a collection of my fav BTS fics & the ones I plan to read. enjoy! | ask me anything! fic recommendation to-read list important! inbox! BTS tings random
genre: idol au, established relationship, tender pfp
summary: he’s finally done with his military service. the first of bts to be discharged, and damn, he looks good. it’s been 18 long months of timed visits, countdowns, and aching silences. but now he’s standing in the doorway broader, stronger, and softer. this isn’t a grand love story, that’s never been your thing. it’s a quiet one, the kind that finds you in the hallway with frosting on your cheek, and arms that never want to let go again.
he’s home and you’re exactly where he left his heart.
warnings: emotional reunion, lots of soft kisses, longing (like, serious yearning), smut, fingering, oral f & m receiving, praise kink, bde, a lil bit of teasing & biting, ‘talking you through it’ jin 😜, deep emotional intimacy, crying (in a good way), some domestic fluff, soft aftercare
word count: 7,097
a word from out sponsors 💁🏽♀️: ah, finally rounding out the military discharge drabbles with my current bias wrecker 😌something about jin just calls to the domestic femininity in me. he’s just so husband coded and it makes me feral, but then he’s so damn silly and awkward (still feral). i loved writing this little series so much, i hope you enjoy!! 🤗💜
The first thing Seokjin saw was Namjoon.
Not surprising, really—not when the man was standing front and center outside the training facility, honking wildly on a saxophone like a proud parent sending their kid off to college. Except in this case, the kid had just completed 18 months of national service and looked unfairly good in uniform.
Laughter exploded all around them as the other members surged forward. Taehyung and Jungkook shouting the loudest, Jimin almost in tears, and Hoseok clinging to his hyung with an uncontainable smile.
Only Yoongi was missing from the chaos, but Jin knew better than to think he wasn’t nearby. The man hated crowds, sure, but he never missed a moment that mattered. And this moment?
It mattered.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.
The clicks of cameras followed close behind, as did the murmurs of the press. He smiled, bowed deeply, thanked them all in the classic ‘Seokjin’ way. All grace and composed radiance. The persona he donned so well, polished with charm and a voice like silk.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I’m grateful for the support. I’ve missed everyone… but I’m excited to start this new chapter.”
A few more photos, a few more waves, and then he was stepping into the van waiting for him, and the moment the door slid shut his smile dropped.
His eyes searched the empty row in front of him, like he could will you into existence through sheer force of longing. He’d wanted you here, wanted to see you as soon as he left the training center.
“Then who’ll be here to greet you when you come home?”
He couldn’t argue with that, not when it was so nauseatingly cheesy and heart warming.
He nearly ripped the seatbelt getting it on, shoulders tense, his throat tight. His manager said something but he didn’t hear it. Too busy imagining the weight of your hands in his. Your laugh. Your warmth. The curve of your smile when you teased him for crying over Finding Nemo again.
The drive felt like years.
But when the car pulled to a stop in front of his apartment, your apartment now, the one you’d made a home while he was gone, his heart stopped.
He hurriedly unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Baby?” he called out, locking the door behind him. His boots thudded gently against the floor as he stepped out of them, shoulders tense with anticipation. “You home?”
He rounded the corner about to head into the living room and there you were.
Standing barefoot in the foyer with a party hat perched on your head, one hand behind your back and the other holding a single cupcake. A candle flickered on top, swaying like your voice as you sang softly under your breath.
It wasn’t a traditional welcome home song, nothing patriotic or rehearsed.
It was your song.
The one that played the first time he kissed you outside that grungy coffeehouse near your college campus. The one he sang into your hair during finals week, sleep deprived and drunk on love. The one you played in the car on the way to your first apartment.
His throat tightened.
You finished the last line, holding the cupcake out to him with a wobbly smile.
“Welcome home, Jinnie.”
Seokjin didn’t answer.
He just stepped forward, blew out the candle, and dipped a finger into the frosting then smeared it across your cheek before you could react.
“Seokjin!” you gasped.
But before you could swat him, he leaned in and kissed the frosting from your skin. One slow drag of his lips across your cheek, then another against your mouth.
And there it was.
The thing he’d been aching for through every icy morning, every sleepless night, every letter he wrote but never sent.
You.
Pressed to his chest, soft and real. His arms wrapped around your waist. The smell of you, the feel of you—he could cry.
And maybe he would.
Because this, this was what he’d waited for. Not headlines or the applause. Just this quiet moment in the hallway with you, where he could finally exhale and let his walls fall.
—
Of course, the tender moment didn’t last long.
You looked up with a sheepish smile, trying to play it cool, but the sight of him rooted you to the spot.
Because Seokjin?
He looked good.
He’d always been lithe and lean, but now? Now, his shoulders stretched the seams of his shirt, and his hips were narrower than before, a perfect V forming at the waistband of his pants. His neck looked kissable. Biteable. More than worthy of worshipping.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he teased, already toeing off his boots, ears pink. “You planning to eat me instead of the cupcake?”
You laughed nervously, flustered and a little breathless, eyes lingering too long on the way his forearms flexed when he took off his uniform jacket. “Can you blame me? You’re… huge.”
Jin preened. “I’ve always been huge.”
“That’s not what I meant—!”
But then he was across the room, wrapping you up in his arms before you could say anything more. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, the scent of your skin grounding him more than anything else had in months.
You opened your mouth, maybe to tease him again, but the words stuck in your throat. His grip around you tightened, fingers bunching in the back of your shirt like he didn’t believe you were real.
“Missed you,” he said softly. “So much.”
And suddenly, your resolve cracked.
Because it had been five long months since his last visit. Five months of longing. Of counting down days. Of aching for his warmth beside you in bed.
The weight of him felt like home.
You sighed into his shoulder, letting yourself melt into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you more tightly, almost as if afraid you’d vanish the second he let go. His breath tickled the side of your neck, lips brushing your skin without meaning to, just from how close he had to be. You felt him smile there, lazy and soft.
“I can’t believe you really wore this hat,” he murmured, voice muffled.
“You’re one to talk,” you replied with a chuckle. “You practically jumped out of a moving vehicle just to get here.”
“Not true,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “I waved very respectfully first.”
“You tackled me with your eyes.”
He hummed, tilting his head as if considering it. “What can I say? You look like a dream.”
His fingers found yours, lacing them together as he led you gently to the couch. He sank into it first, pulling you into his lap with a sigh that felt more like a release than anything else. The kind you give when you’re finally where you belong.
“I kept thinking about this moment,” he admitted. “Just… being able to hold you again. To feel your weight on me. To kiss you when I want. Touch you when I want with no time limit before I had to leave again.”
You nuzzled into his neck, pressing a kiss beneath his ear. “Then do it.”
“Not yet,” he said, surprising you. His arms wrapped tighter around you, hands smoothing along your spine in long lingering trokes. “I just want to be like this for a bit. Let it sink in.”
And so you sat there, curled into his lap, your cheek resting against his chest with his heartbeat under your ear slow and steady. He ran his fingers through your hair over and over again, almost like he was memorizing the texture, the length, the shape of you.
You didn’t talk. Not at first. There was too much to say. Too much that didn’t need words. Eventually, though, you tilted your head and whispered, “Tell me about your last day.”
He smiled faintly. “It was cold. Boring. Lots of standing around and paperwork. One guy lost his uniform cap right before formation and almost caused a scene. We all lined up for one last roll call, then they gave us these envelopes and told us we were free men.”
You chuckled against his collarbone.
“And then?” you asked.
“I thought about running,” he replied. “Straight to you.”
You pulled back to look at him, your fingers brushing the soft lines of his jaw, your eyes searching his face as if seeing it for the first time again. He looked a little older. A little wiser. A little more like the man you always knew he could be.
“I missed you so much it hurt,” you said quietly.
He kissed you again, gentle and sweet. One of those kisses that mended something back together deep in your chest.
“I know,” he whispered into your mouth. “Me too.”
And then he smiled that crooked, boyish smile.
“Now can we go to bed?” he asked, tone lighter. “Because my back is killing me, and I want to fall asleep holding you like a koala.”
“Just fall asleep?” you teased, eyebrows raised.
Jin leaned in, breath warm against your lips, eyes darkening slightly.
“For now,” he said. “Unless my favorite person decides to make a move.”
You laughed, nose scrunching as you flicked his forehead gently.
“Don’t put this on me,” you said. “You’re the one who’s been gone for a year and a half. I should be the one acting coy.”
“Oh, you can act coy,” Jin replied, voice all faux seriousness. “But if you think I’m not going to cling to you like a second skin tonight, you clearly forgot who you’re dealing with.”
You rolled your eyes as he tugged you closer, so that you were half sprawled across his chest. He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then down the side of your neck, each one punctuated with a soft hum.
“I missed your smell,” he murmured into your skin. “I know that sounds creepy.”
“It’s only creepy if you say it like that,” you teased.
He snorted. “Let me rephrase, then. Being close to you again is like finally exhaling.”
Your lips parted but no words came out. Because you knew what he meant. Because that was exactly how it felt. Like a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding had finally been released.
“I washed the sheets yesterday,” you whispered, tracing your fingers over the collar of his uniform. “Thought you might appreciate sleeping in something that didn’t smell like detergent and dust.”
“I love you,” he blurted out. “Did I say that yet?”
You shook your head. “Not since stepping through the door.”
“Well then—” he flipped you both gently, easing you beneath him on the couch, resting his forehead to yours, “—I love you. More than I ever did before.”
You curled your fingers into his sleeves, tugging him closer. “You’re not allowed to go off and become all sentimental and hot at the same time. It’s unfair.”
He chuckled, nose brushing yours. “Wait, am I hot now?”
“Don’t act brand new, Seokjin,” you warned. “I nearly passed out when you walked through the door. The uniform. The shoulders. The arms. The stance. You look like a literal man now.”
“Ah, so I wasn’t a man before?”
“You were a very pretty boy.”
“Rude,” he gasped, mock offended. “Here I am, baring my soul, and you’re over here calling me a boy.”
You leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth, your voice softening. “You’ve always been mine, though. Military man or pretty boy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jin hummed, holding back the smile tugging at his lips. He pulled you back into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, sighing like he was exactly where he belonged.
—
At some point, the two of you had migrated to the bedroom. You weren’t sure when, exactly.
He didn’t let go of you.
Not even when you turned to guide him down the hallway. Not when your feet bumped into his huge ones. Not even when you laughed and tried to wiggle free.
“Jin,” you murmured, voice muffled in his shoulder, “we can’t just walk like this.”
“Sure we can,” he replied, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I could hold you here forever.”
You huffed, smiling despite yourself, and let your hands trail up the back of his neck. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, softer too, curling just slightly at the ends.
“You’re really milking this dramatic soldier-boy-returned-from-war moment, huh?”
He pulled back just far enough to raise one brow. “As if you didn’t show up with a cupcake and a party hat.”
“You liked it.”
“I loved it.”
He kissed you again before finally letting out a breath and letting you lead him.
You waddled together to the bedroom, still half tangled, your laughter echoing off the walls. When you reached the edge of the bed, you tapped his chest.
“Okay, hero,” you teased. “Uniform off. You’re gonna wrinkle it.”
He groaned like you’d just asked him to disassemble a bomb.
“But I just got home.”
“Exactly. You’re home. Which means you’re free to be comfortable, wrinkle free, and maybe just a little naked.”
“If you wanted a show,” he drawled, eyes glinting, “all you had to do was ask.”
Your face grew warm. “I didn’t say that—”
You plopped onto the bed dramatically, folding your legs beneath you. “It’s an observation. You’re gonna sweat through that thing if you keep clinging to me.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he turned and began unbuttoning his uniform. Slowly, sensually, the way he always did when he knew you were watching.
And you were watching.
Because it wasn’t just Seokjin standing there. It was Kim Seokjin, post military. Jin with a broader chest and thicker arms, his back straight, shoulders squared.
His shirt came off, then his belt. Then the undershirt.
And your mouth was suddenly very dry.
His arms flexed as he tossed the fabric aside, and you caught sight of a small vein that hadn’t been there before running up his bicep.
“Are you—” you cleared your throat, trying to sound casual. “Did they grow you in there?”
He turned to look at you, already grinning. “Are you ogling me again?”
“I’m not ogling,” you said, very much ogling. “I’m… impressed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”
You nodded, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to come back looking like this. You know, all strong and serious.”
He smirked.
Then he stepped toward the bed, slow and easy, undoing the button on his pants.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “I don’t remember this part of the welcome home protocol.”
You swallowed, heart thudding. “Well. You’ve been away a long time. The rules might’ve changed.”
He chuckled, soft and dangerous.
“Good,” he murmured, stepping between your knees. “Because I plan on breaking every single one.”
You felt it in your chest, that quiet flutter of anticipation. It wasn’t new. It was the oldest thing in the world between you two. But this time, it felt different.
He stepped between your knees, one hand on your thigh, firm and warm and present.
“You keep staring, my darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “At this point, should I be flattered or concerned?”
“I’m just… assessing the damage,” you said, voice dry but breathless. “You used to be all lanky. Now you’re… dangerous. It’s a little jarring, honestly.”
Jin smirked and looked down at himself, flexing his biceps ridiculously. “Dangerous?”
“Objectively.”
He leaned in a bit, his fingers tracing light patterns against the inside of your thigh. “You saying you like this version of me better?”
You paused. Let your gaze travel across his bare torso, his broader chest, the new lines of muscle that carved deeper than before. The same face, same mouth, same gorgeous eyes. But quieter now, a little sharper and stronger.
“No,” you said softly. “I like every version of you.”
That made him pause.
He blinked, something tender pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Even the version that couldn’t stop crying at graduation?”
You grinned. “Especially that one.”
He laughed, the kind of laugh that crinkled his eyes and shook his shoulders. “God, I missed you,” he murmured, his voice dipping low again. “I’d try to say it in my letters, but it never came out right.”
You touched his wrist, holding it there against your thigh. “Say it now.”
His hand tightened slightly.
“I missed your voice. Your smell. The way you always take the last bite and pretend you didn’t. The way you look at me when you think I’m being dramatic.”
“You are dramatic.”
“I own it,” he said, kissing the inside of your knee. “But you’ve always made room for it. For me. No matter what version of myself I was.”
You swallowed. Hard.
He looked up at you then, his face suddenly open in a way that made your breath catch. Not just playful. Not just teasing.
Honest.
“You’re my safe place,” he said quietly. “And I’ve spent the last eighteen months dreaming of coming home to you.”
You didn’t respond with words. You just pulled him in by the waistband of his pants. His body fell forward easily, chest brushing yours, arms bracketing your hips as he hovered above you.
“You’re not crying, are you?” you whispered, thumbing the corner of his eye.
He chuckled against your mouth. “Not yet. Don’t tempt me.”
You kissed him first this time. The kind of kiss that said, I waited for you. I always would.
His mouth moved against yours with quiet intention. His hand slid beneath your shirt, palm flat against your waist. Your breath hitched, then you shifted, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, and he groaned into your mouth.
“Careful,” he warned, voice fraying. “I’ve got months of self restraint hanging by a thread right now.”
You bit his bottom lip gently, smirking. “Then let’s see if it holds.”
His gaze sharpened.
And the thread snapped.
—
You barely had time to process the way his hips pressed against yours before he was kissing you again. His tongue slipped past your lips, his hands settling just beneath your breasts.
“You sure?” he murmured between kisses, teasing the sensitive underside of your breasts. Refusing to touch you the way you wanted.
“Jin—”
“I’m asking because I need to hear you say it.”
You curled your fingers around his wrist and guided his hand higher. “Yes.”
His mouth quirked, partly pleased, and partly something else. Then he leaned back slightly and pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. He sat up on his knees, eyes drinking you in.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he said softly.
“You’ll die happy.”
“Oh, definitely.”
His hands slid down your sides, fingers brushing beneath your bra, and he bent to press a kiss just above the cup.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
Your breath caught. “Maybe.”
He clicked his tongue. “Lying already?”
Then he had your bra unclasped and off before you could answer, and his mouth was on you before you could think. His tongue circled your nipple, his thumb brushing over the other as he sucked slowly, savoring it.
“Still so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin.
You arched into him, and he shifted down, dragging kisses across your stomach, his hands holding your waist still. The care in his touch made your breath stutter, but it was his voice that made your heart clench.
“God, you feel so soft. So warm. I got in trouble for daydreaming about this, you know? About sliding my hands down your thighs, touching you everywhere so I could hear those pretty sounds you make.” He kissed the inside of one. Then the other.
When his fingers hooked into your waistband and peeled your lounge pants off, he paused. He looked up at you. No smirk now, no playful edge. Just heat and awe.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
You did.
He sighed like he’d just been presented with something devout. And then his fingers were back, slow and steady, stroking through the soft folds of your cunt as you gasped, hands grabbing at the sheets.
“You’re already so wet,” he said, voice wrecked. “Did I do that?”
You nodded, shameless.
He slid a finger inside, then another, curling them just right. Your hips twitched, chasing the pleasure. “There she is. That’s my girl.”
You moaned as he leaned down and kissed the inside of your thigh again, his voice soft and teasing against your skin. “You sound so pretty like this.”
When he added his mouth, tongue flat and slow against your clit, you nearly sobbed.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, even as he licked deeper, letting his fingers and tongue work in rhythm. “Let me take my time with you.”
He teased you to the edge, only to pull back with maddening precision. Like he was playing a song he knew by heart.
Every slow stroke of his fingers was deliberate, coaxing rather than demanding, drawing you out until you trembled beneath him, breath stuttering and skin hot enough to burn.
Your thighs quivered around him, hips caught in that helpless rhythm between desperation and restraint.
And still—still—he didn’t give you what you needed.
Just the soft brush of his knuckles over soaked skin. The low, lazy hum against your collarbone as he kissed the sweat pooling there.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice dipped in honey and heat. “Trembling so pretty for me.”
You choked on a gasp, your fingers clutching at the sheets, or maybe him, searching for something to ground you as another wave of tension crested, cruel and close.
But again, he eased off.
His lips found your jaw, your ear, the pulse at your throat.
And with every kiss, every breathless murmur, he undid you further.
“So good for me,” he whispered, the praise sliding down your spine like warm syrup.
“Always so perfect, even after all this time…” His fingers pressed just a little deeper, curling in a way that made your breath catch and your toes curl.
You whimpered, nails raking lightly down his back. “Jinnie, please—”
“Oh, I know,” he breathed, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, his voice a velvet rasp. “You wanna cum for me, don’t you my darling?”
You nodded, frantic.
“You want me to let you?” he teased, just a whisper now. “Want me to say it?”
You nodded again, more desperate this time, hips lifting, chasing something you could almost taste.
“Let go.”
The words dropped like a spark in dry grass, and you burned.
Back arching, hands fisting, a cry torn from your throat as your body finally shattered around him, every nerve set alight by the heat of his voice and the slow, relentless rhythm of his touch.
He held you through it.
Whispered your name like it was the only word he knew.
Stroked your walls while you came undone in his arms, soft praises spilling from his lips between kisses. And when you collapsed against him, breathless and shaking, he only smiled.
Pressing his cheek to your thigh as he murmured, “There you go, baby. Good girl.”
You couldn’t stop. With a cry that barely escaped your lips, your hips grinding against his mouth as he moaned into you.
He didn’t stop either.
He kept licking through it, until your legs shook and your breath came in little whimpers.
Then he pulled back, kissed your knee, and dragged his mouth up your body again, stopping to kiss the valley between your breasts, your collarbone, the corner of your mouth.
“Want you,” he whispered, breath shaky as he cupped your cheek. “Need to feel you.”
You nodded, dazed, the weight of his words and the warmth of him grounding you in a way nothing else could.
But then your gaze dropped to the waistband of his pants and the outline of his need. You reached for it, fingers curling into the fabric, slow and certain.
“I want to suck your dick first,” you said quietly.
His breath caught.
He blinked down at you, startled not by the request itself, but by the boldness of it. By the way you looked up at him with that sweet, innocent face and said it like you were asking for a glass of water.
For a second, he just stared.
And then he huffed a soft laugh, warm and slightly incredulous. “You do?”
You rolled your eyes and flushed, shoulders tense. “Don’t start,” you muttered, voice sharp with nerves. “That’s what happens when you’re confined to short ass visits for nearly two years.”
Something in his expression changed. His teasing softened, his gaze darkened. Melted into something deeper, heavier. A mix of affection and understanding and something distinctly possessive.
He nodded slowly. “Come here, baby.”
You did, shifting to kneel between his legs on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of you, hands going to the waistband of his pants, pausing only when your fingers gently took over.
“I’ve got it,” you murmured.
He let you, watching with half lidded eyes as you undid the button, slid the zipper down, and eased the fabric down his hips. His cock sprung free, flushed and achingly hard, the sight of you—on your knees, eyes shining, breath catching—having clearly done its damage.
But he didn’t touch you.
Not yet.
Instead, he gently swept your hair back from your face, tucking strands behind your ears like he was dressing you for worship. The rest held in a makeshift ponytail.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You know I love watching you like this.”
Your lips parted, breath trembling with anticipation as you leaned in to press the softest kiss to the tip, tongue coyly swiping at the glob of precum, then another down the shaft. His cock twitched at the contact, and he inhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair but careful.
“Good girl,” he whispered, the words sliding down your spine like silk. “Go slow. Let me feel you.”
Your tongue traced along the underside, savoring every reaction, every twitch, every soft sigh he didn’t mean to let out. When you finally took him into your mouth, his head fell back with a groan, one hand still cradling the back of your head while the other cupped underneath your jaw as it flexed to accommodate him.
“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he rasped. “So warm… so perfect.”
He didn’t push at first. Just gently guided. His thumb stroked along your jaw, tender and slow, even as his cock slid further past your lips. His voice dropped to a murmur, low and heady above you.
“You look so pretty like this,” he said, just as you eased your mouth down another inch, your tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft.
You glanced up at him through your lashes and earned a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath your hands.
“Mouth made for me, isn’t it, my darling?”
His hips rolled forward slightly, testing your limit, and you took him deeper with a soft gag that only made him groan, his head tipping back.
“Thought about this every night,” he whispered, tightening his grip in your hair as your hands squeezed around his thighs for balance.
You moaned around him and the vibration pulled a curse from his lips.
That did it.
His control snapped, subtle but sure, and the next thrust of his hips was firmer. His cock sliding along your tongue in a rhythm that made your eyes sting and your thighs press together.
“That’s my girl,” he breathed, voice shaking.
His hips rolled forward, his cock sliding deeper into your throat as his grip tightened just enough to hold you in place as he began to fuck your mouth in steady, measured thrusts.
“Just like that,” he groaned. “Take it for me, baby. Let me use that pretty mouth.”
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about stopping. You hollowed your cheeks, let your jaw go slack, and gave him everything he needed.
He was close.
You could feel it.
Hear it in the way his voice faltered, the way his grip tightened, the way his hips stuttered with every pass of your tongue.
But then he pulled out with a gasp, your lips slick and parted, a string of spit connecting you as he looked down at you like you were the only thing in the world.
“You’re gonna make me cum too fast,” he said, breathless, wrecked. “And I need to be inside you when that happens.”
You blinked up at him, lips swollen, panting softly.
“Come here,” he said again, this time hoarse, hungry.
And you did, eyes glued to his hard glistening, spit coated dick.
“You look impressed.”
You gave him a breathless laugh. “Just mentally preparing.”
“Oh, you should.” His voice was rough around the edges, low and thick with want. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.
“But I’ll go slow,” he murmured against your skin. “Just for now.”
And he did.
Notching the head of his cock at your entrance before he finally slid inside, inch by careful inch. The drag of him against your walls was devastating.
It was the kind of stretch that made your toes curl, your fingers claw at his veiny forearms, your breath catch in your throat like it was afraid to move.
You both groaned, wrecked sounds that cracked the silence open like thunder.
It felt like coming home and being undone all at once. Seokjin’s forehead fell to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath shuddering as he fought to hold himself still.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Always so fucking perfect. You feel like…”
He trailed off, like even heaven didn’t do it justice. Like no word could.
His arms trembled slightly as he braced himself over you, careful not to collapse.
“You okay?” he asked, so gently it made your heart ache.
You nodded, lips parted, eyes dazed. The only sound you could manage was a soft whimper. Half yes, half please.
“Yeah?”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the hollow beneath your ear.
“You’re taking me so well, baby. Look at you.”
He began to move, each thrust deep, rolling through you like a wave. But underneath it, you could feel the tremble in him, the restraint barely holding.
The hunger he was trying to tame.
His jaw was tight, sweat beginning to bead at his temple. He held your gaze through it all, eyes dark and tender, like he didn’t want to miss a single flicker of your expression.
Your nails dug into his back, and he groaned low in his throat.
“Don’t do that,” he breathed. “I’m trying to be good.”
But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
Because this, the way he moved, the way he held you, the way his body fit against yours like it was made to. It was unraveling you. And from the way his breath hitched every time your hips met his, he was unraveling too.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “No idea how much I missed this. Missed you.”
You cupped his face, kissed him hard, and he groaned into your mouth, his pace picking up.
“Wanna cum together with you,” he gasped. “Wanna feel you fall apart around me.”
His thumb had just barely circled your clit before your second orgasm washed over you. Stronger than the first, pulling his name from your lips. And when he followed, spilling inside you with a moan so soft and intimate it made your chest ache, he buried his face in your neck.
“I love you,” he whispered, still catching his breath. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
And in the soft silence after, with your bodies tangled and your heart still racing, you whispered it back.
“I love you too.”
—
The room was quiet save for your breathing and the whisper of his hands tracing slow, lazy paths along your spine. His skin was warm beneath yours, his heartbeat steady, the kind of rhythm you’d missed memorizing.
You thought he was winding down.
But then he shifted, and before you could speak he was rolling again, pulling you with him until your thighs straddled his hips and your palms found balance on his chest.
You blinked down at him, flushed and still dazed, and he just… smiled.
A little smug.
“Hello, my darling, ” he said, like you hadn’t just fucked each other senseless ten minutes ago.
You rolled your eyes. “Hi?”
He reached up, brushed your hair from your face. “Did you know this is my favorite view in the whole house?”
You snorted. “The ceiling?”
“No,” he said, giving your hips a squeeze. “You. Naked. On top of me. Looking like you’re about to ruin my life.”
Your cheeks burned, but your body reacted first, already clenching around nothing at the sound of his voice, the way his hands curled possessively around your thighs like he never wanted to let you go.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you murmured, teasing.
He raised his brows. “Shouldn’t you be taking control?”
That made your breath catch.
He slid one hand up your back, fingers warm and slow, the other still resting low on your waist.
“Come on, baby,” he said softly. “Let me feel you again.”
You shifted, guided him back to where you needed him most. The slide was easy, he was still hard enough, still there, already pressing hot and thick at your entrance.
Jin’s head tipped back with a groan the moment you sank onto him, his fingers flexing at your sides.
“Oh, fuck—I think this is how I die.”
You moved slowly at first, testing the stretch and the angle, rolling your hips until you felt him deep, seated fully inside you.
Jin’s breath stuttered.
“You’re so warm,” he rasped. “So fucking good.”
You started to move, slow grinds that made his mouth fall open. His hands came to your waist, as he watched you like you were unreal. Like you were some dream he hadn’t dared wake up from.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he said, half laughing, half moaning. “Riding me like this after I already came once. What are you trying to prove?”
You leaned down and kissed him, your smile brushing his lips.
“You’re the one who said you wanted to break all the rules.”
He groaned, hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts as you bounced on him a little. Rolling your hips in a pace that was designed to drive him insane.
“God, you feel so good like this. Always knew you’d ruin me one day.”
You gasped when he thrust up unexpectedly, just once, his hands tightening on your waist again, holding you steady as you rode him.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Look at you.”
You flushed harder. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he said, breathless. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
With a cry you let your hands fall to his chest for balance, moving faster now, finding a rhythm that had his head rolling back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Oh sweetheart. You’re gonna make me cum again. Are you trying to break me?”
Your body tightened, breath catching. You were close too, and he knew it. His hand slipped between you, thumb finding your clit once more like it belonged there.
“There we go,” he whispered, voice full of worship. “Cum with me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you choke my cock again.”
When he said it like that, you had no choice but to comply. Body trembling as you pulsed around him, your orgasm rushing through you.
He followed almost instantly, gasping your name as his hips jerked up into yours, his cock twitching deep inside you.
You collapsed onto his chest, boneless and buzzing, his arms wrapping tightly around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go.
—
You lay tangled together, skin to skin, still catching your breath.
The room was quiet save for the soft buzz of the ac and the lingering hum of your heart in your ears. Jin’s arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, your cheek pressed to his chest, the steady rise and fall of it soothing. His hand traced aimless patterns across your back. Lines, circles, shapes that meant nothing and everything.
Your fingers drifted along his side, feeling the way he was still a little too warm, a little too real to believe.
“You okay?” he asked softly, lips brushing your temple.
You nodded. “You?”
“Mm. Think you cracked something loose in my soul,” he murmured. “It’s fine. I didn’t need it.”
You huffed a tired laugh, pressing a kiss to his sternum. He shifted beneath you, just enough to tilt his head and look down.
“Would you marry me?”
Your breath caught. Not because he didn’t mean it, but because he did. You blinked up at him, brows lifting slowly. “You ask that like it’s casual.”
He smiled, the kind he reserved just for you. “It’s not. But the answer feels obvious.”
You swatted his chest lightly. “You are BTS. You can’t just ask me something like that while we’re sweaty and naked.”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be marrying a member of BTS.”
His thumb brushed your bottom lip. “You’d be marrying me. The idiot who cried through your college graduation speech, who makes his own birthday cards because Hallmark never gets it right. Me. Jin.”
Your throat tightened.
“Damn you,” you whispered, eyes welling up. “You always know how to say the exact right thing.”
He smiled wider, cupping your cheek.
“Only with you,” he said. “You bring it out of me.”
Tears slipped down your temples before you could stop them. You pressed your face to his chest again, letting them fall quietly.
“I’m so proud of you,” you murmured. “Of everything you’ve done. Of how you’ve grown. How you’ve survived.”
His hand paused on your back.
“You’re the reason I even went through with the audition,” he said softly. “You remember? You made me promise I’d go—said you’d kill me if I chickened out.”
“You did try to chicken out,” you sniffled.
“And you dragged me to the train station,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “You yelled at me like I’d broken our marriage vows and we weren’t even dating yet.”
You laughed into his chest, heart full to bursting.
“And now look at you,” you said, voice thick. “World’s most dramatic global superstar.”
“Still just your idiot,” he whispered.
You curled tighter into him.
And for the first time in years, it felt like nothing was missing. Like everything—the fame, the waiting, the distance, the love—had led here.
To this.
To him.
“Yeah,” you whispered, answering his question. “Of course I would.”
—
The shower steamed around you, soft and quiet.
You stood beneath the spray, his arms loose around your waist, your head tilted forward into the curve of his neck. The warmth wrapped around you like a second body, your skin flushed and clean and sore in the most satisfying way.
Jin’s hands moved gently along your back. Circles, strokes, the occasional squeeze. His lips pressed lazy kisses to your damp shoulder, to the side of your neck, his breath mingling with the mist in the air.
“You’re addicting, you know that?” he asked, voice thick with affection. “I should be tired, but…”
You turned in his arms slowly, lifting your head just enough to look at him through the haze.
“But?” you whispered, smiling.
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “But I want to feel you again.”
You leaned in and kissed him. Slow and unhurried, moaning quietly into his mouth as your tongues dance and hands roamed.
And just like that, it started again.
There was no frantic rush, no teasing. Just your hands rediscovering skin, mouths trailing over collarbones and necks, bodies pressing together like they were made to fit. Jin backed you gently against the cool tile, his forehead resting against yours, water cascading over his back as he reached down to guide himself inside you once more.
You gasped at the stretch, still tender and slick.
Jin groaned low in his throat, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of the water.
Neither of you spoke after that.
It was all breath and movement. The slow slide of his hips, the soft rhythm of your moans, the quiet slaps of skin echoing in the mist. He held you with both arms around your back, letting your weight anchor him. You curled your fingers into his hair, your cheek pressed to his.
Your bodies rocked in perfect time.
It didn’t take long.
You clenched around him, jaw going slack as the pleasure crested again, soft and all consuming. Jin followed with a shudder, his groan quiet and raw as he came inside you, hips rolling deep, savoring every second of it.
And then stillness again.
Just the water.
Just his heartbeat against yours.
He kissed your temple. “Let’s get you dry.”
The towels were warm, and the sheets even warmer.
Jin climbed into bed beside you with a sigh, his arm immediately reaching out to tug you close, tucking your back against his chest. You hummed, burying your nose into the crook of his arm, already halfway to sleep.
He kissed the top of your head.
“Still with me, darling?” he murmured.
You nodded, too relaxed to speak. Your fingers lazily played with his. He trailed soft touches up and down your side, lulling you further.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mhm.”
“I used to fall asleep thinking about you. Holding you, kissing your hair, watching you talk in your sleep. I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”
You smiled against the pillow.
“You’re home now,” you whispered, groggily. “Finally.”
He exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest loosening all over again.
“Welcome home,” you said, quieter this time, eyes fluttering shut.
He kissed your shoulder, whispered a soft thank you, and pulled the blanket higher over your legs.
You fell asleep like that. His arms around you, your breath steadying, wrapped in the warmth of everything you’d both survived.
Summary: Your car breaks down in a rural town during a solo road trip and you barely manage to make it to the nearest repair shop. Jungkook, trusty mechanic and sweetheart, takes a look at your car and brings you to a - very icky - motel, where he can't bring himself to let you stay the night on your own...
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, mechanic JK, manly JK while still being a cutie and a gentleman, this is pretty much a damsel in distress situation, there's a cuck chair again lmao but no cuck in sight this time, lots of sweat bc it's hot there!! they're both soaked in multiple ways, alcohol and weed, making out a little high, fingering, oral (both receiving), PiV, multiple positions, JK gets a bit unhinged and pussy drunk during the deed and pulls a few surprising moves, bit of dirty talk (good girl mentioned)
A/n: There's a lot of yapping and story building for a oneshot. We love a good build up in this house.
Wordcount: 10.4k
Masterlist
”No, no, no…,“ you plead with your car, stroking the plastic covering behind the steering wheel with one hand. “Please don’t do this to me, we’re almost there!”
The engine light had already lit up some miles back, but you decided to ignore it and just pray you’d make it to your destination. But now, after driving along empty country roads, seemingly endless, with only a few small towns in between breaking the monotony of the scenery, the lights on your dashboard start to flicker and the radio keeps cutting out.
“Shit,” you curse out loud before asking your phone for the directions to the nearest auto repair shop.
Your already shitty air con has totally given up. Beads of sweat are starting to collect on your upper lip as you follow google maps through the scorching heat. Thank god it’s only a few more miles until you pull into a small town off the desert road. This little hick town seems to just be made up of one main road, with a few homes off to the side.
“In 0,2 miles your destination will be on the left,” your navigation lets you know. A minute later you pull up in front of the repair shop with your Buick Century and turn off the ignition. You exhale in relief, at least you made it to the garage. You don’t want to imagine being stranded at the side of the road in the desert, not in this weather.
You let your head fall on the steering wheel that you are gripping with both hands, already worried about how much money you’re going to have to throw at your rust bucket. You step out of your vehicle finally, looking around. There’s what seems to be a small convenience store across the street, a man in denim dungarees and cowboy boots sitting in front of it, smoking. You snort - all that’s missing is a damn banjo.
What comes to your mind immediately is the horror movie cliché of a car breaking down in some rural backwater town and what happens after. You’ve watched countless of them - Wrong Turn, House of Wax, The Hills have Eyes. You don’t have any plans to end up as a final girl to a clan of inbred hillbilly psychos. Hopefully, whatever is wrong with your Buick is fixed quickly so you can be on your way.
You walk into the repair shop through a glass door next to a bigger gate for cars to enter and look around for an employee, unsuccessfully.
“Hello?” you ask into the empty space. There’s a front desk, but it’s unoccupied. Please, don’t let this place be actually closed down already for the day.
“Back here,” you suddenly hear a voice sounding from further back. Relieved, you scan the perimeters to find the source, peeking around a corner.
You find the actual workshop of the garage, multiple cars with open hoods standing around, but you don’t see anyone. Reluctantly, you walk between vehicles, not sure if you are even allowed in here, until you almost stumble over legs sticking out from under some Toyota sedan.
“Um, hi?” you address the jeans-clad legs.
“One sec,” a voice replies and a moment later you hear tools clanking to the floor before a man emerges from under the car.
And, well, he’s really not someone you expected to find in a rural backwater town. It’s not the outfit either, he’s just wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, both smeared with motor oil and grease. What surprises you is the fact that one of his arms is covered in tattoos, down to his fingers, and his ears are decked out in multiple silver hoops. He smiles at you, a piercing through the side of his lower lip, while he wipes his hands on the bandana tied to his pants.
Usually, when you have to bring in your rust bucket, the mechanics crack some sort of unfunny misogynistic joke at your expense before trying to rip you off with unnecessary repairs you didn’t ask for. So that is what you steel yourself for when you tell the dude that your Buick started breaking down as he walks you to the front of the shop.
He clicks open the automatic garage door and tells you to drive your car inside for him to inspect it.
But, shit. When you try to switch on the ignition, it’s dead.
The mechanic comes up to your rolled-down window. “Doesn’t start huh?”, he correctly assesses. “Put it in neutral, I can just push it inside.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to move the shift stick to neutral, without success. It doesn’t budge without the engine being on.
You shrug your shoulders at him in a helpless manner, making him laugh. “Ah, automatic,” he hums before opening the driver door and pulling a screwdriver from the back pocket of his jeans.
Without warning, he’s suddenly in your lap, leaning over you to access the middle console. You would’ve moved out of the way had he warned you. But now this, admittedly very attractive, guy is brushing his tattooed arm against your thighs all non-chalant as he wriggles his screwdriver around the plastic by the gear stick. With one last satisfied hum, he finally moves the stick to the neutral position.
You just dumbly stare at him with hot cheeks when he retreats from your space again and he tells you about some manual switch he pushed. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes when he sees your startled expression. “I didn’t get dirt on you, did I?” He wipes at the fabric of your pants with his hands, grimacing at himself as in the process, as he actually does brush some grease on it, making him panic slightly. “Shit,” he mutters but you stop him before he can apologize again or spread even more black gunk on you.
“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, his display of sudden clumsiness making you relax again. He stands up straight, scratching at his neck before collecting himself and moving to the back of your Buick.
“It’s good to go now. Just let go of the brake and steer, alright?” he yells from the back and then the car is slowly rolling. You can’t help stealing a glance at him through your rearview mirror.
His brows are furrowed and the muscles in his shoulders are tensed as he’s pushing the car by its bumper. You can even make out the vein on his forehead popping out a little. The fact that you’ve always had a thing for feats of strength is almost making you forget to steer until his voice forces your eyes to snap back to the garage in front of you.
“Little to the left,” he yells and you comply, maneuvering your car into the workspace.
You pull the handbrake and get out of the driver's seat once you’re in a good spot.
“I’ll pay to get your jeans cleaned,” he tells you with a lopsided smile as he eyes your soiled pants before he walks to the front of your Buick.
“Let’s take a look at your baby,” he says as he yanks open the hood. “I already have a suspicion.”
While he’s checking out the engine compartment, you take a stroll around the shop, trying to pass the time and ignore the dread blooming in your chest about how much this repair is going to cost you.
On the wall behind the counter you spot the usual sexy calendars of women in pin up clothing posing on the hoods of old-timers. Maybe he’s just like all the other mechanics you encountered after all. You quietly chuckle just as you spot another poster among the sexy ladies though. This one has a half-naked man propped against some motorcycle, probably a Harley Davidson. Oh, a man of varied tastes apparently. Feels a little out of place for this small town, once again.
When you hear the hood of your vehicle being slammed shut, you hurry back to the mechanic.
“Yup, I was right,” he tells you, trying to wipe some of his dark hair out of his face with the back of his hand, smearing grease on his forehead in the process. “Alternator’s shot.”
“That sounds … bad?” you reluctantly more so ask than state.
“It just needs to be replaced. Good news first, it’s not a lot of work so I’ll be done in like an hour,” he lets you know. “Bad news - I need to order it in.”
You groan, but you are relieved to learn that at least it’s not as expensive as you feared. The fact that this part will only come in tomorrow though - Shit.
He types your information into his computer and places the order for the new alternator.
“Are there any hotels or something close by?” you ask him once he’s done and comes back around the counter to lean on it.
He shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face. “The closest motel is like two towns over. And it’s a bit of a shit hole.”
That doesn’t sound too inviting, but given your choices, what else are you supposed to do?
“Can you give me the address? I’ll get an Uber to drive me there I guess.”
“Good luck on finding any Ubers out here. We’re basically out of their operating zone.”
Your shoulders slump in defeat as you let your hand holding your phone drop to your side again.
“I’ll take you,” he offers, already on his way to your Buick. “Get your bag.”
You would usually not consider getting into a car with a stranger, but your options are kind of limited here. He can probably sense your hesitation, because he cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Wouldn’t advise accepting rides from strangers, but I can’t have you stay on the street,” he speaks up. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. I’ll give you my ID and everything, you can send it to a friend with your location.”
This won’t help you if he decides to murder you, but you are tired and in need of a shower, so you just sigh and open your car, quickly packing some things you need for an overnight stay into your backpack before shouldering it.
Apparently it’s time to close shop, or maybe he can just decide since he’s the only one in here, but he leads you out the back and locks the door behind him. You won’t question it, you are just glad that you will be able to rest soon. The long drive was becoming torturous anyway.
“Where’s your car?” you ask, looking around the street behind the garage.
Jungkook grins and points towards - oh please - a motorcycle. No way. Well, maybe that explains the leather jacket that he put on just before. You were wondering why he needed it in this scorching heat.
“Pretty, huh?” he muses when you look at him with wide eyes. “It’s a Fat Bob 114.”
Oh sure, whatever that string of random words means. He can’t seriously expect you to get on the back of this. For a moment, you reconsider just walking the streets tonight.
“I don’t even have a helmet,” you try to weasel your way out.
To no avail, since he produces one from behind his back and hands it to you. “Good thing I keep a spare around.”
He’s already stuffing his own backpack into the satchel on the side of the bike, while you fiddle with the helmet. You’ve never even put one on before and when you plop it down over your head, your hair gets caught in front of your eyes.
You hear Jungkook’s muffled laugh and then he steps in front of you, pulling the helmet back off.
“Lemme help,” he mutters while pushing your hair behind your ears while he clamps the headgear between his thighs to free his hands.
The intimate gesture brings heat up your neck and all you muster is a quiet “Thank you.” Then he gently pulls the helmet down and closes the plastic visor with a grin.
“All set,” he pats the top of the protective headwear before putting on his own. He swings his leg over the bike and motions for you to get on behind him.
“Just hold on to me,” he tells you.
You somewhat clumsily climb on and consider just gripping the side of the machine, but as soon as he turns his keys and the bike roars to life, your survival instinct kicks in and you sling your arms around his waist.
He pulls off into the street and soon you’re leaving behind the small town and with it your broken-down car.
Jungkook, thankfully, seems to be considerate of his passenger, because you are pretty sure he’s not even going the speed limit. You still cling on to him for dear life, probably choking him out, but he does not complain. You’re not particularly fond of not being encased in metal while on the road is what you’re learning right now.
After a few miles and your body starting to cramp from clutching on to Jungkook and the bike, you pull up in front of a motel. The parking lot is full of trucks, rarely any regular cars. Jungkook helps you off the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. He seems to be wondering about the amount of trucks, as he raises his eyebrow. Carefully, he removes your helmet for you as well before you can even try to do it yourself. Your hair feels damp and matted, making you cringe slightly as you run your fingers through it.
