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Oh, Baby! | KSJ | One

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Pair: Dilf!Seokjin x F!BabysitterReader

Summary: When Seokjin’s ex-wife leaves the country, the CEO who can manage anything except his own life suddenly has to handle full-time fatherhood with an almost two-year-old. His solution is simple on paper: ask you, Nabi’s trusted babysitter, to move in temporarily and help him out. When the inevitable crossing of lines starts to blur, you offer to take care of more than just his daughter. Will Seokjin give in to his desires? Or will he keep the professional space between the two of you?

Warnings: Age gap, power play, Dilf Jin is dangerous. This has smut!

WC: 12k

JUNE 25TH | 12:17

Seokjin was a busy man.

So he didn’t mind all of the missed lunch breaks in order to push a little more work in. Could count on one hand how many times he actually took a break in the middle of his work day during this past month.

What he did mind, however, was his ex-wife appearing in his doorway at 12:17 on a Saturday, voice already carrying the news that killed his appetite and, for a fleeting second, his will to keep breathing.

“You can’t just spring this on me.” Jin shoved the door shut harder than intended; the click echoed in the empty office.

“I’m not.” Hiah crossed her arms, bag thudding into the chair beside his mahogany desk. “The trip isn’t for another week. You have time to get organized.”

He wheezed a laugh that tasted bitter. “Get organi– You’re asking me to change my life.”

“I’m asking you to look after your daughter for a month.” she corrected, as if there was a difference.

The headache bloomed behind his eyes, hot and familiar. They’d stayed civil after the divorce, too much shared history for real hatred, too much love once for indifference. Nabi lived with Hiah during the week, and her weekends stayed with him. It worked. Mostly. Hiah’s family company gave her the kind of flexibility that his own CEO role never would.

“Unless you’d prefer I take her with me.” her sigh was tired; she’d known this conversation was coming.

“Then I wouldn’t see her for a month.” Jin’s voice flattened.

“What do you want me to do, Seokjin? Skip a critical work trip? You know I don’t have a choice.” she pointed out in return.

“What about what’s-his-name?”

Jin didn’t like the new boyfriend, he was too young, too idle, sugar-baby-turned-partner, but the man was kind to Nabi. Still. The thought of him alone with his daughter still twisted something protective in Seokjin’s chest.

The woman replied way too easily: “He’s coming with me.”

“Of course he is.” Seokjin scoffed, the sound scraping his dry throat.

“Don’t be like that. I didn’t come for permission. I’m letting you know I’ll be gone for a month.” Hiah’s tone made it sound like Seokjin didn’t have an actual choice at all. “You can keep Nabi, or she’s coming with me. Decide.”

Seokjing had no real choice here, so he nodded once, jaw tight. He’d make it work. Rearrange meetings. Be home more. Somehow.

Seokjin walked Hiah out of his office, leading her to the elevator without saying another word. The whole floor was pretty empty, it was a Saturday afterall, which is why his ex-wife knew it would be okay to come over today.

After waving his ex off with a tired smile, Seokjin returned to his office to find Namjoon and Yoongi already waiting for him there. One of them sported a frown –might have been the youngest– and the other had a grin plastered on his face –might have been the oldest–.

“What did the witch want?” Namjoon asked as soon as Seokjin closed the door to give them a resemblance of privacy.

The three of them had been friends well before they were ever co-workers, so the two men knew all that involved Hiah and their failed relationship.

“She’s going to America for a month with her new boy toy and calling it work.” Seokjin crossed to his desk, stomach cramping from skipped food, head still throbbing.

“Oof, that’s rough.” Yoongi scoffed. “She taking Nabi?”

Seokjin shook his head, sinking into his chair. The leather creaked under him. “Nabi is staying with me, so that’s good.”

“Then why the long face?” Yoongi asked, even if he already knew the answer to that question.

“I’m barely home during the week, how am I going to look after her?” Seokjin ran a hand through his raven hair, slouching against his chair in a way he’d never allow anyone else to see.

“Don’t you have a housekeeper that’s there every day?” Namjoon questioned, leaning back against his own chair.

“Yeah, but Mrs. Bak is old. She can’t keep up with an almost two year old and take care of the house at the same time.” Seokjin’s head fell back, staring at the bright white ceiling.

“Doesn’t Nabi have a hot sitter already? She’s young, looks to be in good shape.” the wiggle in Yoongi’s eyebrows made Seokjin regret ever letting his best friend meet you.

“Ah yes, the hot babysitter. There, problem solved.” Namjoon nodded, sharing the feeling behind Yoongi’s sly smile. “More than one problem could be solved if you just–”

“Her name is Yn. And she’s only Nabi’s sitter during the weekends.” he interrupted, ears hot from the new direction of the subject.

Yoongi shrugged. “So? Pay her more and have her there everyday.”

You had been working for him for the past six months, so it’s not like you were a total stranger. But then again, this wasn’t the deal you had when he first hired you. Seokjin knew you were taking classes, and the commute to and from his home every night, then going to university… Even if the pay was good, it would still be too much.

“So here’s a crazy idea.” Yoongi announced. “Why don’t you just ask her to live at your place for a month? Then she’d always be there to help you. And Nabi goes to a daycare right? Yn could still go to class then.”

In theory, that sounded like a perfect solution. Simple. Easy.

But, to Seokjin, nothing was ever easy when it came to you.

"I'm leaving, Yn."

The kind voice of Mrs. Bak called out as you were in the living room with Nabi. The toddler was starting to grow sleepy from a full tummy, getting a little fussy, but you always tried keeping her awake in time for Mr. Kim to get home so he could be the one to tuck her in for the night.

It didn't always work, and it looked like today was just one of those days.

"Let's say bye-bye to Mrs. Bak?" you asked the little girl, smiling as her little chubby hand opened and closed as she did what looked a lot like a little wave.

You picked Nabi up from her play mat somewhat effortlessly, propping her on your hip so you could both walk the old lady to the door.

"Mr. Kim must be coming home soon." Mrs. Bak told you as she pulled her personal bag over one shoulder. "There’s food for him in the fridge. Make sure he eats, please."

"Of course. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Bak." you smiled at her, bouncing Nabi on your arm to get her to wave again. "Say bye-bye."

"Ba ba ba." Nabi babbled, twirling her little hand with a small giggle as you bounced her higher.

"Bye-bye, sweet girls."

You closed the entrance door, hearing the automatic lock slot into place. Nabi was still smiling when you brought her into the bathroom of her suite bedroom, where the bathtub was slowly filling up. Out of all the kids you ever babysat before, she was the only one who never cried during bath time, always enjoying being in the water.

Closing the faucet when there was enough water for you to wash the little girl, you checked the temperature written on the fancy turtle shaped thermometer floating inside the tub.

"Dada?" Nabi asked as you undressed her.

"Sorry, tooks, appa's not home yet."

Her lip wobbled, so you rushed her into the water before the tears could start, handing her the rubber duck and bright pink dolphin. She slapped at them happily, droplets flecking your cheek, giggles echoing off the tiles.

You knelt on the bath mat, sleeves pushed up, carefully washing her while she played. Nabi didn’t understand why her Appa was gone so much, only that she missed him. You felt it too, the ache of their limited time together, the weekends stitched together like rare moments rather than a constant.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking you out of your solemn thoughts. Keeping one eye on Nabi, you fished it out to open the text thread:

Hobito: we’re on our way there rn, yall close?

