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minisugakoobies · 1 year

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Into the Rush - Part One | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut, crack, Best Friend's Brother!AU, Dodgeball!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of feeling rejected and unlovable, a little angsty but you know me, pansexual!Taehyung in the house, side VMin, Wooga Squad alert, Himbo NamKook alert, dance leader Hobi is reimagined here as a dodgeball team captain, implied sex, the smut is to come (heh) in part two

Word Count: 7.3K for part one; total wc tbd

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: When your best friend Taehyung tells you he has the perfect thing to help you get over a broken heart, you’re surprised to learn he means dodgeball, the beloved game of sociopathic gym teachers everywhere. But even more surprising is the way you find comfort in the game, and so much more, as you fall into the rush with the help of another teammate - his brother, Seokjin.

A/N: Happy belated birthday, Jin! This was written as part of the Catch of the Century collab, hosted by MVPs @raplinesmoon @joheunsaram and @kithtaehyung!

Sooooo this underwent a few rewrites and then my life blew up as the December deadline got closer and then I decided to do Kinkmas because I'm just a gal who can't say no. I knew I could either rush to get this done, be upset at how shoddily written it is, and then hate myself for putting out something I wasn't proud of just to meet the deadline, orrrrr I could be kind to myself and recognize that I am a human and not a machine and sometimes despite my best efforts I fall short, and release it as a two-parter. Et voilà! Here is part one.

Unbeta'd as usual.

Please don't be a silent reader 🥺 I'd love to know what you think! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 Part Two

“Dodgeball. You want to play dodgeball?”

You stare at your roommate incredulously. Taehyung nods.

“Dodgeball. The kids game? The beloved sport of sociopathic PE teachers everywhere? That dodgeball?”

He can’t be serious. Neither you nor he are the athletic type. But from the solemn look on his face as you continue to sputter in surprise, you know he’s not joking. Taehyung is many things - an artist, a daydreamer, the kindest soul you’ve ever met and your best friend of five years and counting - but he’s not a liar.

Still, when he’d walked into your room five minutes ago, yanked back the curtains to let the late-morning light in, and told you to get up because he had an idea, you’d assumed he’d wanted you to go with him down to the coffee shop on the corner so he could covertly admire his latest crush, the cute barista with the pink hair. Dodgeball was nowhere near the possibilities your mind conjured up.

Taehyung sighs. “Yes. Dodgeball. There’s an adult league that plays at the rec center on Saturdays and I want to join. And I want you to join, too.” He flops down on your bed, nudging you over so he can lie next to you, ignoring your grumbles as you make room. “I think it would be good for you to get out a little. Get some fresh air.”

“I have plenty of fresh air,” you inform him, gesturing to your bedroom window, which is currently cracked about an inch. It might be spring, but the chill that clings in the air still feels like winter.

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. But out of curiosity, when’s the last time you actually left the apartment, besides for work?”

“Um.” He’s got you there. Casting your mind back, you can’t even remember the last time you left the safety of your home to do anything other than clock in at the bartending job where you both work. “Does going to the mailbox count?”

It doesn’t, and he doesn’t even need to respond, just gives you his signature exasperated look, but the warmth in his brown eyes shimmers just beneath as always. “Pumpkin,” he begins, using one of the many silly nicknames he loves to address you by, knowing how much you hate cutesy stuff like that, “you can’t hide in here forever.”

An instant rebuttal floats through your mind. You absolutely can hide in your room for the rest of your life, if you so choose. The internet brings the world to your fingertips. Everything can be delivered these days. Okay, true, you’ll still need to leave for work, but that’s only until you finish your novel and net yourself a publishing deal. Then you can quit your crappy bartending job, build yourself the perfect blanket nest, and become the hermit you were always meant to be.

Joining a dodgeball team doesn’t fit into that plan. It’s going to require you to go outside. Outside is dangerous.

Outside is where he is.

At the sharp pang that stabs your gut, you turn to your roommate with a grimace. “I don’t know. I’m not really a… sports…person - and neither are you, frankly. And it’s a team sport, which means others will be relying on you. You really think this is something you can commit to? I mean, remember the gym?”

Last year, the two of you had joined a gym together at his suggestion, which you both had visited a grand total of one time. He later confessed he’d only signed up because a hot customer at the bar had convinced him to after a long evening of flirting. That short-lived commitment ended the moment Taehyung arrived at the gym and discovered that the hot patron’s promise to give Tae a full-body workout was not, to Tae’s disappointment, a euphemism, but only a sales pitch.

Again, Taehyung doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, he uses the one weapon in his arsenal that destroys you every time the two of you argue over what to do.

With a tilt of his head, Taehyung flashes you his big sad puppy dog eyes.

You sigh. “Goddamn it. Fine. Fine. Let’s play dodgeball.”

Immediately, Taehyung’s countenance changes, a brilliant, boxy smile crossing his face as he grins at your caving. “Great! Sign-ups are actually this afternoon, sooooo… up and at ‘em, cupcake! Let’s get moving.” He jumps up, holding out his hands, and you begrudgingly let him pull you out of bed. “You’re definitely going to need a shower before we meet the other players.”

“Have I ever told you how annoying you are?” you mutter as you follow him down the hallway towards your tiny kitchen to brew some coffee, knowing you’ll need the caffeine if you’re going to be socializing with strangers this afternoon.

He beams again, tossing his dark bangs out of his eyes. “All the time.”

The rec center is only a few blocks from your apartment, but you’d never stepped foot inside before Taehyung drags you down there to sign up for the league. Still, there’s a familiar scent when you walk into the building, the smell of rubber mats and sweat mingling together, stirring up memories of PE classes from grade school. The flashbacks make you shudder.

Taehyung shakes you out of your memories as he steers you towards a folding table that’s been set up in the lobby. “Come on, we check in here.” A friendly woman in a purple tracksuit sitting at the table waves you over.

“Hiya! Are you team leaders or free agents?” She laughs at your blank stares. “Okay, I’ll take that to mean you’re not here to sign up an existing team, but you’re free agents in search of a team to join!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s us,” Taehyung nods sagely, as if he knew that.

“Great! If you’ll just fill out these forms…” she hands you both a sheet of paper, “I will process your fees, and then I can point you in the direction of some teams looking to add some new players!”

Forms? Fees? This is more complicated than you’d expected. You’d figured you’d just walk in and play, like joining a pick-up game of basketball or something similar that people who like sports might do. “So, um, how does this work?”

The smile never leaves her face as Ms. Purple Tracksuit explains that you’ll be joining a team for the next ten weeks to play against other teams in a tournament ending in a championship match between the two best teams. “And the fee covers your uniform!”

“A uniform?”

She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t get too excited. It’s just a t-shirt.”

After you hand in your form and make Taehyung pay your fee, Ms. Purple Tracksuit tells you to head into the main gymnasium, where the team leaders looking for new recruits are waiting. There’s another dose of déjà vu as you enter the room to find several clusters of players standing around, sizing you up as you walk in. It reminds you of being a kid, waiting on the sidelines while the other kids whisper to one another about who to pick.

“Uh, this is a little intense,” you whisper to Taehyung, clinging to his elbow as he blithely strolls between the groups. “I feel like I’m being judged.”

“Nah, this is a numbers thing,” he says. According to Ms. Purple Tracksuit, teams consist of six to ten players, so there’s a good chance you’ll be able to find a team together. If you’re picked at all, that is. “Whatever team needs two players will take us, I’m sure.”

Your roommate just wanders through life with a natural confidence that you’ve rarely seen in others. You suppose it makes sense, given how handsome and talented he is. Still irks you a bit.

“And what makes you say that?” You scan the room, taking in the other players. There are several others who wear similar expressions to your own, looking a little overwhelmed. It strangely gives you hope that you won’t be the only one here who doesn’t know what she’s doing.

And then there are those who look like they live, eat, and breathe dodgeball, like the two tall, muscle-bound gods to your left, both wearing a shirt that says “Rock the Balls.” Team leaders, you assume.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Taehyung replies distractedly, and you frown, following his gaze to see what caught his attention, since he’s clearly not listening, only to spy pink hair and a gorgeous smile that you recognize from your favorite coffee shop.

Grabbing his arm, you force your roommate to look at you as you hiss his name. “Taehyung. Tell me we’re not here because of that barista!”

“Hmm?” Tae’s starry-eyed expression is all the answer you need. Of course. Of course he dragged you here so he could flirt with his crush. How did you not see this coming? “What? Noooo, I told you, I want to play dodgeball! But isn’t it a nice coincidence that Jimin is here?”

“Right. Coincidence. You’re unbelievable.” With an exasperated sigh, you give him a push. “Well, go talk to your man. See if his team needs two new players.”

Taehyung doesn’t need telling twice, happily bouncing towards the barista. And now you’re alone in a gymnasium full of strangers, feeling left out again. As you slowly revolve in place, looking for somewhere to hide and wait for Taehyung to return, one of the muscle-bound gods approaches.

“Hey,” he says, giving you a little head nod. “You looking for a team?”

Technically, you suppose you are, but you should probably see if Taehyung will be dragging you on to Jimin’s team with him first. But as you glance at the god, with his wavy dark hair and silver lip ring nestled in the corner of a pair of rather pink lips, you’ve the urge to say yes. He and his buddy are mind-meltingly hot.

“I’m not sure. I’m here with a friend,” you finally respond. Super glad Taehyung forced you to shower today.

The god nods, eyes dragging over your frame. If you touched your cheeks right now, you’re pretty sure they’d be blazing hot under his gaze. “That’s cool. I’m Jungkook, by the way, and this is Namjoon.” He nods to the other god, whose lips quirk in a cool half-smile.

“Sup,” he rumbles, jerking his chin in your direction. He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, fingers scratching over the lines buzzed into the sides. “We run Rock the Balls. And we’re looking for two new members.”

“Actually, that’s gonna be three new members,” a familiar voice declares behind you. Your eyes widen before you spin to find yet another handsome man behind you. But this one you know well.

“Jin-ah!” Throwing your arms around his neck, you attack Seokjin with a hug, grinning as his squeaky laugh echoes through the gymnasium. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve seen Taehyung’s older brother, but he looks mostly the same - the same warm brown eyes surrounded by ever-deepening laugh lines, the same perfect cupid’s bow twitching as he smiles as you. The only difference is that his hair is a little shaggier now, a fluffy brown cloud that bounces when you finally release him.

“I could get used to a hello like that,” Seokjin grins.

“When did you get home?” you ask, vaguely aware that the gods have drifted away. “And what are you doing here?”

“Got in two days ago. I would’ve stopped by to see you and Tae-yah, but I needed to get my land legs back first.” Seokjin probably means that pretty literally, since he’s spent the last year on a research station in the middle of the ocean. As a marine biologist, he works at a local lab run by a federal agency, studying the effects of ocean pollution on various species of fish. Occasionally, he has to do field work, but this last round was his longest stint yet, taking him away from home for nearly twelve full months. “When I texted him this morning, he mentioned that he was joining a dodgeball team, and I… well, I had to check that out for myself.” You both laugh. “So I thought I’d surprise you.”

“You definitely did that!” you confirm. “I want to hear all about your research trip. Did you find anything interesting? Discover any new species?” You lean in excitedly. “Did you finally find some mermaids??”

Seokjin tuts. “Aish, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a deep sea diver, I’m just a guy pulling water samples off a dock?”

“Yeah, whatever, Jin Cousteau.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was really hoping that that nickname would’ve died out in the last year.”

“Oh no, that one’s for life. And listen, you can downplay your job all you want, but I know the deal. You just can’t tell me anything because the government forces you to keep those secrets locked down. But I’ll get the truth out of you someday.”

“Oh?” Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. “And just how d-”

“Hyung!!”

“Oof!” Seokjin grunts as your roommate launches himself at his brother, tackling him in a bear hug. When the affectionate embrace becomes a wrestling match in the middle of the gym, you feel a presence at your side, and turn to find Jimin and another man watching the melee with a surprised look on their faces.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure them, “they’re always like this.”

“Uh, okay,” the barista chuckles. “Um, I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Hoseok. Hoseok-ah, this is YN, Taehyung-ah’s roommate.”

“Hey.” The other man grins a smile that can only be described as a beam of pure sunshine, and you wonder if this dodgeball league is for models only, because you’re basically surrounded by nothing but gorgeous people.

“Hi. Um, and that is Seokjin, Tae-yah’s brother,” you gesture to the skirmish.

“Mmmice to meet eww!” Seokjin’s response is a little muffled by Taehyung’s armpit, but he manages to wave.

“Hyung, why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here?” Taehyung whines.

“Anted oo urprise!” Seokjin finally untangles himself from his brother’s headlock. “Wanted to surprise you,” he says again, more clearly.

“We’re starting a new team, and we could use three players, if you’d all like to join us?” Hoseok asks.

“Are you sure you want this on your team?” you reply, gesturing to Taehyung and Seokjin.

“I think we can handle them,” Jimin grins, and Taehyung’s smile turns blinding. “Besides, we could use that energy on the court!”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Also, we’re a brand new team, so we’re desperate!”

“That’s my favorite word.” Seokjin’s shoulders shake as he cracks himself up. “We’re in!”

Hoseok smiles. “Fantastic. Welcome to the Seven Slamurai!”

Once you’ve finished signing up for Hoseok’s team, you, Taehyung, and Seokjin decide to grab some dinner together. Another thing about Seokjin that hasn’t changed during his time away is his voracious appetite, so you take him to an all-you-can-eat bbq restaurant not far from the rec center.

As the soju starts flowing and the plates start piling up, Seokjin tells you about his year on the ocean. He starts out with a disclaimer, warning you that his research isn’t interesting, and he’s not entirely wrong. Most of it goes over your head, since it’s been years since you last took a biology course. But it’s not really what he’s talking about that keeps you focused on him, it’s how he talks about it that holds your attention. You’re fascinated by his passion for his work. His dedication to studying ocean life in order to preserve and protect it. It makes you wish you had a cause of your own to defend.

And then, of course, as the liquor catches up with him, he tells you all the gossip about the other crew members on his station - the hookups, the fights, all the little scandals that brought the drama to the high seas. Seokjin’s always been a good storyteller, knowing just what to say to keep you and Taehyung laughing.

“But what about you?” you ask when Seokjin pauses to stuff some pork belly in his face. “Did you have any flings with any of the other scientists? Hmmm? Dip your fishing rod in company waters?”

“Gross,” Taehyung mumbles around a mouthful of beef bulgogi.

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nah. I didn’t click with anyone there like that. Honestly, we spent so much time together each day that by the end of it, I was dying to get away from most of them, which was really hard to do since we were basically stranded together in the middle of nowhere! So I spent a lot of my downtime hiding in my bunk, reading old research papers that I found in the station’s library.”

“You read research papers for fun?” Taehyung looks horrified.

Downing another shot of soju, you lean towards Seokjin, licking the peach-flavored drops from your lips. “Come on. You’re telling me you went an entire year without hooking up with anyone? Not even a little making out?”

“Nope.” Seokjin pops the ‘p.’ At your incredulous look, he laughs, lifting his shoulders. “What? A year’s not that long! I made it just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, “it’s not that long. Besides, he was probably jerking off nonstop.”

Soju flies out of Seokjin’s nose as you and Taehyung burst into raucous laughter. Seokjin scolds his brother, who argues back as he always does, telling the elder to loosen up, while you sit quietly, chin in hand, smiling to yourself as you watch the fireworks, realizing how nice it is to have Seokjin home again.

He and Taehyung are pretty much a package deal. You’d met Taehyung first during your senior year of college. At the time, Seokjin was finishing up his graduate program at the same school, and his plans to move out of his and Taehyung’s apartment upon graduation and roll right into some field work had Taehyung feeling like he was being left high and dry. You’d ended up becoming Taehyung’s new roommate that summer, and then it had turned out that Taehyung’s worries were all for naught, because Seokjin still spent most of his free time hanging out at his (now your) place, anyway.

You didn’t mind then and you don’t mind now. Seokjin’s a good balance to all of Taehyung’s extremes. Where Taehyung has his head in the clouds, Seokjin’s feet are firmly planted in the ground. Taehyung can be mercurial, even flaky sometimes, but Seokjin’s rock-steady. They’re not complete opposites in everything, though. Just like his brother, Seokjin has a big heart.

Once Seokjin runs out of steam, Taehyung shrugs. “I’m just saying, being with someone isn’t the only way to be satisfied. Just look at me. I’m single and I’m happy.”

He looks almost smug as he states this, and something inside you snaps. The last thing you want to hear from Taehyung is another speech about loving yourself. You’ve heard plenty of those over the last few weeks. You do love yourself.

You just wanted someone else to love you, too.

Pointing your chopsticks at him, you frown. “Oh, please don’t start! One, you were just dating a guy last month, so it’s not like you’ve gone an entire year without being with someone, and two, you literally just dragged me onto a freaking dodgeball team so you could start dating another! So I don’t want to hear any platitudes about embracing your singleness or anything like that.”

Taehyung is silent for a moment after your outburst. “Sorry,” he finally says, poking at the remains of the kimchi on his plate. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Seokjin’s gaze bounces between the two of you. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

Taehyung sees you nibbling on your bottom lip and he turns to his brother. “I can explain. Buttercup here-”

“Buttercup can speak for herself,” you interject, “and don’t call me that.” With a sigh, you slug back another shot of soju and look at Seokjin. He’s waiting patiently to hear what you have to say. “I was… kinda seeing someone a few months ago. And I thought that I had something with them, and it turned out that I was wrong. They didn’t feel the same way I did, so…” You trail off, not sure how to say ‘so I spent the last few months crying in my room over a broken heart.’

Luckily, Seokjin spares you this confession, nodding sympathetically. “I gotcha,” he says simply, and you nod back, stuffing some rice into your mouth so you don’t cry at the warmth in his expression.

“I don’t know why you’re being so cryptic about who it was,” Taehyung frowns. “She’s talking about Yoongi.”

Something passes over Seokjin’s face quickly, so fast you almost miss it as you smack your roommate on his arm. He yelps in shock.

“What? He was going to find out eventually, they’re best friends!”

You know this, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Seokjin is actually the one who introduced the two of you, at the party he threw before he left for his research trip. You remember that night very clearly, can close your eyes and picture Yoongi standing there, with silver hair and silver hoops in his ears, dark cat eyes shimmering as Seokjin gave him your name, and you feel that same swoop in your stomach as you did then. Only now it comes with a painful twist of your heart as well.

Falling for Yoongi happened so quickly. You’d immediately bonded over a shared love of hip-hop and whisky, spending the party huddled together on the couch, snarking over Seokjin’s music collection and liquor selection, talking until the sun came up and Seokjin started throwing everyone out. As you left, you’d asked Seokjin for Yoongi’s number. But before you even entered it into your phone, a text appeared from Yoongi himself. He confessed he’d asked Seokjin for your number as well.

“I haven’t talked to Yoongi-yah in a while.” Seokjin glances at you. “You know how hard it was for me to keep in touch. There’s no cell phone reception in the middle of the ocean, and the internet seemed to come and go at will. At least I heard from you two occasionally, but I didn’t hear from Yoongs except on my birthday, and we didn’t… you didn’t come up.” He looks apologetic as he says those last words, and your heart pangs again.

“It’s okay, why would I have?” you snort. “Like I said, it turned out to be a big bunch of nothing between us.” Despite what you thought. What you felt.

A server appears at the table to drop off the bill, and you welcome the interruption, wanting to go home and crawl into the safety of your bed again, feeling like it was a mistake to leave in the first place. Taehyung and Seokjin fight over who is going to pay, with Taehyung winning, practically throwing his card at the server, but you’re too distracted by your thoughts to enjoy the scene.

Texting with Yoongi had turned into late night conversations. Going to concerts and bars to check out new musicians, doing whisky tastings and visiting distilleries. It felt like you were glued at the hip for a few months, and the more you got to know him, the harder you fell. Like the way you fell into his bed, over and over.

But nothing sticks out in your memory more than that last night, the last time you saw him, when you finally found the courage to tell him how you felt. You’ll never forget the sad look on his face. It told you everything you needed to know before he even spoke.

“Buttercup?” Taehyung’s voice pulls you from your reverie. “You ready to go?” He and Seokjin are staring at you, both on their feet already, waiting to leave.

With a nod, you rise, and follow them out into the night.

Despite the name, the Seven Slamurai consists of nine players. (When you asked why, Jimin rolled his eyes and said he’d tried to argue with Hoseok over the moniker, but Hoseok was insistent that the name stay true to his favorite movie.) In addition to Hoseok, Jimin, Seokjin, Taehyung, and yourself, there are four others at your first practice session on Monday night at the rec center - Wooshik, Sunghwan, Seojoon, and Hyungsik. You exchange a few quick greetings with your new teammates before Hoseok gestures for you all to sit on the bleachers.

“Welcome everyone to our first team practice!” Hoseok smiles, clapping, and you lightly clap along until you realize no one else is. “Before we do some warm-ups, I thought I’d take a minute to explain the rules of the game, for those of you who haven’t played before.”

He launches into an overview of the sport. Most of it is familiar from your school days, but there are a few things that are new, like something about a rush, and a neutral zone, and a burden ball? You glance around to see if anyone else looks confused. Most of the new guys wear bored expressions. It’s safe to assume they’re experienced players. To your left, Taehyung is whispering something to Jimin, completely ignoring Hoseok’s spiel.

At least Seokjin, on your right, seems slightly dazed by the long list of rules that Hoseok’s rattling off. Now that you think of it, you’ve never seen Seokjin in any athletic context. As far as you know, he doesn’t play any sports, just like you and Taehyung, and he’s not a gym rat. So you have no idea what to expect from him on the court. Maybe he’ll be just as awkward as you’re expecting to be.

“Any questions?” Hoseok finishes up. There’s a moment of silence from the group, and then he claps his hands. “Okay! Then let’s warm up a little.”

You move from the bleachers to a mat on the floor and Hoseok leads everyone through a series of stretches. It’s been a long time since you’ve done any, so you’re not surprised when your toes remain fully out of your reach. Jimin, on the other hand, has folded himself in half, forehead practically touching the ground as he holds on to both feet. Turning to Seokjin to make a comment, you’re surprised to find him in a similar position.

He catches you looking. “Yoga,” he explains with a wink.

“Damn. Maybe I should start,” you grunt, giving up.

“The games are played with teams of five, which means we’ll have four alternates for each match,” Hoseok explains once everyone’s limbered up. “For today, I’d like us to run through a practice game, four on each side. I’m going to stay out and watch, to help me get a feel for who might be a starter and who might be an alt.”

The group splits in half, with you, Taehyung, Seokjin, and Jimin on one side, and the rest on the other. Hoseok stands at one end of the line in the middle of the court, where six balls lie waiting.

“Okay, ready, set!” And with a sharp blast of the whistle hanging from his neck, Hoseok brings the game to a start.

Immediately, Jimin and Taehyung run forward towards the center line, reaching for a ball each, while the other team mirrors their actions, rushing forward. But you? You freeze in the scramble, hands automatically coming up to shield your head. And as the first balls fly towards your side, you scream.

And so does Seokjin.

“Shit!” you curse as one of the rubber balls bounces off your arm. That’s definitely going to leave a mark.

“Fuck!” Seokjin yelps as he’s smacked in the shoulder by another ball.

Tweet!

The action stops as Hoseok blows his whistle. His sunny smile is gone, replaced by an intense look, eyebrows furrowed, mouth turned down. It’s intimidating, especially since it’s aimed directly at you.

“That was… not bad,” he says slowly through gritted teeth, speaking as though the words hurt him. “But maybe this time, you two should try joining the opening rush? Remember, no one can throw a ball at you as long as you’re in the neutral zone, so you’ll have time to grab and get back out of the line of fire.”

He glances from you to Seokjin, who nods as you grin in embarrasment. Great, you’ve already been identified as a weak player. You were hoping you could at least pretend to know what you were doing for a little while. Fly under the radar.

Taehyung wraps an arm around your waist. “Come on, ladybug, it’s not that scary. You just gotta jump in. Don’t think, just go.”

You shake him off with a scoff. Easy for him to say. You saw the way he was running around the court a minute ago, taking to the chaos like a duck to water. Should’ve known he’d turn out to be a natural athlete on top of all his other annoyingly amazing traits.

The game restarts, and this time you make an attempt to run towards the center line, but still hesitate, flashbacks of being pelted with balls running through your brain. Why did you agree to this? You always hated dodgeball in school!

Seokjin, on the other hand, joins Jimin and Taehyung at the line, and scoops up a ball before dashing back to where you’re frozen. The balls start flying again, and once again you’re out before anyone else. After a few more minutes, Hoseok ends the play.

“That was better!” he nods. “But let’s try it again, and this time maybe you can make it all the way forward, huh, YN?” His tone is encouraging, but his smile seems strained.

As you shuffle back towards the end of the court, you nudge Jimin. “Is Hoseok okay? He looks a little stressed.”

Jimin shoots you a lopsided smile. “He’s trying not to be as… intense… as he usually gets. We got kicked off our last team because he went a little overboard with his, uh, enthusiasm during the practice matches.”

The whistle blows before you’re ready, and you decide to take Taehyung’s advice, so you bolt forward without thinking, snatch up a ball, and then back away, not wanting to turn your back to the men behind you. In doing so, you catch Wooshik’s eye, and he grins coldly, winding up.

“Shit!” you yell, jumping out of the way in time. Taehyung dives in to catch it, sending Wooshik out of the game. But you’re not safe, as Seojoon takes aim next. Seokjin is next to you, trying to decide where to throw the ball in his hand, so you duck behind him, mimicking his movements. Eventually, he realizes he has a shadow.

“Are you using me as a human shield?” He bobs to the left. You follow.

“It’s not my fault you’re so broad!”

Seokjin honks a noisy mix of delighted laughter and insulted exclamation. Seojoon tires of waiting for you to emerge from behind Seokjin, so he pitches the ball forward, a low toss heading for Seokjin’s legs. Seokjin bends gracefully to catch the difficult throw, taking Seojoon out of the game, and as Seokjin doubles over, you snap the ball in your hands towards Hyungsik, hitting him directly in the side. Another ball rolls towards your feet, so you scoop it up and nail Sunghwan dead center of his chest.

And with that triple play, your side wins, with all four players still in.

There’s no whistle to end the game, as Hoseok’s mouth falls open, gawking wide-eyed at you. “She’s a sniper,” he whispers in an awed voice. Everyone turns to stare at you.

“What?” you ask, looking around. “What did I do now?”

According to Jimin, it’s tradition for the dodgeball teams to go out for drinks after practices and matches, so after hitting the locker room, the nine of you meet up at the Pied Piper, a quiet bar around the corner from the rec center. Thank god Taehyung convinced you to bring a change of clothes. You’d foolishly assumed you wouldn’t break a sweat, but you sure as fuck had.

Since the rec center isn’t that big, the practice schedules are staggered out, with only two other teams meeting on Wednesday nights - the Dodging Divas and Rock the Balls. By the time your team arrives at the bar, the others have already claimed most of the tables. As Taehyung and the others push the remaining tables together, Hoseok, Seokjin, and you sidle up to the bar to start ordering drinks.

Once the bartender drifts away to start pulling drafts, Hoseok turns to you with a bright smile. “Congrats, the two of you are definitely going to be starters.”

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement.

“Me? Really?” you squeak, glancing at Seokjin, who also appears dumbfounded. “Why?”

Hoseok leans against the bartop. “Look, I’ve been playing this game for long enough to know a strong arm when I see it,” he declares solemnly, tapping your bicep with two fingers. “I think with my help, you could be one of the best snipers out there. As for you,” he nods at Seokjin, “I think your flexibility is going to come in handy, like it does for Jimin. Also, I saw the way you two were working together on the court. If we can hone your skills, you’ll be an unstoppable duo for sure.” He grins. “The rest of the league won’t know what hit them, when the Seven Slamurai come through.”

The bartender returns with the first three beers of your order, and Hoseok carries them away with another nod, leaving you and Seokjin staring at each other in silence.

Then you both burst into laughter.

“Is he for real?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised. The bartender sets more glasses in front of you, and he grabs one, taking a long sip.

“I think so. I got the idea from Jimin that dodgeball means a lot to him, but wow. What he said is absolutely ridiculous, and yet… I do feel oddly inspired.”

“I know what you mean.” Seokjin grins. “Should we correct him, though?”

“About what?”

“Us working as a team. We weren’t working together so much as you were hiding behind me.”

His grin turns teasing, and a retort builds itself on your tongue. But before you can fire it off, a figure at the other end of the bar catches your eye. One of the Rock the Balls gods. Namjoon, maybe? He nods at you, dimple popping as his lips curl into a slight smirk. You blink, then raise one of the glasses of beer in his direction.

Seokjin follows your gaze. “Friend of yours?”

“Not really. One of the other teams’ leaders. We met at the sign up.”

Seokjin hums, giving Namjoon a second look. He taps the bartop while you help yourself to one of the pints. “Hey, so what you were talking about at dinner the other night… about Yoongi? I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You should’ve known the subject would come back up. With a little shrug, you attempt a grin, but only succeed in a grimace. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I know. But I’ve also been where you are, having feelings for someone that go unreciprocated, so… I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” He pauses, gaze locked on the glass in his hand. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a total idiot.”

“I’m not going to argue there,” you quip, letting out an airy laugh. "But I'm the one who imagined the whole thing, so really, I'm not any smarter."

He looks at you then, a sober expression on his face. “I mean it. He’s the idiot. Not you. So just - just don’t let his stupidity have any bearing on how you might think about yourself, okay?”

You blink, wondering if you’ve suddenly gone completely transparent, because he’s seeing right through you. How are you not supposed to take Yoongi’s rejection as proof that you’re unlovable? If you were lovable, then wouldn’t he love you?

“I… okay.” Nodding, you reach for the glasses that have been sitting in front of you for a few minutes. “Um. We should probably get these to the rest of the team before they get antsy.”

Taehyung pats the seat next to him when you return to the group, and Seokjin takes the empty seat on your other side. “Hoseok just told us the good news,” he informs you, happily grabbing one of the beers in your hand.

“What, that Jinnie and I are gonna be starters?”

“That we are gonna be starters! You, me, hyung, Jimin-ah, and Hoseok-ssi.” Taehyung beams brightly as Jimin leans across him at the mention of his name. “He said we’ll work on our teamwork next practice, so we’re ready for our first match next weekend!”

“Oh! Well, damn, look at us go!” You lift your glass and everyone else does the same. “Cheers!”

“To teamwork!” Seokjin adds, eyes crinkling as he clinks his glass against yours. You grin back before taking a big sip. Maybe you’ll survive this season after all.

You’re not going to survive this season.

“Come on! Faster!”

A shrill whistle blast sounds as you hit the wall, spinning around before running back towards the center line. It’s Thursday night, so you’re at practice again. Your team has been running drills for only ten minutes now, but you’re pretty sure you’re going to die, panting terribly as your toe hits the crosses the line.

“Pick it up!” Hoseok yells as you spin again, heading back for the end of the court. As your fingertips reach the wall, he blows the whistle again, and you flatten your palms, pressing your forehead against the cold cement.

“I did not sign up for this,” Seokjin huffs next to you. “I signed up to dodge balls. This is not dodging balls!”

“Are you two okay?” Taehyung is neither panting nor huffing as he eyes you both with concern.

“How are you not dying like us?! You don’t work out!” Yelling takes up too much of your oxygen, and you sink to the ground, legs folding underneath you.

Taehyung shrugs. “It was only a few running drills. Nothing to get worked up over.”

Unable to respond, you settle for giving him the evil eye. You jump as Hoseok’s whistle sounds again.

“If he doesn’t stop it with that thing, I’m gonna make him eat it,” you mutter under your breath. Seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he reaches out a hand to pull you to your feet.

Hoseok’s inner drill instructor doesn’t take a break when the practice game starts, alternates on one side, starters on the other. Somehow, he manages to run, catch, throw, and yell instructions the entire time, like a demented multihyphenate. It would be impressive if it weren’t irritating.

You play a total of three rounds against the alternates. The first round is awkward, filled mostly with Hoseok’s manic shouting. At one point, he tells you to cover the right and Taehyung to flank the left, and as the two of you run to switch sides, you run smack into each other. The alternates win.

In the second round, things go better. There are no collisions, but there’s also not much cohesion, either. You try to repeat last practice’s winning move, ducking behind Seokjin, but he’s too unpredictable, jumping all over the place to try to catch throws, and you’re not able to keep from getting hit. Your team loses again.

When the whistle signals the end of the round, you head for the bleachers, where you’ve stashed a bottle of water and a towel, having realized last practice that both items were desperately needed. The rest of your team follows.

“Well, this isn’t working,” Hoseok sighs, fanning himself with his shirt. “They’re kicking our asses.”

“Maybe - and just hear me out - yelling isn’t the way to motivate us?” Jimin suggests, tossing his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. You can practically see little hearts dancing in Taehyung’s eyes as he watches the motion.

Hoseok’s head twists towards his friend, but instead of swearing at him like you expect, he just stares. “I’m. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

Jimin claps him lightly on the shoulder. “Yep.”

Hoseok stares for a few more seconds, and you’re on the verge of asking if he’s okay when he finally speaks. “Okay, new plan. Let’s just go out there and, ugh, have fun, okay?” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he leads Jimin and Taehyung back out onto the court.

Seokjin leans over. “If we lose, ten bucks says he snaps and eats that whistle himself.”

You laugh, gently pushing Seokjin back onto the court.

“Hey. Should we try that shield thing again?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean, I was trying last round, but you were kinda all over the place.”

“I’ll try to be more obvious with my moves. Or I guess you can guide me? Just tell me which way to go.”

You nod, and then you’re off, running for the center line as the round starts. Without Hoseok barking orders at the group, there’s a definite shift in the atmosphere. As you stoop to sweep up a ball, quickly diving behind Seokjin’s tall frame, scoping out your next target, it hits you - not a ball, but a thought.

You’re having fun.

Grinning wildly, you hiss “Left!” Seokjin immediately darts left, and you line up behind him, ready and waiting. A throw from the other team goes high, and Seokjin leaps towards it, snagging the ball out of the air. As soon as you peek out from around his side, you hit Wooshik, ball bouncing off his thigh with a satisfyingly loud “thock!”

“Yes!” Seokjin throws his hand out for a high five. You slap it quickly, ducking another toss. On your other side, Hoseok and Jimin make tandem catches, and the match ends with your team victorious.

“That was so much better! I really feel like we’re an actual team now,” Hoseok beams, looking genuinely happy again. “One more week of practice and then it’s match time!”

The others drift towards the locker rooms as Seokjin nudges you with his hip. “Did that work better for you this time?”

“Yeah, it did. I guess that’s how it should always work, huh - me giving you orders and you following them blindly?” You wrap your towel around your neck, flashing him a cheeky grin.

Seokjin laughs, running his hand through his fluffy hair, which has gotten curly in the humidity from the game. Rather than spout off a snarky retort, he tugs on the ends of your towel, pulling you towards him. His deep brown eyes trail over your face, landing on your mouth, before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“That works for me,” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his plush lips. “Just say the word and I’ll follow.”

And then he walks away.

You stare at the locker room doorway that he disappears into for a good minute after he’s gone, mind racing. That’s not the first time the two of you have been that close - both Seokjin and his brother are very cuddly people, and you’ve always been comfortable with showing them affection in the form of warm hugs or snuggles on the couch.

But whatever just happened was not that. The moment between you felt charged. Full of something like… possibility.

With a sigh, you shake off the confusing thoughts and gather your things to head for the locker room, desperately needing a shower. And a drink.

Taglist 1: @babycoffeefire; @parkdatjimin; @reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; @taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @jinsquishes; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse; @pleaseshutupsara; @guvgguk; @goodgollyitslolly; @laylasbunbunny; @goldensugarywaffles; @jadda98; @lovelye79; @moonacholy;

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btsmosphere · 1 year

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Trade my Life | KSJ

~summary: once, you were just two children giggling in the corner of the dojang, trading equally in punches and hugs, everything a game. but that was long ago, and now that man stands day after day outside the door which separates your two worlds. is the throne really worth leaving the barrier unbroken? ~pairing: bodyguard!seokjin x royalty!reader ~word count: 2.3k ~genre: angst, fluff, action, historical au, childhood friends to lovers, secret/forbidden love ~rating: nc17 ~warnings: non-sexual nudity, non-sexual intimacy, nothing explicit, jin calls the reader ‘princess’ but she literally is so note: the next part may well have other warnings relating to violence/fighting; this chapter only contains sparring in training

~a/n: welcome to my contribution for the catch of the century collab to celebrate our lovely Jin’s birthday!! how I miss himm already.. if you also do, you can check out the other amazing works in this collab, all featuring jin getting up to some sporty shenanigans! I’ve been sick lately and haven’t quite managed to write everything I had in mind. while this part of the story can be read as a standalone, it will also be part 1 of 2 for Trade my Life - there is more action planned on the way!! let me know if you want to see more/want to be tagged in the next part! lastly, if you know anything about taekwondo, you know more than me!! I consulted with some friends and our good buddy the internet to write this, and didn’t want to get too technical. but don’t judge me too much if it’s all wrong🤣 enjoy the story and shoot a comment my way if you do, it always means a lot💜

Sitting silently on your stool, your eyes followed the palace woman out of the door. She paused in the doorway, bowing to the guard on duty before turning to slide it closed, leaving you alone. Her eyes remained dipped, not meeting yours.

A moment passed, her footsteps retreating.

She had just helped remove your hair from its low knot, the pins now laid out below your mirror stand. Little did she know as she reverently brushed out your strands, you had no intention of keeping them so tidy.

With a sigh, you eyed the doorway, the silhouette of your guard still visible through the lattice.

Pressing your hands to your knees, you stood swiftly, without a noise. You had seen to it that you had been seen in your night clothes, and now you padded across to the bed, bent to extinguish the lights.

The room dimming, only a small candle at your bedside remained.

Instead of slipping under your covers, you simply bent to retrieve it, taking care not to jostle the small flame as you trod steadily back across the space.

Back at the dresser, you slid a drawer open, fishing out a simple leather tie. Pulling your hair back, you fastened it at the nape of your neck without needing to check in the small mirror.

Next, to the wardrobe. Quietly pulling it open, you ignored the rich colours and silk of your hanboks, pushing them aside while your fingers search with practised ease in the near darkness only stopping when they reach the slight bump in the wood.

Pressing down, you let the secret compartment unlock and open under your touch.

Set into the base, concealed well, was a small well. Of all the secret things you could have stashed there, the sole thing taking up the space is a neatly folded white garment. Hands falling on the cloth at last, you pull it out and shake it open.

Your dobok.

This may not be the kind of possession one would expect a princess to treasure so dearly as you did. But as you pulled it on, you feel yourself begin to relax, body filling with a confident anticipation.

All that was left was to wait. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long; Jin was never late.

Blowing out the candle, you crept back over to your bed and sat. You could hardly keep yourself from the edge, but forced yourself to sit straight and breathe, willing patience into your restless body.

Before too long, there was movement. It wasn’t loud, not in the least, but among the stuffy silence, unbudging as ever in the castle at night, you caught it clearly enough.

The guards were changing.

Your door muffled the mumbling of pleasantries and soft footfall, and the vague sounds soon ceased. In the room lit only by waning moonlight, you practically held your breath. Waiting the necessary time, though it was time you hated to waste simply sitting, you finally rose to your feet and moved back across the room.

As each night, you reminded yourself of the precautions. If it was someone else, you would simply ask for a drink and retire.

Luckily, tonight did not bring such disappointment. On easing the door open, you were greeted with the profile of the face you had longed to see since sunrise. His slender face, calm but eyes joyous as he turned towards you.

You smiled at last, breathing out deeply.

“Jin.”

He wore a small smile, but still bowed deeply to you.

