[kpopfanfictrash]

Clichés and Canapés (M) (Pt. 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

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)

A/N: this is not Part 1. Read Part 1 here.

The next two days pass without incident. Seokjin continues sleeping on the couch, even though you protest and offer the bed. Both dinner parties are mostly uneventful, except for an incident with the Morgan family on Wednesday. Mrs. Morgan drinks too much and snips something about how gracious Mr. and Mrs. Kim are to allow Emilia into their home, at which Jaesuk sets down his fork and point-blank asks them to explain the remark.

Mrs. Morgan got cagy and apologized, but she and her husband left swiftly following. You had to admit, you kind of got what Emilia saw in him then. Jaesuk isn’t as funny or outgoing as Seokjin, but he puts his foot down when needed – actually, he and Seokjin are alike in that manner.

The rest of your days are spent in the larger library. No one else is around, so it lends an aura of peace and quiet. Seokjin grades papers while you search the internet, make Pinterest boards, and finish an outline – all in the name of writing progress.

Slouched on the couch beside him, you peer over your laptop at Seokjin. It seems improbable that someone like him would happen naturally. Suspiciously, you wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Kim concocted him in a lab. Even his flaws – for example, near-sightedness – end up hurting you, since Seokjin is wearing wire-rimmed glasses while shuffling through his papers.

When he glances up, you look down and pretend to be working.

Softly, he chuckles. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”

You frown at your laptop. Tonight is the cocktail party before the main event. The Morgans will be back, along with several others – at least the Astors won’t be there. You only met Emilia’s parents once and can’t say you care to repeat the experience. If billionaires were ranked on a scale of questionable to terrible, the Astors would fall towards the latter.

Part of what you agreed to this week though, was putting up a façade, so you nod.

“Yep,” you agree. “I have a dress, don’t worry.”

Seokjin watches you over the rim of his glasses. “Okay. I think I’ll get ready in the room next door so we can both shower. Does that work?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He seems to wait for something and, when that doesn’t come, he exhales and looks down. Sinking deeper into the couch, you stare at your laptop. The party starts at seven, but you need to get ready before then.

With a heavy sigh, you shut the screen. “I’m going to head up now,” you announce.

Seokjin nods without looking, and you exit the library. Outside in the hall, you hover before heading upstairs.

Cranking the heat up on the shower, you step inside and stare at the brightly tiled wall. Even the bathrooms here are beyond your pay grade. When you worked in consulting, you made good money, but nothing like this. This much money only comes from generational wealth, and while your parents were middle-class workers, billionaires they are not.

Possibly this weighs heavier on you than usual due to tonight’s guest list. You haven’t been in a room with these people in nearly a year. Not since you quit your job and started pulling away. The idea of pretending to be with Seokjin and pretending to fit in with the upper crust makes you want to scream.

With a sigh, you turn the heat higher. And then… there’s the fact that Seokjin broke up with Emilia.

You’ve been trying not to overthink this since Monday. Still, the memory beckons, and you dive in again. Turning it over and over, you pick at it like a scab until it starts to bleed.

At that moment, you didn’t pay attention to Seokjin’s face, but now, the memory haunts you. He seemed beseeching, as though there had been more to his words. Each time you try to think what, though, self-preservation kicks in. You two have been friends for twenty years and nothing has happened.

It seems foolish to think something could happen now. This was the entire reason you pulled away in the first place. If Seokjin ever felt more than friendship, he should have told you. He would have told you. If there’s one thing you know about your best friend, it’s that he goes after what he wants.

When he wanted to pursue academia, he did. When he decided to start running, he began the next day. One time, Seokjin terminated his lease and moved the week following into an apartment that opened above his favorite coffee shop.

He would have told you if he cared.

Despite this, you can’t remove the small seed of doubt. The way Seokjin looked at you Monday continues to replay in your mind, wedging a crack in the friend façade.

Turning the knob on the shower, you linger another long moment. It took nearly twenty years to admit your feelings for Seokjin. What if he’s been experiencing the same thing?

The thought stays while you dress, mechanically fixing your hair and make-up. Glancing at your phone, you realize the time is nearly seven and swear, hurrying into the bedroom to grab your outfit. The staff took it the first night, steaming it and ironing wrinkles from silk.

Placing it on the bed, you dig out your heels and search for your bra. “Fuck,” you hiss, realizing you forgot your strapless at home. You’ll have to go without. Stepping into the fabric, you shimmy this upward and pull on the zipper – and it sticks. “Fuck, shit, fuck.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hang on!” you yell, hopping to gain better leverage. Desperate, you tug harder, but nothing budges. “Crap!”

“Are you okay in there?” Seokjin calls through the door. “It sounds like you’re tap dancing, and Y/N, I’ve seen you dance. No need to add metal.”

“I’m a – ugh – great dancer!”

“Of course, you are. Can I help with something?”

“No, no – well,” you sigh, coming to a stop. “Yes. Come in?”

The handle turns, and Seokjin slips inside to shut the door. Glancing at him, your brain short circuits. Seokjin is wearing a suit. Logically, you knew he would dress up but seeing it in person is an entirely different matter.

The dark, three-piece suit fits his body in a way that’s obscene. It takes everything in you not to blurt something stupid like, what the fuck – or – hey, let’s skip this party and make out on the bed.

Seokjin turns and stops in his tracks when he sees you. His expression shifts from concern to – well, something different. Slowly, agonizingly, his gaze drags down your body.

“You…” Seokjin croaks. He shakes his head. “What did you need help with?”

For a moment, you don’t remember. Clutching the dress, you ensure nothing is visible, but something about him still leaves you bare.

“The zipper,” you blurt out. “It’s stuck.”

A beat passes between when you turn, and Seokjin walks closer. Delicate straps hold up the silken sheath of the dress. You don’t typically show this much skin, but evening dresses are made to show off.

His fingers brush warm skin before he pulls back. “Sorry,” Seokjin murmurs, then grips the zipper.

You can’t help but shiver and know he must see when Seokjin clears his throat. Continuing to clutch the dress, you focus on the wall. After a moment, Seokjin curls a hand over your hip to brace himself and tug upwards. The zipper catches, then glides all the way to the top. Still, he doesn’t move.

If anything, his grip on you tightens. A beat passes, then another, and your heart starts to race. The space between you feels so small, either of you could close it with a single step – and yet, neither of you does.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door.

Seokjin coughs and withdraws, his warmth gone in an instant. You shakily exhale, taking a moment before turning around.

“Hey,” Seohyun calls from the hall. “Mom is asking where you are. Wanted to let you know before she sends staff upstairs! Get decent and come down.”

You only move once her footsteps recede. Briskly crossing the room, you grab your heels and slip them on. “Ready,” you declare.

Seokjin watches you, inscrutable from beside the door.

Everyone always says Seokjin is the expressive one. And in some ways, he is. He wears his optimism like armor, making others laugh to detract from discomfort. Most people only know him this way. Few know him as well as you do and can tell something’s wrong in this sudden silence.

Before you can ask what is wrong though, he holds out an arm. “You look beautiful,” Seokjin says, folding your arm around his. “Before we go down and deal with all… this.” He pauses. “I just want you to know that.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself.”  While you mean it to sound joking, the words come out solemn.

Seokjin holds your gaze a second longer than necessary, then nods and leads you to the door. You head down the main stairs – according to the itinerary, the party starts in the main hall. Indeed, once you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by a wait staff with a tray of champagne.

You accept a tall flute, noticing heads already turning. Mr. and Mrs. Kim spot you from across the room, beaming with their own glasses. They’re the only ones that seem happy to see you. Seohyun is grimacing, conversing with Mr. Goldenrod, and Emilia speaks quietly in a corner with strangers.

Grabbing a quiche from a tray, Seokjin stuffs this in his mouth. “Eat up,” he says over the string quartet. “Who knows if they plan on serving dinner?”

You laugh, clutching his arm when he leads you towards the nearest couple. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a slight paunch and his young, blonde wife.

“Mr. Brown,” Seokjin says, shaking hands. “Thank you for coming. Have you met my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Mr. Brown nods, barely sparing you a second glance. “Ah, yes. I heard you were dating someone new.”

When he ends the sentence, Seokjin’s face tightens. “Not new. Y/N has been a friend of the family for years.”

“Lovely.” Mrs. Brown jumps in, her smile saccharine. “Are the Astors here tonight?”

When a muscle tics in Seokjin’s jaw, you step in.

“No, they’re not.” Your smile is sweet enough to match hers. “But we’ve been enjoying spending time with Emilia this week. Are you close friends of the Kim family?”

“Well, we –”

“We’re neighbors,” adds his wife.

“Oh, yes.” Seokjin frowns, the very image of faux concern. “Wasn’t there a whole incident with the gazebo last year? Something about your builder crossing property lines?”

Mr. Brown’s face turns a bit purple. “That was – that’s not –”

“Of course, my mistake. Enjoy the party,” Seokjin says, taking your hand in his. Your stomach flips at the contact, although you play it cool. Once you’re out of earshot, his expression sours. “What I wouldn’t give to be back in the library. I don’t know how Jaesuk does this type of thing.”

“Why did your parents invite them?”

“Oh, you know. Politics.” Seokjin frowns. “My mom needs funding for her latest project downtown. She wants to subsidize housing in rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods for families that have lived there for more than twenty years. Obviously, it’s not popular amongst real estate moguls.”

“Ah,” you say, and take a sip of champagne.

Seokjin exhales and faces the foyer. Black and white tile stretches from here to the windows, where the sun is beginning to set over the lake. It would be beautiful if it were only you here, but the reality of this evening stretches before you. The itinerary listed at least twenty names – nothing compared to Saturday, which will host one hundred – but more than the cozy oblivion you’ve had until now.

Near the fireplace, Seohyun, Jaesuk and Emilia chat with several people who look close to your age. Seeing them, Seokjin raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a surprise,” he murmurs. “Seohyun and Emilia. Your doing, I assume?”

You take another sip. “Who, me? Maybe you finally got through to your sister.”

“Unlikely.” Seokjin nicks a cocktail from a passing tray. “Seohyun has ignored me since she was five. Jaesuk used to be the only one who could reach her.”

His use of the phrase used to be hangs between you, reminding things are different since Seokjin and Emilia. Their entire family dynamic has been uprooted. Lifting the glass, you finish off your champagne.

Seokjin begins walking, and you follow. “How… did he tell you?” you ask.

“How did Jaesuk tell me about him and Emilia? He told me in person. It was very considerate of him. In February.”

You look at him, surprised. “I thought they didn’t tell you until March?”

Seokjin nods. “That was after they started dating – when they knew things were serious. Jaesuk came to me in February though, before he asked her out. He wanted to get my side of the story, to understand what all happened – all he’d heard was Emilia’s version.”

“Emilia’s version?”

“Yeah.” He pauses at the window. “Partly my fault. I broke up with Emilia the week after my birthday. There were a lot of holiday events with both our families invited and I… well, I asked Jaesuk to go in my place.” Seokjin frowns. “At first, he was standoffish to her. He didn’t know the full picture, but he knew I was hurting, and then… I don’t know. They started talking.”

“He should never have done that,” you say sharply, surprised by how tightly you’re gripping the stem.

Gently, Seokjin reaches over to take your empty glass. “To be fair, there are usually only a handful of attendees at these things under forty.”

“Seokjin.”

“Y/N.” Fondly, he mocks the tone. “I know. I was mad at first, also. But then…” Seokjin sighs, and something about him seems tired. “I told him the truth. I wasn’t in love with Emilia. He asked if I minded if he asked her out.”

You can’t help but bristle. “You shouldn’t have had to respond to that.”

“Maybe not.”

“Not maybe,” you insist, lowering your voice to move closer. Seokjin watches you carefully. “Seokjin, I know you look up to Jaesuk. I know you feel… I don’t know, indebted to him? That’s the wrong word. He took over the Kim family empire and left you free to do what you wanted. But just because Jaesuk made that decision doesn’t mean you need to pay him back.”

His expression softens. “You see right through me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches, hearing the break in his voice. Setting aside your drinks, Seokjin takes a step closer.

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “Really. And I know this. I won’t say… I mean, I do feel guilty about Emilia. I dated her for a year before realizing what I wanted. I feel guilty about Jaesuk paving the way for Seohyun and I to do what we wanted. But… if I had any real problem with any of this, I promise I’d say so. Do you believe me?”

You stare him down until eventually realizing Seokjin is serious. “Fine. I believe you,” you exhale, poking him in the chest. “You must be a better person than I am.”

Chuckling, he grasps your finger and pulls you close. “Disagree,” Seokjin says before turning around.

Casually, the two of you drift towards the fireplace. Considering his newest revelation, you can’t help the nagging feeling you’ve missing something important. Suddenly, you realize.

“Seokjin,” you say slowly. “If that’s true, and you’re fine… then why did you ask me to come here this week?”

He seems to miss his next step. Seokjin’s eyes dart around the room, assessing, but his hand tightens in yours.

“Seokjin!” Mrs. Kim interrupts, gliding into his side. She grasps her son’s arm. “Thank goodness. I need your help. Mr. Hoang has technical questions about the program. Can you talk to him for a few minutes?”

Seokjin hesitates, and you see indecision war across his features.

“Go,” you say, patting his arm. “It’s fine – I need another drink, anyways.”

Although he seems dubious, Seokjin nods. His mom thanks you profusely as he bends, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be right back,” Seokjin promises.

The warmth lingers on your skin after he leaves. You don’t recognize anyone around you, so you make good on your word, and head towards the bar. Mrs. Kim has set up a drink station near the dining room, arranged on an antique bar cart with black lacquer.

Ordering another glass of champagne, you drum your fingers on the counter. Taking a long look at your face, the bartender pours longer than usual.

“You look like you need it,” he chuckles, sliding it towards you.

You grant him a smile. “You’re not wrong.”

Steeling yourself, you wade into the crowd. Part of the reason Seokjin brought you was as a buffer, to deflect from the talk of Emilia and his brother. Spotting a group near the bookshelves, you head in their direction. Some of them you recognize from past parties, and you join with champagne in hand as the conversation shifts.

“Oh, good,” says a woman – Mrs. Hurst, you think? – with a smile. “Another woman to save me from endless golf talk. Unless you play,” she hastens. “In which case, you’re in good company.”

“I don’t play often,” you confide with a smile. Years of corporate mixers have prepared you for this. “You can commiserate safely.”

 “The hint’s been dropped, boys,” booms a man with red cheeks. “Let’s move on to more interesting topics.”

“Such as?” asks the man beside him.

Mrs. Hurst leans forward. “Have any of you attended the theatre recently? Or the symphony? Henry and I attended a performance last month featuring that lovely, young violinist. Oh, what was her name? I always pronounce it wrong.”

“Midori,” supplies the first man.

“Yes!” she gasps. “Oh, she was exquisite. But you know, it’s no surprise. People like her are just better at the violin, aren’t they?”

Your smile tightens. “People like who?”

“Oh, you know.” Aimless, she waves and takes a sip of her drink.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, wide-eyed. “Could you explain the reference?”

The rest of the circle shifts uncomfortably. A man coughs and looks down; the other man pulls out his phone, leaving Mrs. Hurst to fend for herself. She seems sufficiently flustered until you give in and change the topic.

“I’ve been to the theatre recently,” you offer. “Have any of you seen Titanique?” you add, referencing the parody musical.

Blank stares greet you.

“No,” Mrs. Hurst says carefully. “I can’t say that I have. But I’m sure it’s an… experience.”

“Where do you work, Y/N?” asks one man, putting down his phone. His expression has hardened, and you know your comments have revealed you to be an outsider.

“At a coffee shop in the city. I worked in consulting until about a year ago, then quit to work on my novel full time.”

The other man perks up. “Which consulting company?” When you offer the name, he vigorously nods. “I know the CEO! Kevin,” he says to the other man. “Terrible golf game ever since his wife left, but who can blame him? She took half of everything he owned since the idiot agreed to no prenup. Always get the prenup,” he says sternly in your direction.

Unconcerned, you nod.

Mrs. Hurst continues to watch you. “What kind of book are you writing, dear?”

The infantilization in the word ‘dear’ makes you stiffen, but you do your best not to react. People tend to assume you’ve suffered a breakdown when you tell them about your abrupt career change. As though realizing corporate life sucks is a symptom of a broader illness.

“Fantasy.”

Politely, she nods. “How exciting.”

“Kevin’s the one who was living a fantasy,” grumbles the other man, “if he thought his wife wouldn’t take him to the cleaners after that prostitute in Munich. Or was it Rome?”

Conversation reverts to Kevin and his divorce, and once your glass is drained, you excuse yourself for another. No one seems to mind or notice as you walk away.

Another glass of champagne is pressed into your hand at the bar, and you drain half on the spot. Turning around, you make eye contact with Seohyun, who waves you over to her smaller group.

When you reach her, she clinks her glass with yours. “I might have to start double fisting,” she mutters. “Each person I talk to is worse than the last.”

“Tell me about it. I just escaped a conversation about violinists, prenups, and prostitutes.”

Seohyun perks up. “Okay, that sounds way more interesting than the conversation I had about Bitcoin.”

“Oh, god.”

You both laugh until a woman breaks from the circle. “What are you gals talking about?” she simpers.

The circle expands to include you, and suddenly you find yourself faced with several similar-looking women. Swiftly, you rack your brains for appropriate conversation.

Managing a smile, you tip your head towards your glass. “We were debating whether champagne has become overrated. A lot of sparkling wine regions are vastly overlooked.”

A thin, redheaded woman places a hand to her throat. “Oh, no. None of them have the same history as champagne. You can’t overlook that often a person pays as much for the label as for the product.”

She’s not wrong, but you feel inclined to point out that many other regions have history in winemaking, as well.

A stout woman nods. “Too true, Beth,” she chortles. “Champagne is incomparable.”

Beth sniffs and looks you over. “Is the cuvée not to your liking…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I often find when I’m not familiar with a region, it’s harder to discern its true quality.”

Another woman – thin and brunette – turns to hide a laugh in her palm. You pause, hearing exactly what Beth intended. Essentially, she called you poor by saying champagne wasn’t something you had often, insinuating it was beyond your price range.

Seohyun hears this as well, glaring daggers at Beth. “Y/N is right. I have my sommelier license, and a lot of champagnes – especially those from big houses,” she adds, and you feel like you missed something earlier, “are vastly overrated. You get a worse product for a higher cost.”

“Oh, dear.” Beth’s tone becomes pitying. “I’m afraid I only know what my sommelier tells me. I haven’t the time to take, ah, classes. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

God, you hate these parties. In their world, getting an education or having interests is somehow an insult.

Seohyun bristles, but you place a hand on her arm. “Well, it seems the debate has been settled,” you say, taking her empty glass. “I’ll have to taste more to become a true expert. Excuse me, ladies.”

Tossing them a bland smile, you head for the bar. After three glasses of champagne, you feel a bit buzzed, but if you pace yourself from now on, things should be fine. Playing on your phone, you wait for the bartender to finish and then, a new drink in hand, you scan the room again.

Mrs. Hurst has joined the group you just left, so that’s out. A group of men in the corner is also low on your list – unless you want to discuss golf or prenups again. While you stand there, deciding, a throat clears itself to the side.

“Enjoying the party?”

Hoping for someone bearable, you turn and are immediately disappointed.

Bradley Wainright lounges against the wood paneling, his hair disheveled and suit vest only half-buttoned. You remember him from childhood, and not fondly. He attended a neighboring private school but ran in the same circle as Seokjin’s family. Bradley is the type of guy who uses his trust fund to get himself out of messes rather than help other people.

Seokjin never liked him – in fact, he hated Bradley with a passion you never quite understood. Sure, Bradley was an ass, but so were a lot of people. All you know was Bradley did something to him in high school that took them from neutral to enemies. If Bradley is here tonight, he’s likely up to no good.

“Pass,” you mutter as you turn around.

Bradley chuckles and pushes himself from the wall. “Is that any way to greet a former classmate?”

“We didn’t go to the same school, Bradley. Ergo, not classmates.”

Stopping before you, his gaze drops to your cleavage. Fighting the urge to cross your arms, you take a long sip of your drink.

“Ah, yes,” he says, looking up. “You went to public school. My, how you’ve risen, Y/N.”

Choosing to ignore him, you look around the room. Bradley continues to nurse his whiskey, not looking away. Eventually, you give in.

“Clearly not that high,” you mutter, draining your glass. “If I’m standing here talking to you.”

Softly, he laughs. “You always were smart. Too smart to be wasting your time with Seokjin. I told him as much once, you know.”

You should know better than listening to anything Bradley says, but this piques your interest.

“What do you mean?”

Plucking a glass from a passing tray, Bradley exchanges your empty champagne for full. “Oh, you know. I wanted to ask you out in high school, but Seokjin told me to get lost. He didn’t think I was ‘good enough’ for you,” he drawls with air quotes. “Although now I suppose his true intentions are clear.”

You can only stare at him, mind reeling from more than the alcohol.

Noticing this, Bradley pauses. Genuine curiosity shines in his gaze. “Did Seokjin never tell you? Odd,” he comments, sipping again. “I would have assumed it came up at some point.”

“No. No… it never did.”

Bradley nods before his expression sharpens. “Word to the wise, then, Y/N – be careful. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline. Just ask Emilia. This group is downright ruthless when a stranger swoops in and takes something the elite views as theirs.”

Uncertainty churns your stomach. “And by something… you mean Seokjin?”

He merely shrugs.

Realizing you’re strangling your glass, you ease off the stem. The room around you feels blurry, the result of five – or was it six? – glasses of good champagne. It loosens your tongue, your next words spilling out.

“Why am I even listening to you? You hate Seokjin.”

Bored, Bradley swirls his whiskey. “True. I can’t say my motives are pure.” His canines flash when he smiles. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

You search for a response and when nothing comes, he chuckles again.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His cologne drifts past when he leaves. “Tell Seokjin I say hello.”

Left standing alone, you stare at a painting on the wall that must weigh more than you. A floor to ceiling recreation of a famous Monet. Stomach swooping, you examine the paint pattern – it may be the Monet. Feeling vaguely ill, you drain the rest of your glass and hand it to the nearest waiter.

Striding away, you stumble and realize you might be past your limit. The notion seems dull, far away, and you easily push it aside. Every conversation from this evening blurs into one, echoing one another as you order another drink.

Often a person pays as much for the label as for the product. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline.

Lifting the champagne, the room spins, and you immediately set it back down. “Fuck,” you mutter, gripping the edge of a table.

A man nearby notices, turning to his companion to mutter something in his ear. They both laugh and leave, and you scowl hard at their backs. The hypocrisy is ridiculous. Most of the people here are either drunk or high, and they have the audacity to look appalled when you imbibe a little.

“I wouldn’t say appalled,” Seokjin says, appearing at your elbow. He smirks, and you realize you’ve spoken out loud. “Maybe a little morally superior – or vindicated, depending on the person in question. You’ve made quite the splash tonight.”

 You do your best to turn sideways but somehow trip over your own shoe. Smashing into Seokjin’s chest, a soft oof leaves your lips.

Obedient, he wraps both arms around you. “I didn’t know you wanted to dance this badly,” Seokjin murmurs in your ear.

Throwing your head back, you squint. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“No,” you grumble. “You’re supposed to stay here longer.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Not true. I came, I chatted, and I convinced several families to donate to my mother’s causes. The dance floor has started – albeit on the other side of the room – and my duties are done. Let’s go.”

“Your duties,” you groan, laying your head on his chest. “You have sooo many duties.”

He hums. “Right now, my only duty is getting you into bed.”

“I wish.”

Seokjin stills, and you feel his heart stutter. He restarts after a moment, palms sliding to your elbows. “You’re drunk,” he says, tugging you onward. “Come on.”

You follow him reluctantly, taking his hand in yours. Vaguely, you see heads turn in your direction but can’t bring yourself to care. Seokjin makes it to the foyer before he bends abruptly and scoops you into his arms.

You squeak, arms wrapping tightly around him. Head resting on his shoulder, you examine his profile while he walks upstairs.

Deeply, you inhale. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.”

“Like, you always smell good. Do you wear cologne on top of the body wash? Or is that a super-secret super-special scent only rich people know?”

Seokjin chuckles, the sound vibrating your chest. “Yeah, that’s it. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Might be worth it.”

He laughs, louder this time. “You got me, Y/N. I’ll show you the bottle when we get to our room.”

Contented, you hum. Mid-nuzzle into his neck – Seokjin has stiffened beneath you – you realize something and pause.

“Oh no,” you blurt, looking up. “Put me down!”

Seokjin fumbles, one foot over the threshold. “Why? Do you have to pee? Is this spring break 2014 all over again?”

“No, and for the last time, I didn’t pee in that bar! Someone spilled their drink on me.”

“Down the inside of your pant leg?”

“Yes.”

Seokjin chuckles. “Okay, fine. Why are we stopping now?”

Wide-eyed, you watch the corner of his jaw. “You shouldn’t be doing this. Helping me.”

He pauses, then cocks his head. “Why not?”

“Because,” you whisper, “we’re alone.”

“And?”

“No one’s around to see!”

His brows sketch upwards. “So, someone has to be around for me to help you? Sounds like a shitty friendship.”

“No… but… this is more than what friends do.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Let me help you, Y/N.”

Miserably, you nod.

“Besides. If I thought this was too much, I would say so. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say in a small voice.

He would have told you if your actions were over the line. He would have told you if the situation with Emilia was painful. Over and over, Seokjin keeps insisting he’ll tell you when there’s something important. Again, making it highly unlikely he’s harboring any secret feelings.

Your disappointment must be etched over your face, since Seokjin notices and frowns. His grip on you tightens when he enters the room and kicks shut the door. Not breaking stride, he crosses the room to set you on the sofa.

“Stay,” he says, as though you were a dog. Chuckling to himself, Seokjin walks into the bathroom. Minutes pass before he emerges – during that time, you might drift off a little. “Okay,” he announces, emerging from the bathroom. “I started the shower. Can you stand by yourself?”

“Of course!” you huff. Seokjin stares at you long enough that you wilt. “Maybe… you might have to unzip me.”

He hesitates, then nods and takes a step closer. Rising to face the window, you brace your hands on the sill. Seokjin steps behind you, brushing baby hairs from your neck as you fight back a shiver. His fingers drift lower, grasping the zipper to drag slowly down.

For the second time tonight, you find yourself clutching the dress to your front. Inch by inch, your back is bared, leaving you dizzy from more than champagne.

“Done,” he rasps.

Quickly, you nod and flee to the bathroom. You don’t dare look back at him, and once the door is shut, sag against the counter. Dropping the dress, you step under the spray before you can think. Overthinking is bad. Overthinking leads to why you drank so much and got yourself into this mess.

Body dry and face washed, you hover at the door with a towel wrapped around you. Eventually, you push it open a crack.

“Seokjin?”

Through the crevice, you see Seokjin seated on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. His tie has disappeared, and his shoes are arranged neatly beside the closet door.

His head snaps up. “Yes?”

“I… need pajamas.”

“Oh.” Seokjin has clearly been running his hands through his hair. “Right, yeah.”

Awkwardly, he rises and heads for the wardrobe. Pulling out a t-shirt and boxers, he crosses the room. “Do these work?”

“Yep. Thanks,” you blurt, snatching them quickly and shutting the door.

With a barrier between you, it’s easier to piece the night together. Seohyun, champagne, Mrs. Hurst, more champagne, Bradley Wainright – you stop trying after that.

Tugging on the t-shirt, you realize it belongs to Seokjin. The shirt smells like him, clean fabric and a spicy, peppery scent. Inhaling deeply, you remember you did this in the hall and nearly groan out loud.

When you re-emerge, Seokjin stands next to the sofa. He’s changed into pajamas, much to your disappointment.

Before you can say anything, he gestures at the nightstand. “Drink the water before bed, okay?”

Nodding, you avoid eye contact as you slip past. Sliding between the sheets, you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the way the room spins. You shouldn’t have let those people get under your skin. Despite what they all said, the only person who matters to you is Seokjin.

Speaking of whom – cracking open one eye, you watch him remove a decorative pillow and ready the couch for bed. Seokjin adds a blanket while you watch from the covers.

“Are you… are you really going to sleep on the couch tonight?”

He pauses, then straightens. “I was planning to, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A bemused smile. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow. “I was just thinking… it’s silly. We’re both adults, right? We can share a bed without it being weird.”

Seokjin watches you intently. He remains silent for so long you begin to wonder if you said anything at all. Maybe you drank so much you entered an alternate reality where you never made a fool out of yourself, never asked Seokjin to share a bed, and he never rejected the prospect.

That would be nice.

“Alright,” he says, and your brain short-circuits.

“Wait, what?”

Seokjin freezes one step away from the mattress. “Are you retracting the offer?”

“No, but – I’m not still drunk, right? You did just say yes?”

Lips twitching, he pulls back the covers. “Those are two different questions. Yes, you are still drunk. Yes, I said yes. Like you said, it’s not weird – right?”

Unable to answer the question without giving yourself away, you stay silent while he lowers his weight to the mattress. The divot from his weight forces you to cling to the edge so you don’t roll inward. Switching the light off, Seokjin rolls over to settle his head on the pillow. It takes several moments for your eyes to adjust, and once they do, you find Seokjin watching.

“Right,” you whisper, answering his question.

His smile curves upward. “Why are you whispering?”

“It’s nighttime.”

“Oh, right,” Seokjin whispers back. “Should I tell a scary story, or something?”

“No need. I have the perfect one. Did you hear that Kevin didn’t sign a prenup and now, his ex-wife is taking half of everything in their divorce?”

Seokjin mock-shivers. “A modern-day Poe tale.”

“Oh, I heard worse things,” you murmur. “Apparently, you’re someone else’s villain.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Who did I terrorize this time?”

“Bradley Wainright. He said he liked me in high school, but you forbade him from asking me out.” Unbidden, a giggle escapes. “Can you imagine? Forbade. Like you were my chaperone or something, and I was an unruly debutante.”

“That’s…”

Seokjin struggles to respond, and you stop talking, wide-eyed. Some of your earlier buzz has faded, allowing you to think clearly. “Wait,” you say slowly. “Is it true?”

A flush creeps up his ears. “Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

Seokjin groans and rolls onto his back. “Bradley was an ass in high school. He kept a list of people whose virginity he’d taken taped in his locker. So yeah, when he said he wanted to ask you out, I told him not to.”

You stare at his profile, limned in moonlight. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.” Seokjin sighs. “I know you can make your own choices. I was just a stupid kid back then.”

“No – well, yeah. You were. But even if Bradley had asked me out, I would’ve said no. I hated him then. Still don’t like him much now.”

Seokjin smiles at the ceiling and places his arms at his sides. “Well, consider yourself in good company.”

“Oh my god, no.”

“What?” Seokjin looks over, alarmed.

“You are not sleeping like a fucking vampire beside me.”

His eyes widen. “I was trying to be polite! If I sleep on my back, I won’t roll around as much.”

“I am telling you right now – I will go downstairs and ask Bradley to take me to his hotel if you don’t sleep like a normal person.”

“What, like this?” He folds both arms over his chest in an x. “Is this how normal people sleep?”

“Seokjin!” Reaching over, you tug his arm down. “Stop!”

“Oh nooo,” he groans, half-rising from the mattress. “I feel the dark forces upon me!”

“NO!” Laughing, you throw yourself sideways. Dragging him down to the mattress, you helplessly giggle.

Seokjin’s entire body shakes with laughter while wrestling your arm from his body. Somehow your hand winds up beneath him, one of your thighs flung over his leg. Seokjin falls back, his chest rising and falling. You’re suddenly aware of every dimple, laugh line and mole on his face.

Slowly, his laughter fades. Seokjin reaches between you to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Eyelash,” he murmurs.

“Make a wish.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like you – too breathy. Too soft. Seokjin doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze again on your lips. Heart hammering, you think he might close the distance until his face shifts, and Seokjin pulls back. Gently, you tug your hand free to tuck it against you like armor.

“Well,” Seokjin says quietly. He searches your features. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Rolling onto your side, you stare into the darkness while he shifts behind you. Eventually, his breathing evens and you assume Seokjin sleeps. You, on the other hand, stay awake for much longer.

Even when you do sleep, your dreams are full of hedge mazes, running towards a nameless something which moves further and further away.

At some point in the night, you become a cover hog. Your first thought the next morning is how pleasantly warm it’s become within the confines of your sheets. Arching a little, you wriggle backwards – only to freeze when your ass hits something hard.

Your eyes open.

The surrounding warmth isn’t the covers as you imagined, but a toned arm. The weight at your back isn’t a pillow, but a heavy, male body – Seokjin’s heavy, male body. Realizing this, heat floods your core, and you go utterly still within the confines of his grasp.

He must be asleep, since he squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face in your neck. Breath held, you nearly melt when you realize your t-shirt has ridden up your belly. Seokjin’s thumb absently strokes your bare skin, coming dangerously close to the top of your panties.

With how close you are, your ass is pressed to his front. He must be asleep, because there’s no other way this could go on for so long. Quietly, you attempt to dislodge only to make matters worse. His hand cups you closer, and you find yourself sinking back into his chest.

Murmuring your name, his hand drifts even lower and you give up entirely. Seokjin’s fingers brush your shorts, then your panties and a soft whimper escapes you. For years, you’ve wondered what this would be like. For years, you’ve repressed the tiny voice in your mind wanting more, but now it roars back, voracious.

Casually, you push your ass backwards, inhaling when you feel his stiff member behind you. Seokjin is large. You suspected as much but had lasted until now with plausible deniability. Now though, you’ll be forced to imagine his size with complete accuracy and can only assume the effect will be devastating.

Seokjin groans, shifting closer – and freezes. Several moments pass until he clears his throat.

“… Y/N?”

Cursing internally, you say, “Morning.”

Lightning-fast, he rolls over and yanks his hand away. “Fuck,” Seokjin wheezes. “I’m – I’m so sorry, Y/N. That was just... my body just…”

Turning to face him, you see he’s buried his face in his hands. Cheeks hot, you realize what he’s referring to. “It’s fine,” you assure him. “I have slept with men before. I mean, I’ve woken up next to them. I mean, I’ve also had sex, but –” Cutting yourself off, you shake your head. “That’s not relevant, I guess.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “I’m not usually this… clingy.”

You snort.

Dropping his hands, he scowls in mock-outrage. “I’m not!”

“Seokjin. I’m friends with your sister. She told me all the horror stories of you sharing beds on vacation.”

The tips of his ears redden. “I can assure you that this” – Seokjin waves to his lower half – “never occurred with my sister.”

“Well, I should hope not.”

“Y/N,” he groans, dropping his hand to stare at the ceiling. “Can we just forget this ever happened?”

A beat passes, then two.

Stomach sinking, you nod. “Sure. Right.”

Hearing your tone, Seokjin rolls over to face you. His gaze is intent. “I’m saying this because I’m embarrassed, Y/N. I basically groped you in my sleep.”

“Groping is a little extreme.”

“Just… let me bask in my embarrassment in silence.”

Right. Of course. Because touching you is embarrassing.

Shoving away the barrage of emotions this brings, you push back the covers. Still not meeting his gaze, you swing your feet to the floor. On most days, you’d be able to deal with his jokes. Not today. Irritation pinches the longer you lay here.

“Don’t bask too long,” you say, heading for the bathroom. “Tomorrow is the big night. I’m sure your parents have plans for today.”

Your head pounds at the door, forcing you to remember the events of last night. Wincing a little, you turn and find Seokjin watching. His expression seems hesitant, almost wary.

“Are there painkillers in the bathroom? And, uh, water?”

He nods. “First drawer on the right.”

“Thanks,” you say and walk inside.

Every inch of frustration goes into your lather. Scrubbing suds from your body, you imagine you’re removing each trace of Seokjin. This is your own fault – for reading into his actions, for believing him when he says nothing, for seeing something real that just doesn’t exist.

You knew this when you accepted his offer. You knew being this close to Seokjin would raise feelings, and yet, you told yourself it wouldn’t matter. That you didn’t care.

You lied, obviously. And now you’re paying the price.

For a moment, you stop and simply concentrate on breathing. Every emotion from the past week washes over you, again and again. No matter what you do, you can’t win. Seokjin is your friend. You should be there for him. You know this and yet, it’s impossible to hide your true feelings.

Outside of the shower, your phone rings.

Hastily, you finish washing and turn off the water. Stepping onto the bathmat, you wrap yourself in a towel and scoop your phone from the counter. A missed call from Jimin. Seeing this, you press redial.

“Hello?” you ask, wondering if the house is on fire.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Jimin tsks. “What have you done?”

Blinking, you turn and rest your ass on the counter. “What do you mean? Why are you calling?”

Jimin snort-laughs. “Y/N. Do you not remember texting last night?”

Frantic, you lower your phone and open your recent texts. Several threads rise to the top, the one with Jimin first and foremost. Scanning the messages, you groan.

“Jiiiiimin. Seokjin wore a suit tonight. I’m gonna combust. Also, rich people suck,” Jimin reads, pausing for effect. “But champagne is yummy. You know who else is yummy? Seokjin. He looks soooo –”

“Okay, okay,” you hiss, glancing at the door. “I get it.”

“Do you?” His tone is gleeful, and you imagine Jimin in his dress robe kicking up his feet. “The ten text messages you sent suggest otherwise.”

Sluggishly, you pilfer through your memories of last night. Closing the toilet cover, you collapse on the seat.

“I was inebriated,” you moan.

“I mean, clearly. The first five texts alone would’ve been a cry for help. Ten is just… sad.”

You slump against the wall. “It is sad, isn’t it?”

“You don’t want me to answer that. Where are you now?”

“Just got out of the shower.”

“Y/N, you dog!”

“Alone,” you hiss.

“Oh, that’s less fun. But seriously – is everything okay?”

You pause for a moment, glancing again at the door. Before you can decide either way, Jimin sighs.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Mhm. You could say that.”

“For how long?”

You open one eye to peer at the wall. “We’ve been friends for twenty years. I guess… I don’t know. A part of me has always wanted more.”

Jimin hums but stays silent.

“I’ve tried to pull away a few times before now,” you confess, the words quiet. “Somehow, I keep going back. Last year I tried to stop being friends entirely. I got pretty close, too. But then…”

“He called.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.”

You laugh, soft. “Yeah.”

A chair creaks in the background. “So why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“If you like him, why haven’t you told him so?”

“Because,” you sputter. “We’re friends – best friends. If I tell him how I feel it would change things. What if he doesn’t like me back?”

“And… what if he does?”

“Even then.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “What if we date, then grow apart and break up? I’ll have ruined our friendship – and for what? My friendship with Seokjin is one of the most valuable things in my life. I’d be an idiot to mess that up.”

Jimin hums again, and you know he doesn’t agree.

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Y/N, I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Oh, great.”

“Once upon a time, baby Jimin entered his freshman year of college.”

“I love a time jump.”

“Shhh. Anyways, baby Jimin entered college wanting to be pre-med.”

“Wait, really?” You straighten. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. And stop interrupting. Anyways, I got two years into undergrad taking all the pre-req courses. I had straight A’s but… I wasn’t happy.”

Frowning, you play with a thread on your towel. “Really?”

“I kept convincing myself it was fine, you know? I wasn’t even in the field yet. The stuff I was learning was just framework – it would be different when I was actually practicing medicine. But I think I knew from the start it wasn’t right.”

“What did you do?”

“Changed my major junior year.” Jimin pauses. “The arts aren’t lucrative, per se, but I’ve never felt as relieved as I did leaving my advisor’s office.”

“Well, that’s good… how’s this supposed to apply to me?”

“I’m getting there. What helped me to switch was realizing I’d already reached my point of no return. I wasn’t happy in pre-med. My feelings had changed, and they wouldn’t go back. The only option I had was to make a new choice. A different one. I think that’s what you need to consider with Seokjin. Y/N – you have feelings for him. Your friendship has already changed. The question now is… what do you do?”

His words wash over you and for a moment, you have no response. Then you swallow. “Damn, Jimin. How dare you be rational and make sense?”

“It’s a curse, I know. I’m hot and smart.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that because your advice was actually… helpful.”

“I want you to be happy, Y/N. That’s all.”

Vision blurring, you blink back your tears. “You’re a good friend, Jimin. And you’re right,” you sigh. “I’m in love with Seokjin. I have been for a while. Which means… I guess a normal friendship is kind of out of the cards. Right?”

“You can probably answer that better than I can.”

You nod to yourself because yes, you can. You knew the answer before you came on this trip. Cast in that light, you realize you already made a decision last summer. When faced with being Seokjin’s friend and confessing your feelings, you chose a third option and decided to leave. Either way, the friendship you once had has ended.

Put in that light – what do you have to lose?

“Okay,” you sigh. “This was helpful. But I need to get dressed.”

“You’re talking to me naked?”

“You called me in the shower!”

“You could have gotten dressed!”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, standing from the toilet. “Bye, Jimin. You’re the best. I’ll be home on Sunday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re the best, too. Tell me all the details after you and Seokjin hook up.”

He hangs up in the middle of your panicked squawk, and you spend the next ten minutes recovering enough to exit. When you do leave the bathroom, you find the room empty. Seokjin has gone again.

It gives you time, though, to plan your next move because Jimin is right. You need to tell Seokjin how you feel and let the chips fall where they may. Granted, telling him before his parents’ anniversary party might not be the best call.

At the very least, you owe it to him to fulfill his last request as your friend. Until Sunday, you’ll be the best fake girlfriend Seokjin has ever had.

And then – well. Either way, then things will change.

Saturday arrives with little fanfare. Seokjin returns to the couch Friday night, and you don’t ask him why. Instead, you focus on writing more and trying not to be a bother. Mr. and Mrs. Kim are gone most of the day, answering various party-related questions from the staff.

The anniversary party is being held in a tent on the lawn behind the main house. Heaters are stationed around the brick patio, fairy lights strung above in a million constellations. Near sunset you find yourself ensconced in a dressing room with Seohyun and Emilia. The surprise of entering and finding Emilia present has lessened over the course of your glass of champagne – only one, this time.

Seated at the vanity, Seohyun struggles to put on her lashes. “I hate getting dressed up,” she moans. “You think next time I can wear a suit? Men’s formal wear is so much more comfortable.”

“Except for the tie,” says Emilia, fiddling with her zipper. “I bet your parents wouldn’t care either way.”

Turning around, you lift a brow. “Except for the tie, huh?”

Seohyun laughs when Emilia freezes, looking as though she’s been caught. “I may have dressed as Don Draper for Halloween one year,” she admits.

Hiding a smile, you duck into the bathroom. Your dress hangs from a hook on the door, steamed to perfection by the staff this morning. The dress code tonight is black tie, leaving you few options from your closet at home. Removing your dress from its hanger, you hold it up to the light.

Sleeveless with a v neckline, the A-line silhouette is fully covered in sequins. Tiny, bronze details that shimmer beneath the light. You’ve only worn it once – to a client fundraiser required by your former employer. It was way too expensive even then, but you broke the tag in the bathroom and were unable to return.

Seokjin attended that event, also. He went on behalf of his family, and you’ll never forget his face when you entered the ballroom. It was like he’d never seen you before.

Slipping your robe off, you step into your heels and buckle them. Next comes the dress, shimmied up your body and pulled over your shoulders. Although you twist and turn, the zipper remains where it is. Apparently, this is just your lot this weekend.

Cracking open the door, you look pleadingly out. “Help.”

Emilia laughs and motions for you to join them. When you do, both hers and Seohyun’s eyes widen.

“Wo-ow,” says Seohyun, standing to help. “I don’t usually feel bad for my brothers, but I feel bad for Seokjin tonight. He might just keel over.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you scoff, glancing down. “It’s just a dress.”

“No, Y/N,” Emilia says softly. “You really look amazing.”

Her words contain no trace of bitterness, and it strikes you that Emilia really does want Seokjin to be happy. Whether it’s from her own guilt or not, you suppose it doesn’t matter. Jaesuk and Emilia are good together, and in five, ten, twenty years – will anyone care how they got together?

(Well, probably – rich people tend to have long memories. But one thing you can be certain of is that in a matter of weeks, there will be another scandal and Emilia and Jaesuk will fade to distant memory.)

“Your dress is beautiful, too,” you say.

“Thanks.” Emilia frowns and pulls at the fabric. “My mom thinks I look best in blue. It’s just easier at this point not to fight.”

Seohyun grimaces. “Sorry to say it, but your mom is the worst.”

“Seohyun,” you hiss.

She blinks, unapologetic. “What?”

“No, she’s right.” Emilia shrugs. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

She doesn’t seem hurt by this, so you figure the statement must reflect an old wound. Joining Seohyun by the mirror, you reapply lipstick.

“I get that,” you respond. “My parents are good people, but… they can be self-involved. During their divorce, it was like they forgot all about me and my sister. Ever since…” Exhaling lowly, you shake your head. “My older sister kind of thrives on her own. My mom always forgets to tell us where she is with her latest boyfriend. My dad is better, but I always have to call him.”

“Communication with purpose and without passive-aggressiveness,” muses Emilia. “What would that be like?”

 “Beats me.” You shrug.

A knock sounds at the door. “Open up!” Seokjin calls. “Your group has been selected to participate in a survey –”

Rolling her eyes, Seohyun yanks open the door. “Declined,” she says and sits down. “You can stay,” she clarifies to Jaesuk when he steps inside.

Jaesuk smiles and, upon noticing Emilia, nearly misses a step. For the first time, you watch his face when he sees her. He seems to be in awe, as though unable to believe his own luck. Right behind him, wearing a similar expression, is Seokjin.

His navy, double-breasted tuxedo is designed for heartbreak. Charcoal bow tie askew, his fingers hover just above, as though he were in the middle of fixing. Before he can move, you stand up and adjust it.

“There,” you murmur, brushing lint from his shoulder. “You look… really fucking good.”

You expect Seokjin to laugh or crack a joke but instead, his fingers slip beneath your chin. Gently, he tilts your face upward.

“You’re beautiful,” Seokjin murmurs.

So simple and yet, his words undo you. The sincerity in his voice drives another crack through reality, yet another life-fissure you can’t repair.

You realize his hands are still on your face, but Seokjin seems to neither notice nor care. Instead, he moves his thumb to skim the line of your jaw. When your lips part, his face darkens.

“Are you ready to go?” Seohyun stands at the door with her clutch. “Mom asked us to all be downstairs before guests arrive.”

“Yes, mom,” grumbles Jaesuk.

Emilia huffs and pushes him out the door with one hand. Seohyun follows close behind, leaving you alone with Seokjin. Before you can leave, Seokjin catches your hand.

“Hey,” he says, drawing you close. His fingers wrap around yours. “Before we head down there, I just…”

“Yes?”

His gaze sweeps your face. “Do you ever wonder… what would have happened if we’d met somewhere else?”

“Like, on the slide instead of the monkey bars?”

“No.” He smiles, only for it to vanish quickly. “Like, what if we had met during college? Or after?”

“Are you asking me if we would have been friends?”

“No. Maybe. I –” Exhaling roughly, Seokjin frowns.  “I don’t know what I’m asking.”

You tilt your head. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should –”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Seokjin interrupts. His expression clears and, still holding your hand, he tugs you away. “I’m fine, I swear.”

 “O-kay. If you’re sure. But if –”

“Y/N. Let’s go spend a horrible night celebrating my parents.”

You snort, following him to the hall and down the main stairs. Seokjin shifts your hand to his arm, so you don’t slip and fall. When you enter the backyard, you find Jaesuk and Emilia talking to Mr. Kim on the patio. The sun sinks beyond the lake, painting the water vivid orange and turquoise.

Beneath a banner congratulating the Kim’s on thirty-eight years of marriage sits a giant cake covered in frosted flowers. Photos rest on the table beside it, portraying their life together over the years. Music drifts from a band in the corner, a pianist easing their fingers over the keys.

“Canapé?” asks Seokjin, handing you a bacon-wrapped date.

“Gesundheit,” you say, popping this in your mouth.

Seokjin’s gaze lingers a little too long on your lips. Heat licks down your spine, but before you can speak, the music starts up.

“Oh, Y/N!” Mrs. Kim appears and squeezes your arm, not wanting to mess up your dress. “You look absolutely lovely. Seokjin,” she adds, frowning in his direction. “You treat her right; do you hear me?”

His gaze stays on your face. “I plan to.”

She moves to squeeze her son, as well. “What a good boy.”

Rushing away, she goes to check in with the caterer. Struggling to respond, you grab two fancy waters from a passing waiter. One thing you’re certain of is there will be no repeat of Thursday.

“So,” you say, passing a glass to Seokjin. “How many investors do you plan on snagging tonight?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“On how many you dare me to snag.”

Your laugh is so sudden, you nearly snort your drink. Grabbing a napkin from a close table, you dab at your glass. “You can’t do that to me,” you complain.

Seokjin watches you, hiding his smile. “And why not?”

“As your girlfriend” – a deep wink – “it’s my job to impress partygoers, not make them wonder why you took me on.”

“Please.” Seokjin’s gaze flicks over your shoulder. “At least five different guys have ogled your ass while we’ve been standing here.”

Again, your drink is in peril of being spit out. Seokjin’s lips twitch when you glower, taking another step towards him. At the last second, your gaze snags on his tie – crooked again. Huffing gently, you fix it.

“I should have known I’d find you by the food.”

Glancing sideways, a familiar face makes you grin. “Taehyung!” you cry, breaking away to wrap him in a hug.

He squeezes tightly, enveloping you in Grand Soir cologne. Before the hug can end, you find yourself tugged away and into Seokjin’s side. He frowns at Taehyung over the top of your head.

Taehyung Kim is around Seohyun’s age and one of the few elites you can stand to be around. Unlike Seokjin, Taehyung is heir to his family’s company, but unlike Jaesuk, he’s committed to making himself the family villain. Every low-handed, devious corporate decision his father makes, Taehyung tries to reveal it. It’s gotten to the point where he’s persona non grata in most social circles – making it all the sweeter the Kim’s decided to invite him, regardless.

He also holds no relation to Seokjin’s family, which makes it even understandable that Emilia didn’t know who Jaesuk was. Taking a step back, Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Long time no see, Y/N,” he says, then glances at Seokjin. “I see you finally got your head out of your ass long enough to ask Y/N out. Good for you.”

You roll your eyes, playing it off but inside, your heart races. The word finally makes it sound like everyone knew this was coming and anticipated the change. Little do they know everything about this is fake.

“Great talk, as always,” Seokjin says, although you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Hey, incoming,” Taehyung mutters. His gaze darkens at something – or someone – over your shoulder. “Bradley Wainright is headed straight for your sister.”

Seokjin twists. “Where do you –”

“On it,” says Taehyung, slipping into the crowd.

You watch him go, contemplative. “You know,” you muse. “Has Taehyung always been so protective of Seohyun?”

Seokjin blinks down at you. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he likes her.”

“Are you saying… friends can’t be protective?”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “I guess it depends.”

Seokjin gives you a strange look, but before you can process, Mr. Kim appears. “Seokjin,” he sighs, adjusting his glasses. “I could have sworn I left the” – a furtive glance – “special sheet music near the band, but they can’t find it anywhere. Can you look in my office?”

Your ears perk up. “Special sheet music?”

“Yes.” Mr. Kim sighs again. “I had Eunji’s favorite song arranged for our first dance – but I can’t find the sheet music anywhere, and the dancing is about to start.”

Glancing around, you realize the party has filled out. The patio, once mostly empty, is now crowded with evening gowns and other tuxedos.

Already nodding, Seokjin sets down his water. “I’ll go look,” he assures his dad. Stepping closer, he adds, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Of course,” you murmur, dazed by his proximity.

Mr. Kim and Seokjin head in the direction of the house, leaving you alone in a sea of people. Nervously seeking something to do with your hands, you slowly sip your drink and move through the crowd.

Spotting Bradley near the dance floor, you slip behind some people and head towards the garden. A hedge maze takes up the northern side of the lawn. Although you don’t enter, you linger near its entrance. The fresh air makes it easier to process everything you’ve been feeling. Eventually, you hear the band start and return to the tent.

Hovering just inside the flap, you drink the last of your water and watch the speeches. First, Jaesuk introduces the band. Then Mrs. Kim speaks about thirty-eight years of marriage, only for Mr. Kim to join her and announce the first dance. Their song starts to play, Mrs. Kim gasps and her husband whisks her away to the dance floor.

Your vision blurs, watching them lean on each other. You want that. You want the certainty of knowing someone loves you as much as you love them – the solidness of a relationship built on trust and friendship. Remembering your conversation with Jimin, your stomach tightens.

Tonight is the last night you have to pretend.

Tomorrow, things will change one way or another. You’ll either tell Seokjin or you won’t and either way, your future will be different. Hovering on the outskirts, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to date him. To really be the woman in Seokjin’s life, his plus one to all these events.

While you love Seokjin’s family, you don’t like the people here. And they don’t like you. No matter how many pretty dresses you wear or topics you memorize, you will never belong to places like these. Not like Seokjin does, or even Seohyun or Emilia.

This time when your head swims, you can’t blame it on alcohol. Depositing your empty glass on a tray, you step from the tent and head inside the house. You could use a few minutes alone before mingling – a quick bathroom break, and then you’ll return.

The house is blessedly quiet, nothing but ambient music playing over the speakers. You head for the bathroom on the right, knowing the other is usually occupied. Washing your hands, you survey yourself in the mirror. It’s strange to think about all the years you’ve stood in this exact spot.

Oddly enough, it brings a moment of clarity. Even if you don’t fit in with most people here, it hasn’t stopped Seokjin from wanting to be your friend. It hasn’t stopped his family from asking you to stay. There are people here who like you, who want you here – even Emilia, a woman who should probably hate you, asked to bury the hatchet.

Emboldened by this, you exit the bathroom – only to jump, realizing someone is standing outside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you say, and then freeze.

The woman standing before you, chin quivering with indignation, is none other than Mrs. Astor. Emilia’s mother.

She realizes who you are at the same moment you do, her expression shifting from bored to borderline fury. Immediately, your fight or flight instincts kick in, and you try to edge around her.

Loudly, she says, “So. I hear you’re dating Seokjin?”

Your feet slow to a stop.

Part of you wants to gloat. Part of you wants to run. But the largest part of you recognizes this conversation is happening. Mrs. Astor is not the type to let things go. It will only be worse if this conversation happens outside.

Turning around, you meet her gaze. “Yes,” you respond.

Her nostrils flare. “For how long?”

“Since April.” Unable to stop yourself, you add, “A little after Emilia and Jaesuk started dating.”

“That’s beside the point, young lady.”

You restrain yourself from adding that’s exactly the point. Years of experience have taught you that with people like Mrs. Astor, it’s best to give them nothing.

Taking a step forward, her eyes narrow. “My daughter might be too polite to say anything, but I see right through you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course, you do.” Drawing herself upright, she looks at you down her nose. “Don’t play stupid with me – I know you’re intelligent.”

“Thank you.”

Her scowl deepens. “You’d have to be, to pull off what you’ve done.”

“And what, exactly, have I done?”

Despite yourself, some annoyance leaks through. You came here for Seokjin, and tonight is supposed to be in celebration of his parents. Outside, the party continues but here you are, trapped in a hall with a bitter woman who could financially decimate you with a snap of her fingers.

“I’ve held my tongue for long enough,” she seethes – something you seriously doubt. “I’m not going to let you waltz into this household, flaunting your relationship before my precious Emilia. Do you know how embarrassing it was for her to be dumped? To be told over and over that you’re just a friend, only for you to spread your legs the second she was out of the picture?”

Heat burns in your throat. Unthinking, you take a step backwards, as though that will save you. Your brain stutters, leaving you without a response at the worst moment possible.

“That’s…” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t…”

“That’s enough, mom.”

Head turning, you find Emilia marching towards you. Her lips are set in a thin line, hands balled into fists on either side. She stops between you and her mother, fully five inches shorter but glowering upward.

Mrs. Astor has the decency to look chagrined. “Emilia, darling, I was just –”

“I know exactly what you were doing,” she snaps. “You’re mad that people are talking about us, so you’re taking it out on Y/N. When will you learn my life is none of your business?”

Your eyebrows raise at her obvious venom. Obviously, the feelings have been building for a while. Oddly enough, it snaps you from your trance and forces you back into fight mode. A dozen retorts rise to your lips, but you swallow them. Emilia seems to be doing just fine.

Mrs. Astor bristles, her gaze landing on you. “It becomes my business when people heavily imply that you cheated on Seokjin, when it’s clear to me he was fucking this harlot on the side.”

“Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me,” Mrs. Astor huffs. “There's no need to –”

“Oh, I think there’s every need,” Seokjin interrupts, striding down the hall. His voice is tight with fury, and he stops beside Emilia, presenting a united front.

Mrs. Astor visibly wilts. “Now, Seokjin. Let’s not act hastily.”

“He’s not,” Emilia says shortly. “I told the Kim’s they didn’t need to invite you, but they wanted to extend an olive branch. They thought it might smooth things over and create a new path, but you can’t let things go.”

“Let things go?” Mrs. Astor puffs up again. “This man” – a vague gesture at Seokjin – “tossed you aside like garbage for someone with no connections, no money. Nothing of worth! Nothing beyond a passably pretty face, and I refuse –”

“To stay a minute longer,” Seokjin cuts in. “I agree. George?” He motions behind him. “Will you please escort Mrs. Astor to her vehicle? Have the staff find Mr. Astor and bring him, as well.”

George melts from the shadows at the end of the hall. “Right away, Mr. Kim.”

Mrs. Astor flushes crimson. “How dare you? We are here as guests –”

“Exactly,” Seokjin interrupts. “You are guests here under my family’s roof; a privilege I am now revoking. You’re welcome to bring the issue to my parents, but I imagine that would cause an even bigger scene. You should consider yourself lucky I’m allowing you to leave now.”

Sputtering, Mrs. Astor looks askance at her daughter. “And you really want to stay? When this is how they treat your family?”

Casting your gaze downward, you squirm with guilt. Inadvertently, you’ve caused a huge problem for Jaesuk. Emilia might not want to stay after Seokjin kicks her mom out, no matter what she said a few minutes ago.

Emilia steps forward, standing with Seokjin. “Mom,” she says. “If Seokjin hadn’t asked you to leave, I would have.”

The two of them make a formidable pair, side by side. Their designer apparel complements one another, and each of them seem confident their rule will be obeyed. You wonder what it would be like to have that type of confidence. That type of wealth and power behind your every decision.

It dulls something within you that, only a few minutes ago, felt new and shiny. Even if Seokjin doesn’t love Emilia and has fully moved on, it doesn’t change the fact that they made sense together. Mrs. Astor isn’t wrong about that.

For once, Seokjin was in a relationship with someone like him. Someone from the same social status, with the same background and upbringing. It would be unfathomable for him to move from that to someone like you. Someone who has nothing figured out, who currently works in a coffee shop and can’t finish their manuscript.

Your frustration reaches a boiling point when you realize this is a moot point. Seokjin and you aren’t even dating. Everything here is based on a lie. All that’s happened between the two of you were a few long looks and tension, all of which can be chalked up to the stress of the week.

When George takes Mrs. Astor away, you mutely step aside. She protests down the hall, insisting that this is outrageous, and her lawyers will be contacting Seokjin immediately. Not that you’re worried. Mrs. Kim is a lawyer, after all.

Once she’s gone, Emilia touches Seokjin’s arm. “I’ll get my dad,” she says and turns. Before she walks past, she gives you a sad smile. “Sorry you got caught in the middle of that. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

You nod, unable to voice your agreement out loud. An ugly voice insists it could have been about nothing else. Pressure builds in your mind, circling closer and closer to a breaking point.

Emilia walks away, her heels clicking down the hall. Once she’s gone, Seokjin exhales. “Are you okay?” he asks, turning to face you.

“I’m fine.”

He hesitates. “You don’t… seem fine.”

You laugh, the sound brittle. “I don’t know, Seokjin. Should I be? Mrs. Astor was cruel, but she wasn’t wrong.”

You step from his reach but not fast enough, and somehow, your wrist ends up in his hand. Before you can go, Seokjin marches the two of you in the opposite direction of his parents’ party.

Leading through the dim maze of halls that make up the east wing, he doesn’t break stride. Eventually, Seokjin pulls you into a darkened room – a library, you think – before shutting the door and whirling to face you.

“What are you talking about?” Seokjin demands.

For the second time tonight, you have nothing to say. Rarely have you seen Seokjin so heated. He glowers down at you, standing too close to be anything but purposeful. Your breath hitches, and you know Seokjin sees from the way his jaw tightens.

Still, if there’s anyoneyou can speak openly to, it would be him. Lifting your chin, you take a deep breath. “What Mrs. Astor said out there – she wasn’t wrong.”

“Which part. Specifically.”

The flatness to his tone sends a chill down your spine. “I have no connections. No money. No – oh my god,” you groan, rubbing your temple. “I sound like that woman in Pride and Prejudice.”

Seokjin’s face doesn’t move. “Charlotte. And technically, you made more money than me in your old job. You’re also friends with my family – I’d call that a connection.”