Gguk: i’m waiting for noona to get here so we can go….

Jiminie: she’s still with the 🥵 dilf?

You: still at WORK 🤨

You: you can go ahead gguk I dunno how much longer I’ll have to stay here. I’ll just meet you guys at the bar.

It was half past seven when your boss arrived home, thirty minutes after you were supposed to meet your friends for drinks at your favorite bar. Nabi was already out like a light, and you were ready to leave, just sitting on the couch with all of your things packed up when the front door opened.

And then Kim Seokjin walked in and every intention to leave evaporated.

Six months of Saturdays and Sundays, and you still weren’t used to him. The word on the street –as told by Mrs. Bak– was that Seokjin’s mother had been Miss Korea back in the day, and he had definitely inherited her genes.

If he just had the looks, you might have a little more luck when it came to controlling your ever growing –and extremely forbidden– crush on the man. But on top of that, Seokjin was a good man, extremely kind, always treated you with nothing but gentleness, and a very dedicated father. He was a good seven years older than you, too. And you didn’t know why that mattered, but the deepest, darkest parts of you liked that extra fact.

“Hi, Yn. I’m sorry I’m so late.” he greeted you with a soft, and extremely tired, smile. “How is she?”

“Passed out.” you replied with a smile that matched his earnestness. “I tried keeping her awake for you, I’m sorry.”

The man shook his head, letting his briefcase rest on the closest armchair, like he couldn’t be bothered to put it away right now.

Seokjin had planned on coming home hours ago, in hopes of spending some quality time with his daughter, maybe talking to you for longer than rushed hellos and dragged goodbyes. But thanks to a system failure in his company, he had to stay longer in the office than he’d liked.

And now his baby was already asleep, he was exhausted and you were clearly ready to leave.

“I’m just going to see her real quick, okay?” he spoke with a small sigh, hesitating before adding: “I’d like to speak to you before you go, if you have five minutes to spare.”

“Yeah, of course.” you nodded with that sweet smile you always had for him, no matter how hard your day had been. You liked playing it off as if his baby was an angel, and most times she was, but Nabi was still a toddler, nearing her terrible twos. And Seokjin noticed the pink marker stain on your new jeans, when it hadn’t been there this morning, along with the very wet spot on your shoulder, probably the result of an eventful bath time.

Still, you never added any more pressure onto him, never complained. Never nagged him about the amount of extra hours you had to do while waiting for him to get home so you could go on your way.

And that made it really hard for him to remain neutral when it came to you. To ignore how pretty he thought that damn smile was, how expressive your eyes were and, fuck, sometimes his tired brain ran away from him and made him think about you in other ways.

Inappropriate ways.

Ways he should not think about his kid’s babysitter.

When Seokjin walked into Nabi’s bedroom, he was careful not to wake her. The room was dark, except for the moon shaped night light resting on her dresser. Seokjin leaned over her crib, watching his baby sleep soundly. She was the reason he worked so hard, so he could give her a life where nothing would ever be missing.

But it still hurt him to think that maybe the only thing missing from it right now was him.

Seokjin pulled her pink fuzzy blanket higher over her little body, whispering a small ‘sweet dreams’ before leaving the bedroom to meet you outside.

He found you in the kitchen, pulling out a container of food from the fridge, bags abandoned on his couch and your coat left somewhere in the living room. Seokjin liked how comfortable you were inside his home, instead of being put off by the fact that you moved with more certainty than he had most days.

“She’s still sleeping?” he heard you ask, answering you with a nod as he begged his brain to behave. “Good. Mrs. Bak left you some dinner, would you like me to heat it up?”

“I’m craving something fresher. Would you eat with me?” his lips were moving before he could stop himself, catching the small twitch of your eyebrows and the quicker blink of your eyes. “Unless you have plans, of course. Which I guess you do, it’s a saturday night after all–”

“No, no plans at all!” you shook your head, pausing his quick spilling of words. “How can I help?”

“Can you make rice?”

Your scoff brought a new smile to his lips. As you mumbled about your abilities in the kitchen, Seokjin started to gather the ingredients he needed for a quick bibimbap dish. His kitchen was big enough for the two of you to move around each other without bumping around, but you still did.

Maybe he walked too close to you on his way to the stove, just so his arm could brush yours.

And maybe you walked in front of him to grab a spoon, when there was a lot more space to pass behind him.

It was during times like these that made him believe that maybe his inappropriate thoughts weren’t actually one sided.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Kim?”

You asked the man, trying to mask your nervousness.

From the time he asked you to wait because he wanted to speak to you until now, at least a handful of scenarios had coursed through your brain. While you didn’t necessarily need this job to survive, you weren’t particularly interested in searching for a new one either; not to mention you had grown quite fond of Nabi to not be upset if you were about to be fired.

You also didn’t think Seokjin would be cooking for you right now if letting you go was his intention.

The man snorted a little laugh. “Please, I’m not that much older than you. I told you Jin is fine.”

You smiled sheepishly, because he had repeated many times not to call him by his last name. And you did try, but calling him by his nickname made you feel a little flustered. And you didn’t need anymore reasons to be blushing around him.

The way he had pushed his sleeves to his elbows and undid the top two buttons of his light blue dress shirt was face-warming enough.

“Hiah, my uh– Nabi’s eomma. She’s going out of town for a while. For a month.” the man told you as he fried sliced vegetables on a pan. “Nabi will be staying with me for the entirety of her trip, so I would need you to be here everyday. Not only on the weekends.”

“I see.” you nodded slowly, knowing Nabi would love to spend that much time with her dad, but knowing it would definitely be a change for Seokjin’s routine.

“I understand it's not the original agreement we had, but I wouldn't want to find someone else to look after Nabi…” Jin turned to you then, forgetting the vegetables to hit you with his best pleading eyes. “And she likes you so much–”

“You don’t have to convince me, Mr. Ki– Jin.” you reassured him, tilting your head. “I don’t mind the extra work days.”

You would have to move a few things around and would probably get behind on your studies, but this new deal would be just for a month… And you were mostly taking online classes this semester, so you could make your own schedule. You could make this work, if it meant making things easier for Nabi and her dad.

“Really? You’d be doing me a very big favor. You’ll get paid for this, of course, and you can take the weekends off. Hiah really just threw this on me, I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t agree.” Seokjin had a way of spilling phrase after phrase when he got nervous, which you thought was endearing and slightly funny.

You waited for him to finish so you could ask: “Will the schedule remain the same?”

“Ah, well. So.” you watched as he changed the pans on the stove top so the vegetables could rest while the pieces of meat fried. “Unfortunately, I need to stay later in the office during the weekdays. I’ll try to change my schedule for the month, but I don’t know how that’s gonna work.”

You frowned, nibbling on your lip as a thought crossed your mind: “I live a little too far away from here, so I have to check the bus’ hours–”

“Yeah, I thought about that too.” Seokjin turned his back, wide shoulders blocking your view, but you still saw the tips of his ears growing a shade darker. “I can prepare the guest bedroom for you. If you wouldn’t mind staying here for that period of time.”

JULY 3RD | 15:19

"So let me see if I got it right." Hoseok was laying on your bed as if it belonged to him. "You're about to spend a whole month living at your boss' house?"