Jungkook retrieves his backpack from the satchel and pockets the keys.
“This must be a regular stop for truckers to rest, huh?” you wonder out loud to which Jungkook shakes his head.
“Not usually.”
Picking through the small compartment of your backpack, you finally find some tissues.
“Can I just..?” you ask Jungkook, gesturing towards his face with the towelette.
He seems to be confused but doesn’t stop you from wiping at his forehead. You clean the smear of grease off his skin and pocket the tissue.
“That’s better,” you smile at him and when he locks his big soft eyes with you, the corners of his mouth upturned, it makes you gulp. His gaze flickers down to your lips for just a fleeting moment.
With both helmets in hand, he walks you to the check-in counter, where you find the most unenthusiastic-looking clerk you’ve seen in your life.
“Hello,” you address him. “I need a room, please.”
“Really?” he responds in a mocking tone. “Who would’ve guessed that?”
Jungkook slams one of the helmets on the counter, startling the guy.
“Mind checking if you have any available?” he intervenes, a fake smile plastered on his face. One could mistake it for a snarl if it wasn’t for his politeness. With his hand planted firmly on the counter and the muscles in his arm tensed, the clerk seems to have taken the hint.
Woah. Apparently he’s not one to mess around with. It’s kind of hot.
“Alright, alright,” the clerk gives in, suddenly very meek and sheepish, and checks his computer.
“Seems like you’re out of luck, everything’s booked,” he shrugs his shoulders. “There’s some trucker meet-up happening close by, they basically overran the motel.”
Jungkook and you sigh simultaneously. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You really don’t want to go on another road trip if you can avoid it. He pulls out his phone, scrolling furiously, probably trying to figure out an alternative as well.
“Ah, wait,” the clerk suddenly perks up. “There’s someone checking out in a bit. Once we’ve cleaned up the room, it’s yours.”
Oh, thank god. You couldn’t care less that the place is run-down and the employee is a shithead. You’ll just shower and head to bed anyway, maybe scroll a bit on your phone. The aesthetic or lack thereof doesn’t really matter, unless you’ll find suspicious stains on the pillows. Which, to be fair, is not that unlikely, now that you think about it.
“We have a bar,” the employee tells you with an exasperated sigh, as if this was the hardest he’s ever had to work. “You can wait there. It’s gonna be like 2 hours max.”
You nod and turn to Jungkook, who looks a little disgruntled.
“Uhm, will you come pick me up again tomorrow? I kinda don’t have a ride.” The fact that he has to drive you again is gnawing at your pride, but he said it himself, no Ubers around.
He looks at you, quizzically.
“I’m not gonna let you wait around here by yourself,” he shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you until the room’s ready.”
Before you can even start arguing that you don’t need an escort, he’s already placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the bar. For whatever reason you just let it happen. You’re a grown woman, you don’t need a white knight to look out for you. But also, some company would be nice instead of sitting around all alone, just waiting for time to pass. Since he’s also nice to look at, why shouldn’t you indulge a bit longer.
The bar is just as dingy as the rest of the place. All the seats are worn, tears across the old leather. The room reeks of stale smoke and cigars so bad that you scrunch your nose as you step in.
There’s two guys sitting at the bar drinking beer. By the looks of it it’s not the first one of the day either. Probably some of the truckers the clerk mentioned.
Jungkook pushes you into the booth of a table, sliding in next to you without taking his eyes off the dudes at the bar, and shrugs off his leather jacket. Sitting next to each other when you’re only two people has always been weird to you, makes it kind of awkward to chat.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks from beside you.
You take out your phone, checking the time. It’s 7 pm. You could do with a beer as well, so you tell him and he moves out of the seat to get your drinks.
You watch him from your table, only to realize that the two men are staring you down, one even cocks his eyebrows at you. Disgusting. You pull a face at him, but that doesn’t seem to deter him at all, grabbing at his junk while his mate laughs along.
Jungkook is watching this play out, you can tell when his back stiffens. He’s coming back with two beers in hand, immediately sitting down next to you on the bench again, so close this time that your thighs are touching.
“What are you doing?” you ask him, surprised when he puts his arm on the backrest behind you.
“Sorry, but I’m not gonna let those two sleazebags get the impression that you’re here by yourself, no chance,” he grumbles before picking up his glass and taking a big gulp.
The fact that he’s doing this only for show makes you feel a tinge of disappointment, which is just dumb. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself, also reaching for your beer, trying to relax with him being so close to you. It’s not because he’s making you uncomfortable, rather the opposite. You just seriously need to chill.
“How much was it?” you ask him, pointing to your drink, to which he just waves you off.
“Take it as compensation for me putting grease all over your jeans,” he smiles at you.
For a while you two just sit there, his arm around you, sipping away on your beer quietly. Jungkook shoots the gross dudes death glares every now and then. To which you are thankful because the thought of being in here alone with them makes you shiver. Maybe you were in need of a white knight actually. Just this once.
“So,” Jungkook breaks the surprisingly comfortable silence. “Judging by your plates, you’ve been on the road for a while, huh?”
You hum in agreement. “Just a road trip to visit an old friend of mine. Never been to this part of the country.”
“I can tell,” he laughs.
“And you?” you proceed to ask. “Have you ever been out of these parts?”
Jungkook’s fingers tapping away softly on your shoulder while he talks makes blood rush to your cheeks.
“Not really, I grew up around here. Only gone as far as the surrounding cities.”
“So you like living here then?”
He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t really have an opinion on it.
“It’s just, you don’t seem like a small town kinda guy,” you continue when he stays silent.
“Now, why’s that?” he looks at you with a smirk, visibly amused now.
You just motion at his tattooed arm and the piercings, trying not to say anything he might take offense to. It’s his home after all.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be offended at all, because he chuckles at your assessment.
“You know, the next city is just like an hour’s drive away,” he lets you know between laughs. “We’re not cut off from civilization. Not totally.”
You chat away for a while, mostly just small talk. He never takes his arm off your shoulder while you learn that he owns and runs the repair shop by himself and you tell him that you’re in between jobs right now.
You’re laughing at a funny remark Jungkook dropped when the clerk pops his head in.
“Room’s ready,” he lets you know before he trudges away again.
“Before you try to argue - I’m walking you to the room.”
You figured.
So after picking up the key from the front desk, you make your way outside and up some stairs to find your assigned room with Jungkook close behind. On your way there, you can hear some loud bellowing laughter from behind doors as well as a smashing sound, as if a vase or something broke. This really doesn’t feel that welcoming after all, you think as you yank open the dilapidated door. It’s not even hanging straight in its hinges, so you have to lift it up slightly so it doesn’t catch on the floor. Yikes.
Both of you walk inside and Jungkook looks around the room after putting the helmets on a wobbly sideboard.
“What a nice view,” you joke, having walked up behind him to the window, looking down at the parking lot. The laughter gets caught in your throat when you can hear someone loudly fighting outside. When you peek out the window again, you see that it’s two big guys shoving each other and yelling, beer bottles in hand. Please let this night go by fast, you plead silently. You brought your earphones so hopefully you can drown out anything that might go on outside, be it murder or an orgy. You thank whoever invented noise cancelling in advance.
Jungkook turns to you. “Look,” he starts with a serious expression. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so you walk up to the sideboard and push his helmet towards him.
“Thank you for everything, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Jungkook shakes his head and doesn’t move even an inch.
“I can’t let you stay here,” he says, decidedly. “Not by yourself. You’ve seen the kind of guys that hang around here!”
You liked his savior antics earlier, but you still have some pride left.
“I’m not some damsel in distress in need of saving,” you scoff and walk to the door. “I’ll just lock up and sleep by myself like a big girl.” You jokingly wiggle the lock around before realizing it’s almost falling apart at your touch. Oh. This actually doesn’t bode well with you.
Jungkook looks at your wide eyes with a quirked brow, waiting for you to reconsider what you just told him. And you do. Damn.
Then there’s suddenly more clamor seemingly right outside your door. As if someone was crashing into the wall. The look in your eyes turns to pleading. Now you’re actually hoping Jungkook’s offer, whatever exactly it entails, still stands.
“I’ll stay. Don’t worry,” he reassures you as if he just read your mind. Probably not that hard, considering the situation.
“Thanks,” you mumble while looking around the room. There’s exactly one bed, a dresser with a tiny TV on it and what you assume to be the door to the bathroom. And a worn-out leather arm chair.
Jungkook follows your gaze and takes the words out of your mouth when he speaks up.
“I’ll just stay in the cuck chair, you can go ahead and go to sleep.”
The good old cuck chair, a must-have of any rented room that’s worth anything. What would people do without it? Although this one actually seems like it’s been in heavy use. Ew. At least you’re not the one having to sit in it.
To your horror, this stuffy room has no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan above the bed that barely does its job. Opening the window is no use at this time of night either, as it’s still hot out.
“I could never get used to this heat,” you huff and sit down at the edge of the mattress, causing the bedframe to squeak. “Don’t think I can even sleep while it’s this hot,” you add, groaning.
Jungkook brings his stuff over to his designated spot for the night to keep watch of the door or whatever his plan actually is. Your knight in shining armor, you scoff to yourself. The fact that you’re sharing a motel room with some stranger is outrageous and very much out of scope of what you had planned for this trip. Even if said stranger is nice to look at. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as you kick off your sneakers and pull your legs up on the bed into a criss-cross position. His white shirt has gone see-through in the back from sweat and it’s sticking to him. No wonder - he’s been wearing a leather jacket and also you clung to his back earlier like a koala while driving here.
It's only around 9 pm when you check your phone and start scrolling through various social media apps, quickly getting bored. Beads of sweat are forming on your forehead, you feel like you’re being boiled alive sitting here in jeans, but you’re not about to strip in front of Jungkook, who’s also taken his spot in the chair with his phone in hand.
“Hey, you want to get some more beer?” you ask him, sure that you’ll be up for quite a while and beer always makes you sleepy, so that might help.
“Sure,” he nods, walking over to you and holding his hand out. “We can get some from the bar.”
You let him help you off the bed and slip back into your shoes. It’s a quick trip, Jungkook never taking his arm off your waist as he walks you through the premises.
Equipped with 4 cold bottles of beer you return to your room where Jungkook immediately opens one for you with a lighter from his back pocket.
The cool liquid goes down smoothly, making you sigh in content as you sit down on the end of the bed so you can actually face him in his spot where he is currently holding the bottle against his neck in an effort to cool off.
Striking up a conversation while you down the first drink, you inquire further about his repair shop.
“It’s been in the family for a few generations,” he lets you know. “I’ve been around cars since I was little, back when it was my grandfather’s still.”
“Did you ever consider doing anything else? College or something?” you wonder.
Jungkook laughs at the idea. “I’m way too dumb for a degree. And I like getting my hands dirty. Manual labor takes my mind off of things. I enjoy it.”
You get it, the road trip was supposed to serve the same purpose - taking your mind off what’s been troubling you. Could’ve figured that driving by yourself for hours makes your thoughts race instead. Maybe you’re dumb too.
Jungkook asks about you being in between jobs then, since you mentioned it to him earlier.
“I quit so I could leave my place for a while. Wasn’t that great of a job anyway, so no loss there.”
You put the now empty bottle on the ground and flop back on the mattress with your eyes closed, letting the ceiling fan blow hot air around you for a bit.
“You alright?” Jungkook’s voice chimes up.
“Yeah,” you hum out from your horizontal position. Mostly thanks to him, you ponder and find yourself glad your car started going to shit in his vicinity and not some place else. You just chill for a moment, trying to drown out the ruckus outside of your room. You’re in here, safe, protected. Jungkook is pretty beefy, so you’re not too worried about any truckers trying to bust their way into here. The ones that crossed your way so far looked out of shape. Not that you’re judging, you probably wouldn’t opt for a gym session after driving for hours on end either.
“Thank you again,” you sit back up, feeling like you're admitting defeat. “For staying with me. I’m sorry for all the troubles.”
Jungkook only replies with a smile and hands you the second bottle of beer. “I didn’t have any plans for tonight anyway. Your company beats watching TV alone by miles.”
He’d probably have air conditioning though and wouldn’t have to swelter in this dump. His face is shiny from the sheen of sweat, making his dark hair stick to his forehead, which he brushes away with his fingers continuously. Actually, maybe you got lucky having him stuck here with you, cause the fabric sticking to his chest is … really something. You reluctantly peel your eyes away from his muscles, not trying to be a creep after all he’s done for you. Can’t be ogling him like one of those sleazy truckers did to you earlier. Maybe it’s the beer finding its way to your brain or you’re just really not better than a man.
Your body doesn’t feel much drier than him, though you are sure the sweat doesn’t look even half as attractive on you.
While sipping on your third beer, you talk about more benign things, discovering that Jungkook and you share a lot of favorite bands and musicians. During your conversation, he keeps putting the glass bottle up to his face like he did earlier, obviously uncomfortable from being hot.
The ceiling fan only swirls the hot air around, but on the bed and directly under it, it provides at least some relief from the unrelenting heat while he’s suffering in the cuck chair.
“You know you could just come sit on the bed, right?” you interrupt him waving his hand in front of his face like a makeshift fan.
He pauses, considering your offer, and then sighs. “Nah, I’m stinky from working, don’t want to make it all gross.”
“Please, I don’t want to find you melted into a puddle in that fucking chair tomorrow morning,” you joke. “Sounds like one hell of a clean-up. Also, who’s gonna fix my car if you perish from overheating?”
“I might not be the first dead body in that chair, now that I look at it,” he wrinkles his nose as he gets up and eyes the worn-out leather.
“But I’ll take a shower first, if that’s alright with you,” he finally gives in.
“Sure,” you nod. “Go ahead. Haven’t checked out the bathroom - hope you won’t come out dirtier than before.”
Jungkook chuckles as he makes his way into the little side-room.
While you hear the shower run, you empty your beer and shoot your friend a message that your arrival will be delayed because of your shitty car.
Shortly after the water turns off, Jungkook sheepishly peeks around the corner.
“My shirt is soaked,” he tells you with an apologetic smile. “I’ll air it out and put it back on, yeah?”
His coyness makes you burst into laughter. How cute.
“Jungkook, your shirt has been see-through for the last 2 hours, I’ve seen it all. Now don’t be stupid and come sit with me.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh and throws his moist t-shirt on the sideboard, hoping it will dry down, before putting his shoes and socks next to yours by the door.
“Which side are you gonna sleep on?” he asks you, making you raise an eyebrow.
“I’m not going to put my greasy ass down where you have to sleep,” he explains and gestures at the smears on his pants. “This bed is probably already gross enough.”
You take a tentative whiff of the pillowcase on your side. “It’s actually not so bad,” you shrug your shoulders before patting the mattress on the unoccupied half of the bed, urging him to finally come and sit.
So, in this incredible turn of events, you’re now sitting shoulder to shoulder with a shirtless small-town mechanic, watching TV in a decrepit motel.
Switching through countless porn channels, you finally happen upon re-runs of The X-Files, which makes both of you perk up in excitement.
“I love Gillian Anderson,” you gush as her glorious red hair appears on screen.
“I love David Duchovny,” Jungkook replies with a sigh. “Gillian’s not bad either.”
His remark doesn’t surprise you as you recall the very bisexual collection of raunchy calendars displayed in his shop.
You both settle against the headboard, getting comfortable, and dive into the episode, following along as Scully and Mulder track down a mutant man that’s hiding in vents to eat people’s livers. Mulder has just foiled the abomination’s attempt to murder some family when Jungkook’s head suddenly drops onto your shoulder.
You can tell he’s asleep by the way his body is slumped against yours. So much for watching the door, huh?
His soft, slow breathing is fanning over your neck and you decide to just let him nap, watching the intro to the next episode roll. That is, until your back starts to hurt from your current position, so you shift slightly, which startles Jungkook awake.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” he looks at you horrified when the initial post-nap confusion has worn off. “Did I drool on you?”
You assure him it’s fine and that he did not. Jungkook stands up and stretches his arms over his head, your eyes following the movement of his bared muscles as he does. He yawns and shuffles over to the window, cracking it open and sticking his head outside.
The clamor has calmed down it seems, no more yelling and fighting audible, you realize in relief.
“I think we can keep this open now,” Jungkook decides. “It has cooled down like… at least 1 degree.”
You agree, even if it won’t help with the warmth, some fresh air won’t hurt.
“You should try and get some sleep,” he proposes. “I’m guessing you still have some miles to drive tomorrow.”
He’s probably right and you can feel the beer you had swimming around in your head, relaxing your body.
Jungkook goes to switch off the big light and settles back into the cuck chair. Apparently he’s not planning on resuming his little nap but is back on duty.
You pull off your socks, leaving you in jeans and a shirt still, which is not your preferred way of going to bed. Since you’re still hot, you just lie down on top of the duvet, turning to your side and pulling up your legs.
“Good girl,” Jungkook coos at you from across the room and you can feel his smirk without even looking at him.
The minutes pass by and you just toss and turn, not able to wind down at all.
“Can’t sleep, huh?” Jungkook asks when you reach for the phone on your nightstand after the futile 30-minute attempt to drift off has gone nowhere. You’re uncomfortable in your clothes, sweating, and your mind keeps straying to exactly the places you’ve tried to outrun with your road trip.
Before you swing your legs off the bed you reach to turn on the lamp on the bedside table as you don’t dig sitting around in complete darkness. You’re in the process of stretching your neck and shoulders while Jungkook rummages through his backpack. It seems like he found what he was looking for because he perks up.
“Wanna smoke?” he asks you, holding up a pre-rolled joint with a bright smile on his face.
You laugh and go through your own bag, producing a ready-to-go spliff as well.
“I’m taking this as a Yes,” Jungkook chuckles and moves to the opened window where you join him. You squeeze past him so you can hop up on the windowsill, sitting with your legs dangling in the air and your side leaning against the window frame.
Jungkook rests his upper body against the other side before he fishes the lighter out of his pocket and ignites the joint between his lips.
Passing the doobie between each other, you pick up the topic of his shop again, still curious.
“You plan on staying in your town forever?” you ask him. “Like, just keep the garage going until you’re too old to work anymore?”
He takes a drag and huffs out some smoke while he thinks about it.
“I like the mechanic work,” he starts. “But I’m not really keen on living the rural town life for the rest of eternity.”
“I knew you weren’t the type.”
“Yeah. But I just can’t let go of the shop. I thought about selling it before, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It would probably kill my dad if I did.”
“He’d want you to be happy, no?”
He hums pensively, takes another hit and hands you the joint. Jungkook lets his fingers linger on yours for a moment when he does. His side is pressing into your thigh since there’s not much space in the window. The way his eyes are locked on yours is making your breath hitch and you almost choke on the smoke you inhaled. You cough, which makes him reach behind you to stroke your back. Your free hand grabs his naked shoulder while you recover from the coughing fit.
Once you catch your breath and sit back up straight, Jungkook doesn’t return to his spot next to you, but instead remains in front of you, basically between your legs.
His hand slides away from your back though, holding on to the windowsill next to your leg instead.
“I didn’t really quit my job for the trip,” you sigh, looking down at your dangling feet. The weed really seems to loosen up your tongue tonight. “Just couldn’t do it anymore, it kept burning me out to a pathetic pile of ash.”
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook earnestly tells you, squeezing your arm lightly in a comforting manner.
Apparently your weed-riddled brain decides to just lay out all your business to him, because before you can stop yourself, you are already dropping the rest of your recent lore.
“’M driving through the whole country to my friend’s place because I found out I got cheated on. The breakup hit me quite hard after such a long time together. Needed to get far, far away.”
“Must be a fucking idiot,” Jungkook shakes his head and tries to catch your gaze, which makes you lift your head when he starts to crouch to look up at you.
He moves closer to you then, making your knees spread further to accommodate his frame. After flicking the butt of the joint out of the window, he places his palm on your thigh while his other hand comes up and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His head is cocked to the side and you’re locking eyes, with his fingers still resting softly against your cheek.
It’s like time freezes and then you’re suddenly leaning forward and your lips collide, slotting together effortlessly, like they were never meant to be apart to begin with. You sigh against him as if you’re letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding and he uses the moment to slip his tongue between your parted lips. His hand has wandered to your neck while yours found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, as your tongues dance against each other. All the stress of today just falls off you, like a lizard shedding his skin. The kiss is all-encompassing, leaving no room for any thoughts in your head other than taking away every inch of space between your bodies. As you make out, the palm on your thigh slowly caresses from your leg to your side and then back down to your ass, where it rests and squeezes ever so lightly. Even this soft touch makes your hips hitch towards Jungkook and you feel him smile against your mouth and exhale a laugh through his nose. You would be embarrassed if he wasn’t pressing himself into your crotch, holding you in place, obviously just as excited to feel you against his body. He nibbles on your lower lip before licking across it and then his face is suddenly gone from yours. You just stare at him all dumb and breathless, still entangled with him. His thumb brushes over your lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss and continues to put it in his mouth. You stifle a whine at the sight, trying to collect yourself at least a little bit, so you slide off the windowsill. Not taking into account Jungkook’s close proximity to you, the movement makes you rub yourself against his groin by accident. He’s not shy about the groan that leaves him at the contact, but he steps back a bit to give you space anyway.
“Want to give sleep another shot?” he asks you, brushing over your cheek one last time before removing his hand.
“Mhm,” you nod. “I’m gonna take a shower first though.”
“Good idea,” Jungkook sends you off with a pat to your ass, making your face heat up even more.
Oh, you really need a cold shower for more than one reason.
You finally step out of your sweaty clothes, dropping them in a pile on the bathroom floor. When the spray of water hits you, you sigh. It feels so good to finally wash away the grime. What you can’t rinse off is the tight feeling between your legs as you think about Jungkook, shirtless and sweaty, pressed to your body. You take a few minutes to just stand under the water raining down on you, fighting the urge to touch yourself, that’s how riled up the kiss has gotten you.
When you turn off the water and get out of the shower, you realize that there is only a small towel, nothing that could actually cover your body in any decent way. You only brought panties to the bathroom with you. The only thing you find attached to the door is a questionable bathrobe. Better than nothing, you think after inspecting and smelling it, deciding it’s clean. You quickly towel-dry your wet hair with the small cloth so you don’t look like a dog that got caught in the rain before slipping on your panties and the robe, closing it around you with its belt.
Jungkook has returned to the cuck chair when you come back out. He’s reclined back into it, leisurely stretching his spread legs out as he eyes you with heavy lids. He’s so fucking sexy lounging there in just his jeans, his upper body glazed by sweat, making his tattoo glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. You nibble on your lower lip absentmindedly, slowly stepping closer.
And he’s looking right back at you like he wants to ravish you. The slight tent in the front of his pants is reassuring proof that the kissing didn’t leave him unaffected either.
“Are you not hot in this?” he gestures at your robe while looking you up and down before sitting up straight.
“Are you not hot in your jeans?” you tease in response, making him chuckle.
“C’mere,” he curls his fingers at you to beckon you closer and your feet move before your brain even catches up.
Once you’re in reach, he grabs the belt of the bathrobe and pulls you into him, hands snaking to your backside when there’s no more room between you. He massages your ass cheeks through the soft fabric at an agonizingly slow pace and you’re already becoming impatient, so you take initiative and climb into his lap, your knees around his thighs. There’s just enough room in the chair for you to fit. With your arms locked around his neck, you immediately go in for another kiss, licking into him. Spurred on by your eagerness, his hands slip under your robe, making the belt slowly unravel with each movement of his palms against your naked skin underneath. You didn’t think it was possible in this heat, but you erupt in goosebumps when his fingers slide over your waist, up to the side of your breasts where he lets them linger before splaying them out to cup your tits.
“Your skin is so soft,” he mutters against your lips just as one of his digits brushes over a pert nipple, which makes you inhale a sharp breath. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, where he sucks on your skin, surely leaving behind bruises. The sensation makes you grind your hips down against his growing cock, craving friction. He groans into the crook of your neck, so you keep swiveling your lower body in his lap, both of your breathing increasing in speed as your arousal is escalating to new levels.
Finally, he’s had enough of the bathrobe covering his view of your body and when you let go of him, he slides it off your shoulders, dropping it to pool on the floor by his feet.
With your bare tits in front of his face, he hums in approval, his hands roaming the skin of your nude torso.
“Wow,” he sighs in appreciation, licking over his lips once before latching on to a nipple. The flicking of his tongue elicits a whimper from you and makes your back arch, pressing your chest closer to him.
You can feel the rough denim covering his dick though the thin fabric of your underwear, which is already going damp as you rub yourself over him again and again.
You lift yourself off his crotch, your hand finding his belt, undoing the buckle. When you struggle to open the fly of his pants one-handed, he removes his hand from your tit and looks up at you.
“You sure?” he asks you softly and when you nod, he helps you out by popping the button himself, so you just have to pull down the zipper. He lifts himself off the seat just enough to wriggle the jeans down to his thighs. His hard dick twitches excitedly when you palm him through his Calvin Klein boxers.
Jungkook reaches between you, his fingers finding your still clothed pussy, just ghosting over your core, tentatively. You instinctively press down into his touch, sighing, which impels him to run his digits over the moistened fabric harder. Feeling your arousal through the panties already, he pulls them to the side, giving him access to run his finger between your labia. “Like silk,” he muses quietly, before dipping in further, gathering your wetness.
“Dripping for me already,” he groans, his breath fanning over your neck now. “So fucking hot.”
His middle finger finds your entrance then and pushes in slowly before curling it once inside. You writhe in his hold, impatient to be filled by him. After pumping a few times, he slides in a second finger, the pads dragging across your walls which each movement of his wrist, making you whine.
When the thirst for his cock takes over you, you reach down to the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to free his hard dick. He moans lowly when you wrap your fingers around him, squeezing before giving him a determined tug, your thumb spreading precum across his tip.
His fingers slip out of you then, leaving you clenching around air. His hand comes up on top of yours on him, engulfing your smaller one completely, guiding your pumps. Your juices on his fingers add to the glide, every stroke along his length now producing a nasty squelching sound.
With his free hand, he fishes out his wallet from his jeans, producing a single condom. You basically rip it out of his fingers, tearing the package open with your teeth. After slapping his own hand away from his dick with the back of yours, you roll on the rubber.
He takes hold of your wrist and gently twists you palm up under his face, then lets a drop of spit fall into it. You spread the drool around his shaft before lining yourself up to the tip of his cock.
Jungkook grips on to your waist as you lower yourself down on him until you’re flush to his crotch. The stretch makes you whimper as he slides into you, his own head falling back on to the chair with his eyes closed.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice strained. “You feel amazing.”
That’s enough encouragement for you to start moving, your hips going in circles as you bounce up and down. His cock curves just the right way to rub over your g-spot each time you slam your ass down into him.
His fingers have wandered to your ass cheeks, kneading at the supple flesh. He’s not guiding your movement, he lets you take the reigns as you ride him like your life depends on it.
The damn cuck chair is restricting you though, your knees confined by the armrests, you can’t get into it the way you know would blow his fucking mind. When you lift yourself off his cock, his head shoots back up, looking at you quizzically as you move off his lap and lower yourself on the floor between his legs. He spreads them immediately, accommodating you kneeling before him.
You peel off the condom, throwing it aside, before bracing yourself on his thigh with one hand. His palm comes down to land on top of your fingers running over the muscle of his upper leg. He caresses your hand as you close in on his cock, poking out your tongue to give it tiny kitten licks all over. His gaze never leaves you when your lips finally close around his leaking tip and he immediately twitches in your mouth with a whimper. Your lips are wet from precum and you let them run over his tip and down his shaft before taking him in properly. While you work your way down his length, your tongue flat against it, small whine-like sounds keep escaping him, contrasting the low groans he huffed out before and it’s making your head swim with need.
You hollow out your cheeks, sucking him down as far as you can go, your tongue swirling over his frenulum and through his slit on every upwards move. He’s too big to get all of him into your mouth, so you wrap your fingers around the remaining length, aiding with flicks of your wrist.
The groans from earlier begin to mix in between the higher-pitched whimpering, his fingers gripping on to yours harder as you keep going.
Jungkook is staring at you through the whole blowjob, mouth slightly agape, his chest heaving.
“So damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he muses between huffs, his free hand tangling into the back of your hair.
The praise goes straight to your pussy, throbbing and feeling neglected. You’re sure though it’s not going to be for long while you keep bobbing your head. And you were right, because soon after he peels you off himself gently by your hair, his other hand helping you up. He pulls you closer to him, slotting his lips against yours for a lazy kiss with his fingers grazing your jaw.
After breaking the kiss, he gets up, his sweaty back sticking to the leather producing a moist squelch, taking you with him and walking you over to the bed while stepping out of his jeans and boxers on the way. He lays you down on your back with an arm around you.
This time it’s him getting on his knees at the end of the bed. Jungkook grabs you by your waist and pulls you towards him, your legs spread around his head. He removes the panties still bunched up next to your pussy, taking a deep whiff of them before tossing them aside. He dips his head between your thighs immediately, mumbling against your core.
“You smell like heaven,” you can barely make out, his voice muffled by your skin, but it’s enough to make you moan at the dirty compliment. Maybe you have a praise kink that you weren’t aware of before, because he’s driving you insane.
The last thing you see before your head falls on the mattress is his twinkling eyes looking at you with hunger-blown pupils. Then his mouth is on you, his tongue running along your slit, lapping up the gathered arousal. Each pass of his tongue is pulling you further into oblivion and when he finally sucks your clit between his lips, all you can do is gasp and grip the bedsheets. His nose is pressed to your pubic mound as he lavishes at your pussy, relentlessly flicking over your most sensitive spot. He’s really not wasting any time, already having you right on the edge.
He alternates between his tongue and his lips in a mind-numbing rhythm and then two of his fingers push into you as well. Feeling him press his fingertips into your walls and working your clit at the same time has you arching off the bed.
“Don’t stop,” you plead, your orgasm approaching in a rapid pace.
With one last curl of his fingers inside you, you clench around them and come on his face. Your thighs close around his head, caging him in as your hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a strangled whimper. Your body twitches helplessly as he keeps lapping at your clit, bordering on overstimulation as your orgasm slowly ebbs down and you finally have to push his face away from between your thighs.
“Fuck, I could eat you out forever,” he groans, his lips and chin dripping in spit and your wetness as he reluctantly detaches from you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy. So sweet.”
You laugh breathlessly, slumping back on to your elbows. “Yeah, I could tell.”
He comes up from the floor, his palm wrapped around his rock-hard cock, stroking himself. When he looks down on you with hooded eyes, you grab his arm and pull him down. Jungkook chuckles as he lands on top of you, holding himself up with one arm so he doesn’t crush you.
His leg slots between yours and his cock drags along your hip, smearing precum on your skin when he crashes your lips together. After feverishly letting your tongues tangle and bodies rub against each other, giving you time to recover, he pulls away and rolls onto his back. Using the moment, you grab a condom from your backpack next to the bed before you follow along, swinging your leg over his thighs to straddle him. You put the protection on him with gentle hands, only tugging lightly a single time when you’re done. Hovering just above his twitching cock then, you start exploring his torso, fingers running across his abs up to his chest, feeling the taut muscle contract under your hands. You trace the tattoo that goes from his arm, over his shoulder down to his pecks. His nipples are hardened and you can’t resist brushing over them, small, dark and stiff, contrasting his pale skin. His hips hitch up at the teasing touch, making his cock glide between your labia. He whimpers and curses under his breath as he keeps sliding along your pussy, still puffy from the orgasm. The tip of his dick catches on your clit with every hump, your body now moving in sync to his motions, increasing the delicious friction.
On your last slide downwards, you angle your hips and with you still being soaked and spit-slick, his cock enters you without resistance. His hands on your ass tighten their grip as he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t hold back your own drawn-out moan as your pussy is finally being filled out again. With your fingers splayed on his abdomen for support, you lift up slightly just to slam back down. There’s no slow start, you’re not playing around, immediately gyrating your hips with every bounce, your pussy gripping his cock tightly like it’s trying to rip it off.
The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, wet squelching every time you move back down on his cock and a symphony of both your moans echoing off the walls.
Jungkook lets you lead again, but after a while, he can’t help but thrust up into you, matching your rhythm and speed. You straighten out your back so you can reach behind you, cradling his balls, massaging them while you rock in his lap, before dipping down further to press into his taint firmly, pulling another whimper from him.
“Damn,” he presses out, his dick pumping into you. “You’re the best fucking ride of my life.”
With his cock dragging along your walls, you let yourself fall forward and his arms close around your lower back, holding you close. You rest your head against his shoulder, your ass still drawing circles on him, your cheeks ricocheting every time your hips meet. At this angle, your clit is now rubbing against him, making you gasp at the much-needed friction while he shoves into you from beneath. It doesn’t take long for you to get close again, so you grind down harder, chasing your high.
When your moans increase in volume, Jungkook digs his hands back into your ass.
“That’s it,” he breathes against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
His words unravel you immediately, the coil in your stomach snapping and you come for a second time with a cry, the intensity almost overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him tightly, making him groan through gritted teeth under you. You sob into his shoulder while you try to keep riding out your orgasm with trembling thighs and your whole body convulsing.
Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to calm down this time. With strong arms, he lifts you off him and on your back. He stares down at you with dark eyes as he positions himself between your legs before he grabs the back of your knees and basically folds you in half. Jungkook rams his cock back into you without warning, the bed creaking loudly under the pistoning of his hips. You can do nothing but take his delicious slams into your sensitive pussy, too fucked out to contribute, your breathing coming out in shallow huffs between moans.
With a particularly harsh thrust, you hear a bed slat crash into the floor. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care that he’s not only taking you apart, but also the bedframe, rapidly approaching his orgasm judging by the stuttered grunts that reverberate around you. You feel like you’re getting vertigo from Jungkook all over and inside you, the effects of you coming so hard still lingering, having you blissed out and your brain comfortably empty.
It doesn’t take long for his movements to go choppy.
“Fuck, how are you still so tight… so… perfect,” he struggles to grit out between heavy breaths before his hips still and he releases his load inside you accompanied by stuttered moans. The fingers on the back of your thighs dig into your skin, probably leaving marks, as he continues pumping into you sloppily until your pussy has milked every last drop of cum out of him and he can’t hold himself up any longer. His body gives out, trembling, and he lets go of your legs before collapsing on top of you.
With his face in the crook of your neck, he exhales a shaky, incredulous laugh. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down. You are close to drifting off with Jungkook’s weight pressing into you, a calming feeling washing over you, when his voice startles you awake again.
“Are you okay?” he asks you with a hoarse voice, lifting himself off you, taking off the condom and settling against your side instead. His arm finds your middle and he pulls you closer.
“Better than the bed,” you giggle sleepily.
Reluctantly, you move out of his embrace, not willing to risk having to continue your road trip with a bladder infection.
“I’ll be right back,” you let him know.
You traipse to the bathroom to pee and when you come back, Jungkook is on his back, snoring lightly. You quickly pull on a baggy t-shirt and some panties and climb back into bed, careful not to wake him. When you snuggle into his side, his mouth curls into a smile and he hums.
“I’m taking you to breakfast before we go back tomorrow,” he mumbles with a sleep-tinged voice before drifting back off.
Masterlist
A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3
"For 3 fucking years I didn't think of you, didn't talk to you, didn't reach out to you but suddenly you show up one day and I haven't stopped thinking of you since!"
Tags/ Warnings: MDNI. Hurt/comfort/ slight angst, Fluff/ It all ends well|
Rating: Mature | Non-Idol AU: Both Y/n and Jin aren't perfect people (so aren't most of us) | toxic but also not toxic Jin(?) | Yearner Jin| Exes to Lovers | SMUT at the end |
WC: 10.9k
A/n: This was supposed to be short but it has turned into 10k words. Parts of it are based from irl inspiration. This is so far the most I've written in 4 something years, does it show? Also the first time I'm writing smut, so I'm an amateur at this so if y'all don't like it, it would be fair. Please try to ignore any mistakes you may find, its a long edit that took me 3 days.
"Y/n?" You heard someone call you.
There are certain moments in life that are completely unavoidable. Your birth, you crying over your first day of school, the first person you trust, the first friend you make, your first failure, your first love, your worst heartbreak and death. It's as if your whole life has been planned out by some invisible string and someone is tugging at you strings like you're a puppet but no matter how hard you try to break it, or pull at it, nothing ever works. It's an unavoidable chaos that unfolds and unfortunately you have to learn with it. Blame it on the cosmos or something like that.
And right now as you turned around, you were face to face with one of those moments, an unavoidable destiny. Your worst heartbreak.
Kim Seok-Jin.
And you cursed the damn universe that put you and him in the same godforsaken club, at the same time, where both of you are likely drunk.
"Y/n! I thought it was you." And you realize you have to talk now.
He's buzzed, you could tell by the look in his eyes, just tipsy enough to have fun but not a hangover.
"Jin! Funny seeing you here?" You were confused to say the least.
He smiled. Damn, that smile.
"Right! I called your cell when I saw you but you didn't pick up."
Let's stop here for a moment. He called? He called you? Your ex from 3 years ago that had ended badly called you? And you missed that call?
No. You didn't. You deliberately ignored it. Well, ignore is a harsh word. You stared at your screen for 2 mins while an unknown number contacted you but you knew exactly who it was so, you panicked. You didn't know if you really should have picked up his call. You guys haven't been in touch in the last 3 years and suddenly then out of all the moments he called you? It confused you, you even asked your friend if you should pick up the call but before you could even make a decision on it, the call ended. He didn't call back again. What did you do then? You let your brain run haywire but decided it would be best not to contact him, at least not at that moment.
"oh really? Must have missed it. It's loud here."
Lies, lies, lies.
"That's true." He paused, actually he was staring at you and you didn't know what you should say next. Should you ask him why he called you? Should you ask him what he was doing at the club? Should you ask him how he's been?
"How-"
"Shall we go to some place less noisy?" Your breath stopped.
"Uh, Sure yeah. Let's go out." You replied. You tell your friend who you came with that you'd be out but she was drunk enough dancing next to her boyfriend to actually care enough at that instant.
You two went out of the club, it was much quieter outside which unfortunately also meant that it was awkward.
"Bit awkward, isn't it?" You fake chuckle.
"Really? I don't think so." You could see his face much more clearly now. He's changed a bit, his cheeks had sunked in a little not in a way that he was weak but enough to know that he had lost some weight, his eyes still the same, his lips... he had grown more handsome if that was possible and that was not helping you because you were starting to forget the break-up.
"How have you been?" You finally ask.
He pushed his hands inside the pockets of his jeans leaning against the wall and you watched him lean, damn him..
"Been good, yeah. How have you been?"
"Similar."
Pause.
You cleared your threat as you swayed on your toes looking down because you didn't know what else to look anymore but when you do eventually lift your gaze, you feel his presence next to you putting his jacket across your shoulders.
"You seemed cold." He smiled. You thanked him in a small voice but what you could really focus on was how his jacket smelled. Still the same.
"So, what do you do now?" He asked.
You briefly look at him, "Media. Didn't switch fields."
He hummed, "Just as expected. You never change."
You frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"
He immediately clarified, "Oh! I meant it as a compliment. I've always admired your lifestyle. You always see things through the end and it's amazing."
"oh."
He turned his face sideways, smiling to himself. After a moment of silence he continued, "I remember our last conversation..."
He returned his gaze towards you again, "I think it was after we had broken up..."
There was only once when Jin had reached out to you back then, just once, 6 months after the break up. He had heard from someone that you were promoted to a senior position and he congratulated you for that. That conversation went on for a bit before it turned personal and he asked you if you were seeing someone at the moment .
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
"What about you? Seeing someone at the moment?"
You read the text multiple times before you decided that telling the truth was better, "No. Life got really busy suddenly. Got no time to date."
Lies! You voluntarily stepped out of dating after Jin. You were afraid of another heartbreak.
"Are you?" You texted back.
"..."
"Nah. Also very busy. It's been a hectic time." He texted back.
Your heart sank.
It was a lie, you knew that. Jin usually wasn't the type to ever post about his relationship anywhere but a few days before he did, for a few hours. It was a picture of him and his new girlfriend. You tried pretending that it was okay but you knew deep down that you weren't.
"I get it."
"..."
"Listen, I gotta get back to work. Let's talk soon?" You texted.
"Sure yeah, you must be busy."
But you never actually texted him again. In fact, you deleted his contact. That was the last time you looked at your pictures with him.
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
"I remember it too." You finally said when you realized he was waiting for you to say something.
"The truth is... that day I lied."
"I know."
He was taken back, his eyebrows raised, "You did?"
"You posted about her very briefly and I happened to see it. I didn't want to say anything out of privacy."
He kept staring at you and if you were right, you could see his ears had turned red.
"I'm sorry about it."
"No need. We weren't a thing back then and you didn't owe me any explanation for who you were with or not. We had ended remember?"
Was it a salt to the wound? Yes. You wanted it to hurt because truth be told you cried yourself to sleep that night. You didn't hate him for dating, you just despised that he dated so soon after you guys had ended, as if your time with him didn't matter.
He nodded as silence prevailed. You were now confused why you guys were standing there and talking, pretending that nothing happened, pretending it didn't hurt you to see him right now, even if that pain was fragmentary.
You almost shrug off his jacket from your shoulders, "Jin, I think I'm going to go back inside-"
"I've missed you."
You just stared at him. Your hand falling beside you. Dumbfounded, shocked, surprised? Were those the right words? Did he just tell you that he missed you?
"That's what I wanted to tell you. I've missed you." He had that look in his eyes, that profound look almost as if he wanted to be closer to you. His back no longer leaned against the wall, his posture erect, towering over you.
He missed you?
He was being honest. You knew that, his eyes told you, they glimmered, hopeful maybe that you'll say it back but did you miss him? Did you?
You tried not to think of him, that was your answer. Just that. It was hard, it was very hard in the beginning but 3 years later, you were fine now. You didn't miss him, right?
He missed you?
"I've felt guilty all this time, about our break up and how I ended it. I think I should have at least been friends with you but I just got too caught up-"
"We could never have been friends, Jin," you interjected.
He was surprised maybe, hurt even, "I guess but I think I still could have tried to reach out to you more and-"
"You didn't owe me that friendship and honestly had you tried I would never have been able to." You were shutting him off. You were trying to, desperately hard to stop looking into his eyes but you couldn't. Shutting him off was the only way.
"Still." He huffed taking a step back.
You turned your face away and bit your lip, "I think we should end our conversation here. I'm going back ins-"
"Haven't you missed me at all?" He gulped.
You were hesitant to tell him the truth, did you really want him to know how much you tried to shut him out of your mind?
"No." You lied.
He was taken back, "Not even a little?"
You chose not to answer it instead.
"I really think we should end-"
He grabbed your wrist.
"Y/n," your heart immediately raced in your chest. His hold wasn't tight, it was light as a feather but the gravity of him touching your wrist, his touch on your skin for the first time in 3 years had you blazing with fire inside.
"Jin, please,"
"Please what?" He stepped closer to you while you felt as if you were stuck to the ground. You had no option but to keep looking at him as he bought your hands closer to his chest, touching it.
"Just let g-" and now his face was closer to you. You could smell alcohol in his breath. It was gin.
"You really haven't? You're telling me I'm the only one who has missed you? Slept with your thoughts in my head? Stayed up just because I couldn't get you out of my head? I can't be the only one Y/n, I can't be. Tell me?"
You breathed heavily while your heart was pounding and you swore if he stood any closer he might be able to hear it but It was mesmerizing to be here with him. He was intoxicating and he smelled great, he always did and right now even you should have stepped away from him but you couldn't bring yourself to.
"Jin-"
"Tell me Y/n. I can't be the only one who has thought of us. I know you must have."
You didn't want him to know the truth.
Your hand now pressed against his chest. You could feel his heart beating in his chest, your eyes fixated there before you lifted your gaze to look at him. He was already staring at you, his eyes looking at your lips. You didn't know where else to look next except his parted lips.
