#engineer hoseok

[jungkoode]

Command Strings

→ PAIRING : Iron Man!Hoseok x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: November 1st, 2025.

→ CS index post / masterlist.

→ SUMMARY : You’re a grad student working at a coffee shop near campus when you start noticing a pattern: Jung Hoseok—billionaire, tech genius, and literal Iron Man—has become a regular. He orders the same americano, sits in the same corner, and listens to you ramble about superhero theory like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. You tell yourself he’s just being polite, because the alternative means admitting that maybe Iron Man doesn’t just come for the coffee. Maybe he comes for you. (LMAO does he come.)

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, grad student au, coffee shop au, iron man au, captain korea is namjoon, spider-man is jungkook, korean setting, university setting, rom-com chaos, mutual pining, hoseok is a disaster in a tom ford suit, reader is oblivious as hell, namjoon fucked his ex while wearing the suit (yes really), excessive coffee drinking, superhero banter as stress relief, FRIDAY is the real MVP, elevator malfunctions, stuck in elevator, elevator sex, semi-public sex, first time together, dry humping, grinding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, coming inside, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, cum eating, hoseok eats his own cum out of you (yes that happens), praise kink, mild embarrassment kink, premature ejaculation (but make it cute), hoseok has been waiting MONTHS for this, explicit consent, soft dom hoseok, reader rambles when nervous, excessive use of the word ‘geumsa’ (golden thread), cushion arranging as a love language, FRIDAY cockblocking and then un-cockblocking, robots throwing tantrums mid-battle because heroes won’t pay attention to them, namjoon’s terrible texting skills, found family dynamics, the most expensive coffee shop visits in history.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 17.2k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first official attempt at writing a romcom, which is WILD because anyone who knows my work knows I’m psychologically incapable of not traumatizing my characters. My little psychology-lover heart just wants everyone to suffer beautifully, but I promised myself I’d try something light for once! 🌟 And honestly? I LOVED how stupidly adoring this came out. Hoseok is a simp in a $10k suit and I’m obsessed with him. Reader is me every time I try to have a normal conversation and end up lecturing people about leadership theory. FRIDAY (yes, FRIDAY, not JARVIS—she’s a woman here and she does NOT let Hobi breathe) is the real hero of this story. Also that robot in scene 2 that’s just demolishing buildings because our boys are too busy arguing about their love lives? Peak comedy. If you enjoy watching competent people become absolute MESSES when they catch feelings, this is for you. Fair warning: there’s elevator sex. Extremely detailed elevator sex. I have no excuse except that I’m weak for confined spaces and emotional desperation. Sorry (but not really). Hope you enjoy this catastrophe! ✨

Edit: Also yes, I gave Hoseok a dead childhood best friend named Friday as his emotional anchor because apparently I CAN’T write anything without at least a LITTLE trauma. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. (ᵕ—ᴗ—) And apparently, it is through this fic that I find out there's a length limit on Tumblr so... Yeah. Yeah it cuts at Hobi saying "Impeccable timing" and impeccable timing indeed. So part 2 in the reblogs I guess?

“Please stop talking about him.”

Okay, so that maaaaaay have slipped a bit rougher than he intended, because the way you freeze mid-gesture—coffee pot suspended in air, eyes wide with surprise—almost makes him wince. Almost.

And yeah, immediately he’s thinking ‘smooth, Hoseok, really smooth’, because this isn’t exactly his usual MO.

Jung Hoseok doesn’t snap at people, especially not at you, the ridiculously adorable barista who’s somehow managed to become the best part of his increasingly chaotic superhero-slash-CEO existence.

But honestly? If he has to sit through one more lovingly detailed breakdown of Kim Namjoon’s ‘incredible leadership presence’ and ‘flawless shield technique,’ he’s going to lose what’s left of his sanity.

Which, granted, wasn’t that much to begin with.

“I—sorry,” you stammer, setting the coffee pot down with the kind of movement that suggests you’re rattled. “I didn’t mean to ramble again. I know you probably don’t care about superhero stuff—”

“It’s not that.”

He drags a hand through his hair, mentally kicking himself for being such an idiot.

Because here’s the thing—he does care about superhero stuff. Kind of hard not to when you literally are one. He lives it, breathes it, gets punched in the face by it on a semi-regular basis.

But listening to you wax poetic about his teammate—his friend—with actual literal stars in your eyes while he’s sitting right here, Jung Hoseok, also known as Iron Man, nursing his third americano and trying to work up the nerve to ask you out?

Yeah, that’s a special kind of torture. The ironic kind. His favorite.

You’re looking at him with those ridiculously expressive eyes—seriously, it should be illegal how much emotion you can pack into one look—and that little crease of concern between your brows that makes him want to smooth it away with his thumb.

And just like that, his irritation dissolves faster than sugar in hot coffee.

This is why he keeps coming back to this tiny shop in Sinchon, wedged between a bookstore and a ramen place, despite having coffee machines in his penthouse that probably cost more than your monthly rent.

It’s not really about the coffee—though you do make a damn good americano.

It’s about the way you practically glow when you get excited about something. It’s about how you remember his order down to the extra shot on Mondays and the switch to decaf after six because apparently you’ve noticed he gets ‘too bouncy’ with caffeine late in the day.

(And listen, yes, he’d been offended by the ‘bouncy’ comment for exactly thirty seconds before realizing it was actually kind of endearing.)

It’s about the genuine interest in your voice when you ask how his day went, like you actually give a damn about the answer.

It’s about you, and he’s been way too chicken to do anything substantial about it.

“Your americano,” you say softly, sliding the cup across the counter.

Your fingers brush his as he takes it, and he wonders if you notice the way his breath catches, the slight tremor in his hands that has nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal and everything to do with the simple touch of your skin against his.

“Thank you.”

He takes a sip, buying himself time to figure out how to salvage this conversation.

The coffee is perfect, as always—bold and smooth with just a hint of sweetness that somehow captures your personality in liquid form.

“I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a long week.”

You shake your head, ponytail doing that swishy thing that’s definitely too cute for his cardiovascular health.

“No, I totally get it. I do talk way too much about… well, everything really. My friends are constantly telling me I need to learn when to stop.” You laugh, but there’s something self-conscious about it that makes his chest do this uncomfortable tightening thing. “Occupational hazard of spending too much time with academic papers and superhero documentaries, I guess.”

“You don’t talk too much,” he says, and wow, okay, that came out way more sincere than he was planning. “I actually like listening to you.”

There. Cards on the table.

Well, some of them anyway.

And there it is—that blush that starts at your cheeks and works its way down your neck like watercolor paint.

You duck your head, suddenly finding the spotless counter absolutely fascinating.

He wants to bite his own knuckles.

“That’s… really sweet of you to say. Most people’s eyes glaze over the second I mention leadership theory and tactical analysis.” You peek up at him through your lashes in a way that should probably be classified as a weapon. “I’m doing my master’s thesis on modern heroism and public influence. Super riveting stuff, I’m sure.”

“Are you kidding? It’s not boring at all.”

And honestly? If only you knew how many times your random observations about public responsibility and the psychology of hope have popped into his head during missions. How your academic theories have actually influenced some of his decisions in the suit.

“Your whole analysis about superhero visibility and social cohesion was brilliant.”

Your eyes go wide. “You actually remember that?”

“I remember pretty much everything you tell me.”

Aaaand there goes his mouth again, running ahead of his brain.

But the way you’re looking at him now—like he just said something genuinely surprising instead of mildly stalkerish—makes it worth the temporary panic attack.

Maybe you’re thinking about how Iron Man probably has better things to do than listen to graduate student theories about superhero psychology.

Maybe you’re wondering why he keeps coming back here instead of getting coffee delivered to his fancy penthouse like a normal rich superhero would.

But then you get this soft, wondering expression that has absolutely nothing to do with his suit or his public persona and everything to do with the fact that maybe, possibly, hopefully, Jung Hoseok the regular guy is just as interesting to you as Iron Man the hero.

“That’s…” you bite your lip—a habit he’s definitely noticed and definitely filed away under ‘things that are adorable and slightly distracting’—“no one’s ever told me that before.”

And okay, that physically hurts to hear. Like, actual chest pain.

How is that even possible? How can someone as brilliant and passionate and genuinely good as you be surrounded by people who don’t appreciate the way your mind works?

“Then they’re all idiots,” he says, rougher than he means to.

Your blush deepens, spreading down your neck in a way that makes him think some very unprofessional thoughts about tracing that path with his fingertips.

“Hoseok…”

The way you say his name—all soft and uncertain and maybe, just maybe, a little hopeful—does things to him that should probably require a medical consultation.

This is it. This is the moment where a normal person would ask you out. Where he’d suggest dinner somewhere that doesn’t involve a counter between you and the weird professional distance of customer-and-barista. Where he’d finally grow a pair and—

His phone buzzes against his thigh. That specific pattern that means Namjoon is calling with something urgent. Something that probably requires Iron Man’s immediate attention and completely terrible timing.

Of course. Of course.

Because apparently the universe has a sense of humor, and that sense of humor involves his teammate cockblocking him at every possible opportunity.

Even when said teammate has no idea he’s doing it.

“I should probably…” He pulls out his phone, confirming Namjoon’s name on the screen with a mental string of profanity that would make his mother wash his mouth out with soap.

“Of course!” You step back, and he doesn’t miss how quickly that polite smile slides back into place. “I should let you get back to your day anyway. I’ve probably kept you here long enough with all my superhero rambling.”

“Hey, no—I told you I don’t mind—”

“Hoseok-ssi?” Namjoon’s voice crackles through the speaker, tinny and urgent. “We need Iron Man. There’s a situation in Gangnam—”

He lifts the phone to his ear so fast he probably looks like he’s swatting a fly. “Yeah. On my way.”

When he hangs up, you’re already helping another customer, but you catch his eye and give him this little wave that’s somehow both casual and melancholy.

He wants to say something—wants to finish what felt like the beginning of something important—but duty calls.

Literally.

As he heads for the door, he can hear you laughing at something the next customer says—bright and genuine and utterly captivating.

He pauses with his hand on the door handle, looking back one more time.

Fucking Namjoon and his stupid spectacular timing. He’ll shove his foot up his ass later.

But first? First he’s got to go save Seoul.

Again.

Honestly, Hoseok’s pretty sure this is the most ridiculous conversation he’s ever had while actively getting shot at by laser cannons.

“So,” Namjoon grunts, deflecting another energy blast with his shield before hurling it at the oversized robot currently trying to level half of Gangnam District. “How’s your coffee shop girl doing?”

Hoseok pauses mid-flight, nearly getting clipped by a stray laser beam.

“Are you seriously asking me about my love life right now?” He fires off a repulsor blast that takes out two of the smaller drones buzzing around the main threat. “We’re literally in the middle of preventing Seoul from becoming a crater.”

"I'm just asking!" There's that insufferably reasonable tone that Namjoon uses when he's being deliberately obtuse. "You've been going there for what, three months now? Same girl, same order, same dopey expression every time you come back from—"

"I do not have a dopey expression."

