warnings: ballet dancer f!oc, self-esteem issues, f!oc talks badly about herself quite a lot, hoseok is supportive af, wingman jimin mentioned, fluff, romance, dance class setting
rating: 🩷
There's sweat in your eyes. It's about three thousand degrees, and there is sweat in your eyes.
You wipe it away with your sleeve, groaning. You feel disgusting, your hair stuck to your forehead, skin sticky.
“Come on, one more time, everyone!”
You scream internally, plastering on the biggest fake smile you can muster as you spin, finding your way back to your spot in the studio. Not that you really have a spot. You’ve never taken this class before.
“Let's go!”
You look up at the source of this enthusiastic shout, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath as you wait for the music to start.
The guy is literally bouncing from foot to foot, barely a drop of sweat on his body. His dark hair is pushed back with a bandana, his muscular arms displayed by his tight-fit tank top. He is also annoyingly good at dancing.
You, however, are disastrously bad. Not at dance in general, just hip-hop, so it seems.
The music restarts, and you drag yourself into position, praying that you will get through the routine without messing up again.
You're humbled only ten seconds in, when you miss a step, fumble, and fall on your face. It all happens in the blink of an eye, but its enough time for you to flush bright red, and dash for the door before anyone can stop you.
The music slams to a halt just as you make it to the corridor, your heart hammering in your chest more out of pure embarrassment than physical exertion.
Belatedly, you realise you left your bag behind, but you can't face going back to get it. You'll have to wait until the class has finished.
Defeated, and more than a little humiliated, you hurry down the corridor and into the stairwell, sliding to the ground with a groan.
Why did you feel the need to sign up for a hip-hop class? You're a ballet dancer. Always had been. Or close enough. Since the age of two, you had been dressed in pink satin, hair scraped back into an aggressive bun, pointing your toes until they cramped. Hip-hop was not your comfort zone.
It was all Jimin's fault, as most things tended to be. Your handsome and adorable roommate and dance partner. Ever since your first pas de deux, you have found yourself constantly in some sort of trouble. Jimin is your best friend, but he is also a bit of a menace.
“Are you okay?”
Your head snaps up. Immediately snapped out of your distracted state, you squint at the man hovering above you. Bleach blonde hair, flawless skin, the most enormous t-shirt you have ever seen in your life.
He squats in front of you, leaning down until you're eye to eye. “Are you dizzy?”
Fabulous. “I'm fine,” you scramble to your feet. Your cheeks turn an even darker shade of red, a new wave of embarrassment flooding you. How sweaty and gross do you have to be to have a stranger asking if you feel faint? “Sorry for bothering you.”
“You're not bothering me,” the guy shrugs. “You sure you're okay though? You look a little shaken up.”
You fight the urge to slide back down onto the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow you whole. “I'm fine, just had a rough class.”
The guy chuckles, slipping past you to the door. He holds it open, waiting for you to step though. “I've been there.”
Without thinking, you duck under his arm and stand awkwardly in the corridor. “Trust me, this was the worst class ever.”
“How so?”
You pause, studying his face. He hasn't shown any signs of judging you, despite the state you're currently in. He stopped to help you, assuming you were hurt. Maybe he was nice enough not to laugh at your failure.
“Well I messed up every single run through, and then I fell on my face in front of the entire class.”
The guy bites his lip. “We've all been there.”
“You can laugh,” you sigh, turning away. “I ran away. My bag is still in there.”
You only manage a few steps before a warm hand finds your shoulder, pulling lightly to turn you around.
“You ran away?”
“Well yeah,” you scoff. Didn't he hear the story? “Fell flat on my face.”
The guy sighs, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “Ballet?”
You blink at him. “Huh?”
“Fifth position, right?” he gestures at your feet.
You clear your throat, face so red it's threatening to turn purple. “Fourth, actually.”
“Jimin would kill me for getting that wrong,” the guy rolls his eyes. “Why were you in hip-hop?”
“You know Jimin?” you groan, but shrug when all you get is an eyebrow raise. “Actually, it was his suggestion.”
The guy shakes his head. “Come on.”
You don't move, rooted to the spot as he marches off ahead, clearly expecting you to follow. “What do you mean? ‘Come on’ where?”
“My studio, Ballet Girl,” he winks, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Class starts in five minutes.”
◇
“You're a teacher?”
“No,” he pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door to the last studio on this floor. There are exactly two keys, and approximately ten keyrings. The largest is a plush squirrel, but there's also a tiny rubix cube, an enamel heart and a snow globe among the others. “I'm a student.”
You watch him suspiciously as he dumps his backpack by the door, grabbing a remote from the windowsill and turning on the speakers. “A student who has his own studio?”
“What can I say,” he throws his hands up in surrender. “I'm just that good.”
You roll your eyes, edging back towards the door. “Maybe I should leave you to rehearse then?”
“How do you know Jimin?”
You sigh. “How do you know him?”
“Mutual friend. Met him through my roommate, Jungkook.”
You watch as he switches his outside trainers for a clean pair he kept in his backpack. “Jimin's my roommate,” you shrink at the way the guy looks at you. “And my dance partner.”
He tilts his head, as if suddenly seeing you from a different angle. “Huh, that makes sense.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“So,” he claps his hands. “My name's Hoseok.”
You open your mouth, close it again.
“You're ____,” he continues, clicking buttons on the remote until music starts blaring through the speakers. “Let's warm up.”
◇
You are sweating in places you didn't even know could produce sweat.
“I'm done,” you drop your arm over your eyes, embracing the cool floor against your skin. “No more.”
Hoseok nudges your ankle with his foot. “You're not done until I say so, up you get.”
You moan, rolling onto your side and scrabbling until you're on your feet again. “This is torture, you know that right?”
“Sue me,” he smirks, restarting the music. “From the top.”
You have no idea how long you have been in this studio. Dancing, sweating, failing.
“I can't,” you are practically sobbing, disappointment and frustration taking over as you mess up the second step. “I can't do it.”