"The man you've had a crush on ever since you met him." Jimin added, laying next to Hoseok.

"Not that deep, guys. Mr. Kim needs my help, so why would I say no?" you shrugged, giving them your back to stare at, rather than letting them read your expression like an open picture book.

It was the Sunday you were supposed to temporarily move into Kim Seokjin’s home and you were still packing your suitcase. Jimin and Hoseok had invited themselves over to help you, but all they were doing was putting ideas on your mind and hope in your heart.

"See, babe? Mr. Kim needs her help." Jimin told Hobi with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes, even if they couldn’t see it. "I'm never telling either of you shit ever again."

"Go easy on her, babe, she's still in denial." Hoseok told Jimin in return, the both of them giggling like the disgusting couple they were turning into.

"I'm not in denial!" you said, too defensively for your own liking. As you moved around your room to pick up whatever you thought you might need, you continued: "Do I think Seokjin is very attractive? Yes I do. Do I have crush-like feelings for him? Sure. Do I think something will ever happen? Absolutely not. See? Not in denial."

"You wish something would happen, though." Jimin piped up, sitting on your mattress. "Your cousin is not here, you don't have to lie to us."

"I'm going to work,” your sigh was exasperated. “I can't be thinking about any of this."

"Look, all we're saying is you're both grown adults. As long as what you do doesn't affect his kid, you don't have to be so hard on yourself." Hobi reasoned. “The Yn I know goes for what she wants.”

“What I want right now is to finish packing before he gets here.”

You ran away from both boys when you walked into your bathroom to pick up your toiletries. Seokjin had told you he’d have the guest bedroom ready for you, and you knew it had its own bathroom, but you shouldn’t expect him to provide you with basic things like a toothbrush. Right?

Once you came back into your room, Jimin was nowhere to be seen. By the noise you could hear coming from the living room, Jeongguk was home now, which meant Jimin was most likely annoying him, or getting annoyed by him.

Your best friend, however, stayed behind.

Hoseok was folding the clothes you had somewhat carelessly thrown into your small suitcase and he was doing a much better job of it. Suddenly half of the space was cleared out and you had more of it left.

Hoseok lifted his head when you approached. "You're not gonna be held hostage, right?"

"No, Hoba, I have my weekends off." you assured him. "We can still see each other during the week too, just gotta plan first."

The man helped you zip up your bag and carried it to the living room, where his current-fling was playing video games with your cousin. As you changed your cotton shorts for denim jeans, your phone buzzed with a new notification.

Mr. Kim: We’re outside, you can come out whenever you’re ready!

You: Coming right out!

It was a Sunday, so Mrs. Bak wasn’t working, which meant Nabi would be with Seokjin and you were always really excited to see her. Which would explain the thump on your heart; it had nothing to do with her father waiting outside. At all.

“Noona, if he does anything, you call me and I’ll fix it, okay?” Jeongguk said as he waited with you in the hallway, trying to look more menacing than he actually was.

“Don’t worry, Gguk, I promise I’ll be alright.” you held back a small laugh.

You squeezed your cousin into a hug before the elevator reached your floor. Jeongguk was only a few months younger than you, and you had grown up together so he felt more like a younger brother. Of course he was huge now, in height and muscles.

“Text me later!” Hoseok’s voice was heard between squeals and TV noises.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t fuck on my bed!” you warned, dead serious. “Byeee.”

Jeongguk waved until the elevator’s door closed, and you held the little wave back until the last sliver of his grin disappeared behind the narrowing seam.

The doors opened again a minute later, and the lobby smelled faintly like polished stone and someone’s expensive cologne, the air conditioning too cold against your arms after the warmth of the upper floors. Your shoes clicked across the glossy tile as you crossed toward the glass doors, and you caught your own reflection for a second, a flicker of nerves in your posture that you smoothed out before you could think too hard about it.

Outside, the heat hit you all at once again. It clung to your skin and pressed against your lungs, turning the air thick with exhaust and sun-baked concrete. The brightness made you squint, and you lifted a hand to shield your eyes while you scanned the street, blinking through the glare. It took a few seconds to find the car, parked across the way like it had been there countless times; dark paint throwing back sharp flashes of light whenever a bus rolled past.

Seokjin stepped out and the sunlight made him look sharper around the edges, crisp shirt sleeves, watch glinting when he adjusted the keys in his hand. The Ray-Bans hid his eyes, which somehow made him harder to read and easier to stare at all at once. He looked like he belonged in a magazine spread about men who never sweated, even though the heat was brutal, even though you watched the faintest shine start at his temple the moment he paused to look at you. He was smiling already, easy and practiced, but there was something under it that didn’t feel like the version of him you got on weekends. Something tighter at the corners.

You felt it anyway. The small shift in the air when he was focused on you. The way your name seemed to take up space in his mouth even when he wasn’t saying it.

"Hi! Let me get that for you." the man was smiling, reaching for your suitcase, polite as ever.

"Oh, thank you!" your voice came out lighter than you meant it to.

You forced your fingers to loosen, to let him take the weight without making a big deal out of it, but you still felt the brief brush of his hand against yours. It was nothing, you told yourself. It was a complete accident. Yet it was still enough to make you aware of the inside of your wrist for the next three seconds.

Seokjin lifted your bag like it weighed nothing, and you hated the way your brain catalogued it. The flex of his forearm, the clean efficiency of the motion, the fact that he didn’t fumble, didn’t hesitate.

For a second you hovered beside the vehicle, hand on the door, caught between instincts. Your job was Nabi, she was the whole reason for this change in your own routine, so your place was in the backseat with her. But this was Seokjin’s car, and Seokjin was driving, and there was something about sitting beside him that felt too much like a temptation for you to ignore.

You glanced through the backseat window, finding that the choice had already been made for you. The seat beside the baby chair was taken over completely, Nabi’s oversized diaper bag sprawled across it, straps tangled and a little plush toy clipped to the zipper swinging gently with the motion of the car settling.

Front seat it was.

You pulled the door open and slipped into the car, immediately twisting in your seat and reaching back without thinking, your attention snapping into that familiar, practical focus that always came with Nabi. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, fine hair doing that soft baby halo thing that never stayed where anyone put it, and she was half sunk into the padding of her car seat like it was the most natural throne in the world.

"Hi, tooks." you leaned back to poke at her half-covered tummy, fingertips gentle. Nabi squealed and curled, hands immediately going to her own belly. She’d been obsessed with her belly button lately, like it was a discovery she couldn’t believe belonged to her. "Ohhh look at your piggies! Appa's getting better with your hair."

A few stubborn strands still stuck up at the crown, but the little pigtails were actually holding, and that alone felt like an achievement.

"Dada!" she agreed with a sweet baby giggle, bouncing her pudgy legs hard enough to make the whole seat shift a fraction.

You laughed under your breath, soft and automatic. "They almost look symmetrical today."

The driver’s side door opened and closed, and the car dipped slightly with Seokjin’s weight. You didn’t look right away, which was ridiculous, because of course he was there. Of course he was sitting a few centimeters away. But you still felt the change in the space, the way the quiet settled differently once he was inside it.

Seokjin cleared his throat, and when you finally glanced forward, you caught the faintest bashfulness in the set of his mouth. It wasn’t dramatic, it was just there, in the way his hand went to the back of his neck for half a second before dropping, in the way he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel like he was checking that he was doing this correctly.