"You have the dopiest expression. Jin said you look like a golden retriever who's been told he's a good boy."

Hoseok wobbles in the air. "Jin said what now?"

"Focus, Iron Man." But he can hear the grin in Namjoon's voice even as he's launching himself through the air with enough force to dent the robot's thorax. "I'm just saying, maybe you should actually ask her out instead of pining dramatically over your americanos."

"I don't pine dramatically."

"You absolutely pine dramatically. It's like watching a K-drama in real time."

“I do not—and by the way how do you even know about her?”

“Well. FRIDAY mentioned you've been asking her to look up 'best gift flowers for graduate students' and 'how to ask someone out without seeming like a creepy rich guy.'"

Oh, he's going to have words with his AI when they get back. Possibly involving some creative reprogramming.

“FRIDAY needs to learn about privacy settings, clearly.”

"She's worried about your mental health. Apparently you've been pacing around the workshop muttering about 'academic brilliance' and 'the way she bites her lip when she's thinking.'"

"I'm going to murder you."

The robot chooses this moment to release what appears to be some kind of sonic screech that rattles every window in a three-block radius, which honestly is perfect timing because it drowns out the string of profanity that Hoseok definitely shouldn't be saying in public while wearing the suit.

"Anyway," Namjoon continues conversationally, as if they're not currently trying to prevent a giant robot from turning Gangnam into a pile of rubble, "she seems sweet. Really enthusiastic about superhero theory, from what you've mentioned. Actually listens when you talk about your work without getting all weird about the celebrity thing."

"Yeah, she's great," he says slowly, nailing the robot with a concentrated blast that finally seems to do some actual damage. "Really smart. Has this whole theory about leadership dynamics in crisis situations that's actually pretty brilliant when you think about it.”

“She sounds really passionate about her research.” There’s something almost fond in Namjoon’s voice that makes Hoseok’s eye twitch.

“Yeah, well, she’s passionate about a lot of things.” Hoseok takes aim at the robot’s power core, charging up his chest piece. “Unfortunately, most of those things involve gushing about Captain Korea’s ‘incredible tactical mind’ and ‘inspiring leadership qualities.’”

He fires, and the blast connects perfectly, sending the robot staggering backward into a conveniently empty building.

“She talks about me?”

And okay, now Namjoon sounds genuinely pleased, which is just fantastic for Hoseok’s blood pressure.

“Oh, she talks about you alright.” Hoseok lands on a nearby rooftop, already calculating the best angle for his next attack. “Just yesterday she spent twenty minutes explaining your shield trajectory physics to me like I don’t have three degrees in engineering. Apparently your ‘intuitive understanding of aerodynamics’ is ‘absolutely fascinating from an academic standpoint.’”

“That’s actually pretty insightful—”

“I swear to God, Namjoon, if you start getting a ego boost from this I will personally reprogram my suit to electrocute you every time you touch that shield.”

Namjoon’s laugh crackles through the comm as he leaps from building to building, pursuing the robot as it tries to retreat. “I think it’s cute that she’s so enthusiastic about superhero theory. Most people just see the flashy stuff.”

“Cute.” Hoseok’s repulsors whine as they charge up again. “Yeah, it’s real cute watching the girl you’re trying to ask out spend forty-five minutes analyzing another guy’s combat techniques while you’re sitting right there.”

“You still haven’t asked her out?”

“It’s complicated!” Hoseok dives after the robot, which has apparently decided that fleeing toward the Han River is a brilliant strategy. “Every time I work up the nerve, she starts talking about you, and then I remember that I’m competing with Captain fucking Korea for her attention, and it’s just—”

“Language.”

“—incredibly frustrating because she obviously has a type and that type is apparently ‘noble leader with a shield’ not ‘sarcastic genius with abandonment issues.’”

The robot takes a swing at Hoseok with one massive mechanical arm, and he barely dodges in time. The wind from the near-miss sends him spinning, and he has to fire his stabilizers to avoid crashing into a bridge support.

“You know,” Namjoon says, sounding way too casual as he sprints along the riverbank below, “you could always just tell her how you feel. Worst case scenario, she says no and you move on.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about dating complications.” Hoseok circles around behind the robot and starts targeting its joints. “Must be nice having your whole mysterious secret identity thing going on. No messy personal entanglements.”

There’s a pause.

A longer pause than usual, which is weird because Namjoon’s normally quick with the self-deprecating humor when Hoseok brings up his commitment to keeping his Captain Korea identity separate from Kim Namjoon the museum curator.

“Right,” Namjoon says finally. “No complications.”

Something about his tone makes Hoseok glance down at him.

Even from this distance, he can see the tension in Namjoon’s shoulders that has nothing to do with the giant robot they’re fighting.

“Actually,” Hoseok continues, because apparently he has a death wish today, “speaking of complications, how’s that journalist you’ve been not-talking about? The one who keeps requesting interviews with Captain Korea through official channels?”

And there it is. Dead silence on the comm.

Hoseok knows he’s hit a nerve because Namjoon usually deflects personal questions with some variation of “focus on the mission, Hoseok” or “my private life is private for a reason.”

The fact that he’s not saying anything at all is basically a flashing neon sign that says ‘EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY DETECTED.’

“Oh no,” Hoseok says, slowing his pursuit of the robot as pieces start clicking together in his brain. “Oh no no no no.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Namjoon’s voice cracks slightly.

“You met her, didn’t you.” It’s not a question.

More silence.

“Oh my fucking God, you absolute fucking disa—”

“She was at Seokjin’s party, okay?” Namjoon’s words come out in a rush, like he’s ripping off a bandaid. “And she looked so, so, so pretty, Hoseok. She was wearing a blue dress, a BLUE dress, do you know what that does to a man?”

“—ster, Jesus fucking Christ, how many times do I have to tell you that exes are exes for a reason and—”

“Like, blue is one of my literal colors, it was fate, definitely has to be fate.” Namjoon’s voice gets soft and wistful in a way that makes Hoseok want to crash his suit directly into the nearest building. “She’s always been pretty, but after so many years you don’t understand how pretty—”

“—I cannot believe you would—wait, what?” Hoseok nearly flies into a street lamp. “Many years? How long were you two together?”

“Two years. We broke up right before I became Captain Korea because I couldn’t figure out how to balance everything and I thought it was better to end things than lie to her constantly and—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Namjoon—”

“—and she needed help with interviewing Captain Korea, so I said ‘sure, I can help you with that’ because I AM Captain Korea, obviously, but she doesn’t know that, so I had to…”

Hoseok’s brain stutters to a complete halt. “You WHAT?”

“…I had to say that I kind of… work with him? And that maybe I could talk him into doing an interview and…”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘AND’? THERE’S MORE?!”

The robot, apparently tired of being ignored, chooses this moment to fire a massive energy beam directly at the bridge they’re fighting near.

Hoseok barely manages to deflect it with his repulsors, sending the beam harmlessly into the river where it creates a spectacular explosion of steam.

“Focus, guys!” Namjoon calls out, but his voice is strained in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.

“Don’t you dare ‘focus guys’ out of the subject!” Hoseok swoops down and grabs Namjoon around the waist, lifting them both to a safer vantage point on top of a nearby skyscraper. “Finish the story!”

“I… I did the interview.” Namjoon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “And I might or might not have… slept with her.”

“YOU FUCKED YOUR EX?!”

“Language!”

“Oh my God, that is literally in the rule book of keeping superhero identities separate! Why would you sleep with your ex, you absolute—”

“No, wait!” Namjoon holds up his hands defensively. “I didn’t sleep with her as Namjoon. I slept with her as Captain Korea. I didn’t… I didn’t take off the mask. Or much of the outfit, for that matter.”

Hoseok stares at him.

Just… stares.

Because there’s no fucking way he heard that correctly.

There’s no way his best friend, his partner, the most responsible and rule-following person he’s ever met, just told him that he had masked superhero sex with his ex-girlfriend who has no idea it was actually him.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says slowly, “but did you just tell me that you catfish-fucked your ex-girlfriend with your own secret identity?”

“It’s not catfishing if it’s technically still me!”

“IT’S DEFINITELY CATFISHING!”

Below them, the robot has apparently given up on whatever its original plan was and is now just smashing things at random, probably frustrated by the lack of attention it’s been getting.

A few police helicopters are circling at a safe distance, and Hoseok can see news vans setting up on nearby streets.

“We should probably—” Namjoon starts.

“Oh no, we’re not done here.” Hoseok crosses his arms and hovers in place, using his suit’s systems to maintain position. “Let me get this straight. Your ex-girlfriend, who you’ve been pining over for three years, shows up asking for an interview with Captain Korea. So instead of either refusing or coming clean about your identity, you decide the best course of action is to pretend to be a middle-man, set up a fake interview, and then have anonymous superhero sex with her?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds really bad.”

“IT IS REALLY BAD! It’s insane! It’s the kind of thing that happens in really terrible romantic comedies!” Hoseok starts pacing back and forth in mid-air. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I missed her!” Namjoon’s voice cracks again. “I was thinking that she looked beautiful and sad and I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t do it as myself because then she’d ask questions about why I disappeared, and I can’t tell her the truth because of the whole secret identity thing, but as Captain Korea I could be there for her without any of the baggage…”

“That’s…” Hoseok pauses his pacing. “That’s actually really fucked up, Joon.”

“I know.”

“Like, really, really fucked up.”

“I know!”

“She thinks she slept with a stranger!”

“I KNOW!”

A chunk of debris flies past them as the robot continues its rampage below. Hoseok absently blasts it out of the air before it can hit a news helicopter.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, we’re going to table this conversation because we have a job to do. But after we stop this thing from turning Seoul into a parking lot, we’re going to have a very serious discussion about your complete and utter lack of judgment.”

“That’s fair.”

“And you’re going to figure out how to fix this situation without completely destroying this poor woman’s life.”

“Also fair.”

“And you’re buying me coffee for a week because listening to this story has taken years off my life and I need caffeine to cope.”

“…can we get it from August Coffee shop?”

Hoseok turns to stare at him again. “Are you seriously trying to use your romantic disaster as an excuse to meet my coffee shop crush?”

“I’m just saying, if I’m buying coffee anyway…”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“Language!”

“I’m going to murder you in a very family-friendly way!”

The robot must really dislike being ignored because it now lets out a mechanical roar and starts charging directly toward their building.

Hoseok sighs and powers up his repulsors.

“We’re finishing this conversation later,” he warns as they leap back into action.

“Looking forward to it,” Namjoon says, but there’s relief in his voice that suggests he’s actually grateful to have someone to talk to about his monumentally stupid decision.

Hoseok makes a mental note to call Yoongi after this fight is over.

If anyone can help him figure out how to unfuck Namjoon’s romantic life, it’s their resident genius hacker who’s seen every possible way superhero secret identities can go wrong.

He’s also making a mental note to never, ever tell you about this conversation.

Because if you find out that Captain Korea is not only taken but also potentially a manipulative disaster when it comes to relationships, Hoseok might actually have a chance.