You're not used to this feeling. Sure you sucked at ballet when you first started. But you were two years old. You had been more interested in the sparkly hairband you were wearing than learning technique.
This is different. This is a new style, a whole new genre of movement. This was you, as an adult, trying and failing.
“I just can't, it's not me,” you growl, more angry with yourself than Hoseok. He was only trying to help, after all.
“What's not you?” he sips from his waterbottle, ankles crossed as he leans against the floor to ceiling mirror.
“Hip-hop,” you clarify. “It's just not me.”
Hoseok studies you for a moment. “Says who?”
“My body,” you wave him off dismissively. “Your face.”
He pushes off the mirror, two large strides before he's right in front of you. “My face said nothing of the sort.”
You roll your eyes. “Your brain then,” you argue. “I can admit when I suck at something. I might not like it, but I can admit it.”
“You don't suck,” Hoseok crosses his arms. “You don't know. You've been doing this for a few hours.”
You pull your hair out of the messy bun it has been in all day. “It's fine, I don't need to be good at hip-hop.”
Hoseok watches as you pick up your discarded sweatshirt, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.
“Thank you, for the tuition. I can tell you're incredibly talented and I appreciate you trying to help me.”
You make it to the top of the stairs before he catches you, hand around your wrist this time.
When he notices you watching him, his hand drops in embarrassment. “Please don't give up.”
You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ear as you turn to face him. “Why does it matter?”
“What?” Hoseok looks genuinely confused by your question.
“If I give up on hip-hop, why does it matter? I'm here for ballet.”
Hoseok frowns. “Because you're only giving up because you think you're bad at it. I can see you enjoy it, when you let yourself. There's moments where you let go and your whole face changes. It's only when you think you've messed up that you don't enjoy it.”
You stare up at him. Your roommate’s friend, with his big brown eyes and his worried pout. “If I leave, you'll never see me again and it won't matter anymore. I'm a ballet student. I don't need to be good at hip-hop.”
Something flickers in Hoseok's eyes. Hurt? Disappointment? You don't know him well enough to know. “Then why did you come in the first place?”
“Jimin signed me up,” you shrug. “Said there was something I needed to see.”
When Jimin had forwarded you the class invite, you had assumed he was telling you that you needed to try a new dance style for educational reasons. He was multi-talented. Good at any dance style he tried.
Hoseok nods, looks at his feet. When he looks back at you, the pout has been replaced by a shy smile. “Let's go get coffee.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Coffee,” Hoseok skips down the stairs as if he hasn't just spent the last few hours dancing non-stop in his studio. “I think you could use some caffeine.”
◇
The cafe is blissfully quiet. It's later than you would usually stay on campus, and most of the students have gone back to their accommodation already.
“Iced Americano, please,” Hoseok grins at the server, turning to you expectantly.
“I can get my own coffee,” you protest, waving him forward. When he glares at you like you just cursed his entire lineage, you mumble that you'll have the same as him.
“Let me be a gentleman, will you?”
You lean against the counter. “Are we still in the twenty-first century?”
“Last I checked,” Hoseok taps his phone on the card reader, grabbing the coffees and leading you to a booth in the far corner. “Doesn't mean I can't be polite. I invited you for coffee, that means I'm buying.”
“This isn't a date,” you slide into the seat opposite his, taking the coffee he offers and sipping gratefully. He was right, you really needed some caffeine.
Hoseok shrugs. “Doesn't mean I can't be polite.”
You decide not to push further. You have a feeling you aren't going to win.
“I guess Jimin was right,” you stir your drink with the straw.
“What do you mean?” Hoseok leans back in his chair, legs crossed at the knee. “About hip-hop?”
You nod. “I did learn a lot from trying a new dance style. It was difficult, and the movements were so completely different to what I'm used to. It was frustrating, and I don't like being bad at things. Jimin knows that as well as anybody, so I guess that was part of it too.”
You look up from stirring your coffee to see Hoseok watching with a lopsided smile. “Jimin knows a lot, huh?”
“Yeah, he's known me for a long-” you squint at Hoseok as he starts to giggle. “What? What's so funny?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Okay, if I tell you something, do you promise not to throw your coffee at me and storm off?”
You eye him suspiciously. “Why would I do that?”
“I don't know, you just seem like the dramatic type.”
You scoff. “I'll pretend not to be offended by that. What do you want to tell me?”
Hoseok rubs the back of his neck, his own cheeks heating to rival yours. “Jimin and I get lunch a couple times a week.”
“Okay?” you sip your coffee. That was a lot less exciting than he was making it out to be.
“Well, when we meet outside the ballet studios, you're usually there.” Hoseok explains, looking at you expectantly.
“Obviously,” you lean back in your seat, confused.
Hoseok rolls his eyes, fiddling with the lid on his coffee cup. “I may have mentioned a couple of times that I thought you were pretty.”
Your hands fall from the straw at the change in Hoseok's tone. The cocky smirk was gone, too. “Oh.”
“I think Jimin had multiple reasons for telling you to try hip-hop,” Hoseok mumbles, still fiddling with his cup. “I had no idea you were his roommate. He never told me that.”
You can't seem to force your brain to come up with a good response. As stupid as it sounds, the one part of this that you're stuck on is that Hoseok can possibly find you pretty when you're fresh out of class and dripping sweat.
“I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable,” Hoseok mumbles, eyes squeezed shut. “If you want to leave, I won't tell Jimin we met today.”
The corner of your mouth turns up. “Maybe you were right, before.”
“Huh?” Hoseok looks up at you, dark eyes wide and sparkly under the cafe's bright lights.
“Maybe I was giving up too quickly,” you smile, tying your hair back up into its messy bun. “Maybe there was something I needed to see.”
Hoseok grins, leaning forward as he pulls his studio keys from his pocket and dangles them between you. “Ready for lesson two?”