You rolled your eyes.

“Just come inside.”

“How very forward of you, your grace.”

You fought off the urge to laugh, instead shutting the door a little too forcefully and giving him an unamused look. Of course, your hard stare did nothing to discourage him: in fact, he practically grinned as he turned away from you.

With a huff, you walked after him

“I have a name, you idiot,” you swatted at his head as he removed his gat, “when we’re in here you can use it, at least.”

“As you wish.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice before he turned around. He set his gat on the dresser and faced you as he unclasped the Sai knives where they where sheathed to his belt. At last his eyes were back on you, holding a strip of fabric taught between his hands and just under his eyeline.

“Are you ready, Y/N?”

Finally, you gave a warm smile.

Stepping to close the space, you held your hand palm-up for him to begin. The moment the cloth touched your skin, Jin’s practised fingers wrapping it securely, but not suffocating around your thumb and wrist, the tension from sneaking around began to bleed from you.

He gently turned your hand over with a brush of his own fingers, now passing the fabric over your knuckles. It was the best way to train without ever showing a sign of it.

Letting go, Jin moved to your next hand. With the wrappings, your focus zeroed, the sensation preparing you for the next. Your excitement at spending the next few hours with Jin, pushing yourself and no doubt falling into bed satisfied and spent, fizzled into a concentrated spark.

Jin clapped his palms around your wrapped hands, looking down at you with an indulgent smile of his own.

“Show me what you’ve got tonight, princess.”

You tried not to be disappointed when he stepped away, leaving the short distance your spar would start with. His distance at least aided your focus, and you drew yourself up taller, rolling out your shoulders.

As he implied, he waited for you to make the first move, a punch which he easily blocked, almost smiling.

That was okay, the two of you were just warming up. And you hadn’t come this far without a shred of friendship, you knew he respected you.

Hopping backwards, just out of his reach, you waited with your weight light on your feet, ready to react. You read his movements as he pounced with a side kick, and met him with one of your own, blocking him and bringing a hand up for good measure.

You had no need to shove him off; he darted backwards, slightly circling. You fell into the orbit as well. Already, the blood was rushing to his face, and you knew yours must be the same. It certainly felt like it was powering through your veins, loosening your muscles.

Continuing, you let the rush carry you with instincts, eyes well trained by now to analyse Seokjin’s movements, to spot openings and threats.

A kick for a kick, often retreating again, forever dancing on your toes. At his next however, you felt ready to launch another.

As he fell back, you followed, a turning kick to his stomach which of course he easily withstood and blocked. But your momentum was already shifting, and you span with another kick, foot coming level with his head-

He moved from its path, but you could go no further. His rough hand caught your waist, fisting in the fabric and trapping you against him. A punch completed your planned attack, and he caught it in his hand, stopping your fist at his heart.

Though you had not been aiming to throw any serious force and risk hurting each other, you still scuffled against him from the swift movements. You balanced yourself against his chest, then finally froze.

Grinning down at you, he lingered in the hold for a moment before dropping his arms.

“Very good,” he appraised.

You, too, darted back with a small smile, but soon schooled it from your face.

Falling into your familiar rhythm, you read Jin’s movements and responded in kind. You had built this up since you were half your height, back in the days when he was smaller than you.

This had become a ritual for you, one of the few things that stayed the same. While now, he was taller, and there were less feet in the wrong places, flooring or winding each other and leaving you giggling and red on the floor, it was yours.

He would step back, drawing his elbow back and you would strike his hand where it had placed the target on his hip. Forwards, and you hopped back, precisely kicking lower. Next was higher, and quicker, higher still. You hit his palm beside his neck, and he didn’t even flinch away, eyes steady as they analysed your performance.

Falling back, you stayed on your toes, arms loose and ready for the next.

And so it continued. The focus your mind settled into was more grounding than anything else in your day. Your reading never as calming, calligraphy never so precise.

It was deep into the night when you rested once more, your bodies buzzing with exertion but more content than ever. A sheen of sweat had coated you, and you rid yourself of the dobok.

Your chambers opened into an inner courtyard, where you kept a small bucket below your window. No other lights were lit when you pulled open the shutter, the warm night air still cool against your heated skin.

Bending to wring out your dobok in the water, you heard Jin quietly returning his knives to his belt, only a gentle clatter reaching your ears. Then, steps, and as you straightened up to drape the garments on the ledge, you felt fabric against the bare skin of your back.

Jin pressed closer, his breath warming your neck. His clothed chest brushed your shoulder again as he reached over your shoulder for something just beside the window.

Reverent hands lifted your tail of hair, a cloth meeting your skin a breath later.

Fighting, and in training, Jin was all sharp eyes and sharper fists, one of the swiftest guards. That was why he was allowed to guard the princess’ quarters, after all. But in between, he was always so slow, savouring the time you both knew would be taken away with the sun.

The soft cloth dragged across your neck, and you gasped as it was replaced by softer lips. One hand continued the cloth’s path down your arm, the other carelessly releasing your hair from its tie, where it fell comfortably against your now-clean skin.

But Jin was paying most attention to your neck, your throat, his tantalising kisses treading a blazing path to your jaw. Your head was thrown back, inviting him.

Finally, you turned your head to meet his mouth, a lazy smile shared between the two of you only by feel. You spun in his arms, and he welcomed you, circling your waist.

Somewhere the kisses lapsed, easy silence engulfing you as Jin finished wiping you down. You were cooling down by now, but felt all kinds of warm inside as you leaned against your ledge, watching him drop the cloth and plop one more kiss onto your thigh.

After a shared smile, he climbed to his feet, now standing over you. Fingertips trailed your waist, and he leaned down for one last kiss.

There was no urgency, no what next. Just the long, slow movement, of him against you.

He ran a hand down your tresses as he stepped away, letting you close the shutter. You threw your drying dobok on the headboard, where you could quickly remove it next morning before your lady opened the bedcurtains.

Once in your bedclothes again, you followed Jin to the door. You had no intention of going to sleep while he still had his shift.

But you had to accept that this was your life now. The door closed and you sat with your back against it, knowing Jin stood just the other side. You murmured the odd tease through the door, trying to ignore the wooden barrier that kept apart any playful touches or glimpse of a smile.

You fell asleep to thoughts of how it used to be. Dreams where the door fell away, dissolved, and you were two children again, and you were bunched in the middle of the class with the rest of them, only the hair curled tightly at the nape of your neck indicating your difference from the boys with close-cropped locks.

You had been humoured, then. Anything to get the princess to let off some energy, give the nannies a break and hopefully you might focus on the necessary studies for the rest of the day.

Back before the reigns had tightened until they were practically choking you, you felt almost free. Hounded back home the same as the other small children, only yours was to the palace quarters. Mother reading to you but someone else tugging your hair into order.

Even humoured you when you shrieked about Jin, tried to demonstrate what the kwanjang had taught you that day (while priceless ceramics were hastily removed from the path of your flailing feet).

And it had always been Jin. The boy that never laughed at you for being a girl. Of course, he laughed at you for falling over and for getting dirt on your face and never knowing how to tie your hair if it fell out.

And you laughed right back.

You couldn’t even remember how you became partners, and friends just as quickly. It was like it had always been. The two of you whispered when you should have been listening, you bickered and tried to show off, then apologised again and again when you knocked the other down wrong. All it took to soothe bruises was a secret trip to the kitchens.

It had changed. Gradually, but it had. You watched Seokjin grow, while your time was shut indoors more and more. You saw him don the red robes of guards, proud and capable.

And you decided you wanted the same.

Thank you for reading my lovelies! Please tell me what you thought, that makes it all worth it!!💜

Find my main bts masterlist here

Taglist - send me a message or ask to be added: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine

#catch of the century collab #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts jin imagine #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin fluff #jin fluff #jin historical au #bts historical au #bts joseon era #bts royalty au #bts royalty #jin scenario #seokjin scenarios #bts forbidden love #bts enemies to lovers #bts fluff #bts angst #kim seokjin angst

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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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Turn Back Time (KSJ x F!Reader)

pairing: baseball player!Seokjin x doctor!reader (based on the movie 13 Going On 30) genres/au/rating: fluff, humour, angst, smut, time travel au, 18+ summary: After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?

warnings: bodyswap au (kind of), alternating pov, teenage insecurities, bullying, Seokjin is confused, mention of sports injury, thirst, mentions of hangover, sassy thirteen year olds, mentioned infidelity (not between main characters), cheating (like in sports), swearing, angsty confessions, smut warnings: nudity, Seokjin pops a semi at the wrong time, soft!dom Jin, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, nipple play, unprotected s*x (wrap it before you tap it)

word count: 13.3k a/n: a very happy early 30th bday to our WWH! This is my submission for the Catch of The Century collab hosted by myself, @joheunsaram, and @kithtaehyung! I was super excited writing the role reversal with Seokjin, and 13 Going On 30 is only one of my favorite movies ever (seriously, it never misses on every single rewatch). I also just miss Jin so much T_T I hope you all enjoy 💜 also ty to Mars for beta-reading this as well!

listen to the playlist here!

The envelope crinkles as it’s handed to Seokjin, and his heart drops before he can even pause his iPod and yank his earbuds out, the Black Eyed Peas providing the soundtrack to his humiliation.

Sighing, he looks at his face twisted mid-expression, half-smile and half-grimace, the metal of his braces glinting against the camera flash, and wonders why the photographer had even bothered counting down if he wasn’t going to wait for him to smile for the photo anyway. Not to mention the packet had been inappropriately labeled “Suckjin”. His eomma would be so disappointed. Looking around, he pushes his glasses up onto his nose before shoving the damn thing into his backpack, where it hopefully wouldn’t see the light of day for a few more hours.

“Kim!”

Seokjin bites back a groan at the voice bellowing in the hallway, turning to see Jackson Wang and his posse of baseball boys strolling up to him. He and Jackson weren’t friends, at least not in the traditional sense of the word, but it wasn’t like they hated each other either. They had a mutual agreement - Seokjin would offer to do Jackson’s algebra homework for the semester, and Jackson promised him a try-out spot for the school’s baseball team.

To Seokjin, it was worth it. The baseball team was at the height of status in their janky middle school - everyone knew the players on the team were the coolest, sporting the finest threads walking through the hallways, and tipping their caps to make the girls scream. But it was more than that - for as long as he could remember, Seokjin had always been the lame kid. The one that faded into the background, hiding his acne-laden face under his mop of dark hair, constantly fiddling with his glasses. He hated that.

For once, he wanted to be the special one. The one who hit the winning home run at the game, the one who made all his fellow students and teachers scream with joy, who brought the school to victory. Then no one would ever forget him again. And now, with a try-out spot on the horizon, he finally got his chance.

“Did you hear about that new chick that moved here?” Jackson’s laugh interrupts Seokjin’s stream of intrusive thoughts, and he shoves his iPod into his book. “She’s supposed to be hot stuff.”

“Dude, you should totally hit her up,” DK, one of Jackson’s cronies, eggs him on with a guffaw. Jackson waves him away with an annoyed look, telling them he needs to talk to Seokjin for a second.

His tall, muscular figure looms over Seokjin’s scrawny one, the hard surface of the locker meeting his back.

“Sooo, I know try-outs were supposed to be tonight,” Jackson drawls, looking Seokjin over. “Big day, right?”

He’s unable to respond with anything but a gulp, knowing something was up. It always was with Jackson.

“Well, stupid Mr. Kang decided that we’d have a take-home assignment, and it’s due at the end of the week. I hate to cancel tryouts, I know how much you were looking forward to them, but we’ve gotta bust our asses for this, you know how it is.”

“I-, I could do the assignment for you,” Seokjin blurts out, finally summoning the bravery to speak. This was his once chance. He couldn’t screw it up now.

“Excellent,” Jackson’s eyes glint with mischief, his head turning to regard Seokjin with interest. He claps him on the back, the force of his palm causing Seokjin to sputter, before walking away with a wink.

“See ya later, Kim!”

The bell rings, and Seokjin immediately makes a beeline for the bathroom, changing out of the argyle patterned vest that his mother had put him in for picture day, and into his well-loved, too-large pair of Nike gym shorts that he’d found for $3 at Goodwill. Looking in the dusty mirror, he checks himself out, making sure he looked the exact part of a baseball player. His unruly hair sticks up everywhere. Sighing in frustration, Seokjin lets the water under the sink run, wetting his hands and combing it back until it lays off his face.

Great, now he looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in a week.

“Baseball try-outs?” a voice next to him squeaks, and he turns to see another kid right next to him, shorter by an inch or two, his heart-shaped smile looking up at him.

“You too?” he asks the kid, who erupts into giggles, his laughter bouncing off the walls.

“Nahhhh, it’s the dance team for me, I’m Hobi by the way,” he reaches out his hand for Seokjin to shake. Seokjin takes the hand with hesitation. Hobi seemed nice, if not a little weird. He reminded Seokjin of himself.

“Dance team? Isn’t that kind of lame though?”

“What do you mean?” Hobi asks him with curious eyes. “It’s not any more lame than following around Jackson Wang and his posse of meatheads. It’s more original.”

Hobi straightens up when he sees the clock, the time hitting both of them.

“Oop! I gotta go, I’ll see you later dude! Good luck with try-outs!” he waves Seokjin goodbye, rushing out the door.

Hobi’s words about being original weigh heavily on Seokjin, and he wonders if doing all this would be worth it in the end. After a few minutes of contemplation, Seokjin decides it is. He doesn’t want to be original, he thinks, he just wants to be cool.

“Seokjinnie! Show Eomma the pictures,” his mom pinches his cheeks, one hand on the steering wheel. Seokjin scowls, wishing she’d hurry up. They were going to be late for tryouts.

“Eomma, can you please just give it a break?” he grumbles, but she reaches into his bag anyway, peeking at the envelope with the preview.

“Oh, you look sooo handsome my boy!” she coos, beaming at the photo of him with his braces showing. Was she for real?

“Eomma, stop calling me that! I hate my life,” he whines, slumping into his seat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his most treasured baseball card, Albert Pujols staring him back in the face. Why couldn’t he be more like his hero? Not the awkward, bumbling thirteen-year-old Seokjin that he was, but an all-star.

“I wish I was thirty,” he sighs, and he watches his Eomma purse her lips.

“Seokjinnie,” she says as she pulls into the parking lot of the baseball field. “Eomma loves you very much, you know that, right? Whether you’re thirteen or thirty.”

She presses a wet kiss to his cheek, her lipstick leaving a faint pink smudge on him.

“Eomma ewwww!” he groans but hugs her anyway with a smile. He knew he’d come home to a warm bowl full of kimchi jjigae tonight.

“Good luck!!” her voice fades off into the distance as Seokjin descends into the dugout where the locker rooms were, ready to give this his best shot.

. . .

The sun trickles through the small windows of the dugout, the grey specks of dust flitting through the air. It’s empty. Seokjin walks through, realizing there’s no one there. Did he come at the wrong time?

Pacing around the room, he looks for something, anything that would indicate the team had been here, a spare bat, or maybe a jersey somewhere. But his heart sinks when he realizes there was nothing. He’d been such a fool.

“Ohhhh Kimmmm,” a voice says from the shadows, and Seokjin feels his blood run cold. Turning around, he sees Jackson’s figure looming at the door, a devious smirk lighting up his face.

“Jackson, what’s going on, where’s everybody—” Seokjin begins, only to be cut off by Jackson howling in laughter.

“Poor guy,” he mutters, stalking towards Seokjin with a menacing gleam in his eyes. “Did you really think those tryouts were real? That we’d let a lame-o like you on the team? You’re more stupid than I thought.”

Seokjin feels like he’s being eaten alive on the inside, shame and humiliation coming over him in waves, his head slumping forward to stare at the ground while Jackson’s words ring loud and clear in the back of his mind.

“I don’t get it, I did the report for you, you said I–, I’d have a chance this year,” he stutters, Jackson backing him up against the lockers.

Jackson picks up a dusty baseball mitt off the ground, shoving it into Seokjin’s hands before pushing him into the locker, the door slamming shut and caging him in darkness.

“You never stood a chance, Kim. You’re just not cool enough.”

. . .

Seokjin doesn’t know how long he bangs against the door of the locker, knuckles raw and bleeding from being cut by the metal. His voice has gone hoarse from screaming for help, knowing that he’s out of luck for a few hours.

He hated everyone - Jackson, the team, all his classmates at school who made him feel like he was worth nothing. He couldn’t wait to grow up, to get out of here, and to finally be somebody he was proud of.

Bile rises up in his throat as he looks at the dilapidated baseball mitt in his hands. He wants to fling it off into oblivion, its presence only reminding him of how silly he’d been to believe that things would be different.

Still, it was all he had, and so he clutched it to his chest, blowing off the dust, rocking back and forth in order to comfort himself as the sun began to set outside.

“I just wanna be thirty,” he whispers into the darkness before his eyes shut and he finally falls asleep.

Seokjin snorts in the middle of his slumber, shifting around to make himself more comfortable, when all of a sudden, he feels himself land on a hard surface with a thud. Cursing, he rubs his shoulder, standing up but tripping on the edge of something soft.

His eyes open sleepily, but it’s still dark. Grumbling, he palms at his face, eventually finding the edge of something covering his eyes. A blindfold? How had that gotten there? Lifting it off, light floods his vision, and his heart stops.

The room around him was very unfamiliar - he catches sight of the rug he’d tripped on moments ago, his eyes traveling up to the sleek bed made out of dark wood with its rumpled sheets. This wasn’t his room. Where were all the baseball posters? And his GameCube in the corner? And his desk with his iMac?

There was only one answer for this - he’d been kidnapped. Panicking, Seokjin fumbles with the doorknob, stumbling into the hallway of the apartment, his eyes widening and heart racing at the even more unfamiliar surroundings.

“Eomma?” he calls out, padding down the hallway and taking in the sparse decorations. “Appa?”

He pauses when he sees a poster on the wall, a scantily clad woman in what can only be described as a provocative pose, and his cheeks flush with heat. He turns his eyes away quickly, feeling like he’s violating someone’s privacy.

The living room is even more strange, full of black furniture and far neater than Seokjin’s room had ever been. His eyes widen at the large flat-screen TV that sits in the corner, and he lets out a soft *wow* at the thought of being able to watch baseball games on there.

He turns to look around more, only to come face-to-face with a mirror. But the person staring back at him isn’t Seokjin. This person was not a thirteen-year-old with acne, a mouth full of braces, and dorky wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like one of those models on magazine covers, with hair pushed back from his face, skin clearer than the water at the beach, and a jawline that could cut glass.

He screams at the unfamiliar face, thinking there’s an intruder in the house with him. He staggers backward, tripping on the raised entrance to the living room, and falling flat on his back. Pain explodes across the back of his head, and he wants to cry.

From elsewhere in the apartment, he hears a door click, and he peers over at the mirror again. He freezes when he realizes there is no other intruder. The figure in the mirror moves the same way he does, copying his exact movement, and Seokjin brings a hand to his face, seeing it rest on the jawline of the attractive reflection.

That was him. He was the man. Was this some kind of dream? Or an alternate reality? He tests the waters, feeling around his face, tugging at the skin to see if it was some sort of costume. His hands fly to his chest, realizing that he’s shirtless, and he’s amazed by the muscles he finds underneath his palms.

“What is happening?” he hyperventilates, shocked at the deep voice that comes out, so unlike his own. “What is going on?”

His anxiety increases as he begins to pace around the apartment, coaxing himself to breathe and relax and take a seat. He’d find a way out of this.

Plopping onto the leather sofa, something on the coffee table catches his eye. It’s a letter, and he pales when he sees the name on the envelope.

It’s his. Kim Seokjin. But that’s not his address. Frantically, he sifts through the mail, growing even paler when he sees all the letters are addressed to him, and that they’re being sent to this same address. He lived here.

The sofa creaks as he rises up abruptly, searching anywhere he can for a phone. Finding it in the corner, he dials his parents’ number, silently praying they hadn’t changed it. His Appa’s voice greets him on the phone, saying that they were currently away in Korea, but they’d be back at the end of this month, and he lets out a heavy sigh. He was alone.

Seokjin thinks this is the weirdest dream he’s ever been in, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the sink turning on in what he can only assume is the bathroom in this place.

“Seokjin, babe?” a female voice calls out from behind the door, and he jumps back, terror seizing him. This must be the strange woman who kidnapped him! She was probably some kind of weirdo, why was she calling him babe?

Seokjin searches for something, anything he can use to protect himself, settling on an umbrella in the corner.

“I-, I know you’re there,” his voice wobbles as he yells out to the woman. “My parents are gonna be home soon!”

The door creaks open and out steps a woman. The first thing Seokjin can think of is legs. So much leg, peeking out at him from underneath a fluffy white towel. And then he screams again. Because she’s naked under there.

“Babe, where’s the conditioner?” she asks him, crossing her arms. Her chest is emphasized by this action, and Seokjin looks up at the ceiling. This was inappropriate. He had to get out of here now!

“Come join me!” her voice fades into the background as he runs, grabbing the first coat and the first pair of shoes he sees in the entryway. The stairs of the unfamiliar building wind around him as he descends, his head spinning, and before he knows it, he’s through a golden set of doors and out onto a busy city street.

A strange buzzing comes from his pocket and Seokjin yelps. Was he being attacked? Had the government bugged him?

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you hear that?” he says frantically, pointing to his pocket. “Do you hear the buzzing?”

The woman passes him by without a second glance.

“Kim!” a voice calls out to him. “Get your ass over here!”

Seokjin turns to the sound of the voice and stops in his tracks when he sees the person calling out to him.

It’s Jackson Wang, all suited up for practice. But he’s not the Jackson Seokjin remembers, his tall looming figure from their middle school only growing more intimidating with the amount of Jackson has built over the years. The man chatters away on the phone angrily, gesturing for Seokjin to get in the car. What kind of world had he found himself in?

“I-, I don’t get in the car with strangers,” Seokjin says confidently, turning away from Jackson’s grabby hands. The man scoffs.

“Can you please just get in bro? We don’t have time for this, we’re gonna be late.”

“BAAABEEE?” Seokjin hears the voice from the apartment again, looking up to see the woman from the apartment calling down to him, now wearing a bra. She blows him kisses and giggles. He definitely did not want to be stuck with her.

His head feels like it’s gonna explode, caught between two horrifying situations. But right now even though it was Jackson, the dude in front of him seemed less weird, and so, he falls over into the seat of the car, the door slamming shut behind him.

During the car ride, Seokjin peers through the windows of the car, taking in the bright lights and busy streets of the city around him. He’s in awe. He never imagined being somewhere like this before.

“Dude, I know I’m your best friend, but you’re acting a little weird, even for me,” Jackson says next to him, and Seokjin straightens up, looking over at him. His best friend? Maybe he had all the answers to what was going on.

“We’re really best friends?” he asks, and the man snickers in response. “Something really weird is happening to me.”

“Oh god,” Jackson groans. “Did you finally get a girl pregnant?”

Seokjin feels his blood run cold. Pregnant? He hadn’t even kissed a girl yet, how could he get someone pregnant?

“NO!” Seokjin blurts out. “No, no, no, it’s even weirder! I slept in an apartment I’ve never seen before, and there was a naked girl in my bathroom and I almost saw her boobs!”

He finishes with an exhale, but the car comes to a screeching halt at the exact same time, the other man not even saying a word before he gets out.

“W-wait,” Seokjin runs after him. “Please don’t leave me here, just listen to me, I’m thirteen years old–”

“If you’re gonna start lying about your age, Kim, I’d make sure it was something legal at least,” Jackson smirks, walking ahead of him on the street.

“I know it sounds weird, but strange things are happening to me, like, like that!!”

The buzzing in Seokjin’s pocket starts again, and he freaks out, spinning in a circle as he tries to locate the source.

“Would you stop it?” Jackson pulls something out of Seokjin’s pocket. It’s a shiny, flat, metallic object that continues to buzz in his hands. “It’s probably just Coach.”

“C-coach? Who Coach? What Coach?” He feels like his head is about to explode.

The phone is held to Seokjin’s ear.

“HEY BAABEEE!” A voice drawls on the other end, and Seokjin screams, throwing the phone to his companion.

“Get her away from me!” he yelps.

“Okay, listen to me!” Jackson roars, stopping Seokjin in his tracks. “You need to calm down. We have a team meeting in ten minutes. I’m going to tell you what to do, you just need to repeat after me.”

“Ok,” Seokjin says, taking a deep breath.

“I am Kim Seokjin, star batsman for the Eagles. I am a tough bastard, and I’m gonna walk into the stadium and not let anyone know I’m hungover.”

“I’m–” Seokjin prepares to repeat the words, but stops when he hears the rest of them. “I AM?”

But Jackson is already gone, disappearing behind the double doors that lead to a stadium Seokjin never thought he’d find himself going into. The Eagles. His dream team.

Seokjin follows Jackson through the stadium, oohing and ahhing at all the different banners and pieces of sports memorabilia that are on display. This has to be the wildest field trip he’s ever been on.

The man next to him scoffs.

“It’s not like you come here every day,” he chuckles, sarcasm seeping into his voice.

“I DO?” Seokjin can’t believe his ears.

The two of them walk through, scores of people greeting Seokjin and wishing him a good morning. He doesn’t know any of them, their faces all unfamiliar. But they knew him. They knew him and they loved him. He was a star.

“There he is, our star batsman!!” a voice bellows, and Seokjin is attacked by a man throwing him into the biggest bear hug.

“Coach,” Jackson whispers.

“Coach!” Seokjin repeats with a squeak, feeling the wind get knocked out of him. “You’re my coach!”

“That’s right kiddo, who’s your daddy?” the man chortles, and Seokjin responds with eagerness.

“His name is Kim— ow!” He’s cut off by a sharp jab to his chest.

He follows the two men into the dugout, surprised to see a room full of men wearing Eagles jerseys. The team. This was the team. He was on their team!

Seokjin buzzes with excitement, waving hello to all the players with a bounce in his step. They all look at him with concern etched in their features, and the guy he came with urges him to sit down in a cubby. The shiny letters of “4 Kim” greet him, etched on the plaque that adorns the space, and a weird feeling of pride bubbles in his chest. He’d made it.

“Team,” Coach clears his throat, and a hush falls over the room, the commotion dying down. “We need to get it together. The Hawks have consistently outplayed us in every game of the season this year, and they’ve been using our own plays against us. We need to move fast, beat them at their own game, hit them when they least expect it, especially if we have any chance of making it to the playoffs this year! Don’t you agree, Kim?”

It takes a second for Seokjin to realize the man is referring to him, and he sits up straight, anxiety kicking in because he hadn’t prepared a response to his impassioned speech.

He raises his hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

The team erupts into laughter, howls echoing off the walls of the dugout, before Coach blows his whistle, silencing them all at once.

“Get out there on the field boys, we don’t have time to mess around,” and Seokjin rises up, ready to throw the ball around for a bit, happy for the familiarity of baseball to make him feel grounded when it seemed like everything about his life was upside down.

“Not you, Kim,” Coach holds out a hand to stop him. “You’re injured, remember? Your physical therapy with the doctor is in five minutes. Don’t be late.” And with a nod, he leaves.

Seokjin was even more confused. Injured? But he didn’t remember getting into an accident of any kind.

He hoped whoever this doctor was, they could help give him some answers.

The clacking of heels signals your arrival moments later, Seokjin lifting his head up to asses the new entry to the dugout. When his eyes fall on you, he sucks in a sharp breath.

Wow. You had to be the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, pencil skirt hugging your figure perfectly, hips tapering out to an ass that he knew Irene Bae couldn’t have accomplished no matter how much she stuffed her cheerleading uniform with toilet paper. His eyes travel upwards, falling on your chest, and immediately he blushes, reminded of the woman in the apartment this morning. Your boobs are covered by a silky top, the fabric doing nothing to hide their shape, and Seokjin gulps. They look way nicer than hers, anyway. He wants to rest his face on them like a pillow.

Maybe he should ask you out on a date first, though.

“Hi Jin!” your soft voice greets him happily, a dazzling smile taking over your features, and Seokjin feels his heart speed up. He hadn’t felt this dizzy since he saw a poster of Beyonce in a bikini when he was shopping at Target with his mom. “How are you doing today?”

“F-fine,” Seokjin stammers, unable to look you in the eyes when you take a seat next to him. He tries to find interest in the specks that line the floor, but your smell overwhelms him, the sweet floral scent attacking his nose. You looked nice, sounded nice, and you even smelled nice. Not to mention you were actually nice.

And he was supposed to be alone with you? For longer than five minutes? Seokjin thinks he’ll pass out if you get any closer to him.

“How’s the leg?” you ask him, leaning over until your face is right next to his. Seokjin forces himself to look away with a blush, grumbling about how it’s okay. He wasn’t sure whether his leg or his chest ached more right now with the way you were staring at him.

“Let me take a look!” you say cheerfully, dropping to your knees, and reaching out to grab his calf, and Seokjin thinks he might throw up with the way he can see down your shirt, the soft white lace of your bra doing things to his head. He’d never seen someone more beautiful in his life. And you were taking care of him.

The next twenty minutes are pure torture, Seokjin holding his breath as you poke and prod all over his leg, stretching it in and out with curious eyes. At some point, he feels his pants start to become tight and freaks when he looks down and sees the beginning of a boner in his sweats.

He coughs loudly, causing you to jump in surprise dropping his leg, and he immediately finds the nearest mitt and puts it on his lap to hide his unfortunate surprise guest. You smile up at him, rising to your feet.

“Your leg is doing great,” you tell him. “It should be all healed up soon, just in time for the playoffs. And then you won’t need to see me anymore.”

“Wait,” Seokjin chokes. He just met you! He needed you to stick around. Maybe you knew something about him, about what was going on. “What do you mean, ar-are you gonna leave?”

You cock your head curiously at him, and Seokjin shrinks into his seat at your intense gaze. Was he being weird around you?

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly. “I’ll always be here when you need me, Jin.”

Seokjin’s heart pounds at your words, and he shyly rubs at the back of his neck.

“Thanks! See you again—” he blanks when he realizes he doesn’t know who you are.

“___,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows up at him, turning to leave. “Seokjin? Next time you come to physical therapy, try not to be hungover, okay?”

He watches you leave with a dazed smile on his face. ___. Meeting you had been the highlight of his day so far. Despite how strange everything had been, he knew he couldn’t wait to see you again.

Seokjin catches the ball with an oomph!, shocked at how fast these players could throw. It’d only been a day since he found himself in this new body, and he’d stumbled home confused after his session with you yesterday, eventually caving and trying desperately to hail a taxi to take him back to the apartment. He sobbed in relief when he saw the strange woman was nowhere to be found, slumping against the door and finally allowing himself to breathe for the first time all day. Tears tracked down his face as he thought of how often he’d wished for this, the life he’d wanted so desperately finally finding him in the end.

Even now, as he tosses the ball back and forth, he’s unable to believe it. Him, the star batsman for the team he’d idolized growing up? He wanted to call his Eomma and tell her, but paused when he realized she probably already knew.

“Something on your mind?” Jackson says to him with a laugh, throwing a curveball, and Seokjin feels his palm burn from the force of catching it.

Seokjin surveys the man who was the last person he remembered before everything changed, and wonders how they ever became friends. He wants to ask, but something feels uneasy about it – like Jackson would judge him for it. He would probably think Seokjin was clinically insane if he even tried to bring up how he fell asleep thirteen and woke up thirty one day.

He wishes there was someone he could talk to, someone who got it, and that’s when he sees you waving from across the field. You’re dressed more casually today, in slacks and a soft-looking sweater, and yet you still manage to be absolutely stunning.

Seokjin feels guilty for staring at you so much like he’s a stupid thirteen-year-old with a crush on his teacher, but he also genuinely enjoyed spending time with you yesterday. Despite your annoyance at his “hangover”, you hadn’t taken it out on him with words as the others had; you went about the session as normal and treated him with kindness the entire time through.

Seokjin waves goodbye to Jackson, sprinting in your direction. He misses the way Jackson’s eyes follow his back, trained on the way you greet him with a smile, the two of you heading back into the dugout.

“Soooo, you’re a doctor?” Seokjin can’t help himself from asking, immediately feeling stupid when he realizes that he’s meant to have known you for a while. He couldn’t help it - you felt like the only real thing he could latch onto in this world, his mind running a thousand miles a minute as he processed all the new changes that had occurred.

“Yup! I studied sports medicine in college, then went to med school,” you answer politely, your tone giving no indication that you found him weird at all.

“That’s cool, you must be super smart, 7th grade bio is hard enough for me,” Jin laments, immediately realizing his mistake with a soft gasp. “Was. It was hard for me, you know, back in seventh grade.”

“Are you sure you’re okay Seokjin?” you look up at him, eyes filled with concern.

Tears prick at Seokjin’s eyes, the earnest tone of your voice giving him the push he needed to be honest. No, he was not okay. He wasn’t okay, and he needed someone to talk to, and he thinks that you, of all people, might be able to understand. After all, your entire job involved empathy.

“Something really weird is happening,” he confesses, watching you listen carefully to his words. “I don’t know what’s been going on, but the last thing I remember, I was sitting in my closet, and it’s like I’m in a weird dream. I feel like I skipped half my life – I can’t remember the person I used to be, or what my life was like at all. It’s like I don’t even recognize myself.”

“I think I need help,” he continues. “I need help remembering who I was before. You’ve known me for a little bit, right ___? Do you think you could help?”

Seokjin thought he was onto something, but his heart drops to his stomach when he looks up and he sees you, face pale and lip trembling like you’re about to cry.

“I–, I don’t know if I’m the best person to help you with that Seokjin, maybe you should ask Jackson,” you respond, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why?” he leans over to look into your eyes, shocked when they’re as misty as his own. “What happened, ___?”

Before he knows it, the vulnerable look in your eyes is gone, and you’re back to your normal, cheerful self.

“Hey,” you tell him. “Why don’t we pack it up for today? I’ll walk you back home to your apartment.”

“Okay,” Seokjin says, stomach still churning at the pained look you’d had moments before. “But can we get milkshakes?”

You smile at him, a look of fondness coming over you. You rise, beckoning him to follow you outside.

“I think we can manage that.”

The slurp of a straw interrupts your thoughts, and you look over to see Seokjin, eyes wide with delight as he drinks up the last of his milkshake, the whipped cream forming a mustache on his top lip.

You’re puzzled. The Seokjin you’d known before would have never agreed to hang out with you, let alone talk to you for an extended period of time. For as long as you’d known him, even in college, he’d been too arrogant for his own good, obsessed with letting everyone know the world revolved around him and him only. The man sitting in front of you is completely different, transformed in a way that didn’t even seem real.

The Seokjin that sat with you now seemed infinitely more unsure of himself, shy and hesitant in the way that only a child would be. You wonder what could have changed so suddenly. Coach hadn’t given you any reports about him undergoing head trauma in addition to his leg injury.

“Thank you for the milkshake,’’ Seokjin grins, wiping the cream off his lips, and you hate the way your heart skips a beat at that. You curse yourself for the moment of weakness, even after all this time.

“We went to college together,” you blurt out, not knowing why you chose to reveal this piece of information, given that he likely already knew it. “Me, you, and Jackson.”

Seokjin’s mouth gapes open, a shocked gasp escaping his open mouth.

“Really?” he says leaning in closer to you. “Were we friends?”

You furrow your brow in confusion. Had he really forgotten college? I mean it had been nearly a decade ago, and it wasn’t like life had drawn you back together until recently.

“Not really, you moved in a different crowd,” you chuckle. “Like not the nerdy, study in the library kind. More like the frat rager kind.”

“WHOAAAA,” Seokjin marvels in wonder, his voice filled with childlike glee. “That sounds awesome.”

“What if this isn’t just a dream? What if what I wished for actually happened?” he continues, softer this time, but you still pick up on it.

Reaching a hand towards him, you pull away at the last moment, unsure why you were acting so wildly out of character with him. It was like the energy between you two had completely changed.

“Well, you got everything you ever wanted, then, might as well enjoy it,” you smile at him, heart fluttering when he gives you a sincere smile back, his cheeks puffing out with happiness.

“I have to run,” you get up abruptly, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “But I’ll see you at the gala tonight?”

“What gala?” he asks, eyes looking up at your curiously. Your stomach turns in disbelief. Did he actually not remember? Maybe his schedule was so busy he’d forgotten.

“The charity gala that I organized for the team tonight,” you tell him. “The one to raise money for medical care for athletes who’ve suffered a career-ending injury?”

“Oh! I’ll be there,” Seokjin says confidently, beaming at you. You give him a weak smile back, knowing you have to leave before you did something stupid and made the same mistake twice.

“Arrivederci, ___!” he waves, turning to walk in the other direction before he disappears around the corner.

“Au revoir,” you whisper back softly.

Your life was completely different now, and there was no place for him in it.

Seokjin straightens his tie before stepping into his closet, perusing the many suit options he had. He wanted to pick his best outfit to impress you with tonight, but he was feeling overwhelmed with the size of the space, missing the days when his Eomma would drag him to Goodwill and they’d find the cheapest one that fit.

He settles on a navy blue one, throwing the jacket over his shoulders, and pushing his hair up off his face, before taking a step back to look at himself in the mirror.

Whoa. Seokjin still couldn’t get used to the way his body had changed, remembering the ugly duckling phase he’d been in the middle of before being transported here. He wonders if he was able to talk to a lot of girls now that he was more confident. Maybe he’d even had a past girlfriend that he didn’t know about. Maybe they’d even had sex.

Seokjin’s cheeks burn when he thinks about it, your face in the back of his mind. He imagines what it’d be like to kiss you, thinking about how soft your lips would feel. Why had the two of you never dated? Maybe because you worked together? Whatever it was, he hoped he could change your mind about it.

Stepping out of his apartment, he skips down the hallway to the elevator, giddy to be going to his first grown-up party. Well, not technically his first, but more like the first, he could remember. The elevator dings and Seokjin makes his way inside, a little boy his only other companion.

“Hi,” Seokjin says, but the boy just ignores him, looking at his phone.

“I’m Seokjin,” he says, extending a hand that catches the boy’s attention.

“Jungwoo,” the boy says, looking hesitant as he accepts the handshake. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Why not?” Seokjin says, feeling confused. “We’re neighbours, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungwoo responds despondently. “But you usually ignore me most of the time.”

The way he says it makes Seokjin feel horrible inside. He would never purposefully ignore someone like that, not after knowing what it felt like as a kid. He wonders what the 30-year-old version of him had been like to warrant such a reaction.

“How old are you, Jungwoo?”

“I’m thirteen,” Jungwoo responds, and all of a sudden, the elevator comes to a stop, signaling their arrival at the ground floor. Jungwoo walks out without another word, Seokjin running after him.

“Wait!” he says sharply, watching Jungwoo turn to look at him in shock. “You should come over and hang out sometime, we can watch some baseball together.”

“Really?” Jungwoo says hopefully.

“Yeah,” Seokjin smiles, patting him on the back. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later!”

And Seokjin runs out the door, excited not only to have made a new friend but at the fact that it felt like this strange life of his was finally clicking into place.

The room spins around you, and you can’t tell whether it’s because the arm around you feels too tight tonight or because the music is boring as heck. You want nothing more than to sit down, knowing all the attention would be on you in a matter of moments, and the thought made you sick.

What made you even more nauseous was your partner’s maroon tux. Maroon. To match your navy blue. When you’d asked why he hadn’t worn the same color, his only response was:

“Babe, this little thing isn’t that serious, right? It’s about the money.”

You excuse yourself, wanting to find some investors to talk to about how to contribute their generous wealth towards your aspiring fund, only to catch sight of Kim Seokjin in a corner, knocking back drinks with a giddy smile.

“____!” he waves you over happily when he sees you, taking your hand to pull you in close to him. “I can’t believe it’s 10:00 pm on a school night and I’m at a party, drinking pina coladas that aren’t virgin!”