He was leaning in.
"Jin-" your voice small, coming out in stutters.
"Y/n."
"You ended it. Not me." That was your final blow. And with that you took your hand away from his.
As you stepped back he kept standing there staring at you as if you had cut his wound wide open but he deserved it. Right?
"You know I wasn't ready. You wanted the future and I wasn't there yet. I needed time." Tears welled up in his eyes. You'd be lying if you said that it didn't hurt you to see him like that but you couldn't be weak. It all starts with one weakness.
"Jin, you know that wasn't it. I just- nevermind what I wanted.." you took a pause, "there's no point talking about something that existed 3 years ago. I've moved on with my life and I'm sure you have too."
"I haven't." Why was he doing this to you?
"Jin, please don't lie-" he stepped closer to you again, his hands reaching out, lingering close to your waist but not touching yet and you couldn't even resist because how does one resist Kim Seok-Jin.
"I'm not lying Y/n, I haven't moved on from you. I was young and immature back then but now- now Y/n I want to offer you everything. I want to be with-"
You pressed your finger to his lips, "Please don't finish that sentence."
He was staring at you like a starved man, a man who has been deprived of the one thing he truly wanted all along. His eyes expressed every split second of his emotion, his pain, your words that cut, how he was reliving your memory, how much effect the closeness of your bodies had on him, how much he actually loved you.
He took your wrist and took it gently away from his lips, "No, let me tell you. I want to be with you Y/n. I want to be with you again. I've missed you all this time."
"Where was this 3 years ago?" You fought back your memories, the good times with him that were replaced with memories of your breakup. He wasn't making it easier anymore, it was hard, it became so difficult to look at his beautiful, gentle face and to hurt him with your words but what could you do! You swore you'd never let him break you again.
"I was stupid Y/n. I want you now-"
"You don't. You're just saying this because you're drunk."
He shook his head, "I've never been more honest with you. Whether I'm drunk or not, I'm being honest about my feelings to you. Can you not care for my feelings Y/n? Do you really not?"
Damn him for making it so hard on you. Tears threaten to spill your eyes so you gently press your hands against his chest and push him away, softly.
"You're not sober."
"Y/n, I miss you. I still do."
You closed your eyes taking in a sharp breath.
"You should tell me this when you're sober. I can't trust you right now."
"Will you trust me then?" He asked.
You looked at him and took your steps back.
"Will you trust me then?" He asked again.
You held the door handle of the club again, and nodded at him before opening the door,
"I will trust you then."
And you went inside leaving Jin outside with the lingering silence of what happened tonight.
"Coffee for Y/n?"
"That would be me." You smile politely at the counterperson taking your coffee away.
"So, do you think you'd be down for the plan?" Your friend opening the door for you.
"Drinking? Again? We just went." You tell your friend but she makes irresistible puppy eyes at you that you couldn't resist.
You laughed, "Fine, just for you but only light booze."
You walk back towards your office while you check your emails as she attends a call which she only gets off once you enter your office elevator, resuming the conversation.
"So, what about that ex of yours?"
You almost choke on your coffee making her laugh.
"I was kidding."
"Warn me the next time before you do that!" You exclaimed coughing loudly.
She laughs again patting your back, "I just asked since your ex has been no show and I know it's been bothering you."
That was unfortunately true.
"Bothering me? I haven't thought of him since that night. In fact I have completely forgotten about him." You lied. You didn't really want to discuss your personal life, especially about Jin with her, at work.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night sweetie." She smirked as the door opened forcing you both to depart on your own ways.
"I'll see you tonight at my place?"
You give her a thumbs up in passing to confirm your attendance at her drinking plan.
Once you finally sit back in your chair at work you stare blankly at the screen thinking about your conversation with your friend. Jin had not reached out to since that night and the thing was, you should have known better. You should have known he wasn't going to. They were just words spoken under intoxication, just pretence, his delirium, he probably didn't even remember talking to you and you were finally making peace with it but sometimes it didn't stop you from thinking of him. There were times when that was all you could think about and now since she mentioned him, you couldn't stop thinking of that night.
The problem was if you really thought about it though you really couldn't figure out why Jin talked to you that night, what made him confess those words to you or were they always lies to begin with? But they seemed honest. But since he had vanished since that night then it made you wonder if there was any honesty in his words at all.
At least for a couple of nights that followed you stayed up thinking about him, his words, his confession, his face, his eyes, his lips, you were memorizing everything. You even checked your phone for any message from him but there were none. And it began again, you started thinking of the break up again, how it all just ended on one phone call.
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
"Are we even in a relationship at this point or are we just dragging things on?"
You could hear his breathing on the other side but he was silent. He probably hadn't expected you to ask that but now that you did even he knew that conversation was inescapable.
"Let's just end things Y/n." He said it, so easily, so casually like none of it mattered.
"Jin, let's just meet and talk about-"
"No Y/n, I don't think I can do this in person. We both know this isn't working anymore and there's no point in dragging it out as long as we have." He didn't even stutter, like it was a plain truth.
His last sentence somehow reverberated loudly. Was this the same person who once cared for you, who showed up for you, who held doors for you, who didn't just show up with flowers to prove his love but who genuinely sat by your side when you cried and heard your side of stories, who actually waited for you in the storming rain just so he could be with you.
"Jin, you can just talk to me if something's wrong. I know something is up with you and you're taking it out on us but I'm here to be with you a-"
"You're not my therapist Y/n," his voice was sharp and you couldn't help but fall silent. All you wanted was to be there for him, to work things out together.
He huffed out on the other end, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just- I'm sorry Y/n but I really can't do a relationship right now. You want a future but I can't give that to you and it's been bothering me. I can't promise a future Y/n and it feels unfair to keep holding onto you just because I love you. You're too good for me, I don't want to drag you down with me-"
"Jin, let's just find ways to figure it out together."
He sighed on the other end, "Y/n, no. This is my problem. You should be with someone who's going to be there for you in ways that I haven't been-"
"But you have been there for me Jin, you have. Let me be there for you too." You felt tears on your lips, you hadn't even realized when you started crying.
"I wish you the best Y/n-"
"Really? This is really how you're going to end it?"
He didn't reply back.
"Really Jin, after all this time?"
"I'm sorry, Y/n." And with that he had cut off the call.
☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
You shook your head shaking off your memories of the break-up and focusing back on your work. It wasn't going to do you any good anymore. If Jin really wanted to talk to you he would have reached out by now and since he hasn't, it was best to forget about that night.
Were you a chronic liar? That should be a disease, right? To lie to yourself that you didn't care if Jin reached out to you or not when you really did. With 2 bottles of wine buzzing through your entire body, you were burning inside, with truth, for truth. Why did he say he missed you when he didn't? And why couldn't you for one goddamn second stop thinking of him and his beautiful face.
You stumble at the door of your apartment trying to fit the key into your keyhole groaning to yourself for your blurry vision. After multiple failed attempts which included dropping your keys, hitting your head against the door while picking it up and groaning in pain you were finally able to open the door.
You staggered into your apartment throwing down your bag against the door and walked into the kitchen looking for your stash of another bottle of wine.
It wasn't like you to drink heavily but not for once had you stopped thinking of Jin today and you needed something better to drown your thoughts of him. When you find a half emptied bottle of wine, you walk towards your sofa and crash onto it.
Why had Jin never called you back?
You wonder about it long enough staring at your ceiling but you couldn't find an answer. The real question was why was it bothering you so much that he never reached out to you? Do you still love him? Do you still want to be with him? Why have you never dated after Jin? Why haven't you loved anyone after him?
Before you could even rationalize your thoughts you were taking out your phone and staring at his contact.
"This is so stupid." You talk to yourself looking away from your phone to rationalize your thoughts but then you look back at that contact and you decide you need answers.
Your heart raced as the dial tone rings, were you hoping for him to pick up or otherwise?
But once he picked up, you knew your answer.
"Hello?"
You wanted him to.
"Y/n, is that you?"
You stared at your screen and decided if you were going to fuck it up, then so be it. What was the worst that could happen?
"Jin," You exhaled loudly, "Do you know you're a fucking liar!"
"Y/n... are you drunk?" He replied after a pause.
"So what if I am? At least I mean what I say." Were you making sense?
"Where are you?"
"Does it even matter to you? Does anything matter to you actually? I bet you don't even remember that night. How you waltzed in with you and your false promises, your false confessions but I do, I remember everything. You and your stupid words, your stupid face, your stupid confessions about missing me and wanting me. You never wanted me in the first place, did you? It was all a lie, wasn't it? It's so easy for you to pretend that everything is normal, that everything is casual but I'm not like that Jin. You may not care about this stuff but I do. I bet you didn't even mean it because if you did you would have actually reached out, but you didn't! Even when you said you would, you didn't because that's how you are. That's who you are. You've never once cared about what you do to me, what your words do me, you don't care, not even a little, not at all!" You were talking loudly.
You were raging inside, things you couldn't tell anyone but him, things' you couldn't talk to about anyone but him.
"Did you think I would forget about it? Like I would pretend it never happened? I tried, I fucking tried Jin but I can't pretend anymore. I can't pretend when it comes to you. For 3 fucking years I didn't think of you, didn't talk to you, didn't reach out to you but suddenly you show up one day and I haven't stopped thinking of you since and I hate it, and I hate you for making me this way-"
"Are you home?"
"Stop interrupting me-"
"I asked are you home? Do you still live there?" He sounded stern.
You sighed running your hand across your face, "I'm home, still live here. What are you going to do, come here?"
"I'll be there in 10." And he cut off the call.
You put your face in the palm of your hands, rubbing it lightly before you realise what Jin's last words were. You stare at your phone as his last words ring in your head. I'll be there in 10?
Was he really coming?
You stare at the door when door bell finally rang. It hadn't even been 10 minutes yet!
"Y/n, open the door."
You gulped finally getting up from the sofa to unlock the door. As you held the lock one final time, your brain half functionally tried to find all plausible scenarios of what may happen next but you were far too drunk to come up with a solution for your cursed call or for this moment.
The door banged again and you had no option but to open it.
"Y/n," and there he was. Looking like every bit of your sinful imagination put together in his black denim jacket and jeans.
"I didn't-"
"Are you okay?" He was far too calm for someone you had just ranted off to, complained to, about his own behaviour.
You nod and he finally walks through the door closing it behind him. You stare as he walks towards you. You were stuck to the ground again. It was easy to call out his shit on call but now that he was in front of you, you couldn't even bring yourself to say anything, let alone be mad at him.
"How much did you drink?" He asks softly looking at your coffee table for your almost emptied bottle of wine.
"Just a couple of sips from that and 2 bottles of wine." You can't look at him anymore, it was too real. Maybe your system went onto flight mode hence your sobriety was starting to kick in and you hated every bit of this.
"Let's get you sobered up." He said as he took your hand and took you into your kitchen. Huh?
Why was he being nice? Did the phone call never happen? Did it all just happen in your head? You were so confused as you watched him take off his jacket and get you a cup of water.
Once he hands you the water he goes back to the refrigerator to look for something while you watch his back. Were his shoulders always this wide? He leaned down to check something making his shirt rise up, showing his lower back and your look away catching yourself blushing at thoughts you shouldn't be having.
"You don't have anything for a hangover." He closes the refrigerator behind him and walks towards you.
"It's okay, I'll just take pills in the morning." You replied as you keep the cup back on the counter.
He leans in front of you to look at you properly and you couldn't help but blush at the proximity.
You clear your throat and turn your head away to look towards your bedroom door, "Uh, I think I'll be fine. You can go."
His eyebrows raised, "Go? Do you not want me here?"
You look back up at him. Did you want him here in the first place? You weren't sure at the moment.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asked softly stepping back from you.
Uncomfortable was the last thing that you were.
"That's not it. I just- I don't know why I called and now it's just weird." You said.
He hummed, "You should sleep."
Huh?
"Sleep?"
"It's late. The more you're up the more your head is going to hurt in the morning. You should sleep." With that he walked towards your bedroom. Was he going to sleep with you?
You realized you were wrong once he came out of the room after turning on the lights for you.
"Let me know if you need any help." He said as he came back into the kitchen.
You were perhaps shocked at his cordiality so you went along with it. You enter your bedroom turning your head around once to see him checking something in your kitchen shelves.
You didn't know exactly when you fell asleep after washing up but now that you're up at such un-godly hour you were finally able to recollect things that had happened tonight. You turn your gaze around your empty room but you notice your clothes folded neatly on the chair that you don't remember doing. When you turn to your nightstand, it's 4 in the morning and there are medicines, hangover pills, hangover drinks and water. It was Jin.
Feeling sober you take the pills he had kept there for you and you get out of your bedroom to check if Jin had left but when you walk into the living room, he's sitting there scrolling through his phone.
"You're still here?" You ask. You weren't surprised to find him there awake actually. Even when you guys were dating Jin would normally stay awake or at least partially awake whenever you returned home drunk just to take care of you if something happened in the middle of the night.
He shuts off his phone, putting it back in his pocket before getting up and walking towards you.
"You feeling better?" He asked. You nod.
"Do you need anything? Water?" He asked again.
You shook your head, "I just had some. You left it in my room."
He hummed. The silence lingered as you two kept staring at each other. For the first time since that night you didn't feel confused, rather confident that there was something between the two of you. Granted that this was the second time you were seeing him since your breakup but you could read his eyes very well. The way he looked at you, the way he looked at you even that night wasn't casual, it wasn't simple, it was complex. He looked at you in ways you couldn't describe in words.
"I feel fine now, I don't think I'll need any assistance anymore. I'm glad you came but I think it's better for you to go back home. I don't want to inconvenience you."
Why are you pushing him away even when you think there is something indescribable between you two? Because you can't afford to be hurt by Jin again. You can't afford to hurt him either. You felt it but did he? You didn't know. You no longer want to restrain him into something he might not want. You didn't want to force him, not then, nor now.
"Can you just- for once stop pushing me away?" He sighed running his hands through his hair.
"Pushing you away? Jin I didn't start it, you did. I merely don't want to hold you off. I don't want to be responsible for holding you back from something you could have with someone else-"
"Y/n, can we just talk like adults?" He sounded frustrated.
"We are."
"We're not!"
"How do we talk then? Oh, I know, maybe you can tell me you miss me again and then vanish yet again. Or maybe you can do this over a call again and then vanish from life completely. Or maybe you can do it under a drunken influence and tell me you didn't mean it the next d-"
It all happened too fast, in the blink of a moment. You gasp, barely registering that Jin was now pinning you against the wall and his face close enough to kiss you but not doing it just doing it yet. Any form of functioning brain you were left with was shutting off with the feeling of his body pressed against yours. How his hand was behind your back, resting on your lower back while his other hand was next to your head.
"You never stop, do you?" His voice was at least 2 octaves deeper. You gulped as you stared at his parted lips. It was unfair how they looked soft, plump, pink, just the right amount of kissable.
You breath stuck in your throat when you realised he had been staring at your lips as well.
"You say all that but my jacket is still hanging at your door. You push me away but you don't really want that, do you?" He asked again.
"What?" Your voice came out in a whisper. Did he ask something?
His lips pulled in a small smirk. He fucking knew the affect he has on you. He knows the way your body is hot against his. The way your breath is coming out in small shallow breaths.
"You aren't angry anymore," his hand momentarily moves away from the wall to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, "so can I confess now?"
Confess what?
"That I meant every single word I meant that night."
You didn't even know those words had slipped out of your mouth, you were too busy trying not to get distracted by his lips and failing miserably at it.
"I meant it Y/n when I said I missed you all this time, that I still miss you. What I don't believe is that you haven't missed me all this time. Have you really never thought of me?" His other hand somehow had slipped from behind your back to your neck and was now lifting your face by your chin to look into his eyes.
"Tell me honestly, you really haven't thought of this in these 3 years?"
You gulp, holding your ground for what seems like one last time, "Haven't."
He frowned as if he was impressed but then his eyes travelled across your body, your lips and then looked into your eyes again, "Your body says otherwise, baby."
Fuck.
He leaned into your body further, his lips travel towards your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You close your eyes inhaling sharply, your chest colliding with his and he whispers, "Your body still reacts the same, Y/n, are you sure you're mad at me for not reaching out?"
Before you could even answer you felt his lips graze lightly against your neck and you lose it. A low moan slips out of your mouth. Your hand involuntarily reaching out and tugging at his t-shirt. He hadn't even kissed your neck yet, just graze with a touch that can hardly be considered as a touch but your body was burning for more.
This isn't how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to send him back home and cut him off. You were supposed to stop thinking of Jin completely. But now, all you could think of was how much you wanted his lips to actually kiss you, how much you wanted his hands to touch you, to caress you.
He chuckles deeply, that small laugh that made you weak in your knees. His other hand travels down your hand and reaches your waist. His hand lingers, just lingers making you want more.
"Does this make you uncomfortable, Y/n?"
"No." You moan.
You lightly feel him smile against your neck. Did it even matter anymore? Holding your ground? Jin already knew everything about you and your body, he knew that your mouth was saying something else and your body was saying something else.
This time you feel his lips connect your neck completely and your back arches into him pulling him closer to you with the hand tugging at his t-shirt. Your mouth opens and a louder moan slips out.
"Tell me to stop." His lips kissed just below your ears but your neck leans back giving him more access to your ears and your neck.
"Don't stop, Jin.." your voice comes out in a complete moan that definitely had an effect on him because not only did his hand reach under your shirt, touching your bare waist and pulling you close but the curse that slipped out of his mouth sounded hot and heavy.
"Fuck, Y/n. Do you have any clue what you do to me?" He was kissing down your neck now. They weren't messy kisses but precise, soft and then deep, and when his teeth sunk into your neck pulling at it slightly, he would run his tongue along the spot he had just attacked, kissing it again softening the blow but you were crumbling at his actions. You could hardly stand up on your own anymore. If it hadn't been for Jin's hold on you, you were sure you wouldn't be standing at all.
"Want me to tell you what I've missed about you?"
You nod, "Tell me."
He pulls away from your neck, smirking at the way you whined for his touch. His eyes linger down your body and with his other hands he intertwines your fingers and brings it close to his lips. He looks through his lashes as he kisses your hands. You think it should be unfair for someone to look this hot when he's only kissing your hand.
"Your fingers."
All your attention centres on his lips, and how they move. Was it possible for a man of this level of hotness to grow any hotter with every passing second?
His lips travel down your arms, placing kisses along the way, "Your hands." When he reaches your upper arm, he forces your hand to hang across his shoulder. Your hand immediately reaches into his soft hair and tugs at them making him smile deliciously.
His lips now travel to your shoulder and he kisses it gently first, "These shoulders," he says and then places a hickey right on your shoulder.
How was it even possible?
"My favourite," he said as he kissed your neck once again. Your eyes close feeling his kisses along the other side of your neck now. He was making sure that your neck was covered with hickeys but you didn't mind that one bit. He was ruining you but you liked it, you loved the way he would softly kiss your neck after.
"Open your eyes, Baby." He said holding your chin. When you force your eyes open his face is right in front of you. He's smiling.
"Keep watching," and with that he drops to the ground. You bite your lip watching his hands travel through your thighs and resting on your ass. He squeezes them softly and your lower body juts forward involuntarily.
His low laugh lingers, "Missed this." And then he continues to leave kisses across your leg, reaching higher and higher until he reaches the band of your bottoms.
He looks up at you, his eyes sultry, seductive, slow. Your hand reaches his face, cupping his face giving him the permission he seeks.
His hand travels up your waist, pulling your shirt higher leaving your waist naked for him.
"May I?" He asks this time as his mouth nears your waist.
You thought you had answered but you realized you haven't once he asks you again, "Words, Y/n,"
The way he says your name.
"Touch me, Jin."
He no longer hesitates and kisses your waist. He first kisses at the low point pulling your bottoms a little even, then the side of your waist before he travels towards the center, kissing along navel then going higher and higher. His hand also pulling your shirt further upward.
"This waist." He moaned, "how I've missed holding this in my hands."
When he reaches far up enough till your breasts he stops and stands facing you. Your eyes were fluttering open with surreal pleasure running through your body.
"Tell me Y/n, will you still say you haven't missed me at all?"
You had no choice but to look at him and confess your truth. You wanted him like air and you needed him now.
"I've missed you."
"Say it again." He asks, smiling his hands coming up to either side of your face, caressing it.
"I've missed you, Jin," and this time you take the initiative to lean forward towards his lips but he only pulls back.
"Say it. Tell me how much you want this." He was so hot for commanding you the way he was but then he was so gentle with you and your body.
You try to lean forward again to no avail, you huff out in frustration making him chuckle.
"Sorry if this frustrates you but I want to be sure my girl really wants it."
His girl?
"Kiss me." You ordered grabbing him by his collar and pulling him down, "Kiss me now!"
He was surprised but then he bit his lip and leaned towards your lips, "there's no going back anymore, Y/n, you are sure, right?"
You finally grab him by his neck, smashing your lips against his.
There's heat, there's passion, there's impatience in the way you kiss him. These lips, oh these lips, how you've missed his mouth. One of his hands goes towards your hair guiding your head to his movement while his other hand drops to your back and drags you forward, he doesn't pull you, he drags you, into his body, pressing it harshly against himself.
"Fuck, Y/n," he moans and he pulls you in deep. His teeth pull at your lower lip but you lose it when his tongue pushes past your open kisses and swirls with your tongue. You can't help moaning at his delicious tongue, the way his lips are soft but how needy his kiss is, the way he seems gentle but his kiss is hungry. He's not kissing you, he's devouring you with his lips, with his tongue, remembering, memorizing, making up for the lost time.
When you try to gain dominance by tugging at his lower lips, he loses composure. He pushes both of your bodies against the wall. His hands are no longer against your head or your back, instead they're grabbing the back of your thighs and without a second thought he lifts you off the ground, not once breaking the kiss. Your legs automatically crossing behind him.
"You're going to be the death me, Y/n,"
You separate from his lips and look into his eyes,
"Then kiss me like you mean. Show me how much you've missed me."
Oh boy, were those the wrong words. He attacks you, like a predator in the wild. His lips sucks you into another dimension. His tongue licking your lips, pushing past them, his teeth tugging your lips all at the same time. Any hesitation he has leaves his body and he carries you to the bedroom, your hands on his shoulders, his arms still firmly holding you.
And then you feel it, when he puts you on the bed, climbing over you.
"I'll show you in every way how much I've missed you Y/n," he moans as his lips momentarily travels to your neck.
"Gonna show you how much I've thought about you, your mouth, your neck, your body," he nips the skin at your neck.
Your hands reach his back, travelling under his shirt. He hisses as he feels your nails rake his back.
"Feral, are we?" He moans returning to your kiss your mouth.
"Everything I feel about you is feral, Jin," you moan back. You can feel him smile against your lips, he's proud of it. His ego satisfied with your reaction.
"Thought you hated me?" His words slipped out as he paused to take a breath, then his kisses your mouth gently, again, then again and then again.
"Guess you forgot all about it." Your brain could barely agree or deny his statement. Did you? You didn't care at the moment, all you wanted at this moment was him.
He finally leaves your mouth. His figure towers over you, sitting on his knees. And he just stares, just looks at you, your and your body and it drives you crazy, the power he has on you. The look in his eyes momentarily shifts from pure lust to something softer but you were starting to get really desperate.
"Are you really sure?"
You raise your body, resting on your palm while your other hand reaches towards his chest.
"Never been more sure," and you touch him over his shirt, then you lean further upward, towards his neck and kiss his neck. Your hand slips inside his shirt and he loses his balance momentarily.
His eyes close at the sensation of your lips against his neck. You can feel the veins on his neck, the rise and fall of his chest under your palm, the way his heart is beating loudly. When you nip at his skin, pull at it with your teeth, he loses his balance completely and you fall backward with his body on top of you.
"Y/n, I need you, now."
"Then have me Jin, take me."
You run your tongue across his neck and then he pulls your face away. You look at him as his hands reach the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off his body.
For the first time in 3 years you were finally looking at his body, his chest, his abs, oh.
It was clear he has been working out, the V line going inside his jeans was prominent enough for you to lose your mind over it. He smirks as he watches your eyes rake his body.
"Think you need me more," him and his mouth. You pull him down.
"Shut up."
He laughs kissing you once again but his hand reaches the hem of your shirt and he touches you. This time he's not seeking your permission instead he is demanding. His hands reach up to your boobs and he grazes them lightly.
Your back arches at his touch, moaning. He resumes touching you, grazing your chest lightly over your bra, he doesn't even tug at it but touches gently but you feel your nipples harden under his touch.
"Shit Y/n, your body..," he moans as his lips leaves your and goes down your neck to the top of your chest over your shirt.
He looks back at you as he plays with the hem of your shirt. You take his hand and pull your shirt upward and upward until it exposes your covered breasts and you remove your shirt throwing it aside.
His hands follow his lips as he goes towards the valley of your chest. He nips at the skin of your chest but he's moaning, he's lost in your touch. He doesn't even realise when he tugs sharper than usual until he hears you moan loudly.
He doesn't give a second thought instead he slips his hand behind and unclasps your bra, slipping it off your chest. You suddenly realize the way your body is exposed to his. You're undressed the same but it's been so long since he's touched you, since he has looked at you in the way that he's looking at you now.
"Beautiful.. so beautiful, no one compares to you, no one," he whispers as his lips kiss your chest again. With one hand he grazes over your left nipple and you moan. You feel heat travelling straight down between your legs. You've felt it since his lips have touched you but you can't ignore it anymore. You were desperate for more, you needed more from him, from his body.
And as if he could read the demands in your head, he takes your right breast in his mouth. Your hand immediately falls into his hair and you whine, you moan, whimpering his name. He sucks ever so gently, softly suckling at your breasts like a man starved and your moans only encourage him to take it further in his mouth.
"Fuck Jin," you almost scream when Jin pulls at your nipple and gently bites it with his teeth and smothers by sucking on it. You feel him smile at your reaction.
"Already screaming my name? We've just started, baby," his voice filled with pure lust. His eyes are filled with pure desire for you, pure desperation. You liked that look in his eyes.
"Keep your eyes on me," he only says it once before he gives your left nipple the same attention as your right one. His left hand applies the same pull at your right nipple, pinching, pulling, rolling it between his fingers. Not for a moment does he think he wants to give you rest. You were a moaning mess at this point but he didn't care, in fact he liked the way his name kept falling out of your mouth. He liked the way your chest rose for his attention, the way he could feel your heart race, the way every time he would pull at your nipples your back would arch more for him to take more of you.
He liked this, hell he loved the way your body was reacting to every touch and he would go on the whole night but he was hard now. He had ignored it for so long but he couldn't ignore it anymore. The hardness between his own legs was unavoidable. He too wanted to feel more of you. He wanted to feel your body around him, the way your body would clench around his dick and just that thought alone made his dick harder than before.
Only his lips leave your breasts, his hands still there kneading them. His lips travelling down your body and your head falls back as he reaches your lower waist and pulls at your bottom.
He takes them off your legs and throwing them somewhere across the room. His lips don't rest even for a moment. He kisses right above the band of your panties making your hands fall on the sheets, grabbing, pulling at them to try and reduce the sensations you were feelings.
"Fuck, so wet for me, Baby," he moans kissing over your clothed clit. You lose it, you lose it. You moan loudly as he suckles at your clothed clit. How was this so pleasurable? Not even grabbing onto the sheets was helping you anymore.
"Do you want it?" He asks as if he didn't already know but he still seeks your permission. He slides your panty to the side, lingering his fingers over you.
He pulls apart bringing his lips to his mouth, wetting his own fingers before reaching down to touch you again and you forget your response, only whimpering at his actions.
"Words Y/n," you hated him, his stupid mouth for making your feel like you're on fire.
"yes, fuck, yes, Jin." That was the encouragement he needed before he goes down and pulls away your panties completely and kisses your clit. His fingers insert you all at the same instance leaving you arching, moaning mess.
You were sure if in that moment someone stood outside your apartment they would know you were being wrecked by a beautiful man with soft lips because his kiss alone on your clit made you feel feral.
To make it worse, he removed his fingers from your witness and dragged a long lick across your opening, applying pressure at your clit. Jin's name kept falling out of your mouth as if you were worshipping him but you were in a state of delirium. How could his mouth feel so good on you? Why was he so skilled at taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it?
Your hand falls into his hair and pulls at them harshly but he doesn't stop, he sucked you in, he sucked all your wetness into his mouth like he's been thirsty for days. His tongue laps at your clit like never before. No one has ever made you feel this way like he does. He had barely begun but you felt close to cumming.
You keep feeling his lips sucking at your clit, his tongue licking it between but you scream loudly when you feel his wet fingers replace his tongue.
"Keep screaming, Baby. Keep screaming but I'm not stopping. Not tonight."
Fuck. He was so hot for this.
You shake your head with pure pleasure as he circles your clit with his middle finger. Whimpers fall off your lips as you feel double attacked by his tongue entering you. How did you land in this situation, you could no longer care instead you thank heavens that let you feel Kim Seok-Jin fall between your legs.
Your chest rises, your breath choking with moans of pleasure, "Jin, fuck- I can't."
"Can't what baby?" He doesn't give you a break though. You try to pull him upward but he takes your hand and intertwines your fingers with his other hands and pins it against your belly.
"Shit- Jin, please, please.." what were you pleading for?!
"Cum on my tongue. Just once. I promise I'll make it easy."
You knew it wasn't going to be easy. It was never going to be easy, this was Jin you're talking about. He licks you again, his tongue going in and out of you again. His tongue swirling inside you as if he was trying to emboss his names on the inside of your walls. You pull at your intervened hands to no avail. He was in complete control of your body, he had your body in the palms of his hands.
The moment he feels your legs trying to close in on him, he shakes his head, raising his head only for a moment, looking at you, "No Y/n. Spread for me, spread."
You had no option but to fall your legs open. It felt sinful but your body was crying for more. Your body was shaking for more, your lips were calling for more. And his mouth, he was pulling you into him over and over again.
"Cum for me, baby, cum." And with that Jin circled your clit faster than before while his tongue resumed lapping onto your insides. He kept doing it, kept licking and sucking and circling until your head falls back and you scream cumming all over his mouth. He doesn't stop, instead he keeps drinking you, keeps swirling inside you until you're all spent out.
"Fuck, Y/n, tastes so sweet," you feel him smile. He raises his head to look at you collapsed into the pillow. He smirks proudly at your ruined state and he kisses your clit again.
You hiss at the contact, you're sensitive. But he keeps kissing, his tongues softly flickering your nub and sucking gently.
"Jin, please, I'm sensitive," you moan. He still doesn't stop, he sucks at your clit again but you were able to stop him this time. You pulled his head away harshly.
He finally understands and climbs back over on top of you. When he comes just across your face, he cups your face with one hand and smiles at you.
"You're so beautiful."
You keep looking at him and you realize in that moment why you never loved anyone after him.
You still only wanted him. Just him and nobody else.
He pushes your messy hair off your forehead and behind your ear before he kisses your forehead, "think you can give me one more?"
You gulped. How was he so gentle and seductive at the same time?
You nod. He smiles at you before he leans down and kisses you again.
This time your hand trail down his chest towards the waistband of his jeans. When you palm him through his jeans, he moans pathetically.
He wanted you all the same.
"Fuck Y/n," he hisses as you keep palming him more.
When you undo his button his head falls to the crook of your neck, taking your earlobe into his mouth, making you moan.
You push his jeans down, pulling his underwear with it and he helps you take it off. You finally feel him naked against your body. The way his hard length lay atop your stomach.
You reach his length again, this time without anything obstructing you and you fist it in your palm. Your hand moves up and down his length, momentarily swiping precum against his head. This makes his kisses along your neck messy. He pulls away your neck and stubbornly forces his moans into your mouth. With every moan he chokes on in your mouth as if you owned him, you moved your hand faster. Every once in a while you kept swiping your fingers at the head making him lose his composure making all his kisses teethy.
When he finally felt that he couldn't take it anymore he pulled your hand away from his dick and pinned it against your head.
"I can't wait anymore. Need you. Need to feel you around me." He breathes and you nod.
You pull apart for a moment reaching your nightstand drawer and pulling out a condom from it.
"Haven't been on pills." He smiles shyly kissing your cheek taking it from your hands, pulling the wrapping open and covering his dick with the condom.
After putting it on he grabs his length with one hand and taps it over your clit making you moan. He loves the moan that slips out of you so he keeps doing that. In between he swipes it across your slicked opening, all wet and waiting for him but he doesn't push in yet. Your moans keep getting louder and louder as he keeps doing it but when you feel him twitch against you, he finally pushes it across your opening.
"Ready?" He asks and you nod. You needed him more than ever now.
He finally pushes his length past your opening, stretching you out slowly.
"Fuck, so tight,- shit! you're- feel so good."
You bite your lips, your breath stopping. Fuck, he was big. You had forgotten how his dick had felt inside you.
"Breath for me," he reminds you, his other hand reaching down and circling your clit, stimulating more pleasure. It makes the stretch a little easier but nonetheless he was big and Jin seemed to want it all inside you.
Once he's finally fully inside you he moans at the feeling of you around him, curses falling off his constantly, appreciating how you're taking him so well. When he moves to adjust, you stifle a cry, the pain was new but pleasurable. He gives you more time to adjust, kissing you, reminding you to keep breathing. When you finally felt like you needed more, you moved slowly.
"Fuck, warn me before you do that," he hisses, holding your waist against the bed with one hand. You can see his face, all scrunched up, all fucked out. He was a mess for you, you couldn't say you weren't the same. When you try to move again, he kissed you harshly and this time he doesn't wait to pull back and thrust into you hardly.
He eats out your loud moans as he does that a couple more times. He wasn't fast but every thrust he put into you was hard, deep and slow which made it worse because with every thrust he was touching parts of you that you've waited so long to be touched. Parts that only he had ever touched.
Your legs lock behind him trying to pull him closer to your body and Jin finally takes your actions into consideration and starts moving faster.
"Shit- baby, you're clenching- squeezing me-" he moans, his body rocking into you.
"Jin- baby- fuck- so good" the words had barely slipped out of your lips when Jin's pace faltered.
"Call me that again?" He moans into your ears. Your free hand trails up his back, into his hair.
"baby.."
Was it a trigger? It felt like it because after hearing you call him baby, Jin started fucking you into oblivion, his pace changing to hard and fast thrusts. He was fucking you like he meant it, fulfilling his promise of showing you exactly just how much he missed you, how much he has missed you wrapped around him. Your name falling off his lips in between the moans.
Your curses changed into screams as he started hitting that sweet spot, abusing it over and over again. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy, how to edge you over and over again, bringing you to tears.
"Fuck- I'm- i'm going to cum Jin,"
He shook his head, "not now, not-" thrusts, "not so soon." But you couldn't take it anymore, you really couldn't and you tell him that.
"Just a little more,- just- fuck- just a little more." And with that he leans back, sitting on his knees and changes your position, he takes your waist in his hands, raising you off the bed and fucked you again, and again, and again until you were crumbling, collapsing in pleasure.
Your body was shaking, your thighs hurting, your hands were trying to grab onto anything, the sheets, the pillow, his hands but none of it stopped him from rocking into you hard enough to make your bed creak. It felt like he was marking you as his own, reminding him that nobody has ever made this way, that nobody ever gets to make you feel this way.
"Fuck, Jin-please." You whimpered clenching around him involuntarily. It felt like he was never going to stop, it didn't feel like he wanted to stop at all and that thought alone made you clench harder against him.
His pace falters, he twitches inside you and you clench again.
He falls on top of you again, his lips smashing over your lips briefly then his head falls back as you keep clenching again. This was by far the loudest he had moaned, no he was whining, whimpering with you.
"Fuc- Y/n, you're going to make me cum-"
"Cum with me, baby, cum with me."
And he loses it, he really loses it. It doesn't take long before you reach your climax. He keeps fucking you as you cum around him, his orgasm following into you soon after.
Tired, ruined, wrecked, you feel Jin's body collapse on top of you. You both try to regain your breath and it takes a couple of minutes before you're able to be normal.
"Y/n, this was-"
"everything you've missed?" you tease lightly, your brain no longer foggy.
You feel him smile against your neck. He lifts his head and smiles at you before leaning down to press a soft kiss, "Everything I've missed."
He finally collapses next to you, tossing the condom in the trash. He covers you both with sheets and turned sideways to look at you.
You were far too tired for anything but even in this ruined state, he looked like gorgeous.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You finally ask.
His hands pulls you close and he intertwines your fingers with his, "Just missed you. Trying to memorize your face."
You blush.
"I've missed you." You finally confess. Something passes behind his eyes, it wasn't pain, it was the comfort after pain.
"Did you really think I didn't care about you? That I forgot about that night?" He sincerely asked.
You nodded, "It didn't feel like you cared. It feels weird to admit it now but I waited for you to contact me. Thought about it for so long."
He was looking at you innocently, nothing compared to the lust from a couple of minutes before, "You didn't seem to feel the same, that's why I didn't. I was a mess after you, thinking about how badly I messed up with you, what I had lost since you've been gone but I didn't know how to tell you that. And I felt like an asshole after talking to you that night, thought I was forcing myself onto you so I didn't. I didn't want to repeat any mistakes this time."
"But you said you wanted to be with me?" He was now playing with your fingers.
"I wanted to, I still want to but I want to prove to you that I'm worth it this time. I actually want to be the man that you'd want."
Hearing his words, the commitment behind it, you lean forward pressing a kiss to his lips, "You've always been the man I want to be with Jin."
He smiled. His hands leave yours and caress your face, running his thumb along your cheek, "If you're going to be with me this time, there's no breaking up. Its going to be you and me, always, do you think you want that?"
"Do you want that?"
"I want that, Y/n. I want you."
"Let's start anew."
And everything else seemed to fade into the background. In that moment nothing else mattered, not your past, nor his mistakes, just you and him. Together. Again.
A/n: certain edits will be under way. Thankyou for reading so far, much love <3
Genre: Dark Romance, Mafia Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Angst, Mature
Sypnosis: One witness. One mistake. One man who should have ended it immediately. Instead, Kim Seokjin lets her live inside his world where danger breathes behind every wall and trust is the most expensive thing you can offer. She thinks she is surviving him. She does not realize she is becoming the only thing he refuses to lose.
A/N: Hi, my lovelies! This Seokjin × Y/N story is a little surprise for you all and one that’s very special to me. This piece was actually commissioned by a lovely reader who trusted me with her idea and gave me the chance to bring it to life. I’m so, so grateful for your support and for allowing me to share this story here so others can experience it too.
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The café always feels smaller at night. There's something about the quiet presses in closer, like the space itself is exhaling after holding its breath all day. The laughter is gone. The rush is gone. What’s left is the hum of the refrigerator, the soft clink of porcelain, and you.
You stand behind the counter, sleeves pushed to your elbows, fingers damp from the sink as you rinse the last cup of the night. The water runs lukewarm now, barely comforting, barely anything, but you let it spill over your skin a second longer than necessary, just to feel something.
The smell of coffee clings to everything. Bitter, burnt at the edges. It seeps into your clothes, your hair, your bones. You wonder, not for the first time, if this is what your life smells like now, spent beans and long hours.
You turn off the tap. You’ve always told yourself that silence means peace. Silence means no one asking for anything, no one expecting anything, no one looking at you like you owe them something you don’t have. Still… tonight, it lingers a little too long.
You dry your hands slowly, eyes flicking to the clock mounted above the menu board.
11:47 PM. Later than usual.
A small sigh escapes you, quiet enough that even you barely hear it. You move through the motions automatically, stacking chairs, wiping surfaces already clean, double-checking the register. Routine is a kind of armor.
By the time you reach the door, keys already in hand, the world outside looks… different. It always does at this hour.
The streetlights cast long, uneven shadows across the pavement, stretching everything into something unfamiliar. The city doesn’t sleep, not really, but it softens. Edges blur. Sounds carry farther.
You lock the door behind you, the click echoing louder than it should. For a moment, you hesitate. It’s instinct, more than thought. A pause you can’t quite explain, like your body is catching onto something your mind hasn’t yet understood.
Then you shake it off. You’re tired. That’s all.
The main road is longer, brighter, safer. But the alley cuts your walk home in half, and you’ve taken it enough times to know every crack in the pavement, every flickering light overhead. You tell yourself it’s fine.
And you turn into the alley. The shift is immediate. The air feels cooler here, heavier somehow. The faint buzz of the street fades behind you, replaced by something quieter.
Your footsteps echo softly, uneven against the concrete. You tuck your hands into your jacket, pulling it tighter around yourself as you move.
Halfway through, you hear it.
A voice. Low and strained. You stop.
It’s not loud—if anything, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that forces you to listen harder, that makes every nerve in your body sharpen without permission.
“…I told you—I don’t know anything.”
You recognize that voice. Your neighbor, Mr. Choi.
You’ve passed him in the hallway a dozen times. Exchanged polite nods. Once, he helped you carry groceries up the stairs when the elevator broke. He always smelled faintly of cigarettes and something sharper, something you couldn’t quite place.
Another voice answers. Calm. Measured.
“People who know nothing,” the man says softly, “don’t usually run.”
Something in the tone makes your skin prickle. You take a step closer before you can stop yourself, drawn by a mix of concern and curiosity. The alley bends slightly ahead, shadows pooling where the light doesn’t quite reach. You shouldn’t look, you know that. But you do, and everything changes.
There are four men. Three of them stand around your neighbor, their presence are heavy. They don’t fidget. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their silence feels practiced, like it belongs to them. And then, him.
He stands a few feet away, not touching, not crowding, but undeniably in control of everything unfolding. Tall. Composed. Dressed too well for this part of the city at this hour. His coat falls perfectly against his frame, dark fabric catching what little light there is. One hand rests casually in his pocket, the other holding nothing—no weapon, no threat. Your neighbor is shaking.
“I swear,” Mr. Choi says, voice breaking now, “I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t know where it is.”
The man tilts his head slightly.
“You’re wasting my time,” he replies, almost gently. And that, more than anything else, is what makes your chest tighten.
There’s no anger in him. No frustration. Just a quiet finality, like the decision has already been made and everyone else is just catching up.
You should leave now. Before they notice you. Before you become part of something you don’t understand.
Carefully, you take a step back. Then another. Your breath feels too loud. Your heartbeat even louder, thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to give you away. You keep your eyes down, movements slow, controlled. Almost there, almost.
Your shoe catches against a loose piece of gravel. The sound is small, insignificant. But in the silence, it might as well be a gunshot.
Everything stops. You freeze. For a split second, nothing happens. Then, “Someone’s there.”
Your blood turns cold. You don’t wait. You don’t think. You turn, and run straight into him.
You don’t even see him move. One second, the alley is empty behind you. The next, he’s there, close enough that you stumble back, breath knocked from your lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest.
Strong. Unyielding. A hand closes around your wrist before you can recover. Firm enough that you know immediately, there’s no breaking free.
Your head snaps up, and for the first time, you see his face clearly. He’s… not what you expected. There’s no visible cruelty. No obvious threat carved into his features. If anything, he looks composed. Almost… refined. Dark eyes steady as they take you in, sharp and assessing in a way that makes you feel like you’re being read, line by line. Like a problem he hasn’t solved yet.
You try to pull your hand back. His grip tightens just enough to stop you.
“Please—” The word leaves you before you can stop it, breathless, unsteady. “I didn’t see anything.”
A lie. And both of you know it. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long.
“You shouldn’t have come down this alley tonight,” he says quietly.
Behind him, you hear movement, your neighbor’s voice rising, panicked now, cut short by something you don’t want to imagine. You flinch. His eyes don’t leave yours.
“Let me go,” you whisper, the words trembling despite the effort you put into steadying them. “I won’t say anything. I don’t even know who you are.”