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
series warnings: trauma, sexual content, mental illness, warnings will be noted for individual chapters, angst, physical violence, characters are superheroes so they end up in dangerous situations lol
rating: ❤️🔥🩷
New Seoul, year 3000
A fresh start. Finally, a chance to move on. Bright lights and a sea of bodies to get lost in.
New Seoul is a whole world trapped in a city, a place where nobody knows your name, or your face. The perfect place to escape. A new identity, and a new beginning.
You weren't looking for romance. To keep your head down and your hands clean is all you were focused on. But New Seoul has its own plans for you.
Jeon Jungkook wasn't looking for trouble. Well, that's a lie. After all, Spider-Man is almost always looking for trouble. He just wasn't looking for trouble in the form of a beautiful girl, with dark eyes and smirk that cut right through him.
But mysterious hot neighbour aside, New Seoul could still be the key to your salvation, right?
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
warnings: ballet dancer f!oc, self-esteem issues, f!oc talks badly about herself quite a lot, hoseok is supportive af, wingman jimin mentioned, fluff, romance, dance class setting
rating: 🩷
There's sweat in your eyes. It's about three thousand degrees, and there is sweat in your eyes.
You wipe it away with your sleeve, groaning. You feel disgusting, your hair stuck to your forehead, skin sticky.
“Come on, one more time, everyone!”
You scream internally, plastering on the biggest fake smile you can muster as you spin, finding your way back to your spot in the studio. Not that you really have a spot. You’ve never taken this class before.
“Let's go!”
You look up at the source of this enthusiastic shout, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath as you wait for the music to start.
The guy is literally bouncing from foot to foot, barely a drop of sweat on his body. His dark hair is pushed back with a bandana, his muscular arms displayed by his tight-fit tank top. He is also annoyingly good at dancing.
You, however, are disastrously bad. Not at dance in general, just hip-hop, so it seems.
The music restarts, and you drag yourself into position, praying that you will get through the routine without messing up again.
You're humbled only ten seconds in, when you miss a step, fumble, and fall on your face. It all happens in the blink of an eye, but its enough time for you to flush bright red, and dash for the door before anyone can stop you.
The music slams to a halt just as you make it to the corridor, your heart hammering in your chest more out of pure embarrassment than physical exertion.
Belatedly, you realise you left your bag behind, but you can't face going back to get it. You'll have to wait until the class has finished.
Defeated, and more than a little humiliated, you hurry down the corridor and into the stairwell, sliding to the ground with a groan.
Why did you feel the need to sign up for a hip-hop class? You're a ballet dancer. Always had been. Or close enough. Since the age of two, you had been dressed in pink satin, hair scraped back into an aggressive bun, pointing your toes until they cramped. Hip-hop was not your comfort zone.
It was all Jimin's fault, as most things tended to be. Your handsome and adorable roommate and dance partner. Ever since your first pas de deux, you have found yourself constantly in some sort of trouble. Jimin is your best friend, but he is also a bit of a menace.
“Are you okay?”
Your head snaps up. Immediately snapped out of your distracted state, you squint at the man hovering above you. Bleach blonde hair, flawless skin, the most enormous t-shirt you have ever seen in your life.
He squats in front of you, leaning down until you're eye to eye. “Are you dizzy?”
Fabulous. “I'm fine,” you scramble to your feet. Your cheeks turn an even darker shade of red, a new wave of embarrassment flooding you. How sweaty and gross do you have to be to have a stranger asking if you feel faint? “Sorry for bothering you.”
“You're not bothering me,” the guy shrugs. “You sure you're okay though? You look a little shaken up.”
You fight the urge to slide back down onto the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow you whole. “I'm fine, just had a rough class.”
The guy chuckles, slipping past you to the door. He holds it open, waiting for you to step though. “I've been there.”
Without thinking, you duck under his arm and stand awkwardly in the corridor. “Trust me, this was the worst class ever.”
“How so?”
You pause, studying his face. He hasn't shown any signs of judging you, despite the state you're currently in. He stopped to help you, assuming you were hurt. Maybe he was nice enough not to laugh at your failure.
“Well I messed up every single run through, and then I fell on my face in front of the entire class.”
The guy bites his lip. “We've all been there.”
“You can laugh,” you sigh, turning away. “I ran away. My bag is still in there.”
You only manage a few steps before a warm hand finds your shoulder, pulling lightly to turn you around.
“You ran away?”
“Well yeah,” you scoff. Didn't he hear the story? “Fell flat on my face.”
The guy sighs, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. “Ballet?”
You blink at him. “Huh?”
“Fifth position, right?” he gestures at your feet.
You clear your throat, face so red it's threatening to turn purple. “Fourth, actually.”
“Jimin would kill me for getting that wrong,” the guy rolls his eyes. “Why were you in hip-hop?”
“You know Jimin?” you groan, but shrug when all you get is an eyebrow raise. “Actually, it was his suggestion.”
The guy shakes his head. “Come on.”
You don't move, rooted to the spot as he marches off ahead, clearly expecting you to follow. “What do you mean? ‘Come on’ where?”
“My studio, Ballet Girl,” he winks, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Class starts in five minutes.”
◇
“You're a teacher?”
“No,” he pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door to the last studio on this floor. There are exactly two keys, and approximately ten keyrings. The largest is a plush squirrel, but there's also a tiny rubix cube, an enamel heart and a snow globe among the others. “I'm a student.”
You watch him suspiciously as he dumps his backpack by the door, grabbing a remote from the windowsill and turning on the speakers. “A student who has his own studio?”
“What can I say,” he throws his hands up in surrender. “I'm just that good.”
You roll your eyes, edging back towards the door. “Maybe I should leave you to rehearse then?”
“How do you know Jimin?”
You sigh. “How do you know him?”
“Mutual friend. Met him through my roommate, Jungkook.”
You watch as he switches his outside trainers for a clean pair he kept in his backpack. “Jimin's my roommate,” you shrink at the way the guy looks at you. “And my dance partner.”
He tilts his head, as if suddenly seeing you from a different angle. “Huh, that makes sense.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“So,” he claps his hands. “My name's Hoseok.”