He reached toward the dashboard and picked up a laminated sheet, the edges catching the light. He held it out to you without quite looking at your face, like he was offering evidence that he had everything handled.

"That's Nabi's weekly schedule." he told you, and you could hear the pride he was trying to keep casual. "Her mother usually took her to these, but I already let them know you'd be the one to go with her for now."

You took it, doing a quick scan with your eyes. There were color-coded blocks. Little icons. Neat labels. The kind of organization that screamed overreaction.

“Okay.” you kept your tone professional as you nodded.

You lowered your gaze to the page as he pulled away from the curb, the city sliding past the windows in bright, shimmering strips. You read through the schedule while Seokjin merged into traffic, the hum of the engine steady under your feet. Most days Nabi had daycare, which would be good. It meant a few hours where you could breathe, catch up on projects, work on your assignments without a toddler climbing your lap like a jungle gym. There was a baby swimming lesson once a week too, and you could already picture her in one of those tiny floaties, furious and delighted at the same time.

But then–

“Speech therapy?” you asked with a frown, eyes dropping back to the laminated schedule. “She’s not even two.”

Seokjin’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. He didn’t look at you, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze stayed fixed ahead as if the road required all of him.

“Her eomma thinks she should know more words by now,” he said, voice even, CEO-like, as if he was presenting a decision that had already been made. “And I agree.”

You turned in your seat to glance back at Nabi. She was strapped in, round cheeks, toes flexing in her little socks as she kicked at nothing. Her hands were busy with the strap across her chest, fingers exploring it like it was new every time.

“She knows words.” you said, softer now, because Nabi was right there, because it felt wrong to talk about her like she couldn’t hear you. “She asks for apple juice when she wants it.”

Seokjin exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. “‘Apu joof’ is not knowing words.”

“Apu joof!” from the backseat, like she’d been waiting for her cue, Nabi chirped with little claps and an enthusiastic kick that thumped her heel against the car seat.

“See?” you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at you.

Seokjin’s mouth twitched, the closest he got to an actual smile, and then it was gone. He kept his eyes on the road, shoulders still too straight, and you felt the line he was holding between being a father and being a man who was expected to be perfect at everything.

You swallowed the rest of what you wanted to say. You were torn between defending a tiny toddler and knowing your place as the babysitter, as the employee, as someone who didn’t get to have opinions unless asked.

Seokjin didn’t say anything else, either. The silence wasn’t harsh, but it was a boundary, and you read it the way you’d learned to read him.

So you let it go.

The city moved around you in a bright blur. Heat shimmered off the pavement. The air conditioner hummed cold against your arms. The laminated sheet stayed in your lap like something heavy even though it weighed almost nothing.

After a minute, Seokjin spoke again, as if the previous topic had been filed away. “You have a driver’s license, right?”

“I do, yeah–” you glanced up, and the storefront ahead made you pause. A familiar sign, white lettering on dark glass, a place you’d been too many times to count. Relief came quick and impulsive, like your body was looking for a safe detour out of the tension. “Oh, look. Are you hungry? There’s a great coffee shop just up ahead.”

For a beat, Seokjin didn’t respond. You could almost see him toggling through all the things he still needed to tell you; Hiah’s notes, the schedule, rules, expectations. He looked like a man who lived by lists. Stopping for coffee wasn’t on the list.

Then his eyes flicked toward the shop. Toward the open parking spot just up ahead. Toward you, for half a second behind the sunglasses, quick enough that you couldn’t read the look but long enough to feel it.

He signaled and pulled in.

The moment the car settled into the parking spot, the atmosphere shifted. Less motion, less distance, just the three of you in a contained space. Seokjin turned the engine off, and the sudden quiet made Nabi’s little noises feel louder, more present.

“I’ll get her.” he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

You watched him leave the car and go to his daughter, careful and practiced in a way that still looked slightly new on him, unfastening Nabi’s straps with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier firmness. He lifted her out, and she went pliant against his shoulder for two seconds before she craned her neck, looking for you.

You stepped out into the heat, the sun immediately finding your skin again. The sidewalk outside the shop was warm under your shoes. A soft breeze carried the smell of baked sugar and coffee through the door every time someone went in or out.

You waited near the entrance while Seokjin locked the car, Nabi perched on his hip. The little wisps of hair he’d half managed to tame into pigtails brushed his cheek with every bounce she gave, and he didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his hold and walked toward you, expression light like he hadn’t just gotten into a disagreement about speech therapy five minutes ago.

Inside, the café was cooler, dimmer. The air smelled like espresso and cinnamon and toasted dough, comforting enough that it softened something in your chest. The line moved slowly, people chatting in low voices, cups clinking behind the counter.

Seokjin stood beside you, Nabi in his arms, and you became absurdly aware of how close his shoulder was to yours. How his presence took up space in a way that made you want to step away and also… not.

“What’s good here?” he asked, glancing up at the menu like he’d never once had to choose something for himself without an assistant.

“Everything. But the cinnamon rolls are to die for.” you said. Then, because you couldn’t help it, because you wanted to break the stiffness that still lingered between you, you leaned in toward Nabi. You pointed at the toddler’s thighs, all soft baby roundness, and your voice dropped into the tone you always used with her. “Not as good as these rolls.”

You pretended to nibble at Nabi’s leg.

Nabi shrieked with laughter, squirming so hard Seokjin had to tighten his hold. She swatted at you with clumsy little hands, face scrunched in delighted outrage, and you leaned back just enough to let her “win.”

Then she lunged.

One second she was in Seokjin’s arms, the next she was throwing herself toward you like she’d decided this was the correct place to be. Seokjin’s body reacted, arms shifting instinctively, but he hesitated for a fraction too long like you weren’t supposed to be the one she reached for like that.

You didn’t hesitate, catching her easily, settling her against your chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Seokjin’s heart did a thing he refused to name. He blinked once, expression unchanged, but his hand stayed lifted for a beat as if it had forgotten what it was doing. Then he lowered it, clearing his throat.

“And what will you drink?” he asked, tone carefully neutral, like he hadn’t just watched his daughter choose you.

“Iced americano, please.”

You shifted Nabi on your hip, already reaching for your bag to grab your wallet, but your hands were full, Nabi’s fingers grabbing at your shirt collar like she owned you.

Seokjin moved faster, but not in a cutting way. More like he’d already decided you shouldn’t have to juggle a toddler and a wallet at the same time. His phone was out before you even found the zipper, thumb already on the payment app.

“Jin–” you started, reflex more than protest.

He finally looked at you then, just for a second, and there was a softness there that made your stomach dip.

“It’s fine.” he said, quiet, almost reassuring. “I invited you into this. Let me take care of it.”

The words should have felt simple and practical, placing the orders at the cashier before you could protest any longer.

Seokjin chose a table by the glass wall, sunlight spilling across the wood. A high chair sat nearby, abandoned by the previous family, and Nabi’s expression soured immediately at the sight of it, little mouth turning down like she’d been personally offended.

“She’s not going to like that.” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he glanced at his daughter and his mouth quirked, the edge of a smile tugging through. “I know.”

You sat and helped Nabi into the high chair anyway, because routines mattered and you were good at this. Nabi fussed, twisting and reaching for you with grabby hands, whimpering the moment you stepped back.