“I’m not in my old job. I work in a coffee shop and fail to finish anything I start. And your point about connections isn’t helping the way you think it is.”

“But her words didn’t mean anything,” Seokjin insists. “Even if – if – what she said was true, who cares about your money and connections?”

For a moment you see red, because he can be so infuriating. Sometimes, Seokjin is so willfully ignorant of the world around him.

“Your people care!” you blurt. “And that’s not all she was right about.”

“Again, you’ll have to be more specific.”

Exhaling, you force your gaze away. It’s too hard to look at Seokjin and confess your deepest, darkest fears. Heart beating wildly, you feel vaguely nauseated by what you have to say.

“If this relationship were real,” you mutter. “Seokjin… you have to be reasonable about how it would look.”

“I think I’m being very reasonable.”

“If we were dating, I’d bring nothing to this relationship,” you say, a fiery fist squeezing your heart. “Emilia’s family is right. When it comes to your world, your kind of people… I have zero worth.”

Tears burn your eyelids, and you frantically blink them away. In the next breath, Seokjin’s hands slide to either side of your jaw. His grip is gentle, thumb soothing your cheek as he tilts your face upward.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says quietly. “The only true thing that woman said was that you’re pretty. But even then, jealousy got the best of her. If she had been honest, she would’ve said you were the most beautiful woman in the room. In any room. In the entire universe. I haven’t done a full sweep to confirm, but I feel pretty confident.”

You scowl up at him. “That’s not funny, Seokjin.”

“I’m not being funny. I’m telling you the truth.”

“The most beautiful woman in the universe?” A hiccup. “Come on, Seokjin.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Fine,” you huff, aware he hasn’t let go. “I hear you. You think I’m beautiful. Great. That doesn’t change the fact that this fight is stupid. We’re not actually dating. We never were. My ego was hurt by the things that woman said, but I’ll get over it. When I leave here tomorrow, things will return to normal, and I’ll be fine.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. “And if I said I don’t want things to go back to normal?”

“Why would you say that?”

Seokjin stares at you a long moment, then roughly withdraws. Leaving you cold, he paces to the window and shoves a hand through his hair. He comes to a stop at the glass, lit by the moonlight.

Staring out at the lawn, he exhales. “Do you want to know the real reason I broke up with Emilia?”

You stare at his profile. When you don’t respond, Seokjin turns to face you. His expression is set, determined.

“No, actually,” he rebuffs. “It goes further than that. Do you want to know the real reason I told Bradley Wainright to back off? It wasn’t just that he was an ass – although he was – it was because I was hopelessly in love with you. Well.” Seokjin hesitates. “I don’t remember if I called it love yet. I just knew the thought of you dating him was physically painful.”

The room swims before your pulse speeds up. Seokjin still doesn’t move, continuing to watch from the windows.

“And then in college,” he says, his voice low. “I thought I’d accepted we wouldn’t happen. You started dating David in high school. I forced myself to date someone too, to entertain the thought of someone else. It didn’t work.”  

“But,” you blurt, unable to stop yourself. “You… were devastated when Lisa broke up with you.”

Seokjin shakes his head, walking forward. “And then, with Emilia…” He sighs. “I liked her. A lot. She was the first person who made me think maybe. Maybe this could work, maybe it could be enough. You seemed happy on your own, and I wanted to be happy, too. And then my birthday happened.”

Stopping before you, he breaks. His devastation is familiar – intimately so, since you’ve often felt the same. Each time he dated someone new. Each time you watched him be happy and felt selfish for worrying you’d never feel that way about anyone but him.

Shoving both hands in his pockets, Seokjin exhales. “I was drunk that night, but that’s no excuse. You had been pulling away, and I didn’t realize how much I missed you, how much I resented your absence until you showed up. And” – his breath hitches – “I almost kissed you.”

Barely a movement, you nod.

“I’m glad Emilia appeared,” he admits, looking down. “I’m glad we didn’t…”

A stone sinks in your stomach. “Oh.”

His head snaps up. “Not because I didn’t want to. No. I wanted to. God, I wanted–” He cuts himself off. “I’m glad that we didn’t because it would have ruined… this… forever. I did realize I was a fool, though. Thinking anyone could be happy being second place in my life. Because,” Seokjin admits, his voice hoarse, “they would always be second when it came to you.”

You blink up at him, dazed and questioning your grip on reality. The longer you stand there, the more Seokjin’s expression seems to waver.

“Y/N… I know that was a lot, and I –”

“I love you, too.”

For once, you’re the one to leave him speechless. Seokjin stares blankly, hand still in his pockets like he’s forgotten their use.

Taking a step forward, you place both hands on his chest. “Seokjin,” you whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” he also whispers.

“Shut up.” Your lips twitch. “I’m trying to say I’ve been in love with you since – well, I don’t really remember when it started.”

“Mm. Specific.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hitting his chest – damn. Solid. “It was when you were dating Emilia, though… that I knew. This wasn’t something I would get over. That was why I pulled away from you. I knew the way I felt wasn’t healthy, and I wanted… Seokjin, I always want the best for you. It’s just –”

Moving in one fluid movement, Seokjin steps closer. His hands cup your face, crushing your mouth to his. Everything falls apart, reforming around him, around you, around the two of you together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, pulling back long enough to angle your jaw and dive in again. His mouth slants over yours, hands sliding backwards to cup your neck. His mouth is soft, and then not. His touch careful, then not.

Somehow, your spine flattens to the bookcase. Seokjin continues to kiss you, one hand braced on a shelf and the other gripping your waist. Breaking away, he trails heat down your throat.

“Should we” – a groan – “I don’t know” – you gasp – “talk about this?”

Seokjin pauses, then nips your earlobe. “Yeah, let’s talk. What do you want from me, Y/N?”

Abruptly, you pull back and hit your head on the shelf. “Ow!” you huff. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

Seokjin gently cradles the back of your head. “Well, I told you what I want. You. Selfishly, I’d like for us to be exclusive. I want to call you my girlfriend, and not just for this week but honestly, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs.

Uncertainty mars his expression. “Unless… I misread things.”

“No,” you blurt, clutching him closer. “No – you didn’t misread anything. I was just… wondering if I’m dreaming.”

He smiles so wide it nearly breaks your heart. “If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming.”

“… is that a riff on the Notebook?”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

The moment washes over you, more surreal than anything experienced this week. Seokjin in a suit, hair falling over his forehead, telling you that he wants you and always has. Albeit in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes. Happiness swells in your heart.

“Mm,” you say, cleverly. You’re having a hard time looking away from his mouth. A fact Seokjin realizes, since his smirk widens.

“So.” Bending, he brushes a soft kiss to your jaw. “We’re agreed?”

“About?”

“That we’re exclusive.” He presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“Yes.”

His lips curve. “You’re my… girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Another kiss, this time to your forehead. “You love me.”

Silent, you nod.

His lips tug downward. “I’d like to hear it, please.”

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “I love you. And if you don’t kiss me now, I’m going to march back out there and ask Bradley Wain –”

Seokjin growls, capturing your lips and pressing you into the shelf. Curling your arms around his neck, you arch up against him. Seokjin’s hands find your waist, brushing the sequins and holding you tight. Your heart hammers, fully aware this is Seokjin touching you. Seokjin’s lipsroughly descending your throat.

“Ah,” you breathe, rolling against him.

Seokjin’s hands are everywhere – around your waist, up your back, and then cupping your ass. When he slots his knee between yours, you feel his whole length and shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking away long enough to press his forehead to yours. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?”

“Probably… about the same as I have?”

“No. Definitely more.”

You laugh, although this quickly fades at the look on his face. “What did you think about?”

Seokjin considers. “Everything,” he says, splaying one hand on your thigh. “Sometimes I just thought about kissing you. Other times…” His lips brush your neck. “The other night, when you asked me to zip up your dress… I thought about how easy it would be to slide my hands underneath. To slip the straps from your shoulders.”

Your breath hitches. “You should have.”

“I wanted to touch you so badly. To run my hands” – he illustrates in real time – “up your body and tease your pretty nipples.”

“Seokjin,” you gasp, core tightening.

“What are you wearing underneath this?”

“Guess.”

Darkly, he chuckles against your collarbone. Removing his hand from the bookshelf, Seokjin bends to grasp the edge of your dress. Slowly, he stands and drags the hem with. “I’ve been watching your ass in this dress all night,” he murmurs, stopping at your knee. “I don’t think you’re wearing anything beneath it at all.”

Tantalizing silence stretches as slowly – so slowly – he inches the fabric upward. Seokjin’s hand skims your thigh, circling to firmly grip your ass. Casually, he strokes two of his fingers dangerously close to where you’re dripping wet.

“Scandalous, Y/N.” A brow lift. “Why, anyone” – shifting his hand, his index finger brushes your center – “could have their way with you if you wanted.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you say, breathless.

His gaze becomes heady. “And if I ask?”

Not saying a word, you grip his wrist and guide his hand lower. Seokjin inhales when you show him how wet you are.

“God,” he groans, reaching to stroke your clit. A shudder wracks your body, and you clutch him tighter. “But first…”

Seokjin withdraws and you glance down, confused, before he drops to his knees. With both feet on the ground, your chest rises and falls against the bookshelf. Removing his tuxedo jacket, Seokjin tosses this to the nearest armchair. His bow tie follows, leaving him in only the button-down, vest, and trousers.

Easing your hem higher, Seokjin hands you the fabric. “Hold this,” he demands, and you obey without thought. “Lift.” He taps your thigh and again, you obey – gasping when he places your leg on his shoulder. The motion bares you fully, sparing no modesty. Your pussy spreads indecently, showing Seokjin how badly you want him. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching down to palm himself.

Slowly, you lean your weight onto the shelf. Seokjin continues to watch, and unfortunately, it’s the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life. You can physically feel yourself clenching, needing him inside you.

When Seokjin finally bends to press a kiss to your thigh, a whimper escapes you. His gaze flicks to yours. Still watching, Seokjin moves his mouth to where your legs part. Gaze locked on yours, he slowly sucks your clit.

“Ho-ly fuck,” you groan, back arching.

You feel him smirk, one hand rising to cup your backside and open you wider. From there, everything is a blur. Heat from his mouth, soft flicks of his tongue, and the sound of him moaning between your spread thighs. At some point, both of his hands find your ass, coaxing you lower so he can tilt you towards him. You lose track of time after that, chasing the heat of his mouth as you roll your hips.

Broken, you reach down to grip his hair with one hand. Seokjin growls, nose nudging your clit as he licks you open. Your body coils tighter and tighter, on the brink of coming when he tears away – mouth wet – to gasp, “Come for me, Y/N. Wanna feel it like this,” and you break.

Everything muffles, exploding outward in a riot of color. Seokjin holds you through it, easing you down from the momentous high. When you open your eyes, your legs trembling, you realize you’ve eased halfway down the bookshelf. Seokjin grins at you from the ground, his neck flushed.

“So,” he says, fumbling to close his vest. “Shall we return to the party?”

Your jaw drops.

Starting to laugh, Seokjin pushes himself upward to stand. In a fluid movement, he pulls you with and smooths your dress down. “If you think I’m letting anyone else see you like this,” he murmurs in your ear, “you’d be wrong.”

Pleasure spirals through you. “If you think we’re leaving this room without you coming, you’re also wrong.”

Seokjin considers. “How about a deal?”

“Sorry, you already offered to do my laundry.”

“An offer you turned down,” he points out. “But no – that’s not the type of deal I meant. I propose we move to my room and in return, I’ll make you come twice more tonight.”

“Three times.”

He pauses, then flashes a wicked grin. “Deal.”

“Wait – what?” you blurt, suddenly panicked. “Hang on, Seokjin, I didn’t mean it. I’m sensitive! I can’t handle that many orgasms in one night, I’ll explode or –”

Gripping your hand, he steers you towards the door. “We’ll see.”

Before you can protest, he has you in the hall. His suit jacket and tie are grabbed before the door shuts and thrown over one arm. Still holding your hand, Seokjin pokes his head around the corner to check the coast is clear. Once certain, he tugs you forward.

You giggle when he repeats this around the next corner. It’s so surreal because on the one hand, you know Seokjin. This side of him is familiar – the funny, charismatic best friend. At the same time, everything about it feels new. The ease of him touching you. The sheer relief in your chest at having nothing hidden. At knowing he wants you the same way you want him.

He proves this in the next hall, abruptly turning to press you against the wall. Seokjin kisses you hungrily, one palm cupping on your jaw. When he pulls back, his gaze is lidded.

“What was that for?” you breathe.

He smiles. “Do I need a reason?”

“Well, no.”

“Great.”

His lips find yours again, and you lose track for a while. Eventually, you force yourself to surface once more.

“We need to keep moving,” you tell him.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You forget that my family owns this place. And that everyone here already thinks we’re dating.”

“It’s your parents’ party, though! Shouldn’t we… I don’t know…”

He stops to consider. “Are you saying you want to return to the party and pretend nothing happened? That my dick isn’t hard, and I didn’t just have my face between your – actually,” Seokjin muses, seeming to change his mind. “I take it back. That could be fun.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss.

Grinning, he bends to kiss your forehead. “What can I say? I’m making up for lost time. Which – on that note, let’s head to my room. My parents won’t care. And if they do, I’ll take the blame.”

You mock-swoon. “My boyfriend, the hero.”

“See, I know you’re trying to insult me, but all I heard was you calling me your boyfriend. And that” – voice dropping, he takes your hand to press to his front – “really makes me want to forget where we are.”

Breath quickening, you tentatively cup his length through his trousers. Slowly, you stroke and feel his cock harden. You’ve always known Seokjin was large. One summer break during college, he convinced you to go skinny dipping in this very lake. Both of you closed your eyes and promised not to peek as you dove, again and again, from the floating dock.

You lied, though. You peeked. Even soft and in the dark, you could tell Seokjin was big, and this knowledge fueled fantasies for the rest of the summer. Now, you find yourself faced with this knowledge first-hand and feel some trepidation.

Watching your face, Seokjin sees the shift. “Hey,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There’s no pressure – we can go as fast or slow as you want. We have time.”

Hearing him say this melts all remaining reservations. Curling your fingers into his collar, you pull him closer. “I want you,” you say. “All of you. Tonight.”

Seokjin’s gaze burns. “Alright. But just because you say that now doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. We’ll go slow – okay?”

“Okay.”

Taking your hand once more, Seokjin moves down the hall. Several turns and two short staircases later, you find yourself in front of your bedroom. Seokjin must have taken you the back way to avoid the foyer.

Reaching the door, Seokjin pauses. He frowns at the knob.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

His gaze moves sideways. “Nothing is… wrong. I just find myself suddenly worrying about everything that could happen. I don’t want to… disappoint you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen, not having expected this to be going on in his head. Seokjin comes off as so confident but again, you remember this is your friend. This isn’t some guy you’re about to hop into bed with but the man you love – a man who loves you, and who knows this is more than a fling.

Sliding both hands to either side of his face, you force Seokjin to look at you. “You can’t disappoint me,” you reiterate. Seokjin grimaces, and you shake your head. “You can’t. Even if it takes time for us to figure this out, I still want you. And besides,” you mumble, face hot. “If what happened downstairs is anything to go by, I don’t think you need to worry.”

Seokjin surveys you seriously. “God,” he exhales, drawing you close to wrap both arms around you. “I missed you so much these past months.”

“I missed you, too.”

After a moment, Seokjin opens the door and pulls you inside. He tosses his jacket and tie on the sofa, stepping free of his loafers to stand in the middle. Seeing him do this, you bend to remove your own shoes, but Seokjin clears his throat.

“You… should leave those on.”

Your fingers pause on the straps, and slowly, you straighten. Seokjin walks towards you, coming to a stop mere inches away.

Lifting a finger, he slips it beneath your dress strap. “Turn around,” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir.”

When you obey, you feel Seokjin’s breath at your throat. “Now, Y/N,” he murmurs. “If you keep doing exactly what I tell you to do, I might forget the terms of our deal. Might make it four orgasms. Maybe five.”

A delicious shiver runs through you. Seokjin grasps the zipper and drags it down your body. When your back is exposed, he keeps the dress on and slips both hands inside.

“We haven’t talked about that,” he says. “What you like in bed. What I like in bed. Shouldn’t best friends know that?”

“I – I don’t know,” you gasp as his hands slide up your front to gently cup your breasts. Seokjin hums, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“So,” he continues. “Tell me, Y/N – what do you like?”

“Do you want an itemized list?”

“Yeah. Send it to my email. But for now,” he breathes. “Do you like me teasing your pretty nipples like this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Tugging gently, Seokjin’s other hand slides down your stomach to press you against him. “Based on what happened in the library, I assume you like oral?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes,” he says simply. His hand travels even lower, resting below your belly button. “I’ve thought a lot about what your lips would look like wrapped around my cock, Y/N.”

“So, it seems you like dirty talk – ah, fuck,” you groan when his finger slides between your legs.

“Tell me more things you like.”

Eyelashes fluttering, you lean your head to his shoulder. Seokjin applies gentle pressure, slowly massaging your clit.

“I like delayed orgasms more than multiple,” you admit.

His finger pauses. “Yeah,” Seokjin grunts and resumes. “That’s even hotter than what I was picturing. What else?”

“I like being told what to do.”

“Good.” His hands withdraw. “Take off your dress.”

Turning around, you slide the straps from your shoulders and let the dress drop. Seokjin watches, gaze dark and your nipples tighten. Dizzy with want, you press your thighs together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, shoving a hand through his hair. “This… you…”

He looks nearly broken, and you glance at your body. It looks the same to you but seems to be causing him physical harm. Before you can speak, Seokjin closes the distance between you and crushes your mouth to his.

“I should probably confess,” Seokjin says between kisses, “I totally peeked that time we went skinny-dipping.”

Rather than scold him, you start to laugh. Seokjin swallows each sound, gripping your ass to lick up your throat.

“I also peeked,” you confess. “I needed to know if you were lying about the condoms.”

Only a month prior, Seokjin had caused a minor scandal in the grocery store when a king-sized condom flew out of his wallet. You had ribbed – ha, pun intended – him about it for weeks, only to dream about it each night.

Smirking, Seokjin puts your hand on his cock. “I wasn’t.”

“I know that now, you – oh!”

Bending, Seokjin lifts you over one shoulder to walk towards the bed. He drops you with a thump, watching your tits bounce as he lowers one knee.

“As enjoyable as these were,” he says, removing your shoes. “They could be a hazard. What else?” he demands, covering you with his body.

He’s still mostly clothed, and you’ve never felt so desired in your life. Your breasts brush his shirt, core grazing his thigh as he gathers you to him.

“Tell me what you do when you come on your own.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Y/N.” His gaze drags down your body. “You’re naked beneath me. I was licking your cunt barely twenty minutes ago. Don’t tell me you’re too embarrassed to talk about masturbation.”

“No,” you breathe, but honestly, you stopped thinking around when he said cunt.

“Y/N…”

“It depends,” you say, lowering yourself to your elbows. “Sometimes I’m in a hurry and I use my vibrator. Sometimes I touch myself. Sometimes...” Heat climbs your throat. “I like using a dildo.”

Lowering a hand between your bodies, Seokjin parts your thighs. “Oh? Do tell.”

Your breath hitches when he slowly starts stroking. Up and down, up and down – lightly, he teases your swollen folds.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how you use your dildo.”

“I don’t know. How do most people use a dildo?”

Seokjin shrugs, continuing the same, maddening motion. “Some people bounce on it. Other people fuck themselves with it. Some like ass play or using two dildos at once. Me?” Voice dropping, he slips a finger inside you. “I think it’d be fun to have you rub against it, trying to get off without something inside you.”

Your eyes have gone glassy and somehow, you find yourself clutching his sleeves. “Yes. Holy fuck, yes.”

Lightly, he laughs and moves his finger inside you. “You’re so perfect, Y/N. Such a tight little pussy. I can’t wait to stretch you out.”

“You will,” you whimper, rocking your hips.

With one hand, you reach for his pants to palm him through the fabric. Seokjin has gotten harder, and you audibly swallow.

He groans. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I need more,” you whine, shifting beneath him.

Seokjin obediently adds another finger. His thumb rubs your clit, working his fingers deeper inside you. Panting, you lay back on the bed to watch. Seokjin seems fixated on your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Hold these,” he murmurs, pushing your knees to your chest. Grasping one in each hand, you spread yourself wider. With an appreciative sound, Seokjin withdraws his hand to undo his vest.

Your whimper dies when he tosses this and his shirt to the floor. Fully naked from the waist up, he lowers himself to his stomach and drags his mouth up your thigh.

“Fucking delicious,” he breathes, licking your cunt again.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, still holding your thighs.

He isn’t gentle this time, sucking your clit hard enough you see stars. With one orgasm down, you can take it. He slides two, and then three, fingers into your pussy, stroking your g-spot over and over.

The noises you make would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fuckinggood. Seokjin isn’t quiet either, grinding his dick to the mattress while eating you out. You watch his hips move, shoulder muscles bunching in a way that drives you wild. Sliding both hands under your ass, he pulls you closer and sucks hard again.

“Holy – fuck!” you gasp, the pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter.

Seokjin works you with his tongue, fucking you with his fingers and right as you’re about to come – he withdraws.

“No!” you sob, collapsing back on the mattress.

Seokjin sits up and grins, wiping his mouth with one hand. “What’s wrong?”

Scowling up at him, your chest heaves. “You know what’s wrong, asshole. I was about to come.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Guess I should try again.”

Your legs shake when he bends, immediately picking up where he left off. Sucking hard on your clit, he eases both fingers inside and strokes the same spot. Higher and higher he brings you, your hips undulating against him, until–

“Seokjin!” you curse when he pulls away.

“Ohh.” Seokjin nods, cupping the bulge in his pants. “I see what you mean. Yeah, I’m taking your feedback into consideration. Instead of four more orgasms let’s do one delayed orgasm.”

Immediately, your whole body tightens. Seokjin arches a brow at your peaked nipples, squeezing his cock once before he releases.

“I guess you like that,” he murmurs, lowering himself to the mattress. This time, Seokjin is gentle while licking your clit. “What” – he circles his tongue – “about” – a long, leisurely suck – “this?”

His index finger circles your entrance, maddeningly slow. Every so often, he dips his finger inside. By now, your orgasm is so close, your entire body is shaking. You think a light breeze might do it, but then Seokjin chuckles and spreads your pussy with both hands.

Locking gazes, he spits straight on your clit. Before you can move, he sucks hard and pushes two fingers inside.

You break. Helpless, you collapse against the onslaught of pleasure. Over and over, waves drag you under until slowly, you resurface to Seokjin’s touch. He presses a kiss to your thigh, easing your legs from their open position.

Kissing his way up your body, he captures your mouth with his. You taste yourself on his lips and savor the moment. Humming, you happily pull him against you and lock both legs around his waist.

“Y/N,” he mumbles.

You arch underneath him.

Seokjin swears. “Y/N,” he grunts, breaking away long enough to see you. “What do you want to do next?”

Blinking upward, you don’t understand the question. Then you realize what he’s asking and heat courses through you.

“I want you inside me,” you say, determined. Your hands reach for his pants. “Please.”

Seokjin nods, helping with the button as you yank down the zipper. Slipping your hands under his boxers, you shove these down to free his cock. Seokjin manages to get them all the way off, joining his pants on the floor.

His length bobs between you, and now, your mouth waters. You thought you understood Seokjin’s size before but there’s something entirely different about seeing him in this context. Your dildo at home will wither with shame – Seokjin is fully eight or nine inches, thick and veiny with a bead of cum at the top.

Awed, you encircle him with one hand. Seokjin shudders. “O-kay,” he huffs, gripping your wrist. “As fun as it would be to come in my pants, let’s save that for later – alright?”

Your eyes widen. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Seokjin leans over the nightstand, presumably for a condom, but you hold him in place. Frowning, he pulls back.

“Actually,” you say. “What if… you didn’t?”

“You don’t… want me to wear a condom?”

“I mean, you can if you want.” Breathless, you add, “But I have an IUD. And I got tested last month and am clean. I haven’t been with anyone else since. So…”

Seokjin pauses. “I was tested two months ago and was clean. I haven’t been with anyone since my break-up.”

You glance down, then up. “So… you don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to.”

“Y/N, are you sure?”

“Seokjin,” you groan, reaching between you. Gripping his length, you swipe the tip with your thumb. “Please. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Wrapping his hand around his cock, Seokjin strokes himself roughly. Leaning forward, he presses the tip to your cunt. Casually, he drags himself up and down to get his length wet.

Keeping your leg open with one palm, his other hand guides his cock to rut against you. You whimper at the motion, then moan when his cock catches at your entrance.

“Not yet,” Seokjin murmurs. “You’re being so good. Drenching my cock, and I’m not even inside you.”

“Seokjin,” you pant. Each time he brushes your clit, you nearly shatter. “Please. I need it.”

“Need what, Y/N?”

“Your cock.”

Still gripping his length, he slaps your clit. You make a noise so needy and sinful, you nearly come on the spot. Seokjin does it again, watching your whole body tremble – until he simply gives up, notching at your entrance and pushing inside.

You groan when he fills you, stretching your body. You don’t come, but nothing – nothing – has ever felt so good. Seokjin seems to feel the same way, arms trembling as he holds himself above you. Only the head of his cock is inside, but the stretch feels so good, you can barely take it.

“Seokjin,” you whimper, both arms around him.

He looks down at you, breathless and slowly pushes inside. Each roll of his hips works you open, your hips lifting to take him even deeper.

“You’re so… so big,” you groan.

“I know,” he murmurs, lowering his thumb to your clit. “You can take it. That’s nearly half.”

“Half?”

Lazily, he thrusts. “You’re doing so well.”

With soft praise and coaxing, Seokjin continues to fill you until he bottoms out. You moan when you feel his balls flush to your ass, practically split in two by his massive cock. Seokjin lowers himself to one elbow, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck.

“Look at me,” he demands, pulling out to the tip. You whimper, and he languidly thrusts in again. “That’s it. God, I could watch you take my cock for hours.”

You pant, gaze locked on his when he does it again. Stuffed full of his cock, you wonder how he lives without bragging about this to everyone. You’re going to have a hard time keeping your mouth shut after this. For various reasons.

Seeing the shift on your face, Seokjin thrusts harder. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you groan. “I was just – ah – thinking about sucking your cock.”

He pauses, then swears. “You can’t just say that, Y/N,” he complains, lifting himself to his elbows. Seokjin thrusts into you harder, deeper. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. It’s probably embarrassing how often I’ve thought about you spread out beneath me.”

“I thought about it, too. I – I couldn’t help it.”

“Neither could I,” he confesses, moving faster. “I tried to stop. Tried to tell myself it was wrong. And god, was I wrong,” he groans, licking a strip up your neck. “You’re even sweeter than I imagined, Y/N. I need to fuck you everywhere in this house.”

A giggle escapes, turning into a moan when he does something with his hips. “That would take a long time,” you pant, locking both ankles over his ass. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I am, though. My mind is going to crazy places, Y/N.” Shifting his hips, he hits a deeper angle. “I want to keep you in this bedroom for weeks. I want to come inside you, lick your pussy clean, then come in you again. I want to fuck you against the window and make Bradley watch.”

“Fuck,” you choke out.

“Do you like that,” he pants. “Do you like hearing how badly I want you?”

“Yes,” you moan, lifting your hips to match every thrust. “I like it. What else did you think about?”

“I want you to ride me. I want to fuck you against a wall. I want to have you half out of your dress, bouncing on my cock where people could hear.” His gaze darkens. “I want to take you from behind. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week. Bending you over, licking that pussy and then pushing inside.”

His last words sound gutted, Seokjin’s gaze heavy with lust. Reaching between you, you rub your clit and let out a whine.

“Do it,” you demand. “Flip me over. I want you to fuck me like that.”

Seokjin pauses, then abruptly pulls out. Left empty, you whimper, but he swiftly turns you around to lay on your stomach. Yanking your hips in the air, he bends forward and brushes a kiss to your neck.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I love you.”

You try not to squirm, but it’s hard with him positioned behind you like this. Pussy bared to his gaze, Seokjin runs his middle finger up and down your wet cunt.

“Ah,” he groans, sinking his finger inside. After his cock, it barely feels like a stretch. Seokjin chuckles, withdraws and slaps you on the ass.

You moan, melting a little. “Again. Please.”

“You like that, hm?” Smacking your ass again, he sinks two fingers inside you. “I can’t believe how perfect you are, Y/N. All for me.”

“All for you,” you agree.

Unable to hold back any longer, Seokjin positions his cock and thrusts inside. You groan, going from empty to full in a matter of seconds. Turning your face on the pillow, you watch him as he fills you. Seokjin withdraws, then pushes back in with agonizing slowness.

Pressed into the mattress this way, his cock is so deep, you can feel yourself trembling. It won’t take long to come in this position – a fact Seokjin seems to realize. Clutching the pillow, you watch him move in and out, fucking you slowly and building momentum.

He keeps your knees spread, his grip on you tight while easing you back on his cock. You bite down on the pillow when his pace increases, slamming again and again into your needy pussy. When you tighten around him, Seokjin grunts.

“Don’t touch yourself yet,” he pants, going harder. “How badly do you want to come, Y/N?”

“So, so bad,” you say with a hiccup.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there. Just relax and let me do all the work. You’re taking my cock so nicely – such a sweet, tight pussy. Going to feel so fucking good when I fill you up with my cum.”

You cry out, ass shaking as Seokjin pounds into you deeper. Lifting your hips, he spreads you wide and slams into your g-spot. Everything narrows to the feeling of his cock inside you. You’re glad of the position because you don’t need to think about holding yourself up on your own.

Reaching around you, Seokjin brushes your clit and that’s it. Game over. Your orgasm overtakes you, body collapsing with endless waves of bliss. Vision blurring, you push back on his cock when you feel him go deeper.

Gasping your name, Seokjin comes as well. His cum fills you in pulses while he slowly thrusts and comes down from his high. You feel some of his cum drip from your body, and when he pulls out, you squeeze to send another gush.

Seokjin says something not repeatable in good company. “Fu-ck,” he groans, dragging his fingers through the mess. “How did we spend so long not doing this?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, collapsing onto your side.

Seokjin drops beside you, looping his arm over your waist to drag you against him. He kisses you deeply, thumb stroking your hip.

When you surface, you wince. “These sheets are definitely ruined.”

“There are some in the wardrobe,” Seokjin says lazily. “Or we can move to one of the many, many open rooms on this floor.”

Your smile grows. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me out for that. I very obviously wanted to sleep with you.”

His eyes go wide. “Excuse me? You made me take the couch!”

“You put yourself on the couch.”

Seokjin sputters, clearly incensed as your grin widens. Rolling from his grip, you head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you reemerge, Seokjin is busy stripping the bed.

“Kind of pointless, if you ask me,” he grumbles. “We’re definitely doing that again before sunrise.”

Abruptly, your core tightens. “It’s not fair,” you complain, collapsing once the fitted sheet is on. “You know way more about what turns me on than I know about you.”

Seokjin throws the next sheet over your naked body and joins you beneath it. He pulls you against him, unable to let go. “I think I said I wanted to fuck you and have Bradley watch. Was that not intimate enough for you?”

You shiver when Seokjin kisses your neck. “Yeah, yeah – that was good,” you say, placing one hand on his chest. “But next time, I want to start with a blow job.”

Against your thigh, Seokjin immediately hardens. Cracking up, you fall back on the bed and Seokjin follows, nipping your collarbone. Eventually you go still, gazing at him beneath the rosy hue of the bed sheet.

Seokjin’s gaze traces your face. “I just want you to know,” he murmurs. “I’m all in. This is… nothing will change the way I feel about you. Ever. This is it for me.”

Your heart swells, overflowing as you bury your face in his chest. “Same,” your whisper, voice cracking slightly. “I love you, Seokjin.”

And suddenly, you realize there are no more gaps between you and what you want. All the crevices are filled in and your world feels fully whole.

After all, Seokjin is it for you, too. Time may be relative, but the future before you feels long.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR READING! It is so good to be back here, posting again. Thank you to everyone who waited for me, and WOOHOO BTS IS ALMOST BACK!

Second Author's Note: I really, really wanted L2H!Jungkook to make a cameo at one of these parties but unfortunately, L2H!Seokjin is happily married to Yoongi, so it just wouldn't have made sense. Know that in a non-canon universe, CC!Seokjin and L2H!Jungkook are friends LOL

[kpopfanfictrash]

Clichés and Canapés (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

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.”

“See?” Triumphant, Seohyun locks arms. “It’s weird, Seokjin.”

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.

“Y/N! Seokjin!” Jaesuk calls up. “We’re heading out!”

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.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part 2, here.

[wildchildtale]

𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 | 𝓚𝓢𝓙 (𝐼𝒱)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; smut; obsession; power imbalance; socioeconomic gap; toxic seokjin; hurt/comfort; bully seokjin; dark romance; billionaire au

Summary: They call him Saint. He's anything but. A monster hidden behind charm, wealth, and a perfect reputation. Seokjin Saint Kim is ruthless, obsessive, and far more cruel than anyone realises. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is...you. Too bad he's not willing to let that stop him.

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, physical violence, family trauma, ableist language, manipulation, obsession, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, explicit, coercion, threats, blood/injury, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use, smoking

Chapter-specific warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

Taglist: @writtenbyjm @withmuchluv-tannie @iheartwonnieee @gaslysainz @lachimolala-is-love-and-life @ithinkthereforeidont @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe @tahialuvss @jinkoo94 @punchbug9-blog @bebabido @evtrack @blueberriesm @jungkookgoodlookin @devilzliaison @kittenwithpearls @somewhereinmymemorysblog @mysteris-things

a/n: sigh… this was one hell of a chapter to write. 🥲 especially Seokjin’s past. i kinda teared up a little while writing it. but hey, the cat’s finally out of the bag, and from here on out (hopefully) things only get better… for a little while. 😭 HOWEVER, NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT, so everybody brace yourselves up! 🦅 and, as always, please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter! they genuinely make my day and keep me motivated to write. ♡

You met Seokjin at the airport. He wore a cashmere sweater, tailored slacks, and his usual don’t-fuck-with-me scowl. The freezing New York wind had painted his cheeks and the tips of his ears a dark shade of pink and you were again struck by how devastatingly beautiful he was.

Damn him.

Once he saw you, Seokjin didn’t bother with a greeting. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, and started walking without a word. You rushed after him, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.

Yes, you were late but it wasn’t exactly easy packing up your entire life in less than two hours.

He hadn’t given you nearly enough time to cram everything you owned into boxes, move into the apartment you’d yet to even see, and also drill Bella on everything—her medicines, meals, emergency contacts—making her promise she’d call you if anything—anything—felt off.

You’d also told Bella the truth about taking the job.

Or at least…part of it.

Her first reaction had been to press the back of her hand against your forehead.

When you only stared at her, she’d frown.

“Are you sick? Did you hit your head recently?”

You couldn’t even blame her. Working for Seokjin sounded about as sensible as volunteering to wrestle a bear.

Bella had begged you to quit.

She’d even offered to defer university for another year if it meant easing the financial burden.

You’d shut that conversation down immediately.

“You know it’s Saint, right?” she’d asked, completely flabbergasted. “He’s bad news in big bold capital letters. If anyone knows that, it’s you.”

She didn’t even know the whole story. No one did. You’d never told your family that Seokjin was the reason you left Blackwood.

Your parents would’ve blamed themselves. All three of them would’ve packed their bags and followed you without a second thought. You couldn’t let them throw away the life they’d built because of you.

So you lied. You’d spun some story about New York offering better opportunities. Ofcourse, your parents had refused at first.

You had to become the difficult daughter, argue, slam doors, say things you regretted the second they left your mouth…

“I know better this time,” you’d assured Bella. “I’m not letting him get to me again.”

She studied you for a minute before letting out a humourless laugh. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

You had a puzzled expression on your face.

She shook her head, exasperated. “I’ve seen the way you used to look at him. You liked him.”

“Then why did you kiss him?”

Bella rolled her eyes.“Because I was fifteen and he was gorgeous?”

He still is. You thought bitterly.

Then, her face softened a bit, “And I didn’t know back then that you liked him. It was one kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”

It had meant everything to me.

For one ugly second, resentment curled in your chest before you shoved it back where it belonged. Bella had done nothing wrong.

Instead, you gave her a small nod and a smile. “I know, you little devil.”

Before you left, she’d made you promise to tell your mother that she was pregnant. The two of you had dissolved into hysterics imagining your poor mother’s reaction.

Seokjin snatches the duffel bag off your shoulder without so much as a warning, never once breaking stride. It wasn't some grand act of chivalry. The bag had been slowing you down, and that inconvenienced him. He carried nothing more than a slim leather laptop bag himself.

JFK was absolute chaos this time of year. People shoved past one another, announcements echoed overhead, children crying around in the distance.

None of it bothered you. You were finally going home. In a few hours, you’d finally be wrapped in your mother’s arms again after what felt like a lifetime apart. God, you’d missed her.

The moment you stepped into the cabin, your mouth fell open. You’d never flown business class before let alone one that looked like this.

You slid into the seat beside Seokjin, still taking everything in while he had already opened his laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard furiously.

You watched him for a moment before breaking the silence. “I think we need to get a few things straight. You’re not my boyfriend or lover.”

Seokjin didn’t look up. He simply raised one dark brow, fingers still moving over the keyboard.

You continued, “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped threatening every man who talks to me. It’s none of your business, really.”

“My employees screwing around in my office is very much my fucking business and Ethan is a fucking douchebag. So, I kind of did you a favour.”

Favour? My ass. You scoffed.

Seokjin stopped typing and slowly turned his head towards you, his voice dropping an octave lower, “Besides I have no interest in being your boyfriend, Help.”

His gaze settled on yours before drifting lower for a brief second.

You gulped.

“What I want,” his tone darkened, sending chills down your arms, “is to bend you over the table and fuck you hard and fast till that snappy little mouth no longer can talk back.”

He wasn’t even looking at your eyes anymore. His attention remained shamelessly fixed on your lips, and suddenly the cabin felt too warm.

“And I know you want that too,” he leaned in until his hot breath ghosted across your cheek.

“Don’t you?” He taunted, lifting his eyes to yours, and the look in them made you gasp. Dark, hooded, and heavy with want.

Your chest heaved up and down in shallow breaths. You suddenly became hyper-aware of everything all at once. The fabric clinging to your skin, the loose strands of hair brushing the back of your neck, the warmth of him invading your space. And above all, that intoxicating scent of him, seeping into every breath you took.

You wanted to tell him off, to wipe that infuriating look off his face, but deep down you knew that when push came to shove, your resolve wasn’t nearly as unshakable as you wanted it to be.

“No,” you lied, willing your voice not to shake. “I don’t. You’re wrong.”

Seokjin tsked softly. He reached over and brushed his thumb against your mouth, easing your bottom lip free from where you’d been unconsciously biting it.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

His thumb lingered against your lip, tracing it with maddeningly slow deliberate strokes. He looked like he would devour you any moment now, his pupils blown wide, entirely swallowing the brown of his irises.

His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, the sensation racing down your spine. Heat crept up your neck as your lips parted on an involuntary breath.

He smirked then— knowing and arrogant. But finally withdrew his hand.

You didn’t need a mirror to know your face had turned bright red. Embarrassment settled heavy in your chest as you silently cursed yourself for handing him exactly what he wanted—proof that he affected you.

Desperate to occupy yourself, you reached for the water bottle beside you, taking a long sip in hopes of cooling the heat that refused to leave your face.

Then a thought struck you. You turned to him.

“Will Nate be there?” you asked worriedly. “Is he still in Blackwood?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his face hardening in that familiar way it always did when something displeased him. He said nothing, eyes fixed ahead as if he was debating whether to answer at all.

“Nate isn’t in Blackwood right now,” he replied eventually, his voice flat. “He’s in LA. He won’t be coming by during our visit.”

You let out a quiet sigh, relieved that you wouldn’t have to see him after everything that had happened.

“What about the others?” you found yourself asking.

“Nate was in New York until a few weeks ago. Then I took over. When we switch back, I’ll head back to L.A. Yoongi’s in Chicago. Jimin’s in London.”

“You guys switch often?”

He shrugged. “Twice a year.”

“That sounds…exhausting” You scrunched your nose. “And needlessly complicated.”

“I’ll make sure to pass your professional assessment along to the board,” he replied dryly. “I’m sure they’ll value the opinion of someone who serves drinks for a living.”

You let out a slow breath and looked away.

There it was.

He’s back to being an insufferable asshole.

“We don’t usually move around this much,” he gritted out.

You didn’t look at him.

“We don’t usually stay away this long,” Seokjin continued, the words sounding forced. “A week, maybe two. This time was… different.”

It was his version of an apology—or whatever he was capable of giving.

But it wasn’t enough. So you said nothing. You knew Seokjin wasn’t kind, you’d grown used to his rudeness and barbed remarks.

Seokjin was…Abrasive. Rude. Cruel, more often than not.

But that knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. After all, acceptance was a far cry from immunity.

A few moments of silence passed before Seokjin spoke again.

“How long have you been supporting your sister?” His eyes skimmed over you. His voice lacked its usual edge, regret softening the words before they reached you. You knew he was trying, so you answered.

“Long enough,” you murmured.

Silence settled between you once more.

You leaned further into your seat and closed your eyes, trying to relax.

You could feel Seokjin’s eyes on you, but he didn’t say anything and neither did you.

You did not want to sleep with your bully.

But then why else did you sometimes dream about him? Why else did you find yourself wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin? What it would be like to stop fighting the magnetic pull that had always existed between you.

You told yourself it was only a physical thing. You weren’t unfamiliar with the way your body reacted whenever Seokjin was around—the strange butterflies in your stomach, the way your heart seemed to trip over itself whenever he looked at you for too long.

But you also knew yourself.

You had never been the kind of person who could separate the physical from everything else. The idea of something casual made sense in theory, but it had never been something you could actually see yourself doing. Not that you had any real experience with it to begin with, but somehow, you already knew it wasn’t something you were capable of.

And with Seokjin? It wasn’t even a possibility.

Getting involved with him—of all people—would be the biggest act of self-sabotage you could possibly commit.

Seokjin had known for a long, long time that he was completely fucked up.

90 fucking minutes.

He had been staring at you for the last hour and a half like a fucking maniac. He couldn’t help it when you were sleeping right beside him, so defenceless and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside his head.

He lets his eyes wander down to the softness of your sweet plump lips, the vulnerable line of your neck, and the enticing swell of your tits.

Your lips begged him to take you. Your body too.

His heart skipped a beat, and he stopped breathing for a moment. The familiar burn started at the back of his neck, crawling upward until his head felt heavy with it. He could feel heat rush through his cock, every inch of his skin begging to feel you against him.

This won’t do.

He needed to have you. Nothing else would satiate the burning need inside him. He didn’t want to fuck you; he wanted to consume you — filthy and messy, he wanted to get you dirty.

You really had driven him to madness.

He clenched his fist across the seat, forcing himself to look away.

He needed to get out of here.

Now.

But the flight wouldn’t land for another hour.

So he tried to bury himself in the biotech merger documents in front of him, but then he noticed you shivering, goosebumps rising along the delicate skin of your neck and arms. The hard, little points of your nipples jutting through your thin shirt.

Seokjin’s cock gave a pathetic little twitch again and he grounded his teeth together to keep himself from touching you.

He tore his gaze away from you and back to the screen, trying to continue working.

But he kept stealing glances.

Eventually, he gave in and pulled the blanket over your body.

What the fuck, Seokjin?

This was bending the rules. The rules that had kept everything simple. The rules he had never broken for anyone.

He never slept with the same woman twice. Never went on dates. No pillow talk or cuddling.

And most of all, he never let himself want more.

The flight landed at sunset, and the moment Seokjin stepped out of the airport, the familiar California air filled his lungs.

A new beginning. Or maybe the beginning of the end.

And this time, he had brought the girl he’d once driven away from this place with him.

His father’s limo waited outside the terminal. You followed behind him, your eyes darting everywhere, taking in every familiar sight you hadn’t seen in years.

Seokjin knew you had returned once after your father’s death, but he’d already been away in Massachusetts then. That brief visit was the only time you’d stepped foot in Blackwood since leaving.

You looked out the window, pretending he wasn’t sitting right beside you.

This weekend was important for him.

You didn’t mention the blanket, neither did he. He especially didn’t mention how his own fucking brain had nearly detonated when he caught himself doing it.

When the limo finally pulled up around the mansion, you immediately jumped out of it.

“I’ll go see my mama,” you told him.

“Be ready by eight sharp. We have somewhere to be.”

You paused. “Tomorrow?”

“Tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an urgent meeting with my lawyer. I need you there to take notes.”

It was a convenient excuse. He couldn’t have cared less about the notes. He just needed you in the room.

There were things he intended to show you. Things you needed to know before he could get you to do the job he’d actually hired you for.

“Okay,” You replied and headed towards the servant quarters.

Seokjin stayed outside the mansion, taking it in.

The place where it all started.

The place where it would end.

He could feel it deep in his bones. His blood ran hot at the images flashing through his mind—this house burning, everything his father and Katherine had loved reduced to ash.

From the corner of his eye, he saw you launching yourself into your mother’s arms the moment she opened the door. The two of you were a mess of tears and laughter, your giggles carrying across the courtyard.

When Seokjin stepped through the front doors of the mansion, no one greeted him.

Seokjin couldn’t remember a time when he’d had someone waiting for him, let alone someone genuinely happy to see him.

The thought made him laugh.

His stepmother wasn’t home. She was probably halfway drunk on a yacht somewhere off Capri, and thank fuck for that.

“Dad?”

No one responded.

He called out anyway, a manic glint flashing in his eyes despite the fact that he already knew there would be no answer.

His father had been trapped in that room for months now—unable to speak, unable to move, unable to do anything but exist.

Just like his mother had been, the few days before she died.

Victor Rothschild was dead.

Sebastian Beaumont Kim was halfway there.

And Katherine Rothschild Kim would be left with nothing—penniless, abandoned, with no one left to shield her from the world she’d spent a lifetime looking down on.

It was long overdue.

Karma, at long last, for the murder of Vivienne Saint Kim.

Seokjin made his way upstairs, the heavy silence of the mansion following him until he reached his father’s bedroom. Dark wood paneling, drawn curtains, the stale scent of medicines in the air.

His father laid motionless on the bed, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sign he was still alive. His mind remained lucid, trapped inside a body that could no longer obey him. He couldn’t move his limbs. On good days, he could barely lift a finger.

He’d once called Seokjin’s mother a burden. Now, lying helpless in bed, he had become one himself.

What goes around comes around.

“Hey, Dad.”

He called out again, making sure the old man was awake enough to hear what came next.

Leaning against the doorframe, Seokjin took his time looking at him.

The man who had ruined his life looked like a cheap imitation of the monster he used to be.

Bald. Waxy. His skin had lost all colour, stretched thin enough for blue veins to snake beneath it. The body that had once towered over everyone had withered into something pitiful, barely able to move beneath the blankets.

Seokjin looked nothing like him. He’d inherited his mother’s face instead.

It was the one thing they had never been able to beat out of him. He had his mother’s sharp cheekbones. Her dark eyes. Her mouth.

Every feature he possessed was a reminder of the woman his father and Katherine had despised.

Which, Seokjin supposed, explained why Katherine had hated his guts so much.

“Don’t lie, son. Katherine and Victor would never do such a thing,” he’d scolded after Seokjin showed him the bruises. The cuts and the purple fingerprints blooming across his skin.

“She locks me in there with him,” little Seokjin had argued for what felt like the millionth time, his eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying.

“Katherine says you do this to yourself. Is this about attention, Saint? Is that what you want?”

He did not want attention.

What he wanted…was his mother.

And years later, when he finally understood what his father had done to her, what he wanted changed.

He wanted a dead fucking father.

When Seokjin was little, his world had been no bigger than his mother.

They spent entire afternoons in the gardens together, dirt beneath their fingernails as she taught him the names of flowers he never remembered. They watched cartoons together, read books, and she told him stories until he fell asleep.

His father was hardly ever around, always away on another business trip, and Seokjin couldn’t have been happier.

Even as a child, he knew to keep his distance from his father.

There had always been something about him that made Seokjin instinctively shrink. The permanent scowl. The hard lines carved into his face. The coldness in his eyes. The way the entire house seemed to hold its breath whenever he walked through it.

His mother was the exact opposite.

Her laughter filled rooms. Her hands were always warm, her eyes soft and full of love. Seokjin genuinely believed nothing bad could ever happen as long as she was around.

He still remembered the day he came home from school to find the house in complete disarray.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in a hospital room.

His mother lay unmoving on the bed, tubes disappearing into her body, an oxygen mask covering her face.

“Mommy?”

She didn’t answer.

He quietly took her hand—the only one without needles in it—and stayed beside her until he fell asleep.

He woke to his father pulling him away.

Seokjin cried, kicked and screamed the entire way home.

A few days later, his mother was brought back to the mansion.

They moved her into the farthest room at the end of the east wing. It barely resembled a bedroom anymore. To Seokjin, it looked more like a miniature hospital.

She couldn’t speak anymore. She could barely move. Most days, she’d only blink in response whenever he rambled on about school or the flowers beginning to bloom outside her window.

It wasn’t enough but it was okay, atleast, she was here.

Whenever nightmares woke him—which was often—he’d quietly slip out of bed and sneak into her room. He’d take her free hand and rest it against his head before curling up beside her. She never held him back, never whispered sweet words to him like she used to.

Even so, her presence and the rhythm of her breathing soothed him enough to fall back asleep.

One afternoon, after spending nearly an hour making her a greeting card with clumsy little drawings of flowers she loved, Seokjin hurried towards her room, eager to show it to her. Just as he reached the door, he heard voices from inside.

It was his father and his mother’s best friend, Katherine.

“Are you sure your brother will keep his mouth shut?” Sebastian’s deep voice carried through the library door. “I can’t afford anyone finding out. One whisper is enough to destroy everything I’ve built.

“He will,” Katherine replied. “Trust me, honey, I made sure of it.”

“I’m not a bad man, Katherine.” his father exhaled heavily. “I never thought it’d come to this. I just… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carrying this burden.”

It had been only weeks since Seokjin’s mother had returned from the hospital. He was five years old. His sixth birthday was only days away—far too young to understand what any of it meant.

So he listened.

He collected every word spoken through that library door, storing them away until, years later, the pieces finally fit together.

By nine, he could recite that conversation word for word.

By eleven…He finally understood it.

“God knows how she survived it.” Katherine snarled. “My brother gave thorough instructions.”

“He’s incompetent, I told you,” Victor gritted out.

“Baby.” Katherine’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “What’s done is done. We have to end this. Look at her. She’s no better than a garden vegetable now, we’d be doing her a favour.”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t start growing a conscience now.” Her voice hardened. “What’s the difference now? You’re only finishing what should’ve happened weeks ago.”

Silence, and then..

“…What about Saint? What about my son?”

“What about him? He’s five.” She laughed softly. “I’ll raise him. He won’t even remember her.”

He wasn’t supposed to be there the day he first saw Victor Rothschild in his house.

He’d come home sick from school, feverish and lightheaded, the housekeeper had to pick him up before lunch.

He dropped his backpack onto the floor of his bedroom, but instead of crawling into bed, he wandered towards his mother’s room.

All he wanted was to curl up beside his mom. He always did when he fell sick.

The man didn’t notice him. He was just stepping out of his mother’s room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Seokjin frowned, ready to ask if he was the new nurse.

“You should be in bed, Saint,” the housekeeper called from the bottom of the stairs. “You have a fever. Don’t bother your mother. You don’t want to make her sick.”

So he didn’t.

He never got to curl up beside her after that afternoon.

Barely twenty minutes later, her actual nurse—a woman, not the man Seokjin had seen leaving the room—came running into the hallway, shouting for an ambulance.

His mother’s respirator had been clogged.

“You hanging in there?” Seokjin smiled at his father.

His eyes blinked, but he said nothing. Not because he didn’t have anything to say. Because he couldn’t.

Seokjin, however, had plenty.

Enough words to haunt him. Enough words that, if he was lucky, might be the last thing his father ever heard.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Seokjin had spent years imagining this moment.

“Sorry for dropping in unannounced. I needed to see Eli Parker about your will.”

As far as his father knew, they were still on good terms. The last time they’d spoken, Seokjin had played his part perfectly—asked about his business, his health, pretended to care.

But that was over.

This was showtime. Revenge time.

“So…” Seokjin dragged a chair to sit across from him. “Am I the primary beneficiary?”

A pause. “Or did Katherine get everything?”

There were a lot of fucking millions at stake.

“You know, I always wondered how much you left her.” He tilted his head, amused. “You always kept your cards close to your chest. Used money the way other people used weapons.”

He hummed. “I bet you made her sign one of those draconian prenups before you even proposed.”

His father’s only response was a harsh breath through his nose.

“No?” Seokjin raised a brow. “Maybe you surprised me. Maybe you actually did the right thing by her. From your perspective, at least.”

He leaned closer. “Doesn’t really look that way from mine.”

“Considering you, Katherine and Victor killed my mother, I think I’m allowed to have a different opinion.” His lower lip jutted out mockingly.

Sebastian’s eyes widened, darting helplessly towards the hallway. It didn’t matter.

“I saw Victor leaving Mom’s room that day.”

Panic flashed across his father’s face. His fingers twitched uselessly against the sheets, his breathing turning ragged as understanding finally settled in.

“Speaking of Victor…” He absentmindedly smoothed the wrinkles from the bedsheet. “I was genuinely happy when they found him dead.” His smile widened. “Some people make the world lighter just by leaving it.”

The tubes attached to his father rattled, his entire body trembling with the effort of trying to move, trying to speak, trying to do something.

Seokjin’s voice remained conversational.

“It’s too late to change the will, Dad. Too late to leave everything to Katherine.” He gave a small shrug. “The doctors have already started questioning your competency. Funny how that works. No one’s interested in what you have to say anymore.”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared.

“I’m going to dismantle everything you’ve built.” Seokjin chuckled under his breath. “Piece by piece. I’ll sell every company, every investment, every last fucking asset.”

He held his father’s gaze.

“When I’m done, there won’t be a trace of your name left. Your legacy dies with you.”

He looked around the room before his eyes settled on the ceiling.

“And this house…The one you loved more than your wife. More than your son.”

His gaze returned to his father.

“I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Sebastian’s entire body convulsed. Seokjin watched him struggle with detached fascination.

“Katherine won’t have Victor anymore.” His voice softened, though there was nothing gentle about. “And she won’t have you either.”

A beat passed and then, “There will be no one to save her”

He bent down until his lips were only inches from his father’s ear.

“Goodbye, Dad.”

His fingers tightened around the old man’s arm.

“I hated you every single day you stayed alive.”

Another squeeze.

“And when you’re dead…” He said through clenched teeth. “I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of you.”

He straightened, taking one last look at the terror trapped behind his father’s eyes.

His face was so strained he was blue. This was how Seokjin wanted to remember him.

Powerless. Weak. Ruined.

Seokjin’s fingers trailed absentmindedly over the shelves of the long-forgotten library, the once-grand room now abandoned in dust. It reminded him how this had once been his mother’s favourite place in the house.

He’d spent countless afternoons here with her, listening as she read to him or curled up beside her with a book far too difficult for him to understand.

After the accident left her quadriplegic, he started bringing those same books to her room. He’d stumble through Pride and Prejudice and The Bell Jar, mispronouncing half the words and barely understanding the rest.

It didn’t matter. Every now and then, he’d catch the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. And that was worth the effort.

After his mother died, the library became the place where Victor and Katherine took turns beating him. Katherine would lock the door behind while Victor hit him until the rings on his fingers split the skin across Seokjin’s chest. Or when Victor whipped him until angry welts covered his leg only for Katherine to cover them up with another lie when anyone asked.

He should’ve hated this room. God knew he had enough reasons to.

But he never could.

Because it was also the room that reminded him the most of his mother.

Sometimes, when the afternoon sun poured through the windows just right, he could almost picture her sitting in her favourite armchair again.

It still carried the faint scent of her perfume, as though the books had permanently absorbed it. Sometimes, if he stood there long enough, he could almost fool himself into believing she was still sitting in her favourite armchair, waiting for him to come home from school so he could tell her all about his day.

Seokjin planted his palm against the wooden table, his entire body suddenly beginning to tremble. He felt the needles prick at the back of his throat. He knew what it meant.

It was coming.

Whether it was another episode creeping in or months of insomnia finally catching up to him, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t afford to lose control—not now. He still needed your help with the will. And he needed to tell Nate about you before he heard it from his dad.

The sharp buzz of his phone in his pocket finally snapped him out of it. “What?” he answered sharply.

“Fuck you, asshole,” came the voice on the other end. “You sent me Ava?”

“Funny way of saying thank you. I figured you two were fucking.”

Nate barked out a laugh. “We were. Still am, technically.” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered. “She just wasn’t too happy walking in on me balls-deep in someone else on your office desk.”

Seokjin clenched his teeth. Every time Nate opened his mouth, he felt a little less guilty about what he was about to do.

You deserved better than a shitty guy like Nate.

Then again…You’d deserved better than Yoongi. Better than him. Men like them all came from the same rotten stock.

Seokjin rubbed a hand over his face, irritation settling deep between his brows.

“You offered her a non-standard contract without running it by me. What the hell was going through your head, shithead?”

“Not much,” Nate laughed. “Though I can tell you exactly what was going on under my pants when I signed it.”

Even over the phone, Seokjin could hear the smug grin stretching across his face.

He only shook his head.

“So,” Nate continued, “who’s your PA in New York? Don’t tell me you hired some old, wrinkly grandma.” He snorted.

“My new PA is Help.”

Seokjin’s voice stayed even, but the muscle beneath his eye twitched as he waited for the reaction.

Three seconds.

Four.

Nothing.

Nate had already hung up.

Motherfucker.

Your nap was interrupted by a glowering Seokjin standing in your doorway, staring you down.

“It’s time.”

His voice was clipped, carrying more edge than usual.

You weren’t surprised he hadn’t knocked. Seokjin had never been one to respect boundaries. He’d always barged into your space, your life, as though both belonged to him.

Still groggy, you pushed yourself upright and padded towards the door. He didn’t move an inch. Just stood there, watching you with that predatory look that always made your stomach knot.

You squared your shoulders and tip your chin to look at him. “Are you going to move?”

Instead, he stepped closer.

His gaze drifted over you mockingly, as if asking you to fight back. A heavy, brooding tension rolled off him in waves that made your skin prickle. You stayed locked in your place unable to move all of a sudden.

“Remember Eli Parker?”, he asked.

Of course you did.

Eli Parker was Nate’s father. One of Los Angeles’ most sought-after divorce lawyers and the Kim family’s legal counsel. You’d met him a handful of times while dating Nate. He’d always been warm, painfully sweet to you.

Seokjin caught it immediately.

“Good,” he said. “Because that’s where we’re going.”

Sitting in the back of the limo, separated from the driver by the privacy screen, you finally found the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at you ever since Seokjin showed up at your apartment.

“Are you getting a divorce?”

Seokjin muses, his gaze never leaving the window. “You could say that.”

Your heart lurched. He’s married?

“W-why?”

The slight tremor in your voice made you inwardly wince. You try to discreetly wipe your clammy palms against your thighs.

A low chuckle escaped him. “I’m divorcing Katherine.” His tone was almost absentminded. “My father could die any day now. I’d rather not watch my inheritance end up in the hands of his gold-digging wife.”

Your jaw fell open. Just then, Seokjin turned to look at you.

The moment your eyes met, your stomach dropped. You had the unsettling feeling that you were about to become part of whatever war he was waging against her.

With your mother still working under Katherine and you working under Seokjin, you weren’t in any position to take sides.

“Why?” you breathed.

“Because no one knows what’s in his will.If Katherine has her way, she’ll contest every line of it. Whatever’s in the will, doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“What does she want?”

He gave a shrug. “As much as she can get.”

You frowned. “Does it really matter if she ends up with another fifty or a hundred million?”

Seokjin shot you a condescending look, blinking once before turning his face away, as though trying to swallow down the irritation that had suddenly flared inside him.

“It’s not some fifty or a hundred million, it’s billions,” The limo rolled to a stop as Seokjin continued, “And it’s not just about the money.” His eyes found yours again. “It’s about karma. Katherine deserves absolutely nothing.”

Nate’s childhood home was a mansion, much like the rest of Seokjin’s friends’. But unlike the Kim estate, it wasn’t built to intimidate. It wasn’t as sprawling or extravagant either. It had warmth. Colour spilled across the walls in paintings and photographs, lights draped inside and outside the house.

Neither of you spoke as the limo idled outside.

You rarely thought about Nate anymore. And when you did, it was with nothing but fondness. He’d been kind. Funny. Endlessly easy to be around. Always smiling, always making everyone laugh, yet somehow impossible to truly figure out. You never quite knew where the real Nate began and the performance ended. Thankfully, he wasn’t here tonight.

You turned to ask Seokjin if you should get out if the car now, only to find him already staring you.