Your jaw drops open when you see what he’s wearing. Navy blue - a smart-looking suit to match your gown perfectly, and you feel the back of your neck grow hot with thoughts you shouldn’t be having.

“Glad to see you’re doing better now,” you giggle, and his smirk turns lopsided with glee at your kind words, its unintended effect being to cause butterflies to bubble in your chest.

“I’d be even better if they turned off this boring music,” he slurs contentedly, taking another drink from the server. “Why don’t they play some throwback tunes in here?”

“I’m not sure that fits with the sophisticated vibes needed to gain a corporate sponsorship for my cause, I’m afraid.”

“I’d donate money to you,” he says softly, his warm eyes twinkling from the numerous fairy lights as they meet yours. “Heck, I’d give you my entire paycheck.”

Setting the glass down, all signs of his previous tipsiness disappear as he regards you with a serious stare. You watch his cheeks flush, his gaze dropping to the low neckline as he sharply inhales, bringing his eyes back up to your face.

“Wanna go for a spin?”

You’re mesmerized by him, transfixed as you take his hand, the two of you retreating into a private corner of the ballroom, right by the open-air balcony. The cool breeze creates shivers down your spine as Seokjin pulls you close, his warm breath fanning against your face, and despite your best efforts to look past him and out onto the city lights, you find you can’t take your eyes off him.

It all feels too short, barely a minute of you swaying in Seokjin’s arms before the beat changes abruptly, Usher blasting through the speakers. You feel achingly empty when Seokjin’s hand leaves yours, but the smile returns to your face when a moment later, he begins head-banging and gyrating goofily to the new song.

“Now this is more like it,” he hollers, and you can’t help but join him the two of you twisting and turning until you’re laughing, out of breath and delirious with joy.

The joy is cut short when another shadow looms over your meeting, pulling you into his arms.

“___, babe there you are! What are you and Kim doing hiding away in this corner?” Jackson pulls you into his side, and your stomach drops when you watch Seokjin’s eyes go wide with a mix of shock, and what you can only assume is pain.

“Sorry Kim, I know you get her for the PT during practice, but she’s mine for the PT after hours if you know what I mean,” Jackson grins, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Seokjin’s mouth remains agape, and you watch his eyes glimmer with realization as he pans to the thin band that adorns your left ring finger, finally noticing its presence for the first time.

A sharp squeal interrupts the tense moment between you, and you notice a woman in the tightest dress you’ve ever seen run over to Seokjin, nearly knocking him over as she wraps her arms around him. His entire body tenses up, and you want nothing more than to smooth over the hair that has fallen into his face.

“Baaabe, you’ve been ignoring me,” the woman whines, her nasal voice grating your ears. Of course. It’s Jennie Kim, model extraordinaire. Of course, she would be Seokjin’s date now – a match worthy of his striking looks and personality.

“Who are they?” she says vapidly, taking in you and Jackson’s entwined figures.

“I, uh, these are, this is ___, and Jackson, coworkers, and friends from college,” he stutters, trying to unravel himself from her death grip. “And this is, uh, uhm…’

“Jennie Kim!” Jackson immediately lets you go to take her hand, shaking it furiously. “So nice to meet you!”

“Babe, we should get going,” Jennie tugs on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Don’t you remember we kind of had other plans for the night?”

“W-we did?” Seokjin stammers, and you decide you need to walk away, lightly tugging Jackson’s arm to follow you across the ballroom. Of course, he’d go home with her - she was beautiful, successful, and perfect. And you were just you.

“___,” you hear Seokjin’s voice behind you, yet you don’t want to hear anything he has to say. Jackson has left your side once again, going back to talk animatedly to Jennie, and you’re alone together once again.

“Should I go home with her? Jennie? Is it a good idea?” he asks, and you turn, meeting his gaze, which seems so earnest, so genuinely filled with concern for what you thought. Or at least that’s what your overthinking mind told you, kicking back into gear after eight years of wiping all thoughts of Seokjin from your memory.

“Yeah, you should,” you tell him honestly, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. “She’s your girlfriend, after all.”

Seokjin yawns, Jungwoo’s animated voice yapping away in his ear as the two of them walk down to the lobby together. His night had gone later than he expected - too much of it spent lost in the city streets as he’d run out of Jennie’s apartment, not expecting her naked boobs to be in his face the moment they’d come in. Her hands had been all over him, ignoring his suggestions of quitting to watch a movie or maybe even play a game of Monopoly.

“Girls are sooo stupid,” Jungwoo sighs. “Why don’t the ones you like ever like you? Why do they give all these weird signals?”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin sighs, your face immediately coming to his mind, thinking about how you’d felt in his arms at the gala. Obviously, you’d looked beautiful, but underneath the dim lights, you shone in a way that he didn’t think was possible, one that made him feel very strange on the inside.

“Love is a battlefield, my friend,” Seokjin ruffles the kid’s hair before getting into his waiting taxi and waving goodbye. “Have fun with fractions! Remember, always divide by the number on the bottom!”

. . .

Coach was furious. The team was failing, their chances of making the playoffs dismal, and he made that clear with how he ripped into them with the speech.

“You better shape up now, or this franchise as we know it will be over!”

“Maybe that’s what we need,” Seokjin blurts out, watching the entire team turn to him. “Maybe we need to get our asses handed to us. Maybe we need to actually experience loss to realize how much is at stake. Because winning is great and all, but don’t we learn more from our failures?”

The locker room is abuzz with chatter, Coach clapping Seokjin on the back.

“I knew you wouldn’t let the hate get to you, kid,” he says, and Seokjin looks at him blankly, wondering what he could be referring to.

“ESPN?” Coach says. “That article they ran a few months ago about you being a slimy, unprofessional cheat just because you “injured” that player for the Cardinals? I knew it was all BS. I mean look at you, how could you hurt somebody when you’re injured yourself?”

Seokjin’s stomach sinks. He’d hurt another player? That was something he’d never dreamed of doing. He loved baseball, and everyone deserved to experience the joy of the sport, whether it was through winning or losing. That was what made a good player, not sabotaging others.

One by one, the players get ready for practice, Seokjin finally suiting up to go bat for the first time in a while. His sessions with you had tapered down as he recovered, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad. The more and more he thought about the life he’d always wanted, one as a star baseball player, the more awful it seemed. Being a grown-up wasn’t as fun as he thought - people were liars, cheaters, and just plain old mean. But you weren’t like that.

The bat slams against the ball with a satisfying crack, soaring out towards the far end of the field, and Seokjin prepares to run. But two voices behind him make him stop in his tracks.

“Can’t believe Coach is trusting Kim and his new weird-ass stunt,” Jackson seethes. “Like he’s really gonna help rebrand the team? All he cares about is himself.”

“Yup, the prick was the entire reason our last shortstop got traded,” Jaehyun, one of the left fielders, hisses. “Can’t believe Kim had an affair with the guy’s wife.”

Seokjin drops the bat with a clank, the entire team turning to look at him. But he doesn’t care, storming off into the dugout. Was this really who he was? A bully and a cheater? Being thirty no longer seemed like a dream, it was steadily turning into a nightmare.

Storming through the dugout, he finally finds the door to your office, sighing heavily as he raps against it.

You open it within seconds, shocked to see his dejected figure standing in front of you.

“Wanna go for a walk, ___?”

“I can’t believe you and Jackson are getting married,” Seokjin remarks as the two of you walk, bringing up the proverbial elephant he’d wanted to ask you about ever since the night of the gala.

“Only a couple of weeks now,” you respond, wrapping your arms around you to fight off the chill, and Seokjin wishes he’d brought a jacket to keep you warm.

“Are you guys soulmates?” he asks, genuinely curious to know the answer. ‘Do you get butterflies when you’re around him?”

He knows that his question is loaded, that underneath it hides the depth of the feelings he’s managed to keep concealed for all this time, but he asks anyway, knowing the answer may hurt him.

“Nahh, I don’t really believe in that anymore. The last time I was crazy like that for a guy was in college,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders.

“Why weren’t we ever friends back then?” he asks you again, feeling you come to a stop next to him, your heavy sigh permeating the tense air between you.

“Listen,” you tell him, and your voice sounds thick with what he thinks are tears, “Can we just please forget about it? It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Seokjin knows he may not have any reason to apologize but he still wants to anyway. It seemed like he’d left a trail of destruction behind him wherever you went.

“Seokjin, no, please, you don’t have to apologize,” you grab his hand and give him a weak smile, trying vainly to reassure him, but his rapidly racing thoughts get in the way.

“I want to though,” he says back, his own voice cracking. “I mean, do you even know the kind of person I am, ___? I don’t have friends, I just use people, I slept with a teammate's wife, and I never talk to my parents. I’m not a nice person. And the thing is, I’m not thirteen anymore. I need to stop living in the past.”

And with that, he lets you go, ignoring your cries of protest as he runs away, his mistakes following him until he gets home. Closing the door behind him, he slumps to the floor, sobbing while he dials his parents' number.

It was time for him to make things right.

Seokjin stares down at the facade of the house he’d grown up with, the chipped paint and wide windows instantly soothing his heart. The train ride over had been brutal, his empty eyes watching the scenery drift by aimlessly, ignoring the giggles of the group of teenagers that sat next to him.

He wished he could tell them to stay happy and young forever, to continue living without a care in the world. Being a grown-up wasn’t worth it. Instead of bringing him the happiness and the belonging he’d craved, it only made him feel more alone, more empty inside than he’d ever felt as an awkward teen.

Stepping onto the porch, he reaches under the doormat, relieved to see his parents left a spare key there. It was like they’d been waiting for him to come home this entire time.

As he walks through the door, a chilling realization sets in. The house was empty. His parents weren’t here, they were probably in Korea. And all at once, Seokjin’s hope for coming back came crashing down.

Stepping out of his shoes, he leaves them at the door, sprinting up the stairs to his room. The door creaks open, and Seokjin lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

The bed is gone, replaced with a treadmill. The walls had been repainted, the floors redone. The lone thing that remained of his was the desk in the corner, all his belongings still on it. It serves only to remind him that his parents had always waited for him to come home, but eventually, they too must have grown tired of him.

A sob escapes him, and he realized he’d disappeared completely from their lives, not even bothering to keep up with the only people who’d loved him unconditionally his entire life. All of a sudden he feels nauseous, his stomach turning as he realized the fate the threads of time had woven him - a life of loneliness. One where he spent so much time garnering attention, only to be a forgotten soul anyway.

He rushes into the basement, the garish yellow walls exactly as they’d been seventeen years ago, and locks himself in the utility closet. Tears stain his face as he hiccups, slamming his head back against the wall.

“I wish I was thirteen again, I wish I was thirteen again.” But his pleading words fail to work this time around.

He doesn’t know how long he remains crumpled up in the closet, but he doesn’t hear the front door open. He doesn’t hear his parents pad down the basement stairs, umbrellas in hand until the closet door opens, light seeps in, and he’s met with their concerned faces.

Seokjin leaps to his feet, throwing his arms around them.

“Eomma, Appa, I missed you. I missed you both so much.”

. . .

The rain patters against the window, and Seokjin turns over on the couch, watching it gently fall. After a bowl of his Eomma’s kimchi jjigae, he’d felt the most like himself he had in a long time, the two of them fretting over how thin he’d gotten.

But now, alone in the living room, Seokjin felt like an intruder again. His parents were more used to living without him than with him.

Suddenly, his throat feels dry, the number of tears he’d shed today leaving him parched. He gets up, padding over to the kitchen, keeping his footsteps soft so he doesn’t disturb his parents. Flicking the light on, he walks over to the fridge, opening it to get the water jug out.

“Seokjinnie?” his Eomma’s soft voice comes from behind him. “What are you doing awake at this time?”

Seokjin should have known better than to get up in the middle of the night. His Eomma’s sixth sense had always been knowing when her child needed something. Within five minutes, she’s boiling some frozen dumplings and chopping up vegetables to make him food.

He’s grateful for her attention, but his stomach churns with nausea. She may be the only other person he can talk to about this. Other than you.

“Eomma,” he interrupts her quiet concentration, and she looks over at him from the stove, her eyebrows etched with concern. “If you were given a chance, do you ever wish you could go back? Like to a different time?”

“I’d love to go back and take care of some of these wrinkles,” she chuckles, and Seokjin smiles along with her. Her face hasn’t changed at all since he was thirteen, still as youthful as ever.

“Yeah, but if you were given a do-over, let’s say, what would you change? Like if you made a big mistake,” Seokjin asks, wondering if having regrets was just part of growing older and whether there was still hope.

“Well, I don’t regret making any mistakes in my life, because if I hadn’t made them, I wouldn’t have known how to make them right,” she responds, a knowing twinkle in her eye when she sees Seokjin staring down at the food, failing to meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come home in a while,” he says, his voice heavy with regret. His Eomma reaches across the table, taking his hand in her smaller one, and squeezing it gently.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“This doesn’t make sense, I’m not even good at baseball,” you tell Seokjin. “Why do you want to practice with me?”

Seokjin looks at you, strolling through the park with him in a cosy-looking hoodie and jeans. While your outfit may not have been ideal for baseball practice, the way he looked at you still sent your heart aflutter, and you wondered what it’d be like to wear one of his oversized sweatshirts.

“That’s exactly the point, ____, I’ve gotten too comfortable practicing with the team. I know their every move, but we need to step it up for the playoffs. That’s why I need someone different. Someone who can keep me on my toes. Someone like you.”

You cover your face with your hands shyly, palms out towards him, and that’s when he decides to launch a curveball.

“OW!” you yelp. “Hey, I wasn’t ready for that!”

“Like I said,” Seokjin smirks. “I need you to keep me on my toes. Looks like you need me to do the same.”

The two of you toss around the ball for a while, your throws being much more unpredictable and much less powerful than Seokjin’s. Your ego inflated exponentially when you saw him miss a few, a smug expression on your face. When you look up at the sky, you realize it’s gotten dark, the sun beginning to set behind the trees.

“Hahaha, looks like the team might need a replacement pitcher soon,” you taunt him.

“In your dreams, ___, stick to helping people instead,” he laughs, immediately running towards you with a devious grin.

You squeal, running away from him, the two of you chasing each other through the park, your laughter echoing through the trees the entire way.

Eventually, your legs tire, and you slow down, hiding behind a tree out of his sight. It’s all for nothing when you hear his footsteps thud on the running path behind you, his arms coming to wrap around you, sending the two of you toppling into the grass.

“Ahhh, shit, that hurt more than it should have,” you groan, shifting onto your back. “We’re getting old.”

When you look up at him, your heart stops. Your heavy breathing slows as you look up at him, the stars from the night sky reflected in his eyes when he stares down at you, something hidden in their depths that makes your chest come alive with excitement.

“Wanna know a secret, ____?” he laughs, stroking your wrist gently with his thumb, and you look over to see your hands intertwined. You hadn’t even noticed you were holding his.

“You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever known.”

Seokjin’s plush lips descend towards yours, your breaths mingling for a brief moment before panic sets in, and you turn the other way, his kiss ending up on your cheek instead. You feel dizzy with emotion, immediately regretting the decision, knowing all you wanted to know was if his lips felt as soft as they looked. You’d been fooling yourself for so long, thinking your feelings for him had gone away.

You sit up, silence heavy in between you both, but you don’t leave, instead wrapping your arms around him and leaning onto his shoulder. He sighs contentedly, nuzzling against you, and the two of you remain there, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance.

“Ew, what do you mean you guys didn’t kiss properly,” Jungwoo looks at Seokjin from across his bed, five other pairs of young, curious eyes looking over at him. “Did she have cooties or something?”

“Stop it!” Soobin punches Jungwoo in the shoulder, earning a glare from the other boy. “You’re ruining the romance. Are you gonna ask her out, Jin?”

The baseball game in the background remains forgotten as the boys erupt with chatter, arguing amongst themselves about how to ask out a girl.

“I don’t know, guys,” Seokjin says dejectedly, wondering if the reason you’d only let him kiss you on the cheek was because you were engaged to Jackson. “It’s complicated with like, grownup stuff.”

“At least you have someone who likes you,” Felix groans. “Girls don’t exactly want to jump your bones when you’re a metal mouth.”

Seokjin jumps up at that, shushing Felix for even saying such a ludicrous thing.

“None of that, okay! We are young, and we are thriving. Love may be a battlefield, but we’re the Earth’s finest soldiers. So let’s get out there, yeah?”

. . .

It’s finally here. The game that will make or break the Eagles’ season. And it’s also Seokjin’s first game back. The locker room is abuzz with tension and anxiousness, the players tripping around each other as they get ready.

In his cubby, Seokjin sits, and thinks. This was the moment he’d waited his entire life for. To be a star player, and to win a championship. Yet, in the grand scheme of things that had occurred, it was just another thing he had to do. He no longer faced the same anxiety he had during the day of the tryouts, wondering if he was good enough. He knew now that he was. That all of them were.

“Kim!” Coach slaps him across the back. “Speech please!”

Seokjin rises up and looks at his fellow men and teammates. He feels silly, giving a speech to them when he’s probably the lamest out of all of them, with thirteen-year-olds for friends and a hopeless crush on a girl. But then he remembers the words of that kid in the bathroom right before everything had changed. Hobi.

And he’d rather be original than cool anyway.

“I think,” he begins. “Over the course of the season, we’ve all forgotten that we have a reason for this. Baseball is our sport, and it’s our career, yeah, but there’s more to us than that. We have families, friends, and people we love and care about. We’re doing this for them just as much as we’re doing it for us. Because when we go out there on that field, and we put the love we feel for ourselves, and for everyone around us, into the sport that we play, we’ll be at our best. We need to remember what used to be good, and harness that.”

The whole dugout is silent for a few terrifying moments before there’s a clap from the back of the room. It’s joined by another one until the whole room is thundering in applause, and Coach is hugging Seokjin with tears in his eyes.

“Looks like that time off did you real good, kid.”

. . .

Seokjin is the last one to leave after the victory, of course. He strips off his shirt, hitting the showers until all the sweat has dripped off his body, and now he pulls his workout gear over his head. The sound of a voice clearing behind him interrupts him, and he turns in surprise, seeing Jackson in the middle of the dugout.

“Hey,” Seokjin says. “Aren’t you supposed to go home? Isn’t ___ waiting for you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kim,” Jackson replies, ice in his tone. “I know your entire little stunt, and I’m here to tell you it’s not gonna work this time.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin feels his heart race at Jackson’s seething accusation.

“The moment this week ends, I’ll be married to ___, and I’m gonna ask Coach to trade me. You can’t have her this time, Kim. Do you think you can just bat your eyelashes and giggle and you’ll win the team over and get the girl? Nuh-uh. You’re still just a lame excuse of a person.”

Seokjin wants to protest, but he remains frozen, Jackson’s words causing his entire world to come crashing down around him. His lip begins to tremble, and when the first tear falls, he hears Jackson scoff, turning on his heels to leave.

“You never stood a chance, Kim. Deep down, you’re still just that scared, uncool thirteen-year-old. Nothing’s changed, and nothing ever will.”

The week before the playoffs passes in agony, Seokjin knowing that Jackson knew about his feelings for you, and the fact that he’d be traded, and you’d go with him. He spends all his time in his apartment, talking with Jungwoo about what to do, he and the younger boy go through many pints of ice cream.

In the end, he calls the one he knows he needs to hear from the most.

“Eomma?” he asks over the phone. It feels good to tell her everything finally. She’d squealed in delight when he told her about you, telling him that Jackson was just being a quote, “butthurt dipshit.” “What should I do?”

“Oh Seokjinnie, only you know that. Just stay true to yourself, and all the answers will come your way, my boy.”

When he hangs up the phone, a notification pings on it, and he gasps at the headline.

“Jackson Wang traded from Eagles.”

In all his misery, he’d forgotten what day it was. He was almost out of time.

. . .

The Internet was truly capable of modern miracles in this day and age, Jungwoo working his magic to help Seokjin find out the location of your wedding venue. Seokjin doesn’t even change out of his ratty sweats, throwing on his coat and running as fast as he can down the city streets, his phone overheating at how many times he ignored the maps function and changed direction.

Eventually, he comes to a stop outside the swanky hotel, strolling through the revolving doors and stumbling into the lobby. The finely dressed guests pay him no notice, and he manages to steal a bouquet of flowers, covering his face as he runs up the stairs two at a time, until he eventually finds your room number.

He knocks on the door, relieved to find it’s open, and that you’re alone. It must almost be time. You don’t notice him come in, too busy fixing your veil. A soft gasp escapes when you see him behind you in the mirror, disheveled and dripping with sweat, and you turn.

Seokjin thinks his heart might explode at how beautiful you look, your dress hugging every part of your body perfectly. But it’s more than that. Everything about you is radiant, glowing from the inside out. It’s like you’re the sun, and he’s the moon, your bright light complimenting his dim glow perfectly.

“Hey,” he manages to breathe out.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice heavy with disbelief that he’s actually here.

“____, I know I’m not the greatest person, but I’m trying to be better,” he reaches for you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and your hand comes up to join his, eyes glimmering with tears. “And I’d like to think if you also believed that about me, maybe you wouldn’t be marrying Jackson right now. That maybe things could be different.”

You whimper, trying hard to hold back the tears, and Seokjin doesn’t want you to ruin your makeup, so he wipes them for you.

“I can’t lie to myself anymore,” you tell him. “I felt things for you over these past few weeks that I haven’t felt for eight years. But I’ve also realized over the past few days that you can’t just turn back time.”

“Why not?” Seokjin asks earnestly. He wants to believe, has to believe that there might be a way for it to work.

“Because you made your choice, eight years ago in college, when I told you I liked you,” you respond, barely a whisper. “And you rejected me. I moved on and so did you. We’ve been going down different paths for so long, making different choices. And I chose Jackson.”

Seokjin feels dizzy, like the floor is about to collapse from underneath him. You’d liked him back then. And he’d been too caught up in his delusions to be honest with himself, to give you the chance that you deserved. And now it was too late. He knew growing up was about making mistakes, and learning how to deal with them, but somehow this mistake hurt more than anything he could have imagined.

“Don’t cry,” you say sadly, seeing his eyes fill with tears, mirroring your own.

“I’ll be fine,” he says with a weak smile, backing away. “I promise. I’m crying because I’m happy. I want you to be so, so happy.”

You reach around your neck, fumbling with the clasp of your necklace until it finally comes undone, putting it in his palm gently.

He looks down and chokes on a sob. It’s a tiny gold baseball glove. He’d never noticed it before. You close his palm around it, and he takes a step back, finding himself underneath the door.

“I love you, ___.”

He has to say it before he goes, he has to let you know how he feels.

“I love you too, Seokjin. I always have.”

And with that, he leaves.

. . . .

Seokjin stumbles down the steps of the hotel, hyperventilating as he finds himself back on the street, the tiny gold necklace still clutched in the palm of his hand.

He stumbles down the busy road, bumping into strangers, but not caring. All he could think about was the fact that you loved him back, and yet life was still so unfair. Seokjin felt stupid for even dreaming of this in the first place, realizing that dreams were nothing but a delusion. Things never turned out the way you wanted them to, the black and white of them always complicated by different shades of grey.

He finds an empty bench and sits down, clutching his knees to his chest like a child. Running his thumb over the delicate gold charm, he closes his eyes, wishing that none of this had ever happened to him, that he had just stayed thirteen this entire time.

He knew it was all for nothing, but that didn’t stop him from hoping one last time.

Seokjin jolts awake with a gasp, air burning his lungs and light hurting his eyes as the door to the locker is thrown open. His vision is blurry for a few seconds before it adjusts, and he looks up at his rescuer.

It’s a young girl, with a concerned look on her face.

“I heard you screaming, I live right next to the field. Are you okay?” she asks, and something about her seems familiar, but Seokjin can’t quite put his nose on it.

Looking down, he sees the dusty baseball mitt crushed in the palm of his hand, and running his tongue across his teeth, feels the metal of his braces, and his heart swells with joy. It worked! He was thirteen again. And now, he could finally start over.

“I’ll be fine,” he smiles at her, putting his glasses on. They rest crooked on the tip of his nose, but he doesn’t care. “Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem!” the girl reaches her hand out for him to shake. “I’m ___, by the way. I just moved here.”

Seokjin feels his heart stop, looking into your eyes, finding them to be the same ones he’d said goodbye to moments ago. Was this really true? Was the universe giving him another chance?

Taking his hand in hers, he shakes it, beaming down at her. “Nice to meet you, ___, I’m Jin. D-do, do you maybe want to go grab a milkshake and hang out?”

Your dazzling smile hasn’t changed at all, as you nod your head and laugh, the two of you walking out of the dugout and into the warm afternoon sun.

“I think we’re gonna be best friends, Jin.”

Epilogue

Seokjin pants, breath coming out in gasps as he carries the heavy box up the porch steps. He slams it onto the ground with a thud, putting his hands on his knees and letting out a loud groan, the muscles of his back aching. When he looks down, his mouth parts in surprise, the box’s tape having split open, revealing the myriad of photo frames that would soon decorate your new home.

From just a brief glance, Seokjin can already see a few pictures that make his heart swell, a dazed smile on his face. There was the one of you two at prom, when he’d almost confessed after seeing how stunning you looked in your dress but chickened out at the last minute. There was another from your college graduation, the two of you with bright eyes and wide smiles, ready to take on the future together. Another one from a date night at a game where he remembers the two of you getting caught on the jumbotron and making out in front of the crowd. His halmeoni blushed when she saw the video on tv the next day. On top of them all, though, sits Seokjin’s most prized possession: the framed photo of your wedding, Seokjin in a navy blue suit, and you in your dress, surrounded by your friends and family.

Growing up, Seokjin had a lot of dreams. A lot of them revolved around being cool, becoming someone worthy of your love. It was strange, but he’d fallen for you instantly the moment you’d rescued him from the locker, but it had taken years of your friendship for him to make a move. He’d always been so scared that his nerdy thirteen year old self would follow him through the years, and that he’d remain someone you never saw as a life partner. But he was wrong. Because you’d fallen for him too, spending years hiding your feelings in the same silly way. The day he married you was the day he’d realized all his dreams had finally come true.

Your soft footsteps come up behind him on the porch, and he turns to see you looking at him with a curious smile on your face. The sun shines behind you, bathing your face in its soft rays, and Seokjin can’t resist, lifting you up as you squeal, kicking your feet and the two of you stumble over the threshold together.

“That was a lot more romantic in my head,” he chuckles, offering you a hand up.

“Jinnie,” you poke his cheek. “Who’s gonna get the boxes from outside now, huh?”

Taking your hand in his, he pulls you further inside with him, wanting to cherish these precious moments with you. The boxes could wait a little longer. For now, he was excited to begin the rest of your life together.

“God, it’s fucking freezing,” you chatter your teeth, feeling Jin pull the blanket tighter around your shivering bodies on the floor. “Why did the heater have to break right before we moved in?”

His warm figure pulls you closer into him until your bodies are smushed together, limbs entangled in a mess.

“Nothing wrong with a little body heat,” he whispers, and even though you can’t see his face, you know he’s smirking.

You turn towards him, ignoring his soft ow! when you punch him in the chest, before burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your eyelids flutter, heavy from the fatigue of moving in all day, but the draft in the house causes you to shiver again in Seokjin’s arms. Looking up at your husband, you find his deep brown eyes focused on yours, his warm, gentle breath fanning against your face.

Seokjin’s fingers reach up to slowly brush a stray hair from your cheek, and despite the cold, you feel your body flush with warmth, bumping your nose against his accidentally before your lips meet Seokjin’s pillowy ones.

You’ve done this a thousand times, but every time feels like the first, Seokjin’s tongue tracing the seam of your lips before he bites at them, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“Touch me,” you whisper against his mouth, and you feel Seokjin’s grip on your waist get tighter, his hands running up and down your sides until you’re shivering, but not from the cold.

He guides your hips over his, his right hand pushing you down against him until his hungry lips meet yours once again before they drop to mouth at your neck, sucking deep purple bruises into the flesh there, and you bite back a moan.

Seokjin detaches himself from your neck, eyes dark with arousal as he looks at the splotches and faint sheen of saliva on your neck, and you feel a wave of longing rush down towards your core, grabbing his hand that rests on your back and moving it underneath your shirt, cupping your breast in his hands before he squeezes.

From there, the two of you are frantic, fumbling with buttons and kicking your limbs until your clothes fly off, and you giggle at Seokjin’s pyjamas in the corner, the cartoon characters on them resembling miniature versions of your husband. Your laughter is cut off by a sharp groan when Seokjin’s teeth graze your collarbone, biting down lightly.

“You’re perfect,” he rasps, laving at the mark with his tongue. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

His fingers trace up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples, and you whine, grinding down into his lap. You feel him harden underneath you, and you roll your hips on top of him again, nails scratching down the broad planes of his back.

Seokjin flips you around, caging your body underneath him, his knee pushing up right where you need him, his tongue flattening against your stiff nipple, sucking and teasing the bud until it’s red and aching.

“Need you inside,” you bed him, your hips bucking against his knee while his hand slips between your legs, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

You feel the pressure in your stomach build, your movements stuttering against Seokjin’s fingers. It’s amazing, but it’s not enough, it’s never enough. You need to feel him.

“Look at me,” Seokjin whispers before he pushes himself inside of you, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel so unbelievably full, like you’re going to explode, body scorched with heat and nerves tingling in excitement.

He starts off slow, gently rocking into you, silently asking you if this is okay. His gentleness makes your heart feel like it’s going to explode, the moonlight shining on his skin and bathing him in the softest glow. You feel lucky that he’s yours forever.

You meet his thrusts with circles of your own hips, your back arching up off the blanket as you moan for him to go faster.

“This okay, babe?” His thrusts speed up, snapping into yours, and you’re unable to do anything but slur yes, your voice ringing in your own ears, your moans mingling with his soft groans as the two of you move in tandem, lost in the feeling of each other.

You grip his shoulders tightly, a string of curses exploding from your lips as the pleasure washes over you, your vision going white.

“Come for me ___,” Seokjin’s deep growl has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart underneath him. You whine in oversensitivity when he continues moving inside of you, squeezing his hand until he collapses on top of you, his warm cum spilling into your wet heat.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, burying his face into your neck. “My back is gonna be so sore when we wake up.”

“Can you believe we’re here?” you ask him, looking into his eyes. “Married, with our own house? We’re so old now.”

You mean it as a joke, but Seokjin presses a kiss to your forehead, his sweaty arms wrapping you up in a tight hug.

“There’s no one I’d rather grow old with,” he smiles, before his expression turns mischievous. “Now, since we can’t sleep anyway, what do you say to getting some milkshakes, Mrs. Kim?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mr. Kim.”

A/N pt 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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persphonesorchid · 1 year

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Cupid’s On Holiday - KSJ

Summary: You don't get it, you're a damn catch. Anyone would be lucky to have you. You're smart, you're tidy, hell you'd give up your own kidney to a homeless guy if he needed it that bad. So what the issue? Failed relationships, blind date after blind date, and now your friend's competitive archery teammate is telling you he's Cupid here to help you find your one true love. You're not that desperate. He could take those golden arrows and shove 'em.

Genres: Angel!Au | Fluff, angst, smut, slight enemies to lovers, humor.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, protected sex), Oc's a bit of a downer but hey! Aren't we all sometimes! If I missed anything, let me know!

Rating: Mature (Minors, please, go away.)

Word count: 17k

Masterlist

Notes: A little late, but I made it before Saturday! I really really hope you guys enjoy this!! My contribution to @raplinesmoon , @kithtaehyung and @joheunsaram 's Catch Of The Century Collab! It's been a bit of a struggle to write, so show it some love! Also, you won't understand what I mean yet, but emotions are valid and you should feel them. Thank you to THE LOMFL @xpeachesncream for beta'ing for me, Nikki I love you so so much! Thank you for being there when I screamed about this fic when lightening struck and hyping me up always. Ly babie ❤️❤️❤️

Don't forget to leave feedback guys!! I'll love to hear your thoughts ( or crazy emotional rambles) Enjoy!!

Serendipity was in full swing; music blasting so loud you can feel it in your chest. Fellow club goers crowding the dance floor in a wild flurry of limbs and ill-timed dancing. You can barely keep up with the conversation Yoongi and Jungkook are having, you’re not even sure how they’re hearing each other over the music.

Clubs typically aren’t your thing, not one for the deafening music or the people who never knew when they had too much to drink. Tonight, though, you made an exception, meeting a friend of a friend for a date you were excited to be on. You thank your lucky stars you had the foresight to grovel at Yoongi’s feet to come with you, lord knows you’d be making your grand escape through the club’s back door by now.

“I mean, it’s not that hard, right?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Dude. Grow up.”

You chuckle into your whiskey as Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving his hand to direct your attention back to him and not on the way Jungkook was snickering. The flashy strobe lights waving mindlessly in the club catch on the silver of Yoongi’s bracelet and he rights his leaning frame, propping an arm on the table between you both.

“All I’m saying is...” He thinks hard for a moment, tilting his head to squint at the ceiling. You could tell he’s gone above his limit tonight; the rosiness of his cheeks visible in the odd flashes of light. “Man up. When he gets back, tell him he’s an ass and we can go home.”

“You know she’d rather die.” Jungkook mutters, draining the end of his beer, adding the empty bottle to the rest that was steadily growing the longer you all sat there. “Too nice.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Yoongi says, brows furrowed as though he’s just heard the most distressing news in his life, “I’ll do it for you. I swear if I have to sit here and listen to that guy ramble on about himself any more I’ll actually walk out into the street and stand there.”

“I don’t find you funny.” You deadpan, kicking your foot against his shin. He only whines, reaching for your bottle of water instead of brandishing his silver tongue at you.

Yoongi takes a long drink, eyes scanning the crowd, “He’s taking a long time to get back from the bathroom.”

Jungkook lifts himself partly out of his seat – having more vantage with his height – and looks around too. “Fou-oh...”

“What?” You perk up, following Jungkook’s gaze, but you’re suddenly blocked by Yoongi, who you didn’t even see get up. He shifts every time you’d move to look around him. You open your mouth to protest, but Yoongi’s hands land firmly on your shoulders.

“How about we just go? It’s late.” The furrow of his brow and the clench of his jaw tells a lot; he’s seen something you’d be better off not seeing at all and you simply agree. You take the hand that he offers, sliding out of the booth and Jungkook follows with a frown.

When you all get outside, Yoongi throws an arm over your shoulder, and you’re grateful for his warmth as the late night air nipped at your skin. You sigh, watching mist dance on your exhale, ducking your head a little to look at your feet. It’s quiet between you three, and you realize belatedly that you should’ve asked Hoseok to come too. He’s always good at distracting you.

Of course, you should have expected it to go this way. Another failed date that’s left you feeling worse than before, you think you’d might as well give up now, resign yourself to growing old and having fifty cats to keep you company. It’s been this way for a while, your last actual relationship being exactly three years and six months ago -- not that you’re counting or anything.

You stayed out of the dating scene for a while, focusing on yourself and being happy and content with who you are first before anything. Because that’s important, you can’t love someone else without loving yourself first. It was a good run anyway, until you became lonely and Yoongi’s dry humor and good cooking no longer sustained you.

You loved him, truly, but you missed the level of intimacy he couldn’t provide you with. Even though you loved when he made a big deal about cuddling and holding your hand – and frankly would rather shoot himself in the foot than say he liked that shit. You’re honestly considering making a pact with him to get married in the next ten years or something. You feel like that’s the only way to get out of whatever curse you’re under.

You don’t know if it’s you, or what. You’ve tried meeting new people, friends of friend’s, strangers from dating apps. Your dating life is quickly going down the drain.

“Hey, get out of there.” Yoongi taps his fingers against your temple, looking a little more sober now, even though his cheeks remain pink from the cold. He frowns at you, pulling you a little bit closer to his side, “Don’t think about it, okay?”

You can’t help it though, it’ll do no good in the long run, you know that. You’ve been feeling all sorts of low, and really you shouldn’t. You don’t need someone next to you to feel complete, to make you feel like the world’s finally spinning on the right axis. You just hate that you feel like you do; everyone around you seems to be happy and with someone and you’re here feeling like the hottest dumpster fire. You want to have rose tinted glasses to wear, too.

You wanted someone to hold hands with that wasn’t Yoongi or Jungkook...or Hoseok whenever he wasn’t working at the bar and using you as his wing-woman. You wanted someone to tell you you’re pretty and not mean it in a totally-best-friend way.

You sigh, long and drawn out, shoulders sagging as you watch the pavement pass by under your feet. The cracks in the gray stone representing the cracks in your love life that’s slowly drifting away like the ashes of the universe post Infinity Snap. Oh, you wished Thanos was actually here to snap you out of existence. You can deal with floating away into nothingness than dealing with the loneliness that’s beginning to cling to the edges of your form.

“How about we stop at the convenience store?” Jungkook suggests, linking his arm with yours, he looks down at you with a soft smile you couldn’t see. “Ramen on me?”

You can’t say no when you look up and catch his smile, dimples and all, and the three of you walk a little faster.

“Damn, everything’s just going up these days.” Yoongi grumbles, reading the label of a vitamin gummy bottle with a frown. You hum, reading your own set of labels listlessly a few feet away.

You’d long lost Jungkook somewhere in the depths of the large convenience store. He’d run off to find something and it’s been five minutes of you and Yoongi walking around and complaining about prices.

Yoongi puts the vitamins back on the shelf, twisting the container until the brand label faces him. You see him glance at you in your peripheral, see him walk a little closer until he stops at your side, “Doing okay?”

You think about it for a fraction of a second and shrug, throwing Yoongi a careless ‘Ok' sign, “Yeah, A-OK.”

You really just want to go home, watch a movie and forget tonight. Maybe you can convince Yoongi to watch that movie with you, and you both can share laughs over more beers and the pistachio flavored ice-cream that Yoongi hates.

The man himself doesn’t look convinced, and it shows in the raise of his eyebrow and the way he studies you. He’s always said you’re like an open book to him and he knows how to read the lines well – as much as you hate that – you appreciate that he says nothing of it.

You know it will come up later, not now while it’s still fresh, but when you least expect it. Yoongi purses his lips at you, shaking his head before tugging you along behind him as he walks on.

“Guys!” Jungkook's call comes from behind you both, and you and Yoongi turn to his approach, and the company he had with him.

The guy trailing behind Jungkook, for the sake of your mind that grinded to a halt at the sight of him, is beautiful. You don’t think you’ve called a man beautiful before, but there’s no other word that you can use. This man with his dark hair, eyes of the deepest brown, perfect plush pink lips and the widest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen.

You stand a little stunned, just staring at him until Yoongi nudges your arm and you realize that Jungkook is speaking. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you, briefly, but you know he’s itching to grill you and you’ll never live it down.

“Guys, this is Seokjin.” Jungkook smiles, waving a hand at his friend, “He’s on the archery team.”

Seokjin bows his head in greeting, “Hello.”

“Jungkook talks about you a lot. It’s nice to put a face to the name.” Yoongi says as you struggle to come up with anything that won’t give away how nervous you suddenly felt.

“This is Yoongi, and Y/n.”

Yoongi nudges your side again and you smile, “Nice to meet you.”

There’s a twitch in his eyebrow as his eyes focus on yours, and for a moment it feels as though he’s looking right through you. He’s looking at you, but his eyes are so intense you feel like you’re under a microscope, or having one of those weird naked dreams and nothing to cover your shame.

It seemed like the moment stretched on for ages, and you’re stuck in a void being watched by someone you can’t see.

Seokjin's lips pull into a smile and when he blinks, you do too. There’s something strange about the air in between the space you occupied, something unfamiliar but at the same time not completely unknown. You’re not quite sure how to feel about it and you’re not sure if the shiver going down your spine was from the AC.