“It’s okay, tooks.” you soothed automatically, and Seokjin hovered for half a second like he wanted to reach in and fix it with his own hands. You grabbed the toothpick holder from the table and slid it toward her, tapping it lightly like it was fascinating. “Look. What’s this?”

Nabi’s eyes locked onto it and curiosity won. She poked at it with one finger, then two, then tried to pick it up with both hands as the tension in your shoulders eased a little.

Seokjin let out a breath, gaze softening as he watched you. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was that quiet, helpless kind of admiration that made him look away for a second and then look back, like he didn’t know what to do with how easy you made taking care of a toddler seem.

“How do you know this place?” he asked once the three of you settled, voice lower now as the café noise wrapped around you.

You tilted your head toward the window. “You see that tattoo shop across the street?”

He followed your gesture. Across the road, the hair-salon-turned-tattoo-shop sat with its lights off, shutters down because it was Sunday. The sign above it read Bangtan Ink, bold letters against the facade.

“My best friend owns it.” you said.

“Oh.”

Seokjin nodded, still looking where you’d pointed, like he was filing the detail away on purpose. Bangtan Ink was Hoseok’s long life dream, the quaint little place in Myeongdong. You had worked there as a receptionist for a couple months before he found someone nice enough to take your place.

Any questions he might have asked were interrupted when the Moonlight waitress arrived at your table with your drinks and pastries.

Nabi had been fully entertained by the toothpick holder, shaking it with both hands and squealing whenever a toothpick slipped free and clattered back into the little container. Each time it happened she giggled like it was the funniest trick in the world, cheeks lifting, eyes going crescent-shaped with delight.

But the second your dessert hit the table, it was like a switch flipped. Her head snapped toward the plate. Her whole body leaned forward in her chair as she reached with grabby hands, fingers opening and closing with urgent insistence. A soft whine built in her throat, half-demand, half-plea.

“You want it?” you asked, already tearing off a small piece before she could get her hands on the whole thing. The pastry was warm, the cinnamon smell rising in a sweet cloud as you broke it apart. Nabi watched every movement like you were performing magic. “Can you say ‘cinnamon roll’?”

Her mouth opened. Her brows pinched with concentration. A sound came out that was more enthusiasm than language, a string of babbles with the rhythm of a sentence, ending in a proud little chirp as if she’d nailed it.

Seokjin couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of him, breathy and surprised, like it had been sitting in his chest waiting for permission.

“Alright.” he said, shaking his head once, amusement softening his face. “I see what you’re doing.”

“She’s almost two.” your smile sharpened, eyes bright with it. “She should know how to say it.”

Jin knew you were teasing him. He also knew you weren’t doing it to make him feel small. You were doing it the way you did everything with Nabi, coaxing and playful, turning pressure into a game she could win. And for some reason, instead of bristling, he felt something loosen in him.

Seokjin watched you offer the bite to Nabi, watched the way you waited, patient and unhurried, letting her take it at her own pace. The way you wiped the corner of her mouth with your thumb without making a fuss. The way you talked to her like she was a person, not a job.

Maybe it was because you treated his daughter with a kind of care that always caught him off guard, like you didn’t even realize how rare it was.

Or maybe it was purely you. The easy warmth you carried into a space, the lightness in your smile. The way you made his life feel less like an obligation he was failing and more like something he could actually live in, even if it was only for a few minutes at a café table with cinnamon in the air and his daughter’s laughter filling the space between you.

Seokjin looked at you, then at Nabi, and felt the thought settle with unsettling clarity.

He was in big trouble.

JULY 7TH | 21:48

Nabi had been sleeping for several hours now, which meant you were supposed to be resting. She had only woken up again forty minutes ago, but overall you learned very quickly that she was a heavy sleeper. Living in someone else’s house –even if temporarily– was a little weird, and you were still getting used to it.

It’s been four days since you moved in last Sunday, and taking care of a toddler everyday was a lot more daunting than you ever thought it would be. There were a lot more tantrums when she didn’t want to get ready for daycare, a lot more tears when you knew she was most likely missing her mother, and a hell of a lot more running around.

But there were also a lot more cuddles, a lot more giggles and an overload of cuteness. Plus, it meant you could eat Mrs. Bak’s food everyday and didn’t have to cook at all. The woman did the cleaning and the cooking –adult food and baby food–, so you only had to worry about the toddler.

The guest bedroom Seokjin had prepared for you was a lot bigger than your own, but it felt strangely untouched, like a hotel room someone forgot to bring life into. The sheets were crisp, the bedside lamp perfectly centered, the closet empty except for extra hangers. You told yourself you’d bring something small next time you went home, a candle, a framed photo, even one of your throw blankets, anything that made it feel less like you were intruding in the space.

That thought stayed with you as you crossed the living room on your way to the kitchen, bare feet quiet against the floor, the apartment hushed in that late-night way where even the air felt softer. Nabi had gone down without a fight for once, and the silence still carried a faint echo of her giggles.

“Hey–”

“Oh, shit!” your whole body jumped, hands flying to your chest as you veered toward the nearest wall switch. Light flooded the room, sudden and bright, and your heartbeat kicked up hard enough to make you dizzy for a second.

Seokjin hissed under his breath and blinked against the brightness, one hand lifting instinctively to shield his eyes. You felt your cheeks warm immediately, a mix of embarrassment and the lingering shock of almost having your soul leave your body.

When your pulse finally stopped trying to escape your ribs, you looked at Seokjin properly, sitting on his couch.

Jin’s shirt was still buttoned, but the crispness was gone, fabric wrinkled from hours of wear. His dark navy tie hung undone around his neck, the knot loosened and tilted, like he’d given up halfway through pretending the day hadn’t gotten to him. His hair was messy, not in a styled way, just genuinely out of place.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” his voice came out tired but warm, and a small chuckle followed as he leaned his head back against the couch again.

“How long have you been there?” you asked quietly, still trying to shake off the adrenaline.

He shrugged, gaze drifting toward the dark window like time didn’t matter right now.

For the past four nights, Seokjin hadn’t come home before ten at night. He’d warned you he was rushing through his schedule so he could come home earlier in the following weeks, so he could actually be present with Nabi. You understood it in theory. In practice, it still made something twist in you every time you heard his key in the door when the apartment was already asleep.

You watched him for a second longer than you should have. His shoulders looked heavy in a way they didn’t during the day. His mouth was set, but not harsh, just worn down at the edges.

“Would you like a drink?” you kept your tone light, helpful, giving yourself something simple to do with your hands and your nerves.

“You're not here to work like that. Nabi is in bed, you should rest too.” he sounded tired, but not dismissive, like he meant it as care and not an order.

“I don’t mind Mr. Kim.” you shrugged, trying to make it feel casual, like your heart wasn’t still beating too fast.

His head straightened, and for a moment he looked like he was choosing his words carefully. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he might not trust himself.

“Only if you drink with me. And if you stop calling me Mr. Kim.” the corner of his mouth lifted, small and quiet, the closest thing to a smile he’d offered so far.

“Okay, oppa.” the honorific left your tongue easier than it should have, sweet without you meaning it to be.

Seokjin didn’t say anything, but you felt his attention follow you as you crossed the living room. Your pajamas were simple, soft cotton with little red hearts scattered over them, the kind of set you’d wear without thinking twice in your own apartment.