There was something unnervingly intent about his stare, enough to make your stomach knot and your thighs press together unconsciously.

“If it comes to it,” he said quietly, “I need you to tell Katherine you’re willing to testify.”

Your brows furrowed.

“That she destroyed whatever relationship I had with my father. That she shipped me off to boarding school in London when I was six because she wanted me gone. That she paid teachers to write reports calling me violent. That she sent Victor to beat me whenever I complained. That after I was expelled, he moved here and kept doing it.” He looked at you without blinking. “And that every time I tried to tell someone, Katherine insisted I was hurting myself.”

Your breath caught so sharply in your chest that it hurt.

Every bit of colour drained from your face as you stared at him, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you’d just heard. Your pulse roared in your ears as you searched his face for even the smallest sign that he was lying.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into your lap. “Is… is that true?” Your voice came out barely above a whisper

Over the years, you’d thought about the conversation you’d overheard outside the library more times than you could count. You’d replayed every word trying to make sense of it.

But you always arrived at the same conclusion.

Seokjin had sounded like the one in control.

Confident. Unshaken. Untouchable.

It had never once crossed your mind that someone like him could’ve been a victim of abuse.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Seokjin replied.

For the first time since you’d met him at the diner, you didn’t like his eyes on you. You don’t like it at all.

It wasn’t fear. You’d seen Seokjin angry. Cruel. Smug. Mocking.

But never…this.

He was sad. The hurt in his eyes made your heart twist painfully. It hollowed him out, stripping away the sharp edge you’d always associated with him. Looking at him right now felt unbearable, so you dropped your gaze before your own heart could break any further.

“But we were never close. No one would believe me.” You finally managed to utter.

“Pink and Black were.” He said it matter-of-factly. “That’ll be enough for them.”

It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged Pink and Black out loud and you were stunned into silence.

“You told me this wasn’t going to be illegal.” You managed to find your voice. “Perjury is still illegal, Seokjin.”

He let out a tired sigh, dragging a hand down his hair.

“Well,” he said dryly, “for the amount I’m paying you, you can afford to take a bullet or two.”

So this was why he’d hired you. It all made sense now. He needed someone Katherine would believe. Someone she’d think knew him well enough for the story to be convincing.

Except you didn’t know him at all. You shook your head and reached for the door handle.

“Why do you think that I’d lie for you?”

He smiled, his face slipping back into that familiar, unreadable expression, his eyes a void.

“Because I asked you to, Help.”

[koosbabygrl]

|Ringmaster|• seokjin

Summary • Lured in by the sights and sounds of the most famous circus in town, events take a strange turn once you become part of the show. Genre • Dark yandere||Explicit||Smut - REPOST Pairing • Seokjin x reader TW • Non-con sexual intercourse, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, bondage, sadistic jin, tickling kink, subtle urophilia, agalmatophilia, perversion, vomit, explicit sexual content, choking, unprotected sex, disassociation, DARK YANDERE, use of needle/drugs, controlling, non-con use of sex toy, non-con touching, non-con roleplay, obsessiveness, physical fight, mentions of trauma and mental health struggles. Word count • 10.2 k

•This is DARK yandere. Please do not read if these things trigger you. I do not condone or support these acts. My writing is purely fictional and does not truly represent any member.  

please don’t copy, steal, plagiarize, re-post, or otherwise use without permission  

Keep reading

[freakybts]

the notebook | part 4;

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

pairing: richboy!taehyung x fem!reader

synopsis: a week of complete silence from taehyung leaves you restless and lonely. when he finally shows up at your door on a rainy friday night, looking exhausted and different, the night takes an unexpected turn. between vulnerability, tension, and the familiar heat between you, things start to feel more complicated than either of you are ready to admit.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, oral sex (both), fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, light choking, dirty talk, praise & degradation, slight angst ?, family trauma

a/n: we’re at 300 followers already holy shit! thank you so much my beautifuls xx

a whole week had passed and taehyung had disappeared just like he said he would. no texts. no calls. you knew you weren’t dating him, knew this thing between you was messy and undefined, but the silence still stung. you had stared at your phone every night, telling yourself you didn’t care, that you weren’t waiting for anything from him. but you were. and that made you even angrier.

monday at school you finally cornered your friend near the lockers.

“why the hell did you give taehyung my number?” you asked, arms crossed.

she blinked, surprised. “what? i thought you… he asked and you two seemed… to have something going on. i figured it was fine.”

“it wasn’t your place to decide that, you had no right.” you snapped. “and i know you did it just to get jungkook’s number, how easy do you sell me out?”

she frowned. “you know i’ve liked him for the longest time and you’ve been weird about taehyung since that day you skipped class. i thought— maybe you were seeing each other or something. i thought i was helping.”

“you thought wrong,” you cut her off. “don’t do shit like that again.”

the argument was short but ugly. you stopped talking to her for the rest of the week. you didn’t know why you were so mad at her. she was right, after all — you had been having something with taehyung since that day. but maybe deep down you couldn’t even admit it to yourself how much you were enjoying the pull he had on you and the way he made you feel completely out of control. it was easier to stay angry. now you ate lunch alone, walked the halls alone, went straight home after the last bell. your life had shrunk to school and your bedroom. lonely didn’t even begin to cover it.

one evening while helping your mom in the kitchen you brought it up.

“mom, why did the kims all left town so suddenly?” you asked, chopping vegetables.

she wiped her hands on a towel. “i don’t know, all they told me was that they had a family emergency or something. they gave me the keys last friday and just asked me to keep the house clean while they’re gone. god knows what kind of problems these rich people have.”

you frowned. “they couldn’t just let you have a few days off? what’s there to clean if no one’s there?”

your mom laughed softly. “it’s okay, honey. image is everything to these people. they’d rather have someone watching their perfect mansion than give anyone a break.”

finally, friday evening came with heavy summer rain drumming against the windows. your mom had left for the weekend to visit your grandparents, but you stayed behind in hopes that maybe — just maybe — taehyung would at least say something. you hated how pathetic that felt, waiting around for a boy who probably didn’t even think about you for the whole week, but you couldn’t help it. the house was too quiet, too empty, and your mind was too loud. you were curled up on the couch, mindlessly watching tv, when your phone buzzed.

taehyung: can i come over?

the message was so normal it caught you off guard. no teasing, no commands, just a simple question. you stared at it for almost a minute before replying.

you: yeah, sure.

barely five minutes later there was a knock at the door. you opened it and the sight of him made your chest tighten. taehyung looked nothing like the polished, cocky boy you were so used to seeing. his black button-up was wrinkled and half undone, sleeves pushed up messily. his hair was wet and messy from the rain, strands sticking to his forehead. his eyes looked tired, hazy, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. there was a faint bruise on his jaw and a fresh scratch peeking from his collarbone.

before you could even say anything, he stepped inside and pulled you into a kiss. it wasn’t his usual teasing kind. this one was desperate, almost urgent, like he was scared you might disappear. his hands held your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you deeper.

when he finally pulled back you were breathless.

“taehyung… are you okay?” you asked, searching his face. “you look… different.”

he tried to smile, the usual smirk pulling at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “missed you. couldn’t wait any longer.”

you closed the door behind him and led him to your bedroom, still studying him. “did you walk here?” you grabbed a clean towel from your closet and handed it to him. “dry your hair. you’re soaked.”

he took it and rubbed it over his head half-heartedly, eyes following you as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“how was your week?” you asked carefully.

“fine,” he said too quickly, tossing the towel aside and stepping closer. “just family stuff. boring. i’d rather talk about how much i missed this.” he leaned down, lips brushing your neck, hands sliding to your waist.

you gently pushed his chest. “taehyung. stop.”

he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you. “what?”

“you disappear for a whole week with zero contact and now you show up looking like this and expect me to just… pretend everything’s normal?” you crossed your arms. “where were you? why didn’t you text me even once?”

he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “i told you. family stuff. it’s handled now. i came straight here because i wanted to see you.”

you narrowed your eyes. when he leaned in again you placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. “why’s everything such a mystery with you?”

his shirt had slipped lower when he moved. that’s when you saw it clearly — a fresh red scratch across his collarbone, slightly bruised around the edges.

“what happened to your chest?” you asked, voice softer.

he glanced down like he had forgotten it was there. “nothing. it’s fine.”

“taehyung.”

he tried to pull you closer again, lips brushing your jaw. “baby, come on. i just got back. i don’t want to talk about that shit right now. i want you.”

you pushed him back again, firmer this time. “i’m serious. if you expect anything to happen tonight, you need to start talking. if not, you can leave.”

he stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight. the usual cocky mask cracked just a little. finally he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed beside you and let out a long breath.

“it was my sister,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “you have a sister?”

“yeah. older sister. she doesn’t live with us. she… got problems.” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “drug stuff. my parents try to hide it from everyone. they say she stains the family image. she got in trouble again, we had to go deal with it. try to get her into rehab again.”

you stayed quiet, listening intently, your eyes widening slightly as the new information settled over you like a heavy weight. the perfect kim family you had always imagined suddenly felt a lot less perfect.

he chuckled, head lowering. “my parents mostly yelled at her. told her she’s the disgrace of the family, the usual. she got angry. didn’t wanna go to rehab and scratched me during one of the fights when i was trying to hold her back. i’m used to it by now.”

the silence stretched between you. you had always assumed the kims were this flawless, wealthy, untouchable unit. hearing this felt like the ground had shifted.

“remember that call i got the other night?” he raised his head to look at you, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “the one you got all jealous about?” you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “that was her,” he said, voice quieter now. “i called her back after i dropped you off. she was having one of those nights again.” he let out a short, humorless breath. “told you it was gonna ruin the night if i picked it up.”

you felt stupid looking back at that moment.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly. “that sounds horrible.”

he shrugged like it was nothing. “it’s whatever. she’ll be in rehab for a while. or at least until she runs away again.”

you reached out and gently touched his arm. for the first time you saw something vulnerable in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

“you don’t have to act like it doesn’t affect you.” you said quietly.

he didn’t answer at first, his eyes coming back to roam over your face, examining you before sighing quietly. “it’s over now.” he licked his lips, arms wrapping around your waist tightly, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled him. “all i care about is this now,” he murmured against your neck, voice lower, almost rough with need. “couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole week.”

his hands roamed slowly over your body — up your back, down to your hips, then under your shirt to feel your bare skin. his lips pressed soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, then lower, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. you felt yourself melting despite everything that had just been said, the familiar heat already building between your legs.

“did you have any other cock while i was gone?” he asked, teasing, lips brushing your ear. “you said some shit last time. i didn’t forget.”

you rolled your eyes even as you tilted your head to give him better access. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

he chuckled darkly and yanked your head back by your hair, exposing your neck completely. the sharp tug made you gasp. “say that again and i’ll make you regret it,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. “no one else gets to have you. understand?”

you nodded, the movement limited by his grip. already you were grinding down on his lap instinctively, feeling him harden beneath you through his pants.

“look at you,” he murmured, releasing your hair only to slide both hands to your ass, squeezing and guiding your hips. “already desperately grinding on me like you can’t help yourself. something tells me you missed this cock.” you pulsed at his words, a soft whimper escaping. “show me how much.”

you kept moving, rolling your hips slowly at first, then harder, gripping his shoulders for balance. soft moans slipped out as the friction built, the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your shorts in the most frustrating way. he leaned back on his hands, head tilting slightly, watching you with dark satisfaction, eyes half-lidded.

“that’s it, baby,” he groaned. “use me. show me exactly how much you want to be fucked.”

you whimpered louder, grinding harder, chasing the pressure. he reached down between you, sliding his hand into your shorts without warning. his fingers found you immediately — soaked and hot.

“fuck… dripping already,” he groaned, voice thick. he pulled his hand out slowly, showing you the slick coating his fingers, then he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “taste so fucking good. missed this too.”

he kissed you then, deep and messy, tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him. when he pulled back he was breathing harder, pupils blown.

“get on your knees,” he ordered, voice rough.

you didn’t hesitate. you slid down between his legs as he shifted, pulling his pants lower and freeing his cock. it sprang out thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. you wrapped your lips around him without being told twice, taking him deep, determined to make him feel as desperate as he always made you.

he groaned, head falling back. “shit… just like that.” his hand came up to wrap around your hair, not forcing or tugging yet, just holding firmly, grounding himself.

you sucked him eagerly, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deeper, until you were gagging softly, tears starting to pool at the corners of your eyes. the wet sounds filled the quiet room. you felt him trying to pull you off as he got closer, cock twitching hard inside your mouth, broken moans slipping from his throat — but you kept going. for once you wanted to push him over the edge first.

“baby— fuck… i’m gonna cum like that,” he warned, grip tightening in your hair.

you didn’t stop. you hollowed your cheeks and took him as deep as you could. he came hard down your throat with a loud, broken groan, hips twitching, spilling everything. you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with watery eyes and swollen lips.

he pulled you up roughly, breathing ragged, eyes dark and almost angry with how much he liked it. “greedy little slut,” he rasped. “couldn’t help but milk me dry, huh? wanted to taste me that bad?”

you smirked, still catching your breath. the next second he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, yanking your shirt and shorts off along with your panties with impatient hands, almost ripping the fabric in the process.

he spread your thighs wide, staring down at your dripping pussy with pure hunger. “so fucking pretty,” he muttered. “look how wet you are for me.”

he kissed down your body slowly this time — lingering on your neck, sucking marks into your breasts, dragging his tongue over your stomach — until his mouth finally reached your core. he ate you like a man starved, tongue licking broad, filthy strokes from your entrance up to your clit before sucking hard. you cried out, fingers tangling tightly in his hair as he devoured you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.

it didn’t take long at all before your first orgasm crashed through you, thighs shaking around his head, body giving away just how much you had craved his touch all week. he didn’t stop. instead he pushed two thick fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against that spot while his tongue kept working your swollen clit. the pressure built again, sharper, almost overwhelming. your hips bucked up against his face.

“do it again, baby,” he groaned against your clit, fingers sinking deeper and faster, feeling your walls flutter desperately around him. “one more. give it to me.”

“taehyung— i’m gonna—”

you came hard again, a broken cry tearing from your throat. he held you tightly by your hip, keeping you in place as you squirmed from the intensity, licking up every drop like he couldn’t get enough.

“good girl,” he rasped, climbing up your body, eyes dark with approval. you felt him already hard again against your thigh. he rolled you over with firm hands, and you whined as he pulled your hips up, propping your ass in the air. he smacked it twice, the sharp sting making you moan and push back toward him.

he rubbed the thick head of his cock against your folds, teasing, sliding through your slick without pushing in. “how much do you want it?”

“please,” you whimpered, trying to push back onto him. “so bad… want you to fuck me so bad. i need you inside me.”

“fuck…” he pushed in slowly at first, letting you feel every thick inch stretch you open. your eyes rolled back at the perfect burn. then he started picking up the pace, fucking you hard and deep right away. his chest pressed against your back, one hand wrapping around your throat so he could turn your head and kiss you messily over your shoulder.

“touch yourself,” he ordered against your lips. “you’re gonna cum again. do you want that, baby? wanna cum on my cock while i fill you up?”

you whimpered in response, reaching down between your legs to rub your clit as he pounded into you, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.

“yeah, i know you do,” he groaned, fucking you even deeper, hitting that spot with every thrust. the angle was perfect. soon your third orgasm hit fast and intense, walls clenching hard around him as you cried out his name.

he followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and cumming deep inside you with a low, drawn-out groan, hips jerking as he filled you.

you both collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, bodies sticky and spent. he pulled you into his arms carefully, brushing the damp hair from your face and kissing your forehead softly, then your cheeks, then the corner of your mouth.

“so fucking good for me.” he whispered against your skin.

after a few quiet minutes of just breathing together, he shifted slightly, fingers still tracing slow patterns on your bare arm.

“your mom’s not home?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

you nodded against his chest. “no. she’s gone for the weekend, visiting my grandparents.”

he hesitated, the silence stretching just long enough for you to feel the weight of whatever he was about to say. “can i sleep over?” he asked finally. “i… don’t want to go back to that house tonight.”

you looked up at him. the exhaustion was clear in his eyes, but underneath it was something almost like fear. for once he wasn’t performing.

you nodded. “okay.”

he let out a small breath that sounded almost like relief.

you got up carefully, legs still a little unsteady, and went to your mom’s room. in the back of the closet you found an old pair of your dad’s sweatpants and a plain soft t-shirt. when you handed them to him he looked surprised.

“isn’t it weird to wear your dad’s clothes?” he asked, a small chuckle in his voice as he started changing.

you laughed softly. “my dad’s dead. i don’t think it makes much of a difference.”

taehyung’s expression softened immediately. the teasing light left his eyes. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay,” you said, smiling at him, gentle. “it’s been years now. i’ve made peace with it.”

he didn’t say anything else, just pulled the t-shirt over his head and then reached for you, warm thumb rubbing gently over your cheek.

later, when the rain had settled into a steady soft rhythm outside, he surprised you by heading into the kitchen and starting to cook. you sat at the table watching him move around like he actually knew what he was doing — chopping green onions, frying rice, adding egg and leftover vegetables with quiet focus.

“i didn’t expect you to know how to cook,” you said, resting your chin on your hand.

“our chef taught me when i was younger,” he answered without looking up. “used to sneak into the kitchen a lot when my parents were busy. he never told them.”

you smiled softly. “that’s… surprisingly normal.”

he glanced over at you then, a small, real smile tugging at his lips. “don’t sound so shocked.”

the smell of the food filled the quiet house, warm and comforting.

“i had a fight with daeun because of you.” you glanced at him through your lashes.

he frowned, looking genuinely confused. “because of me?”

“yeah… because she gave my number away to you.” your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

he stared at you for a short second before laughing out loud, the sound surprising in the otherwise still kitchen. “you fought because of that? why?”

you felt your cheeks burning. hearing it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous.

“she had no right to just give it to you,” you said, frustrated. “what if you wanted to harm me or something? she doesn’t know anything about you or us.”

he stopped laughing and went back to stirring the vegetables into the rice, still amused. “how would i harm you through the phone?” he raised an eyebrow at you.

you swallowed dry, looking away. “whatever…”

“jungkook texted me about her, actually,” he continued. your head snapped back toward him. “he was pretty pissed i gave his number away too.” he chuckled. “but then he said at least she was cute. he wouldn’t mind smashing.”

you rolled your eyes. “tell him not to play with her heart. she gets attached easily.”

taehyung raised an eyebrow, a slow, knowing look crossing his face. “like you?”

your face heated instantly. “what do you mean like me? i don’t get attached.”

he watched you for a second longer than necessary, eyes unreadable. “good,” he said simply.

the word stung more than you wanted to admit. you looked down at the plate he was setting in front of you.

“can’t deal with that kind of shit right now,” he added as he sat down across from you, immediately shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

“no one’s asking you to.” the words came out sharper and quicker than you intended. so much so that taehyung stopped mid-bite and looked at you with mild surprise.

he nodded after a second, a small, almost barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again behind the spoon.

you both ate in silence, the air between you heavier than before but somehow still comfortable. he didn’t push the conversation further, and you didn’t either. for a moment you thought about how much that one simple word had affected you.

you never thought about anything more of this situationship, you never even particularly liked him before all of this started. he was just the arrogant, popular boy who somehow ended up under your skin. so why was that single word lingering in your mind for so long? why did it hurt to know he didn’t see anything past this?

you pushed the thought away before it could settle too deeply, focusing on the food instead. but the weight of it stayed, sitting somewhere in your chest long after the plates were empty.

[sevendyara]

oh shit, i have nothing appropriate to say.

now i need him in dark romance story please please please 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[sevendyara]

finally found it 😮‍💨

[wildchildtale]

𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 | 𝓚𝓢𝓙 (𝐼𝐼𝐼)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; smut; obsession; power imbalance; socioeconomic gap; toxic seokjin; hurt/comfort; bully seokjin; dark romance; billionaire au

Summary: They call him Saint. He's anything but. A monster hidden behind charm, wealth, and a perfect reputation. Seokjin Saint Kim is ruthless, obsessive, and far more cruel than anyone realises. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is...you. Too bad he's not willing to let that stop him.

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: manipulation, obsession, jealousy, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, slight dub con; coercion, threats, violence, blood/injury, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use, smoking.

Chapter-specific warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

Taglist: @writtenbyjm @withmuchluv-tannie @iheartwonnieee @gaslysainz @lachimolala-is-love-and-life @ithinkthereforeidont @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe @tahialuvss @jinkoo94 @punchbug9-blog @bebabido @evtrack @blueberriesm @jungkookgoodlookin

PART I | PART II

a/n: phew this is officially the longest chapter so far and so much happens here, so buckle up and have fun reading!! i genuinely cannot believe my own memory because i read the book almost a decade ago and yet the plot came back to me so quickly?? 😭 that being said, i’m definitely not sticking to the original storyline completely, so expect some changes along the way 👀 fmc might seem rather tame for now, but please trust me when i say she’s no doormat. she’ll push back and have him absolutely wrecked in chapters to come 😛 also writing seokjin has been SO fun ahhh.. as always, please leave comments because i love hearing what you guys think!!

Your brain was your own worst enemy.

Why else would it keep shoving his face into your thoughts every waking hour? You should be thinking about your unemployment. About rent. About how you were going to pay next month’s bills.

To make it worse, your heart wasn’t any better either.

It was humiliating enough that, once upon a time, you’d managed to harbour a crush on the very man who had spent a decade making your life miserable. But you’d sooner bite your own tongue off than admit it aloud. That secret would follow you to the grave.

It had been twenty-four hours since you’d last seen Seokjin, and you loathed yourself for letting him crawl back under your skin so easily.

You wisely hadn’t told Bella about any of it. The last thing you needed was for her to march across the city and attempt to murder him herself.

Rain began pelting the pavement the moment you stepped into your apartment building.

It was only going to get colder.

Most people expected warmth when they came home. Yours greeted you with a stubborn draft that seemed to seep through every crack in the walls. The radiator had given up weeks ago, leaving the apartment permanently chilled.

Bella lay curled beneath what looked like every blanket the two of you owned, another rerun of Gilmore Girls playing in the background. At this point, you’d both lost count somewhere after the hundredth rewatch.

You set the bag of medicine and the container of chicken broth on the table.

“I brought you some soup,” you said, forcing brightness into your voice. “How are we feeling today?”

“So much better,” Bella replied far too quickly. “I think I’m almost ready to go back to work.”

Another thing the two of you had in common—you were both terrible liars.

You saw right through her.

You saw it in the way colour had drained from her face, the dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes, the way her clothes hung looser than they had only weeks ago.

As if to expose her lie, a violent coughing fit seized her before she could say another word.

Bella cleared her throat. “How’s the job search going? Any leads?”

You poured the chicken broth into two bowls, instinctively giving Bella the bigger portion and yourself the smaller.

“Not really,” you admitted with a tired sigh. “At this rate, we’ll be homeless by January.”

Silence settled between you.

“I don’t think I need these medicines anymore,” Bella said after a moment, her eyes drifting towards the paper bag on the table. “I told you, I already feel better. You should return them and get a refund.”

Your heart broke. She wasn’t getting better. If anything, she looked worse with each passing day.

“They’re non-refundable,” you lied, setting the bowls down before shrugging off your coat. You sank beside her on the tiny couch, the springs creaking under your combined weight.

The two of you ate quietly, Gilmore Girls humming in the background until Bella suddenly started reciting Lorelai’s lines in perfect sync with the television.

Without missing a beat, you join in as Rory responds.

By the time the scene ends, you’re both laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

“I’m sorry,” Bella murmured softly, staring down at the half-empty bowl in her lap. She worries at the sleeve of her jumper instead of looking at you. “I’m so sorry for doing this to you. I’ve become such a leech.”

Tears pricked your eyes and you swallowed to keep them away.

“I’ve been thinking…” She swallows. “Maybe I should just go back to Blackwood. You’ve already done way more than enough for me.”

At sixty years old, your mother was still working at the Kim estate, still trying to pay off debts that never seemed to shrink. Sending Bella back wouldn’t save either of you. It would only trade one hardship for another.

Besides, she only had a year left before graduation. You could manage. You were struggling but you were happy.

Better days would come. You refused to believe otherwise.

Reaching for the blanket draped over the armrest, you wrapped it around Bella’s shoulders before pulling her into your side.

“You’re not going anywhere, missy,” you whispered, tucking the blanket snugly around her. Then loudly, “Don’t even think about it.”

You punctuate the threat by gently booping her nose.

Bella lets out the tiniest giggle.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, her head growing heavier against your shoulder as sleep takes her.

You stay exactly where you are—tired, confused, but certain the two of you would somehow make it through.

Six days later, and you were still just as unemployed.

You’d applied everywhere. Cafes, bookstores, reception desks, retail, tutoring centres. You’d stopped caring what the job was as long as someone was willing to hire you.

And still nothing.

Your credit card was a few swipes away from being maxed out, your savings had long since run dry, and the cash tucked inside your wallet barely amounted to enough for next week’s groceries.

At this point, the only thing capable of pulling you out of the financial hole you were sinking into was a miracle.

Streetlights stretched across the empty sidewalks as you made your way home from another late shift at the diner.

Despite yourself, your thoughts wandered back to Seokjin.

He hadn’t tried contacting you since that night. Good. That’s exactly how you wanted it.

So why did disappointment prick at you every time you realised he hadn’t?

You shoved the thought aside before it could take root.

A cold gust of wind swept through the empty street, making you pull your coat tighter around yourself.

Behind you, another set of footsteps echoed against the pavement, followed by a low whistle.

Instinctively, your hand slipped into your coat pocket, fingers curling tightly around the pepper spray as you quickened your steps, your pulse beginning to drum louder with every passing second.

You didn’t dare look back.

Relief flooded you the moment your apartment building came into view. However, it only lasted for a few seconds.

You climbed the narrow, ageing staircase two steps at a time, its wooden steps creaking beneath your weight while a single flickering bulb struggled to keep the hallway lit.

You stopped dead a few feet from your apartment door, your keys almost slipping from your hand.

Surely your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Because there was simply no logical explanation for Seokjin standing outside your apartment.

He leaned lazily against your front door, looking entirely too comfortable as though he owned the building. Which wait…did he? Given his ridiculous wealth, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Hands tucked inside the pockets of an impeccably tailored black overcoat that probably cost more than your rent for the year. The dim hallway did nothing to dull him. If anything, it only made him look more like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“I’m surprised you didn’t come to collect your tip, help.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours before drifting slowly down your body and back up again, unhurried and shameless, leaving you with the familiar urge to disappear from under it.

You scowled, your heart still beating a touch too fast. You told yourself it was the adrenaline from earlier as you fished your keys out of your bag.

“Really?” you scoffed. “I thought it was common sense not to expect someone whose life you’ve already ruined to come running because you asked her to.”

As usual, your bitter words barely earned a reaction. Instead, it seemed to amuse him.

He pushed himself off the door and sauntered over to you. This time, before he could invade your space, you took a step back, folding your arms tightly across your chest as if they alone could keep him out.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Why are you here, Seokjin?” you asked, unable to keep the suspicion from your voice, because if there was one thing you knew about Saint, it was that he never sought anyone out unless he wanted something from them. You didn’t even want to think about how he’d managed to find where you lived.

“You’re a receptionist.” He shrugged. “I’m looking for one.”

What?

You let out a disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t care. Leave.”

Turning your back to him, you fumbled your keys towards the lock, cursing the flickering hallway light that made it nearly impossible to see.

“Hundred and twenty thousand,” he said behind you, without missing a beat. “Company accommodation. Full benefits.”

Your hand hesitated for the briefest moment before you forced yourself to keep going.

“Not interested,” you replied evenly. “You can leave now.”

You never heard him cross the distance between you. You were still struggling with the stubborn lock when his hands settled around your waist, firmly pulling your back until your back brushed against the hard planes of his chest. A sharp breath caught in your throat as the warmth of him enveloped you, his breath tickling over the sensitive skin under your ear.

“Everyone has a price,” he growled, the sound low and deliberate.

His grip tightened, just enough to stop you from pulling away.

“So…Name yours.”

“World peace. A cure for cancer. An end to global hunger,” you shot back.

“One hundred and fifty thousand a year.”

The number rolled off his tongue without the slightest hesitation.

“If I were you,” he continued, “I’d already be signing the contract. Your sister’s sick. Your mother’s old and still paying off debt instead of retiring. And you…” His breath ghosted across your neck. “…don’t even have a job.”

Your entire body went rigid.

How did he know?

Then again…who were you kidding?

A job like this was the miracle you’d been praying for all week, but this was Seokjin, and you still hadn’t recovered from what he’d done that night. You were poor, yes, but you still had your pride, and if there was one person it refused to bow to, it was Seokjin Saint Kim.

“No.”

“…No?” He tilted his head, a brow lifting as though he’d genuinely misheard you.

“Do you want me to write it down for you?” You met his gaze.

“Two hundred.”

He said without blinking. To your horror, you felt yourself falter.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” you said through gritted teeth. “No amount of money is going to change the fact that I hate your guts.”

He watched you for a minute too long, a smug smile creeping onto his face. “I almost forgot how fun it is to see you going off.”

“Seokjin!”

“A twenty-four-seven private nurse for Bella. A joining bonus.” His jaw ticked, those plump pink lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s my final offer.”

You wanted to lunge at him, take the deal, and thank every god that had ever existed.

What did that make you? A spineless loser who couldn’t even stand up for herself?

What’s more, you couldn’t wrap your head around why Seokjin was so hell-bent on hiring you of all people. You knew him better than most. He wasn’t a generous man. He didn’t do favours. Every move he made served a purpose, every word was calculated, everything came with a price attached to it.

He was the same man who had run you out of your own home. Now he was worming his way back into your life, dangling everything you had ever wanted in front of you, and expecting you to bite.

It unnerved you.

Seokjin, as always, unnerved you.

“What’s the catch, Seokjin?” you asked, the fight draining from your voice.

The corner of his lips quirked as he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so awfully sudden yet slow it made your stomach flutter.

“Oh?” he mused. “Why must there always be a catch, help?”

“Because it’s you,” you replied, exasperation finally bleeding through. “You don’t do anything unless there’s something in it for you.”

His smile widened.

“There may be…the occasional task outside what’s mentioned in your contract.”

You raised a brow, waiting.

“Nothing illegal.” He paused. “Or sexual.”

It was as though he’d plucked the question straight from your head.

“Trust me, help.” His thumb brushed your cheek almost absentmindedly. “I still see more pussy than a gynaecologist in a year. Besides, I have some standards when it comes to my women.” His gaze travelled lazily over you. “So you have nothing to worry about.”

The condescension laced through his words wasn’t lost on you. It was intentional, you knew that much.

It relieved you but at the same time a strange twinge of annoyance flared hot in your chest.

Of course he was sleeping around. That much had never surprised you.

After all, Seokjin Saint Kim was the most sought-after bachelor in the country—rich, powerful, devastatingly handsome. Women practically threw themselves at him.

Reading between the lines, your mind chose to settle on to the fact that he was still single.

It had always struck you as odd how he never kept anyone around long enough for people to remember their names.

“I don’t want to do this,” you said one last time, making one final, pathetic attempt to salvage what little dignity you had left, even though deep down you already knew the battle had been lost.

How fitting.

Seokjin had found you at the exact moment you were hitting rock bottom, extending a hand just when you had nowhere else to turn. It reminded you of those stories you’d read as a child, where the devil arrived disguised as an angel, offering salvation with one hand while collecting your soul with the other.

“Sure,” he said simply. “But you kinda don’t have any other option.”

Slipping a hand into the pocket of his overcoat, he pulled out a neatly folded envelope, and held it out to you.

“Consider this an advance.”

You frowned before reluctantly taking it from him.

The moment you unfolded it, your breath caught.

Ten thousand dollars.

For a second, you simply stared at the cheque, blinking several times, convinced you’d read another zero by mistake.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen that much money.

Hell, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen that much money.

Seokjin reached up, his knuckles grazing your cheek as he gently tipped your face towards him. Standing this close, his figure swallowed yours completely, and you found yourself closing your eyes as he spoke, his voice smooth as silk, pouring over you like sweet poison.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” you answered truthfully.

It was the easiest question he’d asked all night.

He chuckled quietly, and your ears almost strained to catch the sound. You couldn’t really remember hearing Seokjin laugh before.

“But…” His thumb lingered against your jaw. “Would you trust me with my own life?”

Your eyes slowly opened.

Seokjin was a genius.

Cunning, calculating, and always a step ahead of everyone else. More importantly, he always knew how to cover his own tracks. You knew that better than anyone. In all the years you’d lived under the same roof, you’d watched him walk away from trouble that would’ve buried anyone else.

You nodded.

“Be there at eight sharp, help. The address is on the back of the cheque.” He adjusted the cuff of his coat before looking at you one last time. “And don’t make me regret my generosity.”

With that, he left the hallway, his footsteps fading until only silence remained.

You stood there for another minute, the cheque still clutched in your hand, before finally unlocking your apartment door.

Bella was fast asleep.

Relief washed over you knowing the medication had kept her asleep through the entire exchange in the hallway.

That was the moment you decided.

This was the right choice.

You would submit, bow your head, play by the devil’s rules, and take everything he was willing to give until you had what you needed.

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Seokjin fumed, spinning lazily in his executive chair as he looked out over Manhattan from the forty-sixth floor of his New York office.

“Your stepmom?” Dean’s sleepy voice came from the other end of the phone, amusement bleeding through his words.

It was barely five in the morning in Los Angeles. Not that Seokjin gave a shit.

Seokjin could hear sheets rustling, followed by a muffled whine in the background. He rolled his eyes. At this point Nate had probably fucked his way through half of Los Angeles in his bed.

“She’s landing tomorrow and wants me to clear my entire fucking schedule for her,” he scoffed.

“This wouldn’t even be a problem if you were back in L.A. like you were supposed to be.”

Nate wasn’t wrong.

The moment it had been decided he’d take over the New York office, Seokjin had wanted to tell them all to go fuck themselves. But they all had to rotate—that was the rule. A stupid fucking rule, but a rule nonetheless. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

He missed California. His house. His fucking bed which Nate was probably defiling as they spoke.

New York was loud, overcrowded, and one giant dick-measuring contest full of desperate assholes trying to convince everyone they were important. No wonder Nate loved the place so fucking much.

Originally, the plan had been simple. Nate had spent years in New York after law school, knew the city inside out, and actually liked living there for reasons Seokjin would never understand. Seokjin had offered to swap offices the second the expansion was announced.

Instead, Nate had laughed in his face and told him to suck it up.

So here he was.

Truthfully, the four of them switched offices often enough that it hardly mattered. They had offices in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and London.

Jimin had volunteered to oversee London.

Not because the office needed him.

Because Wren had moved back.

Fucking simp.

“So when the fuck are we switching back dude?” Nate grumbled.

Seokjin glanced absentmindedly at the clock. “Not anytime soon. Not until the thing with Anthony’s sorted.”

The lie left his mouth easily. The Anthony situation had been wrapped up days ago.

What he wasn’t about to tell Nate was that he’d just hired you. In fact, Nate had no idea you were even living in New York.

Seokjin intended to keep it that way.

Normally, Nate ran New York while Seokjin handled Los Angeles. Yoongi floated between offices whenever negotiations got too delicate. Jimin would be on call when clients needed smooth talking.

And Seokjin was the one they sent when playing nice stopped working.

Currently, Nate was making himself comfortable in Los Angeles, using Seokjin’s house like he owned it.

As far as the four of them were concerned, it was normal. Seokjin never really minded.

This time, though, Seokjin especially didn’t mind Nate crashing at his condo. After all, he wasn’t in any rush to drag his own ass back there either.

The New York branch was all over the place, and he genuinely needed someone to clean up the mess. What you didn’t know yet was that you’d never been hired as a receptionist in the first place. That little lie had simply been easier to sell.

You’d be his personal assistant.

For now.

And once you’d served your purpose, you’d be out, dumped back to the shithole you were staying in.

There was no universe where he was letting you end up working for Nate.

Not that Nate would’ve wanted to look at your fucking face anyway. To Nate, you’d been dead ever since you ripped his heart out.

Then again…

That wasn’t Seokjin’s problem.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Nate yawned, “Jimin’s probably getting rejected in a different timezone right now.”

“Serves the desperate fucker right.”

“So…” Nate snorted. “What’s Katherine want this time?”

“Who the fuck knows.”

A muffled voice complained from somewhere beside Nate, telling him to keep it down.

“You’ll survive, Jin.” Nate yawned. “Just hurry the fuck up and give me my apartment and office back, asshole.”

“Yeah, whatever. Have a good fucking night, dickhead.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Nate laughed. “I definitely will have a good fucking—“

Seokjin rolled his eyes as the line went dead.

Just in time, a soft knock sounded as the office door swung open.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim!” the woman beamed far too enthusiastically for eight in the fucking morning, as she walked in balancing a tray in her hands. “I brought your breakfast—Double Americano, egg white omelette, and avocado toast.”

“And you are?” Seokjin asked, barely sparing her a glance as he continued signing a document.

“I’m Ava, your PA.” She chirped, smiling so brightly it was bordering on obnoxious. “I was actually the very first employee hired for the New York office. Mr. Parker hired me himself.”

That finally earned her his attention.

He looked her over once.

Well…That tracked.

Tall. Blonde. Legs for days. Dressed head-to-toe in Ralph Lauren, hair immaculate, smile polished enough to sell religion.

Made perfect fucking sense why Nate had hired her. She was exactly his type. Which begged the question: what the fuck had he ever seen in you?

“Nice meeting you, Ava.”

She smiled wider.

“You’re fired Ava.”

Ava’s face visibly fell, the smile disappearing almost instantly. Tough fucking luck.

“…Excuse me?”

“You’ll get this month’s salary, three months’ severance, and HR will sort out the paperwork.”

Her mouth fell open. “Mr. Kim, You can’t fire me.”

“I can’t?” Seokjin arched a brow, feigning mild interest, his eyes never leaving the document on his screen.

She nodded too fast.

“Oh? And pray tell, Ana… why not?”

“Ava,” she corrected with a huff. “Because we have a contract.” The panic creeping into her voice was already getting on his nerves.“If I’ve done something wrong, you’re required to give me three months’ written notice first. This would be wrongful termination.”

She was beginning to piss him off. “Show me your contract,” he said flatly.

She huffed, spun on her heel, and stomped out of his office. A few minutes later, she marched back in and dropped a copy of the contract onto his desk.

Seokjin skimmed the first page.

She wasn’t lying.

That motherfucker Nate had practically gift-wrapped the contract for her. Was he fucking her?

“What do you think about working in Los Angeles?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard by the question, before slowly nodding.

“I’d love that.”

“Great.” Seokjin tossed the contract onto his desk. “Pack your bags. You’re transferring to the L.A. office. Effective tomorrow. You’ll be working under Nate until further notice.”

Her entire face lit up. Seokjin watched the smile spread across it and snorted to himself.

Yeah. They were definitely fucking.

Seokjin had a hell of a lot more important shit to do than sit around waiting for you.

He went back to reviewing the contract in front of him, his eyes flicking to the clock every other minute. You weren’t even here yet you’ve found a way to annoy him.

Exactly ten minutes later, another knock echoed through his office. He already knew who it was.

“Come in.”

Truth be told, Seokjin still had no fucking clue why he’d gone after you that day at the diner.

Well…

He did.

A small part of him felt responsible for the mess you and Bella were in.

A very small fucking part.

Sure, he’d played a role in turning your life into the trainwreck it was today. But he wasn’t the one who’d told you to move to the most expensive fucking city in the country with a sick sister and barely two pennies to rub together. That spectacularly stupid decision had been all yours.

He didn’t have much time to think about it before you stepped through the door.

You’d clearly made an effort. Seokjin liked that.

A cream knit sweater hugged your frame, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that had seen better days, while your hair was pulled back neatly in a low pony tail.

Instead of greeting him, you stood there with those stupidly big honey-brown eyes fixed on him in open defiance.

“Do you know how to use an iPad?” Seokjin finally asked.

“Do you know how not to be an asshole?” you replied in the exact same tone.

He had to bite back a smirk.

Jesus Christ, you were so fucking easy to rile up.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He slid the iPad across the desk. “Now sit down and start writing.”

Without giving you so much as a second to breathe, he began rattling off appointments, meetings, flight bookings, dinner reservations, and half a dozen other things that had accumulated over the past week.

You barely managed to keep up, fingers flying furiously across the screen as you tried to catch every word.

Too busy typing to notice the way Seokjin’s gaze kept drifting over your body.

Well, he couldn’t exactly be blamed. You looked fucking hot. You always had. And that was just a fact.

“I think that’s it. You can leave.”

The moment you finished jotting down the last of his instructions, Seokjin dismissed you and turned his attention back to the laptop in front of him, back to typing nothing.

With every second ticking by, he grew more restless.

His shirt was freshly ironed, his watch sat perfectly against his wrist, not a single crease or speck of dust anywhere on him. He knew he looked handsome. Gorgeous, even.

So what the fuck were you staring at?

The truth was, you made him uncomfortable and despite that, he’d been the one to seek you out.

Hell if you knew why.

At this very moment, though, he simply wanted you to leave.

He finally looked up.

“What?”

“I still don’t understand why you hired me.” You squinted at him, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You don’t need to.” His jaw ticked. “Stop wasting time and get to work. I’m not paying you to stand around and do nothing.”

Seokjin was irritated now. The way you looked at him, like you could still see through him, irked the fuck out of him.

There were a multitude of reasons why Seokjin hated you. You knew too much, after all.

The first—and by far the most glaring—was that he suspected you knew his secret from that day in the library. The thought alone made him feel weak and pathetic. Whether you actually remembered it or not hardly mattered. The possibility alone made him feel exposed.

There was nothing he loathed more than that. The second was far more irrational. You had the same hair colour as his stepmother. Thank fuck you’d dyed it.

Hating you almost felt like penance for his mother, Vivienne.

And then there was the third reason that pissed him off most.

He respected you. It wasn’t because you were particularly clever or capable, but rather that his name, his money, his power—they meant fuck all to you. Your indifference to him was oddly disarming.

He undid the top button of his dress shirt before rolling his sleeves to his forearms, dragging the moment out because he knew you were still standing there, watching him.

“Now get your ass out of my office, Help. I have work to do.”

“Heavens, look at you dear…handsome as ever.”

Katherine cupped Seokjin’s face in her cold, manicured hands. She kissed his forehead before letting him go, leaving behind the nauseating scent of vanilla perfume.

It was the most physical contact he’d allowed her in years, and she knew better than to push her luck.

They moved towards the table, and she took the seat across from him. The small concealed scar beneath her nose suggested she was recovering from yet another cosmetic procedure. No amount of designer clothes, fresh fillers, or Hermès bags could hide the one thing she refused to accept.

She was getting old.

Seokjin’s mother never got the chance.

Vivienne Saint Hawthorne had died at thirty-seven, still breathtakingly beautiful, with honey-brown hair and skin pale as snow. She had looked as though she’d stepped straight out of a fairy tale.

Only it had never been one.

The prince she’d fallen in love with had turned out to be the monster.

“I’m afraid your father won’t be with us much longer.”

Katherine’s gratingly sweet voice cut through his thoughts. Her hands were neatly clasped together, her expression carefully arranged into one of heartbreaking grief.

She really ought to have been an actress.

Instead of responding, Seokjin continued eating his dinner, cutting into the steak loudly.

Katherine sighed.

“Jin…”

His grip around the knife tightened.

He hated when she called him that.

It was his mother’s nickname for him. Hearing it from Katherine’s rotten mouth made his blood boil.

He shut his eyes for the briefest second, his jaw locking so tightly he thought it might crack. The urge to throw the crystal glass nearby was becoming a dangerously appealing idea.

“Your father is dying,” she said softly, reaching for a napkin to dab under perfectly dry eyes.

“I have no interest in what I inherit,” she continued.

Seokjin would’ve laughed if he didn’t find the lie so painfully predictable.

“The mansion means more to me than anything else. It’s where your father and I spent our years together, where our love lived.”

This bullshit was almost impressive.

Seokjin had been five when his father married Katherine. Despite being supposedly madly in love with her, his father had still made sure to have her sign a prenup.

A smart decision, in hindsight.

“If, by some unfortunate chance…” she trailed off.

Seokjin slowly raised a brow.

This was going to be so much fun.

“Spit it out, Katherine.” He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have all day, and we both know you’re not getting anywhere with this whole…”

He gestured vaguely towards her, his expression flat.

“…performance.”

“Give me the mansion. That’s all I ask of you.”

The sweet, grieving widow act lasted exactly a second longer, replaced by the woman Seokjin had known all along. Her voice turned sharp, expression hardening into something far more cunning and calculated.

“I can’t.” Seokjin sighed mockingly and caught the flash of anger crossing Katherine’s face in real time.

“It’s my home,” she snapped. “You don’t even like that house, and you don’t even live there.”

His mother’s home.

He felt the anger hit his veins instantly, hot and familiar, but his face gave away nothing, expression composed and polite. Katherine would never get the satisfaction.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Seokjin smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “I still have no intention of living there.”

“Well, this has been a wonderful dinner.” He stood, adjusting his coat. “I enjoyed it so much, Katherine. We should definitely do this more often.”

He turned to leave with a smile tugging at his lips, and for once he wasn’t lying. This had been far more entertaining than he’d expected.

“Don’t forget, Saint.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

Oh.

So now it’s Saint? Interesting.

“We don’t know what’s in the will yet,” Katherine continued, her voice smooth again, slipping back into that sweet polished facade she’d spent twenty-five years perfecting. “And your generosity will surely be repaid when the tables turn.”

Seokjin almost laughed. As if he gave a flying fuck about inheriting any of it.

Then again…he did enjoy proving people wrong.

Katherine set her wine glass down with enough force for the crystal to clink against the table, the corners of her mouth pulling into a subtle but ugly frown.

Seokjin’s gaze lingered on the glass for a second.

Huh. So much for etiquette.

Katherine would’ve slapped him across the face for less when he was a kid. The rest of the punishment would’ve been finished by her brother in the library.

“Should I be getting legal representation, Saint?” she asked, her voice clipped. “Is that what you’re implying?”

Truthfully, Seokjin already had a pretty fucking good idea of what the will looked like. The moment his father became bedridden, Seokjin had everything set in motion. His first call had been to Nate’s father, the Kim family’s trusted legal counsel for over two decades.

He’d been preparing for this for months. No, years.

Katherine Rothschild wasn’t walking away with a single fucking penny that carried the Kim name.

The mansion itself meant nothing to him. He hadn’t called it home since forever. But now that he knew Katherine wanted it so desperately, he’d sooner burn the place to the ground himself than let her have it.

He walked back towards the table until he was standing over her, leaning down just enough for their faces to be level.

“By all means, Mother,” his smile never faltered. “Lawyer up.”

Seokjin was in a foul mood.

If there was one thing he hated more than dealing with people, it was dealing with stupid fucking people with expensive degrees. Every time, it was the same circus. They tiptoed around him like he was about to bite someone’s head off, then opened their mouths just to ask the most brain-dead, pointless questions imaginable.

Nothing new, really.

Seokjin had always been antisocial. Whatever popularity he’d had in high school came with his circle—Nate, Jimin and Jungkook. Those idiots could make friends with a brick wall if they tried. Seokjin couldn’t be bothered.

The humming of expensive electronics inside his Los Feliz penthouse and absolute fucking silence had always been his ideal way of spending a week. Well, maybe the occasional groans and moans of nameless women under him, preferably those with honey-brown eyes, soft pillowy lips, and hair that looked like yours. With the lights low and his imagination doing the rest, it made the fantasy all the more real.

The appetite that had been clawing at him for the last thirty minutes had now fully disappeared. Scowling, he shoved the now-cold steak and eggs away from himself.

What a fucking waste.

And well, of course, you were to blame. Seokjin had made the mistake of underestimating you. Turns out you were a hell of a lot sharper than he’d given you credit for. It hadn’t taken you long to realise he needed you as much as you needed him, and so you’d managed to back him into this idiotic team-building lunch.

His eyes narrowed into slits as he shot another glare your way.

You were laughing at something Zoe, his receptionist, had just said, the woman looking pleased with herself. The sound of your laugh carried across the table, bright and irritating.

Christ.

If he spent another minute at this godforsaken table, he was going to lose his mind.

Rising from his chair, he spared you one last glance, only to catch you offering to throw a retirement dinner for some old geezer whose name he couldn’t give less of a shit about remembering.

You wouldn’t even be here by then, he mused to himself. Whatever. He wasn’t going to burst your bubble just yet.

Two hours later, Seokjin was returning from a deposition when something in the corner of his eye as he passed your desk.

…What the hell?

You were completely engrossed in a conversation with Ethan, one of the senior accountants. The smug bastard was ridiculously young to hold the position—fresh-faced, preppy, dressed in a navy Ralph Lauren quarter-zip over an Oxford shirt. He looked like every private-school-to-ivy-league pipeline rich kid Seokjin had ever met.

Smug little prick.

Seokjin knew his type. Hell, he was the type.

He cleared his throat once, expecting that to be enough. His lips pressed into a thin line before he snapped his fingers as if he were calling over a disobedient pet.

Your head immediately turned towards him, brows raised in clear annoyance as if to ask, what?

Ethan’s reaction was far more satisfying.

The colour had practically drained from the poor idiot’s face.

“Both of you. My office. Now.”

Seokjin didn’t bother waiting for a response. He turned on his heel and walked away, a smug smile threatening to break across his face.

He’d gotten him.

He’d seen it flash across Ethan’s face. Hell, he’d seen that same look on countless faces before. He was so damn young and already a multimillionaire CEO, and that was before anyone even brought up his family’s money.

Ruthless. Powerful. Privileged. And an absolute dick when he wanted to be, which well, was most of the time. People found him intimidating, and fuck, he loved it. Especially now.

He heard your footsteps quicken behind him, and the grin tugging at his lips only widened.

The second he stepped into his office, he shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the back of his chair.

“Book two tickets to Blackwood for this evening and arrange for a limo to pick us up.”

You looked up from your iPad, confused.

“I’ll need the other passenger’s name.”

“The other passenger is you.” Seokjin replied flatly without so much as glancing up.

You blinked, your brows knitting together as you stared at him.

“I can’t leave my sister.”

“You weren’t hired to question me,” Seokjin said, finally looking up. “You were hired to do what you’re told.”

“And I will, until it compromises Bella’s health—”

“I already said this once. Don’t make me repeat myself.” His tone dropped a notch. “Bella will have a private nurse with her whenever you’re gone. Have her moved into this apartment today.”

He scribbled an address onto a slip of paper and slid it across the desk.

Ofcourse, he didn’t tell you it was the same building he lived in—or that he owned a handful of units there himself. Funny how investments paid off in more ways than one.

You stared at the address before squeezing your eyes shut, biting your lip as you let out a slow breath.

“I’ll talk to Bella first.”

His gaze lingered on your mouth, watching the way your teeth worried your bottom lip, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

For fucks sake.

How could he not want to fuck you?

“Here’s the thing,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice stern. “Bella isn’t your boss. I am. Which means I decide how it works.”

His eyes bored into yours.

“The moment you signed the contact, you became mine. You serve me. You will obey me. Is that clear?”

You didn’t respond but continued staring at him with those ridiculous big doe eyes.

Three sharp knocks interrupted the silence.

“Come in.”

Ethan stepped inside looking considerably less smug than he’d been five minutes ago.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin gestured lazily towards the chairs opposite his desk.

“Have a seat.”

When he caught you taking a step backwards, he added without looking at you.

“Both of you.”

You looked at Seokjin warily before lowering yourself into the chair beside him.

“Ethan,” Seokjin said, his gaze settling on him. “Do you know who I am?”

Ethan swallowed hard. “Y-you’re the CEO of Axiom Heights.”

Seokjin gave a slow shake of his head.

“Let’s try that again.”

His voice remained calm, bored even.

“Who am I?”

Ethan looked seconds away from being sick.

“I… I…” He opened his mouth, closed it again, his throat working as panic settled in.

Seokjin turned his head towards you.

“Ms. ____?”

You met his gaze without blinking. “A self absorbed egoistic jerk?”

Damn, you had a mouth on you.

Seokjin felt the blood surge through his veins. He swallowed the irritation behind a grin that came easily. He loved it when you were like this. The more you challenged him, the more he wanted to strip that defiance from you piece by piece until all that fire burnt itself out.

Fuck. He was hard as fuck. Fuck. You were so pretty.

Ethan, on the other hand, was horrified.

“One last chance, Mr. Ethan.”

““I-I’m…” Ethan stammered before forcing himself to straighten in his chair. “You’re… my boss, Mr. Kim.”

“There we go.” Seokjin nodded once, pleased.

“And as your boss, I expect you to remember exactly where the line is.” His smile disappeared as quickly as it’d appeared.

“I don’t give a damn what you do outside these walls, but inside this company I won’t tolerate something as stupid and careless as an office romance.” Seokjin watched the colour drain from Ethan’s face as realisation washed over him.

“I built Axiom from the ground up, and I'll be damned if either of you drag its name through the mud. Am I making myself clear?” Seokjin said, glancing between them.

“O-Oh, Mr. Kim.” Ethan practically lurched forward in his chair. “We were just talking. It’s a huge misunderstanding. I—I have a girlfriend.”

Of course he did.

Which meant you knew that now, too.

“Good,” Seokjin said with an indifferent shrug. “As long as we’re all on the same page.” He gave Ethan a curt nod, “You’re excused.”

Ethan all but fled the office.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room steeped in silence.

Seokjin went back to the papers spread across his desk as though nothing had happened.

You, however, hadn’t moved.

Your plush lips were pressed into a thin, furious line, your arms folded tightly across your chest. If looks could kill, he’d have been six feet under already.

He could feel your glare burning a hole through the side of his face.

Finally—

“You’re pissing me off.”

He relished knowing he’d crawled under your skin.

“And you’re turning me on,” Seokjin replied without lifting his eyes from the file, his voice flat. “So unless you want to end up getting fucked against the window right there, you might wanna tone down those glares.”

“You’re sick,” you breathed out, your expression more irritated than revolted.

“Probably,” Seokjin cracked his neck before signing the bottom of a page.“But you’ve always known that, Help, haven’t you?”, he purred.

Your eyes flashed with rage, and fuck, Seokjin couldn’t take his eyes away from you as he felt his cock throb. And if there were any doubts before this moment, they were all erased. This was so on.

Seokjin was going to fuck you, use you for what he wanted, and then dump you back when he was done.

It was only deserved after what you’ve done. You should’ve known better than to let Nate have what had always belonged to him.

And right now, you’d be coming to California with him whether you liked it or not.

“I don’t understand you at all. I don’t understand why you act like this,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Then again…maybe you don’t understand yourself either. Especially not whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

Only, Seokjin understood perfectly. There was nothing confusing about it.

He hated you.

He wanted you.

The two had never been mutually exclusive

He wanted you in a way that made no fucking sense. It was a relentless, stubborn itch inside his skin that anger couldn’t erase and distance couldn’t dull. It lived beneath all the anger and resentment —only becoming more unbearable and stronger over time.

But that ended now.

Because finally—finally—he was going to stop fighting it, and when he was finished, he’d make sure there was nothing left to haunt him after.

[twelveohfour]

its from smut prompt number 1, heree 15) jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar :D

smut list 1, prompt 15: jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar + enemies to lovers

warnings: 18+, MDNI!! Swearing, mentions of alcohol. Enemies to lovers, so everyone's a little bit mean to each other. Jealous behaviour, as the prompt suggests. Explicit sexual content: pet names (princess), slight degradation (use of 'slut'), semi-public sex, hints at exhibitionism, slight orgasm denial.

word count: 3.3k

credits: Dividers by strangergraphics.

do not repost!! this is my original work.

“Here’s to getting older!” your best friend Hani yells over the club’s blaring music, clinking her glass against yours.

“Hopefully wiser too,” you joke, and the rest of your friends cheer. As the song wraps up, you realize you can no longer stand in the shoes you’ve picked for the special occasion, so you and Hani retreat to the booth that she’d booked for her birthday — her in search of a drink, you of a seat. It’s slightly too small for the number of guests she'd invited, but at least there’s enough space for the both of you. You’re nice enough to keep a spot free beside you in case anyone else wants to sit.

“Hey, move over.”

Well, anyone except one person.

Kim Seokjin, Hani’s work best friend, had been a pain in your ass since you’d met him. You’d thought Seokjin was obnoxious and arrogant, his apparent inability to take anything seriously rubbing you the wrong way. He’d taken to calling you Miss Perfect — unkindly — because he found you too high-and-mighty. The two of you had derailed countless events to the point where you were both rarely invited to the same ones, but clearly Hani had figured you two could be civil for her birthday.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” you say flatly, dragging your eyes up to meet his.

Seokjin looked good. Always did, if you were being honest, though you’d rather die than admit it. The first few buttons of his silky black shirt are tastefully undone, offering you a view of the small pendant that falls against the exposed triangle of his wide chest. His hair is slightly mussed, probably the product of an embarrassing amount of time in the mirror.

It was a shame that he had to open his mouth, because as soon as he does, you’re reminded of why you didn’t like him in the first place.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m surprised uptight ______ is at a club. And dressed like that, too,” he shoots back, gaze burning your exposed skin.

While he’s speaking, you realize the hem of your dress, short enough when you stood, has crept up to an indecent point of your thighs now that you’re seated. You know he can’t have missed it with the way his head is angled as he looks down at you.

You push yourself closer to Hani, and as far from Seokjin, as possible. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so fucking annoying?” you grumble.

He plops down beside you, legs spread wide so that a dark denim-clad thigh burns against your bare one, even though you know you’d given him enough space for your legs not to touch. Bastard.

“Hm, nope. You ever tried taking that stick out of your ass? Wait, of course not. It’s you we’re talking about,” he snorts before helping himself to the liquor on the table.

“You ever tried minding your own business, you insufferable fu—” you’re cut off before you can say anything else.

“Calm down, you two,” Hani caws from beside you, filling a glass and sliding it to you. “This is a classy event.”

“I’m trying,” you snap. “More than I can say for some of us.”

But Hani was right; the least you could do on her birthday was not cause a scene. So you decide to be the bigger person, and with a passing glare at Seokjin, who merely waves back, you get up. The ache in your feet makes you quickly regret your decision, but that pain would be more tolerable than the headache that was Jin.

You're pushing against the flow of people to find your other friends on the dance floor when you’re shaken from your train of thought by a light tap on your shoulder. You turn, met with a tall guy with an easy smile.

“Hey, gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?” He leans in, ensuring he’s heard over the never-ending thump of the music.

The line needed work, but he was easy to look at, so at least he’d be a fun distraction if nothing else. “Mm, I already have one. You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that,” you reply with a playful smile. For good measure, you place the half-full glass on a table behind you.

He’s so tall you have to crane upwards to get close to his ear, and when you stumble on your heels a little bit, his hands shoot out to your shoulders to steady you. Embarrassed, you call out a sorry and he just laughs. Despite the crowded club, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

A pair of eyes burns through your back, thoroughly unimpressed with the picture the two of you painted. If only you knew that if you turned around, you’d be faced with the sight of Seokjin without his usual cocky expression, but you’re too entertained by your new friend to look away.

“I’ve been told I’m good company,” he tries again, flashing his dimpled smile at you.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The man probably was better company than at least one person back at the booth. Definitely not better-looking, though.

Wait, why were you even thinking that?

He’s about to respond when you’re tapped on the shoulder again, but the face you see wipes the smile from your lips. Seokjin’s jaw is clenched. The club’s red lights strobe across his face, revealing a tense, almost angry look that’s a stark contrast to his usual annoyingly unbothered one. At Jin’s sudden appearance, the man backs off without further questions.

“We’re singing happy birthday now,” he says coolly. He offers his palm for you to take, which you purposely ignore. While you’re making your way back towards the booth, sweaty bodies tumble into your path, nearly making you fall backwards. Reflexively, Seokjin places a large palm just underneath your shoulder blades to catch you, its heat radiating against your bare skin. You stiffen at his touch, but he doesn’t move his hand even after you’ve recovered, guiding you expertly through the crowd.

He’s led you past the booth, towards the back exit, and a rush of cool air breaks you out of the club’s trance as the door slams shut behind you. You glare at him, irritated, but you almost feel admonished when you see the contempt in his eyes.

“Did the booth move outside while I was gone, or are you just that bad with directions?” you snap. “I’m missing happy birthday.”

Seokjin’s eyes are so dark when they fall on yours that you almost have to look away. “You missed it already, while you were batting your eyes at that guy. Thought Miss Perfect was above flirting with just anyone that looks in her direction,” he says, voice dripping with derision.

You’re not used to the heavy tension that’s rife in the air, so you respond in the only way you know: by riling him up. “Flirt?” you repeat, incredulous. “We were just talking, dumbass. And why do you even care? Jealousy’s really not a good look on you, Jin.” Your voice goes up in a taunt, irritation boiling to a head.

So much for being civil.