You open your mouth, close it again.
“You're ____,” he continues, clicking buttons on the remote until music starts blaring through the speakers. “Let's warm up.”
◇
You are sweating in places you didn't even know could produce sweat.
“I'm done,” you drop your arm over your eyes, embracing the cool floor against your skin. “No more.”
Hoseok nudges your ankle with his foot. “You're not done until I say so, up you get.”
You moan, rolling onto your side and scrabbling until you're on your feet again. “This is torture, you know that right?”
“Sue me,” he smirks, restarting the music. “From the top.”
You have no idea how long you have been in this studio. Dancing, sweating, failing.
“I can't,” you are practically sobbing, disappointment and frustration taking over as you mess up the second step. “I can't do it.”
You're not used to this feeling. Sure you sucked at ballet when you first started. But you were two years old. You had been more interested in the sparkly hairband you were wearing than learning technique.
This is different. This is a new style, a whole new genre of movement. This was you, as an adult, trying and failing.
“I just can't, it's not me,” you growl, more angry with yourself than Hoseok. He was only trying to help, after all.
“What's not you?” he sips from his waterbottle, ankles crossed as he leans against the floor to ceiling mirror.
“Hip-hop,” you clarify. “It's just not me.”
Hoseok studies you for a moment. “Says who?”
“My body,” you wave him off dismissively. “Your face.”
He pushes off the mirror, two large strides before he's right in front of you. “My face said nothing of the sort.”
You roll your eyes. “Your brain then,” you argue. “I can admit when I suck at something. I might not like it, but I can admit it.”
“You don't suck,” Hoseok crosses his arms. “You don't know. You've been doing this for a few hours.”
You pull your hair out of the messy bun it has been in all day. “It's fine, I don't need to be good at hip-hop.”
Hoseok watches as you pick up your discarded sweatshirt, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.
“Thank you, for the tuition. I can tell you're incredibly talented and I appreciate you trying to help me.”
You make it to the top of the stairs before he catches you, hand around your wrist this time.
When he notices you watching him, his hand drops in embarrassment. “Please don't give up.”
You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ear as you turn to face him. “Why does it matter?”
“What?” Hoseok looks genuinely confused by your question.
“If I give up on hip-hop, why does it matter? I'm here for ballet.”
Hoseok frowns. “Because you're only giving up because you think you're bad at it. I can see you enjoy it, when you let yourself. There's moments where you let go and your whole face changes. It's only when you think you've messed up that you don't enjoy it.”
You stare up at him. Your roommate’s friend, with his big brown eyes and his worried pout. “If I leave, you'll never see me again and it won't matter anymore. I'm a ballet student. I don't need to be good at hip-hop.”
Something flickers in Hoseok's eyes. Hurt? Disappointment? You don't know him well enough to know. “Then why did you come in the first place?”
“Jimin signed me up,” you shrug. “Said there was something I needed to see.”
When Jimin had forwarded you the class invite, you had assumed he was telling you that you needed to try a new dance style for educational reasons. He was multi-talented. Good at any dance style he tried.
Hoseok nods, looks at his feet. When he looks back at you, the pout has been replaced by a shy smile. “Let's go get coffee.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Coffee,” Hoseok skips down the stairs as if he hasn't just spent the last few hours dancing non-stop in his studio. “I think you could use some caffeine.”
◇
The cafe is blissfully quiet. It's later than you would usually stay on campus, and most of the students have gone back to their accommodation already.
“Iced Americano, please,” Hoseok grins at the server, turning to you expectantly.
“I can get my own coffee,” you protest, waving him forward. When he glares at you like you just cursed his entire lineage, you mumble that you'll have the same as him.
“Let me be a gentleman, will you?”
You lean against the counter. “Are we still in the twenty-first century?”
“Last I checked,” Hoseok taps his phone on the card reader, grabbing the coffees and leading you to a booth in the far corner. “Doesn't mean I can't be polite. I invited you for coffee, that means I'm buying.”
“This isn't a date,” you slide into the seat opposite his, taking the coffee he offers and sipping gratefully. He was right, you really needed some caffeine.
Hoseok shrugs. “Doesn't mean I can't be polite.”
You decide not to push further. You have a feeling you aren't going to win.
“I guess Jimin was right,” you stir your drink with the straw.
“What do you mean?” Hoseok leans back in his chair, legs crossed at the knee. “About hip-hop?”
You nod. “I did learn a lot from trying a new dance style. It was difficult, and the movements were so completely different to what I'm used to. It was frustrating, and I don't like being bad at things. Jimin knows that as well as anybody, so I guess that was part of it too.”
You look up from stirring your coffee to see Hoseok watching with a lopsided smile. “Jimin knows a lot, huh?”
“Yeah, he's known me for a long-” you squint at Hoseok as he starts to giggle. “What? What's so funny?”
Hoseok shakes his head. “Okay, if I tell you something, do you promise not to throw your coffee at me and storm off?”
You eye him suspiciously. “Why would I do that?”
“I don't know, you just seem like the dramatic type.”
You scoff. “I'll pretend not to be offended by that. What do you want to tell me?”
Hoseok rubs the back of his neck, his own cheeks heating to rival yours. “Jimin and I get lunch a couple times a week.”
“Okay?” you sip your coffee. That was a lot less exciting than he was making it out to be.
“Well, when we meet outside the ballet studios, you're usually there.” Hoseok explains, looking at you expectantly.
“Obviously,” you lean back in your seat, confused.
Hoseok rolls his eyes, fiddling with the lid on his coffee cup. “I may have mentioned a couple of times that I thought you were pretty.”
Your hands fall from the straw at the change in Hoseok's tone. The cocky smirk was gone, too. “Oh.”
“I think Jimin had multiple reasons for telling you to try hip-hop,” Hoseok mumbles, still fiddling with his cup. “I had no idea you were his roommate. He never told me that.”