You reached up to the high cabinet where the alcohol was stored safely out of reach from toddler fingers, your fingertips brushing the wood before you found the handle. The glass bottles clinked softly when you moved them, a small sound that felt too sharp in the quiet.

“Stressful day?” you asked, glancing back at him as you set the chosen bottle down.

“Stressful week. Month. Year.” his voice was dry, but there was no bite in it, just exhaustion.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” you meant it, along with the softness around your words.

You poured two small glasses, the amber catching the light. The smell of whiskey rose up warm and sharp as you carried them over, careful not to spill. Your hands looked too delicate around the weight of the glass.

Seokjin took his time sitting up. He accepted the drink, fingers brushing yours as you passed it, and the contact lasted half a second longer than necessary. He stared into the glass like it held the answers he’d been looking for. You could see the strain in the line of his brow, the way his shoulders stayed tense even here.

Then the words slipped out of him, rawer than you’d ever heard him.

“My friends think I should just get laid.” he said it like he was testing how it sounded in the room, and his eyes flicked to your face immediately after, as if bracing for impact.

Your feet halted mid-step as you moved to sit beside him, surprise tightening your throat. For a second you just stood there, the whiskey steady in your hands, the apartment too quiet.

“I shouldn’t speak like that. I’m sorry, it’s unprofessional.” his voice softened on the apology, sincere and a little frustrated with himself.

“My workday ended when Nabi went to sleep.” you lowered yourself onto the couch with him, careful to leave a respectful space in between you. “It’s okay, I'm not a child.”

“I know.” he swallowed, gaze dropping to his glass. It came out low, almost too honest.

You took a slow sip, letting the burn give you something to focus on. The whiskey warmed your throat and settled in your chest, and you tried not to think about how aware you suddenly were of his breathing beside you.

“You’ve been divorced for a year right?” you asked after a beat, voice gentle, offering him an easier path back to safer conversation.

“Hm.” he nodded slightly, eyes still forward.

“How long has it been then?” you continued, and you felt your mouth go a little dry as you asked it. This was new territory, and you knew it. You could feel the line under your feet, thin and dangerous.

You weren’t blind to the way he sometimes watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. You weren’t innocent enough to pretend the soft, lingering touches were always accidental. There were moments that sat between you like questions neither of you knew how to ask out loud.

Seokjin took another sip, then let out a quiet chuckle that didn’t quite reach.

“If we’re really talking about this I might need another drink.” he cracked his neck, rolling it once, then again, as if trying to shake off the tension that lived in his shoulders lately.

Your heart thumped harder at the movement, at the faint glimpse of skin where his collar had loosened.

After what felt like too long, he spoke again:

“I haven’t been with anyone after my divorce.” he said it plainly, like he was ripping off a bandage, following the words with large gulps of the golden liquid.

“What? How?” the surprise escaped you before you could smooth it into something more polite.

“I work late, and I get Nabi on the weekends. Besides, even if I did find a date in between, I come with baggage.” the reasons came out practiced, like he’d been repeating them to himself for a long time, like he knew he was giving you excuses.

You didn’t take another sip of your own drink, just held the glass in both hands on your lap, feeling the cool rim under your fingers.

Seokjin looked at you over the edge of his glass. His eyes were steady now, and the directness of it made heat creep up your neck. You wanted to shift. You wanted to pull your legs closer. The living room felt warmer than it had a minute ago. The air conditioner hummed softly somewhere in the background. The city lights outside painted faint reflections across the glass wall. Nabi’s bedroom stayed silent down the hall.

You were painfully aware that the house had gone quiet hours ago. Nabi asleep, Mrs. Bak long gone, the hallway lights dimmed to soft amber. Just you and Jin on the wide sectional in the living room.

You shouldn’t have asked. You knew it the second the words left your mouth:

“You don’t have to find a new wife to feel good, oppa.” your voice came out softer than you meant, almost careful, like you were handing him an out. “You don’t like fucking casually?”

Seokjin’s breath hitched. Not loud, but you heard it: the tiny catch in his throat, the way his fingers flexed once around his glass before going still. He looked down at the dark gold swirl inside it, then lifted his eyes to yours. Guarded. Open. Something raw flickering behind the calm he usually wore.

“I’ve been with Hiah since school.” just fact, laid bare. “Can’t say I ever have.”

The silence that followed pressed against your eardrums. Heavy and warm. You realized you were holding your breath, chest tight, skin prickling where the air touched it. His gaze didn’t waver, and you wondered what he saw on your face.

Your pulse thumped loud in your ears, louder than the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The couch leather creaked when you shifted, just an inch, but it felt like the room noticed.

Hoseok’s voice cut through your head then, sharp and fond as if he were lounging on the armrest beside you: The Yn I know goes for what she wants.

And right now, god help you, what you wanted was Jin.

You set your glass on the coffee table, the clink sounding obscene in the quiet.

“You deserve to be taken care of too…” you said, words steady even though your hands weren’t. “I don’t have to be here just for Nabi.”

Jin didn’t miss the promise behind your words, he couldn't have. Not when his eyes darkened half a shade, not when his Adam’s apple slid on a slow swallow.

Your name left him soft, almost a sigh. “Yn.”

The sound of it in his mouth twisted something low in your belly. Fear spiked sharp behind your ribs: rejection incoming, this fragile thing about to shatter.

“Don’t talk like that.” it came out rougher than he probably meant, edged with a groan he couldn’t quite swallow nor hide.

“Why?” you asked, bolder now. Heart hammering so hard you were sure he could see it under your shirt.

“We shouldn’t.” his voice dropped lower. Eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, like he was trying to talk himself out of the gravity pulling him closer.

“I know.”

He said your name again and this time it wasn’t a warning, but a plea. A crack in the wall he’d built around himself for years.

You watched the exact second he gave in: the almost-imperceptible nod, the slow blink, the faint lift of his brows like he was asking ‘are you sure?’ and answering himself at the same time.

You moved before you could second-guess it. Reached for his glassfingers brushing his, warm and steady, and set it beside yours with a quiet clink. Then you were climbing over him, one knee planting on the cushion beside his thigh, the other swinging across until you settled in his lap.

Careful. Slow. Like approaching something wild that might bolt. And he let you.

Jin didn’t pull away, he didn’t push. Just exhaled shakily as your weight settled, thighs bracketing his hips, palms finding his shoulders for balance. The heat of him seeped through his shirt instantly, solid chest rising and falling too fast, the faint tremor in his hands where they hovered at your waist, not quite touching yet.

You weren’t used to being the one to start things like this, the bravery you were wearing felt paper-thin, nerves churning hot in your stomach.

“We don’t have to–” his voice cracked on the last word, like reading your hesitance as regret, as if you’d already changed your mind. His hands finally settled, light, tentative on your hips like he was afraid to hold on too hard.

“Please, oppa.” it came out smaller than you intended.

His thumbs flexed against the fabric of your shirt, like he was testing the reality of you there. Then his grip tightened just enough. Enough to say yes.

“Wanna kiss you.”

The confession slipped out when you caught his gaze lingering too long, too heavy on your mouth. You’d fantasized about those lips for months: plush, pink, always curved in that gentle half-smile when he thanked you for staying late. Now they parted slightly, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them in a slow, unconscious sweep that felt like an invitation he hadn’t noticed.