His lips press into a thin line, and he takes a step towards you, backing you into the cool brick of the alleyway.

“Jealous? Of who, princess? Him?” Seokjin chuckles lowly, like the mere idea is ridiculous, but the laugh doesn’t reach his eyes. “Come on. We both know I have no reason to be jealous.”

Princess? He’d called you many things over the years, but this was new. Something twists in your stomach, low and hot, at the name, but you can’t dwell on it, don’t want to.

You try your hardest to project an unbothered facade, despite any possible feelings saying otherwise. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re really not all that, you know. If you’re done with your little temper tantrum, I’ll leave. Don’t follow me,” you spit. You move to push yourself off of the wall, but you’re effectively caged in thanks to Seokjin’s broad frame, and he doesn’t seem to want to let you go anywhere.

“Not all that, huh?” The cocky tone you’re used to is back in his voice as he mocks you. “You don’t feel anything when I do this?” He moves to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, letting the back of his hand drag down the column of your neck and towards your exposed shoulder.

It feels like his touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare divert your gaze from his to check. Doing so would concede defeat. Instead, you will yourself to keep a cool, blank mask on.

“Nope.” But your voice betrays you, a little shaky thanks to his sudden proximity.

Seokjin hums, close enough now for his fresh cologne to overwhelm your senses. “I must be imagining things, then. Like how quickly you’re breathing.” His finger lightly grazes the thin skin at your collarbone, as if to prove his point, and he’s so close to you that you’re actively praying he can’t hear the catch of your breath in your throat.

That annoying feeling in your lower stomach is getting to be a problem, burning hotter with every passing ministration of Jin’s. You swallow hard, eyes still fixed on his, but don’t reply.

Why, exactly, was your blood excitedly jumping in your veins if you hated him? It’s not a question you want to entertain.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathes, eyes fixed on you to catch even the smallest change in your facial expressions.

“Wow, you must love the sound of your own voice,” you mutter, surprising the both of you with how you’re the one to join your lips. Seokjin doesn’t react at first, as if he’d been playing a game of chicken that he’d been confident you would lose, but he recovers quickly to kiss you in earnest. The kiss is bruising, by no means sweet, and soon you’re gasping into his mouth. His teeth graze your lower lip more than once, and you squirm against the alley wall.

His large palms grip your sides, bringing you back to reality, and you break the kiss. Seokjin usually has a snarky reply to everything you say, but this time, you’ve gotten the last word in, and it’s the most blissful time you’ve ever spent in his presence. Him being a fantastic kisser doesn’t hurt either.

“You’re actually tolerable when you shut up,” you say, enjoying your small victory. “Should try that more often.”

Seokjin can’t let you have the upper hand for much longer, though. His eyes flit back to yours from where they’d been lingering on your mouth, and his hand cups your throat. The sudden contact makes you jump, but he doesn’t squeeze; its weight just sits there, heavy on your skin, showing who’s in charge. “Your pulse is racing, ______. I can tell you want to do more than just shut me up. Lie as much as you want, but your body’s saying something else.”

You open your mouth to respond when he slips two of his fingers past your lips, pressing them on your tongue until you’re drooling. Your eyes widen in surprise before you recover and send him a withering look, to which he only grins back.

“Aw, where’d all that attitude go, princess?” Jin taunts, tone condescending. He pushes the digits further down your throat, stopping just short of making you gag. “This smart mouth can’t talk back now?” Despite yourself, your pussy squeezes around nothing, but you get your revenge by closing your teeth down lightly on his fingers, making him withdraw with a sharp inhale.

“’S this okay?” When you nod, too fast, he hitches the fabric of your dress up around your hips, letting his fingers grip the flesh of your inner thigh as it falls open. The tips of his long fingers brush against the inner seam of your panties, and he watches closely as you shiver.

“We’re in public, Jin,” you hiss, but make no move to stop him. You’re far enough down the dark alleyway that any onlookers from the main street are unlikely to spot you, but the prospect of getting caught makes your heart race. You'd never done anything remotely as risky as this, so of course it’d be Seokjin putting you in such a compromising position.

He shrugs. “Better be quiet, then,” he says, before pulling your panties to the side. When he’s met with the slick that’s already gathered between your legs, he grins. “Fuck, this wet for me already and we haven’t even done anything. Thought you were supposed to hate me?”

Your brain did, but evidently the rest of you had missed the memo.

A sharp press at your clit makes your breath catch in your throat, leaving you unable to counter his words. You’re wet enough for two of Jin's bent fingers to slip in easily, and he wastes no time opening you up for him. In the quiet of the night, the squelch of his fingers stuffing you is obscene, and you have to lean away from him with a particularly hard press against your G-spot.

“Got all dressed up just for me to see, didn’t you?” he sneers, adding a third finger and continuing to pump relentlessly in your fluttering walls. When a choked sound falls from your lips, he grins, pleased at your reaction. “Falling all over the first guy who looked at you for longer than two seconds, all to get my attention. Should have come to me first, princess.”

“Fuck off,” you get out, but your voice dies in your throat as Seokjin twists his wrist. “N-not what happened.”

“Mm, but I saw the way he was looking at you. And now you’re squeezing around my fingers, like a desperate slut. Or you gonna deny that, too?” He somehow quickens his pace and it has your vision blurring, orgasm threatening to wash over you. As if he knows, he pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them clean with a lewd pop.

“Asshole,” you pant, chest heaving. “I was so close.”

He ignores you to unzip his jeans, and you can’t help how your eyes linger. Of course his dick would be perfect, too: long and thick, veins running down its length. Jin chuckles when he follows your gaze. “Good enough for you, princess?” He pulls a condom out of his wallet, slipping it on before hooking your thigh up and around his hip so he can slot himself at your entrance.

Your eyes still sit where the two of you are about to be joined, which he must take as hesitation, because he pauses. “Sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asks, eyes boring into yours.

“Please.”

Never would you have thought that you’d be begging for anything from Seokjin, and yet you’d done exactly that. Shame has long left you, though, replaced by raw need.

“Figured you’d say that.” With that he guides his tip into your weeping entrance, relishing in the way you shudder, before he buries himself to the hilt with a single thrust. You can’t help but tense up; he’s a lot longer than the fingers that he’d prepared you with, and your walls are slow to adapt to the stretch.

“Drive me fucking crazy, ______,” he says, teeth gritted. “Know you’ve thought about this as much as I have.”

You blink up at him, eyes watery, and it’s the cue he needs to draw his hips back and begin thrusting into you at a brutal pace, all but guaranteeing you’ll be sore tomorrow. The wet plapplapplap sounds the two of you are making are obvious in the quiet of the night, leaving no question as to what's going on in the alleyway.

You yelp, keening forward into Jin’s warm chest at the first press of his tip to your cervix. “So deep, ah, fuck!” He does the same thing again, and the feeling is so intense that you have to shrink away from him and into the firm wall for relief.

“Sure you hate me?” he pants, punctuating the question with a sharp thrust. “You’re gripping me so tight, princess.”

“Y-yeah.” Your response is fuelled by pure spite, but it might have been more convincing if your voice hadn’t cracked into a moan at the end of it.

“I think you secretly love when I get under your skin, think you pick fights with me ‘cause it makes your pussy drip like this. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Delusional,” you breathe, but any further argument dies in your throat when he uses his free hand to paw at your chest, dragging the neckline of your dress down so he can squeeze your breast in a large hand. The added stimulation has a familiar heat burning quickly in your abdomen, and on impulse you join your lips to Jin's, muffling the sounds he draws out of you with every new thrust. The kiss is sloppy, your lips not quite lining up because of how his thrusts shake your frame.

“Could that guy fuck you like this?” he teases, dark eyes on yours. His hips slow to a lazy roll, giving you some reprieve from the brutal pace he’d set.

“Probably.” The wrong answer, if the two harsh slaps to your clit are any indication. “Fuck!”

“Try again, ______.” Seokjin’s voice is quiet. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

You hold onto whatever’s left of your pride, trying to stop yourself from admitting to the biggest pain in your ass that he’s the one making your eyes go unfocused. Clearly, you’ve forgotten just how good Seokjin is at working you up, because he just stops moving and stares at you expectantly, eyes dark like they’d been when he’d come to interrupt you and the man earlier.

It’s a matter of who’s going to break first, and unfortunately, you’re losing grip on your willpower by the second.

“You, fuck, ‘s you,” you concede with a sob, needing him to do something, anything to unwind that coil in your stomach. “Just you, Jin.” You sound pathetic, fucked out. Not that you cared, really, when Seokjin looks as affected as you sound, eyes heavily lidded.

“Mm, thought so,” he says smugly, resuming the motion of his hips and rolling at your clit with his free hand. “Look at uptight ______, getting fucked outside where anyone can see. Maybe I was wrong and you’re not a princess, just a slut. All for me.” He ends the sentence with sharp, staccato thrusts that have your breath coming out in short puffs.

The words should sting, but instead they have you moaning unabashedly, forgetting that you’re in public, and he laughs but doesn’t slow down his pace. “Of course you liked that,” he says, a little meanly.

“Harder,” you pant. His fingers pinch your sensitive nub, making you curse. “Not, ah, what I meant, shit!”

“Eyes on me when you come,” Jin murmurs, voice gravel. “Want you to watch me make you feel good, so the next time you pick a fight with me, you remember how worked up you got. All ‘cause of me.”

Your hand toys with a nipple in tandem with his thrusts, hoping it’ll push you over the edge. Quickly, your orgasm spreads through you with searing pulses that has your mouth falling open in a silent scream, the single leg holding you up threatening to give out for a moment.

The erratic squeezes of your walls have Seokjin losing himself, thrusts getting lazy, and moments later you hear him groan something that sounds almost like your name into the warmth of your neck as he releases into the condom. After a beat, he pulls out, gently setting down the leg that’d been wrapped around his hip.

Aside from the occasional sounds of drunk people stumbling around on the main street, the night is eerily quiet, letting you process what had just happened. It was a mistake, to be sure, but a mistake you wouldn’t mind repeating at least a few more times.

“I still don’t like you, you know.” Thankfully, there’s no shake in your voice this time, even though you're still recovering from your orgasm.

Jin scoffs. “Not even you believe that.”

God, do you resent that he’s not wrong.

i'm not gonna lie i had the toughest time writing this bc i was trying so hard to get the enemies aspect, the jealousy aspect and then the smut all in under 3k words 😭 but then i remembered the entire point of the drabble challenge was for me to learn to write shorter fics/not spend two thousand words developing every single point in a fic, so i had to whittle this one down AND we're still over the word limit i hoped to maintain for this challenge 🤦‍♀️ i tried my best and i think i'm satisfied enough with it now.

part of my drabble challenge - requests are still open! thank you for requesting anon ❤️

[yzzart]

OTHER SIDE! | J.JUNGKOOK

if you met your brother's best friend, for whom you have a crush, on the same sidewalk, would you go to the other side? well, your friends bet no; he's already said you're on the other side.

⋆˚࿔ pairings: brother's best friend!jungkook x f!reader.

⋆˚࿔ tags + warnings: age gap (Jungkook is 28, reader is 24), reader is a magazine columnist, teenage crush, inspired by the song "Other Side" by Brent Faiyaz, cat-and-mouse dynamic, jealous!Jungkook, Jungkook acting like a jerk, a bit of angst, mention of an argument/fight, explicit content, unprotected sex, dirty talk, biting and hickeys, clitoral stimulation, oral sex (female receiving), slight nipple obsession, mild praise kink, crying during sex. (not yet reviewed) — wc: 13.5K

#1 "HOME SWEET HOME"? BOY, GO BACK TO SEOUL.

"Are you listening to me?"

Searching for even a shred of honesty, and summoning that classic childhood pressure the knowledge that lying was a terrible thing, something that shamed anyone who did it, — mom was always right — you were convinced you had moved past it; that you had put a final period on that chapter of your life.

It was ridiculous — perhaps something far more sweeping and drastic than the word "shameful," a term that wasn't even in your vocabulary at the time — to keep circling back, to keep dwelling on the past when you had already turned the page; besides, you weren't some hypersensitive teenager anymore.

At least, that was exactly what you kept telling yourself; well, it worked most of the time and held water — it earned a seal of quality.

Or…

Until someone mentioned his name, or said how he was doing, or until your stomach decided to act as if you were fifteen again. Instantly, you were fifteen once more — back to when you first discovered the passion growing in your heart. — Actually, scratch that "seal of quality" idea immediately; it didn't hold up, and you’d want to file a complaint.

Damn, it was cruelly ridiculous.

"I can't believe i'm talking to myself."

The bar was busy. More so than usual for a thursday, though not quite packed; just crowded enough that Juria had to raise her voice to get your attention. — Something your best friend hadn't managed to do for a little while now; almost five minutes, to be exact. — The music was loud, accompanied by the constant clatter of glasses behind the bar.

You wanted to ask why the night shifts were always the worst, but you knew it was such a stupid question — realizing it wasn't worth asking. On the bright side, you didn't work those hours, nor did you work at that establishment. You simply took advantage of Juria’s invitation — she would always manipulate you with lines like "we need to have some fun" or "lose that sour look; it doesn't suit you" — and visit your brother.

Speaking of whom, where was Jimin?

In truth, that clever woman had a plan up her sleeve — or rather, up her manicured nails; she was seizing the chance to "run into" Jimin’s friend Taehyung, who also worked at the bar. — Truly, the world was full of schemers. — The young man was far from naive; he recognized the woman’s intentions before she even reached the counter.

"What?" — Juria’s remark snapped you out of your thoughts — a welcome relief. Shaking your head and swirling the drink remaining in your glass, you leaned closer to the redhead. — "I’m sorry, Juria. Could you say that again?" — You furrowed your brows as you asked; the look was too genuine for your friend to deny.

"You’re acting strange." — Juria raised her glass to her lips, glistening from lip gloss in the dim light, while fixing you with an arched-brow stare, the look of someone who suspected something. So, she had been right. — "Seriously, honey." — The woman placed a hand on your knee in a gesture of affection.

"I'm fine, Juria." — In just one sip, you finished the drink; the burning, caused by the alcohol, went down his throat drastically and quickly. You placed the empty glass on the counter, waiting for the opportunity to drink again. — If you doubt it, if your brother saw it, he would add water. — "Did you see the photo i posted? I tagged you." — You tried to change the subject; in fact, you could return the focus to your friend's conversation.

Behind the counter, the noise of a video cracking is loud, drawing your attention; When you turn your head towards the sound, you see Taehyung observing — in other words, dedicating himself to the conversation — the scene while drying some glasses. He would take your glass if it weren't for you holding it.

"She's been like that for about ten minutes." — He shrugged as he tended to the glasses; you saw him smiling.

"Thanks for the help, Taehyung." — You said dryly, returning the same smile to the older. You certainly weren't going to leave the bartender a tip — absolutely not. He silently mouthed, "you're welcome."

"Don't tell me you're thinking about him…" — Juria leaned against the counter, looking at Taehyung in search of an accomplice — and finding one instantly. He followed her lead, abandoning the task of cleaning glasses to rest his arms on the marble surface. — "I know that look all too well."

Damn, where have you been, Jimin?

"Who?" — The question came out fast; you almost choked on your own saliva. Even with the music blaring, you caught every word and couldn't hide a peculiar — actually, surprising — reaction. Like, maybe you could have been a little less dramatic about it. — "Shit, don't even start with that."

You knew what they were up to, and it was awful; honestly, you’d rather walk on hot coals than endure the way Taehyung and Juria were in cahoots. Sometimes, you saw them more as enemies than friends. — It was a bit of an exaggeration — drastic and over-the-top — but that was how you felt; and, with the alcohol in you system, you was getting more emotional and sensitive.

"A bit of a strange reaction to a simple question, love." — The redhead tilted her head, making a funny face: eyebrows arched, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. You laughed, unable to help yourself. — Taehyung mimicked her.

"How old are you two? Five?"

Before the pair had a chance to answer her, the bar's back door opened, and Jimin appeared. It looked like he had been using his phone, as he was holding it in his hand before slipping it into his trouser pocket — likely on a break or handling something personal, which explained his absence for a while. — Upon seeing you, even though he saw you often, your brother smiled in your direction.

"I'm surprised this bar is still standing after i've been away for twenty minutes." — Jimin draped his cleaning rag over his shoulder and nudged Taehyung’s waist with his elbow. A few minutes later, a customer ordered a drink, and the older stepped in to serve them. — "Jungkook is coming back tomorrow." — What?

"I thought he wasn't coming back until next week." — Wow, Taehyung had completely left that detail out of the conversation; not that you, like, actually wanted to know. You pointed at your glass, signaling that you needed a refill; your friend got the message.

Your phone buzzed with a notification, but you chose not to check it right away. — So, he was back in Busan? After roughly four years and five months — and no, you didn't know the exact number of days — spent in Seoul taking on the responsibilities of managing the family finances, Jungkook had to settle into his new life. That didn't mean he never visited Busan, he certainly didn't neglect that part of his life, but the visits were brief, shorter than he would have liked; still, he always made a point of seeing his best friend.

The curious thing was that Jungkook never managed to see or visit you during the time he spent in Busan; it was strange — It seemed as though he was trying to avoid you; it was a choice he made of his own free will. In some ways, though, it was better that way; yet, he still followed you on social media. He would often send you small gifts via Jimin — a gesture you truly appreciated.

Jungkook cared about his best friend's little sister; he had never stopped caring about you.

"Oh, he asked about you," — Jimin said after calling your name. For the third time, you nearly choked on you drink; Juria rested her hands on her knee again, steadying you. For God's sake, couldn't that boy just stay in Seoul? — "Taehyung, did you see that cherry liqueur?"

"I think we ran out, didn't we?"

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you took the opportunity to look at a recent notification — 10:23 PM. There were several, actually, but only one bothered you; it was pretty obvious why.

mnijungkook liked your photo.

For the first time in ages, you felt something dangerously familiar wash over you from head to toe; it was unbearable, and there seemed to be no immediate solution. My God, it was the same feeling you’d had as a teenager. — Jungkook was coming back to town, and apparently, you hadn’t gotten over him at all.

#2 WHY DO YOU GET THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU FEEL ANGER WHEN YOU SEE ME?

You were exhausted; you wished you could find — or even invent — a word stronger and more concrete than "exhausted" to truly define your state at that moment. This time, you weren't exaggerating. Scheduling interviews, meetings, and a photo shoot that ran nearly two and a half hours late — compounded by the editor-in-chief deciding to change half of an upcoming article at the last minute.

It wasn't that you hated the idea of ​​working as a magazine columnist — you’d never dream of thinking that; you were grateful for the job and enjoyed working in a field you loved. But, holy shit, sometimes you just wanted to cause a scene — create the kind of utter chaos Dwight did in the fourteenth episode of The Office’s fifth season.

You just wanted to go home, take a long bath, and sleep for ten hours straight — or maybe do all three.

As you left the building, greeting the security guards stationed by the large entrance doors and reaching for your phone, you noticed messages from Juria; they were trivial. Just "did you survive?" to which you had replied, "unfortunately." You then tucked your phone into your bag and headed toward the bus stop — or, on second thought, you could take a taxi.

Then, you stopped in you tracks, as if something had suddenly startled or surprised you, which was exactly what had happened.

Holy shit.

He was leaning against a black motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket with his arms crossed, or rather, his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, leaving his tattoos exposed; there were some new ones, or maybe just touch-ups, it was hard to tell.

Did he look stronger?

He certainly seemed taller than you remembered. — Of course, it had been four years and a few damn months; you didn't perfectly recall his build. — And his hair was a bit long, not excessively so, but it suited him.

Jeon Jungkook.

"No, no." — You murmured, gripping the strap of your bag tightly, feeling a sense of unease. Why was he right outside your workplace? Jungkook should have been resting after his trip, busy, or anywhere else and not there; besides, how did he even know your work address?

Before you had the chance to process what you was seeing and what was happening — and for that matter, to curse your brother for telling his best friend where you worked — you noticed something else; or rather, someone else.

A woman was standing beside him and she was beautiful, truly beautiful. She was standing next to the motorcycle, talking to Jungkook, laughing with him, and touching his arm.

They seemed intimate, very close; you had never touched his arm like that. A deeply unpleasant, uncomfortable sensation churned in your stomach — it felt like nausea.

He was smiling at the woman, who burst into laughter — unnecessarily, it seemed forced — at something he’d said. She touched Jungkook’s arm again, and you could have sworn you saw her tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and whisper something into his ear.

"Oh, right." — You almost bit your tongue in indignation; you didn't even know why you were annoyed. There was no reason for it; Jeon was a grown man, single and very handsome. It was obvious he’d be surrounded by beautiful women who were always flirting with him. Yeah, you’d had to get used to hearing about it.

But less than 24 HOURS after arriving in the city? Wow.

You should just leave. — Yes, that was exactly what you intended to do to avoid dragging out the situation; you were going to turn your back and head home, looking for a taxi. Acting like a grown woman; you weren't obligated to watch the scene unfold. — Then, he looked up and saw you hurrying in the opposite direction, scanning the street for a cab.

Jungkook’s face lit up instantly; it was as if a star had fallen right there in the street, or as if someone had flipped on a light. A genuine, happy smile spread across his lips, possibly highlighting his lip piercing. Jungkook called out your name, practically shouting to get your attention; you didn't want to stop, but you had to.

The woman next to Jeon looked at you with curiosity and confusion, not liking being left out; she hated that she didn't continue to receive the boy's attention because of your presence. — Jungkook quickly moved away and walked towards you.

"You left earlier than i expected!" — Jungkook's voice was peaceful, very serene, and showed a good mood at seeing you. His eyes shone for you, he was happy to have seen you again; it was clear.

"What are you doing here?" — Your tone was harsher than you intended, taking Jungkook by surprise; there was no need for it.

"Wow, what a way to say hello." — He gave a humorless laugh. He furrowed his brows, trying to figure out the reason for such odd treatment. He tilted his head, a classic Jungkook habit, you remembered. — "It's been a while…"

"What are you doing here, Jungkook?" — You repeated the question. Your eyes darted toward the woman, wondering how she was taking Jungkook’s absence; to your surprise, you heard her say goodbye to him and walk away, heading in the opposite direction.

"I came to get you." — He put his hands in his pants pockets.

"Get me?" — You blinked in surprise. — "Why?"

"Because i wanted to."

You would look at him, though at times you couldn't bear the eye contact for long and would fix your gaze on an invisible spot on his jacket or his necklace; regardless, your focus remained entirely on him. You were starting to feel nervous, and fatigue was taking its toll, yet you held your ground.

"I’ve been away for a while, and i thought it would be nice to see you," — Jungkook explained, scratching the back of his neck.

There was no real need for the explanation, and he knew it, but he wanted to be clear with you, and he was telling the truth; after arriving back, the only thing he’d had to do was ask Jimin for your work address. — Well, he hadn't expected your earlier reaction, but he intended to ignore it, he’d love nothing more than to forget it.

Jungkook tried to mask his nervousness, which seemed to be mounting little by little; he wondered why, but he didn't have the patience to wait for the answer. It was probably just post-trip exhaustion, he hadn't rested as much as he would have liked; yeah, that had to be it.

You had changed. — Not that it was a bad thing, quite the opposite; it was good, really good. Jeon immediately corrected his thoughts. You were no longer the teenager, that little girl who was always glued to Jimin’s side; no longer the girl who used to tease him by sticking out your tongue or rolling your eyes or the young girl who constantly put up new posters in your room, trying to make it look edgier and cooler.

Now, you were a mature, beautiful, and incredibly confident woman; you were admirable, too, and according to your friends, and especially Jimin deeply dedicated to your work.

In fact, you were absolutely and perhaps even unconditionally beautiful. — Damn, he knew you had grown up, but he had no idea it would be like this. — Jungkook hadn't realized that the shy smile playing on your lips could have such an effect on him, or that it would make him want to keep looking at you.

It seemed Jungkook would struggle to resist the resurgence of certain feelings and thoughts, ones he had once deemed biting and devious, yet at the time, dismissed as merely fleeting regarding his best friend's sister. Jeon had promised himself he wouldn't revisit that story, that situation.

Absolutely not.

"Jungkook?" — Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts; it wasn't the first time, you had been calling him for seven seconds. He had seemed to go blank, frozen for a moment, before snapping back to reality. — "Is everything okay?" — you asked, tilting your head and rubbing your arms; you was starting to feel cold.

"Hmm…" — He acknowledged, blinking rapidly. You watched Jeon’s tongue press against the inside of his cheek, a sign of impatience, as his fingers ran through his dark hair, tidying it up. — "Shall we go? Lucky for you, the spare helmet should fit." — You walked over to the motorcycle; upon receiving the helmet and putting it on, you confirmed what he had said, it was a perfect fit. Before Jungkook started the engine, while waiting for you to climb onto the back, you hesitated.

"She isn't going to get, like, jealous?" — Upon hearing your question, the older turned his head toward you, and you could picture his furrowed brows and the pout on his lips. Jungkook wasn't stupid, let alone naive; he knew exactly who you were talking about.

"Who?" — His voice came out muffled by the helmet, but you could detect the confusion in his tone. He liked to play at feigned simplicity, innocence.

"That woman." — Ah! Jungkook smiled; you were glad it wasn't visible, but you knew he was smiling because of his eyes, they crinkled and sparkled. That man was infuriating; he drove you crazy. — "I'm serious, Jungkook."

"Are you interested?" — You hated it when people answered your question with another question. — "I don't think she'll get jealous." — He shrugged, as if it were nothing. — "She's not my girlfriend or anything like that."

Wow. — For some completely irrational, and slightly significant, reason, your chest felt lighter; no, you felt lighter. It was kind of absurd, but you didn't care; you didn't care one bit.

"Were you jealous?"

"What? Of course not." — You climbed onto the back of the bike. You weren't sure if it was right to place your hands on Jeon's waist for balance you could have held onto the sides of the motorcycle; there were other handholds but he noticed your hesitation and wasted no time grabbing your hands and placing them on his waist.

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"A little bit, come on." — He was amused. It was obvious, or perhaps he simply didn't want to hide it; either way, there was no need to. Jeon had missed teasing you; he had missed your impatience with his playful antics — he had missed you.

"Jungkook…"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go, please?"

#3 NOTHING STRANGE HERE, MOVE ALONG.

The sound of water running over concrete, accompanied by the wet, unsubtle noises of fabric scrubbing against a surface, filled the garage; someone was humming, too.

Jungkook wiped the wet cloth over the side of the motorcycle, watching and enjoying the result as the black paint regained its shine in the afternoon light. The cleaning was nearly finished; it was a relief, as only a few spots remained, and being a stickler for detail, he wanted the bike to look brand new.

Cleaning his motorcycle was, without exaggeration, therapeutic for him; Jeon held a deep affection for the vehicle. He couldn't quite explain the feeling of seeing it so well cared for, especially by his own hands. It was the true meaning of satisfaction.

"You're cleaning that spot for the third time." — Taehyung’s voice came from behind Jungkook; he was the one who had been humming earlier. Jeon tried not to detect a taunt in his friend's words, but it was impossible.

"There was a stain, Hyung." — He offered as an excuse, lying to the older. In reality, there was no stain at all. Rising from the small stool, Jungkook left the wet, dirty rag beside the bucket of soapy water.

"There wasn't." — He insisted stubbornly, like a child; the two of them acted like children, really and it only got worse when Jimin joined their squabbles. — "Tell the truth: you've got something on your mind." — Taehyung wasn't lying, and that made the situation trickier; it was a toss-up, specifically because Jungkook couldn't explain what he wanted, not even to himself.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Jungkook turned to see Jimin walking toward him and Taehyung, carrying three bottles of beer, exactly what he needed right then; he was grateful. He had been cleaning the motorcycle for nearly three hours; the long delay was due to his friends chatting away.

"How long are you staying in Seoul, anyway?" — Jimin asked, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

"A few weeks." — Jungkook shrugged, mirroring the blond man. — "Maybe a month or more?"

To be honest, Jungkook didn't want to return to Seoul; what with the corporate responsibilities, the pressure to deliver results, and the insufferable meetings with tedious, arrogant people. He owned up to his immaturity and his reluctance to fully embrace his role; he felt a need for honesty.

It wasn't that he hated the role he had to play in the financial world; a world his family had built and intended to perpetuate. — His brother had chosen not to follow that path. In fact, he had clashed with their father, causing a rift. — Jungkook hadn't been the first in line to inherit the family's financial empire, but he had become the most competent. — Following his older brother's decision, he took it upon himself to shape his father's vision.

Most of the time, Jungkook agreed with his brother's decision. If he had been in his brother's shoes, he wouldn't have thought twice.

"Will you survive?" — Jimin asked, teasing his friend. A message notification caught their attention; it was the blond guy's phone, so he reached for the device to check the message.

"Maybe." — He crossed his arms, taking a sip of his beer. Taehyung rolled his eyes at the answer; he’d forgotten just how dramatic his friend could be. Both of them grew curious about the message Jimin had received, as he was typing a reply presumably while smiling. — "Who is it ?" — He asked brazenly, without a shred of shame.

"My sister." — Ah, that made sense. Jungkook raised his eyebrows and stared at some invisible point, thinking of the girl; it had been two days since he’d last seen you, when he’d picked you up from work. — "They're rescheduling a photoshoot, or something like that," —He remarked, without many details.

"Again?" — Jungkook asked, looking skeptical; on the way to your house, you had mentioned a delay with the photoshoot for part of the article and that it would need to be rescheduled. Your boss hadn't been happy about it, and neither had you. — "I can imagine how she must be feeling." — He set the empty beer bottle down on the old garage table.

"She told you?" — Jimin raised his eyebrows, turning off his phone after replying to you and slipping it into his pocket. The tattooed man nodded, glancing at the motorcycle to check for any dirt; no, it was spotless. — "When?"

It was that simple; Jimin wasn't going to interrogate him, there was no intention or need to do so. No drama. He trusted his sister and his best friend. — After all, there was no issue.

"Yesterday." — He answered faster than expected, which was a bit unusual, since Jeon usually took a moment to reply to certain things, often because his attention was elsewhere. — "She spent about five minutes badmouthing the model's team, the ones responsible for the delay." — Jungkook laughed at the memory; you had even gotten him to criticize the team too, turning him into an accomplice. He could feel the vibrations of your laughter as you held onto him to keep from falling off the motorcycle. — "She works incredibly hard."

A dazzling smile played on Jungkook’s lips, one he didn't try to hide in front of his friends; after all, there was no malice in his words. — He recognized the effort you put into your work and had listened to all you complaints and the projects you was organizing; he’d even made you promise to tell him every single detail. God, Jungkook’s cheeks actually ached from smiling and laughing so much with you.

He enjoyed the time spent with you, however brief; something deep inside Jeon was longing for more.

"Oh," — He turned to his friend. — "..she could come by. I don't know, we could ask for something.."

"Or you could go pick her up… again." — Taehyung bit his lip in a teasing tone, playing with the tattooed boy and not worrying about Jimin's reaction, who could get irritated by his speech; but, on the contrary, he didn't care. He just poked the side of Taehyung's stomach.

"Aish." — Jungkook threw the slightly wet and dirty cloth at Taehyung.

#4 NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, IS IT THAT HARD?

Music vibrated through the walls; surprisingly, the DJ showed off his incredible work and good taste with everyone in the room. If in doubt, even outsiders could take advantage. This was great, everyone could enjoy it. — Colorful lights crossed the crowded dance floor while people danced, talked, laughed in groups or pairs spread across the room.

Oh, and they kissed, forgot to mention. As you walked, accompanied by Juria, who invited her, in other words, forced yoy to come and swore that she wouldn't take "no" for an answer. well, you would have had the patience to say all the synonyms for the word "no" but you preferred to follow your best friend — you managed to see several people kissing; probably, it wouldn't just be kisses.

Anyway, you wouldn't judge any of the souls.

"I'm going to grab something to drink." — You shouted to the redhead, who was enjoying the beat of the music; the instrumental track was truly great to listen to. It was impossible not to shout when trying to communicate with anyone, sometimes, even shouting didn't work. Luckily, Juria was still sober and heard you. — "Do you want anything?"

"No, sweetie!" — She said with a charming smile, winking at you; she was always fun to be around, and you loved seeing Juria happy like that. You also knew she would magically vanish from the small space you were occupying within just a few minutes. — "Make yourself at home." — Suddenly, before turning toward the bar, Juria gripped your shoulders to lean close to your ear. — "Be careful, because you look hot." — She whispered.

"Oh, Juria, please!" — You laughed, amused by her words and the way she winked at you once more.

On the bright side, the bar area wasn't too crowded; there were few people around, and you was relieved to find a small empty spot to order a drink without getting shoved, bumped, or having someone grind against your. —phew.

"Gin and tonic, please!" — The bartender nodded and winked at you, a friendly, innocent gesture. While waiting for you drink, you tapped your fingernails against the counter to the rhythm of the music. You didn't notice the young man standing next to you, watching you.

"Great choice," — he said enthusiastically, offering a closed-mouth smile. You looked up toward the voice and found yourself facing a handsome man, that was your first thought, tall, with slightly tousled dark hair and kind eyes. — "I’d order the same thing."

"Seriously?" — You laughed, realizing the guy was using a pickup line to strike up a conversation with you; well, it was worth a shot. — "Do you say that to everyone and just change the drink?" — Now it was the handsome guy's turn to laugh.

"Maybe."

"At least you admitted it."

“Honesty is my best quality.” — Unable to resist the guy’s cheesy line, you laughed, and he instantly smiled back, revealing his dimples. The bartender handed you your drink, along with the one he had ordered. He picked up his glass and raised it toward you, silently suggesting a toast. It was completely random, but you decided to play along. — “To a great choice.”

“To the worst pickup line ever.” — Before your glasses could clink, he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, as though you’d deeply wounded him. You could only shake your head, trying and failing not to laugh at the ridiculous display.

"Ouch.” — He narrowed his eyes and pouted dramatically, looking like a rain-soaked puppy; for a fleeting second, he reminded you of someone else. — “You really know how to be cruel.”

“And you really know how to be persistent.”

“Is it working?” — You clinked your glasses. As you took a sip, you merely shrugged in response, though if you were being honest, you were enjoying the easy banter between you.

"Maybe."

”‘Maybe’ is pretty close to a ‘yes.’”

“In what universe?”

"In mine."

At that exact moment, not even a second later, Jungkook saw you; from the other side of the party, he had a clear view of the bar and the venue’s entrance. — He knew the owner of the place, who had sent him an invitation as soon as he heard Jungkook was back in town.

Why not? — It had only been a few days since his return to the city, and he wanted to make the most of it; the invitation had seemed like the perfect opportunity. — So, he invited Yoongi along. Yoongi didn’t agree right away, but the boy from Busan had always known exactly how to convince him.

They had been there for a while now. Jungkook was grateful he had taken it easy, he hadn’t had much to drink. Back then, he had been no stranger to late-night parties and celebrations, and he still enjoyed nursing a drink every now and then, letting it bring back memories of the old days. — Since arriving at the party, he’d somehow ended up with five crumpled slips of paper tucked into his pocket, each one bearing a phone number and a tiny heart scribbled beside it.

He had no idea when they’d gotten there, but one thing was certain: none of those numbers would ever make it into his contacts.

Truthfully, he could have but he had no interest in doing so, no desire, no curiosity. — Nothing at all.

“Isn’t that the guy who went to school with us?” — Yoongi remarked, assuming Jungkook was staring at the same thing he was; a guy making out with one girl before immediately moving on to another. — “Damn,..he’s got stamina.” — He finished the last sip of his whiskey and turned toward the dark-haired man, only to find Jungkook’s gaze fixed on a completely different part of the room. — "Jungkook?"

No response.

"Jeon?" — After being ignored twice, Yoongi gave up on calling his name and followed the line of his friend’s stare instead. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. — “Ah…I get it.”

It was almost impressive. Yoongi had called his name three times without getting so much as a glance, a response, or any sign that Jungkook had even heard him. Yet the moment Yoongi muttered those two words under his breath, Jungkook finally turned to face him.

“What?” — The anger, disgust, and indignation etched across Jungkook’s face were impossible to miss. He bit the inside of his cheek and tightened his grip around his glass hard enough that, under different circumstances, he might have shattered it. Fine lines creased his brow as he kept his eyes fixed on the scene. — “Who is that guy?”

“No idea.” — Learning the name of the guy flirting with his friend’s little sister had never been on Yoongi’s agenda. Jungkook answered with nothing more than a low, gruff “Mm.” Yoongi shot him a knowing look. — “You shouldn’t even be asking that.”

"Why?"

“It’s simple, Jungkook.” — Frustrated, Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose. — “Because it’s none of your business and definitely none of mine.”

Yoongi was right. — He always was. It was rare, almost impossible, for his reasoning not to make perfect sense, and he already knew exactly what was happening without anyone having to tell him or without needing to guess but it wasn’t his business either. — And what was he supposed to do? It didn’t matter, because Jungkook wasn’t about to listen to Yoongi’s lectures or his pleas to stay put and pretend he hadn’t seen you standing there with that guy.

What the hell did he have to do with his friend’s sister’s love life?

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jungkook.” — Yoongi refused to beg, though he sounded like the angel perched on the tattooed man’s shoulder. The moment he heard, “I won’t,” he nearly swore at him with every curse word he knew. — “That’s exactly what you said before you broke a guy’s nose in Gwangju.”

“Yeah, but i was right that time.”

“You’re not right this time.”

Jungkook didn’t listen. He ignored the older friend — a level of disrespect — Yoongi would definitely take issue with and kept walking in the one direction he had no business going: straight toward you.

The guy’s name was Haein. — As cheesy as he was, he was undeniably charming, winning you over with his sense of humor and making you laugh with surprising ease. The alcohol might have had something to do with it, but let’s not dwell on that. — The conversation flowed effortlessly, light, natural, and easy, free of challenges, petty arguments, or someone constantly trying to get under your skin at every opportunity.

Haein was funny and incredibly polite, too; more than that, he seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He listened, paid attention, asked questions. He wasn’t just waiting for his turn to speak; he was actually engaged in the conversation.

“So, you’re a writer?” — Haein’s eyes lit up with curiosity, genuine enthusiasm shining through as he asked about your work. He told you he was a photographer, a profession he’d dreamed of since he was a kid; his mother had always loved taking pictures.

“I’m a columnist.” — You replied, absentmindedly tracing the rim of your half-empty glass with your fingertip. Even beneath the dim lighting, the rosy tint on your cheeks was impossible to miss, and Haein found it undeniably endearing. You caught him quietly saying it was amazing. — “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

“What? I disagree.”

“How can you be so sure?” — You asked with a small smile. — “You don’t even know what i actually write about.” — You hadn’t meant for it to come across as blunt, and thankfully, Haein didn’t take it that way.

“I don’t need to.” — Haein smiled warmly. — “The way you smile when you talk about it tells me you care a lot about what you do.”

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been genuinely interested in talking to a guy you’d just met. — Well, by now, he’d already gone from complete stranger to pleasant company; was that too much of a leap? — Everything between the two of you felt so effortless. Haein had somehow made you forget the noise and chaos of the party around you.

What would it hurt to give him a chance, right?

Apparently, quite a lot, because you were so caught up in the conversation, so genuinely enjoying yourself, that you never noticed a very familiar figure making his way toward you.

In any other situation, you would’ve much rather run into Jimin than him.

“I didn’t know you were here.” — He cleared his throat after calling your name. Unlike usual, he didn’t sound to be in a particularly good mood. His familiar voice was lower than normal, carrying a sharpness that made it seem unusually dry or maybe that was just your impression. The smile on your lips vanished instantly, as though you’d somehow been caught doing something wrong.

Haein noticed the sudden change in your expression and in your posture. The shift caught him off guard, but he couldn’t help attributing it to the newcomer who had just stepped into the space the two of you had been sharing.

Jungkook, of course.

“I didn’t know i needed to let you know.” — He clearly didn’t like the boldness in your reply, though it was to be expected. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, and his expression shifted into something that looked almost like disgust.

You didn’t mean to be so harsh with your brother’s friend; after all, the two of you had been getting along again over the past few days.

“Is he a friend of yours?” — Haein asked, adding a cute nickname derived from your name. It was endearing, and Jungkook let out a humorless laugh at the sound of it. The other noticed the tension between you two, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the tattooed man.

“Unfortunately.” — You heard Jungkook click his tongue, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. The guy in front of you quietly laughed at his reaction. Haein shifted his attention, realizing he was being stared at and he had been right. Jeon was looking at him with a lowered, judgmental gaze, and it definitely didn’t mean anything good. He could have felt uncomfortable, but he wasn’t naive.

“Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?” — Haein raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t going to put up with something like that, much less accept having his conversation with you interrupted. He actually had the nerve to challenge your friend.

“I asked first.” — Jungkook argued.

“And i’m not obligated to answer.”

“Jungkook…” — You tried to interrupt, even though you already knew it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Stay out of this.”

Sighing, you couldn’t believe the situation you had found yourself in. You knew both of them were incredibly stubborn and self-centered; avoiding an awkward scene out of pure ignorance didn’t seem to be an option, apparently. You wanted to find Juria — though, at that moment, you felt it would be easier to find a needle in a haystack — and leave; at least with Haein’s number saved.

Maybe not. — Even though you had enjoyed the conversation and felt comfortable around him, he was still just a handsome guy you might meet once and never see again.

“Do you always treat people this way, or did you make an exception just for today?” — Haein questioned, the corners of his lips curving into a sarcastic smile. He wasn’t afraid of whatever answer or aggressive reaction might come.

“I made a special exception just for you.”

“Look, it’s fine.” — Haein raised his hands in surrender, though the gesture was clearly playful, keeping that teasing smile and disdainful look. — “I’m going to get some air.” — He could tell this wasn’t going to end well, not to mention he already knew there was something going on between you and Jungkook. Before leaving, he gave you one last smile. — “I hope i see you again later.”

“I hope so too.”

Jungkook’s expression hardened instantly; his jaw clenched tight. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. There was also an uncomfortable sensation in his eyes, making him blink several times. The sight of Haein, — whose name Jungkook didn’t even know, — disappearing into the crowd brought him a strange sense of relief; it was weird, honestly.

He found himself hoping you wouldn’t find him again. — Not this time.

“What was that, Jungkook?” — You questioned, visibly irritated and overwhelmed. You had so many questions, you wanted to yell at him; God, you felt suffocated. — “No, it felt like i was doing something wrong.” — Your eyes moved over him, not focusing on his face, you barely cared to. The colorful lights shifted around the two of you. — “My God, even Jimin doesn’t act like this.” — You gestured with your fingers.

“You didn’t even know the guy.” — Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, crossing his arms.

“So what?”

“Oh, so what?” — You widened your eyes mockingly at his words. Jungkook could be ridiculous when he wanted to be, he somehow always managed to outdo himself. Sometimes, you wondered how you had ever liked someone like him. — “You trust anyone now?” — How was that even a question? — “Always looking for attention.” — Once again, he let out a humorless laugh.

In disbelief, your expression was pure shock; you blinked once, twice, as the music, which seemed to have grown louder and the floor vibrating beneath your feet became impossible to tolerate like it had been before.

“Excuse me?” — Jungkook didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. He seemed completely normal as he stared at you in that ridiculous way, almost like your brother.

No, not like Jimin. — Jimin didn’t usually look at you like that. Sure, he scolded you sometimes, like any normal sibling would, but this was different.

“Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

“Someone with common sense? Trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“I don’t need you to stop me from doing anything.” — You still couldn’t believe this version of Jungkook. All you could think about was the shame burning in your chest.

“Of course not.” — He cleared his throat. — “You always know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” — He raised his voice, his anger evident, his composure slipping. Jungkook could have stepped closer instead of making her feel the need to shout over the music, but that was his choice. The sarcasm in his voice was so obvious that it made you freeze, pressing your body against the counter. — “He was a complete stranger. Did you even think about that?”

“You were once a complete stranger to me too, Jungkook.”

You had hit his ego; that was a point for you.

Before, it had only been teasing, a way for the two of you to mess with each other, but now it had turned into arrogance, careless words, and no filter whatsoever. You had been showing this side of yourself since Jungkook’s return, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned. And as your attitude grew worse, it was clear you had no intention of stopping; well, neither did Jungkook.

“It’s completely different.” — He rolled your name off his tongue in a resentful murmur, rolling his eyes and letting his gaze settle on the crowd for a few seconds; a girl caught his attention and winked at Jungkook.

It wasn’t, and he knew that.

“No, that’s not the problem.” — Your throat was starting to itch; it felt dry, and you wanted to order another drink, this time something stronger. You were sure that if you asked for one in front of Jungkook, he would either knock it to the floor or drink it right in front of you, probably. — “You’re never going to see me as a grown woman, damn it.” — What a relief.

Jungkook fell silent, accepting your words. He felt a pang of desolation and anger; it wasn’t difficult to recognize the discomfort in the conversation, you had never been very good at hiding your emotions. He could have simply stayed quiet, leaving you alone with your hurt, or finally gone back to the guy you had been talking to; no, Jungkook didn’t think twice.

“Because you don’t act like one.” — He shrugged, raising one eyebrow while lowering the other. — “Maybe you won’t anytime soon.”

Those words hit you hard, like a punch; a pain so miserable, filled with overwhelming sorrow. Disappointment and anguish walked hand in hand, you hadn’t expected that. You never expected to hear the man you had loved so much as a teenager, the feelings still lingering in your chest, never truly overcome, say something like that. In the silence that existed only between you and Jungkook, you couldn’t believe it.

Staring at him with glistening eyes, but not from emotion, from disappointment, you felt a ridiculous sting. You wanted to get away from him, away from that place; you no longer worried about Juria. She could handle herself, and a simple message from you saying “going home ;)” would be enough.

You had never felt so stupid.

“Okay.” — Your voice came out so quiet. Jungkook shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music and the noise surrounding you, but somehow, impossibly, he did.

He realized the mess he had made — he promised himself Yoongi could actually kill him — but it was too late. Jeon called your name, his voice a little gentler, almost like he needed a pair of puppy ears drooping to match it. — “No, Jungkook.” — He tried to get your attention, reaching out and touching your arm, wanting to step closer and apologize, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter anymore.

You refused to feel his touch, rejecting Jungkook’s attempt to get closer to you. You began to feel nauseous, a strong repulsion building in your stomach, disgust and anger toward him. Your chest was racing, and you could no longer endure all the noise and the crowd around you. At that moment, you weren’t thinking about finding Haein to try to lift your mood, continue where you had left off, and distract yourself. You just wanted to go home; you shouldn’t have gone out in the first place. That was the truth.

And so, you left; without looking back, without giving Jungkook a chance. He remained standing there, not saying another word, not daring to stop you; watching you disappear among the people in the room. It didn’t take long before Jeon could no longer see you.

For the first time that night, unlike what had happened in Gwangju, Jungkook felt exactly as he deserved to feel: like a complete idiot.

#5 GIRL, YOU MUST BE FROM THE OTHER SIDE.

Jungkook cruelly hated the bitter feeling, the pure misfortune that was growing in his chest; it was something fierce and overwhelming at the same time. That feeling, in the very few times he had experienced it, had followed him before but never like this, never with this intensity. He had ruined everything.

Fuck, he had really fucked everything up.

It had been five days since what happened at the party; five days of ignored messages, declined calls, and changes to your work schedule. Obviously, a lot had happened. — Well, he couldn’t really complain, after all, he had neither the moral high ground nor any dignity left. — For five days, he ended every conversation asking himself how many times someone had to type "i’m sorry" before the words completely lost their meaning.

Jungkook had tried. — In fact, he was still trying.

“She’s still hurt, Jungkook.” Or, “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Fuck.

Thinking back on the messages from his best friend, Jimin had repeated those words three different times. He wanted Jungkook to keep facing just how ridiculously he had behaved that night. After finding out what had happened, your brother greeted him with carefully restrained hostility, weighing everything between you and Jungkook.

Jimin knew, better than anyone, what was really going on with his best friend. Honestly, Jungkook couldn’t talk to Jimin the way he normally did anymore; the only person who ever saw this remorseful, melancholic version of him was Yoongi.

The only piece of advice he had actually followed — after ignoring countless others — was to find some way, any way, to talk to you. Still, Jungkook finally worked up the courage to ask Jimin something important; something that involved you.

And so, Jungkook stood in front of your front door, desperately wishing to put an end to the feeling weighing on his chest. He hadn’t expected that thought to sound so selfish. The truth was, he wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice. More than anything, he wanted to see you.

As he rang the doorbell, he felt a knot form in his stomach. It was strange, sending a slight shiver through him. Anxiety and nervousness settled in; he knew he was in the red zone. He lightly tapped the tip of his shoe against the ground while waiting for someone to answer.

Jungkook wanted to check his phone, but he knew that would only make things worse, and he was grateful he’d left it on Do Not Disturb. No one came to the door, so he rang the bell a second time. He wasn’t impatient; for you, he could have waited until the end of the next day if he had to.

Were you really going to avoid him forever?

While the doorbell rang, you were in the kitchen. You had gotten out of the shower not long ago and were looking forward to resting after another exhausting day at the magazine. — The new head of the photography department was awful. — On top of disrupting your team’s meeting, she had deleted several files containing photos and product previews for one of the company’s campaigns; she was a complete nightmare.

By the second ring, you were already at the front door, wondering if it might be Juria, you had grown used to the redhead dropping by unexpectedly or Jimin. To be sure, you looked through the peephole. — It was him.

Jungkook was standing at your door.

Tragic, and so utterly pitiful. — You had learned to recognize his name flashing across your phone screen and ignore it before reading a single message; when that wasn’t enough, you temporarily muted his contact. — On the bright side, it had worked but seeing him there was different. — You knew Jeon had stopped by your workplace a few times, including the day he first came back, because your coworkers kept mentioning him. This was so much harder; in the end, it seemed you weren’t going to get rid of Jungkook anytime soon.

After five days of trying to get your head straight.

“What are you doing here?” — You opened the door just enough to see him through a narrow gap. Funny, it felt like a pathetic case of déjà vu, because those were the exact same words you had said to him that day.

Jungkook stood frozen, swallowing hard. For a second, neither of you said a word. You looked exhausted, worn down and not because you were sleepy, but because of him. That hurt far more than he could have ever expected or imagined.

“We need to talk.”

“No.” — The answer came instantly, as if it had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for days, without a trace of hesitation. Jungkook took a deep breath and bit down on his lip piercing, an unbearable habit, both for himself and for anyone watching him. He said your name like a plea, the regret in his voice genuine, but you refused to give in. — “You already said everything you wanted to say, remember?”

He wished he had the chance to forget it all, to erase what had happened, to erase the fact that he had hurt you.

“I didn’t.” — He shook his head in denial. You remained unmoved by Jungkook’s words, refusing to give him the chance to explain himself or say what he needed to say. Why hadn’t you just closed the door? — “Please.” — You opened the door a little wider, not to invite him in, but to make it clear that he needed to leave. — “I want to apologize.”

You remained silent, allowing Jungkook to continue, but he expected more, and that frustrated him. He was genuinely trying, and Jungkook had never been good at trying when it came to things like this. He was doing everything he could not to appear vulnerable, preferring to hide behind anger instead. He knew it wasn’t the best choice.

“Did you come here to apologize, or to prove you were right?”

“Fuck, no.” — Jungkook rested his tattooed hand against the door, applying just enough pressure for you to notice. He wanted to come in, but he didn’t dare ask. He looked genuinely remorseful. He hated feeling this way, as if he needed your attention, your hand to steady him. — “I was angry. I didn’t mean to…”

“That doesn’t change what you said.” — Your voice was so strained, unable to hide the frustration behind it. You kept your eyes on him, catching every little movement the older man made. You hated the fact that, even in the middle of your anger, you still found yourself admiring him. Jungkook quietly whispered, “I know,” his gaze dropping to the floor. — “Then why did you say it, Jungkook?”

Jungkook hated the way you said his name now. It bothered him like burning embers dragged across his skin; he had never imagined it could affect him like that. He had never imagined the two of you would end up in a situation like this. Your voice, once so gentle and soft, now carried a fragile blend of indignation and sadness.

Why? — That was the question. the only one. And Jungkook hated it because there wasn’t a simple answer, because the truth was humiliating: because he had seen another man looking at you like that; because he had felt something he neither wanted nor should have felt; because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else getting to know the parts of you he had always wanted to know himself.

“Because i care about you.”

“That doesn’t justify anything, Jungkook.”

“I always tried to ignore this shit. You were younger, you still are, you’re my best friend’s little sister, and i knew i shouldn’t have been looking at you that way."

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening with shock and anguish. Jungkook blinked several times, the hand resting on the door pressing harder against it while the other ran through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. His voice was steady, and somehow, that made it worse.

“Then i left, and you grew up, i kept pretending nothing had changed. That’s it.”

You stared at him in stunned disbelief, your expression caught somewhere between shock and confusion. You had never expected to hear a confession like that or those words from him. Your face betrayed an emotion that was impossible to read.

Part of Jungkook worried about how you were taking it, while the other part no longer cared. He just wanted to let out what had been trapped in his chest for years. — Neither of you had imagined this conversation would ever happen. — Honestly, you struggled to believe it was real, that Jungkook’s words were true instead of some cruel illusion. You didn’t know what to expect anymore and yet you didn’t feel like he was lying.

Why hadn’t you just slammed the door in his face and carried on as if none of this had ever happened? It would have been so much easier.

“Are you telling me that…”

“I’m saying you drive me crazy. You confuse the hell out of me.” — He wasn’t joking. Jungkook looked so serious, so resolute, that it made you swallow hard and open the damn door a little wider. — “You get under my skin.”

“You’re so arrogant.”

"I know."

“You hurt me, Jungkook. Do you really think you can just show up here and fix everything?” — With the door open, he could get a broader glimpse of the entrance to your home. It was small and cozy, the kind of place that radiated warmth and safety. It reminded him of you. Jungkook’s eyes swept over the room before returning to yours.

“No.” — He answered immediately. — “I don’t.” — For the first time, perhaps in all the years you had known Jungkook, you saw something different in him; fear. Not much, but enough. He was carefully choosing his words when, in truth, he wanted to tell you everything without a single filter or restraint. — “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

The silence between you and Jungkook was cruel, painfully so, merciless. — Your stomach churned, leaving you feeling strangely unsettled. You didn’t know what to say; you couldn’t think of anything. Funny, considering you had always been ready with a sharp remark or something to provoke him. You parted your lips, hoping to say something, to answer him, but closed them again almost immediately.

Jungkook took two slow steps forward, crossing onto the tiled floor of your entryway. He was so close now. He seemed like an entirely different man from the one who had argued with you at the party.

Less defensive, more honest. He was still stubborn, still proud but, at the very least, he was honest.

“Then why does it feel like you’re angry at me?” — You asked, unable to keep the sorrow out of your voice. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. It felt as though you were the one who should be ashamed.

The question caught him off guard because you had noticed; of course you had. You had always noticed everything about Jungkook, though it was never something you took pride in. Before answering, he let out a humorless laugh.

“I’m angry at myself…” — Your name left his lips with the same gentleness as always. Ever since he’d met you, there had always been a quiet tenderness in the way Jeon said your name, and you had always loved that about him. — “I spent so long trying to keep all of this under control… and in the end, all i managed to do was hurt you.”

As his words faded, your gaze dropped to Jungkook’s lips for a single second, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, of quiet openness.

Just one second, yet the two of you noticed it, and that was more than enough. — The same hand that had been resting against the door came up to cradle your face, the cool metal of the ring on his index finger brushing against your skin. — He held you so carefully. — His fingertips moved slowly across your cheek, as though asking permission to be there. Jeon waited for you, giving you every chance to pull away if that was what you wanted. His breath began to mingle with yours, and he made no attempt to rush, not a single movement; he kept waiting for the slightest sign that you wanted him to stop.

But, perhaps to Jungkook’s surprise, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him back; quite the opposite. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, exhausted from fighting your feelings any longer, you gave him all the permission he needed and so, Jungkook kissed you.

At first, it was hesitant. Just the faintest brush of lips, almost shy but the moment you gripped the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt and fully returned the kiss, all the distance the two of you had created over the past few days melted away, as though it had never existed.

Jungkook kissed you with unmistakable care, savoring every second, wanting to commit the feeling to memory. Your lips moved together slowly, unhurriedly, while your tongues met in a gentle, intimate kiss that gradually deepened. At the same time, both of your hands instinctively searched for closeness, for the comfort you had been denying each other for far too long.

Jungkook’s hand remained cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking your skin, while his other hand rested on your waist, pulling you closer. You could still feel the remnants of his anger lingering beneath the surface, intertwined with something else entirely, raw desire. Even so, he deepened the kiss with unmistakable care, silently showing you that, this time, he wasn’t trying to control anything.

The need to pull away from each other was almost cruel, but neither of you could complain. Silence settled between you for a few seconds, no, for a few long minutes. You were both stunned, especially you, not because of the kiss itself, but because of its intensity because of everything you were trying to process all at once. — He rested his forehead against yours, your breathing still uneven as the two of you silently tried to find your rhythm again.

You had never imagined finding yourself in a situation like this.

That didn’t mean you disliked it or that you had anything to complain about. — You had allowed yourself this moment; you had let him kiss you, let him touch you and part of you wanted more. — Jungkook had spoiled you already, and that wasn’t your fault.

He took your hand, his fingertips tracing slow circles across your palm before lacing his fingers through yours. The contrast in the size of your hands was impossible not to admire. A shiver ran through you, catching you completely off guard.

The closeness between the two of you felt so new — almost too new — and strangely unfamiliar. At the same time, it felt like something that should have happened a long, long time ago.

Of course, despite the small hesitations on both sides, your steps naturally carried you farther into your home. Whatever was about to happen didn’t belong out in the open or where your privacy could be invaded.

Without paying attention to where he was going, Jungkook kissed you again with unmistakable urgency. He felt addicted to your lips, to the taste of your mouth, as though he were committing the most beautiful of sins. He kissed you with longing and hunger. Shrugging off his leather jacket, he let it fall to the floor as if it hadn’t cost a fortune, then slipped off his shoes.

His hands never left your body; for the oldest, it was simply impossible to let go of you.

“Jungkook, fuck it…” — You mumbled between the wet kisses, the kind that created an unpleasant mixture of shared breaths and saliva, trying to scold him. He was desperate, completely out of control, and could only understand his own desire; you couldn’t really blame him, he had dreamed of this. — “Ggkie…!” — Jungkook liked that nickname and had never hidden it; it had been a long time since the last time he heard it. It wasn’t difficult to notice the way his lips curved into a quick smile as he whispered, “my beautiful”.

The leather belt joined the other pieces and accessories from the clothes Jungkook had discarded on the floor; he liked practicality, simple and straightforward. It was enough for the moment, he needed to breathe and keep himself composed, or at least try to. Jungkook’s large, tattooed hands grabbed your thighs before giving them a small tap and signaling for you to make a little jump, and not that it was difficult, of course, he lifted you onto his lap; your legs wrapped around his waist, fitting perfectly against him. Through the thin, delicate fabric of the shorts you were wearing, you could feel his arousal. It didn’t bother you, not even a little, but it sent a few sensations through your body and made you crave more closeness.

You could actually stain, wet the tip of Jungkook’s pants; the thought itself managed to fascinate you. It was bizarre.

“Please…” — He breathed, biting his lip as he looked at you with half-lidded eyes, completely overwhelmed by the moment. Jungkook felt almost ridiculous, like a teenager experiencing something for the first time, and he knew it. — “Don’t tell me your bedroom is too far away.” — His words came out quickly; he didn’t have the patience for anything beyond what was necessary.

Shaking your head, you guided him toward the room while he carried you, his steps following your directions.

Thinking about it, he had never been inside your home before; this would be his first impression. Even though he had seen and liked some of the photos you had taken in different parts of the house, that didn’t really count. — There was a first impression for everything.

Jungkook’s somewhat blind, heavy, and clumsy steps led him to the room he was looking for. He would have liked to admire your room, to take in every detail; perhaps, in the future, he might have the chance to see it more leisurely and with your permission. — The tattooed man laid you down on your bed, hovering over your body; Jungkook’s lips moved away from yours, etting them rest, given the visible swelling and redness and trailed down your neck. Licks, light sucks, and bites, which took her by surprise, were left upon your skin; you was no fool and realized that Jungkook wanted to leave marks on you. — Not to mention the older one’s leg moving between your thighs, specifically, his knee making contact with your intimate area, covered only by your shorts; the movements were light, slow, and torturous for you.

Every moan disguised as a sigh brought a wicked smile from Jungkook's lips.

"I used to dream about this, you know?" — He murmured, his voice hoarse and tinged with a hint of desperation; it was dry. Jungkook swallowed hard. — "Fuck, i dreamed about it so damn much…"— He didn't lie, there was anger and truth in his words; there should be shame, but he didn't know the feeling.

That didn't mean he didn't feel the courage to tell you all the things he'd ever thought about doing to you or about you.

His hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, signaling you intent to take it off and do exactly what he wanted. Since you was at home, there was no need to wear a bra or anything of the sort, it was a feeling of freedom; well, Jeon was certainly grateful for that. — He swore he noticed a trivial smile on the man's lips, similar to someone receiving a gift.— Jungkook's face moved away from yours, leaning down to the level of your breasts and it wasn't long before his mouth latched onto one of your nipples. He was sucking it hard, he was hungry, he wanted to taste it; Jungkook always paid extra attention to boobs, he didn't want to consider it an obsession, even if it seemed like it.— His tongue flicked against the sensitive tip of your nipple, the wet, incredibly loud sounds echoing through the bedroom; you knew your panties were soaked, and you could have come from that alone.

Fuck, you could cum — easily — with Jungkook sucking on your tits.

You didn't even notice that, with his hands free, Jungkook gripped the waistband of your shorts, along with your panties, and wasted no time pulling them down to the middle of your thighs; it was only temporary, as he was soon going to toss that garment onto the damn floor. Jungkook kept kissing your nipple, his chin slick with saliva, while you were delirious with pleasure, running your fingers through his dark hair; a silent plea for more. It was something you had always dreamed of.

With quick, practiced movements, the middle and ring fingers of the bastard’s left hand parted your pussy, making sure to touch the entrance, which was already soaking wet. He teased the idea of ​​penetration, pressing just the thick tip of his middle finger against the opening and sending a spasm through your body. — It had been quite a while since you’d had sex; you couldn't even quite recall the last time but you were certainly grateful for the state you were in now. — Jungkook’s finger slid in easily; you were well-lubricated, and even with your nipple in his mouth, Jeon was salivating.

"Uhuh…" — He grunted, tugging at your nipple before releasing it with a wet, dirty snap, then licked and played with the sensitive, saliva-soaked tip; — "You were really waiting for this, weren't you?" — He wanted to wring that confession out of you, even though he was in no position to judge right now. You had always wanted him, always. Jungkook bit his lip, unable to suppress the smile forming; his face was flushed, matching the color of your own lips, lips you had bitten yourself. — "My beautiful girl." — He kissed the swell of your tits. — "Come on, lift up a little…" — He gripped your thighs to steady you, and you obeyed, making room for him on the bed as your head rested against the headboard.

As intended, he removed your shorts and panties and tossed them aside, not caring where they landed. Jungkook left you completely naked, at the mercy of his presence. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of shyness — not in a negative or derogatory sense — before the man you had been in love with since your teenage years. Your legs drew inward slightly, your knees touching for a brief moment.

"Don't be shy, princess." — He whispered sweetly as he moved closer to your thighs. Jungkook’s gaze was affectionate yet tinged with desire and lust; he locked onto you effortlessly, without even trying. — "That doesn't suit you." — He clicked his tongue, parting your thighs and letting his eyes drift down to the wet sheen of your pussy. — "That’s not the girl i know."

You would like to hate this man.

"Remember we haven't seen each other in years." — You summoned the strength and the sheer will to try and counter his remark; you were right was true and very obvious. Jungkook laughed, at the same time, trailing short kisses down your inner thigh. You always had some answer on the tip of your tongue, the difference is that, in the past, you would struggle to try to talk, finish a bold sentence for whoever was provoking you.

"Of course, Aegi."

In that very instant — or rather, mere seconds later — Jungkook’s head was nestled comfortably between your thighs. You could have smothered him, and for Jeon, that would have been a dream come true. The tattooed man’s lips, accentuated by his piercing, and his tongue roamed over your pussy with an animalistic hunger, sucking your clitoris firmly but without excess or any hint of brutality. Jungkook reveled in the taste, kissing your pussy; it was filthy, delicious, and uninhibited. At times, he would suck on one of your folds, give it a gentle tug, and let it snap back with a loud pop. His tongue continued its up-and-down movements, grazing your opening.

You had goosebumps; waves of heat and tiny electric shocks rippled through you, it was surreal. You knew you weren't being dramatic or exaggerating, yet you felt on the verge of unraveling. Electric tingles shivered across your stomach and deep within your core, while your breasts ached with arousal, pure, unadulterated desire; seeking relief or attempting t you squeezed your still-damp, hypersensitive nipples with your fingers. Then, you felt your clitoris being gently sucked and tugged.

"Ngh,. Jungkook!" — You pressed the handsome young man's head between your legs; he felt the pressure you were exerting, yet made no move to stop it. Jungkook was kissing your pussy ravenously, as if he hadn't tasted it in years, driven by a hunger he wanted to satisfy; it seemed as though he wanted to devour you whole. — "Just like that, please…!" — Jungkook’s ears burned hot and red, flushed by the sound of your moans and the way you spoke his name, always with a soft, whimpering plea at the end as you called out for him.

"So delicious." — He growled between licks and quick sucks; even the tip of his nose was smeared with saliva and your juices. Jungkook found himself addicted even to your scent. — "Oh, princess…" — A laugh rumbled in his chest as he sucked your clitoris. — "You're going to let me eat you again, aren't you?" — Yes, yes, of course. Of course you’d let him.

In your desperation, you couldn't string together a coherent sentence; you could only utter Jungkook’s name, the one thing filling your mind and the only thing you could say out loud. Deep down, you wanted to match the filthy words he was directing at you, but you lacked the breath and the experience for it; still, you agreed with everything. Jungkook could do whatever he wanted with you.

He didn't use his fingers at all —even though he wanted to like hell — because, of his own accord, Jungkook wanted and preferred to eat your pussy. Using only his mouth and tongue seemed more fitting for an apology, too. Suddenly, he felt his scalp heat up and sting from a sharp tug of your hands, and your hips ground against his face; it was clear you was close to coming in Jungkook's mouth. Your body was trembling, a sensation akin to freezing, and spasms began to set in; your mouth gave voice to moans and the name of your brother's best friend.

You came in Jungkook's mouth.

Jungkook’s chin, lips, and nose were wet and likely glistening in the room's dim light and the angle at which he was positioned. He inhaled deeply to catch your scent. Without hesitation, he ran his tongue in one long, continuous stroke across your pussy and sucked on your clitoris once more; you nearly kicked him, involuntary spasms were to blame. Even though you couldn't see his face clearly, you knew you were smeared all over that damn man’s face. Naturally, he would be licking his lips to savor every last drop.

It all happened so fast. — In truth, you were in a daze; you hadn't fully regained your energy. — Jungkook was shirtless, revealing the countless tattoos scattered across his arm; one colorful design looked like a painting that extended up to the start of his shoulder, he had covered up some of his other tattoos with that specific one. You longed to touch them, to trace them with your fingers. He had also stripped off his pants and underwear; it was a level playing field now. — How the hell had he taken them off so quickly?

"I don't have any, ah.." — Jungkook murmured with a little shyness in his voice. Over your body, he distributed kisses on your neck, a few quick licks and you felt like you were in heaven, you knew you deserved it. — ".,no condom, i didn't know that.." — He hadn't known you two would end up having sex after the apology.

Shit, you felt the hardness, in addition to the weight, and pulse of Jungkook's cock passing, lightly, into your pussy; specifically, his glans scraping his folds. He was so big, not to mention thick; it was ridiculous to try to compare it with your casual affairs.

"Don't worry," — You soothed the oldest. You would take the pill, but you really should have accepted the box of condoms Juria wanted to buy for you; damn it all. — "Ggkie." — Your lips fit on Jungkook's lips, you were addicted to his mouth. You liked the way he caressed your tongue with his; it was similar to licking a lollipop. Your tongue was sucked, and you could moan with it.

As he kissed you, Jungkook penetrated you slowly and carefully. — He knew you weren't a virgin, thanks to a conversation he’d had with Juria while waiting for your brother to go out, and he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy and curiosity that had pierced his chest. — Every inch slid inside you little by little; it was a maddening, exquisite torture that left you craving more. The burning sensation was undeniable yet bearable, and you could feel every ridge grazing your warm, yielding walls; wet, squelching sounds echoed from where you were being filled. Your walls heated his cock and pulsed around it as Jungkook moved his hips, thrusting deeper into you.

At times, your teeth clashed against Jungkook’s lips—and his against yours, too. It was a desperate kind of kissing. You felt so small; his large, sturdy frame loomed over you, while your hands roamed over his muscular, tattooed arms, leaving faint scratch marks on his skin. — Damn, he was huge; in every sense. — You dug your fingernails into his shoulders, feeling him shift the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Are you going to take a piece out of me, sweetie?" — The false pity, compassion for himself, was easy to detect in Jungkook's voice. His wounds were stinging as the sweat mingled with them, yet he wouldn't dare complain or ask you to stop.

In response, your moans were a gift to Jungkook’s ears; his name escaped your lips amidst gasps and ragged breaths. Your furrowed brows and closed eyes betrayed the pleasure washing over you. You could feel his thick, prominent head striking that special spot inside you so deliciously, it was utterly delightful, magical. — That wet sound, so visceral, yet so pleasurable, echoed between your bodies, filling the room.

Shit, Jungkook growled, slamming his hips against yours with greater force.

"You can handle it, sweetheart." — Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against yours and your cheeks; he was sweet. He always had been with you. — With every thrust, Jungkook’s cock stretched you further, settling deep into your warm, yielding walls. — "Like that…"

Jungkook’s hands, gripping your thighs, spread your legs a little wider to create new space, allowing for deeper thrusts that drove you to the brink of madness. You could feel his heavy balls slapping against your skin, keeping rhythm with the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding. Your legs trembled and quivered around Jungkook, and you moaned wildly for him as a sensation of burning, tingling, and fluttering heat rose in your stomach. — It was obvious. — Jungkook groaned and growled as he realized it, continuing his thrusts without breaking the rhythm, whispering a mix of sweet nothings and filthy talk laced with profanity.

So, you came. — Your body kept trembling; you felt cold and hot at the same time; not to mention the few small tears that threatened to fall and eventually did, wetting your cheek. Jungkook’s name escaped your lips in a low, almost inaudible murmur, yet he heard it. — The older kept moving his hips, maintaining the same rhythm, fighting against the way your walls tightened around and vibrated against his cock.

"Gongjunim," — Jungkook murmured as he kissed you completely clumsily, sucking on your lips and tongue. — "You're so good to me." — He bit your chin, chuckling mischievously; his low growl vibrated through your body. — "You always have been, haven't you?"

Jeon’s breathing grew ragged, and his moans, along with the force and speed of his hips, seemed to burn against your senses; the sound of the headboard banging might have embarrassed you, had you cared. Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours again, keeping his eyes open to admire you despite his blurred, hazy vision; he looked wild, yet godlike. Amidst those final hip thrusts, and driving deeper with satisfaction, Jungkook came inside you, filling you completely with his seed.

Even after a short while, roughly two minutes and a few seconds, Jungkook remained inside you; he could feel your pussy tightening around him at times, and he loved the sensation. — He was heated; who could blame him? — All the while, he kissed and caressed you with tenderness and affection. Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of Jungkook’s kisses against your skin and the rhythm of your breathing.

"It's funny…" — Your voice was weak and a bit dry; you might look for water in a moment and it caught Jungkook's attention. Those dark, brilliant eyes, looking a little sleepy at the moment, gazed at you with curiosity.

"What?" — He asked, planting a lingering kiss on your forehead.

"…that i spent years trying to forget you…" — Your words came out as a whisper, something secret. — "…and it took just a few minutes to ruin all my pitiful effort."

Jungkook’s lips curved into a smile, making his piercing glint in the dim light; it was a pleasant, affectionate, and genuine smile. The classic smile that always greeted you whenever he saw you. It was an adorable and slightly peculiar confession in Jungkook's eyes; he chuckled at the words and pressed his lips to the tip of your nose.

"Thank goodness."

[andoyuki]

let's play, come sit here

friday night, in which jin learns that you're interested playing with him but don't know how, so he offers to teach you how to play the game... in his lap of course, where else?

mentions: 18+, nsfw, gamer bf!jin x reader, soft jin, unprotected sex (wear protection in rl folks), fingering, cunnilingus (reader receiving), praising, nipple play, teasing, overstimulation

author's note

a very big thank you to everyone who enjoyed my “jealousy on closed doors” fanfic<3 i'm very grateful for everyone's hearts, reblogs, and comments! this oneshot might be shorter than my 1st published work because this was originally more of a ramble than a full oneshot but I think it was much better if I did try to expand this ramble. domestic gamer jin is my favorite so much<3 he should do more game lives. the game being specified here is quite easy to guess, tell me if you figured it out!>:) (i think because i play it as well. jin please hit me up if you want a gaming partner.)

dividers from @/uzmacchiato

“Jin, I’ve always been curious about this game you keep playing, mind if you te–”

The soft glow of the large tv screen bathed the living room in flickering blues and greens, apartment humming with the low thrum of the console and the distant city traffic beyond the half-open window. 

“I won’t join tonight, you guys. It’s a Friday night.”

“Yah! Last week we were just together!”

“Don’t drag my girlfriend into this!”

You see your partner already in his habitat, the faint scent of popcorn and his cologne lingering in the air. His fingers moved with practiced ease over the buttons, the on-screen character dodging through neon-lit streets while the speakers pulsed with the game's driving bassline while his voice echoed through the room, yelling on a group call with his friends. You watched the way his forearms flexed.

The subtle shift of muscle beneath his rolled-up sleeves, or how his vein on his neck popped whenever he raised his voice. 

You stood there, not beside him, but just near him and watched Seokjin steadily dodging every player on sight and using whatever boosters showing up. The upper left of the screen shows his rank going from 4th to 2nd in fast speed. 

“Alright, I’m logging off this call. Do not disturb me tonight, I want to spend time with her.”

You can hear his friends laughing and giggling over the phone as they shout nonsense to Jin to get him to stay on the group call. You stood there just smiling at him, how he had zero patience when it comes to his friends.

He ends the call and turns to you, giving you a soft smile much longer than a gaze.

“Hey, baby.” He spoke up, ushering you to come closer to him, his fingers moving over to hold your hand.

You shifted closer, your bare thigh brushing his pajama shorts, scooting over just beside him to take a seat. Curiosity sparking as another level loaded on screen.

“You’re not playing with them tonight?” 

Jin quickly turns his head over yours and lets out a dramatic, confused face.

He raised both brows. “You don’t want to spend time with me?!” 

He gasped playfully and raised both of his hands in the air, sounding as if he was offended with what you said which made you laugh at his gestures. 

“Jin! I didn’t mean it that way!” You slapped his chest lightly.

He pouts at you. “Yeah well, I want to spend time with you! It’s Friday!”

Friday nights had always belonged to you and Jin like this, no deadlines, no interruptions—just the worn leather couch where Jin sprawled in his favorite cartoon character themed pajamas with his legs stretched out, game controller in hand, and you, who had just gotten out of the shower and already on your comfy sleepingwear.

This was a perfect time for you to finally ask him about the game he loved to play every weekend.

“Can you teach me?”

Jin looks at you with the same confused face. He tilts his head, “Teach you what?"

“I’ve never played this game but it looks easy.” you murmured, tilting your head up as well to meet his eyes, a playful smile curving his lips. Seokjin paused the game, the sudden quiet amplifying the warmth of his grin.

Seokjin sets the controller to your hands gently, his fingers suddenly lingering on your knuckles for a half-second longer than necessary.

“You’ve really never played?” he asked, one eyebrow arched in a way that made your  stomach flip sideways. “How come you never ask me to?”

You shook your head. The screen glowed soft blue across the living room, some menu screens you couldn’t even decipher, some icons and cartoonish characters you can quite recognize because Jin wouldn’t stop showing you them every time you two come across these characters everywhere– may it be a video or a merch.

Friday night, and you’d spent the last hour watching his hands work the controller from across the couch, mesmerized by his movements—how each press and pull seemed instinctive, how he leaned into the turns like the game was happening inside his body.

“I’ve wanted to,” You said, and the words came out with too much breath behind them. “Just never knew where to start. I got curious when you and your friends wouldn't stop screaming about it last weekend.”

Jin paused.

His mouth curved, something more giddy and joyful. You were immediately shocked with the display of joy and sparkles in his eyes, as if it was anticipated that you’d ask him to teach you. It processed you immediately that he was waiting for you to ask him–to ask him to teach his favorite game.

“Well, finally! I feel like I needed to nudge you more to play this game. I can’t help but look at you sometimes staring at me and the screen every time I play, you look like a pitiful puppy.” Jin laughed as he teased you, and you huffed back at him, slapping his chest again jokingly. “I was too shy to ask!” 

“Then come here.”

The invitation suddenly landed low in your belly. You sat there before your brain caught up with your legs, crossing the small space between couch cushions, expecting him to hand you the controller and talk you through the tutorial from a polite distance.

The sudden quiet amplified the warmth of his grin as he set the controller aside and patted his lap. "Come here, then. Hands-on lesson! It’s much easier to teach you how to actually hold the controller."

You stood there confused, still processing if he was serious with the suggestion. You thought, wouldn't it be more uncomfortable if you were seated in his lap and he’s teaching you?

Deciding to listen to him anyway as you climbed over him, settling with you back to his chest, the heat of his body seeping through your thin tank top. His thighs parted just enough to make room, and his hand caught your wrist, guiding you down carefully. 

Down meaning onto his lap, your back against his chest, arms bracketing yours as he settled the controller into your hands.

Seokjin then guided your smaller hands onto the buttons, his breath warm against your ear as he explained the controls in that low, teasing tone that always made your pulse quicken.

“Lesson one,” he murmured, right next to your ear. The heat of him suddenly seeped through your top. “Posture.”

Your spine went rigid.

“Relax,” he cooed, his thumbs pressed into the tendons of your wrists, encouraging your grip to loosen. “You’re holding it like it’s going to bite.”

“Maybe it will.”

A chuckle. Low and close. His chest moved against your shoulder blades and you forgot– briefly, how breathing worked.

You couldn’t help but internally scream at yourself by the thought of it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.. Why does Jin smell so good tonight? It’s not my time of the month yet, right? Why does he look so delectable?

The game loaded as expected. Some colorful landscape sprawled across the screen—mountains, a distant pink castle, a rainbow pathway winding through a highway. Seokjin didn’t move his hands from yours. His fingers curled overtop, guiding your index to a trigger, your thumb to a joystick.

“This one helps you steer,” he said, and pressed.

Your character lurched into motion the moment the countdown three to one started, all clumsy limbs and bad coordination. You laughed, embarrassed. “I’m terrible.”

“You’re learning.”

His jaw brushed your temple. You wondered if he could feel how fast your pulse was going, whether it telegraphed through your wrists into his palms.

“Left joy con to move, then the tiny button on the upper right joy con to drift. A button for the boosters.” Seokjin instructs you gently and closely, your fingers following him as he shows you every button of the controller.

He navigated you through the castle pathways. then another button you forgot what it was for because slowly– you were not listening attentively. The information you should’ve been absorbing but your brain had allocated all available bandwidth to the sensory feed: the solid wall of his torso behind yours, the scent of soap and something sharper—maybe cedar—the way his breath stirred the fine hairs near your ear every time he leaned in to point something out.

“There’s a player up ahead,” he said. “You see it?”

A shape moved in front of you, a particular character you figured was one of Jin’s favorites played by another player, speeding up by the road. 

“Yeah.”

“What do you think you should do?”

“Follow?”

He laughed. The vibration traveled straight through your spine. “Okay strategy, But I was thinking more like this.”

His finger pressed yours down on a trigger. Something shot from your character’s booster—some sort of red mushroom, a speed booster as far as you can remember–if you were in fact listening to him ramble the instructions earlier. You couldn’t track it, and before you could even blink, you shifted and steered right over the player, overtaking it with speed. You watched as your rank had gone up to 3rd.

“Oh.” You went a little slack against him without meaning to. “Oh, that’s satisfying.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice had dropped half an octave. “Now try beating that player in front of you. Try on your own.”

You fumbled. Missed twice when you used one of the boosters. You bumped onto the player, resulting in slowing down your pace, your rank dropped lower. The panic made your thumbs clumsy, and Seokjin’s hands suddenly tightened over yours, not correcting but steadying, and the next shot landed.

You're currently 1st place in the race.

Fuck, Seokjin. I can’t even focus properly.

“There.” He exhaled against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“You’re getting it! See baby? easy, right?” He praised you with awe, his tone high pitched with glee. 

His hands slid back from yours, but only as far as your wrists, then your forearms, a slow retreat that left trails of warmth in its wake. You swallowed.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he teased.

“I’m concentrating.”

“On what?”

The question hung there. On the screen, your character drifted past the second course, wind moving through digital grass. In the reflection of the television, you could see yourself—you perched across his lap, him watching not the game but the side of your face with a grin.

“The game.” you admitted, though pretty sure it was a lie. A convincing one– maybe.

His hands settled on your hips. Not gripping. Just resting there, a suggestion of pressure.

“Then I guess the lesson’s working.”

You turned your head, and the distance between your faces to his collapsed to something measurable in heartbeats. His eyes were darker than you’d realized, the brown of them nearly black in the low light. 

“Jin.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still teaching me the game?”

His lips parted. You watched them, the shape of the word before it arrived. “I still am. See?”

Before you can even realize, the first race ended and you won 1st place, progressing the map as a new racing field emerged from the screen and rewards from your progress popped up.

“Oh, wow.” Your eyes widened at the screen. “I won the first game!”

“Good girl, you’re getting it. Pretty easy and not stressful, right?”

He cheered on for you by tightening the distance between you and him. Jin held his arms around you, giving you a warm hug.

You resumed the game, but now every movement felt charged. his fingers overlapping yours on the buttons, the press of your ass against the growing firmness in his lap, the way his free hands rested lightly on your knuckles again, thumb tracing idle circles. 

You leaned back into him, breath hitching as the virtual world blurred into the real one, the apartment's dim light wrapping them on shared heat and building anticipation.

Your fingers trembled slightly under the weight of Jin’s larger ones as you tried to mimic the sequence he'd shown you, thumbs pressing clumsily against the joy cons while the on-screen avatar lurched forward in a spray of pixelated neon. The controller felt awkward in your grip, but it was nothing compared to the solid heat of Jin's cock suddenly thickening beneath your ass, the fabric of his cotton shorts doing little to mask the rigid line of it as you shifted for better balance.

Every tiny adjustment of your weight dragged your cotton shorts higher, the thin fabric riding up to expose the crease where your thigh met your hip, and you could feel the damp warmth blooming between your legs already, pussy clenching involuntarily. 

Seriously?

Seokjin's breath hitched against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping lower as he praised your first successful turn. “That's it, baby—smooth on the brake, just like that.”

His free hand slid from your hip inward, palm flattening over the soft plane of her stomach before drifting higher to cup the underside of your breast through the tank top. Your nipple hardened instantly against his thumb, a sharp zing of pleasure that made you miss the next jump on screen entirely. The game character tumbled into a player with a comical thud, but neither of them cared–lies, you cared.

Jin's fingers pinched and rolled the stiff peak gently, drawing a soft whimper from your throat as your back arched into his touch.

Now you remember that you weren’t even wearing a bra at all.

“Yah! I just got hit by one of those turtles! My rank dropped!”

You were too distracted that you eventually got hit by one of the player’s boosters behind you.

Seokjin lets out a snicker, “You’re not paying attention and you’re blaming it on me?” He tried to deem himself as innocent but you just pouted, trying to finish the race.

“Baby, try to overtake that character.”

“I know how this game goes now, Jin.”

Jin scoffed at you dramatically, he removed both of his free hands to cross his arms at you. “Wow, just wow! Just because I taught you the basics you’re going to be a show-off now? There’s still more you need to learn!”

You laughed back, inching your body a bit forward towards the screen but your ass scooted over to accidentally nudge and rub against Jin’s pajama shorts. He lets out a quiet whimper, suddenly gripping back the controller from your hands.

“Shit– will you stop moving?” He groaned.

“Stop distracting me, I’m almost at the finish line!”

“Yeah but, this game doesn’t even require you to move too much!”

You could smell him stronger now—the sweet scent of shampoo mixed with the faint musk of arousal, the way his cock twitched against your ass sent fresh heat flooding your core. Your shorts were growing slick, the cotton pressing damply to your folds, and when you rocked back accidentally, again. The friction dragged a low groan from him. 

“Fuck.. you’re going to lose the game.” His teasing tone wrapped around you like the dim light, equal parts affection and hunger, biting your lip as his hand abandoned the controller to your breast, slipping beneath the hem of your top, skin on skin now, gentle fingertips tracing the swell before dipping lower again.

The controller slipped from your grasp entirely when his palm cupped your mound over the shorts, pressing firmly so the heel of his hand ground against your clit. A gasp tore from you as the game continued itself on screen, but your character remained drifting at the sides of the road, slowing itself down.

The sudden silence filled only with your breathing and the wet sound of his fingers working the fabric aside. He found your pussy easily, two fingers sliding through slick folds to tease your entrance without pushing in yet, circling the swollen nub above it until your thighs parted wider over his lap.

“Keep playing,” Jin murmured, voice rough with restraint, though the hard length of his cock was now fully erect and pulsing hot against your ass cheek. “Or try to.”

“Yeah, I can play. I’m no weakling.” You replied to him with existing confidence in your voice, trying to ease the pleasure coiling on your stomach, not realizing you were gripping the controller quite tighter than earlier.

Jin makes a move, kissing you on your shoulder blades. The initiation blurred in the half-second between leaning in and connecting, his mouth left wet patches and giving himself the urge not to leave a mark on your visible collar peeking from your tank top. His lips were softer as usual, probably tasted like that strawberry lip balm he keeps stealing from you

Though, you were too aroused to even care and scold him for that right now.

And his breath smelled like the ginger ale he drank earlier during dinner, sweet and sharp.

His hands tightened on your hips.

You made a sound, some small, involuntary thing—and Jin swallowed it, his tongue brushing your trachea, asking permission you’d already given. your fingers slid into his hair. Thick. Dark strands catching at your knuckles.

Jin’s sloppy kiss deepened, and you twisted in his lap, wanting to face him, wanting more contact than the angle allowed. His thigh pressed between yours as you shifted, and the friction drew another sound from your throat. Louder this time.

“Careful,” he breathed against your mouth.

You pulled back just far enough for your eyes to focus. “Of what?”

“I’m supposed to be teaching you.”

“That wasn’t in the lesson plan.”

His laugh was breathless. “Maybe I’m making it up as I go.”

His hands had migrated. One at the small of your back, the other splayed across your thigh, thumb tracing patterns you couldn’t decode. Every touch felt deliberate, measured, a language you were only beginning to learn how to read.

You tried tugging the collar of his shirt. “Can we stop playing?”

“You’re so demanding, baby.”

You thought he wouldn’t argue with you when he paused. But in the corner of your eyes when you try to face him, the hem of your top was already in his fist. You lifted your arms, and the fabric vanished over your head, the apartment’s cool air hit your skin before his palms replaced it. 

He threw the top somewhere, you don’t care anymore.

Warm, rough at the edges, tracing the line of your ribs.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“It’s cold.”

His forehead touched yours. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” The word came too fast, too fierce.  You try to steady your voice. “No. I want to keep going.”

His thumb stroked your nipple slowly, going hard, “You’re too cute but I won’t give you what you want, unless you focus while playing the game.”

You pout. You wanted his mouth on your lips. You wanted his hands in your hair. You wanted him to keep looking at you exactly the way he was looking at you now.

His eyes flickered. Something passed through them–soft, teasing.

Then his mouth was on your throat again, and your head fell back, the ceiling swam above yours. 

His lips mapped the column of your neck again, pausing at the hollow where your pulse beat hardest. Teeth grazed skin. A gentle scrape that yanked a gasp from somewhere deep.

“Jin—”

His name broke apart in your mouth as his teeth closed on your collarbone. He bit you. Hard. but he didn't rush. His mouth followed, kissing the mark growing red.

Behind you, the game’s music swelled. Some happy cheering cue. You winning despite being 12th place, maybe. You have forgotten the screen entirely.

Seokjin pulled back. His chest was rising faster now. His pupils had swallowed the brown of his irises.

“12th place,” He said, voice roughened at the edges.

You managed to speak, despite feeling strained. “Oops.”

“Again.” His hand found yours. Squeezed once, softly. “You need to be first place, baby.”

You frowned at him once again, but you know it won’t work anymore. His words weren't even a request, it was a soft demand. Telling you to make up for the lost rank.

Your fingertips drifted towards the controller again, hovering over to the same map again to play. Jin’s eyes followed as he watched the screen intently, watching your every move.

His hands found your waist. Lifted.

“What are you—?”

Seokjin didn’t answer. Just hauled you up, carried you like you weighed nothing, your legs parted widely. The controller almost dangled from one hand. The living room came into view with the game still running, my character frozen in the lobby.

He adjusted you in his lap.

Jin nestled his back against the cushions, you astride his lap, legs rested on his knees. The position was familiar but the context had shifted. Before, there’d been layers between you two—fabric, hesitation, the polite fiction of a video game tutorial. Now you could feel him through his shorts, hard and insistent, pressing against the damp center of your underwear.

The controller was still in your hand. He guided it up, telling you to hold it tightly. “You’ve still got a map to clear.”

“You’re joking.”

“Does it I look like I’m joking?”

He didn’t. Jin’s jaw was tight. A muscle in his temple twitched with every breath. His pupils had swallowed his irises entirely, two black pools fixed on your face but the soft gaze was still there.

His hips shifted beneath yours. The friction dragged a moan out of both of you.

“Play,” he said, voice filled with something sweet like dripping honey. “And finish the race with 1st place, baby.”

You didn’t know how you were supposed to focus on racing and winning when he was right there, when every tiny movement of his body sent electricity arcing through yours. But you tried. Entered 5th place. Currently taking over a running player just in front of you— dodged. fired. missed.

Jin’s hands left your waist, suddenly dropping it to the waistband of his shorts.

You stopped breathing when you felt it.

He pushed them down. Not far—just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and big against his stomach, the tip already glistening. Your mouth went dry.

“Eyes on the screen,” he reminded you.

But his hand wrapped around himself, giving one slow stroke, and the screen might as well have been in another dimension. You couldn’t look away. The way his fingers circled the base. The way his thumb swiped over the head, spreading the wetness.

“You’re not concentrating.” he reminded you again.

Another player hits your character with a banana prop, suddenly slipping and your rank drops lower. You scrambled for the controller, dodged, fired something—a sunflower, maybe—and it recoiled.

Seokjin lifted you again.

Just slightly. His hands on your hips again, raising you until your soaked underwear was positioned directly above his cock. He didn’t push inside, didn't even move the fabric aside, just held you there, the heat of him radiating upward, and you could feel how close he was.

He lowered you. Not onto him. Just against him. The length of his cock pressed between your folds through the thin lace, sliding once, twice, a rhythm that made your nails dig into the controller.

“You’re dripping,” he observed. No judgment. Just smiling at you.

“Whose fault is that?”

His hips bucked up as he laughed lightly. The head of his cock caught the edge of your underwear, pushing it aside gently, and then he was there—bare skin against bare skin—not inside, but right there, the tip nudging your clit.

You whimpered.

He did it again. A deliberate thrust that slid his cock along your slit, parting you, coating himself in. Then he pulled back and let it slap down against your pussy.

The sound was obscene. A wet, heavy thwack that echoed in the quiet living room.

“Jin—”

Again. The slap landed harder this time, the weight of him striking your clit with a precision that made your vision white out for half a second. your hips jerked. Yours was gripping his hair now, both hands, the controller abandoned somewhere in the cushions.

“Shh,” he said, voice low and gentle. “Just play for me.”

The way he talks to you, the way he reminds you right now, it is making you dizzy. It felt as if Jin casted a spell on you with just his voice showing who’s in control in such a gentle manner.

Another slap. And another. Each one landed exactly where you needed it, the broad head of his cock smacking against your clit, sending shockwaves up your spine. He was watching your face react. 

You could feel his gaze like a physical weight, feeling every flinch, every gasp, every time your lips parted on a sound you couldn’t control. But he smiles at you as if he was treasuring you close.

“Please,” you heard yourself squeak.

Please fuck me already.

“Please what?”

Stop making me beg and put it in.

He slapped his cock against yours again—this time angled lower, the tip catching at your entrance for half a heartbeat before sliding away. Your inner muscles clenched around nothing. The emptiness was excruciating.

“Please, Jin-”

His hand left your hip. Guided himself to your opening. Pressed—just barely—the head of him stretching yours, the promise of fullness hovering right there.

“Take out the balloons from your opponents,” he said.

What?

What balloons?

From my opponents?

The controller. The game. The game was still on screen, bunch of different maps showing,

You couldn’t move, couldn't even think, couldn’t breathe around the sensation of him poised at your entrance, not entering, just waiting, his heartbeat pulsing against the most sensitive part of yours.

“There’s a battle mode like that, sweetheart.”

His hips twitched upward. Just a fraction. Not enough.

You flinched from the skin to skin contact. Right, you remember seeing his friends play that battle mode. you forgot. Did he ever mention that to you earlier?

No, you did not remember because you were too busy eye fucking him.

“W-What.. you didn’t explain that mechanic to me.”

Before you could even move, Jin hovered over to grab the controller from you and pressed one of the battle modes. Pressing a few icons here and there before he returns the controller back to you. 

“That’s easy, baby. Just avoid getting your balloons popped by the opponents,” He speaks smoothly, his tone like butter. breath was inches close to yours.

“Or, you could pop theirs.” Jin whispered in that sultry tone and it made your spine go cold.

You gulped before you could nod. 

The game started. Somehow, you wanted to concentrate this time to get 1st place, just so you could get that praise you wanted from Jin. but you know it’d be impossible when his dick is literally down inside your pussy.

Your hips rolled of their own accord, chasing the pressure of his touch as one thick finger sank knuckle-deep into your heat instead of his dick. your walls fluttered around the intrusion, a rush of liquid arousal coating his skin, and you reacted lewdly with your hands already shaking.

Jin's free arm banded around your waist to hold you steady, his mouth finding the curve of your neck to suck another deep mark there, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan his name again. The virtual city moves in the background while you try hard to beat the players move through the map. as his finger curled inside you, stroking that sensitive spot that made your vision blur and her pussy drip steadily onto his cock.

He was definitely teasing you.

You continued to pant like a puppy, tank top already down and breasts exposed to the cool air, nipples tight and aching for more of his touch. Jin obliged, his other hand returning to knead and squeeze while the first finger pumped slowly, deliberately, building you toward something deeper. 

"You’re so cute, baby." Jin breathed, pride and lust tangled in every syllable. "Learning so fast... my good girl." The words sent a fresh pulse of need through you, inner muscles squeezing him tighter as you ground down harder against the rigid line of his cock.

The two of you rocking in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the heat building between.

Jin added a second finger without warning, stretching your pussy wider as both digits drove deep and scissored gently inside your fluttering walls. Slick sounds grew louder with each thrust, arousal coating his knuckles and soaking further into his thigh beneath your ass.

You attempted to grip the controller tighter, faltered as a broken moan escaped you; the controller held through your sweat-dampened palms while the character on screen spun uselessly into traffic. Pleasure coiled tighter in your belly with every curl of his fingers against that swollen spot, thighs quivering and spreading wider over his lap as if inviting him even deeper.

"Baby." Jin murmured, voice thick, sounding as if he was reminding you again and again.

The nickname made your inner muscles clamp down greedily around his pumping fingers. You rocked your hips in desperate little circles, grinding the swollen clit against the heel of his palm and feeling the hard ridge of his cock twitch insistently against your bare cheek now that your shorts had been shoved aside.

But with your “patience”, you managed to win the game and ended it with 1st place.

The smile of relief you let out, I won. Jin saw it. He saw you win out of desperation and effort. He smirked just looking at you.

Your hand finally abandoned the controller altogether, reaching back to fumble with his hard cock leaking precum instead. Your fingers brushed the hot, velvety length of his cock, wrapping around the thick shaft and stroking upward in time with the rhythm of his fingers inside you. 

Jin groaned low against your skin, hips bucking once into your grip, the head of his cock already slick with precum that smeared across your palm.

You squeezed him experimentally, marveling at the way he throbbed and grew even harder, the contrast of his rigid heat against your soft, yielding body making you feel deliciously claimed and wanted all at once.

“I won.” You breathed, “I deserve this.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, dragging them up through your slick folds to circle your clit once more before guiding the blunt head of his cock to your entrance. The stretch as he pushed inside was exquisite–-pussy yielding inch by inch around his girth until he bottomed out with a shared shudder, ass settling fully against his lap. "That's my girl," he whispered, one arm banding across your chest to hold you close. Your head fell back against his shoulder, walls pulsing and adjusting to the fullness, every tiny shift of his hips sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

The apartment around you seemed to fade further into the haze of your mingled breaths and the wet slide of skin on skin as Jin began to thrust upward in slow, deliberate strokes. Your breasts bounced gently with each movement, nipples brushing the cool air while his palm covered one and kneaded possessively. You rolled your hips to meet him, chasing the building tension that wound tighter with every drag of his cock against your inner walls.

“God, you did so well.”

“You’re made just for me, baby.”

“You deserve this so much.”

The emotional warmth of his murmured encouragement blending seamlessly with the raw physical need sparking between you two. The game screen flickered on, unnoticed, as your rhythm intensified.

Soft cries echoing until pleasure crested and broke over you in shuddering waves, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him while he held you through it.

“Jin–” You moaned. “I love you.”

Jin smiles, giving you a soft peck on the ear. “I love you too.”

His hand slid up from your breast to cradle your jaw, turning your face so he could capture your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, tongues sliding together while his free arm kept you anchored against his chest.

"I love you." You hear him murmur it again against your lips, voice hoarse with effort as he begins to thrust upward again in steady, measured strokes that rubbed against every oversensitive spot inside you. 

His cock dragged along your walls with deliberate friction, head pressing against your cervix on the deepest pushes, and your thighs parted wider of their own accord, inviting him deeper even as your body trembled from the intensity. 

The scent of sex hung heavy in the air—musky and sweet, mingling with the faint shampoo and cologne from earlier. You reached back again, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock where it stretched you open, feeling the way your pussy gripped him, the contrast of your softness yielding to his hardness sending fresh sparks of arousal through your core.

"So responsive, baby—clenching like you never want to let go." One hand returned to your clit, circling the swollen nub in tight, wet strokes that matched the pace of his thrusts, while the other cupped and squeezed your breast, thumb flicking over the nipple until it ached with renewed need. 

You moaned quietly from his action, head lolling back against his shoulder, breasts exposed and shorts shoved down to mid-thigh, exposing everything to the cool air and his possessive touch. The emotional closeness of the moment wrapped around you like a second embrace— words of affection threading through the raw physical pleasure, making you feel cherished.

Pressure started building in your belly as Jin’s fingers worked your clit faster, the dual stimulation of his cock filling you and his hand rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves pushing you higher. 

“I can’t–it’s too much..” You try to form coherent words.

Jin gently replied, “Let those moans out, baby. Be loud for me, I’ll handle the noise complaints tomorrow, I promise.”

You didn’t even realize that you were suppressing your moans earlier, partially due to how you’re shy to let it out tonight, afraid the neighbors would come knocking on your door again.

You rolled your hips to meet him, grinding down to take him fully, the stretch and fullness making you gasp with every shift. Jin's breathing grew ragged against your neck, his control fraying as your walls tightened rhythmically around him, and he thrust harder now, the couch creaking softly beneath you two while the game's forgotten soundtrack pulsed in the background. 

Your breasts bounced with the increasing pace, nipples grazing his palm, and you felt the throb of his cock signaling he was close, precum mixing with your own wetness inside.

"Want you to come with me," Jin groaned, his thrusts grew urgent, deep and deliberate, angling to hit that perfect spot inside you with each stroke. 

Your hand joined his between your legs. “Jin, fuck.. please–I’m-!”

“Come, baby. Come with me.”

Fingers tangling over your clit as the coil inside you snapped, screaming in ecstasy as the orgasm washed over you in hot, pulsing waves that made your pussy spasm and gush around him. Jin followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural moan, his cock jerking as he spilled hot and thick inside you, filling until it leaked out around his shaft and onto his lap. 

You stayed locked together, hearts racing in sync, his arms wrapping around you in a tender hold while soft kisses pressed to your temple and the dim glow of the television continued its silent display.

Aftershocks still rippled through your body as Jin held you close, his cock buried deep inside your pulsing heat, the slow grind of his hips drawing out every last tremor.

Your inner walls fluttered around him, slick and sensitive, milking his length with each involuntary squeeze, and you could feel the wet mess you and Jin made. 

Arousal coating his shaft and dripping down to soak the furniture beneath them. The controller lay forgotten on the couch, its buttons smeared with your slick juices, the game screen looping through idle animations that cast shifting colors across their intertwined forms. 

“I’m– I’m shak..” You panted, breathed in through the orgasm as you tried to speak.

Jin laughed, but his voice was obvious enough that he was still shaking from earlier. “Baby, are you okay?” 

You laughed beside him, eyes still staring mindlessly on the ceiling. 

“Told you.. I’m no weakling..” 

Jin lets out multiple kisses on your cheek and tucks in a strand of hair sticking out on your forehead. He was making sure you’re okay and still conscious.

The only thought that occurred to you was that you love your boyfriend so much.

He pecks your cheek, “You did great. You learned so fast.. And you get to cum on my dick and fingers.”

“I’m a fast learner.” You say it with confidence. Though you were still quite shaky from earlier, you still had a subtle energy to turn your head to look at him after that afterglow.

Jin eased out of you with a shared groan, his spend trickling warm down your inner thigh as he reached for the controller again, pressing it back into your hands with a soft chuckle. "Let’s get you cleaned up. You just finished showering too..”

“Stay here, please. Let’s clean up later.” You say it with a pouty tone, grabbing his hand before he could release his softened dick on your pussy. 

He smiles at you then sighs lovingly, deciding to stay back on the couch with you for a bit. You sat there still nestled but you continued to drag your fingers on the controller while Jin just sat there and watched you with the same bedroom eyes he kept giving you. 

“Let’s play one more, come on.” You suggested.

“Gladly.” Jin lets out a giddy smile.

He guided your fingers over the buttons once more, his larger palms overlapping yours to demonstrate the sequence for navigating the neon streets once again, his breath steady against your neck as he explained the timing of drifts and boosts. You shifted slightly in his lap, bare ass still pressed, feeling the softening length of his cock twitch with renewed interest as you managed a clumsy but successful turn on screen. 

The virtual engine roared through the speakers, but it was the low rumble of approval in his chest that made your pulse flutter, his free hand tracing lazy patterns along your exposed stomach while the game character accelerated forward.

"Brake a little earlier on the next corner," Jin softly spoke, his voice a velvet thread of patience and heat, one finger tapping the button beneath yours to show the exact pressure needed. 

You followed his lead, the avatar sliding smoothly into a perfect curve this time, and the small victory sent a spark of pride through you that mingled with the lingering throb between your legs. 

The level progressed with you gaining ground, Jin's hands occasionally leaving the controller to adjust your posture or cup your breast in a teasing squeeze that made you miss a collectible, only for him to laugh softly and restart the lesson without frustration. 

His thumb demonstrated the subtle tilt, and you mirrored the motion, the on-screen car responding with a satisfying roar that echoed the way your body responded to his touch, pussy giving a faint clench at the memory of him filling you moments ago.

You played like that for several minutes, the apartment's dim light painting of him and your own skin in shifting hues, shorts still bunched at your thighs and his.

“I want to do something while you play, will you let me?”

The way he asked for your permission even if he didn’t have to, sent something down on your stomach again, the same feeling you felt that coiled with him. You nodded along, and he suddenly released his dick on your pussy, moving you over his lap gently. He stood still.

Seokjin knelt down.

Not on the couch. on the floor, between your knees, his hands gliding up your calves slow enough that every inch of skin woke up screaming again. you sucked in air.

"Wait, I know what this is." You giggled. Jin mentioned before that he wanted to try something with you before, and you agreed because both of you were experimental when it comes to sex and you two were willing to try out new stuff.

"Will you trust me on this one, baby?" His thumbs pressed into the muscle just below your knee. "I promise it’ll feel good, we can stop if it’s too much."

He stood there and stared at your covered slick. “What’s your safeword?”

“Mushroom.”

Seokjin chuckled lightly. It made you blush harder.

You trust him wholeheartedly, you always do.

His lips brushed the inside of your knee.

While every other nerve ending in your body had migrated downward, where Jin's mouth was charting a course up your inner thigh.

His skin against your skin that had been touched in—God, you couldn't remember. Couldn't think. Couldn't track anything except the wet heat of his tongue tracing a circle just above your knee, another, then another, spiraling inward like a map of where he intended to go.

"You're doing well," Jin said, and his breath fanned across the lace edge of your ruined underwear. "Rank?"

"What?"

"Rank count. Your rank, baby?"

You forced my eyes to focus. "Three. Five?"

"Then you should probably pay attention."

His finger hooked under the wet lace. Pulled it sideways.

No. Not sideways. Pulled it. The fabric dragged across  your clit as it moved, a friction that was too light and too much at once, and your hips bucked without permission.

"Shh. Game."

"Jin."

But your character was still alive, somehow, following behind a player while the remaining players followed behind. The controller vibrated in your hands, a buzz that traveled up your wrists, and at the same moment Jin's tongue found yours.

Not inside. Just the single flat stroke up the center, parting, tasting.

The sound you made wasn't a word.

He hummed against yours. The vibration burrowed deep, sparking up your spine, and your vision blurred—the screen swimming, colors bleeding into each other. Your grip on the controller went white-knuckle tight.

"Your pussy tastes so sweet." His voice was muffled, lips moving against skin.

"Fuck." You gasped. "I swear, you’re too good at this."

"This mouth is only for your pussy." 

Word by word hit harder than the tongue had. You felt it in your chest, a bloom of warmth that spread outward until even your fingertips tingled. No one had ever—he'd said it so easily, like it was obvious, like you mattered. His tongue circled your clit, slow, gentle, and the controller shuddered in your hands.

"New objective next map," he said, pulling back just far enough to speak. The cold air where his mouth had been was a punishment. "There’s another battle mode."

"They’re bombs, all of them." His thumb replaced his tongue, pressing light circles that made your thigh muscles jump. "I'll be timing you."

"You're evil."

"You want me."

"Who said that?"

He laughed, and the laugh was warm and close and vibrated through places that desperately wanted him to stop laughing and get back to what he'd been doing. But he didn't. He waited, thumb still moving in that unhurried rhythm, while the screen displayed runes glowing.

"You can do it," he said. "Go."

The battle mode was different but it was easy enough—you throw, and just drift., and your thumb kept slipping because Jin had leaned forward again, his tongue replacing his thumb in a single seamless motion, and the precision of it—the way he found exactly the right spot and exactly the right pressure—made your teeth clamp down on your lower lip.

"Baby." 

"I know, I know, I'm—"

His hands slid under your thighs. Lifted. Angled you upward like an offering, and then his mouth was everywhere—tongue flat and wide, then pointed, then curling, writing letters you couldn't read against the most sensitive part of you. 

His lips closed around my clit and sucked, gentle and then less gentle, and my head fell back. Jin settled a rhythm that made you see stars, he stuffed his tongue on your wet clit like it was the last meal he'd ever had.

The ceiling spun.

"Come on." Insistent now. "Be good for me, baby."

You couldn't see. Couldn't focus. Your character stood motionless before the other players would catch up with a bomb prop coming your way while a timer ticked down in the corner of the screen—you hadn't noticed the timer until now, and the pressure of that combined with the pressure of his mouth, building and building and—

The controller clattered.

"Jin, I can't, I can't—"

"You can." He pulled back only far enough to speak, his lips slick and shining in the glow of the screen. "Look at me."

You looked. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide.

"Do you want to stop?"

The absolute softness in his voice—made your stomach clench.

"No.." You whispered. you want this, you needed this.

His mouth curved. 

Every nerve ending was in your clit now, focused to a single point where his tongue had been and would be again, and the screen might as well have been in another language.

You pressed.

Gold and glowing cheers came.

"Done," You breathed. "It's done. I did it—"

His mouth returned.

Not gently this time. Not slowly. He devoured you like the game had been a test of his patience as much as yours, and now that it was over, now that you’d earned it, he was going to collect. 

His tongue drove inside yours, curled, retreated, returned. His thumb found your clit and pressed in tight circles. His other hand pinned your hips to the couch, holding you still while you writhed, while your back arched, while the sounds coming out of your throat stopped being words and became something more desperate and loud.

"Jin—I'm—"

The vibration was the last straw, the final push over the edge you’d been toeing since the moment he knelt. Your vision whited out. Every muscle locked, then released, then locked again. 

The controller fell somewhere—the couch, the floor, you didn't know and didn't care. Your hands found his hair, his shoulders, the necklace resting his collarbone, gripping whatever you could reach while your body clenched around his tongue.

Jin didn't stop.

His tongue licked your insides in desperation, tightly intertwining his fingers with yours as your hands held his dark hair. 

You yelled and moaned uncontrollably. You called out as if it was a chant. You didn’t care anymore to suppress and hide your moans. 

"Jin, please! I can't- let me cum-"

This was between you and him.

He gentled, gradually, the pressure easing as the aftershocks rolled through you, but his mouth stayed until the last tremor subsided. 

Only then did he pull back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, looking up at you from between your thighs like he'd just finished a meal and was already contemplating seconds.

But his voice, when he spoke, was ragged at the edges—the first crack in his composure you’d seen all night.

"Good job," he said. "But we’re not done yet."

[sevendyara]

you know what? fuck

IM SORRY

[sevendyara]

lord, i’m not normal about him

he so perfect.

[bloodred-jk]

After Hours • JJK

Summary: An empty gym. A heated argument. Too much tension to keep pretending it's just hate.

Genre: Enemies To Lovers • Gym AU • Mature • One Shot

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Mature • Explicit Language • Sexual Content • Rough Language • Verbal Fighting • Sexual Tension • Possessive Behavior • Gym Setting

Listen To:

You had just pulled your hair into a neat ponytail, catching one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror before heading out. The oversized hoodie hung loose over your black leggings, and your worn sneakers were already tied—frayed laces and all. It wasn't winning any fashion awards, but comfort was the only thing that mattered tonight.

With a quiet sigh, you grabbed your water bottle and gym bag, slipping your phone into the front pocket. You turned off the lights, locked the door behind you with a satisfying click, and stepped outside.

The cool evening air hit you immediately. You breathed deeper, letting the crisp night wash away the stale office smell still clinging to your clothes. This walk had become your ritual. Almost every evening, your feet found the same path to the gym without you even thinking about it.

You preferred coming late. At this hour, there were rarely more than four people inside. No waiting for equipment. No loud conversations. No crowds draining your energy. Just peace—exactly how you needed it.

A few minutes later, you pushed through the familiar entrance. The automatic doors hissed open like the gym itself was welcoming you back. Your eyes swept the room. Empty treadmills. Silent weights. A solitary figure in the corner.

A small smile touched your lips.

"Evening," you said quietly to the receptionist as you passed the front desk.

"Hey. Have a good workout."

"Thanks."

In the locker room, you shoved your bag into a locker and pulled the hoodie over your head. The fitted sports top underneath clung to your frame as you rolled your shoulders and stretched your arms overhead, feeling the day's stiffness crack away. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over you.

This was your escape. Your fortress.

You grabbed your water bottle and stepped onto the training floor. The hum of treadmills and the occasional clink of weights filled the silence—a familiar symphony that spoke to something primal in you.

You chose a treadmill and climbed on, fingers finding the buttons through muscle memory. The belt started moving beneath your feet. Walking at first. Then faster. Your headphones hung around your neck, unused, as you focused on your breathing and the rhythm of your steps.

For the first time that day, your mind went quiet.

After warming up, you wiped stray hairs from your face and headed to the free weights. You grabbed a pair of dumbbells from the rack and positioned yourself in front of a mirror.

Controlled movements. Steady lifts. Each repetition burned, but it was the good kind of burn—the kind that made you feel alive instead of broken. This was exactly the distraction you needed.

Halfway through your second set, a feeling hit you.

You could feel eyes on you even though you couldn't see it.

You tried to ignore it.

You placed the dumbbells back on the rack and turned around slowly.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Leaning against a machine with his arms crossed, looking directly at you. His expression was blank, almost bored, but there was something in his eyes—that familiar smugness that instantly made your blood boil.

You groaned, letting your head fall back before rolling your eyes dramatically.

"Oh, great," you muttered. "Just what I needed."

You two had never gotten along. Not since day one. Neither of you even remembered how it started anymore—a stupid comment, or maybe just incompatible personalities. Whatever it was, it had become an unspoken rivalry. A competition without rules that neither of you knew how to stop.

Whenever your schedules overlapped, the tension was immediate. Sarcastic remarks. Irritated glances. Passive-aggressive comments when one of you got in the other's way. You got under his skin. He got under yours. It was as predictable as it was exhausting.

Now here he was, ruining your sanctuary. Your precious hour of solitude.

And judging by the faint smirk slowly tugging at the corner of Jungkook's lips as he continued holding your gaze without so much as blinking, he knew exactly what effect he had on you, knew precisely how much his presence grated against your nerves, and seemed to derive some twisted satisfaction from watching you unravel.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your vision tunneling until he was all you could see, all you could focus on, your irritation mounting with every second he refused to look away.

"What?" you asked sharply, your voice cutting through the quiet gym air like a blade as you crossed your arms tightly across your chest, your defensive posture screaming hostility while you stared back at him with every ounce of contempt you could muster.

Instead of answering right away, which only infuriated you further, he simply tilted his head ever so slightly, a gesture that managed to be both casual and infuriatingly condescending, the smallest hint of amusement flashing across his face like lightning before disappearing behind that infuriating mask of indifference he always wore.

"Nothing," he said calmly, his voice carrying through the otherwise quiet gym with a clarity that made you want to scream. "You just look… annoyed."

Your jaw clenched so hard you could feel your teeth grinding together, the muscle in your cheek jumping with the effort of restraint.

"I wonder why," you shot back sarcastically, not taking your eyes off him for even a second, your voice dripping with venom that you made no effort to hide. "I absolutely cannot imagine what could possibly be annoying me right now."

You glared at him, your patience wearing thinner with every passing second, feeling as though you were standing on the edge of a precipice and he was casually pushing you closer to the edge with nothing more than his infuriating presence.

The silence between you was suffocating, heavy and oppressive like humid air before a storm, but somehow his presence alone managed to irritate you even more than his words ever could, filling the space around you until you could barely breathe.

It had always been like this, ever since that first day when your eyes had met across the weight room and something had sparked between you that was neither friendship nor attraction but something far more complicated and far more volatile. Every conversation between the two of you felt forced, strained tight like a rubber band about to snap, like neither of you could stand being in the same room, yet somehow you always ended up crossing paths.

Jungkook slipped one hand into the pocket of his sweatpants, his expression unreadable as he looked at you with those dark eyes. There wasn't the slightest hint of friendliness on his face—only the same cold indifference you had grown used to, the same wall he put up between himself and the world that you had never managed to crack no matter how hard you tried.

"What?" he asked flatly, his voice carrying no emotion whatsoever, as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience he was forced to acknowledge.

"You've been staring," you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him until they were nothing more than angry slits, your voice rising slightly despite your best efforts to remain composed. "Got a problem?"

He let out a quiet, unimpressed scoff, the sound barely more than a breath of air through his nose, but it was enough to make your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"You really think I'd waste my time watching you?" he asked, one eyebrow arching with skepticism that felt like an insult wrapped in a question.

"Oh, please," you replied immediately, folding your arms across your chest so tightly your shoulders ached, your body language screaming defensiveness even as you attacked. "Don't act like I imagined it. I'm not delusional, Jungkook. I know what I saw."

"I looked in your direction," he corrected, his tone maddeningly patient, as though he were explaining something simple to a child who couldn't understand.

"For almost a minute?" you challenged, stepping closer without realizing it, your voice dropping lower but carrying more heat.

"I wasn't counting," he said with a shrug that was too casual, too dismissive, as though the entire conversation bored him.

Your jaw clenched until you thought your teeth might crack from the pressure.

"God…" you muttered under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose for a second as you tried to count to ten, to find some center of calm that his presence seemed to obliterate completely. "You're insufferable."

"And you're dramatic," he fired back without hesitation, the words landing with practiced ease that suggested he had thought them many times before.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped your lips, scratching your throat raw as it emerged.

"There it is," you said, throwing your hands up in the air in a gesture of exasperation that you couldn't contain.

"There what is?" he asked, and for the first time there was something else beneath his voice—not quite confusion, but something that might have been curiosity if you were being generous.

"The superiority complex," you said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction that trembled slightly with your anger. "The way you stand there looking down on everyone like you're somehow better, like the rest of us are just wasting your precious time."

His eyes hardened almost instantly, the dark depths flashing with something dangerous and sharp that made your breath catch despite yourself.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that somehow felt more threatening than any shout could have been.

"I know enough," you countered, refusing to back down even as your heart hammered against your ribs.

"No," he replied coldly, taking one slow step closer that brought him into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his soap and something uniquely him that your traitorous brain cataloged despite your fury. "You think you do. You think you've got me all figured out, but you're just projecting your own issues onto me because it's easier than dealing with yourself."

You refused to move, refusing to give him even the satisfaction of making you back away, even as every instinct screamed at you to create distance. Instead, you lifted your chin ever so slightly, matching his stare with one just as icy, just as unyielding, your pride becoming armor that you wrapped around yourself.

"And what exactly am I supposed to know?" you asked, your voice dripping with contempt that you sharpened into a weapon. "Enlighten me, Jungkook. Tell me what I'm missing."

"Nothing," he said, the word final and absolute, a door slamming shut between you.

"Then stop talking," you hissed, your composure cracking around the edges.

"You started this conversation," he pointed out, and the hint of triumph in his voice made you want to scream.

"You were the one staring," you insisted, feeling like a broken record but unable to let the point go.

"I already told you I wasn't."

"And I already told you I don't believe you."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a living thing, pulsing with all the words you weren't saying, all the history you couldn't undo. The air between you felt unbearably tense, thick with mutual resentment that had been building for months, perhaps years, until it was almost solid enough to touch. If anyone had walked past, they probably would've assumed the two of you were seconds away from starting an argument loud enough for the entire gym to hear, or perhaps something even more physical, something that went beyond words into territory neither of you were prepared to explore.

Jungkook's jaw flexed as he looked at you, the muscle jumping beneath his skin with the effort of restraint, clearly just as irritated as you were, clearly fighting the same battle between pride and common sense that raged inside your own chest.

"You know," he finally said, his tone sharper now, edges exposed that he usually kept hidden, "I don't understand why you're always so hostile. What did I ever do to you that was so terrible?"

You stared at him in disbelief, your mouth actually falling open slightly before you snapped it shut, before letting out another humorless laugh that sounded slightly unhinged even to your own ears.

"Seriously?" You pointed a finger toward him, your hand shaking with the force of your incredulity. "You're asking me that? After everything?"

"Yeah," he said, and there was something in his voice now, something that might have been genuine confusion beneath the layers of defense, though you couldn't be sure and didn't want to look too closely. "I am."

"You've been nothing but an asshole since the day you walked into this gym," you said, each word precise and cutting, designed to wound if you could manage it. "Dismissing everyone, looking down on people, acting like you're God's gift to fitness when you're just—"

His expression remained blank, a wall of stone that gave nothing away.

"Funny," he interrupted, the word landing between you like a gauntlet thrown.

"What's funny?" you demanded, your voice rising again despite your best efforts.

"I was about to say the exact same thing about you," he said, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you want to look away, made you want to break the contact that felt too intimate and too violent all at once.

"Oh, spare me," you scoffed, turning your head to the side as though you couldn't bear to look at him for another second.

"I mean it," he insisted, and there was something in his tone that made you pause, some undercurrent of truth that you didn't want to acknowledge.

"So do I," you fired back, but the words lacked some of their earlier heat, uncertainty creeping in where certainty had lived moments before.

Another heavy silence settled between you, different from the ones before, charged with electricity that felt dangerous and new.

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the dumbbell you had forgotten you were holding until your knuckles turned white, the metal biting into your palm a welcome distraction from the chaos of your thoughts. Every instinct told you to walk away before this pointless argument dragged on any longer, before you said something you couldn't take back, before you revealed something you weren't ready to face. There was no winning with him. There never had been. The only victory possible was refusing to play.

With an annoyed groan that escaped before you could stop it, you turned on your heel, picking up your weights again with movements that were jerky with suppressed emotion.

"I don't have the energy for this," you said, the admission feeling like defeat even as the words left your lips.

"You never do," he called after you, and the words felt like a slap against your retreating back.

You stopped walking.

Slowly, as though moving through water, you looked back over your shoulder, your expression nothing short of irritated but something else mixing beneath it, something you didn't have a name for.

"You know what your problem is?" you asked, the question rhetorical and dangerous.

Jungkook folded his arms across his chest, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, his stance wide and challenging.

"I don't care," he said, but you saw the way his eyes followed you, saw the way he leaned slightly forward as though pulled by a force he couldn't control.

"Exactly," you said, and the word felt like a victory, felt like you had finally found the crack in his armor that you had been searching for.