When he looks away from you to look at Jungkook, you lean over to take the basket from Jungkook’s lax fingers – it was filled with way more things than you’d all come in for - announcing that you’re going to check out.

You and Yoongi leave them both talking, walking back to the front of the convenience store where the cashiers were. You’re wondering about what that could’ve been, teeth picking at the skin of your bottom lip, brows furrowed in thought.

“You sure you’re good, right? You seemed a bit gone back there.” Yoongi asks, unloading the contents of Jungkook’s basket onto the counter, shaking his head as he picks up a packet of mint gum and places it with the things.. “Well, actually, you looked stupid – and I don’t mean that in the way it sounds. You just kinda...blanked. Like the second you saw him you went outta your head.”

“Huh...” You look back to where Jungkook and Seokjin are still talking, still feeling watched even though he wasn’t looking. “Kinda felt like it.”

When you finally left the convenience store, a light drizzle had started. Your apartment complex isn’t far, less than five minutes from where you are.

Seokjin had parted from your small group, getting into a fancy black car parked at the curb after bidding you all goodnight.

The walk was quiet until you’d all gotten home, with Jungkook waving a little frantically at his door a good way down the hall. Yoongi made no move to get into his apartment next to yours, watching you fumble with your keys.

“Not going in?” you mumble, looking over your shoulder to catch him waving his phone at you.

“Nah, I’m gonna meet Hobi.” He says, “Need me to stay with you?”

You shake your head. Sometimes you felt as though you treated Yoongi like your therapist, he’s always there to listen when you need to vent, always being the shoulder to cry on. Always a listening ear without complaint.

“I’m okay Yoongi. Promise.” You smile, lifting the plastic bag that Jungkook had so graciously provided you with. “I’m gonna eat my woes away.”

Yoongi sighs, “You know you can’t say you’re okay and then follow with that.”

He steps over to you and hugs you a little awkwardly, patting your back. You appreciate his effort to sacrifice his comfort, even as you laugh a bit. “Text me if you need anything and I’ll come back.”

Relaxing in his hold, you sigh, “D’You think it’s just me? I mea-”

“-No.” Yoongi cuts in, rubbing small, comforting circles against your back, “Men are dicks. It ain’t you, trust me.”

He leans away, hooking his pinkie into the handle of the bag and shakes it a bit, “Eat and get some sleep, okay? Don’t go thinking too much.”

You wait until he’s down the hall and out of your sight to head inside. Kicking your shoes off, you flick on the lights and drag your feet to your small kitchen. You dig through the bag in search of your ramen, finding the chocolate popsicles Jungkook bought you.

Maybe you should talk to Yoongi about that marriage plan of yours. Just so that you’d have something to fall back on, so that later down the road when you’re sixty you’d have grandkids running around and not a few cats instead.

There’s a loud banging on your door that jolts you out of your sleep the next morning. The blackout curtains you’d bought a couple weeks ago were working, you have no idea what time it is. You also have no idea when you’d gotten to bed either, you remember eating the ramen and one of the popsicles.

You remember hearing Yoongi come home, the opening and closing of his door and the clink of his keys against the little bowl with the cat on it that you gave him.

You don’t remember much else, you certainly don’t remember crawling into bed or changing your clothes for that matter.

You groan as the pounding continues, rattling into the empty hallways of your sleepy mind and knocking on every door. Rolling over you pull your pillow with you, covering your head and willing the noise to end. Squinting at the little blue clock on your nightstand and the numbers that squint back, you lay there wondering who’d be knocking on your door this early on a Saturday.

“Police! Open up! I’ve got a warrant.” Jungkook’s muffled, disembodied voice filters through your apartment and you sigh, kicking at your covers because you know if you don’t get up he’ll stand there and ring your phone until you pick up.

Grumbling to yourself, you drag your feet to your front door and open it. Jungkook’s standing there with one hand raised, looking ready to knock again and too bright eyed for the hour. His other hand balances a coffee holder with four cups and a large brown bag.

“Don’t you have practice to get to? It’s seven am.” you step aside to let him in, covering your yawn with a hand.

“Good morning to you, too.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, wiggling the brown bag at you – the brown bag that’s doing a great job of concealing its contents. “I brought breakfast.”

You’re moving to close the door when a hand stops the motion and Hoseok’s poking his head into your entrance hallway.

His eyes are bright, even though he’s not a morning person, and his smile is brighter when he sees you, as it always is. He pushes the door open as you step back to allow it, coming in to wrap his lanky arms around you. “Heard your night sucked ass.”

His fingers tangle in the mess that is your bed head, but he doesn’t let go of you even as he tries to free them. He rubs circles into your back, and sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” You laugh into his sweatshirt, the old one he kept from college even though it’s fraying at the edges and the blue isn’t as blue anymore. The one you threw up on the night Yoongi lost you in a crowd of college freshmen and you didn’t know your ass from your elbow.

“Someone has to, you know?”

Yoongi’s the last to come through your open doorway, shutting the door behind him, looking like he’d barely slept, dark hair sticking up at odd angles.

He frowns at you both, “Guys, c’mon. You’re blocking the way.” He pushes lightly at Hoseok’s back, making him walk forward still clinging to you.

“You’re gonna make me trip!” You laugh, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. When you’re free of Hoseok’s cuddling, you trail after Yoongi and into the kitchen where Jungkook’s pulling carefully wrapped bagels out of the bag.

“What’s the catch, Jeon?” You ask, knowing that he should be on his way to practice right now. Not that you don’t trust the guy, it’s just that normally if Jungkook has practice, you won’t see him until it’s over and he’s back in the building.

“Can’t I just be nice and bring my best friend breakfast from her favorite cafe?”

“There’s always a catch.” Yoongi says as he plops down into a chair at your small kitchen table and Jungkook makes an offended sound at the back of his throat. Yoongi shrugs, pulling a coffee free from the holder and passes it to you.

“What do you need this time?” Taking the coffee from Yoongi, you take the seat next to him and Jungkook gives you one of the bagels.

“Can you drive me to practice today?”

Hoseok ruffles your hair as he passes, leaning around Jungkook to grab a coffee and a bagel for himself while Jungkook neatly folds the brown bag. “I’d take him but I gotta be at the studio in an hour...”

You hum waving a hand, “No worries.”

It’s ten am by the time you return back to your apartment. You’d stopped at the grocery store to pick up things you needed and had no choice but to lug all the bags up at once.

You would’ve liked to make trips, which you would usually do going up and down the elevator and getting weird looks from old Mrs Bailey two floors down. The elevator was once again getting serviced and you curse the stupid machine to the high heavens.

You take one step at a time, the weight of the bags digging uncomfortably into your fingers. You’re sure they’re red by now and you groan thinking about the way they’ll cramp up when you put the bags down.

“Need help?”

You almost drop your bags, body jerking in place as you stop to look behind you.

Seokjin is standing a few steps down on the platform between the flights, and you find it just a bit strange that you hadn’t heard him; footsteps echo in the stairwell. You don’t think much of it though; Yoongi walks like a cat and you can never tell when he’s behind you either.

You look down at the bags in your hands, giving Seokjin a light smile. “Yes please.”

He jogs up the remaining stairs to meet you, and you envy the bounce of his dark hair that falls perfectly back into place. He’s dressed more casually today, with a loose white tee-shirt tucked into black jeans. He gently takes the bags from one hand and reaches for the other.

“Oh, I’ve got these.” You chuckle the sound awkward to your own ears and you want the floor to open up and swallow you. Seokjin thankfully says nothing of it, though.

“Which floor are you on?”

“The one above us.”

“Oh really?” Seokjin smiles at you and waves his free hand, “Howdy neighbor.”

You blink at him, a little confused, “Huh?”

“I moved in this morning!” He’s already walking up and you step quickly to follow. “you know the apartment just before the staircase?”

“That’s great! It’s been empty for years. Hobi thinks it’s haunted because he says he keeps hearing noises.”

Seokjin laughs at that, the sound bouncing off the walls of the stairwell. His laugh’s kind of squeaky and it makes you laugh, too.

You both share a light conversation going up the last staircase, and it isn’t as awkward as you thought it’d be. It’s certainly better than last night when you tripped over your tongue just to say hi back.

Seokjin’s presence is oddly calming. Despite being a stranger, it feels as though you’ve been friends for a while. He’s telling you about how he’s planning on decorating his apartment while walking to yours, and asking your opinion on paint colors.

“White always makes a room look bigger. Could be too plain though, if you’re not into that.” You say, fishing your keys from the pocket of your jeans. He places the bags at your feet when you asked him to, “Thank you,”

“No problem,” He gives a smile, a small one that puffs up his cheeks. “Well...I better get going...lots to do.”

“Of course! Bye then.”

“If I don’t see you around, I’ll see you square.” With a very serious expression, Seokjin shoots you some finger-guns before walking away, laughing at his own joke.

You shake your head, chuckling to yourself as you unlock your door.

You throw yourself on Yoongi’s couch, which by the way, was way bigger than yours and way more comfortable.

You groan into the throw pillow, smacking your hand against the cushions. “Yoongi. You traitor. Who’s hand am I supposed to hold now?”

“Hobi’s always available for hand holding.” Yoongi mumbles, barely paying you mind as he gets ready to go out on a date. A Date! How dare he.

“His hand doesn’t get sweaty like yours does!” You turn your head, pressing your cheek against the pillow, “This is absolute betrayal. I’ll never ever forgive you.”

“Quit being dramatic.” Yoongi sighs, fastening the clip of a silver chain around his neck. You pout at him from your spot. “It’s only the first date. If it falls through you’re welcome to hold my hand for the rest of our lives.”

Yoongi doesn’t date often, you honestly can’t remember the last time he even mentioned having one to begin with. You kinda feel bad about your whining, only because you feel bad that everyone’s suddenly finding significant others while you suffer.

“I’m joking.” You say, sitting up, “You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi smiles, all cute and gummy. “Now get out, I’m leaving.” He helps you up off the couch, grabbing his keys from the coffee table.

“You’re so rude!” You trail after him anyway, following him out his apartment. As he locks his door you poke his side, “What’s her name anyway?”

“Justine.” He glances at you, “Jungkook didn’t tell you? She’s on his archery team.”

“You met her through that rascal?” You scoff, crossing your arms, “You guys never tell me anything. When did you even have time to meet them?”

“Hey, I do other things when I’m not hanging out with you.” He walks you to your door, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything. “I’ll call you if I need to make a run for it.”

“Just go!” You push at his arm, waving goodbye, “Let me know how it goes!”

Yoongi’s in the elevator when he finally waves back, and you stay standing there long after the metal doors shut. Staring at your door, you sigh, you’re happy for him, really. Everyone else shouldn’t suffer with you.

“Hello.”

You startle, a frightened screech leaving you as you turn. The person behind you yells, too, backing away from you with wide eyes.

You press a hand to your chest and take a deep breath, “Dude. My heart almost fell out of my ass. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

“Why’d you scream like that? You scared me!” Seokjin presses his back against the wall behind him, a hand against his chest also.

He relaxes, hands dropping at his sides, and you do the same, laughing a bit at the situation.

“Did you need something?” You ask, watching as he steps closer.

“Actually.” He puts a finger up, “I came to make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”

“Huh?”

Seokjin straightens his form, smiling again, “I can help you.”

You blink, looking off to the side before your eyes settle on him again, “....help me with?”

Seokjin looks a little confused now, brows furrowing and he puts his hands behind his back and chuckles. “Your problem.”

When you stare at him blankly he sighs, “I can help you find the one you’re destined for.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No. I’m not drunk. I’m being serious!” He says, shaking his head, “Why do I always have to do this? I hate this part.”

He’s talking to himself now, and you’re trying to slot your key into your lock without him noticing. Maybe he is drunk, or maybe he’s one of those salespeople who try to talk you into buying shady things.

He suddenly looks at you and you freeze, giving a slow, awkward smile. “Um. Whatever it is... I’m okay. You should go lie down or something.”

“I’m not drunk.” Seokjin repeats, “Your friend went out on a date right? I saw him on the way up.”

That’s weird. Yoongi only left a few minutes ago, if Seokjin took the stairs there’s no way he would’ve seen him.

“I can help you with that. Getting a date, I mean.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Not me, no.” He seems to think for a moment, “I’m actually the only person that can help you. I’m a Cupid. And it’s my job to steer you in the right direction so you can find that person.”

You laugh and he frowns, but what else are you supposed to do? He looks completely serious, and you wave a hand at him.

“Okay.” You say even though you don’t believe him, giving him a thumbs up, “That’s nice. I’m gonna go...and you can go lay down, okay?”

You turn quickly, opening your door and slipping inside. You leave him standing there, shutting the door behind you.

“...oh-kay...”

“I’m so tired.” You press your forehead against the cool wooden table. This isn’t really the way you’d like to spend your Monday afternoon, sitting in a café trying to finish up an article due next week.

The café you frequented is a bit crowded today, some either coming in to get their fix of hot drinks to battle the autumn chill outside, or either just taking in the scenery. There really isn’t much to take in, the cafe is a small hole in the wall on a street corner, with wet roads and people passing by outside.

There’s a park across the street that looks better in the spring, empty now that it’s getting colder and winter’s on the cusp.

You raise your head to stare at your half completed article. Cursor blinking mockingly against the white backdrop of the open word document. At least it’s due by next Friday, you have time to wallow in the writer’s block that’s been plaguing you for days now.

You stare out the window and sigh, watching the people and the cars pass by, watching the light rain that’s been doing nothing but falling all morning. You thought that getting out of your apartment would’ve been better, a change of scenery to help you finish your work. Now that you’re sitting in this crowded café, it’s difficult to concentrate, you don’t know how the college kids do it.

You’re quite bored by yourself, usually, your friend from work, Brinny would be with you. If you’re not working, you could at least pass the time with some gossip or some sort of stimulating conversation. Brinny had to be at the office today, and honestly didn’t have time to meet with you, so you’re stuck struggling alone.

“Y/n?”

You turn your head at the call of your name, the barista behind the counter is waving you over. “Your coffee’s ready.”

Getting up, you hobble over, reaching the counter to take your coffee. The barista smiles at you, closed lipped with dimples you want to sink your fingers into.

Namjoon was new, and you’re glad to see he’s getting the hang of things. You’ve seen the guy spill more coffee beans than he grinds and he’s burned himself so many times that you’ve been permanently worried.

You’ve also seen him staring, always when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ve had a few conversations with him on days when the cafe isn’t so busy, he’d always have some quote from a writer you’ve never heard of or he’d talk to you about art. He’s nice.

He’s cute. Even as he fumbles now to let you know that he put an extra shot of espresso in your coffee because you look tired.

You thank him with a sweet smile before going back to your seat, hoping to remember to leave him a tip.

You sit, squinting at the time displayed on the clock widget of your laptop screen, glancing over at Namjoon again who’s busy behind the counter. Maybe you should take matters into your own hands and just ask him out. Might lead somewhere, hell, you might even have a great time.

“I mean...”

Your head whips around to the person who’s suddenly sitting opposite you. Seokjin looks fashionable in a black coat over a white turtleneck sweater as he pulls a burgundy scarf from around his neck. He’s looking at Namjoon too, squinting at the man. “He’s nice and all but it won’t work out, trust me.”

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, still a little shocked because you didn’t see him approach, you didn’t even hear the chair move. He’s just there.

Seokjin chuckles deeply, the sound a far cry from his high laugh. He turns to look at you, “Me? No. I was just passing by and saw you. Thought I should say hi.”

“Hi. You can go now.”

“Wow.” Seokjin presses a hand to his chest, faux hurt morphing his features, “You wound me.”

“Seriously. Why are you here? Because it kinda looks like you’re stalking me.” You lean back into your chair, crossing your arms.

Seokjin tilts his head at you, expression serious as he simply stares. His eyes are intense, like the night you met him and you know that the shiver that runs through you isn’t from the cold; the café is warm.

“I’m honestly trying to help you.” He says after a while, expression unchanging.

“Right. ‘Cause you’re Cupid?”

“A Cupid. We are many.” He corrects you, putting a finger up. “Trust me, asking Namjoon out is gonna do more harm than it’s worth. Some things are just meant to happen in passing.”

You sigh harshly through your nose, closing down your laptop to stare at him without it in the way. “Listen.”

“You had a really great opportunity to say “Lend me your ear!”. I find that wording more effective in catching my attention, but I digress; speak away.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath as his laugh fills the silence between you. Funny, just Saturday morning you were thinking he was kind of cute with his stupid jokes and his finger-guns and his stupid laugh. Now he’s getting on your nerves and he’s beginning to give you the creeps with how persistent he is about this Cupid thing.

It's always the pretty ones.

“Okay, look.” You raise a hand because you can see he’s about to open his stupid mouth to say something even more stupid. He gives you his full attention, leaning in a bit like he’s waiting to hear the secret to DaVinci’s code. “Do you...perhaps have a psychiatrist I can call for you? Or a guardian?”

His expectant expression drops, he looks agitated now and you’ll take that as a small victory. “I’m not craz....” Trailing off, he slumps back into his seat, “I give up. Why do I always get stuck with the stubborn ones? I’m just trying to do my job.”

He’s talking to himself again, loud enough for you to hear him. He waves a hand at you, looking out the window petulantly, “Do as you wish. Ask him out. I’ll be swinging by to say ‘I told you so’ when it crashes and burns.”

“You know. You definitely can’t be Cupid with that attitude.”

“A Cupid. It’s not just me.” He huffs, sucking his teeth, “Why am I even still here talking to you?”

“I could ask you the same thing, really.”

Seokjin side eyes you, slowly turning his head in a way that you decided at that moment was quite unnatural. There’s something weird about the motion, he’s weird, and that’s all there is to it. He’s no Cupid, and honestly kind of curious about what made him think he was.

“Go for it then.” He waves a hand in Namjoon’s direction, “Don’t let me stop you.”

You feel petty, but you also feel the indescribable need to prove him wrong, so you get up, chair scraping against the floor. “Fine. Watch me.”

Seokjin gives you an unimpressed look, sighing as though you’re the one making his life difficult.

You march your way over to the counter, now that the rush died down, Namjoon’s just sitting idly in a corner, phone in hand. He looks up at your approach, smiling sweetly.

“Hey, need something?” He asks, getting up from the chair he occupied to meet you at the counter.

“Um..” Abort. Abort! Namjoon is looking at you patiently, waiting as you wipe your suddenly sweaty hands on your jeans. You take a breath, “Are you free on Friday?”

“Huh? Y-yeah. I could be?” He looks just as nervous as you do, another small victory; you’re not alone! “Why?”

“I was thinking that maybe we can get a drink? If you’re okay with it?”

“Oh! Yeah. I’d like that, yeah. Let me just... I’ll write my number down for you.” Smiling, he goes around to the other end of the counter, looking for a paper to write on before giving up and grabbing a napkin.

You turn, ready to rub your pettiness into Seokjin’s face but he’s gone. And so is your coffee.

“Dude I mean...are you sure?” Yoongi looks skeptical, raising a dark brow at you as he wipes down a table. He settles chairs into their rightful spots, stuffing napkins into the fancy napkin holders. “Last week you were literally ready to cry over a failed date and you asked a guy out?”

“I was not.” You say, “Water on a duck’s back my friend. This guy’s actually nice, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t go off with some other chick halfway through our date.”

“Well, I thought that you’d just give it a bit of time before going again.” He pauses to look at you, halfway across the empty bar, folding the cloth he was using. “I know you want what everyone else seems to be getting – I’ve noticed it too, lots of couples running around like it’s valentines or something. But I think you should just wait it out.”

“Yoongi.” You whine his name, laying your head against your arm. “I’m not getting any younger.”

“I know.” Yoongi smiles at the offended sound you make, “Everything happens on its own time, sweetheart. Just gotta be patient. Wait a little.”

“But what if I just wait forever?” You mumble, picking at the skin around your fingernails.

“I didn’t say it for you to get sad, you know.” Yoongi walks over to you, he smiles gently, “If you wait forever then I’ll meet you at the end. You can hold my hand while we wait together..” He offers his hand to you, wiggling his fingers.

You give a watery laugh, taking his hand with a sniffle, “That was so corny.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

When seven pm rolls around you’re sitting at the bar, sipping on a rum coke that Yoongi gave you to calm your nerves.

The bar’s a little quiet, but you know that it’ll get rowdier as the hours go on. Yoongi’s sitting opposite you, picking at his nails in his boredom.

“I hope tonight doesn’t get busy. Hobi couldn’t come out cause he has some dance things to finalize...”

“It’s Friday, though...” You point to the door with a tilt of your head as a group walks in. Looking fresh out of the office in their business suits and briefcases. Yoongi sighs, hopping off his stool to go greet them.

You spot Namjoon coming through the door next, pulling headphones out his ears and smiling when he sees you. He reaches you in a few long strides, sitting next to you with a soft greeting.

You catch Yoongi’s double take, and the raise of his eyebrows but think nothing of it.

In the hour that goes by, the bar picks up and Yoongi has company behind the counter. Namjoon has you giggling and blushing every time he looks at you, you’d like to think this is going well.

You do the normal routine, getting to know each other, trading jokes. He’s easy to talk to and you like that.

He and Yoongi go way back – Or so he’s told you. You didn’t know this, but when does Yoongi actually tell you anything? – and they make easy conversation while he works. You’re not getting the looks Yoongi keeps trying to send you, though. You’re usually in tune with each other’s signals, but Yoongi’s been sending up smoke all night, because what does he even mean?

“You guys need anything?” Yoongi comes over for the third time, nodding at your empty glass.

“I’m good, thanks.” You wave him away, why’d he keep interrupting?

Yoongi sighs, moving away to help Jimin bring out more glasses from the back room.

“This was nice. I don’t get out much...” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “I uh...wanted to ask you something...”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Namjoon looks a little nervous, playing with his fingers. “You know, last week when you came to the cafe? It was Wednesday, I think... You came with someone... Brunette about yay high?”

You know who he’s talking about before he actually asks. You sip on your rum coke just so you’d have something to do, watching as Namjoon gives a height estimate with a hand.

“You mean Brinny? Yeah...she works with me.”

You don’t blame him, Brinny’s a darling, an absolute angel. You feel like a complete clown, though. Maybe you’re cursed, or maybe you’ve pissed off some wrathful god in your past life.

You didn’t mean to visibly deflate, really you didn’t , but honestly, you’re tired. You feel like you’re stuck in an endless loop of ‘yeah, this isn’t gonna work out.’.

Namjoon pauses, eyes widening, “Oh God. This wasn’t a date was it?”

Ah, ignorance is bliss indeed. He looks genuinely worried, a crinkle between his brows as they furrow. Eyes round and a hand reaching out hesitantly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch you even if he seeks to comfort you.

“What?” You snort, smacking his arm playfully. It’s the only way you can ease out of it so you don’t burst into tears in front of him. “No way! You’re a cool guy. I can totally put in a good word for you. Brinny’s nice.”

If Namjoon isn’t convinced - and you’re pretty damn sure he isn’t – he doesn’t show it. He nods slowly, smiling a little – a lot – awkwardly at you before throwing back the whiskey in his glass.

“Hey, slow down a bit, yeah?” Yoongi covers the top of your glass with a hand, frowning at you. You stare at his hand, at the rings that glint in the soft lighting of the bar with a pout. He quickly pulls it to him when you reach for it and instead passes you a bottle of water. “Drink this, sober up.”

“D’wanna.” You slur, leaning forward to press your forehead against the cool bar top. Yoongi taps your arm, and you make a disgruntled sound at the back of your throat raising your head with some effort. You prop your chin in your palm and blink slowly at him. “I wanna not exist right now. I’m so embarrassed!”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Yoongi scoffs, twisting the cap off the bottled water, he presses it firmly to your hand. The bar eventually died down, unusual for a Friday but you’re thankful. A whole lot less people to witness your downward spiral into self pity with the help of Yoongi’s fancy drinks. “I swear I thought you knew. I was trying to tell you.”

“What am I supposed to do with your blank ass stare, Min Yoongi?”

“Just drink the water.”

Yoongi leaves you be, walking away to greet someone that waved him over. You stare at the bottle with a frown before picking it up and downing nearly half. “Cupid must be on a holiday or something.”

“I wish.” Seokjin plops himself onto the barstool next to you, and you groan, because he’s the last person you want to see. You hadn’t seen him all week since you asked Namjoon out for drinks, you were just starting to get comfortable. “I could be somewhere nice and sunny right now. Instead I’m stuck looking after you.”

“How are you literally appearing out of nowhere?” You ask, a little sober now, enough to question the way he just randomly popped in.

“I’ve been trying to tell you, but all you do is call me names and hurt my feelings.” Seokjin rolls his eyes, “Enough about me though, I want to hear about your date.” He gives a cocky smile and you really want to punch it right off his pretty face.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You grumble, and Seokjin chuckles.

“I told you so.” He says, shrugging, “You wouldn’t listen.”

“That was a coincidence.” Your throat burns.

“Or was it?” Seokjin nudges your shoulder with his, “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are you so annoying?” You fire back and he purses his lips, raising a perfect brow at you. “I really think you’re stalking me. How’d you know I’d be here?”

“I was just passing by.”

“Right.” You huff, rolling your eyes before leaning forward, “I’m gonna be alone forever.”

“Well, if you’d let me actually do my job you won’t have to worry about that.”

Something hot is burning behind your eyes, throat tightening. You’re once again asking if you’re doing something wrong. You don’t get it, you’re a damn catch! Anyone would be lucky to have you.

You sniffle, swirling the water around in the bottle as tears blurs your vision.

“Please don’t cry.” Seokjin says, but it’s not at all comforting. It comes out in a ‘Are you serious?’ kind of way that only makes you want to cry even more, so you hop off the stool, shooting Yoongi a text on your way out of the bar.

You’re quite aware of Seokjin trailing behind you like he’s got nowhere else to be. Your phone vibrates somewhere in the depths of your bag but you ignore it, promising that you’ll just let Yoongi know when you get home.

“Can you stop following me?” You stop, turning around to face Seokjin.

“We live in the same apartment building!” He points in the direction you’re walking, rolling his eyes, “Is it a crime to go home now?”

“Well can you at least not walk so damn close to me? You’re giving me the creeps.” Turning on your heel you continue walking, and thankfully, Seokjin doesn’t follow until you’re at least five steps ahead.

“My offer still stands, you know!” There’s no reason for him to shout, but he’s doing it anyway. “This’ll keep happening if you don’t accept it!”

You stop walking again, bowing your head to stare at the concrete below your feet. His footsteps slow and stop too, waiting.

“If...If I say yes. Would you leave me the hell alone?” You sigh, looking over your shoulder at him. He’s standing a few steps behind, hands in the pockets of his coat.

“No, but I can leave you alone for the rest of the night if you want.”

You tilt your head back, looking up at the overcast sky. Hoping for it to open up and give you the answer to all your problems. Honestly, what do you have to lose? Best that could happen is that he actually leaves you alone after this and you can go back to figuring it out on your own. Even though you’d already tried that and well...yeah.

“Fine.” You mutter softly, and Seokjin jogs over to you quicker than you can make sense of his movements. “I accept your stupid offer.”

“Finally.” Seokjin smiles, prettily, the glow of the street lamp looks like a halo above his head and for a second, you really believe that he’s an angel. He sticks out a hand, “You have to shake on it.”

“Are you serious?” You deadpan, staring at his hand as though it offended you.

“Yes.” There’s mirth in his eyes and you think he’s pulling your leg, but you shake his hand anyway. “Great! I’ll see you in the morning then.”

You look down at your hand as he walks away, grimacing, “You’re so weird.”

When you look up, Seokjin is gone and you’re standing on the sidewalk completely alone.

True to his word, you didn’t see Seokjin for the rest of the night. You’d gotten home, stared at his closed door for a while, having half a mind to knock and ask exactly what you’d gotten yourself into.

You thought that, yes, finally, he’ll leave you alone for good. That today when you had woken up bright and early, you’d be able to get some work done, maybe even clean up the apartment a bit.

You couldn’t be happier to work from home, even though it offers more distractions than you're able to deal with, it’s better to write from the comfort of your own home.

Though, Monday you had to be in the office to discuss some things with your team manager. You know that he’s going to ask about how your article is coming along, so you want enough of it finished by then.

You’re sipping on your coffee, content to watch the world wake up from behind your window, and there’s someone knocking at your door.

Sighing you place your cup on the coffee table, taking your sweet time to walk even as the knocks get insistent. You’re expecting Jungkook at the other side, or Yoongi coming over to give you a piece of his mind for bailing on him last night.

It’s just Seokjin, though. Standing there in black track pants and a white sweater, dark blue recurve bow in hand.

“Isn’t that dangerous to walk around with?”

“Not unless you’re my target.” Seokjin smiles, “Get ready, you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t think so, I have a lot of things to do today.”

“You really don’t.” He taps your forehead with a finger, but you’re not quite sure what he means by that. “Please hurry. I don’t want to be late.”

He races back down the hall, stopping to knock on Jungkook’s door before heading to his own apartment.

“Tell me again why I needed to drive you two?” You grumble, car slowing to a stop in the parking lot of Straight Arrow Archery Center. Jungkook gets out with a quick thanks, jogging through the parking lot.

“So I can start today, the quicker I get this done, the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.” Seokjin takes his time getting his things from the backseat, “C’mon.”

He waits until you're out of the car, rocking back on his heels before he marches across the parking lot. You’re following with quicker steps, trying to keep up with his longer strides.

The local archery range was owned by their coach, and they practice indoors when they’re not in the back field during the colder months. A big looming building, with large windows and chipping paint. You’ve only been inside a couple of times, once when Jungkook’s team was going against a team from the city over.

The heat’s blasting in the building, and you rub your hands together to help them warm up faster. Seokjin leads you through the front entrance of the building, where they have different types of bows mounted on the walls. There’s a board behind the counter, pinned full of photos of past teams and flyers about the center and archery safety.

The back room where the range actually is, some of the archers are taking practice shots or sitting against the back wall getting ready. You see Jungkook securing his quiver to his waist, joking with some of his teammates.

“Are you any good?” You ask Seokjin just to taunt and he purses his lips at you, leading you over to one of the many benches scattered around the range.

You sit and watch him set his bow up, attaching the stabilizers, sight and clicker to the front of the bow. He slips the chest guard over his head, sliding his arm through the loop, when he’s securing the arm guard against his forearm he finally answers you.

“I can shoot an apple off your head blindfolded.” He winks, “If you get hungry or anything, there’s a vending machine outside.” With that he jogs off at the call of the coach, the rest of the team following behind.

“Alright you guys, we all know that winter’s coming up, so we have a couple of weeks left to train up for the last competition. After that, we have some time off before the regionals in February.” The coach says, clapping her hands, “So! During these last weeks, I’ll be picking six of you for the competition!”

You watch on, genuinely interested in what’s being said. Jungkook had mentioned regionals a few times, talking about his excitement and nerves. The coach goes on a moment more about what she expects from her team and a few changes for meeting dates.

“Alright, let’s do our best today!” She says, waving them off, “Teams of three please. Seokjin, you’re up first.”

You perk up more, eyes following Seokjin’s movements as he stands behind a marker taped to the ground. He pulls an arrow from the quiver at his hip, the fletching and nock a shimmering gold that catches the overhead lights. He nocks the arrow, pulling the string back to his cheek and aims.

When he releases, you barely see the arrow cut through the air, you only hear the sharp whistle and the dull thump of it hitting the target dead center. The team claps and you’re not far enough to miss their mutterings as Seokjin walks forward to retrieve his arrow.

“He’s so cool!”

Half an hour later, you’re scrolling through your phone, finally answering the million and one texts Yoongi sent you last night.

Seokjin’s skill with the bow honestly surprised you, the way he’d nock and fire off arrows with inhuman precision was actually terrifying. It almost had you believing his little tirade, just almost, you’d yet to be convinced by his claims of being Cupid.

Part of you does believe him, though, as much as you’d hate to even think it. There’s just something strange about him. The way he’d seemingly appear from nowhere, disappear without a sound and – you truly believe that it was a coincidence – the way he knew that pursuing Namjoon would not be in your favor. There’s honesty in his eyes when he speaks of it, either you’re easy to be swayed or he honest to God believes he’s Cupid.

A Cupid, your mind berates and you scowl, shaking your head.

“I didn’t think you’d stick around.” Jungkook sits on the bench next to you, digging around his duffle bag, “I can take the bus back you know?”

“I know, I’m actually waiting for Mr Sharpshooter over there.” You wave your hand in a vague direction, not too certain where Seokjin was standing.

Jungkook nudges your shoulder, “I see how it is.” He wiggles his eyebrows, “I’m definitely taking the bus home.”

“Now why would you say that?” You raise a brow, pocketing your phone, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”

“Sure it isn’t.” He over exaggeratedly winks, quieting to unwrap a sandwich and take a bite. “He’s pretty cool, though. I approve. He’ll have a hard time with Yoongi though...” He says through his mouthful, brows creased - a little angrily - as he chews.

“There’s nothing to approve!” You push his shoulder while he laughs, almost choking on his sandwich. “Kook. Can I ask you something?”

“Hm, yeah. What’s it?”

“Have you actually ever spoken about Seokjin before?” You think about how strange it is, Yoongi mentioned that Jungkook’s spoken of Seokjin before. Now that you’ve asked the question, you realise that you’ve never once heard of him. Most of the time if you’re not by yourself, you’re with the guys, and they aren’t usually by themselves either. Though, it could be nothing, could have been a conversation you weren’t privy to, just something you missed.

Jungkook rarely talks about his practices, unless something big happens, like the regionals announcement or when he wouldn’t let you, Yoongi or Hoseok forget that he fired the winning arrow during the summer semi’s even though you were all there to witness it. Seokjin’s never once come up, you don’t think.

You don’t remember seeing Seokjin in the times you’ve visited the Range or at any of the competitions, though, he seems to be well acquainted with everyone, and no one thinks it’s strange.

Jungkook stops mid bite, brows furrowing out of confusion now – and not because he really likes his sandwich – he nods, slowly.

“Yeah? I think so...” He doesn’t sound as though he believes his own words, “Yup, yeah. Definitely did.” He nods more surely, “....I think?”

“Are you sure? Because...”

“Bad mouthing me? I’ve only been gone thirty minutes, that’s rude.”

You look up to find Seokjin watching you with a raised brow. He unclips the belt at his waist to remove the quiver before he sits down, squinting at you. “What?”

“Nothing...it’s nothing...” You quickly look back to your phone, replying to Yoongi’s recent text.

“I’m gonna get something to drink from the vending machine, want anything?” Jungkook asks, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and dusting his hands, you shake your head and he shrugs, “I’ll bring you back whatever, then.”

With that he leaves, lengthy hair bouncing with his steps as he makes his way out. You could feel Seokjin’s eyes on you and you slowly turn your head to face him, he’s indeed staring at you, in a way that makes you want to squirm and be as far away from him as possible.

“You have questions.” It’s a statement, because he knows.

“A few.” You nod, studying his features. He looks absolutely normal, nothing awry about him in visage. Leaning closer to him you ask softly for the sake of not being overheard. “Are you really a Cupid?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, watching you with thinly veiled suspicion, “What brought this on?”

“I’m just really curious.”

Seokjin hums, “I already told you, I am. I was extremely clear. Why? Change of heart? Or are you just trying to appease me by going along with it?”

There’s a hint of bite in his words, and you suddenly remember him saying that he gives up in the cafe, and realize, if he is indeed what he claims, you’re truly making his job harder. He’s like a venomous snake, poised and ready to strike if you misstep.

For a moment, you think it’s best to never get on his bad side if the slight irritation that darkens his eyes makes you feel cornered.

“I was just wondering.” You say, “It’s just strange how you just suddenly- I don’t think Jungkook knows you as well as he thinks. Yoongi definitely doesn’t know you either.”

“Ah.” He sighs, tilting his head curiously, “What I think is strange is that you noticed that.”

“You know... you’re kind of creepy. I think, sometimes it feels as though you’re normal but then it feels odd, like you’re an anomaly.”

“I’ll try not to be. But that’s just your senses telling you what you don’t want to believe.” Seokjin raises a hand to tap your forehead lightly with a finger.

You frown, “I’m not spiritual.”

“You don’t have to be.” He shrugs, “In terms for you to understand, I walk on a higher frequency than you do. Our energies are completely different, and it doesn’t matter if you are consciously aware of it or not, you’re going to realize that.”

“Okay.” You nod, trying to absorb the words that tumbled out of his mouth even though he basically dumbed it down for you. You’re still not certain if you believe what he says or if your mind is protecting you so that you just take it and run. “Why are you helping me?”

It feels silly to ask, but you’d like to think you’re not so deep and lost within the fog of your non-existent love life that a Cupid would take pity on you enough to step in.

“I hate seeing people struggle. It’s just so sad. You humans are like lambs without a shepherd; wandering aimlessly.” He sighs as though he’s in pain, before a smile breaks and his squeaky laugh follows, “I’m joking...partly.”

You roll your eyes, “No really, I want to know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Seokjin shakes his head, mirth lights his eyes still. Though you just stare at him, waiting, and he sighs, “I’m not supposed to tell you, but I suppose I already crossed a million lines telling you I’m a Cupid.”

He taps a finger against his chin, “I’m trying to get a promotion, it’s extremely important that we get this settled.”

“...what?” You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Are you joking?”

“I do find myself hilarious, but no.”

“I thought angels wouldn’t lie.”

Seokjin gasps as though you’d offended him, and judging by the look on his face you probably had. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Just then. I’m supposed to believe that angels have what? A corporate system?”

“First of all, I do not lie. I just omit small things.” He pokes a finger at you and you swat at it. You want to tell him that telling a half lie is just lying while trying to seem truthful. “Secondly, yes. But I can’t tell you anything more on that, so don’t ask.”

You grumble to yourself, leaning back and away in time to spot Jungkook coming back with more than just drinks.

“He’s quite impulsive.” Seokjin chuckles, and you can only agree.

“Where are we going?” You trail behind Seokjin, down a busy street. Once again, struggling to keep up with his long legs.

“I’ve got a few potential candidates for you, all of which can work out though it mostly depends on your choices.” Seokjin slows down for your sake, “I’m not allowed to outright tell you who’s right for you, I can tell you who’s the wrong choice however.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if you told me?”

“It would, but it’s against the rules and frankly takes the fun out of everything.”

“You want to see me suffer?” You cross your arms, and Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to face you. He plants his hands on your shoulders, hands drifting down to unfold your arms.

“I think you’ve suffered enough. All work and no pl-“ Seokjin pauses, looking past you. The change in his easy going expression is startling, the humor dimming to be replaced by anger, jaw tensing.

You take a half step away from him, wondering what could bring about his change of mood so swiftly. Curious, you turn to look.

A couple stopped just a few steps from you both, they're both dressed warmly to combat the weather. The guy seems a little shocked, enough that the girl you assume is his girlfriend asks him if he’s okay.

He offers her a smile, one that seemed a little nervous to you. He eyes you for a moment, with the same intensity that Seokjin sometimes does, before his eyes settle on the man next to you.

“Hyunjin.” Seokjin says, eyes flaring with something indiscernible. His voice is clipped, stare harsh as he takes a single step forward.

“Seokjin.” The man replies curtly, pulling his girlfriend slightly behind him, “How about we talk about this elsewhere?”

He motions a hand to the people passing by who was paying no mind to either of you. Seokjin turns on his heel, walking briskly and you stumble to follow.

Seokjin is unusually quiet as he leads you through the streets, and you wonder just who Hyunjin is to him for him to react this way.

You pass by familiar places, the café where Namjoon works, and across the street to the park that was suspiciously empty.

You’re afraid to ask Seokjin what the matter was, mindful of the way you can feel the anger radiating off of him. So you keep quiet, stopping when he does, and sitting on the park bench when he tells you to.