Which makes him feel guilty about feeling hopeful, but honestly? After listening to Namjoon’s confession, Hoseok’s pretty sure his own romantic problems are significantly less complicated.

At least when he finally works up the courage to ask you out, he’ll be doing it as himself.

You’re pretty sure this is the best day of your entire academic career, and that’s including the time your thesis advisor actually said “good work” instead of just circling everything in red pen.

Because right now, right here in August Coffee after closing time, you’re having an actual conversation with Captain Korea. THE Captain Korea. The man whose leadership theories you’ve been analyzing for months, whose shield techniques you’ve probably watched on YouTube more times than is socially acceptable, and who is currently sitting across from you looking even more impossibly heroic in person than he does on television.

Well, what you can see of him anyway. The mask covers most of his face, leaving only his mouth visible, but somehow he still manages to look like he stepped off a propaganda poster.

“—and that’s exactly what I mean about your tactical adaptability!” you’re saying, gesturing so enthusiastically with your hands that you nearly knock over the coffee you just made for Hoseok, who is currently face-down on one of the corner tables like he’s given up on life entirely. “The way you adjusted your strategy during the Gangnam incident last week—switching from offensive to defensive positioning when you realized the civilians needed evacuation routes—that’s such good situational leadership theory, but applied in real-time under pressure, which is just incredible!”

Captain Korea gives you this smile—or at least, you think he’s smiling based on how his mouth curves—that’s probably caused at least twelve diplomatic incidents and three international peace treaties.

“Well, I mean…” He adjusts his mask slightly in a way that seems carefully calculated to look humble while actually being the opposite. “It’s not easy being the symbol of hope for an entire nation, you know? The responsibility, the weight of expectations… but someone has to do it.”

You nod so vigorously you’re surprised your neck doesn’t snap. “Absolutely! And the psychological pressure of maintaining that public image while making split-second decisions that could affect thousands of lives—I actually wrote a whole section in my thesis about the mental resilience required for that kind of symbolic leadership role.”

“Did you really?” His visible expression lights up in a way that suggests he’s absolutely loving this conversation, and you feel a little thrill of academic validation mixed with pure fangirl joy. “That’s fascinating. You know, not many people understand the philosophical implications—”

“Oh my god, he just fucked his ex.”

The words cut through like a knife through butter, and you freeze mid-pour, coffee pot still suspended in the air where you were about to refill Captain Korea’s cup.

The voice came from Hoseok’s corner, where he’s finally lifted his head from the table to glare at Captain Korea with an expression that could probably melt steel.

“I’m sorry, what?” you squeak, because surely you misheard.

Surely Iron Man did not just announce to the (empty but still, principles?) coffee shop that Captain Korea—Captain Korea!—had relations with someone.

“Did you just—”

“You heard me,” Hoseok says, sitting up fully now, and there’s something almost manic in his grin. “Our perfect symbol of hope and unity over here just had a very educational evening with his ex-girlfriend. While wearing the suit, I might add.”

Your brain makes a sound like a computer crashing. “While wearing the—what—how do you even—I mean, the logistics alone—”

Captain Korea’s visible skin has gone approximately the color of his shield, which is to say red, white, and blue all at once, and he’s making frantic cutting motions with his hands.

“Hoseok, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Oh no, I think we absolutely should,” Hoseok continues, and he’s definitely lost his mind because nobody talks to Captain Korea like this, except apparently Iron Man does. “Tell our friend here about how you conducted a very thorough interview. For journalism purposes. Very professional.”

“HOSEOK.”

But it’s too late, because your brain has put the pieces together—Captain Korea, journalism, ex-girlfriend, educational evening—and you’re pretty sure your worldview just shifted off its axis entirely.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD. You—she was interviewing you and you—but she didn’t know who you were so you were basically—oh my GOD this is like the plot of every fanfiction I pretend I don’t read!”

Captain Korea makes a sound like a dying whale and launches his shield directly at Hoseok’s head.

Hoseok catches it one-handed without even looking up from his coffee, which is probably the most impressive thing you’ve ever seen and also completely terrifying.

“Careful there, buddy,” he says, examining the shield like he’s checking for damage. “This thing probably costs more than most people’s cars.”

“Give that back,” Captain Korea demands, but his voice cracks a little on the word ‘back,’ which ruins the commanding effect entirely.

“What, this old thing?” Hoseok spins it on his finger like it’s a frisbee instead of a vibranium shield that could probably split a building in half. “I thought you were done using it for the evening. You know, since you were busy using other things.”

You’re still trying to process this entire conversation when your brain helpfully supplies you with an even more disturbing parallel.

“Oh god, this is like Spider-Man all over again.”

Both men freeze and stare at you.

“What?” Hoseok asks slowly.

“Spider-Man! He comes in here all the time—well, not all the time, but regularly enough that I know his coffee order, which is complicated because he orders it through the mask so it’s all muffled, but he always gets the same thing—and he’s always hanging around that journalism student who comes in to study.”

You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop because this is actually important information that they need to understand.

“Literally hanging. From the ceiling sometimes. It’s adorable, he calls her ‘noona’even though nobody knows how old he actually is under the mask, and she just sits there typing away on her laptop while he hovers upside-down asking if she needs anything and—” You stop, realizing both superheroes are staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What?”

Hoseok sets Captain Korea’s shield down on the table with a very deliberate clink.

“So let me get this straight. Spider-Man also has a thing for journalism students?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know if it’s a thing exactly, but he definitely spends a lot of time making sure she’s comfortable and bringing her snacks and asking about her articles, and last week he actually hung a little web banner over her table that said ‘Fighting for truth and justice!’ which was honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and—” You pause again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” Hoseok says, but his voice has taken on a very dangerous tone. “Just seems like there’s a pattern here. Superheroes and journalist women. Very interesting pattern.”

Captain Korea has buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“This is karma,” Hoseok corrects. “This is what happens when you don’t listen to your teammates’ very reasonable advice about keeping your personal life separate from your superhero life.”

“You’re one to talk! You’ve been mooning over—”

“Geumsa,” Hoseok interrupts, turning to face you directly, and you feel your cheeks warm at the nickname he’s started using recently. “Maybe you could make us some more coffee? This seems like a conversation that’s going to require a lot of caffeine.”

Captain Korea’s head snaps up. “Wait, hold up. Geumsa? You have a nickname for her?”

Your hand automatically goes to touch the golden thread holding your ponytail in place, and you can feel your face getting redder by the second.

You turn your head slightly, pointing bashfully at the golden bow securing your hair, because that’s why he started you calling you that in the first place.

Golden thread.

“It’s just… the thread. I always wear it when I work, so…”

Captain Korea looks between you and Hoseok, and even with the mask covering most of his expression, you can tell he’s grinning.

“Oh. Okay, that’s actually really sweet—”

The shield goes flying again, this time with considerably more force.

Captain Korea barely dodges it, and the shield embeds itself in the wall behind him with a solid thunk.

“HOSEOK!”

“That’s what you get for being smug,” Hoseok says, completely unrepentant. “And before you say anything, yes, it’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because I’m not sleeping with her while pretending to be someone else!”

You’re pretty sure your brain has officially given up trying to process this conversation, because now you’re just standing there holding a coffee pot, watching Iron Man and Captain Korea bicker like an old married couple about their respective love lives.

This is definitely not how you imagined your first real conversation with Captain Korea would go.

“Um,” you say, raising your hand tentatively like you’re in class. “Should I… make more coffee?”

Both men turn to look at you, and for a moment, the coffee shop is completely silent.

Then…

“Yes,” Hoseok says finally. “Make a lot more coffee. And maybe something stronger.”

“I don’t have anything stronger. This is a coffee shop, not a bar.”

“Then make the coffee stronger.”

“I can do that.” You pause, looking between them. “Are you two going to be okay? Because I feel like I just witnessed something that’s either going to end in friendship or homicide, and I’m not qualified to deal with either of those outcomes.”

Captain Korea makes another whale noise. “I think I need to go home and rethink my life choices.”

“Good idea,” Hoseok says, getting up to retrieve the shield from the wall. “Maybe start with the choice to have emotional conversations while wearing a patriotic costume.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Never. I’m going to bring this up at every team meeting for the rest of our natural lives.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cap.”

You’re pretty sure you’re witnessing the natural habitat behavior of superheroes, and it’s simultaneously more and less dramatic than you expected.

“Also,” you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently of your brain’s better judgment. “Can I ask how you two know each other, or is that classified information?”

They both stare at you again.

“We work together,” Hoseok says slowly.

“Teammates,” Captain Korea adds.

“Right. Of course. That makes sense.”

It doesn’t make sense at all, actually, because you’re pretty sure Iron Man is more of a solo act while Captain Korea works with the government, but you’ve learned enough today to know when not to push for details.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re both doing great work. You know, saving the city and all that.”

“Thanks,” they say in unison, and then glare at each other for the synchronization.

“Okay,” you continue, because apparently you’re committed to this awkward conversation now. “I’m going to make that coffee, and you two are going to figure out whatever… this… is. And maybe next time, we can discuss superhero theory without any shocking personal revelations?”

“Deal,” Captain Korea says quickly.

“No promises,” Hoseok adds, because of course he does.

As you turn back to the espresso machine, you can hear them starting to bicker again behind you, something about proper disclosure and emotional maturity and the ethics of costumed dating, and you can’t help but smile a little.

Because this is your life now, apparently. Making coffee for superheroes while they have relationship drama in your shop after hours.

You could probably write a whole thesis about this too.

And maybe you could—

The thought hits you like a repulsor blast to the face, and you nearly drop the espresso portafilter.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” both superheroes say in unison, and then glare at each other again.

You whirl around, abandoning the coffee machine to face them with what you’re sure is an absolutely manic expression.

“My thesis. My research. You two—you’re perfect.”

Captain Korea shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

“No, listen!” You’re gesturing wildly now, academic excitement overriding your starstruck nervousness. “I’ve been analyzing superhero leadership from media coverage and public statements, but that’s all external observation. Secondary sources. But you two actually do this—the teamwork, the decision-making under pressure, the tactical planning—”

“Geumsa,” Hoseok interrupts, and there’s something careful in his voice. Something that sounds almost… hopeful? “Are you saying you want to study us?”

“Not study exactly, that sounds weird and creepy, but—” You pause, trying to organize your thoughts into something coherent instead of the excited word-vomit currently happening. “Research? Observe? Get a behind-the-scenes understanding of how superhero collaboration actually works?”

There’s a long moment of silence.

Captain Korea looks at Hoseok.

Hoseok looks at Captain Korea.

Some sort of silent communication happens that you absolutely cannot parse.

“That,” Hoseok says slowly, “is actually a really interesting idea.”

“It is?” you and Captain Korea say at the same time.

“Sure.” Hoseok leans back in his chair with the kind of calculated casualness that probably looks natural to most people but somehow feels deliberate. “We could help you out. Show you some footage, maybe walk you through some of our tactical models. Give you that primary source material you need.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course. Always happy to contribute to academic research.” He’s smiling now, that confident Iron Man smile that makes headlines. “Why don’t you come by my place tomorrow? After your shift. We can set up a proper research session.”

