plot | jin knows that he should not be jealous when one of his best friends in the industry is filming an intimate scene with another actor.
word count | 1750
genres | fluff, actors!au
pairing | actor!jin x actress!reader
note | live laugh love the a listers
main masterlist | the a-listers: confidential masterlist
He shouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s unprofessional.
“Okay, folks. Stop goofing around.”
Lena, the production’s intimacy coordinator, spoke softly as you and Seb stopped laughing at something Jin badly wanted to know. You two were already in your characters’ clothes. Considering that the scene is right after your characters’ date night, you are in a silky, slip-dress, while Sebastian is in an all-black button-down and slacks outfit.
But why does he feel like this? He should not even be here. He was asked to show up at four in the afternoon but came at nine in the morning because he knew you had been shooting your scenes. When asked by other staff members why he arrived too early, he claimed he just wanted to watch others’ scenes, which is not unusual since you also do that sometimes.
Jin remembered arriving earlier, just when you and Seb were rehearsing for this physical scene. Your knees are on each side of your co-star’s lap and you are sitting on him, arms around his neck, while the director– along with the intimacy director– talked about the camera and blocking. You two were intently listening, nodding at her directions, to make sure no boundaries will be crossed. Jin stood behind the light, jaw clenching when he spotted Seb’s hand resting on the small of your back.
“Okay, let’s start off with soft kisses and giggles. Then, it builds up...”
Filming these kinds of scenes is the least exciting one to film. Every actor and director knows it, even Jin. It can be awkward with so many people around you while acting in a supposedly intimate scene. That’s why trust between actors is important and Jin can see that you are comfortable with Seb. You once told Jin that you find it better to shoot intimate and kissing scenes with female directors since they don’t oversexualize everything and you feel more secure.
“Is it okay to hold you here?” your on-screen partner asked, pertaining to where his hands would land on your body.
Personally, Seokjin will not advise the other actor to touch your upper thighs, lower back, or upper stomach, and maybe kiss your neck too. But who is he to decide? Because you softly smiled, nodding to Sebastian,
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
“YN, honey, just give Seb a tap or pinch if you feel uncomfortable. Okay?” Lena instructed before turning to Seb. “Seb, be alert with YN’s signals. Just do the things we agreed on earlier.”
As per your director’s order, every unnecessary staff member was asked to leave the set to lessen the live spectators of the intimate scene. There are only less than ten people left in the studio, including him.
“Are you not going?” Haley, who stayed on set per your request, whispered to Jin as he was standing next to her.
“Why?” Jin asked while his eyes remained focused on you.
“I don’t know… I just think you would not enjoy YN being that close to another man.” your manager replied with her tone being something on the scale of teasing to unsure. Jin turned his head to her. She smirked, “Oh, stop with the daggers, Kim Seokjin.”
His hardened expression, which he didn't even realize he was doing, softened. He looked away, trying to exhale the heaviness he had been feeling in his chest. Hailey watched him 'release his stress' with a quick breathing exercise. She knows something you don't about Jin, but she won't tell anyone about it.
Jin worries that he looks like a tomato right now. He hopes— prays— it is not obvious on his face as it feels. It's embarrassing, the warm flush on his face won't go away. Because he can still feel it from watching your scene earlier with Sebastian.
It's stupid. It's stupid because he never feels this way. He is not the jealous type— he used to be so proud that he was never the jealous type! His ex-girlfriend once joked about how she wished he had a little bit of jealous bone in him, so they could have something immature to argue about. But she was happy he was always mature... and cool-headed.
Well, there's nothing cool with what Jin is feeling right now. There is a tight and heavy feeling in his chest and it's suffocating him. He doesn't know when it started. Oh, wait. Maybe he does. Maybe when he watched Sebastian kiss you so passionately— Wait, it wasn't just that kiss. It was when he trailed his lips from your lips to your chest then down to your exposed collarbone.
He wanted to look at something else. Well, he did. He looked down at his white shoes, on the blazer that was thrown on the ground of the set, and maybe at the director too, waiting for her to cut the whole thing and say that maybe the scene was not fitting for the movie, they should remove it in the script. But she didn't. Jin looked at everything else, but he always came back looking at you.
You, who's in character, were making little sounds of relief and pleasure. It's scripted, he knows. But he felt like it was too loud for his hearing. It's so loud that he feels like the soft sounds you're making are ringing his ears. Then, your hands. He watched them smoothly unbutton your co-actor's shirt and his throat officially ran dry, making him gulp countless times. My God, he can only hope no one noticed.
Did Hailey notice? She was standing next to him. Hopefully, she didn't. He was gulping too many times. Fidgeting too many times. Fuck.
But you are an actor and that's what you do. You act professionally. It's only work for you. And also, for Sebastian. And he's an actor himself too. He should understand. But what he cannot understand is why was he feeling like this to who's supposedly his friend. The image of your last scene is not burned in his brain, he thinks.
Jin let out a heavy sigh, running a hand in his unstyled hair. Maybe he should go outside. Maybe to a bar. Order something strong that will obviously wash the scene out of his brain and will slap some senses into him. But he hates day drinking. And it's dumb to do that today just because of this. He should just distract himself.
"Oh, god. You almost killed me!”
Jin was so deep in his thoughts, that he didn't where his feet led him after your scene. He doesn't how and why, but he ended up opening the door to your trailer, which was right next to his. His eyes widened as you seemed to be in the middle of changing. You still have the same dress on but your hands are reaching for the lock of your necklace.
“I-I’m sorry– I didn't mean to– I should just–” Jin stuttered, about to turn around and leave when you stopped him.
“No, no, no. I actually need help and Haley is out, buying something. I need someone to unclasp this stupid thing." you told him.
You turned your back to him, gathering your hair up and away from your neck. Jin licked his lips, hesitating for a second before taking a step closer to you.
He gulped once again when his eyes fell on the exposed nape of your neck. Smooth and delicate. His hands felt too clumsy when he reached out to your thin, gold necklace. He tried to stabilize his breathing, hoping you didn't head the tiny hitch in his breath when his fingertips slightly touch your skin like a ghost.
Almost instantly, your chest heaved when you felt his light touch brushing on your skin. You bit your lower lip, not wanting to react obviously. But he felt warm and you think you shivered the moment his fingers brushed on the back of your neck.
"Almost... there."
Fuck. His voice was deeper than usual when he murmured, focusing on the lock. He probably didn't mean it to sound like that, but it still made you feel something in your stomach. You felt like the world is spinning, not aware that you were making him dizzy as well.
"Got it."
Finally, he unlocked the clasp, sliding off the jewelry on your neck. He took a step back before handing you the necklace.
You turned around and almost instantly, you noticed his ears. Red as a tomato. You cannot help but smile as you whisper a soft,
"Thank you."
You're a goddess. He thought, looking at you a little more up close than earlier when you were doing your scene. He wanted to tuck that loose hair behind your ear, but he didn't want to make things more awkward.
“No problem,” he replied, forcing a smile on his lips.
Suddenly, the temperature in the trailer is rising and both of you can feel it in your skin. There is some tension in the air, it feels heavy on your chest and tightens your stomachs. But some things are maybe better left unsaid. So Jin nodded his head and was about to turn around when you held his arm and tiptoed, planting a peck on his cheek before whispering something that sent a shiver down his spine.
→ PAIRING : Thor!Seokjin x F!Reader (Chaebol Heiress!Reader)
→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.
→ DATE POSTED: November 1st, 2025.
➜LoTHS index post / masterlist.
→ SUMMARY : You’re Korea’s untouchable princess—third-generation chaebol heiress, A-list actress, and the nation’s beloved sweetheart who’s never had to share a spotlight in her life. Then Kim Seokjin arrives—Thor, God of Thunder, Worldwide Handsome (whatever he’s calling himself these days) and he has the audacity to try and steal your spotlight. Well. If he thinks you’re gonna let him, he’s got one thing coming.
→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, celebrity au, chaebol heiress reader, thor au adapted to korean context, korean entertainment industry setting, rivals to lovers, competitive dynamics, brat taming, reader is combative/bratty throughout (this is her personality not resistance), brat x brat energy, mutual antagonism, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, exhibitionism (mirror), finger fucking, forced eye contact, degradation kink (mild), praise kink, edging, fingering, mirror sex, improper use of mjolnir, object insertion, age gap (he’s centuries old she’s mid-20s but like… he’s a god so), crying during sex, dress stuck on zipper, dom seokjin, bratty reader who never stops fighting, size difference, strength kink, competence kink, they’re both insufferable, stuck in room trope, seokjin has worldwide handsome energy, reader has princess complex, both have massive egos, they deserve each other, this is unhinged, i’m not sorry.
→ CONTENT WARNINGS: Y/N in this fic has a VERY bratty, combative, hime/princess personality. She is demanding, entitled, and continuously antagonistic even during intimate scenes. This is a consensual dynamic where her brattiness is part of her character and the sexual tension—NOT non-consent. She’s competing and being difficult because that’s her personality and how she processes attraction. If competitive/bratty female characters aren’t your thing, this might not be for you!
→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.
→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 16.1k
→ A/N: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL CHAOS GREMLINS! 🔨⚡Welcome to what I’m calling ‘that time I watched Thor: Ragnarok, stanned Kim Seokjin’s Worldwide Handsome confidence, and made it everyone’s problem.’ ❤️ This AU has been LIVING in my brain rent-free, throwing parties, redecorating, basically a whole squatter situation… Because the WAYYYY Seokjin’s entire personality is already 70% god-of-confidence energy?? The man literally calls himself Worldwide Handsome with his whole chest. He’s basically BEEN Thor this whole time and we were just too blind to see it. So I said ‘what if we gave him Mjolnir and a praise kink and put him against Korea’s brattiest heiress?’ And then my brain said ‘what if they argue about his hammer in increasingly suggestive ways without realizing it?’ And I said ‘oh no, you horny simpleton.’ But oh YES because I’m FERAL for this dynamic. Bratty, entitled, gorgeous Y/N who’s never been told no in her life vs. Literal God Who Has An Ego The Size Of Asgard. They’re both worst. They’re both convinced they’re superior. They’re both absolutely insufferable and I want them to make out about it.
Also yes, there is… checks notes …inappropriate use of Mjolnir in this fic. I’m not apologizing for that either. Thor’s hammer has been waiting for this moment since 2011. If you’ve ever looked at that handle and thought ‘hmmm’ then this fic is your safe space. We’re all going to Horny Jail together and I’m driving the bus. This was supposed to be a 5k thing. It’s 16k. I have a problem and that problem is I can’t write smut without extensive backstory, world-building, and emotional stakes. It’s a CONDITION.
If you enjoy watching two beautiful disasters who are both used to winning trying to out-stubborn each other while developing feelings they refuse to acknowledge, please strap in. If you like your Seokjin confident, petty, surprisingly soft, and wielding both a magic hammer and a talented tongue, PLEASE strap in. If you’ve ever wanted to see someone get thoroughly destroyed while maintaining they’re ‘completely unaffected,’ oh baby, strap IN.
Thank you for coming to my TED talk about why Kim Seokjin should be Thor in every universe actually. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scream into a pillow because these two won’t stop bickering in my brain.
Who the hell thought pairing Korea’s actual princess with some overgrown himbo in a cape was genius marketing?!
Because seriously, this has just to be some sort of joke.
You’re currently sitting in your designated chair—the good one, obviously, with the perfect lighting setup that your team spent forty minutes positioning this morning—getting your makeup touched up by Dinha, who’s been doing your face since your debut and knows exactly how to make your skin look like porcelain under studio lights.
The Chanel campaign ought to be simple—you, draped in their latest collection, looking devastatingly beautiful while the cameras worship every angle of your face. Easy. Natural. The way things are supposed to be.
Because the truth is—you’re flowers and sunshine, you’re fresh air on a beach day, you’re supposed to be alone in this campaign, or at least paired with someone who knows their place as background decoration to your radiance.
Instead, you get him.
Kim Seokjin. Thor. Whatever he’s calling himself today. Mr. Walking-Punching-Bag-For-The-Gym with his stupidly broad shoulders and that annoyingly lean frame that somehow manages to fill out designer suits better than it has any right to.
And the worst part?
Fucker doesn’t even look like he works for those shoulders.
Where are the bulging biceps? The gym-bro bulk that would at least justify his ridiculous confidence?
You bet that stupid hammer of his—Mjolnir or whatever it’s called—is just an expensive prop that weighs less than your Birkin bag. Probably made of foam and painted silver.
“Just a touch more highlighter on the cheekbones,” you murmur to Dinha, because your cheekbones are architectural marvels that deserve proper reverence. “And make sure the cameras catch the way the light hits them.”
You’re Korea’s princess.
Not self-proclaimed, not media-appointed, but genuinely, undeniably, the nation’s beloved daughter.
Third-generation chaebol heiress turned A-list celebrity through pure talent and devastating beauty.
Your face has launched a thousand products, your endorsements can make or break brands, and your social media posts get analyzed by marketing teams across three countries.
You don’t share spotlights because you are the spotlight.
So when that aggravatingly familiar voice cuts through the professional murmur of the studio—all enthusiasm and effusiveness as he greets the staff like he’s running for president—you have to resist the urge to throw your phone at his face.
“Good morning, everyone! The energy in here is incredible!”
Ugh.
Can he exist further away from you? Like, preferably in another building? Another district? Maybe back in whatever mystical realm spawned his annoying existence? Thanks.
You watch in the mirror as he makes his grand entrance, and of course the entire crew turns to look because apparently his mere presence is some kind of magnetic field that pulls attention away from where it belongs—on you.
He’s doing that thing where he acts like eeeeveryone in the room is his personal friend, learning names and asking about people’s families like he actually cares instead of just performing his whole ‘charming god-prince’ routine.
It gets even worse, because the makeup artist—your makeup artist—actually pauses mid-powder to wave at him. Dinha, who’s worked with you for three years and knows better than to get distracted during your prep time, is smiling at him like he just handed her a winning lottery ticket.
“Seokjin-ssi! You look wonderful today,” she calls out, and you want to remind her that she’s supposed to be focused on making you look wonderful, not complimenting the competition.
You see that shit-eating grin forming before he even opens his mouth.
Oh, you know that look.
It’s the same one he gets right before he says something that’s going to make your eye twitct.
“Not as beautiful as the princess herself, I guess,” he says, executing what should be a respectful bow but looks absolutely theatrical because you know—you know—that this damn son of a bitch is mocking you right now.
How do you know?
Well, for starters—the angle is too precise, then the duration is too perfectly timed, and it basically looks like he’s performing for an invisible audience that finds your title amusing rather than the reverent acknowledgment it deserves.
“You could never be as beautiful as me, even if you were reborn,” you mutter back, making a face in the mirror that would horrify your media training coach.
But honestly, someone needs to put this overgrown himbo in his place before his ego gets any more inflated.
He sneers—actually sneers—and Dinha’s powder brush slows its gentle tapping against your cheekbone. Her eyes go wide and she swallows once, hard, then resumes her work with a face that screams ‘I am not paid enough for this drama.’
“Excuse me?” Seokjin’s voice goes up half an octave, like you just suggested his hammer is compensating for something. “I’m literally the most handsome male on Earth.”
“Says who?” You turn slightly in your chair, careful not to mess up Dinha’s masterpiece, but needing to face him properly for this conversation.
Because if you’re going to destroy his delusions, you want to watch his face when it happens.
“Says who—says literally anybody! Ask random people on the street!” His hands gesture wildly, and you notice how light catches the line of his jaw. Annoying. “I’ve been voted Korea’s most handsome man three years running!”
“I guess that doesn’t ring true in Asgard though.”
He opens his mouth and makes this strangled sound, like you just personally insulted his entire bloodline.
Which, technically… you did.
“Asgard has different standards.”
“So I figured.” You examine your nails, which are perfectly manicured. “More rugged, barbaric types probably.”
“I am still a very handsome male in Asgard!” The way his voice cracks slightly on ‘very’ is almost cute.
Almost. If you cared about cute, which you don’t.
“After Taehyung?”
The effect is so immediate and devastating you wish you had caught that shit on camera.
Seokjin’s entire face goes through about five different expressions in the span of two seconds—shock, indignation, fury, and something that might be actual pain before settling on offended dignity.
“Don’t you dare mention Loki in this conversation.”
His voice drops at that, and for a moment you think you’ve stepped too far, like talking about his brother is something painful to him.
But then—
“I ranked above him in the last official Asgardian beauty assessment.”
Is he serious right now?
“There’s an official assessment?” You can’t help it—that’s actually kind of hilarious. “What do they do, line you all up and measure cheekbones?”
“It’s a very serious cultural evaluation of—” He stops, probably realizing how ridiculous he sounds. “The point is, I’m objectively more attractive than my brother.”
“Your adopted brother,” you correct, because if you’re going to twist the knife, you might as well do it properly.
His eye twitches. Actually twitches. “He’s still family.”
“Uh-huh.” Dinha is now applying your lip color focusedly, clearly hoping this conversation ends before someone gets murdered. “And you need official rankings to prove you’re prettier than your adopted brother. That’s not insecure at all.”
“I don’t need—”
His eyes flick down suddenly, and you frown because why is he looking at your dress when you’re in the middle of putting him in his place? This is supposed to be your moment of devastating comeback, your chance to remind him exactly who runs this industry, and he has the absolute audacity to let his attention wander to—
“Uh oh.” That infuriating smile spreads across his face like he’s just discovered the most delicious secret. “Chanel’s not gonna like that.”
“Like what?”
The question snaps out of you before you can stop it, because what could possibly be wrong with your appearance? You spent two hours in styling this morning, had three different people check every detail of this outfit, and your dress is literally fresh from Chanel’s atelier in Paris. Custom-made.
One of a kind. Perfect.
“That.” He points with one long finger, and your eyes follow the gesture down to your waist where—
Oh, you have got to be kidding.
A single loose thread, there, against the pristine black fabric of your Chanel dress.
It’s not really visible unless you’re looking for it, but definitely there, and of course this Norse god wannabe had to be the one to spot it.
Fuck. How long has it been there? Did the photographers notice during the earlier shots? Is this going to end up in some tabloid tomorrow with a headline about your ‘fashion disaster’?
“Chanel is already reeling that I’m wearing them at all,” you shoot back, because never let it be said that you don’t recover quickly. “They should be sending me thank-you notes.”
“Should they?” Seokjin tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now that you really don’t like. “You know what, ori? You’re absolutely right.”
Ori.
Did this absolute bastard just create a nickname for you based on a loose thread?
Did he just reduce you—Korea’s sweetheart, the nation’s princess, the most photographed woman in Seoul—to a tiny imperfection in your couture?
You’re going to murder him. You’re going to grab that ridiculous hammer of his and use it to rearrange his perfect stupid face until he’s no longer recognizable as anything remotely divine.
The audacity. The sheer, breathtaking audacity of this man to look at you, see one microscopic flaw, and immediately weaponize it into a pet name designed to mock everything you represent.
“Did you just call me ori?” Your voice could freeze hellfire, and you watch with satisfaction as Dinha actually takes a step back from your makeup chair.
“Hmm.” Seokjin pretends to think about it, tapping one finger against his jaw like he’s solving some complex philosophical problem. “I think I did.”
His eyes drop to the loose thread again, then back up to your face with that insufferable smile.
“I mean. It’s really fitting when you think about it, ori… You’re also something that could probably snap if someone pulled too hard.”
Oh, this is war.
This is absolutely, unequivocally war, and he has no idea who he’s just declared battle against.
You don’t snap. You don’t break.
You’re forged from steel and starlight and the expectations of an entire nation that’s been watching you since you were sixteen years old.
You’ve survived scandal attempts, rival actresses trying to sabotage your career, and three different dating rumors with chaebols who thought they could use your name for social climbing.
You sure as hell aren’t going to be brought down by some overgrown Norse cosplayer with mommy issues and a superiority complex.
“I don’t snap,” you inform him. “I’m Korea’s princess. I have dignity.”
“Of course you do.” His tone suggests he finds your dignity about as convincing as a knockoff Louis Vuitton bag sold in Dongdaemun. “That’s exactly what someone small and delicate would say right before they snapped.”
You stand up so fast that Dinha has to jerk the lipstick away to avoid disaster.
“Small and delicate? I’m five-foot—”
But he interrupts you before you can even finish.
“I’m six-foot-one, so five is still below me.” He grins wider, clearly delighted that he’s gotten under your skin. “Perspective is everything, ori.”
“Call me that again and I’ll show you where that hammer handle fits.”
“See? Snapping.”
“I told you I do not snap. I’m the nation’s princess.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m just a himbo with a foam hammer, right?”
Shit. He heard that?
“Your words, not mine,” you say, lifting your chin because retreat is not in your vocabulary.
“Mm.” Seokjin rocks back on his heels, hands sliding into his pockets. “Well, this himbo is about to make you look very good in photos, princess. Try to keep up.”
And with that absolutely infuriating parting shot, he strolls away toward his own makeup station, leaving you standing there with your mouth slightly open and Dinha staring at you like you’ve just survived a natural disaster.
“Should I… touch up your lipstick?” Dinha asks carefully.
You sink back into your chair, seething. “Make it darker. If I’m going to destroy him today, I want to look devastating while I do it.”
The second the photographer says “places,” you know this is going to be a bloodbath disguised as high fashion.
The set is gorgeous, obviously, because this is your campaign and you don’t do anything that isn’t visually perfect.
Chanel has outdone themselves with the backdrop—everything positioned to make you look like the goddess you are, which is exactly how it should be.
Then Seokjin walks onto set carrying that ridiculous hammer, and you want to laugh except it would ruin your lip color.
“Why are you bringing your emotional support prop?” you ask, because the audacity of this man knows no bounds. “It looks like something from a theme park gift shop.”
He hefts Mjolnir casually, tossing it from hand to hand like it weighs nothing, which only proves your point.
“Jealous that you don’t have a signature accessory, ori?”
“I am the signature accessory.” You adjust the Chanel jacket draped over your shoulders, making sure it looks perfect. “I don’t need props to look important.”
“Of course not,” Seokjin says with that fake-sincere tone that makes you want to kick him in his perfectly sculpted shins. “You’re naturally… what? Flowers and sunshine?”
You’re seriously fighting the urge to smack him right now.
Like, seriously.
“Better than being gym equipment with delusions of grandeur.”
The photographer—Hansu, who’s shot your covers for Vogue Korea and knows exactly how to capture your best angles—claps his hands together. “Alright, beautiful people! Let’s start with some individual shots, then we’ll move to the couple poses.”
Couple poses. Like you’re some kind of matched set instead of the main attraction with unfortunate supporting cast.
“Y/N first,” Hansu continues, because he has excellent priorities. “Seokjin-ssi, if you could just—”
But Seokjin is already positioning himself directly in your key light, that massive frame somehow taking up space that was clearly meant for you.
“Actually, I think the lighting might work better if I start here,” he says with a smile that looks polite but feels like warfare.
You step smoothly to your left, directly into the center of the setup, because you didn’t spend three hours in hair and makeup to be upstaged by Thor’s brother complex.
“I think Hansu knows his job, don’t you, oppa?”
Hansu looks between the two of you like he’s watching someone juggling hand grenades. “Maybe we should just… try a few different positions?”
“Absolutely.” Seokjin moves forward, ostensibly to check his position in the viewfinder, but somehow managing to block your sight line to the camera. “I want to make sure we get my good side.”
“Which side is that?” you ask sweetly, sliding around him with the grace of a dancer and the determination of someone who’s never lost a spotlight battle. “I’m having trouble identifying it.”
His eye twitches again. Twice in one morning. You’re keeping score.
“All of them, princess. That’s what makes me worldwide handsome.”
“Worldwide handsome?” You actually snort, which isn’t dignified but the claim is so ridiculous you can’t help it. “Did you give yourself that title?”
“The people gave me that title,” he says it so seriously it makes you realize he actually believes this. “I’m just acknowledging what everyone already knows.”
“Everyone?” You position yourself for your first shot, making sure to angle your body so the camera catches the perfect curve of your waist and the way the Chanel blazer emphasizes your figure. “Or just people who’ve never seen actual beauty standards?”
Hansu starts snapping photos, and you fall into your rhythm immediately.
Because this—this is where you shine, where years of training and natural talent combine to create magic.
You know exactly how to move, how to turn your face to catch the light, how to make every frame look like it should be hanging in a museum.
“Gorgeous, Y/N! That’s perfect, now turn slightly—”
Seokjin clears his throat. Loudly. “Should I start warming up? I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
Warming up. Like he’s an athlete preparing for competition instead of a man about to stand in front of a camera and look pretty.
Which, let’s be honest, is probably the only athletic skill he has.
“Just a few more of Y/N,” Hansu says, still clicking away because he recognizes perfection when he sees it. “The light is incredible on her right now.”
You smirk slightly, making sure Seokjin catches it. “Take your time, oppa. Some of us were born ready.”
When it’s finally his turn, you watch from the sidelines with the critical eye of someone who’s about to witness an amateur hour disaster.
Except—and this pisses you off more than his earlier comments—he’s actually not terrible.
He knows how to weaponize his confidence, knows his angles; and that stupid hammer somehow looks natural in his hands instead of like a costume accessory.
“Beautiful, Seokjin! Now try bringing the hammer up—perfect!”
You cross your arms and try not to notice how the fit emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders or how he’s managing to make even the simplest poses look effortlessly charming.
This is supposed to be the part where he embarrasses himself and proves that divine powers don’t translate to earthly skills.
“How’s this?” he calls out, adjusting his position and somehow managing to make it look like the camera should be grateful for the opportunity to capture him.
“Stunning!” Hansu gushes, and you want to remind him that ‘stunning’ is your adjective.
You’re stunning. You’ve been stunning since birth. Seokjin is… adequate. Maybe.
“Great, now let’s get you both together for the couple shots!”
This is where things go to shit.
You stride onto the set once more, positioning yourself dead center because that’s where you belong.
Seokjin doesn’t waste time in joining you, and immediately you can feel him trying to claim more than his fair share of the frame.
“Maybe if you stood here,” Hansu suggests, guiding you both into position, “and Seokjin, if you could just—”
But Seokjin steps forward exactly as you do, and suddenly you’re close enough to smell his cologne.
Something expensive and annoyingly appealing that you shouldn’t find appealing but do.
“Personal space, hammer boy,” you murmur, not moving back because that would be backing down.
“This is my personal space,” he murmurs back, not moving either. “You’re the one who invaded it, ori.”
There it is again.
That stupid nickname that makes your temper spike into dangerous territory.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? I think it’s cute.” He tilts his head, studying you with fake concern. “Unless you prefer something else? Princess just seems so formal for photo shoots.”
Hansu positions you both for the first shot, and you immediately angle yourself to catch the key light, which means Seokjin has to adjust his position.
Which means he steps slightly behind you, which is exactly where supporting characters belong.
“Perfect, Y/N! Now Seokjin, if you could lean in just a—”
Seokjin doesn’t lean in.
He straightens up to his full height, which forces you to tilt your head back to maintain the pose, which completely ruins your jawline angle.
“Oops,” he says with absolutely zero sincerity. “Did I mess up your shot?”
You shift your weight, bringing yourself forward just enough that he has to step back or risk looking awkward in the frame.
“Not at all. I adapt beautifully to challenging circumstances.”
“How noble of you.”
The next pose requires you to stand side by side, and you immediately claim the right side because that’s your better profile. Seokjin takes the left without complaint, which should have been your first warning that he was planning something.
“Now lean in toward each other—yes, perfect chemistry!”
You lean gracefully, maintaining perfect posture while making sure your face catches the light at the ideal angle.
Seokjin leans too, and somehow his shoulder ends up slightly in front of yours, which blocks the three-quarter view that makes you look like a museum painting.
“Excuse me,” you hiss under your breath.
“Excuse what?” he hisses back, but his shoulder doesn’t move.
You adjust your stance, bringing your elbow back just enough to make contact with his ribs. Not enough to be obvious to the camera, but enough to make your point.
His response is to flex. Not dramatically, not obviously, but just enough that his bicep presses against your arm and suddenly you’re very aware of exactly how solid he is under that perfectly tailored shirt.
“Really?” you whisper.
“Really what?” But his eyes are dancing with scorn.
“Move,” you say quietly.
“Make me,” he replies just as quietly.
Hansu claps his hands. “Perfect! That tension is exactly what we need! Hold that energy!”
The camera starts clicking, and you’re trapped in this ridiculous standoff where neither of you can back down without losing face, so you just glare at each other while trying to look like high fashion models instead of kindergarteners fighting over toys.
“Beautiful! Now Seokjin, put your hand on her waist—”
His hand settles on your waist like he has every right to touch Korea’s princess without written permission and a background check.
The warmth of his palm through the silk makes your breath catch, which is annoying because you’re supposed to be focused on looking devastating for the camera.
“Comfortable?” he asks, and his voice is closer to your ear than it should be.
“Perfectly,” you lie, because admitting that his touch affects you would be like handing him a loaded weapon.
“Good.” His thumb moves slightly against the fabric, not enough to be unprofessional but enough to make you notice. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, ori.”
Your plan to elbow him again is interrupted by Hansu calling for the next pose, which requires Seokjin to lift you. Actually lift you, like you’re some delicate flower instead of a grown woman who can stand on her own two feet.
You look at Seokjin, who’s trying very hard not to look smug about the fact that he gets to manhandle you for art.
“Can you even lift me? You don’t look like you can hold anything other than a feather.”
“Please, have some faith.”
Before you can answer, his hands are on your waist and you’re airborne.
Not struggling, not awkward, just… up. Like you weigh nothing. Like lifting a grown woman in designer clothing is as effortless as picking up his stupid foam hammer.
Except now you can feel exactly how strong he actually is, how solid and warm and frustratingly capable, and your hands automatically go to his shoulders for balance, which means you’re touching him back, which feels dangerously close to participating in whatever this is.
“You can put me down now,” you say, because being held like this is doing weird things to your ability to maintain righteous indignation.
“In a second.” His grip tightens slightly, keeping you suspended while Hansu captures what’s probably going to be the most romantic shot of your entire career. “Still think the hammer’s a prop?”
You look down at him, at the way he’s holding you steady without even breathing hard, and realize that maybe—maybe—you’ve slightly underestimated the muscle situation.
“I think,” you say carefully, “that you’re showing off.”
“I think,” he says back, “that you like it.”
And the worst part, the absolutely most infuriating part, is that you can’t immediately deny it.
Of course he's still here when everyone else has the decency to disappear.
The studio's finally empty—Hansu packed up his equipment an hour ago, the stylists cleared out with their garment bags, and even the catering staff managed to escape before you finished your post-shoot touch-ups.
You're only still here because your manager insisted on a last-minute phone interview with Elle Korea, and apparently Seokjin's still here because the universe hates you.
And to make matters even worse, you're trapped in the final Chanel outfit like some kind of prisoner.
The zipper on this ridiculously expensive dress decided to stage a rebellion right after the last shot, jamming halfway down your back in a position that's impossible to reach even with your yoga flexibility.
You've been subtly trying to work it free for the past twenty minutes, contorting yourself in ways that would impress a circus performer, but the damn thing won't budge.
The logical solution would be to ask someone for help. Anyone. The cleaning lady. A passing intern.
Hell, even Seokjin.
But you'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of seeing you need assistance with something as basic as getting undressed.
Korea's princess does not require help with zippers, especially not from overgrown gods with superiority complexes.
You're sitting at the vanity mirror, carefully removing your false lashes because Dinha would murder you if you damaged them, when you catch sight of him in the reflection.
He's lounging in the chair behind you nonchalantly, scrolling through his phone with that insufferable half-smile that suggests he's reading his own press coverage.
Which you think is fitting, because the man probably has Google alerts set up for ‘Kim Seokjin handsome’ and ‘Thor worldwide visual.’
"Shouldn't you be off somewhere saving cats from trees or whatever it is you do when you're not stealing my screen time?" you ask, carefully peeling off the left lash while trying not to wince.
"Mjolnir and I don't do cats," Seokjin replies without looking up from his phone. "We handle bigger threats. Like egos that don't fit through doorways."
You pause mid-lash removal.
"Are you talking about yourself? Because that thing—" you gesture vaguely toward where his hammer is propped against the wall like some kind of medieval umbrella "—is definitely compensating for something."
"This thing?" He finally glances up, following your gaze to Mjolnir with the kind of fond expression most people reserve for beloved pets. "Ori, this thing could level city blocks, it's basically insurance."
"Insurance against what, people discovering you're not actually that special?" You turn in your chair to face him properly (carefully, since the zipper situation is precarious) because this conversation deserves your full attention. "I mean, remove the magic hammer and what are you? Just another pretty face with good lighting."
Seokjin's laugh is sharp and delighted, like you've just told him the best joke he's heard all week. "Just another pretty face? Ori, I'm the most handsome man in nine realms. That's not opinion, that's documented fact."
"Documented by who, your publicist?"
"By literally everyone with functioning eyes." This man has the audacity to wink at his own reflection in the mirror behind you. "I mean, look at this face. This is what peak male beauty looks like."
The urge to throw your makeup remover at him is almost overwhelming. "Peak male beauty doesn't need a magic weapon to be relevant."
"Peak male beauty doesn't need anything," he corrects, standing up and stretching in a way that's definitely intentional. "The weapon is just a bonus. Like having a Ferrari when you already know how to drive."
"More like having training wheels when you already know how to ride a bike."
His eye twitches. Score.
"Training wheels?" Seokjin's voice goes up half an octave, and he scoff. "This is Mjolnir we're talking about. Forged in the heart of a dying star, blessed by ancient magic, wielded only by those deemed worthy—"
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh?!"
You turn back to the mirror and start removing your other lash, deliberately unimpressed while secretly grateful for the excuse to face away from him.
“Uh-huh. And yet here you are, using it as a prop for fashion shoots. Very mystical."
"I was making it accessible to mortal audiences," he sniffs, but you can see him glancing at the hammer like he's worried it might have overheard and taken offense.
"Right. Because nothing says 'accessible' like a guy who calls himself worldwide handsome unironically."
"Because people call me that!" Seokjin protests, then immediately ruins it by adding, "I told you, I just acknowledge it."
You finish with your lashes and move on to your makeup remover, watching him in the mirror as he starts gathering his things with unnecessarily graceful movements.
Even packing up, he looks like he's posing for invisible cameras.
It's actually impressive how he manages to make putting on a jacket look like an acting gig.
"You know what I don't understand?" you say, wiping away your foundation. "How someone who's supposedly a legendary warrior spends so much time on skincare."
"Legendary warriors can have good skin," he replies defensively, pausing in his packing to send a literal flying kiss to his reflection. "Besides, when you look this good, it's practically a public service to maintain it."
"A public service?" You spin around in your chair again, incredulous. "You think your face is a public service?"
"Have you seen the tourism numbers since I started doing Korean endorsements?" Seokjin grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a flourish. "I single-handedly boosted Seoul's international profile by thirty percent. That's economic impact, ori."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"That's because you're jealous you don't have that kind of influence."
You stand up abruptly, chair rolling backward from the force, and immediately regret the sharp movement as the zipper digs deeper into your back.
"Jealous? Of what, exactly? Your desperate need for validation from total strangers?"
"My effortless ability to command attention without throwing tantrums when I don't get it."
"I don't throw tantrums."
"What do you call this?" He gestures at you with an amused expression that makes you want to scream.
"This is me pointing out that you're delusional if you think carrying around a magic hammer makes you more impressive than Korea's actual princess."
"Korea's self-appointed princess," he corrects, hefting Mjolnir like it weighs nothing. Which it probably does. Probably hollow. "And I don't need to carry anything to be impressive, ori. I just am."
That's it. You're done.
You're leaving before you say something that ends up in tomorrow's entertainment news with headlines like "Y/N loses her mind over Thor’s ego" or "Princess meltdown: inside sources reveal all."
You grab your purse and head for the door, preparing your most devastating exit line.
Something cutting and elegant that will leave him thinking about your superiority long after you've gracefully departed.
The zipper can wait—you'll deal with it in the privacy of your car, or your penthouse, or literally anywhere that isn't within fifty feet of Kim Seokjin's insufferable presence.
"Enjoy your magic security blanket, Seokjin. Some of us don't need props to be legendary."
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
You reach for the door handle, already imagining his face as your words sink in, already planning how you'll describe this moment to your manager later.
The handle doesn't turn.
You try again, pushing and pulling with increasing force, but the door remains stubbornly, impossibly closed.
You pull again, harder this time, throwing your full weight behind it like you're trying to escape a burning building.
The handle moves exactly nowhere, and you can practically feel Seokjin's smug satisfaction radiating from behind you.
"Having trouble there, princess?"
Your grip tightens on the handle until your knuckles go white. "It's just stuck."
"Stuck," he repeats, like he's savoring the word. "How unfortunate."
You whip around to glare at him, which is a mistake because now you can see that infuriating half-smile spreading across his stupidly perfect face.
"Don't even think about gloating. This has nothing to do with you."
"Of course not," he says, biting back a smile, setting his bag down and clearly settling in to enjoy the show. "I'm sure doors just spontaneously malfunction around Korea's princess all the time."
"They do when the building maintenance is obviously subpar," you snap, turning back to wrestle with the handle again. "This is what happens when production companies cut corners on basic infrastructure."
Seokjin makes a sound that might be a snort. "Right. Definitely the building's fault."
You yank on the door with enough force to dislocate your shoulder, but it might as well be welded shut.
"Maybe if you asked nicely instead of throwing a tantrum," Seokjin suggests from his position of supreme unhelpfulness.
"I don't throw tantrums," you hiss through gritted teeth, giving the door another futile pull. "And I don't need advice from someone whose biggest accomplishment is looking pretty while holding a prop."
He rolls his eyes with theatrical exasperation, the kind of dramatic gesture that would make your acting coach weep with pride if it weren't so annoying.
"Fine. Move."
"Excuse me?"
"Move," he repeats, already striding toward you with that confident swagger that suggests he thinks he can succeed where you've failed. "Let someone with actual upper body strength handle this."
You step aside with as much dignity as you can muster, which isn't much considering you're trapped in a dress you can't remove and a room you can't escape.
"By all means, oh mystic foam hammer god, show me how it's done."
Seokjin reaches for the handle, turns it, pulls, and—
Nothing.
The door doesn't even tremble.
He frowns, adjusting his grip and trying again with more force.
Still nothing.
His frown deepens into something that looks dangerously close to actual concern, and he plants his feet wider, really putting his back into it.
The door remains steadfastly, mockingly closed.
You can't help it. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest, sharp and delighted and absolutely vindictive.
"Having trouble there, worldwide handsome?"
His jaw tightens. "It's just—the mechanism is probably—"
"Stuck?" you supply sweetly. "How unfortunate."
Seokjin shoots you a look that could melt steel, then turns back to the door with renewed determination.
He rolls up his sleeves—and okay, you weren't prepared for that.