For the first time, something flickered across his face—annoyance, yes, but something else beneath it, something that looked almost like hurt before he buried it beneath anger.

You noticed it immediately.

A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of your lips, sharp and knowing.

"Thought so," you said softly, the words carrying more weight than their simplicity suggested.

Without waiting for another response, without giving him the chance to recover and rebuild his defenses, you walked away, refusing to look back again even as you felt his eyes burning into your spine with an intensity that made your skin feel too tight.

Behind you, Jungkook watched you disappear toward the other side of the gym, his own fists clenched at his sides, his breathing slightly faster than it should have been. He clicked his tongue under his breath before running a frustrated hand through his hair, tousling the dark strands into disarray that matched the chaos inside him.

"…Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, the word barely audible.

At the exact same moment, as you rounded the corner and finally escaped his line of sight, you whispered under your breath, your voice trembling with emotion you refused to name,

"…I seriously hate him."

Neither of you realized that you had said almost the exact same thing, neither of you aware that your voices had carried the same weight of frustration, the same confusion, the same desperate attempt to deny something that neither of you was prepared to face.

With another quiet sigh that did nothing to ease the tension coiling in your stomach, you forced yourself to look away from where he still stood and focused on the dumbbells in your hands instead, their familiar weight grounding you even as your thoughts spun out of control. The argument had left you more irritated than you wanted to admit, had stirred up something inside you that felt dangerously close to vulnerability. Your jaw was still tense, aching with the force of your clenching, as you took your position in front of the mirror, inhaled slowly through your nose, and began another set.

One.

Two.

Three.

You counted each repetition in your head, trying to drown out every lingering thought that threatened to pull you back under, but the familiar burn in your shoulders that usually helped clear your mind like a cleansing fire wasn't enough this time, wasn't even close to enough, because his voice still echoed in your ears and his dark eyes still lingered behind your closed lids like a brand you couldn't erase.

Seriously… what is wrong with him?

You lowered the weights again, exhaling through your nose with more force than necessary, as though you could expel your frustration with your breath alone.

Ever since the first day he had shown up at the gym, materializing like a storm cloud on what had previously been a perfectly sunny routine, something about Jungkook had rubbed you the wrong way in a manner that you couldn't quite articulate no matter how many hours you spent analyzing it. Maybe it had been the arrogant way he carried himself, shoulders back and chin lifted as though he owned every space he entered. Maybe it had been the fact that he always seemed so… unbothered, so completely detached, as if nothing and no one around him deserved his attention or his energy or even his acknowledgment. Or maybe—and this was the possibility that haunted you most—it was because every conversation between the two of you somehow turned into an argument without either of you even trying, without either of you consciously deciding to engage, as though your very existences were incompatible on some fundamental level.

You couldn't remember who had thrown the first sarcastic comment months ago, couldn't recall the specific words or the context or even what had sparked the initial friction between you.

You only remembered that neither of you had ever backed down afterward, that what had started as a single moment of friction had somehow snowballed into this… this thing that defined your interactions, that made your stomach clench every time you saw him walk through the door.

Every glance turned into a challenge, a silent war of wills that left you exhausted and strangely alive at the same time.

Every conversation into a fight, sharp words cutting like knives that you both seemed eager to wield.

Every encounter into another reason to dislike him, to add to the mental list of grievances that you kept stored somewhere deep in your chest.

And somehow…

He always managed to get under your skin in ways that no one else ever had, finding cracks in your armor that you hadn't known existed, touching nerves that you thought you had long since buried.

It annoyed you more than anything, this loss of control, this inability to simply ignore him as you did with everyone else who failed to meet your standards.

You placed the dumbbells back onto the rack for a short break, the metal clanking against metal with a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet space, and you grabbed your water bottle before taking a long drink that you hoped would cool the heat still burning in your chest. The cool water helped, if only a little, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach like a temporary balm. After wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you glanced around the gym with eyes that you told yourself were simply checking your surroundings and not searching for anyone in particular.

He was gone.

The tension you hadn't realized you were holding released in a rush, your shoulders dropping as the knot in your muscles loosened almost immediately, as though his absence alone was enough to let you breathe properly for the first time since your argument.

Good, you thought, the word carrying more relief than you wanted to examine, setting your bottle back down with hands that trembled slightly less than before. Maybe you can finish the rest of your workout without another pointless argument, without another round of verbal sparring that leaves you shaking with anger and something else you refuse to name.

You picked up another pair of dumbbells and turned toward the mirrors again, meeting your own gaze with determination that felt fragile and newly forged, ready to focus on yourself and your form and your goals like you had originally intended.

A few minutes passed in peaceful silence, the only sounds your own breathing and the quiet hum of machinery, and you felt yourself beginning to settle back into the rhythm that had been disrupted.

Then movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention, a flash of motion that your brain registered before you could consciously decide to ignore it.

Against your better judgment, against every promise you had just made to yourself, your eyes drifted toward the free-weight area with a will of their own.

Jungkook had walked over to the rack, apparently starting another exercise himself, his presence somehow filling the space in a way that made everything else fade into background noise.

Your gaze lingered for only a second, just long enough to confirm it was him and look away, you told yourself.

Then another, because your eyes seemed unwilling to obey your commands.

He reached down and casually pulled off the short workout shirt he had been wearing, the fabric sliding up and over his head with a motion that seemed almost choreographed, tossing it onto a nearby bench without a second thought, without any awareness of how the action made your breath hitch in your throat.

Your breath caught almost imperceptibly, so slightly that you almost convinced yourself it hadn't happened, that you were imagining things.

The intricate black tattoos that covered his right arm and stretched across part of his shoulder immediately came into view beneath the bright gym lights, each line and detail standing out with stark clarity against his skin like art that had been waiting for the right lighting to be fully appreciated. The ink contrasted sharply against his skin. The muscles in his back shifted naturally with every movement as he adjusted his grip, completely focused on what he was doing, completely unaware of the effect he was having on you from across the room.

You frowned, the expression feeling foreign on your face as you tried to marshal your thoughts back into order.

Seriously…?

You should have looked away, should have turned your attention back to your own reflection and your own workout and your own goals that had nothing to do with him.

Instead, your eyes stayed fixed on him for another moment, then another, then another still, drinking in details that your brain cataloged despite your best efforts to remain indifferent.

You hated admitting it—even to yourself, especially to yourself—but there was something difficult to ignore about the confidence with which he moved, something magnetic that pulled at your attention no matter how hard you tried to resist. It wasn't as though he was showing off, wasn't the performative arrogance you had expected from someone who carried himself with such self-assurance. If anything, he seemed completely unaware of anyone else around him, focused only on his workout, only on his own body and its capabilities, and somehow that made it worse, made it more real, made it impossible to dismiss as mere vanity.

Your grip tightened around your dumbbell until your knuckles turned white, the metal biting into your palm a welcome distraction from the chaos of your thoughts.

Why am I even looking at him?

You tore your eyes away with an irritated huff that was directed entirely at yourself, shaking your head as though you could physically dislodge the image of him from your mind.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of your frustration.

Determined to refocus, to reclaim the peace you had come here seeking, you lifted the weights again with more force than necessary.

One repetition.

Then another.

But despite every attempt to concentrate, every mental command to focus on your form and your breathing and your own reflection in the mirror, your attention kept drifting back toward the other side of the room like a compass needle seeking north, like gravity pulling at something fundamental in your chest.

It only made you more annoyed with yourself, more frustrated with your own lack of discipline, your own inability to simply ignore him as you should have been able to do.

You blamed him for being distracting, for existing in your space with such presence that he was impossible to ignore.

You blamed yourself even more for noticing, for caring, for letting him affect you in ways that you couldn't control or understand.

You didn't even realize your workout had slowed, didn't notice that your movements had become mechanical and unfocused, your mind elsewhere even as your body went through the motions.

The dumbbell remained in your hand, but instead of beginning the next repetition, you found yourself standing there, frozen in place, your eyes drifting back toward the free-weight area almost absentmindedly, as though they had developed a will entirely separate from your own.

Jungkook had already loaded the barbell, the weights stacked and ready, and he stood in front of it for a brief moment that stretched into eternity, rolling his shoulders before flexing his fingers around the cold steel. His movements were precise, practiced—like someone who had repeated the same routine hundreds of times until it became second nature, until it was written into his muscle memory. There was no hesitation in the way he positioned his feet or adjusted his grip, no uncertainty in his stance or his preparation.

He simply… knew what he was doing, knew his body and its limits and its capabilities with an intimacy that felt almost intrusive to witness.

You frowned almost immediately, the expression deepening as you caught yourself.

You should have looked away, should have torn your gaze from him and focused on anything else, on the water stain on the ceiling or the crack in the mirror or your own reflection that suddenly seemed uninteresting in comparison.

A few damp strands of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, sticking slightly to his skin in a way that made your fingers twitch with an urge to push them back that you immediately suppressed. Every now and then he would push them back with the back of his wrist before immediately focusing on the weights again, the gesture automatic and unselfconscious.

His expression hadn't changed from earlier, hadn't shifted from that serious focus that seemed to be his default state.

Completely focused.

His brows were drawn together ever so slightly, his jaw set as he inhaled deeply before beginning another lift, the muscles in his neck tense with effort.

A quiet breath escaped him as he finished the set, the sound barely audible but somehow carrying across the space between you.

He leaned forward, resting his hands briefly on his thighs while catching his breath, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

You were still staring.

Your eyes followed every small movement without you even realizing it, without you consciously deciding to track him, as though your attention was no longer under your control.

When he straightened again, he rolled one shoulder, flexing his fingers before reaching for another weight, his breathing remaining measured despite the obvious effort, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he prepared for another set.

Only then did you blink, as though coming out of a trance.

Your eyes widened slightly, realization crashing over you like cold water.

…What am I doing?

Heat crept into your face, burning your cheeks as you looked down at the dumbbell still hanging uselessly at your side. You hadn't done a single repetition in… how long? You didn't even know, couldn't gauge the time that had passed while you were lost in watching him, while you had forgotten your own existence in favor of observing his.

"…Get it together," you mumbled under your breath, shaking your head as if that alone could clear your thoughts, could erase the image of him that seemed burned into your retinas.

You forced yourself to look back at your own reflection in the mirror, meeting your own eyes with something like desperation, tightening your grip before finally beginning your next set.

One.

Two.

Three.

But no matter how hard you tried to focus, no matter how loudly you counted in your head or how intensely you stared at your own form…

Your attention kept threatening to wander back to the other side of the room, kept pulling at the edges of your consciousness like a tide that refused to be stopped.

That realization irritated you far more than Jungkook ever could, because it meant that he had gotten inside your head without even trying, without even knowing, had claimed space in your mind that you hadn't given him permission to occupy.

You exhaled sharply through your nose before placing the dumbbells back onto the rack a little harder than necessary, the metal clanking against metal with a sound that echoed through the otherwise quiet gym like a gunshot.

"This is stupid," you muttered under your breath, the words carrying layers of meaning you didn't want to unpack.

Without giving yourself another chance to look in his direction, without allowing your traitorous eyes another moment of betrayal, you grabbed your water bottle and walked away with steps that were quick and purposeful. You needed something else to focus on—anything else that wasn't him, wasn't his tattoos or his focus or the way his muscles moved under his skin. The further away you got from the free-weight area, the better, or at least that was what you kept telling yourself with every step that carried you across the gym floor.

You stopped in front of one of the cable machines, setting your bottle down with more force than necessary before adjusting the pin to your usual weight. Your fingers moved automatically, muscle memory taking over while your mind remained frustratingly occupied with someone you wanted absolutely nothing to do with, someone who shouldn't matter to you at all.

Forget about him, you commanded yourself, wrapping your hands around the handles and taking a step back to create tension in the cables.

He's just another guy at the gym, you repeated like a mantra, pulling the cables toward you and feeling your muscles immediately tense with the effort.

An arrogant, insufferable guy, you added, because reminding yourself of his flaws seemed like the only defense against the unwanted attraction that was creeping in at the edges.

Another repetition, your arms burning with effort that you welcomed because it meant you were focusing on yourself again.

A guy who somehow manages to ruin your mood every single time he shows up, you finished, because that was the truth you needed to remember, the reality you needed to cling to.

You couldn't stand him.

Not his attitude.

Not the way he always seemed so detached from everyone around him, as though he existed on a different plane than mere mortals.

Not the way every conversation with him turned into an argument before it had even properly started, before either of you had said more than a few words.

Neither of you ever tried to be civil, never made the effort to bridge the gap that yawned between you like a chasm. There was no point, no hope of reconciliation or even peaceful coexistence. The moment your eyes met, irritation followed almost instantly, as automatic as breathing. It had become routine, predictable in its inevitability. A glance. A sarcastic comment. A sharp reply. It was exhausting, draining energy you didn't have to spare, and yet you couldn't seem to stop engaging, couldn't seem to let the last word go unspoken.

You were halfway through another repetition when a familiar voice suddenly spoke from directly behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine that you immediately suppressed.

"You know…"

Your entire body stiffened, muscles locking in place as though you had been caught doing something forbidden.

"…you're not exactly subtle when you stare."

Your hands immediately stopped moving, the cables going slack as you released them from fingers that had gone numb with shock.

For one long second, you simply closed your eyes, wishing that you could disappear, that the floor would open up and swallow you whole, that you could be anywhere else but here with his voice in your ear and his presence at your back.

Unbelievable.

Slowly, with movements that felt mechanical and disconnected from your will, you let go of the handles before turning around to face the consequences of your inability to look away.

There he was.

Standing only a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest in a posture that was both defensive and accusing, Jungkook looked at you with the same unreadable expression that always managed to get under your skin, that made you feel exposed and angry and something else you refused to examine.

You stared back just as coldly, raising your chin in defiance even as your heart hammered against your ribs with a force that felt dangerous.

"I wasn't staring," you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended, defensive in a way that probably made you sound guilty even if you weren't—were you?

One of his eyebrows rose, arching with skepticism that felt like a physical touch.

"No?" he asked, the single syllable carrying more doubt than a thousand words could have conveyed.

"No," you insisted, your voice firm even as your mind raced for explanations that didn't sound absurd.

"You've looked over at me at least six times," he stated flatly, as though he had been counting, as though he had been watching you watch him with the same attention you had been trying to deny.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped your lips, the sound brittle and defensive.

"You've been counting?" you asked, turning his observation back on him like a weapon, because offense was always your best defense with him.

"I notice when someone keeps looking in my direction," he replied evenly, his gaze never leaving yours, never wavering or dropping.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," you scoffed, folding your own arms across your chest in a mirror of his posture, creating barriers between you that felt necessary and insufficient at the same time.

"I'm not," he said simply, the words carrying no inflection, no emotion, just simple statement of fact that was somehow more infuriating than any boast could have been.

You unfolded your arms only to fold them again, your jaw tightening until you could feel the muscle jumping beneath your skin.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Jungkook," you said, the words dripping with contempt that you wielded like a shield.

"I never said it did," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly steady.

"Then stop acting like every glance is about you," you demanded, your voice rising slightly despite your best efforts to maintain control.

His gaze never left yours, never blinked or wavered, holding you captive in a way that made you want to look away and made you refuse to be the first to break contact.

"Then tell me," he said evenly, his tone conversational despite the tension that crackled between you like electricity, "what were you looking at?"

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because you didn't have an answer that wouldn't sound ridiculous.

The brief silence was enough, hanging between you like a verdict delivered without words, and you watched as his expression didn't change, remained that infuriating mask of calm that made you want to scream, made you want to shake him until something real showed through, something that wasn't this controlled indifference that he wore like armor.

"…Thought so," he muttered, the words barely audible but landing with the weight of triumph that made your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"Oh, shut up," you snapped, the words coming out harsher than you intended, laced with embarrassment that you tried to disguise as anger.

"I didn't even say anything," he pointed out, his voice infuriatingly reasonable, as though he were the victim of your unwarranted hostility.

"You were about to," you insisted, because you knew him, knew the way his mind worked, knew that silence from him was never empty but always filled with judgment you could feel even when you couldn't hear it.

He let out a quiet breath that sounded dangerously close to a scoff, the air leaving his lungs in a controlled exhale that somehow conveyed more contempt than any words could have managed.

"You always assume the worst," he said, and there was something almost tired in his voice, as though this routine had exhausted him as much as it exhausted you.

"Because with you, I'm usually right," you fired back.

His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping beneath his skin with the effort of restraint, and you found yourself watching the movement with an attention that you immediately tried to redirect.

"And you always have to have the last word," he countered, stepping closer without seeming to realize it, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of sweat and soap that clung to his skin.

"Only because talking to you is like arguing with a brick wall," you said, your voice rising slightly despite your best efforts to maintain the icy control that was cracking around the edges.

"And yet," he replied coldly, his eyes dark and unreadable as they held yours, "you never seem to walk away. You always stay. You always engage. You always come back for more."

Your eyes narrowed to slits, because he had touched something true, something you didn't want to examine, didn't want to acknowledge even to yourself.

"I am now," you said, the words clipped and final, and you stepped past him with purpose, your shoulder brushing firmly against his as you walked by, the contact sending sparks through your nerves that you tried to ignore.

He didn't move.

Instead, his voice followed you through the quiet gym like a ghost that refused to be exorcised, reaching your ears even as you tried to outpace it.

"You still stare too much," he called after you, the words casual and devastating in their accuracy.

You stopped for the briefest moment, your grip around your water bottle tightening until your knuckles turned pale, until you thought the plastic might crack under the pressure of your fingers.

Without turning around, without giving him the satisfaction of seeing your face, you answered through clenched teeth that ached with the force of your restraint.

"I'd rather stare at a wall," you said, the words dripping with venom that you hoped would cover the truth.

"And I'd rather train alone," he replied.

"Looks like neither of us is getting what we want," you shot back

You walked away without another word, your steps quick and purposeful, carrying you across the gym floor with an urgency that felt like escape.

This time, neither of you looked back, and you told yourself that was for the best, that this was the ending you wanted, the distance you needed.

You forced yourself to focus on your workout again, moving to another machine on the opposite side of the gym with determination that felt desperate rather than disciplined. Far away from him, as far as the space would allow, because that was the plan, the only plan that made sense when he was near.

No more Jungkook infiltrating your thoughts and your space and your peace.

You adjusted the weight and sat down, the vinyl seat cold against your back even through your shirt, and you were determined to put all your frustration into your training, to channel this chaotic energy into something productive, something that would leave you too exhausted to think. The familiar rhythm of your movements slowly helped you calm down, the repetition of lift and lower, breathe and release, creating a meditation that you desperately needed.

For a few minutes, you managed to forget about the annoying presence on the other side of the room, managed to lose yourself in the burn of your muscles and the steadiness of your breath.

Almost.

Because somehow, Jungkook always found a way to ruin that, to infiltrate the peace you tried to build without him.

You were halfway through another repetition when his voice suddenly cut through the quiet atmosphere, through the music of your headphones that suddenly seemed insufficient as a barrier.

"You're doing it wrong," he said, the words carrying across the space with an authority that made your hand immediately stop, made your muscles lock in place with anger.

Slowly, as though moving through water, you lowered the weight and turned your head, already knowing exactly who it was, already feeling the resignation that settled in your chest like a stone.

Jungkook stood beside the machine, having crossed the gym without you noticing, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever, as though he hadn't just interrupted your peace for the second time in one evening. That alone irritated you, the way he could look so completely unaffected while you felt like a live wire sparking with electricity, how he could maintain that veneer of control while you struggled to keep your composure.

You stared at him, your eyes hard and hostile, trying to project every ounce of frustration you felt.

"Do you ever get tired of talking?" you asked, the words sharp and biting.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, the only crack in his armor of indifference, arching with what might have been surprise or amusement or something else entirely.

"Do you ever get tired of doing things wrong?" he countered, the question landing between you like a challenge thrown down.

Your eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, your vision tunneling until he was all you could see.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice dangerously soft, the calm before the storm that you could feel building in your chest.

"The position of your shoulder," he said, pointing toward the machine with a finger that was somehow accusatory even in its casualness. "You're putting too much pressure on the wrong side. You're going to injure yourself if you keep doing it that way."

You let out a short, humorless laugh that scratched your throat raw, the sound brittle and defensive.

"Wow. Thank you for your incredible concern," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm that you wielded like a weapon. "But I think I'll survive. I've been doing this for months without your expert supervision."

"It's not about surviving," he said, his tone flattening, losing whatever inflection it had carried before. "It's about doing it correctly. But sure, ignore me. See if I care when you can't lift your arm tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes, the gesture exaggerated and dismissive.

"It's always something with you," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest, the motion drawing your attention to the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin, to the tattoos that seemed to move with him like living things.

"You're the one making it something," he said, his voice even, reasonable in a way that made you want to scream. "I made a simple observation. You're the one turning it into a fight."

"Because you keep coming over here acting like you know everything," you accused, standing up from the machine because you couldn't sit while he stood over you, couldn't let him have that advantage of height and position. "Acting like you're the only one who understands how to work out, like the rest of us are just wasting your precious time."

"I do know what I'm talking about," he said, and there was no arrogance in his voice, no boastfulness, just simple statement of fact that was somehow more infuriating than any brag could have been. "I've been training for years. I can see when someone's form is off. It's not an insult. It's just… fact."

"And there it is," you muttered, throwing your hands up in the air in a gesture of exasperation. "The arrogance. The superiority. The absolute certainty that you're always right and everyone else is always wrong."

His jaw tightened slightly, the muscle jumping with the effort of restraint, and you found yourself watching the movement again, found your eyes drawn to the line of his jaw, to the column of his throat, to places you didn't want to be looking.

"You're impossible," he said, his voice dropping lower, carrying an edge that hadn't been there before.

"And you're annoying," you shot back immediately, because this was your rhythm, this was the back and forth that you knew, and it was safer than the silence that had fallen earlier.

"You're stubborn," he countered, stepping closer, invading your space in a way that made your breath catch.

"And you're arrogant," you replied, not backing down, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you retreat.

Neither of you looked away, locked in a staring contest that felt like it could last forever, that felt like it had been going on since the moment you first met. The tension between you was immediate and electric, crackling in the air like static before a storm. It always was. Every single conversation felt like a competition, like one of you had to win and the other had to admit defeat, like there was a score being kept somewhere that you couldn't see but could feel in every interaction.

Neither of you ever did admit defeat, ever did concede the point or back down or apologize.

Finally, you turned back toward the machine, your movements jerky with the force of your frustration.

"Just leave me alone," you said, the words coming out more plea than command, more exhausted than angry, and you hated how vulnerable they made you sound.

You reached for the handles again, determined to continue, to prove that he hadn't affected you, that his words hadn't landed, that you could ignore him as you should have from the beginning.

But before you could start another repetition, before you could lose yourself in the rhythm that he had interrupted, Jungkook spoke again, his voice carrying a note of something you hadn't heard before, something that might have been genuine concern beneath the layers of hostility.

"If you keep doing it like that, you're going to hurt yourself," he said, and the words were softer than before, lacking their usual sharp edges. "Your shoulder isn't meant to take that kind of torque. You'll tear something."

You stopped, your hand hovering over the handle, your patience gone, evaporated like water in the desert.

"Are you seriously still going?" you asked, your voice rising with incredulity that he wouldn't just let this go, wouldn't just walk away and leave you to your mistakes.

"Yes," he said, and the answer came so simply, so directly, that it annoyed you even more than his usual evasions and barbs.

You turned around again, facing him fully, your body language screaming hostility even as something else stirred beneath it, something you didn't want to examine.

"Why do you even care?" you demanded, the question bursting out of you before you could stop it, before you could think about what it revealed. "Why does it matter to you if I hurt myself? Why can't you just let me be wrong in peace?"

For a brief second, something unreadable flashed across his face, something that looked almost like vulnerability before it was buried beneath the familiar mask of indifference.

"I don't," he said, but the words came too quickly, sounded too defensive even to your ears.

You scoffed, the sound harsh and disbelieving.

"Then leave," you said, throwing your hands wide in a gesture that encompassed the gym, the space, the distance he should be putting between you. "Go train on your side of the room and leave me alone. You don't care, remember? So stop acting like you do."

"I just don't want to watch you injure yourself because you're too stubborn to listen," he said, and there was frustration in his voice now, real emotion breaking through the controlled facade, and it made you pause, made you look at him differently.

Your mouth fell slightly open, surprise rendering you speechless for a moment.

"Wow," you finally managed, the word drawn out with disbelief. "You really know how to make things sound insulting. 'I'm not worried about you, I'm just annoyed that you're being stupid.' Real charming, Jungkook."

"Because with you, everything turns into an argument," he said, his voice rising slightly, losing its careful control. "I try to help, and you bite my head off. I try to ignore you, and you stare at me across the gym. I can't win with you. Whatever I do, it's wrong."

"Because you make everything an argument," you countered, but your voice lacked its usual heat, your words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

A quiet sigh left him as he stepped closer, close enough that you could see the individual drops of sweat on his forehead, could count the lashes framing his dark eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Move," he said, his voice softer than before, lacking its usual edge.

Your eyes narrowed immediately, suspicion flooding through you.

"What?" you asked, the word sharp and wary.

"Move your arm," he clarified, his tone patient in a way that was unfamiliar, that made you uncomfortable in its novelty.

"No," you said automatically, because giving in felt like defeat, felt like surrender in this war you had been fighting.

"You're proving my point," he said, but there was no triumph in his voice, just resignation.

"Jungkook—" you started, intending to tell him to leave, to back off, to stop invading your space and your peace and your sanity.

Before you could finish, before you could marshal your thoughts into coherent rejection, he carefully reached toward you, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull away, to stop him, to maintain the distance that had kept you safe.

The moment his hand touched your arm, his fingers wrapping gently around your bicep, your entire body froze, every muscle locking in place as though shocked by electricity that had nothing to do with fear.

It wasn't supposed to affect you.

It was just a correction, just him helping you fix your posture, just a physical demonstration of the point he had been trying to make.

Nothing more.

You should have pulled away, should have jerked your arm from his grasp and told him not to touch you, should have reminded him that you couldn't stand him, that his touch was unwelcome, that he had no right.

But for some reason, you didn't.

His fingers lightly adjusted the position of your arm, his touch careful despite the usual sharpness between you, almost gentle in a way that contradicted everything you thought you knew about him. His other hand briefly rested near your shoulder, guiding you into the correct position, his palm warm against your skin through the thin fabric of your top.

And suddenly, all the words you had been ready to throw at him disappeared, evaporating like mist in sunlight, leaving you empty and confused and strangely breathless.

Your mind went completely blank, the anger that had been fueling you replaced by something else entirely, something you didn't have a name for and didn't want to find.

You hated that.

You hated that your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, that your skin seemed to come alive where he touched you, that your heart was hammering against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with anger.

You hated that you noticed the warmth of his hands, the roughness of his fingertips against your skin, the closeness between you that you could feel in every nerve ending, the way his voice sounded quieter when he spoke again, almost intimate in the quiet gym.

"Like this," he said, his voice lower than before, lacking its usual defensive edge. "Keep your shoulder relaxed. Don't force it. Let the muscle do the work, not your joint."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and you wanted to step back, wanted to break this contact that was doing things to your equilibrium that you couldn't control.

You wanted to push him away, to reclaim the anger that had been so much safer than whatever this was.

Everything inside you screamed that you should, that this was dangerous territory, that letting him close was a mistake you would regret.

But at the same time…

You didn't move.

You stood there, frozen in place, letting him guide your arm through the correct motion, letting his hands shape your posture, letting him close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek, warm and steady and somehow more intimate than any touch.

Jungkook seemed to notice your sudden silence, the lack of sarcastic comeback or defensive barb. His eyes flickered toward your face, searching for something you weren't sure you wanted him to find, his expression changing slightly as if he had expected another fight, another round of their usual hostility.

But you had none.

For once, you had nothing to say, no words to defend yourself with, no anger to hide behind.

You quickly stepped back, breaking the moment before it could last any longer, before you could do something stupid like lean into his touch or acknowledge the electricity that had passed between you.

"I could've fixed it myself," you muttered, looking away because you couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't let him see the confusion that must be written all over your face. "I didn't need your help."

But even as you said it, the words sounded hollow, unconvincing even to your own ears.

And when you risked a glance back at him, you saw something in his expression that hadn't been there before, something that looked almost as confused as you felt, as though he too had been caught off guard by whatever had just happened between you.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice rougher than before, and he cleared his throat as though trying to regain his composure. "Sure you could have."

Neither of you moved to close the distance that had opened between you when you stepped back.

Neither of you looked away, caught in something that felt bigger than both of you, something that had been building for months beneath the surface of your hostility.

And for the first time since you had met him, you found yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, you had been wrong about everything.

Jungkook watched you for a second before pulling his hand back, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary, as though reluctant to break the contact that had somehow shifted everything between you, changed the rules of a game you hadn't known you were playing.

"Don't start," you warned, your voice sharp and defensive, because you recognized that tone, knew that he had noticed your reaction, had seen something you hadn't wanted him to see.

"I'm not," he said.

"You are," you insisted, because he was, because this was how it always went with him, always pushing boundaries you hadn't known existed until he crossed them.

"You always assume the worst," he said, and the words should have sounded accusatory, should have carried the weight of judgment, but instead they seemed almost fond, almost like an observation he had made so many times it had become fact rather than criticism.

"Because with you, I'm usually right," you shot back.

A familiar silence fell between you again, heavy and charged with electricity that seemed to crackle in the air around you. The same hatred that had defined your relationship from the beginning. The same frustration that built with every encounter until it felt like a physical weight pressing against your chest. The same endless battle that neither of you knew how to stop fighting, that neither of you seemed willing to surrender even when victory seemed impossible.

Except this time, something about it felt different, felt charged with an energy that hadn't been there before, a current that ran beneath the surface of your hostility and threatened to pull you under.

And you hated that even more than you hated him.

You turned away with more force than necessary, your movements jerky with the chaos of emotions you couldn't name, and you had almost reached the locker room, almost escaped into the sanctuary of solitude where you could process what had just happened without his dark eyes watching your every reaction, when his voice stopped you again, cutting through the quiet gym with precision that made you freeze.

"You're leaving the plates on the machine," he said, and there was no accusation in his tone, just simple observation of fact that somehow felt more judgmental than any criticism could have been.

You stopped, your feet rooted to the floor by the sheer audacity of him, by the way he couldn't just let you leave, couldn't just let this end.

Slowly, deliberately, you turned around, your eyebrows pulling together in disbelief that he was doing this now.

"What?" you asked.

Jungkook stood near the equipment you had just used, looking at the weights you had forgotten to put back in your haste to escape, in your desperation to put distance between you before you did something you would regret. His expression was completely neutral, which somehow made it worse, because you couldn't read him, couldn't tell if this was genuine concern for gym etiquette or just another way to keep you here, to extend this encounter that had already lasted too long.

"The weights," he repeated, pointing at them with a finger that was somehow both casual and commanding. "You're supposed to put them back after you're done. It's common courtesy."

For a second, you just stared at him, your mind struggling to process that he was actually doing this, actually choosing to fight about gym etiquette after the tension that had crackled between you moments before.

Then you let out a disbelieving laugh, the sound harsh and humorless, scratching your throat raw as it emerged.

"Are you serious?" you asked, your voice rising with incredulity that he would stop you for this, of all things.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, arching with skepticism that felt like an insult wrapped in a question.

"Yes," he said simply.

"You stopped me because of that?" you asked, gesturing wildly at the weights as though they were evidence of his insanity, your voice carrying across the quiet gym in a way that would have embarrassed you if you had been capable of feeling embarrassment through your anger.

"Because apparently asking someone to clean up after themselves is a problem now," he said, his tone dry and infuriatingly reasonable, as though you were the one being unreasonable, as though you were the one who had crossed a line.

Your jaw tightened immediately, the muscle jumping beneath your skin with the effort of restraint.

"Don't make it sound like I trashed the entire gym," you snapped, your voice sharp and defensive.

"I didn't say that," he countered.

"You implied it,"

"No, I didn't," he said, and there was patience in his voice now, the kind of patience that felt like condescension, like he was explaining something simple to someone who couldn't understand.

"God, you always do this," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

His expression changed slightly, shifting from neutral to something that might have been curiosity if you were being generous, might have been concern if you didn't know better.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Talk to me like I'm some kind of idiot," you said, the words bursting out of you before you could stop them, revealing more than you wanted to reveal, showing him the insecurity that lived beneath your anger. "Like I don't know how things work, like I'm some clueless beginner who needs your expert guidance."

Jungkook let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head in a gesture that managed to be both dismissive and disappointed.

"You're seriously getting angry over putting weights back?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of his disbelief that you would make this into something bigger than it was.

"And you're seriously acting like you're better than everyone because you did it first," you shot back, because that was what this was about, wasn't it? That was what everything with him was about, this constant competition where he always had to be ahead, always had to be right, always had to be better.

His eyes narrowed, darkening with an emotion you couldn't name, something that looked dangerous and sharp.

"That is not what I said," he insisted, his voice dropping lower, carrying an edge that hadn't been there before.

"But it's what you meant," you countered, because you knew him, knew the way his mind worked, knew that nothing with him was ever just what it appeared to be on the surface.

"No," he said, his jaw tightening with frustration that seemed to match your own, "it's what you decided I meant. It's what you always decide I mean, because it's easier than actually listening to what I'm saying."

The answer immediately irritated you even more, because there was truth in it, because you could feel the weight of his observation landing in places you didn't want to examine.

You walked back toward him, dropping your bag beside you with a thud that echoed through the quiet gym, closing the distance that you had tried to put between you because you couldn't let this go, couldn't let him have the last word, couldn't let him think he was right.

"Do you hear yourself?" you demanded, your voice rising with the force of your frustration, your hands gesturing wildly in the air between you.

"What?" he asked, his own patience clearly disappearing, his control cracking around the edges in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You always twist everything around so somehow I'm the problem," you accused, pointing a finger at him that trembled with the force of your emotions. "No matter what happens, no matter who starts it, somehow it always ends up being my fault."

Jungkook looked at you, his eyes dark and intense and focused entirely on you in a way that made you want to look away and made you refuse to be the first to break contact.

"Because you always make yourself the problem," he said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of truth that felt like a physical blow.

Your eyes widened slightly, surprise rendering you speechless for a moment before anger rushed in to fill the gap.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice dangerously soft.

"You heard me," he said.

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, the sound brittle and sharp enough to cut.

"Wow," you said, the word drawn out with disbelief. "There it is."

"What?" he asked, his jaw clenching with the effort of restraint.

"The attitude," you said, throwing your hands up in the air. "The superiority. The absolute certainty that you're always right and everyone else is just… what? In your way?"

His jaw clenched tighter, the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"You know what?" he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that felt dangerous. "This is exactly why nobody can talk to you. Because you can't accept that anyone else might have a point, that anyone else might see something you don't."

Your expression hardened instantly, the words landing like blows that you refused to show had hurt.

"Nobody asked you to," you said, your voice ice cold, because that was safer than the fire that threatened to consume you.

"Trust me, I know," he said, and there was something in his voice now, something that sounded almost like regret before it was buried beneath anger.

"Then stop," you said, the word a command and a plea wrapped together.

"I would love to," he said, stepping closer, invading your space in a way that made your breath catch. "Maybe I would if you didn't turn every little thing into a fight, if you didn't push every button I have just to see what happens."

You stepped closer, your voice rising until you were almost shouting, until the quiet gym seemed to shrink down to just the two of you and your chaos.

"Me?" you demanded, incredulity making your voice crack. "I'm turning this into a fight?"

"Yes," he said, the word simple and devastating in its certainty.

"You stopped me over some weights," you said, pointing toward the equipment as though it were evidence of his insanity.

"Because you didn't put them back," he countered, his voice rising to match yours.

"And you couldn't just move them yourself?" you challenged, your face inches from his now, close enough to see every detail, every fleck of color in his dark eyes.

"It's not my responsibility," he said, and the words sounded hollow even to him, sounded like an excuse for something he couldn't explain.

"Of course not," you said, and the sarcasm in your voice was obvious, dripping from every syllable like poison.

Jungkook stared at you, clearly annoyed, clearly frustrated, clearly feeling the same chaos that was tearing through your own chest.

"You are unbelievable," he said, the words carrying weight that felt like both insult and compliment, both condemnation and admission.

"And you're unbearable," you shot back.

"You're so convinced you're always right," he said, his voice dropping lower, becoming something else, something that made the hair on your arms stand up.

"Because most of the time I am," you said, your own voice matching his.

A short laugh escaped him, but there was no amusement in it.

"That might be the most annoying thing you've ever said," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

"And you say annoying things every time you open your mouth," you countered, but your voice lacked its usual heat, your words sounding more like invitation than rejection.

For a moment, neither of you moved, locked in a staring contest that felt like it could last forever, that felt like it had been going on since the moment you first met. The gym around you seemed to disappear, fading into background noise that didn't matter, that couldn't penetrate the bubble of tension that surrounded you. The argument was ridiculous, completely unnecessary, a fight about weights that wasn't about weights at all, that was about every small irritation that had built up since the first day, every look, every comment, every moment where one of you refused to back down.

Anyone else would have simply put the weights away and walked off, would have recognized the futility of this battle and chosen peace over victory.

It was about the electricity that crackled between you every time you were in the same room, about the way your heart hammered when he looked at you, about the confusion of hating someone and wanting them with equal intensity.

Jungkook stepped closer, not aggressively, not threateningly, but with a purpose that made your anger falter for half a second, that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You know what your problem is?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping to a register that felt intimate and dangerous and irresistible.

You immediately prepared your response, your mind racing to find the words that would cut him down, that would put him in his place, that would restore the balance that had been shifting beneath your feet.

"My problem?" you asked, your voice sharp and ready for battle.

"Yeah," he said, and he was closer now, too close, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the scent of sweat and soap and something uniquely him that your traitorous brain cataloged despite your fury.

You crossed your arms, creating barriers between you that felt necessary and insufficient at the same time.

"Go ahead," you said, your voice challenging, daring him to say what he was thinking, to cross the line that had been hovering between you for months.

He looked directly at you, his eyes dark and intense and focused entirely on you in a way that made you want to look away and made you refuse to be the first to break contact.

He was closer now, way too close, close enough that you could see the small details you had tried so hard not to notice. The slight tension in his jaw that spoke of restraint. The way his expression softened for the briefest second before returning to that familiar irritation. The way his chest rose and fell with breaths that were faster than they should have been, that spoke of emotions he was trying to control.

Your thoughts suddenly became messy, tangled in a web of confusion and anger and something else, something that felt like desire and terror mixed together.

You had an answer, you knew you did, had rehearsed it in your head a thousand times for moments exactly like this.

There was something you wanted to say, something sharp and cutting that would end the argument, that would put him in his place, that would restore the distance that had kept you safe.

But suddenly, you couldn't remember it, couldn't find the words through the chaos of his proximity, through the electricity that seemed to arc between your bodies.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a confusing mix of fury and a sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading through your veins like liquid fire.

Jungkook's eyes—dark, intense, and far too focused—held yours without blinking, searching for something you weren't sure you wanted him to find. The gym lights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin from his workout, making him look almost ethereal, almost unreal. He was too close. Way too close. Close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and steady and somehow more intimate than any touch.

His chest rising and falling steadily while yours felt like it might burst from the pressure building inside you. The tension stretched between you like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment, and you didn't know if you wanted to run or to close the distance completely.

Then he took another step forward, closing the last bit of distance until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, until you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact, until there was nowhere left to go, no space left between you that could be called safe.

His voice dropped, low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet, like the sound of temptation itself speaking directly to the parts of you that you had tried to bury.

"You know what your problem is?" he murmured, repeating the question but with a new edge this time, with a hunger that made your knees weak. His gaze flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second, so quickly you might have imagined it, before returning to your eyes with an intensity that felt like it could see straight through you. "You've been pushing me like this for months. And I've been dying to fuck that stubborn attitude right out of you."

The words landed between you like a match dropped into gasoline, and you felt the explosion before it happened, felt your whole body tense with shock and desire and the terrifying realization that you wanted exactly what he was offering, that you had wanted it for longer than you were willing to admit.

Your breath caught, your lips parting in surprise, and you knew that whatever happened next would change everything, would burn down the walls you had built and leave you exposed in ways you had never allowed yourself to be.

And in that moment, with his body heat surrounding you and his dark eyes holding yours captive, you weren't sure you wanted to stop it.

The words hit you like a physical shove, knocking the breath from your lungs in a sharp gasp that sounded embarrassingly needy even to your own ears. Heat flooded your cheeks in a rush that you couldn't control, couldn't hide, as a torrent of conflicting emotions crashed through you with violent intensity—shock that he would say something so brazen, indignation that he would assume such intimacy with you.

You didn't know what to say, couldn't formulate words through the chaos of your thoughts. Your mind went blank, wiped clean of the sharp retorts and cutting comebacks that had always come so easily, failing you for the first time in this endless back-and-forth that had defined your relationship.

"Are you completely crazy?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk that made your stomach flip with anticipation and dread. He didn't pull back, didn't give you space to breathe or think or retreat. If anything, he leaned in closer, invading the last inches of space that separated you, one hand bracing lightly against the weight rack beside your head, effectively caging you without touching, trapping you with the promise of his body rather than its weight.

His breath brushed warm against your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine despite the fire still burning in your chest, despite the anger that should have kept you immune to his proximity.

"Crazy?" he echoed, his tone laced with dark amusement that spoke of secrets shared and battles yet to be fought. He knew exactly how to push your buttons—had always known, had mapped every trigger and sensitivity through months of careful observation disguised as hostility. "Maybe. But I'm not the one pretending this isn't what we've both been circling for months."

His free hand came up, fingers barely grazing your arm as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contradicted everything about this moment, that made your breath hitch in your throat. The touch was light, almost tender, but it ignited something fierce inside you, something that roared to life and demanded more.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he continued, his voice dropping to a register that felt intimate and dangerous, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Tell me you haven't thought about it too—how good it would feel to finally shut each other up."

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out the distant hum of the gym equipment, the world narrowing down to just him and the heat of his body and the challenge in his words. The argument had completely shifted, transformed from the ridiculous fight over weights into something far more dangerous, far more real. Now it was just the two of you, breaths mingling, bodies humming with unresolved tension that had been building like a storm on the horizon

"You're unbelievable," you whispered, but there was no real bite left in it, no conviction behind the words that had always been your armor.

Jungkook's eyes darkened further, satisfaction flashing across his face like lightning before a storm. He tilted his head, his mouth hovering just inches from yours, close enough that you could taste his breath, could feel the warmth radiating from his lips without touching.

"And you're still talking," he murmured, voice dropping even lower, rough with want that he made no effort to hide. "Guess I'll have to do something about that."

The heat between you was suffocating now—electric, undeniable, a physical force that pressed against your skin and made the air feel thick and heavy. Every inch of space felt alive with possibility and frustration, charged with the knowledge that one wrong move, or perhaps one right move, would set everything ablaze and burn down the careful distance you had maintained for so long. His gaze bored into you, challenging, daring you to keep fighting or finally surrender to the inevitable.

Jungkook didn't give you a chance to respond, didn't allow you the opportunity to formulate some sharp retort that would maintain your pride. In one swift, decisive movement that spoke of certainty and control, his hand wrapped around your wrist—firm but not rough, commanding but not cruel—and he pulled you with him toward the locker room door.

Your feet stumbled to keep up with his long strides, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

The locker room was completely empty, the lights dimmed low after hours, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for you as the echo of your footsteps bounced off the tile walls, the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had fallen.

Before you could even catch your breath, before you could process what was happening or formulate second thoughts, he pushed the door shut behind you with a quiet click.

Then he turned, his movements fluid and purposeful, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit one of the wooden benches, the edge catching you behind the legs and sending you sitting down hard on the cool surface.

Jungkook stood in front of you, towering, his broad frame blocking out most of the light and casting you in shadow. He leaned down slowly, deliberately, placing his hands on the bench on either side of your hips, caging you in with his presence, with the heat of his body that seemed to radiate like a furnace. His face was inches from yours, eyes burning with that same mix of frustration and raw desire that mirrored your own, that spoke of months of denial finally reaching their breaking point.

"Say one word," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel against silk, his breath brushing against your lips with intimate warmth. "Say one word, and I'll stop."

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to keep fighting like you always did, to maintain the fortress of your pride that had protected you for so long. You didn't want to give in, not to him, not after all the petty arguments and stubborn pride that had defined your relationship. But your body had other ideas, had betrayed you the moment he touched you, the moment he spoke those words that shattered your defenses.

Your hands moved before you could stop them, fingers curling tightly into the front of his damp shirt, feeling the hardness of his chest beneath the thin fabric. You yanked him down toward you with surprising force, pulling him off balance until his mouth crashed into yours with an impact that you felt in your bones.

The kiss was anything but gentle—hungry, desperate, and full of weeks of pent-up tension that exploded between you like fireworks. Your lips moved against his with fierce urgency, teeth grazing, tongues meeting in a heated clash that spoke of battle as much as desire. A low groan rumbled from deep in Jungkook's chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he kissed you back just as fiercely, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the angle, to take more.

The other braced against the bench, keeping himself from crushing you completely, maintaining that small space that made you ache to close it.

Heat exploded through your veins, every nerve ending alive and burning with sensation that you couldn't control, couldn't direct. Anger melted into pure want, the argument dissolving into the taste of him. The feel of his strong body leaning over yours, the weight of his presence that you had tried to deny for so long. Your fingers twisted harder in his shirt, pulling him even closer until there was no space left between you, until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began.

His free hand found your waist, gripping possessively as he pressed forward, one knee settling onto the bench beside you, creating friction that made you gasp against his mouth.

You were both breathing hard when you finally broke apart for air, foreheads resting together, lips still brushing with every shaky exhale that spoke of restraint fraying at the edges. Jungkook's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the expression arrogant and knowing and infuriatingly attractive.

"Still think I'm crazy?" he whispered against your lips, voice husky with desire and something else, something that sounded like affection wrapped in barbed wire.

You didn't answer with words, couldn't trust your voice not to betray the depth of your need. Instead, you kissed him again, harder this time, letting your actions say everything your stubborn pride wouldn't allow, letting your teeth catch his lower lip in a bite that drew a groan from deep in his chest.

The empty locker room felt smaller, hotter, the air thick.

Jungkook's mouth claimed yours again with bruising intensity, his hand tightening on the back of your neck in a grip that was possessive and controlling and exactly what you needed. He pushed you back against the bench, following you down until his weight half-covered you, the wood hard and unforgiving beneath your back, but you barely noticed, couldn't focus on anything except the heat of his body, the way his tongue fought yours for dominance, the frustratingly smug way he took control of the kiss, of the moment, of you.

You broke the kiss just enough to gasp, "You're still an asshole," even as your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

He chuckled darkly against your lips, the sound low and dangerous and vibrating through your chest where your bodies pressed together. "And you're still fucking soaked for this asshole," he countered, his voice carrying that arrogant certainty that should have infuriated you but instead sent heat pooling lower. His free hand slid down your body with deliberate slowness, shoving your leggings and panties down your thighs in one rough motion that left you exposed and vulnerable and aching.

"Look at you," he continued, his gaze dropping to where you lay open for him, his voice dropping to a register that felt like worship wrapped in mockery. "Arguing with me while your pussy is dripping. So fucking wet for someone you claim to hate. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Shut up—" Your words cut off in a sharp moan as two of his thick fingers dragged through your folds with devastating slowness, spreading your wetness with deliberate precision before pushing inside you without warning, without gentleness, filling you in a way that made your back arch off the bench, your hips bucking against his hand seeking more.

He curled them instantly, stroking that perfect spot with practiced precision that spoke of experience, of knowledge of your body that he shouldn't have, that he had gained through careful observation when you thought he wasn't looking. Your vision blurred at the edges, the pleasure sharp and immediate and overwhelming.

Jungkook leaned over you, pinning one of your thighs open with his knee, keeping you spread and exposed and completely at his mercy. "That's it," he murmured, voice rough with lust but carrying an undercurrent of praise that made your chest tighten. "Take my fingers like a good girl. Even if you won't admit how badly you've wanted this, how badly you've wanted me. "

You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the whimper threatening to escape, trying to maintain some semblance of pride, but it slipped out anyway, high and needy and completely beyond your control. "I still hate you," you spat, even as your walls clenched greedily around his fingers, even as your hips rolled seeking deeper contact.

"Yeah?" He pumped them faster, the wet, obscene sound echoing in the empty locker room, filling the space with evidence of your desire that you couldn't deny. "Then why are you riding my hand like you've been starving for it? Why are you so fucking tight around my fingers if you don't want this?"

He added a third finger, stretching you deliciously, filling you until you felt full to bursting, his thumb pressing firm circles on your clit with rhythm that matched his thrusts. The pleasure was overwhelming, building fast and intense but steady, climbing toward something inevitable, but so was the irritation still simmering between you, the need to fight even as you surrendered.

You reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his face down to yours with force that should have hurt, that should have angered him. "Because you're infuriatingly good at this, you prick," you admitted through gritted teeth, the words torn from you against your will. "Because I hate that you know exactly how to touch me, exactly what I need."

Jungkook groaned at the sharp tug on his hair, but it only made him more aggressive, more determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from your body, to prove his dominance in the only language you both seemed to speak. He pulled his fingers out suddenly, ignoring your frustrated whine, the emptiness immediate and aching, and dropped to his knees in front of the bench with a grace that spoke of athleticism, of control over his body that extended to every movement.

Before you could protest, before you could formulate words through the haze of desire, he hooked both of your legs over his broad shoulders and dragged you to the edge of the bench, burying his face between your thighs with a hunger that made you cry out.

His tongue was relentless—hot, wet, and merciless as he licked a long, slow stripe up your center, tasting you with a thoroughness that felt intimate and overwhelming, before sucking your clit into his mouth with pressure that made your vision white out at the edges. You cried out, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him closer even as you tried to maintain distance, the contradiction making your head spin.

"Fuck— Jungkook," you gasped, half moan, half curse, his name falling from your lips like a prayer or a condemnation.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, his chin shiny with evidence of your desire that should have embarrassed you but instead sent fresh heat through your veins. "Still hate me?" His tongue flicked rapidly against your clit, light and teasing, before he dove back in, eating you out like a man possessed, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

Two fingers pushed back inside you, curling and thrusting in time with his mouth, finding that spot that made your vision blur and your thighs shake around his head.

"Yes— God, yes I do," you moaned, hips grinding against his face despite your words, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of the devastating pleasure he was wringing from your body. The contradiction made your cheeks burn with shame and desire in equal measure, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, too overwhelming to deny. Every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers felt like punishment and reward all at once, felt like exactly what you deserved for letting this happen, for wanting this to happen.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine that made you arch off the bench. "Liar," he growled, the word muffled but carrying clearly, vibrating against your most sensitive flesh. "You're dripping down my chin, baby. So fucking wet for me. Such a good fucking girl for me."

He sucked harder on your clit, fingers speeding up, curling perfectly against that spot that made your vision blur and your thoughts scatter. The praise wrapped around you like warmth, like validation of something you couldn't admit, making the pleasure sharper, making your chest tight with emotion you didn't want to name.

Your thighs shook around his head, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, building toward something inevitable. You hated how easily he played your body, how dominant he was, how much you craved his praise even as you resented his arrogance.

"I fucking hate how much I need you," you admitted breathlessly between moans, your free hand gripping the edge of the bench until your knuckles turned white, the words torn from somewhere deep and vulnerable. "I hate that you make me feel like this."

Jungkook pulled back for a moment, lips shiny and chin wet with your desire, eyes dark with lust and satisfaction and something that looked almost like tenderness before he buried it beneath dominance. "Then show me how much you hate it," he commanded, standing up with fluid grace that spoke of strength and control. He pushed his shorts down, freeing his hard cock that bobbed heavy and thick in front of your face, the evidence of his own desire that matched yours in intensity. "Open that smart mouth."

You glared up at him, chest heaving, pride warring with desire, but the ache between your legs and the raw hunger in his eyes won out as they always did, as they always would when it came to him. You leaned forward, wrapping your hand around his length and feeling the heat of him, the weight of him, pulling him closer with a roughness that spoke of your own frustration.

"You're such a bossy bastard," you muttered before taking him into your mouth, the taste of him—salt and skin and something uniquely Jungkook—filling your senses.

Jungkook groaned deeply, the sound rumbling from his chest like thunder, one hand tangling in your hair to guide you, not forceful but controlling, dominant in a way that made you wetter. "That's it… fuck, just like that. Good girl. Use that mouth for something useful instead of arguing for once. Show me what that attitude can really do."

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to make him lose control, to break that perfect composure that infuriated you so much. You swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the bead of precome that had formed there, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat and his hips stuttered, his fingers tightening in your hair.

"Shit— you look so pretty with my cock down your throat," he rasped, fingers tightening in your hair.

You moaned around him, the vibration making his hips stutter, his control cracking at the edges. The hate and desire twisted together so tightly you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began, couldn't separate the need to fight him from the need to submit to him. The locker room was filled with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low groans, the air thick with sweat and tension and the smell of sex that surrounded you like a cloud.

Jungkook's grip in your hair tightened, his hips stuttering as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks with deliberate, torturous suction that you knew was driving him toward the edge. His cock throbbed heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of him more pronounced now, signaling how close he was.

"Fuck— stop," he growled, voice strained with raw need, with the effort of restraint. "Stop or I'm gonna come down that pretty throat, and I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."

You pulled off him with a wet pop that echoed in the quiet space, glaring up at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, breathing hard, your chest heaving with the effort. "Of course you can't handle it," you taunted breathlessly, trying to reclaim some power, some control in this dynamic where he seemed to hold all the cards. "Always have to be in control, don't you?"

Jungkook's eyes flashed with dark challenge, with the promise of retribution for your words. He hauled you up roughly by the arms, his strength evident in the ease with which he moved you, spinning you around and bending you over the bench in one fluid motion that left you breathless, left you exposed and vulnerable and aching.

"You talk too much," he muttered, kicking your legs wider apart with his foot, the cool air of the locker room hitting your wet folds and making you shiver. "Ass up. Now."

Before you could fire back, before you could formulate the sharp retort that hovered on your tongue, he lined himself up and thrust into you in one deep, powerful stroke that filled you completely, that made you feel every inch of him stretching you, claiming you. You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wood of the bench as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass, his balls slapping against your clit with impact that sent sparks through your nerves.

"Shit— you're so fucking tight," he groaned, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, to mark, while the other pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "Taking every inch like you were made for this. Like this is exactly what you've needed. Good girl."

You moaned loudly, pushing back against him despite yourself, seeking more friction, more depth, more of the fullness that he provided. "I still hate you," you gasped between thrusts, the words broken by the force of his hips snapping into you with rhythm that was punishing and perfect.

"Yeah?" He slammed into you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the empty locker room, filling the space with evidence of your surrender. "Then why are you so fucking wet for someone you claim to despise?"

He set a punishing rhythm, deep and relentless, one hand reaching around to rub tight circles on your clit with fingers that were rough and skilled and exactly what you needed. Every thrust pushed you forward on the bench, pleasure coiling tighter in your belly, building toward something inevitable that you couldn't stop, couldn't control.

After several long, devastating minutes that felt like forever and not long enough, Jungkook pulled out suddenly, leaving you aching and empty and whimpering with the loss. He sat down on the bench and yanked you onto his lap, facing him, guiding your hips with hands that were demanding and controlling. "Ride me," he ordered, voice rough with lust and command.

You straddled him, sinking down onto his length with a broken moan that you couldn't suppress, the new angle making him feel even deeper, hitting places inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, feeling the muscle and heat of him beneath your palms, you started moving, rolling your hips in a way that made his jaw clench with restraint, that made his eyes darken with pleasure he couldn't hide.

"That's it," he praised, hands gripping your ass, guiding you roughly up and down with strength that reminded you of his power, his dominance. "Ride it like you mean it, baby. Fuck— look at you. So wet and desperate. So fucking perfect when you're trying to hate me."

"Shut up," you hissed, bouncing harder, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, seeking to draw blood, seeking to make him feel what you were feeling—the overwhelming, terrifying intensity of this thing between you.

The friction was perfect, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with precision that felt deliberate, felt like he knew your body better than you knew yourself. Sweat slicked your skin as you moved together, the hatred and lust twisting into something almost unbearable, something that threatened to consume you both.

"You're so fucking arrogant," you gasped, even as you rode him harder, even as your body betrayed every word.

"And you love it," he shot back, thrusting up to meet you, driving himself deeper with each downward motion that made you see stars. "Love how I fuck the attitude right out of you. Love how I make you feel even when you hate me for it."

The intensity built higher, your moans growing louder, but he wasn't satisfied yet, wasn't done proving his dominance. With a low growl that vibrated through his chest, he lifted you off him again, ignoring your frustrated whine, the emptiness immediate and aching. He stood, pushing you back until your spine hit the cold metal of the lockers with a clang that echoed through the room, the chill of the metal against your overheated skin making you gasp.

One of your legs hooked over his hip as he thrust back into you, hard and deep, pinning you against the lockers with his weight, with his strength.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, head falling back against the locker as he pounded into you with abandon, with the loss of control that you had been seeking, that you had been trying to draw from him.

He buried his face in your neck, biting down lightly, marking you, claiming you as his thrusts grew erratic, as his own control frayed at the edges.

"Come for me," he demanded, voice dark and commanding, rough with his own approaching release. "Come on my cock like the stubborn little brat you are."

His words, the brutal pace, and the constant friction against your clit pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you violently, walls clenching around him as you cried out, body shaking in his hold, pleasure blinding you, wave after wave of it ripping through every nerve until you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel.

"Fuck— good girl," Jungkook groaned, his thrusts growing erratic, losing their rhythm as he chased his own release. "So fucking good for me. So perfect when you let go." A few more deep, punishing strokes and he came hard inside you, hips pressed tight against yours as he spilled deep, a low, guttural moan vibrating against your skin, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises that you would wear like trophies.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that—panting, trembling, bodies locked together against the lockers, the sweat cooling on your skin as the intensity faded into something softer, something you didn't have words for. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sweat and the aftermath of something that had changed everything.

The fight wasn't over. You could already feel the next sharp comment bubbling up, could feel the need to reestablish distance, to pretend this hadn't meant anything. But for now, the raw, intense release left you both breathless and temporarily sated in the aftermath of your hate-filled collision.

Jungkook stayed close for a long moment, his forehead still pressed to yours as your breathing slowly evened out, as your heart rates returned to something approaching normal. His hands lingered on your waist, thumbs tracing lazy, absent circles against your skin that felt almost tender, almost affectionate in a way that terrified you more than his dominance had.

Eventually, he pulled back slightly, eyes meeting yours with an intensity that hadn't faded, that spoke of battles yet to come. His expression was calm, but that familiar stubborn glint was already creeping back in, the walls rebuilding themselves between you.

"This doesn't change anything," he said quietly, voice still a little rough, still carrying the aftermath of what you had done. "I still can't stand you."

You let out a tired breath, pushing weakly at his chest even as you stayed leaning against the lockers, your legs still feeling shaky, your body still feeling his presence inside you. "Good. Because I still can't stand you either. Arrogant, bossy, and way too full of yourself."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound warm and intimate in a way that contradicted his words. He shook his head, but instead of stepping away, he reached down and gently tugged your leggings back into place, smoothing the fabric over your hips with careful hands that felt like a contradiction, felt like gentleness from someone who had just been so rough. You hated how soft the touch felt. You hated even more that you didn't pull away, that you leaned into it despite yourself.

"Yeah… nothing's different," he muttered, almost like he was reminding himself, like he needed to hear the words to believe them. He grabbed the towel again and wiped a streak of sweat from your neck, surprisingly gentle, his fingers lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. "You're still the most irritating person in this gym. Probably in the whole city."

"And you're still unbearable," you shot back, but your voice came out quieter than intended, lacking the heat that should have been there. You reached up anyway and fixed the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin for a second longer than necessary, for a second that felt like admission of something you couldn't say.

Jungkook's lips twitched, the almost-smile that you had seen so rarely directed at you. He caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it for a beat that stretched into something meaningful, something that neither of you acknowledged.

"Exactly. So don't go thinking this means anything," he said, his voice soft but firm, the warning clear even as his thumb traced over your knuckles.

"I won't if you won't," you replied, and the words felt like a lie even as you spoke them, felt like the first truth you had told in months.

For a second, you just looked at each other—flushed, messy, and still quietly arguing even after everything, even after the intimacy you had shared. Then he leaned in and pressed one last, surprisingly soft kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment that felt like peace before stepping back and breaking the spell.

"See you tomorrow, then," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly, the challenge clear in his eyes. "Try not to leave the weights out again, brat."

You rolled your eyes, fighting a small, reluctant smile as you watched him head toward the door, your body still feeling the aftermath of what he had done to you, what you had allowed him to do. "Try not to be such a pain in the ass," you called after him, your voice carrying the weight of promise, of threat, of something that felt dangerously like anticipation.