“Why would we—” Captain Korea starts.

“Shut up,” Hoseok says pleasantly.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, shut up, of course we’d love to help.” Hoseok’s grin has taken on a slightly manic quality. “It’s important work. Educational. Beneficial for everyone involved.”

Captain Korea tilts his head, and you can practically see him trying to figure out what game Hoseok is playing.

“I don’t think I can make it tomorrow, actually. I have a—”

“With us!” Hoseok says brightly, kicking something under the table that makes Captain Korea grunt. “You have plans with us. The three of us. Working together. On this very important research project.”

“I really don’t think—”

“He’s very enthusiastic about it,” Hoseok continues, his smile never wavering. “Aren’t you enthusiastic about it?”

There’s another beat of silence where Captain Korea seems to be running through several different responses in his head.

“Sure,” he finally says, voice flat. “Enthusiastic. That’s… Yeah. That’s me.”

You’re too excited to notice the weird tension between them.

“This is amazing! I can’t believe—I mean, the primary source access alone will be incredible for my thesis, and getting to see actual tactical models and decision-making processes—” You stop, a horrible thought occurring to you. “Wait, is this classified? Am I going to have to sign an NDA? Because I can do that, I just need to make sure my advisor is okay with—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok says, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle the logistics. You just focus on your research.”

He pulls out his phone—not the fancy Iron Man gauntlet interface you’ve seen in videos, just a regular phone—and types something quickly.

“I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow. What time do you finish your shift?”

“A car?” Your brain is struggling to keep up. “You don’t have to—I can take the subway, it’s really not a problem—”

“Nonsense. You’re doing us a favor by including us in your research.” He looks up from his phone, and there’s something warm in his expression that makes your stomach do a weird little flip. “What time, Geumsa?”

“Um. Six? I close at six.”

“Perfect. Car will be there at six-fifteen.” He goes back to typing. “Wear something comfortable. We might be going through footage for a while.”

“This is really happening,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I’m going to be doing primary research with Iron Man and Captain Korea. I should probably prepare questions, right? And bring my laptop? Oh god, I need to charge my laptop—”

“Breathe,” Hoseok says, and his voice is gentle enough that you actually do. “Just bring yourself and whatever you need to take notes. We’ll provide everything else.”

“Okay. Okay.” You press your hands to your cheeks, trying to cool the flush you can feel spreading. “This is the best day of my entire life.”

“Better than meeting Captain Korea?” Hoseok asks, and there’s something odd in his tone that you can’t quite identify.

“Well, I mean—” You glance at Captain Korea, who’s watching this interaction with what you think might be amusement under his mask. “Meeting Captain Korea was incredible, obviously. But getting to actually work with both of you? Getting primary source material for my thesis? That’s—that’s career-defining. That’s going to make my advisor actually take my research seriously.”

“Your advisor doesn’t take your research seriously?” Captain Korea asks, and he sounds genuinely offended on your behalf.

“He thinks superhero studies are ‘frivolous’ and ‘lack academic rigor.’” You use air quotes for emphasis. “He only approved my thesis topic because I framed it as leadership theory with contemporary case studies.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hoseok says firmly. “Your research is brilliant. The analysis you did about public responsibility and symbolic leadership? That’s publication-worthy material.”

You blink at him, startled by the vehemence in his voice.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

There’s a moment where you just stare at each other, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Iron Man—Iron Man—thinks your research is brilliant. Thinks it’s publication-worthy.

That’s…

Captain Korea clears his throat. “So. Tomorrow. Six-fifteen.”

“Right.” You shake yourself back to reality. “I should finish making that coffee. The stronger coffee. That you asked for.”

“Probably a good idea,” Hoseok agrees, but he’s still looking at you with that expression you can’t quite read.

You turn back to the espresso machine, hands slightly shaky from excitement and caffeine and the surreal nature of your entire evening.

Behind you, you can hear the two superheroes having some sort of whispered argument.

“—know exactly what you’re doing—”

“—helping with legitimate academic research—”

“—can’t believe you’re using her thesis as an excuse to—”

“—shut up or I’m telling Spider-Man about the journalist thing—”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Try me.”

You smile to yourself as you pull the espresso shots, watching the dark liquid stream into the cups.

Tomorrow you’re going to Iron Man’s house.

Tomorrow you’re going to do actual primary research with actual superheroes.

Tomorrow is going to be the best day of your academic career.

You’re almost completely sure of it.

The coffee finishes brewing, rich and dark and strong enough to wake the dead, and you bring it over to their table with hands that are only slightly trembling.

“One extremely strong americano,” you announce, setting Hoseok’s cup down first. “And one regular coffee for Captain Korea, unless you’d like something stronger too?”

“I think I’m going to need it,” Captain Korea mutters, but he’s accepting the regular coffee anyway.

“So,” you say, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. “What exactly will we be doing tomorrow? Is it just footage review, or—”

“Footage, tactical models, maybe a demonstration if you want.” Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee and makes a satisfied sound. “Perfect as always, Geumsa. We might order dinner too—can’t do proper research on an empty stomach.”

“Dinner?” Your voice comes out squeakier than intended.

“Unless you’d rather not—”

“No! No, dinner is great. Dinner is perfect.” You’re definitely blushing now. “I just—I didn’t expect—”

“It’s the least we can do,” Hoseok says smoothly. “You’re giving up your evening for this research. Feeding you is basic hospitality.”

Captain Korea is very quiet, and when you glance at him, you could swear he’s trying not to laugh.

“Well,” you say, straightening your apron and trying to regain some composure. “I should let you two finish your coffee and your… discussion. I have closing duties to finish.”

“Of course.” Hoseok raises his cup in a small salute. “See you tomorrow, Geumsa.”

“Tomorrow,” you echo, and the word feels full of promise.

As you head back behind the counter, you catch Captain Korea leaning toward Hoseok and saying something that sounds suspiciously like “—really doing this, aren’t you—” but Hoseok just grins and takes another sip of his coffee.

You’re going to need to figure out what to wear.

And maybe reread all your thesis notes.

And definitely charge your laptop.

Hoseok adjusts the sofa cushion for the third time, realizes it looked better the second time, and moves it back.

Then he takes a step back to evaluate.

Is this trying too hard? This feels like trying too hard.

But also, leaving the cushions in their normal ‘I literally threw these here last week and haven’t thought about them since’ arrangement seems like not trying at all, which is somehow worse.

He’s wearing a suit. A suit. Not the Iron Man suit—that would be weird, even for him—but an actual Tom Ford suit that cost way too much. It’s charcoal grey, perfectly tailored, and he’d convinced himself this morning that it struck the right balance between ‘successful tech CEO’ and ‘definitely not trying to impress anyone.’

Looking at himself in the reflection of his floor-to-ceiling windows, he’s starting to think he might have miscalculated.

“FRIDAY,” he says, tugging at his collar. “Honest opinion. Is this too much?”

“For a research session with a graduate student, boss? Absolutely.”

“Thanks. Super helpful. Love the support.”

“You did ask for honesty.”

Hoseok glares at the nearest speaker. “Remind me to reprogram your sarcasm protocols.”

“You’ve been threatening that for two years now.”

“And I mean it every single time.”

He checks his watch. 

Five-forty.

The car should be picking you up in about thirty-five minutes, which means you’ll be here around six-thirty accounting for Seoul traffic. 

Which gives him just enough time to make sure everything is perfect.

Not that this needs to be perfect. Because it’s just research. Academic research. Very professional, very educational, very not-a-date.

Except he’s wearing a Tom Ford suit and he’s rearranged the cushions three times and he’s had FRIDAY order enough food to feed the entire nation because he wasn’t sure what you’d like and figured variety was the safe option.

Yeah. He’s totally fooling everyone. Especially himself.

His phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen.

Hoseok answers it immediately. “Remember, you’re not coming.”

There’s a pause. “I… know?”

“Great. Just wanted to make sure we were crystal clear on that.”

“We’ve been clear on that since you kicked me under the table last night. I have a bruise.”

“Good. Perfect. Excellent.” Hoseok moves another cushion half an inch to the left. “So you should probably say something in the group chat. Make it official.”

“The group chat that you insisted we create even though we could have just texted her individually?”

“The group chat that establishes professional boundaries and appropriate research protocols, yes.”

“Hoseok.”

“Namjoon.”

“You’re using her thesis as an excuse to have dinner with her.”

“I’m facilitating important academic research.”

“You’re wearing a suit right now, aren’t you.”

Hoseok looks down at his perfectly tailored charcoal grey Tom Ford. 

“That’s completely irrelevant to this conversation.”

“You are. Oh my god, you’re absolutely wearing a suit.”

“Some of us like to maintain professional standards—”

“Some of us are trying way too hard—”

“Just send the message, Namjoon. Tell her you can’t make it.”

“Okay, okay. What should I say?”

“I don’t know, something believable. Something that sounds like an actual emergency.”

“Like what?”

“Like—like—” Hoseok’s brain scrambles. “Like you have a government meeting! Or a training session! Or a debriefing! Literally anything that sounds official and Captain Korea-ish.”

“It’s six PM. What government meetings happen at six PM?”

“The important kind! The classified kind! The ‘symbol of national security’ kind!”

“Fine, fine. How about… ‘Hey, something came up. Won’t be able to make it tonight. Sorry!’”

Hoseok nearly drops his phone. “No. Absolutely not. That sounds like you’re blowing her off!”

“What? It’s casual and apologetic—”

“It’s lazy and suspicious! She’s going to think we’re not taking her research seriously!”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

“Something with more gravitas! More—more heroic responsibility! Like ‘Apologies, duty calls’ or ‘Unfortunately, Captain Korea is needed elsewhere’ or—”

“That sounds pretentious.”

“You’re literally a walking symbol of national pride, Namjoon, don’t talk to me about pretentious.”

“Okay, how about—” There’s a pause where Hoseok can hear typing. “What about this: ‘Really sorry, but Captain Korea duties are calling. You and Iron Man should still proceed with the research session!’”

“Yes! Perfect! Send that!”

“Sending now—”

“Wait, not the—”

His phone buzzes with a notification. Hoseok pulls up the group chat with a sense of impending doom.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝙷𝚎𝚢, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙. 𝚆𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢!

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Hoseok nearly shouts into the phone. “Oh my god, are you—you’re a complete dimwit! I literally just told you not to send that exact message!”

“You told me to send it!”

“I told you to send the SECOND version! The one with gravitas! The heroic responsibility one!”

“You said ‘send that’ and I sent!”

“Context, Namjoon! Context matters! We literally just discussed why that first message was terrible!”

“Well maybe if you’d been more clear—”

“I WAS clear! Incredibly clear! A child could have understood—”

“You know what, I’m trying to help you with your weird elaborate dinner date scheme, so maybe don’t yell at me about message clarity—”

“It’s not a dinner date, it’s RESEARCH—”

“In a SUIT—”

“—and now she’s going to think we’re not taking her seriously because you sent ‘something came up’ like you’re ditching study group!”