You can't seem to force your brain to come up with a good response. As stupid as it sounds, the one part of this that you're stuck on is that Hoseok can possibly find you pretty when you're fresh out of class and dripping sweat.
“I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable,” Hoseok mumbles, eyes squeezed shut. “If you want to leave, I won't tell Jimin we met today.”
The corner of your mouth turns up. “Maybe you were right, before.”
“Huh?” Hoseok looks up at you, dark eyes wide and sparkly under the cafe's bright lights.
“Maybe I was giving up too quickly,” you smile, tying your hair back up into its messy bun. “Maybe there was something I needed to see.”
Hoseok grins, leaning forward as he pulls his studio keys from his pocket and dangles them between you. “Ready for lesson two?”
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
hey guys you know a work can have challenging & disturbing & weird themes without it actually being a kink that the writers have, right? I know we all like to use that “the author’s barely disguised fetish” meme but i truly need y’all to understand that some things are just recurring themes & motifs in a body of work without it being sexual for the writers or anyone involved in the creation of art. It’s important to me that y’all know this.
series warnings: trauma, sexual content, mental illness, warnings will be noted for individual chapters, angst, physical violence, characters are superheroes so they end up in dangerous situations lol
rating: ❤️🔥🩷
New Seoul, year 3000
A fresh start. Finally, a chance to move on. Bright lights and a sea of bodies to get lost in.
New Seoul is a whole world trapped in a city, a place where nobody knows your name, or your face. The perfect place to escape. A new identity, and a new beginning.
You weren't looking for romance. To keep your head down and your hands clean is all you were focused on. But New Seoul has its own plans for you.
Jeon Jungkook wasn't looking for trouble. Well, that's a lie. After all, Spider-Man is almost always looking for trouble. He just wasn't looking for trouble in the form of a beautiful girl, with dark eyes and smirk that cut right through him.
But mysterious hot neighbour aside, New Seoul could still be the key to your salvation, right?
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
series warnings: trauma, sexual content, mental illness, warnings will be noted for individual chapters, angst, physical violence, characters are superheroes so they end up in dangerous situations lol
rating: ❤️🔥🩷
New Seoul, year 3000
A fresh start. Finally, a chance to move on. Bright lights and a sea of bodies to get lost in.
New Seoul is a whole world trapped in a city, a place where nobody knows your name, or your face. The perfect place to escape. A new identity, and a new beginning.
You weren't looking for romance. To keep your head down and your hands clean is all you were focused on. But New Seoul has its own plans for you.
Jeon Jungkook wasn't looking for trouble. Well, that's a lie. After all, Spider-Man is almost always looking for trouble. He just wasn't looking for trouble in the form of a beautiful girl, with dark eyes and smirk that cut right through him.
But mysterious hot neighbour aside, New Seoul could still be the key to your salvation, right?
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
warnings: alcohol consumption, drunk f!oc, fluff, forehead kisses (he's so cute), domestic fluffiness, he picks her up because shes drunk and can't walk hahah
rating: 🩷
"I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"
You sit on the pavement, trying to hide the fact you're feeling quite so sorry for yourself. It's entirely your own fault that you're in this mess, afterall.
It was supposed to be a couple of drinks. A tame night out with a couple friends. How were you supposed to know that soju would have this affect on you?
You've never gotten drunk so quickly before. You weren't expecting it at all. Neither was Hoseok.
His car pulls up to the curb no less than four minutes later. How he managed to get here so quickly is something you should probably question him on tomorrow, but you have s feeling your head will be hurting too much to bother.
"Do you need me to carry you?" Hoseok climbs out of the car, coming to stand in front of you with his hands on his hips.
You stare up at him. Do you need him to carry you? Usually, you would scoff at the offer. But you're not actually sure you can walk.
"Maybe," you mumble. When Hoseok doesn't reply you sigh. "Please."
He slides his arms under yours, lifting you up like you weigh nothing at all. People always underestimate how strong your boyfriend is.
He settles you in the passenger seat, clipping in your seatbelt and kissing your forehead gently. "Remind me why you thought this was a good idea?"
You groan, turning away from him as he slides into the driver's seat. "I was stupid."
Hoseok smirks, tucking your hair behind your ear as he starts the engine. "You'll feel better in the morning."
"I want to feel better now," you whine, wincing as the engine roars to life. "Why is your car so loud?"
Hoseok rolls his eyes, checking the mirrors as he joins the line of traffic waiting at the lights. "It's not, you're just sensitive because you drank too many bottles of soju and you're suffering."
"I can't be hungover when I'm still drunk," you close your eyes, head tipped back as you try to fight the headache thats beginning to form.
"Let's just get home and we can cuddle and sleep, yeah?"
Just ten minutes later, you're sat on the counter in your bathroom, half asleep as Hoseok carefully removes your makeup. His touch is feather soft as he washes your face, before applying a bunch of products you didn't even know existed.
"What are you doing?" you mumble, leaning into his touch. Your eyes are closed, your head nodding every couple of seconds as you fight sleep.
Hoseok chuckles, hands on your shoulders as he leans you back against the wall to stop you tipping off the counter. "Just moisturiser, then we can go to bed, okay?"
"I don't care about moisturiser," you protest. "I care about being in my bed."
Hoseok grins. "When your skin is smooth as butter tomorrow morning you'll take that back."
"I think I'll be too busy being hungover tomorrow to care."
He smiles, massaging the moisturiser into your skin and giggling at the way you follow his touch.
"Come on," he carries you to bed, tucks you in with soft blankets and kisses your cheek. "Next time you want to go for 'a couple of drinks', I'll know that that's a lie."
"My friends are bad influences," you grumble. "They can drink more than I can."
Hoseok shakes his head. "I believe it."
You snuggle into him as he settles beside you. He is so warm, his pyjamas possibly the softest thing you have ever felt.
"Get some sleep, baby, you'll feel much better afterwards."
You mumble goodnight against his chest, already snoring before he's had time to reply.
"Night, baby."