Because those forearms are frankly offensive in their perfection, all defined muscle and elegant bone, and his hands are long-fingered and graceful, and you hate that you notice any of it at all.
He braces himself against the doorframe, shoulders bunching under his shirt. You can see every muscle working as he puts genuine effort into it, which remind you he's not actually human despite his pretty-boy appearance.
Still nothing.
"This is ridiculous," he mutters, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.
The gesture musses it perfectly, because of course even his frustration looks like a magazine shoot.
"What's ridiculous," you say, settling into the chair, "is watching you struggle with basic door operation after spending twenty minutes bragging about your legendary strength."
"I wasn't bragging about my strength, I was stating facts about my overall superiority." He turns to face you fully, and there's something dangerous in his expression now. "Which, unlike some people's self-appointed titles, is actually documented."
"Documented where, in your diary?"
"In box office receipts. Tourism statistics. Brand partnership values." He starts counting on those unfairly elegant fingers. "I've generated more revenue for this country in six months than most celebrities do in their entire careers."
You stand up so fast your chair spins backward. "Most celebrities aren't third-generation chaebol heiresses who've been carrying Korean entertainment on their backs since they were sixteen."
"Carrying?" Seokjin's laugh is sharp and incredulous. "Princess, you've been riding on your family name and your pretty face. I've been building an actual legacy."
"A legacy?" Your voice climbs half an octave. "You've been here for five minutes! I've been Korea's sweetheart since before you even knew this country existed!"
"And what do you have to show for it besides a collection of magazine covers and an ego the size of Seoul?"
"What do I have to show for it?" You're practically vibrating with indignation now, all thoughts of maintaining your pristine image forgotten. "I have three Baeksang Awards, two Blue Dragon Awards, endorsement deals with every major luxury brand in Asia, and a net worth that could buy your little Asgardian palace twice over!"
"My palace is made of gold, ori. Literal gold. Your net worth is adorable, but it's still mortal money."
"Mortal money that built this industry you're so desperate to dominate!" You step closer, close enough that your pupils flick between his. "I was selling out concert halls and breaking television ratings records while you were playing dress-up with your magic hammer in whatever mystical realm spawned your oversized ego!"
Seokjin's eyes flash with something that might be genuine anger instead of his usual playful irritation. "Playing dress-up? I've saved this planet more times than you've had photo shoots, princess. While you were posing for cameras, I was fighting actual monsters."
"And now you're here, fighting for screen time like every other desperate celebrity!" You're close enough now to see the way his jaw muscle ticks when he's really annoyed. "All that divine power and you still need my campaign to stay relevant!"
"I don't need anything from you," he says, voice dropping. "Least of all lessons in relevance from someone whose biggest challenge is deciding which designer dress makes her look most untouchable."
"At least I earned my position through talent and hard work instead of winning the genetic lottery and calling it destiny!"
"Genetic lottery?" His voice goes up again, and he gestures wildly at himself. "This face, this body, this natural charisma—this is the result of superior Asgardian breeding and centuries of refinement!"
"Superior breeding," you repeat flatly. "Listen to yourself. You sound like a prize stallion."
Silence drops into place like it was always meant to be there.
You're both breathing hard, glaring at each other across the few inches of space that separate you, and somewhere in the back of your mind you register that this is probably the most honest conversation you've had with anyone in months.
Also that you're still trapped in this room with him, in a dress you can't remove, with a door that apparently has opinions about your exit strategy.
You step back abruptly, breaking whatever charged moment was building between you.
"This is stupid."
"Finally, something we agree on." Seokjin shrugs. "I guess we just wait until someone comes looking for us."
"Wait?" The word comes out strangled. "I'm not waiting anywhere with you."
"Well, unless you've got a secret teleportation power I don't know about, princess, we're stuck." He says it with infuriating casualness, like being trapped together is just a minor inconvenience instead of your personal nightmare.
You want to scream. You want to throw something.
You want to grab him by those perfectly pressed lapels and shake him until that smug expression falls off his stupidly handsome face.
Instead, you stalk to the far corner of the room, as far from him as the cramped space allows, and drop into the floor in a careless sprawl.
Because, honestly?
You don’t have the energy for any of this.
Three hours later, you're officially accepting that this is your life now.
You're sitting cross-legged in the corner like some kind of designer-dressed refugee.
The Chanel dress is still stuck to you, the zipper having achieved what you can only assume is its life's ambition of making you miserable.
And honestly, you’ve tried everything—contorting yourself into weird positions, using a makeup brush as a makeshift zipper pull, even considering whether you could somehow cut yourself out without destroying a dress that costs more than most people's cars.
Nothing. You're trapped in haute couture hell.
The worst part isn't even the dress.
It's the fact that you've systematically gone through every single item of clothing in this room, trying on jackets and accessories like some kind of deranged fashion show for an audience of one extremely unimpressed god.
You've reapplied your lipstick four times, fixed your hair six times, and taken approximately thirty-seven selfies that you can't even post because your data isn't working and the studio's wifi is apparently as functional as their door locks.
Your phone sits next to you like a expensive paperweight, displaying that infuriating ‘No Service’ message that makes you want to chuck it at the wall.
Not that you have anyone to call anyway. You gave your manager the day off because you're a considerate employer who believes in work-life balance, which means she is probably at home enjoying a face mask and some reality TV instead of wondering why Korea's princess hasn't checked in.
And you live alone in your penthouse because privacy is a luxury you can afford and solitude is better than dealing with people who want things from you.
Except right now, when being alone means no one's going to notice you're missing until you fail to show up for tomorrow's magazine shoot—which by the way, you're definitely going to have to cancel because your skin is going to be absolutely destroyed from no evening skincare.
You're going to look like a troll tomorrow. An expensive, well-dressed troll, but still a troll.
This is a disaster of epic proportions.
You've examined every corner of this room, tested every possible escape route, and even considered whether you could somehow dismantle the door hinges with a mascara wand.
(The answer is no, in case you were wondering.)
You've also discovered that there are exactly forty-three tiles on the floor, the air conditioning makes a weird clicking sound every seven minutes, and Seokjin apparently has the lung capacity of a whale because his breathing hasn't changed rhythm once in three hours.
Speaking of Seokjin, he's been unnaturally quiet over in his corner, doing god knows what on his phone.
Probably reading fan comments about how devastatingly handsome he looked in today's shoot, or calculating how many tourism dollars his face generated this quarter.
You've been pointedly ignoring him because acknowledging his existence would require admitting that you're sharing this nightmare with someone, and you're not ready for that level of reality.
Your stomach chooses that moment to make a sound that could probably be heard in Busan.
Great. Add starvation to your list of problems.
You shift slightly, trying to find a position where the zipper doesn't dig into your spine quite so aggressively, and that's when you hear movement from the other side of the room.
Footsteps, the soft sound of someone standing up, and then—
"Here."
A glass of water appears in your peripheral vision, held by a hand that's unfairly elegant for someone so annoying.
You look up to find Seokjin standing over you, expression unreadable, offering hydration like some kind of peace treaty.
You stare at the glass suspiciously. "Is it poisoned?"
His eyes roll so hard you're surprised they don't fall out of his head entirely.
"You haven't drunk anything in three hours. I got myself water, so I figured you'd need some too." He pauses, and his voice takes on that particular tone of disdain that suggests he thinks you're being deliberately difficult. "Drink up."
Instead of handing you the glass and retreating to his corner like a normal person, he settles down on his heels right next to you. Close enough that you can smell his cologne again, close enough to see the way his dress shirt has finally started to wrinkle after hours of captivity.
You side-eye him with all the suspicion of a cat being offered a bath. "Why are you sitting next to me?"
"Because the floor is more comfortable than that chair, and this corner has better lighting." He says it like it's obvious, like there's nothing weird about suddenly abandoning the cold war you've been waging for the past three hours.
The glass is still hovering in front of you, and you realize your throat actually is parched.
When was the last time you drank something?
This morning? Yesterday?
Time has lost all meaning in this beige-walled purgatory.
You take the glass, careful not to let your fingers brush his, and take a cautious sip.
It's just water. Room temperature, slightly stale studio water, but it might as well be champagne for how good it tastes right now.
"Thanks," you mutter, because you're trapped and dehydrated but you're not completely uncivilized.
He settles more comfortably on the floor, long legs folding with such grace it just makes you irrationally annoyed.
Because how is even his sitting posture photogenic?
“So,” he says after a moment, like he’s trying to make conversation at a cocktail party instead of acknowledging that you’re both prisoners in designer clothing. “How’s the dress situation?”
You shift uncomfortably, the zipper digging into your spine like a personal vendetta.
“Fine.”
“Really?” His eyebrow arches in that infuriating way that suggests he can see right through your lies. “Because you’ve been contorting yourself like a pretzel for the past hour.”
“I have not been—” You pause, because arguing would require admitting he’s been watching you, which means admitting you’ve been providing entertainment. “It’s just… snug.”
“Uh-huh.” He takes a sip from his own water bottle, and you notice his throat working as he swallows. Annoyingly elegant, even when drinking. “Want help?”
The offer is so unexpected you nearly choke on your water.
“Help? From you?”
“I have hands. Zippers require hands. Common sense, princess.”
“I don’t need help from someone who carries a foam hammer as a personality trait.”
“Foam hammer?” His voice goes dangerously quiet, and suddenly you remember that this isn’t just some pretty boy celebrity.
This is Thor. God of Thunder. Guy who could probably level a city block if you piss him off enough.
“I mean…” You backtrack slightly, because making enemies with someone who controls weather seems inadvisable. “Allegedly foam.”
Without warning, he reaches over and picks up Mjolnir from where it’s been resting against the wall.
He does it so casually, so effortlessly, it’s almost like he’s picking up a feather instead of what’s supposedly an ancient weapon of mass destruction.
“Want to test that theory?”
You eye the hammer suspiciously.
Up close, it does look more… substantial than you’d assumed. The metalwork is intricate, and something about it makes your brain itch with the suggestion that maybe, possibly, this isn’t a prop.
“It still looks fake,” you lie, because admitting you might have been wrong would set a dangerous precedent.
“Does it?” He holds it out toward you, and there’s challenge written all over his stupidly handsome face. “Why don’t you try lifting it?”
“I’m not going to—”
“Scared?”
The word hangs in the air between you like a gauntlet thrown at your perfectly manicured feet.
You straighten, feeling your competitive instincts flare to life.
“I’m not scared of anything, least of all your costume jewelry.”
“Prove it.”
And that’s how you find yourself reaching for Mjolnir like an idiot, because someone questioned your courage and your brain apparently short-circuited all rational thought in favor of protecting your reputation.
The second your fingers touch the handle, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake.
It doesn’t budge. Not even slightly. It’s like trying to lift a building foundation with your pinky finger—completely, utterly, embarrassingly impossible.
“What the—”
You grip harder, putting your whole body into it, and nothing happens except the humiliating realization that you’re straining visibly while a foam prop refuses to cooperate with basic physics.
Seokjin is watching with barely concealed amusement, which makes everything about this situation approximately one thousand times worse.
“Having trouble?” he asks innocently.
“It’s stuck,” you announce, because the alternative is admitting that an inanimate object has just handed you your first public defeat in over a decade.
“Stuck to what?”
“The… floor. Obviously.” You’re still pulling, your face probably turning an unflattering shade of red, and the hammer is as immovable as your pride. “Someone must have… glued it. For safety.”
“Right. Safety.” He’s not even trying to hide his grin anymore. “Very important in photo studios. All that dangerous hammer movement.”
You release the handle and sit back, trying to look like you meant to give up instead of like you just discovered the limits of your own mortality.
“Your turn,” you say, crossing your arms. “Since you’re so confident.”
“My pleasure.”
What happens next is possibly the most irritating thing you’ve witnessed in your entire life.
He reaches out, wraps his fingers around the handle with casual confidence, and lifts Mjolnir like it weighs absolutely nothing. Not even effort. Not even a slight strain. Just smooth, easy movement that makes your previous struggle look like the flailing of a weak mortal who clearly doesn’t belong in the same room as actual power.
“Huh,” he says, tossing the hammer slightly and catching it again. “Seems fine to me.”
You stare at him, then at the hammer, then back at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes! Physics! Basic laws of—you’re not even trying!”
“Maybe,” he says, settling the hammer across his lap and looking far too pleased with himself, “the problem isn’t the hammer.”
The implication makes your teeth grind together.
“Are you suggesting that I’m not worthy of lifting your stupid prop?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Mjolnir makes its own decisions about worthiness.”
“It’s an inanimate object!”
“Is it?” He tilts his head, studying you with those dark eyes that seem to see entirely too much. “You seemed pretty convinced it was fake a minute ago. Now you’re arguing about its consciousness?”
You open your mouth to argue, then close it, because he’s absolutely right and you hate him for it.
“Here,” he says, and his voice takes on a gentler quality that you don’t trust at all. “Try again. But this time…”
He shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough that his cologne makes your head swim slightly.
“What are you—stop—”
But he's already wrapping your fingers around the leather grip, his hand covering yours, pressing your palm against the worn surface that's probably seen more battles than you've had photo shoots.
You both freeze.
Your hand looks impossibly small under his. His thumb is resting against your pulse point, and you can feel your heartbeat hammering against his skin.
The silence stretches for exactly three seconds before your brain catches up to the visual.
Your hand. His hand. Wrapped around a long, thick handle. Together.
"Eek!" You jerk backward so violently you nearly fall over. "Are you—what is wrong with you, you pervert?!"
Seokjin's face goes through about twenty-five different shades of red in the span of two seconds.
"Pervert? I'm not—you think I would ever—" He scrambles backward too, nearly dropping Mjolnir in his haste to put distance between you. "Me? With you? Don't make me laugh!"
But he's not laughing. He's staring at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks like he's just realized exactly how that looked, and his voice cracks slightly on the last word.
Your hackles rise so fast you're surprised they don't make an audible sound.
“Excuse me? What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
"It means—" He gestures wildly with his free hand, the other still clutching his hammer like a lifeline. "It means you're not—I would never—you're not my type at all!"
The audacity. The absolute, unmitigated audacity of this man.
"Not your type?" Your voice climbs half an octave. "I'm literally the prettiest girl in Seoul! In all of Korea! You'd be blessed to even dream about—"
Seokjin makes this dramatic gagging sound, complete with hand-to-throat theatrics. "Oh my god, please stop. You're sooooo not my type, don't even—"
"How dare you!" You're fully upright now, kneeling on the floor with your hands clenched into fists. "What type, exactly? What could possibly be wrong with—"
"You!" he interrupts, pointing at you with his hammer like he's delivering a divine proclamation. "Fucking entitled brats who think they can talk down to anyone just because they're pretty!"
The words hit like a slap, and for a moment you're too stunned to respond.
He's breathing hard, glaring at you with those stupidly beautiful eyes, and his hair is fuzzy.
Even angry and disheveled, he looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, which only makes you more furious.
"Entitled?" you finally manage. "I'm not entitled, I'm successful! Learn the difference!"
"You're spoiled," he snaps back. "You're used to everyone telling you how perfect you are, and the second someone doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on, you lose your mind!"
"I do not lose my mind!"
"You literally just called me a pervert for trying to prove a point about my hammer!"
"Because you grabbed my hand and made it look—" You gesture frantically between you. "You made it look weird!"
"I made it look like what it was! You touching Mjolnir! There was nothing weird about it until your brain went straight to—"
"My brain didn't go anywhere!" Your face is burning now. "You're the one who made it weird by being all… grabby!"
"Grabby?" Seokjin's voice cracks with indignation. "I was trying to get you to stop insulting something you clearly don't understand!"
"Well maybe next time don't manhandle me!"
"Maybe next time don't be such a—"
"Such a what?"
"Such a princess!"
You both glare at each other, breathing hard like you've just finished a marathon instead of screaming at each other about hammer-touching etiquette.
This is not how you imagined your evening going.
You turn your head slightly, studying him from the corner of your eye while pretending to examine your nails.
Because he did say you’re pretty… didn’t he?
"So," you say finally, casual as ever. "You think I'm pretty?"
Seokjin's entire body goes rigid like you've just electrocuted him. "I'm out of this conversation."
He stands up abruptly, clearly planning to retreat to his corner and pretend this entire exchange never happened.
Which is absolutely not acceptable because you asked him a perfectly reasonable question and he's being weird about it.
"Hey!" You scramble to your feet, the movement awkward because of the stupid zipper situation. "You said it, not me!"
He pauses halfway across the room, shoulders tense. "Well, yeah."
"Huh?" You blink at him, genuinely confused by his tone. "What do you mean 'well yeah'?"
Seokjin turns around slowly, and his expression is somewhere between exasperated and resigned, like he's accepting his fate
“Yes, you're fucking pretty. What the fuck are you asking me for? Of course you're pretty. You're Korea's princess, you're on every magazine cover, you literally make a living being beautiful. Why are you acting surprised?"
The words make you pause, your cheeks heating up.
Not because he called you pretty—you've been called pretty your entire life—but because of the way he said it. Like it's obvious. Like it's a fact he's annoyed at having to state out loud. Like it's been driving him crazy that you even had to ask.
You stand there for a moment, blinking rapidly, trying to process the sudden shift from argument to… whatever this is.
Your brain feels fuzzy, and there's this weird fluttery feeling in your stomach that you absolutely do not have time for right now.
"Well," you say, lifting your chin with as much dignity as you can muster while blushing like a teenager. "Thank you for finally recognizing true beauty when you see it."
Seokjin groans, a sound that comes from deep in his chest. "Oh my god, see, this is what I fucking meant. I give you one compliment and you immediately—"
He turns to leave again, clearly done with this conversation, and panic shoots through you.
"Wait!" The word comes out sharper than you intended. "Wait."
He stops, but doesn't turn around.
You bite your lip, suddenly feeling smaller than you have all day.
This is humiliating.
This is the kind of thing that Korea's princess should never have to do.
But it's been three hours, and the zipper hasn't magically fixed itself, and you're starting to think you might actually be trapped in this dress forever.
"Can you…" You trail off, looking anywhere but at him. "I mean, would you be able to…"
The silence stretches, and you can feel him waiting for you to finish the sentence.
Which you can't do, because asking for help goes against every instinct you've developed over twenty-plus years of being Korea's untouchable princess.
"Can I what?"
You close your eyes, take a breath, and force the words out. "The zipper is stuck."
More silence.
"The zipper?"
"The dress." You gesture vaguely at yourself without looking at him. "It's been stuck for hours. I can't… I can't reach it properly, and it won't move, and I'm going to have to sleep in this stupid dress because I can't get out of it."
You hear footsteps, and when you open your eyes, he's standing closer.
"Where exactly is it stuck?"
"The back. Right between my shoulder blades. I can almost reach it, but not quite, and when I try to force it…" You demonstrate by contorting yourself slightly, trying to reach the zipper pull. "It just gets more jammed."
He nods slowly, like he's working through the logistics. "Okay. Turn around."
The words send a jolt through you that you absolutely do not want to examine too closely. "Turn around?"
"So I can see what we're dealing with." His voice is matter-of-fact, professional even, but there's something in his eyes that makes your pulse quicken. "Unless you want to sleep in Chanel."
You hesitate for exactly three seconds before turning around, presenting your back to him like you're surrendering.
Which, in a way, you suppose you are.
You feel him step closer, close enough that you can sense his body behind you.
His fingers brush against the nape of your neck as he examines the zipper situation, and you have to suppress a shiver.
"Jesus," he mutters. "How did you even manage this? It's completely jammed."
"I told you it was stuck," you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fact that his proximity is doing weird things to your ability to think clearly. "I'm not an idiot."
"Debatable." His fingers work at the zipper pull, and you can feel the fabric shifting against your skin. "Hold still."
He tugs gently at first, then with more force, but the zipper doesn't budge.
You can hear his frustrated exhale behind you, feel the way his fingers press more firmly against your back as he tries different angles.
"This is going to take a while," he says. "The fabric is caught in the teeth."
"Great. Just great." You let your head fall forward in defeat. "I'm going to be trapped forever in this stupid room with this stupid dress and your stupid foam hammer.”
"I'll get it," Seokjin sighs. "But you need to stop moving, and maybe try not to insult my equipment while I'm helping you, yeah?"
You can't help it. Even in this vulnerable position, with him literally holding your freedom in his hands, your mouth runs ahead of your brain.
"What, you mean your hammer? Hard to insult something so obviously—"
His hands still against your back. "Are you seriously doing this right now?"
"Doing what? Stating facts?" You tilt your head back slightly, trying to catch his expression in your peripheral vision. "Just because you're helping me doesn't mean I have to pretend your magic stick is impressive."
"Magic stick." His voice is flat. "You're calling Mjolnir a magic stick while I'm trying to get you out of a dress you can't handle on your own."
"I can handle my own—"
"Clearly." He tugs at the zipper again, harder this time. "Tell you what, princess. I'll get this zipper down if you stop bitching about my hammer for five minutes."
The audacity. "Excuse me? I don't make deals with—"
"Then enjoy your Chanel prison." His hands drop away from your back, and you immediately feel the loss of his warmth.
"Wait!" You spin around to face him, which is a mistake because now you can see the challenge in his eyes. "You can't just—that's not fair!"
"What's not fair is listening to you mock something you don't understand while I'm doing you a favor." He crosses his arms, and the movement makes his biceps strain against his shirt sleeves. "So what's it going to be?"
You stare at him, weighing your options.
Your dignity versus spending the night trapped in designer clothing.
"Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But only because I need out of this dress."
"Good." He gestures for you to turn around again. "Now, about that attitude…"
You turn around, but you can't help yourself. "It's still just a big metal—"
"Nope." His hands return to your back, but this time his touch is firmer, more decisive. "What did we just agree on?"
"That you're oversensitive about your weapon?" you suggest sweetly.
You feel him pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped to something lower, more dangerous. "You know what your problem is, ori?"
"Enlighten me."
"You think everything revolves around you. Your beauty, your success, your opinion." His fingers work at the zipper. "But right now, you need me. And you still can't admit that maybe, just maybe, you don't know everything."
"I never said I knew everything," you mutter.
"You said my hammer was useless. Foam. A prop." His voice is getting more heated now, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. "Even now, when you're stuck and need help, you can't just… let it go."
"Because it's ridiculous! What could that thing possibly be useful for besides hitting things and making you feel important?"
“It’s not useless,” he says, sounding genuinely offended. “Just because you don’t understand how it works doesn’t mean—”
“How it works?” You cut him off with a laugh. “You literally just swing it around.”
“There’s more to it than swinging! There’s timing, precision, control—”
“Control of what? Your need to hit things? Your hammer is just a glorified baseball bat.”
“Baseball bat? Mjolnir has saved countless lives! It channels lightning! It—”
“It’s still just a big stick you wave around when you want to feel important.” You’re warming to your theme now. “All that power and what do you do? Grip it tight and thrust it at your enemies?”
“That’s a gross oversimplification of combat technique,” he protests, working the zipper down an inch, finally. “The amount of skill required to properly handle—”
“Handle what? The weight? The length?” You shift slightly as cool air hits your back. “Please, I’ve seen you fight. It’s all brute force, no finesse.”
“I have plenty of finesse! You just don’t appreciate the subtleties of weapon mastery.”
“Subtleties?” You scoff. “What’s subtle about smashing things with a hammer? At least my skills require actual talent.”
“Wielding Mjolnir requires talent!” He sounds genuinely upset now. “Do you know how many people have tried and failed to even lift it?”
“So it’s heavy. Congratulations.” The zipper slides down further. “That doesn’t make it useful for anything besides compensating for—”
“I’m not compensating for anything!” he interrupts hotly. “Mjolnir is perfectly proportioned for its intended purpose!”
“Which is what, exactly? Making you feel bigger than you actually are?”
“It’s for protection! And channeling power! And—” He pauses. “Why are you so obsessed with size anyway?”
“I’m not obsessed with anything. I’m just pointing out that your whole identity revolves around handling a big stick.”
“It’s not a stick.” The zipper catches again, and he has to work it carefully. “And my identity is about a lot more than—”
“Than what? Your ability to grip something thick and swing it around?” You’re on a roll now, unaware of how your words sound. “I bet half the time you don’t even know what to do with it.”
“I know exactly what to do with it!” His voice is getting higher, more defensive. “I’ve been handling Mjolnir for centuries!”
“Handling it,” you mock. “Is that what you call pounding away until something break?.”
“That’s not—I don’t just pound—” He’s sputtering now. “There’s technique involved! Angle of entry, depth of impact, the rhythm of—”
“Rhythm?” You can’t help but giggle. “What rhythm? It’s not like you need stamina to swing a hammer around.”
“I have incredible stamina!” He sounds absolutely indignant. “I could go for hours without getting tired!”
“Hours of what? Waving your hammer around hoping something happens?” The zipper finally slides past the difficult spot.
“Excuse you? Mjolnir responds to my exact instructions! The way I grip it, the pressure I apply, the speed of execution—it all matters!”
“Sure it does.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. “I’m sure all your enemies are very impressed by your execution speed.”
“They are!” He insists. “When I enter a battle, everyone knows exactly what kind of—”
“What kind of disappointment they’re in for?” You interrupt. “Let me guess—lots of buildup, dramatic posturing, then thirty seconds of frantic hammer-waving before you’re exhausted?”
“THIRTY SECONDS?” His voice goes up two octaves. “I’ll have you know my endurance is legendary! I could keep going all night if necessary!”
“You just throw that thing around! It’s not like you can even hit the right spot, couldn’t even fit through a tight space without causing massive damage.”
“I can fit Mjolnir anywhere I need to!” He protests.
"Have you seen your stupid hammer? It is just too much for most situations. Too thick, too heavy, too hard to maneuver!"
“It is NOT too thick!” He’s practically shouting now. “Mjolnir is perfectly sized for its intended function!
"How is that perfect size for anything? It’s fucking—it couldn’t even fit it inside—”
You stop mid-sentence, your brain finally catching up to your mouth.
Oh.
Oh no.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Wait, what?” Seokjin’s voice is very small. “Fit it inside what?”
Your face is on fire. “I meant—that’s not—I was—the hammer is so big it can’t fit through normal doorways and—”
“That’s not what it sounded like—”
“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE!” Your voice is so high only dogs can hear it. “Why would I be talking about anything else? What else would you fit a hammer inside? That doesn’t even make sense!”
"Wait, hold up—" Seokjin's hands freeze completely against your back, the zipper forgotten. "What were we just—I feel like that conversation went somewhere—"
"It went nowhere!" You try to step away but his hand is still on the zipper, effectively tethering you in place. "We were talking about doorways! Architecture! The structural integrity of—"
"You said it wouldn't fit!" He scoffs. "Fit where, ori? Where wouldn't it fit?"
You spin around so fast your hair whips across his face, which is a mistake because now you're facing him and he's looking at you with the most bewildered expression you've ever seen on his stupidly perfect face.
His cheeks are pink, his eyes are wide, and his mouth is slightly open like his brain has completely short-circuited.
"I meant in a display case! Obviously! Your hammer is too big for normal display cases and—"
"That doesn't even make sense—"
"YOUR FACE DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!"
You try to bolt past him but he catches your wrist, not hard, just enough to stop you from fleeing the scene of your mortification. His hand is warm and large and you can feel your pulse hammering against his fingers.
"No, wait—" He's looking at you with a mixture of confusion and something else, something that makes your stomach do a weird flip. "Were we just—for the past five minutes—were we having two different conversations?"
"We were having one conversation about your stupid hammer being useless!"
He stares at you for a long moment, and you can actually see his brain working, see the exact moment when something clicks.
"All that talk about size and thickness and whether it would fit—"
"Stop." You press your free hand against his chest, which is a mistake because wow, he's solid. "That's not—I wasn't—"
"You were imagining—?"
"I was imagining nothing! My brain is completely empty! No thoughts, head empty, nothing but elevator music and—"
"Oh my god, you were thinking about—"
"Hammers! And combat! And absolutely nothing else!"
"Then why are you blushing?"
"Because you're standing too close and breathing on me like some kind of—" You stop, realizing you're about to make it worse.
"Some kind of what?" There's a challenge in his eyes now, and something else, something heated that makes your stomach clench. "Go on, princess. Tell me what I'm doing."
"You're… being weird about a perfectly normal conversation about weapons."
"Normal." He laughs, but it's not his usual laugh. It's darker, rougher. "That conversation was normal?"
"Yes! We were discussing the practical applications of your hammer in combat situations!"
“You said I probably couldn't even fit it in tight spaces."
"Because it's huge!" The words come out before you can stop them. "I mean—the hammer is huge! Mjolnir! The weapon! Not—"
"Not what?"
You're going to die.
You're going to spontaneously combust right here in this dressing room.
"Can you just—" You take a shaky breath. "Can you just finish the zipper so I can leave and we can both pretend this never happened?"
"You really want to pretend this never happened? This whole conversation where you spent five minutes talking about my hammer in very interesting terms?"
"They weren't interesting terms! They were normal, combat-related terms that you keep—"
"You called it thick! You specifically mentioned thickness. Multiple times."
"Because it is thick! It's a thick handle! That's just observational fact!"
"And you wondered if it would fit."
"In doorways!"
"You never specified doorways until after." He's got you there and you both know it. "Your exact words were 'I bet you couldn't even fit it inside—' and then you stopped."
One beat of silence.
Two.
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"Then give me the proper context."
"I meant," you say slowly, carefully, "that your combat style is predictable and basic."
"Basic."
"Extremely basic."
"And when you said it was too thick to fit?"
"I…" You swallow hard. "I was making a valid observation about size."
"What for?"
Your eyes lock onto him, and you’re done. You’re done with cornering you and you backing down.
Because that’s not like you.
"You know what?" You lift your chin defiantly. "Maybe I was thinking about it."
He blinks quickly. "What?"
"You heard me." Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. "Maybe I was thinking about your stupid hammer and all the things you claim it can do."
"And?"
"And I think you're all talk." The words come out as a challenge. "All this big talk about satisfaction and endurance and pounding, but I bet you couldn't—"
"Couldn't what?"
You're playing with fire and you know it, but something about him brings out your competitive streak.
"Couldn't actually deliver on any of those promises. All posturing and no proof."
"Proof." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You want proof?"
"I want you to stop pretending that hammer is anything more than a glorified club."
He makes a sound that's part laugh. "You really have no idea what Mjolnir is capable of."
"Because you keep talking about it instead of showing me!"
It takes you a moment to realize what you've said.
"You want me to show you."
"Yeah. Show me."
He takes a step closer, and you're truly trapped now. "How exactly would you like me to show you?"
"I—"
"Because I can think of several ways." His voice is rough, low, full of promise. "But I don't think you're ready for that."
"I'm ready for anything,” you reply. "I just don't think you can actually deliver."
"Deliver what, exactly? Be specific, princess. What is it you think I can't deliver?"
"Satisfaction," you breathe. "You couldn't satisfy anyone with that thing if you tried."
His eyes go dark, pupils blown wide, and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you.
Instead, he does something worse.
He laughs.
Low and dark and knowing, like you've just played directly into his hands.
"Want to bet?"
Your pride won't let you back down. It never has.
"What kind of bet?"
"Simple." He says as he places his hands on either side of you against the wall. "I prove I can deliver satisfaction, and you admit you were wrong about everything."
"And when you fail?"
"I won't." The confidence in his voice makes your pulse spike. "But if somehow I do, I'll personally apologize to every magazine in Seoul for stealing your spotlight."
You should say no.
You should laugh in his face and walk away and pretend this conversation never happened.
You should remember that you're Korea's princess and he's just some overgrown god with an ego problem.
"What exactly would proving satisfaction entail?" is what you ask instead.
"That depends." He smiles. "How thorough do you need the demonstration to be?"
Thorough.
The word does something to your brain chemistry that you're absolutely not ready to examine.
"I'm very difficult to satisfy," you inform him, lifting your chin. "I have extremely high standards."
"I'd expect nothing less from Korea's princess." He's looking at your mouth now, obvious and unapologetic. "Lucky for you, I specialize in exceeding expectations."
"Big talk from someone who—"
He kisses you.
Just—leans in and presses his mouth to yours like it's the most natural thing in the world, like you haven't spent the entire day trading insults and competing for camera time. Like he has every right to taste the surprised gasp that escapes your throat.
And it's not gentle. Not tentative or questioning.
It's straight up decisive and hungry and you can feel his smile against your lips when you make a small sound of shock.
Your hands come up automatically—to push him away, obviously, to maintain some semblance of dignity—but instead they fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your brain screams that this is a terrible idea.
He kisses like he does everything else, confident and skilled and absolutely certain that he's the best you've ever had.
The worst part is he might be right.
You break away with a gasp. "What are you—we can't just—"
"Can't we?" His voice is rough, and his eyes are so dark they're almost black. "You're the one who wanted proof."
"I didn't mean—"
But whatever you didn't mean gets swallowed by his mouth again as he kisses you harder, deeper, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. The other wraps around your waist and suddenly you're airborne, legs instinctively wrapping around him as he lifts you like you’re not an actual grown woman.
"Wait—" You try to pull back but he follows, kissing you through the protest. "Seokjin, what are you—"
He walks. Actually walks across the room while kissing you stupid, and you can't even form coherent thoughts anymore because his mouth is doing obscene things to yours and you're clutching his shoulders for balance and this is—this is—
Your back hits the vanity table with a soft thud and he sets you down on the surface, never breaking the kiss.
Makeup brushes scatter.
A lipstick rolls onto the floor.
You don't care because his tongue is in your mouth and you're kissing him back just as frantically, trying to win even this.
When he finally pulls away, there's a string of saliva connecting your mouths. Thin and obscene and you watch it break as he leans back just far enough to look at you.
You're breathing hard. He's breathing hard. His hands are on your thighs and you're sitting on a vanity table with your legs spread and him standing between them and this is—just—this is fucking insane—
"Still think I'm all talk?"
You open your mouth to answer—something cutting, probably, something about how one kiss doesn't prove anything—but then his hand comes up to cup your jaw. Gentle. Firm. Tilting your head just slightly to the left.
"What—"
His mouth finds your ear. Soft kisses along the shell, then lower, his breath hot warming up your skin.
Your hands tighten on his shoulders and a small sound escapes your throat that you're going to deny until the day it’s your funeral.
"Still with me, princess?" he murmurs against you, and you can feel his smile.
"I'm—this doesn't—you haven't proved anything—"
He kisses down your neck. Patiently and carefully, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use it mapping every inch of skin. His mouth is hot and wet and when he uses teeth you actually gasp.
"No?" Another kiss, lower. "Should I stop?"
"I didn't say—"
His mouth finds the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur.
You tilt your head back automatically, giving him better access, and he makes an approving sound against your skin.
"That's what I thought."
He continues kissing across your shoulder until he hits fabric. Pauses. Then his fingers hook into the loosened dress and push it down, exposing more skin for his mouth to explore.
His other hand is on your waist, solid and warm through the silk, and then it's moving. Sliding down over the curve of your hip, down to your outer thigh where the dress has ridden up from your position on the table.
You should say something. Should maintain some shred of dignity. Should definitely not be letting Thor feel you up in a dressing room while—
His hand grips your thigh and pulls, dragging you forward on the table until you're pressed fully against him and you can feel exactly how much he's affected by this whole situation.
"Oh," you breathe, and it comes out shakier than you'd like.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips slightly swollen from kissing.
Then his hands are on your waist and he's turning you around so fast you barely process the movement before you're facing the mirror, legs bent at the knees, his body pressed against your back.
"What—"
His hands slide to your knees, firm and decisive, pushing them apart.
You yelp—actually yelp like some startled animal—and your hand flies down instinctively to cover yourself, pressing against the silk of your panties because this is not happening, he can't just—
His fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion.
"Ah-ah." His voice is low against your ear. "None of that."
"Let go—"
"Why?" He guides your hand away, placing it on the vanity surface beside you. "Thought you had nothing to hide."
Your other hand braces against the mirror, leaving a palm print on the glass. "I don't—this is—you can't just—"
His free hand settles on your right thigh. Not gripping, just resting there with gentle pressure. His thumb moves in a slow circle against the sensitive skin and you feel yourself tense.
"Relax," he murmurs, and there's that tap again. Soft. Patient. Guiding you to open wider.
Your thighs resist automatically because giving in feels like losing, but his hand is steady and warm and that circular motion is doing something to your ability to think straight.
Another tap. More pressure.
"Come on, princess. Let me see."
"See what?" Your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. "There's nothing to—"
"Then why are you clenching up?"
His eyes meet yours in the mirror over your shoulder and the sight makes your breath catch.
You look—
You look wrecked.
Flushed and disheveled, hair mussed from his hands, lips swollen and darker. The dress is sliding off one shoulder and your chest is rising and falling too fast and you can see the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.
"Look at you," he says softly, and his mouth finds your shoulder again. Just resting there while he watches you in the mirror. "All flushed and pretty."
"I'm not—" You try to sound indignant but it comes out shaky. "It's just warm in here."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm completely unaffected."
His smile curves against your skin. "That so?"
"Yes."
"So when I do this—" His hand slides higher up your inner thigh and your breath hitches. "—nothing?"
"Nothing," you lie through your teeth.
"Hmm." He's still watching you in the mirror, dark eyes tracking every micro-expression. "You're telling me you're completely dry right now."
The word makes your face burn hotter. "Obviously."
"Obviously," he repeats, and you can hear the amusement. "Because Korea's princess doesn't get wet for foam hammer gods, right?"
"Right."
"Then you won't mind showing me."
Your thoughts skid on ice. "Showing you what?"
"How dry you are." His thumb traces lazy patterns on your thigh, each touch sending sparks up your spine. "If you're so unaffected, prove it."
"I don't need to prove—"
"Push them aside." His voice drops lower. "Your panties. If you're not wet, show me."
The challenge hangs in the space between you, and your competitive instincts war with your self-preservation.
Because you know—you fucking know—that you're not dry. You can feel the slick evidence of arousal and the way your body is responding to every touch.
But admitting that feels like surrendering completely.
"I'm not going to—"
"Oh, scared?" The word is soft but pointed. "Thought you were ready for anything."
"I’m not scared of—"
"Then show me." His hand on your thigh squeezes once. "Go ahead. Prove I don’t affect you at all."
Your hand shakes slightly as you reach down, fingers hooking into the silk.
This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. You should just tell him to go to hell and walk out and—
You push the fabric aside.
The sound that escapes your throat is somewhere between a gasp and a whimper because what the fuck.
You're glistening. Swollen and flushed and so obviously wet it's actually mortifying. Your inner thighs are slick and you can see how puffy everything is with want, how your body has completely betrayed every word out of your mouth.
"Oh," Seokjin says behind you, and he sounds entirely too pleased. "What's this?"
You try to close your legs but his hand keeps you spread, forcing you to look at the evidence of your own arousal.
"That's—I don't—" Words fail completely as you stare at your reflection. At the way you're spread open on display, at how obvious it is that you're affected.