“I am literally ditching study group! That’s the entire point!”

“The point is to make it seem like you WANT to be there but CAN’T because of IMPORTANT HERO THINGS, not that you just forgot about a dentist appointment or whatever ‘something came up’ implies!”

There’s a long suffering sigh from Namjoon’s end. 

“You’re so lucky you’re my friend.”

“Best friend,” Hoseok corrects, still glaring at the chat. “I’m your best friend. Which means you’re supposed to be better at this.”

“Better at what? Lying to nice graduate students so you can have romantic dinners under the guise of academic research?”

“Yes! Exactly that! That’s exactly what best friends are for!”

“I think you need to reevaluate your friendship expectations.”

“I think you need to reevaluate your texting skills.”

Namjoon laughs, the bastard. “Look, it’s fine. Just—fix it. Do your smooth Iron Man thing and make it work.”

“My smooth Iron Man thing.”

“Yeah, you know. The charisma. The confidence. The thing you do where you make everyone think you’ve got everything under control even when you’re clearly panicking.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’ve rearranged the cushions, haven’t you.”

Hoseok looks at the cushion in his hand. “…No.”

“Liar. Look, just—be yourself. She already likes you.”

“She likes IRON MAN. Not Jung Hoseok.”

“Pretty sure she likes the guy who listens to her thesis ideas and remembers her coffee theories and came up with a nickname based on her work uniform. That’s Jung Hoseok, not Iron Man.”

Hoseok is quiet for a moment, staring at his reflection in the window.

“When did you become the emotionally intelligent one?”

“Someone has to balance out your disaster energy. Now stop arguing with me and go be charming.”

“I’m always charming.”

“Sure you are, buddy. Good luck. Try not to make a complete fool of yourself.”

“No promises.”

Namjoon laughs again and hangs up.

Hoseok looks back at the chat. Sure enough, the dots are appearing.

𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐚: 𝙾𝚑 𝚗𝚘! 𝙸𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢?

He watches as Namjoon types, probably trying to salvage his terrible first message.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏. 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜.

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚠𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍

𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐚: 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎? 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚠…

Hoseok’s fingers fly across the keyboard.

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙲𝚊𝚙 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠𝚜.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍!

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚗

𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐚: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢! 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜!

𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐚: 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝚂𝚎𝚎? 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝚄𝚑 𝚑𝚞𝚑

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐬: 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 “𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑”

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧: 𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜

Hoseok sets his phone down and looks around the penthouse one more time.

The cushions are arranged. The food is ordered. The suit is… well, the suit is staying on because changing now would just be admitting that Namjoon was right, and that’s not happening.

His reflection in the window shows a man who is definitely, absolutely, completely not nervous about spending the evening alone with the cute barista who makes perfect coffee and has the most brilliant mind he’s encountered in years and looks at him like Jung Hoseok is interesting instead of just Iron Man being famous.

“FRIDAY, dim the lights a bit. Not too much—we need proper visibility for research purposes—but maybe like, fifteen percent?”

“Mood lighting for academic purposes, boss?”

“I will reprogram you.”

“You always say that.”

“And one day I’ll actually do it.”

“Sure you will. Dimming lights by fifteen percent.”

The penthouse takes on a softer glow, and okay, yeah, it does look better. More comfortable. Less ‘sterile tech CEO office’ and more ‘welcoming research space.’

Totally professional. Completely academic.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss?”

“If at any point tonight I start to make a complete fool of myself, feel free to create a distraction.”

“Boss, with all due respect, I’ve been doing that since I was installed.”

“…Fair point.”

Hoseok tugs at his collar again, straightens his tie, and tries to remember how to act like a normal human being around someone he definitely isn’t developing feelings for.

This is fine. This is going to be fine.

It’s just research.

In a Tom Ford suit.

With mood lighting.

And enough food to feed the entire nation.

“I’m an idiot,” he mutters.

“Just now figuring that out, boss?”

“FRIDAY.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Play something. Background music. Something that says ‘professional research environment’ but also ‘I have excellent taste and am very sophisticated.’”

“Ah yes, the ‘definitely not a date’ playlist you’ve been curating.”

“I—” Hoseok stops. “Okay, first of all, that’s not what it’s called.”

“You’re absolutely right. It’s labeled ‘Background Music For Research Sessions (Professional).’”

“…Just play it.”

“Excellent choice, boss.”

Soft music fills the penthouse—carefully selected tracks that are interesting enough to appreciate but not intrusive enough to distract from conversation. 

Jazz, mostly. Some acoustic. Nothing too romantic, but nothing too impersonal either.

Because it’s for research.

Obviously.

Hoseok moves a cushion one more time, then forces himself to step away from the sofa before he starts a fourth round of rearranging.

He can do this.

He’s faced down alien threats and interdimensional monsters and hostile board meetings with shareholders who wanted to weaponize his technology. 

He can handle one evening with a graduate student who happens to be brilliant and beautiful and completely unaware that he’s been half in love with her since she first explained the sociological implications of superhero merchandising while making his coffee.

The cushions are perfect.

The lighting is perfect.

The music is perfect.

Now he just has to not completely screw this up.

Hoseok straightens his tie one more time and tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

It’s just research.

The doorbell chimes—because of course his penthouse has a doorbell chime that sounds like it belongs in a five-star hotel—and Hoseok’s heart does this stupid stuttering thing that would probably concern a cardiologist.

“Show time, boss,” FRIDAY says helpfully.

“Not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

He makes his way to the private elevator entrance, trying to remember how to walk like a normal person instead of someone whose knees have suddenly forgotten their primary function. Through the security camera feed on the wall panel, he can see you standing in the lobby, looking around with wide eyes and clutching your laptop bag like it’s a shield.

You’re wearing jeans and an oversized sweater that somehow makes you look softer than your coffee shop uniform does, and your hair is still tied back with that golden thread that inspired the nickname he definitely doesn’t think about too much.

Hoseok presses the button of the elevator and waits.

The secondary elevator—the one that goes to all floors—opens immediately, and he steps inside, pressing the button for the floor just below the penthouse. 

It descends smoothly, numbers ticking down on the display. 

Hoseok checks his reflection in the polished metal doors, smooths down his tie, and tries to arrange his face into something that looks welcoming and professional and definitely not like someone who spent forty-five minutes rearranging cushions.

The elevator slows.

Stops.

The doors open.

And there you are, in the lobby, eyes widening in surprise as you see him.

“Oh! Hi!” You wave, which is adorable because you’re literally ten feet away. “I was just—I’m coming up! The elevator is—it’s very nice! Very smooth! I was waiting—”

“Geumsa,” he says, and wow, okay, his voice actually sounds normal. Points for him. “Hey. I thought I’d come meet you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to—I mean, I have the floor number, and the elevator is pretty straightforward, there’s really only one button—”

“Ride up with me,” he says, because apparently his mouth has decided to just go for it.

You step into the elevator.

Hoseok presses the button for the penthouse.

The elevator starts moving.

And that’s when the lights flicker.

“Oh,” you say. “That’s—is that normal?”

“Totally normal,” Hoseok lies, at the exact same moment FRIDAY says in his nearly-invisible earpiece: “Boss, we have a problem.”

The elevator lurches.

You stumble forward with a small yelp, and Hoseok’s hands automatically reach out to steady you, catching your shoulders before you can fall. 

You’re close now—close enough that he can smell whatever shampoo you use, something light and clean that makes him think of those fancy organic stores—and your hands have landed on his chest, right over his arc reactor.

The elevator grinds to a complete stop.

The lights flicker again and then settle into emergency lighting, dimmer and somehow more intimate than the regular fluorescents.

“Okay,” you say, voice slightly higher than normal. “That seems less normal.”

“FRIDAY?” Hoseok says, trying to keep his voice level despite the fact that you’re still touching his chest and he’s still holding your shoulders and this is either the best or worst timing in the history of technology malfunctions.

“Minor power fluctuation in the building’s eastern grid,” FRIDAY responds in his ear. “Backup generators are compensating but the elevator system has automatically locked down as a safety precaution. Estimate fifteen to twenty minutes for a full system reboot.”

Fifteen to twenty minutes.

In an elevator.

With you.

In a suit that’s suddenly feeling very warm.

“So,” Hoseok says, because someone should probably say something. “This is not ideal.”

You let out a slightly hysterical laugh and step back, which should make him feel better but actually makes him miss the warmth of your hands on his chest, which is ridiculous because it’s been approximately five seconds.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you’re saying, words tumbling out in that way they do when you’re nervous. “I don’t know why I’m apologizing, it’s not like I broke the elevator, unless I did? Can a person break an elevator by stepping into it? I mean, I know I’m carrying my laptop and I had a big lunch but I don’t think I’m over the weight limit—”

“You didn’t break the elevator,” Hoseok says, and he can’t help smiling because you’re genuinely worried about whether your laptop and lunch broke his multi-million won elevator system.

“Are you sure? Because I have a lot of research files on this laptop, and I guess technically data has weight, although it’s like, negligible, we’re talking electrons and—” You stop yourself. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“I’ve noticed.” He leans back against the elevator wall, trying to project calm despite the fact that his heart is doing gymnastics. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

Your eyes go wide. “Cute?”

Oh shit. Did he say that out loud?

“I mean—informative. It’s informative. For research purposes. The way people communicate under stress is very relevant to your thesis about superhero psychology.”

Smooth. Very smooth. Namjoon would be so proud.

(Namjoon would absolutely not be proud. Namjoon would be laughing his ass off.)

“Right,” you say, and you’re blushing now, which makes the elevator feel about fifteen degrees warmer. “Research. Yes. Although technically I’m supposed to be studying your communication patterns, not the other way around.”

“Mutual observation,” Hoseok says. “Very scientific.”

“Very scientific,” you echo, and then you laugh again, a little less hysterical this time. “Okay. Okay, we’re stuck in an elevator. This is fine. This is totally fine. How long do you think—?”

“FRIDAY says fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“FRIDAY?”

“My AI,” Hoseok explains. “She runs the building systems. And also judges my life choices.”

“I do not judge, boss. I simply observe and comment.”

You look around the elevator like you’re expecting to see speakers. “Is she—can she hear us right now?”

“Unfortunately,” Hoseok mutters.

“That’s amazing! I didn’t know you had a fully integrated AI system—I mean, obviously you do, you’re Iron Man, but I thought that was mostly for the suit? Having it run your residential building is actually brilliant from a security standpoint, and the processing power required for that kind of real-time monitoring must be—” You stop again, pressing a hand to your face. “I’m doing it again. The rambling thing.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Hoseok says, and he means it. He could listen to you ramble about processing power and security systems for hours. “It’s interesting.”

“It’s nerdy.”

“I’m literally a tech CEO who builds flying suits of armor. I think I’ve cornered the market on nerdy.”

That gets a real smile out of you, and Hoseok feels a little surge of victory.

Then you shift your laptop bag on your shoulder, and the movement draws his attention to the fact that the elevator is definitely getting warmer. 

The emergency lighting isn’t helping—it’s making everything feel closer, more intimate, like the space has somehow shrunk.