A pause. Something flickers across his expression. He releases your wrist, Only to take your hand instead.
Your breath catches. The gesture is almost… polite. But the message is clear. You’re not going anywhere.
“Come with me.”
You shake your head immediately, panic rising sharp and fast. “No. No, I— I have to go home—”
“You won’t make it there tonight.”
Still calm. Still certain. Your chest tightens. “You can’t just—”
“I can.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t step closer. But the space between you feels smaller anyway, suffocating. Your pulse stutters as you look at him, searching for something—mercy, hesitation, anything you can use.
“Please,” you try again, softer now, your voice betraying you. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
Another pause. Then, almost thoughtfully “That’s not the problem.”
Before you can ask what is, his grip shifts, firmer now, guiding you forward. Leaving no room for refusal. You stumble once, then fall into step because you have no choice. There is no gun pressed to your head, no shouted threats, no chaos unraveling around you. The world continues as it always has, distant traffic humming somewhere beyond the alley, a stray light flickering overhead, the night carrying on without caring what happens to you.
That is what unsettles you the most. If this were a nightmare, it would be louder. But this is quiet. And the man standing in front of you feels like the kind of danger that does not need noise to be understood. His hand still holds yours. Not in a way that leaves bruises or forces tears out of you. It is controlled, like everything about him. You test it once, just a small pull, more instinct than intention. He does not react immediately. But his grip adjusts, subtle and unyielding, like a reminder rather than a warning.
You swallow. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard, like it is trying to make up for the silence around you. You look at him again, searching for something human enough to cling to. Fear has a way of sharpening details. You notice the way his coat sits perfectly on his shoulders despite the situation, the way his expression barely shifts, the steadiness in his gaze that never once flickers away from you.
He looks like someone who has already decided how this ends. And you are just… waiting to find out. You expect him to say something that confirms it. A threat, a command. Something that draws a clear line between what you are now and what you are about to become.
Instead, he studies you. It is not a quick glance, not the kind people give strangers they have already dismissed. It lingers, thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten. His eyes move over your face like he is memorizing it, or maybe measuring it against something only he understands.
You feel exposed under it. Not in the way you would under a leering stare, but in a way that feels worse. Like he is trying to figure out where you fit in a situation you do not belong in. His thumb shifts slightly against your hand, almost absentminded.
“You’re shaking,” he says, quietly enough that it feels like something he noticed rather than something he meant to point out.
You don’t respond. You do not trust your voice to come out steady. You do not trust yourself to sound anything but afraid.
Behind him, the alley feels darker now. You do not dare look back, but the absence of your neighbor’s voice is louder than anything you heard earlier. It presses against your ears, thick and suffocating. Something inside you twists. You force yourself to speak anyway.
“I told you,” you manage, the words thinner than you want them to be, “I didn’t see anything.”
This time, he exhales. “I know what you saw,” he replies, his tone unchanged, as if your denial does not matter either way. The way he says it makes your stomach drop. Because it sounds like the truth is irrelevant now.
Your throat tightens. “Then why am I still here?”
It is a simple question. But it carries everything you are too afraid to say outright. Why aren’t you dead yet?
His gaze does not waver. For a moment, you think he will ignore you. That he will simply move on, drag you somewhere else without bothering to explain. You brace yourself for that, for the helplessness of being handled like an object in a situation you cannot control.
Instead, he answers. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you.”
He says it the same way someone might comment on the weather, or the time, or anything equally ordinary. Your fingers curl slightly, your nails pressing into your own palm as if the sensation might ground you. You shake your head, a quiet, desperate motion.
“I’m not something you get to decide on,” you say, and this time there is more force behind it. Fear is still there, sitting heavy in your chest, but something else pushes through it. Anger. “I’m a person. You can’t just take me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
For the first time, something shifts in his expression. Not much. Just the faintest narrowing of his eyes, the smallest pause in his stillness. Like you have said something… interesting.
“You were in the wrong place,” he agrees, calmly. “That part is true.”
Your breath catches. “And now?” you press, even though every instinct is telling you to stop, to stay quiet, to not push someone like him. “What does that make this?”
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer. Then, finally, he lets go of your hand. Relief floods through you so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. But it lasts only a moment. Because his next words take its place.
“It makes you my responsibility.”
You stare at him. The sentence does not make sense in your head. Not the way it should. Not in a way that feels safe or reassuring. Responsibility is supposed to sound like protection, like care. But from him, it feels like ownership.
“I don’t need you to be responsible for me,” you say, your voice sharper now, steadier in your own ears. “I just need you to let me go.”
“No,” he says.
Your chest tightens. “You can’t just decide that.”
“I already did.”
Before you can respond, before you can find something to say that might break through whatever wall he has built around himself, he turns slightly, his attention shifting just enough to signal something to the man behind him.
They move immediately. Whatever was happening before is over now. And so are your chances of walking away from it.
When his attention returns to you, there is nothing hurried in the way he looks at you, nothing chaotic in the way he moves. He steps closer, not enough to corner you, but enough to make it clear that distance will not save you.
“Dont make this harder,” he says, quieter this time.
Every part of you resists, rooted in place by fear, anger, disbelief. This cannot be real. People do not just get taken like this. Not without a fight. Not without someone noticing.
But the alley is empty. The night has already swallowed everything that happened here.
“No,” you repeat, more firmly now, even as your voice trembles at the edges. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
For a second, you think he might grab you again. He doesn’t. Instead, he watches you. Like he is giving you space to make a choice he already knows the outcome of.
“You can walk,” he says, his voice low, even, “or I can carry you.”
Your stomach drops. It is not said as a threat. It is said as a fact. And somehow, that makes it impossible to argue with.
Your nails dig deeper into your palm. Your mind races, searching for an opening, a way out, something you can use to turn this in your favor. There is nothing.
Only him. Only this moment. Only the understanding settling deep in your chest that whatever happens next is not something you get to control.
Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, unwillingly, you take a step forward.
The car is waiting at the end of the street. Black. Polished. Out of place in a neighborhood like yours. One of them opens the door before you even reach it. You hesitate, your gaze flicking between the open space inside and the man standing behind you. He does not touch you this time.
You get in. The door closes with a soft, final sound. The city moves past you in a blur after that. Streetlights streak across the window, buildings shifting from familiar to unfamiliar too quickly for you to track. You sit rigidly, your hands clenched in your lap, your reflection faint in the glass.
He sits beside you. Close enough that you are aware of him. The silence stretches. You cannot stand it.
“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice quieter now, worn down by everything you cannot control.
“Somewhere safe.”
The answer almost makes you laugh. Nothing about this feels safe.
His place is nothing like yours. You realize that the moment you step inside. The space is vast, open, almost painfully clean. Everything is sharp lines and muted tones, glass and marble and soft lighting that feels too deliberate to be comforting. There is no clutter. No signs of life beyond what is necessary. It does not feel like a home. It feels like a place designed to be controlled.
Your shoes echo faintly against the floor as you step further in, your chest tightening with every second that passes. The door closes behind you, quiet but heavy, and something about the sound makes it feel like the world outside has just been cut off completely. You turn to him immediately.
“What is this?” you ask, your voice stronger now, fueled by everything you have been holding in. “You bring me here and expect me to just what, stay?”
He removes his coat with unhurried precision, draping it over the back of a chair as if this is any other night, any other routine.
“You will stay here for now,” he says.
“For now?” you echo, disbelief breaking through. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Your hands clench at your sides.
“No,” you say again, louder this time, the word echoing slightly in the open space. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to decide that I just disappear into your life because it’s convenient for you.”
He turns to face you fully then.
“You didn’t disappear,” he says, his voice still calm, still controlled. “You were seen.”
The words hit harder than they should.
“You think I wanted that?” you shoot back. “You think I chose this?”
“No,” he replies, and there is something quieter beneath it now, something almost thoughtful. “But it doesn’t change the situation.”
Your breath falters. You take a step toward him, your frustration spilling over now, too big to contain.
“Then change it,” you demand. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even understand what I saw. I just want to go home.”
The word home feels fragile in your mouth now. Like something that might not belong to you anymore. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.
“I don’t make decisions based on what people want,” he says.
The finality in his tone settles deep in your chest. You stare at him, anger and fear tangling together until you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Then what do you base them on?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less intense.
His gaze holds yours. And for the first time, there is something in it you cannot quite name.
“Risk.”
The word lingers between you. And suddenly, you understand. This is not about you as a person, this is about what you represent. A variable, a mistake, a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve. Your throat tightens.
“So what,” you whisper, “I just stay here until you decide I’m not one anymore?”
He does not answer immediately. But he does not deny it either. And somehow, that silence says everything.
You do not sleep. You try. You lie on the edge of a bed that is far too soft for a place that feels this cold, staring at a ceiling that does not belong to you, counting seconds that refuse to pass fast enough. The sheets smell clean, unfamiliar, like something expensive and untouched, and every time you shift, the silence follows you. It is not the comforting kind, it is the kind that listens back.
You turn onto your side, then your back, then your side again. Your body is exhausted, your mind wired so tightly it almost hurts. Every time you close your eyes, the alley comes back in fragments. Your neighbor’s voice. The way it cut off. The way he looked at you like you had already stepped into something you could not leave.
And then him, always him. The calm in his voice. The certainty in his eyes. The way he said no as if the word was not meant to be questioned. You sit up abruptly. Breathing feels easier when you are not lying still.
The room they put you in is larger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling glass stretches along one wall, the city spread out beyond it in glittering lights that feel too far away to reach. Somewhere down there, life is still happening. People are laughing, arguing, going home to places that belong to them.
You wonder if anyone would notice you are gone. The thought sits heavier than it should. You push it away and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cold floor. The chill runs up your spine, grounding you in a way the silence cannot.
You cannot stay here. The realization is not new. It has been sitting in your chest since the moment that door closed behind you. But now it sharpens, takes shape, becomes something you can act on.
You stand slowly, listening. Nothing. No footsteps outside the door. No voices, no movement.
Carefully, you cross the room and reach for the handle. It opens. The hallway beyond is dimly lit, soft lights set low against the walls. Everything looks the same as it did when you walked through it earlier, pristine and controlled, like nothing exists here without permission. You step out.
Your heart starts to pick up again, but this time it feels different. Less panic, more focus. You keep your steps light, measured, your eyes adjusting to the space as you move.
There are no guards in sight, no one stops you. For a moment, hope flickers. Maybe he underestimated you. Maybe he thinks you will just stay put, obedient, quiet, waiting for him to decide what happens next. You are not that person. You move faster.
The living area opens up in front of you, all glass and shadow and sharp edges softened by low light. It looks like a place that exists outside of time, untouched by anything messy or human.
The front door is there. You see it immediately. Your steps falter for only a second before you push forward, every instinct in you narrowing to that one point. You do not think about what happens after. You do not think about where you will go, how you will get home, what you will do if someone sees you. You just need to get out.
Your hand closes around the handle. You twist. Nothing. You try again, harder this time, your grip tightening as you force the handle down, your shoulder pressing slightly against the door like that might make a difference.
It doesn’t move. Locked. Of course it is. Frustration surges through you, hot and immediate. You pull back, your hand lifting to hit the door before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes too loudly in the silence, sharp and out of place.
You freeze. Listen. Still nothing. Your pulse races. You turn quickly, scanning the room for something else, another way out, another door, anything. The windows stretch wide, but you already know they will not open. A place like this is not built for escape. It is built for control.
You move toward the nearest panel anyway, your fingers searching for a latch, a seam, anything that might give. The glass is cool under your touch, solid and unyielding. You press your forehead against it for a second, your breath fogging the surface.
“Think,” you whisper to yourself, the word barely audible.
There has to be something. People do not live in cages like this without a way in and out. There has to be a system, a code, something you can figure out if you just take a second to look closer. You step back, scanning again, slower this time. That is when you hear it.
“Trying to leave without saying anything.”
His voice does not startle you. Because something in you always knew he would be there. You turn slowly.
He stands near the entrance to the hallway, one hand resting lightly against the wall as if he has been there for a while, watching. He is dressed differently now, the sharp edges of earlier softened slightly, his sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms, his posture relaxed in a way that feels almost deceptive. There is no anger in his face. No surprise, only quiet awareness.
“You locked the door,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel, refusing to let him hear the panic that was there seconds ago.
“I did.”
He does not move closer. Does not raise his voice. He simply confirms it, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
You let out a breath, shaking your head. “Then what was the point of letting me walk out of that room? You could have just locked me in there too.”
His gaze lingers on you for a moment, thoughtful.“I wanted to see what you would do.”
The answer lands somewhere between insulting and unsettling.
“And this is supposed to prove something?” you ask, your frustration pushing forward again. “That I don’t want to stay here? Congratulations. You already knew that.”
A flicker of interest crosses his expression.
“You didn’t hesitate,” he says. “You didn’t check if anyone was watching. You didn’t look for another option first.”
Your brows draw together. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It tells me how you think.”
You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You kidnapped me and now you’re analyzing me like I’m part of some experiment.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
The correction comes easily, almost reflexively.
“You gave me no choice,” you shoot back immediately. “That’s the same thing.”
He considers that for a second. Then, quietly, “No. It isn’t.”
Your hands clench at your sides. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
The words hit harder than you expect. Your chest tightens, anger flaring again, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” he agrees calmly. “But I know enough.”
Silence settles between you for a moment, heavy and charged. You take a step toward him, closing some of the distance, refusing to let him stand there like he holds all the control without being challenged.
“Then tell me,” you say, your voice lower now, steadier, cutting through the space between you. “What exactly do you think you know?”
His gaze drops briefly, not in dismissal, but in thought, like he is choosing his words carefully. Then it returns to you.
“You’re not reckless,” he says. “If you were, you would have screamed in the alley. You would have run without thinking. You didn’t.”
Your breath catches, just slightly.
“You observed first. You tried to leave quietly. You only panicked when you realized you were already involved.”
You hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
“And now?” you ask.
Something shifts in his expression again, subtle but there.
“Now you’re angry,” he says. “Which is better than afraid.”
The words catch you off guard. You hadn’t realized it, not fully. The fear is still there, sitting deep in your chest, but it is not the only thing anymore. It has changed shape, twisted into something sharper, something that pushes back instead of freezing.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” you say, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”
“I’m also the reason you’re still alive.”
The room stills. The words settle between you, heavier than anything else he has said.
“You think that makes this better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper now.
“No,” he replies.
Honest. Simple. It throws you off more than any lie would have. For a moment, neither of you speak. The city lights flicker faintly behind you, reflected in the glass, turning the space into something surreal. You become aware of how close you are now, the distance between you no longer safe, no longer easy to ignore.
He does not step closer, but he does not step back either.
“Go back to your room,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, less like an order and more like something else you cannot quite name.
You don’t move. “I’m not going to stay here forever,” you tell him.
“You can’t keep me locked in like this.”
"I know."
Your frustration spikes again. “Then why are you doing it?”
This time, he does not answer immediately. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, but there is something beneath it now, something that feels heavier than before.
“Because letting you go right now would be a mistake.”
The honesty in it leaves no room to argue. Your chest tightens.
“And keeping me here isn’t?”
A pause. Then, quietly, “That depends on you.”
The words settle deep, unsettling in a way you cannot quite explain. You stare at him for a long moment, searching for something, anything that might give you an opening, a weakness, a reason to believe you can still turn this in your favor. You find nothing. Only that same calm certainty. That same control.
Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, reluctantly, you step back. Because, for now, you understand something you didn’t before. This is not a cage you can break out of in one night. And he is not a man you can outmaneuver without learning how he thinks first.
You turn without another word and walk back toward the hallway, your footsteps quieter this time, your mind already racing with something new. Not just fear, not just anger. Strategy. Because if he thinks he understands you already, he is wrong. And you are going to prove it.
Morning comes without warmth. It slips into the room through the glass walls in pale, indifferent light, stretching across the floor until it reaches the edge of the bed where you’ve barely slept. You don’t remember closing your eyes. You only remember thinking too much, feeling too much, replaying everything until exhaustion blurred it into something dull. You sit up slowly, your body heavy, your mind already awake in the worst way.
The first thing you feel is the emptiness in your stomach. The second is your pride. You ignore the first.
The food is already there when you step out of your room. You don’t know who brought it in. You didn’t hear anything, didn’t notice anyone moving through the penthouse. It sits neatly on the long dining table, steam still rising faintly from the food arranged with quiet precision.
It looks good. Too good. Warm rice, something savory, fresh fruit, coffee.
Normal. Like you’re a guest. Like last night didn’t happen. Your fingers curl at your sides. You walk past it, you don’t even slow down.
You expect him to mention it. He doesn’t. He moves through the space like everything is exactly as it should be, like nothing about your presence here disrupts his routine. He is already dressed, already composed, already stepping into his day as if you are just another detail he has accounted for.
He glances at you once. His gaze flicks briefly toward the untouched food, then back to your face. He says nothing. And somehow, that irritates you more than if he had forced you to sit down and eat.
You last until midday. By then, the hunger has sharpened into something uncomfortable, something distracting. It coils in your stomach, pulling your focus away from everything else, making your thoughts slower, heavier.
Still, you refuse. You sit on the far end of the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere past the glass walls, pretending the city below matters more than the quiet presence behind you.
You hear him before you see him. The soft sound of a glass being set down. The faint rustle of movement that always feels too controlled, too deliberate.
“You should eat.”
His voice is calm. Of course it is. You don’t turn.
“I’m not hungry.”
The lie is obvious. You know it. He knows it. Neither of you pretend otherwise. There’s a pause behind you, not long, just enough to feel intentional.
Then, “That’s not how it works.”
You let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and frustration, and finally turn to face him.
“Everything about this doesn’t work,” you reply, your voice sharper now, thinner at the edges from lack of sleep and food and patience. “So forgive me if I don’t follow your rules.”
His expression doesn’t change. But there’s something in the way he looks at you now, something more focused, more attentive.
“They’re not rules,” he says. “It’s a necessity.”
“For who?” you challenge immediately. “You?”
“For you.”
You shake your head, pushing yourself up from the couch, your irritation spilling over now.
“You don’t get to decide what I need,” you tell him, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength the more you speak. “You brought me here against my will. You don’t get to act like you care about what happens to me after that.”
“I don’t act,” he replies quietly.
The words land heavier than you expect. You stop in front of him, your chest rising and falling faster now, your emotions sitting too close to the surface.
“Then what is this?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like control.”
His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching.
“It is control.”
The honesty knocks the air out of you for a second. No denial. No justification. Just the truth.
“And you think that makes it better?” you ask, your voice dropping slightly, something more vulnerable slipping through despite your effort to hold it back.
“No,” he says again.
Always honest. Always calm. It’s infuriating. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.
“Then stop pretending this is anything else,” you snap. “You’re keeping me here because it’s convenient for you. Not because you care if I eat or sleep or breathe.”
Something shifts then. Subtle, but there. He steps closer. Enough that the space between you changes.
“You’re still refusing to eat,” he says, his voice lower now, quieter, but somehow more present. “That’s not defiance. That’s self-destruction.”
Your breath catches, just slightly.
“Maybe I don’t care,” you shoot back, even though the words feel thinner than you want them to.
“You don’t know anything about me,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“I know you’re still here,” he replies.
The words land differently. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because some part of you understands exactly what he means.
You don’t eat that day. He doesn’t force you. He doesn’t threaten you, doesn’t drag you to the table, doesn’t turn it into a battle you can fight head-on. He simply… doesn’t bend.
Meals appear. Meals disappear, untouched. And every time, his gaze lingers just a second longer than before.
Not angry. Not frustrated. Watching. Waiting.
You try to escape again. You wait for a moment when he’s not in the room, when the penthouse falls into that same eerie stillness. You move faster this time, more careful, your eyes sharper, your mind piecing together patterns you didn’t notice before.
The door is still locked. The windows still don’t open. You search deeper. Drawers. Panels. Corners of the space that might hide something useful.
You almost miss it. A keypad near the side entrance, subtle enough to blend into the wall if you’re not looking for it. Your heart starts racing. Finally.
You step closer, your fingers hovering over it, your mind already working through possibilities. Codes. Patterns. Something you can guess, something you can break. You don’t hear him this time. Not until it’s too late.
“Still trying.”
The words brush against your ear, low and close enough to make your breath catch sharply in your throat. You turn too quickly and your back meets something solid. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d gotten to the wall until now.
Your pulse spikes instantly, your body going rigid as his presence settles behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him touching you.
“You’re persistent,” he continues, his voice quieter now, closer than before, each word deliberate. You force yourself to breathe.
“Move,” you say, trying to step forward, but there’s nowhere to go. The wall is in front of you. He is behind you. You are caught.
“You’re getting careless,” he replies.
“I’m getting out,” you snap back, even as your voice wavers slightly under the pressure of his proximity.
A soft exhale brushes against the side of your neck.“You’re not ready to leave,” he murmurs.
Your skin reacts before you can stop it. A shiver runs down your spine, sharp and unexpected, your breath hitching in a way you hate.
“Don’t,” you warn, your voice lower now, strained in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
“Don’t what?”
He hasn’t touched you. That’s the problem. If he had, you could push him away. You could fight it, turn it into something physical, something tangible. But this, this is something else.
“You don’t get to stand this close to me like this,” you say, your words coming out slower now, more careful, as if choosing the wrong tone might shift something you don’t fully understand yet.
“And you don’t get to keep trying to leave without consequences.”
The word lands heavy. Consequences. Your throat tightens.
“And what,” you challenge, even as your heart races harder, “this is your version of punishment?”
There’s a pause. Then, quietly, “No.”
Your breath falters. His hand lifts. You feel it before it happens, the shift in the air, the subtle movement behind you. His fingers brush lightly against your wrist, enough to turn your hand away from the keypad. The contact is brief, but it lingers.
“Punishment would be harsher than this,” he continues, his voice steady, controlled, as if he’s discussing something distant rather than the way your body is reacting to his presence.
You swallow.Your mind spins, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the tension building between you, of the way your body feels too aware of him, too aware of everything.
You hate it. You hate that he can stand this close without touching you and still affect you like this. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move.
“Step away,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.
He doesn’t. For a moment, the world narrows to just this. Your breathing. His presence. The space between contact and something more.
Then, slowly, he steps back. The distance feels colder than before. You turn quickly, your chest rising and falling as you face him, your emotions tangled and sharp and impossible to separate.
“Don’t do that again,” you tell him.
His gaze holds yours. Calm. Unreadable.
“You should eat,” he replies instead.
The shift is so sudden it almost makes you laugh. You stare at him, anger and something else burning under your skin. And for the first time, you realize something that unsettles you more than anything else so far. This is no longer just about escaping. This is about enduring him. Learning him. Surviving him. Because the way he looks at you now, it’s not just about risk anymore. It’s about control. And something far more dangerous. Interest.
What unsettles you the most is not the danger. It is not the memory of the alley, not the knowledge of what he is capable of, not even the quiet understanding that your life has been reduced to a variable in someone else’s hands.
It is him. You expected cruelty. You expected raised voices, threats that would corner you into obedience, the kind of force that leaves no room to question who is in control.
Instead, he watches. He waits. He lets you push, lets you resist, lets you test the limits of something invisible and suffocating. And every time you expect him to snap, to show you the kind of man he must be beneath that calm exterior, he does the opposite.
He steps back. He chooses silence. He lets you exist inside his space without crushing you under it. And that… confuses you more than anything else. Because it forces you to look closer.
You start noticing things. At first, it happens without intention. You are restless, constantly aware of the walls around you, of the doors that do not open, of the life outside that continues without you. There is nothing to distract you from him, from the way he moves through this place like it belongs entirely to him.
Because it does. He wakes early. Earlier than you expect. By the time you step out of your room most mornings, still heavy with exhaustion, he is already dressed, already moving, already stepping into a routine that feels too precise to be accidental.
He takes calls you are not meant to hear. Low voices. Measured words. Names that mean nothing to you but carry weight in the way they are spoken. You catch fragments sometimes. Locations. Numbers. Decisions that sound final even when you do not understand them.
He never raises his voice. There is something about the way he speaks that makes people listen. You find yourself listening too. Even when you do not want to.
He eats regularly. At the same time every day, alone. He does not ask you to join him again after the first few attempts. The meals still appear. Still disappear. But he stops looking at you when they remain untouched, as if he has decided something about you and moved on from it. That irritates you more than his persistence ever did.
You start eating eventually. Not for him, for yourself. You tell yourself that over and over again as you sit at the edge of the table one afternoon, forcing down a few bites under the weight of your own pride.
He notices, but he says nothing. And somehow, that feels like a victory you cannot quite claim.
The distance between you shifts in small, almost invisible ways. You stop flinching every time he enters a room. You stop watching the doors quite as obsessively. You start watching him instead. The way his sleeves are always rolled just enough when he is working, like precision matters even in the smallest details. The way he pauses sometimes, just for a second, before answering a call, as if choosing his tone before his words. The way he exists in silence without discomfort.
You wonder what it takes to become like that. You wonder what kind of life carves that kind of control into someone.
You try to escape again. Because staying still feels like surrender, and you are not ready to give him that.
It happens late. The penthouse is quiet again, the city outside dimmed into distant lights and muffled sound. You move carefully, slower than before, your eyes sharper, your steps more deliberate. You have learned. That is your advantage now.
You avoid the obvious. The front door. The main panels. The places you know he expects you to try. Instead, you search deeper. A secondary hallway you had not paid attention to before. A door near the back that blends too easily into the wall.
It opens. Your pulse spikes. For the first time, something gives. The room beyond is darker, less polished than the rest of the penthouse. Storage, maybe. Or something else he does not use often. You step inside.
Your breath comes faster now, anticipation mixing with adrenaline, your mind already racing ahead. This could be it. There has to be another exit. A service door. A stairwell. Something less controlled, something overlooked.
You move quickly. Your foot catches on something you do not see in the dim light, and before you can steady yourself, your body pitches forward. Your hand shoots out instinctively, catching against the edge of a metal surface.
Pain slices through your palm. You suck in a breath, your body going still as the sting spreads, your fingers curling reflexively. For a second, you do not move. Then you look down. Blood. Dark against your skin, slipping between your fingers, trailing slowly toward your wrist.
Your stomach twists. You press your other hand over it instinctively, trying to stop it, your mind scrambling to refocus. You need to keep moving. You need to find a way out before he notices. But your breathing is uneven now, your thoughts slipping, your body reacting faster than your plan can hold.
And then, “You’re getting worse at this.”
His voice fills the space behind you, quiet and certain, like it has been waiting for you to fail. You close your eyes for a second. Not now. Not when you were this close.
You turn slowly.He stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room without effort, his gaze already fixed on your hand. On the blood. Something shifts in his expression.
“Let me see.”
It is not a command. But it feels like one.
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, even as your voice tightens slightly, your grip on your hand pressing harder.
You are not fine. And he knows it.
“You’re bleeding,” he replies, stepping closer.
“I said I’m fine.”
Your back hits the edge of the table behind you, your body tensing as he closes the distance, your instincts flaring again even as something else begins to stir underneath it.
He does not argue. He does not raise his voice. He simply reaches for your wrist. You try to pull back. He catches it easily. Firm enough that you cannot slip away.
“Stop,” he says quietly.
And something in the way he says it makes you still. Your breathing feels louder now. He lifts your hand slightly, turning it just enough to see the cut more clearly. Blood continues to slip through your fingers, slower now but steady, the sting pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
His touch is careful. Precise. Like he has done this before. Probably has. The thought sends something strange through you.
“You need to clean this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
“I can do it myself,” you insist, but your voice has lost some of its edge.
He does not let go. Instead, he guides you out of the room, his hand still around your wrist. You should pull away. You don’t.
The bathroom is too bright after the dimness of the storage room. You blink against the light as he turns on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence between you.
He releases your wrist then. Only to take your hand again, more deliberately this time, holding it under the stream.
The sting sharpens instantly. You inhale sharply, your body reacting before you can stop it.
“Stay still,” he says, his voice low, steady.
You bite back the urge to pull away, your fingers tightening slightly as the water runs over the cut, washing away the blood in thin, swirling lines.
He is close. Closer than before. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him beside you, the faint brush of his sleeve against your arm, the subtle shift of his breathing in the quiet space.
Your focus starts to slip. Not from the pain. From him. His hands are steady. Warm. Careful in a way you did not expect from someone like him.
Your chest rises a little faster. You hate it. You hate the way your body reacts to proximity, to the quiet control in his movements, to the absence of force where you expected it most.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. You swallow.
“Trying to leave?” you reply, your tone weaker than before.
“Yes.”
You let out a small breath.
“Because I don’t belong here.”
The words feel heavier now. His hands pause for a second. Then continue.
“You’re still here,” he says.
It is not an argument. Just a fact. You look at him then. His focus is on your hand, on the way he wraps it carefully, on the precision in every movement. There is something intimate about it, something that settles too deep under your skin.
“You don’t even look at me like I’m a person,” you say quietly.
His gaze lifts, meets yours. And for a moment, the space between you shifts.
“I look at you exactly as you are,” he replies.
Your breath catches.
“And what is that?” you ask, softer now.
His eyes linger on yours, something darker moving beneath the calm surface.
“A risk,” he says.
Your stomach tightens.
“But not just that anymore.”
The words settle slowly. Dangerously. You feel it then. The shift. Not in the room. In yourself. The way your pulse changes, the way your awareness sharpens, the way your body becomes too conscious of how close he is, of how easily he could step closer, of how little distance there is left between you.
His hand moves again, adjusting the wrap around your palm. Your fingers twitch slightly. He notices. A faint pause. Then his thumb presses lightly against your wrist, just enough to feel your pulse. Your breath stutters.
“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer.
Your heart is racing. You know he can feel it. And something in the way his gaze lingers tells you he understands exactly why.
Heat creeps up your neck, unwanted, unfamiliar in this context, in this place, with him. You pull your hand back slightly. Just enough to remind yourself where you stand.
“Don’t,” you say, your voice quieter now.
“Don’t what?”
The same question. The same tone. But this time, it feels different. More dangerous.
You hesitate. That is all it takes. A small shift. A small crack. His gaze sharpens just slightly, something almost knowing settling into it.
“Interesting,” he says softly.
Your chest tightens.
“I’m not…” you start, but the words don’t land the way you want them to.
He doesn’t interrupt. The silence stretches, filled with everything you are not saying. Everything he is already noticing.
He steps back first. The distance returns. But it feels different now. Colder.
You exhale slowly, your body catching up with the moment, your thoughts scrambling to rebuild the walls you feel slipping.
“I’m not staying here,” you say again, more firmly this time.
He watches you. Calm. Unmoved.
You look down at your bandaged hand, then back at him, something shifting quietly inside your chest.
Because he is right. You are not chained. There are no locks on your wrists. No visible restraints. But every door leads back to him. Every path circles inward. And the worst part is not the control.Not the danger. It is the way your body reacted just now. The way your mind faltered. The way something unfamiliar and unwanted stirred under his touch.
You straighten slightly, forcing your expression back into something guarded, something firm.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you tell him.
His gaze holds yours for a second longer.
Then, quietly,
“We’ll see.”
And somehow, that feels less like a threat and more like a promise.
The air still clings to your skin when you step out of the shower. Warmth lingers in the quiet space around you, steam curling faintly along the mirror before fading into nothing. For a moment, you stay there, your fingers brushing against the edge of the sink, grounding yourself in something simple, something real. Everything else feels too complicated.
You reach for the clothes he gave you the first night you arrived. You remember how it felt then, wearing something that belonged to him without understanding why it unsettled you. Now, as you pull the loose shirt over your head, the fabric falling past your thighs, soft and unfamiliar but no longer entirely foreign, the feeling shifts into something quieter.
It still belongs to him. That thought lingers longer than it should. The boxers sit low on your hips, brand new, untouched before you wore them, but still chosen by him, still part of a space that revolves around him whether you want it to or not. You push the thought away. You don’t have the energy to sit with it.
The penthouse is dim when you step out. Evening has settled fully now, the city outside glowing in scattered lights that reflect faintly against the glass. Everything feels quieter at this hour, like the world has slowed just enough for the smallest sounds to carry.
You walk toward the kitchen without thinking. Halfway there, you hear his voice. It stops you immediately.
“This is Kim Seokjin.”
The words land before you can process them. Your breath catches, your steps slowing until you come to a complete stop just outside his office.
Kim Seokjin.
For a second, it doesn’t feel real. You’ve been here long enough to know him, to understand the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way everything around him bends to his control, but you’ve never heard him say his name out loud. And suddenly, he feels more real than he did before.
“Yes,” he continues, his voice calm, steady in a way that makes every word feel deliberate. “The transaction is moving as planned. There won’t be any delays.”
There’s a pause. You can’t hear the other voice, but you can feel the weight of the conversation anyway.
“And Mr. Choi is no longer a concern.”
Your chest tightens. Your neighbor. The name alone is enough to pull you closer without thinking, your body leaning slightly toward the door, your breath quieter now.
Another pause. Longer this time, then—
“She stays where she is.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t need him to say your name. You know.
“She saw everything,” he continues, his tone shifting just slightly, not softer, but more deliberate. “And right now, she’s safer under my control than anywhere else.”
Safer. The word lands differently this time. Not dismissive. Not empty.
“There are people already asking questions,” he adds. “If they find out I was the one who took Choi, they’ll trace everything connected to him.”
Your grip tightens slightly at your sides.
“She was there,” he says. “Which makes her a liability to them before she is one to me.”
A pause. Then quieter, more final, “And they won’t hesitate to use her if they get to her first.”
Your chest feels tight. Not from fear. From understanding. Because now, it makes sense. Everything. Why you’re here. Why he hasn’t let you go. Why every exit feels impossible no matter how hard you try.
It’s not just about him. It’s about everyone else. And what they would do to you if you walked out that door.
You step back slowly, your thoughts moving too fast, your emotions catching up all at once. You don’t hear the rest of the call.
The door opens. He sees you immediately. There’s no surprise in his expression, no hesitation in the way his gaze settles on you, like he already knew you were there, like this was inevitable.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You don’t know where to start. So you don’t ease into it.
“You think keeping me here makes me safe?”
The question comes out sharper than you expect, your voice cutting through the quiet space between you.
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“You heard enough,” he says.
You step closer, your emotions pushing forward now that everything is out in the open.
“You could’ve told me,” you press. “Instead of letting me think I’m just some problem you haven’t decided how to deal with.”
“I did tell you,” he replies calmly. “You just didn’t listen.”
Frustration flares instantly.
“That’s not the same,” you argue, your voice tightening. “You don’t explain anything. You just expect me to stay here and trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to trust me.”
The honesty stops you for a second.
“Then what do you expect?” you ask, quieter now, but no less intense.
His gaze lingers on you, “Cooperation.”
The word feels heavier than it should. You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“So this is what this is?” you say. “Protection with conditions?”
“It’s survival,” he corrects.
You shake your head, stepping closer again, your chest rising faster now.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you say. “You don’t get to lock me in here and call it protection just because it benefits you too.”
He doesn’t react the way you expect. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves. Fast enough that you don’t process it until it’s already happening.
Your back meets the wall. The impact isn’t rough, but it’s enough to knock the breath from your lungs, enough to still you instantly as his presence closes in, leaving no space to move. Your pulse spikes.
“You’re still thinking like this is about what you want,” he says, his voice lower now, closer, every word deliberate. “It’s not.”
Your breathing is uneven now, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
“You don’t get to—”
Your words falter. Because he steps closer. Close enough that the space between you disappears, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet control in the way he holds himself back. His hand comes up, not rough, not forceful, but firm enough to keep you exactly where you are.
“You walk out that door,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin, “and you don’t get the chance to argue about it later.”
Your chest rises sharply.
“You don’t know that,” you manage, even though your voice is weaker now, caught somewhere between defiance and something else.
“I do.”
The certainty in his tone settles deep. Your breath catches. His face is close now, closer than it has ever been, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, something darker moving beneath the surface.
“You think I’m the problem,” he continues, quieter now, his voice steady but heavier, “but I’m the only reason you’re still breathing without someone holding a gun to your head.”
The words should scare you. They should push you back into anger, into resistance. Instead, your body reacts differently.
Your pulse is racing, your breath uneven, your thoughts slipping in ways you don’t understand. You can feel him. Every inch of space he takes up. Every second he stays this close. It does something to you. Something you hate. Something you can’t ignore. Your eyes flick to his lips before you can stop yourself. Just for a second. But it’s enough. Because he notices. Something shifts in his expression, subtle but unmistakable, something almost knowing settling into the way he looks at you now.
Your chest tightens. You should push him away. You don’t. He leans closer. His breath brushes against your neck now, warm, steady, too close, and it sends a sharp shiver down your spine that you can’t hide.
“You’re stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than anything else he’s said. “You keep pushing like you want to see what happens when I stop holding back.”
Your fingers curl at your sides. You hate the way your body reacts to his voice, to his proximity, to the quiet control in every movement.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you say, but it doesn’t sound the way you want it to. There’s something else in it now. Something he hears immediately. A faint shift. Something almost like amusement flickers in his gaze.
“No,” he agrees quietly. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” you ask, softer now, even though you don’t mean to be.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand shifts slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, just enough to keep your gaze locked on his. The contact is minimal. But it lingers.
“It’s that you feel it too,” he says.
Your heart stutters. The words hit harder than anything else he’s said. Because you do. And he knows it.
You shake your head instinctively, but your body betrays you, your breath uneven, your pulse too fast.
“You’re wrong,” you insist.
But your voice lacks conviction. His gaze lingers, slow, deliberate, like he’s taking his time now, like he already knows how this plays out.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his breath still warm against your skin, still too close, still making it impossible to think clearly. “But don’t push me just to prove it.”
Your chest rises sharply. “What happens if I do?” you ask before you can stop yourself. The question hangs there.
His lips hover close enough that you feel it, not quite touching, but close enough to blur the line.
“Then I stop being patient.”
The words are quiet. But they settle deep. Your breath falters. For a moment, everything narrows.
The space. The silence. The way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You hate it. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move. You hate that you don’t want this moment to end. And that is what scares you the most.
Then, he steps back. Just like that. The space returns instantly. Cold. Sharp. Controlled. Like he never lost it. Like he never would.
You inhale slowly, your body still caught in the aftermath, your thoughts struggling to catch up. He looks at you for a second longer, his expression unreadable again, like the moment never happened.
“Stay inside,” he says, his voice back to calm, back to controlled. “It’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
Then he turns and walks away. Leaving you standing there, your back still against the wall, your pulse still racing, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t understand. Because now, you know the truth. You are here because he is protecting you. And somehow, that makes him even more dangerous than before.
Morning arrives differently here. It doesn’t rush in or demand attention. It slips through the glass in soft, pale light, stretching slowly across the floor, climbing the walls, settling into every corner of the penthouse like it belongs there. The city below is already awake, distant and alive, but up here, everything feels suspended, quiet in a way that doesn’t match the world outside.
You wake before you mean to. Not from noise, not from movement, from thought. Last night lingers in your body before it reaches your mind. The memory of his voice, low and controlled, the way he stood too close, the way your breath betrayed you, the way your body reacted in ways you don’t want to examine too closely.
You sit up slowly, pushing the sheets aside, your fingers brushing against fabric that doesn’t belong to you.
His shirt. It slips against your skin when you move, loose and soft, the sleeves falling past your wrists, the collar dipping just enough to remind you how easily it shifts when you’re not careful. You exhale slowly, pushing yourself up, trying to ground yourself in something simpler. It doesn’t work.
The kitchen is already occupied when you step in. You don’t hear him at first. You feel him. There’s a difference now, something subtle but impossible to ignore, the way your body reacts to his presence before you even see him. It settles into your awareness like a quiet pull, something that sharpens your senses without asking permission.
He’s standing at the counter. Sleeves rolled, movements precise, controlled in a way that feels effortless. There’s something almost disorienting about it, the way he exists in this space, the way everything he does feels deliberate even when it looks simple. He doesn’t look like someone who orchestrates danger. He looks like someone making breakfast. The normalcy of it unsettles you. He glances at you, just once. But it lingers. Not long enough to call it out, but long enough that you feel it settle under your skin.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice steady, like this is expected, like you walking into his space dressed in his clothes is just another part of his routine.
You lean slightly against the counter, folding your arms without thinking, trying to ignore the way his gaze flicked over you a second longer than necessary.
“I didn’t realize you cook,” you reply.
It’s a small thing to say. But it fills the space.
“I don’t,” he answers simply. “Not usually.”
Your brows pull together slightly.
“Then what is this?”
He doesn’t look at you when he replies.
“An exception.”
The word lingers. You don’t ask why. You’re not sure you want the answer. You stay where you are. You don’t leave. That realization comes quietly, settling into your chest in a way that feels heavier than it should.
You could walk out. Go back to your room. Avoid this entirely. But you don’t. Instead, you watch him. The way his hands move, steady and precise, the way he handles everything like it matters, even something as simple as this. There’s no rush in him, no wasted movement, just quiet control in everything he does.
You hate that you notice. You hate that it draws your attention the way it does.
“You’re staring.”
His voice pulls you out of it. You blink, your gaze snapping back to his face.
“I’m not,” you reply immediately.
He looks at you. His gaze moves over you slowly, deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch despite yourself. It lingers at your shoulders, at the way the fabric of his shirt slips slightly when you shift, at the way it falls against your skin like it belongs there. Your pulse picks up.
“You’re still wearing my clothes,” he says.
It’s not a question. It’s not even an accusation. Just a statement.
“You gave them to me,” you counter, your voice steady even as something in your chest tightens.
“I did.”
The way he says it feels heavier than it should. Something shifts in the silence that follows. You don’t move. Neither does he. For a moment, it feels like everything slows, like the space between you has narrowed without either of you stepping closer. Then he turns back to what he’s doing. The moment breaks. But not completely.
You sit down when he sets the plate in front of you. You don’t argue. That’s new. You notice it immediately. So does he. But neither of you says anything about it.
The chair feels too close to where he stands, too aware of his presence, too aware of the way your body reacts every time he moves within your space.
You pick up the fork slowly, your fingers brushing against it as you try to focus on something normal. Something simple. It doesn’t work. You can feel his gaze on you. Enough that it settles into your awareness, enough that it makes every movement feel more deliberate than it should be.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a moment.
You glance up at him. “So are you.”
“That’s not unusual.”
A faint exhale leaves you. “No,” you admit. “It’s not.”
Silence stretches again. But it’s different now. Not tense. Not sharp. Something else. Something heavier. You don’t realize how close he is until he’s there. One moment, he’s across from you. The next, he’s beside you. Close enough that the shift in space is immediate. Your breath catches slightly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. He reaches past you. But the movement brings him closer than necessary, his arm brushing lightly against yours, his presence settling into your space in a way that feels deliberate even if it shouldn’t. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“You’re distracted,” he says quietly.
“I’m not,” you reply, but it comes out softer than you intend.
His gaze lingers on you. “You are.”
Your chest rises a little faster.
“And whose fault is that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
The words hang there. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studies you, his attention sharper now, more focused in a way that makes it harder to breathe normally.
“You tell me,” he says finally.
Your pulse spikes. You don’t respond. You can’t. Because you don’t trust what might come out if you do. The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different. Closer. He doesn’t move away. And neither do you.
You can feel him. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, awareness settling into every inch of space between you, your breath uneven in a way you can’t hide. You hate it. You hate how easily he affects you. You hate that he knows it.
“You’re still fighting it,” he murmurs.
Your gaze snaps to his. “Fighting what?”
His eyes hold yours, steady, unreadable in a way that feels intentional. “This.”
The word lands heavier than it should. Your chest tightens. “There is no this,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.
Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Knowing. He leans slightly closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to make the distance feel intentional. Your breath falters.
“You can keep telling yourself that,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Your heart is racing now. You should step back. You don’t. Because part of you doesn’t want to. And that realization hits harder than anything else.