"Thought you said you were dry." His lips brush your shoulder, feather-light. "This doesn't look dry to me, princess."
"Shut up—"
"Look how wet you are." His voice is velvet and sin. "All this from a few kisses? Or were you lying about being unaffected?"
Your face is on fire. Your whole body is on fire.
You can't stop staring at yourself in the mirror—at how exposed you are, how wanting—and you hate that seeing yourself like this is somehow making it worse.
"I—" Your voice cracks. "This doesn't mean anything—"
"No?" His hand slides from your thigh toward where you're holding your panties aside, and you can't breathe. "Want me to check how much it doesn't mean?"
"It doesn't—I'm not—this is just a physical reaction, it doesn't—"
His fingers slip under the silk and your hand falters, moves to grab his forearm for leverage as you choke on whatever excuse you were about to make.
"Just a physical reaction," he repeats, and then his fingers find your clit and your entire world narrows to that single goddamnded point of contact. "Interesting."
The noise that comes out of you is embarrassing. Broken and desperate and you try to bite it back but his fingers are moving in slow circles and your brain is shorting out.
"That's—you can't just—fuck—"
His teeth sink into your shoulder. Not hard enough to leave marks, but enough that you feel it everywhere, and your head falls back against him automatically as a shudder runs through your entire body.
"Look at yourself," he says against your skin, and your eyes flutter open to the mirror.
You look like a complete wreck.
Cheeks flushed dark, mouth open, eyes glassy.
The dress is barely clinging to your frame and your legs are spread obscenely wide with his hand between them, and you can see the movement of his fingers through the sheer fabric of your panties.
"I'm—this doesn't mean—ah—"
"Doesn't mean what?" His fingers press harder and you actually whimper. "That you want this? That you're fucking soaked for me?"
"I don't—I'm not—"
But your hips are moving now, rocking into his touch like your body has completely disconnected from your mouth's insistence that you're unaffected.
His other hand slides up from your waist, slowly, deliberately, until it cups your breast from underneath through the thin silk.
"No bra," he observes, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Did you plan this, princess?"
"It's couture—" The words dissolve into a gasp as his fingers work your clit in tighter circles. "You can't wear a bra with—oh god—"
He pulls the dress down and your breast spills into his hand, nipple already hard and aching.
"Fuck, look at you." His voice is rougher now, strained. "So fucking pretty falling apart all over my arms."
His palm is warm and rough against your skin as he kneads your tit, fingers finding your nipple and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
You feel both sensations at the same time—his hand on your breast, his fingers on your clit—and it makes your thighs start to shake, both your hands scrambling to grab him.
"I'm not—this isn't—please—"
"Please what?" His teeth find your shoulder again and you arch into his touch. "Please stop? Please keep going? Use your words, ori."
"Don't call me—fuck—don't call me that—"
"Why not?" He pinches your nipple and you fucking mewl. "You're coming apart like a thread right now. Seems fitting."
Your hands scrabble for purchase on the vanity, knocking over bottles and brushes. One palm presses flat against the mirror and you watch yourself through half-lidded eyes—watch the way your chest heaves, the way your body moves against his hands, the absolutely wrecked expression on your face.
"This is—you're just—I'm only—oh fuck—"
His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you're so wet you can hear it.
"Just what?" He circles your opening without dipping inside and you want to scream. "You're only what?"
"This doesn't—ah—doesn't mean you win—"
"No?" He pushes one finger inside and your whole body jolts. "What would winning look like, princess?"
You can't answer because you’re so slippery he slides in right away. So much so that he doesn’t wait to add a second finger, the stretch making your vision blur.
"Fuck—Seokjin—oh my god—"
"There we go." His voice is velvet and sin against your ear. "Say my name again."
"I—I wasn't—please—"
His thumb finds your clit again and suddenly you're being worked from both angles whilst his other hand remains playing with your nipple.
"Look at yourself," he commands, and your eyes fly open to the mirror. "Look how good you take my fingers."
It’s an embarrassing sight, really. Obscene.
You can see the movement of his fingers fucking into you, can see the wet shine on your inner thighs, can see exactly how thoroughly he's taking you apart.
"I hate you," you gasp, but your pussy clenches around his fingers like a liar.
"Uh-huh." He bites your shoulder again and picks up the pace, fingers pumping faster. "Hate me so much you're dripping down my hand."
"That's—fuck—that's just—"
"Just what?" His thumb presses hard on your clit and you nearly sob. "Just biology? Just a physical reaction?"
"Yes—"
"Then why are you trembling?" He twists his fingers and you cry out, back arching. "Why are you moaning my name? Why is your pussy so fucking tight around my fingers?"
You can't form words anymore. Can only make broken sounds as he works you over, one hand fucking you open while the other plays with your tit, his mouth hot on your shoulder and his eyes locked on yours in the mirror.
"You're close," he observes, and you want to deny it but your body is wound so tight you might actually shatter. "I can feel it. You’re clenching me so tight.”
"I'm not—please—I can't—"
"Can't what?" His fingers curl again and you see white. "Can't admit you want this? Can't admit I'm making you feel good?"
"Seokjin—"
"That's it, princess. Say my name while you fall apart on my fingers."
Your hands are slipping on the mirror, leaving smudged prints, and your thighs are trembling so hard you'd collapse if he wasn't holding you up.
Everything is hot and tight and building and you can feel yourself getting closer, chasing something just out of reach—
He stops, all so abruptly.
"What—why did you—"
He spins you around so fast the room blurs, and suddenly you're facing him again, your ass against the vanity edge and your legs still spread from where he had you open.
"No," you say immediately, because you know that look. "Whatever you're thinking, no—"
Mjolnir flies across the room into his waiting hand.
Your brain takes approximately three seconds to catch up to what's happening.
"Absolutely not—"
"Absolutely yes." He's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen all year. "You wanted proof it's not useless, right?"
"I didn't mean—that's not what I—you can't seriously think you're going to—"
"Gonna what?" He adjusts his grip, and you notice for the first time that the handle isn't just wrapped leather. There's a section near the base that's smooth metal, polished to a mirror shine. "Use my foam prop on you?"
"It's not—" You try to close your legs but he steps between them, keeping you spread. "This is insane, you're insane, even if I wanted to—which I don't—that thing has ridges and—"
"Had."
He runs his thumb along the handle and the leather wrapping shifts, magic rippling across the surface until that entire section is just smooth, warm metal.
"Perks of enchanted weapons, princess. I can also adapt to challenging circumstances, see."
Your mouth opens. Closes.
"That's—you can't just—that's cheating—"
"Cheating?" His free hand slides up your thigh, thumb pressing against where you're still swollen and wet. "You wanted me to prove it's not useless. I'm proving it."
"By magically modifying it? That doesn't count!"
"It's still Mjolnir." He drags his thumb through your folds and you gasp, hips jerking forward. "Still the same hammer you've been calling a prop all day. Now stop being difficult and spread your legs wider."
"I'm not spreading anything for your stupid modified—"
His hand grips your inner thigh and pushes, forcing your legs apart until you're completely open for him.
"Your hammer is so fucking stupid," you spit out, because if you're going down (you are, and you don’t want to analyze why you’re fucking okay with it), you're going down fighting. "Even with magic it's still just—"
The smooth metal presses against your entrance and your consciousness hiccups because it's warm. Not cold like metal should be, but body-warm and slick like he's already used magic to make it perfect for this.
"Your hammer is as stupid as you—oh ff-fuck—"
He pushes it inside.
Not rough, not fast, just steady and inevitable, and the stretch is insane. Thicker than his fingers, perfectly smooth, and you can feel every inch as it fills you. The metal is warming further from your body heat, adapting, and you hate that it feels good.
"Yeah?" His voice is rough, watching your face crumble as you try to maintain your glare. "Still stupid?"
"Yes—fuck—still completely—ah—"
He pulls it out slightly and pushes back in, deeper this time, and your hands fly back to brace against the mirror.
"What was that?" He starts a slow rhythm, working the handle in and out while his other hand finds your clit. "Couldn't hear you over all that moaning."
"I wasn't—I'm not—oh god—"
"Is the hammer adequate now?" He circles your clit with his thumb, matching the pace of Mjolnir fucking into you. "Still think it's just a prop?"
You want to say yes.
Want to maintain that it's useless and stupid and he's an idiot for thinking this proves anything.
But the words won't come because the handle is hitting something deep inside you that makes you voice out embarrassing noises and your clit pulse.
"Tell me, ori." He leans in closer, mouth against your ear. "Tell me it's adequate."
"No—"
He angles the handle differently and you cry out, back arching off the mirror.
"No?" He sounds amused, fingers working your clit faster. "C’mon, you can tell me."
"I—fuck—I'm not telling you anything—"
"Can't talk while being stuffed all the way up?" He pushes Mjolnir deeper and you sob, hands scrabbling against the glass. "Yeah, that's what I fucking thought."
Your pussy is clenching around the handle desperately, trying to pull it deeper, and you hate how good it feels.
Hate that he was right about everything.
But most of all, you hate that you're going to come on Thor's stupid magically modified hammer while he watches you fall apart.
"God, you're pretty." His voice has gone softer, almost reverent, and that somehow makes it worse. "Look at you taking it so well."
"Shut—ah—shut up—"
"Mmm?" He picks up the pace, fucking you harder with Mjolnir while his thumb presses tight circles on your clit. "Come on, princess. Use that smart mouth for something other than denying how good this feels."
"It doesn't—I'm not—please—"
"Gonna cum?" His eyes are locked on where the hammer disappears inside you, watching the smooth metal slide in and out. "I can feel how close you are. Pussy's getting so tight around it."
"I'm not—"
"Yeah?" He twists the handle and you nearly scream. "Not gonna cum on my stupid useless hammer?"
Your orgasm is building so fast you can't stop it, can't slow it down, can't do anything but hold on while he works you over with the perfectly smooth handle and his relentless fingers.
"Seokjin—fuck—I can't—"
"Yeah, fuck yeah, that's right." His voice is strained now, breathing hard like he's the one getting fucked. "Feel it. Feel what this stupid hammer can do."
Your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around his hand as the first wave crashes over you.
"That's it, that's—fuck, look at you—"
You're coming so hard you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but shake and moan while he fucks you through it with steady, relentless strokes. His thumb doesn't stop on your clit, doesn't give you any mercy, just keeps circling and pressing while you fall apart completely.
"Seokjin—oh god—please—"
"Yeah, I got you." His free arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as your legs give out. "Got you, princess. Just let go."
Your pussy spasms around the handle, squeezing and releasing in waves that seem to go on forever.
When you finally start to come down, shaking and gasping, he slowly pulls Mjolnir out. The drag of smooth metal against your sensitive walls makes you whimper, and you watch through hazy eyes as he brings the handle up.
It's glistening. Covered in your wetness, and as you watch, the metal shifts back to its original wrapped leather form.
"Still think it's useless?" he asks quietly.
In a normal situation, you’d snap and say yes.
But this is, clearly, not a normal situation.
And also, your brain is offline and your body is still trembling with aftershocks and all you can manage is a weak glare.
He laughs, low and pleased, and sets Mjolnir aside carefully.
"That's what I thought."
Your head falls forward against his shoulder because you literally cannot hold it up anymore.
Everything is warm and fuzzy and your legs are definitely not going to support your weight anytime soon.
"I still hate you," you mumble into his shirt.
"Uh-huh." His hand comes up to stroke your hair, surprisingly gentle. "Noted."
"And your hammer is still stupid."
"Sure, princess." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Whatever you say."
You want to argue more, want to maintain your position that none of this meant anything, but exhaustion is pulling you under like a tide.
The last thing you register before your eyes slide closed is his arms tightening around you, holding you steady.
And the quiet sound of him murmuring something that might be your name.
if you like my writing, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'⸌⸌'♡
Synopsis: Some houses are harder to sell than others but you, Y/N, are determined to find the (supposedly) haunted Elliot House a new owner. That is, until it's very real and very hot exceedingly well-dressed ghost decides to make himself known. If only you didn't find yourself enjoying the knowing.
Rating: PG-13 (kissing but nothing beyond that)
Word Count: 6,214
Author's Note: hope you enjoy this random Halloween "drabble"! This got oddly angsty? I suppose that happens with ghost love LOL
[ Cross-Posted to Wattpad ]
“Through here,” you say, leading the Gundersons through an arched door. “You’ll find the most adorable sunroom.”
The Gundersons both gasp, appropriately awed by the tall walls of windows. Each panel is topped with stained glass, casting colorful patterns across the checkered floor. Technically, the sunroom isn’t part of the original house – it was added in 1975 during a brief period the address was owned by a cult – but you rarely disclose this fact during tours. Most people don’t care which parts of the house are original, so long as they can say they bought a 19th century Tudor.
Not that you blame them. Most people (or at least, sane people) appreciate the romanticism of an old structure without actually wanting to live in one. Modern amenities are the top benefit of progress, after all. The government couldn’t pay you to live without modern heating, plumbing, or refrigeration.
“Margaret, did you see?” Arthur Gunderson, a slightly rotund lawyer, and husband of said Margaret, gestures emphatically. “I’ll be damned if this stained glass isn’t Tiffany! See there, see that stamp in the corner?”
“Good eye, sir!” you chirp, barely glancing up from your clipboard.
Truthfully, you aren’t sure whether the glass is authentic. The cult that installed could hardly be called profitable (they sold the house at a loss after less than ten years, although this likely had more to do with crimes committed on said property than their income, but you digress), so you’d be hard-pressed to believe they could afford real Tiffany.
If this is what convinces the Gundersons to buy though, you’re hardly a realtor to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Ticking a box in the upper right corner – sunroom – you look up. “Right, well. That’s most of the lower level.” Pivoting on your heel, you head towards the corridor. “If you two will follow me upstairs, we can –”
“What’s that?”
Steps slowing, you stare at the plaster wall. A moment passes, then two before you convince yourself to turn around. When you see where Arthur Gunderson points, a relieved breath leaves your lips.
“Oh, that?” Floorboards squeak as you cross the room, sounding almost like laughter. “That’s the cellar. I’d offer you a look but unfortunately, the staircase isn’t quite up to code. You’ll need someone to look at that ASAP if you buy.”
Hovering at the wooden door, you grasp its bronze knob and pull. Tugging the cord for the light, you briefly scan the stairs but spot nothing unusual. Mostly convinced, you dutifully step aside.
“Feel free to look,” you say brightly.
The Gundersons crowd the landing you vacated.
“Careful, honey,” Arthur warns, holding Margaret’s elbow. “These stairs are steep.”
Standing on tiptoe, Margaret peers beyond him into the basement gloom. It could be your imagination, but she almost seems disappointed. A few cobwebs and shadows line the staircase, but nothing more sinister.
Hiding a smile, you check the next box. Cellar. Sometimes, people request to see this house not because they’re interested in buying it, but for the thrill. Entering the haunted Elliot house and surviving will make a great tale to tell their friends over cocktails.
Lowering your clipboard, you glance upward. So far, everything has gone to plan, which is partly the problem. You must’ve shown this house thirty times and always, something has gone wrong by now. Before being assigned its realtor, you believed in the paranormal, but only in a theoretical way. Not because you’d witnessed anything spectral.
Your opinions since then have changed.
Turning sharply, you plaster a smile on your face. “Shall we?”
Stepping back, Margaret pulls wiry frames from her jacket pocket. “I must admit,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “Based on what our last realtor said, I was expecting far worse from this property.”
Although your smile tightens, you nod. The other realtor had a point – Elliot house could be temperamental, at best. Downright petulant, at worst. You glare again at the ceiling.
“We get that a lot,” you say, ushering them down the hall. Best not to linger. “Whenever a house sits too long on the market, you know – people talk. Lots of rumors!”
“Oh, sure,” Arthur says, passing you with a chuckle. “We’re not superstitious, don’t worry.”
“Oh?” you say lightly, remaining behind. “That’s good to know. Now, if you head down the hall, you’ll reach the foyer. All the crown molding you pass is original. The house’s first owner and builder, Daniel Baker, was something of a craftsman. He –”
Abruptly, you cease talking and stare at the stairwell. Halfway down the steps, where before there was nothing, sits a perfectly ripe orange. Eyes narrowed, you stare at this a long beat before yanking the light cord down and shutting the door.
Glancing upward, you hiss, “Not today, I swear to – well, whatever hellish being you worship.”
The wind sounds almost like laughter, but you don’t stick around long enough to find out if that’s true. Shaking your head, you traipse down the front hall in search of the Gundersons. Luckily, they’re too busy taking pictures of the aforementioned crown molding to have noticed your absence.
“Shall we?” you say, gesturing at the front stairs.
Pocketing their phones, they begin their ascent. You wait at the bottom, giving them space to discuss the house. From personal experience, buyers tend to appreciate when you don’t hover.
Besides, the grand staircase is your favorite feature – equal parts artwork and functionality. From your place at its bottom, you admire the craftsmanship. Starting the climb, your fingertips skim whorls in the wood and for a second, you feel a phantom hand rest over yours.
Scowling darkly, you yank your palm away. Reaching the landing, you clutch at your clipboard tighter and walk forward.
“This way!” you say, practically shoving the Gundersons into the first bedroom.
While they ooh and ah about the bay windows, you tick another box on your spreadsheet. Master bedroom.
The second you’re done, the pen slips from your grasp and hovers in mid-air. It then turns, point-down, to scrawl something in the margin.
‘Master’ bedroom? Kiiind of racist, don’t you think?
Teeth gritted, you snatch your pen back. “I wasn’t the one who created the spreadsheet, okay?” you whisper. “And while, yes, I agree, and other realtors are moving away from that language, I don’t–”
“Pardon?” Arthur Gunderson peers, confused, over his shoulder.
Somewhat manic, you smile. “Oh, nothing,” you say, the words sounding high-pitched, even to you. “I was just reminding myself to show you the main bathroom. Beautiful claw-foot tub.”
“Oh. Sure,” says Arthur, returning to his wife.
Head whipping sideways, you glare at the most likely place Seokjin would be. A chuckle drifts past your ear on the other side, and your scowl deepens.
Once an appropriate amount of time goes by, you usher the Gundersons into the next bedroom. Hovering outside, you calculate how quickly you can convince them to leave. The longer they stay, the worse the so-called haunting will be.
You should have known better than to show them this house, but they were insistent. Or at least, Arthur was. Margaret seems reasonably paranoid, which you deem a positive quality. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius has heard of the haunted Elliot house.
Even the name is confusing, since it doesn’t bear the name of its builder, Daniel Baker, nor its longest resident, Mr. Josiah Whitley. Instead, it’s named for Nathaniel Elliot, the cult leader who murdered a man on its premises in 1978. Obviously, this fact wasn’t known to the public until after the cult sold the house and moved far away.
Eventually, Mr. Elliot was tried and found guilty of murder, but this was much later. Wincing a little, you glance at the ceiling. Seokjin has said many times that ghosts can’t read minds, but you wouldn’t put it past him to lie for a punchline. Even if he can’t read your mind, the faint scent of cedar lets you know he’s nearby.
Quickening your stride, you show the Gundersons the next bedroom. “This is one of my favorites,” you say, pulling hard on its warped door. “The view from that window is stunning. You can see all the way to the brook!”
Taking the bait, Margaret crosses the room. “Oh, look, Arthur!” she exclaims, leaning forward. “There’s a gazebo!”
He follows at a more leisurely pace, frowning when he spots a lone cobweb in the corner. Sighing, you swipe at this as you pass, almost certain the web wasn’t there this morning.
While the two converse, you pull out your clipboard and run down the list again.
Most days at your job are like today – running down lists and waiting for other people to make their own life decisions. Becoming a realtor wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon you. When your mom got sick your senior year of grad school, you returned to take care of her and finished your coursework remotely.
There were only so many jobs with flexible hours, and you ended up getting your realtor’s license to support her on the side. When your mom passed, you stuck around to sort out her paperwork and affairs. Two years later, everything is in order and still, you remain. Stuck in a holding pattern, showing houses and too afraid to try your hand at anything different.
BANG.
The sudden noise from above plunges the room into silence. Both Arthur and Margaret swivel, wide eyes landing on you.
Margaret’s glasses chain trembles. “What was tha–”
“My assistant,” you blurt, backing towards the door. “He mentioned he would stop by to drop off some keys. That must be him – I’ll go and check!”
“But…” Arthur stares. “The noise came from above.”
“Be right back!” you call, stepping into the hall.
As fast as possible without raising suspicion, you rush down the hall. “Seokjin,” you hiss, hand skimming the banister as you descend. “Stop that right now!”
No one responds – not that you thought he would. Crossing the foyer, you reach the cellar door and yank it open. Flicking the overhead light, you see the orange has disappeared. Rolling your eyes, you shut the door.
“This isn’t funny,” you huff out loud to no one.
Far above you, a low groan shakes the house. Honestly, it sounds more sexual than scary, but you suppose that only makes it more sinister. Reaching the foyer, you slow your pace and set down your clipboard. Suppressing a sigh, you glance at the clock. This has happened enough times that you can predict things to the minute.
Crossing your arms, you tap your foot and count down in your head.
One – increased groaning. Sometimes from the cellar, often the attic and, during one memorable visit, from behind a locked bathroom door.
Two – shuffling feet while the Gundersons (insert buyer’s name here) debate whether to run or wait it out. They hastily whisper, wondering if it’s their minds playing tricks.
Third – laughter. Seokjin will say it sounds lilting but to you, his laughter is more akin to a car’s windshield wipers. Today, said laughter drifts from the main bedroom, immediately followed by the Gundersons’ screaming.
Directly above you, Margaret’s heels pound wooden floors. Wincing, you make a mental reminder to buff the scuffs from the wood.
“ARTHUR!” she calls, her voice pitching upward.
“Right behind you!” he bellows.
When the lights in the foyer flicker, you lean against the grand railing. In your experience, there’s nothing you can do now to save the showing. As soon as Seokjin reveals himself, it’s only a matter of time.
“Whoooo dareeessss to disturrrrrb meeeee!” he wails, and you try not to laugh. “This is MYYYY homeeee and you are nooooot welcomeeeee! OoOOOOooooOOo!”
Arthur is first down the stairs. Reluctantly, you step forward – as their realtor, you’ll try to calm them down and get them out. All part of the plan. What’s not part of the plan is Arthur’s blind panic, elbowing you – hard – in the stomach as he runs past.
Concaving, you stumble, your foot catching on a loose floorboard as you fall backwards. Suddenly, a pink cushion slides between you and the floor. You land in the middle of it, shocked but unharmed.
Arthur yanks open the front door. “You!” he blurts, whipping around to point. Blinking, you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder. “Yes, you,” he scoffs, spittle flying as Margaret runs past. “I don’t know if this is your idea of a sick joke or what, but your manager will be hearing from me!”
Before you can formulate a response, Arthur is out the front door. You hear the sound of their car starting, exhaust billowing behind them as they speed down the street.
Propping yourself on one elbow, you release a sigh. The house has fallen silent, almost sheepish in its total lack of sound. Head lolling back, you glare at the ceiling.
“You are so annoying,” you groan, well-aware you sound crazy. “I honestly don’t know what you’re looking for, Seokjin. The Gundersons were fine.”
The front door slams.
An outline of a person materializes between you and the living room, seeming composed of dust motes and sunshine. Turning your glare in their direction, you tap your fingers against the oak floor.
Seokjin solidifies fully, rakishly leaning against the paneled wall. He’s dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore when he died, albeit with his hair styled in this century’s fashion. Seokjin once said ghosts are able to change their appearance, but most choose not to. There’s little point to it, and it wastes precious energy.
Sadly, he shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Seokjin says, his deep timbre resonating through floorboards beneath you.
“Show off,” you mutter.
Lips twitching, he crooks a finger. The foyer light ceases to flicker, and Seokjin straightens. Dusting invisible dust from his shoulders, he walks forward.
“The Gundersons were tiresome,” he says. “I would’ve been bored of them in months, started haunting again, and this house would’ve gone right back on the market. Really, I saved you trouble in the long run. You can thank me later.”
“Oh, no,” you deadpan. “Two commissions on the same property. What a horrible fate.”
“Exactly. You’re welcome.”
Fighting an eye roll, you push yourself upward with cushion in hand. At least Seokjin was kind enough to break your fall, even if he caused the circumstances which led to it in the first place.
Brushing the dirt from the cushion, you shake your head. “You do know that eventually, someone will buy this house and you’ll have to make peace with that fact. Right?”
When Seokjin doesn’t immediately respond, you look up. His dark gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, briskly looking away when he catches you watching.
“I know,” Seokjin says, turning around. “Might I point out though, that I don’t have to make peace with anything. Ghost,” he adds, pointing at himself. “Not making peace with things is our bread and butter.”
“People have owned this house before, though.”
“Boring people,” Seokjin mutters.
“That didn’t seem to bother you back then!”
Seokjin enters the living room. “Ugh,” he groans, dropping onto a chaise. Dust motes spiral around him, as though he were solid. “If I must be trapped on the material plane, Y/N, the least the material plane could do is provide some entertainment. And the lovemaking of two seventy-year-olds doesn’t count,” he adds, fixing you with a glare.
Stifling laughter, you follow him into the parlor. Fluffing the cushion, you replace it on its chair and survey the room. Seokjin lounges dramatically and it could be your imagination, but he almost looks solid. More so than the first time you met, anyways.
He nearly scared the shit out of you, back then. Everyone at the firm warned you this house was haunted but were purposefully vague on the supernatural. The warnings they gave you were borderline mundane.
Oh, yeah, that house has been on the market forever. People say that it’s haunted, but I’d honestly be more worried about rats. Or asbestos – popcorn ceilings didn’t age well for a reason. And I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard a convict once lived in the basement for three months before the cops caught him. Watch out for that!
You entered this house with more than your usual trepidation, pepper spray in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Apparently, the wiring wasn’t all up to code – something you’ve since rectified with the city.
The sound of the door creak could’ve been written by the Brothers Grimm themselves, textbook gothic. Your flashlight swept over dusty floors, faint footprints remaining to remind you of its past. Spine steeled, you forced yourself to continue.
Finding a light switch, you flicked upward, and the chandelier came to life. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by on a rainy day. Keeping your flashlight, you wandered into the parlor and came to a sudden stop. Forest green wallpaper lined the walls, remarkably intact for its age. Stunned, you turned in a slow circle.
Moody maximalism was one of your favorite design styles, and this room was made for it. With a slightly better attitude, you resumed your walk-through, discovering a hidden cupboard in the kitchen and a dumbwaiter to nowhere. The second-floor entry point had been boarded up, but that could be rectified.
Some of the woodwork of the house was scuffed, and a few corners held fallen leaves, but overall, it was in great condition. None of the realtors had prepared you for that – you arrived expecting a war zone and were pleasantly surprised.
On the second floor, you found a library – or what had once been the library, given the shelving was empty – that made you audibly gasp. Blue-black custom shelves extended along three of the walls. Closer to the door, a bright square of color remained from where a painting had hung.
Curious, your fingers traced the edges. “This place is unreal,” you murmured to yourself.
“I know, right?” said a voice directly in your ear.
Like any sane person, you screamed and jumped skyward. Your flashlight fell, its beam rolling over and over until it hit a baseboard. You didn’t stick around to find out, turning fast on your heel and bolting into the hall.
Thundering down the front stairs – wincing as the wood groaned – you nearly reached the foyer when Seokjin appeared.
“Boo,” he said calmly, between you and the door.
Coming to a shuddering halt, your hand gripped the railing. The ghost was impeccably dressed, if slightly invisible, and raised a dark brow in response to your flight.
Gaze darting sideways, you sought a second exit but all you could recall was the cellar and that wasn’t an option. Years of training from watching scary movies kicked in at that point, and you slowly straightened. Running away would do nothing – a ghost could follow you anywhere – so, maybe reasoning with him would be the best option.
“What do you want?” you asked, masking your fear to plant both hands on your hips. “Who are you?”
Surprise flared in his – admittedly attractive – gaze. Some of the shock had worn off by then, and you could admit to yourself (if to no one else) that the ghost before you was hot. Even thinking this felt ridiculous, and you wondered if your already-fragile grasp on reality was slipping.
Taking a single step forward, the ghost cocked his head. When you stumbled back, his lip quirked, and he appeared by your side.
“Who am I?” he mused, walking in a slow circle. “Awfully strange to ask me that, when I’m the person that died here, and you’ve never stepped foot in this house until now. I would know.”
Started, you turned your head.
This was a mistake since it allowed you to see every ridge of his features. The rounded tip of his nose, his enviably full lips, and a curve to his jawline which could likely cut glass.
Forcing your gaze upward, you found him focused on you. “You… died here?” you asked before you could think better.
His lips thinned. “You know, it’s very rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s personal.”
“Oh,” you said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” the ghost replied with a sigh.
Your eyes narrowed, hearing barely hidden laughter in his tone. This ghost was making fun of you. The audacity!
Incensed by this, you lifted your chin. “Wouldn’t asking you whether it’s polite to ask about death be asking you about death, though?”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged, slipping both hands in his pockets. “There really isn’t a good way for you to bring up that conversation.”
A laugh escaped, despite yourself.
His gaze flickered, as though oddly pleased. Quickly, the ghost scanned you from your shoes to your face, where he lingered.
“I’m curious,” he mused, resuming his walk in a circle.
Despite your discomfort, you forced yourself to stay still. Even though you could feel each place his gaze lingered – your shoulders, your collarbone, tacing the slope of your cheekbones.
“What are you curious about?” you asked, pushing the words past your lips.
He stopped between you and the door again. Slipping both hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest. The way his biceps strained against his suit was intriguing, implying there was something to strain against. Dimly, you wondered what a ghost’s gym routine looked like.
Your lips twitched at the thought, and the ghost scowled.
“Stop that,” he commanded. “You should be terrified. I was curious about why you haven’t run yet. Anyone else would’ve by now.”
“Would they?”
“Based on my experience, yes.” He tilted his head. “This is the first time I’ve introduced myself to someone and they stayed. Well,” he amended through teeth. “Stayed without crucifixes, holy water, and a priest.”
“Does that really work?” you wondered, genuinely curious.
“Does what work – exorcism?”
You nodded.
“Clearly not.” He waved a hand down his body. “At least, not in my case. When I first died, I wanted to move on. I was even excited when the first priest arrived, but he did nothing, and neither did the next one… eventually, I stopped hoping. Started haunting, instead.”
“Well, sure,” you said, dazed.
His lips twitched. “My name is Seokjin, by the way. Not that you asked.”
“That was literally one of the first things I asked!”
Ignoring this, Seokjin stuck out his hand. “And you are?”
“Y/N,” you said, ignoring the impossibility of what you were about to attempt while extending your palm. “Nice to meet you.”
Your hands met in the middle and, instead of passing through, you felt your palms brush. For a moment, you touched calluses and warm skin, smelling the faint scent of cloves.
Seokjin went utterly still.
Chin jerking down, he stared at your joined hands. “That’s… never happened before.”
Retracting swiftly, you said the first thought that came to mind. “What? Never touched a woman?”
Scowling, he retracted his hand as well. “I was thirty when I died, Y/N. Not thirteen.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, then paused. “You… haven’t been able to touch anyone since you died?”
“Things, yes. People, no.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “A psychic visited me once. The owners at that time brought her, wanting to see if she could get rid of me.” Seokjin snorted. “She got them to pay her, then said, ‘No.’ Hilarious. And interesting,” he added. “She told me she’d met other ghosts, ones that could interact. Never seemed to work for me, though.”
You blinked, unsure how to respond. For it being your first encounter with the supernatural, nothing about this had gone as imagined. You weren’t sure how to converse with a ghost who, for all intents and purposes, seemed fairly normal.
Except for the whole ‘being dead’ part.
“Well.” You shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”
His expression remained inscrutable, but for the faintest of seconds, you thought Seokjin looked intrigued. After a moment, he moved closer and leaned in. You caught the faintest whiff of orange, cloves, and cedar on what could have been his breath.
“I suppose there is,” he murmured, and then disappeared.
Since then, Seokjin has appeared each time you returned. The second time, you were halfway convinced your first visit was a hallucination. A theory Seokjin seemed content to feed into, refusing to show himself until you were about to leave. Then, he jumped through the hall closet to yell, “MUTINY!” and cement his presence in your mind.
Seokjin doesn’t dress the same every time. A few weeks into your friendship (if one can call it that), he informed you he could change his appearance but hadn’t done it much. It took energy to appear on the mortal pane, more so if his appearance was altered.
Still, you’ve learned Seokjin will do pretty much anything to commit to a bit. His brand of haunting tends to border on comical. Putting his arms on backwards, headless juggling, vomiting wine – really anything is fair game if not truly grotesque. By now, you’ve seen his whole gambit, which is how you can say today’s performance was lackluster.
Sprawled on the chaise, one foot dangling, Seokjin looks every bit of the tragic lothario. Again, you can’t help but wonder whether he’s gained permanence since the last time you saw him. You could almost swear the chaise sinks under the weight of his frame.
“What is it?” he demands, lazily pushing himself upward.
Something in your chest flutters, although you ignore it. Arms crossed, you fix him with a look of disdain. It’s sinful for Seokjin to look as good as he does – and the worst part is, you know it’s not an illusion.
After you met the third time, you Googled his name along with the house and found multiple hits. Seokjin Kim was killed on October 31st, 1978, by Nathanial Elliot, the leader of the Sunny Days cult. Both Seokjin’s parents joined two years prior, and he’d tried unsuccessfully to convince them to leave by mail and phone.
Eventually, he visited in person and convinced them to go – unfortunately, Nathanial caught wind of the situation and killed Seokjin before this could happen. You saw photos of Seokjin from then and can confirm he was always devastatingly handsome. Often, you’ve wondered if he left someone behind – a wife or a girlfriend – but can’t bring yourself to ask. You aren’t sure which answer would hurt more.
Regardless, you know Seokjin was missed. His parents were the ones who took down the Sunny Days cult, putting their leader behind bars for killing their son. Seokjin admitted once that they tried to tear this house down. They didn’t know he was tied to the grounds, and he didn’t want to tell them. It would’ve been harder for them to move on, he explained, and your heart broke a little.
Not long after that, you accidentally let it slip that Seokjin had a scent. It made him howl with laughter, nearly falling down the front stairs – not that this would’ve hurt him. From then on, Seokjin showed off his growing ability to move solid objects by leaving oranges for you in the house whenever you came. Only another of his practical jokes but lately, it’s made your skin hot to think of.
You realized you felt more than you should for him last month when he saved you from falling. Determined to clear out the cellar, your entire foot went through the first step and Seokjin pulled you to safety.
“Careful,” he murmured, one arm wrapped around your waist. Gently, he eased you backwards and onto the landing. “The top step is rotted through. You’ll need to call in someone to fix that.”
Unable to speak, you nodded and quickly disentangled. Each place he had touched, your skin tingled, and not at all unpleasantly. Since that day, your feelings have only worsened. Sometimes, you wonder if he knows.
Sometimes you wonder whether he feels the same, no matter how hopeless it is.
Heaving a great sigh, Seokjin stands from the couch. Lifting both arms, he stretches this way and that like an overgrown cat. The end of his shirt comes untucked, displaying a flat strip of skin you refuse to acknowledge.
Forcing your gaze to his face, you lift a single brow. Weeks after meeting, you considered Seokjin your friend, or at least an acquaintance. Now, you can’t call this friendship, but not because things between you have worsened. It’s because the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself wishing for something impossible. Something more.
“You know what,” you tell him. “There’s no need to scare off every potential buyer.”
Seokjin pauses, then lowers his arms. “There’s a need when they’re terrible. I’m the one forced to live with them for eternity, not you.”
“It’s not an eternity, though,” you tried to joke. “Eventually, they’ll die – or, so one would presume.”
Seokjin’s face hardens. Before you can take another breath, he’s standing before you. “Much better,” he says, his voice like steel. “I love being reminded that, while the world continues to age around me, I never will. I’ll simply stay on this godforsaken plot of land until the earth is destroyed by its own inhabitants. How long do you think that’ll take, Y/N? One decade? Two?”
Eyes wide, you stare at him in shock.
Seokjin has never spoken to you like this before. Usually, he’s far more cavalier about his reality, easily accepting the fact that he’s a ghost. Never once has he ranted about the world passing by. In fact, Seokjin frequently throws in your face that you’ll soon have more wrinkles than him.
For the first time, you wonder if all that is a front. If perhaps, deep down, all his lackadaisicalness is merely a cover for a deeper kind of fear.
Slowly, you move closer. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive,” you murmur. “Of course, I don’t want you to be forced to live with people you hate. I just meant…”
You trail off, uncertain and Seokjin’s face softens. He moves even closer, his scent comforting you in a way you can’t explain. In a way it shouldn’t be.
“I’ll never get used to this,” you sigh.
You aren’t sure why you’re speaking so softly. Possibly due to his proximity and possibly due to the look in his eyes, studying you as though you’re the impossibility, and not him. Dust motes trail through the air when Seokjin lifts a hand.
With bated breath, you watch as he reaches towards you. At the last second, he shifts and lightly brushes your jaw.
Sharply, you inhale because you feel it. You feel him.
“Seokjin,” you whisper. “What are you…”
Gently shushing, he leans in, and you feel his breath, feather-light, across your skin. Utterly shocked, you go still. It’s his breath that you feel. Breath that shouldn’t exist, according to logic.
Slowly, his gaze drops and stays on your lips. If Seokjin can’t read minds, he must hear your heart racing. The sound of it is all-consuming, drowning out rational thought.
“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he murmurs, his gaze lifting. “I’m waiting for someone to look at this… house the way you do.”
“A lot of people have liked the house, Seokjin. People who –”
“I don’t want you to sell this house."
Startled, you stop. “Why not?”
His expression twists, revealing his vulnerability. “I think you know.”
Roughly, you exhale.
Yes. You do know. It’s the same reason you’ve half-assed the last six showings at this address. It’s why you keep people from looking, and when they insist, barely attempt to stifle Seokjin’s shenanigans. You could have come earlier today and requested Seokjin to be on good behavior. He would have done it. For you, he would have.
Which is exactly why you didn’t ask.
“I… want to hear you say it,” you say, so low, you’re surprised that he hears.
Achingly slow, Seokjin’s hand slips from your jaw to your neck. When he pulls you closer, you can feel the weight of his hand, the solid pressure that comes from his fingers on your skin.
Your eyes flutter shut.
“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “If someone else buys this house, you’d stop showing it. You wouldn’t come here again, and I can’t leave these grounds. If someone else buys this place” – his breath hitches – “I won’t see you again. I can stomach eternity, Y/N, but not without you.”
“Seokjin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, or prayer.
“Yes?”
“Do you ever…” Eyes opening, you look up. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Your voice breaks. “That might make it real. What I want can’t be real, so if I say it out loud, it might vanish and right now, it exists in this tentative space. We exist in this space.”