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
warnings: fluff, kissing, f!reader gets stood up by m!oc, roommates to lovers(?), namjoon is so cute omg
rating: 🩷
a/n: I just found this in my drafts and I had to finish it 😭 roommate joon I mean cmon who could resist? 😭❤️
"Don't talk to me."
Namjoon side-eyes you over the top of his glasses. He opens his mouth. Closes it.
You slam your bag on the counter, rummaging through the cupboards for your new tea blend.
If tonight had gone to plan, you would be sipping cocktails at a fancy bar in town. If tonight had gone to plan, you would have been dancing in a crowded room, hands tangled in a handsome-mans hair, lips on his as the lights glittered around you.
But tonight had not gone to plan.
"Seeing as its only six o'clock and you look just about ready to commit murder, should I assume that your date is not in fact going ahead tonight?"
You turn slowly to face your roommate. "Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?"
Namjoon hides behind his book.
The last thing you need, after being ditched at the last minute by your date, is your stupidly perfect roommate being anywhere nearby.
You know it's ridiculous, but even looking at Namjoon right now is painful. With his glasses perched on the tip of his perfect nose, and his hair a little messy from where he keeps running his fingers through it, and his baggy tshirt that you're definitely not going to steal from him later.
You finish making your tea. It's mostly ginger, one of your favourites. Hopefully it will work to cheer you up slightly.
"I'm going to bed," you stomp across the apartment, shoes slapping against the old wood floor.
"It's only six o'clock," Namjoon points out, still mostly hidden behind his book.
You scoff. "It's not like I have anything better to do, is it?"
You sniff, blinking as you try to work out what woke you up so suddenly.
The door. Someone's knocking on the door.
"What do you want?" you mumble, squinting through the growing darkness.
"Can I come in?" Namjoon's voice is muffled by the door.
You sigh, wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "I'm asleep."
Namjoon laughs, cracking the door open just enough to poke his head into the room. "Can I come in, please?"
You groan, rolling over and dragging the covers over your head. You don't want him to see you like this.
The bed creaks as Namjoon sits beside you, and a moment later you feel his warm hand rubbing circles on your back.
You suck in a breath.
It's not as if this is the first time Namjoon has touched you. You hug. You give each other a playful shove when you're messing around. You even held hands a couple times when you were lost in the crowded streets.
But this, this feels different.
"I brought you something nice."
You turn, pulling the covers down just enough that you can see what Namjoon's holding.
A box of cookies. The ones with the pink frosting that you love so much.
Suddenly they're dropped, right beside your face. "___ your eyes are all red!"
You glare at him, ducking back under the covers. "If you're going to be mean, you can go away. But leave the cookies."
"Have you been crying?"
You don't reply, hoping that if you keep quiet he might leave without asking any more questions. You should know better.
"What was so good about this guy?"
Okay. That's not what you were expecting.
"What do you mean?"
Namjoon scoffs, kicking his feet up on your bed. "What was so amazing about this guy that he's worth crying over?"
You sniffle, wiggling out from under the blankets. "He was hot, and smart. He's like a genius actually. He's top of all my classes."
Namjoon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, a real genius."
"What's that supposed to mean?" you frown. "He really is smart, you'd probably get on quite well with him, actually. He has similar opinions on most of the novels we've studied recently."
Namjoon looks more than a little offended at this. "I would like this asshole?"
You frown again. "Well, probably. You like the same books."
Namjoon laughs, but it sounds hollow. "I think he's a prick. And, I think he's stupid."
You blink. "You've never met him."
"I don't need to. Any guy that stands you up and makes you cry is not only a massive jerk, but also quite possibly the biggest idiot on the planet."
You can feel your cheeks heating up. It's one thing to be stood up by the hot guy in your class. The hot guy you were mostly using as a distraction from your even hotter roommate. The same roommate you are most definitely not in love with. It's another thing entirely to have said roommate talking to you like this.
"You don't have to say these things, Joon. I appreciate it, but honestly I should have seen it coming. He was way out of my league anyway. I'll be fine."
Namjoon watches, silently, as you shuffle your way out of the covers.
You get to your feet, brush yourself down, and plaster on the best fake smile you can muster. "I'll be fine, maybe we could go watch a movie or something?"
"A movie?" Namjoon shakes his head, eyebrows knit in confusion. "But, ___, you've been crying."
You're not sure what does it. Something about the gentleness in his tone, maybe. Or the way his fingertips brush your wrist before he thinks better of it and drops his hand. Or the way he looks at you as if he can't decide whether to hug you or hunt down the guy who made you sad. You're not sure what does it, but suddenly you're crying again. Hard.
Namjoon is on his feet instantly, hands on your shoulders as he speaks to you. "___, he's just some guy. He is not worth it, okay? If he can't see how beautiful and funny and sweet and smart and sexy you are, he doesn't deserve to take you out in the first place, okay?"
You blink, sniffling. Almost choke on your own breath.
It's a beat before a Namjoon's brain catches up with his own words. His cheeks flush, his eyes widen. "I, uh."
"He is an idiot," you agree, leaning into Namjoon's touch instinctively.
"A massive idiot."
Your eyes catch on Namjoon's lips, before flicking back up to his still wide eyes. "Maybe I'm an idiot too."
Namjoon swallows, heart racing. Something changes in his eyes. "Maybe."
When his lips meet yours, you can actually feel your legs give out beneath you. You always thought that was just something people wrote about in novels. But your legs were refusing to hold you up.
Namjoon catches you, turns so you're sitting on the edge of your bed. "I think we're both idiots," he mumbles against your lips.
You laugh. You can’t help it. Your fingers twist the front of his shirt, and you pull him closer. "You think I'm smart?"
"That's what you're focusing on?" Namjoon rests his forehead on your shoulder, hands on your waist. "Not the part where I said you're beautiful and sexy?"
You smirk, chest rising and falling too quickly as you try to comprehend what is happening. "If I focus on that part, I might realise that this is crazy and I might wake up."