He moves first. But this time, it’s not to step away. It’s to straighten slightly, to create just enough distance to break the moment without fully leaving it behind.
“You should eat,” he says, his voice steady again, controlled, like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t see it. Like you didn’t feel it.
You stare at him for a second longer, your chest still rising unevenly, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t want to untangle. Then you look down at your plate. Because staying in that moment feels more dangerous than anything else.
The rest of the morning passes quietly. But something has changed. You feel it in the way your thoughts linger on him longer than they should. In the way your body reacts every time he steps into your space. In the way the silence between you feels less like distance and more like something waiting to break. And the most dangerous part is not him. Not what he is. Not what he’s capable of. It’s you. Because you’re starting to want things you shouldn’t. And you don’t know how to stop.
Sleep doesn’t come. It refuses you completely, no matter how many times you close your eyes, no matter how long you lie still and try to force your body into rest. Your mind keeps moving, circling the same moments, replaying them with a clarity that feels cruel.
The way he said your name. The way his breath felt against your skin. The way your body reacted before you could stop it. You turn onto your side, then your back again, frustration building slowly, tightening in your chest until staying in bed feels impossible.
You sit up. The room is quiet, dim with only a faint glow from the city filtering through the curtains. For a moment, you hesitate, your thoughts catching up with your actions.
You shouldn’t go looking. You already know enough. But that thought doesn’t stop you. Because knowing isn’t the same as understanding. And right now, understanding feels like the only thing that might steady you.
You step out into the hallway. The penthouse is silent, the kind of silence that makes every movement feel louder than it should be. You move carefully, instinctively aware of the space around you, your senses sharper in the dark.
You glance toward his room first. The door is closed. You walk closer, slower now, your hand hovering just slightly before you test the handle. Locked. Of course it is. You let out a quiet breath, something between frustration and expectation. Then your gaze shifts. His office. The door isn’t fully closed. You step inside carefully.
The room feels different at night, heavier somehow, like everything inside it carries more weight in the absence of light. The desk sits exactly as it always does, clean, organized, nothing out of place. Too perfect. Too controlled.
You move closer. Your fingers brush the edge of the desk before you pull open the first drawer. Nothing obvious. Documents. Clean. Minimal. You try another. And another. Your heartbeat starts to pick up, your movements quicker now, your breathing quieter as if that might hide what you’re doing. There has to be something. Something that tells you who he really is. Something that tells you who is looking for you.
A paper slips slightly as you pull it free, your eyes scanning quickly, trying to make sense of names, numbers, fragments that feel important but incomplete, “Looking for something?”
The voice behind you stops everything. Your breath catches sharply, your body going still before you even turn. He’s already there. Standing in the doorway. Watching you. You don’t have time to explain. You don’t even try.
“I need to know what I’m involved in,” you say instead, your voice tighter than you intend, your grip still holding the paper.
He doesn’t move immediately. He just watches you, his gaze slow, taking in everything without rushing. Then he steps forward. You step back instinctively. Your hip hits the edge of the desk. There’s nowhere else to go.
He closes the distance. Fast enough that you don’t react until it’s too late.
The papers slip from your hands, scattering across the floor as his presence presses into yours, his hand braced against the desk beside you, effectively trapping you there without force. Your breath stutters.
“You don’t stop,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer, the words settling into the space between you in a way that feels heavier than they should. Your chest rises unevenly.
“I’m not going to just sit here and wait for something to happen,” you reply, even as your voice softens under the weight of his proximity.
His gaze lingers on you.
“You’re really testing my patience,” he says. His other hand moves to rest against the desk, close enough that you feel surrounded without being touched. Your pulse races.
“You think digging through my things is going to change anything?” he continues, his voice quieter now, slower, like he’s taking his time.
“I think it might give me a chance,” you answer.
“A chance at what?”
“At not being completely in the dark.”
His eyes hold yours. And something shifts. Not anger. Something deeper.
“You’re not in the dark,” he says softly.
Your breath catches.
“Then why does it feel like I am?”
He leans in slightly. Close enough that the space between you disappears. Your back presses more firmly against the desk, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
“Because you don’t like the answers,” he murmurs.
The words brush against your skin. You should push him away. You don’t.
His gaze drops briefly, just enough to make your breath falter, just enough to make you aware of how close he is, how easily this could shift into something else.
“You keep pushing,” he continues, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than before. “Like you’re trying to find a line.”
Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the desk. “Maybe I am.”
The admission slips out before you can stop it. His gaze sharpens.
“And what happens when you find it?”
Your heart is racing now. “I guess we’ll see.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then his hand lifts. Enough to tilt your chin slightly upward, forcing your gaze to stay on his.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says quietly.
Your breath trembles. “Then show me.”
The words hang there. Dangerous. Unavoidable. Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, but unmistakable.
He leans closer. Your breath catches. You feel it before it happens, the change in the air, the shift in tension, the way everything narrows to just this moment.
His lips hover close. Too close. Your pulse pounds. And then, he stops for a second that feels longer than it should. Like he’s giving you time. Like he’s letting you choose. You don’t realize you’ve reached for his shirt until your fingers curl into the fabric.
That’s all it takes. The distance disappears. His jaw brushed the curve of your ear, the faint rasp of stubble sending heat skimming across your skin before his teeth closed in a slow, deliberate bite. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make your breath catch, a quiet, helpless sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
You hated this. Hated how easily he unraveled you. How your body answered him without permission, pulse stuttering, thoughts dissolving into something reckless and unsteady. Every touch felt like a question you shouldn’t want to answer, yet here you were, leaning into him as if you already had.
Even with that small spark of resistance still flickering in your mind, your body betrayed you. Your head tilted back just enough, exposing the line of your throat, a silent challenge wrapped in a breathy whisper. There was defiance in it, sharp and tempting, the kind that drew something darker out of him.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth found your skin as if he had been waiting for permission you never truly gave. Slow. Intentional. Each press of his lips along your neck felt measured, like he was taking his time learning every inch of you. When his tongue brushed against your pulse, tasting the warmth there, your breath faltered despite your effort to keep it steady.
Every brush of his mouth against your pulse sent a tremor through you, a soft, unguarded sound slipping free before you could swallow it down. It was quiet, but it was there, betraying the heat coiling low in your body, tightening with every second he refused to stop.
Your fingers curled against the edge of the desk, grip tightening until your knuckles blanched, as if holding on to something solid might keep you grounded. It didn’t. Nothing did. Not when your body leaned into him without permission, not when your breathing turned uneven no matter how hard you tried to steady it.
His mouth found yours without warning, firm and unyielding, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask, only took. It stole the air from your lungs in an instant. Leaving you breathless as his hand tightened just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you. There was heat in it. Possession. Something dangerously close to hunger.
You tasted the faint trace of whisky on his lips, rich and intoxicating, but there was something deeper beneath it, something darker that pulled you in before you could think to resist. When his teeth caught your lower lip, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet sound slipped from you, soft and unsteady. And the worst part was how easily you gave in to it.
A slow, aching heat spread low in your body, pulsing with a need you didn’t want to name. It made your breath uneven, your thoughts hazy, every nerve tuned to him and nothing else. Before you could think twice, you were on the desk, the edge pressing faintly against you as he stepped closer. Your legs parted without permission, a quiet, instinctive movement that welcomed him in ways your mind still tried to resist.
Your hand slid into his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, tightening just enough to pull. To challenge. The sound that left him was low and rough, something felt more than heard, vibrating through you like a warning you had no intention of listening to.
The kiss deepened, turning messy and urgent, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began. His tongue traced every response from you, slow one second, relentless the next, until your breathing broke into something uneven and fragile.
Your bodies pressed together, heat bleeding through every layer, every inch of space between you disappearing beneath the weight of it.
He pulled back just enough, your lips still brushing, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.
“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with something dangerously close to frustration. “Always pushing me like this." His voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a jolt straight to your cunt.
Your hips moved against him, slow at first, then with more intention, feeling the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans. A soft gasp slipped out, unsteady and unguarded, as the friction sent a rush of sensation through you.
Clothes quickly turned into nothing more than barriers between you, clumsy and frustrating in the heat of the moment. Your fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, unsteady but determined, while he lost patience entirely, dragging the fabric over his head in one swift motion.
For a second, you stilled. The sight of him, all defined lines and tension, his chest rising and falling a little heavier than before, pulled something tight in your chest. Your gaze followed the shape of him, down to where his waistband sat low on his hips, and you felt that same dangerous pull all over again. Like you were already too far gone to stop.
The space around you seemed to close in, his office shrinking until it felt like there was nothing left but him and the heat building between you. The air turned thick, heavy with every unsteady breath, every quiet sound of movement as fabric slipped and fell forgotten to the floor. Soon, you were both stripped bare, your skin flushed and slick with sweat under the low glow of the lamp, every inch of you exposed to his hungry gaze.
He didn't waste a second, his mouth descending to your breasts, lips wrapping around one hardened nipple as he sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his fingers pinched and rolled the other, drawing out a string of desperate whimpers from you.
You hated how easily he got under your skin, how completely he took over your senses until nothing else mattered but him.
His hand roamed lower, sliding between your thighs to find you already soaking wet, his fingers teasing your slick folds with deliberate strokes that made your back arch off the desk.
"Fuck, you're dripping for me," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he looked up at you, eyes dark and intense. The words sent a thrill through you.
He dropped to his knees, the cool air hitting your exposed skin as he spread your legs wider, his breath hot against your pussy. His tongue flicked out, tracing the edges of your swollen clit with agonizing slowness, the wet, slurping sounds filling the office as he lapped at you like a man starved. Each stroke was deliberate, building the tension until you were writhing, your fingers knotting in his hair as he added a finger, then two, thrusting them deep inside your tight, dripping cunt.
His fingers curling to hit that perfect spot that made stars burst behind your eyes, the rhythm steady and unrelenting as he sucked your clit harder, his other hand gripping your thigh to hold you in place.
Time blurred in a haze of heat, every moment pulling you closer to the edge you couldn’t quite step over. His attention didn’t waver, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.
The office felt distant now, reduced to shadows and muffled sounds, while your breath broke in uneven rhythms you could no longer control. Every reaction betrayed you, every quiet sound giving away just how far gone you already were.
You'd never felt anything like it, the way his tongue swirled and flicked, the obscene squelching of your juices coating his fingers as he pumped them in and out, faster and deeper with each thrust.
When it finally broke through you, it felt like everything inside you gave way at once, tension snapping clean through your body. Your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed through you, your cries muffled only by the palm you slapped over your mouth.
He didn’t let it end there. Even as your body finally began to soften against him, breath uneven and strength draining from your limbs, he lingered, unrelenting in the way he kept you anchored to the moment, as if he refused to let the intensity fade too quickly.
The aftershocks still moved through you in quiet, uncontrollable waves, leaving you unsteady, suspended somewhere between exhaustion and lingering heat.
And when you finally looked at him, there was no satisfaction of having finished. Only hunger. Still there. Still watching you like he wasn’t done with you yet.
He straightened slowly, the movement unhurried, like he was giving you time to change your mind even though neither of you really believed you would.
Reaching into the desk drawer, he retrieved something without breaking eye contact, the silence between you tightening again, heavy with understanding rather than words. He tear it open and roll it down his thick, throbbing cock. The sight of him, veins bulging along his shaft, precum glistening at the tip, made your mouth water, but there was no time to think as he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance.
He slid into you slowly at first, inch by inch, stretching your sensitive pussy around his girth until he was buried to the hilt, a groan escaped him as your walls gripped him tight.
"Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking tight," he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he began to thrust, each movement deep and powerful, filling you completely. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke, the wet slap of skin against skin mingling with your mutual moans.
He flipped you over, the new position allowing him to pound into you harder, his balls slapping against your clit with each forceful drive. You met his rhythm, pushing back against him, the raw intensity of it all pushing you toward another peak as he growled filthy words in your ear. "Take it, you dirty little thing, cum all over my cock."
It went on, unrelenting and all-consuming, as if neither of you could find the will to pull away. The position shifted again, the desk chair creaking softly beneath the weight of it all, the room filled with nothing but breath and movement and the steady unraveling of control between you. His hands on your tits as you bounced on his length, feeling every vein and ridge drag against your inner walls.
Sweat dripped down your bodies, the air thick with the scent of sex, until finally, with one last, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you and came, his cock pulsing as he filled the condom, your own release crashing over you. For a moment, there was only silence. Heavy. Lingering. Unavoidable. And neither of you moved to fill it right away.
The office feels different now, not because anything has changed physically, but because something invisible has settled into the space, something you can feel in the air between you and him. The city outside continues to glow beyond the glass, indifferent and distant, while inside, everything feels too close, too aware of itself.
You are still on top of him. Close enough that if either of you moves first, the moment might shatter into something else entirely. But neither of you does. That silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Not peaceful either. Something in between, something suspended, like the world forgot to tell you what comes next.
You realize your hands are still pressed against his shoulders. He notices. His gaze doesn’t move away from you, not even for a second, but there is no urgency in it now, no pressure, just that same steady awareness that has always made it impossible for you to ignore him.
“You’re still thinking too much,” he says finally. His voice is lower than before, quieter in a way that feels less like control and more like something closer to honesty.
You exhale slowly, looking at him properly now.
“I’m still trying to make sense of all of this,” you admit softly.
A faint shift passes through his expression, not quite amusement, not quite agreement.
“You should stop trying to understand everything all at once,” he says.
Your throat tightens slightly.
“That’s easy for you to say,” you reply.
His gaze holds yours.
“It’s not,” he answers. “It’s just necessary.”
That word lingers longer than it should. You look away for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, trying to bring yourself back into something that feels normal. But nothing about this feels normal anymore, not the room, not the silence, not the way your thoughts keep circling back to him even when you try to push them away.
“What happens now?” you ask quietly.
It is the first time you say it out loud. The first time you acknowledge that something has shifted between you, something neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. He studies you for a moment before answering.
“That depends on you,” he says.
You let out a small, almost disbelieving breath.
“Me?”
His voice doesn’t change.
“You can keep fighting me,” he says. “Or you can start trusting that I’m not the one you need to be afraid of.”
The words land differently now. Not like a command. Not like manipulation. More like something carefully placed in front of you, left for you to decide what to do with.
You push yourself off him slowly, your feet finding the floor again, your body feeling slightly unsteady in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“I don’t know how to trust someone like you,” you admit.
There is no accusation in it. Just truth. He watches you for a moment longer.
“I didn’t ask you to trust everything,” he replies. “Just enough to stay alive.”
That sentence settles deeper than anything else tonight. You look at him again, and for the first time, you don’t just see control or distance or danger. You see responsibility. Heavy. Unshaken. Something he carries without asking for permission. And that changes the shape of everything you thought you understood.
You step back slightly, the space between you widening again, and something in your chest tightens at the loss of proximity more than you want to admit.
“I should go,” you say softly.
He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That, somehow, feels louder than anything else.
Your room feels colder than usual when you enter it. Or maybe it only feels that way because the warmth you were just in hasn’t faded from your skin yet.
You close the door slowly behind you, leaning against it for a moment without moving further inside. The silence here is different from his office. Less charged, less heavy, but somehow more isolating now that you’ve been reminded of what it feels like not to be alone in it.
Your fingers brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt again without you realizing it. You should change. You don’t. Not immediately. Because your mind is still replaying everything in fragments you cannot fully organize. His voice. His gaze. His touch. The way he spoke to you like the world outside your existence was something he was constantly calculating against.
You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, your thoughts catching up to your body piece by piece. You should feel confused. You do. You should feel scared. Some part of you still is. But neither of those emotions feels complete anymore. Because there is something else now, something softer and more dangerous at the same time, something that settles in quietly when you are not paying attention.
You realize it only when you stop resisting it. You didn’t pull away from him tonight. Not when you had the chance. Not when you should have. And even now, sitting alone in your room, you are not sure if you regret it.
That thought stays with you longer than anything else. Outside your door, the penthouse remains silent. And somewhere beyond it, Kim Seokjin continues to exist in the same space as you, as if nothing between you has fully ended. As if it never really will.
Morning arrives without urgency, slipping through the glass like it has nowhere else to be except here. The city outside is already awake, already moving, already living a life that feels far removed from the quiet heaviness inside the penthouse. Up here, everything feels slower, like even time is careful not to disturb what has changed between you and him.
You wake before you want to. Because your body refuses to fully stay inside it. There is a dull ache in your limbs, not sharp enough to demand attention, but present enough to remind you that last night did not end the way ordinary nights end. You stay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as if it might explain what your mind keeps circling back to.
It does not. Instead, what returns is him. The way he looked at you without distance. The way silence between you no longer felt empty. The way you did not leave when you should have. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet aside, and the room shifts with your movement in a way that feels too loud for how quiet everything is. The fabric of his shirt falls naturally against your skin when you move, familiar now in a way that unsettles you more than it should. It does not feel like borrowed clothing anymore. It feels like something that belongs in this space the same way you do, even if you are still trying to reject that idea.
You exhale quietly and push yourself out of bed. There is no escape in staying still. The kitchen is already occupied when you step out. You know before you see him. It is not sound or movement that gives it away. It is something else, something that has started to settle in you without permission. Awareness. That quiet instinct that reacts to him before your thoughts can form properly.
He is there, standing by the counter, the early light from the city falling across his frame in a way that makes everything feel too composed to be accidental. Nothing about him looks rushed. Nothing about him ever does. Even the simplest movements carry that same controlled precision, as if everything he does is measured against something only he understands.
For a moment, you just watch him. Because your body does it before your mind can decide otherwise.
He glances at you once when you enter, and it is enough to shift something inside your chest. Not surprise. Not acknowledgment. Something quieter. Something that feels like awareness of a shared space that no longer belongs entirely to either of you.
“You’re awake,” he says.
You move closer slowly, stopping near the counter without fully committing to sitting yet.
“I didn’t think you were the type to make breakfast almost everyday,” you say.
A faint pause follows your words, not from confusion but from consideration.
“I am not,” he replies.
You nod slightly, absorbing that without fully understanding why it feels like more than it should. Because nothing about him is usually simple.
You sit down. He places a plate in front of you without ceremony before taking the seat across from you. The distance is familiar now, but it carries a different weight than before. Less like separation. More like something carefully maintained.
You do not eat immediately. Neither does he. For a while, only silence exists between you. It is not the kind of silence that feels empty anymore. It is full in a way that makes it harder to pretend nothing has changed. It carries memory without needing to speak it.
You break it first.
“You didn’t sleep properly,” you say quietly.
“I did,” he answers.
Your eyes lift slightly toward him, reading him more carefully now.
“That is not what it looks like,” you reply.
A brief pause follows.
“It was enough,” he says.
That answer tells you more than a longer explanation would have.
You set your fork down, attention fully on him now even if you are not sure you want it to be.
“You said I am safer here,” you say carefully. “But you never told me what I am actually safe from.”
His gaze stays on you without shifting.
“That depends on what you already know,” he replies.
A small tension builds in your chest at that.
“You mean Mr. Choi,” you say.
The name changes the air immediately. He does not avoid it. Instead, he leans into it in the same calm way he always does when he decides something will not be softened for your comfort.
“Mr. Choi was involved in things you were never meant to be close to,” he says. “He was trading information. Movement schedules. Access points. Things that don’t stay small once they enter circulation.”
You listen without interrupting, even though something in you resists every word.
“So he was not just some random neighbor,” you say slowly.
“No,” he replies.
The honesty is immediate. Unfiltered. Final. Your fingers rest against the table without moving.
“And you took him because of that,” you continue.
“I took him because someone else would have taken him worse,” he says.
You look at him more sharply now.
“That is supposed to make me feel better,” you say quietly.
“It is supposed to make you understand context,” he replies.
The distinction matters more than you want it to. Silence returns again, but it feels heavier now, filled with things you are only beginning to piece together.
You exhale slowly. “So where do I fit into all of this,” you ask, “because I am still not seeing how I become part of something like that just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His gaze does not leave you.
“That is where you are wrong,” he says.
Your chest tightens slightly at the certainty in his voice.
“I did not choose to be part of this,” you reply.
“I know,” he says.
That is what unsettles you the most. Not denial. Not disagreement. Acknowledgment. A quiet acceptance that you are already inside something neither of you can fully reverse.
You lean back slightly, your thoughts moving faster than your ability to organize them.
“Then why keep me here,” you ask, softer now.
For the first time this morning, his expression shifts in a way that is not immediately readable. Not distance. Not calculation. Something more restrained.
“I stopped seeing you as something I could simply remove from the situation,” he says.
The words land quietly, but they do not fade. You stare at him for a moment longer than you intend to.
“That does not sound like a reason,” you say.
“It is the only one that matters,” he replies.
The silence that follows is no longer empty. It feels like something held carefully in place, like both of you are aware that one more question might change the shape of everything again.
You notice your own hesitation. That is what scares you more than anything else. Not his world. Not the danger outside it. But the fact that you are no longer reacting to him purely with resistance. There is something else there now. Something you do not want to define too quickly.
You stand slowly, breaking the stillness.
“I need time to think,” you say.
He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That should feel like distance. It does not. It feels like permission. You walk toward your room, but you stop at the doorway without meaning to. Because for a moment, you realize something you have been avoiding all morning. You are not trying to escape him the way you used to. You are trying to understand what happens if you stop running at all. And behind you, he remains where he is. Not following. Not calling you back. Just watching quietly as if he already knows you will not leave the same person you were when you walked in.
Weeks pass in a way that no longer feels like waiting. Time does not drag inside the penthouse anymore. It moves quietly, naturally, like something that has finally settled into the shape it was always meant to take. There are no dramatic shifts, no sudden realizations that arrive like thunder. Instead, everything changes in small, almost unnoticeable ways until one day you realize you are no longer the person who once stood at that door, wondering if escape was the only answer.
Now the door is always unlocked. And you no longer look at it. That becomes the quiet truth of your days.
Seokjin leaves in the morning without saying much, his world still calling him back into places you are only beginning to understand. But the difference now is not in his absence. It is in what he leaves behind.
Freedom. Not as something distant or unreachable, but as something placed gently into your hands, as if he trusts you to decide what to do with it. And every day, without saying it out loud, you choose the same thing.
You stay. You find your own rhythm inside his space. It becomes your space too before either of you ever says it.
Some afternoons, he returns to find you in the library, curled into one of the deep chairs with a book resting open in your lap, your attention somewhere between the pages and the quiet comfort of knowing he will walk through the door eventually. Other nights, he steps inside to the soft glow of the television, your figure half-lost in the couch, a blanket loosely draped over you as if you never intended to fall asleep but did anyway.
And sometimes, like tonight, he finds you in the kitchen. Flour dusted lightly across the counter. A faint sweetness in the air. Your sleeves pushed up, your focus fixed on something you are trying to get right without entirely knowing if you will. He stops in the doorway when he sees you. Not announcing himself. Not interrupting. Just watching. Because this is the part of you he did not expect to matter as much as it does.
“You went out,” he says after a moment.
You glance over your shoulder, a small smile forming without effort. “I did,” you reply. “Your men were very serious about it.”
A quiet huff of amusement escapes him, barely there but real.
“I trust you,” he says, stepping further inside. “I do not trust them to leave you unguarded.”
You nod slightly, turning back to what you are doing.
“I figured that much.”
He leans against the counter, watching you more closely now.
“What is this,” he asks.
You hesitate for a second, then answer honestly.
“I saw something online,” you admit. “I wanted to try it.”
That earns a pause.
“You are experimenting,” he says.
“I am learning,” you correct softly.
Something shifts in his expression at that, something that lingers longer than it should.
Dinner ends up forgotten. Postponed by something neither of you plans but both of you recognize the moment it begins. You offer him food. He looks at you instead. “I am not hungry for that,” he says quietly.
The way he says it changes the air between you. The space between you disappears slowly, naturally, like it has done this too many times to be uncertain anymore. The connection is no longer something that surprises you. It feels known, like something your body understands before your thoughts can catch up.
Later, the kitchen fades into memory. The couch becomes the place where everything settles again. You are tangled together, the city lights dim behind you, the world outside reduced to something distant and unimportant compared to the quiet rhythm you share here.
Neither of you speaks at first. But eventually, your thoughts return to something that has lingered in the background of all this change.
“Seokjin,” you say softly.
He shifts slightly beside you, his attention already on you before you finish.
“What happened to him,” you ask. “Mr. Choi.”
The name feels different now. Less like a mystery. More like a piece of a story you have already stepped into.
He is quiet for a moment before answering.
“He is alive,” he says. “Somewhere far from here.”
You turn your head slightly to look at him.
“Alive,” you repeat.
“Yes,” he continues. “New name. New life. No connections to what he was involved in.”
You study his face carefully.
“You let him go.”
“I removed him from the equation,” he corrects.
That answer makes more sense for who he is.
“And the people who were looking for him,” you ask.
His gaze darkens slightly, not with anger but with something colder.
“They are no longer a problem,” he says.
You hold his gaze. “All of them?”
“The one who mattered is in custody,” he replies. “The rest are not in a position to reach you.”
You exhale slowly, letting that settle.
“For good,” you say.
He does not answer immediately. Then, quieter than before, he says, “For as long as I can control it.”
That honesty matters more than a promise. You shift closer to him, your hand resting lightly against his chest.
“You did all of that,” you say.
His gaze softens slightly.
“I did what was necessary,” he replies.
“For me,” you press.
A pause. Then, finally, “Yes.”
The word is simple. But it carries everything. Silence follows again, but it is different now. Warmer. Full. You study him for a moment longer before speaking again.
“You know,” you say quietly, “I could have left at any point.”
His gaze shifts slightly at that.
“I know,” he replies.
“I did not,” you continue.
He does not interrupt. Because he understands that this matters.
“I stayed,” you say, your voice softer now. “Because I wanted to be here.”
That changes something in him.
“I stopped asking myself when I would leave,” you add. “I started asking myself why I would.”
His hand moves slightly against yours.
“And what answer did you find,” he asks.
You meet his gaze fully.
“You,” you say.
The word settles into the space between you like it has always belonged there.
He exhales quietly, something shifting in his expression that he does not hide from you anymore.
“You are the only thing in this place that does not feel temporary,” you continue. “Everything else still feels like it could disappear if I look away long enough.”
His voice lowers.
“I am not going anywhere,” he says.
“I know,” you reply. “That is why I stayed.”
He studies you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “I used to think keeping you here was about control,” he admits.
You tilt your head slightly.
“And now,” you ask.
“Now I know it was about not wanting to come back to nothing,” he says.
That lands deeper than anything else. You smile softly, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek.
“You do not have to come back to nothing anymore,” you say.
His gaze holds yours. “I know,” he replies.
A pause. Then, softer, “I come back to you.”
The kiss that follows is not rushed. It carries everything that has been said and everything that has not needed words at all. And when you settle back into him, the world outside feels smaller than it ever has. Because it no longer matters in the same way.
The first time you step outside his world is not quiet. Everything about it carries weight, history, consequence. The kind of night that exists long before you arrive and will continue long after you leave. You feel it the moment you stand in front of the mirror, the city stretching endlessly behind you through the glass, your reflection unfamiliar in a way that makes your chest tighten just slightly.
You do not look like the person who once tried to escape this place. You do not feel like her either. There is something steadier in the way you hold yourself now. Something that has learned where it belongs, even if the path here was never something you would have chosen at the beginning.
Seokjin stands behind you, his presence filling the space without needing to announce itself. You catch his reflection before you turn, his gaze already fixed on you in that quiet, unwavering way you have come to understand.
“You do not have to do this,” he says.
His voice is calm, but there is something beneath it you have learned to hear. Not doubt in you. Concern for what this night might demand.
You turn to face him fully, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself in the moment.
“I know,” you reply softly.
He studies you for a long second, searching for something he cannot force out of you.
“Once we walk in there,” he continues, “there is no separating you from me in their eyes.”
You step closer.
“I am already not separate from you,” you say.
The words settle between you, steady and certain. His gaze lowers slightly, taking you in like he is memorizing something he does not want to lose.
“You understand what that means,” he says quietly.
“I do,” you answer.
And you do. It means you will be seen. Measured. Judged. Not as a guest. Not as a stranger. But as something far more dangerous in a world like his. You will be seen as his.
The venue is exactly what you expect and nothing like it at the same time. Elegant in a way that feels calculated rather than welcoming. Conversations that sound polished but carry something sharper underneath. Eyes that linger a little too long, noticing everything without appearing to.
The moment you step inside with him, the room shifts. You feel it in the way conversations pause just slightly before continuing. In the way glances turn into stares that are quickly hidden behind practiced composure. In the way space seems to adjust itself around him, around you, as if the entire room is recalibrating to account for your presence.
His hand finds yours. And you realize then that this is not just about them seeing you. It is about him standing with you in a space where nothing is ever simple.
“You can still leave,” he murmurs quietly, just enough for you to hear.
You look at him. At the man who once kept you inside walls you hated. At the man who now gives you every choice and still hopes you stay.
“I walked in with you,” you say. “I am not walking out without you.”
Something shifts in his expression at that, something he does not hide.
“Good,” he says.
People approach. One by one. Conversations begin that feel more like assessments than introductions. Names are exchanged, but you quickly understand that names mean less here than alliances, than history, than power that exists beneath everything being said.
You stand beside him through it all. And slowly, something changes. At first, they look at you like a question. Then like a possibility. And eventually, like an answer they do not like but cannot ignore.
Because Seokjin does not correct their assumptions. He does not distance himself from you. He does not soften your presence. He lets it exist exactly as it is. And that is what makes it undeniable.
At some point, the conversations fade into the background. The noise of the room becomes distant, replaced by something quieter between you and him.
You step slightly away from the crowd, toward a space where the city is visible again through tall glass, the lights stretching endlessly into the night. He follows without being asked.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, side by side, the reflection of both of you faintly visible against the glass.
“This is your world,” you say softly.
“It is,” he replies.
You glance at him.
“And now I am in it.”
He turns slightly toward you.
“You have been in it for a while,” he says.
You shake your head faintly.
“No,” you correct. “I was surviving in it. This is different.”
He studies you carefully.
“How.”
You take a breath, letting the weight of everything settle before you answer.
“Because I am not here by accident anymore,” you say. “I am here because I chose to be.”
The words feel heavier spoken out loud. His gaze does not leave yours.
“That changes everything,” he says.
“It does,” you agree.
Silence follows, but it is not empty. It is full of everything that has led you here. Everything that could have ended differently but did not.
You step closer, your voice softer now, but no less certain.
“I used to think you were the worst thing that could happen to me,” you admit.
A faint shift crosses his expression.
“And now,” he asks.
You do not hesitate.
“Now I think you are the only thing that ever made sense after everything stopped making sense.”
He exhales slowly, something in him giving way in a way you have only seen in rare moments when he allows himself to be unguarded.
“You make this place feel different,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head slightly.
“How.”
“Less like something I have to control,” he answers. “More like something I want to come back to.”
Your chest tightens at that.
“You always had something to come back to,” you say.
He shakes his head faintly.
“No,” he replies. “I had responsibilities. Power. Territory. None of that is the same thing.”
His gaze softens just enough to shift everything again.
“You are,” he adds.
The words stay with you. Settle into you. And for a moment, the world outside the glass feels smaller than the space between you.
You reach for him first this time.
“I love you,” you say.
It does not come out as a confession. It comes out like something that has been true for longer than you have allowed yourself to say it.
His eyes hold yours, steady and unshaken. For a second, he says nothing. And then, quietly, like it belongs in this moment and nowhere else,
“I love you too.”
No hesitation. No distance. Just truth. The kind that does not need to be repeated to be understood.
When you step back into the room together, everything feels different.
Because whatever exists between you is no longer hidden, no longer uncertain, no longer something either of you can walk away from without losing something real.
They see it now. All of them. In the way you stand beside him. In the way his hand finds yours again without thought. In the way neither of you looks away.
And for the first time, you do not feel like someone caught in his world. You feel like someone who belongs in it.
End.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading all the way through. I truly appreciate you spending your time with something I created.
A special thank you again to the lovely reader who commissioned this fic and generously allowed me to post it publicly so everyone else could enjoy it too. Thank you for trusting me with your idea and for supporting my work.
If you enjoyed this story, I’m currently open for fic commissions. Any genre is welcome! You can come to me with a detailed plot, a favorite trope, a character pairing, or even just a small idea, and I’ll be happy to help build the story with you.
Thank you again for reading, supporting, and sharing my work. See you in the next story.
My favorite tumblr BTS fics of 2026 (as a namjoon and yoongi bias)
Namjoon:
The Bodyguard by @rmnamjoons (Namjoon x Reader) - My first ever tumblr fic and I read it in genuinely one sitting (it took hours)
Office Hours by @minyoongiss (Namjoon x Reader) - The filth?? Amazing 10/10
Heart got teeth by @100vern (Namjoon x Reader) - 5sos and BTS my two worlds collide??????
Seokjin:
Clichés and Canapés by @kpopfanfictrash (Seokjin x Reader) - Fake dating my beloved 🫶
Yoongi:
Play Dirty by @97luvz (Yoongi x Reader) - Not even going to lie. I just found out this is a part of a series and I will be reading the rest now but the line “you have a friend?” is now such a big inside joke between me and my friend. ALSO YOONGI WITH PRINCE ALBERT PIERCING??? Needs to be more common ngl
Cybersex by @gimmethatagustd (Yoongi x Reader) - I'm a slut for a good brother's best friend and this delivered. This fic is so so so good and the relationship build up chefs kiss
Reckless by @merakoo (Yoongi x Reader) - I WANT TO SMOKE WITH MIN YOONGI AND THEN GET RAILED BY HIM ARE YOU KIDDING??? (anyways this fic was so hot I love it 🫶)
Taehyung:
Midnight Curfew by @taerotic (Taehyung x Reader) - OMG THE SMUT??? THE TENSION? THE POLICE RADIO??
Jungkook:
Like $ugar on my tongue by @shawtuzi (Jungkook x Reader) - Where can I find a man like this???
Fall in love again and again by @spideyjimin (Jungkook x Reader) - This is genuinely such a cute fic and it needs even more attention
Sinners by wintrbears (Jungkook x Reader) - OMFG THIS WAS HOT, i love me a oc/reader that bosses the other around 🙂↕️
Multiple Members:
Good Girl by @jamaisjoons (Seokjin x Reader x Yoonji x Jimin) - THE FILTH!!! Also didnt realize it was Yoonji for a hot minute and thought it was yoongi but genuinely made it all the better
Only here to Sin by @gimmethatagustd (Namjoon x Reader, Taehyung x Reader, Jimin x Reader, Taehyung x Namjoon) - Okay infidelity, not my fav. But this fic genuinely was so good so many things I did not expect to happen happened and OMG THE TAEJOON DRABBLE AT THE END??? Give me 10 more
Made of Honor by @kookooluvr (Namjoon x Reader, Jungkook x Reader) - Dont get me started on this fic. Genuinely my roman empire fic, all of my friends (2 people) know about this fic. I bring it up often and I believe EVERYONE needs to read it
All night by @axigailxo (Namjoon x Reader x Yoongi) - My bias’s so genuinely amazing already plus the smut 10/10
Sugar Talking (Taehyung x Reader) and Better than him (Jungkook x Reader) by @inthelow - THE FILTH THE FILTH THE FILTH, i need to find a man who degrades me like Better Than Him Jk ngl. That shit was so hot
Lights, Camera, Action by @colormepurplex2 (Jungkook x Reader x Namjoon) - This was so good and SO HOT??? The last chapter also just made me so happy
Ongoing Series:
Run, Little Bunny by @gukcnt (Yoongi x Reader) - Okay, im so fucking excited to keep reading this, like genuinely idk what it is about the dynamic of this but its hot asf and I JUST KNOW the smut is gonna go crazy
The Hit list by @wintrbears (Jungkook x Reader) - Both me and my best friend are reading this and we are constantly on the edge of our seats waiting for a new chapter to come out.
Yes, Chef by @yoonmetogether (Yoongi x Reader) - My best friend has gotten genuinely sick of me talking about this fic and im patiently awaiting for the next chapter 🙏 I neeeeed to know if they take it further because ugh the dynamic??? 10/10
Anyways I love all of these fics and I 10/10 recommend all of them to anyone who hasn't read them. Also just support these amazing authors ❤️❤️
Kinks: Dom!Jungkook, sub!Reader, arranged marriage, gunplay, oral to a gun, big cock, praise, body worship, nippleplay, strength kink, size kink, tattoos & piercings, thigh riding, spanking, dirty talk, sexy possessiveness, multiple orgasms (f. & m.receiving), creampies, squirting, overstimulation, rough & passionate sex in front a window, she rides him, the trope of “this is the first night where the sex feels real and not like a marital duty”
Wordcount: 10.4k
a/n: i feel…feelings. too many of them. most of carnal nature. some of deeply emotional nature. this story did too many things to me, holy fuck i need air. besties, Kinktober hits different because we can be totally unhinged together and i am loving the adventure ❤
You fucked up. You are aware that you did. Five men are dead, slaughtered because you trusted the wrong person. Seven barely escaped death and the rest were either hurt or pissed.
Taehyung’s with you, cleaning the cut on your cheek a broken bottle left. You think someone threw it at you, but you blacked out before you could see who did it.
“Hurts”, you groan.
“I know, sorry. It must be done”, Taehyung answers you, replacing the blood soaked cotton swap with a new one. Soaked in disinfectant, he presses it against your wound, eliciting another hiss of discomfort from you.
“So what are we gonna tell him?” Jimin asks the question the rest of the group was too afraid to ask.
“The truth, what else?” Namjoon says dryly, fingers busy with stopping the bleeding on his arm by pressing a cloth to it.
“Yeah and risk her getting shot? Nah thanks”, Seokjin says, shaking his head.
“People died”, Namjoon hisses, eyes lowered in anger, “Yoongi’s still out and guess shit about how Hoseok’s surgery is going.”
“She didn’t shoot them did she?”
“She could have very well pulled the fucking trigger.”
You avoid looking at Namjoon, knowing very well that he would probably kill you with just a look if he could. You understand him. You’re angry at yourself as well. You weren’t careful enough and let the details of the meeting meet the wrong people, ending in the cops busting you in the middle of the deal.
“Where is she?!” Jungkook’s loud voice cuts through the air like thunder.
summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.
after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?
pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader
genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff (?)
word count: 5.1k
warnings: you’re gonna get sick of the title loll, brief alcohol consumption, this is lowkey pwp (there will be more plot soon i promise) swearing, explicit sexual content (mdni), kissing, making out, fingering, oral (m. receiving), he’s very cocky but also pathetic, multiple orgasms, lots of banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk calls oc a brat x2, multiple positions, insinuated aftercare, let me know if i missed anything!
notes: you guys built this fic!! this was supposed to be out on thursday but i realised i was being wayy to ambitious cuz i definitely needed more than two days to write this loll. but alas, it’s here :3 as always, likes, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are very appreciated! enjoy reading angels <33
ps. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO!!
⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback
You fumble with your keys, swaying just slightly as you try to jab the right one into the lock. Behind you, Jungkook’s laughing under his breath, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck.
“Need help?” he asks, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.
“I’ve got it,” you say, jabbing the key with exaggerated precision. The door finally clicks open, and you push it in with a triumphant, “Ha!”
“You’re so competent,” he deadpans, clapping a mock applause as he follows you in. His shoulder bumps yours as he passes. “It’s honestly inspiring.”
You kick off your shoes, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “And you’re so annoying,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
Jungkook drops onto your couch like it’s his own, sprawling out like he owns the place. Which, in some ways, he kind of does.
A hoodie of his is already slung over the back of a kitchen chair, from some night two weeks ago when he stayed too late and decided not to drive home. There’s an energy drink in your fridge with his name written on the lid in Sharpie. The blanket he’s tugging over his lap? That’s the one he gifted you for Christmas, mostly so he could use it whenever he came over.
It’s always been like this.
He tosses his denim jacket on the couch as you grab two bottles of water from the fridge, chucking one to him without warning. He catches it with the ease.
“You were definitely flirting with that bartender,” he says, unscrewing the cap and looking at you with that maddeningly smug smile.
You scoff. “He had a mullet and called me ‘miss.’ It wasn’t flirting— it was survival.”
“Sure,” he says, nodding like he totally believes you. “That’s why you laughed at everything he said, even when he asked if you liked your tequila neat.”
“It was neat!” you say, defensive and laughing at the same time. “And besides, you flirted with the girl in the fishnets for, like, an hour.”
He shrugs. “Guilty. She had good taste in music. And thighs.”
You groan and flop down beside him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your thigh brushes his, but you don’t move. Neither does he. The buzz from the party is still warm in your blood, and the apartment feels too quiet now — too intimate without the noise and lights and other bodies.
“You ever think we’re just... really bad at dating?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.
“Constantly,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.
You glance at him. “Like, maybe we peaked in college.”
He makes a face. “Don’t say that. I refuse to believe my best years happened while I was still eating instant ramen and failing comp sci.”
You laugh, and he turns his head toward you, watching you with that soft-eyed expression you know too well. There’s something about Jungkook when he’s like this — no bravado, no teasing smirk, just... present. His hair is a mess from the wind, and a dark tank top hugs his figure.
He’s too comfortable here. Too familiar.
“I genuinely think I’ve forgotten what a good kiss feels like,” you say, mostly to the ceiling, like it’s a throwaway thought.
Jungkook hums. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s not even bad, it’s just...” You trail off, searching for the word. “Empty. Mechanical. Like everyone’s going through the motions, but nobody’s actually there.”
He shifts slightly, angling his body more toward you. “So no decent kissers at all lately?”
You shake your head. “No decent anything, if I’m honest.”
He raises an eyebrow, curious.
You hesitate, but the alcohol in your system makes it easier to say what you probably wouldn’t sober. “I haven’t slept with anyone in like... almost a year.”
Jungkook blinks, not in judgment, just surprised. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” You rub at your temple with a laugh. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just kind of... kept not happening. And then it became this weird streak, and now here we are.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“Well,” he says eventually, “maybe your standards are just too high.”
“Or maybe men are just mid,” you shoot back.
That gets a laugh out of him, loud and bright. He tips his head back, and you watch his throat move as he laughs. Too long. Too hard. When he calms down, he gives you a look — something mischievous that you've grown to know too well over the years.
"What?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him with a smile.
He shrugs. “I mean... I could help."
“With my standards?”
“With the streak.”
You snort. “What, you offering?”
“Maybe.”
You tilt your head. “So what? You wanna bang it out?”
It’s meant to be funny. You’re grinning when you say it. But when you look at him — really look — he’s not laughing.
His gaze lingers on your mouth for a beat too long. Then his eyes flick up to yours.
“Just this once?” he asks, voice low. Careful. Like he’s giving you an out.
You don’t answer right away. The room goes still. The hum of the fridge feels too loud. His eyes are still on you, and it’s not a look you’ve ever seen from him before.
Your heart stutters in your chest.
You swallow. “Wouldn't it be weird?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.
“Only if we let it be.”
You sit there for a second, the weight of it all hitting a little too fast. Your brain’s still catching up to your mouth, to the way your body’s buzzing — not from the alcohol anymore, but from him. From the heat in his eyes, the way he said it — almost like a dare.
And then his expression shifts.
His eyes flick away, and his tongue runs over the silver ring on his bottom lip, like he’s pulling it back, reeling it in.
“Only if you want to, obviously,” he says, quieter this time. “We don’t have to.”
He starts to lean back like he's resetting the mood — like this moment can still be folded back into the safety of your usual teasing — but you stop him.
You move first.
You grab the front of his tank top — not hard, not dramatic, just enough — and you pull him in.
You kiss him.
It’s abrupt. Heat over hesitation. A split-second decision that tastes like tequila and impulse, like comfort and fuck it all wrapped up in the same breath.