Lightly, his thumb strokes your throat, and you feel your knees buckle. Every callous, every touch feels so horribly real, it’s making it difficult to remember why this can’t be.
“I’ve stopped wondering what’s real and what’s not,” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze tracing your mouth. “Most people say I shouldn’t exist and yet, here I am. They say I shouldn’t be here, able to touch you like this and yet, I am. They say I shouldn’t–”
Rising on tiptoe, you cut him off with your kiss. Seokjin shudders, his lips parted and warm in the shock of the moment.
“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at you in wonder.
Before you can respond, he returns, his kiss wild and fierce. Your own desire surges, touching him hesitantly at first, and then with full abandon. Hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, your fingers curl in his hair to anchor him to you.
Cupping your face, Seokjin pulls your body to his. His touch is reverent, deifying while his hands travel lower to land on your waist. His body curves above yours, catching your gasps with the tip of his tongue. Seokjin feels solid beneath you – solid, and warm, and painfully real.
His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing heat down your throat and across your bared collar. Shivers of pleasure shoot through you as he walks you backwards, pressing your spine to the wall. Briefly – wondrously – you laugh, the sound caught again by his kiss.
Within minutes, you’re panting, heart beating wildly as you grip his hair tighter. Seokjin’s leg presses forward, pushing your thighs apart and you nearly dissolve. He moves harder, faster, as though scared that you’ll vanish. This is the opposite of disappearing, though.
This is together, beneath, and on top as –
“Shit,” Seokjin growls, the sound torn from his throat.
Dazed, you look sideways and realize his hand has gone through the wall.
Seokjin stares at his wrist, his chest rising and falling. Everything you can feel is solid, but his hand sinks through the wall about an inch deep. It’s hard to concentrate with him above you, looking like that. Seokjin’s hair remains mussed by your hands, proving you touched him – however briefly.
Lips thinning, Seokjin pulls his hand out. Purposefully, he lays his palm flat on the wall but it’s clear to you both that he’s concentrating. Some of his pressure dissipates.
“I – fuck,” he exhales, dropping his chin.
Gently, you soothe a strand of hair behind his ear. This is the first time you’ve seen Seokjin anything less than immaculate and goddamn, if it doesn’t look good on him. That’s making it difficult to focus on the matter at hand.
The matter at hand. Ha.
Thinking this, a snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. Stunned, Seokjin glances up with wide eyes.
“Did you just… snort?” he asks, incredulous.
You shake your head, and then nod, sheepish. “Um, yes. I did. It’s just…” Now that you’ve started, you can’t help but continue. “I can’t believe the hottest make-out session of my life ended with your fucking hand through a wall.”
Seokjin stares for a long moment before – impossibly – his chest starts to shake. Before long, you’re both laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Once your laughter has faded though, comfortable silence remains.
Pulling you into his chest, Seokjin’s hand strokes your neck. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits with a sigh.
“Me, either.”
“I do know I want to do that again.”
“Same,” you say, pulling back.
“But…” Seokjin hesitates. “Y/N. You know I’m not… real, right?”
Your heart sinks to your shoes. “You’re real to me.”
“I know.” He speaks softly. “But I –”
Lifting a hand, you press a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” you warn. “Please. I don’t want to think about the future right now. I know I don’t have eternity, but I don’t want what I have without you.”
Something in his gaze breaks but Seokjin merely nods, letting silence fall again. You fear that he’ll vanish, leaving you alone but he merely exhales. The breath brushes your skin.
“Alright,” Seokjin murmurs, winding his hand with yours. “What do you want to talk about, then?”
The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “What if… we talk about me buying this house?”
just wanna let you guys know that there’s two big reviews coming probably today because i’m excited after reading them. A BREATH OF FRESH AIR amongst the sea of meaningless smut. Something that genuinely made me laugh which i value a lot. Are you guys excited too for my review? 👀🙂↕️ hope so
→ Sinopse: Você e Seokjin concordam que as banheiras de hidromassagem são os melhores lugares para se ter conversas francas. Também apropriado para um flerte leve.
AVISOS: fluffy, viagem de carro, college au, sfw, ingestão de álcool, conversa sobre virgindade, embriaguez, seokjin e toda a idiotice que isso implica, sexo implícito enquanto bêbado.
— Hoseok, eu dirijo até a casa de praia dos meus pais pelo menos quatro vezes por ano, não precisamos de um mapa.
— E se nos perdermos, ou tivermos que pegar um desvio?
Eu queria reduzir ao mínimo o revirar de olhos nessa viagem, mas era difícil prestar atenção em qualquer outra coisa além dos dois meninos discutindo no banco da frente.
— E quanto a gás, água, kit de primeiros socorros e coisas do gênero? – Sussurrei para Dee.
Ela era a única pessoa nesse carro que eu realmente conhecia, pois era minha colega de quarto desde o primeiro ano. Eu também conhecia um pouco o Hoseok, seu namorado de idas e vindas nos últimos meses.
— Eles são garotos de fraternidade, S/N, você acha que eles se preocupam com segurança e praticidade? – Sussurrou ela.
— Fabuloso. – Murmurei e ela deu uma risadinha.
— Não se preocupem, senhoritas, está tudo sob controle. – Seokjin virou-se para sorrir para nós. — Chegaremos em segurança, sei que isso é importante para vocês duas.
Seokjin.
Seu cabelo estava caído sobre a testa, sua pele impecável brilhava, aqueles lábios carnudos... Que sorriso. Inspirei um pouco alto demais para o meu gosto, e o perfume dele era tão bom que ia me deixar tonta. Seus olhos pousaram em mim por um segundo antes de ele piscar. Que droga.
Seokjin.
Nunca, em um milhão de anos, eu teria imaginado sentar no banco de trás do carro de Seokjin. Só nos vimos uma vez antes de hoje e já estou com os joelhos fracos. Uma paixão estúpida por garotos de fraternidade, nunca imaginei que eu seria um clichê.
— A viagem dura cerca de quatro horas, dependendo do trânsito em Nova York, então teremos alguns intervalos. – Informou Hoseok, olhando para o celular. Não prestei atenção na discussão sobre o Google Maps, então Hoseok ganhou, eu acho.
— S/N, você está com o cinto de segurança? – Seokjin perguntou, mas Hoseok respondeu antes que eu pudesse abrir a boca.
— Sim, o bonzinho está pronto para ir. – Ele riu e eu vi Dee revirar os olhos, mas sabia que seu sorriso bobo não sairia de seu rosto.
— Ignore-o. – Ela sussurrou para mim.
— Não é preciso dizer isso duas vezes.
A viagem começou sem problemas e, aparentemente, não seria tão terrível quanto eu esperava. Hoseok e Seokjin começaram a trocar o que eles chamavam de "histórias de guerra", contando de quantas escolas particulares eles foram expulsos e, para minha surpresa, comecei a rir.
Garotos irresponsáveis dirigindo o carro, e eu estava rindo no banco de trás. Estava tudo indo bem até quando começou a hora do karaokê. Hoseok e Dee cantaram Endless Love, como se faz, e Seokjin balançou as sobrancelhas para mim pelo espelho retrovisor. Minha guarda estava baixa e rir com estranhos nunca foi tão bom, até que Seokjin me pediu para cantar junto também.
— Obrigada, mas não, obrigada.
— Por que você não quer cantar para a Mariah Carey? Todos os outros estão se envergonhando. – Disse Seokjin, e tentei esconder o que sua voz deliciosa causava em minha psique. — Você viu esses dois desafinar, não tem como você ser pior do que eles.
De maneira alguma eu iria me envergonhar nesse carro. Por que eu estava agindo assim só porque ele se dirigiu diretamente a mim?
— Jin, deixe-a em paz. Ela é tímida. – Disse Dee, esfregando meu braço para me acalmar um pouco.
— Ela está corando? – Seokjin perguntou enquanto continuava a provocação, e Hoseok se virou para olhar tão rápido que achei que o carro daria um solavanco.
— Sim, aí! – Ele gritou. — Puxa, amor, cuidado com as unhas quando me beliscar!
— Acho que vou fazer uma serenata para você, então. – Ele piscou para mim e eu tive que lembrá-lo de manter os olhos na estrada. — Tão tensa...
A viagem terminou, e se eu não sabia o quanto Seokjin era rico, agora eu sabia com certeza. Ele estacionou o carro em uma entrada de garagem circular, daquelas que têm fontes com estátuas gregas, em frente a uma casa de três andares. Ela era toda de pedra cinza, com pilares e tudo mais.
— Lembra das férias de primavera do primeiro ano? – Hoseok perguntou a Seokjin, ele colocou a mão no coração quando as lembranças o atingiram. — Entramos aqui às escondidas e trouxemos alguns veteranos. Tornou nossa iniciação na Alpha Kappa muito mais fácil.
Explicou Hoseok.
— O trabalho em equipe é tudo. – Disse Seokjin antes de bater o punho com seu amigo. — Deixe-me fazer um tour com as senhoritas.
A casa era grande o suficiente para acomodar uma festa do pijama com 200 pessoas. O segundo e o terceiro andares tinham oito quartos e seis banheiros cada. O primeiro andar era o "andar das festas", como disse Hoseok, com três salas de jogos, uma biblioteca e uma sala de cinema, além de cozinha, sala de jantar e dois escritórios. O porão costumava ser a sala de armazenamento da coleção de arte da família, mas foi reformado para ser uma adega de vinhos.
A área externa era ainda mais impressionante. A piscina era enorme, bem ao lado de uma fogueira que acomodava dezesseis convidados sentados. Eles também tinham uma casa de piscina.
— Seria simplesmente estúpido não ter uma. – Disse Hoseok, enquanto mostrava a área da churrasqueira.
— Minha mãe também queria ter uma estufa, mas não estamos aqui com frequência suficiente para ser viável. – Explicou Seokjin e riu da minha expressão de espanto.
— É claro que não, isso seria tão ridículo. – Eu disse, olhando para a casa gigantesca.
Mas nada disso seria mais impressionante do que o terreno da praia que eles tinham só para eles. A areia branca se estendia por toda parte, sem nenhuma outra casa à vista em nenhuma direção. Era tão pacífica e tranquila que parecia uma ilha particular.
— Estou me sentindo como uma camponesa. – Disse Dee, e tive de concordar.
— Minha bebê Dee só pode ser a princesa mais linda. – Hoseok pegou a mão dela e beijou os nós dos dedos.
Ela murmurou, e eu pude ver o brilho em seus olhos.
— Vômito. – Eu disse e Seokjin se juntou a mim com ruídos de vômito.
— Vamos dar uma volta. – Disse Hoseok enquanto entrelaçava seus dedos. — Não faça nada que nós não faríamos.
— Isso é impossível, já que vocês dois são capazes de tudo. – Brincou Seokjin, mas eles já estavam correndo em direção à água.
— Crianças. – Eu disse, ouvindo suas risadas de longe.
— Eles crescem tão rápido. – Ele acrescentou, com ternura.
Continuei a observar Dee e Hoseok, algo para fazer em vez de me concentrar nessa estranha tensão unilateral que sentia em relação a Seokjin. Eu podia sentir seus olhos em meu rosto, tive que me lembrar de respirar em passos regulares. Apenas inspirar e expirar como um ser humano normal.
— Então. – Ele começou, sua voz ficou mais grave de repente.
— Então. – Respondi sem olhar para ele.
— Casa grande, não é?
— Brincar de esconde-esconde deve ser emocionante. – Consegui olhar para trás, para a casa, sem olhar para seu rosto lindo, deslumbrante e perfeito.
— Você está nervosa por estar aqui? – Ele perguntou de repente, e eu não pude deixar de olhar para ele.
— Um pouco. – Respondi, dando de ombros. — Nós não nos conhecemos de verdade, então não sei como me comportar.
— Se comportar? A melhor parte de ter 21 anos é que você não precisa se comportar. – Disse ele, exibindo o sorriso mais lindo.
Eu bufei.
— Veja, nós não nos conhecemos e eu gostaria de corrigir esse erro. Então, vou preparar algumas bebidas para nós enquanto você veste um maiô. Nós nos encontraremos na banheira de hidromassagem. Combinado? – Ele perguntou, sorrindo mais suavemente dessa vez, sem provocações.
Suspirei e assenti.
Biquíni rosa, cabelos cuidadosamente presos em um rabo de cavalo e um número inquietante de borboletas no meu estômago. Essa não era uma reunião social comum em que eu poderia me misturar ao fundo e conversar apenas com as pessoas que eu conhecia.
O objetivo principal era conhecê-lo, então tive que erguer os ombros e sair do quarto. Eu me perderia naqueles olhos e lábios a noite inteira, e o álcool não ajudaria em nada, mas eu cruzaria essa ponte quando chegasse lá.
A velha escada de madeira certamente anunciaria minha chegada, mas ele ainda não estava na banheira. Ele deixou um copo com uma bebida rosa e dois copos cheios.
Fique à vontade, eu já volto, dizia o bilhete que ele deixou na bandeja.
Entrei imediatamente, grata por meu corpo estar submerso na água. A água estava agradável, quente o suficiente para contrastar com a brisa da praia. O sol tinha acabado de se pôr no horizonte, e as nuvens estavam em um lindo tom de roxo. Relaxei ainda mais e deixei minha cabeça descansar na parte superior da almofada do encosto, fechando os olhos. A água começou a borbulhar em um ritmo mais rápido, relaxando os músculos das minhas costas. A sensação era tão boa que não tive tempo de reprimir o gemido que escapou de meus lábios.
— É uma sensação boa, não é?
Gritei e me levantei, encontrando os olhos de Seokjin pouco antes de ele começar a rir.
— Sinto muito. – Disse ele entre uma respiração e outra. — Eu não queria assustá-la, eu juro.
— Tanto faz. – Murmurei, tentando controlar um pouco meu coração.
Cruzei os braços e esperei que ele parasse de rir.
— Oh cara, isso não tem preço!
— Achei que não fosse de propósito! – Acusei, meus olhos se fecharam em fendas.
— Não era! Mas foi engraçado mesmo assim. Você parecia tão relaxada, e então... – Outra risada. — Mais uma vez, me desculpe.
Ele me deu um sorriso angelical, e eu revirei os olhos.
Ele entrou na banheira, tirando a camisa no processo. A única luz vinha da banheira, mas estava iluminada o suficiente para que eu pudesse ver perfeitamente seu abdômen ligeiramente definido, com proporções corporais que fariam uma modelo chorar em um canto. Seus ombros eram largos e seus bíceps eram musculosos. Ele obviamente levantava pesos, mas apenas o suficiente para parecer um anjo pecador. Desviei o olhar antes que ele me pegasse olhando, pegando meu copo e tomando um gole.
— O rosa fica ótimo em você, se me permite a ousadia.
— Obrigada. – Disse eu, olhando intensamente para minha bebida. — A propósito, a bebida é ótima.
— Obrigado, é limonada rosa com rum.
— Que legal. – Eu disse, finalmente olhando para ele.
Nós apenas acenamos com a cabeça, sem ter nada a dizer. Por alguns segundos, tudo o que podíamos ouvir eram os sons das ondas e a água borbulhante da banheira.
Ele respirou fundo e voltou a olhar para frente. Ele estava um pouco desconfortável, com os ombros ligeiramente curvados e a mão esquerda batendo no joelho debaixo d'água. Mas seu rosto não mostrava nada disso. Seu perfil lateral era perfeito. Nariz e queixo perfeitos, pele levemente rosada devido ao calor da água. Seus lábios carnudos...
— Isso é uma droga! – Disse ele, franzindo a testa para mim. — Precisamos rir ou os grilos vão tomar conta da conversa.
— Tudo bem... Mas minhas piadas são apenas do tipo patético, do tipo bate-bate.
Ele olhou fixamente em meus olhos, com o rosto concentrado. Sua expressão mudou tão repentinamente que pude ver a lâmpada se acender em sua mente.
— Certa vez, em uma festa, eu estava meio bêbado. – Ele começou. — Ok, muito bêbado, então acabei abraçando minha namorada na época e beijando seu pescoço em vez de seus lábios, na frente de todos, devo acrescentar.
— Oh, deus. – Sussurrei, absorto em sua história.
— Então ouvi alguns gritos, certo? Quando levantei minha cabeça do pescoço dela, não era minha namorada, era a irmã dela.
— NÃO!
— Sim! – Ele riu da minha interrupção. — Minha namorada é que estava gritando. Comigo, na verdade. Não é engraçado? – Ele perguntou, enquanto dobrava de tanto rir.
— Se por "engraçado" você quer dizer insano, então sim.
Ao longo da noite, nossas bebidas nunca conseguiram chegar ao fundo do copo, mas, de alguma forma, a jarra estava vazia. Rindo como adolescentes, zombamos de sua casa ridiculamente grande, grande demais para uma família de cinco pessoas. Também trocamos histórias embaraçosas, como a de Seokjin entrando direto em uma porta de vidro na frente de sua paixão quando tinha 13 anos e a da minha alça de biquíni se desamarrando em público aos 16 anos.
As risadas não pararam quando Dee e Hoseok chegaram em casa cerca de duas horas depois, ambos um pouco bêbados, correndo em direção ao quarto.
— Use camisinha! – Jin gritou antes de rir mais.
Mesmo bêbada, o tempo todo eu estava muito consciente do quanto eu gostava quando ele me tocava e do quanto eu queria tocá-lo por inteiro.
Eu não era tão lenta a ponto de não flertar com ele, pois sempre poderia culpar o álcool se não desse certo. Por isso, eu me certificava de tocar o braço dele de vez em quando e fazia dos meus seios o ponto focal, ajustando o tecido. A cada vez, ele coçava a nuca, então eu não tinha certeza se estava conseguindo.
— Então, meu último relacionamento foi ainda mais curto do que isso.
Continuei com minhas histórias de romance fracassado enquanto ele bebia a última gota de sua xícara. Eu terminei a minha alguns minutos antes.
— Apenas três meses no total. Ele era tão convencido que fiquei surpreso por não ter sido expulso antes.
— Ele era bom de cama, pelo menos? – Ele perguntou, balançando as sobrancelhas e eu bufei.
— Eu não sei. – Dei de ombros, evitando seu olhar confuso.
Minha respiração profunda, seguida de meu silêncio, o alertou.
— Oh...
— Sim...
— Posso saber por que você não sabe?
— Eu simplesmente nunca gostei deles o suficiente, sabe? Não tinha realmente aquele desejo por nenhum deles.
— Você teve desejo por alguém que não namorou? – Questionou ele.
— Na verdade, sim. – Respondi, com a voz um pouco acima de um sussurro.
Graças a deus pelo álcool e seus efeitos de aumento de confiança. Dessa vez, fui corajosa o suficiente para olhá-lo nos olhos.
— Oh? – Sua expressão confusa voltou, mas se dissipou no momento em que lambi meus lábios. — Bem, bom para você, então.
Ele sussurrou antes de se inclinar para frente.
— Eu diria que sim. – Sussurrei de volta, unindo meus lábios aos dele.
Era tão macio quanto eu havia imaginado. O gosto do rum era espesso em sua língua, mas isso só aumentou minha confiança ainda mais quando minhas mãos puxaram seu cabelo, aproximando-o mais de mim. Seu braço abraçou minha cintura, enquanto sua mão estava segura em minha coxa. Ele mordeu meu lábio suavemente, e eu gemi involuntariamente. Ele rompeu o beijo um pouco cedo demais para o meu gosto, mas estávamos sem fôlego.
— Devo fazer outro lançamento? – Perguntou ele, olhando para o pote vazio atrás de nós.
— E se não tomarmos os drinques e formos fazer outra coisa?
Warnings: swear words here and there, a little kissing scene.
Jin
"I told you, you should have done this sooner."
"Hey, if I had known this was gonna be this much fun, I would have."
"I did tell you, you just didn't believe me."
You huff. "Okay fine! You were right all along and I was wrong. Happy?"
Blair chugs down another shot and winces at the bitter taste. "I'll be happy when you listen to my advice."
"Asking for too much, now. Aren't you?"
"Cool then, mop over a boy for over a month again. Why don't you?" She retorts with no real bite, rather genuinely enjoying the glimpse of the old you back.
A wave of sadness hits you when you're reminded about the said boy and you sigh. "He isn't just a boy, he's also my best friend."
Blair immediately regrets her words when she notices the look on your face. "I understand that you would need time but if I hadn't dragged you out today, you would have not made any efforts to move on for at least another six months."
You feel an instant urge to deny it but end up not protesting because you know how true her words are.
Moving on would have been easier if you knew the answer to this one question; how does one move on from their best friend?
How do you forget the moments that made you fall for him? Moments when he was the only one you could confide in. When you two would spend hours talking on the phone about random things. When the two of you would sit on the balcony and judge every passerby. The inside jokes, the tears, the hugs, the words of comfort. How do you forget those and tell yourself to not feel the way you do?
And even if you manage to do so, will the two of you really ever get back to being as close as you once were? Won't that result in you falling for him all over again?
You take hold of another glass of shot when you realise that you were overthinking again. Today your plan is to get enough alcohol in your system so that you do not overthink the little things.
"What is he doing here?" Blair whispers to herself.
"Who?" Your tipsy mind gets distracted by that and you start checking left and right to catch sight of the person she's talking about.
"Jin."
Your eyes widen in shock and you freeze in your seat. "Jin is here?"
Blair nods, feeling the same amount of disbelief as you.
"Should I hide in the washroom?" You whisper shout. You don't even know why you feel the need to run when you and Jin have had a civil conversation just a few weeks ago. All you know is that you do not wish to face Jin. You are not ready to face the stir of emotions Jin would inevitably ignite.
"Fun fact, his eyes are fixed here," she quips with a mix of annoyance and amusement. "I'm also pretty sure, he's aware that we are talking about him."
You shut your eyes and groan audibly. "Fuck. Just what I needed."
"Fun fact part two, he's coming here."
As soon as she completes her sentence, you hear your name being called.
"Y/N."
"Jin!" You put on a fake smile and try to seem as excited as you possibly can. You won't allow your spirits to dwindle so easily. "What are you doing here?"
Jin thinks for a brief moment if he should lie and say that it was a coincidence but then decides otherwise. "Well, Jimin texted me that you're here and I had something important to tell you, so,"
"Well, I don't feel stalked at all." You grin sarcastically.
Jin smiles. That's the first stage of you getting drunk; getting sassy. "Well, I'd be hurt if you were to call me a creepy stalker."
He says it with such a soft look of adoration that Blair has to clear her throat loudly to announce her presence.
"I'm Blair," she introduces herself.
Jin understands that Blair's words are directed at him and he politely puts his hand forward in greeting. "I'm Jin."
Blair nods and shakes his hand. From the look in his eyes, she already has an idea about why Jin might be here and if what she's assuming is right, she should really get out of here as quickly as she can.
"Well, it's good that you are here, I have somewhere to go. Take care of her," as soon as the words are out of her mouth, Blair quickly leaves the spot knowing very well how you are going to react.
You gasp dramatically, concerned about how quickly she changed her colours. What a traitor you have as a friend.
Jin sits on the stool next to you before you can recover from your shock. "So what have you been drinking?"
You look at Jin with your mouth parted open, still having a hard time understanding what just happened in the span of a few minutes. How you came to the club to temporarily forget about Jin and how now, you are sitting right next to him.
You blink a few times to let the shock subside and with Blair gone, you feel your adrenaline rush fade away.
"I don't know, Blair ordered it," you shrug.
He hums, fiddling with his fingers on the table. "Any special reason you are out here clubbing on a weekday?"
"Nah," you say just as casually as you had uttered the previous sentence. Maybe it's because of the alcohol but you don't find yourself feeling anxious in his presence. There's only a very little amount of unease but that's only because you don't want to get too into your emotions.
Jin watches you closely. You don't look drunk, just tipsy. And thankfully, for him, you don't seem to be too bothered by the fact that he just invited himself.
Someone might say that he's being overdramatic coming all the way to say something he could have said any other time. But when Jimin texted him that you're here, his thoughts started getting a little wild.
What if you were in a club trying to get over him? What if some hot bartender catches your eye? What if your friends are telling you that you deserve better? (The last one, Jin agrees with)
It's fair to say that those thoughts made him rush to this place so that he can finally say what he figured out in the last few days.
Jin inhales deeply and asks the million-dollar question. "Do you– do you still love me?"
You choke on your drink and a series of coughs that follows. Jin immediately asks for a glass of water and helps you calm down.
"What kind of a question is that?" You ask in a raspy voice when your coughing fit subsides.
"A very important one?" He asks you back, his brows now furrowing in nervousness.
You mimic his expression, only that your brows furrow in annoyance. "What kind of people do you hang around with to get the idea that people's feelings change in the span of a few weeks?"
Ah, yes. You're sassy right now.
Jin's features soften and he looks at you with a look of disbelief.
"So you still love me?" He asks in a whisper, too scared to say the words out loud.
"Unfortunately, yes." You nod.
Before you can take hold of another glass of shot, Jin's hand comes to rest on yours. You look at him in confusion, wondering what even is he up to.
"Well, I love you too," a wide smile breaks out on his face as if the thought of you is enough to make him happy.
This time, you choke on thin air. "Excuse me?!"
He takes your hand and brings it to his lips. "I'm sorry it took me so long, but now that I know, I just want to be with you forever."
Your eyes follow his movements and you find your breathing getting shallower and only one question coming to your mind; Is this really happening?
Jin notices the way you seem to have run out of words. It makes him want to smirk in satisfaction but at the same time wrap you in his arms. Had he known you would react this way, he would have done this way sooner. But he was busy being a fool back then.
You were always by his side, through the worst and the best. You were his only constant in the world of variables. He always felt so at home with you, that the thought of changing the dynamics never occurred to him. You two were perfect being best friends and he thought that was how it was going to be forever.
But then he's also a hopeless romantic at heart. He has always dreamt of his perfect partner and what life with them will look like. He has also had his fair share of crushes and relationships but never did the faceless person from his dreams appear to be one of them.
Now that he thinks of it, he knows why that was the case.
"You don't have to say anything," Jin adds, not wanting you to stress about it. "I just needed you to know that I love you and I'm sorry for realising it so late."
Now as sassy as you are when you're tipsy, you're just as bold. Without thinking any further, you lean forward and kiss him. It's odd and something your sober self would never do, but right now you're definitely not sober. Plus, you can leave the overthinking for her when she wakes up tomorrow. At the moment, the only thing that matters to you is that the man you so irrevocably love, loves you back.
Jin freezes and his eyes widen in shock when he feels your lips on his.
He knows you are only doing this because you are drunk. He knows that had you been sober you would have asked a million questions by now. He also, knows that he shouldn't be kissing you back but when he hears a whine of complaint from you at his lack of enthusiasm, his resolve crumbles.
He gently puts his palms on your cheeks and kisses you back passionately. The warm sensation of your lips on his makes his head spin and he wonders how on earth has he gone so long without doing this.
However, he pulls back when he feels your tongue against his lips. "We should get you home."
You shake your head like a stubborn child. "No, I don't want to go."
Gosh, he wants to kiss that pout away. How did he not realise that it's been you all along?
Blair watches from a distance as you throw your hands in the air like a small child and a smile makes its way onto her lips. Guess, she won't have to worry about you moping anymore.
Yoongi
As soon as the doorbell rings, you freeze. That must be Yoongi.
You have been looking forward to this moment and at the same time have been dreading it. But it's one of those things that you know just needs to be done.
You haven't had a single moment of peace since yesterday. It's tiring honestly. You don't know how the conversation with Yoongi will go, but you at least hope that after this you won't feel this heavy weight on your shoulders and will be able to have a good night's sleep.
With that hope, you open the door and you're greeted by Yoongi in a purple suit and the sight itself makes you swallow. You really wish you could marry him.
Shaking the thought away, you welcome him in and ask him to take a seat on the couch.
"Would you like some tea or coffee?" You query
Yoongi shakes his head. "Nothing really. I had coffee before leaving."
Well then, guess you won't get the time to figure out how to start the conversation.
You take a seat on the opposite couch and play with the rings that adorn your fingers. "I called you at my place because there's something important we need to talk about and I thought that a public place isn't suitable for the conversation."
Yoongi nods. He won't lie but he shares the same view. It's difficult for him as it is to talk about his emotions. He doesn't want to imagine having to explain why he came across as nonchalant to your confession and how he respects your honesty, more than he could show.
However, nothing could have prepared him for the next words that leave your mouth.
"I think we should not go forward with this marriage."
Your words cause Yoongi to choke. Out of all the things he wanted to discuss with you, he never saw this coming. "What?!"
Seeing Yoongi react like this catches you slightly off guard. Usually, he always has his emotions in check and is unreadable. It always makes you feel like he's out of reach. However, right now, you can read him like a book, which oddly enough gives you a sense of satisfaction.
"We should not get married." You repeat your words and wait for Yoongi's shocked features to subside.
Yoongi looks at you and notices how determined you seem, as if you have thought about this long and hard and only then have you come to this decision. The thought that there's probably no changing your mind, scares him.
Clearing his throat, he tries to sound as calm as he can. "Why though?"
Now it's your turn to be surprised. Isn't it obvious why the two of you shouldn't get married?
Chewing on your lower lip, you ponder how you should frame your words. After a brief pause, you start with a gentle tone that somehow comes out sad.
"When two people love each other, they get married. Not because they have to, but because they want to. It's like this celebration of their love, where they declare to the world that they are each other's for the rest of eternity. But you see, that's the most important factor–" you look up to lock eyes with Yoongi. "–love."
Love.
It's a word Yoongi has hardly ever given thought to.
Yoongi knows what it feels like to be loved. His parents love him, his sister loves him, his friends love him, his dog loves him. He also knows what it is like to love someone because he loves these people just as much. But love in the way you describe it? Yoongi has never felt that.
From a very young age, he has known that it will be his parents who will choose who he is to marry. Which is why he has never felt or given much thought to what it is like to want to spend his whole life with someone.
But clearly, you have.
It looks like you know exactly what you want and he won't lie, he envies that. He wonders what it's like for someone to know what they want so clearly that they won't settle for anything less.
"We can always fall in love," he says with a small shrug as if it's not a big deal. The gesture makes his words look insincere and although it's true that he doesn't realise the intensity of his words, it's also true that he had shrugged simply to hide how uncomfortable he feels. He has never had to talk to someone about falling in love with them.
You chuckle humorlessly. "I don't think you realise what falling in love really means."
Yoongi wants to feel offended by your words but he can't. Because you're right. "Well, it's never too late to learn."
You can tell that Yoongi is being genuine. But you don't know how you should perceive his genuineness. Should you feel flattered that he's willing to give your marriage a try? Or should you feel sad that he has to try falling in love with someone?
You don't know what the answer to that would be but the thought of him falling for you because he had no other choice, does not sit right with you. Even if you two were happy one day, maybe somewhere at the corner of your mind will be the thought that he fell for you only because you two were forced into this marriage.
"I don't think it will work, Yoongi," you say with a sigh.
Yoongi's brow furrows in frustration. Why are you complicating things like this? "I don't understand what exactly is the problem?"
Here goes nothing.
"We have been on ten dates so far and on none of those occasions, did you ever seem interested in getting to know me on a deeper level. You are a closed book and I respect that it might not be easy for everyone to be open, but what counts is the effort. We have never had an open conversation or proper communication." Your voice comes out even, not a speck of anger or disappointment lacing your words. It sounds like you're only reading out observations from a science experiment. "Why do you think that is? If you were to ask me, and I might be wrong, but it's because you were never interested in the prospect of marrying."
"Had I not asked to break the marriage, things would have been pretty much the same and I would have never voiced these thoughts. You would have made no effort and I would have been trying way too hard to fulfil my wishes. Don't you see how wrong that could go?"
Yoongi remains speechless with his mouth parted.
"It's not only that, though," a small smile appears on your lips. "When you believe in love as much as I do, you'd know that love is inevitable. Everyone deserves it, including you. And I hope that when you do fall in love, you get to walk with them with your head held high without worrying about the wife you had to marry to boost your business."
With each word that comes out of your mouth, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest one by one. Last night, you stayed up with countless thoughts running through your head. Countless reasons and scenarios why this marriage won't work and would be painful for both of you. Especially you.
Yoongi takes a deep inhale and lets the silence linger.
What else is even there to say? You have given this a whole lot of thinking while he has hardly ever thought about it. Which only goes on to prove your point and how different both of your views on marriage are.
Indeed, he has never shown much effort towards establishing a connection between the both of you. There's no denying that, but he wishes he could tell you that it's not because he wasn't interested in forming one but rather that he does not know how to.
He knows there's no point in clarifying that now though, it will only sound like he's making excuses. Hence, he settles for responding to you with the only sentence that he thinks is relevant.
"We can't break this alliance."
"I know," you nod. "It won't be easy but I'm sure we both will come up with a way to convince our parents."
Yoongi huffs, sensing that you are underestimating his words. "Do you know that the deal has been signed?"
Your eyes widen in shock and disbelief. "What?! H–When?"
Your reaction is enough for Yoongi to know that you indeed, had no idea about the papers being finalised and signed. Your previous words make much sense to Yoongi now and why you thought that the two of you even had any other option but to get married to each other.
"About a week ago," he replies, expression now turning sombre. "I got to know about it only a couple of days ago."
A week ago? That would be around the time you and Yoongi went on your last date where you had confessed to him your feelings. Was it around the same time that both of your doors to escape were closed?
Panic shoots through your veins when the thought that there might be no way out, comes to your mind. No, no, no. There has to be some way.
But is there really?
Yoongi's company is way bigger than your father's. If the two of you back down now, the deal will be cancelled but it will be your father's company that will suffer the most whereas Yoongi's will recover in a few days. It was one thing if the deal was not signed. No gains, no losses. But now, it would be no gain, only losses.
How can you do that to your parents knowing how much stress it will cause them?
You can't.
"I don't have any other choice, do I?" Your voice comes out small, highly in contrast with how confidently you were speaking a few minutes ago.
"I don't think we do," Yoongi sighs, a deep sadness looming over his chest at how dejected you look. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can make a deal."
An abrupt chuckle escapes your lips. "Another deal? Haven't we already had enough?"
"This deal gives you the choice to be free," he comments, noticing how a small hopeful glint appears in your eyes.
"How?"
"Let's stay married for a year, if you still want an out after that, we will get divorced."
Yoongi's words give you a pause.
You can't say that the deal is ideal but it is better than nothing. It gives you the hope that the two of you won't be stuck in a loveless marriage. It also does not create the pressure of being happy with each other because that's the only option.
After thinking for a few moments, you realise that this indeed is what it has all come down to and you'll have to accept it whether you like it or not.
"What about the business deal?" You query, your brain jumping to the concerns of the after-effects of having a divorce.
"By that time, the majority of shares will be transferred to me, I'll take care of it so that there is minimal loss."
You nod and sit back, feeling exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster this conversation has been. You just wish things were simple. That you both could get married to people you were in love with. Or that you both were in love with each other.
The thought makes you look at Yoongi. You can still feel the butterflies in your stomach but there's also this dread that tags along.
Last night, you had considered every possible scenario, and each one of them convinced you why this marriage is not a good idea. But out of all those, there was one which stood out, one that scared you the most and was the most heartbreaking.
The possibility of you falling in love with Yoongi but his response being the same as it was on your last date. You know that the pain you went through this time, would be nothing compared to the pain you would experience then.
You don't want that.
The thought scares you so much, that you make a promise to yourself to not let your guard down so that the situation never occurs.
Hoseok
"You went a little too hard on us today," you say, breathless as you take a bottle of water and uncap it.
Hoseok chuckles. "You say that after every class."
"Do I?" You ask with a small smile, knowing very well that you indeed do. But can you be blamed when Hoseok loses track of time when it comes to dancing and the only thing he focuses on is perfection?
He raises a brow as if asking you to stop pretending and you raise your arms in the air in mock surrender.
He chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. "That's what I thought."
"Oh by the way," you say all excited. "I binge-watched little women during the weekend."
Hoseok's grin widens at the thought that you took the time to watch his recommended show. "Did you enjoy it?"
A thoughtful look appears on your face. "I think it would have been better if the girls had more wins throughout but then I guess it wouldn't have been realistic."
Hoseok hums, understanding where you're coming from. That's an emotion he shares as well. While watching the show, he too wished that the girls didn't have to go through so many ups and downs.
"But you know what I liked?" You say with sparkling eyes.
"What?" Hoseok asks, the gleam in your eyes doing something to his heart.
"Choi Do-il's character!" You say with a small smirk on your lips.
Hoseok finds your behaviour amusing. "Liked him huh?"
"How can I not? He's so cool! He was so loyal to In-joo and he has such a sharp mind, made such tough decisions on the spot." You blabber. "I wish there was someone like him in real life, I'd fall for him in the blink of an eye."
"I wonder what Henry would have to say about that," he replies in a teasing tone, trying to pull your leg. But his smile fades when he sees that your excited expression has now turned sombre.
You shake your head with a soft smile. "Well, we have broken up, so I don't think he would have anything in particular to say."
Hoseok hates that his first reaction is that of joy, which is soon followed by a feeling of guilt. He had convinced himself that he wasn't waiting for this particular day but now, his reaction clearly proves otherwise.
For the time being, he puts his emotions aside and puts your feelings first.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You sigh. "There isn't anything to talk about. The relationship had run its course."
And that's the truth.
Things were pretty smooth at first, but when the honeymoon phase faded, somewhere down the line, both of you realised that you two weren't right for each other.
The breakup wasn't painful for either of you and maybe that's what acceptance is supposed to be like. It was coming to this understanding that the both of you make great friends but there isn't much hope when it comes to something more than that.
Hoseok chews on his lower lip and wonders what's the right thing to say.
It has been six months since that day in the club and five months and three weeks since he realised that his feelings for you run deeper than he had initially thought.
The first three weeks that followed after his realisation was not easy for him at all. He tried his best to be in denial but with time, he couldn't deny it anymore and he felt anger. Anger towards himself for having the audacity to accept that he has any form of romantic feelings for you after you had been so brave about yours and had put your heart on a plate only for him to be a complete dumb wit. Which was soon followed by the feeling of loss. He lost the opportunity when he had it and won't probably ever get it again.
But after that, it started getting better.
He accepted the fact that you have moved on with someone else and are happy with them. But that doesn't mean he did not get jealous every once in a while when he stumbled upon a picture of you and Henry on Instagram. That little spark of jealousy would serve as the reminder that somewhere deep down, he still wishes for you to be his.
There have been times when he had thought about what he would do if someday, years later you and Henry were to break up. But never did he prepare himself for it. Plus, now, he finds it ridiculous that he had always thought that this would be an opportunity for him to correct his mistake when you could have very well removed any feelings for him from the very root.
Before he can figure it out though, you sense the awkward silence and make an effort to break it. "I'm over it though, it does not bother me."
Hoseok nods softly, his thoughts still muddled. "How long has it been?"