Namjoon grins, you can feel it against your shoulder. He sits up, dimples on full display and making you want to scream. "You think this is a dream?"
You trace the dimple on his right cheek, heart skipping a beat when it makes him smirk. "It must be."
"It isn't," he kisses your fingertip, eyes sparkling. "Want me to prove it?"
You look up at his boyish grin. His messy hair and flushed cheeks. You nod.
"Okay," he whispers, and he closes the remaining space between you.
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
a/n: yoongi takes care of her because she's drunk, jimin appearance, jimin is also drunk and flirty, yoongi being sensible and cute, he loves her you guys 😭
"Yoongi, Yoongi, I need more shots," you bounch in your seat, red cheeks glowing under the neon lights of the club.
Jimin is bouncing beside you, also staring up at Yoongi desperately like a baby bird waiting to be fed.
Yoongi turns, raises an eyebrow at you. "You definitely do not need more shots."
You pout, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "I definitely do, I haven't even had that many."
"You've had twice as many as you said you would," Yoongi counters, arms crossed. "Put your boobs away, ____, it's not going to work."
"It would work on me," Jimin whispers, and you both burst into a fit of giggles.
Yoongi sighs, "Flirting with my girlfriend is the best way to convince me to give you more alcohol, Jimin."
You pout again, watching as Yoongi disappears through the crowd with a smile and a shake of his head.
Yoongi loves to tease you. Not that he is teasing when he says he won't let you drink any more tonight. He's right, you've had a lot more than you had planned already. But you love his faux-grumpy act, and he knows it.
When Yoongi returns to your table, he does not have a tray of colourful shots. He has two tall glasses of water.
Jimin grumbles, downing it in one before poking his tongue out at Yoongi and disappearing onto the dance floor to find the others.
Yoongi settles in the seat opposite you, lifting your glass from the tray and placing it in front of you. "Drink up."
You frown. "I wanted more shots."
Yoongi shakes his head, chuckling. "You had a lot already, I can get you more shots, but I think you'll regret it when you're still hungover on Monday morning."
"It's Friday night," you point out.
Yoongi shrugs. "You've had a lot to drink."
You sigh, sipping on the straw. Why does he have to be right? You've always been a bit of a lightweight, and the last time you overdid it at the club, you ended up with an almost week-long hangover. After that you hadn't had any alcohol for nearly three months.
"You don't want to listen to me complaining about my sore head," you pout, twirling the straw.
Yoongi laughs, taking your free hand in his and stroking small circles on your palm. "I don't want to see you with a sore head."
"Should we go and find Jimin before we go?" you stand on your tip-toes, trying to spot your friend in the crowd.
"He's with Hoseok and Taehyung," Yoongi shows you his phone, a blurry selfie of the three of them on the screen. "I let them know we're leaving."
"Tell them to let us know when they're home safe," you poke at the screen, words slightly slurred. You're starting to feel the alcohol now.
Yoongi agrees, arm around your waist as he helps you out to the waiting uber.
"You never get drunk as quickly as I do," you whine, almost twisting your ankle because of your stupid heels. You try to rip them off right there in the street, but Yoongi stops you.
You wrestle yourselves into the back of the car, the driver singing some eighties pop song as he starts the engine.
"I'm not as much of a lightweight," Yoongi comments.
You sigh, slumping against his side. "You had shots too."
"I did," Yoongi chuckles. "As many as you."
You wake up when the uber arrives at your apartment. The sky is pitch-black above you, starts twinkling in and out of sight.
Yoongi walks behind you, ready to catch you if you fall.
When the front door is open, you feel sleepiness hit you like a tonne of bricks. You wobble on your heels, trying to get to your bed.
"Come here," Yoongi lifts you effortlessly, settling you on the couch. He wraps you in one of the numerous blankets you keep in the living area, kissing your nose as you yawn. "I'll go get you some more water."
"Love you, Yoongi," you mumble, already falling asleep.
Yoongi turns mid-step, looking back at you over his shoulder with a fond smile. "Love you too, baby."
warnings: alcohol consumption, both seokjin and f!oc are intoxicated, mentions of f!oc being in toxic relationships before she met Seokjin, anxiety attacks, club setting, fluff
rating: 🩷
The crowd sways around you like a wave. It's past midnight, probably closer to one o'clock by now. The club is packed, the air sticky and hot.
Seokjin's arm rests lightly on your shoulder, his drink held tight in his free hand. "I love this song."
You close your eyes, letting the music move through you. You'd had a long week. Work had been the busiest you had ever experienced it, an endless string of annoying customers. You had desperately needed a night out.
"You look really beautiful," Seokjin tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers leaving little sparks of electricity in their wake.
You smile up at him, hands on his waist as you pull him closer. "You're drunk."
"So are you," he challenges, one perfect eyebrow raised. His hair is damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead in a way that shouldn't necessarily be sexy but absolutely is.
You laugh. He's got you there. "And I love it."
Seokjin chuckles as you start to dance, trying to demonstrate how much you're currently enjoying your drunken state.
Only the beat changes suddenly, the music becoming heavier and louder. The crowd shifts, people pushing and shoving as they dance wildly to the new song. All of a sudden, the room is too hot, the air to thick.
You freeze, trying to force your brain to keep up. It's too much.
"Baby?" Seokjin's eyes flick between your face and where your hand is gripping his forearm so tightly your knuckles have gone white. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
You don't protest as Seokjin's arm wraps around your shoulder, his drink abandoned on a nearby table. His now empty hand rests on the small of your back, carefully guiding you through the mass of people.
Someone trips and crashes into you at the bottom of the stairs. You flinch, tense as you try to calm your racing heart. That fuzzy, warm feeling you had only moments ago has now entirely disappeared.
"You're okay," Seokjin squeezes your shoulder as he helps you up the steps. "Nearly there."
You manage to climb the stairs without tripping over, pushing your way out into the early morning air. You take big gasping breaths, trying to fill your lungs as quickly as possible.
"Hey, it's okay."