At first, he doesn’t move, frozen in surprise. But then he kisses you back — really kisses you back — and suddenly you're not thinking anymore.
His hand slides to your thigh, just enough pressure to ground you, and you shift toward him instinctively, knees brushing his. His mouth moves against yours with a kind of focused laziness, like he’s savouring it. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how you taste.
You pull back half a second, just to breathe, lips brushing his as you mutter, “Took you long enough.”
He laughs into your mouth, low and smug. “You kissed me.”
“Yeah, well. You looked like you were gonna bail.”
“I was being respectful,” he says, voice muffled against your jaw as he starts kissing along it. “But sure, let’s call it bailing.”
You gasp a little when he nips at your neck, just enough pressure to make you arch toward him. Your hands slide under his top, fingers skimming the warm skin of his back, and he shivers under your touch.
“Jesus,” you murmur. “How are you this built? You eat, like, gas station snacks and leftover noodles.”
“I work out,” he mutters between kisses, grinning as he drags his mouth back to yours. “Also, you’ve seen me shirtless.”
“Yeah, but not like this.”
“Like what?”
You tug him closer until your chest presses to his. “Like I get to touch.”
That shuts him up real quick.
He kisses you again, this time more urgently, and you feel the change in the air — less teasing, more want. Your legs shift to straddle his lap without thinking, your hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just a little.
He groans, deep and rough, biting down on your bottom lip before kissing it better. You rock your hips forward slightly and he bucks up into you with a hiss.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
You smirk against his mouth. “You offered, remember?”
“Yeah, and I’m rapidly realising that was a dangerous choice.”
You laugh, breathless, before kissing him again. He tastes like beer and something sweeter — probably the gum he always chews. You bite his lip and feel him groan into your mouth, hips jerking beneath you.
His fingers slip under your shirt, warm on your skin. Not rushed, just exploring — like he’s been curious for a while and is finally allowed to look.
You roll your hips again, slower this time, and his head drops back against the cushion with a low fuck that makes your stomach flip.
“You still sure about this?” you ask, teasing, as your hands drag down his chest, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.
His eyes open — dark, focused, amused.
“You gonna stop me if I say no?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
“Then yeah,” he says, breath hitching as your fingers reach his abdomen. “I’m very sure.”
He catches your fingers before you can finish unbuttoning his jeans.
You raise a brow, breath still uneven. “Seriously?”
He nods, steady, calm in a way that only makes your pulse pound harder. “I said I was helping you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but I thought that was like... a mutual helping situation.”
His mouth twitches. “You always gotta argue when I’m trying to do something nice?”
You open your mouth to throw something back — something biting, something stupid — but he leans in and kisses you before you can get the words out. One hand still wrapped around your wrist, the other cupping your jaw.
He pulls back just enough to speak.
“Let me take care of you.”
You stare at him for a beat, heart kicking hard in your chest.
“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound unbothered. “But don't expect any thank yous or shit.”
“I’ll survive,” he says, already smirking as his fingers work at your jeans. “Though, for the record, I think you’re gonna want to.”
You snort — right before he pops the button of your jeans and drags the zipper down, knuckles brushing your skin. You shiver.
“God, you’re cocky.”
He glances up, eyes flicking to yours. “You saying I haven’t earned it?”
You don’t answer. Your breath stutters when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, palm flush against you.
He stills.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re wet already?”
“Shut up.”
He smiles cockily.
You roll your eyes — try to, anyway — but your thighs are already parting, your body moving without conscious thought. His fingers slide into you, testing the waters, and your head tips back with a soft sigh.
He watches your face like he’s waiting for something. When your mouth parts, when your hips twitch toward his hand, that’s when he moves.
His thumb finds your bud and he's gentle at first. Circling, then rubbing just a little firmer. You bite your lip hard, trying not to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.
“Still not thanking you,” you say through clenched teeth.
“Oh, you will,” he says, low. “Eventually.”
You glare at him. He grins back, fingers dragging lower, slipping in without resistance. You suck in a breath, and he laughs softly under it.
“Okay?” he asks, suddenly serious again.
You nod, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. More than okay.”
He starts moving his fingers — slow at first, too slow. Like he’s enjoying making you wait. You squirm, trying to rock your hips into his hand, but he tightens his grip on your thigh.
“Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’re letting me do the work, remember?”
“I hate you.”
“You’re literally grinding on my hand right now.”
You reach out blindly and smack his chest. He doesn’t even flinch — just slips another finger in, and your breath catches so hard it punches the air from your lungs.
“There it is,” he murmurs.
His thumb picks up a rhythm again, and the pressure starts to build fast. He knows it, too. His free hand slides around your waist, steadying you as your body starts to shake. Your fist curls into the soft fabric of his top, needing something to hold onto.
“Still hate me?” he asks, voice rougher now, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.
“Don’t flatter yourself— fuck—”
“Yeah?” His fingers curl just right, and your whole body tenses. “Right there?”
You nod, desperate, eyes squeezed shut. Your thighs are shaking. You’re so close you can’t even keep up the bit.
“Say it,” he says.
“Say what?”
“Tell me how good I make you feel.”
You groan. “Jesus, Jungkook—”
He slows down suddenly, barely moving his hand.
You whine. Actually whine.
“That’s not what I asked for.”
“God, you’re annoying,” you say, breathless.
He grins. “You're the one being the brat here.”
You drag your eyes open and glare at him, but it’s all heat now. All want. You lean in close, lips pressing against his.
"Fuck— fine. You feel so fucking good, Kook. Please, just don't stop."
He doesn’t.
He kisses you hard and fast, and his fingers start again, slick and firm and relentless. Your body clenches around him and this time, you don’t even try to hold the sounds back. His name leaves your mouth like muscle memory, and he groans into your kiss, like he’s the one coming undone.
When you break the kiss to suck in air, he presses his forehead to yours, voice rough in your ear.
“That’s it. Let go for me.”
You do.
Your body arches, thighs trembling as the orgasm washes over you sharp and fast. Your fingers dig into his back, into his top, into anything that keeps you tethered.
He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, twitching, pushing his hand away because you’re too sensitive now.
He pulls back finally, breath warm against your skin, his fingers wet. He looks at you, gaze heavy, lips parted.
Then, without a word, he brings his fingers to your mouth.
“Open,” he says, low and steady.
You blink at him, your body still humming, brain half-melted. “What—?”
He brushes two slick fingers against your bottom lip, and your mouth parts on instinct.
“You said no thank yous,” he says, smirking. “So this’ll do.”
You glare at him, but your lips close around his fingers anyway. He watches every second — the way your mouth wraps around them, the way your tongue slides against the pads. His expression flickers from cocky to wrecked.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough now, the smugness cracking around the edges.
You suck once, slow and purposeful, eyes locked on his, and he jerks slightly under you — hips twitching like your mouth is on him instead. When you pull off with a soft pop, your lips are swollen and wet.
“You said mutual help,” you murmur, breath still catching on the end of every word. “It’s your turn.”
He blinks, like he’s short-circuiting.
You slide off his lap slowly, hands dragging down his chest, and his breath catches when you settle between his legs on your knees. You palm him over his jeans, and he hisses, already hard under your touch.
“Fuck,” he mutters, head tipping back.
“You okay there?” you ask, voice sweet, taunting. “Or do you need me to go slower?”
He looks down at you, pupils blown, jaw clenched. “Don’t be a brat.”
You unbutton his jeans, real slow, enjoying the way he twitches under your hands. “No promises.”
You drag the zipper down, tugging his jeans and boxers low enough to free him. He’s flushed and heavy, tip already glistening, and you swear you see his hips flex at just the sight of your mouth this close.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You look way too good down there.”
You wrap your hand around his cock, giving one slow stroke, and he groans like it surprises him.
You start slow. Just your hand. Thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge under the head, watching his thighs tense beneath your touch. His head drops back against the couch cushion, and you feel the way his hips subtly shift toward you, like his body’s trying to chase more without him even realising it.
You lean in and lick a slow stripe from base to tip, tongue flat, deliberate. His breath catches — then shudders out of him like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.
“Shit,” he mutters again, voice strained.
You hum like you agree, and wrap your lips around the head, just barely. You suck, not hard — just enough to make him twitch. Your hand works in tandem, slow, steady strokes, and your mouth follows, inching lower until the tip presses against the back of your throat.
He moans, raw and wrecked. “Fuck, baby—”
The pet name is barely more than a gasp, almost like it slipped out without permission. Your stomach flips at the sound it.
His voice borders on the line of sounding pathetic, and it makes you want to press your thighs together.
You fall into rhythm — your lips sliding over him, tongue pressed firm underneath, hand twisting where your mouth leaves off. Every now and then, you let yourself get sloppy. Let the sound of it echo between you, let him hear what he’s doing to you.
He’s falling apart above you. You can tell by the way his hand flexes and releases in your hair, the way his thighs tremble every time you sink a little deeper. He’s breathing hard now, jaw slack, eyes barely open. Watching you. Like he still can’t believe this is real.
“God, your mouth—” His voice cuts off into a moan when you swallow around him, deep and slow. "You're gonna be the death of me."
You pull off just long enough to breathe, lips slick, chin wet. “You deserve it.”
He laughs, but it breaks halfway through. Your hand doesn’t stop moving.
“You like watching me fall apart, huh?”
You look up through your lashes, tongue flicking over the head. “More than a little.”
You go back down — deeper this time — and he chokes on a groan. His hips jerk up too sharply and he curses, hands fisting hard in your hair.
“Shit— I’m—” He’s panting now, thighs shaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep— fuck, don’t—”
You suck harder, then moan around him just to hear the sound he makes. It’s almost a whimper.
“Baby, stop— wait— fuck— please—”
You pull off with a wet pop just before he tips over the edge, lips red and swollen, saliva clinging to your chin. He’s barely keeping it together. Chest heaving, flushed to the neck, cock twitching where it rests against his stomach.
“You were right there,” you say, feigning innocence, voice soft and ruined.
“Exactly," he says, sitting up. "I'm not done with you yet."
He drags the fabric of his top over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The moment it’s off, your breath catches.
Fuck.
He’s all golden skin and sharp lines, chest heaving, abs flexing with every breath. His tattoos curl over his shoulder and down his arm, black ink stark against flushed skin. His cock’s still hard, flushed dark, resting against his stomach, twitching when he sees the way you’re looking at him.
And you — still kneeling between his legs — can’t look away.
Then you rise, shaky but determined, and pull your top over your head, letting it fall. His eyes snap to your chest, lips parting like he’s just been punched in the gut. You're movements are purposefully slow as you pull down your jeans, then your panties.
“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body. “You’re a fucking dream.”
You crawl back into his lap, your bare skin meeting his, and the contact makes both of you gasp. You straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he groans the moment your heat presses against his cock.
He fumbles for a condom, pulling it out from an inner pocket in the jacket he’d draped onto the couch earlier.
You watch as he tears it open and rolls it on, fingers practiced but tense. You reach between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and the second his tip slides against your soaked folds, his grip tightens on your hips.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice shaking.
You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, and your nails bite into his shoulders as you stretch around him. He’s big — your pussy gripping him tight, wet and pulsing as he fills you up. Every nerve lights up, every breath gets harder to catch.
“Holy fuck—” His head drops to your chest, groaning against your skin. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm. Gonna make me lose it.”
You whimper as you bottom out, walls fluttering around him. You can feel every vein, every twitch. It’s almost too much. Almost.
But not enough.
You start to move — slow, dragging lifts of your hips, circling them on the way back down. He watches, hands clamped on your ass, guiding the grind of your body like he already knows how to make you fall apart again.
You ride him, pace picking up fast, desperate. Every time your hips drop, the base of his cock grinds against your clit, slick sounds filling the room with every slap of skin against skin. His cock hits deep, stretching you wide, and a moan passes your lips.
He groans are low and guttural, eyes locked to where your bodies meet. “Goddamn, baby. Watching you fuck yourself on my cock— shit— never gonna forget this.”
You’re panting now, thighs burning, rhythm faltering. You try to keep going, but your legs are shaking.
He notices.
Without a word, he shifts under you, plants his feet flat on the floor, and grabs your hips tight.
“Let me help you, yeah?”
You nod. “Please.”
He starts thrusting up into you.
You cry out, spine arching, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on as he fucks you from underneath, sharp and deep. His hips snap up into you, cock pressing into your sweet spot over and over again.
The new angle is obscene. Filthy.
“Fuck, Jungkook— holy shit—”
He smirks up at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Look at you— so cockdrunk already.”
Your pussy clenches around him, soaked and messy, and the sound of it is downright pornographic. His balls slap against your ass with every brutal thrust, and you can’t even think anymore. Just feel.
Your head falls back, hips rocking with his. “W-we’re still best friends, right, Kook?”
His rhythm stutters, hips slamming up too hard, too deep, and his jaw drops slightly like he’s not sure if he actually heard you right. His pupils are blown, face flushed, and he stares at you like you just kicked the last brain cell out of his skull.
“What the fuck,” he pants. “You can’t say that. Not when I’m— fuck— inside you.”
You whimper, walls clenching around him like your body’s reacting to how wrecked he sounds.
“That’s so fucked up,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Say it again and I might actually come on the spot.”
You huff out a weak laugh at that, hands tangling in his hair, and he groans, fucking you harder, deeper — like he needs to wipe the thought of friendship off your brain with every snap of his hips.
“Y-Yeah,” you gasp. “So close, fuck— don’t stop—”
He doesn’t. One hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit while he pounds into you. You sob his name, hips stuttering, body locking up.
“Come on,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”
That’s all it takes.
You break with a cry, body clamping down around him as your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train. Your pussy pulses around his cock, milking him, soaking him, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.
He slows just a little — just enough to let you ride it out — but he doesn’t pull out. He’s still hard inside you, jaw tight, eyes blown wide.
You collapse forward, panting into his neck, spent.
His hands slide down your spine, warm and possessive. “You good?”
You nod, still breathless. “Yeah. Jesus.”
"Good." He swiftly lifts you off him just enough to slip out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But he doesn’t give you time to think.
He shifts, guiding you onto your back, his body following yours down to the couch. His hands frame your face as he settles between your legs, and when he presses back into you — thick and hard.
His eyes roam over you like he’s never seen anything more obscene or more beautiful. Your lips are swollen, parted in a messy moan. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye from when you’d cried out his name, and your skin’s glowing — sweaty, flushed, wrecked.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he says, voice gone rough. “All fucked out for me.”
You pull him down into a kiss before you can think. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, teeth clashing a little. His hips start to move again, slow at first — long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch every time he bottoms out.
You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. His chest brushes yours, sticky skin against sticky skin, and your nails rake down his back.
He gasps into your mouth. “Fuck—”
“More,” you breathe, nails dragging again, leaving angry red lines down the muscle of his back. “Please.”
His hips snap harder, pace picking up again. He braces one hand beside your head and the other slides up your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise. Your body rocks with every thrust, his cock slamming into you, the slap of his hips against yours louder now.
“You feel that?” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “How tight you are around me? Fuck— I’m so deep, baby, you’re taking me so fucking good.”
You moan loud at his words, head falling back against the cushions.
He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast — open-mouthed, wet kisses that make your skin burn. Then he’s back at your mouth, kissing you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.
He watches you with the kind of hunger that makes your stomach flip, watching how your brows pinch, how your mouth trembles, how you twitch around him with every stroke like you’re on the edge all over again.
And fuck, you are.
“Touch me,” you gasp, voice raw. “Kook, please—”
His fingers snake down your stomach, rubbing tight, perfect circles against your clit, synced with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cry out, thighs shaking around his waist, and he just watches — eyes dark and wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing to you.
You clench hard around him, and he curses, slamming into you deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.
“Gonna come again?” he pants. “Wanna come on my cock like that, baby? Let me feel you soak me?”
You’re nodding before he finishes, tears prickling in your eyes from how fucking intense it is. “Yes— yes, fuck, don’t stop—”
He kisses you as you fall apart — moaning into your mouth, swallowing every sound. You come again, whole body seizing around him. Your nails dig in, and he hisses at the pain, thrusting through it, fucking you right through the high.
When it ebbs, your body goes limp under him, chest heaving, lips swollen, slick dripping between your thighs.
Jungkook fucks into you again — slow, deep, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you pulsing around him. His breath stutters, muscles drawn tight, every thrust rougher than the last.
“I’m not gonna last,” he pants, voice wrecked.
You bring your hands up to his hair, lightly tugging at his locks as you whisper, “Wanna feel you.”
He chokes on a moan, slamming into you one final time as he comes hard, cock twitching deep inside as he fills the condom.
His arms shake, muscles locked tight, and his face is buried in your neck as he rides it out, breath ragged, skin flushed and burning. You feel every pulse of it, every tremble in his frame, and all you can do is hold him there — legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms tangled around his shoulders, your nails still leaving stinging trails across his skin.
He presses kisses against your neck and jaw, eventually trailing up to your lips before pulling back to just look at you.
"I— you're perfect."
You smile, a familiar warmth enveloping your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the flattery."
But he doesn’t smile back right away. He just watches you, quiet. Like he’s still catching up to the weight of what just happened. What’s still happening.
His hand drifts to your waist, thumb brushing lazily over your damp skin. “Let me run you a bath.”
You blink. “A bath?”
He nods, lips brushing your temple. “Yeah. You’re shaky. And I kinda wrecked you.”
You snort, catching the smugness in his voice. “What happened to, ‘Shit, baby, if you don’t stop I’m gonna come down your throat’?”
He groans, laughing. “Okay, first of all— rude. Second, I don’t sound like that.”
“Mm, you definitely do.”
He pinches your side lightly. “Keep talking, I’ll re-enact it right now.”
You shut up. But you’re smiling.
He stands a moment later, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft clatter of bottles, his voice humming something low and familiar.
When he comes back, he tosses you a towel and holds out a hand, that same easy smile on his face. The one you’ve known forever. The one that makes everything feel… normal.
Even now.
You lace your fingers with his, let him pull you up.
Your legs are jelly. His hand doesn’t let go.
And as you follow him into the bathroom, skin still marked by his touch, lips still swollen from his kiss, a quiet thought flickers at the edge of your mind.
You guys were still best friends.
Right?
→ read part two here
taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp
pairing: Jungkook x Reader | [slight] Yoongi x Reader
genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates!au, college!au, fuckboi!jk, enemies to friends to lovers
summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
rating: 18+ sexual content.
warnings: protected sex (twice..), oral (f. receiving), rough sex (1), a lot of making out, orgasm denial (for two secs methinks), titty sucking, cursing, alcohol consumption from parties, jk sleeps around (but not anymore?!), the basketball team is kinda disgusting, jk lowkey (highkey) be staking his claim but it’s seen in y/n pov, honestly jk and y/n are still hella confused
word count: 15.3k
a/n ✑ part dossss! thank you so much for waiting!! i adoreee this couple and i hope you enjoy the rest of their journey too <3 appreciate all of you guyss <33 (also there’s like.. one epilogue scene teehee)
Summary: He looked so good with that cowboy outfit. What were you supposed to do? Not fuck him?.
Genre/Warning: literally not plot just porn. dry humping, riding (penetration), sex, dirty talk. / very nasty
author’s note: idk, i was bored and jin looks hot with that outfit so i made a little drabble?. i was editing the “champagne problems” fic of him but i ended up writing this in ten minutes so is pretty shitty but yeah slayy he’s hot
You guys shouldn’t supposed to be doing this.
He’s supposed to be getting ready for stage, warming his voice. You were supposed to be sitting in the crowd waiting for his performance— but none of that was happening. He was lying down in the sofa of his waiting room… with you on top. About to fuck the life out of him.
The door was locked. You barely had time to do so when you pulled him into an unused dressing room, kissing him desperately. Jin looked so good. Shaken by the euphoria of being on stage, reflections of sweat on his neck, and that damn suit and hat that made him look like a wannabe cowboy.
You wanted to fuck him so bad.
And so, slipping out of the crowd, you took his hand so you could get to that room. In less than two minutes you had him underneath you with his pants and underwear on his thighs and ready for you. He was easy to get hard for you, always seemed ready to just give you what you wanted. Always ready for you to take what you wanted from him. Always ready to make you satisfied yourself with him. Always just for you.
And you could always take it.
You had your little skirt rolled up to your hips, your panties to the side. Your hands pressing his broad shoulders, moving a little to not leave an inch of dick uncovered as your bare flesh suffocates the length of his cock. Jin had his hands on your waist, moving you on top of him a little faster, biting his lip to not moan at the sensation. It was good, your clit rubbing all his length, making you tingle in the right places.
“You’re getting desperate.” He muttered under his breath, a little agitated. “You wanna get fucked that bad?. Couldn’t wait for me to even finish the show?.”
You looked down where your bodies met. His cock looking red and hot, your drenched cunt was already ready to take him. He looked at you with a fainted smirk, knowing what you wanted. He always did. He always knew what you liked, what you would do if you didn’t get what you wanted. You were a spoiled little brat. And he was so happy to make you work for it— every damn time. Because if you wanted to fuck him, then you could do it. He just… won’t move a finger for you.
“You look so good. With this fit and your hat.” You shook your head, a little - too much - fucked up. “Couldn’t wait.”
“Of course you couldn’t. Because you need dick to fucking survive.” He groaned before putting his hands to the back of his head, resting. “Go ahead, then. Fuck yourself.”
You wanted to be a little annoying, maybe tell him you didn’t need him that much. That he could pretend he was doing you a favour but you could see his swollen dick twitch to be inside you. That you could see him bite his lower lip to not moan at your drenched cunt rubbing on his cock. You could make a little show just to shut him up— But you didn’t.
Because you -indeed- wanted him that much.
Your hips moved slightly upward. You grabbed his cock with one hand so you could line it up at your entrance. Your other hand pressed down hard on his abs, throwing your head back as you slowly lowered down to take him. He didn’t let you take it slow, he moved his hips upward with strength so you could take him the way he wanted you too. Hard and evil. You whimpered when he filled you up. Feeling every vain, every inch of him inside you, his tip touching your favorite spot.
You moaned and he smirked slightly. Like it didn’t affect him at all, almost too nonchalant when you were breaking apart.
“Fuck.” You said, voice breaking. “You look so good dressed like a cowboy— Ungh, shit…”
His hands were still behind his head, with a dark look full of desire but a grimace of indifference. He stayed still, mocking you. Making you suffer by not going full with you, by not touching you in the right places like only he knew.
“Come on, get yourself off, baby”
Motherfucker.
You start to ride him. Moving slowly up and down at the beginning in order to get use to his length, always felt like the first time you two fucked. It felt so good, stretching you completely. His big fat cock, you could feel every vein and twitch inside you. His warm, it felt so good wrapped around you— he looked so hot like that, with his outfit and hat falling off, with your hand scratching his abs under his shirt, with his underwear and jean in the middle of his tights.
He was so fucking hot. Sex with Jin was always good but today there was just something in him that made you hornier than ever. Maybe that outfit, maybe the confidence he exude for being on stage. Any way, you wanted to keep bouncing on his dick for hours.
The sounds were obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness with each bounce of your knees, the sofa moving dramatically against the floor, your clit hitting the lower part of his stomach in such a right way. You could feel your juices dripping on him making an even bigger mess. You didn’t care, you didn’t care if people were waiting for him or how much time it would take him to clean off all the mess. You just cared about getting fucked— and it looked he felt the same way because he was just making you bounce on him without care. Without a worry of being late, without a worry of making people mad.
For a moment, you thought he wasn’t affected. Just making you get yourself off fast so he could go back to get ready for stage— But then he lost it.
He sat up fast, stamping his lips to yours and kissing you hard and slow. Like he wanted you to feel his plump lips, his warm mouth. He wrapped his left arm around your waist and with his right fingers he began to rub your clit, slowly. You moaned into his mouth and he took the opportunity to insert his tongue into your mouth, licking every part of you. Tasting every inch of you. He was the one leading, as always.
His fingers were covered with your juices. You whimpered as he pulled slightly away from you, your mouth seeking his. He tapped his nose against your chin, moving his fingers to your lips.
“Jin…”
“Suck hard.” He licked his lips, eyes in your mouth. “I’m gonna fuck you now— Taste yourself first.”
Your lips wrapped around his fingers slowly, your tongue swiping over one so you could suck hard, savoring your own taste. You tried not to sighed at how intense he was. You made eye contact with him as he pushed his fingers harder in your mouth, making you almost gag— he smiled.
Oh, you were fucked.
He started fucking you, moving his hips upward with fury. His dirty fingers left your mouth and grabbed your hair to kiss you again. You moaned in his mouth, his lips eating you with lust and hunger. His arm around your waist grabbed you in a possessive way, tighter, moving you down every time his hips went upward to slammed into yours. The sounds were almost pornographic.
His fingers buried themselves in your hair before he pulled hard, making you throw your head back. He started kissing your jaw and neck, leaving little marks in your skin. You moaned loud when he hit the right spot inside you, not caring if anyone outside could hear you. He was being so good, hitting the right places, making you break apart— Your knees began to slip slightly, your thighs burning, no longer having almost any strength to keep going.
He chuckled, dryly. “You’re dripping all over me. You can’t do anything now?. Making me do all the work” he bit your neck, you sighed. “Greedy fucking girl.”
His hand in your hair moved to grabbed your neck, his fingers pressing hard around the lower part of your neck, his cold rings against your sweaty skin. You opened your mouth to moan but his gripped hardened around you, becoming almost difficult to breathe correctly. His lips ghosted yours but he didn’t kiss you, just teasing you. You whined and he smirked slightly before slamming his hips harder to yours, fucking you faster.
He made you keep your eyes on him while he kept fucking you to your climax, choking you with his hand. You felt slightly dizzy, the air not reaching your lungs properly. The pleasure becoming too much. You knew he liked you that way, crying, choking and begging. He liked you making a mess, your pussy praying for his dick. He liked the control he had over you, the way he could make you choked. They way he could make you lose control. The way he could torture you, make you suffer. He liked having the upper hand. He liked destroying you— making you shut up and just take it.
Your eyes rolled back, tears filling in your eyes, feeling every part of him inside you, fucking you harder and faster. Jin groaned in your mouth, getting closer to his high.
“Uhm?. You feel how deep I am?. Always squeezing me so hard— Shit…” his hips trembled. “You’re so hot, baby. I should fuck you longer and harder— But you like this, don’t you?. A cheap fuck… like a cheap fucking whore…”
Your hands took his out of your neck to breathe correctly before wrapping them around his shoulder, trying to find a balance. You sobbed, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening. His finger found your clit again, rubbing the little bud with intention. You clenched around him and he moaned. You squeezed him so good he was losing it. His mouth found yours again— He could feel your warm and wetness swallowing his cock, he could feel every inch of you wrapped around him. It was so good, so perfect.
Tears were running down your red cheeks, lips swollen and wet. Jin was making you a mess. He slammed his hips slowly and harder into you, fingers working in your clit perfectly—. And that was it.
You came with a cry, body locking up around him, thighs trembling violently as you clenched down harder than before, soaking him even more. He groaned, hips stuttering, then slammed in deep one final time as he came with you, thick, hot ropes of cum spilling inside you, making you full.
“Shit.” you sighed, vision getting blurry for a moment, irregular breathing.
He didn’t give you time to recover. Pushing out of you and putting your panties in place so you wouldn’t waste his seed. His cum slipping from inside you to your underwear and dripping down your legs, skirt still rolled up to your hips. He moved you to the side of the couch, giving you a soft peck in your lips before starting to get ready again, putting his hat on again.
“Don’t waste anything.” He order, “I haven’t finish with you yet.”
Genre: best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au
Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)
Word Count: 40K
Author's Note: Part of the In Bloom collaboration with @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @leahsfavefics, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan. Unfortunately, this is so long it has to be posted in two parts; please interact with both!
Synopsis: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.
It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.
Rating: 18+; explicit sexual content
Warnings (explicit content): oral (f. receiving), nipple play, delayed orgasms, sex w/out a condom, cum play, semi-public sex, light spanking, fingering, dirty talk, mention of voyeurism
Warnings (other): depictions of micro-aggressions, mentions of divorce (past tense), emotionally abusive/manipulative parents (side character)
Time is relative. A year can be both long and short, depending on which side you stand on. December is always a surprise, despite having lived through the months prior. The ‘you’ of today compared to the ‘you’ of last year always makes you feel ancient. The past year in particular packed more punches than most – some of them small, and some monumental enough to stop you in your tracks.
For example, this time last year – how is it already May? – you still worked in consulting, nimbly hanging from the top rung of the corporate later. But by the end of last summer, you had unceremoniously quit in a flurry of anger and paperwork. Last year had many difficulties but honestly, quitting wasn’t one of them.
No – one thing no one tells you in school is that all jobs kind of suck. There’s no one right answer, one right path. There are many careers you can enjoy – some of them taken by choice, others by happenstance and you’ll likely be good at more than one. Each one has a different toll, though. A different cost-benefit analysis, as you would have said last year.
You were good at consulting. There were many reasons you rose through the ranks. You always enjoyed a good challenge; enjoyed the thrill of being good at your job, but slowly realized work didn’t make you happy. Not when the cost was your free time and every ounce of value you saw in yourself.
Ambition is also a funny thing. Chasing a dream, even someone else’s, can be satisfying but eventually, you look down and notice the cracks in your life. Crevices between who you are and who you want to be, widening until the gap is unpardonable. The moment you notice is the moment you’re forced to make a decision.
For you, the decision was to quit.
God, it felt good to drop all the burdens. To leave your equipment with IT and stop caring about which projects were on track, which coworkers were slacking, and what the impact would be if certain laws passed. Petty concerns about petty people, all washed away by the sunlight outside.
The ‘you’ of ten years ago would have been embarrassed to call yourself a barista. The ‘you’ of ten years ago though, still believed in golden lies spun by corporations. The idea that if you worked hard enough, long enough – translation: made enough money – you would be happy. News flash: you weren’t. Or at least, not happy enough.
Working in a coffee shop has been fun. Enjoyable. Of course, there are rushes and harried customers and your feet hurt, but at the end of the day, you still have the energy left to be creative. That’s what matters to you.
Your friends have been saying as much to you for years. One friend in particular was convinced you needed to take a step back, but you rarely listened to Seokjin when it came to matters of work. With his upbringing, his family, it wasn’t like money was ever a concern to him, and –
“Y/N? Hellooo? Y/N!”
Jerking upright, you realize Jimin has been calling your name. Screwing the cap on the syrup, you glance over your shoulder.
Jimin leans against the counter at an angle which, frankly, defies gravity. One impeccable brow lifted, he watches with both arms folded over his apron.
Slowly, you set down the syrup. “How many times did you call my name?”
Jimin shakes his head. “At least three. I understood at first, but then I started worrying you were losing your hearing. You know, because of your age.”
“I’m three years older than you, Jimin. Not decrepit.”
“Right.” A deep sigh. “Thirty. And here I am, young and virile and still in my twenties.”
“Ugh,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Please don’t ever say virile to me again. And you’re in your twenties for now,” you add. “You’ll be thirty someday.”
“Yes. In the far, far, far future.”
Despite his teasing, Jimin joins at the sink with an armful of bottles. He stacks them neatly on the counter, reaching to fill one with syrup.
The café is quiet on a Tuesday afternoon. A few patrons linger, typing on laptops with their over-ears on, but the morning and noon rush have come and gone. Until someone enters, there’s nothing to do but clean and prep for tomorrow. Reaching for the next canister, you realize Jimin is wearing a Look.
It’s a Look you’ve grown familiar with over the past month, since Jimin insists on having the same conversation.
“Oh, no,” you sigh.
“Oh, no – what?”
“Oh, no – why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Jimin widens his eyes, the picture of innocence.
“Like I just kicked a dog,” you grumble.
Someone glances up from their laptop, appalled, and your face heats, realizing they overheard between songs. Busying yourself, you turn around and place your back firmly to them.
Jimin grins. “W-ow, Y/N. Can’t your good friend – and roommate, might I add – look at you without an agenda? It’s like you’re so used to being alone, you push people away at the first hint of discomfort.”
You make a sputtering sound. “Okay, first off – ouch. Too real for a work conversation. And second, that is not what’s happening here.”
Even if Jimin does have a point, says a voice in your head. Although you met Jimin in college, the two of you only recently reconnected. You were in the same theatre group back then, overlapping your senior and his freshman year. When you needed a roommate, you posted on the alumni social media page and Jimin responded. Since then, you’ve become close friends – along with Jimin’s boyfriend, Hoseok, one of your favorite people.
Jimin has been watching you withdraw socially for the past year, although much of that, you’d argue, is for a valid reason.
“So, does that mean you’ve changed your mind about the cabin?” Jimin asks, resting his chin on his fist.
“No,” you say through gritted teeth. “It does not.”
“Come on.” Jimin slumps dramatically. “It’ll be so much fun! And a bunch of my friends are single. And hot.” He wiggles both brows. “Now that I’m dating Hoseok, I need to set you up with someone.”
Despite yourself, your lips twitch. Jimin has been trying to get you to join his college friend cabin trip. Although you like his friends, an entire week with them is out of the question. Every single one of them is Type B – seriously, all of them – and if you went, you know you’d be instantly relegated to the ‘mom’ role. Even with the hottest of people, that’s a hard no for you.
Jimin is right there with them, flying through life by the seat of his pants, whereas you plan for all contingencies. Like the time you went backpacking through Europe and all the trains were cancelled due to something mumbled hastily at you in Spanish. It was up to you to solve – something you did within the hour; a story Seokjin likes to tell people at parties.
Of course, the response at Seokjin’s family parties tends to be shock at having taken public transportation in the first place. Seokjin’s family are rich-rich. Like, funded-the-railroads rich. Have-statues-in-historic-downtowns rich. Wear-clothes-that-look-like-Goodwill-but-actually-cost-five-figures rich.
It’s been a long while since Seokjin has said anything in your presence though, since you haven’t joined his rich-people parties in months. In fact, the last time you saw Seokjin was at his birthday party last year.
Wincing at this, you return to Jimin.
Admittedly, he makes some good points. You haven’t dated someone in ages. Your former job took up most of your time, and when you did date, it was friends of co-workers or people you met through work. Since quitting, you’ve taken a step back from the dating pool. As nice as it is to be wined and dined, you haven’t felt the need to take on someone new.
Not with how messy your personal feelings already are.
Mostly, you’ve thrown yourself into the coffee shop and writing. Jimin has encouraged you to branch out and meet new people, but it’s been hard. Especially after everything that happened with Seokjin.
“Maybe,” you sigh, looking up.
Bzzz-zzzz. Your phone jolts on the counter, and you choose to ignore it.
Jimin’s face brightens. “Maybe? Yes! I’ll text the group and have them add you to the chat. They’re going to be so psyched to have another driver, Y/N – you won’t believe how slowly Max goes on the highway, and – okay, who has been texting you?” Jimin glares at your phone when it buzzes again. “That has to be the tenth text in a row.”
“Probably emails,” you say, reaching sideways. “I need to turn notifications off. Ever since that info leak last year, I get so much spam that–”
Unfortunately, the name on the screen stops you, mid-sentence. You do have emails, along with a text from your sister, but it’s the name at the top driving your current state of paralysis.
Seokjin – (1) unread text.
“What?” Jimin attempts to peer over your shoulder. “Who is it?”
“No one,” you blurt, yanking your phone away. “Nothing.”
Hovering over the trash can, you swipe sideways. Seokjin’s text fills the screen.
Seokjin: *emergency emoji* so, I have news… [3:11 PM]
Fear grips your chest, filling you with dread while you await the next text. For months, you’ve anticipated this message. Seokjin has finally proposed, and his girlfriend, Emilia, has accepted. Your best friend – if you can still call him that – is engaged. Fully taken. Off the market.
Of course, if Seokjin were still your best friend, you’d have no doubts regarding his text. You’d be elated, excited by the next stage in his life. You’d be happy for him, happy for Emilia, and eager at the prospect of an over-the-top wedding invite. Emilia’s family is as rich as Seokjin’s, after all.
Instead, you find yourself feeling – well. Not happy.
In an attempt at distraction, you read your sister’s text about what to get your mom for Mother’s Day. The two of you have combined gifts for years, but the burden usually falls on you. Something about your mom’s latest boyfriend rubs your sister the wrong way.
Another text flashes on top of your screen.
Seokjin: Emilia and I broke up [3:13 PM]
Your eyes widen.
Dimly, you realize this is a terrible way to receive information, but your fingers are already moving. Returning to Seokjin, you see he’s still typing. His ellipses pause, then start, then pause again. At last, a new message comes through.
Seokjin: well, we broke up a while ago but guess what haha [3:15 PM]
Seokjin: now she’s dating Jaesuk [3:15 PM]
Before you can recognize the foolishness of doing so, you gasp. Jimin thrusts himself over the top of the screen, blonde hair falling forward as he tries to read.
“Y/N,” he whines. “Come on! Tell me what’s happening – did Tom and Zendaya break up? Get engaged? Break up, then get engaged?”
Dazed, you shake your head. “It’s uh, Seokjin.”
Jimin pauses. “Seokjin?” Glancing upward, his brows furrow. “Your friend, Seokjin? The one who’s… you know,” he says, miming something with one hand.
“… sexually active?”
“No.” Jimin huffs. “Loaded! That was me, swiping my black card.”
“Oh. That was unclear. But yeah, Seokjin’s family is well-off.”
Jimin whistles and looks at the ceiling. “Well-off. That’s what the uber-rich say to make it sound like they’re still in touch with reality. This guy must be dripping money.”
You have no response to this, since Jimin isn’t wrong. Although Seokjin himself is an untenured professor, there’s no way he could afford his current apartment without his inheritance. No way he could have completed his PhD in four years without the luxury of not having to work. Not to mention he teaches at a university with one of the largest endowments in the country and a building donated by his great-grandfather.
Because Jimin is a more recent friend, he’s never met Seokjin. Seokjin and you didn’t go to college together – he attended the same university he teaches for now. Jimin knows who Seokjin is, though. Hard to be friends with you and not know who he is.
As the second Kim son, Seokjin escaped the gargantuan task of inheriting the family business. Mostly, Seokjin’s parents leave him alone to do what he wants. Jaesuk, Seokjin’s older brother, wasn’t as lucky.
Which takes you back to the text. Emilia is dating Jaesuk.
“Anyways,” you say. “Seokjin texted me something surprising. That’s all.”
Jimin clasps both hands together. “Oh?”
You feel your face heat. “Not like that, you idiot. He has a girlfriend. Or – well, he had a girlfriend. He just texted me that they ended things.”
“And?”
“And…” Against your better judgement, the words rush out, “Now, his ex-girlfriend is dating Seokjin’s older brother.”
“WHAT,” Jimin yells at the unfortunate moment a new customer enters.
Both your heads jerk sideways. Before Jimin can recover, you scoop up your phone and dart towards the back. “Gotta go,” you blurt in a split-second decision. “Can you greet that customer? I’m due for my break. Thanks, Jimin!” you call, pushing through the staff door.
Through the frosted window, you see Jimin fume, then paste on his best customer service smile. Exhaling lowly, you lock the door and collapse at the small, wooden table.
Your heart pounds in the silence, unnaturally loud. Placing your phone on the table, you stare at the wallpaper – a photo of the city skyline you took last fall. Before that it was a photo of you and Seokjin. Your screensaver has always been you and Seokjin, something you never questioned until last year. Last summer, to be precise.
“Get ahold of yourself,” you mutter.
Taking a deep breath, your fingers hover over his name. You press call before you can second-guess yourself, Seokjin’s name filling the screen. He answers almost immediately.
“Hello?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Seokjin sounds out of breath, deeper than you remember. How unfair would it be for him to experience a second puberty burst. The first was torture enough for you as a teenager. Overnight, Seokjin transformed from your nerdy best friend to a soft-spoken, hilarious man the entire school wanted.
“… Y/N?”
Opening your eyes, you scoop up your phone and take it off speaker. “Oh, hey – yeah, it’s me.”
He chuckles. “I figured when I saw your name calling.”
“You never know.” Aimless, you pick at the lint of your apron. “Maybe I was in a tragic accident, and someone found my phone at the scene of the crime.”
“Does that mean I’m your emergency contact, Y/N? I’m touched.”
Your cheeks heat since yes, you’re not sure you ever changed that. What you say though, is, “Don’t get cocky. I have all my phone contacts listed as emergency contacts. I like to hedge my bets.”
He laughs, louder this time. “Hey, no judgement here. Pretty sure you’re still mine.”
Your fingers still on your apron. You shouldn’t be his contact – not after everything. Harshly, you stamp out the hope rising within you. Seokjin’s lack of foresight and planning shouldn’t be taken as anything but just that.
“Right.” You pause. “Sorry – is this a bad time? I should have texted back, but I’m at work, and thought it’d be easier to call…”
“You’re at work? Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“I’m on a break, don’t worry about it.”
A long pause. At last, Seokjin sighs and the knot in your chest tightens. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen him upset. Once when your parents were getting divorced, and you ignored his texts for a week. Another, when he and his college girlfriend, Lisa, broke up. Another when his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer (currently in remission). And then again, when your ex cheated on you with your supposed best friend senior year. Seokjin drove across state lines all night to be on your campus by morning.
He sounds upset now, too.
“Yeah.” Seokjin exhales. “You thought this conversation would be better in person, and as always, you were right, Y/N.”
The way he says your name sparks wistful familiarity. It also reminds you of a darkened hallway, whiskey on Seokjin’s breath and – you stop the memory in its tracks.
“What happened?” you press. “I just… damn, Seokjin. The last time I saw you and Emilia, the two of you seemed so, um… so…”
“Coupled?”
“I was going to say nauseating, but yeah.”
Seokjin barks out a laugh. “Way to kick a guy when he’s down, Y/N.”
“Sorry,” you say, but your lips twitch. “Although… I don’t mean to be rude, but… you don’t sound down? You sound… surprisingly chipper for a man who was cuckolded.”
The truth of this statement resonates within you. Seokjin sounded tired when he answered, but everything since has felt almost normal. Almost – because the elephant in the room has not gotten smaller.
The last time you spoke face-to-face was December.
“Whoa, whoa – hang on,” he sputters. “Who said anything about cuckolding?”
“Were you not? Le cuckold, as the French say?”
“Wait.” Seokjin sounds amused. “To be clear, which party is the cuckold? The guy who cheats or the guy cheated on? Also – why is there no name for the woman in this scenario?”
“Oh, there are plenty of names for the woman. They’re just not as fun, and heavily drenched in misogyny.”
“Right, right. The patriarchy, etc. – but seriously, Emilia didn’t cheat on me. Or she says she didn’t, and I’m inclined to agree.” He pauses. “I think.”
“You think?”
“I do believe her. But… well, even if she didn’t technically cheat… even if we broke up in December, then waited a respectable period of time and then they started dating – it still feels weird. Like, was she into him the entire time we dated? Was my brother into her?”
“No good answers come from that line of questioning,” you say grimly.
“I know.” Seokjin groans, and you imagine him dragging a hand down his face. “You’re right, but I can’t stop picturing it. And they didn’t.”
“They didn’t what?”
“Wait a respectable amount of time,” he mutters. “Emilia and I broke up in December, and they told me at the end of March they were dating. Meaning they started dating before and only deemed it serious enough to tell me in March.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Hence the thinking.”
“About the timeframe, or the general weirdness?” you prompt.
In the back of your mind, you can't help wondering what made Seokjin reach out. According to what he just said, Seokjin has known about Jaesuk and Emilia since March. Granted, everything about this is strange and it's valid to vent, but you haven't spoken to Seokjin in months. Even before the break-up, it's been ages since you spoke about anything real.
“Both,” he says in response to your question.
“Not… anything else?”
“What else would I be thinking about, Y/N?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you huff, twisting the thread of your apron. “Are you still in love with Emilia? It’s hard to be around an ex normally, but this…” Trailing off, you shake your head.