He keeps walking, stopping a good distance away, waiting.

Hyunjin sighs, placing a gloved hand against his girlfriend’s cheek. “I won’t be long, okay?”

She nods and he leaves, walking towards Seokjin. As she sits next to you, you offer her a smile, “Sorry, I hope we aren’t interrupting you two.”

“It’s okay.” She says, pushing her glasses back up her nose with a hand. She glances over to where Seokjin and Hyunjin are talking briefly. “Is he your friend?”

You snort, friend is one hell of a reach, “Fortunately not.”

“I’m Nikki.” She offers a hand that you shake.

“Y/n.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Seokjin’s voice raises and both you and Nikki turn toward them, “You can fall for this. She’s human, Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin walks away, leaving Seokjin to gawk in disbelief. They both look angry enough to ignite the air around them, and Hyunjin ignores the call of his name, eyes softening when he lays them on Nikki. She stands at his approach, taking the hand that he offers. He gives you a long look, “I’d let him cool off first.”

You can only nod, voicing a soft goodbye as they leave.Turning your head you watch Seokjin who was too busy staring daggers into Hyunjin’s retreating form.

You give him a moment, waiting until Hyunjin and Nikki are across the street, until they merge into the crowd. You sit quietly, toeing the stone path beneath your shoe, kicking at a pebble and watching it roll its way away from you.

Eventually, Seokjin makes his way back, sitting next to you with a long drawn out sigh. “I have a headache.”

“You get those?” genuinely curious, you ask, but the withering glare Seokjin sends your way makes you snap your mouth shut. “Who is he?”

Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair in a way that’s deceptively human. You’re once again jealous of the way the strands fall back into place like they weren’t disturbed, making a note to ask him what shampoo he uses.

“Hyunjin is...” he shakes his head, jaw clenching, “We’ve been searching for him for a year. A guardian angel. That girl is his charge and up until now they’ve both been missing.

He said that he won’t leave her. That he would rather fall because he loves her. Ridiculous. It’s wrong, there’s only one way that could end and it’s not going to be nice. His duty isn't to love her that way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it...” You mutter quietly.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t understand, there’s no way that you can begin to. He’s putting her and himself in danger.”

He quiets and you do too, the air is still charged and Seokjin goes off muttering to himself. You glance at him and you can see that he’s thinking, fingers pressed against his lips as he stares at nothing in particular. It isn’t your business, but you ask anyway, “Are you gonna tell them that you found him?”

“I should.” Seokjin replies after a moment more of silence, “For now, though, I’ll turn a blind eye. I have more important things to do.”

“Right, yeah.” You nod, eyeing him carefully, “What were you saying earlier? Candidates?”

You’re not quite sure how people find watching sports exhilarating. Though, you’re here for Jungkook – and Seokjin - sitting on a bench between Yoongi and Hoseok, cheering as loudly as you can.

Its the last competition before the break, and if the Athens shoot the winning arrow, they’ll be at regionals next year.

You’d wished him and Seokjin luck before they’d left this morning, knowing well the latter didn’t need it at all. You know Jungkook was nervous, you can see him bouncing his leg even from where you are.

“Any bets?” Yoongi nudges your arm with his, passing you a soda, “I hope Jungkook doesn’t drop his bow or anything...”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Seokjin’s on his team, there’s no way they’d lose.”

“You’ve been hanging out with him a lot.” Hoseok comments, and you spot him dipping his fingers into the pocket of his sweater only to come out with a gummy worm.

You wiggle your fingers at him, he side eyes you but gives you some anyway. “He’s cool.” You shrug, ignoring the soft snort that leaves Yoongi.

“Right.” There’s a knowing look that Yoongi sends you, one that you also ignore.

The teams take turns, women from opposite sides going first, and then the men, all scoring fairly well for their teams. It’s a moment again before the last shooters are ready, and they can either make or break the win.

Five minutes and a couple more gummy worms after, Seokjin is finally stepping up to his marker. If he scores a full ten, the Athens would take the win.

He nocks his arrow the way you’ve seen him done before, and the crowd quiets, waiting with baited breath. He takes aim and your squeezing Hoseok’s hand, he releases the arrow. There’s the sharp whistle, louder that the stands are still, and the sound of it hitting the target.

The folks that came all the way from your city to watch cheers the loudest as Seokjin and his team celebrates the win.

You’re all gathered in your apartment after the match. Though, Everyone had decided that celebrations would wait until the morning, desperate to get home and out of the cold of the winter air and into the warm houses. You just wished someone could convince the archers in your friend group.

Seokjin had insisted on doing something, claiming to be busy the next day. He’d drag you all off to the market, rushing you around to pick stuff from a crumpled list he pulled from the bottom of his duffle bag.

“Hey,” Seokjin says greets softly, passing you an opened beer with a soft smile.

“Thanks” You smile back, because he’ll just nag your ear off until he gets you to smile. Seokjin’s been in the kitchen since you all came back, shooing both you and Yoongi attempting to help, claiming culinary genius.

Your apartment does smell aromatic; filled with a blend of different spices. You know whatever Seokjin’s making is gonna knock your socks off. “You better wow me with your cooking. After you chased me out of my own kitchen.” You tease, and Seokjin chortles.

“Trust me, my cooking is unmatched.” He says confidently, chest puffing up.

You hum around the mouth of your beer, “Uh huh. You’ll have to prove that. No one’s better than Yoongi.”

Seokjin side eyes you playfully, poking at your stomach with a finger that you grab onto, “Yeah, Yeah.”

He quiets, wiggling his finger in your grip, “I wanted to do something nice.”

You make a confused sound in the back of your throat, because what more could he possibly want to do? He’s already helping you find the person you’re meant to be with, and on top of that, have the patience of Mother Theresa and you remain stubborn to a fault. Though, you suppose, he has his nature and you do too.

Hoseok and Jungkook are watching some age old holiday film, not paying mind to either you or Jin. Yoongi had long said he’d be back, though it’s been a half hour with no sign of your grumpy best friend.

“Wanna help me in there?” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder, and you raise a brow, “You can help me cut some stuff; I’ve only got two hands.”

“You sure you actually need my help?”

“She’s a disaster in the kitchen.” Yoongi suddenly appears behind Seokjin, a bottle of whisky in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I’ll help.”

You make an offended sound, “I’ll have you know that I am great at cutting stuff!”

Yoongi only hums, slinking off like a bored feline into the kitchen. Seokjin pats your head, “You know how to hold a knife, right?”

“Why are you cutting it like that?”

You look down at the cutting bored through the tears stinging your eyes, and you sniffle, “I could barely fucking see. I hate cutting onions.”

Yoongi shoos you away, taking the knife gently from your hold, “Go wash your eyes.”

You shuffle, partly blinded by the sting and tears in your eyes to the sink, arms stretched out before you as your only guide. A warm hand grasps your wrist, leading you forward, “I thought you said you were good at it.”

Seokjin’s voice holds amusement, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s getting a kick out of the situation. You want to tell him that your skill with cutting vegetables and the onion’s rhine burning your eyes has absolutely nothing to do with each other, but you’re too busy trying to find the tap with your hands.

He turns the tap on for you as you lean down towards the flow, and you feel his hands pulling your hair back and out of the way. Sweet relief comes with the cool stream of water rinsing the sting from your eyes, though they’re still irritated enough for you to dig the heels of your palms into them when you straighten. “Onions are evil.”

“Are they?” Seokjin gently pulls your hands away from your face, “Don’t rub them.”

“Tell that the itch driving me up a wall.” You’re a little surprised at how close he is, barely an inch away from you. The rhythmic sound of Yoongi cutting vegetables fades to background noise that you can barely focus on, distracted by Seokjin’s brown eyes peering into yours and the gentle way he swipes his thumbs under your lower lids.

“They’re all red now.” He says softly, and he seems distracted too, eyes filtering away from yours and somewhere lower.

“You guys want me to leave?” Yoongi drawls, effectively breaking the moment, “I can do that you know. Just walk right outta here.” He’s pointing the knife over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, though there’s humour in his eyes.

You pull away from Seokjin’s hands, clearing your throat, “Can I finish cutting the onions now?”

“No, but you can start on the bell peppers for me.” Seokjin hands you a small glass bowl with yellow and red peppers, and you do your best to ignore his fingers brushing yours.

When dinner was ready, the four of you gather at the table, trading laughs and stories and you feel content in this moment. Watching your boys be happy, and Jungkook laughing so hard he chokes only to be scolded by Yoongi. Seokjin next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.

You wonder how it’ll be once his job’s done and he leaves, would you miss him? He’s still as weird as you thought he was that time you met him in your hallway. You’ll miss his laugh, and the way he can comfort you without trying, you’ll miss him doing his best to make you happy even when he doesn’t have to.

The way he pulled you close when one of your first dates went wrong even with his meddling.

You’ll miss him.

Seokjin’s grown quite fond of you, he thinks, a dangerous thing, he believes. Over the weeks that passed, he’s successfully done his job; setting you on the right track to find your person.

The first couple of dates, Seokjin seeked out people you were familiar with, rather than strangers.

He’d stay close by at all times, observing from a distance. On the days when you’d rather not do anything, Seokjin would meet in your apartment. He’d never tell you that the thing’s you’d have him get up to weren’t what he’d consider fun. He’d go anyway, content to watch you instead of whatever movie you’d convinced him to watch with you.

That’s when he realized it.

Funny, really.

Seokjin has seen love before, as it is, his duty was to bring those who are fated together by a series of coincidences. A meet-cute here, a spilled coffee there, even going as far as to reunite friends who've grown up and apart from each other. He’s seen how love can make people bloom like flowers in the spring, and change like seasons together.

He’s seen love make people go distances they’d have never dared to otherwise. He’s seen it in simple words and touches, grand and minute gestures.

So, Seokjin knows what love is when he feels it. It’s that feeling he gets in his chest when you smile, poking fun at him because there’s always something that’s so distinctively human he would never understand. Strange now that it makes him happy, you’re at a point where you no longer deny him being your friend when other people ask, when you take his teasing in stride like friends do.

You’re happier now, despite the trial and error and the hoops you have to jump through to get where you want to be.

It’s the way your hand felt in his when you held it for the first time. It was after one of your many dates, a Saturday evening when the sun was already dragging the moon into the sky.

First snow, and you’d both sat on swings in an empty park far away from where you’d normally venture. Crystalline flakes fluttered into your hair and melted on your clothes. He’d given you his scarf before you could start to shiver.

He’d been content to watch you then, boots kicking at the snow that was piling up quickly.

Watching the way you found joy in a snowflake landing on your nose, and the way you’d try to catch them with your tongue. On the way out of the park, you held his hand because there was ice on the ground and you didn’t want to slip.

Even through the layer of your gloves Seokjin felt the warmth of your skin. He’s way beyond being flustered by such a thing, but heat climbed his neck and flushed his cheeks and he blamed it on the cold.

Seokjin felt something curl around his heart tightly, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He understands Hyunjin now, he thinks, his words play on his mind more frequently these days. Unlike Hyunjin, though, Seokjin is too rooted to his place.

The dangers that would come from you and him being anything more than what you are now are too great for Seokjin to risk it. He knows well what would come of it, and it’s nothing good. You would have to spend the rest of your life hiding from the seeing eyes of others, and the forces that will undoubtedly tear you apart.

Seokjin doesn’t want that for you. You will be more unhappy than you’ve ever been. Forced to remain in shadows even when Seokjin represents a light greater than man could ever create. It would be selfish of him to want it, to go through with it as though he’s not making you suffer.

There’s a lump in his throat as he swallows, as he looks at you now, sitting next to him, with not a care in the world.

You glow brightly, like a star, burning hot in the far distance. Far, far off. And just like a star, you’re something he could never reach, even with all his prowess; you aren’t his to hold.

Though he wants to, and it hurts that he can’t.

“Jin.” You call his name softly, and Seokjin realizes that he’s failed. It’s the first time he’s ever felt so defeated.

He’s seen you, too. The way you’d try to pretend that his feelings aren’t yours as well. He knows. He’s seen love enough to know.

The way you’d flush at your friends’ teasing, but would not deny it. The way you’d watch him as though you’ve found something that you’ve been searching for.

“Are you okay?” Your concerned tone made him realize that he’s turned to look at you, but he’s not said anything. He nods, a little unsurely and you have a right to not look convinced.

You’re different now than you were when Seokjin met you. When he’d planted himself into the memory of your friends for the sake of his task. Truly, he wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to do his job from a distance, never to interfere. He’s watched you go on date after date and all his arrows would fall short of their target.

So, he did the most sensible thing and got directly involved. He was supposed to be finished already, it was supposed to be quick. He’s lingered too long, and now he's sunk so deeply into clear waters that it's turned to mud. He’s unwilling to lead you to the one you’re destined for – even though he knows who it is – and he’s unwilling to let himself be the one to love you instead.

His duty isn’t to love you, he knows this.

“I’m okay.” Angels aren’t supposed to lie, but he did, and he has been for a while. Trying to convince himself that he wasn’t falling in love with you.

“You’re lying.” You say, knowingly. How far have you come to be able to read him like this?

“I’ve never once lied to you.” Seokjin says, and it’s without his usual mirth. You give him a questioning look and not much else, nodding your head slowly.

“If you say so...”

Seokjin simmers in his thoughts for a while, glancing at you when you laugh at something silly.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, and you hum, turning to face him. Seokjin takes a breath, “I have to leave.”

“Right now? The movie isn’t even finished yet.”

“I know...” Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. He stares at the TV screen, not really paying attention, watching a young girl ride a dragon to a far away place. He never understood your reason for having a TV in your bedroom, but it’s quite convenient for comfort.

He could just leave quietly, slip out of your apartment and out of your life without a word. It doesn’t feel right to do so without telling you, though.

“I won’t be back.” Seokjin waits for his words to settle, as the movie fades to background noise and he watches as realization dawns on you.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” You ask, voice pitching at the end, you stand and he does too, “But you haven’t – You can’t leave.”

“I have to.” He places his hands on your shoulders, trying to calm the storm before it blows in. It’s not helping, he knows, as you take a step back.

“Tell me why.” You demand, and Seokjin sees the tears in your eyes before they fall. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. You didn’t do anything. It’s me.” Seokjin sighs, “This...this was a mistake. I never should have gotten involved.”

You call his name then, with so much pain that Seokjin feels his heart shatter in his chest. He hates it. He hates that even doing this, he still manages to make you unhappy, he’s the cause of your uneven breaths and the tears that race their way down your cheeks and he hates it.

“I’ll make sure you find them. I promise.”

“But I don’t want that! I love you. You can’t just leave.”

Seokjin lets his hands fall to his sides, staring at a spot somewhere above your head to avoid looking you in the eye. He knows what you want, of course he does, because he wants it to. You've gone and said it and that only makes things harder.

“Y/n.” He says your name firmly, and you snap your mouth shut, shoulders shaking still as you try to put an end to your tears. He takes a step closer, raising a hand to cup your cheek, “We can never be. It’s not meant to be this way.”

“Please don’t go.” You whisper, fingers curling around his wrist. “Please stay.”

His resolve is breaking. The longer he stays the harder it’ll be to walk away. Sighing he wraps his arms around you, holding you as you shatter.

Seokjin presses a kiss to your forehead and your eyes in turn, chasing away the remainder of your tears. There’s sadness still in your eyes when you open them, he tilts your head back to capture your lips softly with his.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He says, wiping away tears that still fall.

“Do you promise?”

Instead of answering, Seokjin kisses you again, hands slipping under the warmth of your sweater to meet your soft skin. He feels the shiver that runs through you, and he wonders if his hands are cold. You call his name softly and he gently quiets you, tugging lightly at the hem of your sweater, “Can I take this off?”

You nod and Seokjin helps you wiggle your way out of it. He doesn’t think of the consequences – he doesn’t want to, so he allows his mind to blank. He’ll give in only this once, he’ll give himself to you for the first and last time, no matter how selfish it seems.

He kisses you slowly, making a map of the marks he leaves against your skin. He wants to tell you everything, he wants to take every step with you, meet you somewhere along a coast where nothing matters. But here, he’ll steal this moment and keep it with him forever, until the pain of it fades and he could look back on it fondly.

He quiets the small sounds you make with his mouth, hands bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist. You fit perfectly below him, like a puzzle piece of a puzzle he’s been trying to find.

He props himself up on his hands, gazing at you, “You’re so beautiful.” He leans down, brushing his nose against you, lips finding yours again.

There’s a storm raging outside, wind sending snow pattering softly against your window. Seokjin tries not to let his mind wander, not when you're beneath him and so warm. Your skin is warm, your scent invades his senses and you’re the only thing he could see and Seokjin feels like crying. There’s something in the back of his mind that’s screaming at him, jarring and loud, that he should savor this moment because he’ll never have it again.

He pulls away from you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, “I’m taking these off, okay?”

Your knee nudges his side, “You first. You’re still dressed.”

Seokjin chuckles, quickly pulling his sweater and the tee-shirt he wears over his head, “Now we’re even.”

He stands to step out of his sweatpants, allowing you a moment to strip the rest of your clothes on your own. He settles next to you, fingers tracing patterns against the soft skin of your inner thighs, touching lightly just to watch your eyes flutter shut and your nipples stiffen into peaks when he blows air over them. He marks you with his teeth and his tongue, taking a nipple into his mouth, hand stilling when you raise your hips to meet it.

“Impatient little thing.” He mutters, but cuts your pleading whine short, fingers finding where he knows you want him most, groaning at the wetness he finds. He rubs slow circles against your clit and catches your moans with his lips. When he’s teased you enough, when your desperate moans of his name is enough to make him rut his growing erection against your hip, he sinks his fingers into your heat, thumb never leaving your clit.

He curls his fingers against a spot that makes you cry out, your arousal drips into his palm, and he sucks bruises into the skin of your neck. Seokjin’s hips jerk forward when your fingers curl around his cock, squeezing around the base, “Fuck.”

Your other hand stills his and he pulls away to look at you, pupils blown and eyes heavily lidded, chest rising and falling with your breaths. “Can we just...”

“It’s been a while for you, right?” Seokjin asks softly, slowly resuming the thrust of his fingers, at your nod there’s a smirk on his exhale, “It’ll hurt if I don’t. Gotta stretch you out first.”

He can feel the way your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers, feel the way shudder, moans rising his pitch. “Jin- fuck, I’m so close.”

“Already?” Jin tilts his head, tone teasing. He kisses you, tongue sliding against your own, “Let go for me, baby.”

Your gasp is followed by a drawn out moan, curses and unintelligible words on the end of it. Seokjin watches you tip over the edge, unable to help the motion of his hips thrusting his cock into the loose grip your hand had around it. Removing his fingers from your heat, he lets you catch your breath, pressing a kiss to your temple, “You did so well baby, so good for me.”

Seokjin pulls away, placing a fleeting kiss on your shoulder, “Do you have condoms?” He asks, rubbing a hand on your trembling thigh. He would’ve thought you’d passed out if it wasn’t for the limp way you motion to the bedside table.

You peek an eye at him, “I’m clean if that’s what you’re worried about.” You murmur, and Seokjin smiles, shaking his head.

“That’s good to know sweet girl, but it’s not that. You don’t want what I can give you, trust me.” Seokjin turns to rummage through your things, finding the box tucked into a corner, “It’ll be hell if something unexpected happens. We’ll have a very big problem on our hands.”

“Oh, you mean...”

“Yes. It’s best if we avoid that.” He tears the glossy wrapper with his teeth, moving back to you, he kneels between your open legs. He slides the condom on and you prop up on your elbows to watch, when Seokjin’s eyes flicker up, he could see the hint of worry in yours. He raises a hand to brush your cheek with his fingers, “I’ll go slowly.”

He’s mindful of his size and how long it’s been for you as you settle again, one hand gently gripping your hip, he keeps his eyes on you, watching your every expression. He drags his cock against your sopping cunt, hand holding steady, he leans down to slot his lips to yours, “Ready?” He whispers, waiting until you nod.

A groan leaves him as he enters you, and your fingernails scratches red into his shoulders. He buries his face against your neck, teeth nipping at the skin he could reach, giving slow shallow thrusts until he bottoms out. You’re so warm and tight around him, he takes the calls of his name as prayer, you cling to him as though he’d disappear, and Seokjin thinks that some part of you knows.

Nothing you can say or do will make him change his mind, but he’ll allow you this moment. This moment where it’s just you and him and nothing else, where he can easily show you how he feels without promising anything more.

He thrusts slowly, wanting the moment to last for as long as it can, knowing that he will go on and remember this, and you, when the morning comes you would never know that you’ve loved and been loved.

This way, it’s better, it’ll be easier knowing that one day you’ll find what you need in someone else that isn’t him, without ever knowing what you mean to him at all. Things will return to the way it was meant to be, with him watching from a distance, guiding you in the way he was supposed to from the start.

Seokjin wills the tears behind his eyes to go away, and tells his mind to shut up.

Your name is a sigh on his lips, a prayer that when the time comes he could walk away. Your hips rise to meet his thrusts, and Seokjin loses his fingers in your hair, holding you closer because it’s all he could do as you grow ever tighter around him. He chases his end as you find yours, lips crashing against yours sloppily when he stills, release spilling into the condom.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks after a moment, when the room doesn’t feel like a sauna, and he’s finished cleaning you and himself up. Brushing back your hair that hides your eyes from his view, you kiss his palm and Seokjin tries not to let his sadness show in his smile.

“I’m okay. Can we take a shower? I feel gross.” You laugh, already getting up to walk to your closet, you throw a towel at him and he catches it.

“That’s rude, we don’t throw things.” Seokjin trails after you, taking your hand in his because he needs to be grounded right now and not think about what he has to do.

When you stir the next morning, the other side of the bed is cold, but Seokjin’s sitting at your side, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“You’re still here?” You murmur, smiling sleepily. You open your eyes a bit to see him fully dressed in last night’s clothes.

“I’m here.” Seokjin smiles sadly, massaging your scalp with his fingers, “I have to go.”

You pull away from him to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a hand, “Are you coming back?”

He watches you quietly for a moment before he shakes his head, “I can’t.” He takes your hand and squeezes gently, “This...we can’t.” He sighs, frustrated, knowing what he has to say, what he needs to do.

Seokjin has spent thousands of years watching the rise and fall of mankind over and over, doing his duty as a Cupid to bring those who are fated together. He’s seen heartbreak, he’s seen how it shatters a person’s very being, now he knows what it feels like as he watches tears gather in your eyes because you know, too.

“Don’t go. Please. We can make this work, Jin. Please.” His throat feels tight, something is squeezing his chest and he hates it. He hates that you’re crying because of him, because he’s breaking your heart. “Please stay.”

“I can’t.” Seokjin whispers this, pulling you closer when you reach for him, the sound of your sobs etches into his core and they cut deep. He’s held you, a star, and you’ve burnt him now. Stars burn the brightest as they die, giving their all in the last moment of their lives, and like a star he watches as you implode.

Sometimes though, stars don’t always turn into black holes when they die, sometimes they scatter into matter and burn dimly forever. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why’d you let me fall for you?” You hiccup, pushing at his chest and Seokjin lets you, letting his hands drop at his side. “You knew that this was going to happen and you let it happen!”

Your tears are angry now, but still so sad, and you slap weakly at his arms. “Why?”

“I’m sorry.” He cups your cheeks with his hands, thumbs catching your tears. He wished it wasn’t this way, he wished that things were different, that maybe, you could’ve met him under different circumstances. That he wasn’t him, but you were still you. He wasn’t expecting it, like most things, it simply happened.

He kisses you while you cry, your fingers curl tightly into the material of his sweater, “I’m sorry. You have to forget me.”

You pull away from him completely, tears flowing faster now, “No.”

“Y/n.” He sighs.

“You can’t do that. What gives you the right?” You escape his reach, moving to the other side of the bed where you get off, turning to face him, “You can leave. You can go and pretend that this never happened. You can’t make me forget, I don’t want to forget you.”

Sighing Seokjin gets up too, walking around the bed to you. You step backwards until you have nowhere to go, back against the wall. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“So stubborn.” Seokjin clenches his jaw, his head hurts and he wants this to be over. The longer he stands here having this conversation, the harder it will be to follow through. He walks until he’s in your space, hand finding your cheek again. “Why are you always so stubborn?”

“Jin.” You whisper his name and his heart breaks, “Please.”

“Are you ready to spend the rest of your life knowing that we can never see each other again? Knowing me will put everyone you care about in danger. There’s no chance. It’ll break you and I’d rather not have that happen.” Seokjin says, “This was never supposed to happen. We weren’t meant to happen.”

“I don’t want to forget.” You repeat, stubbornly. “Please don’t make me forget.”

Seokjin leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers already at your temple before you have the chance to stop him. He leans away, just watching you, memorizing your features as though he’d ever forget. “I love you.”

You finally quiet, staring at him with wide eyes, “Jin.”

“I’m sorry.” You fall limp and Seokjin catches you before you can hit the floor, holding you to him as the dam breaks and he cries. He cries for the moments he’s shared, the moments you would now live never to remember, he cries because he knows what heartbreak is and he feels it. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

After he places you back into bed, he makes sure that nothing belonging to him remains. Seokjin walks slowly out of your apartment, looking around at everything because it’s the last time. There’s no way he can come back here, he needs to go as far away as he possibly can.

Softly, he closes your door behind him, and every step he takes he feels as though his heart is being pulled out his chest. He makes it all the way down the hall, and into the elevator when Yoongi steps out of his apartment. He looks at Seokjin for a moment, no sign of recollection whatsoever. The last thing Seokjin before the doors slide close is Yoongi opening yours and going in.

“Y/n. Why the fuck are you sleeping with the window open? Are you trying to get sick?” Yoongi stomps his way into your bedroom, pulling your window shut. He turns to look at you as you sit up, “Hey. Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” You hum, confused, wiping your fingers under your eyes, “I...I don’t know? Must’ve been a dream?”

“Can you get ready in ten minutes?” Yoongi boldly rummages through your drawers, throwing clothes your way. “The café has deals on donuts and I wanna get some before they sell out.”

He walks to your door, while you sit, still sleepy, still confused. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah...I just...I feel like I’ve lost something.”

Broke your heart? Read the What If sequel drabble - Here

Tagging: @xpeachesncream @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @mssukeyna @matchstick6812 @jinsquishes @allhobbitstoisengard @eren-fall @dontstoptime @eoieopda

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katsukikitten · 2 years

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Synopsis: Hunger forces you to leave the comfort of your apartment just before rain in hopes to find something that will satisfy you but you'll soon find out that hunger comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Quickly at that as an ancient beast stalks you for part of the night hoping to satiate what you've awakened in him.

Warnings: NON CON, prey predator stalking, werewolf Bakugou

AN WC: this is for @kinjuutsu monster fucking Collab I hope y'all enjoy 2640 🖤🐈‍⬛

Collab master list

The smell of rain hangs thick in the air, curling its fingers around broad shoulders as the ash blonde snarls his lip. The oncoming storm did nothing to satiate the hunger that sat low in his stomach or the ache in his teeth as the moon hung just behind the thick gray clouds. If anything it’s as the Witch say, the calm before the storm is the silent chaos that every Other craves. The Witch, the Vampire, the Paranormal and the Werewolf share the same innate need to feed on humans in one way or another.

Whether that was their life’s blood, the fringes of their soul or sex to ease an awful rut. Even Bakugou’s burning rings of onyx could barely keep his temper in check during what the elders call “moonlit madness.”

With the heavy full moon overhead Bakugou hardly feels anything tonight, other than his normal temperamental agitation, yawning even as he ducks into the 24/7 convenience store a few blocks from his home, craving something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

As if it sat on the tip of his tongue, teasing him as he mulled over what exactly he should buy to make at home.

Being out of the country left his home empty yet far from unkempt. He had spent far too many decades away from his original home and midnight was as anytime as ever to return. Least then his parents and the Elders of the clan wouldn’t grill him on when he was going to find a mate. He can hear his mother nagging now, “You turned 25 a century and a half ago. I want grandpups and I’m not getting any younger damn it!”

He rolls his eyes at the imaginary conversation still hearing her gripe about the other established families and how their children were providing grandchildren, that Katuski shouldn’t do this “lone wolf bullshit.” His hag of a mother ignoring the fact that every few centuries there was indeed a lone wolf from each bloodline. The most recent being Touya but Katsuki thinks he goes by another name now.

Nothing catches his eye and just as he’s walking out, not in defeat, you come in. Brushing his shoulder with a shy smile and an even softer sorry before you disappear back into the store.

Suddenly his throat closes up, choking on an overwhelming smell.

On your smell.

Your fucking scent that now clings to him even as the first drops start to wash the Earth anew, even as you stand on the furthest spot in the store and the pundgant bleach cleaner the employee in the back is using can hardly stand up to you.

You smell like the morning dew glowing golden on the petals of a rose, of honey spread over bread after a long day, of the milk of a coconut on the warmest beach.

Melding together in a sympathy that makes Bakugou’s body weak, ache.

Yearn for you as he swallows down air and the more he thinks of walking away, the more he finds himself staring at you. Entirely lost as his tongue toys with his elongating canines that ache unbearably.

A chill runs down your spine, the deadly kind of warning one gets when danger is close. Close enough to breathe down your neck or bore burning eyes into the nape of your neck. Absent-mindedly you brush your hair over your shoulder, exposing your throat only to further agitate the beast that’s lurking between the chips and the jerky in the next aisle over.

Suddenly your appetite fizzles out in your stomach, a dying ember as fear begins to take root. Growing faster than a summer weed peeking through the concrete slabs. Grabbing the straps of your purse you move your way back towards the front of the store, wishing you had an umbrella for the several block walk back to your apartment complex.

With each step you take it feels as if there is another at your heels.

And another.

Whipping around your eyes go doe wide yet do not see anyone lurking in the harsh fluorescent light between the aisles of neatly packaged snacks. Swallowing thickly you step again, this time rushing into the rain as you start down the slow side street that runs parallel to a small field and a thin strip of woods. The snaking pavement connects to darker, more sinister alleyways that keep your eyes glued forward to avoid staring deeply into the dark eyes of the void.

Fear slips into your skin easily, skittering under the surface as it settles into the soles of your feet. Burning and begging for you to move, to run.

That something big and bad is stalking closely.

And so fear wins as your sneakers slip on the wet concrete as you break into a sprint under the dim street lamps.

All you hear is rain and wind rushing past you and the occasional hiss of “watch it” from those you push past, running until your lungs ache.

Searing need for oxygen, begging for you to make your breathing even despite your beating heart. Giving into your inherent need for air as you slow to a jog, daring a look over your shoulder.

See? Nothing’s there.

Your feet slow to a walk, rational mind soothing over the raging instinct of your gut, that still occasionally flares. Reassuring yourself as you keep your gaze locked to the nothingness behind you that you cannot even see what’s right in front of you.

Bumping into a solid mass of muscle makes a shudder go down your spine. Looking up to apologize expecting to see someone’s back only to see a chest.

The man has his hands in his pockets, as if he’d been waiting for you, a cruel grin set on his mouth as his eyes glow red under the weeping gray sky. He leans over to better level with your face as he parts his mouth to speak.

“Where ya runnin to, Sweetheart?”

There’s malice laced between the purr of his voice.

It's jarring, causing you to take a step back, mouth going cotton dry as your soles burn. This time you don't think twice about it, rushing across the street and soon your shoes lose traction on the slick wheat. Tickling your waist as it slips under your t-shirt occasionally during your haste. Glancing over your shoulder to make sure he isn't following you look for the man and again nothing follows.

This time when you crash into the mass of muscle you fall onto your ass, the chill of the Earth seeping into the denim of your jeans.

"Fuckin hell." He looks different now, the moon just shining through a thick passing cloud before it disappears behind the veil, "Makin me look like a creep runnin like that."

He growls at the end, two sharp teeth poking at his bottom lip, he looks ghastly, horrific.

Like a devil out of a novel with his glowing red eyes, his mass had gotten noticeably bigger but mostly it was the air about him.

Menacing, sharp and an undertone of playful you'd be a fool to forget.

Like a cat catches a mouse, not that of hunger but of boredom.

Of fun.

This time a scream rips through you, rising up your lungs faster than you can think. Crawling backward so you can both get out of his reach and get to your feet. He lets out an annoyed sigh and a roll of his eyes letting you run.

The woods come quickly and the large man quicker.

"I just wanna play, Sweetheart." His voice echoes around the woods and yet it still sounds close.

Close enough it sends a jolt to your stomach that seeps slowly down between your legs where it begins to pool.

Twigs snap behind you and this time you don't dare turn around for fear of running fast first into your assailant again. Yet his voice is at your ear.

"I said I just wanna play." A feral sound in his throat as it echoes in the shell of your ear before a heavy hand is found between your shoulder blades. Pushing you into the old wet leaves that smell of decay. Another scream rips through you but before you can finish you're flipped onto your back with a hot palm over your mouth and nose.

"Ya tryin to get us caught?" He smiles, his bottom and top canines are long. Far too long to be human, he takes a sharp claw and begins to rip the front of your shirt, "Or are you a slut who wants everyone to see what I'm going to do to you?"

Slowly he brings his claw down the cotton until the swell of your breasts start to peak out. Your fingers grips at twigs, leaves and dirt searching for something, anything to defend yourself against this snarling beast. Finally your small hand finds purchase, a small rock about the size of your own fist brings a fire to your eyes.

Brings you hope as you slam it into the side of the ash blonde head, right across his temple. It's enough to make him bleed a bit, losing his grip just bit as you squirm out from beneath him. But not without his parting gift. His claws sinking into your skin to keep you still as you struggle away, leaving deep red wounds down your sides and back.

The pain surges you forward, step after step as your lungs protest from your poor breathing.

A sob racks through your body, rain less turbulent under the canopy of the trees but still enough to blur your vision. That or it was your tears as you see your apartment complex building jutting out over the trees.

Just keep going, you just have to keep going.

Ignoring the details of what's unfolding and instead using that fear to climb the four stories of slippery steps in the pouring rain.

Lightning reaches out and a loud roar of thunder shakes the building with its intensity. Mother nature herself warns you as the blonde takes the stairs two at a time.

Fumbling with your key as you try to shove the metal into the lock as he stands at the end of the breezeway. A nasty smile on his face as he watches you panic trying to do even the simplest task all the while taking slow, calculating steps.

Finally the key molds the pins to the lock's liking and the handle collapses under your weight, falling into your apartment foyer. Struggling to stand so you can slam the door shut.

As you do you see him and another yelp leaves your pretty mouth shoving the metal door with all of your might.

Only for strong fingers to wrap around the edges, crushed from the force as he pushes the door open.

"Hey baby." He says it like he's coming home from work late. A mocking apology as if you were angry that he hadn't told you beforehand. He closes the door and the outside rain can still be sent through the ridges that can mold to powerful fingers.

Your knees weaken before they give out, tailbone rattling your spine as it hits the hardwood floor.

He walks towards you, standing over you, hands in his pockets again.

"Nowhere to run huh?" He laughs and it echoes through the silence of your apartment, "I'll give you that. You did get me good huh."

He wipes the blood from his head and the gash that was once there is no longer causing your brows to furrow. Crouching over you now he examines you, takes a deep inhale and his eyes flutter.

"Fuck." It's soft, barely a whisper and you can see the bulge in his pants grow, causing you to whimper. It pulls his attention to it and he vulgarly grabs it, "Ya like that? 'ts all for you."

He rips off the rest of your shirt and your bra with such force your tits bounce from the motion. He pushes you up the hardwood and your wet body makes the floor squeak.

His head buried between your legs so quickly you hadn't noticed until his nose was pressed into the seam. Quickly the denim is shredded from your body, careful to leave your underwear intact.

"N-no -stop." You want out and he just hooks his powerful hands around your hips.

"Why would I when I can smell arousal on you?" He growls and it's said with such authority it makes you freeze. Submitting to a man whose name you don't know.

"Ah fuck." He can smell more of you now, can smell how delicious your essence will be on his tongue. He noses your clothed cunt, the tip of it hitting your clit causing you to squirm and squeeze his head.

"Soo fuckin wet." He grows tired of you trying to close him between your thighs. Forcing them open as his claws sink into the tender flesh. Gently he presses his tongue to the wet patch, shuddering from how right he was. He does that for a few moments, nosing your now throbbing clit, tongue lapping at the fabric before he leans up some, pressing his mouth around your puffy button giving it a good suck.

The way his eyes look, half lidded and glowing with red hot lust you're shameful to admit it makes you cum. Right there cunt fluttering around nothing as you keep your eyes glued to his.

He rips the cotton away then, lapping at your cunt with no hesitation. Sucking and licking like a starved man, fingers arching into you with a steady pace feeling you flutter around him. You cum again around his hot digits. Panting and he doesn't let up.

He keeps feasting and feasting until your vision is blurred with thick tears and your head is swimming.

"Aw, poor baby." He climbs up you, now pressing into the side of your throat with his nose wet from your sweet cum, "Tired already? I've only just begun."

His teeth sink into your tender skin, drawing blood that he laps up with fluttering lashes.

"Fuck" he groans grinding into your thigh, "Got me fucked up pretty girl. Like a rut when I was a teen."

Pulling down his pants and shoving them to his ankles. He bullies his way into your wet heat. Panting from how good you feel, he gives an experimental thrust and when he pulls away for another, your greedy cunt tries to suck him back in. He thinks he'll cum already. From how you feel around his weeping cock and how you smell.

Sweet florals that remind him of a garden a long time ago. It causes his teeth to sink into the apex of your throat and shoulder. Fucking into you with reckless abandon as he chases his own high.

Fucking you through another orgasm as you whine, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, weakly trying to keep him to you now. Locking your legs around his waist as he sucks the sweet spot on your skin.

It causes you to scream out in ecstasy, body withering under his care causing his hips to stutter. Balls slapping against the swell of your ass as he tries to fuck you deeper with each sticky rope of white he paints your walls with.

He pulls away from your throat with a grunt, keeping himself inside you as he looks into your face. Lids at half mast, lust clouding the iris as something deeper starts to surface and it takes your burning heart a moment to realize.

That your eyes reflect his.

Causing that blossom of deeper emotion to consume anything else as he growls out before he crashes his mouth to yours.

"Mine."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #werewolf bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #tw : non con #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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What about an alternate universe where y/n is the big celebrity and Eren is the social media influencer🤯

omg, because this would actually be so cute! Like imagine (y/n) being a rapper/singer instead and you’re always the hot topic, constantly having your sound bytes trending on tiktok because not only are you a talented artist but you come up with the catchiest one liners. So one day, one of your songs is circulating the app and there’s a video with this boy using it to make a dance or pose off of..and it’s gotten millions of views and likes in the process. In the caption he says, ‘y’all don’t understand how much I love this woman and her music.’ Low and behold, he wasn’t joking. There were a handful of videos scattered across his feed talking about his celebrity crush, (Y/N) (L/N). (i.e. the ‘i’d never let someone tell me what to do’ until my crush pops up or the ‘I’ll never get in the car with a stranger’ trend. Y’all know what I’m talking about) falling out and reacting to your twerk videos. So you decide to duet and stitch his video. Granted, he’s got over two millions followers and a majority female fanbase so there’s no question that he’s pretty popular himself but that doesn’t stop him from having a total fanboy moment. Out of complete curiosity, you decide to scroll his other socials because you guys are close in age but you got your come up in a different way..one that was a little more difficult so you had to see what he done to gain his notoriety. That’s when you learned that he was a digital creator named Eren Jaeger. He done everything from photography, fashion design, making skits with his friends, art and even dabbled in cars. He was on YouTube, Insta, Twitter…all of them having nearly a million followers. But honestly, his star ascended mainly because of his good looks and amazing humor. He was so fine, that even you had to admit it. After that little interaction, this of course sparks the shipping rumors and content..people started saying that y’all would actually look cute together and that it’d be fun to see you two link. He even jokes and says “that’s my wife already, y’all need to catch up.” So he’s hosting an Instagram live where you decide to pop in and join with him. The two of you are a whole vibe. This man is FUNNY, he’s sweet and obviously tryna run game. So different from the other men in your industry and a breath of fresh air. Like you were literally smiling the entire time. The video makes its round on Twitter after being screen recorded by his followers. But what really gets people talking is when you drop a surprise music video for one of your hit singles and he’s in it..as your love interest! Rubbing all over him, the two of you kissing and him even picking you up. It’s the collab of the century and everybody loses their minds. Eventually, the two of you begin dating and he loves making content of and with you. Doing dances and those corny couple trends but they’re so cute. (and he knows when and when not to post certain things because some moments are better left private.) When you perform, he’s taking pictures and everything. Truly is your biggest fan and will STEP if anyone comes at you sideways..people joke and says he manifested or ‘he trapped you to secure his own career’ with you but he really is the best thing to ever happen in your life.