You seem to notice it too, because you tug at the collar of your sweater. 

“Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?”

“Not just you,” Hoseok says, loosening his tie slightly. “Emergency power means reduced climate control.”

“Right. Of course. That makes sense.” You set your laptop bag down on the floor and fan yourself with your hand. “I’m glad I didn’t wear layers. Well, more layers. This sweater is already—” You pull at the fabric. “Do you mind if I—?”

“Go ahead,” Hoseok says, trying very hard not to think about the fact that you’re about to remove clothing in an enclosed space with him.

You pull off the oversized sweater, revealing a simple tank top underneath, and Hoseok suddenly needs to focus very intently on the elevator’s control panel.

The tank top is white. Basic. Completely innocent.

It’s also showing off your collarbones and the curve of your shoulders and the golden thread is still in your hair, catching the emergency lighting like it’s specifically designed to draw his attention.

He is in so much trouble.

“That’s better,” you say, fanning yourself again. “Sorry, I run warm when I’m nervous. Which is unfortunate because I’m nervous a lot, so I’m basically always temperature-regulating poorly, which my friends say is probably stress-related but I think it’s just—” You stop, bite your lip. “I’m rambling again.”

“I told you, I don’t mind.”

“You’re just being nice because we’re trapped in an elevator and you have to be polite.”

“I’m really not that polite,” Hoseok says, shrugging off his suit jacket because the elevator genuinely is getting warm and also because he needs something to do with his hands that isn’t reaching for you. “Ask anyone. Politeness is not my defining characteristic.”

“What is your defining characteristic?” you ask, and then immediately look like you regret the question. “Sorry, that’s—you don’t have to answer that. That’s too personal for someone you barely know.”

“You don’t barely know me,” Hoseok says, hanging his jacket on the elevator railing. “You’ve been making my coffee for three months. You know I take an extra shot on Mondays and switch to decaf after six because I get ‘too bouncy.’”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe you remember me saying that.”

“I remember everything you say.”

The words come out more intense than he intended, and suddenly the elevator feels even smaller. 

You lower your hands slowly, looking at him with those expressive eyes that always give away exactly what you’re thinking.

Right now, they’re saying you’re surprised. Flustered. 

And maybe—maybe—something else.

“I should—” you start, then seem to forget what you were going to say. “It’s really warm in here.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, because his brain has apparently decided to take a vacation and leave his mouth to fend for itself. “It really is.”

You’re both just standing there now, in the dim emergency lighting, and Hoseok notices every detail about you. 

Like the way you’re breathing slightly faster than normal, or the flush on your cheeks that might be from the heat or might be from something else, or the way your fingers are playing with the strap of your tank top.

“So,” you say, voice slightly breathless. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Give or take.”

“That’s not very long.”

“Feels long,” Hoseok says, and okay, he needs to get his brain back online because this is getting dangerous.

You bite your lip again—seriously, you need to stop doing that—and look away. “I should probably use this time productively. For research. I could—I have questions prepared. On my laptop. I could pull them up and we could start going through them?”

It’s a good idea. A sensible idea. The kind of idea that would definitely help him remember that this is supposed to be professional and not at all like a romantic comedy setup where two people get trapped in an elevator and—

“Or,” Hoseok hears himself say, “we could just talk.”

You look back at him. “Talk?”

“Yeah. Just… talk. No research. No questions. Just two people stuck in an elevator, talking.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. “Everything. Whatever you want.”

You hesitate for a moment, then slowly sink down to sit across from him, your back against the opposite wall. Your legs are crossed, and there’s maybe three feet of space between you, which feels simultaneously too much and not nearly enough.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s talk.”

And even though the elevator is too warm and you’re both stuck and this was definitely not part of his plan, Hoseok can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where he wants to be.

“So,” you say, fiddling with the hem of your tank top. “No research questions. Just… talking.”

“Just talking.”

“About anything.”

“Anything,” Hoseok confirms.

You’re quiet for a moment, and he can practically see you cycling through conversational options in your head. 

Finally, you land on: “Why did you really come to the coffee shop that first time?”

Hoseok blinks. 

Of all the questions he expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re Iron Man. Jung Hoseok. You probably have coffee machines that make better coffee than I could ever make. You could have coffee delivered. You could have a personal barista. But you came to August Coffee.” You tilt your head, curious. “Why?”

He should probably lie. 

Say something smooth about supporting local businesses or needing a change of scenery. 

But something about the way you’re looking at him—genuinely interested, no judgment—makes him want to tell the truth.

“I was avoiding a board meeting,” he admits. “Walked into the first place I saw that looked quiet. And then you asked me what I needed.”

“I’m pretty sure I asked what you wanted to order.”

“No.” Hoseok shakes his head. “You said ‘what do you need?’ Not want. Need. And I don’t know, it just—it felt different.”

You’re blushing now, which makes the elevator feel even warmer. “I always ask that. It’s just my thing. I think it sounds more personal than ‘what can I get you.’”

“It does,” Hoseok says. “That’s why I kept coming back.”

“For the personal service?”

“For you.”

The words flutter between you in the dim emergency lighting. 

Your eyes go wide, and Hoseok thinks maybe he should backtrack, make it less intense, but then you’re smiling—soft and wondering and real.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Oh.”

“I thought—” You stop, start again. “I thought you just really liked coffee.”

“I do really like coffee. But I like the person making it more.”

You press your hands to your cheeks like you can physically push away the blush. 

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes my brain stop working! I had a whole plan for tonight—questions prepared, research objectives, professional boundaries—and now we’re sitting on an elevator floor and you’re saying things that make me forget how to form coherent sentences.”

Hoseok grins. “You’re forming sentences just fine.”

“I’m rambling. That’s different. Rambling is what happens when my brain panics and just starts throwing words out hoping some of them make sense.”

“They make sense,” he says. “They always make sense to me.”

You groan and let your head fall back against the wall. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go.”

“How was it supposed to go?”

“Professional! Educational! I was going to ask you intelligent questions about tactical decision-making and leadership philosophy and maybe, if I was brave enough, mention that I think your approach to humanitarian technology is really inspiring.” You lift your head to look at him. “I was not supposed to end up trapped in an elevator having a conversation that feels like—like—”

“Like what?”

“Like it matters,” you finish quietly. “Like it’s more than just research.”

Hoseok’s heart does that stupid stuttering thing again. “What if it is?”

“More than research?”

“Yeah.”

You’re staring at him now, and he can see the exact moment you process what he’s saying. 

“But you’re—you’re Iron Man. You save people and build incredible technology and have press conferences and attend galas with people who are important and sophisticated and—”

“Boring,” Hoseok interrupts. “You forgot boring.”

“I was going to say accomplished.”

“Same thing. Trust me, those galas are terrible. Everyone talks about market shares and portfolio diversification and I spend the whole time wishing I was somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Lately? A coffee shop in Sinchon where a brilliant graduate student explains superhero psychology while making perfect americanos.”

You look like you’re trying very hard not to smile. “That’s a very specific location.”

“I’m a very specific person.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m honest,” Hoseok corrects. “FRIDAY, back me up here. Tell her I’ve been talking about her for—”

Silence.

He waits for FRIDAY’s inevitable sarcastic response, but nothing comes through his earpiece.

“FRIDAY?”

Still nothing.

“That’s weird,” he mutters, tapping his ear. “She never just stops responding.”

“Maybe the power outage affected her?”

“No, she runs on independent servers. Building power shouldn’t—” He stops. “Unless she shut herself down.”

“Can she do that?”

“Technically no. But FRIDAY is…” Hoseok trails off, remembering. “She’s just like the person she was named after. Same attitude. Does whatever she wants when she wants to.”

You lean forward slightly, interested. “Really?”

“My sister,” Hoseok says, and wow, he hasn’t talked about this in a while. “Not my actual sister—I don’t have biological siblings—but my best friend growing up. She lived next door, and we did everything together. She was brilliant. Funny. Always called me out on my bullshit.”

“Was?”

“She died,” Hoseok says simply. “Car accident when we were sixteen. Drunk driver.”

Your hand moves like you want to reach for him, then stops. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been years. But when I was developing the AI system, I wanted to name it after someone who would keep me grounded. Someone who wouldn’t let me get away with being stupid or reckless or too caught up in my own head.” He smiles, though it aches a little. “She used to say Fridays were the best day because they meant possibilities.”

“That’s beautiful,” you say softly.

“Yeah.” Hoseok clears his throat. “Anyway. The AI—FRIDAY—she’s incredibly smart, she knows when to back off. When to give me space. She probably realized we needed privacy.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, this,” Hoseok says. “I guess.”

You’re looking at him with so much emotion in your eyes that it makes his chest tight. “You named your AI after your best friend who died.”

“Yeah.”

“And you just told me about it. Even though we’re basically strangers.”

“We’re not strangers,” Hoseok says. “We’ve known each other for a few months. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not everything either.”

“Then let it be something,” Hoseok says. “Let tonight be something.”

The elevator is so quiet he can hear both of you breathing.

You’re still looking at him, and there’s something building in the space between you—something electric and terrifying and inevitable.

“Hoseok,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to do something really stupid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then you’re moving, crossing those three feet of space faster than he can process, and your hands are cupping his face and your lips are on his.

For a split second, Hoseok’s brain completely flatlines.

Then it comes roaring back online with the singular thought: oh thank god.

He kisses you back, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair—careful of that golden thread he’s been thinking about for months—while the other settles on your waist. You make this small sound against his mouth, surprised and pleased, and it sends electricity straight down his spine.

You taste like the mint chapstick you must have applied in the car, and you kiss like you do everything else—enthusiastically, a little unsure, but completely genuine. Your hands slide from his face to his shoulders, gripping his shirt like you need the support.

When you shift closer, your hand lands on his thigh—high on his thigh—and Hoseok makes a sound that is absolutely not professional or research-appropriate.

“Sorry,” you gasp, breaking the kiss. “Is that—should I—”

“Don’t you dare move,” Hoseok says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended.

He slides his hands to your hips, tugging gently.

“Come here.”

“Where?”

“Here,” he says, guiding you forward until you’re straddling his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

You let out a soft “oh” as you settle your weight on him, and Hoseok has to close his eyes for a second because this is—this is—

“Is this okay?” you ask, breathless.

“This is so far beyond okay,” Hoseok says. “This is—I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”

Your eyes go wide. “Weeks?”

“Months,” he corrects, sliding his hands up your sides, watching your face as you process that. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for months.”

“Months,” you repeat, and you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. “But you never—you didn’t say anything—”

“I’m saying something now.”

He pulls you down into another kiss, deeper this time, and you melt into him with a sigh that he wants to bottle and keep forever.

Your fingers thread into his hair, and when you tug slightly, he groans into your mouth.

“That’s,” you gasp between kisses, “that’s a nice sound.”

“You’re going to hear a lot more of them,” Hoseok promises, and kisses you again before you can overthink whatever that means.

You shift in his lap, and the movement makes both of you inhale sharply.

The elevator suddenly feels about a thousand degrees hotter, and it has nothing to do with the climate control.