“What? No. I mean, yeah – it’s not fun to be around them. But no,” Seokjin says, decisive. “I’m not in love with her.”
Your lips tighten, unsure how much to believe. Still, you decide not to push him. Years of experience have taught you that if Seokjin isn’t ready to talk about something, you won’t get a peep out of him. If it were you, though, five months isn’t enough to fall out of love.
“Okay,” is all you say. Glancing at the staff door, you watch Jimin hand the customer their drink. Your break will be over soon, one way or another.
“I’m… actually glad you called me, Y/N.”
The hesitancy in his voice draws you back. “You are?”
“Yeah.” Seokjin clears his throat, a nervous tic. “Jaesuk called me yesterday. You know how my parents’ anniversary is in May?”
“Of course.”
Obviously, you know. Seokjin’s parents are strange for many reasons, not least of which is their genuine love for one another. They are also – you can say this after many years working in consulting – the most normal rich people you’ve ever encountered. Most of their wealth is donated each year, with a small stipend (still an insane amount) granted to each family member.
The weekend of their anniversary is the exception to this rule. Seokjin’s parents go all out, spending an entire week at their lake house, hosting lavish parties which cumulate in the main event. Growing up, you attended as Seokjin’s plus one. This all changed when Seokjin got his first girlfriend, although you still attended a few years later as the date of his sister, Seohyun.
Glancing at the calendar on the wall, you realize their anniversary is coming up. Seokjin’s family will probably leave for their lake house next weekend.
“Yeah.” Seokjin again clears his throat. “So, uh, my brother called and… at first, he and Emilia weren’t going to come. They decided to skip this year because of the obvious.”
“The cuckoldom, yes.”
“I said the obvious,” Seokjin says drily. “But anyways. Well.” He exhales, and you remember again that between you, Seokjin could be called mild-mannered. “Jaesuk wants to know if it would be okay with me if they come together. Emilia’s parents were invited, and they thought it might be weird…”
Your jaw has dropped again. “How would that be weirder than Emilia attending with your brother?”
“I don’t know,” he groans, and from the way his voice muffles, you imagine him laying his head on his desk. Seokjin usually grades papers in the late afternoon.
His apartment is gigantic, a three-story brownstone located in Hyde Park with a view of Lake Michigan. His study (yes, he has a study) always reminded you of the library in Beauty and the Beast. Perhaps a bit smaller, with less fiction on the walls.
Dimly, it registers that Seokjin’s parents invited the Astors. Granted, Emilia’s family runs in the same circle, but the invitation feels odd. Odd – and cruel, to invite Seokjin’s-ex-slash-Jaesuk’s-current girlfriend.
What a mess.
Numbly, you shake your head. “They want you to spend an entire week together? Alone? In the middle of the wilderness?”
“Michigan isn’t exactly Siberia, Y/N.”
“But… you, your brother, and the woman you’ve both slept with – in one house?”
“I probably wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”
“You… said no, right?”
A long, awkward pause follows.
Your voice rises. “Right?” you demand, gripping the phone tighter.
“No.” Seokjin’s voice muffles once more. “I told them I wasn’t sure, but I’d let them know.”
“Seokjin! You absolutely cannot spend an entire week with them alone.”
“Aha!”
“What?” you ask, blinking at his note of triumph.
“You’re absolutely right. I can’t spend the week with them… alone.”
Your brows furrow. “So… you agree with me?”
“No, Y/N,” Seokjin says. “I can’t spend the week with them alone. But… with someone else…”
A beat passes.
“Are you dating someone new?” you ask. “Is that it? You’re going to subject some poor, unsuspecting person to your Shakespearean family drama?”
“Not a poor, unsuspecting person, no…”
Suspicion slowly dawns. “Seokjin…”
“Yes?”
“You can’t be serious.”
His throat clears. “I was thinking… maybe... you could join.”
The silence stretches between you so long, Seokjin grows concerned. “Y/N?” His voice dims, like he’s checking the call hadn’t dropped. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” you croak. “Physically. Mentally, I think something has broken, because I just heard you ask me something insane.”
“See!” Seokjin blurts. “This is why I need you there. You’re so good at making things less awkward. And my family loves you – their attention would all be on you, and not on how weird and insane my life is.”
Groaning out loud, you sink further into the chair. This is a bad idea. Truly abysmal, but…
You already know you’ll say yes. Saying no to Seokjin has never been an option.
Back in college, you joined his family trips all the time. Back then, your dad wasn’t taking care of himself, your mom had run off with her first new boyfriend, and you had nowhere to go during summer holidays. Frequently, the Kim’s referred to you as their second daughter – but all that was ages ago.
Seokjin didn’t even call when he and Emilia broke up.
“Seokjin,” you sigh. “Why are you asking me this?”
A long pause. “I just told you why.”
“No. I mean… I didn’t even know you were single.” You hesitate, then barrel on. “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone since – god, I don’t even know. Last year?”
Seokjin’s ensuing silence is damning. An unspoken question hovers between you: Has anything changed since the last time we saw each other?
"I’m… sorry, Y/N." He exhales. "I know… I should have reached out to you sooner. I just… I just couldn’t.”
Your lips purse, watching the door. Your break must be over, but luckily, Jimin has given you space to process. As much as he pretends to be needy, his ability to read the room is remarkable.
“Ugh,” you groan, tipping your head back. Your eyes close. “Let me think about it.”
“Wait – really?” Seokjin blurts. “Thank you, Y/N! You won’t regret this – I swear.”
“I haven’t agreed to it yet!”
“Right, sure. Of course,” he hastens, attempting to sound mollified.
Your lips twitch. “I have to get back to my shift.”
“Yes. Make that money.”
“Eh.”
“Make… minimum wage plus tips?”
“Closer,” you sigh, pushing yourself to stand. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Okay. And Y/N?”
You hover near the door. “Yeah?”
Seokjin pauses. “There are a lot of logical reasons why it’d be great if you came, but honestly?” His voice thickens. “I just… want you there.”
There’s an ache in your chest you wish could say was a stranger. In truth though, the feeling is exactly why you should say no.
You never had a great sense of self-preservation, though. Instead, find yourself saying–
“Yes.”
Honking outside your apartment at 8:00 AM on a Sunday does little to endear Seokjin to Jimin. Standing by the window of your third story walk-up, he holds the curtain back with his pinky finger. Dressed in a green silk dressing gown, Jimin purses his lips.
“Does he really expect to just… honk, and have you fall in line?”
“That’s what we agreed,” you huff, dragging your luggage into the living room. “He said he would be here at 8:00 and I’d meet him outside.”
Jimin’s frown deepens. “He’s blocking the alley. If someone sideswipes him, that’s not my problem.”
You struggle to break free from your purse strap, which seems determined to fight back. “Seokjin isn’t used to driving in the city, give him a break.”
“Oh, he’s not the one driving.”
“What?”
“Someone else is in the car.”
Succeeding in getting your purse to lay flat, you join Jimin at the window. True to his word, a sleek black town car idles at the curb. The only reason someone hasn’t rammed into it yet is due to the early hour. Otherwise, your neighbors wouldn’t be shy about making their displeasure known. Read: petty vandalism.
Pulling the curtain back further, you curse. Seokjin leans against the side of the car, the trunk already popped. Someone else clearly sits in the front seat, which means Seokjin hired a driver.
“That’s just his driver,” you mutter, turning around.
The curtain falls, and Jimin whirls. “So, he is a one percenter.”
You choose to remain silent, dragging your suitcase to the top of the landing. Jimin follows close behind, hair sticking up in several directions.
“He’s also hotter than you led me to believe,” he accuses, following you down the stairs. You continue to ignore him, your suitcase banging each step. “Granted, I only saw him from three stories up, but I can tell. You undersold. Hmm… now, why would you do that, Y/N?”
“You’re dating Hoseok,” you remind him. “And Seokjin is straight.”
He continues, unbroken. “What would be the reason to downplay your best friend’s hotness?”
There’s a teasing note in his voice that says Jimin knows damn well why you’d do such a thing. It’s the same reason you’re going on this trip, and why you continue to reject every guy he sets you up with.
Reaching the front door, you set your bag down. “Okay,” you growl, turning around to poke Jimin in the chest. “You stay inside. This is precisely why I said I’d meet Seokjin at the curb.”
“Because of me?” Jimin clutches his chest, wounded. “Come on, Y/N. I just wanna see the guy you’re so damn in love with that you refuse to go out with any of my super cool friends. Pleaseeee –”
A loud knock makes you jump.
Eyes wide, you hold a silent, one-sided argument with Jimin that he clearly ignores. Exhaling, you spin around and grasp the handle. This is fine. Everything is fine. You can do this; all you need is to stay cool and composed – all this dissolves when you open the door.
Seokjin stands with a hand outstretched, as though about to knock.
Next to you, Jimin inhales. “Whoa,” he mutters close to your ear. “Okay. I get it.”
Seokjin’s gaze flicks to him. “What?”
Slowly, you turn and glare at your roommate.
To his credit, Jimin swiftly recovers. “I get… I mean, got your scone, Y/N! You forgot it upstairs,” he amends, shoving his own half-eaten scone into your empty hand. “I saw it on the kitchen table, so I followed you down.”
“Oh.” Seokjin looks between you. “That was nice of you…”
“Jimin.” Beaming, Jimin shoves past to shake Seokjin’s outstretched hand. “I’m so glad we met. I’ve heard so much about you – Y/N’s best friend, in the flesh. Someone’s going to hit your car if you continue blocking the alley.”
Seokjin doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information, especially not while Jimin vigorously pumps his hand up and down. Deciding this is too much before coffee, you begin to pass Jimin with your bag in tow.
“Oh – here,” Seokjin hastens, breaking away to grab the handle. “I’ve got it. Nice to meet you, man,” he says, glancing at Jimin.
When you start to leave, Jimin contorts himself enough to drop a kiss on your cheek. A moment of what can only be described as negative sexual tension follows, and you stare at him, baffled, before walking away. Jimin winks as you go, the purpose of which you realize when you catch Seokjin watching.
He looks almost… mad?
He also looks insanely good. The benefit of Jimin being chaotic means you had no time to second-guess your greeting. You were so busy trying to contain the conversation, you didn’t worry about what would be appropriate to say during your first meeting in months.
Now, though, you have time to look at him. Seokjin is simultaneously perfectly put together and artfully tousled. His hair is longer than the last time you saw him, piece-y black waves falling over his forehead. The morning is cold enough that he wears a light jacket, a white button-down and slacks freshly pressed underneath.
Great. Seokjin looks hot. There goes all your hope for a painless vacation.
You glance at your suitcase. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Take my bag,” you huff, reaching out.
Innocent, Seokjin yanks it behind him. “It’s the literal least I can do, Y/N. You’re the one doing me a huge favor.”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
Seokjin chuckles when you head for the car, carefully picking your way to the curb. April showers really did bring the May flowers or, in your case, serious flooding that has since subsided but left a mark.
Sliding into the backseat, you glance at your building and spot Jimin in the window, still clad in his dressing gown. He waves enthusiastically at the car and blows another kiss. Scowling up at him, you almost don’t notice when Seokjin slides in.
When the door shuts, you notice – it should be criminal to smell as good as he does. It doesn’t help that you know exactly which Molton Brown body wash Seokjin uses, nor that you were there when he picked the scent in high school.
The two of you became friends in elementary school. Seokjin was seated beside you in class; his parents wanted him to experience 'normal life' and enrolled him in public school. Really, the only thing normal at that school was his friendship with you.
Extracting yourself from your purse, you watch Seokjin lean forward and press a button. “George?” he asks, lowering the partition.
A middle-aged man sits in the driver’s seat. He smiles at you in the rearview mirror, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Yes, Mr. Kim?”
Seokjin winces at the formality. “We’re ready to go. I’d like to –”
BEEEEEEEEEEEP.
A car honks from the alley and, hiding a smile, you slump lower. Seokjin blinks, glancing behind you to spot a car revving its engine.
Sighing resignedly, he faces forward. “Wormhole Coffee, George – thank you.”
George nods, ever the professional while rolling up the partition to move the car forward. You rumble along side streets in silence until you peer at Seokjin.
“So,” you say casually. “A driver?”
His gaze meets yours. “The weather looked bad. I figured it’d be nice to have George drive us out of the city.”
“Just out of the city, huh?”
“Yep.” He nods. “Then we’re on our own. Figured we could hitchhike, or maybe steal someone’s car?”
“Oh, cool. With the way the world’s going, I’d hoped to die young.”
Seokjin’s laugh echoes around you. The sound makes your heart twinge, and you move your gaze to your lap. By the time you reach Wormhole Coffee, your thoughts are muddled. You didn’t expect this to be so awkward and – not for the first time – wonder why Seokjin invited you. He could have asked anyone; a co-worker or college buddy, hell, even a neighbor.
Stepping from the car, you barely reach the door before Seokjin appears. “Hey,” he says, placing a hand on your arm.
You blink downward, and he swiftly removes it.
“I… uh.” Again, he clears his throat. “I hope this weekend doesn’t make things weird for you. You know you don’t have to come if things are… complicated.”
You look at him. “If what things are complicated?”
“If” – aimless, he waves – “you know. Let’s say you and I were dating, and you suddenly went on a trip with your guy friend alone. I might feel weird about it.”
You’re so hung up on Seokjin saying you and I were dating, you nearly miss the important bit. Once that sinks in, you can’t help but grin.
Seokjin frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you… think Jimin and I are dating?”
Your tone is almost gleeful, and Seokjin’s eyes narrow. “I thought that maybe…”
“We’re not,” you declare, pushing open the door. “But I appreciate the concern. Jimin and I just work together. He’s happily dating someone else.”
“Ah.”
Stopping at the counter, you survey the menu. Ordering one of the spring coffee specials, you move to the end and grab several napkins. Seokjin joins you, waiting patiently until both your orders are called. George is idling at the curb – you have to admit, a personal driver has benefits – and you slide into the backseat with your iced latte procured.
Once the door shuts, Seokjin turns. “I’m sorry. I promised this wouldn’t be awkward, and here I am, being awkward. Thank you… for being here.”
“No problem.”
A loud silence follows, interrupted only by the sound of the car starting. George heads for the highway, and you take a long sip of your coffee.
Despite your exterior, you’re freaking out on the inside. Apparently, you were right to worry because this is going about as terrible as you imagined. Not because of the obvious – you have feelings for your best friend and he’s jealous of his ex – but because somehow, the two of you have nothing to say.
“Seriously.” Seokjin struggles to find his next words. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been dreading this week. I know I played it cool over the phone–”
“Uh, that was playing it cool?”
“–but actually,” he continues, as though you haven’t spoken, “I’ve been panicking.”
Another twinge when you realize you were right. Seokjin claimed he was over Emilia, but there’s no way he could be. If it were, he wouldn’t need you to be here. He wouldn’t be dreading this interaction if he had moved on.
Of course, Seokjin isn’t over her. They’ve barely been broken up for six months. You’ve waited longer to get a new pet.
“Well, sure,” you say, softening as you face him. “That makes sense. Anyone would be freaked out by the prospect of spending an entire week with their ex. Doubly so, if said ex was now dating their sibling.”
Seokjin pulls a face. “And that’s not even the worst part.”
“… did they kill someone, too?”
“Okay, fine – that is the worst part, but it sucks how weird everyone else is being. How nice,” he elaborates, catching your look. “My parents tiptoe around me, not knowing how to act. Jaesuk is practically self-flagellating, and Emilia is ignoring me, because –”
“Hang on – how is Jaesuk self-flagellating?”
Seokjin exhales and sinks lower. “Jaesuk has apologized to me so many times, he’s going to leave permanent knee indents on my floor. He keeps randomly texting me, offering to buy stuff, which is just plain insulting.”
“You know who isn’t insulted by expensive gifts? Me.” You jab a thumb at your chest. “Tell Jaesuk if he wants to make things up to you, he should make things up to me.”
Rather than laugh at your joke, Seokjin’s face flushes. You tilt your head, unsure where you went wrong until he dispels the tension with a soft chuckle. Eyes narrowed, you study him. Strange.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Anyways, since I said you were coming, things have been almost normal. Now, at least my parents are fixated on you and not whether they should console their broken-hearted son” – he points to himself, mimicking your gesture from earlier – “or celebrate Jaesuk finding new love.”
“Love?”
“Yeah.” Seokjin grimaces. “He let that one slip last week. I think… there may have been feelings between them for a while, even if they never acted on it.”
He doesn’t sound upset, but you can’t keep your own jaw from clenching. Even if Seokjin has moved on from Emilia (which, again, you doubt), their behavior is inexcusable. Seokjin can be as generous as he wants, but you don’t have to feel the same.
Teeth grinding, you wonder how civil you need to be on this trip.
“Can you stop plotting revenge, Y/N?” Seokjin says mildly. “You know that makes me uncomfortable.”
Reluctant, you unclench your jaw. “Who, me?”
“Please.” Seokjin sips his coffee. “You forget I know you, Y/N. Your face is very… expressive.”
“Okay, you’re one to talk!”
Besides, no matter how expressive you are, Seokjin has still never caught onto your biggest secret over the years. The one Jimin guessed right away – that for years, you’ve been madly in love with your supposed best friend.
The knowledge is sobering enough that you turn towards the window. Last December was simply the accumulation of many years of pining – admittedly, you didn’t realize the severity of your feelings until late last summer.
In your twenties, you would have wondered if this week meant something more than friendship. You would have read between the lines of what Seokjin was saying, and saw meaning in his small gestures. Now, you’ve known him for twenty years, and can say with complete certainty that Seokjin is just a good person. He values friendship highly, as much as romantic relationships, and he values you most of all.
And even though he values you, his feelings for you don’t go beyond platonic. It’s better not to go down that road again – no, the only way you’ll survive this week is to take everything at face value. You pulled away for a reason, and now you’re forced to remember. The only way to leave this intact is to continually remind yourself the two of you are just friends.
“I made a playlist,” you announce, unzipping your purse. “It’s everything that you love – study lo-fi beats, classical music, and whale sounds. You know, because of academia?”
Seokjin sighs deeply but obediently plugs in your phone. The first chords of your chill driving playlist come over the speakers, and you settle in. Seokjin responds by pulling out his phone, brow furrowed as he sends off a text. His job can be demanding at times, especially until he gets tenure.
While Jaesuk was groomed to take over the family company, Seokjin was left to pursue his own dreams. For as long as you’ve known him, Seokjin has been fascinated by the people around him. What makes them tick, why people do things, how we influence one another – his first anthropology course felt like coming home, he said back in college.
Even though his career is what Seokjin wants, it doesn’t come without stress. During your twenties, Seokjin entertained you with many tales of bitter rivals, faux plagiarism, and the insane emails his students send to him before class. Most Friday nights were spent at his place, with Seokjin grading papers while you lay on his couch and drank wine.
Swallowing, you stare out the window. The current situation is your fault, you remind yourself. Maybe if you had been braver earlier, more willing to blow up your sense of security for the unknown… then maybe you wouldn’t be in this same place with Seokjin.
The first time you felt more than friendship was in high school. Seokjin transformed overnight, returning from his fancy summer camp at least six inches taller and broader. Somone (probably his sister) bought him styling products, and even though gelled hair is out of touch now – back in high school? Devastating.
You convinced yourself the feelings meant nothing. Hormones. Puberty. Something temporary and fleeting, not the permanent realization Seokjin was your entire world. That came later.
For a few years, you did a good job at convincing yourself. You dated other people, even seriously – David, your first love. The two of you began dating when you were sixteen and lasted until your first semester of college. When you broke up, you called Seokjin and cried to him on the phone for hours. At some point, you fell asleep and woke up to realize he’d never hung up.
Something soft took root in your chest that day. You meant to confess when you came home for winter break, only to reach his family’s Christmas party and find Seokjin arm in arm with his new girlfriend, Lisa. Gorgeous, thin, rich and the same major as Seokjin – you slunk off that night after being introduced as his friend and found comfort with Seohyun in her parents’ wine cellar.
That was the moment you decided to move on. You couldn’t continue to make decisions around the hope Seokjin would one day see you as more. He was a good friend – the best friend – and you valued that, too. For years, you thought you’d succeeded. You dated casually, buried yourself in your work, and watched as Seokjin did the same.
There was a brief scare when you both moved to Chicago, and you found yourself becoming reacquainted. The Seokjin of your childhood had gone, leaving a man in his place. Eventually though, even that faded, and you convinced yourself friendship was enough. It had to be enough, because Seokjin never hinted at wanting more. If he sometimes sat too close or looked at you too long – well, that was just how Seokjin was.
Until Emilia.
Emilia was the first girlfriend Seokjin had who made sense. She fit in with his friends, was of the same upbringing, had the right social status and worst of all, she was nice. Emilia was cool, effortless, and about a million other things which made her a good match for Seokjin. In a horrible burst of karmic justice you realized that summer you didn’t want Seokjin to find a good match. You wanted him to find you.
The realization humiliated you. You were Seokjin’s best friend – you should have been happy for him. You had had years, decades, to confess your feelings and skipped past all of them. You spent so many years insisting you were fine, that these feelings meant nothing, and everything was a lie.
Seokjin was oblivious. Once you understood your own feelings, you realized you had been hiding this from him for years. It made you well-equipped to handle him with Emilia. Or at least, you thought it would. Seokjin continued inviting you to parties, asking you to hang out with him and Emilia, or join them on couple vacations.
At first, you said yes but brought buffers. Hinge dates, friends of friends, even co-workers – despite numerous distractions, none of them worked. By the end of the summer, you had made moves in your career to be happier. Soon after, you realized you needed to do the same in your personal life.
You began to pull away: taking longer to respond to Seokjin’s texts, making excuses when you were invited out, and cancelling plans at the last minute. All throughout the fall this continued, cumulating in December at Seokjin’s birthday party.
He stopped by your coffee shop in November, catching you in the middle of cleaning the espresso machine. “Promise me you’ll come,” Seokjin insisted, leaning over the counter.
Jimin wasn’t on shift that day, and you struggled to remember what piece to clean next. Frustration rose, trapped behind your teeth – at how to clean the machine, nothing more.
“I’ll try,” you said at last, but avoided his gaze.
Seokjin left soon after. Still, him going out of his way triggered your guilt complex enough that you chose to go. Seokjin barely said hello when you arrived. He had a few drinks. So did you. Emilia always stood near him, chatting in the corner with mutual friends.
At some point, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. For the first time all night, you let your expression drop. Sinking onto the closed toilet seat, you buried your face in your hands and wondered why you had come. You stayed there several minutes, composing yourself enough to exit.
Seokjin waited outside.
Leaning against the wall, his posture seemed stiff. You rarely saw Seokjin angry, but when you did – well, it was hard to stay platonic with that look in his eyes.
“I haven’t seen you all night,” he said, unmoving.
You came to a stop. “It seemed like you were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to intrude. Happy birthday, though.”
His frown deepened. “Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” Seokjin paused, then refocused. “You look nice.”
Noticing the glassiness in his eyes, you sighed, “You’re drunk.”
“Traditionally, people buy the birthday boy drinks.”
“Gross,” you said, unable to keep from smiling. “Don’t ever call yourself the birthday boy again.”
He chuckled and then – silence. Each passing second thickened between you, until you could scarcely breathe.
“Why are you avoiding me?” Seokjin blurted at last.
You inhaled, not having expected him to be so blunt.
“I’m n–”
“Don’t say you’re not.” Swaying a little, he pushed himself from the wall. “I don’t… please don’t lie to me, Y/N. I can’t take it.”
Startled, you realized he had moved closer. There wasn’t much space between you in the hall. Seokjin seemed to realize this at the same moment you did. His gaze darted once, then twice to your mouth – and stayed.
Your throat dried.
At that very moment, Emilia walked around the corner. Seokjin leapt back as though burned, and you swept into motion, mumbling happy birthday again as you passed. You didn’t stop moving until you were past the bouncer and standing outside. Trembling, you pulled out your phone and ordered a rideshare.
Nothing happened that night. Nothing significant, and yet…
His face remains clear in your mind. Cheeks flushed from drink and anger, his button-down partly undone. You remember how the world stopped, continuing to spin on around you. You had felt that way plenty of times in his presence, but it was the first time you wondered if maybe… Seokjin felt it, too.
It didn’t matter though, because he was dating Emilia. You left the party that night and have barely talked to him since. Not until Seokjin called to invite you to his parents’ lake house.
Resting your forehead against the window, you close your eyes as the memory replays again. At some point, you drift off and the rest of the ride is in silence.
The next thing you know is someone touching your shoulder. Blearily, you crack open an eye and are affronted by Seokjin.
Affronted, since it’s unfair for someone to look this good – except. Frowning, you notice his jaw, tight with tension. Seokjin smooths this quickly, but you notice all the same. Examining him further, you find dark shadows beneath his eyes. Criminal for Seokjin Kim, who uses specially made dermatology products that can’t be bought in a store.
Again, you wonder if there’s something he’s not saying. Emilia being with Jaesuk must be weighing on him.
There’s no time to inquire though, since you look out the window and see you’ve arrived. The Kim family lake house sprawls ahead and to the left. Even after so many years, you find yourself struck by the sight.
A driveway winds through the forest, ending at bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan. The limestone mansion is covered in ivy, lending itself to a storybook appearance. Manicured gardens extend towards the lake, several gardeners at work on flower beds. You remember the first time you came; you refused to exit the car. It seemed impossible that so much beauty could be meant for you.
Pushing this away, you face Seokjin. He fidgets with the end of his seatbelt, causing your own frown to deepen.
“What’s wrong?” you demand.
“Nothing,” Seokjin blurts, only to wince. “Well. There is one thing, but I –”
The front door flies open, and you see Mrs. Kim emerge through the car window. Even through glass, you hear her calling your names.
Giving Seokjin a look, you push open your door. He blanches and unbuckles his seat belt. “Y/N, wait –”
Unfortunately, your door is already open. Mrs. Kim gasps when you step outside, hurrying towards you in what she calls ‘casual’ wear – slacks, a cardigan, and loafers worth more than your rent.
“Y/N,” she cries, throwing both arms around you. “Oh, it’s so good to have you here.”
Returning the hug, you can’t help but smile. Seokjin’s family has always felt like home to you. Your mom got pregnant with you at forty-six, which was a shock to everyone. Your sister is twelve years older, but it always felt like more. She was out of the house by the time you turned seven, leaving you alone with your parents.
Some would say that was the beginning of the end. Your parents got divorced when you were in high school and afterward, everything was different. Your dad is fine now but was a wreck for several years. Seokjin’s parents took you in on the holidays, inviting you along on vacations, and threw you birthday parties. It’s been too long since you saw them – probably last summer.
With a final squeeze, you release Mrs. Kim. “It’s so good to be here,” you say.
Being at the lake with Seokjin and his family brings the same sense of rightness as quitting your job. It feels like the moment at the end of a long day when you finish writing and finally crawl into bed.
Holding you at arm’s length, Mrs. Kim looks you up and down. “In fact, I’m so glad to see you,” she says with a chuckle, “I’ll forgive you for not calling the moment it happened.”
Your mind catches on this. “Oh?”
Seokjin appears at your side. He’s out of breath, and you wonder if he was busy lugging your suitcases inside. Usually, the Kim family has people to help with that. His expression is strange though, stuck between fear and resignation. You wonder if this has something to do with what he wanted to tell you in the car.
Stomach swooping, you wonder if there’s another surprise. Maybe Jaesuk and Emilia are engaged. Or pregnant. Maybe –
“You, too,” Mrs. Kim scolds, pulling Seokjin into a hug. He returns the gesture, looking slightly green. “You should have told us sooner! You know we would have been thrilled.”
Seokjin mumbles something you don’t hear as he takes a step backwards. Now, the wheels in your head are turning, and you begin to suspect you’re missing something important. Some key piece of information to explain why Mrs. Kim is beaming, hands clasped over her chest in near-supplication.
“Sorry,” you say, looking between them. “I feel kind of out of the loop… what should I have told you about earlier?”
Mrs. Kim blinks at you in confusion.
You aren’t looking at her, though. Instead, you find yourself watching Seokjin, who purposely avoids eye contact. After a moment, he seems to reach some internal decision. Taking a deep breath, Seokjin reaches out and takes your hand.
“Y/N,” he says, and then stops.
His mom laughs and claps her hands. “Oh! That was a joke – Y/N, you’re too funny. What am I talking about,” she chuckles, as though you’re all in this together. “Why, the fact that you’re dating, of course!”
Time screeches to a halt. Or it at least lethargizes, slowing to rate beyond human comprehension. You slowly turn to face Seokjin, expecting him to show shock or confusion but find only chagrin.
It takes ages for your gaze to travel to your hand in his. Before you can say or do anything, Seokjin moves closer. Stroking your palm with his thumb, he smiles.
“This is exactly why we didn’t tell anyone,” he says with a forced laugh. “We knew you and dad would freak out, and there’s been enough of that lately.”
Realizing your mouth has fallen open, you manage to shut it. Seokjin has pulled himself together, but you’re not that good an actor. He sounds like he believes what he’s saying, which is insane. Dimly, you think back to his serious texting in the car and his attempt to say something before you got out. All of it ends at the same conclusion.
Seokjin knew this was coming. And he didn’t tell you.
Anger surges, and you grasp it like a lifeline. The emotion distracts you from other, less stable feelings churning within you. Lifting your chin, you force your expression to neutral.
“Yes,” you agree, pinching Seokjin’s wrist and making him jump. “It all happened so fast. I mean, if you can call twenty years fast,” you say in an attempt at a joke.
Mrs. Kim laughs again. “Oh, please. You two are made for each other. We’ve always thought so,” she adds, turning towards the house. “Jaeho, come out here!”
Jaw tight, you lapse into silence. Until you know exactly what Seokjin has said and to whom, it’s best to say nothing. The last thing you want is to hurt Seokjin’s family. Right now, your best bet is to hold it together until you can make an excuse to leave. Maybe there could be an emergency at the coffee shop. A run on – uh, beans? Or milk?
The one thing you do know is you can’t stay. Now that you know the full story, there’s no way you can pretend to date your best friend you’re secretly in love with in front of his ex. Just thinking about it gives you a headache.
Before you can pull Seokjin into the house, the door opens again and two people emerge. All thoughts vanish at the sight of a cream blouse and slacks. Seokjin immediately tenses, and unthinking, you take a step closer.
Emilia Astor is the epitome of old Hollywood. Her hair is shorter than the last time you met, cut in an elegant bob with a slight curl at the ends. Immediately, you feel dowdy in your old jeans and sweater. The way she dresses in all white and doesn’t spill anything continues to be awe-inspiring.
Jaesuk walks at her side, shielding his face from the sun. When they stop before you, he smiles at you and Seokjin.
“Y/N!” Emilia holds out both arms for a hug.
After an awkward pause, you step into the embrace. Half of you expects her to whisper something cutting in your ear, but that wouldn’t be like her. You’d deserve it, though, you realize. Face heating, you break the hug, and you consider how this looks.
Yes, Emilia started dating Seokjin’s brother a few months after she and Seokjin broke up. At the same time though, he (seemingly) asked out his best friend. You. A friendship Emilia knew of and trusted to only be platonic. Shoving your discomfort aside, you glance at Jaesuk.
“Hey, Jaesuk,” you say. “Good to see you, too.”
“Hi, Y/N.” He waves, folding Emilia into his side. “It’s really nice to have you here again.”
A small, relieved knot unwinds in your stomach. Jaesuk, at least, doesn’t seem mad at you. Hopefully that means Emilia is also taking the high road. While Jaesuk and Seokjin weren’t close growing up, they did a lot to improve their relationship during their twenties. You would hate for anything you did (perceived or real) to come between them.
Anything Emilia and Jaesuk did, your brain argues. Even if you were dating Seokjin, that’s nothing compared to the betrayal of his brother in dating his ex.
Thinking this, you take a step closer and place your hand on Seokjin’s chest. He glances down at this, then at you. His expression softens.
“There they are!” Mr. Kim’s voice booms, exiting the hedge maze – yes, the hedge maze –with Seohyun. “Finally, the entire family’s arrived.”
Shoving her phone in her pocket, Seohyun skips past her dad. “Y/N!” she cries, looping both arms around you. “My favorite sibling, at last.”
Jaesuk sighs, and Seokjin complains, “You’re not even related.”
“Obviously.” Seohyun withdraws and gives you a conspiratorial smile. “If we were, your relationship would be disgusting – not to mention, illegal.”
Seokjin sputters, and you can’t help but laugh.
Seohyun is two years younger than Seokjin and has always felt like more of a sister to you than your own. One of the hardest parts of the past year was pulling away from Seokjin knowing it meant losing his family. Even with Seohyun halfway around the world in Seoul, your text thread has never been silent for long.
“I missed you, too,” you admit.
Over her shoulder, you notice Emilia looking slightly downcast. She hides it quickly, but not fast enough. Releasing Seohyun, you end up standing beside your – apparent – boyfriend.
“Should we head inside?” Still beaming, Mrs. Kim looks between you and Seokjin. Still, she allows her husband to guide her towards the door. “It’s much too cold for this time in May.”
Jaesuk nudges Emilia. “Agreed. I’ll make a fire in the living room.”
They both head inside, leaving you standing with Seokjin and Seohyun. When you turn towards your suitcase, you realize it’s already moved. Seokjin has your purse over one shoulder, and he gestures you towards the front door.
Brushing past, you head for the house as your anger rises. Seohyun falls into step alongside you, gleeful, and you realize this may have been the wrong choice.
“So,” she says, whistling loudly. “This was a surprise, huh?” She waggles her eyebrows at you and her brother.
Rolling his eyes, Seokjin walks alongside you. “Did you think I’d give you a call the next morning, or something?”
You nearly choke when you hear what this implies.
Seohyun gags. “Gross. I so did not need the image of you and my brother hooking up. No offense, Y/N. But you could have called before announcing you were dating in the family group chat.”
Seokjin blanches, and you at last take pity on him. “It was my fault,” you say, putting yourself in between the siblings. “I didn’t want Seokjin to say anything until we were sure what this was. Things have been weird enough with… well.” Aimless, you gesture to where Emilia and Jaesuk have disappeared.
“Oh, yeah.” Seohyun turns grim. “That.”
“Seo,” Seokjin grumbles. “I told you – I’m fine with it.”
“Sure, you’re fine with it. That doesn’t mean I am.”
You laugh, unable to help it. “That’s exactly what I said.”
The three of you cross the threshold, and for a moment, the nostalgia overwhelms. The black and white checkered tile stretches before you, a double staircase leading to the second and third floors. Above you hangs an antique chandelier, glass and wrought iron reminiscent of lace.
Seohyun breaks towards the kitchen, saying something about a snack before dinner. This leaves Seokjin and you all alone, and the feelings you’ve suppressed come flooding back.
Seokjin lied to you. He planned this. He had so many times to warn you over the past week – in the car ride! – and chose not to.
“Your room,” you snap, refusing to look at him when you walk past. “Now.”
Stopping at the stairs, you remove your shoes and stomp upstairs barefoot. Meekly, Seokjin follows you to the second floor. Muscle memory leads to the north wing, where you and Seokjin used to stay while here with his family. You hover outside his old room, realizing with horror you might be expected to share.
Assuming you decide to stay, that is.
Pushing open the door, you march inside and drop your shoes near the closet. The moment the door shuts, you whirl around.
“Explain,” you demand.
Seokjin hovers over the threshold. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts. “You can leave if you want to.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll figure something out. Make up some excuse – I promise.”
Dizzily, you shake your head. “That’s not an explanation, Seokjin. Why does your family think that we’re dating? This wasn’t what you asked me to do,” you add, lowering your voice in case someone walks past.
“It was an accident, I swear.” He shoves a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“You didn’t mean to… what? To tell your family we’re dating?”
“No!” Seokjin blurts, then shakes his head. “That’s not what I told them. It’s… okay.” He stops and exhales. “After we talked last week, I put off telling them for a few days. I’ve been pretty silent in the group chat ever since… well, ever since Emilia and Jaesuk announced they were dating. When I finally got up the nerve, I texted them I was bringing you and went into class.”
Your brows lift. “And?”
“And” – Seokjin groans, collapsing onto the chaise – “things had spiraled by the time I got out. Everyone assumed I was bringing you… as my girlfriend. My mom responded saying how happy this made her, then my dad congratulated us on our ‘budding relationship,’ and my mom added how perfect it was…” Seokjin swallows, looking nauseous. “I had a voicemail from Jaesuk, telling me how relieved he felt. He’d been worried about bringing Emilia around, but with me dating someone, he thought this could work…” Seokjin trails off, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll fix this.”
It’s a struggle not to react. You tell yourself to stay strong, to hold your ground, but – well, you can’t help it when some of your anger unravels. As well-meaning as Seokjin’s family can be, you understand how it happened.
“Emilia,” Seokjin mumbles into his palms, “texted me saying how happy she was. That she was so glad I wasn’t hurt anymore. She acted like I was so pitiful. And I just… snapped, Y/N.”
“I get it.”
Slowly, he lowers both hands. “You… do?”
“Yeah.”
Seokjin watches you for a long moment. “So… where does this leave us?”
You consider the question, and everything that would follow. On the one hand – Seokjin should have told you. He should have called you the moment his family misunderstood. Or explained on the car ride up.
On the other hand, you’re here now. You saw for yourself how Seokjin isn’t over Emilia. Instead, she came here with Jaesuk and Seokjin is forced to watch them together. Alone.
At last, you exhale and shake your head.
“You should have told me.”
To his credit, Seokjin seems embarrassed. “I know. I should have.” The chaise squeaks when he stands, walking towards you. “Please, Y/N,” he declares, and to your surprise, drops to his knees. “Please, forgive me and fake date me. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll – I’ll do your laundry for a month.”
Eyes wide, you stare down at him. “I have a laundry machine in my unit, Seokjin.”
“Oh.” He considers. “I’ll walk your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog. You know that.”
“You can…” Desperate, he looks around. “You can use this house as a writing retreat! Whenever you want. I promise! All expenses paid, just tell me the dates. I’ll make sure my family clears out.”
This makes you hesitate. While you’ve made steady progress on your novel, it’s been difficult to write in your shared apartment. Jimin doesn’t exactly understand the meaning of personal space, and many a writing session has devolved into a movie marathon.
“Go on,” you say slowly.
Sensing weakness, Seokjin scoots closer. He clasps both hands before him, creating a distracting visual.
“Time to work on your novel,” he intones, his voice low. “Just picture it. This entire place to yourself. The peace and quiet you’ve always wanted but never achieved! Writing paradise! An entire staff at your beck and call. Me, chauffeuring you to and fro, bringing you fresh fruit and –”
“Okay, okay.” Flapping a hand, you gesture for him to stand. “Fine, fine – I’ll do it.”
“Really?” Seokjin bounds to his feet. “Wow, that was easy.”
“To be clear, I would have done it without the lake house.”
His smile vanishes. “What?”
“No take backs,” you say, wagging a finger. “Whenever I want – that’s what you said. I assume that makes it a standing offer? Holidays included?”
“Now, hang on…”
“You’re so generous,” you gush, bending to unzip your suitcase. “Thanks, darling. You do spoil me.”
A beat passes, enough that you look up to find Seokjin staring. Possibly you overdid it with ‘darling.’
Coming to, Seokjin crosses his arms. “Should’ve known you’d take me for all I was worth. You’re merciless, Y/N.”
You blow smoke off an imaginary gun. “We should probably get our story straight, though – right?” you ask, rummaging under your pants. “Like, how did this happen? How long have we been dating? And” – arching a brow, you look upward – “am I really staying in your room this whole week?”
Seokjin frowns, as though this hadn’t crossed his mind. Expression tight, you sit back on your heels. It’s hard not to react to the fact that Seokjin doesn’t want you in his personal space. You would understand if he hadn’t brought this upon himself, but he told his family you were dating, so they’re going to expect you to do dating things.
Rubbing his neck, Seokjin nods. “Yeah. Good point.” He considers, then seems to reach a decision. “How about this: we were hanging out last month, and you confessed that you liked me.”
“I confessed? Hell, no.”
Seokjin blinks. “What? Why?”
“Because! That makes it sound like I was pining for you during your entire relationship and pounced the second you became available.”
Seokjin smirks. “And?”
Incensed, you throw a handful of bras at his head. Seokjin yelps, dodging most of them – except a lacy, black contraption that lands on his shoulder. “Real mature,” he says, delicately removing it. “Anyways. So, we were hanging out last month –”
“When last month?”
“I don’t know!” He throws up his hands. “Pick a weekend. Let’s say I brought you as my date to a faculty function, and… I confessed.” He pauses, then adds, “That makes it sound like I was harboring secret feelings for you the entire length of my relationship.”
“You mean… like your former girlfriend harbored for your brother?”
“Fair point.”
“I still don’t know how you’re okay with all that.”
Seokjin exhales and sits on the bed – avoiding the bra. “I don’t know that I am,” he admits. “Otherwise, I would’ve corrected my family in the group chat – right?”
“Right,” you echo, although something about his tone gives you pause.
He falls back on the mattress. “Right,” he says, speaking to the ceiling. “So, we have the whole ‘how did this happen’ question down. And how long – we’ve been dating for a month. What about the rest?”
“You mean, where am I staying this week?”
Propping himself up on an elbow, Seokjin peers at you down his torso. “I can figure something out if you want. We can move to the joined rooms down the hall. They have a terrible view,” he muses. “But I can say this room had a draft, or something. That way you can go to the other room at night, and –”
“Seokjin. I don’t mind staying here.”
He hesitates. “You don’t?”
“No. I mean, this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a room. Or have you forgotten the backpacking trip?”
A devious smile crosses his face. “How could I forget? Remember when you booked us a room in someone else’s house?”
“That wasn’t my fault!” you insist. “I swear, the listing changed after I booked. Anyways, Rodolfo was very nice.”
“He asked you out twice,” Seokjin says flatly.
“Can you blame him?”
He pauses, then tilts his head. “No.”
Finding yourself in unfamiliar territory, you blink. Then it occurs to you Seokjin is probably flirting with you for practice. That way, it seems genuine in front of his family. Satisfied, you resume pulling things from your suitcase.
“Um, right,” you say. “But that just proves my point. This isn’t the first time we’ve shared a room.”
“Yes, but…” Seokjin waves a hand at the mattress.
Oh. Right – that.
The room, despite its size, has only one bed. Granted, the bed is King-sized, so there’s enough room for you both, but still. While the two of you have shared a room several times over the years, never a bed.
“Okay.” You frown. “That’s fine – I can sleep on the floor. Or on the couch.”
Seokjin gives you a wry look. “Y/N. I got us into this situation. The least I can do is sleep on the couch.”
“Will you even fit? You’re not as young as you once were.”
“Ouch.” Seokjin huffs a laugh, massaging his chest with one hand. Annoyingly, your gaze follows the motion. “I didn’t realize this week would include personal roasting sessions. Are you trying to tear down my self-confidence, Y/N?”
“As though anything I said could make a dent in that.”
Something about this seems to amuse him, but Seokjin says nothing. Pushing himself to stand, he claps both hands together. “We can figure that out later. For now, we’ve established you’ll stay here. In my room,” he adds.
“Fine,” you say, standing with an armful of clothes. “You may need to grab some more hangers, though. These dresses can’t wrinkle.”
Bowing extravagantly, Seokjin backs away. “Your wish is my command,” he declares, continuing the bit as he enters the hall. “And Y/N?” he adds, straightening.
You look over your shoulder. “Yeah?”
Seokjin watches you seriously, his expression at odds with his usual humor. “Thanks,” he says, quiet.
A shiver goes through you. “You’re welcome.”