"About a month."
Hoseok observes you closely from his peripheral. He notices how relaxed your features are and concludes that the topic of your breakup isn't necessarily a painful one for you. You also seem, pretty okay with the idea of the two of you having broken up, which makes him hope that you have moved on from Henry. And if in case you haven't, he will wait as long as it takes for you to let someone new in and he will do everything he possibly can to be that someone.
"This might be inappropriate but are you planning to return to the dating world?" Hoseok tries to look as casual as he can by pretending to arrange the CDs on the shelf.
It takes a few moments for you to think about the question before you can come up with an answer.
Are you looking for someone you can date? Not really.
When you had downloaded Tinder all those months ago, it was simply so that you can find a distraction from Hoseok and move on. Fortunately, you found that and more in Henry. But now, that chapter is over and you don't find yourself actively looking for someone to be with.
"Not at the moment, no," you reply honestly. "Maybe a few months later, I'll reinstall Tinder," you laugh at the thought.
Hoseok hums, with his back facing you. "When you decide to reinstall the app, do tell me."
You don't think much of his words and innocently ask, "Why?"
The whole of Hoseok's body heats up in anxiety and he starts putting the CDs on the shelf at a much high speed. "Because then I'll install tinder too and will search you up."
Your frown morphs into an expression of surprise and your lips part to form a small 'o'.
Is…..is Hoseok saying what you think he's saying? Is it his way of saying that he would like to take you out on a date? And say, if the answer to these questions is, yes, what will you do?
In the six months that you have been with Henry, you haven't thought of Hoseok in that way. The intensity of your feelings lessened and you could let yourself be friends with him without letting your feelings get in the way.
But are your feelings for him gone?
You don't know.
Hoseok is a great friend of yours. He is nice, charming, kind, helpful and talented. Not to mention that he is utterly gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to have him as their partner. But do you still want him as one?
You look at Hoseok and realise that the thought of being with him doesn't feel weird. If anything, it causes a little bit of excitement to stir up in your stomach.
It's true that your crush on him is not as deep as it once was and you're not looking for a relationship at the moment, but for some reason, you feel like when you're ready, you may just fall for him harder than you have ever before.
Clearing your throat, you come up with a response that you think is just right. "In that case, I'll have to make sure that I don't forget to tell you about it."
Hoseok turns around immediately to look at you with a surprised look as if that was the last thing he had expected you to say. But when that surprised look turns into that of relief, your previous questions about Hoseok's intent are answered.
A smile appears on his lips when his surprise fades and he makes a promise to himself to not waste the chance you have been kind enough to give him again. "I'll eagerly wait for that day"
Something in your heart blooms at the soft look he gives you and you nod.
After that, both of your chit-chat resumes and you two giggle and laugh like never before while you pack your stuff. Once you're done, you get ready to leave. "I'll get going then?"
With a gleeful smile, Hoseok responds, "see you next Saturday."
As you're walking out of the door, a thought appears to you. "Oh, also, you can't search for people on Tinder."
And then you're gone.
Hoseok watches your retreating figure and he has to try really hard to stop smiling like a fool.
Maybe there will be no need for Tinder after all.
Namjoon
"I love Y/N," as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he winces, anticipating and dreading Yoongi's reaction.
Yoongi, on the other hand, merely blinks at Namjoon's words. ".....and?"
Out of all the reactions, Namjoon thought Yoongi would give, this was not one of them. This makes things way scarier for him because he thinks this is Yoongi's version of 'calm before the storm'.
"Listen, you can be mad at me all you want. I understand but I just wanted to let you know." Namjoon rambles, his voice coming out high-pitched.
A small frown appears on Yoongi's face. This is it, Namjoon thinks.
"Why do you assume that I'm mad?" Yoongi's question, however, leaves Namjoon perplexed. He searches for any form of pretence on Yoongi's features but when he doesn't find any, he sighs.
"I don't know–" Yoongi's frown deepening is enough for Namjoon to backtrack and start speaking the truth. "–you told me that if I were to ever try to show interest in your sister, our friendship would be over."
"I mean, I don't recall saying that but it does sound like something I'd say," Yoongi nods.
Now it's Namjoon's turn to frown. Is Yoongi mad or not? "What am I supposed to make of it?"
"Nothing," Yoongi shrugs. "I should rather ask you, what was your purpose in telling me that you have feelings for Y/N? Was it because you felt like you had to ask for my permission? Or were you scared that it would affect our friendship?" A chuckle escapes Yoongi's lips.
Namjoom sighs, feeling his muscles relax as he finally lets himself realise that Yoongi isn't mad. "I think it's more of the latter."
"So you won't ask for my permission, before pursuing her?" A scowl appears on Yoongi's face which immediately makes Namjoon stutter.
"I–I–I didn't mean that. Of course, I would ask for your permission."
Yoongi tries his hardest to hold back the satisfied smirk that tries to make an appearance. It's nice to see Namjoon being scared of him every once in a while.
"That's better," Yoongi hums. "And you don't have to worry about ruining our friendship and all that shit. That's very high school."
Namjoon feels like he can breathe again. After weeks, it feels like he can finally be honest with himself and most importantly with you, without being scared. A wide dimpled smile appears on his face at the thought of finally confessing to you.
"Gosh, that's annoying," Yoongi huffs, with no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he's glad to see the wide grin on his friend's face. "If she does reciprocate your feelings and the two of you become a couple, I do hope that the two of you don't turn out to be one of those intolerable ones."
You find almost everything intolerable. That's the thought that comes to Namjoon's mind but before he can speak those words, a much scary thought appears to him which takes his breath away.
"What if Y/N does not accept my feelings?" His voice comes out in a whisper, too scared to speak those words loudly.
Yoongi thinks the chances of that happening are very low. But he chooses not to say it. It's your feelings, you're the only one who knows where they lie. Yoongi does not wish to assume. Instead, he chooses to assure his friend that even if he were to get turned down, he will be there for him.
"I will order a bottle of champagne and soju, each. If things work out, then we will celebrate with champagne. If they don't, then we can have soju."
Namjoon is grateful for Yoongi's words, he really is but the fear that courses through his veins makes it impossible for him to think straight. "You don't get it. She confessed to me and I turned her down."
This time, a genuine scowl appears on Yoongi's face. "Why would you do that?"
Namjoon lets out a heavy breath. "I thought you'd be mad and our friendship would get ruined."
Yoongi tries his hardest not to let his eyes roll but ultimately fails. "Now I remember why I had told you not to pursue my sister."
Namjoon's heart drops at the comment. Is Yoongi about to change his mind?
"One because it was high school and you were going through your fuckboy stage," Yoongi says, with squinted eyes that make it obvious that he's judging Namjoon. "Second, you were dense as fuck at times. Which, clearly, hasn't changed even now."
That had been two days ago.
After the very scary chat session with Yoongi, Namjooon needed some time to recover. Two days to be exact. Now he has finally managed to grab the courage to talk to you and be honest.
His hands hover in the air for a few moments before he knocks. He hopes and wants this to go well, otherwise, he thinks, he won't be able to forgive himself.
You frown when you hear the knock. Who has decided to bother you on a fine Sunday?
You set aside the book you were reading and begrudgingly get up. With heavy steps, you head towards the door and swing it open. The regret that hits you is instantaneous. You should have checked through the peephole before opening.
Namjoon notices your features drop and it makes him feel terribly guilty for his actions and words. With that guilt, also comes the strong need to make things right.
"Do you need something?" You keep your tone cold to avoid any display of emotion. It's not that you are mad at him for the rejection. You're hurt about it, sure. Mad? No.
However, you feel incredibly embarrassed about confessing the way you did. You are aware that you were under the influence of alcohol but that doesn't make it any less humiliating.
"I need to talk to you," Namjoon replies shakily as he finds his anxiety increasing. What if you have decided to move on or have come to the conclusion that he isn't worth it?
You'd really like to make an excuse as to why you wouldn't be able to talk right now but something in you makes you decide otherwise. Maybe it's because you don't want things to be awkward between the two of you as it would put Yoongi in a tough spot. Or maybe it's because you hate seeing Namjoon so anxious, that you find yourself moving out of his way.
"Can I take a seat?" He asks awkwardly, with his index finger pointing at the couch, when he realises that you are simply waiting for him to start talking about whatever it is that he is here for.
You are aware that you are being rude but you honestly don't know how to behave 'normally' around him, anymore. So, you simply hum and wait for him to take a seat.
"Uhm," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the party."
"We can talk about anything but that," you say pointedly. There's no way you are going to talk about that night when all you want is to leave that memory somewhere far behind.
Namjoon notices the discomfort that etches your features despite your attempts at hiding it and sighs. "Okay, then I won't bring that up but I need to tell you something."
"Go on."
Namjoon takes in a deep breath before closing his eyes to grab the courage to let the words spill out. "I'm in love with you."
At first, the words don't sink in.
You stand there, leaning against the wall, watching Namjoon. However, when you see the scared and anxious look on his face, you replay his words in your mind.
I'm in love with you.
He's in love with you.
The thought makes you angry.
You scoff. "Do you expect me to take you seriously?"
Namjoon shakes his head. "I don't expect you to but just hear me out."
"I don't want to." You declare stubbornly.
"I know but give me just one chance to explain myself." He pleads gently, not wanting you to feel as if you have to hear him out. He has already caused you enough pain and if you choose that you do not wish to hear him out, he is going to respect that.
You want to laugh at Namjoon's request. You can accept the fact that he does not have feelings for you, no matter how hard that might be. But accepting that he is in love with you after the pain that you have been through? You can't accept that.
You'd very much like to close this topic and never have either of you mention it. But you can't say no to Namjoon when he looks like that. He is one of your biggest weaknesses and not hearing him out would cause you pain as well.
Instead of telling him verbally that you will hear him out, you look out of the window and stare outside blankly, which is enough for Namjoon to know that you're listening.
"I never thought that my feelings would be reciprocated. Which is why, I did not know what to say and said what I thought was right, at the time," his voice comes out vulnerable.
You feel your annoyance flaring. If that really were the case he could have just said the truth. Why lie? Whose first instinct is to lie about their feelings, upon realising that they are not one sided?
Namjoon's next words answer your unasked question. "After my last two relationships ended the way, they did, I thought that all my relationships were destined to be doomed. I was scared to commit to anyone, especially you."
He sighs. "If we were to date and break up, it would change everything not only for the both of us but also for Yoongi. And if that were to happen I'd never be able to forgive myself."
It was around the time that Namjoon mentioned his last two relationships, that you stopped pretending to not care about what he had to say. You know how sensitive the topic is for him and for him to bring it up now, it must be serious.
To put it simply, his last two relationships ended terribly. But each time, Namjoon blamed himself and thought that it was entirely his fault, which you know isn't the case.
Now that Namjoon breaks it down to you, you find your anger fading and find yourself sympathising with him. You may not agree with his actions but you can understand where he was coming from.
What you don't understand, however, is why he is telling you these things. If you're understanding him right, he said what he said at the party because he was scared. But now, he is here, telling you that he loves you. But why?
"Why are you telling me this?" You ask and you are surprised by the lack of coldness in your voice. Maybe it's because he's being vulnerable with you that gives you the courage to put your embarrassment aside for the time being.
Namjoon smiles softly. "I had a chat with Yoongi and it made me realise that I am the only one who thinks this way."
He was indeed scared shitless of his feelings affecting the friendship between him and Yoongi. He had taken Yoongi's cautionary way too seriously and while he was under that impression, what scared him even more was that he would take the risk of being with you only to later wish that he had stayed in his lane. He thought that maybe Yoongi too shares the same viewpoint as he does and hence had asked him to stay from you.
When he had gathered the courage to talk about it to Yoongi, it was with the intention of getting Yoongi's approval. Namjoon already knew that he wasn't going to listen to the voice in his head and that you were worth the risk.
However, when Namjoon went back to his dorms and thought about the conversation he had with Yoongi, it made him realise that he was the only one who was holding these beliefs. Not only that, but Yoongi's reaction made him believe in himself, because even if Yoongi won't ever say it out loud, his calm and nonchalant behaviour was him letting Namjoon know that he trusts him.
"Plus," Namjoon continues, "I know I would regret it forever if I were to let you go simply because I was scared."
You swallow at his words as any remaining trace of anger is washed away from your body.
You know it can't be easy to do something when your insecurities are constantly telling you to do otherwise. But him doing just that, serves as a testimony of his love for you. Hence, even though at the beginning you weren't willing to accept his declaration of love, now you find your heart melting.
"So," you fiddle with your fingers. "What does all this mean?"
"Well if you have forgiven me for my stupidity, I'd like to take you out on a date." Namjoon hopes it isn't too soon to ask you out. But more than anything else, he wishes for your forgiveness.
His words make your chest hurt and you immediately rush to make things clear. "There's nothing to be forgiven, I never held a grudge against you."
"But you wouldn't even look at me?" He asks, with a pained look.
Your heart sinks further. You had thought that it was only painful for you clearly that wasn't the case. "That's because I was embarrassed. It's just incredibly stupid to get drunk because you saw the man you love kissing someone else and then going and confessing like that."
Aaaahhhh.
Right, that whole him making out with someone, thing. He now remembers you mentioning it at the party.
"Sorry to break it to you, but I did not kiss anyone," a small amused smile plays on his lips. "I was only helping the girl to get rid of something that had gotten into her eyes."
Your eyes widen when you hear that. Gosh, could you be any more stupid? You close your eyes tightly and groan in annoyance.
Namjoon gets up from the couch and slowly walks towards you. He understands why it might have looked like he was making out with someone, after all, parties have the worst lighting. But he doesn't want you to feel embarrassed about it. After all, if it hadn't been for that misunderstanding, you would have never confessed and neither would he.
After a small moment of hesitation, he puts his palm on your cheek and urges you to open your eyes.
"Hey," he whispers. "I'm really glad you misunderstood things that day. But I can assure you, that yours are the only lips I would ever want to kiss."
His words make you gulp. Here you were drowning in embarrassment a few moments ago and here you are now, breathless from the close proximity.
"Prove it," you whisper back.
Namjoon's eyes fall on your lips. As much as he would like to feel how soft your lips are, he wants to do things right.
With great willpower, he brings his eyes back to yours and kisses you on the forehead. "Trust me, there's nothing more I want than kissing you right now. But I want to take you out on a date first."
You chuckle at his words. "Well then, take me out on a date and at the end of it, kiss me like you mean it."
Namjoon's heart does a little dance at your words and he already feels his mind coming up with ideas of how he can make the date one that you never forget. "I'll make the date as perfect as you are."
Maybe you two will indeed be like one of those couples, Yoongi finds intolerable.
A/N: I definitely plan to write a Ceo Yoongi series with these two, hence that's how I decided to write them for this part!
For early access to maknae line and for choosing what characters you want the maknae line to play, head over to my patreon! Hope you enjoyed reading this part!
📈pairing: CFO!seokjin x senior accounting manager!reader
📈au/genre: CEO au, fake dating au, c2l, fluff, smut, angst
📈rating: M
📈wc: 27,659
📈warnings: swearing, vulgar statements, misogyny, eventual mutual pining, fake dating bet, leg injury/sprain, minor boat crash, explicit sexual content: strawberry juice dripping, straddling, making out, clothed grinding, marking, fingering, consent seeking, foreplay, unprotected sex, cock riding, wall sex, stairs sex, mutual orgasm, breast play, oral (f & m receiving), cum swallowing, hair pulling
📈an: beta readers: @peachiilovesot7, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, @colormepurplex2, @moonleeai, @pennpad-bts thank you so much for all of your beta reading and brainstorming and help! to all my readers who have stuck by me, you mean the world. I am so sorry it took me so long to post this, but it's finally here!
📈summary: Recently inducted CFO Kim Seokjin is the head of finances at JinHit Conglomerate after his father retires. You, the senior accounting manager for the company, begin to stomp around in your heels complaining about areas that need mitigating for the business to continue to run smoothly after a meeting gone wrong. When Seokjin makes a bet with you to see if the two of you can hide a romantic relationship from work peers, several things are revealed OR The one where Seokjin wants to get you only in your heels.
taglist: @flxrcnt @ggukkieland @yoongisdragon
masterlist | one | two | three | four | you are here | six | seven
in the red (idiom): spending and owing more money than is being earned
Jaw clenched tightly as you ignore the tension running through your body, your finger slowly scrolls the webpage you’re viewing on your laptop. Price tags be damned, you couldn’t care less about the cost of the bejeweled heels—you had to have them. It will just have to wait a few paychecks before you can purchase them. If you could even afford them after today. The Saeda 100 Unicorn Printed Satin Pumps with Crystal Embellishment; a gorgeous colored pump that would be the pièce de résistance to an all black or white outfit.
Online shopping is one of your favorite coping skills, a great calming technique to get your mind off the email you received almost a half hour ago, for a meeting you were summoned to attend in five minutes. A meeting JinHit’s Board of Directors summoned you to attend, to be exact. You checked the email several times, opening the list of recipients to full view to see everyone who was invited, and the vein throbbing in your forehead pulses at the reminder.
Only the C-Suite and the heads of each department will be in attendance, and the knowledge of what this could mean sends a shiver down your rigid spine. Seokjin had asked you to prepare the financial report last week for the board to review; it doesn’t seem coincidental that the meeting is being called a day after you sent it.
Adjusting your position where you sit in the meeting room currently, having arrived earlier than normal to choose your favorite seat, you cross a leg over your thigh, bouncing your matte black Balenciaga Knife 110MM pumps in time with your anxiety.
“Can you please just relax?” Seokjin mutters. “The constant bouncing is giving me a headache.”
You grit your teeth, molars grinding against each other as you hold back your remarks. Easy for you to say, you think, not all of us have the luxury to relax. Stilling the ankle that was flexing up and down in a jittery dance, you lower your leg and straighten your slacks.
“I’m sorry, sir.” My leg wouldn’t bother you if you hadn’t followed me from the accounting wing. “The board meeting has me worried. If office gossip on WeVerse is anything to go by, I’m afraid we might not be employed for much longer.”
Jin twirls a Montblanc fountain pen worth more than your monthly rent as he stares at you, nonplussed.
“I highly doubt that, Kicks. There’s no need to exaggerate. You’re busy looking at expensive heels again, anyway, so it’ll be fine.”
You huff at the nickname he’s bestowed upon you for your shoe obsession, rolling your eyes as you close them before taking a deep, deep breath and letting it out slowly.
“Maybe you’ll still be CFO of JinHit, sir, but not all of us are nepo-babies. If anyone is going to be fired, it’ll be me. So I’m looking at heels to see the last thing I can purchase with my severance pay before I’m destitute. Sir.”
“I don’t know why you bother keeping up pretenses by calling me ‘sir’ when you talk to me like that,” he mutters. “Calling me a damn nepo-baby.”
You run down the list of all of the attendees in your head once more. Kim Namjoon, CEO, Kim Seokjin, CFO, Min Yoongi, General Counsel (the company's main attorney and primary source of legal advice), Jung Hoseok, JinHit Entertainment Division manager, Kim Taehyung, recently promoted Property Acquisition Division Manager, Jeon Jungkook, CIO, yourself, and a few other heads of departments you aren’t as familiar with. Lastly, all of the board members, minus Park Jimin’s father, though he’s in the room instead, stepping in for his father who is away on vacation.
“You make me laugh, Kicks. I’m so glad to have you by my side.” Seokjin can’t help but chuckle.
“If only I could say the same,” you grumble under your breath.
“One day, you’ll say you love me.”
Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the men walking in through the door. Discreetly you close the tab to the Jimmy Choo website and pull up your email instead, awaiting the soft ding! that alerts you to the agenda and any additional documents you will need.
The room is full of the sounds of creaking leather and quiet chatter as the gentlemen settle into their seats for the meeting to commence.
📈📈📈📈📈
“This is an outrage!”
“What have the heads of finance been doing? Getting their fucking dicks wet by fucking secretaries in the janitor’s closet?”
You narrow your eyes at the older man who had the audacity to speak in such a way during a meeting, seemingly forgetting that the Senior Accounting Manager is you, and that you do not have a dick to fuck said secretary with.
“Please, Mr. Choi, the finance department has been working just as much as everyone else, and the Senior Accounting Manager,” the CEO gestures to you as he reminds the man of your name, “she has been more than transparent with me about the state of our finances for this quarter.”
The other men in the room appear to have the wherewithal to look flummoxed at Mr. Choi’s outburst in the presence of a woman, but their reactions don't keep his thin lips quiet.
“So, she’s the one getting fucked in the janitor’s closet. Either way, the finances are abysmal and something must be done!” Mr. Choi throws a printed copy of your financial report in your direction, and you can see the top sheet flutter onto the floor with your name splashed across it. He was being obtuse on purpose—he knew damn well who prepared the financial report.
Seokjin’s hand clamps down on your thigh, holding you back from lunging across the table at the grey-haired misogynist as he speaks.
“Please, Mr. Choi, I know you’re a little jealous that no one is fucking you,” everyone in the room laughs at Seokjin’s light banter, “but I promise you, the finance department is working on options to help make up for the expenses.”
Incensed, Mr. Choi stands up, face red with fury at being made a fool. You almost expect him to turn his ire on Seokjin for his words, but the reality of the situation is that Mr. Choi would never dare to curse out the son of the previous CFO and namesake of the company.
“As the Senior Accounting Manager,” he starts with a sneer, “you should’ve had a better handle on what was happening right under your nose.” He thrusts his fat finger at you, spittle flying as his anger gains traction. “This is why women shouldn’t be in positions like this. You’re useless to this company, and if it were up to me, I would fire you for letting the company get so close to the red line. Seokjin, she reflects poorly on you.”
“Mr. Choi.” Namjoon’s tone is final as he rises to his feet, dragon eyes cutting daggers. “Please respect my employees.” The ‘or else’ is not said, but implied.
You shake with rage, holding back tears of frustration at how no one is coming to your defense. Sure, the CEO asked the board member to respect you, but only after said board member had already besmirched your name. After he had so rudely made insinuations about how poorly he thinks of you and ignored that Kim Seokjin is the Chief Financial Officer and the true overseer of the finances. No one says anything to defend your honor or put the man in his place for talking to an employee this way.
“I’ll respect her when she does her fucking job right! You have until the first quarter of the new year to fix this shit.” Mr. Choi turns and leaves the room dramatically, and for once, you’re glad that you didn’t say anything, because you aren’t fired—yet. Had you opened your mouth, you might have been.
The rest of the room quietly turns to light talk as you direct your heated face to the open report on your laptop. The finances for the year highlight some of the major spending across the departments totalling several million once all added together; several million that were not accounted for at the start of the year when budgets were drawn up and outlined.
First, there was the $2 million dollar loss from the Property Acquisition department thanks to one Kim Taehyung and late paperwork, then stocks dropped from the Facebook video released of C-Suite members and the impromptu start of the non-profit side company NAMU. The cost of going green to implement practices to support NAMU and raise the value of the stocks once again, and the cost of acquiring a new partnership with LeeCo Cosmetics due to Hoseok’s arranged marriage.
“Ahem,” Namjoon clears his throat, calling everyone’s attention. “Now that everyone has had ample time to review the finance report, I think the best way forward is to come up with a plan to implement for the start of the next quarter to change the projection of the report away from the red line.”
“How long do we have to develop a plan?” Seokjin asks, eyes darting over to your silently seething frame.
“You have the month, Jin. December will be spent researching in order to make a decision and create a plan to implement in January. We will re-evaluate the financial report at the end of the first quarter to ensure that there are no negative consequences for the decisions we’ve made, and go from there. Remember, the fiscal year ends March 31st, so we only have the quarter to fix this. Dismissed.”
The room empties out, with Namjoon cutting his eyes at Seokjin to keep him seated. You still needed to gather the documents and calm down before you did something rash, so it’s just the three of you left once the door swings shut.
“Seokjin, I understand why, but do you have to always be so unserious?” Namjoon sighs out.
“What do you mean? I was just giving back what he was dishing out,” Seokjin defends, not seeing the issue with what transpired.
“You know he went and called your dad as soon as he walked out of the room, right?”
“And? The man retired—I’m the CFO now, not my father. It’ll be fine!”
Namjoon just stares at him, before giving you a pitying look that you despise. You know he means it more as sympathy for how you were treated, but it makes you feel different from the others somehow, like you can’t handle the atmosphere of the “wealthy businessmen club”. He nods at you both before he stands and leaves, and Seokjin is not far behind him.
You bend down to gather the documents once your breathing has regulated.
You were right to have been worried about this meeting.
The first week after that dreaded meeting, you spend your time researching the various financial avenues the company has and begin to dissect them for potential areas of mitigation. Seokjin pulls you aside into one of his many offices, this one located on the financing floor, and tries to talk to you about what happened with Mr. Choi, but you don’t let him get but a few words out before cutting in to tell him off for letting you take the blame as soon as the door closes behind you.
“You actually sat there and didn’t say anything to that sexist pig!” You jab Seokjin in the chest to emphasize the last three syllables. “I should report him to HR for sexual harassment! That’ll teach the geriatric asshole.”
Grabbing your shoulders gently, Seokjin leans his face down to your height. Maintaining a calm, soothing tone, he attempts to placate you. “Kicks, I did speak up, but he’s my godfather and I can’t go around cursing my daebu (대부) at work—”
“You didn’t speak up to support me, Seokjin, you made a joke and defended the department, but he was attacking me, and you didn’t say shit. None of you did.”
Pulling away from him, you wrap your arms around yourself as if to self-soothe with a hug, taking several deep breaths to compose yourself. His touches have been growing more frequent lately, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re acting like a deranged woman since the dreaded meeting, or if you’re noticing it because of other reasons. Not that you would ever date a coworker or anything…
Stepping away from him allows you a chance to breathe, despite how nice it feels when he uses physical contact to comfort you. Arranging your features, you steady yourself as you turn on your heel to face him again.
“I’m sorry for my language, sir. If you will excuse me, I’ll take my lunch now and then we can meet to discuss my findings.”
Without waiting for Seokjin to respond, you step around him and exit his office. You walk towards your desk and grab your convertible laptop and a thin manila folder before you head out of the finance wing. Trekking through the hallways to the elevator, you shake off the outburst as you pass through the waist-high metal safety gate and into the lobby. You hear a high-pitched voice yell out your name.
“Hey, I know you’re plenty busy, but I’ve been tasked with spearheading the holiday party committee, and we need your approval for the budget. Can you sign off on these documents for me?” Ji-Soo asks. “If I had the time, I would run this up to finance,” she adds, “Seokjin is so hot…Damn. How do you handle working so closely with him?”
The front desk representative bats her kohl-lined eyes at you, swinging her long black hair over her shoulder. Her flowy off-the-shoulder blouse reveals a cute, tiny heart-shaped tattoo inked onto her skin. You hate her insinuation that you’re attracted to your boss and the way her eyebrows move as if to suggest that you and Seokjin are anything like her and Jimin. You may find him good-looking, but you have more sense than to be seen C-Suite hopping.
Ignoring her second question, you respond, “I’m on my way to grab lunch, but I can review the documents and let you know if the budget is approved.”
Ji-Soo’s face morphs into one of distaste.
“Why do you need to review it? Can’t you just sign it now? Seokjin always approved the holiday party budgets in the past.”
You groan, knowing that you would be competing with the legacy Seokjin left behind after his promotion to CFO after his father stepped down for retirement. When it was okay to be fiscally irresponsible, because other employees hadn’t racked up millions in expenses out of the blue.
“Sorry, Ji-Soo. Orders from the stakeholders—all budgets have to be reviewed before approval.” You grasp the papers she unceremoniously brandished at you and tuck them into the manila folder. “I’ll get this back to you once it’s been properly assessed.”
“Hey!” Ji-Soo calls after you as you walk away from her, “I need that by the end of the week! Party planning is not cheap!”
Feet still moving, you wave your hand over your shoulder at her, not bothering to spare her a glance. “End of the week, got it!”
Lunch is boring; you hadn’t actually meant to leave for your thirty-minute break today, but after your outburst you felt some exercise would do you good. The small cafe near the office building is the perfect spot to set up your laptop and browse through documents, the Jimmy Choo website, and perk up with a late afternoon latte.
Opening up the fillable PDF file for budget assessment proposals, you begin reviewing the holiday party plans. It pains you to see some of the outlandish expenses they want: an ice sculpture of the company logo, open bar with top-shelf liquor, performance by an upcoming American artist breaking into the scene, and several gift packages for raffles, just to name a few.
Downing the rest of your coffee, you type up your review and draft an email to Ji-Soo, attaching a PDF scan of her proposal and your budget assessment, denying her requests. You ask her to reduce the cost of the party by several hundred thousand, providing a list of things she can mitigate to reach the approved goal, and then you turn on your auto reply so as to avoid her wrath. Walking back into the office building, you blend in with the after lunch crowd and make it back to the small finance department conference room to meet with Seokjin.
Seokjin’s POV
Kim Seokjin sits in the conference room in finance, several levels away from his office where the other C-Suite executives reside, waiting for you. Seokjin has worked with you for several years in finance before his promotion, and you were by far the most qualified Senior Accounting Manager he’s ever met.
He knows he’s lucky to have you, and not just for your skills and personality—you’re also easy on the eyes. Seokjin’s always been tempted to ask you out, cross that boundary of coworkers, but the timing’s never been right. With his promotion at the start of the year, the chasm has gotten wider, his resolve fading with it.
After you leave for your lunch break, he settles into the conference room replaying the way your hips swayed as you walked away from him. Chuckling at the way your perfect image cracked and he got to hear his name roll off of your tongue—that is until the smile is wiped away as he remembers what led to it. You were right. He didn’t defend you in that meeting earlier in the week, simply too gobsmacked by Mr. Choi’s choice of words to even think clearly. The image it put into his head, you in the hallway closet with those legs wrapped around his waist, letting him fuck you into oblivion—in just those heels you stomp around in, so authoritative-like…Seokjin licks his lips as his fingers clench the edge of his desk, before he shakes the image away.
He hates that you feel like you do; growing up he spent so much time at the office, running around with Namjoon as their dads built the company from the ground up, and the women in the office always took care of them.
Mrs. Im was the payroll bookkeeper when he was just a child; his love for numbers and accounting started with her. She tutored him in math through primary school, even helping him pass the Suneung, or the CSAT national test, to get into college. He saw how hard it was for her to move up in the department, often being looked over for her male counterparts, despite being better than them. As far as the finance department goes, payroll is the lowest on the totem pole. Mrs. Im only made it one level up to Staff Accountant, despite being able to count circles around the men and it never seemed fair.
Now, the company is much more with the times, with many women in not only the finance department, but in information technology, and men in nontraditional roles as well, like the secretary who is in the entertainment department, Kai. As for your position, the only person above you in the hierarchy is himself, and some days Seokjin wishes he could promote you into his role for all your hard work. He curses his daebu in his head for the way his backwards thinking has negatively affected you, and then curses himself for not being able to support you the way you deserved in that meeting.
Seokjin fields text messages from his father about the company’s finances, Namjoon’s assumption that Mr. Choi called his father, having been correct. It’s been an ongoing conversation since the moment he left the meeting—his father bothering him day and night about his behavior.
아버지 (Father) - 12:48 pm : You should not have spoken like that in a meeting. Choi told me that you were talking back, not taking any accountability for the financial crisis the company could be facing, and that girl was impertinent. For once, can you just take this job seriously? Can you take your life seriously?
Jin - 12:49 pm: Aren’t you retired?
Once your lunch break ends, Seokjin can’t hide the smile on his face as you enter the room, setting your belongings on the table with a sigh.
“Ji-Soo stopped me as I was leaving to talk about the holiday party. Can we discuss it at the end of the meeting?”
“Of course. Let’s get the business out of the way, then.”
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“Absolutely not.”
“But sir, the amount of money that we spend every month on the Friday event, especially with it being a half day of work getting done…even to reduce it for the first quarter could make significant gains to remain in the black.”
Seokjin crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back in the office chair.
“You have to understand, Kicks. The Friday event is only once a month. It’s important for employee morale, not to mention the amount of impact we have on the community right here. There’s the Cho family who runs the Korean street food truck. Half of their monthly revenue comes from this one day. The parents have a daughter in college and she has a small son they look after while she’s in class. They wouldn’t be able to support them both without us.”
You level Seokjin with a gaze that he wishes he could act upon, taking you up on the challenge it serves.
“You want to continue Fun Fridays to save this ONE restaurant?” you ask, leaning your elbows onto the table as you peer closely at Seokjin, analyzing him. Your hands are clasped tightly in front of you as you hold back the urge to fix the wayward strand of hair that falls across his forehead.
“Well, no—not just this one. It helps all of the local companies who come out to provide for us—this was just an example that should pull at your heartstrings.” Seokjin leans towards you, placing his hand atop yours to sell the sentimental connection he’s using to keep Fridays as is. “These are real people who rely on us. And our employees rely on them. People want to work here and our stocks do well because the employees brag about once-a-month Fridays on WeVerse. It would be foolhardy to our reputation to remove it.” He gestures dramatically with his hands to emphasize just how foolhardy he finds it, and you suddenly miss the warmth of his hand on yours.
“Fine.” You look down at the next item on the list, gathering your thoughts away from the dangerous path of Seokjin’s hands on yours. “My next proposal is to make a change to the employee health benefits. I looked into it and we can lower company costs if we choose the specific provider for employees. I’ve found a clinic with three primary care doctors that provided us with an estimate. They project to have a great low cost for the company and there would be less contribution from the employees as well. A win-win.”
You smugly slide over the information you gathered for Seokjin’s review. He can’t help but admit to himself that this is a possible option. He doesn’t like that it would throw off the plans already in place, but as long as the doctors are reputable, he feels confident in this choice.
“Can you tell me a little bit about the clinic or the doctors we would be assigned?”
“Sure, uh, their names are…Hyun Yong-in, Jung Hyun-tae and Lee Wan-soo. They work for—”
“—Incheon 21st Century Hospital,” Seokjin interrupts. You glower at him.
“Next idea.”
“What? Why?!”
“Because, Kicks, if you had done a little more digging, you would know why the fee is so low. They had a massive lawsuit, malpractice and fraud, allowing interns and assistants to perform surgery on patients without consent or supervision. They should’ve lost their licenses. I didn’t realize they were done with their jail time. Two years goes by fast.”
He watches you pale visibly at the news, just a few shades lighter than normal as you swallow the information. Folding his convertible laptop so that it becomes a touchscreen tablet, he taps for a few moments before proffering the screen to you.
“Oh,” you gulp. “Well, I have one more idea to help the company.”
Pulling out the printed paper from the manila folder, you pass the list of departments to Seokjin for him to review.
“These are all of the departments of JinHit Conglomerate with a brief description of what they handle.” Leaning over, you point to a small subsection under the Information Technology sector. “This right here is a small department that is listed under IT, but could also be considered Marketing. It houses the Social Media Managers—three employees who oversee engagement, content, and analytics for the company’s online platforms and presence.”
Seokjin nods.
“Yes, they are the ones who caught wind of the video Khaity posted…We had to make sure that moving forward they didn’t contact the board first, but me and Joon.” Seokjin shakes his head at the memory. “That was a shitshow,” he mutters.
“Well, take a look at the expenses this department has incurred. The cost of new equipment for all three members, including desktops here in the office and work devices, to take on the go and to have at home; high-speed gigabit internet speeds, several purchases for access to databases and systems to track the company name and various projects we are working on, a stipend for food—I don’t even know why they need that—plus these charges to the company card for a massage therapist to come in-house three times a week!” You huff in indignation at the ridiculousness of the expenses as Seokjin’s phone chimes from an incoming message.
“So what are you proposing we do? Cut out massages? Or are you offering to be my personal masseuse? I have a few areas you could—”
“I will call HR so quick—”
“I’m kidding, sheesh! You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not flustered! Anyway,” you redirect the conversation away from another spiraling train of thought as your tablet dings, “this department incurs more expenses per member than some of the entertainment sector, so I think we need to merge these workers into other departments with a significant decrease to the special treatment they have been receiving and do a sweep through ALL department expenses, mitigating all of the superfluous things, like fucking massage therapists being on-call in-house three times a week.”
“The employees are not going to like this—we've always allowed them the ability to not be micromanaged when it comes to workplace spending,” Seokjin answers, but he knows this is the best bet to meet the board’s requirements and stay on your good side. “But okay.”
“Great. I’ll draft the memo to be sent out as soon as possible so that from now on, all expenses will be reviewed by me before charges can be processed by the company.” A quiet pinging chimes as you talk. “All spending must go through a request and approval process. I’ve already drafted the forms for requesting funds, and this is a great segue into Ji-Soo and the holiday party. She can be the first to complete the new process for approval, since I’ve already completed the form and sent it to her.”
Jin huffs out a disbelieving chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment of relief.
“Well, that explains the back-to-back emails she’s sent while we’ve been talking. She must not understand that emails are not like text messages.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say that Ji-Soo is surpassing the CEO with her IQ score.” You click the keys on the tablet keyboard, avoiding looking at Seokjin, lest you start to laugh as another ding fills the silence from his constantly chirping phone.
“Kicks! It’s so rare to see you snip back—she must’ve done something to get under your skin.” Seokjin smirks, thinking about how he wants to be next.
“Just thinking about how if we could fire some people, that would also help with costs.”
“For now, we’ll stick to option three and your plan to assess all company fund requests. I’ll report this to Namjoon and you can work on your memo. And please, if you love me at all,” Seokjin pauses so that he can stand up and gather his device and pen, “reply to Ji-Soo before she files a complaint.”
“Yes, sir.” And you will, but not because you have any kind of feelings for your boss.
Reader POV
Ji-Soo is not happy with the reply email you sent to her, but you don’t care. Unfortunately, it’s your job that’s on the line, though you wish it would be hers. Her many office dalliances are of no secret to you thanks to being so close to one of the C-Suite employees, but there isn’t much you can do about it.
The rest of the weekend and following week is spent writing up the memo for the CEO to approve and send out to all departments, prepping all of the review documents you will be using for requests, and meeting with the CIO, Jeon Jungkook, to discuss the rearranging of the IT Departments so that the staff members can be placed accordingly.
Friday afternoon, a reminder email comes through about the Company Holiday party happening tomorrow. You didn’t forget about it—not with the way Ji-Soo bothers you almost daily about how hard it is to plan the event with the limited funds you provided her. You roll your eyes at her email—the slight dig at the change of venue due to the financial department’s mitigations did not go unmissed by you.
In actuality, she has the same amount of money for decorations and food as previous years—making her use the JinHit building as the location instead of renting out an expensive ballroom or hotel conference room allowed you to approve her decorations, food, and drink budget.
Moving the email into the relevant folder, you close down your computer for the weekend, excited to finally be done with the long week. You plan to attend the event, and as you pack up your belongings to head home, you think through the various outfits in your closet to piece together what you might want to wear.