You cling to Seokjin as he pulls you into a hug. Your head is spinning, your eyes starting to water.
"I'm gonna call us an uber," he kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back gently as he flicks at his phone. "Let's go home, yeah?"
You nod, regretting it instantly when your vision blurs. You groan, trying to remember how many drinks you actually had.
"Last time I believe you when you tell me you can handle that many shots," Seokjin sighs, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "I'll get you a nice big glass of water when we get back, and you can curl up in bed."
You sniff, resting your head on his chest. "I'm sorry I ruined our night out. I didn't mean to panic like that."
Seokjin leans back enough that he can meet your eye. "You didn't ruin anything, it's my job to take care of you."
You frown, but he pulls you back into a hug before you can argue. "How are you so sensible even when you're drunk?"
Seokjin chuckles, playing with your hair absently as he watches the road for your uber. "I drank a lot less than you did. If you drink, I never let myself get so wasted I can't take care of you if I need to."
You blink up at him, cheeks warm. "Really?"
"Of course," Seokjin shrugs. "What kind of a boyfriend wouldn't?"
You want to tell him that any of your previous boyfriends would have drunk you under the table and left you to fend for yourself. But as your uber pulls up, you let Seokjin help you into the backseat.
"You feeling okay?"
You nod, letting him click your seatbelt into position.
By the time you're back in your apartment, it's closer to two o'clock. Seokjin is pouring you a glass of water, having tucked you in bed.
"Want me to stay with you? I can sleep on the couch if you need some space."
You stare back at your boyfriend. His wide eyes, his rosy cheeks. You had told him, at the beginning of your relationship, how your exes had been pushy when you had gone out drinking with them. How it had made you feel. He remembered.
"I want you to stay here, can we snuggle?"
The corner of Seokjin's mouth quirks up into a boyish smile, but he smooths his expression quickly. "You sure?"
You twist your hand in his shirt, tugging until he falls onto the bed beside you with a grunt.
He gives you his most offended glare, before bursting into laughter. "Let's get some sleep."
You snuggle into his warm body, head on his chest as you start to drift off almost immediately.
You don't see the smile on your boyfriend's face, or the way he looks at you as though you're the most precious thing on Earth. "Goodnight, baby."
a/n: yoongi takes care of her because she's drunk, jimin appearance, jimin is also drunk and flirty, yoongi being sensible and cute, he loves her you guys 😭
"Yoongi, Yoongi, I need more shots," you bounch in your seat, red cheeks glowing under the neon lights of the club.
Jimin is bouncing beside you, also staring up at Yoongi desperately like a baby bird waiting to be fed.
Yoongi turns, raises an eyebrow at you. "You definitely do not need more shots."
You pout, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "I definitely do, I haven't even had that many."
"You've had twice as many as you said you would," Yoongi counters, arms crossed. "Put your boobs away, ____, it's not going to work."
"It would work on me," Jimin whispers, and you both burst into a fit of giggles.
Yoongi sighs, "Flirting with my girlfriend is the best way to convince me to give you more alcohol, Jimin."
You pout again, watching as Yoongi disappears through the crowd with a smile and a shake of his head.
Yoongi loves to tease you. Not that he is teasing when he says he won't let you drink any more tonight. He's right, you've had a lot more than you had planned already. But you love his faux-grumpy act, and he knows it.
When Yoongi returns to your table, he does not have a tray of colourful shots. He has two tall glasses of water.
Jimin grumbles, downing it in one before poking his tongue out at Yoongi and disappearing onto the dance floor to find the others.
Yoongi settles in the seat opposite you, lifting your glass from the tray and placing it in front of you. "Drink up."
You frown. "I wanted more shots."
Yoongi shakes his head, chuckling. "You had a lot already, I can get you more shots, but I think you'll regret it when you're still hungover on Monday morning."
"It's Friday night," you point out.
Yoongi shrugs. "You've had a lot to drink."
You sigh, sipping on the straw. Why does he have to be right? You've always been a bit of a lightweight, and the last time you overdid it at the club, you ended up with an almost week-long hangover. After that you hadn't had any alcohol for nearly three months.
"You don't want to listen to me complaining about my sore head," you pout, twirling the straw.
Yoongi laughs, taking your free hand in his and stroking small circles on your palm. "I don't want to see you with a sore head."
"Should we go and find Jimin before we go?" you stand on your tip-toes, trying to spot your friend in the crowd.
"He's with Hoseok and Taehyung," Yoongi shows you his phone, a blurry selfie of the three of them on the screen. "I let them know we're leaving."
"Tell them to let us know when they're home safe," you poke at the screen, words slightly slurred. You're starting to feel the alcohol now.
Yoongi agrees, arm around your waist as he helps you out to the waiting uber.
"You never get drunk as quickly as I do," you whine, almost twisting your ankle because of your stupid heels. You try to rip them off right there in the street, but Yoongi stops you.
You wrestle yourselves into the back of the car, the driver singing some eighties pop song as he starts the engine.
"I'm not as much of a lightweight," Yoongi comments.
You sigh, slumping against his side. "You had shots too."
"I did," Yoongi chuckles. "As many as you."
You wake up when the uber arrives at your apartment. The sky is pitch-black above you, starts twinkling in and out of sight.
Yoongi walks behind you, ready to catch you if you fall.
When the front door is open, you feel sleepiness hit you like a tonne of bricks. You wobble on your heels, trying to get to your bed.
"Come here," Yoongi lifts you effortlessly, settling you on the couch. He wraps you in one of the numerous blankets you keep in the living area, kissing your nose as you yawn. "I'll go get you some more water."
"Love you, Yoongi," you mumble, already falling asleep.
Yoongi turns mid-step, looking back at you over his shoulder with a fond smile. "Love you too, baby."
do not repost, translate or use my work without my permission or consent. all work is my own and created without the use of ai in any form. I do not claim to be affiliated with bts, these stories are fiction, entirely for entertainment ~ banners by @/dividers-are-us
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