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

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riding fakie | ksj

(or, the one where you think you’re getting a fake boyfriend, but you end up with a whole lot more.)

→ pairing: seokjin x f. reader → genre(s): enemies to lovers (lite), fake dating | humor, fluff, angst → rating: mature → warnings: based entirely on this edit i saw ages ago so good luck, swearing, reader is a trust fund kid with awful parents so classism and screwy family dynamics, a very brief but referenced two-night-stand with taehyung who has a foot fetish (canon) and is ultimately plot irrelevant, this is lite enemies to lovers so sometimes they are not very nice to each other, kissing. i think that’s it? this is mostly tame, all things considered, but i will revise if needed. → word count: 14.2k → written for: the catch of the century collab. thank you to @raplinesmoon / @joheunsaram / & @kithtaehyung for hosting and allowing me to participate! ♡ → thank yous: my holy trinity for keeping me inspired and accountable and letting me know when i don’t word good. @the-boy-meets-evil / @hot-soop / @effortandmore. also my husband who actually skateboards and helped me to sound knowledgeable but will also never, ever see this. → a/n: [looking a whole lot like the dehydrated spongebob meme] hey, long time no see. this fic absolutely kicked my ass like nothing has ever kicked my ass before, but it’s finally done and here. i don’t think i’m super happy with how it turned out and i think it’s probably rushed, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! now, if you need me i will be sobbing on the floor holding a locket with seokjin’s picture inside.

[THE THREAT]

The thing about privilege is—

Well, nothing. It’s just there, propped up in the corner, looming over every aspect of your life. And usually it’s fine. You want for nothing. People just hand things to you. But, just like the apple tree and Isaac Newton and the Law of Gravity—everything that goes up must come down. Nothing gold can stay. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You might have your name and your money and your status, but you also have your parents and your brother.

Your brother, who has somehow found someone to marry him and is planning a wedding.

Your parents, who are threatening to revoke your trust fund if you don’t attend. And bring a date.

“I don’t want to hear it,” your mother says, preemptively cutting off your protests. She’s always had a knack for dictatorship, and another one for doing so as she barks orders to the hired help in the background. “This wedding is very important for us as a family. Do you know how bad it’d look if you not only didn’t show up, but showed up alone? It won’t do.”

On your end of the line, sitting at some bougie outdoor café with an overpriced latte in hand, you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t it look worse to cut off your only daughter and leave her destitute? God forbid, what if I have to get a job?”

An aggravated click of her tongue. “I don’t know where you got that smart mouth of yours, but it’s unbecoming. I’ve at least managed to talk your brother’s fiancee out of including you in the bridal party, so you could show a bit of gratitude instead of being a brat.”

(Impossible, you think. Your brother had taken all the suck-up genes and left nothing for you. Alternatively, you’d taken all the backbone, so it’s almost even.)

“Why don’t you ask the youngest Jeon boy? They’re coming anyway, and it would look good for your father if the two of you were seen together.”

You grimace. “Jeongguk? Absolutely not.”

Another click. “Fine, but don’t you dare even think about showing up with some—”

“Piece of shit loser,” you finish for her. Usually she’d scold you for swearing, but it’s apparently allowed in the name of shitting on the middle-class. “Yes, Mother, I get it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare sully our good family name by associating with the poor.”

She doesn’t trust you, you can tell by the way she huffs and starts mumbling under her breath, but it’s clear she’s just as done with this conversation as you. “You have three months to figure it out.”

Privilege can go to hell.

[THE SEARCH]

Park Jimin is a lot of things.

He’s got money. He’s got hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers for no reason other than he’s hot. He’s got a closet full of in-season designer clothes, so he’d look stunning hanging off your arm in a tailored suit. He’s got charisma and charm and that innate ability to talk to anyone about all that boring shit you can’t stand.

Most importantly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, too. He’s on your level.

Park Jimin is telling you no. “Sorry, I’ll be out of the country that weekend,” he says. He doesn’t look sorry. “One of those things I can’t skip. You know how it is.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re full of shit.”

Park Jimin’s got a laugh that rings like Tiffany crystal. “Maybe.”

Still, you’re not above begging. The list of acceptable arm candy candidates (which you’ve taken to calling The Armcandidates, because you also got all the humor genes) is rapidly dwindling, and although Jimin’s not bottom of the barrel, he’s close. “Jimin, please. Whatever you want, I just need this one favor.”

“Don’t barter with things you’re not willing to give up,” he chides, nothing but heat. Would you fuck Jimin to keep your trust fund? Pillowy lips, slutty little waist, thighs that could crush your head like a grape—you could definitely do worse, all things considered.

“Who says I’m not?”

Jimin would come dead last in a poker tournament, the way surprise flashes across his face. “Well, in that case, I’m actually sorry I’ll be out of the country that weekend.”

You groan, head dropping onto your folded arms. “Can’t believe I outed myself like that and you’re still turning me down.”

Laughter trails behind him as he disappears into his massive closet. “Have you asked Taehyungie? He loves weddings.”

“The last time I talked to Kim Taehyung, he jerked off on my feet and cried. I don’t think I could look him in the eye, let alone invite him to my brother’s wedding.”

Jimin snorts. “He’s actually quite lovely once you get past the foot stuff. Think about it.”

Regretfully, not only do you think about asking Taehyung, you actually go through with it.

One day you’re talking to Jimin and the next thing you know, you’re once again on your back in Kim Taehyung’s bed. No weird feet shit this time, you’d told him, and, well, here you are. Skin tacky from sweat, entire room stinking of sex. Kim Taehyung is weird as hell but he’s unreasonably hot, and you’d made it all of ten minutes in his presence before folding.

(The last time it’d been five, so you’re making progress. Surely that’s something to be proud of.)

“I actually came here for a reason,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. Beside you, Taehyung hums an acknowledgement. You try not to wonder if he’s staring at your toes and that’s why he’s breathing so hard. “I need to bring a date to my brother’s wedding or my parents are gonna cut me off.”

He whistles. “Damn, that’s cold. Fully?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And you’ve decided to ask me? I’m honored, angel.”

“I asked Jimin first, to be fair.”

Taehyung’s face falls comically. “I’m no longer honored,” he jokes. “Jiminie’s great at weddings. He said no?”

You shrug. Something about his rejection still stings. You’re trying not to take it personally. Or think about it too much. “Said he’s going to be out of the country that weekend. Told me to ask you because you quote-unquote ‘love weddings’.”

“He said that?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched higher, dopey look overtaking his features. “Wow, we’re so in sync.” Wistful, like he’s lovesick. “We really must be soulmates.”

You choke. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no. Is the wedding the weekend he’s going to Milan?”

That ‘no’ seems to be carrying a lot of weight. You eye him suspiciously. “Apparently.”

“Ah, I’ll be in Paris. I asked him to come with me and he told me no, too. Guess you know how it feels.”

You sit up, sheets clutched to your chest. “Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How much time do you have?”

You roll your eyes. “About three minutes.”

“Next time, then. Sorry I can’t help with the wedding. You’ll find someone, though.”

Another day, another rejection. You tell Taehyung not to look at your feet as you get dressed to leave.

Jung Hoseok isn’t generationally wealthy, but he’s got enough money to be deemed respectable in the eyes of your parents.

He’s also got a 24 karat smile and a meticulously highlighted and underlined study guide for your upcoming exam, so he’s currently ranked number one on your Armcandidates list.

“Hobi, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”

He eyes you over the lid of his coffee cup. “A few times, yeah.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you singsong, “actual sunshine, number one human, best thing since sliced bre—”

“If you finish that sentence with some fire of my loins Lolita bullshit I’m leaving.”

You pout. “I need a favor.”

He tosses the study guide in your direction. “Just take it. I have another copy in my bag.”

“Not that,” you say, but you take it anyway. Hoseok’s study guides are a thing of legend: even if you don’t use it, you’ll be able to sell it to some idiot underclassman for a week’s worth of coffee. The bougie kind with whipped cream on top. “I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”

Now it’s his turn to choke. “And you’re asking me?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with asking you?”

He shrugs, suddenly antsy, like he’s too big for his skin. “I don’t know. Don’t you have, like, actual prospects? Every dude in our cohort wants to date you.”

“Because I’m hot and I have a shitload of money,” you retort, and Hoseok makes a face that says yeah, fair. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ask any of them. We’re friends, and I trust you. Additionally, your family’s rich enough to get my parents off my back and we’d look good together.”

“Ah, yes, that last point is very important.”

You scoff. “Of course it is, it’s my brother’s wedding. Do you know how many pictures I’m gonna be forced to take? Hundreds. Possibly thousands.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It will be, which is why I need a brother-in-arms. A confidante. A comrade.”

“Have you asked Jimin? He’s great at weddings.”

You nearly start shrieking. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“...Is that a yes?”

“Of course I asked Jimin. I asked Taehyung, too. They’re both going to be out of the country and are probably fucking, and that’s not particularly something I want to get in the middle of.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “It could be serious,” you argue. “Like, Actual Feelings kind of stuff, and that shit gets messy.”

“Yeah, fair,” Hoseok concedes, out loud this time. “Plus Tae has that weird foot thing.”

“Exactly! So you get it.” Finally, a lead! “Will you come, then?” You flutter your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Hobi.”

“When is it?” As you rattle off the date, Hoseok digs through his bag for his phone. Then he pulls up his calendar and frowns. “Shit, no can do, either. My elective rotation starts that prior Monday.”

“Ew. What elective are you taking?”

Hoseok nearly blinds you as he smiles. “Reproductive endo and infertility.”

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that one you applied to ages ago? You got it?” He nods. “Oh my god, Hobi, that’s amazing!” You launch across the table to hug him. “I still hate you for bailing, but think of all the tiny raisins you’re gonna help bring into the world!” You wipe away a fake tear. “You’re a god amongst men, Jung Hoseok.”

He takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Speaking of which, how’s the volunteer gig in the ER treating you?”

“It’s fine.” You groan, put-upon, and sometimes Hoseok is so smiley and endearing that you feel guilty unloading all of your burdens on him, so you aren’t going to. Not unless he asks. Because he’s prone to dramatics and neuroticism but not like you are, and you know it can be a lot for someone not expecting it.

However—

“That’s good. Is that annoying guy you told me about still bothering you?”

Wrong question.

You cock an eyebrow. “This is the third time this week.”

In front of you, Kim Seokjin just grins, dried blood cracking on his plush lower lip. “Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you deadpan. The grin grows wider, warping the purple-black bruise beneath his eye.

Because he’s arguably the most annoying person on earth, Seokjin just hums an acknowledgement, leaning further against the reception desk. “Well,” he says, voice interlaced with honey, “you’d have to take that up with the Babylonians, since they invented the modern calendar. Not much I can do about that.”

A pause. Then, “You’re really fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“It's a bit rude to insult someone seeking out your services, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, pushing your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Not really. Not if it’s you.”

Surprisingly—or maybe not, considering everything seems to roll off his back—a laugh comes tumbling out of him. “Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelming to be blessed with the sight of this face not once, but three times in a week. I can understand and excuse your insensitivity, so I won’t report you this time, but—”

Ignoring him, you slam a clipboard onto the space between you. “You know the drill.”

“What if I’ve forgotten it?”

“Name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment.”

“You know my name, you know where I live, insurance hasn’t changed, and I’m just here to soak in your sparkling personality.”

With as murderous a stare as you can muster, you push the clipboard further in his direction. It hits something solid. Probably a rib, judging by Seokjin’s pained wheeze, but you don’t get paid enough to care. “Do you need a pen?”

“Why, so you can stab me with it?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He rolls his eyes. Thumbs through the intake forms and pretends to read them, even though the last time he had to sign one he’d just drawn a stick figure giving you the finger. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your sociopathic tendencies? Might do you some good.”

With prolonged eye contact, you toss a pen in his direction. Hits him square between the eyes. “A million times,” you deadpan. This is where you’d blow a bubble and pop it if you were allowed to chew gum on the clock. “I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable case of bitchitis. It’s a very tragic burden to bear. Fill out the form.”

Seokjin huffs. Stays standing right in front of you as he does as you say, ignoring the line of people behind him that’s rapidly stacking up. Someone towards the back yells at him to get out of the way, but the protest dies immediately once he turns around and smiles. You think an elderly woman faints. She definitely bobbles, at the very least.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Seokjin says, handing the forms back with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. They’re free of doodled middle fingers, so you wave him off. “Have a great day,” he lobs over his shoulder. When you look down, he’s giving you the finger at waist-height.

“Have the day you deserve,” you fire back.

Your skin needles with anxiety for the rest of the day.

Seokjin comes into the emergency room again on Friday.

He’s got a large gash just above his eyebrow that’s gonna need stitches. You tell him as much as he fills out the same forms as the day before, and he tells you to tell him something he doesn’t know as he rolls his eyes and winces immediately.

“Here’s something you don’t seem to know: karma is real, and she also thinks you’re an asshole.”

You get the finger again for that one. Honestly, you can’t say you don’t deserve it.

“Kiss my ass.”

You pretend to pout. “Health hazard. Against hospital policy.”

Seokjin pauses. Seems to study you for a while, and then he’s cocking an eyebrow and asking, “What do you actually do here, anyway? Besides be a giant bitch.”

Wordlessly, you point at your name tag. There, right beneath your first and last name, lies the answer to Seokjin’s question. He squints. Winces again. “You’re a med student?”

Again, you point at your name tag.

“That means I can write a complaint.”

“Go ahead,” you retort. “My mother’s on the board of directors, and luckily for you she already knows I’m a giant bitch.”

Seokjin snorts, jaw dropping slightly. Just enough to draw attention to his mouth, which you’ve seen a hundred times for a hundred different injuries, but it looks especially sinful today. Maybe it’s just because he’s being mean to you, which is something you might need to explore with Taehyung in exchange for pictures of your feet.

“Ah, I should’ve known. You’ve got overwhelming nepo kid energy. Probably never had to work for anything a day in your life, huh? Probably a legacy to whatever shit-tier medical school was bribed into accepting you, too.”

Until now, you’d thought your banter with Seokjin was relatively harmless. Barbed, sure, and definitely effective. You’d throttle Seokjin if given the chance, and you know he’d do the same. But it’s never been outright cruel.

You try to look unfazed. Try to look like you don’t care about Seokjin and his words at all, because they’re nothing you haven’t heard before. Not like you’d asked to be born to your parents, so shit like this usually rolled off your back.

Now, though—

Your face must fall, just a little, because Seokjin immediately looks remorseful. Moves to say something, but you’re retrieving his clipboard and intake paperwork before he can stutter out an apology. “Thanks. They’ll call you back shortly.”

“Hey, I—“

“You can take a seat over there,” you interject, eyes locked on your computer screen. If you tear up, you can just blame it on eye strain.

You don’t see Seokjin for another two weeks.

And that’s… fine. His absence has given you some time to digest, some time to mull things over, decide if you’re actually upset or if you’d gone temporarily insane. It’d taken ten days, but you came to the conclusion that it’d just been a fleeting moment of sensitivity. People are mean to you all the time in the ER; if you took each insult or attack on your character to heart, you’d be in for a world of hurt.

So, yeah. You’d had a rough day and Seokjin saying you were a good-for-nothing nepot stung a little. That’s it.

Because you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. You’ve managed to piss away an entire month without securing a date to the wedding, and now you’ve got time breathing down your neck. Two months, your mother’s shrill voice shrieks in your head, and it devolves into weeks and days and hours the longer you let yourself spiral. It’d seemed like so long before: you’d been so certain you’d have a date by the end of day one, and then the universe had to go and humble you. Cruel.

But the universe is also fair, because one day it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Seokjin, and the next it’s a painfully slow Thursday afternoon and he strolls in with splinted fingers and a sheepish, weary expression.

“Uh, hi.”

You look up from your computer, taking in all the bruises and scars that dot his face but take nothing away from the beauty of it. “Sorry, exorcism hours ended at noon.”

Seokjin swallows, nostrils flaring. He looks like he wants to argue, just because he’s him and you’re you, but he acquiesces with a little nod. “Fair. I deserved that.”

“Here for the usual?” you ask, tone dry and neutral. When Seokjin doesn’t answer, you grab a clipboard and start your usual spiel—name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment—and then there’s a choked-off sound, not unlike a cat dying.

He looks pained when you dare a glance. Face contorted into a grimace, just like all the parents who bring in their constipated babies. “No, no,” he says. Sucks in a deep breath, and you nearly roll your eyes in exasperation. This guy’s acting like he’s about to give a speech at the goddamn United Nations. “I’m here to… apologize?”

You blink. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” A pause. “Yeah, definitely telling you.”

“Okay.” Another pause. Seokjin fidgets, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, wipes probably-sweaty palms on his jeans, picks up every pen in the cup and drops it back in. “Well, the floor is yours.” More silence. His face seems to shift into reluctant acceptance. “Any day now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay.”

“I still think you’re really mean—”

“Sure, that’s fair.”

“—but I’d like to make it up to you. I think.”

“You sure are thinking a lot. Wanna give those brain cells a break?”

“Fuck you,” he replies automatically. “Here I am, trying to be nice—”

An idea strikes you then. Parts the hazy recesses of your mind like the Red Sea, and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. “How were you planning on making it up to me?”

Because he’s not wholly an idiot, Seokjin sends you a pointed look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re sure your smile looks straight out of a Creepypasta, but there’s an opportunity here, and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers. “Because I just so happen to need a favor, and here you are, ready to dish one out.”

“I never said it was a favor.”

You pout. “But Seokjin,” you whine, “you were so mean.”

One of his eyes twitches. “Why does this feel like a crossroads deal?”

“I think the Grinch felt similar. Right before his heart grew three sizes and he saved Christmas.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you can almost see the scales tipping in his brain, weighing whether or not it’s a good idea to entertain you at all. Which is impressive, all things considered, because he doesn’t even know what you’ll ask for yet. He could be expecting something humiliating at his expense, or a monetary bribe—you’re pretty certain asking for a date will catch him fully off-guard.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing big,” you reply easily. Twirl your hair around your finger. Bat your eyelashes. “Just a little date.”

Seokjin sputters. “A what.”

“A date,” you repeat. “I just so happen to need a date to my brother’s wedding, and you just so happen to be overcome with guilt. It’s a win-win.”

“We don’t even like each other!”

You click your tongue. “Even better, because I don’t like my brother, either!”

“So this is… what? A game? Some kind of petty revenge? Bring the guy who looks like me to your brother’s wedding to rebel against your parents?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you answer, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. Seokjin doesn’t seem convinced. You sigh. “Look, you can say no. Or I can throw in something extra if it feels unfair—”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to prepare a fucking offer sheet, Seokjin. What do you want?”

“Depends. What’s this all entail? Is it a one-time thing or do I have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

You choke. “My boyf—” But then it hits you: your brother will hate this. Your parents will hate it even more. Without even needing to ask, it’s clear Seokjin isn’t from your world, and if they’re ready to disinherit you for showing up to your brother’s wedding alone, might as well commit to the bit. So you clear your throat and smile again. “And if I say yes?”

“It’ll cost more,” Seokjin deadpans.

You nod, feeling a little like you’re swindling this poor man. “Add it to my tab, boyfriend.”

[THE MEETING]

Finding a date was supposed to be the hard part. Turns out, it’s only the beginning.

Your parents are thrilled and a little stunned when you tell them you’ve secured a plus-one. (So is your brother, but you have better luck with him listening when you tell him to fuck off. It’s a little hard to say the same to your mother and father when they’re dangling a trust fund in front of you like a carrot.) And, in true upper echelon form, they grill you. For hours. Family name, family business, how you met, what their intentions are, blah blah blah. You feel a migraine coming on somewhere around question two.

Eventually, your mother says, “I don’t know about this,” and your father grunts in agreement. You don’t think he’s used full words in years. Not with you.

“What’s there to know?” you whine, nearly rolling your eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a date.”

Your mother flutters around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at you. It’s weird seeing her like this: almost like a real mother, almost like she’s going to say something comforting and serve you a plate of freshly-baked cookies instead of huffing and puffing at everything you say and treating you like a pariah. “Do you even know this young man?”

“Of course I know him.”

“Do I need to remind you that it’s bad etiquette to bring a first date to a wedding?”

There’s a pang of annoyance that you have to tamper down. “It’s not a first date.”

“Oh? You’ve been seeing him regularly?”

This time you do roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” your father says, not bothering to lower the newspaper in front of him.

“How did you—”

“Is this young man your boyfriend?”

You think about what Seokjin had said: It’ll cost more. Not, you couldn’t pay me eight billion dollars to pretend to date you. Not, no thanks I’d rather die. Just, it’ll cost more. So, as you sit in this opulent kitchen with your parents and some ungodly amount of Italian marble, you think there’s nothing you wouldn’t pay to make these people miserable. These people, who never saw you beyond a status symbol. That traditional nuclear family tucked behind the white picket fence. Two kids. Golden retriever. Pool boy. Family vacations to five-star resorts, only your parents smiling in the pictures before they abandoned you and your brother with the nanny.

So, no, Seokjin isn’t your boyfriend. Not really. But he’s willing to play the part and that’s good enough. “Yeah,” you answer, and one simple word stops your mother in her tracks and gets your father to finally abandon his stupid newspaper, and just this little bit of power feels nice.

“Oh,” comes your mother’s reply. She shares a look with your father.

Because the patriarchy is alive and well and he loves to play the arbiter, he says, “I think we should meet him.”

And, because you’re not an idiot, you say, “Don’t forget the rule was that I had to find a date, not that you had to approve them.”

With a huff, your father disappears again behind his newspaper.

You: i need another favor

Rapid Onset Migraine: how much

You: shouldn’t my boyfriend want to do nice things for me out of the kindness of his own heart

Rapid Onset Migraine: no

(“Shouldn’t you have him saved under his actual name? Maybe a little heart emoji?” Hoseok asks, looking over your shoulder. “Unless he has a degradation kink, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that someone named Rapid Onset Migraine is actually your boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Hobi. It’s one of those things that are violently affectionate and ironically cute.” A pause. Then—“Do you think Thunderclap Headache is better?”

“No. No, I definitely do not.”)

You: you don’t even know what the favor is

Rapid Onset Migraine: don’t care

You: fine

You: i would like to formally demand your presence at dinner with my parents this thursday at 7

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m busy

You: i will literally venmo you rn to cancel your plans

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m suddenly free. @jin-k92

Rapid Onset Migraine: five hundred dollars please

You: fuck off

You: $50. final offer. take it or leave it

Rapid Onset Migraine: leave it

You: sent. see you thursday!

It’s Tuesday night and you’re fresh off your shift, headed to your car, looking forward to doing nothing but absorbing into your couch and maybe using that new bath bomb, when someone on a skateboard crashes into you.

You’re on your ass before you can process, stunned, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. A familiar face enters your line of sight, not looking all that apologetic. “Whoops.”

You groan. “Worst boyfriend ever,” you retort, sticking your hand in the air. “At least help me up.”

There’s absolutely no grace in the way Seokjin hauls you to your feet. Doesn’t bother to steady you when you bobble, either, and you have half a mind to give him the finger. Instead, you say, “Are you stalking me?” and delight in the split-second of panic that overtakes his features.

“No,” he eventually says, expression right back to neutral. “You’ve already agreed to date me. Why would I need to stalk you?”

“There’s at least seventeen different problems with that statement and I’m not going to touch any of them.” You take a second to look him over: no obvious injuries, still obnoxiously attractive. Hair a little longer than usual, rogue strands hanging loose and framing his face. No one should be allowed to look like this. He really, really gets on your nerves. “Why are you here, though? You look fine.”

“I am fine—”

“Uninjured,” you clarify, which earns you a scoff.

“I’m that, too,” he snarks, “but I came to find you to figure out the game plan.”

“Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I was already in the area,” he lies.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I thought I could con you into buying me dinner.”

“What’d you do with the fifty bucks I sent you the other day?”

Seokjin looks at you like you’re dumb. You’re really starting to wonder if you are. “I spent it.”

“On what?”

“Are you my accountant now?” he huffs.

“No, but you’re not my sugar baby, either. Buy your own dinner.”

He bats his lashes at you. “But honey…”

“Fuck off, Seokjin,” you say, stomping towards your car. Unsurprisingly, he’s right behind you, the wheels of his skateboard noisy as they glide along the concrete. “This is why you’re always needing stitches?” you ask, knowing he’s close enough to hear.

“Yep.” A louder noise; probably some kind of trick. You’re not going to dignify him by watching and being impressed.

During your second semester of college, Hoseok had gotten you into this horrible habit of parking far away. So you get your steps in, had been his reasoning, and it’s hard to say whether you’d given in to the 10,000 steps per day hysteria or just Hoseok’s convincing, evil little smile, but you still do it. And you’re really regretting it now, when you have to traipse through a half-mile of parking lot with the world’s most annoying person on your heels.

“Are you gonna take me to dinner, though?”

That’s how you wind up sitting across from him at a diner.

His cheeseburger is demolished in record time. Fries are halfway gone, too, by the time he asks what the plan is and seems genuinely shocked when you say there isn’t one.

“What do you mean there’s no plan?”

“There’s no plan,” you repeat, dipping your own fry into his ketchup just so he has to swat your hand away. “I mean, dinner is at seven, but that’s it.”

Seokjin looks confused, like you’ve tilted his world on its axis. “There’s gotta be a plan,” he argues. “There’s always a plan with you trust fund kids.”

Another dig, and you can tell by the way he avoids your gaze once he makes it. “There’s really no plan,” you say, ignoring the quip. There’s a reason you’ve got a fake boyfriend, and it’s not because your parents are benevolent and easy-going. “I don’t care what you tell my parents.”

“Now I know for sure you’re setting me up.”

You shrug. “Believe whatever you want.”

Seokjin studies you, clearly still unconvinced. “You’re telling me,” he begins, sticking the straw of his root beer float in his mouth, “that I can just walk in there and sabotage you? That I have carte blanche? That I can tell them you literally paid me to be there?” You shrug. There’s a disgusting slurping sound. You grimace.

“Well, I’m hoping you won’t, but I certainly can’t stop you.”

“You’re terrible at fake dating.”

A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want to delve into twenty-plus years of parental trauma, especially not with this guy, but sometimes it can’t be helped. “Look, I don’t want to go to my brother’s wedding. I don’t like him, and I don’t like my parents. No one else wanted to fake date me”—you hold up your hand to kill the obvious comment before he makes it—“and, honestly, my parents are gonna hate you and that’s the entire reason I asked for your help. So, no, I don’t care what you tell them, because I don’t care if they approve. I’m sick of them making me jump through hoops just to be their kid.”

Unfazed, Seokjin breezily replies, “You obviously care enough to keep taking their money.”

“I consider my trust fund to be reparations.”

“That why you were so touchy about that nepotism comment?”

Nodding, you fidget with the hem of your scrub top, hands suddenly sweaty. “Well, it doesn’t feel great to have my accomplishments credited to my last name or whatever, but it’s not something I can stop anyone from assuming.”

“Are they?”

“It’d be naive to think they aren’t.”

“You got into med school, though,” Seokjin says, and you tamper down the flush that’s creeping in. You are not going to care about any man’s acknowledgement. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Can you tell my parents that?”

A laugh bellows out of him, and you’re horrified to learn it’s a terrible sound. Everyone in the diner turns to stare, and you’re flushed crimson and trying to duck under the table.

Still, you can’t help but smile. Your parents really are going to have a stroke.

To your delight, Seokjin is good at getting people to hate him. Like, really good—almost scarily so.

He’d shown up twenty minutes late, having ignored the dress code entirely, clad in a pair of ripped black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arm tattoos and innumerable scars proudly on display. He hadn’t bothered to shake your father’s hand or introduce himself to your mother, just fell into the seat next to you, stage-whispered a, this place is a shithole huh, and stuck his nose in a menu. When the waiter came by, he ordered a bottle of wine older than the two of you combined and the most expensive entree on the menu.

Now, an hour in, your parents are teetering on the edge of a major cardiac event.

“So, Seokjin,” your father says, voice gritty and forced, “what do you do?”

Seokjin shoves a large piece of meat in his mouth, making sure to smack his lips. “What d’you mean?” he asks, the question garbled around the food.

“For a living.”

Scarily good, you think. Seokjin pretends to choke, pretends to look shocked and appalled. “I don’t work,” he answers, tone bang-on to the one your parents use when they’re being condescending. “My parents give me money, and I figured I’d date this one”—he flicks you in the temple—“until she becomes a doctor and can support me. Then we’ll get married.”

Your mother gasps. Your smile is involuntary.

Your father, on the other hand, knocks over his wine glass. Spills it all over the table, goes red in the face, and it’s the most distressed you’ve ever seen him, usually composed to a fault, immovable. “You’ll do no such thi—”

Seokjin fakes a yawn. “You ready, babe?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just stands, tosses his napkin on the table, and grabs your hand. The two of you are out of the restaurant before either of your parents can utter a word.

Feels like one of those movie moments, you think: the cool breeze in your hair, against your flushed cheeks, your hand in Seokjin’s, both of you not daring to breathe or make a sound until you’re safe outside, away from your parents and their gobsmacked expressions. And then you crack, just enough for laughter to spill out, and Seokjin snorts, another horrible sound, and before you know it, the two of you are collapsed against the side of the restaurant, tears in your eyes as the brick scrapes against your skin.

Maybe something shifts. Maybe the smile Seokjin sends you is genuine.

[THE RELATIONSHIP]

Much to your horror, fake relationships aren’t all that different from normal, authentic ones.

Which means two things: one, that your brother and his wife-to-be both received an earful from your parents about Seokjin and The Dinner, and two, you still have to compromise.

The first one wasn’t so bad. Your brother had called you and issued a vague threat, of course, because he’s never had a sense of humor about anything, but you hadn’t answered so it’d been easy to delete the voicemail and forget about it. And, luckily for him, your future sister-in-law was far more lax. Bring him, she’d texted. He sounds like a good time.

You’re not sure you’d describe Kim Seokjin as a good time, but you replied with a thumbs-up emoji regardless.

All of that had been fine. You’re well-versed in dealing with your family by now, so it’s easy to let their bullshit wash over you and down the drain like rainwater.

No, it’s the fake but has to look at least semi-real relationship that’s proving to be difficult.

Because you don’t like to compromise. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and you don’t want to hear about it from anyone. But here you are, doing a quasi-photoshoot with Seokjin so he can “soft launch” you on his Instagram—which, honestly, is a little daunting. He has a lot of followers. Not surprising, considering the way he looks, but the thought of being perceived by hundreds of thousands of strangers makes you feel like you’re wearing your skin inside-out.

“Can you try looking less constipated?” he asks, tone dry as toast as he scrolls through the series of selfies the two of you just took.

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t look constipated.” Really, you don’t. “Second of all, why do you even need to do this? We only have to convince my parents, and you pissed them off so bad I’m not sure they’ll ever ask me to bring a date to anything ever again.”

“Because I have a competition next weekend that you’ll have to go to, and I don’t want anyone asking any questions.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not,” Seokjin retorts, all conviction. “If I had to clear my schedule for that dinner, you’re free for this.”

“What if I have a school thing?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him through his phone camera. It’s really not fair, the way his face is. “Do you?”

“No, but what if?”

He takes another picture and cackles, gleefully showing it to you. “See? You definitely look constipated.”

With a glare, you wrestle the phone out of his hand and aim it the way you want—the way you know looks good. And maybe you do a little pout, too; do that thing with your eyes that looks seductive and a little dirty. Not because you care about what Seokjin’s followers think, because you’re hot and you know it, but because you want him to suffer. Just a little bit. It’s illogical, the way you want him to look at this picture and feel… something. Half pride, half longing.

So, you angle and pout. Delight in the caught-out expression on Seokjin’s face this time, like it’s the first time he’s learning that you’re hot and that it troubles him a little. “Is that better?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

Seokjin doesn’t respond, just posts the picture to his Instagram story.

Skateboarding has never been your thing.

Your brother had gone through a phase, once. Spent all his allowance on the video games and collected CCS catalogs, spending imaginary money as he’d thumb through the pages and circle everything he wanted. Never bought a real board, though—just developed a superiority complex because he listened to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 soundtrack one too many times and thought it was a legitimate substitute for actual pre-teen rebellion.

However, fake-dating Seokjin means you’re getting a crash course.

“What do these do?” you ask, holding up a set of wheels. There’s an alien holding a bong on them. They make you laugh.

Seokjin eyes you from across the shop and pointedly ignores your question. Instead, the disgruntled guy behind the register answers. “They’re wheels,” he says, tone clipped, which you answer with a surprised noise, like you’ve discovered something new.

“Wow, wheels,” you intone. “Cool.”

Done picking out new grip tape, or whatever the hell he’d said, Seokjin plucks the wheels from your hand and puts them back where you’d gotten them. “Fascinating invention, huh?”

The man behind the register smells like weed. Reeks of it, actually, and the stench is almost overbearing as you sidle up next to Seokjin at the counter. Yoongi, his name tag reads. You don’t think he looks like a Yoongi, because it kind of lends itself to a stoner character, but it also sounds kind of sweet, and the man in front of you looks like he could snap you like a twig and enjoy it.

Then—“Oh, you’re Instagram girl.”

You scowl. “I’m who.”

First, you’re reduced to nepotism and your family name; now it’s Instagram. There’s a huff halfway out of your mouth when Seokjin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. You think he’d press a kiss to your temple if this was real. “My beautiful girlfriend,” he says, playfully hip-checking you.

Yoongi looks between the two of you, then pushes the tape back in Seokjin’s direction. “You know you don’t have to pay for this shit, man.”

“Sure, but I can. I have a rich girlfriend now.”

He yelps when you step on his foot with the heel of your boot. “Aren’t you so lucky,” you grit out.

You don’t see the way his gaze softens, but Yoongi sure does.

Anticipation crackles in the air.

Feels like the day you’d sat for the MCAT—that brand of nervous, determined focus, bordering on excitement. Something that will really only go one of two ways with a million variables, and it’s a small relief to not be the one in the hot seat.

Hoseok had been there last time. Now, a man that’s seemingly all limbs plops down beside you, ungraceful and awkward.

“You’re Instagram girl,” he says, before sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.”

Seems like Seokjin’s idea of a soft launch is anything but. Briefly, you wonder how many more people are going to forego your identity entirely in the name of Instagram, but it’s kind of nice, too—nice to be someone other than your parents’ daughter, your brother’s sister, your family name. There’s a long way to go before the patriarchy is smashed entirely, because it’s not so nice to be newly reduced to Seokjin’s girlfriend, but baby steps.

For now, it’s all right.

For now, there are far worse things you could be.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you finally reply, because he seems out of place and nice enough—nicer than Yoongi, at least. Definitely far less gruff and abrasive.

He chokes a little, like he’s surprised you responded to him. Not for the first time, it’s just sort of par for the course when you are who you are. “Oh, sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing under the guise of the relentless afternoon sun. “I just—recognized you? And couldn’t help myself? Which probably sounds really creepy, which was not my intent, it’s just—Jin doesn’t bring anyone to these things. Like, ever. So it was a little shocking! Kind of like meeting a celebrity? Even though I’ve never really done that, either. Oh! I met Greta Thunberg once. That was cool. It was, like, on accident, though? So…”

On and on he goes, bless him, because he just talks endlessly without expecting a response. You look around: the bleachers are starting to fill up, awestruck kids with humored parents, and you wonder what that’s like. To have an interest in something and have it nurtured, instead of having to live up to expectations you never wanted. Maybe you would’ve been a skateboarder, too. Maybe you would’ve shucked all those societal norms and did something you wanted, even though it doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey,” you say, stopping Namjoon’s latest spiel in its tracks, “do you come to these things often?”

Namjoon lights up like Christmas. People must not ask him about himself much. “Yeah! Well, sometimes? I’m in grad school, so I come when I have time. I thought it’d be a good idea to get two master’s degrees, so I finished my first one—in philosophy, before you ask, which was pretty stupid, because what am I gonna do with that, you know? But I guess it worked, because I had a full-blown existential crisis and decided to get a second one to put off the inevitable second existential crisis over what I was going to do with my life—”

“What was that one in?”

Namjoon startles again, and it’s almost hopelessly endearing. “Huh? Oh, Botany and Plant Pathology.”

You blink. “Plant pathology?”

“Yeah! It’s really interesting, because everything’s connected, right? Like, you can’t really fight climate change and food insecurity if you have all these diseased crops and forests, and I leaned pretty heavily into biological philosophy for my first degree, especially environmental ethics and conservation—”

“...And you come to skateboarding competitions for fun?”

His ears turn red; his cheeks and neck follow shortly thereafter. “I like physics, and skateboarding has a lot of physics.”

Just your luck. “Can you explain to me what’s going on, then?”

Namjoon does as you ask, and takes his job very seriously. He explains the rules and the implications, the rankings and what they mean for the future, who’s who and the major players. He explains tricks as they happen—how they got their names, who did them first, notable events. You remember your brother screaming at the TV the night Tony Hawk landed the 900 at the X Games, and Namjoon’s smile is so bright when you tell him about it.

“Yeah, that’s—that was so fucking cool, man. You know he was 31 when he did that? I think about that sometimes. There’s all this emphasis on aging, this juvenile notion that life peaks in your twenties, that you need to have it all figured out before you’re thirty: the job, the marriage, the house with the white picket fence, and it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything at my age, and I just think: Tony Hawk landed the first 900 when he was 31 years old, and now 10 year olds are doing it. That’s fucking dope.”

He’s off on another tangent almost immediately, telling you about how he’d met Seokjin and how they became friends. You hear none of it. Seokjin comes in second place. You don’t remember much of the celebration, either.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. Feels a bit like drowning.

You’re good at compartmentalizing.

You have to be, growing up in the family you did. Because Namjoon’s words had rattled you, sure, but you can’t linger on them. Lectures still need to be attended, hospital shifts still need to be worked, and it’d really hurt Hoseok’s feelings if you bailed on your study sessions, so you have to tuck away all those wayward thoughts for later.

Not until you’re alone, tucked into bed far too early for someone in their mid-20s, do you think about it.

Well, it’s less ‘thinking’ and more ‘ah, these are the existential crises Namjoon was talking about.’ Certainly not your first crisis, and it won’t be your last, but it’s still… unnerving. Being a doctor was something you’d always been rock-solid about. You hadn’t wanted to go into business like your father and brother, had no interest in kissing ass in the political sphere and wielding influence like your mother, but you’d been told all your life you had to do something. Something important, something impressive, something worth bragging about—because what were you worth if your parents couldn’t talk endlessly at fundraisers about how much better you were than everyone else?

You glance at the clock: almost two a.m. There’s only one person that’ll be awake at this hour, even though you shouldn’t. Seokjin has one job, and it isn’t talking you off the proverbial ledge in the middle of the night. Still—

You: you up?