He glanced back at you one more time, something almost warm flickering in his eyes despite his words, despite the walls that were already rebuilding themselves between you. "No promises," he said, and the words felt like a vow, felt like the beginning of something neither of you knew how to name.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet locker room with your thoughts and your confusion and the ache between your legs that would remind you of him for days. You still couldn't stand him. He still couldn't stand you.

But somehow… the air felt a little lighter, the hatred feeling less like a wall and more like a door that had been opened, if only a crack.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Moodboard

[ronniwritesx]

𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖔𝖓 - Stalker Idol Kim Seokjin x (f)Reader 13K words

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Yandere i literally don’t know if it counts in this fic, Dub-con kissing & touching, Stalking, Age gap (reader is mid-20s, Jin mid-30s), Obsessive and Sadistic behaviours, Jin's a family man?? & more?

𝜗𝜚 Synopsis: You have a stalker. Good news: you don't have to pay for shit. Bad news: you have a semi-harmless stalker. What you don't know is that it's someone whose face you see every time you walk to work. And he gets really jealous when you find a lover.

Ronni Rambles: This originally started as a crack fic/soft yandere, and it turned into… whatever this is. I lowkey don’t really fuck with this writing and think it could’ve turned out better, but I’ve decided to just post it anyway.

I also wanted to share this clip of Jin.

You have a stalker. Apparently, having one now is like owning some expensive breed of pet. Something to almost flaunt and completely harmless — at least that's the impression you are given by the police.

Except this pet preorders your favourite coffee at the cafe across the street, breaks into your home regularly, leaves behind expensive gifts, knows things he shouldn't and makes you food that you always make sure to throw out.

You are not an idol. You are not famous.

Before, you were barely active on social media, but now you don't even dare to like an Instagram post. You remember it so clearly: one month into this whole shitstain of a situation, you liked a post about a new book coming out from an author you follow. The next day after work, you came back home to it lying beside your bed on the sidetable.

The book wasn't supposed to be out for another two months.

The worst part, nobody takes it seriously.

Shivers still run down your spine when you recall the first incident. You work as a nurse in the biggest hospital in Seoul. After graduating from medical school just recently, you quickly learned that your work is highly unrecognised. And that the shifts are truly that gruelling.

You were coming home from your usual night shift, all tired, eyes barely open, already dreaming of a hot shower and your comfy bed, not even caring about the daytime light. Once you entered your house, slipping off your sneakers and dropping your bag to the floor, you walked past your kitchen, going straight to the bathroom, when your eyes caught a Tupperware filled with what looked like your favourite meal.

Practically melting in place, you decited that you should responsibly eat first. Placing the container in your microwave to heat up, you almost completely missed the note.

You curse your tiredness, quickly tearing off the paper and setting a timer on the microwave, watching as your food begins to spin beneath the yellow light. Leaning against your counter, you fumble with the note in your hands, looking down to see who left you the meal.

It was probably Mei, your roommate.

I made your favourite, since you looked particularly tired today, yet still absolutely gorgeous, like always. —SJ

The microwave beeped, signalling that the food was heated up, but you remained frozen, now widely awake, still staring at the unfamiliar handwritten note in your hand.

You don't have a roommate anymore. You moved out three months ago. And even if she had dropped by, which was not unusual, this is definitely not your friend's barely legible handwriting. No, this one is neat and most definitely unfamiliar, just like the initials SJ that were signed below.

You looked around your apartment. Everything looked in place. For a moment, you eyed the door. Had you opened it yourself, or was it already unlocked? But then you shook your head, seeing your keys barely not falling out of your bag, remembering that you, in fact, used them.

You live on the fifth floor. And the door was locked. You are sure of it, and you are even more sure of the fact that you locked it before clocking into your shift.

Did someone not only break into your house, but locked the door after themselves too?

In the end, the police couldn't do anything when you snapped out of your initial shock and tiredness and called the emergency phone number.

Nothing else was messed with or left behind, and they asked you repeatedly if you were sure you didn't know an SJ, if this couldn't have been a prank from your friends, or if you were simply just too tired.

As if you being tired had anything to do with a fucking container of food with a weird and stalkerish note attached, just appearing out of nowhere in your home and leaving no trace. You did call Mei to be sure, but she confirmed your suspicions. She was even out of town. The morning ended with them just taking the note and you crashing at your old roommate's empty place for a couple of days.

A week later, you had to move on with your life and went back to sleep at your apartment. Your first day back, you went straight to work, a couple of days earlier having traded shifts with a single mom who wanted to come to her daughter's rehearsal and asked if you could do a switch with her. It meant that you would need to do a double shift, since you were also scheduled for the night after.

You had stopped sleeping in, only barely getting the needed hours in, a thing that had been happening ever since the break-in, to which the cops still had no leads on — the security and street cameras picked up nothing, and you doubt that they even did anything with the note.

So, you had extra time and thought, why not grab the usual coffee that you treated yourself to every once in a while? It was a ritual which you did only when you woke up earlier, since technically you couldn't afford it.

But when you came up to the counter and placed your order along with your name, the barista began smiling and said, "Oh, your boyfriend came in and already took care of you."

"My— my boyfriend?" You stammered.

The girl blushed, "Sorry, he didn't say he was your boyfriend, I just assumed it so. But he did leave a name."

A pit formed in your stomach.

You swallowed, "What is it?" Your words came out more as a whisper, but the barista still caught it, answering, "SJ. Does that ring a bell?"

She probably noticed your face because her excited expression dropped, and she added less enthusiastically, "He left you a note. Do you want it?"

You must have nodded, even if you don't remember so, because she grabbed a paper near the register and handed it to you. It said:

Sorry if I scared you, darling, that was not my intention. I just wanted to take care of you. But I know that coffee makes you feel better, so don't worry, from now on, it's always on me. It's a cute place. I sat in your favourite place on the second floor, and it makes perfect sense why it's your favourite. I kept imagining us having our first date here. —SJ

Your eyes flew up to the corner couch upstairs that overlooked the whole cafe. He had been here? And he knows your favourite spot?

Police were called shortly after. And again, they were useless.

Of course, not before giving you false hope. They interviewed the barista and collected recent camera footage. You also found out that the payment information and instructions about you were given on the phone. So, the police again gathered the note, and both the phone number and the credit card info that he left behind to pay for your future coffee orders.

Apparently, it was like an open tab kind of thing. Unlimited coffee for you for life. Or at least until the bank account ran dry.

Your stalker insisting on paying for things in your life became a common thing. Over months, it stretched out to your favourite bookstores, vintage shops and even your favourite more expensive clothing store that you sometimes treated yourself to.

You have come to the conclusion that each time, he has someone else drop off the notes. So, basically, untraceable. Because with every store, just like the cafe, he left handwritten messages. The workers, who always had different stories, had no idea how the notes ended up at the shops, since he technically made all of the instructions on the phone.

Darling, you always beat yourself up for spending so much money on books, so don't worry, buy as many as you wish, I have money for you to spend.

I think this necklace holder would look perfect on your vanity, right? It even matches your mirror. P.S. Would you prefer your future home to be a more classical architectural finish, or do you wish for a completely old-fashioned one, just like your current apartment?

Darling, you deserve every piece of clothing your heart desires. Also, I asked them to put aside a dress that should look absolutely gorgeous on you.

They were always signed by SJ.

How did he know that you felt guilty for spending an outrageous amount of your salary on books that just usually collect dust?

How did he know that not only were you planning on buying a necklace stand, but also that it would perfectly match your vanity?

And how did SJ know the correct measurements for your dress? How did he know that it would flatter you perfectly?

You did try on the crimson dress. You don't really know what compelled you. Maybe you wanted to prove to yourself that he didn't know you at all. So, with shaking hands, you asked for a dress they should have put aside for you and locked yourself in a changing room.

The silk dress was perfect. Not only was it comfortable, but you know that in any other situation, you would have felt truly confident in it. It fit your body flawlessly. The length of the dress was perfect. It ended just below your ankles, yet you weren't tripping over it. Even the neckline fit your chest exactly.

Once you realised that, you quickly tore the dress off. Left it in the changing room and hurried out of the store, fully set on never stepping another foot in it.

But the next day, after your shift, you came back to the dress lying on our bed, along with red-bottomed heels. You couldn't find it in yourself to even think about how he got in here, or try on the heels.

You knew that they would fit perfectly.

Of course, all of those questions you had about how he knew these personal details and preferences had a simple answer. He was your fucking stalker. He has likely followed you, broken into your home countless times and snooped around in your things, your closet.

Over the months, the gifts kept reappearing. More containers of Tupperware filled with delicious-smelling food that, each time, you had to throw out, too scared of them being messed with. Though a logical part of you would argue that if he really wanted to do so, he would simply mess with any of your groceries.

He has also, without fail, left you flowers every day that you would pointedly also throw out. Going as far as even dumping them outside to make sure that he noticed.

Not that it steered him away. Still, after every shift, you would come back to a fresh bouquet of your favourite flowers positioned beautifully in one of your vases.

There was always more stuff. Expensive shampoos and perfumes which you would always donate to the women's shelter. Beautiful jewellery that was just your style, books he'd think you might like. Your favourite bottles of wine and snacks.

In any other situation, you would have loved being spoiled like this, especially after a hard shift. But this wasn't any other situation.

This was your stalker.

The first non-food present that he left in your apartment as this whole thing started was one that unnerved you the most.

Because it showed that he actually knew you.

You had just lost a patient. A kid, too. Your first. The firsts are always the worst, you know that, but it didn’t make it any easier.

The tears started way before you entered your apartment, but only then did you let yourself fully break down. You were a sobbing mess, you didn't even bother actually going further inside. Your legs gave out in the hallway.

You did everything you could, you know that. The brilliant doctors that you assisted did too. But it just hurts so much.

But then something caught your eye from where you were hunched over on the floor. A book. A thin book with a white cover sat on your kitchen counter. A book that you definitely didn’t leave there, because you don’t even own one like that.

Slowly pushing yourself off the floor, brushing away the tears, you cautiously walked over. A gasp left your lips when you read the title. It was Il Piccolo Principe. The Italian version of The Little Prince.

Your mom worked as an Italian translator and loved to read you books in the said language. This particular one was your favourite. You wanted to bring this with you when you moved out, but you couldn’t find it anywhere. The book held the type of comfort that no one, but your mom could offer you.

But she wasn’t here, she wasn’t even alive.

You started sobbing again, but picked up the book. Unconsciously, you found yourself practically falling into your leather armchair, the book still in your hand.

The tears keep falling, but your breathing shallowed. A note peaked out from under the cover. With shaking fingers you pulled it out.

This book was my favourite growing up. I know you like to read stories when you feel down and have some children's books stashed on your shelves in Italian for that, so I thought it could bring some comfort to you. —SJ.

The sobbing returned. You are just not sure what was at fault. The dead kid, you being exhausted and missing your mom, or the fact that you share a thing of great comfort with your stalker.

You fell asleep on that armchair. When you groggily woke up to the sun setting, you found yourself wrapped in the blanked that you brought with you when you moved from your childhood home.

It was pulled over you snuggly, almost like a hug.

You don’t remember going to your bedroom to retrieve it, but your hungry stomach quickly pulled your thoughts aside. And you never thought of it since.

The police were absolutely futile. They said that the phone numbers and the credit card information were dead ends and that the top-notch cameras you had installed, which cost you way too much money, had caught nothing.

It really did not make sense to you. After all, your stalker left behind so much. There must be something, some sort of trace. But the police found nothing and could not help you at all.

They said they couldn't really do anything, especially afford to station someone outside your home like you asked, because the stalker had not even hinted at harming you, therefore, they couldn't extend their help more.

You remember one of the police men saying, "You aren't the only one with a stalker. It's a really big problem here. At least yours wasn't writing rape fantasies to you."

This is what Seoul has come to. And it's bullshit.

The best they could offer was giving you access to more secure apartments. They were pricey, but you had no choice. You simply resold a bunch of stuff that your stalker had left you behind and accumulated enough cash to sign up for the new lease.

When you finally moved into your more protected apartment, you only had just one peaceful shift, after which you came back to an unaltered home.

You really did think that it was all over.

Then, exactly 24 hours later, you turned on your kitchen lights and halted in your step when you found your favourite flowers sitting on a counter and another note.

Except the flowers were wilted and the vase was from your previous apartment, one that you thought you had sold. You did not want to take it back home, since it felt tainted by your stalker.

The note was stuffed between the nearly dead petals, and it read:

Darling, if you didn't like my gifts or your apartment, you could have just told me, and I would have bought you everything new. —SJ

Something caught your eye in the living room, and dropping the note on the counter, you slowly and dreadfully dragged yourself over to the other room, switching the lights on.

The living room floor was half covered in designer duffle bags. And in them was all the stuff you thought you sold to get the money for your new apartment that was supposed to stop SJ from getting to you.

That night, you didn't call the police. You didn't even bother throwing out the flowers. By this point, you were just tired and annoyed. You didn't even mention it to the other nurses back at the hospital.

Now it's been six months.

You had thought about moving away, but that would be career death. You were a fresh nurse, you had a contract with your current hospital. You couldn't just leave.

You have given up completely. Instead of throwing out the flowers, you would simply bring them over to the hospital, vase and all, knowing that SJ would just get you a new one the next day.

Before work, you would always stop by the coffee shop, where your stalker rolled in a new credit card for you, and you would buy coffee for yourself and your fellow nurses.

Oh, and you were still living in what was supposed to be police protected and overseen apartment complex, because your stalker has payed your rent for a whole year.

When you were told so by your building's manager, you just mumbled, "Whatever," before stuffing your credit card beck into your wallet and taking the note he had left for you.

I know you can’t afford to live in this complex, and it is my fault you moved here, so I took care of it for you. P.S. It’s only for the rest of the year, since I can’t imagine you wish to live here for longer. —SJ

At least your savings were growing.

Honestly, by this point, you really did not know what to do. You couldn't really even complain.

Was your home's privacy violated? Sure.

But did you have to pay for any of your pleasures or rent anymore? No.

Were you being harmed? No.

Were you probably being watched? Yeah, probably.

You were still careful. Checked for hidden cameras every week or so, even if you always came up empty. Made sure you didn't encourage anything more by replying or even truly acknowledging his presence.

And sadly, that furthermore put a stop to you feeling comfortable enough to let loose and masturbate every once in a while.

You win some, you lose some.

Now you simply throw the notes out and stuff his “presents” in the extra storage space of your closet.

Of course, you were curious. On some sleepless mornings, when you weren't completely dead after a night shift, you would look up stuff on the internet.

Like how expensive was this new thing that your stalker wrapped in expensive packaging and a crimson silk bow was. And he always left behind a note for you, in which he said that it reminded him of you, or that he thought that you would have liked it.

Your eyes would always bulge out of your head once you saw the retail price. Your stalker once wrote that he had money for you to spend, and he was not exaggerating.

He was abysmally ugly. That's what you had decited on. Because the guy clearly had money and was quite a romantic if you would take his gestures and notes as anything other than creepy stalker behaviour.

You had also tried to figure out what SJ could possibly stand for. But that was fruitless, considering that pretty much the only thing that popped up was that idol Kim Seokjin from BTS.

One night, when you were particularly drunk and tried scoping the internet for something new, you came to the conclusion that your ugly stalker must be the idol known as World Wide Handsome.

The next day, you woke up with a nasty hangover.

You couldn't help it, you almost got used to your stalker.

Then, Mikey happened. He was a cardiac doctor, that you shamelessly made heart eyes every time you saw him pass in the corridors. It's not like he knew of you or even glanced in your direction. After all, even though you worked on the same floor, you two were in different units.

It was just fun to giggle with your fellow nurses about how the scrubs looked positively delicious on him. It was one of the few moments during the day when you weren't working, and your mind wasn't wrapped around that creep that stalking you.

You were sitting in the cafeteria, pushing around your food that you made half asleep last night. You know so, because instead of salt, you used sugar to season your cooked vegetables. You can’t help it as your mind drifts back to the food SJ left you last night.

It was kimchi. You love kimchi — it smelled homemade too, reminding you of when you were little.

And it smelled soo good. Yet the food in the Tupperware container was the one line which you promised yourself not to cross with him.

It felt too... domestic.

"Is the cafeteria food actually that horrible?"

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You lift your eyes and meet a pair of warm brown ones that peek past slightly longer, bleached white hair.

It was Mikey. You automatically blush, "Oh, umn no. Sadly, it's my own food." And the thoughts of my creepy stalker.

His brows furrowed as he sat down on the seat opposite you. You take note of his own packed lunch. "Surely it can't be that bad, then."

You wince, "Don't hold your breath."

He gives you a look that says he doesn't believe you, and you almost melt into your seat. Okay, this is actually happening. You are talking to the Mikey Miraculous — a nickname one of the older nurses came up with as she rolled her eyes at you guys, practically drooling over him.

Using his metal chopsticks from home, he picked some vegetables from your container. You watched as his nose quickly scrunched in distaste, and he swallowed.

You start chuckling, "I warned you."

Mikey grins too, still mulling the taste in his mouth, "Is that... sugar I taste? It's definitely... non-conventional."

You sigh, half laughing at your mix-up, half in mortification as you let your face drop into your palms out of embarrassment. "I was tired after a shift."

When you glanced up, the cardiac doctor in front of you was smiling fondly along. You couldn't help but feel yourself blush some more before quickly changing the topic to his packed lunch.

Mikey was amazing. Like, pulled out of your fantasies, amazing. He was a really nice guy, a good doctor and a pretty decent cook. Sure, some of his food was a bit burned and over-spiced, but it was the thought that he always pretended to make extra for you that really mattered.

The next shift, he spotted you in the cafeteria again and handed you a lunch box identical to his, making the excuse of making too much. And you really thought it was a one-time thing.

But as the weeks passed, you had settled into the routine of the two of you eating together at the cafeteria, his homemade food. You really liked Mikey. You even found yourself touching yourself a few nights in the fantasies of him.

The mornings after, you would always wake up mortified and jump to check for possible hidden cameras the stalker had left behind.

You would never find them.

And to your joy, he even asked you out a few times. You really wanted to say yes, but it was either that your schedules didn't align, or you would be just off from a double.

Mikey, as ever, was the most understanding and would not even question, once you would utter the cursed words, "Double shift."

Until one Friday night, the both of you had Saturday off.

To say that you were ecstatic was an understatement. And by the looks of it, Mikey was excited too, as during your shared lunch, he gushed over a new under-the-stars bar that opened up in the city.

It was pretty close to the hospital, and since neither of you owned cars, you settled on walking there. The conversation surprisingly never dulled and he even followed the sidewalk rule. The walk was great, truly.

Until it started raining. And it was raining so hard.

You didn't even think about it. And that was your mistake. You simply noticed that if you took a left, your own apartment was just a couple of minutes away.

So, before you knew it, you were opening your apartment door, taking off your shoes and leading Mikey into your kitchen. Only then did you stop and start thinking that maybe this was a mistake.

Because a fresh bouquet of flowers and a new black box wrapped with the usual crimson silk ribbon were placed on your kitchen counter. As always. Quickly speeding up you snatch the box and place it underneath the table on one of the unused chairs, hoping that Mikey didn’t notice or would not ask questions.

"Do you have some sort of flower subscription or something?"

You quickly look over to Mikey, confused and slightly on edge, "What?"

He laughs, awkwardly scratching his head and motioning to the bouquet on the table, "It's just that I always see you bring in flowers to the ICU. And now you have some fresh ones on the table."

"Oh," you let out. You did not know he saw you doing that. You glance at the flowers again. You couldn't tell Mikey about SJ. You should, but not right now.

Right now is just too perfect.

And you want to forget about him right now.

You force out a laugh, "Yeah, kind of."

He nods in acceptance of your semi-not-exactly explanation before clapping his hands and looking around.

"So, is this the infamous kitchen?"

You don't have to force your grin right now, "Yeah."

Mikey begins rolling up his sleeves. "How about I make you something in front of your eyes this time? I promise, my magic works much better when I have a pretty lady helping me."

Shaking your head, you copy his action, pushing your own sleeves up, "I enjoy your lunches already, Mikey."

He points finger guns in your direction, "But you don't love them. Yet. Now what do you have here that we can use?"

Laughing at his antics, you sneak a blushing glance at him, opening up your fridge and cupboards. You're excited to cook with him, you've always thought it was such a domestic action.

You were so excited that you even missed the way one of your overhead lamps, right in front of you, blinked on red.

The next morning, you woke up a tiny bit sore and blissfully happy.

You and Mikey cooked together, and then the two of you slightly burned food when you started making out. Ate, made out some more and then had brilliant sex.

When you woke up, he was already gone, and while your mood had dropped a bit, you brushed it off quite easily. He probably got a call-in. He hadn't left any note, but then again, your phone was dead, so you probably just left you a message there.

And truthfully, with the whole SJ situation, you've started to see any type of romantic notes as wholly unappealing.

Deciding to head to the kitchen for a glass of water, you plugged in your phone, not bothering to check the messages immediately. It was your way of playing cool, for no one but yourself, in particular.

Sipping water and already daydreaming about your next date with Mikey, your eyes catch a glimpse of something underneath your kitchen table, on one of the chairs.

Pulling one back, you are met with another gift your stalker had left you, the one you quickly hid from Mikey.

Shrugging your shoulders, you place your glass on the table and pull the signature red silk bow that always adores the boxes. You don't really get what your stalker's obsession with the decoration was. By now, you have a drawer just full of those ribbons beside your bedside table.

But then again, you don't even get his hyperfixation with you.

You can't figure him out at all. Not that you are trying all that much.

Unlike usual, you read the note first.

Darling, you sounded so sweet last night that I couldn't help but buy you this. I can already imagine you wearing this and unravelling in my hands. —SJ

The neat handwriting left a harsh taste in your mouth. This note was at least a day old, so that meant he was talking about how you pleasured yourself when you thought you were alone and that he not only listened, but possibly watched you.

Could he have seen you and Mikey yesterday?

A pit forms in your stomach. This wasn't the first dirty note like this, but this one fully confirmed your theories. He definitely had surveillance on you. And this note was of a sexual nature, so maybe you could finally try the police again.

You realise that the black box is still unopened. You glance at the note again. He imagined you wearing this and unravelling. As you pull the lid off, you already have an idea of what could possibly be inside, and you are not proven wrong.

Lingere. Crimson lingerie.

Glancing at the discarded silk on the counter, you realise they're the same colour. You roll your eyes. It seems that your stalker has a colour preference.

You are not exactly the biggest fan of such underwear, considering that most fabrics are scratchy and uncomfortable and usually make you feel more insecure than confident.

Yet for some reason, you pull the panties out, feeling the fabric between the pads of your fingers. You feel your brows rise, but you don't know why you are so surprised. You know that SJ is rich as fuck, it only makes sense that the lingerie would be good quality and feel expensive.

You snap out of it pretty quickly.

Dropping the underwear back into the box, you gather the silk thread and head back to your bedroom to throw the box into storage, beside all the other stuff. Before walking over to your phone, you stop by your bedside table, open the drawer and drop in another crimson silk ribbon.

You are not exactly sure why you have kept them. Maybe it's just your frugal mom's effects, who would always save up this kind of stuff.

Shutting the drawer, you pushed yourself to the other side of your bed to where your phone was. And when the screen blinked open, you were met with no new messages from Mikey.

Huffing, you let yourself completely fall back into bed. Maybe after all, Mikey wasn't as amazing as you thought.

You spent the Saturday distracting yourself, trying not to sulk at the fact that Mikey ditched you. But by this point, you were used to men being disappointing.

You weren't supposed to have Sunday off too, but one of the nurses offered to switch shifts with you. And not wanting to see Mikey just yet, with half a mind settled on confronting him and maybe even being petty enough to embarrass him in public, you agreed to a consecutive day off.

You spent the whole weekend inside, which meant much to your pleasure, with no new flowers or other gifts from SJ.

Yet Monday came around, and so did your night shift. Except you hadn't run into Mikey once. Which meant that he was avoiding you.

The thought made you amused. You wished he was scared to face you now. It made you feel better. At least, that was until you overheard one of the doctors gossiping with the charge nurse. Or more like complaining.

"Yeah, honestly it's pissing me off. I was supposed to have these two days off, even booked myself a spa, only for Mikey to not fucking show up and get a call in when I was peacefully sleeping. I'm gonna kill him when he finally shows his face."

Slowly sliding in beside Rey, the other senior night shift cardiac doctor, you ask, "Mikey wasn't clocked in to work?"

She shakes her head. You bite your lip. Now that's weird.

Mikey has always been really passionate about his work, and he even joked with you that sometimes on days off, he hopes to be called in to work.

"Wait, weren't the two of you supposed to go out Friday?"

You look up to the older nurse, "Umn, yeah?"

Rey, beside you, snorts, "Did you break the poor guy's heart or something? Is this why he hasn't shown up for work?"

Sarah, the charge nurse, scoffs, cooing, "Oh, please. Our Y/n is a sweetheart."

"I— no. I didn't break his heart," you stumble over your words, answering Rey, suddenly very confused. "He did stay the night, but when I woke up, he was gone."

"Maybe it was a family emergency then," Sarah offers. You just shrug along, not really knowing what else to say.

It makes the most sense. But then he would have at least notified the hospital. And he definitely could have sent you a quick message. Before the unease that your thoughts started fuelling you could fully get a hold of you, a shout of a code was yelled out from one of the patient rooms, and you rushed to grab a crash cart to assist.

Your shift consisted of two more code blues. Thankfully, all three patients pulled through, and Rey even called you a lucky charm, because you haven’t had a code that you weren’t able to resuscitate yet, now, almost seven months since you started.

It’s not like you haven’t lost any patients, but the unit seems to be set on holding you as a sign of luck.

But in life, you didn’t feel lucky. Especially not as you unlocked your front door and noticed a bouquet of your favourite flowers and another box, this time, the colour of it was a rich gold, wrapped in the signature crimson silk ribbon.

Dropping your bag on one of the dining chairs, still in your dark blue scrubs, you begin to pull the box in your direction. And that's when you freeze, actually taking note of the flowers. They looked wrong.

They weren’t wilted per se, but something was off about them. As your fingers move the golden box in your grip, a weird, almost slushing sound seemingly echoes through your empty home. It even weighs… wrong.

Suddenly, it seems as though everything is wrong.

You even feel your own breathing scatter. Softly shaking your head, you take note that the neat handwriting and the letters SJ are not as usual tucked in between the silky crimson ribbon. Another alarm goes off in your head, but you’re not sure what to make of it. You glance at the flowers again.

And then it ticks for you.

Bringing the vase closer and momentarily abandoning the box, you take a closer look at the flowers. The edges of them are painted an unnatural, slight red. You hadn’t noticed at first, because the flowers themselves were a burgundy colour. A shiver runs down your spine.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something is wrong.

It echoes in your head, yet you are lost. You don’t know what to do. What to make of the flowers, of the sinking feeling in your stomach.

Pushing the vase back a bit, you glance one more time at them before looking back down at the golden box sitting in front of you. The words your mom used to always tease you with resurfaced in your head: “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” little you would always cheekily add on.

But you are not as lucky as a curious cat.

You pull the crimson silk, watching as it falls apart from the box as usual. Pulling the lid off, you are not sure what to expect. But nothing could have prepared you for what was staring back at you.

The inside is stuffed with some kind of black plastic tissue paper that keeps liquid from seeping out. On top is a carefully placed heart.

A real human heart.

It doesn't even look old, yet not fresh either. The tissue decay is evident, yet the organ is not fully wilted.

And before you could even start to question whose vital organ you are staring at, a bloody hospital I.D. badge already answers, neatly tucked in just beside the heart.

You only catch a glimpse of the photo, but that's enough.

Mikey's kind, brown eyes, which are crinkled slightly as he smiles for his identification photo, are burned into your brain forever.

You gasp, the reality finally smashing into you as you stumble a few steps back. You find yourself clutching the collar of your shirt, not knowing what to do. You try to regulate your breathing, eyes wide. With your hands gripping the fabric, you clearly feel them shaking against your body.

Almost crumbling to the ground, you back up, hitting the counter behind you instead. Terrified, you choke, staggering forward, barely standing in the middle of your kitchen. Without your own consent, your eyes snap back to the bouquet of flowers.

The tips are painted crimson.

Oh no.

Your heavy breathing doesn't slow down. Instead, you are aware that you are on the verge of fully hyperventilating. If you're not already.

Fuck, you need to call the cops.

And to get out of this city. Never mind, you need to get out of this fucking country immediately. Maybe you can stay with your aunt in the Netherlands?

You begin to nod to yourself. Yes, yes, that's exactly what you will do. You won't even pack any bags to make your stalker suspicious. You will go straight to a police precinct and then out of this fucking country.

"You really don't like my gifts that much, do you?" A dark, low and confident male voice chides. It holds some amusement, yet not the harmless kind. One of complete coldness.

You freeze. You don't breathe, you don't budge, you don't even dare to blink. You are not sure if you truly just heard that voice, or if it's your mind going completely haywire.

You feel yourself regaining some of your senses after a second. Slowly, you turn your body to your dark living room. The lights are off. But you still see him.

How can you not? It's almost as if the shadows themselves surrender to him, wrapping neatly around him.

He's sitting in an old leather armchair, which you dragged from your previous apartment. From the silhouette, you can tell he's tall, long legs confidently crossed over each other as he leans back in what used to be your favourite place in the apartment.

He fits in the chair perfectly. Like it's his place. Until now, it used to be yours. Your mind uses phrases like it used to be, because you will never look at the seat the same. Before, you would be cooped up in that armchair with a blanket and an oversized hoodie and spend countless afternoons reading your books.

You read the copy of Il Piccolo Principe he left for you there.

Your digits linger above the light switch. But you don't need to turn on the lights, because he begins to stand. As he comes up to his full height, still multiple steps away from you, you already stumble back.

You need to run. To get the fuck out of here.

But it's not like you have the time to. In just two purposeful strides, your stalker, SJ, stands before you. And that's when you truly gasp.

He’s definitely not abysmally ugly as you thought. No, he’s not some old creep or an overgrown teenager living in their mother’s basement. No, he’s even more than just handsome. Like World Wide Handsome.

The dark, neat hair could have him mistaken for anyone. Even the fair skin, too. But those eyes and lips make you feel sure that you are not.

You know him. Of course, you know him. Everyone in this goddamned country does. You walk past his face where he advertises for Gucci every day on your way to work.

"I asked you a question, darling."

You are truly speechless. Kim fucking Seokjin is currently tilting his head and looking down at you, brow raised, clearly not amused.

Kim Seokjin, a beloved idol, a millionaire with fans all over the world, is your stalker. He must be truly sick and twisted, then. You need to get away. Now.

Not knowing what to do and trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating into a panic attack, you try to turn away from the idol, but you don't even make it a step before he grips your elbows and pulls you back to face him.

He tsks, "What do you think you are doing, Y/n?"

You force yourself to look back up to him, not even fully comprehending the fact that he knows your name, trying to find any feature that would at least confirm the fact that you are not completely out of your mind.

The only thing you managed to stutter out is, "You— you are..."

The idol seems pleased that you are bewildered. In fact, he looks absolutely delighted. Of course, that quickly changed when the next words that leave your mouth are not about him, but about that damned doctor who had claimed more of your attention away from him than he allowed.

"You mudered Mikey."

He rolls his eyes, but nods once, almost absently, as though you had commented on the weather instead. His fingers brush against your scrubs. You shiver.

"I got rid of him," he simply says.

A beat of silence passes. You don't think you are breathing.

"I don't like sharing,” he adds as if he’s talking about how it’s going to be cloudy today. Not an ounce of remorse crosses his face. If anything, he seems faintly inconvenienced that you're making him explain something so painfully obvious.

You begin mindlessly shaking your head. Oh, Mikey...

It seems as though Seokjin can read your thoughts. His thumb brushes beneath your eye before delicately tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so gentle it almost makes you forget what he's actually done. That he's your stalker.

"You do understand," he murmurs, almost tenderly. "That it's your fault I had to kill him."

Not his fault. Your fault.

Like he had simply cleaned up a mess you'd made.

You blink up at him, eyes wide, "I— are you fucking insane?"

Now that fully pisses off Seokjin. It's weird how you can find yourself easily reading him even if nothing dramatically or explosively changes.

Just something enough for every instinct in your body to scream. The pleasant curve of his lips doesn't disappear. His eyes do. It's like they empty right before your own.

The warmth drains from them until they become cold enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, without warning, he yanks you flush against him. Completely. The force is way greater than you expected. Having been completely caught off guard by the action, your hands fly to his hard chest to keep steady.

He's strong. You've heard rumours that idols are usually lanky. But the hardness under your hands and his strong hold on you argue otherwise.

As you stare at him in shock, not knowing what to expect next, a scary fact enters your mind. He's older than you by at least half a decade, if not more. You are not sure of his age.

He's what, in his thirties? You have just entered your mid-twenties.

But that means that he was in the military. All of them went. It was kinda a big deal for the country. Your father worked in the military before he passed. So, unlike most people, you do realise what they are trained to do there. From building strength to learning how to kill for their country.

And even if he says that he wasn't the one who personally plucked out Mikey's heart, he was emotionless and even proud enough to make you want to wrench. He made sure that not only did it happen, but personally delivered Mikey's heart to your home.

"You wouldn't eat the meals I'd spend hours making for you. Fine," his voice remains infuriatingly calm, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I told myself you were nervous. I told myself you needed time. I was patient."

Each sentence is accompanied by a small nod, like he's recounting sacrifices only he bothered to notice.

"So much more patient than anyone has ever deserved."

His jaw tenses, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. For the first time since revealing himself, something cracks beneath that composed smile.

“But you deserve it, darling,” he mutters softly. Like the admission costs him something too.

The name makes you want to puke. You’ve seen it scribbled in his notes countless times, but actually hearing him say it with such adoration is making you sick.

"Yet, then you decited to act out. And I had to watch.”

The words come quietly, almost thoughtfully, as though he's recalling an unpleasant memory rather than confessing to stalking you. To watching you.

He is most definitely insane.

Your stalker’s hand tightens around your waist, and you feel his arm muscles. He's much stronger than you. Even if you tried, your chances of slipping out of his grip are slim to none. Seokjin's fingers dig deeper into your side, possessively. "I had to watch you laugh with him."

He spits the last syllable in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. The pure hate that you notice in his dark irises is enough to remind you that he, in fact, butchered Mikey.

A humourless smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You laughed so easily with him."

His gaze drifts over your face, searching every inch of it with unsettling familiarity. "I don't think you've ever smiled at one of my gifts like that," his accusation isn't bitter. It's... disappointed.

Like you've failed some invisible expectation you never knew existed. His thumb strokes absentmindedly over your hip before his eyes meet yours again. You feel another shiver run down your spine.

"And then," he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower. "You didn’t even bother hiding the way you shamelessly stared at him."

The words linger between you. But your mind is somewhere else. Your keys. You need your keys.

When you first told your old roommate about your stalker, the next day she sent over a keychain that looked like a cute figurine, but in reality it was a secret emergency button.

You didn't even toss your bag to the ground as usual. It was just a few steps away on a dining room chair.

"You looked at him like..." your stalker's words make your attention snap back over to him. Soekjin lets out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head. "Like he had earned it."

His expression hardens for only a fraction of a second.

"As though I do not exist," He almost laughs.

Your entire body stills. Your brows knit at his sick portrayal of amusement. Everything about the man in front of you makes you sick. The keys are now forgotten in your mind, as eyes wide, you fully stare up at him. Your next breath is also painfully caught in your throat.

Seokjin's smile widens just enough to make your stomach churn. Because you recognise that the emotions displayed on his face don’t match the true meaning behind his expression.

"I had to watch as he cooked for you. As you ate together, like a real couple," his tone is pure cynicism. His fingers lingered in your hair. He suddenly pulls at them, not to harm you fully, but you make you whimper in pain.

"That was supposed to be us."

You see the way his angered expression changes, slight satisfaction entering his face as you let out another pained sound from his antics. You want to cry.

Bipolarly, he follows with another soft brush of fingers along your cheek. It ends another round of shivers down your spine. You forcefully close your eyes, shaking your head, trembling, wanting to inch away from his touch.

He stole your favourite childhood book. Now he's stealing your favourite acts of domesticity. Every time you thought of a couple cooking together, you could see your parents. You remember the way your dad would softly tread his fingers into your mom's hair.

Seokjin's large frame hovers over you, one of his hands pulling you flush against him by your elbow. His other hand is almost delicately, like you are some fragile thing, skipping over the skin of your face. His voice lowers into something almost conversational, with you feeling him everywhere you don't want to.

"You behave as though I don't matter. But I see you," he says. "I see you smiling softly at my flowers after a hard day at work. I see you spraying the perfume I chose for you."

His voice drops lower, more gravely. "I know you keep my ribbons."

You are horrified. Because you are not sure if this is his twisted take on reality or if you actually became so domesticated by his stalking. Before, you were only aware of how desensitised you were to the traces of his presence.

Seokjin's eyes burn into you. "I know because I look after you, darling."

His confession isn't whispered. It's not even a confession. You knew he was always there. You knew, and for some reason, you didn't try to take more measures. If you had, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now.

Maybe Mikey would not be dead.

The tall man in front of you offers you the truth proudly, "As far as I was concerned..." Another slow drag of his fingers over your skin. This time it’s the hand that cages around your hip. "...we were making progress."

You are not sure how to reply, absolutely terrified. He's crazy.

Seokjin’s fingers slide up your arm almost tenderly. Like someone dusting off an expensive antique. "I've spent months making sure no one frightened you."

He gazes at you as if you are something worth millions. "Making sure you got home safely."

His eyes never leave yours. "I solved problems before you even knew they existed."

His smile softens. "And then..." his grip suddenly tightens hard enough to make you wince. "...you invited another man into our home."

His words register almost immediately.

Your apartment.

He called it—

Ours.

And it clicks for you. His mind doesn't even need to be as sick and twisted as you've already seen. He was the one who ran you out of your old home. And he is the one paying the lease for this very apartment currently.

A chill runs down your body. Do you even own this place?

He waits. He actually waits.

Head tilted ever so slightly, eyes studying your face with infuriating patience, as though he genuinely expects you to help him finish recounting your own misbehavings.

His thumb continues absentmindedly stroking your waist while he watches panic slowly spread across your features.

"I did, didn't I?" You mutter.

Seokjin's eyes widened ever so slightly. Then the tips of his lips curve up a bit more. It's almost like he's proud of your admission.

Only he doesn't realise why you are appeasing him. You've caught a glance at your bag again. The emergency keychain is back on your mind.

The moment of contentment morphs from his face into something else as he lets out a quiet sigh. It's one of pure disappointment. A smile slowly curls across his lips. Not warm. Not kind.

"You kissed him."

The words are soft, one would deem them almost affectionate. But you know better. They slam into your chest harder than any scream ever could. Silence stretches between you.

You can't even bring yourself to deny it. What's the point? He watched you. You know it. He knows it.

Once again, Seokjin acknowledges your thoughts as if he could read them. His gaze never leaves yours, his voice lowered and dark, "I saw that too."

Every muscle in your body locks. Your stomach twists so violently you think you might throw up.

Your eyes scatter back to your bag before you scold yourself and quickly glance back up to him to not give away your plan. Your stalker’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your hips, making you look into his dark eyes.

You feel his gaze travel down to your lips.

"You smiled into the kiss,” the words sound almost curious. "As though you actually wanted him touching you."

Disgust flashes across his face for only a second before disappearing beneath another pleasant smile.

"I tried to be understanding."

He nods to himself, as though reassuring his own conscience.

"I told myself you didn't know any better."

His eyes darken. "But then..." his thumb presses firmly against your hip, hard enough to make you flinch. His lips quirk up ever so slightly. You realise he likes you like that, flinching like a scared animal in his grasp. "...you let him keep kissing you."

A shaky breath escapes your lips.

"I wonder," Seokjin muses, watching your expression with morbid curiosity, "if you'll still taste like him."

The blood drains from your face.

"Oh, darling..." he laughs. He actually laughs, and for a moment you feel like a small, flimsy animal about to get mauled. His laugh is not loud. It's just one soft, satisfied chuckle. "The look on your face."

His thumb brushes a tear from beneath your eye you didn't even know had formed. His smile grows impossibly softer. "Worth every second of waiting."

Before you can take another breath into your lungs, Seokjin closes the remaining distance.

One hand buries itself in your hair, fingers tangling at the nape of your neck. The other cages you against him, leaving nowhere to retreat. His mouth crashes against yours. Not with affection, it feels like ownership.

The force of it steals your breath as much as your balance, your back jolting against him when instinct makes you recoil. His lips are cold. Soo cold. It’s like he’s dead.

Teeth clash, but he doesn’t even care. Oppositely, he seems to be enjoying your resistance. Yet doesn’t allow the distance. His grip only tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you.

A muffled sound of protest escapes you. He feels it. You know he does as the corner of his mouth curls against yours. As though your resistance is exactly what he'd expected. What he wanted.

The thought makes you feel even more disgusted, even if the kiss is making your head cloudy.

In just few minutes, in this one horrid conversation, that felt more like his monologue, you’ve had a terrifying realisation. Your stalker has learnt you. He doesn’t just know you.

He recognises your expressions. He answers your thoughts before you even voice them.

And somehow, you can read him too.

It’s like you know him. Even if you really don’t.

When you try to turn your head away, to break apart your lips from his, his hand in your hair tightens just enough to stop you. Not enough to injure, only enough to cause pain, to remind you that every movement is his to permit. You wince from the strong pull, your skull burning. The way he kisses you deeper tells you that he practically loves it.

Your lungs burn. Your heartbeat pounds so violently it drowns out everything else. You need air. You are suffocating.

He pulls back just a centimetre before kissing you even harder. Yet you manage to sneak out a pleading, "Jin, please."

The plea is just a little more than a broken whisper. But it seems to do it for him as something flashes across his face. Satisfaction. You can practically feel the way his body responds to you simplifying his name.

His fingers dig into your skin more possessively. His eyes soften with the kind of tenderness that makes your stomach turn. But he doesn't let go. No. He bites your lip and draws blood. You whine out, telling yourself that it’s from the fear and pain.

You plead for him to let you breathe again, and he finally does, pulling back. Barely. His forehead touching yours as he studies your expression with quiet fascination.

"There..." his breathing is perfectly steady. "Now he isn't the last man who kissed you."

His thumb traces the corner of your mouth, wiping away nothing at all. "That's much better."

Yes, much better, you invardy sigh in relief. What the man in front of you doesn’t realise is that in all the pushing you did, you subtly turned the two of you around.

Now, just a step behind you are the dining chairs. The keys, as always, are barely keeping their place in your bag. And maybe you are lucky, because the emergency keychain is dangling out.

You now only need to simply wrap your fingers around it and push the bottom of the figurine. You find the confidence to do so, since his gaze never leaves your face.

Trying to play it off, you somehow escape his grasp and stumble into one of the dining chairs. Your hands rest on the table, and you let your head fall into them, your hair falling off your shoulders and obstructing your face from his view.

It works perfectly. Seokjin does not stay away from you longer than a moment. Instead, he comes to stand beside you, his fingers softly but forcefully pulling your face out of your hands in his direction.

Your hands fall from the table, one conveniently falling just beside your bag, fingers practically brushing over the keychain.

You feel his eyes roam all over your face, loose strands of hair stuck in your skin and hiding your eyes from him. He makes sure to pull those to the side so that he can stare right at you. You must look like a mess. You still feel your throat burning from the kiss, and the redness is probably evident in your eyes.

The way your stalker’s lips curl at the sight, your stomach flips, and you finally make sense of him. He’s a sadist. He must be one. He seems to enjoy your pain, at least.

At the same time as the realisation crowds you, your fingers find and press the panic button. It softly vibrates under your touch.

A sign that your signal was received.

A struggling breath of relief escapes you. You feel Seokjin’s gaze drop back down to your lips again. This is when you feel confident enough to ask, after all, help is coming.

"Why would you do this to me? Do you even know me?"

He tilts his head, looking almost amused by your confusion, "I do."

He can probably sense that you are about to argue, so Seokjin speaks again, "I could tell you your personal information, how your mother died in a car crash and your father from sickness."

His gaze pins you in place. "But that's not what you mean, do you, darling?"

When you don't answer him and only stare back, his grip on you moves to your chin, forcefully lifting your head towards him. "Mhm, jagi?"

Absolutely terrified, you manage to stumble out, "N-no."

He hums, pleased. Then, “You became a nurse because you want to help and assist people, just like your mom did with her translating. You prefer your coffee black. You would eat kimchi over anything else. Your favourite way to decompress after a hard day at work is by wearing clothes that are a few sizes too big, playing music in the background and reading an old book with a glass of white wine. You find books that have a murder in them more interesting. And you only read the ones from a female perspective."

You can’t help but softly gape at him. He hadn’t even faltered or looked like he was trying at all to recall your pleasures. Seokjin smirks, noticing your quietness.

But the next words that leave his lips make you stop breathing. If you weren't sitting down, you would have faltered to the floor.

"Now, I did just as you desire," he lowers his gaze to match your eyesight, slender fingers still tilting your face to him. "We have a murder in our love story now."

Your breathing ceases completely. So, it is your fault that Mieky is dead.

Seokjin doesn't pay attention to your gasping.

“I've already imagined you enjoying all of those other things with me. Back in my apartment, I have a window seat where you could watch people down the street, wearing my clothes, of course.” A hand slithers around your spine, “I would hand you a glass of wine and settle in beside you.”

He leans down, pressing his nose into your hair, “Then I would kiss you like this.” His words are followed by the trail of his lips descending to your neck. He finds a particular spot, and you feel the way he presses bruising kisses there. You try to squirm, horrified by his revelations and trying to get away from him. But his hold is unrelenting.

Suddenly, he bites down. You whimper out of pain and something else. You feel him chuckle against your skin, satisfied, “And you’d make noises like this too.”

You are not quite sure when you did it, but your fingers are wrapped in his dark locks. You pull the end of his hair to cause him the same paina nd ache he did to you. But Seokjin’s eyes flutter almost pleasantly as he looks up at you. The position that the two of you are in leaves unwanted flutters in your stomach.

Seokjin is practically kneeling in front of you, hunched over your figure.

“You thought of all that?” You practically whimper. Once again, the tips of his cold, plump lips, which are a bit swollen from practically eating you alive, twitch upwards.

“Of course, darling.”

You stutter, “Wh— why would you?”

The satisfied expression melts off his face, and he buries his head into your collarbone again, pressing painful kisses on your skin. You forget to breathe. You try to focus on the pain.

You sigh, in what you are not too sure. He glances up at you momentarily. The way he looks at you makes you shift in your place, squeezing shut your eyes. Remember the way he responded to you when you referred to him with a shortened version of his name, you try to get some information out of him with it.

Softly pulling at the ends of his hair, you make him look up at you again.

"Jin, I need to understand why you have done all of this."

He sighs, relenting, his eyes staring so deeply at you that you almost choke. You saw the way his dark eyes as if gleamed when you called him that. One of his fingers tugged pleasantly at the string of your hospital-issued scrub pants.

"It was when I took a break during a solo shoot. There was a park right on the other side of the street. And I saw you."

Your brows knit, not sure where he's going with it. But then you remember that there was indeed a park on the back end of the hospital where most staff exited. Where you exited.

"Some kid fell from one of the playthings. He started crying, but his careless parents must not have noticed." He’s so intensely staring at you. And the way his fingers slowly pull you even closer to him leaves you breathless.

It seems that Seokjin is very good at making you struggle at a simple body function.

“But then I saw you walk over to the little boy, help him up and soothe him,” he murmurs softly. “You told him that you were a nurse, and you pulled out some tissues and cleaned his scraped knees, wiped his runny nose. You calmed him and then ushered him back to play, promising that it was okay to get hurt."

You stare unblinking at the man in front of you. At your stalker. The thing is, you do remember that happening. It was right after your very first shift at the hospital. You were exhausted, already dreaming of your bed, when the kid fell right in front of your eyes.

It was no big deal. You are a nurse. It is your job to aid people, including little scared kids who scraped their knees from being too reckless.

"It was fate. You are meant to be with me," he says, smiling brightly. It seemed that he truly wanted to share his joy with you.

Now he's talking about fate? You were getting serious whiplash from him.

"Because as I walked past the spot where you helped that boy, your I.D. badge layed."

You recall that too. How, when you tried clocking into your second shift, you realised that you had no idea where your badge was. Only the charge nurse caught hold of you before you could panic and tell you that a janitor found it during the mid-day shift.

"The badges had flimsy pins. They fall off all the time," Sarah reassured you.

And you had never thought about that incident again. But that must be how he tracked you down. After all, the badge had a few cards attached to it, one that even held more personal information.

Suddenly, he laughs, genuine happiness displayed in his eyes as he peers down at you to hold the same eye level. His touch is strong and all-consuming. It's like he knows you are trying to bolt out of his touch.

"And then suddenly, another image popped up in my head. Of you raising and taking care of our son." his fingers severely dig into your hips. "I knew it right there and then, that I needed to have more of you. All of you."

You are not sure you heard him right.

Does he even know you don't really like kids?

They're not necessarily annoying, but they do take up a lot of energy. Way more than you currently harbour. Or you have ever had in life, to be honest. And you don't even want to think about bringing someone into this life to whom you wouldn't give your all and more.

Back then, your simple nursing and maternal instincts kicked in. You didn't think twice about calming the little boy, no matter how tired you were.

But that was all that was.

Seokjin must have noticed your wide and scared eyes at his confession of the future he has thought of for the two of you. He shushes and coos to you, softly brushing his slender fingers along your pale skin. "It's okay, darling, don't be scared. We have plenty of time for our family."

Yup, Kim Seokjin is insane. Without a doubt.

“But—“ you voice is slightly shaking. You swallow, forcing it to stay steady. You don't get this at all. “Why wouldn’t you approach me normally then?”

You feel almost sad when you ask the question. After all, if he approached you, especially back then, when you hadn't done any research about SJ and wouldn't have recognised him immediately, you still would have definitely liked his advances.

You've already admitted to yourself that if he wasn't your stalker, all of the spoiling would have definitely pleased you. That the gestures would have been romantic if they weren’t unwanted.

Seokjin ticks, yet his fingers are still gentle. “The company keeps us in quite a tight cage. They’re not that stupid. After all these years, they caught on to our… less-than-ideal fixations.”

You watch to scoff. Instead, the words, “So, you are aware that you are twisted for doing this," tumble out of your lips before you can even realise what you are saying.

Another round of shivers runs down your spine. You think you’ve made a mistake. You’ve had to go through a training course before starting to work at the hospital on how to deal with mentally unstable people.

And antagonising them or acknowledging their unhealthy behaviours is not the way to go.

But Seokjin doesn’t seem to be triggered. He simply smiles, “Unlike what you think, I’m not actually insane, darling.”

Your pulse pounds so violently you can hear it.

Didn't he create a whole ass future with you? You wanted to scream at his face that he is, in fact, mentally unwell, because he already envisioned having a son with you, based on a maxim two minute interaction you had that did not even involve him.

He fucking took the fact that you simply like murder mysteries and decided it was a green light enough to kill the guy you were seeing!

You can’t help it. Knowing that help is coming and that he’s going to be seized by the authorities soon, the anger and frustration that have built up over the months are resurfacing.

“No?” You ironically ask. “Because the sick future that you have planned, without my consent, and the heart you’ve carved out of a guy I liked, beg to differ.”

Now Seokjin ticks. The mention of your dislike of his planned future and your feelings for Mikey seem to do the trick. One moment you are sitting on one of the dining room chairs. The next, you are harshly pulled up and pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You keep mentioning him,” he spits harshly. “I don’t like it, Y/n.”

This is the second time he has called you by your name. It feels just as bizarre as the first time. But this time it’s the emotion with which he says it.

While his words show his anger, the way he uttered your name seemed like he was warning you. Almost pleading not to mention Mikey again.

So, you do.

“And I don’t like the fact that you murdered and mutilated Mikey.”

Seokjin lets his hand skim beneath your dark scrubs, again, your stomach. But not lower. Just enough to steal your breath away.

“I didn’t murder him,” he says lowly, and you stare at him. His eyes are dark. You can’t even find a hint of brown in them. His soft touch overwhelms your senses, and you want to puke.

To vomit him out of your system.

His lip curled into something fascinating— you push those thoughts down quickly. Fascinating? There should be absolutely nothing fascinating about the sick man in front of you.

His voice softens into something almost intimate, “I just watched.”

You close your eyes, not daring to look at him again. No, he disgusts you. He’s vile, he doesn’t even seem to hold any empathy or awareness. Seokjin lets you look away from him, his hand flexing slightly over your stomach.

"You're so warm," he murmurs, his fingers skimming over your skin. You hate his touch. You hate it because, for some reason, it feels like he’s imprinting himself onto you.

You swallow, trying a different tactic, suddenly afraid of what more his morbid imagination will have him do with you. "You shouldn't have done it like this. You didn’t need to do that to—"

Seokjin cuts you off immediately. “Didn’t need to do that to Mikey?” his tone is full of disbelief. Like he doesn’t understand how you would even think so.

One of his hands goes to cup your cheek, and out of instinct, you blink open your eyes again. It’s as if his gaze is searching for something. And the way he even so slightly tilts his head, you know that he figured it out.

Your stomach drops. What if he has figured out you called for help? What if—

“It seems that that pathetic boy is not out of your head yet.” Your brows knit. A harsh breath escapes you. You feel his gaze drop to your lips once more.

“I need to make you fully forget him then,” his touch is searing. His digits drag lower than you would ever allow. You almost gasp. He beams even harder, a thought pleasing him so much that he even voices it aloud to you.

"Maybe we should start our family earlier, mhm?"

Your eyes widen. Just by his tone, you know that he means it. That the thought of you being pregnant by him excites him.

You begin to shake your head, “No, please, Seokjin…”

His lips twitch when you say his name. But your plea does not steer him away. Instead, he softly murmurs, "I've imagined this happening in many different ways, jagi,” your heart skips a beat at the name. You tell yourself it’s because the insinuation of his words is so foul.

Seokjin kisses the bridge of your nose. You let out a shaky breath. "I thought it would be maybe a bit later, after you have gotten to know me better, but I don’t mind.”

"I could still take it slow," he whispers against your lips, sweet like a promise to sneak in an extra scoop of your favourite ice cream just for you. "And kiss you until you forget how it felt to breathe without me.”

You let out a shaky breath. Because for some reason, you fully believe that he could do that. You are already struggling to do in his presence.

Seokjin nudges your hair aside and presses a soft kiss to your neck. Then another. He kisses the bruise he left earlier. Then he leaves one just beneath your ear.

"You'd be so sweet under me," he murmurs. "Soft. Shaking. Finally mine." Another kiss lands on a sweet spot that connects your neck and collarbones. You favourite spot. "Full of me."

You gasp. Not sure if it's because of the way his lips feel on you or because of his words. Or both. You feel him smirk against your hot skin, leaving a trace of where his lips soiled your skin.

He hums, "You'd like that, darling?"

He feels you slightly tremble when his cold lips brush against that spot. His teeth softly catch your skin, but don't break it. Seokjin does it playfully, as if to give you a glimpse of how he can make you feel.

You choke on air and shudder against his cruel lips. His. He thinks of you as his. Seokjin’s hips shift-barely. But enough for you to feel just how badly he wants you.

But the reason why horror is sweeping into your gut isn’t because of his touch. It’s because at first, you don't push him away.

His touch feels too good. Too intoxicating.

You begin to forget about the flowers and the edges of their petals, which are painted crimson. The thoughts of Mikey’s heart resting in the golden box surrounded by silky crimson ribbon begin to fade away.

But then something else happens. Something you already forgot about. The door breaks open, voices and commands to freeze and get away from the girl fill the room.

But all you feel is Seokjin’s piercing gaze. He looks like you have stabbed him in the back. He’s almost gasping as a police officer roughly pulls the idol’s hands away from you and cuffs his wrists behind his back.

“You are making a mistake.”

The words would appear to be directed at the government officials. But you know better. For some fucking reason, you can read Seokjin well. Just his piercing gaze is enough to tell you that those words are for you.

They’re a final warning.

He’s giving you a chance, you realise. To tell the police that there has been an error.

You stay silent. But you don’t look away. It’s like the look he gives you forbids you to breathe. You can still taste him on your tongue. Feel the trail of his cold lips on your collarbones. Behind your ear. The bruise. The soft touch of his digits brushing against your cheeks.

Another police officer, this time a female one, enters your vision, blocking your view of Seokjin. She asks if you are okay. Promises that it’s all over. Apparently, she has worked on one of your calls.

She says something else, gently rubs your shoulders. But all of that fades out as you catch another glimpse of your stalker. Of SJ.

You hear someone is the background mumbling, “Is that not…”

You shake your head, as if trying to shake off this whole situation, hardly breathing. You should be relieved. It’s all over. Yet with one final glance at Seokjin, you realise something terrifying.

He’s too calm.

Ronni Rambles pt2: Idk how I feel abt this fic, since it is my first one-shot, but I do have an idea for a part 2, so lmk if you guys want one — if you want to be a part of my taglist, you can do so by messaging me on my profile, or in the comments.

And I REALLY appreciate the likes and reblogs sm since they spread my work!! Including your opinions!!

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: 𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖆𝖓

[wildchildtale]

𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 | 𝓚𝓢𝓙 (𝐼𝐼)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; smut; obsession; power imbalance; socioeconomic gap; toxic seokjin; hurt/comfort; bully seokjin; dark romance; billionaire au

Summary: They call him Saint. He’s anything but. A monster hidden behind charm, wealth, and a perfect reputation. Seokjin Saint Kim is ruthless, obsessive, and far more cruel than anyone realises. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is…you. Too bad he’s not willing to let that stop him.

Warnings: implied sexual abuse, implied harassment, manipulation, obsession, possessiveness, emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, coercion, intimidation, power imbalance, verbal humiliation, masturbation (m), objectification, strong language, explicit, implied self harm, alcohol consumption

Chapter-specific warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

PART I

Taglist: @writtenbyjm @withmuchluv-tannie @iheartwonnieee @gaslysainz @lachimolala-is-love-and-life @ithinkthereforeidont @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe @tahialuvss @jinkoo94 @punchbug9-blog

a/n: i’m so excited for you all to read this chapter because a lot of what’s revealed here is going to become very important later on 👀 there are also a few new warnings for this chapter, so please read them beforehand and proceed with care if needed. as always, please, please leave a comment and let me know what you think!! i read every single one of them, and they genuinely make my day. happy reading! ♡

6 Years Ago

You’d only been to the Kim Estate once before.

A few years ago, after receiving her first paycheck from working for the Kims, your mother had taken you and your sister into the city for an outing.

Your mother had once worked at Katherine Rothschild’s family home, years before she married Sebastian Beaumont Kim. After Sebastian’s first wife died, leaving behind a five-year-old son, Katherine became the lady of the estate. When Katherine needed someone she trusted, she’d offered your mother a position at the estate.

Nothing could have prepared your nine-year-old self for the sheer size of what was said to be the largest private estate in California.

You’d stood frozen outside the entrance hall, too afraid to step inside in case you ruined something. The marble floors were polished to such a mirror-like shine that you could see your own reflection staring back at you

Your stunned expression must have been quite the sight because your mother had chuckled. “This is the finest Italian marble money could buy, Bubba.”

More than a dozen bedrooms. An eighty-five-foot swimming pool, a private gym, and a sprawling tennis court —and every other luxury amenity money could possibly buy. The ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly overhead, crowned with crystal chandeliers.

Outside, acres of perfectly manicured gardens stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with marble fountains.

Despite the fortune poured into it, the mansion was suffocating. Its interiors were drenched in black and deep mahogany, framed by towering oak doors that seemed to swallow every ounce of warmth. It felt less like a family home and more like a gothic palace where vampires lived.

Even then, one thing never made sense to you.

How could a manor that enormous house only three people? And according to your mother, two of them barely stayed there.

Now, after spending years within its walls, you knew the answer.

The Kims might have been among the richest families in the world, but they were far from happy.

The mansion echoed that truth better than anyone living inside it ever could.

You’d been living here for three years now, and in those years, you did everything you could to avoid crossing paths with Saint. You didn’t know why he unsettled you so much. He just did.

Summer vacation had just begun, so you spent most of your days helping your mother around the estate. With poor Bella bedridden and too weak to do much of anything, half your day was spent reading to her, the other half painting to pass the time.

“He hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday,” your mother murmurs to herself.

You don’t need to ask who she’s talking about.

What you can’t understand is how anyone could refuse food this good. If it were up to you, you’d eat every last bite.

“I think he’s in the library.” She turns to you, pointing toward the foyer beyond the grand staircase. “Go knock and tell him to come downstairs. I’ll have lunch served in the dining room.”

“But…why me?”, you whine.

Your mother gives you a look.

“Bella’s sick, and his parents aren’t home. You’re both the same age. Now hush, go on, I’m sure he’ll listen. Maybe you’ll even make a new friend.”

Yeah… you’re wrong about that one, Mama.

He might’ve been your age, but he was nothing like the other children you knew.