Your hands were already braced on his shoulders, fingers curling into the crisp cotton of his shirt. You leaned in inch by inch, giving him every chance to pull back. He didn’t.

The first press of your lips was soft, tentative and almost polite. His breath rushed warm against your mouth, carrying the faint, dark strength of the whisky you’d both been nursing. Then his lips parted wider and yours followed, tongues brushing in a slow, exploratory glide.

You tilted your head the opposite way, chasing the angle that let you sink deeper. Your chest brushed his; the hard plane of him against the softness of you. A tiny sound escaped your throat, half sigh, half moan, and he swallowed it, answering with a low, rumbling hum that vibrated through your ribs.

Jin’s fingers flexed on your hips, tentative at first, then firmer, like he was reminding himself he was allowed to hold you here. The pressure sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You stayed still for a heartbeat, letting the kiss stay languid, sensual, tasting him like you had all night. But then he tugged, subtle, but insistent, pulling your hips forward until your core settled more fully against the growing hardness beneath his slacks.

A groan tore from his throat, muffled against your mouth.

Your fingers slid into his hair, threading through the soft strands at his nape, tugging just enough to tilt his head back so you could kiss him deeper. You rolled your hips once and felt him twitch beneath you. Hard and ready.

The realization hit like a spark: Kim Seokjin, your boss, the man who paid your salary, the father of the little girl you had just tucked in to sleep, was losing composure under you. The power of it made your head spin, dizzy and intoxicating.

You broke the kiss when your lungs burned, pulling back just enough to see his face. Pupils blown wide, dark and glassy. His lips were even redder now, swollen from your attention, parted on shallow breaths. Beautiful and ever and absolutely wrecked.

“I can feel you…” you whispered, voice small and shaky despite the boldness still thrumming through you. Another roll of your hips, harsher this time, grinding down deliberately, and his cock jerked against you through the layers of fabric. “Always wanted to–”

“Fuck.” the word punched out of him, rougher than you’d ever heard. His hands slid lower, cupping your ass with both palms, squeezing hard enough to lift you slightly before guiding you back down in a slow, controlled drag against him. “You’re driving me crazy.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing skin, open-mouthed, hot, not quite a kiss but close enough to make you shiver. His breath fanned damp across your collarbone as his right hand slipped under the hem of your pajama top, fingers splaying across bare stomach, then higher, stopping just shy of your breast. Thumb brushing the underside, testing.

Every cell in him screamed conflict. This was wrong on every level he could name: you were too young, too bright, too much his employee. The same girl who smiled sweetly when Nabi babbled at her, who never complained about late nights. And here he was, thirty-something, divorced, supposed to be the responsible one, rutting up into you like he couldn’t stop himself. His cock throbbed painfully with every grind; his mind yelled at him to pull back, to apologize, to remember the power imbalance he held even now.

His body ignored it.

“Touch me, Jin.” your voice cracked on his name, soft and pleading.

He exhaled hard against your throat, then his hand moved. Jin cupped your breast fully. The weight of it filled his palm, soft and warm, nipple already peaked and dragging against his skin. He rolled it gently between thumb and forefinger, testing, and you arched into the touch with a whimper that shot straight to his groin.

He thrust up instinctively, hips chasing friction like he was twenty again and hadn’t touched anyone in years. The friction was maddening; too much fabric, not enough skin.

You giggled suddenly, breathless.

“Wrong one.” your voice was teasing, light despite the tremor in it. You pushed gently at his shoulders until he eased back, dazed eyes tracking your movements. “I have something to show you. Hope it’s not a deal breaker.”

He froze. “Mm?”

Then you hooked your fingers under the hem of your top and peeled it off in one smooth motion.

The air left his lungs in a sharp, audible rush.

Your skin glowed under living room lights, smooth, flawless, untouched by time in a way that made his chest ache with something like reverence and guilt all at once. Breasts round, perky, nipples tight from the cool air and his earlier attention. And on the left one: a delicate barbell piercing, two tiny pink heart-shaped gems glinting on either side of the small bud.

He stared. Mouth open. Brain short-circuiting.

“Holy fuck.” he breathed.

Your earlier words clicked into place. Hope it’s not a deal breaker.

Seokjin’s cock gave a hard, helpless twitch in his pants. He could’ve come right then, fully dressed, untouched beyond the grinding.

“That’s…” Jin swallowed, voice gravel-rough. “That’s sexy as fuck.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark, hungry, but still holding that last thread of restraint. One hand stayed on your hip, thumb stroking slow circles like he was anchoring himself. The other lifted, hesitant, reverent, until the pad of his thumb brushed the barbell. A tiny tug, barely there, and your back bowed, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.

He watched your face the whole time. Watched the way your lips parted, the way your pupils swallowed the color of your irises. Watched you react to him.

And something possessive and dark flickered in his chest.

You giggled again, soft, surprised, and so delighted when his reaction wasn’t shock or recoil but pure, unguarded hunger. Seokjin didn’t strike you as the type: polished suits, boardroom voice, the kind of man who probably thought body mods belonged to rebellious college kids. Yet here he was, eyes dark and glassy, thumbs already circling the tiny heart-shaped gems like they were something precious.

Both hands cupped your breasts now, warm palms cradling their weight. He flicked the barbell once, gentle and testing, and a sharp hiss escaped you, spine arching involuntarily.

“Does it hurt?” his gaze snapped to your face, chocolate eyes searching.

“Only if you pull it, or bite it.” your voice came out breathy. You reached up, fingers sliding into his hair, pushing the messy strands back from his forehead. They were wilder now than when you’d found him alone in the living room, disheveled by your hands, by your want. You cradled the back of his neck and guided him closer until his lips hovered over your chest. “But I like it.”

He exhaled a shaky chuckle against your skin. “Of course you do.”

The sound vibrated through you. He’d stopped expecting predictability from you tonight; every layer you peeled back surprised him, enticed him more. His cock throbbed painfully inside his trousers, the head already slick and leaking enough that he could feel the damp patch spreading against his thigh. He tried not to think about how pathetic it was, how long it had been since anyone had touched him like this, how fast you were unraveling years of careful restraint.

“I’ve been told it feels quite good on your tongue too.” you whispered, nails scratching his scalp.

Seokjin’s mouth found the soft valley between your breasts first with open kisses, slow drags of tongue, tasting salt and warm skin. Then he moved higher, lips brushing the underside of one breast before teeth grazed the side in a sudden, possessive bite. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to mark. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, the sharp tug sending fire across his scalp.

A darker part of him reared up at the thought: others had seen you like this. Tasted you. Known the hitch in your breath when they played with that piercing. It was irrational, unfair and slightly hypocritical, but right now, with you trembling in his lap, you were his. He wanted the evidence of it on your skin, even if just for tonight.

He soothed the bite with a slow, wet lick, tongue flattening over the faint imprint before trailing kisses upward. When he reached your nipple, he paused, breath hot against the tight peak, then wrapped plush lips around it. The barbell clicked softly against his teeth; he rolled the metal between tongue and roof of his mouth, savoring the cool silver contrast against your fever-hot skin. He sucked with gentle pulls at first, then deeper, tongue flicking the heart charms in quick, teasing strokes.