He nods and disappears. Left alone with your stuff, you stare at the suitcase, heart pounding. So much for self-preservation. No matter how badly you insist that you’re fine, that your feelings are over, look where you are.
At the Kim family lake house, surrounded by memories and the people who haunt them. A cold sense of foreboding steals over you. With so many secrets to hide, so many years of pushing feelings down, you can’t help the feeling that something will drop.
You can only hope you survive the aftermath.
One thing you did not miss about the Kim’s is their shared love of hiking. Even Seohyun, usually your partner in crime, has changed into athleisurewear so expensive, you don’t know the label. Soon after you and Seokjin unpack, Mrs. Kim suggests a walk to ‘work up an appetite’ before dinner.
Having been on many Kim family vacations, you know a ‘walk’ can mean anything from a paved path to bouldering. Accordingly, you shove your feet into sneakers and tie a sweatshirt around your waist. Your preparation pays off when the family town cars drop you off at a local trail head. Now, you find yourself huffing and puffing up a hill that on paper shouldn’t exist in the Midwest.
“Ugh,” huffs Seohyun, trekking alongside you. “I’ve been so busy with work I’ve barely hiked the past year. Which is dumb, because Seoul is literally in the mountains. I’m so out of shape.”
“Same,” you agree. “Although not because of work – it’s because I hate hiking.”
Seohyun laughs, ponytail bobbing. “I missed having you on these things. Emilia loves hiking,” she adds, lowering her voice. “And working out. She even goes running before breakfast – on purpose! Vile.”
“I mean, so does Seokjin,” you point out.
“Exactly!” Seohyun sounds triumphant. “Seokjin and Emilia are too similar. It’s why they were doomed. You can’t date yourself in a different font, Y/N. It’s boring.”
Curious, you glance over at Seokjin. He hikes beside his mom in the middle, discussing his research and her latest project. You had never considered him and Emilia in that light before. Instead, you thought their similarities were a sign of compatibility. Now that you think about it though, Seokjin never confided in you about their relationship.
While you watch, Seokjin runs a hand through his hair. His face is truly unfair – concrete proof that god has their favorites. No way should one person be that good-looking and able to carry a conversation.
Seohyun groans beside you. “Okay, I take it all back. This might be worse than having to race Emilia up a mountain. You and Seokjin are sickening.”
Gaze jerking forward, you feel your face feat. Ironically, you weren’t even thinking about the faux relationship just now. That was just your expression looking at Seokjin. If it helps to sell this nonsense, you suppose it’s a good thing. So long as Seokjin doesn’t suspect your feelings are true.
You can’t keep your thoughts from drifting towards once this week is over. After you leave the lake house and return to the city – what then? Seokjin will have to tell his family something. Will he tell them you broke up? Either way, it seems like your relationship is about to change, and you aren’t sure if that’s good.
Returning to Seohyun, you force a smile. “Hey, at least you’re not the worst hiker here anymore. Count your blessings.”
Someone beside you chuckles. “You’re definitely not the worst, Y/N,” says Emilia, pulling her backpack around to unzip.
Both you and Seohyun jump. Exchanging a swift glance, you wonder how long Emilia has been within hearing distance. Luckily, you didn’t say anything too bad… you think.
Emilia doesn’t let anything show on her face, taking a large sip of water. “The first time I went hiking with Jaesuk, I sprained my ankle and had to hop all the way to the car.”
Jaesuk catches up on her other side. “Excuse me,” he jokes. “If I remember correctly, I carried you most of the way. You only hopped in the parking lot.”
Emilia blinks at him innocently, and Jaesuk laughs. Seohyun ignores them both, taking a long sip of her water. Taking pity on them, you jump in.
“You still agreed to a hiking date,” you say. “In winter. That makes you automatically better than me, I think.”
Seokjin turns around and hikes backwards. “Y/N’s not wrong,” he calls back. “Remember the first time we went hiking in high school?”
“Oh, that’s right!” Mr. Kim cranes his head around at the front. “Y/N, didn’t I end up taking you to the emergency room?’
Seohyun hoots with laughter and your face burns. “I don’t think it was that–”
“You did! Seokjin insisted,” says Mrs. Kim, smiling at her son. “You said you were fine, Y/N, but Seokjin would have none of it. He pulled up WebMD and read you possible maladies until you gave in.”
Choosing not to respond, you glance at Seokjin. You remember that day very differently. Seokjin was concerned, yes, but he would have done the same for anyone. His reaction had nothing to do with feelings for you, which seems to be what his family is implying.
You aren’t the only one thinking that. Emilia’s gaze darts between Mrs. Kim and Seokjin, a small frown on her face.
“I was fine,” you say, steering the conversation away. “Seokjin overreacted.”
Seokjin slows to hike alongside you. “You had a hairline fracture! You were in that boot for months – remember? You got out of running the mile twice.”
“I was in the boot for a month.”
“They always bickered like this,” says his mom fondly. “We should have realized.”
Seohyun squints your way. “Mm. I always suspected they were more than platonic. Come on – a euro trip? As friends?”
“Seohyun,” Seokjin says, a warning clear in his voice. At the same time, you blurt out, “It was platonic.”
Several heads turn in your direction. Realizing you made a mistake, you backtrack. “I mean,” you hasten, “feelings came… later.”
There’s a long moment of silence until Seohyun nods.
“Anyways.” Jaesuk places his hand on Emilia’s back. “You’re a better hiker than you think, Y/N. You made it up sweat mountain, remember?”
“Don’t remind me,” you groan while Seokjin cackles.
Sweat mountain is an aptly named monstrosity Seokjin convinced you to hike while in college. You thought the name was merely a metaphor, but it was the mountain’s actual name. All you can assume is so many people collapsed from heat stroke mid-trail that they decided to leave the name as a warning.
“Today feels like sweat mountain,” Seohyun gripes. “How much further until the parking lot?”
“You’re being dramatic.” Mrs. Kim hikes past her. “This is only a three-mile walk! The parking lot is just around that curve.”
Like the traitor she is, Seohyun picks up her pace. Admittedly, today is the perfect day for hiking. The temperature is cool enough to avoid sweat, but warm enough your sweatshirt has stayed around your waist. It’s not their fault you abhor physical exercise that doesn’t end with a treat.
As though reading your mind, Seokjin pulls a protein bar from his pocket. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine,” you grumble, but – after a moment – take the bar. “Thanks.”
Seokjin watches you unwrap it and stuff half in your mouth. His lips twitch. “I’m sorry about this, by the way. I did try to offer an out at the house.”
Jaw dropping, you remember too late about the half-chewed protein bar. “Um, excuse me,” you cough, trying to swallow. “What you said was ‘Y/N might be too tired to come.’ What kind of excuse is that?” you demand, turning around to watch him as you hike. “It makes it sound like I hold you back.”
Seokjin’s eyes widen. “They never would have accepted that I was too tired. Mom would’ve said, ‘the fresh air will invigorate you,” he quotes in an uncanny imitation of Mrs. Kim. “As a guest, you have immunity. My mom would’ve allowed it.”
“Well…” You stuff the rest of the bar in your mouth. “Oo sh’o’d’ve said ‘at ‘efore we went ‘own’airs.”
“I didn’t know that we were– Y/N!”
Your sneaker hits a rock, ankle twisting as Seokjin darts forward. For a moment, you flail wildly before collapsing.
“Oof,” you grunt, your palms hitting the dirt. The jolt rattles enough that you wince, pride smarting as much as your hands.
“Y/N.” Seokjin drops to one knee. His hands pat your arms, gentle while checking you over. When you wince, his face darkens. “Are you hurt?”
You admit he plays the caring boyfriend card well. You see why Emilia fell for him in the first place.
“N-no,” you stutter, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.
Luckily, the rest of his family is too far ahead to see. It would have been doubly awful to have Seokjin’s perfect ex bear witness to your humiliation.
Turning your palms over in his, Seokjin slides both hands to your elbows. “Can you stand?” he asks, pulling you up. “Test your weight on your ankle.”
“My ankle is fine,” you grumble, but oblige.
Slowly, you place weight on your leg and although it feels fine, you notice your leggings are ripped. Your knee is bleeding, but otherwise you seem okay. Noticing the blood, Seokjin’s frown deepens.
Shifting to stand before you, he lowers himself again to his knee. “Hop on,” Seokjin says, glancing over his shoulder.
You stare down at him, open-mouthed. “Huh?”
“Hop on.” Seokjin pats his back. “How else are you going to get to the car?”
“With my… feet?”
He scowls. “You’re bleeding, Y/N. And your palms are all scratched up. There’s a first aid kit in the backseat – I can clean you up there.”
Ignoring how your stomach flutters, you gingerly bend and loop both arms around his neck. Seokjin pushes himself upward, gathering your legs and walking forward. Your nose ends up near his neck, breathing his clean, masculine scent.
Lift is unfair. It’s all too easy to imagine this day in different circumstances. To imagine Seokjin taking care of you, being there for you as your boyfriend. Shifting closer, you close your eyes and enjoy the warmth.
The daydream ends when you exit the forest.
Seeing you, Mrs. Kim drops her backpack. “Y/N!” she gasps, rushing forward. “What happened?”
Capping her water bottle, Seohyun seems caught between fear and amusement. “How… we were just talking about hiking accidents!”
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Emilia declares. She disappears around the side of one car.
You stifle the urge to bury your face in Seokjin’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” you say as he comes to a stop. “Really.”
Marching to the trunk of one car, Seokjin turns around to set you on the edge. Kneeling before you, he removes your sneaker and peels your legging upward.
“Here you go.” Emilia appears, a first aid kit in hand.
Seokjin accepts this without comment. Over his shoulder you mouth, thank you, to her. Smiling fleetingly, Emilia retreats to stand beside Jaesuk. Mr. Kim shoos everyone away to give you some privacy.
Removing a water bottle from his backpack, Seokjin pours this over your knee. You hiss and jerk back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, soothing your calf with his thumb. “This’ll sting.”
“A little late,” you complain, but the barb is half-hearted.
Gripping the edge of the trunk, you watch Seokjin clean your skin with a damp cotton ball. The pain soon dulls, replaced with soft pressure of his hand on your leg. Seokjin bends closer, his breath warm while blowing dirt away from the wound.
Looking upward, Seokjin pauses at whatever he sees on your face. A beat passes, then two, until he withdraws.
“That should be good enough until we get home.”
Dazed, you blink. “Oh. Right. Thanks.”
Seokjin stands, watching you roll down your legging and slip on your sneaker. When you wince, he offers an arm and helps you towards the car. George holds the door open, shutting it behind you to move to the driver’s seat.
Seohyun hooks up her phone, glancing over her shoulder from the passenger seat. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she says miserably. “I feel like I caused this.”
Confused, you buckle your seat belt. “Oh? Did you place a rock directly on the trail behind me?”
“No, but I was going on and on about accidents, and –”
“It wasn’t your fault,” says Seokjin, entering from the other side. He shuts the door. “But if you waste more time sitting here, it will be your fault if Y/N gets gangrene.”
“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous,” you complain. “I’m not even bleeding.”
George places the car into drive and Seohyun rolls her eyes. “Mom was right. Seokjin has always been way too protective for his feelings to be anything but romantic.”
Choosing to stay silent, you look out the window. In its reflection, you catch sight of Seokjin watching you from the next seat. Unbidden, your heart skips a beat.
For a moment, you consider what everyone has been saying. You remember the day you broke your foot in high school. You remember it clearly, because it was the first night you dreamed of Seokjin. Before that, he was just a friend.
After …
You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he touched you, the way he insisted on getting you help. It was the first step down a long path of falling in love with him.
And a small, tiny voice whispers that maybe – just maybe – his mom and sister have a point. Maybe they saw things that day that went over your head. As soon as you think this though, you dismiss it. Obviously, Mrs. Kim says now it was fate. It’s confirmation bias, since she thinks you and Seokjin are currently dating.
And yet, you continue to watch Seokjin in the window’s reflection. The sting of your knee has receded, but the prospect of him feeling nothing for you is somehow the worse wound.
By dinnertime, it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open. The morning latte was ages ago, and the glass of wine after hiking doesn’t help. Once the last course at dinner clears, you stifle another yawn and Seohyun catches your eye.
“Y/N, will you please go to bed?” she says, dropping her fork. “You’re making me tired.”
Immediately, you straighten. “I’m fine!”
“Mom.” Seokjin politely removes his napkin from his lap. “What are the plans for tonight?”
Mrs. Kim takes a sip of her port. “Nothing, really. I think your dad wanted to watch that new action movie.”
Mr. Kim grunts in agreement.
“The one we saw in theatres last fall?” asks Jaesuk. “That was a good one.”
“I’ve been wanting to watch,” Emilia adds.
Seohyun shrugs. “I guess I can join, too.”
“Great.” Pushing his chair back, Seokjin takes your hand. “Y/N and I are wiped. We’re going to bed.”
“Hey!” Seohyun gasps. “You tricked us.”
“Get some sleep,” calls Mrs. Kim.
Seokjin leads you from the dining room, dropping a kiss to his mom’s hair as he passes. His other hand remains in yours, pulling you through the foyer and up the staircase.
“Was I that obvious?” you ask, sheepish.
Seokjin does a double take at you. “Oh, you mean – was your yawning that obvious? Yes, Y/N. Pretty sure the space station will message any second about the morse code.”
“Message them back and tell them no one watches for free. Not even astronauts.”
“W-ow. You run a tight ship, Y/N.”
“It’s called knowing your self-worth,” you sniff, following him down the hall. “You should try it.”
“I do know my self-worth. If you’d like, we can Google it right now – hey-o!” Seokjin cries, holding up a hand for you to high five.
Ignoring him, you walk into the room. Seokjin chuckles and follows, shutting the door behind you. Holding the vanity, you bend and undo a shoe strap. You’ll never forget the first time you visited – Mrs. Kim asked you to leave your shoes in the hall overnight. You were confused before learning the staff clean their shoes every day so they can wear them to dinner.
Fumbling with the clasp, you kick helplessly and hope the shoe gives up before you do.
“Hang on,” Seokjin sighs. Again, he kneels before you – this is becoming a habit. “Put your foot on my knee.”
You stare as though he’s grown a second head. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you take off your shoes. I thought that was obvious.” He pats his thigh. “Put your foot here.”
Unable to summon the energy to fight, you lift your foot. If Seokjin is surprised by your obedience, he does a good job of hiding it. Bending, he delicately undoes the clasp of your shoe. Dark hair falls in his face while he works.
Seokjin hesitates, one hand on your ankle. He looks up. “I really am sorry about all of this, Y/N.”
Your heart thumps, and it takes a second longer for your brain to catch up.
His lips twist. “First, I lied to you. Then, I asked you to lie to my family. And now… you’re hurt because of me.” He looks down. “This was an awful idea, and I’m just… sorry, Y/N. Say the word and I’ll drive you home. I’ll explain everything to my family. No matter how awkward.”
“Hey,” you murmur. Reaching down, you pull Seokjin upward to stand.
Seokjin towers over you, looking slightly pathetic.
“It’s okay,” you say gently. “Really. Am I thrilled by some of your choices? No. Definitely not. But do I understand?” Slowly, you exhale. “Yeah. I unfortunately do.”
He seems to war with something internally but nods. “That’s because you’re a saint.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Seokjin chuckles, and you smile. “Besides,” you say, holding up both palms. “I’m fine. Barely a scratch from earlier – see?”
Taking your hand, he studies your palm longer than medically necessary. “So…” He looks at you. “What does this mean, Y/N? Are you saying you’ll stay the week, or…?”
“Will I stay here and pretend that we’re dating? Sure.”
Seokjin groans and tips his head back. “God. That sounds so sad.”
Laughing, you take a step closer. Reaching for him, you slide both hands into his hair and lower his face. His lashes flutter, staring down at you.
“Don’t worry,” you say quietly. “I could never think less of you, Seokjin Kim.”
His throat works as he swallows. “I bet you say that to all the guys.”
“No – I really don’t.”
Dropping your hands, you step backwards. Shakily, you inhale and try to forget the feeling of his skin beneath your palms.
“So,” you say. “We have a full week of couple activities ahead.”
Seokjin nods, and you fall into the rhythm of unpacking. Moving around the room, you ask what he’s been up to lately and let Seokjin chatter about work. The events of today crash over you without warning, leaving you emotionally and physically drained.
This is probably why you accept so fast when he offers to take the couch. Grabbing your pajamas, you lock yourself in the bathroom to wash your face. When you emerge, you all but leap into the giant bed.
Seokjin disappears into the bathroom soon after, and you struggle to stay awake. Sometime after the shower starts though, you drift off, falling asleep before he can return.
A cacophony greets you the next morning. People call the city noisy, but those sounds you’re used to. What you’re not used to is the sound of two birds having a full-blown tiff outside your window. In response, you roll over and stick your head beneath a pillow.
Easy to do since you have the bed to yourself. Realizing this, you slowly peer out from under the pillow at the couch.
Empty.
Unease pricks your stomach. Seokjin did sleep here last night – didn’t he? As soon as you think this, you notice the mussed blanket and pillow. Okay, so he slept here at some point, even if he’s gone now.
Rolling onto your back, you unplug your phone from the wall. 8:04 AM. After ten minutes of scrolling, you manage to push yourself into a seated position. Eventually, nature calls loud enough that you roll from bed. With face washed and teeth brushed, you feel marginally ready to start the day.
The couch is still empty. Frowning, you walk towards the window and pull back the curtain. Seokjin could have gone on a run – or maybe, chimes a little voice in your head, he realized how silly this is and went to tell everyone the truth. Maybe he went to confess his feelings to Emilia. Maybe Jaesuk and Seokjin went to go duel before dawn.
Releasing the curtain, you head for the shower. This is why you don’t talk to people before coffee. Stepping under the spray, you tilt your head and let hot water sluice down your back. Despite your best efforts, the shower unfortunately proves a great place to overthink.
Again and again, you rehash the events of yesterday. The look on Seokjin’s face when his mom said you were dating. Hise expression asking you to stay. The way he looked while dabbing your knee with a cotton ball. For so long, you’ve survived by shoving your feelings aside. It’s been a long time since you considered what Seokjin felt for you.
Twenty years of history point you towards nothing. But then, you’ve had feelings for him just as long and never told him. Sighing, you finish washing and step from the shower. The safest course of action is to do nothing and yet, the thought leaves an itch in your brain.
Again, you remind yourself, all you can do is take his words at face value. Seokjin asked you to be his fake girlfriend, not his real one. That’s all this is. Anything more leads to a slippery slope you might not return from.
Wiping steam from the mirror, you realize you left your clothes in the other room. Wrapping a towel around your torso, you crack open the door.
Holy fuck.
Seokjin has returned. Well, that much is obvious because he’s standing in the middle of the room dressed in navy sweats and… nothing else.
Mouth dry, you watch him bop along to a song on his ear pods. You try – and fail – not to gape at the way his shoulders narrow to the sharp v of his waist. The last guy you hooked up with was a definite gym rat, full of muscles made mainly for show. Seokjin is hot without trying. His biceps flex when he grabs a t-shirt, frowning into the mirror – and meeting your gaze.
“Ahh!” Seokjin yells, the t-shirt whipping away as he turns.
“Ahh!” you return, stumbling backwards. Clutching your towel, you nearly trip over a different t-shirt lying on the floor.
Seokjin braces himself on the wardrobe. “WHAT ARE – hang on, shit,” he swears, yanking out his air pods. “You’re, uh – Y/N. You’re here?”
“Yep,” you say, your voice way too high. “I was in the shower,” you add, jerking a thumb over your shoulder.
Seokjin follows the gesture, only to snag on your body. Too late you remember you’re in only a towel. Before now, this fact seems to have eluded him. Seokjin openly stares, not bothering to hide his appraisal. Heat trails each place his gaze lingers until the bird argument outside resumes – this time, at twice the volume.
The spell breaks. “Sorry,” you blurt, rushing to grab your clothes. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I – I wasn’t. I was on a run.”
“Okay,” you squeak, edging around him. Slamming the door shut, you collapse against it. “Fuck,” you hiss.
On the other side, you hear Seokjin utter the same. Eyes wide, you turn your head to stare at the wood.
Coincidence. Or he was swearing because of how awkward that was, not because he was also struck dumb by the sight of you mostly naked. Right?
Your head hits the door with a thunk. You should have taken Seokjin up on his offer to drive you home yesterday. Not even one day has passed and you’re already overthinking this. Worse, you can’t stop rehashing the events of last year. Seokjin never answered your question about why he hasn’t reached out to you since December.
Suddenly, you still as realization dawns. Seokjin and Emilia broke up in December. You know they were still together on his birthday, which means they broke up after.
What if… Emilia saw you in that hallway? What if she broke up with Seokjin because she suspected something between you? That would make her the victim. Granted, she didn’t have to go and date Seokjin’s brother, but it would explain her discomfort around you. It would explain why she seems to flinch at every mention of your shared past with Seokjin.
If that’s true, then it means their breakup was partly your fault. Of course, you know this wouldn’t be your fault alone. If their relationship had been solid, it could have withstood a moment of jealousy. Still, the thought lingers as you get dressed, entering the bedroom to find Seokjin has gone.
You continue to think about this during breakfast, watching the way Emilia interacts with the rest. By the end of the meal, you’ve learned nothing certain. If anything, you find yourself reaching the conclusion that whatever the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Not when what’s done is done.
Seokjin and Emilia are no longer dating. Now, she’s with Jaesuk. And you’re here to provide Seokjin platonic support.
Nothing about this has changed, so you need to concentrate on the task at hand. Something you can do, even if the cost is one you pay in your own heartache.
Mrs. Kim passes out individual itineraries after breakfast, resulting in a swift wave of nostalgia. Your own family would fit in well with Jimin’s friends, planning everything the day of and flying by the seat of their pants. Kim family vacations were a dream come true for you growing up, since Mr. and Mrs. Kim always had things under control.
Mr. Kim may have been the one born into money, but Mrs. Kim is no shrinking violet. Her mother raised her by herself; Mrs. Kim finished law school while working odd jobs, eventually rising to the rank of Chief Legal Officer at the Kim Corporation. It was something of a scandal when she announced she and Mr. Kim had wed, and she would be transitioning to the non-profit sector. One time at dinner, she confided in you with a wink this had been her goal from the start.
The entire week is planned down to the minute, with ‘free time’ scheduled for several days. Seokjin stares in dismay at all the events he’s been signed up for until you gently take his paper and fold it in yours.
Today is simple enough: the local farmer’s market, then lunch. Dinner tonight is just family, but tomorrow you’ll be joined by dinner guests. Thursday is a cocktail party, and then Saturday evening is the main event. You notice the Astors listed only for Saturday, which eases some of your tension.
“I’ll drive Y/N and I,” Seokjin says once breakfast is over. Standing, he scoops a pair of keys from the bowl. “We’ll meet the rest of you there.”
Seohyun waves from the coffee pot, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. When Emilia enters with Jaesuk, Seoyun pointedly turns around and brings her coffee to the porch.
Noticing, you can’t help your guilty conscience. “Seohyun seems mad,” you remark to Seokjin as you climb the stairs.
Seokjin glances at the back porch. His lips thin. “Yeah. I think… the situation feels more personal for her. One of her friends dated an ex back in college, and it led to a lot of drama. I don’t think they stayed friends, so she feels bad for me.”
“Oh,” you murmur. You, too, lost a friend during college when she slept with your boyfriend. “I get that. In some ways, losing a friend is harder.”
As you enter the room, Seokjin opens the closet. “I don’t need her pity, though,” he calls from inside. “I’m fine with the situation. And besides, it’s not the same.”
“Is it not?”
“No!”
Wisely choosing to stay silent on the matter, you sit on the sofa and wait for him to change. Seokjin appears a moment later in a cream shirt and slacks, a jean jacket in hand. Well, fuck you, too, then.
Seokjin pauses, squinting at himself in the mirror. “It’s not,” he continues. “Seohyun was still in love with her ex. I’m not.”
Your brows shoot upward. “Oh, no? This whooole situation” – you wave a hand – “would beg to differ.”
Seokjin meets your gaze in the mirror. “It’s not the same. I don’t… think Emilia and I were ever really in love.”
You take a moment to digest this. “Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.”
His expression tightens. “Do you really think someone in love with me could have fallen so fast for Jaesuk? Do you think I could have–” Abruptly, he cuts himself off.
Curious, you stare, but he doesn’t continue. Searching for a way to prod without being obvious, you inhale and a door slams downstairs.
Jolted into motion, Seokjin pulls on his coat. “Coming!” he calls. To you, he murmurs, “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
Mind reeling, you follow him down the stairs. You didn’t imagine it, did you – the way Seokjin seemed on the verge of saying something important?
And what about the other thing he just said – that he never loved Emilia? Frustration chokes the many emotions roiling within you. That was the only thing about this week which made sense. If Seokjin still was in love with Emilia, it would make sense why you’re here. It would make sense why he said nothing when his family assumed you were dating.
It would not make sense if he did all those things and is over his ex. If… Seokjin doesn’t love Emilia and never did.
By the time you reach the car, you’ve decided against calling Seokjin out. Instead, you’ve delusionally convinced yourself nothing between you has changed. You agreed to stay this week and pretend to be dating. The why doesn’t matter.
Except – what if it does?
Pushing away the thought, you buckle your seatbelt and realize Seokjin has taken this time to commandeer the stereo. A playlist called Reel Love blares, comprised of songs about love and fishing.
You shoot Seokjin a look, and he bites down on his lip to keep from laughing. For now, you tell yourself it’s enough to have your friend again. Concentrating on this fact, you lean your head to the window and watch the scenery pass.
Rumbling into town, you find yourself in desperate need of some fresh air. Seokjin has the type of presence which grows to fit whatever container he rests in. A gaseous human, if you will. Stepping from the car, you take several breaths to wash away the after-effects of proximity.
Closing the door, you survey the town. Bear’s Nook is sleepy during the edge seasons, dead in the winter, and vibrant in summer, like so many towns along the lakeshore. Right now, it’s starting to wake up, but crowds won’t show up in full force until June.
Only the locals and families like Seokjin’s arrive this time of year. People mosey in and out of the storefronts, although the main farmer’s market is in a warehouse on Main Street. George seems to be sticking around, dropping the rest of the family off in front of the market.
Seohyun shivers in short sleeves, woefully unprepared. “Race you,” she blurts, darting for the entrance.
Shaking her head, Mrs. Kim takes her husband’s arm. The entire group moves down the sidewalk, entering the market in a loose line. Stalls stretch the length of the warehouse full of fruits, vegetables, and all the craft goods you could want.
Seokjin and Mr. Kim drift towards a fishing table, and Seohyun calls her mom over to a produce stand. Despite most of the cooking being done by the staff, Mrs. Kim still enjoys preparing a few dishes each week. You drift past them both, unsure what you’re looking for as you start to wander.
At the end of the next row, your phone buzzes. Fishing it from your purse, you see Jimin’s name. Frowning, you swipe.
Jimin: how long did it take for Seokjin to ask if we were dating [10:20 AM]
Jimin: on a scale of one (first thing he asked) to ten (still hasn’t) [10:21 AM]
Coming to a stop at a candle stand, you text back.
Y/N: You little sneak [10:22 AM]
Y/N: …about a minute in [10:22 AM]
Jimin: HA [10:23 AM]
Jimin: knew it [10:23 AM]
Y/N: You knew what? [10:23 AM]
Jimin: Y/N, please. It’s obvious that man has feelings for you [10:23 AM]
Y/N: Jimin, noooo [10:24 AM]
Y/N: You saw him for ten seconds [10:24 AM]
Y/N: It’s not like that, I promise [10:24 AM]
Y/N: Believe me [10:24 AM]
Jimin: …. [10:25 AM]
Jimin: no [10:25 AM]
You’re frantically typing something to the effect of that’s not how friendship works when you notice someone hovering nearby. Glancing from your phone, you realize Emilia is watching from a coffee stand. Meeting your gaze, she smiles and waves you over.
After a moment’s hesitation, you return your phone to your pocket. Reluctantly joining the line, you pretend to study the coffee board.
“So.” Emilia exhales, glancing sideways. “This is awkward, right?”
Startled, you face her. While Emilia continues to smile, you can see the forced tightness around her eyes.
“Well…” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to call it out, but since you mention it…”
She laughs, the sound bright. When she and Seokjin started dating, you thought her laugh was fake, but no – that’s just how she sounds. You suppose if you had been brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth, you might also laugh like a Disney princess.
Immediately, you deflate. You shouldn’t be mean to her. But then again, the last time you checked, there were no guidelines about how to act with the girlfriend of your fake boyfriend’s brother, who used to date your fake boyfriend.
Seokjin is right. Saying it out loud is just sad.
“Did you… know I met Jaesuk before Seokjin?”
That captures your attention.
You blink. “No. I didn’t know that.”
She nods, lost in thought. “He was a counselor at my summer camp. I was seventeen and Jaesuk was in college, so of course, nothing happened.” A soft laugh. “He barely even noticed my existence.”
“Ah.”
The line moves forward, and you take a small step.
Emilia isn’t done. “We had this moment, though… at the end of the summer. My camp boyfriend broke up with me for Jennie Sarasota. Jaesuk found me crying behind the kayaks and told me I was too good for that idiot. It was the first time a man said that to me,” she says. “My dad is a traditional guy. He’s… well, he’s not very nice.”
Again, the line moves. Stopping closer to the kiosk, you face Emilia fully. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask. “Is this… some kind of explanation for why you cheated on Seokjin?”
Emilia’s eyes widen, and her gaze darts around. People from their world always worry about who might overhear. To be fair, you did just say the quiet part out loud.
“Y/N,” she whispers. “I didn’t cheat on Seokjin. And that’s not what I was trying to tell you.” Her face scrunches. “What I felt for Jaesuk at camp wasn’t real. It was a childish crush on a guy I didn’t know.”
“So…”
“So,” she huffs. “I’m trying to say that when I met Seokjin, I didn’t know he was related to Jaesuk. The last name Kim is pretty common.”
“Mm.” Another person pays, and the line moves again. “And then, once you realized who Jaesuk was…?”
Emilia is silent. Eventually, she exhales. “The first time I met Jaesuk was the night of Seokjin’s birthday party. Do you remember that?”
It feels like a trick question, so you simply nod.
“Yeah,” Emilia murmurs, also lost in thought. “Seokjin had mentioned him before, but Jaesuk was always working or too busy to meet. When he walked through the door, I was stunned. And then… well, I decided to put him from my mind.”
“Mhm.”
Her lips flatten. “It’s true.”
The final person orders and leaves, leaving the two of you. Stepping up to the register, you order your usual iced latte and move to the end. Emilia follows, hitching her Birkin bag up her arm.
“All I’m saying,” she continues, determined, and you fight back an eye roll. “Is that I can understand how it happened. Thinking you felt one way for someone, only to realize you felt another.”
Sharply, you look at her.
Emilia stares back at you, unflinching, and you have to hand it to her, she doesn’t back down. Again, you consider Seokjin’s confession. This is about more than just Emilia dating Jaesuk. Human beings are complicated, and feelings are never clean-cut. Just because Emilia is with Jaesuk and seems happy doesn’t mean she’s enjoying the idea of you dating Seokjin.
Still, any way you respond would be tinged with bitterness, so you merely shrug. “I guess.”
The barista finishes your coffee and places it on the counter. Accepting this, you turn, intending to leave but Emilia stops you again.
“You know,” she says lowly. “I always suspected Seokjin had feelings for you.”
Her words are like being doused in cold water. Protestations rise to your lips like no, he doesn’t and sounds like projection, but you say nothing. Because based on what Emilia knows, she’s correct.
“Even before his birthday,” she says, her grip tight on her coffee. “I knew it was more than just friendship.”
“If you say so.”
“People talk about their friends. But Seokjin never talked about you. Ever. He was so, so careful to keep you separate.”
This does surprise you, but you can’t afford to react.
“I’m not bitter,” she adds, and you know she thinks that's true. “If anything, I think this might be fate. Right?” To her credit, her voice softens. “Jaesuk and I met so long ago, and now we’ve reconnected. Meanwhile, Seokjin has wanted you for so long, and now he finally has you. Maybe… oh, I don’t know. Maybe things had to happen this way for us to be happy.”
By now, you’re practically vibrating with suppressed anger. You hate when people imply that bad things happen for a reason. Sometimes that’s true but oftentimes, it’s an excuse for the speaker to pass on accountability. Whirling around, you step closer and feel a perverse sense of satisfaction when Emilia’s eyes widen.
“No,” you spit out. “I don’t think things had to be this way. I don’t think the fact that Seokjin and I are dating cancels out the fact that you’re now dating his brother. I don’t think any of this absolves you of what – of guilt? Is that what you want?”
Emilia’s face flushes. “No!”
“It doesn’t matter if Seokjin felt something for me. He chose you. He wanted you. Everything you just said is pointless because Seokjin wanted you to be his girlfriend. And you left him for Jaesuk. It’s crappy that you’re blaming the breakup on something he never even said that he wanted!”
Her mouth opens, intending to respond, but you decide you don’t care. Everything you’ve repressed bubbles upward, and you no longer trust yourself to have this conversation without saying something hurtful. Taking a page out of Seohyun’s book, you turn on your heel and push into the crowd.
Either you walk fast enough to lose her, or Emilia doesn’t follow. The crowd breaks after a while and you stop at the last stall, sagging against the counter. It takes several moments for your pulse to steady.
Although you meant what you said, it probably wasn’t the best way to deal with Emilia. A sigh leaves you. While you understand where she’s coming from, her pretending everything is fine isn’t helpful. The events of the past year caused a lot of hurt – you witnessed this firsthand.
Oddly enough though, you feel lighter. Devastating, to realize your therapist is right, and ignoring your emotions doesn’t make them go away. Granted, you didn’t need to explode on Emilia the way that you did. You’ll have to apologize at some point. It was infuriating, though, listening to her go on about how great things are, when you know she’s the reason Seokjin is on edge.
Footsteps sound behind you.
Glancing over your shoulder, you see Seohyun approaching. “Happy my parents’ anniversary,” she sings, shoving a plastic bag into your arms. A colorful, crocheted hat spills out. “I saw this and thought of you. You and your beautiful soul.”
“Don’t you Jesse McCartney me before lunch,” you manage to laugh. Removing the hat, you shove it over your hair. “How does it look? Mesmerizing?”
Seohyun makes a face. “Only a man truly in love would find that appealing.”
As though on cue, Seokjin rounds the corner. The moment he spots you, he does a double take. Walking forward, his grin widens.
“What monstrosity is this?” Seokjin teases. Slipping a hand to either side of your face, he tips your face up to press a kiss to your forehead. “Only you would find something that clashes with literally everything.”
Somewhat stunned, you stare up at him. “I, uh…”
“I bought it for her, asshole,” sighs Seohyun. Watching the two of you, she grins and shakes her head. “What did I say, Y/N?”
Seokjin looks at her, puzzled but – thankfully – before Seohyun can explain, Mrs. Kim appears. “There’s a whole stand of oven mitts,” she says to Seohyun. “We should get a few pairs or–”
Seokjin tugs on your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I want to show you something.”
Wordless, you follow him around the next corner. It hasn’t escaped your notice that his family is no longer around and yet, he still holds your hand. In fact, you’re so busy watching him, you don’t realize where you’re going until Seokjin stops.
“Ta-da!” He gestures at a wooden stall. “What do you think?”
Tearing your gaze away from him, you look at the scene.
“Oh. My. God.”
Seokjin cracks up, watching you take in the garish array of nationalism. Paintings of flags, national monuments, symbolic animals – the stand has it all, entombed in bold colors and patterns. The sight is absolutely horrific, and you’re about to say as much, when a man pops out from behind an easel.
“Are you enjoying that one?” he asks, seeing where you look. “A beauty, right? I tried to encapsulate what I felt while listening to the national anthem.”
“Right,” you croak. Seokjin seems to be holding back tears of laughter. “That’s… that’s what I thought when I saw it. The national anthem, absolutely.”
“I took inspiration from our forefathers.”
“Ah. Well… here’s hoping they don’t ask for it back.”
The artist pauses, then barks out a laugh. “Good one! I’ll have to remember that. Now, all the small paintings are three hundred, the medium ones are a thousand, and this piece” – he directs your attention to a tapestry-sized canvas – “is three thousand. My pride and joy.”
Realizing your mouth has fallen open, you shut it.
By this point, Seokjin has composed himself enough to speak. “I’ve been looking for a piece for my entryway for years,” he muses. “This speaks to me.”
You elbow him – hard – in the ribs, and Seokjin wheezes, but the man doesn’t notice.
“Good eye, sir,” he says eagerly.
When he turns around, you lean sideways. “What are you doing?” you hiss.
“Browsing,” Seokjin whispers back, his eyes alight.
“Are you really going to buy that?”
“Honestly? I’m considering it, just so it doesn’t hang in someone else’s home.”
“Stop,” you whisper-laugh, trying to school your expression. “I feel bad! This man clearly has passion for the arts –”
“And likely, the conservative party.”
“–and he put a lot of time into this!”
Seokjin shrugs. “Define a lot.”
Before you can protest further, the artist returns. Seokjin hems and haws a bit before vowing to come back tomorrow with more money.
“You’re ridiculous,” you groan when he leads you away.
Seokjin wiggles both eyebrows. “Who’s the one dating me?”
You almost correct him but look away at the last moment. “About that,” you say slowly. “Emilia… kind of cornered me earlier. She wanted to talk about us.”
Seokjin stops so abruptly you nearly walk past him. When you realize this and turn, he seems slightly nauseous.
“Did she…” He swallows. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t suspect this was… fake,” you whisper, glancing around – oh god, now you’re doing it. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
Seokjin blinks, his expression inscrutable. “Oh – okay. Right. What did she want to talk about, then?”
The two of you begin walking through the stalls. Sipping your coffee, you take comfort in the familiar rush that it brings.
“She wanted to talk about how… she always thought you had feelings for me.”
“Ah.”
“I kind of went off on her.”
Seokjin looks at you, startled. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” You frown. “She was pissing me off. Going on and on about how it was all ‘meant to be.’ She said that you always liked me, and maybe that’s why things didn’t work out with you two. As though nothing was her fault. I mean, is it so hard to take some accountability? To admit that your actions have hurt people?”
Seokjin says nothing, continuing to walk alongside you. His brow is furrowed though, clearly deep in thought. You turn down an empty row of stalls – the farmer’s market is only half-full, given the season. It grants a semblance of privacy when he clears his throat.
“Y/N…” Seokjin hesitates and then stops. “What if… Emilia wasn’t wrong?”
“About what?”
“About… I don’t know. Did I ever tell you how we broke up?”
“Well, no. You just said that you did.”
Seokjin firmly meets your gaze. “I was the one who ended things.”
Time seems to slow again.
Slowly, the puzzle pieces slot themselves into place. Honestly, you aren’t sure why you didn’t realize sooner. Well, you know why. When Seokjin called you last week, he sounded upset. He sounded like he was in love with someone. You agreed to this mostly out of pity, assuming she had broken his heart. But if that’s not the case…
“Why?” you blurt.
Seokjin blinks. “Why, what?”
“Why did you break up with her?”
His gaze narrows. “Come on, Y/N,” he says, voice dropping when he takes a step closer. “Don’t you remember December?”
Your body goes still. Of course, you remember. You didn’t think that he did. Or if he did, you assumed it was something Seokjin wanted to ignore. The same way you haven’t talked about any other time you grew close.
Seeing your expression, his lips twist. “I almost kissed you that night in the bar. On my birthday.”
“I… know.”
“And you don’t think that was a red flag for my relationship?”
“We’d both been drinking,” you say, unconvinced. “It was a weird time for me. You were upset, and…”
His laugh is hollow. “That’s what I told myself at first, too. But then… I realized that even if all that was true, it wouldn’t have mattered if I loved her. So, I broke up with Emilia.”
You stare up at him, the events of the night rearranging themselves. You realize you’ve been thinking about that night all wrong. It wasn’t the night Seokjin almost kissed you, but the night he realized he didn’t love Emilia.
Before you can respond, Mr. Kim and Jaesuk walk around the corner. Emilia is right behind them, still sipping her coffee. She doesn’t meet your gaze, browsing the empty stalls instead.
“There you are,” says Jaesuk. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Mom wants to head to lunch. Are you ready to go?”
Seokjin watches you for another moment, then nods. Mrs. Kim and Seohyun meet you at the front doors, and Emilia joins them to show Mrs. Kim something. As soon as she does, Seohyun slows her pace to walk alongside you.
Noticing this, your stomach sours. Knowing what you know now, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been unfair. From Emilia’s perspective, Seokjin broke up with her and immediately asked you out. Sure, the whole Jaesuk thing is still weird, but… possibly things are more complicated than you realized.
Glancing at Seohyun, you poke her in the arm. “Hey.”
She shoves the rest of a donut into her mouth. “If you’re hoping to trade the hat, I’m sorry. No takebacks.”
“No, it’s not that. Listen, you… should ease up on Emilia.”
Seohyun shoots you a look of betrayal. “Not you and Seokjin on my case!”
“This is just from me,” you sigh. “Nothing to do with Seokjin. I just… think this whole situation is awkward and multiple people are at fault. Not just her.”
Seohyun considers. Her gaze flicks to Emilia walking with Jaesuk.
“Well,” she grumbles. “It’s hard not to be mad. She hurt Seokjin. I’m mad at Jaesuk, too,” she adds with a scowl. “He should never have even considered asking her out.”
“Maybe. But then, you should probably also be mad at Seokjin. He’s the one who broke up with Emilia.”
She pauses. “Seokjin broke up with her?”
You nod, your suspicions confirmed. As much as it pains you to admit, Emilia has been classy in this regard. She could have aired Seokjin’s business to gain sympathy but chose to stay silent.
Seohyun thinks for a moment, her face shifting. “To tell you the truth, I never liked Emilia with Seokjin,” she admits.
“Why not?”
“They just didn’t… fit. Too similar, I think. What’s weird though, is that she totally fits with Jaesuk.”
“You should ease up on her,” you repeat.
She rolls her eyes. “Alright, fine, Miss Morality.”
“That’s a terrible superhero name.”
“Oh, yeah? What would you be, then?”
“I know what I’d be,” Seokjin announces while joining your duo. You start, wondering how much he overheard. “Probably something like World Wide Handsome. WWH. Swooping down to save the world with –”
“Hair gel and a mirror?” Seohyun cuts in. “Because that’s what that sounds like.”
The sound of their bickering follows you into the restaurant. Every time you visit Bear’s Nook you eat at the same, cozy restaurant in the middle of downtown. Seohyun chooses the seat beside Emilia to sit in, and you note Emilia’s look of surprise when Seohyun asks her a question.
It’s easy to forget how wealthy Seokjin’s family is. If it weren’t for the lavish lake house and personal driver, today is the type of day you’d have on your own. Today marks the last time you’ll be alone, though. Small dinner parties are planned for tomorrow and Wednesday, followed by the larger cocktail party on Thursday.
Everything has moved so fast, you haven’t even considered what the rest of this week will look like. For all Seokjin’s city life revolves around academia, he’s still a part of his family’s legacy here. Emilia fit into all that – she’s an Astor, after all. You’re a no one, especially without your fancy consulting job.
Before you can spiral any further, Seokjin places a menu before you. “I asked at the front, and they said they’ll still do the pecan pancakes if you want them.”
Your stomach flips. “You… asked about my order?”
“Of course,” Seokjin says, as if it’s the only answer. “I didn’t forget.”
Something about his tone makes you think he means more than your brunch order. You try to refocus on his family but again, a single thought rises to the surface.
Seokjin broke up with Emilia. He broke up with her after he almost kissed you. And now… well now, you wonder if your main rule has been broken. Maybe not everything Seokjin says should be taken at face value.
Maybe there are things you still don’t know about him, after all.