Rapid Onset Migraine: this is happening a little fast don’t you think?

You: ??? huh

You: wait no

You: that’s NOT what i meant

Rapid Onset Migraine: yeah sure

Rapid Onset Migraine: well obviously i’m awake

Rapid Onset Migraine: you ok?

You: yeah, i’m sorry to bother you about this

You: i think i’m just having a bad time?

That’s that, you think, because minutes pass without a response. But then your phone’s vibrating, lighting up in your hand. Rapid Onset Migraine flashes across the screen, his contact photo set to a meme of Handsome Squidward just because you’d thought it was funny.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I needed to make a pot of coffee before I had this conversation.”

You hum. The comment doesn’t sting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee.”

“I don’t,” Seokjin answers. “Well, not usually. Only if I have an early flight or something.”

“Or need to talk through your fake girlfriend’s two a.m. existential crisis?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin laughs, and it’s almost enough of a balm. “But I’m friends with Namjoon, so I’m an expert in those by now. I keep weird hours, anyway, you know? I’m either skating or gaming, so he used to call me at, like, four in the morning because he’d read too much Kierkegaard or Beauvoir and was spiraling.” You hear him take a sip of coffee. He starts sputtering immediately. “Shit, that’s hot. Fuck, I think I burnt my tongue off.”

“Luckily you know a doctor.”

“I do,” he says, and his tone is warm. Almost proud? “Anyway, what’s going on? You read Being and Nothingness, too, or what?”

For a moment, you’re just quiet, trying to think of the words to say. You’re well aware of your privilege, make a conscious effort to not throw it around the way others might, so there’s a lot of guilt that comes with something like this. You know what people probably think: poor little rich girl, with her family money and their connections, it must be so hard to be her. It’s not, and you’re fine, but—

“Did you always want to skate professionally?” you ask, because you figure it’s safe. Doesn’t give it all away, even though Seokjin’s smart enough to read between the lines.

And, to your surprise, he plays along. Doesn’t call you out or press on the bruise, just says, “Hm, no, not really.”

“No?” you repeat, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms. “This is really embarrassing, but I wanted to get into software engineering or coding. Whatever would let me make video games.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”

“Because it’s me?” Seokjin forces a laugh, pure self-deprecation. “That’s the kind of stuff people like Namjoon do. And that’s—it’s fine. I’m good at skateboarding and I get paid to do it. That’s the kind of thing kids dream about, right? Getting paid to travel around and skateboard all day?” He sighs, and it’s broken in a way that’s unsettling and familiar. A sound that could be coming from your own lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it and I’m thankful I get to do this as a job, it’s just not what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”

A brief silence, and then Seokjin’s talking again before you can reply, which you’re glad for. Everything feels off-center. “Is that what’s going on? School stress?”

“Maybe,” you admit, still a little breathless. “I’m just… struggling? I think? With knowing what’s actual desire and what’s just expectation.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think I can really help with that beyond empathizing, but I’m sorry you’re going through it.” Then, like he’s telling you a secret, “If it helps at all, I think it takes a lot of courage to do this kind of introspection. It’s not easy, especially when you’re likely to find things you don’t want to.”

You can’t help but snort, but it’s gentle. Quiet, though still loud in the stillness of your bedroom. “Thanks,” you eventually reply. “Surprisingly comforting.”

“Yah, I’ll have you know I’m a very comforting person!”

“Of course you are.”

“Besides,” he says, and his tone takes on such conviction you’re sure you’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth next with no hesitation, “it’s fine if you decide this isn’t what you wanna do. It’s never too late, or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great doctor.”

“Or whatever,” you echo, smile creeping up on you. “That makes it sound so easy.”

“I guess it is.”

What’s it like to live like that, you wonder. Completely devoid of expectations, just going with the flow, doing what you want without crippling fear of the consequences. Must be nice, is your conclusion. Life doesn’t work like that for you, and you’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with that, so it’s fine. You’re on a path and maybe it’s not what you would’ve chosen had you had time to look at all the possibilities, but you’re on a path and it’s yours.

You want to say this to Seokjin. You want to thank him, both for the pep talk and the unfounded confidence, but your eyelids feel heavy and he’s just babbling now, something about the first time he landed a tre flip, and it’s soothing. Comforting.

Sleep takes you before you can think about it too hard—think about how Seokjin used to be nothing but a menace, the worst part of your day, and now he’s not.

You’re on another night shift, third in a row, and you’re the kind of exhausted that has you smelling colors.

Nothing makes sense. Your bones hurt. When you think about going home and finally going to bed it feels like when you’re starving and wait too long to eat and don’t feel hungry anymore. Then you finally do and it’s not satisfying, kind of makes your stomach hurt, and the cycle repeats.

Seokjin texts you to check in. After your two a.m. convo, you’re hyperaware of how much time you spend venting, so you assure him you’re fine. He drops off a coffee and some snacks, anyway. Just because he’s already up.

—

There are other hangouts. You don’t call them dates, because that word has implications and meaning and this is fake, but you have them nonetheless.

Overindulgent takeaway, equally expensive alcohol that has sat unopened in your apartment for far too long, shitty movies playing in the background, and Seokjin’s inability to stop talking. He sneakily lobs popcorn at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. This prompts an all-out war, and you both have tears streaming down your faces by the time Seokjin calls a truce.

Just days later, you spread out a gingham blanket in the park. Seokjin makes up bullshit constellations, gives them horrific names and backstories, and revels in the sound of your infectious laughter. When your head feels too heavy to hold up, you lay back in the grass and try to keep your heart in your chest when Seokjin does the same, slender fingers searching out yours in the dark.

You want so badly to kiss him. Want to crash your mouths together and kiss him breathless, but you don’t.

On your third hangout, you cover each other in silly temporary tattoos and take too many selfies. Seokjin snorts at how dumb he looks in the filters and asks you to send him some, immediately setting a particularly couple-y shot as your contact photo.

And if you get butterflies when he posts one to his Instagram story? Well, that’s your business.

—

Seokjin gets the dumb idea that he’s going to teach you to skate.

Which is not only dumb because it’s impossible, but because you’re sure your skeletal system is probably insured for millions of dollars, knowing your parents. You can’t do any of your clinical rotations with broken bones—instant dismissal—and Seokjin knows this, but he’s annoyingly persistent and assures you you’ll be fine, so you relent because you trust him, despite all odds.

Physically, you are fine. Seokjin holds onto your waist and doesn’t let you fall, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to unwanted skateboarding lessons. Emotionally, though? Not so much. You’ve been close to Seokjin before. Enough to feel his body heat; enough to get goosebumps; enough to nearly become delirious with your want to taste him.

Normally that’s fine. But now, as he uses one hand to hold your waist and the other to hold your own hand, you can’t think of a single logical explanation for depriving yourself of more of this. Because he’s steady and warm, and sometimes you teeter and he grips tighter, causing your mind to wander and think about things it shouldn’t. You’re only human, and Seokjin is an otherworldly brand of handsome, so you don’t beat yourself up over it.

Still. It ignites something, that’s for sure, and if it’s anything like Seokjin himself, it won’t be easy to extinguish.

—

It’s by complete accident that you meet Jeongguk.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You’ve met him before, at some bougie function your parents dragged you to, but it was brief and forced and awkward. Jeongguk was weird back then. Still is, probably, judging from his entire… presence, now.

He’s dangling upside down from a tree branch when you meet him for the second time.

“Oh. Jeongguk. Hi?”

“Hi!” he says, smile brighter than the sun, and before you can ask him why he’s upside down in a tree there’s a massive camera in front of his face. “Are you here to see Jin?”

Here is a public sidewalk, but you don’t say that. Instead, you say, “I’m on my way home. Why are you in a tree?”

His response is nonverbal, just a finger point dead ahead of you. Some Brutalist architecture leftover from the ‘50s—a large set of stairs, public fountain, weird art sculpture, a small crowd. Doesn’t take long to learn what they’re there for: Seokjin grinds down the rail, lands perfectly, nearly skates into the street and gets whacked by a car. Everyone cheers.

Ah, that explains the camera, too. You vaguely recall your mother telling you the youngest Jeon went to school for filmmaking. She hadn’t sounded impressed. You wonder what she’d think if she knew he was your delinquent, skateboarder, fake boyfriend’s videographer. Probably something aneurysm-inducing.

“He’s so cool,” Jeongguk says, whimsical and dreamy in a way that sounds like he has framed photos of Seokjin on his walls. Maybe his picture in a heart frame, like that one meme. “You’re so lucky.” There’s definitely some jealousy there.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wanna date him instead?”

Jeongguk seems to mull it over. Doesn’t move from his spot in the tree, either, and you reckon he’s got another sixty seconds before you forcefully turn him right side up. “Nah. He seems really happy with you.”

“We’re not—” Together, your brain finishes, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. So you cough, hope Jeongguk hasn’t caught it, and say, “Yeah, we’re not doing too bad,” instead.

—

“I think you’re too far gone, personally.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. What does Hoseok know? Okay, he’s probably the smartest person you know, but that’s medicine. He hasn’t had a long-term partner in years, so yeah, what does Hoseok know.

“I am not,” you insist, because the majority of your time in this library has been spent defending the validity of your love life, not studying. “Hobi, look.” You sigh, snapping shut your notebook. A migraine is forming just thinking about the amount of reviewing you’re gonna have to do at home to make up for this. “Does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things? Life is fleeting and we’re all inconsequential, so I understand why you’re grilling me on this and not the MLE review book we paid for—”

He pulls a face. “It was fifty bucks! You’re acting like I’m out thousa—”

“Not the point!”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Presses his fingers deep into his frontal sinus points. “I think it not being the point is the point, though? None of this was necessary. You could’ve just brought him to the wedding without having to pretend he’s your boyfriend.” You move to protest. He waves you off. “I know you wanted to get back at your parents. Your parents suck, so I get it, but don’t you think this is a little much?”

“How?”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to sigh. Put-upon, like he’s a beleaguered parent talking to a very idiotic child. “Uh, how about the fact that the two of you are going on actual dates, for one? And they’re definitely dates, so I don’t want to hear it. You took him to a Michelin star restaurant, quote-unquote, just because.”

“I was hungry!”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say.” He throws his hands up, clearly defeated, and it settles all wrong in your gut. Hoseok gets mad, sure, but never at you. Not even annoyed. “Have you given any thought at all, even considered just a teeny-tiny bit, that this might not be as fake as you think?”

“No,” you retort, petulant, because it is fake and you don’t need Hoseok to tell you that.

But Hoseok is smart, you know, so you were never going to get off easy. “I think you actually like him.”

“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred and one, if I have to. Fuck, your head must be made of concrete.”

“Could be,” comes your breezy response. “Maybe that’s why my mother hates me.”

Hoseok chokes. Knocks his tea over and onto the MLE guide, which prompts a distressed shriek from him and a harsh shushing from the rest of the library.

So much for it only being fifty dollars.

—

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi does leave his skate shop, which comes as a shock for a man who has severe cavedweller vibes.

“Hey, Instagram,” he says, smelling like actual cologne and laundry detergent instead of a dispensary as he stands behind you in line.

Yoongi is clearly talking to you. You know he’s talking to you, but you still pause, fragile like a deer caught in headlights, and look over your shoulder as if he could be talking to anyone else. “Uh. Hi?”

He squints. “You are Instagram girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I thought so, but you looked at me like I was the one who’s stupid so I wasn’t sure.”

Did he just call you stupid? “Did you just call me stupid?”

Yoongi shrugs. “What’s good here?” he asks, changing the subject. He definitely called you stupid.

“I—most things? I don’t know, I always just get a cold brew with oat milk.”

He grimaces. “Ew, gross. I’m gonna go grab a table. Grab me a medium iced americano.”

You order him a small, purely out of spite, and Yoongi doesn’t come to this coffee shop often enough to know the difference so he doesn’t even notice when you set it down in front of him. Takes all the satisfaction out of being petty. He must know. “Thanks,” he says, not looking up from his phone as he unwraps a straw and stabs his drink perfectly in the center.

“Sure. I’ll send you a Venmo request.”

“Oh, I don’t have Venmo.” He finally looks up. “Are you going to Jin’s thing?” All he receives in response is a blank stare. “The skate comp. Second qualifying round for the big championship event? Surely he’s told you about this.”

Let no man ever say you’re a bad liar. “Ah, yeah, of course! Med student brain. It’s all memorizing neural pathways and… stuff… and forgetting skate competitions.”

“Hm,” comes Yoongi’s response, and he quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t question you further.

(You bring it up to Seokjin later, expecting him to laugh it off, extend an invitation out of obligation. Instead, he laughs in a way that sounds fond. Says, “Yoongi beat me to it,” in a way that brings his scarlet red neck and ears to the forefront of your brain, and follows it up with, “I’d really love it if you came, but I understand how busy you must be right now,” that has your skin flushing all the same.

You’re loath to make promises, but sometimes they’re easy.)

Time is not on your side.

You barely make it to Seokjin’s second competition. Barely have your ass in the bleachers, hairline dotted with sweat and anxiety coursing through you, before he’s dropping into the bowl for his first run.

He’d mentioned it offhand. Told you it wasn’t a big deal if you couldn’t make it, because he knew how busy you were with school and that you needed to study because exam season was relentless, but he’d looked so relieved when you joked that it wasn’t so easy to get rid of you, that you’d be cheering him on from the first row. That being anywhere else just wasn’t an option.

And that had… taken you aback. Watching him skate is a good enough distraction for all those thoughts. You don’t have to dwell on the whys: why the thought of sitting in your apartment, nose stuck in a book instead of being here, had been so unconscionable. Instead, you’re able to focus on him, which is almost worse. Because the way he looks—wind pushing his hair back off his forehead as he skates around, calf muscles flexing every time he kicks, shirt fabric darkening under a light sheen of sweat, smiling at kids and the countless people he knows—is a little overwhelming. You’re winded for two reasons.

It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone do something they’re passionate about. Seokjin especially, but you’re biased. You want only good things for him.

His first run finishes. He chews on his bottom lip as the judges huddle together. Numbers flash on the scoreboard. Good—great, even. You know what the stakes are: score high enough and he’ll advance to the championship. More sponsors will fall in line. Someone will present him with one of those comically large checks that he’ll probably spend on god-knows-what at Yoongi’s shop.

More skaters follow. Highs and lows. Seokjin watches them all, enraptured, just as happy for their successes as his own. Someone bails out right next to him, arms out to break their fall, making a sound an arm should never make, and Seokjin’s there right away. He’s good.

Except the universe doesn’t always reward goodness. His second run starts off well: smooth as butter, impressively technical. Seokjin is fluid when he skates. Makes it look easy, like you could hop on a board and do it just as well. You watch him, but you almost like watching everyone else watch him more: the wide eyes, the whistles under their breath, the nods of approval. Seokjin’s got all of it, truly thrives on the admiration. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good.

You know it’s coming. That trick he’d told you about—the one he’s never been able to land during a competition. The one that’s gnawing away at him. He’s going to try it, and you’re holding your breath as he kickflips, grinds his board along the rail, does some kind of dismount that looks absurd and impossible to your untrained eye.

Then he’s on the ground.

He’s still for a second. Huffs in frustration. Back on his board before you can blink.

Seokjin’s not a child, but you know it stings. You’re overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, the way he’s done for you countless times, but you shouldn’t so you don’t. The two of you don’t talk until after, and by then it might not matter.

It isn’t until he’s about to drop in for his final run that he scans the crowd. You want to believe the look on his face when he spots you is relief, but it’s painted over in a nanosecond. He smiles, smug but content, and then he’s shoving his helmet back on his head, clapping someone on the back, and he’s off.

Maybe the universe does reward goodness, because everything goes right this time.

Seokjin lines up to attempt the trick again, because if he’s going to go out it’s going to be on his terms. Completely unshakeable, the kind of attitude that gets plastered on those bullshit inspirational posters about falling down nine times and getting up ten, and you wonder, briefly, if it’s stupid. A good score would be enough to get him through, but he wants to do this.

And he does.

Everyone around you erupts as soon as the trick is landed. Seokjin calls the run early—just a handful of seconds left, anyway—and his fellow competitors are on him immediately. Someone picks him up in a bear hug and spins him around, and the joy on his face is so pure, so unbridled, that you almost cry.

But the wait is torturous. His second run had gone so poorly and those in the top spots had done so well that it’ll be close, even with a gazelle flip under his belt. Nothing is certain, and the way you can barely bring yourself to look at the scoreboard is proof enough. Seokjin is good, and you want only good things for him, and you can barely look at the scoreboard but you can’t look away, either—

The roar of the crowd is deafening.

A freeze-frame moment. All around you, there are fists in the air, shrill yells of Seokjin’s name, maybe a chant, nothing but chaos. You can hardly hear yourself think, but you can see just fine, and what you see is Seokjin’s gaze locked on yours. The corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. A flicker of hesitation before he’s gracefully shrugging everyone off of him and making his way over to you, and then it’s just reflex. Here, you know what to do.

You barely flinch when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.

Everything is soft. Feels a bit like floating.

Seokjinnie: do you wanna come over later?

Seokjinnie: i can either cook or get takeout, your choice

The apartment is small and you love it because he kisses you at the door. Seokjin has lips you want to memorize, so you kiss him again as he pulls away. The two of you kiss for a long time: throughout the “tour,” which is just the large studio space and the bathroom, all over the kitchen as he finishes cooking, until he exaggeratedly pulls out your chair, until you have to shove food in your face to keep your mouth off of him.

Seokjin has the kind of lips that leave you questioning if it’s really this easy.

Because Hoseok had been right: this isn’t fake for you anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, if you’re being honest, and maybe before this would’ve been a realization that scared you, but this doesn’t. Not when it’s Seokjin. So, yeah, maybe it is easy.

“Wait,” he says, chest heaving, gently pulling away from you. “Before I—wait, I have to talk to you about something.”

You just smile, hands still grazing over warm skin. “I think I already know.”

He stills. Takes a few seconds to reboot his brain before he’s smiling, laughing in a way that almost sounds unhinged. “God, yeah. Yeah, me too. But it’s—not that.”

“What, then?”

Immediately it’s clear this is not going to go well. Seokjin sighs, tilts his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck is gorgeous, littered with marks from you, but you gear up for a fight nonetheless. “The competition,” he says, as if that’s enough explanation. “The final round got pushed up.”

Your stomach drops. You know what’s coming, but you still ask, “To when?” because you’re a little bit masochistic. Because maybe you’re itching for the fight. Itching to say see, I told you so, I knew this was never going to work, because it’s always been fake. Itching to hurt, because you want what’s familiar when you hurt.

“Saturday.”

The day of your brother’s wedding. “Of course.” You snort; the universe loves a good dose of irony.

He sighs again. Looks so genuinely distressed that you find it hard to truly be upset. “I’m sorry. I just found out today.”

“It’s fine,” comes your instantly reply, auto-generated. Some silly, naive part of you refuses to spiral, stubbornly convinced you can salvage this. You’d found a date. That was the rule. You’ve done exactly what your parents asked of you, and you think with a rueful smile that they’ll probably be relieved when you show up alone.

But Seokjin’s not convinced. There’s still turmoil painted across his face—some silly, naive part of him clinging to something stubborn, too. “I’m going to ask you to be there.”

Yet another freeze-frame moment. The part in video games where it’s clear you have a very important choice to make, neon signs practically blinding, saying you better choose right, better not fuck it up. But you’re going to. You’re going to say no, and it’s going to hurt Seokjin, and you have about ten seconds to come to peace with that.

“I can’t.”

To his credit, Seokjin doesn’t look surprised, and you think that might be more painful. He’d expected nothing from you and you still let him down, so his snort is sardonic and derisive when he says, “Of course you can’t.”

And your tone is defensive and disbelieving when you retort, “What’s that supposed to mean? What exactly do you expect me to do here?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to do anything, I’d foolishly hoped you’d say yes.”

Your jaw drops. Snaps shut when you swallow around the lump in your throat, because you’re not going to cry at not living up to another set of invisible expectations. “It’s my brother’s wedding, Seokjin. It’s not some small thing I can blow off.”

“Is that it?” he challenges, eyebrow quirked, expression bemused. “Or do you not want to lose your precious little trust fund?”

“Are you serious? Of course I don’t want to lose it, but I—”

“You don’t even like your brother,” he continues, giving you absolutely no reprieve. No chance to catch up, catch your breath. “You don’t even like your family, but I guess you like their money. Nothing was ever gonna be more important than that, huh?”

“That’s not fair, Seokjin.”

He hums; knows you’re right. Doesn’t try to get in anymore jabs, but he looks broken. “I don’t think this has been fake for either of us for a long time. It was stupid to think you’d go against your family on this, but I thought maybe, for me—”

“Again, that’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t fair,” he shoots back. “I know that. I just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t skip this, and you’re not willing to skip yours, so I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“I can just go alone,” you say, because it seems simple. “I already did what they asked, so I can just go alone. It’s fine.”

“It’s not like that for me.”

You’re stunned into silence. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s irrational, but it’s… the principle. For me. I’m never going to match up, you know? I’m never going to be from your world. I can make all the money in the world doing what I do and I’ll still never come close. So I had this stupid thought in my head, like, if she comes then it’s real for her, too. It means something. If she’s there, we can figure it out.”

“And that’s the only way? It’s only real if I do this one thing? Doesn’t matter how we feel?” You laugh, exasperated, and you’re up and halfway to the door. “That’s bullshit, Seokjin. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations you’ve got of me if you never tell me what the fuck they are? You know, that’s—this is exactly what my family does, and you—you know that, what the fuck.”

“Hey, no—”

“I can’t belie—” Things go all glassy. Crystalline. You need to get out of here. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—”

You press harshly into your eyes. You’re not going to cry over this. “Good luck, Seokjin.”

[THE CHOICE]

Things come full circle during another two a.m. crisis.

You’d stared at the ceiling. Scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Ignored Seokjin’s texts and thought about texting Hobi but decided it wouldn’t be fair and instead went cross-eyed watching some questionable late night paid program. Tried to disregard the crippling weight on your chest. Couldn’t. Thought about what Namjoon might do, because he seems well-versed in these sorts of crises, and looked up Sartre quotes on the internet. Got as far as one and quit, both because it hit too close to home and because all you can think about is your last two a.m. crisis.

Seokjin’s voice had been so soft. It wouldn’t have that same tenderness if you called him now and that stings, knowing you had a good thing, something velvet, and you let it go.

And still you think about Namjoon, about the ethics of conservation: when to preserve and when to let die. Does preservation ensure survival, or does it stave off the inevitable? It all gives you a headache, because nothing is guaranteed but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.

Jimin goes to Milan. Taehyung posts a selfie looking sad and beautiful on some balcony in Paris. You don’t want to be like them, doing some perpetual song and dance. Resisting an obvious thing.

Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” Groggy and confused. A voice you’ve heard a million times that still feels indistinguishable from a stranger’s.

“I can’t come to your wedding.”

A moment of silence, both literally and for your trust fund. “Uh, okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, because it feels important to say even if you don’t necessarily feel sorry. “I, uh—I am sorry, because I like your fiancée and I know this is probably a huge inconvenience considering your wedding is in a few hours, but I can’t—”

There’s some rustling. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to your brother in the middle of the night before. “It’s really fine.” He yawns. “This couldn’t wait ‘til the morning, though?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Why do you sound like you’re about to have a panic attack?”

A lightbulb moment: he doesn’t know. “I am. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That Mom and Dad threatened to cut me off if I didn’t show up at your wedding with a date.”

More silence. Then, slowly, the trickle of laughter. Just a quiet snort at first, and you’re a little confused, wonder if you should be laughing too, if he’s laughing at you, and then it compounds until he’s nearly in hysterics. “Oh my god.” He’s almost shrieking. “Holy shit. That’s why you brought that guy to dinner, isn’t it? The one they hated?” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound like this.

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking hilarious. Fair play.” You wonder why you’ve spent two-plus decades hating this man on the other end of the line. “Okay, then. Why can’t you make it?”

You talk until you’re hoarse: about the competition, the fake relationship that hasn’t been all that fake for weeks, about the trust fund and growing up under the weight of your family’s money and expectations and always coming in third behind societal ass-kissing and your brother. You’re not looking for an apology but you get one anyway. A heart-to-heart in a moment that’s not entirely built for one, because the sun is coming up and your brother is still getting married in a few hours even if you won’t be there to witness it.

“All right, I really gotta go, but listen: I’ll talk to them, okay? And I’m rooting for you. Maybe in a few weeks you and Seokjin can come over for dinner, if it all works out.”

“Yeah, sure.” You agree readily, and it’s nice to have someone that shares your name in your corner. “I’ll make sure he behaves.” Your smile drops, chest cracked in half. “If it works out.”

Your brother says goodnight and wishes you well. Hangs up, and the silence is deafening and consolatory. You think about the Sartre quote again: Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

Whatever happens, you think you’ll do just fine when it’s on your own terms.

Perhaps naively, you expected the day of your brother’s wedding—and subsequently Seokjin’s competition—to be gloomy. Of course, the weather is perfect. Mid-70s, light breeze, cloudless blue sky. When you’re wounded everything feels like an attack, so maybe before it would’ve felt like the universe was mocking you, saying look how beautiful and intact the world is when you’re falling apart, but you see something else.

You’d done a lot of thinking. Soul-searching and introspection and all those uncomfortable, vulnerable things you and Seokjin had talked about before, and you’ve made it to the other side, so a cloudless blue sky on a beautiful afternoon doesn’t feel like an attack. What you see is clarity being reflected back at you.

But it still takes a lot of courage. Instead of putting on a stunning, designer dress and painting on a smile to pacify your family and anyone else important enough to be granted entry, you’re pulling on normal clothes and normal shoes. It doesn’t matter if your hair and makeup are done. Everything feels wrong for a moment, like you’re forgetting something important, and you suppose that’s normal. This is arguably the biggest and most consequential decision you’ve made thus far in your life. No wonder you’re out of sorts.

Normally, this is where you’d compartmentalize. Tuck all that discomfort away for later: a problem for Future You. But that had been your go-to for years, and it did nothing but turn you into an emotionally constipated mess, so you’re done with that—trying to be done with that. Which is fine, because you don’t have a plan, not really, but sometimes it’s enough to simply show up, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Rejection is likely. You’re smart enough to know that, and you’re mature enough to accept it, if it comes down to it. But you don’t want Seokjin to feel rejected. Not again. That’s more important. So you’re going to show up, heart on your sleeve, and if he rejects you, fine, but you’re going to be there. And you’re going to cheer when he wins, even if your voice is drowned out.

Another packed event. It helps to feel anonymous when your sympathetic nervous system is working overtime like this. You’re trembling by the time you find a spot—a little out of the way, no room left on the bleachers. Seokjin probably won’t see you here, wouldn’t think to look, and it’s okay. You’re here for him but you’re here for yourself, too. Just to prove you can. Just to prove that you’re still human.

It all goes by in a blur. The skaters you don’t recognize, some you do. Scores that are both meaningful and meaningless until they aren’t. Seokjin’s name gets called and your stomach drops, but it’s okay. You see Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jeongguk, all nervous energy and bit fingernails and cautious smiles. They don’t see you, but it’s okay.

Two runs happen in a nanosecond. Seokjin holds steady in third. The guy sitting in first falls on his final run, and it’s best of three so you’re not breathing easy yet but your fingers start tingling with anticipation. The guy in second does well but nothing good enough to improve his score. Your phone’s blowing up in your pocket. Presumably your brother’s told your parents by now, and you can wait just a little longer to get cut off. What’s in front of you is more important, it is, and you know it when—

Call it divine intervention, but Seokjin looks up just as he’s about to drop into the bowl. Looks right at you, and the tingle spreads from your fingers all over. Another freeze-frame moment; the two of you are getting good at this.

He smiles. He wins.

Feels a bit like falling in love.

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #bts imagines #bts scenarios #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x you #jin x you #bts fanfiction #bts fic #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #seokjin fluff

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dawnagustd · 1 year

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bruised || ksj

⇝ title: bruised - Seokjin is intentionally trying to make your day harder but two can play that game. ⇝ pairing: seokjin x f!reader ⇝ genre: smut ⇝ rating: 18+ ⇝ word count: 1k ⇝ warnings: unedited | strong language | a bit of mma training/fighting | seokjin with tattoos is definitely a warning | not so decent public acts | dry humping/grinding | scissoring/tribing.. whatever you want to call that but (yeah, i said it) | dom!reader | sub!seokjin | they both have a small crushing fetish | wrist pinning | ruined orgasm | open ending ⇝ author’s note: Written for the Catch of the Century collab. Thanks for having me and sorry it’s late.

read on ao3

“Asshole!”

Your flesh smacks the mat as your body is slammed hard. Once again, Seokjin has managed to make you look like an idiot. The gym has been closed for hours now, but he still wants to practice and make you suffer for a vendetta he has against you.

“If you fight like this next week, you’re going to be the biggest disappointment in history,” he taunts.

You lie on your back, allowing your head to loll in his direction. As he brings the water bottle to his lips, he glances over at you, catching you in the act. Quickly, you revert your gaze to the ceiling.

As you’re focusing on the light fixtures, you curse your trainer for checking out on you and sending his egocentric son as his replacement. Someone you haven’t seen since your rookie career. The same guy that was so sure he’d hook up with you but was left in shambles when you rejected him.

You groan and pull yourself up, feeling his eyes follow you.

“Will you stop it? You know you aren’t trying to help me.”

You don’t have anything against him, but he just irks your nerves.

You sit on the ropes, tying your shoelaces before you two go at it again. When you look up, you find him removing his hoodie. His white loose-fitting tank does not cover any of the ink drawings covering his biceps and forearms. Again, he catches you staring, making you want to slap yourself for feeding into his already overflowing confidence.

“Then why am I here?”

You see that he’s getting into position again, so you mimic his stance. The smirk on his face only riles you up, and you make up your mind that he’ll be the one who hits the mat this time.

“One more,” he suggests. “If you can handle me.”

“Handle you?”

When he nods, you can’t help but laugh.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“You can be full of me too if you want,” he winks.

Your mouth falls open after hearing his lewd remark. “You’re so disgusting.”

“I heard you were into that.”

“I’ll kill you!”

You get into position, and he counts down, rushing you at the final second, but this time he’s unsuccessful. He’s been relying on his strength to overpower you, but you have speed, and you use it to your advantage.

Seokjin’s back hits the mat with a thud and his eyes grow wide when you straddle him. He’s too shocked to move, but he can’t anyway because your thighs are squeezing him tight.

“Aw. That’s the same face you were wearing when I said I didn’t want your number,” you tease. “It hurts to take a loss, doesn’t it?”

“Get off me.”

His tone turns bitter, and you relish the moment of his defeat.

“Do you really want me to?”

He almost chokes. “Uh..”

“Uh?”

“Not really,” he gulps.

You can feel his palms starting to sweat as you pin his wrists to the mat.

“Well, tell me where I should sit.”

“Maybe a little lower?”

You lift a brow, smirking as his face begins to turn red.

“I think I know what you want, Seokjin.”

You drop your ass right on his crotch, drawing a whimper from his lips.

“I can handle you. But can you handle me?” you quiz.

The bulge growing in his pants presses against your center, piquing your curiosity more and more. Your thin spanks don’t provide much of a barrier, so you can feel everything.

Though you aren’t fond of Seokjin, you are interested in knowing if the “good reviews” are accurate. You can’t tolerate his large ego, but when he’s turning into a puddle beneath you, he’s more enjoyable.

“I was made for this.”

“Oh.”

You release his wrists from your grasp and place your hands on his broad shoulders. The first thing he does is touch your thighs and his slender fingers begin to explore your skin.

With your weight smothering his cock, you glide back and forth, using the friction to stimulate your clit. Seokjin bites back his moans, not wanting to appear worked up so easily but you make it your priority to make him lose control quickly.

You move into a different position, putting your knee on the mat while your other leg is thrown over his body. You can feel his dick jumping, his thigh muscles tightening like he has tension building in his core. He begs, but you don’t show him any pity.

“You have to take it easy,” he pants. “I might–”

“Come in your pants? I hope you do–”

“Hey, are you almost done? I gotta lock up.”

You’re quickly standing on your feet as the custodian’s voice travels through the empty gym. Seokjin does the same and the two of you pretend as if nothing’s happened.

“We’ll just be a few more minutes,” Seokjin answers.

The man is annoyed but agrees and leaves the room. Seokjin grabs your arm before you can rush and gather your belongings.

“This isn’t over,” he mutters.

You pat his chest with a smile.

“I never said it was. Meet me in the showers?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Well, you should go get it ready while I grab my shit, yeah?”

He nods. “For sure.”

Seokjin leaves the cage and makes his way to the locker rooms. Little does he know; you won’t be joining him. You pack your bag and rush to your car to head home.

You’ll tend to his bruised ego eventually, but right now, you’ll enjoy having fun with him.

#seokjin x reader #bts x reader #seokjin smut #bts smut #btsafterdarknet #thekpopuniverse #btshoneyhive #bangtansorciere #kvanity #bts fanfics #seokjin fanfics #bts imagines #seokjin imagines #sugakookitty

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shibaraki · 11 months

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AMPHITRITE ┊ URARAKA OCHAKO

synopsis: ochako is a fiend for your attention and one day apart is a day too many.

tags: GN reader, merfolk au, reef mer ochako, human reader, established interspecies relationship, kissing, fluff, kinda suggestive

wc: 1K+

↳ for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server ↰

The two of you are tucked away from prying eyes in a small cove on the far end of the beach. Waves wash languidly over your feet. Quiet, the sound is soothing, familiar as an old lullaby. You are laid on your back, Ochako pressing her weight into your side, arm wrapped around her shoulders. The other is resting across your stomach, fingers idly tracing her hip.

You recall your first meeting while you watch the horizon darken. You, just a young human stumbling upon a helpless creature beached on the shore. The island is protected by a dense reef, keeping strange ships and predators away, and a clan of merfolk lived in those waters, finding home amongst the coral.

Their relationship with your people had been fragile at best, a peace maintained only by promises made centuries ago. Seeing your mysterious neighbours so close to land was unsettling. But you remember how she struggled. How dried out her juvenile scales had been. Watching her wheeze, spluttering tearfully, the warning from your elder to stay away were dispelled. Gathering her into your arms you sprinted toward the receding waves with reckless abandon and dunked the bundle into the sea.

Her pained expression smoothed out beneath the distorted surface. Soft, fragmented light had danced over her full face, colour returning to skin as she took a big inhale. And when the water woke her in a state of lucid urgency, the mer darted from your grasp.

Soaked up to the waist, you stared after her at the seamless ocean for longer than you cared to measure. Enraptured.

Ochako was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

Now a mermaid grown, bouncy brunette hair falls in a gentle swoop towards her gills, framing her face. There are undertones of pink in her round cheeks, decorated with opalescent scales that follow the slope of her collarbones, draping over her chest. She is both delicate and sturdy. Thick muscle in her arms that naturally flex as she drags herself onto land and a defined waist but her breasts and stomach are soft, resting.

All this led to her magnificent pink tail— a powerful thing, longer than her upper body, wide at the waist and narrow where it splits into a petal-shaped fluke that tapered into pale green like an azalea flower. Fins protrude either side of her hips, thin gossamer silk, fanning out and connecting along her flank to her wrists. They’re to catch the current. They help me float, she told you gleefully. They help me fly.

You laughed, Like a sugar glider.

What’s a sugar glider? she pouted.

Older now, her eyes are polished amber like the first rays of dawn and her tail reminds you of a bruising dusk. It darkens under your touch. Sun kissed, a sheen over her skin. You feel her soft chuff against your chin.

“What is it?” you murmur, knowing full well what she needs, lightly knocking your chin to her temple in a show of encouragement. Her breath is warm on your damp skin as she burrows deeper into your neck. “I can’t read your mind, y’know”.

Ochako’s teeth are dangerously sharp at your jugular but she’s careful, barely any pressure. Accompanied by the flustered whine building in her throat it is anything but threatening. Her fins flutter, tail flexing and betraying her emotions as it slaps the water, pinpricks of sea salt raining down on you.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” she says, as though that was the adequate answer, clutching at your waist and scooting closer. You take in a lungful of briney air, turning into her embrace. A smile works its way onto your face when your bodies align and she begins to squirm.

“Did you miss me?” you croon, combing your fingers through her hair, pulling away the thin seaweed strands tangled there. Her limbs tighten, an unforgiving vice around your back. You hear her tail sweep up through the sand and your legs part to make room, knee resting over her hip.

Her pout is obvious, pursed and jutted against your pulse point. “I’m sorry,” you tell her. Your apology does not come across as especially repentant given the teasing tone, just shy of condescending. “Tell me how to make it better”.

The quiet request barely reaches your ears, “…Kiss?”

Dipping into her space you press your lips to her temple. Ochako trills, eyes falling closed. She leans in as you leave another featherlight kiss on her eyelid, lashes fanning soft against your lips. The bridge of her nose wrinkles when you kiss the tip. Patience wearing thin her tailfin slaps the surface of the water. You laugh quietly, your own restlessness spiking when she chases your mouth.

Ochako reels you in. Closer, latching onto your shirt to anchor you at her side. Without restraint her claws tear into the fabric with ease. Fingers move to play with the delicate fins around her ears. You kiss her slow and purposeful, plucking the needy moan right from her throat. Your tongue slides over pointed teeth, nicking soft tissue, copper bursting across your palette.

The silken winged-fin from her hip to her wrist deepens in colour. Face flushed pink, eyelids open a fraction. Heat pulses through you, an electric feeling prickling the length of your spine as she gently sucks on your tongue. “Pretty girl,” you murmur, the sand sifting under your weight as she pants. She’ll be too lightheaded soon. “What am I going to do with you?”

Ochako mumbles something inaudible, body caught in a brief interlude. You wonder, absentmindedly, if she can hear a word you’re saying. Pupils dilating and fixed on your looming figure. Heat hems her scales and they glow in the eventide. She hums dumbly, gaze unwavering, as though her mind was abuzz with nothing but you.

“Stay,” cool where she encircles your wrist, halting your hand as it began to move, she looks up at you through dark lashes, pleading. After a blank moment she adds, “Longer”.

“Alright,” adjusting your position to cradle her on your chest, you cast a last look at the tide. There’s little time left before the current inevitably pulls you in—if Ochako doesn’t try to first. A day apart is a day too many.

“As long as you want”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #ochako x reader #ochako uraraka x reader #q’d

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shuadotcom · 1 year

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Smile | KSJ

🎾 Summary: Kim Seokjin has been a professional tennis player for years. He has countless tennis trophies in his penthouse in South Korea and has won two grand slams. He’s even in talks to participate in the upcoming Olympics. He’s dated a handful of well-known people with no problem and is confident to the point of irritation to those around him.

Kim Seokjin has all of these things and has done so many things and yet…for some reason he’s unable to simply ask you for your number or get to know you. 🎾 Pairing: Pro Tennis Player!Seokjin x Barista Afab!Reader 🎾 Genre & AUs: Fluff, strangers to lovers au, cafe au (kinda), sports au 🎾 Rating: PG 🎾 Warnings: Like 3 curse words 🎾 Words: 2.8k 🎾 Note: This is for the Catch of the Century: Dirty 30 collab hosted by the amazing @joheunsaram! ❤️ This was supposed to be a completely different fic with a bunch of angst and whatnot but 1) it’s been missing Seokjin soft hours over here lately and 2) life sucks and I wanted some cute, lighthearted fluffy shit to get me through it lol. The songspo for this is You Don’t Know My Name by Alicia Keys and it's more a loose, roles reversed version of that kinda. This started as an oldddddd fic of mine that I rewrote. I’ll probably still write the other fic I had in mind in the future when I’m feeling angsty again.