“Hoseok,” you breathe against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“This is—we’re—”

“I know.”

“In an elevator.”

“I’m aware.”

“We should probably—”

“Probably,” he agrees, but neither of you moves to stop.

Your hands slide down from his hair to his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, and Hoseok thinks distantly that this is absolutely not how he planned tonight to go.

It’s better.

So much better.

You work at his shirt buttons, clumsy and eager, and Hoseok is pretty sure he’s never been more attracted to anyone in his entire life.

“Can I—” you start, and he doesn’t let you finish.

“Yes,” he says against your mouth. “Whatever you’re asking, yes.”

You laugh, breathless and a little nervous, and pull back just enough to actually see what you’re doing with his buttons.

Your hands are shaking slightly, which shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but Hoseok finds himself wanting to kiss every one of your trembling fingers.

Instead, he slides his hands up your sides again, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your tank top, and watches your breath catch.

“Can I?” he asks, echoing your question.

You nod, biting that bottom lip again, and Hoseok is definitely going to have fantasies about that lip for the rest of his life.

He finds the hem of your tank top and pulls it up slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind.

You lift your arms to help him, and then the fabric is gone and you’re sitting in his lap in just your bra—simple, white, completely devastating—and Hoseok has to take a moment to just breathe.

“You’re staring,” you whisper.

“I’m appreciating,” he corrects, running his hands up your sides again, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. “There’s a difference.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Staring is passive,” Hoseok says, leaning forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. “Appreciating is active.”

He kisses across to your other collarbone, feeling your pulse jump under his lips. Your skin is so soft here, and warm, and when he uses his teeth just slightly, you make this sound—small and surprised and absolutely perfect.

One of your hands comes up near your mouth, like you’re trying to muffle the sound, while the other grips his shoulder hard enough that he can feel your nails through his shirt.

“Don’t,” Hoseok says, pulling back to look at you. “Don’t hide those sounds.”

“They’re embarrassing,” you protest, but your voice is already wrecked.

“They’re perfect.” He kisses you again, deep and thorough, until you’re making those sounds into his mouth instead. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m really not—”

“Shut up and let me appreciate you,” he murmurs against your lips, and you laugh, which turns into a gasp when his hands find the clasp of your bra.

“This okay?” he asks, fingers poised.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, god, yes—”

The clasp gives way easily, and Hoseok pulls the straps down your arms, watching your face the entire time.

You’re blushing so hard it’s spread down your neck to your chest, and your eyes are wide and dark and full of want that makes his cock throb almost painfully against his zipper.

The bra falls away, and Hoseok has to close his eyes for a second because he’s nineteen again and seeing his first pair of breasts, except he’s not nineteen, he’s an adult man who should have some semblance of control.

“Hoseok?” you say, uncertain.

He opens his eyes. “I’m going to die.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re—” He gestures helplessly at you, at all of you, perfect and half-naked in his lap. “Look at you.”

You try to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently.

“Don’t,” he says. “Please don’t. I want to see you. I want—can I—”

“Yes,” you say again, and it’s becoming his favorite word in any language.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the center of your chest, right over your sternum, and feels your heart racing under his lips.

Then he kisses lower, to the swell of your breast, and you make that sound again—the one he wants to record and play back when he’s alone.

When he takes your nipple into his mouth, your whole body jolts.

“Oh,” you gasp, and your hand flies to his hair, gripping tight. “Oh my god—”

Hoseok hums in agreement, using his tongue in slow circles while his hand comes up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard against his palm.

You’re squirming in his lap now, and every movement sends sparks of pleasure-pain through his cock.

He’s so hard it’s actually uncomfortable, trapped in his pants, and when you shift again—grinding down just slightly—he has to pull back with a gasp.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your skin.

“Is that—should I not—”

“No, you should definitely—” He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and you reward him with another one of those perfect sounds. “You should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

His hand works your breast while his mouth focuses on the other, gentle kisses and rougher attention that makes you whimper.

Your nails are definitely leaving marks on his shoulder now, and he fucking loves it—the idea that he’ll have proof of this tomorrow, evidence that this actually happened.

“Hoseok,” you gasp, and his name sounds delicious on your mouth. “That feels—I can’t—”

“What?” He pulls back to look at you, lips wet. “What can’t you do?”

“Think,” you manage. “I can’t think when you—when you do that—”

“Good,” he says, and takes your nipple between his teeth gently, just enough pressure to make you cry out.

Your hips rock forward, and the pressure against his cock is so intense that Hoseok has to freeze.

Actually freeze.

Every muscle locked, not breathing, because if you move even one more time he’s going to come in his pants and that is absolutely not how this is going to go.

“Hoseok?” Your voice is concerned now. “Are you okay?”

He presses his forehead to your sternum, right between your breasts, and tries to remember how to form words.

“I need,” he starts, then has to stop and breathe. “I need a second.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “No, you did everything right. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I’m about to come,” he says bluntly, because there’s no point in pretending otherwise. “In my pants. Like a sixteen-year-old who’s never been touched. If you move one more time, I’m done.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then you laugh—surprised and delighted and maybe a little bit smug—and Hoseok can feel it vibrating through your chest against his forehead.

“That’s not funny,” he mutters.

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s hot,” you correct, and your fingers card through his hair gently. “You’re that turned on?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” Hoseok reminds you, still not lifting his head because he needs at least thirty more seconds before he can look at your naked breasts again. “Months of imagining what you’d sound like, what you’d taste like, how you’d feel. And now you’re here and you’re perfect and making these sounds and I’m—I’m—”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Completely fucking gone,” he finishes.

Your fingers keep moving through his hair, soothing, and gradually Hoseok’s heartbeat starts to slow to something approaching normal.

His cock is still hard enough to cut diamond, but at least he’s not on the immediate edge anymore.

“Okay,” he says finally, lifting his head to look at you. “Okay, I’m—”

Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat because you’re looking at him with so much want that it steals his breath.

Your lips are swollen from kissing, your chest is flushed, your nipples are still hard from his attention, and you’re sitting in his lap like you were made to be there.

“We should probably stop,” you say, but you don’t sound like you mean it.

“Probably,” Hoseok agrees, running his hands up your sides again because he literally cannot help himself.

“The elevator could start working again any second.”

“Any second,” he echoes, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Someone could see—”

“There are cameras,” Hoseok admits. “But FRIDAY has them on a loop.”

Your eyes widen. “She does?”

“She’s very thoughtful like that.”

“So no one can see us?”

“No one can see us.”

You bite your lip, considering. “How much time do you think we have?”

Hoseok grins. “How much time do you need?”

Your hands move to his belt. “However much we have.”

He chokes with his own spit for approximately three seconds before he speaks again.

“Wait,” he manages, catching your hands even though it physically pains him. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say, and the certainty in your voice makes his cock throb so hard he actually sees spots. “I want this.”

And okay, Hoseok has imagined this moment approximately eight hundred times in the last three months—at 2 AM when he couldn’t sleep, in the shower when he was supposed to be getting ready for meetings, during actual board meetings when he should have been paying attention to quarterly reports.

He’s imagined kissing you over the coffee counter (sappy and completely against his whole ‘cool tech CEO’ brand, but whatever).

He’s imagined asking you out properly, taking you to dinner somewhere nice where he could actually focus on making you laugh instead of just ordering coffee.

He’s imagined slowly, carefully building up to this moment over weeks or months of actual dating.

He did not imagine fucking you in an elevator twenty minutes after you arrived at his place.

But hey, he’s nothing if not adaptable.

His hands join yours at his belt buckle, and together you manage to get it undone despite the fact that both of you are shaking.

The button of his pants follows, then the zipper, and when your hand brushes against his cock through his boxer briefs—Jesus fucking Christ—Hoseok has to bite back a groan that probably would’ve echoed through the entire elevator shaft.

“You’re really—” you start, eyes wide as you palm him through the fabric.

“Really hard? Yeah. That’s what months of wanting someone does to a person.” He’s trying for casual but his voice comes out strained. “Turns out sexual frustration is a very real thing and I’ve been living it.”

You flush beautifully, and Hoseok files away that particular shade for later contemplation.

Much later.

When he’s not about to die from wanting you.

“Condom,” he forces out, even though the word tastes like ashes. “I should have—probably in my wallet—”

“I’m on birth control,” you say suddenly, and Hoseok’s brain whites out for a full five seconds. “And I haven’t been with anyone in over a year, actually, which is probably too much information but I just wanted you to know that we don’t need—I mean, if you’re comfortable with—”

“No it’s—I’m comfortable, to be honest and I haven’t—” He’s definitely talking too fast now. “And it’s been—fuck, it’s been since before I started coming to your coffee shop. Turns out when you’re spending all your mental energy thinking about one person, everyone else kind of becomes irrelevant.”

You make this small sound—surprised and pleased—and Hoseok wants to bottle it.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he continues, because apparently he’s just going to confess everything now. “About this. About touching you. Not even—I mean yes, this, obviously this, but also just—holding your hand. Kissing you in broad daylight like I have the right to. Taking you to dinner and not having it be weird that I’m asking too many questions about your thesis because I genuinely want to know every thought in your brilliant head.”

“Hoseok,” you breathe.

“I know. It’s sappy. It’s completely against my whole brand. Tony Stark would be embarrassed for me.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Can I please be inside you now before I say something even more embarrassing?”

You laugh—bright and genuine—and pull back, your hands going to your jeans.

Hoseok helps you, both of you working the denim down your hips in the awkward confines of the elevator. You’re wearing white cotton underwear—simple, normal, and somehow the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

His boxer briefs go next, shoved down just enough to free his cock, and the relief of not being constrained anymore makes him groan. He’s so hard it’s actually painful, precum already beading at the tip, and when you look down at him your eyes go wide.

“That’s—you’re—” You seem to lose your words, which Hoseok would find adorable if he wasn’t about to lose his mind.

“Second thoughts?” he manages, even though the idea of stopping now might actually kill him.

“No!” You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m just—processing. You’re very, um. It’s very… substantial?”

Despite everything, Hoseok laughs.

“Substantial. I’m going to remember you called my dick substantial.”

“It’s a compliment!”

“I know.” He runs his hands up your thighs, feeling you shiver. “Come here.”

Together you work your underwear off, and then you’re completely bare, and Hoseok has to close his eyes and count backwards from ten in three different languages because this is happening, this is actually happening, and he needs to not come immediately.

“Is this okay?” you ask, stroking experimentally, and okay, apparently he’s going to die.

This is how Jung Hoseok dies.

Not in battle, not in some heroic sacrifice, but from a handjob in an elevator.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Everything is perfect and if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in about thirty seconds.”

“That’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” he says firmly, catching your wrist even though it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “Not yet. I want—I need to be inside you. Please.”

You nod, and together you position yourself over him.

Hoseok grips your hips as you guide his cock to your entrance, and that first touch—the head of his cock against your slick heat—makes his vision white out for a second.

“Okay,” you breathe, and start to sink down.

Slowly. So fucking slowly.