“Hey, Kicks!” Seokjin’s loud voice calls out to you as you wait for the elevator car to arrive on your floor. The finance department is located on the 48th floor, below the C-Suite offices, and it isn’t every day that people frequently travel this high. Most of the Property Acquisition department left earlier, also located on this floor; so the quiet atmosphere allows his voice to travel farther than usual.
“Hey, Seokjin. Have a good weekend,” you say in greeting and farewell so as to not prolong a conversation. He doesn’t take the hint and steps next to you, his heady cologne filling the elevator waiting area. His black hair is pushed back off of his forehead, showing his annoyingly handsome face, and you turn away from his brown eyes smiling at you.
“Oh, I’m sure this weekend will be more than good. Are you coming tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Need to witness with my own eyes how it turns out so Ji-Soo can’t lie.”
Seokjin laughs as the elevator sounds to alert that the carriage has arrived. The two of you board, the enclosed space unsurprisingly empty. Being alone with him is nothing you aren’t used to—but lately you’re noticing he’s frustratingly handsome, which makes it harder for you to still blame him for the finance meeting debacle.
“Sounds like something she would do,” he finishes after laughing, pressing the button to the 50th floor, causing the trajectory of the elevator to lurch upward.
“Seokjin!”
“What? You know I have two offices and I left my briefcase upstairs. Wait for me, please?” he begs as the door opens and he takes off at a slow jog down the hallway. You sigh, pressing the door open button a few times as you wait for him to return. You’re annoyed and ready to go home, and this just highlights how much he enjoys getting under your skin and earning a reaction from you. He’s back quickly, only slightly out of breath as you press the button for the ground floor.
“Thanks, Kicks. It’s creepy leaving here by myself.”
You look at him incredulously.
“It’s not creepy. Most of the lights are still on!”
“Barely! Plus now that it’s winter, the sun sets earlier. Look,” he gestures out the elevator’s tinted glass window. “It’s already setting.”
“It’s not setting, it just looks darker because the glass is tinted for shade so we don’t fry on the way up to the office.”
“If it’s hot in here, I can get off,” he offers, pointing to the button for the 37th floor that he can press to stop the motion of the elevator’s descent.
“You really think you’re hot, huh?”
“You don’t agree?” Seokjin challenges, stepping into your space. His arms cage your body in, and he tilts his head to look down at you. You fight the urge to stare at his lips, instead biting your own as you maintain eye contact.
“Oh Seokjin, there are so many things I don’t agree with you on.” You decide to take this opportunity and fluster him for a change. You close the gap dividing you from Seokjin and begin to run your hand along the top of his head, as if in a loving manner. You hold back a laugh at the way his eyes close in contentment at the feel of your fingers sliding along his scalp, unaware of your actual goal. Your fingers curl around his locks, giving you a good grip to pull his head back and away from you.
“Ow, ow!” He hollers as he steps away from you, releasing you from the tension built within his arms.
“Sorry, sir.” Smugly, you cross your arms as he rubs at his scalp while shooting daggers at you, knowing it’s all in jest.
The two of you continue to playfully banter on the way down to the main lobby, parting ways as he heads to his reserved parking spot and you walk to the bus stop near the building that most employees utilize to get home.
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Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you fix your dress, eyes leaving the thigh slit in your dress to gaze at the black Louis Vuitton FAME pumps adorning your feet. The cocktail dress is black, showing off ample shoulder and legs, while accentuating all of your best body parts. Grabbing your winter coat and clutch, you head downstairs to the waiting KakaoTaxi that will take you to the office.
The lobby of JinHit is full of people arriving, greeting each other and taking photos in front of the ice sculpture of the company logo. On the other side of the main desk from the elevators, a makeshift coat check has been erected, with a small line of your coworkers turning in their heavy coats so they can enjoy the party. After dropping off your own jacket, you make your way to the elevator, waving salutations to coworkers you see. The CEO’s secretary, NaBi, poses with the CIO, Jungkook, in front of a beautiful backdrop of a snowy forest, fake snow falling from a machine positioned above. Yoongi and Jimin stand to one side, clearly arguing back and forth about something, though both have a smile on their face. Reaching the elevator, the doors open as soon as you press the button, and you’re quickly rising to the 5th floor.
The 5th floor is often referred to as the Study Area, because it houses several quiet areas for the employees to access. The entertainment section uses it the most, with the various celebrities signed to JinHit doing work, studying their craft, and holding meetings in the rooms. The first door, and the main location of the party is called The Library, because one side of the wall is filled with bookshelves and books, while the opposite side holds floor-to-ceiling glass windows. There is a balcony within The Library that looks down upon the main floor, and tonight, it’s filled with white covered tables with a good sized area for people to dance and mingle.
As you take in the decorations, you can’t help but admire Ji-Soo’s efforts, and when she appears from a side door directing a working staffer on the placement of silverware, you tell her so.
“Thank you, YN…not that your goal to cut down on spending was of any help.”
“Yes, I am sure that this is not the venue you had in mind, but you’ve done a wonderful job.”
“Wow, babes, this looks great!” Jimin walks into the room, followed by Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook.
“Yes, I worked very hard for almost two weeks on planning this.” Ji-Soo curls herself into Jimin’s arms as he wraps an arm around her waist. They walk further into the room to allow the crowd to enter, and soon The Library is full of people grabbing plates for the buffet line and getting drinks from the bar set up beneath the balcony. You decide to get a drink first, avoiding the crowd lining up to get first dibs on the food emitting a delicious aroma into the room.
The bartender is skilled, shaking bottles and pouring liquor for your waiting coworkers. The Malibu Bay Breeze you ordered is paired with a couple of cherries that sway in the glass as it slides down the bar to you. Taking a sip, you enjoy the refreshing taste of the cran-pineapple and coconut rum as it takes over your tastebuds.
“What did you order? Is it good?”
You nod your head at NaBi, who recently joined you at the bar, as you take another long sip from the thin black straw.
“It’s perfect! Not overly sweet, but the rum isn’t overpowering it either.”
“I’ll have to try that one after I finish my amaretto sour.” She gestures to the bartender who is mixing her order.
“They taste so good, I bet the party will get a little wild soon.”
You both look at the crowd on the dance floor, surprised that so many people are already swaying to the beat and most of the tables are full with diners. The event planner is wrapped around Jimin, body gyrations bordering on dangerously inappropriate for a work party. NaBi laughs at the display before leaving you alone to join her work husband, Jungkook, at a table near the thrusting lovebirds.
Heading to the buffet line, you decide to eat before you order a second drink, wanting to keep some semblance of control over your gross motor functions and not end up as the gossip all over the WeVerse App.
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“Wow, Kicks…you look amazing.”
You try your best to turn around slowly, but the alcohol seems to come out of nowhere and you’re a little wobbly on your platform pumps. Luckily, you didn’t choose a stiletto, or you might have fallen straight into your boss.
“Hello, sir. Thank you.” You blink a few times, trying to get his handsome face to stop turning into triplets.
“Why are you hiding up here?” He looks down at your coworkers from where you’re both standing against the clear railing of the balcony. “Are you okay? Too much to drink?”
“You know? I think the juice tricked me. It was sweet so I had a few more than I usually would…now you have twin brothers.”
Seokjin guffaws loudly, but the music is now so loud it doesn’t draw anyone’s attention.
“You look a bit flushed, do you want me to get you some water?”
“Actually, yes, can we go get water? I was afraid to go downstairs in case I tripped and fell.”
Seokjin nods, offering his arm to you so that you can balance as he walks you over to the stairs to guide you down them safely. You thank him as he leads the way to the bar, loosening his bowtie as he motions for two water bottles. You fan your face as he uses one hand to pick up the bottles placed on the bar, and taking in your current state, Seokjin places his hand on the small of your back to head towards the outdoor access entrance through the glass wall.
The winter chill of the night air is soothing to your hot skin and you sink into the patio loveseat to rest your heels and your eyes.
“Here,” the crackling of the water bottle opening signals you to reach your hand out blindly and grasp the cool plastic.
A big gulp and deep breath help immensely, and you feel the loveseat dip as Seokjin drops down next to you. His body heat radiates comfortingly, and you catch yourself cuddling into his side. You miss the way Seokjin’s eyes sparkle at the initiation of touch.
“So, despite cutting costs, the annual holiday party turned out pretty well, I think,” Seokjin says, raising his water to his plush lips to drink before continuing, “did you have fun?”
“We’re still here, but yes, I am having fun. Thank you for getting me outside. I feel a lot better.”
“That’s good,” he murmurs as you curl into him more, seeking his heat. He hesitates before lowering his arm around the back of the loveseat, resting it behind you as if to welcome you into his space more. “I can’t believe it’s already December.”
You sit upright, a gasp leaving your mouth as his words ring in your eyes.
“Oh my god, it’s December.”
“I know I just said tha—”
“I missed your birthday!”
Seokjin watches your face as it cycles through all of the stages of grief before settling on a pouty acceptance.
“It’s no big deal, I didn’t get to celebrate much with everything going on right now. We’ve had to stay late and double check the daily financial reports, and I’ve been meeting with the department heads and it’s not a big birthday anyways. Next year though, you better remember.”
You nod solemnly, tipsiness clouding your ability to see through his playful manner. “Yes, sir. I will, I promise.”
Seokjin chuckles at your seriousness, hand moving to the top of your head where he smooths down the pieces that were disturbed when you had leaned into him. You preen at the touch, chest pushing into his side as you close your eyes and enjoy the feel of his fingers against your hair.
“You’re cute when you drink.”
You glare at him as best as you can, but it just makes him laugh harder.
“So, what do you want for your birthday? Or for Christmas since I missed this year?”
Seokjin’s face turns thoughtful, eyebrows furrowing together as his eyes look to the night sky in thought.
“I think…I just want my father to recognize how much I actually care about the company. I’m trying to be the best CFO I can be, but man, if by Christmas he can relax from hounding me over the finances, that would be fucking great. If not, by next year we better be as far from the red as possible.”
His words strike a chord with you. The past week that you’ve been working hard at the mitigation plans and finance approvals, you didn’t even take into account how busy Seokjin was—to the point he didn’t even make a fuss about his birthday. He’d actually been really helpful, providing you with information to make your job easier.
“We will be, Jin,” you promise, “you’re doing a great job helping me with mitigating things. Speaking of—I wish we could mitigate her.” You stare pointedly through the window back into the building, where a very drunk Park Jimin has his white shirt unbuttoned seductively low as an equally drunk Ji-Soo is taking pictures of him with her phone.
“Ji-Soo? She’s harmless.”
“No one who has slept with a C-Suite executive is ever harmless to a company. Workplace romances rarely work out. She isn’t harmless; she’s a risk, and untouchable right now.”
A strong gust causes Seokjin to shiver, unconsciously pulling you closer to his body and you seek his warmth. Closing your eyes, you cuddle into his broad chest as you listen to him continue with the conversation.
“She’s just the front desk secretary, Kicks.”
“Exactly. A lower level employee who has slept with both Kim Namjoon, the CEO, and Park Jimin, a board member’s son—who knows who else is on the list. She can choose to sell her stories to the highest bidder, at any time, for any reason. But she does her job, so we have no reason to fire her that wouldn’t be contestable in a court.”
“Ohhhh,” Seokjin’s eyebrows raise cutely, “the risk is that she could cause us to spend money in court, be tied up in litigation, or spend money on a settlement.”
“I knew you were the CFO for a reason,” you smile up at him from where he has you comfortably tucked, and he looks so handsome from this view.
“Ah, Kicks, you need to have a little fun in your life. No risk, no reward.” He winks at you, and under the city lights, he looks dazzling. “I would also like to point out something you may or may not be privy to…but I happen to know there are currently four successful workplace romances happening at this moment. They’re cute,” he sighs wistfully, “I wish I had a cute work boo.”
“Yes, I am privy to this knowledge, seeing as I work with you, gossip queen,” you tease, “but also, relationships can look one way to outsiders, but in reality, there could be all sorts of issues, abuse, infidelity, petty arguments…”
“Yeah, those are my friends outside of work—accusing them of abuse and cheating is a bit of a reach to try and prove your singular example right.” He looks at you thoughtfully. “I bet if we were dating, we would easily be successful. Not everything is a risk.”
“If we were dating, we wouldn’t be stupid like them,” you nod back to where the two lovebirds are canoodling in the shadowed corner of the room, “but still risky nonetheless.”
“How about this…I’ll take you out on a few dates, and we can see if anyone we work with catches wind of our fake relationship. I think we could keep it under wraps for two weeks.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“How about those pretty Jimmy Choo heels you were eyeing? Prove me wrong and they’re yours.”
You feel your eyes grow wide, imagining those coveted heels on your feet as you walk into work once the new year rolls in.
“I’m feeling like I may regret this in the morning, but what the hell, I want those shoes…It’s a deal.”
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The following Sunday evening finds you lounging around at home, cleaning and doing laundry as you sip a glass of red wine and come up with your list of rules for your challenge with Seokjin. In the light of day and with sober minds, you texted each other, realizing that you need some way to measure the challenge. Also, he needed to make sure that you weren’t set on sabotaging the relationship from jump, just to get the shoes.
Jin (8:47 PM): I’ve thought about it, and here are my rules. Okay? We’re dating, so act like we’re dating but be discreet and don’t tell anyone and win on purpose.
You (8:47 PM): That’s…so professional of you.
Jin (8:48 PM): There you go again…
You (8:49 PM): Shut up.
You (8:50 PM): Anyways, here’s what I came up with: [Link to spreadsheet]
No telling anyone that we’re dating during these 2 weeks ~Saturday Dec 9 - Saturday Dec 23
Must go on 6 dates, 3 each week, with at least one date each week right after work, where you drive us
Have to attend two meetings together with other coworkers and successfully get away with the following:
Disappear at the same time from desk/office during peak work hours for 30 minutes, twice during week 2 without anyone growing suspicious of the two of us missing
Jin (9:02 PM): I appreciate your attention to detail, but also, you kind of take the fun out of the dating part.
You (9:04 PM): You want to make sure I don’t cheat, and I want to make sure you don’t either. So, in order to test this accurately, we need to be able to measure it. By having set actions and goals we have to get away with, I think this is the best way to determine who wins in the end.
Jin (9:05 PM): We could just act like a couple and wing it, but I guess knowing what to do with you is easier. You like being touched…noted.
You (9:06 PM): Don’t make it awkward.
Jin (9:06 PM): You didn’t mention kissing at work? Are we doing that? I think it would be fun.
Jin (9:08 PM): Or does that come with the sneaking away? Should I pick up some listerine for the office? Any preference on condom brands or flavors?
You: {Left on Read}
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Sitting at your desk, your eyes drag to the bottom corner of the computer screen to the email alert. Clicking it open, you see a message from Seokjin with weekly reports he’s run for your review. As you begin to open the spreadsheets he’s sent, you notice he’s changed his signoff at the end of the email.
Your Handsome Lover, Jin-Oppa
You hold back a gag, unable to believe the audacity he has, before it turns into a giggle. He really has no shame, you think, deciding two can play this game. Hitting reply, you send him a thank you, making sure to sign off in like.
Leaning back in your chair, you stretch before diving into the work he sent.
Time seems to fly by, with the sun filtering into your office slowly moving across the carpet. You don’t notice, so engrossed in your work as you are, that Seokjin is leaning in your doorway, eyes watching you with a soft smile.
“Ready to go, baby girl?”
Seokjin’s voice startles you, breaking your concentration. Your boss has changed out of his business suit slacks, a crisp pair of blue jeans tailored to fit his body now gracing his frame as his button down disappears into the waistband. The sleeves are rolled up halfway, revealing his expensive watch and veins as he flexes involuntarily.
“Seokjin!” you gasp out, clutching a hand to your chest above your now racing heart.
“Now, is that any way to address your boyfriend who is about to take you out on a date?”
You raise your eyebrows at him.
“Fake boyfriend, you mean,” you correct, gathering your purse onto your shoulder as you lock your computer before looking down to arrange the printed reports neatly.
“Real enough for the next two weeks, baby girl,” he counters, voice significantly closer.
You feel the warmth of his body pressing into your backside as he envelops you in a hug, his face nuzzling into your neck as if seeking comfort. Freezing, your body betrays you as a burst of butterflies flit around your tummy and your neck cranes as if to accommodate his face, waiting for him to plant a kiss on your sweet spot.
Instead he steps back, and it takes you a few seconds to regain your composure.
“I’m gonna regret signing my email as that, aren’t I?” you question, following him out of your office.
“Hmm, it's possible, but more likely, you’ll prefer it to Kicks and ask me not to stop calling you that.”
“Doubt it,” you mumble, though your conscious thought is looking at you skeptically. It’s been one day, and your body is already taking this fake relationship as reality.
“We’ll see,” is his only response, though after the two of you step into the elevator, he reaches for your hand.
“You’re quite the touchy-feely boyfriend, Jinnie-Oppa,” you tease.
“Because I know it’s what you like. I know you’ve identified set things you’d like to do to test the relationship, but I’m more of a go with the flow guy, y’know? And I have a reputation to protect. Fake or not, I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”
Again, the traitorous butterflies appear, and they remain long after he’s dropped your hand to walk across the lobby to the parking garage entrance, looking mischievously around the lot as he opens the passenger side door to let you into his car.
Date number one surprises you, as you’re expecting Seokjin to resort to either typical chaebol actions, like a fancy reservation at an upscale restaurant, or be lazy with his choice, and take you to something owned by his family. Seokjin did neither, instead he surprises you with a fun outing. He swings by your place, telling you to change into something casual and you’re glad you did. Zzang Games, located in Hongdae, is a multi-floor entertainment center, perfect for competing or pairing up for various arcade and VR games.
For a Monday evening it's not too busy, mostly tourists and students on the claw machines and engaged in battle royales, and you think it’s pretty smart of Seokjin to choose this. Your coworkers most likely would not be out at a place like this on a weekday, so you’re less likely to get caught, and as a date, it’s definitely the type of relaxed setting that would allow two people to learn more about each other. If that was something the two of you were interested in, which it’s not. Right?
Later that night in bed, you fall asleep thinking about how much fun you had with Seokjin and that maybe he’s right about workplace romances, but if he is, then you can kiss those Jimmy Choo shoes goodbye...
Seokjin wasn’t lying to you when he said he would be the best boyfriend you’ve ever experienced in the two weeks assigned to dating, and it’s only been three days. Yesterday, you received a delivery of flowers discreetly signed from Your Lover. Several of the women that share your floor asked about the blooming perennials, curious to know who they came from. You just said it was a new thing, much like the vase full of buds that was blossoming; not yet a relationship, but still something nonetheless.
Today, just before you head to the Tuesday weekly meeting, Seokjin comes into your office to deliver you a cold French vanilla latte with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle across the fluffy topping.
“Well isn’t this sweet,” you say with a thank you, instantly mouthing at the whipped cream. You watch as Seokjin’s eyes follow your lips as you try and get the excess cream off the sides of your mouth. Turning away from you, he moves to leave. You follow, ready for the meeting, when Seokjin stops abruptly, turning on his heel in the doorway.
“What—”
His plush lips land on yours, a hand moving to the back of your hair to hold you in place as he gently bites your bottom lip before pulling away from the unexpected kiss.
“You missed a spot, Kicks, didn’t want anyone else coming to your rescue in the meeting.”
He steps away, resuming his path to the conference room as you blink feverishly at his departing silhouette. It takes you a few seconds to gather your wits and hustle after him, heels click-clacking on the tile as you hurry to catch up.
📈📈📈📈📈
Meetings lately suck.
Ever since you, or, the finance department, has been put on the hot seat, it feels like everyone is looking to you to fix things that aren’t your area of concern. It doesn’t help that you and Seokjin have made this stupid bet to see who is right about workplace romances. All so you can have those coveted Jimmy Choos.
“Thank you Taehyung, I’m sure the board will be able to vote on your proposal after reviewing the presentation.” The CEO’s voice snaps you back from where you’re daydreaming, face still warm and mouth tingling from your fake lover’s amorous encounter earlier. Absent-mindedly you run a finger across your bottom lip, not really listening to a word any of your coworkers have to say.
“Next up will be an update on the finances—we’ll take a quick five minute break before we resume.”
You jump when you feel a hand on your thigh, a soft pressure as Seokjin turns your chair gently towards himself.
“Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to present this time,” he says lowly into your ear. You feel the breath of his words caress your neck, a shiver rolling down your spine at how close he is. His hand then moves to your back, and to anyone in the room watching, it would look like two work partners preparing for their presentation.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Maybe because you look a little…flustered. Don’t worry baby girl, this presentation’s on me.” Seokjin grasps your hand under the conference room table, and you don’t really hear anything else he says as he brings his other hand to the tablet in front of you, clicking a few things so he can connect to the projector now that Taehyung has packed away his materials. “That was much longer than five seconds, I think I’m killing it.”
“Huh?” you question, confused.
He releases your fingers from where they were intertwined with his own, raising his hand to wiggle his five left fingers in your face with a smug look.
“Just sit here and look pretty, darling,” he jokes, but his eyes look serious when he swoops his hand over your ear, tucking away a wayward strand before standing to present, “and can you click through the slides for me?” he says this part louder, drawing everyone’s attention to you.
You can only nod, bashful and confused, and curse Kim Seokjin for being so goddamn charming, and so damn good at this game.
📈📈📈📈📈
Seokjin’s POV
Date number two the following day is your idea—a nice tandem bike ride along the Han River before sunset. The temperature is chilly, but you make sure to warn Seokjin in advance so he meets you wearing a warm fluffy white jacket, a matching beanie, and gloves. He’s thankful you let him know to dress warmly.
Seoul winters have 5 AM sunrises and near 8 PM sunsets, so the view along the river is gorgeous, a clear Wednesday with barely a cloud in the sky. Seokjin can’t believe he actually works up a sweat during the leisurely ride, but with the sun still out and no clouds to offer any shade, when the two of you finish your trip, he strips off his jacket for a breather.
He notices the way you eye his arms as they flex to grab his wallet from his back pocket so he can pay for your hot cocoa. It makes him feel good about himself, and his chances with you once this competition is over. What better way to make you fall for him and realize dating him is feasible, than by a trial run—as he likes to call it.
Seokjin is aware that you play by the rules, not just in work, where it’s expected, but in your day to day too, in relationships with coworkers and how you move through life. The only time he’s witnessed you behave in a way that goes against this is when you splurge to buy heels online. He feels like it was pure luck that he was able to finesse his trial run relationship with you, but he knows it is the data that you need to prove it’s worth the risk—he’s worth the risk.
When you shiver from the breeze coming off of the river, he wastes no time layering his fluffy jacket over your thin, long-sleeve athletic shirt, loving the way the jacket dwarfs you despite your heeled boots—yes, even when riding bikes, you make sure to have that slight lift that makes your ass sit ever so nicely in your jeans.
He enjoys the way you snuggle yourself deeper into his jacket, subtly inhaling the scent of his cologne and it’s just another confirmation to himself that maybe you could really turn this into something real with him, that maybe you like him back. He played it safe with the first date, and your choice for today is cute, but he doesn’t have much time to prove to you that he’s serious. He knows that the next date is the time for him to turn up the heat.
📈📈📈📈📈
Reader POV
The atmosphere in the restaurant for date three is so far removed from the arcade of date one, you don’t really know how to behave. You use the term restaurant loosely, seeing as you are currently floating along the Han River. A candlelight dinner on a ferry at sunset was not what you expected from Seokjin. Looking around the room, you can’t help but notice how many of the tables are empty in comparison to what your friends have told you about this experience, but you’re sure Seokjin pulled some strings. There’s maybe seven other couples in the room. He confirms as much as he pulls your attention back to him.
“I bought out as many of the tables as I could to ensure your utmost devotion during our date, and still you can’t keep your eyes on me,” he jokes, bringing his wine glass to his lips, “but some people had already purchased tables and I couldn’t get them to refund it.” Your eyes follow the burgundy liquid as it slips between his lips, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows it down. You tug at the form-fitting maroon dress you have on, one that Seokjin presented to you before leaving work to make the reservation.
“I was just wondering why it was so empty, but now that I know, I promise to focus on you.” You hate how much you don’t hate how the words sound; Seokjin is a sight to behold as the sun begins its descent below the horizon, and you find that you don’t want to look away from him. It’s a bit confusing for you because there’s a small part of your brain that doesn’t want to like this. He’s your boss, for one, and two, your competitive side is thinking about the fact that you want those shoes. Plus, you also like to be right. Though if you’re being honest with yourself—
“All women do is lie,” Seokjin says, paired with a firm settling down of the glass goblet onto the tablecloth. “Promising to focus on me, and then daydreaming seconds after—unless you were daydreaming about me?”
“Yes, daydreaming about strangling you for being so insufferable.”
“Didn’t know you were also into asphyxiation, but I will add that to the list alongside ‘likes to be touched’.”
You want to wipe the smirk off of his face. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is Kim Seokjin, and no matter how he seems to fool you for a moment, give it a few minutes and he will say something to reign it back in.
“So, I know we’re going to run this relationship for two weeks, and I thought about the perfect way to figure out if we pass or fail.”
You nod as you take a bite of the filet mignon on the plate before you. “Oh, do tell,” you implore, chewing delicately so as to not appear impolite.
“Be my date to Namjoon’s Christmas party.” Seokjin’s nonchalant tone throws you for a loop and you miss the connection between the two things.
“Be your—excuse me,” you cough, clearing your throat from when you inhaled unceremoniously. “You want me to be your date to the CEO’s Christmas party?”
“Yeah, it makes perfect sense. When we arrive, everyone will either act surprised seeing us as a couple, or think that I invited you as my friendly, plus-one coworker. Either way, we can use that as the true test to see if we passed or failed.” Seokjin grins proudly, waiting for you to applaud his brilliance.
“Hmm, it does seem like a good idea.” You look back at your food, hiding the fact that you were confused earlier. “I’m assuming the people invited will be people who attend meetings with us or work with us regularly?”
“Obviously, I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”
“Fine, I guess I’ll be your date.”
“Great. I’ll forward you the e-vite later tonight so you can prepare yourself for it, I know how you are.”
You smile softly at him; despite his teasing tone, you know that the act of sending you the details is one that shows he knows you and cares to some degree about your comfortability. He’s seen you freak out a few times over lack of information before meetings or events that you’ve had to attend for the company. You wonder what other things he’s filed away about you to make sure that you’re taken care of, so to speak. Maybe this is also who Kim Seokjin is. His duality is throwing you for a loop.
Before you can think of a way to safely broach that topic, the live band playing shifts to a song you recognize, but without lyrics, you can’t name it just yet.
“I love this song!” Seokjin surprises you when he comments, proffering a hand to you. “Do you want to dance?”
In the fading sunlight, his eyes sparkle with a joyful playfulness that you can’t say no to. Taking his hand, you allow him to pull you towards an opening, thanks to the lack of patrons on board, and gathering you into his arms, the two of you sway to the beat.
You are acutely aware that his hands are placed right at the small of your back, pinkies bordering the curve of your ass as you hold onto his broad shoulders.
“Relax a little, can you look like you actually enjoy dancing with me?”
“Sorry, I—”
“Shhh, just dance with me—you look beautiful by the way.” He smiles down at you, and you comply, wrapping your hands to rest casually around his neck to loosen your stiff posture as you try to hide the heat rising to your face.
As the music plays, you hear Seokjin humming gently along to it before he begins to sing lightly. “Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend…Only bought this dress so you can take it off, take it off, ah ah ah~.”
Hearing the lyrics jogs your memory of the song, and you remember how much of a fan Seokjin is of Taylor Swift. Until the words catch up to your brain and you look up at him scandalized.
“Only bought me this dress so you can take it off?” you ask, trying to step away from him, but his hold on you is firm.
“Kicks, everything that I buy you from here on out, I would love to remove from your body, except for the heels.” He doesn’t look at you, playfully swirling you around in a circle with a smile, but there’s a sincerity in his tone that you can’t shake. You bite your lip, unable to stop the racing thoughts as he takes one of your hands from where you’ve moved them to his chest, spinning you in a circle on the dance floor as the band continues to play.
He pulls you close again, this time with your back to his front and keeps hold of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.
“Are you having fun yet?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?” you deflect, and he chuckles knowingly.
Seokjin resumes his gentle singing, swaying with you as other guests begin to dance and waiters clear the finished entrees so they could prepare for dessert. As the song finally ends, you walk back to your seat, sitting gingerly to combat the pooling between your thighs from the friction dancing must have caused. Rubbing up against someone is just a part of dancing. What else could explain the slight bulge you felt nestled between your cheeks as you swayed in Seokjin’s arms?
The small crystal bowls of strawberry gelato are a nice distraction to cool down the heat you feel around your throat and cheeks, but watching the way that Seokjin’s lips wrap around the metal spoon to gently suck at the ice cream, smoothing down the scoop of pink dessert sitting on it, well, it doesn’t help as much as one would hope.
When you’ve both finished and the boat begins to dock back into the wharf, Seokjin comes to your side, offering you a hand to help you stand. You grasp it, but as you stand, the ferry lurches on the water, and you stumble into his chest. The motion causes him to fall backwards taking you with him as he attempts to protect you on the fall.
As the boat settles, you look up, seeing that you’ve landed side-saddle style on Seokjin’s lap, his legs bent to the side opposite of where yours are. Your hands clutch onto his shoulders still, your faces much closer than you’ve ever found them to be.
“Are you okay?” he asks, arms tightening from where they’re wrapped around your waist.
“Mmhmm,” you nod, the act bringing your lips closer to his with every upward movement.
“You sure, Kicks?” he breathes out even quieter, face inching ever so closer.
“Never better,” you answer, a rush of air caressing his lips, so close you feel the blowback of it, and an urge like never before comes over you to just lean in and taste the strawberry off his lips.
And just as his lips begin to touch yours, a flurry of activity from the ship's stewards pulls you apart as they check on your wellbeing. They help you climb off of Seokjin’s lap, apologizing profusely for the boat’s severe rocking and offering coupons on drinks and food and a free trip to save from receiving a bad review. You let Seokjin negotiate with the workers, focusing solely on your breathing. You do this as you leave, as Seokjin drives you home, and as you stand in the steaming shower attempting to scrub yourself of his touch, of the feelings they elicit from you, and what it might mean.
But there’s nothing that you can do to stop the images that infiltrate your thoughts as you dream of a satin dress falling to the floor, strawberry lips that cover every inch of your skin, and your high-heel-clad feet resting on his shoulders.
Work the next day is weird to say the least, as you expected to be bombarded with Seokjin smirking and strutting around the office, but when you arrive, he’s nowhere to be seen. In order to keep your mind free of all of the newly budding feelings, you throw yourself into your work, following up on the financial reports for the week so far to track the flow of money within the company and see if the different measures you’ve put into place have made a difference in the end-of-fiscal-year outcome and if the company is in the black once more.
The day seems to go by fast, with Seokjin never appearing in the finance department at all, and no encounters with him when you left to grab food with NaBi, Khaity, Khaity’s best friend Leah, and Hana. You expected to see him round the corner and enter your office at least once you were back from lunch, but he doesn’t appear, and instead of feeling relief at avoiding what you feel will be an awkward encounter, you feel nervous and worried about where he’s at.
After spinning aimlessly in your desk chair, having read the same line in the report seven times, you reach for your phone, finger hovering over his name. Would an email be more appropriate? It was working hours and you’ve never really called him outside of work like this before. You decide to call anyway, brain already coming up with a way to write it off as part of the challenge much like he did the whip cream kiss, when he answers.
“Hello?” he answers, a little breathless, and you pause, confused at the sounds you hear in the background. “Kicks?”
You’re about to answer when you hear a feminine voice from the background, asking who Kicks is.
“Give me a moment,” you hear him say, followed by the background sounds fading a bit as he steps away from wherever he’s located. He says your name, but you’re still stuck on what you’ve heard. “Baby girl?” he tries, and it works, breaking you from your green-eyed stupor.
“I’m here,” you respond, voice lowered as you try and navigate the feeling in your chest.
“Is something wrong? You’re worrying me.”
“No, nothing’s wrong, I just haven’t seen you at work today—”
“Oh, I had a dentist appointment this morning, but Namjoon sent me to meet with some fiduciary specialists and can you believe they don’t have elevators in their building? I had to walk four flights of stairs and I was so worried something was wrong and I was going to have to run back down those four flights to get to you—”
Your peals of laughter halt his rambling, and he stays quiet as you taper off into light giggles.
“No, everything is fine, sorry to interrupt your meeting.”
“No, I forgot to put it into the calendar so you would know, I’m sorry if I worried you. This woman who looks old enough to be my grandma is glaring at me though, so let me finish this meeting and then I’ll fill you in on what I learned tomorrow.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m coming now—okay, babe, be good, bye!”
The phone clicks off and you set it down, utterly confused at the ease with which he called you a pet name; it wasn’t done teasingly, but more like a slip, as if he always referred to you as such and was comfortable with doing so. But even more pressing is the way you feel, no longer anxious at Seojin’s unknown whereabouts, no longer jealous of him being around another woman sounding suspiciously out of breath, and tummy all aflutter at him calling you babe.
📈📈📈📈📈
“Friday, fighting!” NaBi calls out as you both head towards the entrance; her weekly Friday morning greeting makes you wave at her.
“I hope you have a great day, NaBi!” you say as you both make your way towards the elevator. You expect to see NaBi press the button to Namjoon’s floor, since she is essentially his personal assistant and secretary, but instead she chooses to go to a different floor, IT.
“Same to you, I’m sure it will be a great Friday. Any more horrid meetings?” she asks, privy to the situation thanks to her role within the company.
“No, thank god. We’re back to our weekly Tuesday meetings, and luckily, since they know Jin and I are working on the finances, they’ve left me alone for most of them.”
“That’s good, I hope Jin isn’t working you to the bone,” NaBi quips, and you have to stop yourself from sharing your latest thoughts and feelings.
“No, no, everything is good there, he’s actually been really attentive and helpful with trying to fix all of the wanton spending, so hopefully there’s no more vile meetings with the crusty old board members.”
As the doors slide open to the IT department, NaBi steps out, a large smile on her face as she looks towards a specific open door.
“When are you going to tell him how you feel?” you ask pointedly, nodding towards a certain muscle bunny’s office before the elevator has a chance to close.
“When you wear sneakers to work!” she laughs out, waving you off.
“Never!”
📈📈📈📈📈
The weekend seems to go by quickly because you’re still working remotely on financial reports in your pajamas, so despite the turmoil you feel about everything, it gets set to the back burner. You remember late on Sunday that it’s once again your turn to plan the date for the following day, and so while you may not wear sneakers ever to the office or even tandem bike riding in winter, you will rock the heck out of the blue, red and tan bowling shoes when your competitive side strikes. And after such a romantic, sexually charged date, you want to try and put some space between you and Seokjin once again.
Your pep talk to yourself on the way to work Monday morning consists of you reminding yourself that this isn’t real.
“Seokjin’s unserious, you know he’s not capable of real emotions.” Your face looks back at you from the reflection in the window on the bus. “The date meant nothing. He’s just playing with you because he can. He wants you to let your guard down and forget the true game is afoot.” The man behind you on the bus looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind talking to yourself and you pretend you’re talking to someone on the phone. “You are in this to prove to Seokjin that dating at work is risky because people always find out, and thus win a pair of heels. Nothing more.”
But if what you told yourself this morning is the case, why do you want to sit and watch Seokjin run his fingers through his hair as he combs it out of his face? Why do you want to stare into his coffee-colored eyes as he talks to you about different techniques for bowling? You could care less about bowling skills, but watching the words come from between his pink pillow lips makes it mesmerizing.
“Do you want bumpers?” he asks as he finishes lacing his shoes.
You shoot him a glare before answering, “No, I do not need bumpers, I’m decent at bowling, thank you very much.”
You aren’t lying either, you have pretty good hand eye coordination, but it has been several years since you’ve last gone bowling. You can typically score in the range of seventies to the hundreds, not a gutterball queen like he assumes. You hope to dazzle him with your abilities.
“Okay, I think I’m going to use the 12-pound ball, what size do you need? A 7 or 8-pound?”
“An 8-pound please! I sometimes use a 7 or a 9-pound when I need speed or to slow down for precision, but I’ll start with the 8 for now.” You stand and stretch, missing Seokjin’s eyes rove your figure.
“Got it boss, I’ll deliver you an 8-pounder.” Jin chuckles to himself as he grabs the two large spheres from the rack.
“Why does it sound like you’re planning to give me a newborn?”
“My mother and father would be happy to have a grandchild, now that I think about it,” Seokjin winks as he places the bowling balls into the ball return.
“Kim Seokjin, sometimes I really just want to bang yo—”
“Me against the wall outside in the alleyway? I won’t lie, that would be a good way to get my parents started on a grandchild.”
“Ugh! Please just bowl, it’s your turn.” You sit down and cross your arms, irritated with his quips. He’s the most unserious person you have ever met, and yet he still manages to push the boundaries of unserious levels daily.
Despite this, you are enjoying yourself as date four progresses, with game one ending with you beating Seokjin, and game two causing a tie to declare who is the best at bowling. Game three starts off the same, but halfway through, now pleasantly pliant with several soju shots, you both are giggling a lot more, being playful with trick shots.
“Okay, okay, that was surprisingly accurate,” you laugh as Seokjin rights himself from where he had bent over to throw the bowling ball between his legs. You step up with your bowling ball, poised to be dramatic like you’ve seen people do on TV.
“Always the look of surprise from you, I am actually quite talented at many things, especially when it comes to using my hands.” His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, but with his face flushed red from being upside down and from alcohol, it is more comical than sexy.
The burst of laughter that follows throws you off balance. One second, you are gearing up to do a ‘professional’ throw, left hand bracing the ball you have held in your right, three fingers balancing the weight, but when your hand swings back, he says his lewd saying and instead of releasing the ball when your arm pendulums forward, you keep hold of it. The weight of the ball still attached to your fingers propels you forward and you lose your footing on the overly slick flooring of the lane.
“Oh fuck!” You can’t help the curse escaping your mouth as you try your best to maintain your footing, but your ankle rolls as your body topples onto the resin-coated wood floor. You cry out from the twinge it causes, a shooting pain traveling along the side of your leg.
Seokjin laughs, loud squeaks that resemble windshield wipers that have seen better days, and while you are nearly in tears from the stinging ache, you start to laugh too as you hold your ankle slightly above the ground.
“Jin, stop laughing, it hurts!” you giggle through the tears, and the bouncing from the laughter jostles your ankle and you let out a whimper. He’s next to you instantly, still chuckling as he tries to soothe you.
“I’m sorry, but that was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” he wipes away a tear and then touches your leg gingerly. “Does it hurt here?”
You nod. “Yes, it’s similar to shin splints, but on the side.”