Swallowing nervously, you took your first step toward the foyer.

If you’d known what that single moment would set into motion, you would’ve turned around and never looked back. You would’ve gladly let your mother scold you, even ground you for refusing to do as she asked, if it meant everything that followed could be undone.

Instead, you found yourself standing outside the library doors.

It was where your nightmare began.

Saint thought you knew his secret.

The truth was, you hadn’t understood a thing.

You remembered standing outside the heavy library doors, your fist raised to knock, when a deep, unfamiliar voice drifting through the wood stopped you cold in your tracks.

“You know how it goes, Seokjin, don’t make this difficult.”

His words were slurred, voice rough and scratchy, like he had been drinking.

“One more instance of you disrespecting my sister and this won’t end well for you, little boy.” You heard the thud of someone’s footsteps crossing the room.

“Both you and your sister can fuck yourselves.” He sounded eerily calm, given the situation. “Oh, wait…” A dry chuckle followed. “You two must’ve had plenty of time to do that already.”

The sound of glass shattering against the floor made you jump, your heart lurching into your throat.

“You little bastard,” the older man spat. “That mouth of yours has been running far too much.” Slap. “Maybe it’s time someone put it to better use, hmm.”

“Take one more fucking step,” Saint warned, his voice venomous, “and I’ll make sure that face of yours finally needs the surgery you’ve been so desperate for.”

Neither of them says anything for a few seconds. You found yourself holding your breath as though making the slightest sound would somehow give you away.

“Oh?” the man chuckled, amused. “Baby boy thinks he can talk back now?” His voice hardened.

The sound of wood scraping against the floor followed, long and grating.

“Cut the bullshit and come here.”

Silence, and then, “Go on, then,” Saint hissed. “Try and make me, you old fart.”

“Your mother would’ve been proud knowing what a fine gentleman you’ve grown into,” he scoffed, voice dripping with mockery.

You weren’t supposed to be hearing this. You knew that. Slowly, you took a careful step backwards, but what came next had you rooted to the spot.

“Don’t fucking tempt me, Victor. I’m already counting the days until I get to kill you with my own hands. Hell, I’d do it now, but where’s the fun in that?” he sounded almost maniac. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his voice, only a frightening certainty that sent a chill racing down your spine.

A loud bang rang through the room, then a groan, and then the unmistakable sound of something else crashing to the floor.

You gasped, your heart was pounding so hard you could barely think. Right now would be a very good time to run.

Only, before you could convince your legs to move, the library door swung open.

You froze.

Saint stood in the doorway with a bright red handprint across his cheek and his hair completely dishevelled. Behind him, Victor was on the floor, bent over on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Were you fucking eavesdropping?”

The teenage boy seethed. His eyes locked with yours instantly, burning with so much fury that had your pulse stuttering.

You felt sweat gather at the back of your neck, your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you shook your head so quickly it almost hurt.

“N-No… I-I just got here,” you choked. “I didn’t hear anything. I swear.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe a single word.

“I swear,” you repeated, shaking your head frantically.

You were never good at lying. Mama always knew when you did.

Apparently, so did he.

So when he took a step towards you, your stomach dropped. Every instinct screamed at you to run, yet his gaze pinned you to the floor. He kept walking until there was nowhere left for you to look but up. His face stopped mere inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“You are fucking done, Help” the words left his lips in a low growl that you felt more than heard.

That single moment altered the course of your life forever.

The Present

“…the remainder of your pay will be transferred to your account by the end of the month.” Said the woman sitting across from you without so much as looking up from her screen.

You were well and truly screwed.

Five minutes ago, you had a full-time position as a receptionist that paid over seventy percent of your bills.

Now, all you had left was waitressing —one that couldn’t even cover your rent, let alone everything else.

But there wasn’t any time to sit here and panic.

Your shift at the diner started in ten minutes.

As you rushed down the sidewalk, trying to catch the subway, you wondered what sin you had committed in a past life to deserve this.

Nothing had ever seemed to go right for you. It was as if the universe had been working against you.

Six years ago, when you left Blackwood—or more accurately, when you were exiled—you had moved to New York, the city of endless possibilities, hoping to build a future for yourself.

You were certainly building something now. A mountain of debt, for starters.

Working at an art gallery was now as far out of reach as the moon. The reality of your circumstances came crashing down the moment you left home and were on your own. You had to give up on your dream art school and work for a year before you could afford to attend the state university.

You were only a freshman when you received the most dreadful phone call of your life.

Your father had died of a sudden heart attack.

You hadn’t even been given the chance to grieve. Within a week of his funeral, Bella’s health took a turn for the worse. Between you and your mother, every waking hour was spent working, trying to keep up with the ever-growing pile of hospital bills.

Poor Bella. Bright enough to get into any university she wanted, yet forced to settle for a community college because that was all any of you could afford.

If there was any consolation, it was that the two of you had never drifted apart. If anything, losing your father had only brought you closer. The two of you still lived together in what you often joked was the smallest apartment in all of New York.

Apartment was generous.

It was one room with a bed the two of you shared, a kitchenette barely big enough for one person to stand in, and a bathroom whose door refused to shut properly. The walls were permanently damp, the paint peeled in curling strips, and no matter how high you turned the heat in winter, the place never stopped feeling cold.

You’d known for months that you needed to move.

The apartment was making Bella sicker.

New York’s winters were harsh.

The icy wind bit at your cheeks as you climbed out of the subway station and hurried the short distance to the diner. Every winter was the same. Bella ended up bedridden more often than not, and with her confined to bed, her share of the bills disappeared along with her paychecks.

It wouldn’t have been nearly as terrifying if you still had your receptionist position.

At least the layoff hadn’t come completely out of nowhere. You’d been sending out applications for the past three months, half-expecting this day to come.

Still, it stung.

Two years had passed since you graduated, and here you were, still waitressing at a diner.

You glanced at the time again.

Shit.

You were definitely running late.

Your thoughts raced as fast as your feet.

You’d lost your main source of income. Bella was sick. Her medical bills weren’t going to pay themselves. Rent was due in two weeks.

You couldn’t afford to lose this, too.

You broke into a run, weaving through the crowd. Taking a corner too fast, you collided shoulder-first with someone. The impact sent you stumbling to the pavement while the stranger didn’t so much as spare you a second glance before disappearing into the sea of people.

Ouch.

You winced, pressing your fingers against the side of your forehead. A bruise was definitely forming, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You pushed yourself back up and kept running.

Thankfully, the people at the diner were kind. More than kind, really. They’d become the closest thing you had to a second family

The moment you stepped inside, your manager, Millie, took one look at you and grimaced.

“I’m going to rule out kinky sex based on your appearance,” she deadpanned.

Sex. Right. You wouldn’t know the first thing about that.

“I got knocked over on my way here,” you exhaled, squeezing your eyes shut. “After getting fired from my receptionist position at Alder & Pierce.”

Millie’s smile dropped and she immediately pulled you into a hug.

“We’ll give you more shifts,” she reassured you. “If you need help with rent or anything else, you tell me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

You nearly cried.

After thanking her and plastering a kiss to her cheek, you headed for the staff lockers to change into your uniform.

Thankfully, the restaurant was on the higher end, which meant the tips were generous and the pay wasn’t terrible. As you worked your way across the floor, balancing plates and topping up drinks, you did the maths over and over in your head, trying to figure out how much you could make if you picked up every extra shift available.

Tessa had already offered you all of her weekend shifts.

The thought alone made your eyes sting. You’d never had much, but somehow you’d ended up surrounded by people willing to give what little they had.

Taking a steadying breath, you walked over to another table and slipped on your practiced smile.

“Good evening, welcome to Le Clair. My name’s ____, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you?”

You were already looking down at your iPad, finger hovering over the screen, when his voice reached you.

Your grip loosened, the iPad nearly slipping from your hands.

No.

He couldn’t be here.

There was no way. The universe couldn’t possibly be that cruel.

You gulped and slowly looked up.

Saint was sitting right in front of you.

His jet-black hair was combed neatly back, not a strand out of place, one brow lazily arched with that familiar look that basically said, Go on. I fucking dare you.

You suddenly felt dizzy.

To your immense misfortune, the years had been far kinder to him than they had ever been to you.

Impeccably dressed in a charcoal-black three-piece suit that seemed almost made for him, he looked every bit the polished corporate heir of a billion dollar firm like he was supposed to be. The dark tailoring only sharpened his features and proportions—his broad shoulders, the harsh line of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the impossibly clear skin, and those familiar mocha-brown eyes that had always haunted your dreams and nightmares.

He was simply beautiful.

It made the contrast between you all the more glaring. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine—expensive, untouchable, every inch old money. While you were standing there in a waitress uniform with a bruise already blooming across your forehead.

You hated that your first instinct wasn’t to hate him, but to feel ashamed of yourself.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone meet his eyes, so you turned to the man seated beside him instead.

“What can I get for you?”

While he placed his order, you could feel Seokjin’s gaze burning into the side of your head.

Finally, you forced yourself to turn his way, keeping your eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder instead of on him.

“And for you, sir?”

“A Macallan 18. Neat.” His voice was calm and indifferent as usual.

“I’ll be right back with your orders.”

You spun around and hurried toward the bar.

Only once you were safely behind the counter did you finally let yourself breathe. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs.

Over the years, you’d made sure the conversation never drifted to Seokjin whenever your mother called and updated you with gossip surrounding Blackwood.

You wanted nothing to do with him.

He’d already ruined enough of your life.

For a brief moment, you considered asking Tessa to take his table instead.

But no.

You refused to let him have that kind of power over you anymore.

He was just another customer. And you’d serve him like any other.

So serve him you did. For the next two hours, you carried over drinks, cleared empty plates, asked if they needed anything else, and never once let the practiced smile slip from your face.

But it did nothing to ease the burning humiliation that settled deeper inside you every single time you made a trip to his table.

Help.

That was all you could hear in your head.

How ironic.

The help’s daughter had still ended up becoming help.

Everything that had happened today, on top of seeing Seokjin sitting there looking like life had handed him the entire world while yours continued falling apart, finally caught up with you.

It was all too much.

Right now, you wanted nothing more than a few minutes to yourself to cry in peace.

Your fifteen-minute break couldn’t have come at a better time.

As you made your way towards the restroom, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at his table.

You nearly gasped.

The older man seated across from Seokjin had completely lost his temper, throwing a stack of papers straight at him.

Seokjin, as always, looked infuriatingly calm. Unbothered. He sat there with the same detached expression you’d seen six years ago, as though nothing in the world could rattle him.

You tore your eyes away from the scene and kept walking.

You splashed your face with water again and again, hoping it’d somehow stop your mind from spiralling. This day couldn’t possibly have gone any worse

You were patting your face dry when the restroom door suddenly swung open.

Seokjin walked in.

He had always carried himself like he owned every room he stepped into and this wasn’t any different.

Your eyes met his through the mirror for the briefest second before you looked away again.

You were not scared. You were just…intimidated. Today, more than ever, you felt painfully small, and him standing in the same cramped, dingy room as you only seemed to magnify that feeling. It was like his mere presence stripped away every ounce of confidence you’d managed to gain over years.

Seokjin didn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze travelled slowly across the room before settling on you.

You wanted to kick yourself when your traitorous heart skipped a beat.

Have you no shame?

This was the man who had ruined your life, the man who had torn you away from your family, yet your body still insisted on reacting to him.

Desperate to regain control, you spoke before you could think.

“Are you here to apologise?”

“Apologise?” He lets out a chuckle, one that quickly turns into laughter. He laughs for a good ten seconds, as though the very idea of apologising to you was the most absurd thing he has ever heard.

When it finally dies down, his eyes drift over your figure, slow and unhurried, before settling on your shoes—on the little murals you’ve painted onto them.

You shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny, suddenly far too aware of the bruise blooming on your forehead, the cheap uniform clinging to your body, your messy hair. The air in the tiny restroom feels suffocating.

“You look terrible,” he deadpans.

You blink at him, caught off guard by how bluntly he says it. The words sting, mostly because you know he’s right.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

You don’t want to spend another second in the same room as him. You don’t want him seeing you like this—poor, exhausted, still the help’s daughter who somehow ends up becoming help herself.

You turn towards the door, your hand already on the doorknob, only for his fingers to wrap around your forearm and pull you back before you can leave.

The infuriating smirk that had been sitting on his face moments ago is gone.

“What happened to art school?”

Well, nothing at all, you think bitterly.

“Funny of you to ask.” A humourless laugh escapes you. “Honestly, it’s none of your business, but I did get a Fine Arts degree. Just… not from the art school.”

You shrug, though it feels more defeated than indifferent.

“Opportunities aren’t exactly handed to the rest of us on a silver platter. Life happened. I had to work to afford food on my plate.”

Your eyes briefly flick down to your uniform before meeting his again.

“I couldn’t afford art school. Well… I figured that much would’ve been obvious. Why are you even asking?”

The words leave your mouth faster than you intend, and by the time you stop talking, you’re already mentally cursing yourself for giving him so much. Why were you entertaining this conversation?

“Then what are you doing here?” he asks, his mouth forming a frown.

“Well…” You gesture down at yourself. “If you can’t tell, I work here.”

One of his thick, perfectly shaped brows lifts ever so slightly, as though asking, That’s it?

You huff.

“Well, I worked as a receptionist at an accounting firm until about three hours ago…” You bite your tongue.

What the hell are you doing?

Why were you explaining yourself to him? If anything, you should’ve slapped him the moment he walked in. He was the reason your life had gone off the rails in the first place. Your mistakes and failures were yours to own, you knew that, but he had been the reason your life veered so terribly off course.

You wrench your arm free from his grip.

“Have the day you deserve, Seokjin.”

You’re almost out the door when his voice stops you.

“Do you need help, help?”

This was your last thread. You whirl around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, only to walk straight into his chest.

You stumble back, but a large hand settles around your waist before you can put any real distance between the two of you, holding you firmly in place. Your palms instinctively come up against his chest, creating the only space left between your bodies.

He lowers his head until he’s close enough for the familiar scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne to envelop you, and you can’t stop yourself from breathing it in. It’s heavy, all-consuming, invading your senses until you can barely think straight. Your knees threaten to give way.

You hated yourself for it.

Hated that after everything he’d done, your body still gave in to him.

Even through the layers of fabric between you, the warmth of his hand against your waist feels like it’s burning your skin.

“I can help you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that you feel it on your skin.

You swallow hard, willing yourself not to shiver.

His mouth is slightly parted, his breathing just a little uneven. At least you weren’t the only one affected.

“I’d rather rot than owe you a single thing, Saint,” you spit, watching his features harden.

“Oh, no, angel. Don’t get this wrong.” A slow, taunting smile spreads across his face, his head tilting ever so slightly as though he genuinely finds you amusing.

“This isn’t up to you.” His voice drops, every word deliberate.

“You will take my help.” He says calmly. Certain. “You’ll take it happily…” His thumb strokes lazily against your waist, the mocking smile never leaving his gorgeous face. “…and you’ll thank me for it.”

“In your dreams,” you hiss, ripping yourself from his grasp and hurrying out of the room before he can stop you again, the door slamming shut behind you.

When you come back to clear his table, you’re stunned to find that petty bastard hasn’t even left you a tip.

Instead, there’s a neatly folded napkin with an address scribbled across it.

Tomorrow. Sharp. 8:00 a.m.

If you want your tip.

You stare at it in complete disbelief.

What an unbelievable asshole.

The sheer audacity of him leaves you momentarily speechless. Even after six years, he still somehow finds new ways to get under your skin.

Without a second thought, you crumple the napkin into a ball and toss it straight into the bin.

Seokjin had moved to New York only a few weeks ago following his firm’s expansion into the city, taking charge of its newest office.

Two years ago — Seokjin, Yoongi, Nate, and Jimin founded Axiom Holdings, a firm specialising in corporate law, investment banking, and private capital. In a short span of time, they had built a reputation far beyond what most firms took decades to achieve, becoming one of the most sought-after names among high-profile clients and investors.

At the centre of it all was Seokjin, the lead attorney of Axiom.

Harvard Law had given him exactly what he’d gone there for. Knowledge. Access. Credibility.

After all, Seokjin had always found himself drawn to the control that came with understanding every loophole, every weakness, every way the system could be used.

To him, law was no different from any other game.

Oh how he loved games.

There were rules, there were weaknesses, and he was smart enough to exploit both.

You didn’t need to break the rules when you knew exactly how to use them.

That was the mistake most people made. They assumed the law existed to keep men in line.

Seokjin knew better.

In the right hands, it was the perfect cover.

The last thing he had expected when he walked into the diner tonight to force Anthony into withdrawing the lawsuit against his firm was to find you.

Little help.

It wasn’t exactly news to him that you were in New York. He had known.

Why he knew any of it, he couldn’t say.

What he did know was that you had never been part of the plan.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into that diner and found you there. Fate had a strange way of placing things exactly where they belonged.

How else was he supposed to explain finding the missing piece of his plan at the exact moment he needed it? You had fallen right into his hands. Oh poor you.

He already had a way forward. But messing with you would be far more sweeter. Satisfying.

This whole thing would probably break you. Your little innocent soul, untouched by the ugliness that surrounded people like him. Someone who probably hadn’t even killed a fly.

You were exactly as he remembered—still painfully soft, sensitive, the kind of girl who bruised too easily. Ripe as a peach, tempting him to sink his teeth into you, to mark what should’ve always been his. Inviting every depraved thought he’d spent years forcing back into the darkest corners of his mind.

But you had never belonged in his world.

Despite overhearing fragments of conversations you were never meant to hear, despite growing up in the Kim mansion, you’d remained remarkably untouched by it all. Innocent. Uncorrupted.

There had never been any reason for him to ruin you. He already had enough blood on his hands.

But years of keeping his distance, of making sure you stayed as far away from him as possible, all so you wouldn’t be dragged into the filth that followed him everywhere he went, only for Nate to lay his hands on you.

He’d seen the way Nate looked at you. That greedy, covetous glint in his eyes had ignited something ugly inside Seokjin, something so violent it took every ounce of restraint not to gouge the bastard’s eyes out with his bare hands.

That hadn’t been part of the plan.

And Seokjin had never taken kindly to people ruining his plans.

Besides…You were supposed to be his.

You were supposed to stay at the Kim mansion and cater to him. He’d wanted you there to witness every step of his ascent. To stand at the sidelines as he built an empire with his own hands. To watch him have everything you’d never be able to dream of. To envy every woman who warmed his bed.

You were supposed to stay, exactly where he’d always imagined you’d be—close enough to see, far enough never to touch.

His friends had tried to talk him down. They insisted there was nothing serious between you and Nate. Nate wasn’t the settling-down type. That you two were just fucking, and it certainly wasn’t serious.

Seokjin had laughed.

The naivety of his friends never ceased to amuse him. They all seemed to think this was about wanting you.

“Tell Nate to dump her ass,” Yoongi had said.

Seokjin couldn’t have cared less whether Nate dumped you tomorrow or married you next week.

If Nate wanted to fuck you….he’d have to live with the consequences.

And so would you.

In the end, he had made sure of that.

But now that he had found his way back to you, he might have to break the one rule he had always kept.

Not to ruin you.

Especially when you looked at him like that, your lips curled into a frown, eyes wide with indignation, and cheeks painted pink.

You were a flustered mess. He preferred you exactly like that.

There was something deeply satisfying about watching your body respond to him despite everything you wanted to believe.

Seokjin couldn’t help but wonder how those pretty lips would feel wrapped around his cock, what it would take to leave your honey-coloured eyes glassy, your breath uneven, your composure in ruin.

He felt his cock twitch at the image of you sucking him off. Groaning at the sensation, he flattened his palm and wrapped it around his now hard cock, giving the base a tight squeeze.

Fuck.

He will fuck you. It wasn’t a question of if. Only when. Eventually, you’d come crawling back to him. He’d make sure of that.

To his absolute delight, you had everything he needed. It would be far too easy to pull you back into his orbit.

He would do whatever was necessary. After all, you were struggling, and he could give you everything you needed. A way out. A better life. A chance to stop fighting so hard.

You would never have to worry about being anything ever again.

Like he had said, you were his.

You always had been.

[wildchildtale]

𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 | 𝓚𝓢𝓙 (𝐼)

Pairing: Kim Seokjin X Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; smut; obsession; power imbalance; socioeconomic gap; toxic seokjin; hurt/comfort; bully seokjin; dark romance; billionaire au

Summary: They call him Saint. He’s anything but. A monster hidden behind charm, wealth, and a perfect reputation. Seokjin Saint Kim is ruthless, obsessive, and far more cruel than anyone realises. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is…you. Too bad he’s not willing to let that stop him.

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: manipulation, obsession; emotional abuse, psychological abuse, slight dub con; coercion, threats, violence, blood/injury, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use, smoking.

Chapter-specific warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.

PART II

a/n: sooooooo before y’all start reading, i need y’all to know that this is probably my personal favourite ksj fic i’ve worked on so far. mostly because it’s inspired by a book i was obsessed with when i was 15 (for the life of me, i cannot remember the name anymore 😭). chapter 2 will lean more into seokjin’s POV and his family background, which is going to be really important for the plot moving forward. also, a small warning: this seokjin is NOT a nice person, so things are going to go very, very south in the next couple of chapter. but hey!!!!! there will be a redemption arc…eventually 👀 as always, i’d love to hear what you think, so please leave comments!!

The moans only seemed to grow louder with every passing second, muffled by the heavy oak door but unmistakable all the same. Heat creeps up your neck as you hesitate outside his bedroom door.

For heaven’s sake.

You really did not want to do this, but there was no other choice. Tomorrow’s mathematics exam wasn’t going to pass itself.

Taking a deep breath, you knock again before pushing the door open, just enough to slip your head through, your eyes squeezing shut the moment it moves.

“I’ll leave immediately if you give me my mathematics book back right now. And I’m not taking no for an answer, I won’t be going anywhere until you give it back,” you blurt in one breath.

You hear rustling from somewhere inside the room before his voice rang out, low and languid, “Be my guest then, sweetheart.”

Your eye twitches at his audacity.

You were a second away from marching over there and dragging him off the bed by his hair when the moans resumed, louder than before and even more obscene. You close your eyes even tighter and silently curse whatever higher power that had decided this was to be your morning.

Your shoulders slump as a realization settles over you. There was only one thing that ever worked on that sadistic bastard.

Begging.

“Seokjin, please,” you say, hating every second of it. “I have an exam tomorrow. I really, really need that book. Please just give it back.”

For what felt like an eternity, there was no answer. Your stomach sinks at the thought of failing before his lazy voice finally cuts through the room.

“It’s in the bag on the couch.”

Relief floods you.

“But you’ll have to open your eyes for that, little Prefect.”

You grit your teeth. You hated that nickname.

Being the school prefect was something you’d worked hard for, yet somehow Seokjin always managed to turn it into an insult.

Taking a cautious breath, you crack one eye open.

Your gaze lands on him first, stark naked and shameless as ever. He doesn’t even bother covering himself, only leans back against the headboard. And then, against your better judgment, drifts to the girl straddling his lap.

Scarlett, the most popular girl in school—and, more importantly, your bully—was sprawled on top of your other bully, her skirt bunched around her thighs and tits out.

“Well?” he drawls, one brow raised. Your eyes meet for a brief second before his lips curl into that infuriating, knowing smirk he always wore whenever he managed to fluster you.

You realise you’d been staring.

Your face burns. You tear your eyes away and bolt for the couch, digging frantically through the upturned bag until your fingers close around your battered mathematics book.

You hug it tightly against your chest before making a beeline for the door.

Only once you’re safely outside do you remember how to breathe.

“Shut the door on your way out, Help,” comes his voice from inside, followed by Scarlett’s giggles.

You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You quietly close the door behind you, despite wanting nothing more than to slam it in his face.

You sigh as you tear yet another sticker off your locker and shove it into the nearest bin. Across the hallway, Scarlett and her friends exchange amused looks before dissolving into quiet laughter, but you don’t pay them any mind. You’re used to this. You slip your books into your locker as Wren, your best friend, talks your ear off about the biggest party of the year happening tonight.

“You know,” Wren says, “I still think you should come tonight.”

“The answer’s still no,” you reply, shutting your locker.

“Oh, come on,” she groans, looping her arm through yours as the two of you start walking towards the exit. “Nate’s going to be there.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“Wren!” you hiss, nudging her arm. “Keep your voice down.”

You’d only recently started seeing Nate. Three dates so far, and one kiss that had left you smiling for days afterwards. You really liked him. Like, really liked him. Which was exactly why you wanted to keep things quiet until you were sure he felt the same way.

And from the way he’d asked you out on another date just yesterday, you were starting to think he did.

The only problem was his bestfriend.

Seokjin Saint Kim.

But for once, you didn’t care. You were really, really happy.

As you neared the parking lot, Hana caught your eye from where she stood with her boyfriend, Dean, and the rest of their friends. She shot you the same murderous glare she always did. Usually, it would’ve been enough to sour your mood.

Not today though. Your last exam was finally over. Another semester was over, which meant you were another step closer to graduating, leaving Blackwood behind, and never having to see him again.

You couldn’t wait for your school years to be over and college to finally begin. Couldn’t wait to leave this place behind; to finally be free from the hell that was Seokjin.

You’d known him since you were nine. Well, known was a generous word. Bullied by Seokjin since you were nine was probably more accurate.

Back then, the two of you had been about the same height, but that was where the similarities ended. You were the daughter of the head maid at the Kim estate, while he was the only son of the man who owned it.

Everyone in Blackwood knew better than to cross the Kims. They were one of California’s oldest and wealthiest families. Their name was on hospitals, museums, galleries, and university buildings, their businesses spanning everything from luxury hotels to commercial real estate. The Kims practically owned the town. Everyone either worked for the Kims, worked with the Kims, or wanted something from them.

When your parents lost your home trying to pay for your little sister’s treatment, the Kims offered your family a place in the estate’s staff quarters. Your mother and father couldn’t have been more grateful, insisting the apartment was much nicer than your old, run-down house.

They weren’t wrong, the apartment was bigger, warmer and nicer than anything you’d ever lived in.

What they’d failed to mention was that it came with Seokjin Saint Kim.

You met him the very day you moved in.

While your parents were busy unpacking boxes and thanking anyone in a uniform, you’d wandered into the gardens with your favourite storybook tucked under your arm, determined to explore what looked more like a palace than a home. You’d barely made it past the fountain before a football came hurtling towards your head.

It missed by inches.

You’d turned around, expecting an apology.

Instead, you found a boy about your age watching you with the most bored and detached expression you’d ever seen.

“Move.”

That had been the first word he had ever said to you.

It certainly wasn’t the last.

In the years that followed, making your life miserable had become his favourite pastime. He hid your homework, snapped your glasses in half, told the other children you smelled funny, and scared off every boy you’d ever shown the slightest interest in.

You still remember how the first boy you’d ever liked stopped talking to you after Seokjin told him you still wet the bed. The second one was told you had lice.

After a while, the attempts stopped altogether and no one approached you anymore.

You learned very quickly that Seokjin—or Saint, as he liked to be called by everyone but you for some stupid reason—always got what he wanted. The teachers adored him, the students feared him, and the school practically bent over backwards to keep him happy. Complaining only ever earned you a sympathetic smile before someone quietly suggested you try not to provoke him next time.

Even as a child, Seokjin carried himself with the cruel arrogance of someone who had never once been told no, and he’d made it his personal mission to remind you exactly where you stood.

When you were offered a scholarship to St. Augustine’s, the most prestigious school in the city, through the Kim Foundation, you’d been over the moon. Their foundation funded well beyond just the scholarship programme, half the buildings on campus bore their name, and the board of trustees practically treated Mr. Kim like he owned the school, which, well, he kind of did.

You knew Seokjin went there too, but you’d hoped school would be different. That he’d be too busy with his own friends to pay you any mind.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

If anything, having you within arm’s reach every day only seemed to make tormenting you easier.

What’s more, St. Augustine’s wasn’t exactly welcoming if you weren’t born into old money—let alone if you had none. The few friends you managed to make disappeared as quickly as they’d come once they found out you were the head maid’s daughter and attended on a scholarship. It also didn’t help that everyone knew better than to get caught in Saint’s crosshairs.

You still had one close friend, Wren, and that was enough.

Your younger sister, Bella, on the other hand, never seemed to have the same problem. Despite coming from the exact same background, she’d always been a social butterfly, effortlessly making friends wherever she went. You were happy for he, truly, but you couldn’t deny the small pang of envy whenever another birthday invitation or sleepover found its way into her hands while you stayed home.

Today was one of those days.

Every year, once final exams were over, Seokjin threw the biggest party of the year at the Kim estate. Half the school spent weeks talking about it, and the other half spent weeks trying to get an invitation.

Of course, you weren’t invited. Not that you’d ever go even if you were.

You preferred to keep as much distance between yourself and that wicked bastard as possible.

“Mmm, stop,” Nate mumbles, but you only continue peppering kisses all over his face.

“Baby,” he whines.

Another kiss.

“Please.”

Another kiss.

“Babyyyy.”

You giggle, refusing to let up.

“Comewithme,” Nate blurts out in one breath.

“Mmm, but I like it here,” you murmur, staying right where you are as he tugs you closer. A smile spreads across your face as you run your fingers through his soft blond hair.

“OK, fine,” he finally relents. “I do have to go, though.” He pouts dramatically, making you laugh as you give him a light shove.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You look at him through your lashes, and he groans. He cups your cheeks in his hands before planting a flurry of exaggerated kisses all over your face.

“Nate!” you squeal between giggles, trying and failing to push him away.

The two of you stay like that for another ten minutes before you finally manage to physically shove him out the door.

After Nate leaves, you return to the canvas you’d abandoned on your bedroom’s floor. Painting had always been your thing. Long before mathematics and scholarships and trying to survive St. Augustine’s, there had been paint-stained hands and sketchbooks filled to the last page. If everything went according to plan, there’d be a lot more of that next year. You’d already started putting together your portfolio, spending every spare minute painting in the hopes of getting into one of the art schools you’d been dreaming about since you were little.

You barely notice the time slipping by until your phone starts buzzing somewhere nearby.

You reach for it, only to realise it’s not the one ringing.

Frowning, you follow the sound instead, eventually fishing Nate’s phone out from between the couch cushions.

He must have forgotten it.

The screen was locked, but the notifications were still visible. Four missed calls from Mom. You glance at the time. If she’d called him that many times, it was probably important.

With a sigh, you grab your keys. You’d just run over to the Kim estate, hand Nate his phone, and leave. Five minutes, max. There’s no way Seokjin would know you were there.

Besides, he never showed up until hours after his own parties started.

Seokjin sinks further into the leather couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as the girl on his lap chatters on about something he stopped listening to five minutes ago. Whatever he’d taken earlier had taken the edge off just enough to make everyone in the room seem twice as loud.

Across the den, Jimin and Dean are bent over the glass coffee table, far too occupied with their own business to care about anyone else’s. Jungkook is making out with a blonde who, if Seokjin remembers correctly, had been hanging off his own arm not even ten minutes ago. Typical.

Yoongi sits in the armchair by the fireplace, nursing a drink and looking as miserable as ever.

Nate, however, is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s still not here?” Jimin asks, finally looking up.

Yoongi lets out a quiet scoff. “Would you believe me if I told you he’s been seeing the same girl for the past few weeks?”

That catches his attention. And everyone else’s, apparently as Jungkook pulls away from the blonde just enough to frown. “Wait… the same girl?”

Seokjin’s gaze shifts towards the doorway before he looks down at the brunette sitting on his lap.

“Get off.”

She looks up at him, confused. “Mm, but we were just getting started.”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

She rolls her eyes, throwing a few expletives his way as she gets off and moves towards the bar.

“The same girl.” Nate calls from behind, making his way over before taking the seat beside Yoongi.

“Oh?” Dean grins. “Is the great Nate Parker finally back in the game?”

“Drop it, Dean. It’s different this time,” he says simply.

Seokjin studies Nate over the rim of his glass before taking another slow sip of his scotch. Nate had never been one for relationships. Hell, none of them were. Which made this rather interesting. If Nate was serious about whoever this girl is, things were about to get a whole lot more entertaining.

A flash of bright pink by the doorway catches his attention. It stands out immediately against the sea of black suits and little black dresses. His eyes follow it on instinct, and his jaw tightens the second he realizes who’s wearing it.

What the fuck were you doing here?

Before he can make sense of it, you’re already making your way towards where they’re sitting, looking painfully out of place in your bright pink sweater and worn-out jeans.

“Nate?”

Surprise flashes across Nate’s face, but he’s on his feet the second he sees you, walking over to where you’re standing, a grin already spreading across his face that Seokjin suddenly has the overwhelming urge to wipe clean.

Your attention stays on Nate, your face turned towards Seokjin’s back as he watches you and Nate through the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

“Babe?” Nate asks, stopping in front of you.

Seokjin stills.

Babe? Since when the fuck were you and Nate calling each other babe?

Your reply is cut short when Seokjin speaks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Your face pales the moment you see him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

“I-just…” you stutter, completely caught off guard.

“I invited her,” Nate cuts in.

Seokjin’s turns around, and whatever little patience he had left disappears. His hand tightens around the glass before he sets it down, slowly, because the alternative is putting it through Nate’s head.

He stands and takes a step forward until he’s face to face with Nate, towering over him, something dangerous flashing across his face.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The smile is gone from Nate’s face now, but he doesn’t back down.

His stare stays fixed on Nate, the silence stretches between them until Nate finally looks away.

Then, without saying another word, he reaches for your hand and leads you towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s leave.”

Seokjin doesn’t stop him. Because he knows if he does, this will end with Nate on the floor and his own knuckles split open.

“So that’s the girl?” Dean muses, breaking the silence. “Who knew Saint’s little pet had been keeping secrets?”

Seokjin’s shoots him a glare.

Dean’s smile only widens, his reaction makes this whole thing all the more amusing.

Seokjin catches Jimin looking at him, a cocky smile on his face as he answers.

“Guess so.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, reaches for the rolled bill on the table, taking his time before leaning back into the couch. The room blurs at the edges as the noise around him fades into the background.

“Let’s get the party started.”

They make their way through the main hall and out into the courtyard, the crowd parting almost immediately as they pass. Cheers erupt from every direction, whistles cutting through the music as people hurry outside, already forming a loose circle around the open space.

Everyone knows what comes next.

The fight.

It was simply tradition. No rules or referee. The fight ended only when one of the players admitted defeat, or couldn’t get back up. Phones come out, bets are placed, and the crowd grows restless, waiting for someone to throw the first punch.

Seokjin steps into the middle.

The cheers get louder.

“Who’s first?”

It doesn’t take long.

A guy from the crowd steps forward, probably thinking this is his chance to impress everyone. Seokjin sizes him up once and already knows how this is going to end.

He throws the first punch.

It lands square across Seokjin’s jaw.

He rolls his jaw once, spits a mouthful of blood onto the stone, and smiles.

My turn.

The guy is slow, telegraphing every move before he makes it. Seokjin slips past another swing, drives his fist into his ribs, then catches him across the jaw hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. By the time the other guy manages to steady himself, Seokjin has already closed the distance again.

It isn’t much of a fight. He barely lasts three minutes.

A few punches later, the guy is flat on his back, coughing through a mouthful of blood while his friends rush to drag him away.

The cheers are deafening.

Saint! Saint! Saint!

It rolls through the crowd like a mantra, swallowing the music whole.

Seokjin rolls his shoulders, unimpressed.

The metallic taste of blood is already dulling in his mouth.

Shame.

He was just starting to feel it. A split lip and a sore jaw weren’t nearly enough to satisfy the restless itch that had settled under his skin.

“Next.”

This time, a heavily tattooed guy built like a linebacker steps into the circle.

Seokjin smirks. This is going to be so fun.

Nearly half an hour later, Seokjin stands over him, breathing hard.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth, another cut split across his brow while his knuckles are raw enough to sting every time he flexes them. The other guy isn’t much better, flat on his back beneath him, gasping for air after Seokjin’s forearm had been pressed against his throat for the better part of a minute before someone finally pulled them apart.

This one had been better.

He’d actually managed to land a few hits. Enough to leave Seokjin’s ribs aching and his head throbbing, enough for the taste of blood to linger at the back of his throat.

Seokjin steps out of the centre as the crowd slowly breaks apart, the noise fading into the background as he makes his way back towards the others.

He drops onto the couch beside them, accepting the drink Jimin holds out without a word.

Seokjin takes a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs as the noise of the party settles back around them.

Jimin lifts his drink, eyes following the guy being dragged away from the centre.

“He’ll be in the hospital by morning.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Should’ve known better.”

Jungkook cuts in, his hair a mess and the skin of his neck still blotchy, leaving little doubt about where he’d been.

“That one lasted longer than the others,” he nods approvingly.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Jimin announces, checking the time on his phone.

Dean whistles, “So are we talking a new record?”

Seokjin scoffs, leaning back as he rolls his bruised knuckles.

“Hardly.”

The rush was already wearing off.

For a few minutes, Seokjin had forgotten everything else. The adrenaline, the noise, the ache in his body—it all drowned everything else out.

But when the pain starts to fade, so does the distraction.

Just like always, it never lasts. He can feel the same restless feeling crawling back under his skin, ten times worse than before.

This time, he knows what he needs to do though.

Sleep refuses to come. You’ve been tossing and turning in bed for what feels like hours, your mind stuck replaying everything that happened tonight.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about the look on Seokjin’s face.

Nate had insisted it was nothing. That Seokjin was just being him.

But you knew him better than that. You knew he was angry.

What you didn’t understand was why.

You showing up at his party uninvited couldn’t possibly be enough to set him off like that. Could it?

The thought is interrupted by a sudden thud near your window.

You freeze.

It’s too dark to make out anything. Your hand reaches blindly for your phone on the bedside table, switching on the flashlight as you slowly climb out of bed.

The light barely moves before you come face to face with someone standing in the dark.

Seokjin.

A scream catches in your throat, but before it can escape, his hand covers your mouth.

“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he says, his voice low and sharp.

Your eyes widen as you stare at him, your heartbeat pounding so loudly you are sure he can hear it too.

“Or do. I really don’t care.”

He removes his hand, and you immediately step back, trying to get your breathing under control.

“W-What the hell are you doing here?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps closer.

He follows you without a word, each step forcing you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. There’s something unnerving and predatory about the way he looks at you, you find yourself looking away.

From where you stand, you’re barely level with his chest, forced to tilt your head up to look up at him when he finally speak.

“You’re going to fucking listen to me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “And you’re going to do exactly what I say.”

You swallow, unable to look away.

“Tomorrow, you’re leaving Blackwood.”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

“I don’t care where you go.” His expression doesn’t change. “Go back to wherever you came from. Find somewhere else. You’re leaving Blackwood, and you’re not coming back here.”

He takes another step closer until there’s barely any space left between you, and you can smell the faint traces of scotch and smoke on his breath, making your stomach twist.

“But your days here are over.”

Your mouth parts, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“And you’re going to break up with Nate. You’ll tell him it’s over, and you’ll make sure he understands.”

You close your eyes and breathe through your nose, unable to believe what you just heard.

“No. I’m not going to do any of that,” you finally speak.

Bis hand moves before you can react, fingers catching your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“Careful,” he laughs, though there’s no humour in it.

“You really don’t understand your position here, do you, princess? Don’t fucking push me when I’m being generous.”

Your eyes burn, tears threatening to spill, as you glare at him.

His smiles widens when he notices.

“You have two choices, princess,” he continues. “You walk away when I’m asking you nicely, or you find out what happens when I stop asking.”

For a moment, you just zone out, praying for some sign that he doesn’t actually mean it. That this is just another cruel game he’s playing.

But Seokjin doesn’t take it back.

“Or should we leave poor little Bella to suffer?” he continues. “Her treatment stops because her sister was too stubborn to do what she was told?” He tsks softly.

Your eyes snap back to him.

“Aw there she is.” His thumb brushes against your lips, mockingly gentle.

“That would be a shame,” he muses thoughtfully, “Bella shouldn’t have to pay for your mistakes.”

Your stomach drops at the mention of her name.

“Especially when she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

The words barely leave his mouth before your hand moves. Your palm meets his face, the sound of the slap echoing through the room.

Seokjin’s head turns with the force of it, his smile disappearing as silence settles between you.

A few moments pass.

Then slowly, his eyes return to yours, and the look in them makes your breath catch.

Whatever restraint he had left is gone. His hand closes around you, and before you can react, he roughly pushes you back onto the bed with him on top of you. The sudden shift leaves you frozen, his presence overwhelming as he towers over you, the room suddenly feeling far too small.

You don’t think. You react.

Your hand moves again, anger taking over the fear, but he catches your wrist before you can reach him. You struggle against his grip, trying to pull free, but he holds on, forcing your hands above your head as you glare up at him.

His breath comes in uneven pants, the only sound filling the room as his grip tightens. His mouth is a straight line as he pins you down with both his weight and his gaze. You can feel more than see his chest rise and fall.

“Let go of me,” you choke out.

His jaw clenches, and you notice the way his eyes drop to your lips.

Suddenly feeling your mouth go dry, you wet your lips with your tongue, Seokjin follows the movement. When you look back at him, his eyes remain fixed on your lips.

A heartbeat later, his lips crashes against yours. Every muscle in your body tense instinctively. You stop breathing for a second.

And then you’re fighting him again, pushing against his shoulders with all your strength, but he doesn’t budge. His lips move possessively against yours. Consumed by your anger and something else you’d rather die than acknowledge, you bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck.”

Seokjin groans and pushes you further into the mattress. You gasp at the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth, and Seokjin takes that chance to push his tongue further down your throat.

His grip loosens for just a second, and you take the chance, your hands moving to his hair as you pull harshly at the strands.

Every instinct tells you to move, but you don’t. You should push him away. You know you should. Instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, every bit of anger, hatred, and frustration spilling into it.

Your teeth clash against each other, tongues fighting for dominance, the kiss anything but gentle. It’s nothing like your first kiss with him — the first kiss you’d ever had — which had been soft and rather awkward. Then again, it made sense. You were barely twelve.

Seokjin grinds down on you and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when you feel his bulge against your stomach. You arch into him as Seokjin moves his mouth to your jaw, leaving bruises along the expanse of your neck. His hands are all over your body, and your mind grows dizzy from the overwhelming sensation.

“I hate you, Seokjin” the words spill out before you can stop them.

He pauses. The words seem to snap something back into place for him.

Your vision blurs and before you know it the tears you’d been fighting finally spill over.

A moment later, he pulls away and stands, his expression unreadable again as if he just simply shut everything off.

“Remember,” he says, his voice hoarse and final as he walks toward the window, “Tomorrow morning.”

“I hate you,” you say again, your voice breaking. “I hope you rot in hell.”

“Baby,” he says lowly, stepping onto the ledge, “I’m already there.”

This is fictional fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. The story, events, and character portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent the real person in any way

[bloodred-jk]

Midnight Ride | JJK

Summary: In the dead of night on the tour bus, with the members fast asleep just meters away, Jungkook pulls you onto his lap and lets you ride him slowly.

Genre: Pure Smut

Pairing: Jungkook × Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+) • Semi-Public Sex • Fingering • Unprotected Sex • Creampie • Dirty Talk • Risky Sex

Listen To:

ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ☾ ˖°˖☆ ˖°˖☽ᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧᐧ

The concert had drained every last drop of energy from your bones.

You trailed behind the seven members as they navigated the underground parking garage, the concrete walls still vibrating with the echoes of the stadium crowd.

Your feet ached in your boots, your throat was raw from screaming along to songs you'd memorized by heart, and your shirt clung to your skin with a mixture of sweat and confetti dust.

The plan had been simple: slip away to the staff bus, collapse into one of the empty seats near the back, and sleep until you reached the hotel.

But tonight, the staff bus was chaos.

Roadies shouted over each other, hauling equipment cases and dismantled stage pieces through the narrow aisle.

You hovered at the door, watching a technician wedge a lighting rig between two seats that used to be empty.

"Sorry," one of the managers called out, spotting you. "We're packed tonight. Equipment malfunction in Seoul—had to bring the backup rig. No spare seats."

Your heart sank. The hotel was four hours away.

"Problem?" Namjoon's voice came from behind you, low and slightly hoarse from the concert.

You turned, finding him with his hood pulled up, mask dangling from one ear, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. He looked as exhausted as you felt.

"Staff bus is full," you explained, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice. "I'll figure something out. Maybe one of the crew vans—"

"Don't be ridiculous." He cut you off, but gently. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Come with us. We have plenty of room."

Your instinct was to refuse. To thank him, to insist you'd be fine, to not be a burden. You opened your mouth to do exactly that.

But your legs trembled. Your vision swam slightly at the edges. You hadn't eaten since lunch, thirteen hours ago, and the adrenaline crash was hitting hard.

"Namjoon, I can't—"

"You look like you're about to pass out," he said, matter-of-fact. "And if you pass out in a crew van, Jin will never forgive himself for not insisting you ride with us." He placed a hand on your shoulder, steering you toward the sleek black tour bus waiting at the end of the row. "One night. We'll be asleep before we hit the highway anyway. You won't even know we're there."

You wanted to argue. You should have argued.

But the need for a horizontal surface—for sleep, for rest, for just four hours of unconsciousness—overrode your pride.

"Okay," you whispered. "Thank you."

The tour bus smelled like leather and pine air freshener and the lingering scent of seven different colognes. The main lounge area was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the console lights.

Namjoon set his duffel bag down in the aisle and gestured toward the back of the bus.

"There's still one bunk free. You can take that one." A tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It's the one above Jungkook's."

Your stomach dropped.

Great.

As if tonight wasn't already overwhelming enough.

Ever since the tour had started, Jungkook had occupied your thoughts in a way you couldn't control. At first, you'd brushed it off as simple admiration. Weeks on the road together, endless rehearsals, airports, hotels—it was normal to grow attached to the people around you.

At least, that's what you'd told yourself.

But somewhere along the way, admiration had quietly turned into something far more dangerous.

Every single concert, you promised yourself you'd stay focused on your job. You were there to work, not to stare at him.

Yet the moment the lights dimmed and the music began, your eyes found him without fail.

Jungkook on stage was magnetic. The confidence in every movement. The way his smile lit up the entire stadium.

The effortless power in his voice, followed moments later by the soft grin he wore whenever the members made each other laugh.

You hated how easily he occupied your mind. How one smile from him could carry you through an exhausting sixteen-hour workday. How hearing him laugh somewhere down the hallway made you smile before you even realized it.

Completely unprofessional.

And absolutely impossible to stop.

You swallowed hard before making your way toward the bunks.

The narrow hallway was quiet, most of the lights already dimmed for the drive ahead. One by one, you passed the closed curtains until you found the empty bunk Namjoon had mentioned.

You climbed the small ladder, careful not to make too much noise.

Okay... maybe this won't be so bad.

You slipped off your shoes and crawled inside, the mattress surprisingly soft beneath your aching body. Every muscle protested as you stretched out, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you closed your eyes.

But no matter how desperately you wanted to sleep. Your thoughts drifted back to him.

Think about something else.

Tomorrow's schedule. The equipment that still needed to be checked. The hotel. The endless highway stretching through the night.

You tried focusing on the steady hum of the engine, on the soft vibration beneath the mattress, on the faint rattle of dishes somewhere near the front lounge.

It didn't work.

With every passing minute, the thought settled deeper into your mind.

You let out a quiet sigh and turned onto your left side. You rolled onto your right.

Still uncomfortable.

You shifted onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillow as if you could smother your racing thoughts.

A few seconds later, you rolled back onto your back and stared up at the dark ceiling of the bunk.

This was hopeless.

How were you supposed to fall asleep knowing Jungkook would be sleeping only a few inches beneath you?

You shifted again, trying to find a position that didn't make your heart feel like it was trying to escape your chest.

"Could you stop moving around so much?"

The voice came from directly beneath you.

"It's impossible to sleep like this."

You froze. Every muscle in your body locked into place.

He was there.

Your thoughts had been so loud, so all-consuming, that you hadn't even heard him climb into his bunk.

Heat rushed to your face. "Oh my God..." The words escaped as nothing more than a whisper. "I-I'm so sorry."

You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, wishing the mattress would simply swallow you whole. "I didn't realize you'd already come to bed."

Silence lingered for a moment.

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds.

"I'm really sorry," you whispered again, hoping you hadn't actually kept him awake for too long.

A quiet chuckle drifted up from the bunk below.

"It's okay," Jungkook replied, his voice still rough with exhaustion. "I was awake anyway."

You let out the breath you'd been holding. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"I noticed." His answer carried a hint of amusement. "You looked... pretty deep in thought."

If only you knew.

"I guess I couldn't fall asleep," you admitted.

"Long day?"

You laughed quietly. "You could say that."

"It was a long one for all of us." His words were followed by another comfortable silence. The bus continued rolling through the night, its gentle swaying almost hypnotic.

"You should try to get some rest," he said after a moment.

"I'm trying."

"Hm."

A few more seconds passed. Then his voice came again, softer this time. "If you want..."

You waited.

"You can come down here. I'm watching a show."

"What?"

"I've got my tablet." You could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I wasn't planning on sleeping yet anyway."

Your heart immediately argued with itself.

No. Absolutely not. That was a terrible idea.

You were already struggling to keep your feelings hidden. Lying next to him in the middle of the night would only make things worse.

You'd probably spend the entire time trying not to look at him. Trying not to notice how close he was.

But it was just a show. Nothing more.

You swallowed. "...Okay."

Carefully, you pushed your blanket aside and climbed down the small ladder, making sure not to make a sound that might wake the others.

Jungkook had already pulled back the curtain to his bunk. The soft glow of a tablet illuminated the small space, casting warm light across his features.

"There you are," he murmured, shifting over to make room.

The bunk was small, forcing the two of you to lie closer than you normally would.

You hesitated for the briefest moment before carefully lying down beside him, keeping as much space between you as the narrow mattress allowed.

Before you could say anything, he reached for the edge of his blanket. "There," he whispered. "It's warmer this way."

Your breath caught for a split second. "Thanks..."

You kept your eyes fixed on the screen, determined not to let him notice how fast your heart was beating.

He simply pressed play.

For a little while, neither of you said another word. Only the quiet dialogue from the show and the steady hum of the bus filled the tiny space as the night carried all of you farther down the empty highway.

The series played quietly on the tablet between you, its soft glow illuminating the cramped bunk.

You had absolutely no idea what was happening.

Someone had been running through a rain-soaked alley a few minutes ago.

Now they were sitting in a café or maybe it was a different character altogether.

Your brain had chosen to focus on literally everything else.

Jungkook lay beside you, close enough that every small movement registered instantly. Whenever the bus rounded a corner, your shoulders brushed for the briefest moment before you instinctively shifted away again.

His thigh rested lightly against yours.

You tried to pay attention to the dialogue.

"So..." Jungkook said quietly, not taking his eyes off the screen. "What did you think of tonight's crowd?"

"Hm?"

He glanced at you with a small smile. "The concert."

"Oh. The crowd was amazing."

"They really were."

You nodded, pretending to watch the next scene.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him absently pressing the tip of his tongue against the inside of his lip, making the small piercing catch the light for just a second before he looked back at the screen.

You immediately forced your eyes forward again.

Seriously? Focus.

"So," he spoke up again after a minute, "have you seen this one before?"

You blinked. "...What?"

A quiet laugh escaped him. "I asked if you've seen this show before."

You couldn't help laughing under your breath. "I have absolutely no idea what's happening."

"I noticed." He shook his head, amused.

"I was starting to think you secretly hated my taste in shows."

"No."

"Then what's distracting you so much?"

The question caught you completely off guard. Your heart skipped. For a split second, you forgot how to breathe.

You. Because you're lying right next to me. Because you're so close I can feel the warmth of your arm.

Instead, you forced out the safest answer you could think of. You smiled sheepishly. "I'm just more tired than I thought."

He studied you for a second before giving a small nod. "Fair enough."

Then, without another question, he turned his attention back to the screen, letting the conversation fade into a comfortable silence.

The tension coiled low in your belly, a persistent ache that made you press your thighs together under the thin blanket, seeking friction that only seemed to make it worse.

You couldn't stop.

God, you were pathetic.

But the image wouldn't leave you—his tongue, that silver flash you'd caught against his lip, wondering how it would feel against your skin.

And his fingers, imagining them inside you, curling just right, making you—

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting.

Your whole body had gone rigid without you realizing it, muscles locked tight as you stared at the tablet screen.

Jungkook shifted beside you.

Just a subtle turn of his head, dark eyes sliding from the screen to your profile.

You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, your breath catching and holding in your throat.

"You don't even pay attention."

You didn't move. Couldn't.

Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard you were certain he could see it.

"Are you good?"

The question hung between you, loaded with something you couldn't name.

You managed a nod, short and jerky, your throat too tight to form words.

What in the world did you do to deserve this?

Not with him so close you could smell his colonge, could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

He watched you for a moment longer, something flickering in his expression—curiosity.

"You're shaking," he observed quietly.

"Sorry," you whispered, the word barely audible.

"For what?"

You couldn't answer.

The tablet continued to play, forgotten. The bus rumbled on through the night.

If he had even the faintest idea of the thoughts currently consuming you—

You weren't sure you'd survive the embarrassment.

You stared at the side of his face, at the way the screen's glow cast shifting shadows across his sharp jawline, his attention seemingly fixed on the episode playing out in stuttering frames.

Your heart hammered so hard against your ribs you were certain it would bruise, a frantic drumbeat that seemed to fill the entire cramped bunk.

"Jungkook—"

"You know," he cut you off, voice still quiet, still casual, though his eyes never left the tablet screen. "I can help you."

The words didn't register at first.

"What?"

He turned his head slowly, dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your mouth go dry. The corner of his mouth lifted—not quite a smile.

"You know," he repeated, and now his free hand found your waist under the blanket, fingers spreading wide and possessive against your hip. "I've thought about it the whole tour."

Your breath caught, trapped in your throat.

"About fucking you."

The crude word falling from his lips sent a violent shiver down your spine, your legs clenching together involuntarily as heat flooded your face.

"I've watched you," he continued, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as his hand slid from your hip to trace the waistband of your sleep shorts. "Watched you watch me. The way you look at my mouth. The way you stare when I touch my tongue to my lip ring."

Oh god, he knew.

"You're not subtle," he murmured, leaning closer until you could feel his breath warm against your cheek, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. "And I've been going crazy. Every night. Thinking about you just like this."

His fingers dipped lower, brushing over the fabric covering you, and you gasped, arching into the touch without meaning to, your body betraying every coherent thought you'd ever had.

"So," he whispered against your ear, his lip ring cool against your heated skin. "Do you want me to help you? Or are you going to keep pretending you're watching the show?"

"The others are here." The words came out strangled, barely a whisper, your eyes darting toward the thin curtain separating your bunk from the rest.

Jungkook didn't even flinch.

He just smiled at you and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the forgotten tablet.

"Then you have to be quiet," he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. "Can you do that, baby?"

The pet name sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, and you nodded immediately, desperately, already abandoning any pretense of restraint.

His mouth crashed against yours the second your head moved—hungry, demanding, his lip ring cool and foreign against your soft flesh before his tongue swept inside, claiming you.

You barely registered his hand moving until you felt it—warm palm cupping your breast over your thin sleep shirt, thumb dragging across your nipple until it hardened against the fabric.

You whimpered into his mouth.

"Shh," he warned against your lips, his other hand coming up to join the first, both hands now full of you, squeezing and kneading with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the mattress.

Then his fingers found your nipples through the cotton—pinching, rolling, tugging—and you bit down on your own lip to stifle the moan that threatened to tear from your throat.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide with lust, before his hands moved to the hem of your top.

"Lift," he commanded softly.

You obeyed instantly, raising your arms as he pushed the fabric up, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the bunk before his mouth descended without preamble.

The heat of his tongue against your sensitive flesh made you jolt, your hand flying to your own mouth to muffle the cry that escaped. He laved attention on one nipple, then the other—sucking, licking, grazing his teeth just enough to make you see stars, all while his hands continued to work you with relentless precision.

"So needy," he whispered against your skin, his breath ghosting over your wet flesh and making you shiver.

His hand slid down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, and your hips bucked upward involuntarily, seeking, begging.

"Please," you breathed, the word barely audible.

"I've got you," he promised, dark eyes flashing up at you as his fingers found exactly where you needed him most. "Just keep quiet for me, baby. Can you do that?"

You nodded frantically, already losing yourself to the rhythm of his touch, the danger of the others just feet away making every sensation sharper, more intense, more desperately needed than anything you'd ever known.

His fingers worked you with devastating precision, curling inside you to find that spot that made your vision blur at the edges. You bit down on your own knuckles, tears pricking your eyes from the effort of staying silent, your hips rolling shamelessly against his hand.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through your chest. "So wet for me, aren't you? Such a good girl, taking my fingers like this."

You whimpered, the sound muffled and desperate, and he clamped his free hand over your mouth, his palm warm and firm.

"That's it," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours in the darkness, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face. "I want to feel it against my hand."

He added a third finger, stretching you deliciously, and your back arched off the mattress, your cry vibrating against his palm. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you filled the small space, filthy and obscene, mingling with your ragged breathing.

"Wanna see your face when you come," he growled, his thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless strokes. "Wanna watch you break apart right here, right now. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you come all over my fingers?"

You were nodding frantically, so close, teetering on the edge, when he suddenly withdrew his hand.

You made a sound of protest against his palm, needy and pathetic, but he was already moving, shoving his sweatpants down his hips, his cock springing free—thick and heavy and flushed dark, precum already beading at the tip.

"Get on me," he ordered, his voice rough with barely controlled restraint. "Wanna feel you."

You didn't hesitate.

You scrambled up, swinging your leg over his hips, your shorts somehow already shoved aside. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him pulse against your palm.

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, his hips bucking upward into your touch. "That's it. Touch me. God, I've been so hard for you, thinking about this tight little pussy wrapped around me."

You positioned yourself above him, his tip kissing your entrance, and slowly, you lowered yourself down.

The stretch burned in the best way, filling you so completely you had to stop halfway, gasping, your hands braced against his chest.

"So fucking big," you whined, your voice barely above a breath.

"Yeah?" He grinned up at you, wicked and filthy, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "Take it all, baby. I know you can. Such a good fucking girl for me, aren't you? So desperate to be filled."

You sank lower, taking him to the hilt, and both of you groaned in unison, the sound dangerously loud in the quiet bus.

"Ride me," he commanded, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Come on. Show me how much you want it. Show me how bad you've been needing this cock."

You started moving, rolling your hips in slow, experimental circles, and the sensation made your head fall back, your mouth falling open in a silent cry.

"Fuck," he praised, his eyes drinking you in, watching where you were joined, where his cock disappeared inside you again and again. "Look at you. Taking me so deep. You're so fucking tight, baby. So wet. Made for me, aren't you? This pussy was made to take my cock."

You picked up the pace, bouncing on him now, the slap of skin against skin muffled by the blanket but still audible, still dangerous. His hand found its way back to your mouth, two fingers pressing past your lips, and you sucked on them instinctively, tasting yourself on his skin.

"That's my girl," he groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet your downward strokes, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "Suck them clean. Taste how fucking good you are. God, you feel incredible. So hot. So perfect."

His other hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles that had you clamping down around him, your orgasm building fast and relentless at the base of your spine.

"Gonna come for me?" he taunted, his voice strained, his own control clearly fraying at the edges. "Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl? I wanna feel it."

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body convulsing around him, your teeth sinking into his fingers to muffle the scream that tried to tear from your throat. He kept fucking up into you, chasing his own release now, his thumb never stopping its assault on your oversensitive clit, prolonging your pleasure until you were sobbing, trembling, utterly wrecked.

"Fuck," he chanted, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm. "Taking it so well. So fucking beautiful. Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make you mine."

He came with a strangled groan, his cock pulsing inside you. His fingers bruising your hips as he held you down, taking him as deep as possible, his release spilling into you in endless spurts.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, sweating, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat and something uniquely him.

"Quiet enough for you?" you mumbled, your voice wrecked.

He laughed, breathless and satisfied, his arms wrapping tight around you. "Perfect," he whispered against your hair. "My perfect girl."

The aftermath settled over you like a heavy blanket, your heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you lay sprawled across his chest, listening to the gradual slowing of his breathing beneath your ear.

His fingers traced lazy patterns up and down your spine, soothing now where they had been demanding minutes before.

"They're heard us."

"Probably," he repeated, softer this time, his hand stilling against your back. "Do you care?"

You lifted your head to look at him, at the way his dark eyes had gone soft around the edges, the sharp intensity replaced by something warmer, more vulnerable.

"No," you admitted. "I don't think I do."

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that felt more exposing than everything that had just happened.

"Good," he whispered. "Because I'm not done with you."

For now, in this cramped bunk with Jungkook's arms around you and his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, you let yourself believe that some distractions were worth the chaos they created.

And when he pulled the blanket higher over both of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered just a little too long to be casual, you closed your eyes and thought that maybe—just maybe—you wouldn't mind missing the end of every show from now on.