Your hips stuttered, grinding down harder. Through his slacks and your thin sleep shorts, he could feel the slick heat of your pussy soaking through; wet enough that every roll dragged obscene friction against his aching length. The sounds spilling from your throat were filthy-sweet: soft whimpers building to breathy moans, louder with each swirl of his tongue.

He pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening.

“Shhh, baby.” his voice was low, rough, edged with sudden awareness. Nabi’s room was only a hallway away. “Gotta be quiet.”

“Fuck–sorry.” you bit your lip, trying to muffle yourself, one hand still fisted in his hair while the other slid down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, until your palm cupped the thick ridge of his cock. You squeezed, firm and exploratory, and felt him jump under your touch. “You feel so good, though.”

Jin groaned into your neck, hips jerking up instinctively. Your small hand worked him through the fabric, stroking the length, cupping the heavy weight of his balls, and every pass sent sparks up his spine. His stomach clenched, balls drawing tight. Too much. Too fast. He hadn’t been this close to the edge from dry humping since he was a teenager.

He tried to hold it back, tried to breathe through it, but your thumb swiped over the wet spot at the tip, pressing just right, and the dam broke.

“Oh–fuck–”

His whole body locked up. Cock pulsing hard against your palm, hot spurts soaking through his boxers and slacks in embarrassing waves. He trembled beneath you, breath ragged, face buried in your shoulder as the aftershocks rolled through him.

You froze for a heartbeat. Then your fingers gentled, stroking him through the mess without pulling away.

When Seokjin finally lifted his head, his cheeks were flushed crimson, eyes glassy with mortification and lingering heat. Frustration flickered there too, annoyance at himself, at his body betraying him so quickly.

“It’s okay.” you whispered, cupping his jaw to tilt his face up. You kissed the high flush on his cheekbones, then his swollen mouth. “Really.”

“How can you–” his voice cracked. “That’s not–”

“It’s flattering.” your smile was sweet, not teasing. “Means you wanted this as bad as I did.”

He exhaled hard, something loosening in his chest. He didn’t bother with excuses; it had never happened before, not like this. But the truth was humiliatingly simple: you undid him. Your scent clinging to his shirt, your taste still on his tongue, your nails on his scalp, your hips never giving him a second to catch his breath. Too long without touch. Too much want.

And now he had something to prove.

You started to shift, ready to climb off, already mentally filing this under incredible makeout, maybe a cold shower later, but Seokjin moved faster.

One arm banded around your waist; the other braced on the couch. In a smooth, controlled motion he flipped you both. Your back met the cool, wipe-clean leather with a soft thump. You squeaked, half surprise, half laugh, and the sound vanished as his mouth covered yours again, deeper this time, hungrier.

He settled between your thighs, weight pinning you deliciously. One hand caught your wrists, lifting them above your head and pressing them lightly to the cushion, not restraining, just holding. A quiet reminder of who was bigger, older, the one who could stop this with a word if he wanted.

He didn’t want to stop.

Jin’s free hand dragged down your side in that slow and possessive way, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. Not diving in yet. Teasing the sensitive skin just above your mound.

He broke the kiss, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re really gonna have to be quiet for this, baby.”

The word slipped from him again, and your heart stuttered hard enough you felt it in your throat. He hadn’t called anyone that in years. Hadn’t wanted to. Until you.

“For what?” you breathed, already knowing, already aching.

Seokjin’s mouth curved against your collarbone. “For when I make you cum on my tongue.”

Your breath snagged. Back arching off the leather as he began his slow descent, kissing the soft swell of your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel just to feel you shiver. Jin’s hands roamed your thighs: warm palms sliding up the insides, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where you were already dripping for him. You bit your lip hard, trying to swallow the sounds clawing up your throat, eyes locked on his face as he explored you like he was memorizing every inch.

“Can I take these off?” he paused at your hips, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Please, oppa–” The plea came out whisper-thin, hips already lifting to help.

The man hooked his fingers under the waistband of your cotton shorts and dragged them down, slow enough to make you squirm. When they cleared your ankles and he realized you were bare underneath, a low, guttural groan tore from his chest. He sat back on his heels for a second, just staring.

Completely naked under him while he was still in his half-unbuttoned shirt and slacks, cock visibly thickening again behind the damp fabric. Your skin flushed hot under his gaze, breasts heaving, nipples still shiny from his earlier attention, the piercing glinting in the low light. Thighs trembling. Pussy glistening, swollen, lips parted and slick.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Look at this soaked little pussy. So fucking pretty.”

“Seokjin– please–”

Your whine cracked the quiet. He exhaled hard through his nose, then lifted one of your legs to drape over the back of the couch, the other falling open to the side. The stretch exposed you completely, cool air kissing wet heat, making your hole clench around nothing. His broad shoulders settled between your thighs as he lowered himself, stomach flat to the leather, face inches from where you needed him most.

He didn’t tease for long.

Jin’s tongue pushed between your folds in one long, slow drag, parting the sticky mess, flattening to lap up the flood of arousal coating you. The taste hit him like a drug: sweet-tart, heady, addictive. He swallowed audibly, moaned low in his throat, the vibration rumbling straight through your clit.

“Goddamn–” he growled against you. “You taste so fucking good.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the whimper that threatened to be too loud. The other flew to his hair, fingers twisting tight as he licked you open, broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, then back down, tongue dipping inside your fluttering hole just enough to make your hips buck. His large hands clamped your thighs wider, holding you pinned and spread while he devoured.

When his plush lips finally closed around your clit, you nearly sobbed. He sucked, gentle pulls at first, then harder, tongue flicking rapid little circles over the swollen bud while the flat of it pressed and rolled. Wet, obscene slurping filled the room, mixed with his muffled groans of pure enjoyment. He wasn’t breathing properly, too focused, too greedy, but he didn’t care. Neither did you.

Your hips rolled up to meet his mouth, grinding shamelessly against his face. Slick smeared across his chin, his cheeks; he only pressed deeper, nose bumping your clit when his tongue fucked back inside you.

“Jin–fuck–oh shit–”

You were trying. You really were. But the man was relentless; tongue swirling in tight, filthy patterns you didn’t even know existed, lips sucking your clit like he was starving. One hand slid up to pinch and tug at your pierced nipple; the sharp spark shot straight to your core.

“Gonna cum–don’t stop–please–”

He hummed approval against you, vibration ripping another choked moan from your throat, then did something wicked: pointed his tongue and twirled it around your clit in fast, tight circles while sucking at the same time. Your vision whited out. Back bowing off the couch, thighs clamping around his head, fingers yanking his hair so hard it had to hurt.

You came hard, a shattering, silent scream trapped behind your palm. Waves of pleasure crashed through you: pussy clenching and gushing against his tongue, legs shaking, toes curling. He didn’t stop, licking you through every pulse, slower now, savoring the fresh flood of wetness until your hips jerked from overstimulation.

When you finally collapsed, limp, boneless, chest heaving, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against your inner thigh. Lips and chin shiny with you. Breathing ragged. Eyes dark and blown when they met yours.

Your name left him like a prayer. “Baby…”

He kissed the soft skin of your thigh once, then again, higher, tasting the mess he’d made of you.

Your vision was blurry with static, limbs falling limp on the couch as you forgot your own name.

His name, however, was pretty damn clear on your mind.

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