“Can you stand?” Seokjin offers his hands to you and you pull yourself up onto one leg, too afraid to put any weight on the hurt ankle. Your bowling ball lay forgotten as you hobble to the nearest seat. “I meant like can you put weight on it, but it appears you can’t…We only had three frames left anyways, let’s call it a night for bowling.” He looks at you with sympathy. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
“No, I promise, it’ll be fine, just some ice and I’ll prop it up on a few pillows.”
Seokjin puts away the bowling balls and cleans up a little while you slowly loosen the laces. You transition one boot back on, and he comes back over to you in time to help gently remove the other bowling shoe off your foot.
“Let me return our shoes and then I’ll help you to the car.”
You stretch as far as you can reach to gather your purse and test the mobility of your ankle, hoping to avoid being carried bridal style out. It still hurts and looks a little swollen, but you’ve done this a few times as an adolescent so you already know how to treat it. Seokjin squats down in front of you, giving you his back so that you can climb on and he can koala-carry you out of the building.
Hesitantly you wrap your arms around his neck, realizing that this position is much worse than if he had chosen the bridal style. Now you know exactly how well he fits between your thighs, how firmly his hands wrap under your thighs. There’s no way to distance yourself from him as you physically have to rely on him to transport you to the car, your breasts pressing into his back.
Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t make any jokes as he carts you out, just asks after your pain and comfort levels. Once he’s parked outside of your building, he helps you to your door. You draw the line there though, not letting him come in.
“We have work tomorrow, I’m just going to take some painkillers, take a quick shower, grab some ice and pillows, then sleep. Promise, I won’t do anything strenuous.”
“Fine. On one condition though. I’m picking you up to take you to work the rest of the week until it heals.” Seokjin looks at you with eyes that showcase his finality, and you agree so you can escape him.
“I’ll meet you downstairs at 7:30 sharp,” you acquiesce, “and Seokjin…thank you.”
“Anything for you, I told you, as your boyfriend these two weeks, I’ll be the best boyfriend—as long as you let me.”
Before you can protest, he leans down and kisses your forehead gently, and he disappears from sight before you’ve moved to shut the door.
Seokjin’s POV
Watching as you walk gingerly into the Tuesday morning meeting, Seokjin shakes his head at you remembering your refusal this morning to change into flats or sneakers, so Seokjin only agrees to allow you to continue to work if you sport an ankle wrap under your heeled boot. He stops at Daiso before parking, but because of the time, he lets you out with a promise to put it on once you get to your office.
“Why are you limping so badly? The bandage should be giving you more support than that, is it on correctly?” Seokjin asks as you walk to your seat next to him. He stands to pull out the wheely chair for you, one hand on your back to guide you into the seat and the other holding your hand as you lower yourself to get comfortable.
“I haven’t put it on yet,” you reply, avoiding eye contact. He returns to his chair sending you a searing stare full of judgment.
“Kicks, the longer it takes your ankle to heal, the longer I can’t enjoy seeing you in heels. You know I love how you look in heels.” His hand grazes along the top of your thigh, but you clamp a hand on top of his to stop the movement.
“I knew you had an ulterior motive!”
He chuckles, but it fades away as you seem to take advantage of the situation and thread your fingers through his. He fully expects that after ten seconds you’ll pull away and go back to taking notes on what the CEO says as he talks to the group. Except that you don’t, instead settling into the meeting, holding hands with Seokjin for far longer than necessary, not that he’s complaining.
Once the meeting adjourns, you disappear back to your office faster than Seokjin thought possible with an injured ankle, but he takes advantage of the time to shoot an email to Namjoon and Yoongi before going to gather some items. It’s not long before he appears in your doorway.
“Come with me, and bring your wrap,” he demands, though his tone is not harsh. He can’t be mad at you, not when you’ve provided him with the perfect opportunity.
With a sigh, you hobble over to the door and follow as he leads you around a few corners until you’re alone in one of the many break rooms in the building. This one in particular is similar to the library where the holiday party was held, but smaller, with a conference table in the middle of the sun-filled room.
Seokjin leads you to the table, and preemptively picks you up by your underarms to place you on the table before you can resist. He makes sure to be gentle as he lifts your leg to the table, undoing your boot so he can check your ankle out. You’re wearing loose slacks today, which makes it easier for him to access your sprain. Delicately, he smoothes the pant leg up your leg, his hand warming as it skates across your skin.
He swears he hears an intake of breath from the touch, a reflection of the sparks he’s feeling, but instead of calling attention to it, afraid of scaring you off, he reaches behind you, retrieving the bag of ice wrapped in paper towels. Settling onto the tabletop, he puts your foot in his lap.
“This might be a little cool, but we need to treat the swelling.”
The moment feels oddly intimate, and it’s Seokjin’s turn now to duck his head and avoid eye contact. He adjusts the ice pack onto your ankle, one hand cupping your heel as the other keeps the pack in place on top of your foot. Your foot struggles a little at the frosty feeling, and Seokjin has to maintain his breathing as you unknowingly wiggle atop his crotch.
“Sorry,” you mumble, settling your hands behind you on the table as you get comfortable.
“It’s expected,” he returns, and the smile you give him only adds to the hope blossoming in his chest.
The next twenty minutes are spent talking about everything and nothing, and the last ten he spends tickling the bottom of your foot as he helps slide the bandage onto your ankle, all so he can hear your laugh and have your hands on him as you try to get him to leave your foot alone.
“I don’t want to kick you in the face, but if you touch the bottom of my foot again, I can’t say I—Jin!” you squeal, wriggling backwards in an attempt to escape, but he just follows you, his body covering yours as you lean back breathlessly on the table.
“Yes?” His smile is teasing as his arm extends to protect the back of your head as he presses closer to you.
“Please, I can’t take it! I’m too ticklish!”
“But that’s exactly why I can’t stop, Kicks. You’re too cute when you’re flustered, under me like this.”
He sees the exact moment that you notice the precarious position he’s put you in, with Seokjin leaning between your knees, chest to chest as he cradles your head. He didn’t know that he would love the feel of your body under him this much, almost as much as when you were on his lap on the boat. He can smell one of the fragrances you carry, whether it be your shampoo, a perfume, or just a natural scent, he already knows if he can’t make this thing with you real, he’s going to miss it.
“Jin,” he watches you bring your hands to his chest, expecting you to push him away, but to his surprise—and probably your own he suspects—you don’t. He stares at you, drinking in all of the things he’s grown to love about your features over time: the way your eyebrows furrow in thought, lips slightly parted as breaths escape them, and gorgeous eyes wide in wonder as you look back at him.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
This close up, he watches as your face changes slightly, lips closing to a shy smile, cheek more prominent and your eyes glittering at the compliment. If you plan to ask him later about the kiss, he’ll tell you it was him if it keeps you from getting scared off, but he sees you move first, clear as day in the reflecting sun. You lift your head out of his hand where it’s cradled, pressing your lips to his and he lets out a tiny groan to rival the throaty moan you release as his tongue seeks entry into your mouth.
He’s both happy and sad at the position he has you in, because while it allows him to be here like this, kissing you, it also doesn’t allow for much more and is becoming quite uncomfortable as he attempts to keep his weight from crushing you. His tongue plays with yours for a few more moments before he tapers off, slowing the progression of the kiss to playful pecks.
Once Seokjin is satisfied that you are giggly and pliant, he clambers off of you, reaching both hands out to help pull you back into a seated position on the table.
“So,” he starts, wanting to test and see how he’s doing in terms of winning you over, “am I the best short-term boyfriend you’ve ever had?” He doesn’t notice the way your eyes dim slightly hearing the phrase ‘short-term’, as he’s busying himself with adjusting the ankle bandage before helping you put back on your boot.
Jin is excited to hear you softly reply, “Yes, Jin, you are.”
If he’s a little more aware, maybe he’d be able to pick up on more than just your words, and realize a lot more about how you’re feeling concerning the situation you both are in.
📈📈📈📈📈
Reader POV
It’s killing you to not be able to talk to your work friends about what’s going on. Seeing as you missed out on lunch yesterday due to your shenanigans with Seokjin, the girls ask a few questions.
“I got our favorite shrimp tempura sushi to split with you, but I ended up eating it all myself,” Leah pouts at you as you join them today.
A lie easily rolls off your tongue. “Oh, last minute reports were emailed to me, with the deadline coming up thanks to the holidays, they’re running them daily now to look for any sign up upward movement on the graphs.”
They buy it, easily shutting down any romance rumors they could have generated. You realize that you could have told some of the truth, that Seokjin was babying you because you sprained your ankle, and maybe help you win the shoes that started this insanity. Instead, with that little fib, it appears you’ve worked against your best interest, planting no seeds to make the others think something’s going on romantically between you and Seokjin.
You’ve been so busy with work and secretly dating, you forgot that your girls would be the best chance you have to prove that you are right and Seokjin is wrong.
Seriously, I could have told most of the truth, and that would have been enough to have the girls ask why Seokjin was taking care of me. I would deny anything they accused, because I can’t break my own rules, but planting that seed would allow them to at least wonder. They might then, as women do, embark on a hunt for the truth. Then when it came time at the party to ask if anyone had found out, they would be the ones to stand up and say yes! But I’m a little too good at this, you say, forehead wrinkled in disdain at yourself, exactly what Seokjin must be banking on to win this thing.
“Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles and then you’ll be single forever!” Hana jokes, and you laugh listlessly.
Maybe it’s time you call someone you can talk to about everything going on.
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“Grandma, you don’t understand, he’s unserious on his best days, insufferable on his worst, and…” you pause, adjusting your leg where you have it propped up on a small chair you stole from an empty office. You plan to leave in a few minutes so you can go home and get ready for your date with Seokjin, but wanted to rest your ankle briefly before walking to the bus stop. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but you want to make sure it heals up well to avoid any weakening later.
She hums knowingly in your ear. “Let me guess, he’s handsome, rich, and doesn’t appreciate his status in life.”
“Yes! Exactly, he lives with an all play and no work attitude—”
“And you want him to be your boyfriend,” she tacks on, effectively shutting you down.
“Grandma!”
“What? You called me for some real talk, right?”
You whine, and she laughs, her musical giggle making you miss her.
“Sweetie, listen. I’ve known you your whole life, so I know you pretty well. You like things that are orderly and neat, that fit well into your life. But that’s not much of a fun life. And it’s not what we hoped for you when we sent you off to Seoul.” You hear her sigh, and remain quiet, knowing she’s about to impart something that will stay with you. “It sounds like this Jin guy is exactly the kind of man you need in your life. He’s realized one of the best things about life that most of us don’t realize until it’s too late: Life is not so serious that we need to live a life with regrets. Yes, he has moments where maybe he should behave with a little more…sincerity, but overall, it sounds like you do that enough between the two of you.”
You nod, biting your lip as you take in her words. “Maybe.”
“You’ve been working so hard on your schooling and then your career, and you’ve made it so far! Overcome every academic and career goal thrown at you. But that’s only part of who you are. I think it’s nice that this young man is so attuned to you, that he’s challenging you in areas like love and life.”
“Who said anything about love? We’ve only been seeing each other for a week and a half!”
“No one said you were in love, sweetie, but your defensiveness means you like him a little more than you thought.”
You tuck your phone between your ear and your shoulder, logging into your desktop so you can check some emails while you chat. Multi-tasking always helps you when you need to open up—focusing on a menial task helps cover that feeling in your chest when you discuss said feelings.
“I mean, if I’m honest with myself, yes. He’s surprised me in ways I wasn’t expecting. And I know that two people can kiss when dating, but, I don’t know…is he kissing me because he’s taking advantage of whatever this is, or is he kissing me because he likes me and wants it to be more? I’m confused about what happens next, you know?”
“My smart girl, have you thought about asking him?”
“I can’t just ask him! He’s my boss!” You wish she understood that times are not the same as when she was young.
“Yes, your boss who you are already dating!”
“But not for real! Not after Saturday!”
“What’s happening Saturday?” she questions, and you stall, not wanting to hear what she’s going to say when you tell her the full truth.
“Well, we’ve been going on dates because…we made a bet. To see if workplace romances can be kept secret or not. It started last week and we have set rules so neither of us cheats, and this Saturday is the CEO’s holiday party, which Jin invited me to as his date, and we will see if any of our work friends noticed we were dating or not.”
She laughs heartily, and you hate that she seems so wise about this when you feel so clueless.
“Oh, I needed that laugh. You’re telling me that your boss—a hot, rich executive—made a bet with you to see if workplace romances can work, he’s kissed you a few times and takes you out on dates, drives you to work now that you’ve sprained your ankle, asked you to be his date to another exec’s party, and you’re still confused about where the two of you stand?”
Hearing her put it into this perspective bolsters your confidence a bit. It isn’t like you haven’t already thought about this same formula, but your grandma is missing one term from this equation, and it's your feelings. Your feelings are clouding your ability to act on this information. You tell her just as much.
“I’m just scared. I think that the risk of rejection is overpowering everything for me right now.”
“I know that risk is scary, you think I wasn’t scared when you moved away to attend school? But the reward? Seeing you excel in your career has been so lovely to witness. I’m so proud of you. I just want you to have someone to take care of you when I’m not here anymore.”
You want to fight her on this, but you don’t want to discount her emotions. “I know, and while I’d be fine having you take care of me forever, I think it would only be fair to let you pass the heavy lifting onto someone else.”
“And by the sounds of it, Jin has a nice set of shoulders for that.”
You’re about to answer her when a knock at your door startles you.
“Hold on, Grandma,” you say before raising your voice. “Come in!”
The topic of conversation steps into your office, shutting the door behind him. “Hey, I’m so sorry to do this, but we have to push our date tonight to tomorrow.”
“Oh? Is everything okay?” you question, taking in the way his face is pinched, grumpy.
“Yeah, I mean, no one’s dying or anything, but my dad just sent me an email, summoning me to meet with him about a potential investor.”
“Wouldn’t this typically be Soobin’s job?” you point out. Choi Soobin, the investor relations director for JinHit, typically would meet to discuss potential investors first before looping Seokjin in as CEO.
“Yes, but you know my father…”
“I’m sorry, bab—um, b-but, it’s okay, we can move it to Thursday.” You stumble over the words, trying to cover up the slip of tongue.
“You’re amazing, you know that? I’m so sorry to do this.”
“No, I get it. You want to prove to your father you got this, and rightfully so. You’ve done amazing helping me with everything, even though you have so much on your plate already.”
“You know good and well that you, Soobin, and the others take on a lot of the responsibilities, I just oversee it. It’s been nice to actually get my hands dirty with work, use my degree.” Seokjin’s phone chimes. After a roll of his eyes, he apologizes again. “Duty calls. I’ll see you tomorrow, babe.” With that last remark and a wink, he leaves your office. You can hear laughter coming from your phone, forgotten in your hand. Bringing your grandma back to your ear, you speak before she can.
“Don’t even start, Grandma. I already know what you’re going to say.” You click on the email invite that Seokjin sent you about the holiday party at Namjoon’s, eyes re-reading the info. “So just help me think of a good present to get him for the party Saturday.”
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Seokjin’s POV
Seokjin can’t help but to grin as he walks back to his office. You almost slipped up and called him babe. Or baby. Either way, he feels like he’s on cloud nine, and tomorrow will be the perfect moment to tell you just how he feels. He hates that he showed up less than a half hour before you get off to cancel, but he would rather give you the respect of doing it in person than over text.
He scans the subject of the email he received while in your office, seeing it’s a reply to the email he sent yesterday, from Namjoon. Hustling back to his CFO office, he logs in and clicks through the various apps until the email pops up.
Seokjin,
Thank you for keeping me up to date with the financial reports, the numbers seem to be trending back up thanks to the mitigating efforts you and your department have done. Make sure to tell your better half thank you, since I know it was really all her. Also, your signature is a little…informal for work…I would love to know who is on the receiving end of the “Your Handsome Lover, Jin-Oppa” so I can congratulate her for tying you down. I would say bring her to the party, but I know you are already planning to bring YN, and it would be rude to swap them out last minute.
Kim Namjoon, MA, BSBA
CEO of JinHit Conglomerate
“Ah fuck.” Jin smacks his head, realizing his mistake. This is exactly the kind of fuck up you said couples dating at work would make, but luckily, his best friend is clueless to the fact that the same person Seokjin plans to bring to the party is the same person who will hopefully end up taking him off the market. Will this lead Seokjin to lose on Saturday? He doesn’t care about losing the bet and having to buy the shoes—he can afford to buy you the same shoes every day for the rest of your life.
No, what Seokjin is most worried about is that if he loses on Saturday, it will be the data that you need, the proof that will make you decide that you can’t be with Seokjin after this is all said and done. And he can’t have that.
He begins typing out a reply, mostly to say that he agrees with Namjoon, that his email was informal and he was sorry for not paying attention, oh and of course he would make sure to introduce Namjoon to the woman one day, hopefully soon, and that yes, it would be quite rude to swap out dates last minute.
It’s an hour later after he’s finished typing out this reply that he leaves work to cross town to meet with his father. Seokjin’s feeling a little sour about the fact that he had to cancel his plans with you and meet with his dad, especially since it’s not his job to do this part of the investment process, but thanks to Do Not Disturb while driving, he misses the message his father sends.
Jin (5:15 PM): I’m leaving work now, I should be there in time for the meeting at 6:30.
아버지 (Father) (5:45 PM): The investors can’t make it today, which is lucky since you aren’t taking rush hour traffic into account. I will let you know when it has been rescheduled, and I will make sure you will be on time.
Jin (6:28 PM): [Request Pay from Kim Namjung ₩25,000 for gas]
Reader POV
By Thursday, your ankle is finally feeling back to normal but you don’t want to push it too much, so you put on your lowest heels. You figure this would be perfect with your cinch-waisted dress, held shut by the buttons running down the middle. Despite the chill as you head downstairs to wait for Seokjin, you are glad with your choice thanks to the appreciative look Seokjin gives your figure. His right hand rests along your thigh as he drives you to work, talking about the date he’s planned for the two of you tonight.
“I know it’s a little chilly out, so I figured we could go check out Seoul Sky tonight, and then eat afterwards. What do you think?”
“Wow, how am I supposed to top that? I’ve never been to the observatory, but it sounds amazing.”
“What kind of food do you want to eat? You seem to like most foods, based on what you eat for lunch, but what’s your favorite?”
You ponder his question for a bit, eyes roving around the car as you gather your thoughts. “Mmm…I guess my favorite is home cooking. I miss my grandma’s meals the most since I’ve been here.”
“Ahhh, home cooking always hits the spot. I used to cook a lot when I was younger. My father was always busy with work and my brother and I were left alone a lot. My mom scolded us once for bothering the staff too much for specific meals, so we decided to learn from them how to make the meals we enjoyed. In college, I would cook a lot for the fraternity and it became a hobby of mine. My brother actually is the head of Food Science for JinHit. He handles the cafeteria, catering for entertainment, as well as Nutrition for the idols employed.”
“Really? I’ve met him a few times to discuss finances for catering services and resources for nutrition programs! He’s really cool.”
“Don’t tell me my girlfriend secretly loves my brother and I have to duel him to the death for you.”
You burst into laughter, giggly peals filling the car as Seokjin just glances at you then looks back at the road. “No! He’s just cool and he feeds us, which is super important.”
“Okay,” Seokjin says as he pulls into his designated CFO parking spot, “so the way to your heart is through shoes and food, got it.”
You climb out of the car before he can come around and open the door for you. “And don’t you forget it,” you tease, walking away from him.
Your day goes well to start, with not too many taxing assignments with the weekend fast approaching. Tomorrow is the last day at work before the office is closed for a three day weekend. Christmas falls on Monday, and despite half of the company not celebrating religiously, it is a public holiday and enjoyed as a day off by all. With the work day coming to a close, you hear when the arrival of good news enters everyone’s inbox.
“Did you see?” Soobin sticks his head into your propped open doorway, a large smile covering his face from cheek to cheek.
“Not yet, but it sounds like it’s worth celebrating!”
“It is!” His happiness is contagious. “Our gracious CEO gave us off until the 2nd of January! Since it would be a short work week anyways, he wanted everyone to be able to enjoy the holiday with family, whether they live in Seoul or Busan.”
“That’s amazing!”
“I’m off to find Yeonjun in IT, we might catch the train home together.” Soobin ducks his fluffy head out of the entryway and disappears down the hall with a loud whoop! as others continue their cheering. You smile softly to yourself as you check the email; your last minute idea to have the office closed for the holiday would save the company more than it would lose during this time. The company would be able to save on day-to-day expenditures of running a company, work that typically does not happen because of the distraction of the holiday will continue to not be done, therefore the tradeoff between having the building open for work but no work getting done would balance out, and employee morale will be greater upon returning and resuming work in the new year.
It was an idea you had thanks to your talk with your grandma. When you pointed out that Seokjin was all play no work, and unserious, she had mentioned that you needed some of that in your life. Why wouldn’t the rest of the workers in a large conglomerate also need that? You knew you weren’t the only person with a Type A personality in this building, who worked too hard and barely rewarded themselves with a vacation or fun. So a little forced vacation will do wonders all around, without a loss in sight.
Stretching your arms above your head, you finish the last of your auditing and save your report before locking your computer. You’re excited to experience Seoul Sky tonight, and not just because it is your first time experiencing it, but because who you will be with is worth the trip to such crazy heights.
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Seokjin’s POV
“It’s incredible!” The view you are witnessing truly is, Seokjin can’t lie. It looks as if the city goes on forever, and the fiery rays cascade along the horizon in a beautiful show of combusting fragments of stardust.
“We made it just in time, and we will get to see the night sky too before we eat,” he says. “Let’s step a little closer, you’re missing some of the view.” He ushers you to step onto the glass floor, your low heels clicking weirdly on the thick glass.
“Oh, Seokjin, it’s exhilarating!”
“From here, you can see JinHit, it’s right there,” Seokjin leans into you, holding you tightly as if you might fall from so high up. He aligns your body so you have a better chance of seeing what he’s pointing to.
“I see it! I bet it’s gorgeous at night.”
“Mmm, yes, but maybe we should shut off the power to save money...”
You laugh at his joke, and he feels his heart flutter a little. You’ve changed towards him, and the view offers more than just all of the sights of Seoul—so many opportunities lay at the tip of his finger, still pointing at JinHit—the first one being you.
“Can you imagine how the air must be from up this high?”
He can’t bear to make a negative joke about the air quality in Seoul as he sees the way your irises seemingly reflect the setting sun, a small milky way of glittering solar systems he could get lost in.
“Yes, Kicks, I think it’s rather breathtaking...like you.”
You turn away from the sunset and he sees you catch his gaze trained in your direction, and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. The view of Seoul at sunset from almost 1,821 feet disappears around you. You’re the only thing he can see, and he only hopes that you feel the same, or at least you are starting to feel the same about him as he does for you.
📈📈📈📈📈
“When you told me about how you can cook, I didn’t know you meant that you would be cooking for me!” Sitting at the large island in Seokjin’s lofted penthouse apartment, you watch as he moves sveltely between the sink and the island stovetop, pans heated as he adds the ingredients he chopped and minced with you.
“Ah, well I wanted it to be a surprise.” He looks great in his slacks, button-down sleeves rolled up with an apron around his neck and waist so he doesn’t stain the baby blue fabric. It is quite the surprise, and you tell him so.
“Homemade Japchae sounds amazing right now, are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do to help?”
“No, Kicks, you already prepped the vegetables and now it’s just time for you to relax and enjoy. Look around if you want.” Seokjin sets aside the stir fried vegetables as he adds the protein option to the pan, seasoning and cooking it until browned. You decide to give yourself a small tour, not venturing too far or into any closed doors. The penthouse is modern, with a lot of black furniture, grey accent pieces, and white walls. The glass walls are two stories, spanning the height of the lofted area as well, situated above the kitchen. You take a few steps up the stairs until you can see through the clear banister into what appears to be Seokjin’s bedroom, before returning to your seat. You’re much more comfortable there than exploring dangerous areas alone.
The two of you continue to talk about your lives outside of work as he cooks; you share more about your family and where you lived before Seoul, and him about his fraternity days and hobbies. Once the glass noodles were cooked in the Japchae sauce, and the protein and vegetables re-added, you move to sit comfortably on his couch, eating as you watch a popular K Drama on his large flatscreen.
“I really enjoyed tonight, Jin.” You can’t describe in words how you feel, you just know you haven’t felt feelings like this towards Seokjin of this caliber before. Something has changed, but you don’t know whether it’s you or Seokjin, or both. He places his plate into the sink where you stand, washing dishes, then leans against the counter to watch you. “Since you did all of the heavy lifting, I’ll clean up.”
“You didn’t have to, you know. This is still a date.”
“Yes, but even in relationships, people go on dates and I’m sure that they still take turns with household chores and stuff.”
He hums in agreement, then disappears out of the kitchen. You finish washing, lay the dishes on the rack with the pans, and then turn around to make your way back to the living room. You find Seokjin lighting the last of the candles he’s placed around the room, a tray and two flutes of champagne on the low glass table near the dark colored couch.
“What’s all this?” you ask, voice low in astonishment and something else. The room is dim, but the candles provide enough light to see and the ambiance is much more romantic than anything you’ve previously shared with Seokjin.
You watch as Seokjin’s features flit through different emotions before answering you, and before you can question him more about it. “I, well a proper date should be more than just a home-cooked meal. I also have dessert for us, and wanted to celebrate a bit, too.”
“Celebrate?”
“Yes,” he pats the couch next to where he’s sat. “I saw the preliminary reports. I think we’re gonna clear it this fiscal year. All thanks to you.”
You cross the rest of the distance to sit next to him, still feeling timid in his home. You take the flute of bubbly gold with a shy smile, still not used to this treatment and praise.
“You worked hard too, Seokjin. We did it together.” Clinking your glasses together, the two of you down the Dom Perignon. As Seokjin sets down his glass, he reaches for one of the chocolate-covered strawberries set atop the tray.
“Try this, these are grown on my uncle's farm,” he shares, scooting closer to you on the couch so he can feed you the strawberry. You lean in, mouth watering at the aroma of the chocolate coating the fruit. With the first bite, an explosion of flavor erupts in your mouth, and you moan a little at how succulent it is. A trickle of the red juice rolls from the corner of your lip. Too busy savoring the flavor, Seokjin slowly swipes up your chin to gather the strawberry juice, bringing it to his lips to suck the flavor off.
You watch as his tongue pushes through the part in his lips, the tip rolling backwards across his bottom lip as he brings his teeth to bite the plump, pink skin. The look in his eyes matches the candle flames and you’re positive yours reflect the same. Placing your hand onto his shoulder, you guide him back onto the couch so he can sit properly as you swing your leg over his thighs. Planted on his lap, it’s nothing to lean in, your mouth seeking him in a slow kiss, wet sounds filling the quiet as you press yourself into him harder, hips grinding down onto the tent pressing into your core.
“Fuck,” Seokjin hisses when your mouth moves to his neck, biting gently to avoid leaving marks in visible spots. His hands grasp your ass, pulling you into him with a rocking rhythm with more force. His lips search to bring yours back to his, hands pulling at your dress. Once his hands breach the hem, you feel the warmth of his skin on your thighs, fingertips trailing up to the waistband of your panties.
He pulls back from the kiss, forehead resting against yours as you both try and catch your breath. “Do you want this?” he asks, fingers tugging gently at the lace.
“Yes,” you breathe out, not waiting for more words as you kiss him again, raising your hips to allow him to pull your panties down your thighs. You raise each knee off the couch, helping him until your bare skin meets his slacks. His fingers dip to your center, and you’re pleased at the sound he makes when he feels just how wet you are. You stay up on your knees as he explores, the subtle teasing around your clit only heightening the feeling you crave.
When he presses two fingers into you, you keen, face pressing into his neck as his fingers scissor and glide, thumb pressing into your clit with each plunge. You rock your hips, seeking more friction and he gives in, using his palm as he sinks deeper inside of you, allowing you to take control of your pleasure.
“You feel so tight, but you’re so wet,” he marvels after a particularly hard shudder, and you sit back, knees weak as he pulls his fingers free.
“Want you to feel me properly,” you pout as his tongue licks up the side of his finger before he sucks them both into his mouth. You clench around nothing, the action making you want him more. You finger the buttons on your dress, popping each open in secession. It’s your turn to reach for the waistband of his pants, eyes on his as you seek his consent. “Do you want this?”
“More than you know, baby.” You smile to yourself as you focus on the button and zipper on his slacks until his hands join yours to grip the edge of both his briefs and pants until he has them past his knees, hardened cock bouncy as it awaits you to take your rightful seat upon it. You gasp as your eyes take in the size of it being bigger than you expected; it explains the cockiness he exhibits in his day to day.
Spitting into your hand, you grip his member, thumb trailing down the pearlescent stickiness from the head. He breathes out a huff, the steely silk growing more solid with each stroke.
“Don’t tease me, Kicks, I’ve waited a long time for this.”
Once again you rise onto your knees, inching closer to him with hands on his broad shoulders for balance. You can feel Seokjin lining up the head to your core, running it across your pussy several times to coat it with your essence. Dropping onto his thick length, he fills you to the point of stretching you out, toes curling from the press into your most sensitive parts. You don’t wait, enjoying the way that the stretch burns as it turns to pleasure, and you let loose in a way you haven’t before.
It’s frenetic, the way each of your hands travel along each other's bodies, lips seeking and sucking into each other's skin, opening clothing for more points of contact, to bring you closer to each other than you’ve ever been. It doesn’t take long, riding him as you are, for the coil to build and snap inside you, crying out as you throw your head back.
“That’s it, baby, let me feel you,” Seokjin coaches you through your climax, holding you as you shake in his arms. You mewl as he shifts, thighs lifting you both as he stands, cock still sheathed inside of you. He steps out of his discarded clothing and walks you to the stairs that lead to his loft. He’s impatient, pausing every few steps to press you into the wall and fuck himself up into you until he makes it to the landing of his bedroom.
Getting you to the bed, he places you on your back at the edge, hands trailing up along your legs until he grips your ankles. Bringing them together in front of him, he rests your calves onto his shoulder before slow-grinding himself into you, your swollen lips suctioning him deeper as they mold to fit around him.
“Jin, fuck, you feel so good,” your voice a high pitch as you squirm.
“Yeah, baby?” He’s breathless, hips picking up speed as you clench around him, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching show just how good he feels. He spreads your legs then, picking you up and placing you farther on the bed so he can join you, this time sans shirts.
With a grunt, he pushes deep as his hands reach around and skillfully unhooks your bra. He slows his hip rolls as his lips toy with a freed nipple, tongue laving until it’s pert and he moves to the other to give the same treatment. He takes a hand, trailing it down the center of your body. His thumb presses into your clit, and he speeds up, pleading, “Cum with me, you can give me another one.”
You give him what he wants, his voice raspy with restraint is the thing that topples you over the edge, and his restraint is let go moments later when you squeeze him impossibly tight. The deep sounds that he lets out are loud, curses mingled with your name, not your nickname, but your real name, tumble from his lips as he releases into you, short pumps of his cock until he’s empty. He collapses his weight onto you, but it’s comforting, not crushing. You feel his arms wrap around you as he rolls onto his back, pulling you with him to cuddle your body into his chest.
“I’ll clean us up in a minute, wanna enjoy this feeling.”
Seokjin closes his eyes, but you agree with him, you don’t want to move just yet, because the pleasure coursing through your veins feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and not just because of the sex—you’ve done that a few times. It’s because of the man whose arms you're in, but his light snores let you know it's too late in the night to tell him.
You wake long before your alarm, but less sticky than when you fell asleep, Seokjin keeping to his word. You feel his arm strewn over your middle, so you turn and take in his slumber-filled face. His hair flops onto the pillow, lips puckered slightly as quiet breaths escape him. Smiling at how peaceful he looks, you don’t want to leave just yet, not when the bed is so warm, and even in his sleep he wants to keep you close, but you have no clothes for work. You silently climb out of his bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up before getting dressed. You call for a KakaoTaxi, and once it arrives, you kiss Seokjin on the forehead before leaving.
Once at home, you take the time to shower and get dressed for work, thinking about what you can do for the last date tonight. You know you want it to be special, because after the amazing night spent in Seokjin’s arms, him between your legs and splitting your walls…you’ve come to realize something significant. You like him. You like Kim Seokjin and you don’t want to stop being with him once tomorrow comes.
Deciding to take a leap of faith, you channel your grandma’s advice and decide that tonight at dinner, you will confess your feelings to him. You’re pretty sure that he feels the same way, based on his words and actions last night when you both showed each other a whole new side. You send a text to Seokjin saying he doesn’t need to pick you up, that you’re heading to work early and you’ll see him later.
He sends a quick reply of Be safe, beautiful. Can’t wait. Which is more than you expected from him so early in the morning but makes you feel giddy, solidifying your assumption of how he feels about you.
Once in your office, you utilize the extra time to search for a place to take Seokjin that’s worthy of hopefully becoming the place where you and he can become a ‘we’, but out of the limited places you contact, there’s no reservations available. You don’t have the sway to pull strings the way Seokjin could, but asking him or your coworkers for help would break one of the rules of your agreement.
The sun shifts across your office, giving way to midday as you work with good old-fashioned paper, pen, and highlighters, but you haven’t seen him or his broad shoulders that you’re sure you left some marks on last night. Rolling your computer chair back from the desk, you lean back precariously as you take a much-needed deep stretch and vacate your seat. It’s a quick trip from the 48th to the 50th floor; you figure if Seokjin isn’t in his office near yours, he must be working in his C-Suite office upstairs. Unfortunately, when you peek your head into the room, the vast dark-oak desk is empty, his large Samsung monitor turned off when you venture farther in.
With a sigh, you leave the office, nearly walking headfirst into Kim Namjoon.
“Looking for Jin-hyung?” his low baritone questions. “He's at a meeting with his dad to discuss some financial stuff, he’s been emailing me all day asking to be rescued.”
“Oh, I wonder if he emailed me too. I’ve been reviewing printed reports all morning.”
“I made the mistake of answering him thinking he needed work-related info—nope! He just wanted to tell me about how he’s been craving the truffle pasta at Flavors.”
You laugh at this, unable to hold back the smile as you imagine how bored Seokjin must be to be emailing about food. You thank Namjoon and head back to your office, an idea of where to go now planted in your mind.
Everything is falling into place for tonight, and you send Seokjin an email before you leave at 5 PM, detailing the plan for your reservation at Flavors tonight at 7 PM. His response is full of excitement, shocked that you read his mind about his craving (thank you, Namjoon!), and that he’ll meet you there and you better not be late.
Closing down your computer for the long holiday weekend per IT’s email, you gather your belongings and head home to get ready.
📈📈📈📈📈
Seokjin’s POV
Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Seokjin tries to hide his grin from his father.
“What are you smiling about?”
Seokjin takes a breath to keep from rolling his eyes and relaxes his face into a look of innocence. “Nothing,” he shrugs, mentally doing the math as he clambers into the car his father has chauffeuring them around. “Are we headed back to the office now? I have a few things I need to do tonight for Namjoon’s party tomorrow.” And a hot date waiting for me, he thinks.
“Not just yet, actually. I have one last meeting for us at Paradise City.”
Seokjin groans. “Father, it’s a holiday weekend, there’s nothing more we need to do today that we can’t do after Christmas weekend.”
“It won’t be long, Seokjin, we’re around the corner already. I swear your work ethic is piss-poor, sometimes I regret naming you my successor.”
It might not be a long trip from the hotel they just finished meeting at to Paradise City, but they were already over an hour away from where he should be meeting you in less than two. Irritated, Seokjin quietly tries to do the math for how long this meeting can be before he has to be on his way to you, but knowing his father, he worries about making it to you on time.
As the car pulls to the front of the main entrance, Seokjin decides to message you, just a warning that he will be late due to his father’s overbearing and controlling tendencies. He exits the car first, standing to the side to type a quick message as his father follows him onto the pavement.
“Put your phone away.”
When Seokjin ignores his demand, his father snatches his phone from his hands, pocketing the small device.
“Really, Father, you are being insufferable right now.”
“And you, son, are being rude.” Seokjin’s dad leaves him to head into the bustling hotel and casino, and with his phone held hostage, he has no choice but to follow him inside.
Once seated next to the thief at a four-top, Seokjin begs for his phone, but his father ignores him as he smiles at someone behind Seokjin’s head.
“Lee Jaeyong-ssi!”
“Kim Namjung-ssi!” The man bows to the elder Kim before sitting in the seat next to Seokjin. Seokjin gapes in horror at his dad as he realizes what his father has roped him into when the 19-year-old daughter of the country’s largest GDP contributor walks around the table to sit across from Seokjin.
📈📈📈📈📈
Reader POV
You’re prompt, body electrified as you give your name for the reservation and are led to a quaint, black-marbled table. The only downfall to the seating arrangement of the restaurant is that larger group tables line the walls with comfortable grey booth seating, while the tables for couples fill the middle walkway. Smoothing the little black dress with baby doll straps, you sit in the chair pulled out for you.
You take in the romantically lit room as the Maître d' pours you a glass of red wine, leaving the expensive bottle in a wine chiller on a small stand next to the table. Checking your phone, there’s no reply message from Seokjin of his estimated arrival time, but you don’t worry too much, thinking he’s probably parking his car or nearby enough. It’s only minutes past the hour, so you shirk off the cropped, fur-lined jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the back of your chair.
It’s fitting that the table is in the middle of the room, out in the open as if a reflection of where you want to take this relationship with Seokjin. You think you’re finally ready to admit to him what you realized last night and this morning.
7:17 PM. The Maître d' returns to ask if you would like to order. You tell him that you are still waiting for the other person to arrive, and give a little white lie that he’s just running late.
“What is the name of the other half of your party? I will make sure to bring him promptly when he arrives.”
“Oh, it’s Kim Seokjin,” you reply shyly. His eyes widen minutely at your unintentional name drop, and that coupled with murmurs from the guests seated nearby, leaves you feeling a heat rising up your neck. He excuses himself, saying he will be back to check on you once your date arrives.
7:47 PM. The looks of pity start to trickle into your view as you turn your head to look towards the door for the millionth time. The Maître d' has walked past to escort other patrons to tables, but he avoids coming over to you—you guess it’s because he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that you’re still alone, and he said he would be back only once Seokjin arrived. You appreciate his tactfulness, but you worry as you check your phone again for a message.
8:17 PM. Your phone is held to your face, dial tone ringing in your ear but you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve called him. All of your text messages have gone unread, and inside you simmer with feelings of shame and embarrassment. Your phone (along with others in the vicinity) chimed with a notification from the WeVerse App, reporting a major headline.
JinHit CFO Kim Seokjin Spotted with 19-year-old Samsung Heiress—And Their Fathers!
And in smaller font underneath: Marriage meeting? Should we expect wedding bells and a massive business union? The read more teases photos catching the quartet out at Paradise City.