And Hoseok can feel every single inch—how tight you are, how wet, how your body is adjusting to take him.

His fingers dig into your hips hard enough that he’s definitely leaving bruises, but he can’t make himself let go.

Because if he lets go, he might actually float away or spontaneously combust or some other dramatic thing that his mind can’t quite process because all his blood has traveled south.

“Oh,” you gasp when you’re halfway down. “Oh my god, you’re—that’s—”

“Too much?” Hoseok forces out through gritted teeth. “We can stop. We can—fuck—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” you say, and sink down the rest of the way in one smooth motion.

The sensation of being fully seated inside you—completely surrounded by your heat and tightness, your thighs bracketing his, your hands gripping his shoulders—is so overwhelming that Hoseok actually has to close his eyes and count fucking sheep in his head.

“Hoseok?” Your voice is breathless, concerned. “Are you—”

“Give me a second,” he manages. “You feel—I can’t even describe—I need a second or this is going to be over in about five seconds and that would be really embarrassing.”

Your hands come up to cup his face, and when he opens his eyes, you’re looking at him with so much affection that it makes his chest physically ache.

“I don’t think it would be embarrassing,” you say softly. “I think it’s sweet. That you want me this much.”

“Sweet is not the word I would use.” Hoseok laughs, slightly hysterical.

“I like it,” you whisper, and kiss him.

It’s gentler than your previous kisses—slower, sweeter—and something about the tenderness of it makes Hoseok’s control snap.

“Move,” he breathes against your lips. “Please move. I need you to move.”

You do, rising up experimentally and then sinking back down, and the friction is so intense that Hoseok genuinely thinks he might black out. His hands guide your hips, helping you find a rhythm, and soon you’re riding him with increasing confidence.

And the sounds you’re making—breathy little gasps and whimpers that go straight to his cock—are going to live in his brain forever.

He’s going to be ninety years old and still remember the way you sound when you’re taking his cock, the way your face looks in the dim emergency lighting, the way your nails dig into his shoulders like you need the anchor.

“That’s it,” he breathes, watching your face. “Just like that. You’re so perfect. You feel so fucking good.”

“Hoseok,” you gasp, and your rhythm is getting faster, less coordinated. “I can’t—this is—”

“What?” His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “What is it?”

“So good,” you manage. “You’re so—I’ve never—”

And fuck, if that doesn’t make him feel like a king.

But then you roll your hips just right, grinding down on him, and Hoseok realizes with a jolt of panic that he’s way closer to the edge than he thought.

“Wait,” he gasps, but you do it again. “Fuck, wait—”

“Are you close?” you ask, and there’s something almost curious in your tone.

“I’m—yes—but I want you to—”

You lean down and kiss him, deep and thorough, and that combined with the way you’re clenching around him is too much.

“I’m going to come,” he gasps against your mouth. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Do it,” you breathe. “Come inside me. I want to feel it.”

And that’s it. That’s the end of any control Hoseok thought he had.

His hips jerk up as his orgasm slams into him, and he comes with a groan that’s probably loud enough to wake the entire building.

It feels like it goes on forever—pulse after pulse of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful—and through it all you’re there, still moving, drawing it out until he’s gasping and boneless and completely wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says immediately, because he’s many things but he’s not going to pretend that didn’t just happen. “That was—that was not the plan. That was the opposite of the plan. I wanted to make you feel good and instead I just—”

“That was really hot,” you interrupt.

Hoseok blinks. “What?”

“That was really hot,” you repeat, and you’re smiling now. “You were so turned on that you couldn’t even—I mean, I barely moved and you just—” You bite your lip. “No one’s ever been that attracted to me before.”

“Then everyone else is an idiot,” Hoseok says flatly. “And I’m still sorry because you didn’t come and that’s—that’s not acceptable.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” he says firmly. His cock is starting to soften inside you, and he can feel his cum beginning to leak out around where you’re joined. “But I’m going to fix it.”

“How?”

Hoseok grins. “Get up. I’m going to eat you out until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes go wide. “But you just—I mean, you came inside me—”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s—you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Hoseok says, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

He’s imagined what you’d sound like, what you’d taste like, how you’d look when you fell apart.

He just didn’t imagine he’d be tasting himself too.

But honestly? He doesn’t give a single fuck.

“I want to taste you,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel so good you forget your own name. And then I want to watch your face when you cum, and I’m going to remember it forever. I’m probably going to ask FRIDAY if I can marry a memory.”

You make this sound—half laugh, half gasp—and Hoseok takes that as permission.

He helps you up carefully, and when he slides out of you, he can see his cum starting to drip out.

It’s obscene and perfect and everything he’s been fantasizing about.

“Sit back against the wall,” he says, voice rough. “Spread your legs for me.”

You do, movements shaky, and Hoseok settles between your thighs like he’s been planning this for months.

Which, technically, he has.

“You’re really going to—” you start.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says simply. “I really am.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before leaning forward and dragging his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick.

He can taste his own cum, can feel it coating his tongue, and instead of being strange it just makes him harder.

Because weirdly enough, there’s something fundamentally right about this—about tasting himself inside you and cleaning up the mess he made; about making you feel good in the aftermath of his complete loss of control.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, hand flying to his hair. “Hoseok—”

He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and sets to work in earnest. More of his cum leaks out as he works, and he licks it up eagerly, using it as additional lubrication as he fucks you with his tongue.

Then he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, and your whole body jolts.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and your grip on his hair tightens almost painfully. “That’s—don’t stop—”

Hoseok has no intention of stopping.

He works you with his tongue, and it’s messy and wet and so fucking hot that he thinks he might be able to go again, despite having just come.

When he slides two fingers inside you—easy with how wet you are, how open from taking his cock—you cry out and your thighs tremble around his head.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your clit. “Let me hear you.”

He crooks his fingers, searching for that spot he knows is there, and when he finds it your whole body jolts.

“There?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Right there, please—”

He fucks you with his fingers while his mouth works your clit, and he can feel more of his cum leaking out around his fingers. He’s essentially fingering his own cum back into you while eating you out, and the thought makes him groan against you.

“Oh god,” you whimper. “That feels—I can’t—”

He looks up at you then, wanting to see your face, and the sight makes his cock throb.

You’re completely wrecked—head thrown back against the wall, chest heaving, one hand in his hair and the other pressed against your mouth like you’re trying to muffle your sounds.

“Look at me,” he says against you, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “I want to see your face when you cum.”

Your eyes are already hazy and unfocused, but you manage to look down at him.

Hoseok holds your gaze as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard while his fingers press insistently against that spot inside you.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your whole body going taut, and Hoseok watches every single second of it.

The way your eyes squeeze shut despite trying to keep them open.

The way your back arches off the wall.

The way your thighs tremble around his head.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he’s going to remember it until the day he dies.

He works you through it, fingers and tongue gentling as you come down, and when you finally slump back against the wall—boneless and gasping—he presses soft kisses to your inner thigh.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Hoseok grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s what I said earlier.”

“That was—I can’t—my brain stopped working.”

“Good.” He sits back on his heels, admiring his handiwork. “You’re gorgeous like this.”

You make a weak sound that might be embarrassment, covering your face with your hands.

“I can’t believe we just had sex in an elevator.”

“Best elevator malfunction of my life,” Hoseok says, finding your underwear and gently helping you back into it.

“What if someone saw—”

“No one saw. FRIDAY had it handled.”

“FRIDAY is my new favorite person.”

“She’s an AI.”

“My new favorite AI,” you correct, and then start giggling—slightly hysterical, post-orgasm giggles that make Hoseok’s chest feel warm. “Oh my god. This is insane. I came here for research and instead I—we—”

“Had incredible elevator sex?” Hoseok suggests, pulling his own pants back up.

“I’m never going to be able to ride in an elevator again without thinking about this.”

“Good,” Hoseok says, tugging you gently into his lap—careful this time, tender. “I want you thinking about this. About me. About what just happened.”

“Kind of hard not to,” you mutter, but you’re smiling.

“So,” Hoseok says, and his heart is suddenly beating too fast for someone who just had an orgasm. “I know we did this backwards—”

“Very backwards—”

“—but I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months. Properly. Dinner, dating, the whole thing.” He takes a breath. “Would you—I mean, are you interested in—”

“Yes,” you say, before he can finish stumbling through the question. “Yes, I want to go on a date with you. Many dates. All the dates.”

Relief floods through him so intensely that he actually laughs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, you made me come so hard I saw stars. I’d be an idiot not to want to see where this goes.”

“Romance,” Hoseok says dryly. “Thy name is post-orgasm pragmatism.”

You laugh, and the sound fills the elevator with warmth.

That’s when the elevator lurches back to life, lights flickering to full brightness, and starts moving smoothly upward.

“Impeccable timing,” Hoseok mutters.

[joonies-dimples]

Meet the crew

Navigator - Ensign Jungkook

Nurse - Lieutenant Taehyung

Captain - Captain Jimin

Communications Officer - Commander Namjoon

Chief Engineer - Lieutenant Hoseok

Chief Medical Officer - Lt. Commander Yoongi

Pilot - Lieutenant Jin

Basically the idea behind this was instead of assigning everyone Hogwarts houses, we would assign them Starfleet divisions instead. So between @introvertedverses​, @wolfi-sama​ and myself we assigned the members of BTS to what Starfleet division we thought suited them. In the end we decided:

Jungkook - the navigator (aka chekov) cause he is the youngest and very talented/learns things quickly Taehyung - Nurse (aka nurse chapel) cause he seems like the kind of person who would want to help people, is kind. Jimin - Captain (aka jim kirk) basically mainly because JIMin, but also because he somehow ends up losing his shirt and showing his abs, even with abs he too is smol and soft like kirk Namjoon - Comm officer (aka Uhura) because brilliant with languages and generally really smart and amazing. Wears dress uniform cause Joon has actually worn skirts in the past Hoseok - Engineer (aka scotty) because 100% extra, always moving at 90 mph and definitely has a secret dance studio in engineering Yoongi - Doctor (aka Bones) cause even though he can come across occasionally grump on the outside is actually super soft and very good at helping people and looking out for others. Jin - Pilot (aka sulu) because he always bickers with jungkook whilst jimin laughs in between them, 100% knows how to fly this thing, did not leave the parking brake on…

art by the amazing @petimetrek

[jungkoode]

command strings

type of work: series | official BTS AU series: the strings theory pairing: iron-man!hoseok x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; romcom, smut, fluff, barista!reader, crushes summary: “iron man walks into your coffee shop and you immediately recognize him—of course, because he works with captain korea. he’s not particularly thrilled about you asking for his autograph. no, not his his—captain korea’s. hoseok's ego has never been so bruised or so intrigued.” warnings: in each part mood: playlist | moodboard status: ongoing

🤖 parts ➺ command strings | part one fluff, smut ; 17k

🤖 extras ➺ readers ask: about the fic ➺ ironslices: drabbles and shenanigans based on asks (open) ➺ ask/tell irondorks (open)

other links: masterlist | taglist

cr: banner and dividers by @eerieedits ( @shadowkoo )