient.

"Apologies, but we're needed urgently. The painkillers will have to wait," Dr. Choi's voice, once steady, now carried an undercurrent of haste as he disappeared through the door.

"I'll be back, perhaps in a few hours." Voice usually soothing, now carries a weight as she discards the medical gloves with a practiced motion before opening the door.

"Wait! What's happening?" Hoseok reaches out, concern etching his features.

The hesitation is clear in her eyes, the professional boundary wrestling with human need to share. "It's...not my place to say. Especially with surgery waiting. I'm sorry."

Before she could leave the room, Jin steps forward. "Please. We promise to keep it to ourselves, we won't tell a soul. Just...who is it?" He softly pleads.

The others murmur in agreement, just wanting to help console the family that's probably standing in the waiting room thinking the worst.

A heavy sigh escapes her, surrendering to their insistence.

"I...it's a student from Seoul's University of Performing Arts. We were told a severe head injury: traumatic blow to the head from falling against concrete during an outdoor dance warmups...there's significant blood loss. Now I'm sorry, but that's all I can say right now." Words, hurried and clipped, she disappears into the crowd of moving medical residents.

"No, wait!" Taehyung calls out as he and Namjoon try to pursue her, desperate for answers.

Looking around the hallway for the runaway nurse only to end up empty-handed in their search, Namjoon gestures back to the room with a rueful sigh. "C'mon...let's go back." 

Slowly walking back in defeat heavy in their hearts, a flash of a familiar hoodie causes Taehyung to freeze.

"No, is that...?" His voice trails of in uncertainty as his eyes narrow just to be sure.

His breath hitches in surprise, eyes widening in shock and disbelief before striding over to the huddled person, drawing puzzled looks from Namjoon.

"Taehyung? Tae-what are you doing?!" The band leader calls out as he steps from the room's doorway, gaining the other members' attention and causing them to follow.

Jungkook reaches the vocalist and pulls him back, staring at him weirdly. But the idol doesn't care, he continues to stare at the back that faces them in a trance like state.

"Tae, what are you doing? Are you insane??" Jungkook hisses, sending a wary glance over to the person hunched up in the corner crying in worry of disturbing them.

"No, t-that hoodie looks familiar see?" Taehyung faintly whispers, not wanting to believe that what his mind is making up is true.

Jungkook takes a closer look at the piece of clothing before letting out a breath.

"Look, there's plenty of hoodies that are similar to yours! You're just stressed...you can take a nap when we get back to Jimin's room okay?" The maknae assures in hopes of coaxing the older to move.

And he does. Though hesitant with every step, his eyes never leave the figure's back.

"Come on Tae, we'll eat some Panda Express. It'll help you feel better once you have a full stomach." Jin coos, gently directing the tensed idol towards the direction of the room.

But as if a tug pulled at him, Taehyung takes a step back. He looks at the faces of the others as his final decision is made.

Namjoon's eyebrows furrow in confusion at the male's expression. "What? Taeh-wait!"

Namjoon's confusion turns to alarm at younger's apologetic look, knowing he's about to do. "Taehyung! W—"

Swiftly dodging the hand attempting to grab him, he quickly jogs back where he last saw the hoodie as the rest trails after.

The chorus of voices telling him to stop were ignored.

Walking up to the person, he turns the crying person around with a tug of their hood, revealing a head of very familiar hair.

"Tae—" Yoongi's harsh voice of irritation cuts off upon seeing a tear-streaked face he immediately recognized.

"Adora!" Taehyung breaths out in relief, vaguely recalling how it was the same hoodie he gave for her to borrow but was never returned.

"What's wrong?" Jungkook softly questions the girl as her legs gave out, tears starting to well.

With quick reflexes, Taehyung grabs a hold of her, slowly bringing the troubled woman over to the cushioned chairs against the wall.

"I-I...t-they" Adora's words are in jumbled stutters, body racked with sobs making it impossible to clearly speak.

"Adora? What are you doing here?" Namjoon cautiously probes when her cries finally calms down a little.

"[N-nickname]," she croaks out as the tears resurfaced once more.

Confused dread fills up in the minds of the men around her at the mention of you as she continues to cry out her pain.

Yoongi stills with a sinking heart, fragments of past conversations piecing together into a grim realization.

"...it's a student from Seoul's University of Performing Arts. We were told a severe head injury: traumatic blow to the head from falling against concrete during an outdoor dance warmups..."

"...funny how she decided to stay in the class all of a sudden huh?"

"...going out more for jogs? Yeah, I've been noticing that too....needs to start taking a few breaks."

With frantic movements, Yoongi desperately clasp Adora's trembling shoulders.

Eyes brimming with the onset of tears, his heart feeling as if squeezed by an iron grip of dread.

"Where is she? What happened to her?"

He's answered by sobs, louder and more pained than before.

"What the fuck happened to ____ Adora!" Yoongi's voice escalates, raw with anguish as he slowly shake to the floor with cries of his own.

While everyone else looks at the rapper alarmed, Taehyung's own tears spilling over as he draws Adora into a supportive embrace.

"She's...in critical condition. They..." Her words are fragile with despair, the weight of it nearly snapping the hearts of those who heard it

"...they say she might not wake up."

[mintyoongisupremacy]

More about Minette

I'm bored so I'll do this LMAOO

- My name is actually not Minette....it's a nickname I chose to stay anonymous.

- Minette/Minty/Mint/Minute are all nicknames, I chose them because my favorite color is mint green AND I love yoongi(.)'s mint hair era sooooo yeah it all made sense

- if you couldn't tell, I'm Yoongi biased!! Fun fact I also produce music and write songs so him and rest of bts inspire me so much in that field. I also want to pursue it one day.

(ps. I will probably write more things with yoongi as the main character or love interest, but I will do stories with the other members of course. BUT I WILL TAKE REQUESTS FOR ANY MEMBER + I want to try different endings for each story so if you have a bias you would like it would be there)

thats allllll for now, if you have any other questions or want to chat or vent, I am here for you :))