A fool, you think, realizing Seokjin must’ve never planned to come. Paradise City is almost an hour and half by car at this time of night. I am a fool for even entertaining the thought of giving my heart to this man!
Standing from the chair, you don’t bother hiding your emotions on your face as you grab your jacket and toss the cloth napkin onto the table before fleeing to the front to hail a taxi, waiting in the cold as unique snowflakes begin to fall from the sky with fluttery movements, before melting away a few moments after making contact with earthly items.
📈📈📈📈📈
At home, you sit on the edge of your couch unclasping the delicate buckle on your Manolo Blahniks. Tonight’s fucked with your mind more than Seokjin has the entire time this deal was in place. What started as a way to win—a way to prove you were smarter than Seokjin, better at mitigating for the company, gain a pair of expensive shoes—is turning into a stock market crash of the worst proportions.
Your grandma’s words float through your head and in this moment, you’re hit with a sudden clarity that this was never about a pair of expensive shoes. It was about letting yourself take a chance to live a little and be happy for once—hopeful that happiness with another person was within your reach—the heel you clutch in your hand, having slipped it off of your foot, sails through the air, hitting the off-white wall of your apartment.
You wake, puffy-eyed and unexcited, thinking about how things will be weird tonight for the party at Namjoon’s place, because not only have you slept with Jin, he’s also shattered your heart into a million pieces. It’s not the first time the thought crosses your mind that he might have known he was going to be set up with a child (no offense to 19-year-olds, the age gap is ridiculous no matter how rich your daddy is) and chose to spend his last weeks of freedom stringing you along, choosing to finally sleep with you right before he was off the market.
You fell asleep easily, but your phone ringing repeatedly woke you up close to midnight. The screen was blinding, but you could see who was calling you and you decidedly ignored the call, silencing your phone. You were then unable to return to sleep until hints of sunlight peeked through the curtains, and the consequences of that are now reflecting in your mirror.
This is just Jin being Jin, your mind says, when has he ever been serious about anything? He’s just flirty, and wanted to get his rocks off before robbing the cradle in sickness or in health. This is nothing new and he was just having fun with you. Going through the motions of your skincare routine, the feelings of disappointment and hurt are there, lingering in your chest with each breath, but you’ve decided to be tough. Your brain doing what it does best, trying to rationalize everything that isn’t a fact, blaming the way your emotions temporarily made you dumb.
‘I should’ve known’ repeats like a mantra in your head no matter how you try to drown it out with music from your phone. You’ve always had an uncanny ability to be hopeful when you know you shouldn’t, because good things like this never work out. You just forgot that little fact, but last night is the perfect reminder.
The thoughts settling in help as you go through the motions: toner onto a cotton pad wiped along your face, moisturizer gently massaged into your skin. Once you’ve finished with your makeup, it’s as if you move on autopilot, your fingers deft as they put the final touches wrapping the gift for Seokjin you finalized after work yesterday. Your logical brain reminds you that this party is nothing more than coworkers hanging out, a chance to put the bet—and your fake relationship—to rest, and making sure to bring a gift like the invite said is your way to show Seokjin that he didn’t get to you. He might win the bet, he might’ve had you wallowing last night, but he won’t continue to win power over your emotions.
You reread the last message he sent before sending him a text as you slip into the persona needed to survive tonight.
Jin (2:04 AM) - Please, baby, just…let me know you’re okay. I can explain everything.
You (1:14 PM) - I’m getting ready to go to the party, what time will you be here?
Your phone lights up as an incoming call flashes across your screen, but you ignore it, letting your ringtone play until he hangs up.
Jin (1:15 PM) - Can I come now?
You (1:20 PM) - I’m not ready yet and have some things to do beforehand, so if you can just let me know what time to expect you, I can make sure I’m ready when you get here.
You set your phone down, watching the bubbles pop up and disappear, indicating that he’s typing, but it still takes him ten minutes to send five words.
Jin (1:30 PM) - I’ll be there at 7:30.
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The drive to Namjoon’s party goes well for you, if you say so yourself. Not ready to deal with being alone with Seokjin, you make sure to call one of your friends from back home, spending the entire trip with your phone glued to your ear, rudely ignoring Seokjin’s attempts to talk to you until he gives up.
Walking into Namjoon’s place, the distinct smell of a fresh Christmas Tree wafts into your senses as his fiance greets you at the door. She’s all cute and small with a pretty smile as she bounces through the home to lead you and Seokjin to the living room. You greet the others who have already arrived, Yoongi and his girlfriend Leah, and Hoseok and his fiance, YuRim. A table near the Christmas Tree holds the gifts, so you walk over to deposit your gift bag, Seokjin following with a bag of his own to set down.
The layout of the room is an open concept, and Namjoon stands in the kitchen with oven mitts on. It’s a little strange to see your boss in such a state, matching fleece Christmas onesies with Khaity, oven mitts covering his hands, and a stressed look on his face as he stares at the small timer on the counter.
“Oh, honey, let me take the cookies out, okay? Come sit down with our guests.” Khaity rises onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek as she slips the mitts off his hands before gently nudging him towards the sitting area.
Another knock rings out, and soon Namjoon leads Jungkook in with NaBi. You aren’t sure whether she came with Jungkook or arrived at the same time and was invited by Namjoon, seeing as she is his secretary, but the way they smile at each other softens the wall that you built up against love. Even if you and Seokjin were a failed attempt, you hope that those two blind co-workers might figure it out.
The macadamia nut cookies are first out of the oven, Khaity plating and placing them on the table between the couches where everyone is gathered. The last to arrive, Taehyung with Hana and Jimin, trickle in a few minutes later complaining that the cookies were all gone.
“We have chocolate chip ones coming out next, you can have first dibs, okay?” Namjoon appeases before his face turns into confusion. “Wait, where’s your plus one?”
“I ended things with Ji-Soo.”
Everyone shows various levels of shock, and despite avoiding him since arriving, you can’t help but to meet Seokjin’s eye with a raised brow.
“Really? Why?” NaBi asks, truly invested in their drama.
“She’s just…a little brainless. Nice tits, but let’s be honest, we live in the plastic surgery capital of the world.”
“Well, I guess we know who gets to wear the ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ santa hat tonight,” Leah jokes, tossing the furry red cap to Jimin.
“Gladly! But I had to block her number, she’s been blowing up my phone the past few days, and it’s gotten to be too much.”
“Probably for the best, right? You start your last semester next month,” Taehyung reminds his best friend.
“We’ll see, I might need to find a hot tutor in the class, maybe I can convince her to do my homework.”
“Do your homework, or do you?” Jungkook asks deadpan, and everyone laughs, the room full of mirth and holiday cheer.
“Why not both?” you second, sending the room into another round of giggles, and despite the awkwardness with Seokjin, you feel yourself relax into the persona you’ve adjusted into place to get through the night. You can do this, you remind yourself.
And you do a great job meshing with the group, hanging out with your coworkers and helping Khaity in the kitchen with some finger foods and more cookies to avoid Seokjin until the inevitable moment arrives. Gift exchange.
“All right, I’m going to get more wine in the kitchen,” Jimin stands, stretching his arms high as he steps over the others to escape the lovey dovey atmosphere as the couples exchange gifts.
Seokjin calls to him to wait, and everyone watches as he grabs the gift bag off of the table. Holding one of the dainty handles, his free hand reaches in and reveals a decent sized wine bottle in his grasp. “Can you take this with you? I got it as a contribution to the party.”
Jimin busies himself across the room with an open bottle of wine and his glass and you wish you could join him instead of engaging in the most awkward event since everything imploded last night. You pass the gift over to Seokjin who takes it with a little bit of shock, as if he’s just realized what type of party he came to and what he was supposed to do—and how he just fucked up.
Leah opens her gift first, a lavender velvet box containing a necklace. A small slip of paper flutters out, and she reads it before sharing the information. “A 100% pure sterling silver necklace with amethyst stones spelling a morse code message.”
“What’s the message?” Hana asks, leaning to look at the glittering stones.
“Badass Bitch.”
Taehyung laughs the loudest, almost choking on the chocolate chip cookie he was chewing.
“So, Seokjin, wanna tell us about the latest WeVerse gossip?” NaBi teases from the floor where she sits cross legged, cheeky grin as she rocks side to side next to Jungkook. Her hands fidget with the small charm on the bracelet Jungkook gifted her that you’re too far away to see clearly.
“Oh fuck, what a nightmare. My father basically kidnapped me. Took my phone and everything so I couldn’t contact anyone and let them know I was effectively unable to leave or even signal for help.”
“You wanted to be rescued? I thought dudes liked young, hot, rich heiresses. Your own Paris Hilton,” YuMi asks, and you can see her question holds a little…bite to it. You instantly like her.
“Hell yeah, I did not want to be there. I actually had plans that I was really excited for, but my father…he kind of ruined my night.”
“But the hot chick made it better, right? You’re gonna marry into the richest company, right?” Jimin shouts from the kitchen, cheeks ruddy from the wine. You, on the other hand, are over the topic of conversation. Moving towards the kitchen, you decide to follow Jimin’s lead and drown your sorrows.
“No way, she’s like eleven years younger than me. She’s barely old enough to drink, just finished Secondary, and we have nothing in common. Besides, I’m not attracted to her.” You can feel Seokjin’s eyes piercing into your skull, but you refuse to give him what he wants.
Namjoon’s gift from Khaity interrupts Seokjin’s next words, as he drops the small box holding an egg vibrator and turns red as everyone begins to laugh at his reaction. Except for you. Your eyes finally look at Seokjin, challenging him to finish his thoughts from earlier as the group settles back into silence as the last few finish opening their gifts. Yoongi finally frees his gift from the box Leah wrapped it in; he holds up a black leather Valentino backpack to show everyone.
“I…actually—I’m dating someone else.”
The group instantly grows loud again, voices trying to speak over one another as various tones of disbelief, shock, and animosity filter through their accusations.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“Because, I wanted to make sure it didn’t interfere with work first, I didn’t need HR getting involved with my love life.”
“Oh?” Namjoon focuses on this tidbit of information, ears perked for more. “Do I need to worry? It’s not Ji-Soo, right?”
You sputter into your wine, but luckily the males in the living room are cackling at the accusation.
“NO! I draw the line at sloppy thirds, thank you very much.” You try to slink away, the balcony looking like a great hiding spot when Seokjin says your name and everyone turns to you. “I brought my girlfriend and wanted to tell you all tonight.”
The group goes crazy once again at this turn of events, with Leah being the voice of reason once everyone settles. “Seokjin, I promise you, we never would have guessed…you didn’t even trade gifts with her, so color me a little shocked!”
You know Leah means to call Seokjin out and make him feel shitty, but the reminder also makes you feel a little despondent. Even if Seokjin had no intentions of marrying that girl, his current actions speak volumes. He couldn’t even be bothered to get you a gift; Kim Seokjin was not actually interested in you.
As the group continues to pester Seokjin about how everything played out last night since he’s dating you, you take advantage of their deviated attention and head for the balcony to escape for some fresh air. You don’t really pay attention to the group behind you, but you can see shadowy movements as people get up and begin to filter out for the evening, a few of the girls coming to the balcony door to wish you a happy holiday break, their muffled voices saying jolly goodbyes.
You struggle to return their holiday spirit, and how can you, when you think about how while you’ve lost the real bet, you won the experience of having Seokjin as your boyfriend. This time with him has been…better than you ever expected. Living life with a little more color, risk, and fun, but now that the bet is over, you not only lost the shoes, but you’ve lost the taste of a different life, a fun life, with Seokjin by your side. Especially if his father demands that he marry that…child.
The sound of the glass door sliding open is quiet, but you hear it despite not turning to look. You can tell from the spicy scent of bourbon & vanilla that it’s Seokjin.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asks by way of greeting, and from the corner of your eye you see him fidgeting with a wrapped box.
“I’m used to it.”
He hums, and you sense he wants to say more. A few moments later you are proved right.
“Thank you, for the gift. It, uh…means a lot, coming from you.”
“No problem.”
He huffs, and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed at your responses or if he’s annoyed at himself.
“Look. I’m sorry.” Seokjin’s voice is sincere, and you cave for a moment, meeting his toffee eyes. “I know that I royally fucked up last night, but I meant what I said earlier. I didn’t know and I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be with you. I tried to text you, but my father—he’s a dick, you know?” His following laugh is empty of humor. “I hope that you’ll forgive me, Kicks. Holiday spirit and all, if you feel the same way that I feel…fuck—I don’t even know what to say.”
Seokjin hands the box he’s holding to you, stepping closer. “I know according to our friends, I won, but last night…it definitely violated the rules. So while I most likely would’ve won…I know in my heart I didn’t…but I think you had fun with me these two weeks, right? It…doesn’t have to end here, you know? I think the one thing I really want to win…is you.”
His gaze is too intense, too scary and full of the hope you stuffed way down, so you focus on the gift in your hands. Pulling at the open edge of the wrapping paper, you unravel the gift wrap to reveal a marbled cream box with gold letters across the top. Your breath grows shaky as cynicism sneaks into your chest, only to be replaced with astonishment. The Saeda 100 Unicorn Printed Satin Pumps with Crystal Embellishment lay in the box, sparkling in the light filtering through the balcony windows.
“Jin,” you try to speak, but all you can say is his name.
“You deserve these, and not just because I lost on a technicality. You deserve these because you are just as magical as these fucking shoes are. You challenge me, push me to be better, and help me along the way. You believe in me more than my own father. You just,” he sighs your name softly, taking the shoes from your grasp and setting them on the outdoor table so he can hold your hands, “you see me. All of me. And if I remember correctly, you weren’t opposed to what you saw, might have even liked it.”
His light teasing, alluding to that night, has your body warming despite the December chill.
“Do you mean it?” You hate that you have to ask, but you need to know it’s real. Not just you reading into something because of false hope clouding your judgment.
“God, you are so brilliant and yet, so dense.”
Seokjin closes the remaining space between your mouths, plush lips firm as they show you how much he meant every word.
“I want to be with you. No bets, no rules, no strings. Just you.”
📈📈📈📈📈
Seokjin’s POV
The drive back to Seokjin’s place is fast; neither of you can keep your hands off of each other and he refuses to slow at yellow lights in fear that he’ll combust if he doesn’t get you naked…
The moment he has you standing in his lofted bedroom, he pauses just to take you in. Seokjin swears he never thought he could get so lucky—he always thought his fate would be similar to Hoseok’s arranged marriage, though that turned out well in the end. But someone like you? He never saw it coming.
Shrugging his shirt off of his shoulders, he lets it fall quietly to the floor, stepping closer to you. His hands feel way too hot when he places them to your cheeks, but if he’s supposed to die from a burning desire, well fuck, he guesses there isn’t a better way to go. He’s falling hard for you, and as he ducks his head to meet your lips, he lets his hands move to undress you.
Seokjin doesn’t understand how you can be so soft, so warm, so inviting; everything about you envelops him until he’s consumed by you. Leaving you only in your underwear, he uses his hands to cup behind your thighs and lift you, carrying you to the bed.
“You look like an angel.”
Seokjin’s sheets are black, and with your white matching bra and panty set stark against the sheets, he’s in awe of you. He wants to savor you. He wants to defile you. Slowly, so slowly that you whine at him, he trails his lips along your clavicle, fingers lightly brushing your exposed sides. He pauses every so often to lave at your skin, supple beneath his tongue, before his dexterous fingers slide the straps to your bra down each arm. A quick tug frees your breasts, and his kisses continue to taunt and tease, circling but never reaching the pebbled nipple despite the arch to your back.
“Please Jin,” you beg, fingers fisting into his hair. He just chuckles at your neediness, your pleading words only adding to the pressure tenting in his pants. Trailing kisses lower down your stomach, his tongue traces the edge of your panties until he bites at the edge, making you squirm from his teeth.
He loves that he gets to have you like this; wants you like this always, pliant and happy beneath him. Settling himself lower, his chest between your thighs, Seokjin begins to mouth at your covered core, tongue searching for the slit between your lips where your clit waits, probably throbbing for him.
The sounds you make are pornographic, egging him on more. Wrapping his arms under your thighs, he curls his bicep so that his fingers can reach the edge of your panties. Pulling them aside, he pours his energy into leaving the sloppiest kisses around your clit and lips, strong arms not allowing you any room to pull away from the pleasure he’s delivering. Not that you’re trying to; your hands have a tight grip on his hair so you can roll your hips for maximum pleasure.
Tonguing at your leaking core, he flicks along your opening, reaching inside you before alternating to flick your clit. He wraps his lips around it and sucks, the pressure building as you cry out for more. Like a siren's call, he can’t deny you, so he surrenders two fingers to your pulsing walls, plunging them inside rapidly as you pant, moans slipping from your lips until you cry out his name.
He laps at you lazily as you ride your high, and when you pull back from over-stimulation, he pulls himself up along your body, flopping down to lay next to you where he can gaze upon you. You, his beautiful…girlfriend? Did you establish that? He ponders it for a minute until you call his attention.
“Fuck, Jin…You’re a demon.”
“I’m your demon,” he responds, looking for an opening to broach the thoughts on his mind.
“Only mine, right?”
He can hear the way your voice trembles as you ask, and he wants to kiss away any lingering doubts in your mind.
“Only yours. You’re my girlfriend, exclusively. If I’m honest, you have been since you agreed to my bet. It was only ever you.”
“Good,” you say, and he jumps when your hand rests atop his aching cock only two layers between your skin and his.
You eye his zipper before looking back at him, eyes low and simmering with heated desire. “Can I?”
Seokjin moves quickly to shed his remaining clothing, eager to have you in a way he’s only dreamt about. You laugh at his silliness, and while he was exaggerating a little to make you laugh, part of him really feels this way. Heart-racing and giddy, because of you.
You kneel onto the carpeted ground between his legs, waiting for him to lower himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He leaves his feet planted on the floor as he strokes himself, weeping with pre-cum that aids him in sliding his palm across his silky skin.
You trade out his hand for your own, delicate touches to show how much you cherish him before you take him fully into your mouth. He can’t look away, leaning back on one hand while the other strokes your head lightly, eyes on your face as your lips work up and down his shaft, tongue tickling his frenulum. Seokjin shivers with each pass. Your mouth is so warm, wet and dripping each time you choke a little on his cock, and your eyes look so pretty lined with unshed tears.
Fuck, Seokjin thinks he could fall in love with you fast, if you continue to look at him like that, with eyes wide as you deep throat his cock until your nose is tickled by the hair of his happy trail. Moaning as your throat convulses around his throbbing tip, light swallows squeezing the head. He almost says it when you pull off of him with a pop, just to take him deep again and add your hand to cup his balls as your dripping spit coats them to make for an easy slide through your fingers as you roll them in your palm.
Seokjin knows his own sounds are not very manly but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know how good you make him feel, and his breathy groans are a little higher than his normal talking voice but if anything when he lets out a sound it seems to invigorate you more and—shit—“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby—” spills from his mouth and instead of popping off him and letting him cover your beautiful tits, you hold yourself closer to him until Seokjin’s sighing out your name as he falls back onto the bed, his eyes screwed shut as fireworks shoot through his veins.
📈📈📈📈📈
Reader POV
Returning to work after a week off is always tough; having to adjust your alarms to wake up on time, no more lazing away in bed watching Netflix or reading a new Best Seller you were gifted. No breakfast in bed after being Seokjin’s breakfast in bed—no time when you’ve overslept your alarm after a late night on Facetime with your boyfriend.
Seokjin’s out at his family’s vacation home, has been just for the weekend, where he told his parents about you and successfully avoided the marriage plans his dad attempted to trap him in. Once he gets back, there’s plans to have dinner with them—apparently his mom is excited to meet you.
Seokjin’s entrusted his car to you while he’s been gone, saying it’s because the oil and gas shouldn’t sit and build gunk in the engine, but you have a feeling it’s because he thinks it’s sexy when you drive. And you love how the car smells like him, like bergamot and spicy vanilla—a warm hug until he returns to you.
Parking in his designated spot, you enjoy the perks of dating the CFO as you ride the elevator straight from the parking garage to your floor. It’s easy to settle back into your work routine, checking emails and reviewing reports until NaBi pops in on her way to grab food, reminding you of the time.
“Overworking already? I thought dating the CFO meant you could relax a little.”
You laugh at NaBi’s teasing, shoulder bumping her lightly. She presses the call button for the elevator to go down to the cafe. “I can relax a little. I just miss him, so it’s easier to focus on work until he gets—Ahhhhh!” You’re happily surprised when you see a slightly tanned Seokjin appear when the elevator doors open. The other workers hanging around the Property Acquisition cubicles startle and look over, but you don’t care.
You greet him excitedly, kissing him right there for everyone to see. Openly showing him affection, where before you would have shied away, you can feel Seokjin is receptive to this as he pulls you in closer.
“I got us lunch,” he says between quick pecks before releasing you, and you realize he’s holding a tied plastic bag with styrofoam food trays.
“Sorry, NaBi!”
She eyes you as if to say, ‘bitch, you lying’, but her smile shows she’s not mad at you. You have a feeling this is the perfect excuse for her to have lunch with a certain IT coworker…
Following Seokjin to his office, you hold his free hand with both of yours. “I missed you,” you muse, and he chuckles at the sappy look you give him.
“I was only gone for the weekend,” he says with a wink as he leads you to his massive desk, “but I missed you too, so I thought I would surprise you with lunch. I’m glad I did, I get to see this version of you that I’ve always known was there.”
His words have you furrowing your brow, tilting your head in question.
“You know, my girlfriend, who I’m able to be goofy with, but who still maintains the same work ethic and drive that I love, just with heart eyes only for me.”
“Ew, why are you being so cheesy?” His words make your heart flutter, so of course you have to wrinkle your nose at how soft he’s making you feel.
“Because, you know, I kind of like you. A lot.”
Seokjin gestures to the corner of his desk, and you notice that the photo frame you purchased him for Christmas sits there, ‘World’s Best Boss’ engraved in gold with a purple frame surrounding a picture of the two of you taken on the candlelit dinner cruise. The card, where you poured out some of your most heartfelt thoughts about Seokjin and how much you believe in him, lay open under the clear, protective placemat on his desk along with the photos of his fraternity days, his mom, and other notes from Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi.
You feel an overwhelming emotion fill your chest, so you lean in and kiss him, unable to contain it.
“I like you a lot too, but honestly, you’re lucky to have me. Your lover, your friend, your partner in crime…in sexy ass heels.”
Seokjin laughs with his whole chest as he sees you’ve got on the shoes he gifted you, and you thank your lucky stars for whatever brought the man in front of you into your life to help you avoid the red.
Summary: your relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for both of you. Yet that all changes when you caught your sister and husband in bed.
Pairings: Jin x reader
Genre: angst; slight fluff?
Warnings: poor y/n going through it 😭. Everyone is bipolar! I mean it! Jin is a dick and so is the sister! Mentions of father; mentions of death? Just lots of breakdowns and cursing. Also, I apologize for the wait! Ik it’s been sooo long, but life has been hectic. And lots of my writing got deleted. So, I also apologize for this short and confusing chapter. Thank u for the patience and love 🤍
first chapter > Jin. 1
No amount of apologizes or excuses were going to make up what you had just witnessed.
It's never easy seeing the man you love, the one that you promised to share your life with, and all the craziness included, being in the arms of someone else. Or in this case, laying on his back, while your sister was straddling him.
Your sister?!
It wasn't a stranger. It wasn't even an acquaintance. It was someone you grew up with and admired. You always thought that you and her had a special bond, but you guess it was perhaps a way to get closer to your husband.
It's embarrassing to even admit this to yourself; in your mind. And the worst part is that you witnessed it all. There was no erasing or denying that can be done on your part, when you saw everything. And heard the lies, and no care from their very mouths.
You're not even sure where you are at this very moment. You're just standing in front of a bunch of lights that are slowly fading away, as the night grows closer. While your hand carries your sandals, and your cheeks carry your tears.
Once you saw that incident, you had to leave. You had to run away from your thoughts, the lies, the betrayal, and the hurt. But something's just can't be avoided. No matter how fast or far you run.
"Now, now. Stay close to me dear, we don't know how that lady is" you heard a mother attempt to whisper to her daughter, while she stared at you with such disgust, that it made you scare to look at your own reflection.
You wanted to go up to them, and say you aren't a bad person or even scary for that matter. Your mascara had just wandered all over your face, as your heart began breaking into tiny pieces.
But you get it. You get her. She's protecting the person she loves the most.
You're a bit embarrassed to admit you're jealous of a little kid. After all, she had someone who cares for her, and isn't ashamed to show it. While you just have a signature on a piece of paper, with a man who keeps anything but his promises.
It was strange. Your mind has so much and so little going on. It was as foggy as the weather, and as confused as you were walking into that.
A buzz kept bothering your state of mind. And you know it's them, or at least one of them attempting to silence your truth. And you want to ignore it, them. But you couldn't hide the love and care you still possess for both of them. It's not something that can be erased with a snap of a finger.
You're not sure what triggered you most. The fact that your sister is texting you. Or the fact that she was texting you?!
She didn't even have the decency to attempt to call you. Or blow up your phone. Or even follow after you. Especially considering that her betrayal hurt you the most. The only difference was that it was so unbearable that you don't even want to attempt to feel or think of the pain she caused you.
Mia: I'm sorry.
That's it? She must really not give a single fuck about you. You should ignore her.
You: You should be.
Yeah, that was never going to happen. You staying silent that is. At least not when it came to her.
You noticed another notification and realized Jin, your dear husband, had sent you a message, minutes before her.
Jin: I'm sorry! Please just let me explain! I thought that was you! I swear, it's nothing like that. Babe please text me back! I'm worried.
You: Worry about yourself.
You shut your phone. And stare up at the building in front of you.
After yesterday, you could have sworn that you would not end up here today. But here you are, stupidly falling back to your old habits. Which you suppose, could be worse. Or maybe not.
Jin could have not had a more horrible week planned out even if he wanted to.
When he woke up that morning he wasn't expecting it to start the way it did, or end the way it did.
He knows that what he did was wrong, he can admit that. And he can also admit that he's known for awhile now but that never was enough to stop him from having sex with his wife's sister.
It’s been a couple of days now, that he’s been released from the hospital. After all, it wasn’t anything major. He had a couple of bruises and swelling, he shouldn’t have been there in the first place.
He supposed you freaked out because you just cared that much about him. Or maybe you just felt guilty since technically speaking it was your fault not his.
He has chugged three beers so far, while he's been at his apartment. He figured he should have a separate place for his shenanigans. That's why, he hasn't been over to the shared house.
There was just no words that could come out of his mouth in this instant to get him out of this mess. None.
He's also been waiting on his food to be here for what seems like hours, but there have been no signs, nor updates about it. He's starting to lose hair from all the stress he's undergoing this week.
However, once he opened his front door he was unaware of how much more stress he was able to handle again.
"What are you doing here? Haven't you ruined my life already?"
"No." She says with a proud smirk on her face. "That was all your doing." She ends off her little talk with a shrug. As she enters his home, with no regards to his feelings. Even hits his shoulder a little on the way inside.
He stared at her with confusion and annoyance. He even tends to headache by massaging his forehead with his fingers. But decides he might as well get this over with.
"How? How is this my doing?"
She takes no time to answer. Almost as if she had rehearsed this whole speech and interaction. God, was she exhausting.
"It takes two people to have sex. And you loved it as much as I did before she entered the room. I made sure you did" she sent a wink your way, and even has the nerve to bite her lips. If she wanted to look sexy, she's failing. She just looks constipated.
"Stop doing that face. It's gross."
"Yet you loved it when you texted me the other night. What was it that you said? You wanted to ruin my pretty little face?"
He gulped, as he watched her continue her rant. It's not like he could butt in and deny it. It's exactly what he sent her. He was drunk, horny, and annoyed of the previous argument or lack of, he had with his wife. And he knew she would cave in, she just loves the attention.
"I was drunk and horny I would have said anything to get laid. But then again, you would just about accept anything, to get laid as well. I don't have to try hard when you give it up so easy. Talk about having no love for yourself."
"Oh! I love myself just plenty"
Her comment only made you giggle. Who is she trying to convince? Cause she sure as hell won’t convince you.
"I'm not your mirror. You don't have to lie to me. Everyone who sees you knows you don't love yourself. Maybe that's why you're always invested in your sister's life?"
"Maybe?" she gulps, as she pretends his words had no real affect on her. When in reality, they ran through her veins like blood. And cut deep like a knife. "But you don't love yourself either Jin."
"I don't?" He was taken aback by her comment, simply because he never truly thought about this, himself. Did he love himself? Maybe.
"I mean if you did why would you lose someone like my sister? I mean she loves you so much, she's taken on a second job to help you with the bills! Aren't you the man in the marriage? Sure doesn't seem like it."
He simply rolls his eyes, as there's not much that can be said to defend his honor. Although, he hates how someone as dumb and useless as her, is making him feel like shit.
"Why don't you do all of us a favor and man up. Huh? Maybe then, you'll realize that the only real loser is you."
And with that she left. She didn't care to hear his response nor worry about how her words were hurting him. She knew she did. Jin may not ever have the balls to admit it, but she knows him like the back of her hand. There's also the case that he's predictable.
Her sister would have noticed sooner if she stopped thinking with her heart, and stop seeing him through her love lenses. She was as they say, "blinded by love".
He, however, was slowly realizing one thing.
She was right about everything.
Your phone kept buzzing but your mind was more busy and bothersome than any other noise. It felt like there was town full of people, swarming your mind.
You wanted to stop all the noise you kept finding, even without looking. You wanted to think of all the misery your husband had brought you throughout the years, so you can just leave him behind. With all the past broken promises, and you suppose now the present ones included.
You wanted to let go of your childhood, of all the memories and times you felt blessed to be surrounded by a caring and beautiful sister like yours.
You wanted to pinpoint when your whole life was beginning to become a lie.
Were you too busy thinking about yourself to notice when things were slowly slipping away from you? Were you too cocky to believe that you wouldn't be betrayed by the people you love and adore the most?
It seems silly to even dwell on things like this. You shouldn't have to carry such burden and guilt, for being the victim to their games.
You scoff wholeheartedly, as you stare at the pictures with hand made frames, that held every moment of your life, with people who only managed to brighten it up to later cover it with pure darkness.
"Y/n! Please open the door!"
You heard the knock but your body was too busy dwelling on the pain, that there was no strength nor thought to stand up and open the door. It's not like you wanted to either way.
Or maybe you did.
Maybe you wanted to hear their excuse so you can move past this nonsense. Maybe it was a prank to make you feel guilty for what happened earlier with Jin and Jimin, that stranger who made you feel more like a human and less like an object.
How you wish you could find a solution to this problem.
"Please.." his voice was slowly becoming faint, weak. And it spoke directly to your heart, the way it jumped a beat, and broke to tears.
"Just leave.." you answer back, as you're unable to see him face to face.
It's been a few minutes, and there's still no silence from the other side of your door. Which has lead you to have an internal turmoil.
Should you let him in? Or should you let him continue humiliate himself?
Well at the end he's humiliating you, as your neighbors are becoming aware of his affairs, and your troublesome marriage.
Therefore, you made the decision to let him inside. Even though, you're afraid of the outcome. You're weak there's no doubt about it.
As you slowly twist the door knob to let him in your home, your shared home you suppose. You look down afraid to make direct contact right off the bat. Because like you said, you were far too weak to even attempt to be strong.
And once he enters inside your home, he takes no time to talk his heart out, as he falls down to his knees, hands colliding, rubbing against eachother as he begs for his forgiveness. There's tears falling down his cheeks, and although it breaks you to see him in this condition. Your mind automatically wonders if any of this is real or an act to save his ass.
Because he sure as hell doesn't want to save this marriage. He had plenty of time to go to couples therapy, as you recommended him to do, for years now.
"It didn't mean anything to me. But you do"
"I don't" You scoff, as your eyes fall anywhere but his. You know that you're already too weak to avoid his calls or texts, or to not let him inside your place. As you eventually caved in.
And you know it's partly because you still loved him. But there was also this part of you, that hoped he was telling the truth. That all of this was just a dumb and stupid mistake. How badly you wanted that to be true.
But as you close your eyes to flee his stare, your mind wanders to the very reason as to why this is even happening. You see your sister on top of him, moving in a way, you wished you could. You see his smirk as he runs his hands all over her perfect body.
You mouth begins shaking attempt to cover a whimper that was slowly building confidence. You slowly start to build that confidence as well, as your eyes catch a small glimpse of his. And like your marriage, you broke down in several different ways.
You cover your face with your hands, again believing that you'll be able to erase everything that you witnessed, but instead making it harder. Because as your eyes closed, the images just came back stronger. You had more space to think of their affair. You had more space to think of how lonely you've felt throughout your whole marriage, and for some stupid, stupid reason you can't help but blame yourself.
"Y/n... please don't cry. I- I only want the best for you. I hate seeing you hurt."
You glared at him. You couldn't believe the audacity or the words that came out of the very mouth that promised you a lifetime of happiness and love.
"If you hate seeing me hurt so much, then why hurt me? Then why sleep with my sister? And why do it when I'm in the same fucking place?! I- I can't believe I ever loved you."
I can't believe I still do.
"It was an accident?! Why can't you fucking understand that? Huh? Accidents happen and not everyone is perfect. I'm human. I'm flawed, and you knew that before we got married. So just deal with it. This is who I am"
You scoff, shake your head, and laugh a little at his comment. " Was it an accident when your dick slipped in my friend? Or how about that waitress on our 3rd year anniversary? And I'm sure I'm missing a couple more..."
"This again? Are you serious?" He pulls his hair out of anger. And slowly starts getting up from the floor, he was previously begging for forgiveness. Guess, he’s abandoning that too.
"You're paying thousands of dollars for therapy, just so you can stay in the same place? You said you forgave me, so why do you keep bringing it up?!"
"Because I can't forget!" Your anger is slowly turning into exhaustion. You feel defeated, and unheard. How could possibly forget everything he has done to you, during your marriage? Nothing made sense anymore.
"I can't forget that you always found a way into someone else's arms and not mine!"
"It's not-"
"Don't!" You place your hands in front of you to prevent him from stepping closer.
"I vowed to be with you through sickness and health and I meant it. I meant every single word that night, but I can't keep fighting over the same thing, over different people. I can't keep making myself at fault for something you did. I- I can't keep feeling like this. I can't."
"Like what? What exactly are you trying to say?"
Typical. He only answered a bit that was insignificant.
"Like I'm just invisible. I want to be seen! I want to be able to feel you with me. I want to be... me. I don't know who I've become but I hate her. I hate me." You look down and start thinking.
"And it's stupid because I hate me more than I hate you. And I don't deserve that. And you don't deserve me."
"We deserve eachother." He immediately butts in as if it would confuse you, and make you agree with him.
"We probably did at some point. But we don't anymore."
"Y/n... just think about what you're about to say.."
There’s nothing to think about. He cheated again. He lied again. He choose someone else over you again.
"I want a divorce as soon as possible."
And with that you grabbed your purse, and walked out of your own house. You couldn't breathe if you had stayed longer.
And you hate that those words escaped your mouth, you were taught better. You were taught to fight for as long as it is needed, if it involved someone you loved.
And in a way you did abide by that. Because even though you love him more than yourself, the person that needed that extra love was not him but you.
You're not sure what else happened that night. And you chose to keep it that way.
Because the only thing you are sure of, is the headache you are currently possessing.
"Where the hell are my pills"
Unfortunately because of the fucking sun hitting your face, you can’t see anything. Leaving you to throw your hands around every spot until you feel a bottle, and hope it’s the one with the pills you need for this headache. Seems like you’ve been having more lately.
"Right drawer" a man with a deep voice comments, and you immediately jump, as you’re clearly startled by this random voice in this random setting.
You begin rubbing your eyes, and then shift to placing your hands onto of your eyes, hoping it blocks the sunlight. And gives you more access to the person in front of you.
But as you squint your eyes, and do all sorts of sports to have a clear view. It seems like your view only seems to be more out of focus.
"Dad? What are you doing here?"
"You accidentally butt dialed me. Figured I should come check on you, once I heard your argument with Jin." As he’s explaining everything to you, you slowly hide behind your blanket, or pillow. He’s simply laughing to your nonsense behavior, as he always does.
You’re sort of glad it was him over your mother.
"Oh." You begin sitting up on your bed. "That's embarrassing...."
"It's not." He answers with sincerity, that it almost makes you feel more at ease. But then you cringe, remembering the argument you had with your husband, and your father hearing everything.
You glare at him. Because of the position he put you in.
"It's not!" He attempts to assure you again.
"You know how many times, me and your mother had the divorce talk?"
That’s one way to bring you back to your senses.
"I don't know. How many?" You question, but also slightly shifting to avoid his gaze. You don’t like to make eye contact, it makes everything real.
"Too many times! We talked about getting divorce so much, it took time out of our days, making it impossible to actually go get it." He chuckles, as he starts imagining those days, the arguments, the threats. And a sad smile forms on his face, knowing that his marriage was ever at a point of ending.
"Well that's always nice to hear dad. I love how open you are about your lack of love in your marriage. While mine is also crumbling."
"I'm not bringing it up to hurt you. I'm bringing it up because well honestly speaking. I enjoyed the arguments with your mother more than I've enjoyed any normal conversation with anyone else."
"That doesn't make sense. You're not making sense."
He laughs. "What I mean is it's easy to want to give up on a marriage when it's hard or you know, serious offenses are being made like cheating. But sometimes it's important to realize that every human has a flaw, and with marriage we are supposed to accept that and even embrace it."
"Dad you're going all traditional on me."
"Y/n-" He attempts to cut you off and even begins remembering the speech he had prepared beforehand.
But you didn’t let him.
"No! Look I appreciate that you came all the way here to speak to me about your marriage, and what not. But this is mine. And I'm just not sure I can get passed this betrayal. I've forgiven enough."
"He just doesn't love me.." You lowly say, afraid to be judged by him. He was never fond of him, but here he was defending him instead of you. Maybe, you were asking him to talk all the shit he’s been holding in.
Of course, you’re never lucky.
"He does. Just speak to him." He placed his hand onto yours to give you some comfort. But you don’t feel it. You don’t feel his hand, his warmth, or comfort.
It makes you think of many things, but you attempt to shake it off and continue with your.. therapy session, you suppose.
"I already did. Trust me he doesn't."
"Well, I can't make you do anything but I'm always here. You know I'll always be your guardian angel."
Guardian angel? That’s a weird way to say he’s always going to protect you. You would have thought he would have said something cringe like a bodyguard. That was more on brand for him. But it’s getting sentimental, so you just go along with him.
"I know dad.. I know."
And with that you woke up. This time you woke up with all the lights turned off, with sweat pouring down your forehead. And your breathing becoming uneven.
You let out every single tear or emotion you held back, and release it. You had another dream about your father. And usually it's forgotten, but this time its not.
You look up and attempt to form a smile on your face, even if it was more on the sad side.