A huge thank you to @hobipaint for being my first beta and helping me expand on a few details for the better of the premise and plot and thank you to @snoozeagustd for being my second beta and making sure my jumble of words made sense - thank you x500 both of you!! 🫶🏽 And thank you to the always iconic @kithtaehyung for this absolutely phenomenal banner!! ❤️ 🎾 Net tag: @kflixnet

Kim Seokjin has been a professional tennis player for years. He has countless tennis trophies in his penthouse in South Korea and has won two grand slams. He’s even in talks to participate in the upcoming Olympics. He’s dated a handful of well-known people with no problem and is confident to the point of irritation to those around him.

Kim Seokjin has all of these things and has done so many things and yet…for some reason, he’s unable to simply ask you for your number or get to know you.

It’s embarrassing for him really, yet the courage to do anything about it evades him at each opportunity. He’d never been a believer in love at first sight, that is until he first set his sights on you.

It’s close to sundown when he and his team arrive in the country for a week-long doubles match and everyone is in need of caffeine before meeting with some sports magazine for a last-minute but important interview. Seokjin, his match partner Taehyung, and the rest of his entourage bustle into the cafe that sits across from their hotel, thankful for its close proximity.

His manager Namjoon takes everyone's orders as they all occupy a few tables by the register and Seokjin accompanies him to place the order. He’s fumbling with his phone, not paying attention too much until he hears the sound of your voice in front of them.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to look at you and he visibly falters, thankful that Namjoon is the one doing the talking.

You catch his eye immediately as you look at the two of them with what he would describe plainly as a bored expression on your beautiful face. He watches your perfect lips as they move, speaking with Namjoon and typing the orders into the register with delicate hands. He can’t help but eye your body as you shift over to the various coffee machines, noting the focused look on your face as you work.

Seokjin’s ears strain to listen as you hum while you work. It takes him a second, but he works out that you’re humming a Coldplay song - albeit off-key but he definitely recognizes it.

Once the drinks are made, you call out Namjoon’s name and Seokjin walks with him to collect them. You simply toss them a ‘have a good night’ and move to clean up your workstation.

The interaction is so normal and so casual he can hardly believe it. Seokjin can’t recall a time when he’s gone into a restaurant or other establishment and gotten recognized instantly by not only patrons but employees themselves. This is the first time in a long time that Seokjin hasn’t been hounded for a photo and autograph and it’s refreshing and a little exciting to be a stranger to someone again.

Especially someone as beautiful as you.

The next morning, Seokjin gets up early before he has to leave for the first match and crosses the street to the busy coffee shop. He goes simply on a whim, muttering a small prayer that you’ll be there. Luck is on his side when he looks behind the counter to see you fussing with the pastries by the register, not having noticed him come in.

He adjusts his tennis outfit and takes a breath as he makes his way to the register. You hold up a finger to him as you seem to put the finishing touches on a display of muffins. When you finally turn towards him, he holds his breath, wondering if now that it’s daytime, with the sun shining brightly into the cafe window if you’ll recognize him, especially in what’s essentially his work uniform.

And to his relief, you don’t.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Your tone is flat but your voice is still as melodic as it sounded last night - like a favorite song he hasn’t heard in so long. You look at him with an intense gaze, making Seokjin uncharacteristically squirm a little under your gaze. He clears his throat and smiles wide enough that it reaches his eyes.

“What do you think is best?” He asks in his best English. He can’t help but silently thank Namjoon for helping him brush up on the language before the trip.

You hum and turn to scan the menu. “The caramel latte is pretty good,” you suggest with a tiny shrug.

“I'd like that, please. A medium.” He watches as you type his order into the register before you direct him where to swipe his credit card.

“Name?” You question, poised to write on the cup in your hand.

“Jin,” he says quickly, not putting much thought into his answer. It’s the first time he hasn’t had to use a completely fake variation of his name while his face is concealed and it’s almost exhilarating. You simply scribble that on the cup in your hand and turn away to make his drink.

Seokjin watches you work from his seat, doing his best not to make it obvious he’s throwing glances your way. You’re humming again as you assemble his drink, this time it’s one of his favorite songs by The Fray. The tune sounds half a beat too fast, but he still catches it and he loves your rendition of it.

When you call his name and he approaches to retrieve his latte, your fingers brush as he takes his cup from you and Seokjin feels the tips of his ears turn bright red, but you don’t seem too phased, and instead, you go to wipe down the counter behind you, not paying him any more mind. Not even when the tv hanging behind the register shows a commercial for the televised match he’s playing shortly and a clip of him from a previous game shows up for a few seconds. No one seems to care, not even you, and Seokjin actually loves that.

Between how effortlessly beautiful you look in your jeans and black apron and the fact that he can approach you as just a normal guy, Seokjin realizes you’re still on his mind as the day drags on, which is how he finds himself back inside the cafe later that afternoon after winning his first match, and yet again that evening after he and the rest of his team come back from dinner.

That night, you’re not on shift alone, so before he walks into the coffee shop, he digs through his bag for a mask, donning it before heading inside.

“Welcome in!” Your co-worker behind the register greets him when he enters.

Your head turns to glance at him from your spot in front of a blender. If you recognize him from his earlier trips you don’t show it, going back to your task at hand.

“What can I get for you?” The bubbly girl asks, a megawatt smile beaming at him. Her name tag reads ‘Krystal’ and he notes how he’s never seen your nametag full on to read your name.

“Um, a medium caramel iced latte please.”

She nods, inputting his order. Once he pays and is waiting for his order, he observes you chatting with your co-worker so he doesn’t get to hear a tone-deaf version of a song he knows.

Instead, Seokjin is graced with something even more endearing: a smile from you.

Each time he’s seen you, you take orders and make drinks with a neutral, unchanging expression. Not once do you crack a real, carefree smile or even so much as a smirk. Your mouth is either in a straight line or turned down when you seem to be concentrating, but the corners of your mouth never find their way up.

Part of Seokjin thinks he’s staring too much while the other part of him doesn’t care and instead memorizes your smile. The perfect curve of the corners of your mouth, mirth twinkling in your eyes like stars. The shape of your velvety-looking lips as they stretch wide and the perfect roundness of the apples of your cheeks. It’s the kind of smile that feels like a warm ray of sun on cold skin or a freshly baked pie straight out of the oven. It’s the type of smile that makes Seokjin forget any other smile he’s ever had thrown at him, and the type he’ll never forget.

The way in which your face lit up still lingers when he collects his drink and long after you’ve dropped the expression, resorting back to your default look.

The need to see you smile again is mighty as Seokjin decides right then and there that he wants to be the reason you genuinely smile and yearns for you to direct it at him.

Seokjin isn’t trying to be creepy - really he’s not. You just so happen to be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and he wants so badly to strike up a conversation with you and learn more. Your likes, dislikes, your favorite ice cream flavor, your favorite movies, and your least favorite genre of music.

It’s why he goes back to the cafe five more times during the week between matches and other schedules, hoping to approach you with more than his coffee order.

He doesn’t because whenever you turn to look at him, eyes trained on him, mouth moving to ask what he wants, all of a sudden, he forgets any of those things and instead it’s business as usual, except sometimes he throws in a small pastry, but that’s all the additional words he can get out.

It’s silly really, but here he is, at the age of thirty stumbling over words simply because a pretty girl is looking at him. He kicks himself each time he leaves the coffee shop, telling himself to try again next time.

Seokjin and Taehyung win the doubles match at the end of the week which puts Seokjin in the best mood he’s been in all week. He wakes up after a night of celebratory partying and shuffles across the street once more after getting ready for the day.

As has become his routine, he’s sitting at his usual table located to the left of the cash register, one table away from the front door. He sips on his latte and alternates between scrolling on his phone and keeping an eye on you as you peer down at your phone. The cafe is quiet, only two other people immersed in their personal bubbles with drinks already in hand. He sees the delicate quirk of your mouth as you type, the expression tugging his heartstrings.

It’s his last day in the country and he’s still riding high on his adrenaline from yesterday’s win. Today is the day he’ll talk to you - really talk to you.

“You do know that what you've been doing is creepy, right?” Seokjin nearly leaps out of his seat upon hearing the sudden voice from behind him. He turns to see Namjoon staring back at him.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Seokjin says, matter-of-factly.

Namjoon scoffs and slides into the seat across from him. “Oh, please, we all know you’ve been sneaking off. It wasn't until Taehyung decided to follow you that we knew you were here. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, you know." Namjoon turns slightly to glance at you while you take the orders of a few women in business suits. “She’s cute.”

Seokjin watches you effortlessly move behind the counter as another customer enters and approaches to order, ignoring the flash of jealousy he feels when Namjoon compliments you. “Okay, fine yeah, I’ve been here. I just…god she’s beautiful.”

“Have you talked to her?”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he does, with a quiet groan. “No. She’s just…I don’t know. Whenever I get up there all I can stutter out is my stupid coffee order. I’ve never had trouble talking to attractive people before but she’s different and she gets me all flustered like a dumb teenage boy.”

Namjoon chuckles, giving his client and friend a sympathetic look. “That is very unlike you. Kim Seokjin? Speechless and unable to flirt with someone? Who are you and what have you done with my favorite self-absorbed hyung?”

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin chooses to ignore Namjoon’s teasing. “I just…I wish I could get to know her. She’s so beautiful and has the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen. Oh, and she also has such a similar taste in music to me. I can always tell what she’s humming to herself when she works. And her drinks are always perfect too. Always the right amount of ice to everything else ratio and never too much sweetener. And not once has she seemed to recognize me or lose her mind to talk to me - hell I don’t even think she knows who I am! Do you know how rare that is? To like someone who doesn’t know me as the sensational tennis player Kim Seokjin and simply Jin who orders iced lattes is…something I’ve missed so badly.”

Eyebrows raised at Seokjin’s confession, Namjoon lets him finish. “As sweet as that sounds, I don’t think being the strange man who's been watching her all week is a great look for you.” Namjoon jokes, giving Seokjin a look over his glasses. “Now, come on. We have to head out for the shoot in ten minutes.” Seokjin frowns but finishes his drink before getting up and following Namjoon out of the cafe, glancing at you once more over his shoulder.

By the time he and Taehyung finish their winners’ photoshoot, it’s late afternoon and Seokjin hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He and the team are set to be on a plane back to South Korea right after returning to the hotel to get their belongings, but Seokjin can’t just leave the country without one last visit and one last attempt at talking to you.

“Seokjin! We have to leave for the airport shortly!” His stylist calls to his retreating back as everyone piles out of the SUV dropping them off in front of the hotel.

“I know, just give me five minutes!” He holds up his hand as he crosses the street and beelines for the familiar cafe.

As usual, you’re there. There are only four other people in the shop, either typing away on their laptops or phones, but none of them look up when he enters. Seokjin makes eye contact with you as he approaches the counter, but before he can open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“Medium iced caramel latte, right?” You ask, already inputting his order into the register in front of you.

He simply blinks back at first. “Oh, yes please.” He smiles at you, waiting for his queue to swipe his card. You remember him. You remember his order. He’s acutely aware of the way his heart leaps in his chest and the desire to let out a loud cheer in the middle of the coffee shop is strong, but he contains himself.

This is the last time he very well may see you for the rest of his life. Seokjin is about to walk away from the most gorgeous human he’s ever laid eyes on and even until the end, he’s too chickenshit to even ask for your number. The mere thought of getting rejected by you makes him want to shrivel up and float away. Not that he hasn’t been rejected before, but if it’s you, the beautiful stranger from the coffee shop with the smile like a siren’s song that has unknowingly captured his heart? He’ll never be able to get that out of his head.

In the end, the best thing he can even think to do is to grab a napkin and a pen from his bag before he can talk himself out of it.

“Jin,” you call out his name and he has to force his legs to walk over to the pick-up counter.

“Thank you.” He bows slightly to you and slides the napkin across the counter. He wants to say so much and let you know just how much of an effect you have on him, but he can’t. He can only hope that this is enough.

You watch the man leave the cafe, almost afraid to see what he’s written. You aren’t oblivious to the fact that he’s been coming in two to three times a day for the past week, always seemingly when you were on shift. He always ordered the same drink, which you had recommended, and he'd sit at the same table. He pretended to play with his phone, but you could always feel his deep brown eyes on you as you worked. At least he was respectful each time, never making you feel uncomfortable or like you were in danger.

Sure he was cute, handsome even, but you’ve perfected your poker face around attractive people so as to not show when you are, in fact, looking at them as much as they’re looking at you.

You hold the napkin in your hand and glance out of the large glass window at the front of the shop, watching the man known to you only as Jin, look both ways before crossing the street. Sighing, you open the napkin to read his words.

Hi.

Please don’t think I have bad intentions. You’re the most breathtaking person I’ve ever seen. It’s why I’ve been too scared to talk to you. I’m not from here and am flying back home today. I may never see you again, but I’ll regret this for the rest of my life if I don’t try.

Xxx-xxx-xxxx

I would love more than anything to get to know more about you, but I understand if you don’t want to text me. I’m just the guy that’s ordered the same drink from you all week.

I just want you to know that you’re beautiful. Smile and let the world see it. :)

-Kim Seokjin - the medium iced caramel latte guy

(You have great taste in music by the way)

These past few weeks for you have been one of the absolute worst. Life has been testing you in more ways than one, and anything that could go wrong for you, definitely has. The last thing you’ve wanted to do was show up to work, but here you are, day in and day out, extra shifts and all. Everything has been shitty and terrible and the urge to disappear has been strong.

The napkin in your hand with the sweet note from a kind stranger makes your stomach flutter though. You can’t remember the last time that someone who wasn’t a friend or a family member made you feel so warm. You don’t even mind that he’s probably heard the off-key humming you have a habit of doing while working if his last comment is any indication.

Your head whips up, looking out of the window at the front of the cafe and you can see Seokjin standing across the street, staring right at you. He raises his hand and gives a small wave before getting into the black SUV parked next to him and you watch as it pulls away.

Right on cue, the tv behind the counter catches your eye. The sports channel plays every day, per the request of your boss, and usually, you don’t pay it any mind since sports aren’t normally of any interest to you, but a familiar face comes on the screen at that moment. The face of the man who’s ordered the same drink you recommended to him all week pops up.

Kim Seokjin, an apparent champion in the tennis world and clearly a big deal, left you a hastily written note telling you he’s been too nervous to talk to you, the barista of a cafe he’s never been to. What is the universe even doing right now?

Seokjin stares out the window as the car takes everyone to the airport, doing his best to listen to Namjoon talk about the interviews he has once they arrive back home, but all he can think about is you. Did you throw out his note after you read it? Are you going to tell everyone what a weirdo he is? If Namjoon knew he wrote his number down for you and left it like that, he’ll never hear the end of it. Especially not if you sell his number online or give it to the press or something. Maybe he should have thought that through more. Maybe if he wasn’t such a wuss he-

His train of thought derails when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He quickly fishes out the device, frantically going to his messages.

[Unknown] Hi Mr. Stalker. Do you go around leaving your number on random napkins for every person you think is pretty?? 😉

A rush of something unfamiliar yet warm fills Seokjin’s chest when he reads your texts.

[Seokjin] No. Only the prettiest ones I’ve ever had the fortune of seeing and that’s only ever happened once.

[Seokjin] And by once I mean right now. Just saying.

[Unknown] 😂 Well I’m honored.

[Seokjin] Hi honored, I’m Seokjin 😃

[Unknown] Wow. I should block you for that…

[Unknown] But it made me laugh so I won’t. I’m Y/n, by the way. Nice to meet you Seokjin 🙂

Maybe Namjoon won’t kill him after all, Seokjin thinks as he adds your name to his contacts. Giving his number to a stranger pays off as he gets absorbed in finally talking to you, images of your face and the memory of your voice quickly filling his head. If he’s lucky, maybe one day he’ll be able to see you again and if he’s even luckier, he’ll get to see you smile again, but this time for him.

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mrworldwideshoulders · 1 year

Text

on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot.

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?”

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth.

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him.

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right?

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.”

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp.

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.”

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.”

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.”

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin.

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further.

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training.

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?”

You scoff. “I get by just fine.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks.

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.”

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer.

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.”

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him.

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.”

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow.

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?”

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far.

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Well, someone has to, don’t they?

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.”

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?”

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands.

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?”

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?”

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction.

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.”

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?”

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.”

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?”

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?"

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?”

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.”

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank.

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all.

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own.

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it.

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes.

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him.

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much.

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests.

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?”

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed.

previous || part 2 →

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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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Turn Back Time (KSJ x F!Reader) - Teaser

warnings: Seokjin is confused, minor injuries, apartment intruders, baffling modern technology, minor mention of sensory deprivation (very mild)

word count: 6.4k so far (1.2k for this teaser - and still a lot left to write!) a/n: a very happy early 30th bday to our WWH! This is my submission for the Catch of The Century collab hosted by myself, @joheunsaram, and @kithtaehyung! I’ve been super excited about this concept and writing the role reversal with Seokjin, and 13 Going On 30 is only one of my favorite movies ever (seriously, it never misses on every single rewatch). I’m aiming to get this done before the end of November, bc I shall be unavailable to post during Jin’s actual bday (for good reason)! please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

The room around him was very unfamiliar - he catches sight of the rug he’d tripped on moments ago, his eyes travelling up to the sleek bed made out of dark wood with its rumpled sheets. This wasn’t his room. Where were all the baseball posters? And his GameCube in the corner? And his desk with his iMac?

“Eomma?” he calls out, padding down the hallway and taking in the sparse decorations. “Appa?”

The living room is even more strange, full of black furniture and far more neat than Seokjin’s room had ever been. His eyes widen at the large flat-screen TV that sits in the corner, and he lets out a soft wow at the thought of being able to watch baseball games on there.

He turns to look around even more, only to come face-to-face with a mirror. But the person staring back at him isn’t Seokjin. This person was not a thirteen year old with acne, a mouth full of braces, and dorky wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like one of those models on magazine covers, with hair pushed back from his face, skin clearer than the water at the beach, and a jawline that could cut glass.

He screams at the unfamiliar face, thinking there’s an intruder in the house with him. He staggers backwards, tripping on the raised entrance to the living room, and falling flat on his back. Pain explodes across the back of his head, and he wants to cry.

“What is happening?” he hyperventilates, shocked at the deep voice that comes out, so unlike his own. “What is going on?”

His anxiety increases as he begins to pace around the apartment, coaxing himself to breathe and to relax and take a seat. He’d find a way out of this.

Plopping onto the leather sofa, something on the coffee table catches his eye. It’s a letter, and he pales when he sees the name on the envelope.

It’s his. Kim Seokjin. But that’s not his address. Frantically, he sifts through the mail, growing even more pale when he sees all the letters are addressed to him, and that they’re being sent to this same address. He lived here.

Seokjin thinks this is the weirdest dream he’s ever been in, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the sink turning on in what he can only assume is the bathroom in this place.

Seokjin searches for something, anything he can use to protect himself, settling on an umbrella in the corner.

“I-, I know you’re there,” his voice wobbles as he yells out to the woman. “My parents are gonna be home soon!”

The door creaks open, and out steps a woman. The first thing Seokjin can think of is legs. So much leg, peeking out at him from underneath a fluffy white towel. And then he screams again. Because she’s naked under there.

“Babe, where’s the conditioner?” she asks him, crossing her arms. Her chest is emphasized from this action, and Seokjin looks up at the ceiling. This was inappropriate. He had to get out of here now!

“Come join me!” her voice fades into the background as he runs, grabbing the first coat and the first pair of shoes he sees in the entry way. The stairs of the unfamiliar building wind around him as he descends, his head spinning, and before he knows it, he’s through a golden set of doors and out onto a busy city street.

A strange buzzing comes from his pocket, and Seokjin yelps. Was he being attacked? Had the government bugged him?

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you hear that?” he says frantically, pointing to his pocket. “Do you hear the buzzing?”

The woman passes him by without a second glance.

“Kim!” a voice calls out to him. “Get your ass over here!”

Seokjin turns to the sound of the voice, and stops in his tracks when he sees the person calling out to him.

It’s Jackson Wang, all suited up for practice. But he’s not the Jackson Seokjin remembers. The man chatters away on the phone angrily, gesturing for Seokjin to get in the car. What kind of world had he found himself in?

“I-, I don’t get in the car with strangers,” Seokjin says confidently, turning away from Jackson’s grabby hands. The man scoffs.

“Can you please just get in bro? We don’t have time for this, we’re gonna be late.”

His head feels like it’s gonna explode, caught between two horrifying situations. But right now even thought it was Jackson, the dude in front of him seemed less weird, and so, he falls over into the seat of the car, the door slamming shut behind him.

a/n pt. 2: i hope you are hype!!

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hamsterclaw · 1 year

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Allez

Seokjin's the latest fencer to join your parents' studio. He's competitive, beautiful and challenges you in ways beyond the foil.

My contribution to the Catch of the Century collab.

Pairing: Seokjin x F! reader

Genre: Fencer Jin AU, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit sex, sexual innuendo, swearing

You unlock the doors to your parents’ fencing studio and the familiar smell hits you. It’s a mix of musty and sweaty, permeating the very pores of the building even though you don’t think the building’s that old.

You switch the lights on and start pulling equipment out of the store room to set up for the day.

A noise from behind you startles you.

You turn to see a tall man standing awkwardly by the door.

‘Hi, I’m Kim Seokjin. I start today?’

The way his voice goes up at the end makes it sound like a question.

‘Nice to meet you,’ you reply politely. ‘I’m Y/N L/N, just setting up. My father said you were joining us today.’

Kim Seokjin is the latest trainee to join your father’s fencing school, and his reputation precedes him. He started fencing late, and he’s older than most of the trainees here, but he’s got a raw talent and work ethic that paid off when he ranked internationally last year.

‘My father won’t be in for another half hour. Would you like to look around? The gym’s open,’ you offer.

‘Do you want help?’ Seokjin says instead, gesturing to the cage of jackets and pants you’re about to wheel out into the main studio.

‘I’ll be fine, I do this every day,’ you reassure him.

He doesn’t seem to want to go, so you let him push the cage whilst you gather the collection of swords.

‘Are you training for the Asian games?’ you ask, as you hang jackets and pants up on the rail.

‘Yes,’ he says, almost like he’s embarrassed about it.

You look at him curiously as you push the cage back in and head to the gym.

You flick the lights on, watching for his reaction.

The gym in your parent’s studio is huge, designed like a fencer’s wet dream. Both your parents represented the country, in foil events. Your father was a three-time Olympian, your mother was once top ranked in the world.

You’d shown promise once, the only daughter of two fencing luminaries, and it’d broken your parents’ hearts when you’d given up aged 16 and prioritised running instead. You earned a track scholarship for university but haven’t competed since graduating.

Turns out, you don’t really have much competitive spirit in you.

Seokjin’s lips are moving, and you realise you’ve tuned him out completely.

‘Sorry,’ you say apologetically, ‘what did you say?’

He’s about to repeat it when your father appears at the entrance to the gym.

‘Kim Seokjin,’ he says, friendly, welcoming. ‘You’re early.’

‘I was just talking to Y/N,’ Seokjin says. His smile is pretty, warm, and makes you realise just how good-looking he is. You’ve seen pictures of him, of course, but most of the fencers in your parents’ school are tall, slim, athletic looking, physically blessed.

You take a step back and nearly bump into Jeon Jungkook, another one of your father’s trainees, and one of your best friends. You both watch as your father leads Seokjin away to his office.

‘What are you doing here so early Jungkook?’ you ask.

He smiles at you, casual. ‘I thought I’d fit in a workout before training today.’

‘Yeah, you need more muscles,’ you agree. Jungkook pouts at you.

You’ve known Jungkook since you trained together as teenagers, and it’s a running joke between you about how he hit twenty and then turned into a sexy, beautifully sculpted adult.

‘When are we going running together?’ he asks, slipping off his sweatshirt.

You grab the hem of his t-shirt to stop him from baring his abs as his t-shirt rides up. You know he already has a starring role in the fantasies of all the teenagers in your parents’ stable of trainees.

‘When you can keep up,’ you reply, rolling your eyes at his cheeky grin.

‘I can keep up,’ he says, waggling his brows, suggestive. ‘I’ve got stamina.’

‘You kiss your mother with that mouth, Jeon?’ you ask.

Jungkook just grins and heads to the treadmill to practice footwork. ‘See you after work.’

***

Jungkook meets you at the café near your work at the end of the day.

‘How’s the new guy?’ you ask, after you’ve ordered.

‘I like him,’ Jungkook says. His stomach rumbles loudly.

You reach in your bag and pass him a package of Pocky.

Jungkook tears it open like it’s his last meal.

You watch him crunch into the chocolate dipped sticks with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

‘Did you want some?’ he asks.

You wave him off. ‘You look like you need it more than me.’

‘I’m going through a growth spurt,’ Jungkook says.

‘You’re spurting something, that’s for sure,’ you agree, smiling when the tips of his ears turn red.

‘So tell me about Seokjin.’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Jungkook asks. He smiles at the waitress who’s delivering your drinks and she nearly spills the water, she’s so busy looking at him.

‘Why won’t you tell me?’ you counter.

‘His footwork is insane,’ Jungkook finally says. ‘He looks like he’s floating. Also he judges distance like no one else.’

‘Nice,’ you say. ‘You think he’ll get on the national team?’

‘He might beat me to it,’ Jungkook says, but he doesn’t sound in the least worried.

Your lack of competitive spirits were what made you get on so well when you first met, two outliers in a cohort of fiercely competitive fencers.

Jungkook’s still doing it though, his physicality is incredible. You were the competitive runner, but you think he might beat you in a distance run. Without trying. With a snack in his mouth.

‘Hye-mi asked him out,’ Jungkook informs you, spearing a chip from your plate and stealing it before you can stop him.

‘Yeah?’ you ask.

‘He turned her down,’ Jungkook tells you. His eyes flick to yours. ‘Is that the info you wanted?’

Your whole face feels warm.

Jungkook laughs softly.

‘Do you have a crush, Y/N?’

‘Shut up, JK.’

***

The next morning, you’re wiping down gym equipment when Seokjin approaches you.

‘Do you mind if I use the treadmill?’ he asks.

You’re surprised to see him here so early again.

‘Of course, you don’t have to ask me,’ you say, smiling.

You’re cleaning, but you also can’t help watching as he practices his footwork.

Jungkook had been right. He’s quick, light on his feet, making it look almost effortless as he advances.

He turns suddenly, and you’re treated to the straight line of his spine where his thin t-shirt is stuck to his back. God, his back. He’s worked up a sweat already.

You’re working up a sweat just watching him.

You realise he’s looking at you in the mirrors, and you turn away abruptly.

You have more to clean in the gym but you don’t think it’s good form to be caught ogling Kim Seokjin, and so you head for the equipment store.

Your father calls you into his office as you pass.

‘Your mother wants to cook hotpot tonight,’ he tells you.

‘Ok, I’m free,’ you say, mouth-watering at the thought of your mother’s delicious broth.

‘I’m inviting Kim Seokjin,’ your father tells you.

‘Ah sure. Can I invite Jungkook? He loves hotpot.’

Your father laughs. ‘I’ll ask your mother to pick up extra beef.’

‘I can get dessert,’ you say. ‘Seven thirty?’

‘See you later,’ your father replies.

***

Jungkook’s sniffing at the cardboard box containing the cheesecake you picked up.

‘Stop that. We don’t all need Kookie germs,’ you tell him, stepping a little closer so that passersby don’t bump into him on the busy street you’re both navigating.

‘I’ll give you Kookie germs,’ Jungkook mutters. His arm tightens against his side as a large group of drunk looking men pass you, pulling you closer.

‘It’s barely 7,’ you say, outraged, staring at the men.

‘No time limit on fun,’ Jungkook replies. ‘Apart from when it’s you and then there’s never any fun.’

You laugh at his rudeness. ‘Want me to carry the cake?’

‘Yes, but I also want to be the one to give it to your mom,’ Jungkook huffs.

‘She already loves you,’ you say, rolling your eyes. ‘Oh, by the way, Kim Seokjin’s coming for dinner.’

‘I hope there’s enough beef,’ Jungkook says, worried.

You take the box off him. ‘I’ll hold the cake, you stand in front of me so no one bumps us.’

Jungkook frowns. ‘Why did we have to come here for cake?’

‘You know it’s the best cheesecake,’ you say. ‘Sometimes you have to put in the work to get the best.’

‘Really?’ Jungkook asks, smile cocky.

‘And that’s why we’re never sleeping together,’ you joke.

Jungkook laughs and whines at the same time. ‘I already offered to give you Kookie germs,’ he tells you.

‘Sperm is actually sterile,’ you inform him. ‘Come on, hurry up, we don’t want to be late.’

‘My sperm isn’t sterile. It’s full of little Kookies,’ Jungkook says.

You burst out laughing. ‘I’m glad we’re getting this out of our system before we have to behave in front of Kim Seokjin and my parents. I meant there’s no germs in sperm.’

‘Want to see for yourself?’ Jungkook offers, but he’s already hailing the bus, ushering you on.

The cake makes it to your parents’ in one piece, and you pass it quickly to Jungkook before reaching for your keys.

The door opens before you can get the keys in the lock, and Kim Seokjin’s standing there, looking at you and Jungkook.

‘Hi,’ you say, smiling brightly.

He smiles back. ‘Need a hand?’ he asks Jungkook. ‘I brought dessert too.’

In a moment both you and Jungkook are standing in front of the beautiful layer cake Seokjin’s brought.

‘Nobody likes a try-hard,’ Jungkook mutters.

You nudge him, hard.

‘It looks beautiful, Seokjin.’

Your mother greets Jungkook like he’s her long-lost son, ushering him away to help her in the kitchen, leaving you and Seokjin standing in a corner of the dining room.

‘I didn’t know you and Jungkook knew each other,’ Seokjin says.

‘We used to train together when I fenced,’ you tell him. ‘Before I gave up.’

Seokjin looks down at you, and you sense he has questions, everyone you tell usually does, but all that comes out is, ‘I like training with your father.’

‘I’m glad. He thinks highly of you,’ you tell him.

Something occurs to you. ‘If you want, I can come earlier in the mornings to open up so you can work out.’

‘Don’t you have another job?’ Seokjin asks.

At your curious look, he says, quickly, ‘Your father said you have another job, which is why you open up in the morning and he locks up at night.’

‘I do, but I don’t mind coming in a bit earlier. I’m up anyway,’ you say.

‘If you really don’t mind, I’d like to have an earlier start on Wednesdays,’ Seokjin tells you.

‘Done. I’ll come in earlier tomorrow,’ you tell him, smiling. ‘Does 6am suit you?’

‘That would be great,’ Seokjin says. ‘Thank you.’

Jungkook emerges from the kitchen. ‘Hotpot’s ready.’

You’ve barely filled your bowls when you see a gleam in your mother’s eye as she looks at Seokjin.

You know what’s coming next, so you intercede smoothly.

‘What do your parents do, Seokjin?’ you ask.

Your mother’s mouth snaps shut.

‘My mother was an accountant, my father is in the shipping business,’ Seokjin answers. You get the sense he’s as used to answering these questions as your parents are used to asking them.

‘Which school did you go to?’ Jungkook asks, just about managing to look serious despite his mouth full of beef brisket.

Seokjin shoots you and Jungkook the universal trapped look familiar to anyone who’s ever been interrogated by an Asian parent.

‘I went to school outside Seoul and then I did my business degree, which is when I got into fencing.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ you ask, on your mother’s behalf.

‘Or a boyfriend?’ Jungkook asks.

Your father eyes you and Jungkook warily. ‘I’m sure Seokjin wants to enjoy his food instead of answering all these very personal questions,’ he says, pointedly.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’m single.’

He looks at you. ‘Are you single?’

‘I’m single,’ you say, and he smiles.

‘Good.’

You can feel your face heating up, and are thankfully saved by your mother’s tongue click of disapproval. ‘But you and Jungkook ---’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook pipes up. ‘What about us, Y/N?’

Your father gets up. ‘I’m going to get more meat to put on the grill.’

You put your beef on Jungkook’s plate so he’ll shut up.

‘Jungkook’s had a lot of girlfriends, mama,’ you tattle.

Your mother’s eyes widen as she looks at Jungkook, whose eyes are equally wide but whose mouth is full of beef preventing him from saying anything.

Seokjin chuckles quietly to himself.

‘The broth is delicious,’ he tells your mother, taking pity on Jungkook.

You take advantage of their moment of distraction to steal your beef back from Jungkook’s plate.

***

On Wednesdays you go in early to open up the studio for Seokjin and finish your other job at midday so you can help out at the studio.

You’re passing through when Mira, another fencer who trained with you and Jungkook, grabs you.

‘Can you practice with me?’ she asks. ‘I need a challenge today. It’s you or Jungkook.’

‘What’s Jungkook doing?’ you ask.

‘He was cornered by his fan club,’ Mira says, rolling her eyes. ‘He stripped his top off in the gym and I haven’t seen him since, just heard the screaming.’

‘Ugh,’ you say. ‘Let me get dressed. I’ll be there in five.’

You have your own fencing gear still because you often step in to train the younger trainees, especially on Wednesdays, or if there’s a match and your parents are unavailable.

You get dressed and warm up with Mira.

‘Ready to get your ass kicked?’ you ask.

Mira laughs. ‘I miss your shit talk.’ She pulls on her face guard and clips her body cord on. ‘Try and catch me, Y/N.’

You used to fence with Mira all the time as trainees, although there are no weight classes, she’s roughly your size, the size you all were before Jungkook hulked out.

You get into first position and another trainee, Ji-lin, calls out the orders.

Mira’s fast, quicker than she was, and you haven’t fenced competitively in years. She scores three points in quick succession whilst you’re still finding your feet.

‘Where’s that ass-kicking?’ she taunts, and you smile despite yourself.

You’re not a competitive person in general, but you enjoy fencing.

It’s combat, but it’s also graceful, beautiful.

You’re so relaxed you almost feel like you’re water.

Mira’s quicker than you, but you’ve also always found her predictable. The only reason she gets away with it is because of her speed.

You parry and feint and land a beautiful jab to the centre of her chest, retreating almost before she realises she’s been hit.

The next three points are yours, and you’re not worried because you know you’ve got this.

You fight hard for the next few points, and land another on her shoulder as she tries to retreat.

You’re 14-14.

Dimly, you realise you have an audience of more than Ji-lin.

‘Ready for your ass-kicking?’ you ask Mira.

She laughs, slightly muffled through her face guard, but you can hear her loud and clear. ‘Bring it.’

You haven’t done this in years, but muscle memory alone helps you remember.

You hear Ji-lin call out, and then you’re up, advancing towards Mira. You see the tell-tale movement of her foot and know exactly what she’s up to. As soon as she lunges, you dance back and tap her on the shoulder.

The buzzer sounds, and your green light comes on.

You greet each other from the ends of the piste and are about to pull your helmet off when another fencer approaches.

The fencer’s tall, much taller than you, which puts you at a disadvantage, but you’re so high off of your victory over Mira you don’t mind.

You nod and get into position.

Mira pulls off her face mask, giving you a thumbs up as the other fencer attaches the body cord to their foil jacket and their weapon.

She nods to you. ‘Ok to go ahead with another match?’

You nod. You’re not tired in the least, and your adrenaline’s still running high.

‘En garde, pret, allez,’ calls Mira.

You watch the other fencer as they advance towards you, hoping to catch a clue.

There’s a familiarity to their footwork. You’ve seen it watching them on TV, and, with a jolt, you realise you saw it more recently than that, in the gym.

You try to parry, but the tip of the blade’s already touched your foil jacket.

You can’t see Kim Seokjin’s face, but you know it’s him.

He scores three more points in quick succession, taking them from you before you get your head in the match.

You wonder, idly, if Seokjin knows it’s you.

You think that you should probably think about that another time before you get your ass beat.

You score two points purely because he wasn’t expecting you to come at him.

You switch styles, a trick your mother taught you, useful for confusing anyone who’s watched you and thinks they know your fencing.

Knowing your distance has always been your strength, you can be as aggressive or defensive as you like and still score when it counts.

You score another two points, but you can already tell you’re not going to win. He’s stronger, faster, and he seems to be keeping up with you perfectly well.

Your ankles clash as you lunge carelessly at him, and your momentum sends you tumbling sideways.

He reaches out quickly to grab you, lowering you to the ground gently.

He pulls off his face guard, and you’re greeted by his stunning face, flushed and sweaty.

He doesn’t seem surprised when you take your own face guard off. So he had known.

‘How’s your ankle?’ he asks, worried. ‘We clashed pretty hard.’

‘It’s ok,’ you reply, rubbing it gingerly. ‘I’ll just put some ice on it.’

He unclips himself, and you, and lifts you in his arms before you get a chance to protest.

‘What are you doing?’ you squeak, torn between embarrassment at being handled like a child and the sudden urge to bury your face in his broad chest.

‘I’ll take you to the medical room,’ Seokjin says.

‘I can walk,’ you say, dryly.

‘What if I wanted to impress you with how strong I am?’

Your face is burning, your heart beating so fast you think you’re going to pass out.

‘I know you’re strong. We were fencing,’ you say, faintly.

‘I’m bigger than you. I shouldn’t have gone so hard,’ Seokjin says, sounding more like he’s rebuking himself.

‘There are no weight classes in fencing,’ you reply.

His only answer is to shift you in his arms, pulling you in closer to his chest.

At this angle, it would be more awkward to pull away, so you let your head rest on his chest.

Seokjin deposits you on the couch in the medical room and opens the fridge for an ice pack.

You start undoing the laces on your shoes.

‘Just lean back,’ Seokjin chides. He pulls your shoe and sock off gently, and hands you the ice pack.

You try not to think about the fact that like this, your foot is propped between his thighs.

His thighs in tight fencing pants.

Shit, don’t think about what else is between his thighs…..

Seokjin’s voice is amused.

‘What are you staring at?’

‘Nothing,’ you squeak.

Seokjin gets up. ‘I was just going to have lunch. There’s a little place around the block I like. Do you want to come with?’

‘S-s-sure,’ you say, wondering if you’re dreaming. Maybe you’d knocked your head and you just haven’t realised it yet.

Maybe you’ll wake up and you’ll just be on the floor of the studio and ---

‘Hey,’ Seokjin says, his voice pulling you out of your little spiral. ‘I can carry you there if you want.’

‘No, I’ll walk,’ you say. You put some weight on your sore ankle. ‘I’m fine.’

***

You are not fine, but Kim Seokjin is. He is damn fine.

He’s changed out of his fencing gear and into the usual loose tee and sweats he comes to the studio in, and he really shouldn’t look as fine as he does.

‘What are you doing on Saturday night?’ he asks. ‘My friend Yoongi’s doing a gig, I was going to go support him. It’s probably the last night in a while I’ll get off before I really need to focus on training for the Asian Games.’

‘I don’t have plans,’ you tell him.

‘So do you want to come?’ Seokjin asks. ‘If not I can meet you before.’

‘I’d like to come.’

Seokjin looks pleased. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

You’re glad your choice of attire seems to fit right in at the club Seokjin’s friend Yoongi is performing at.

Seokjin hands you your drink and stands next to you. He’s dressed up for tonight, and he looks so pretty you’d be intimidated if it weren’t for the horrific puns he’s been dropping on you since he picked you up.

His hair’s styled back from his forehead instead of flopping into his face. The button-up shirt he’s got on is unbuttoned over a crisp white shirt.

You’d known he’s taller than you, of course, but you hadn’t realised how attractive you’d find it.

Seokjin nods. ‘How’s your drink?’

‘Yeah, it’s great, thank you.’

‘You look really pretty,’ Seokjin tells you.

You look down at your clothes like you hadn’t agonised for a half hour.

‘How do you know Yoongi?’ you ask.

Seokjin puts out an arm in front of you as a group of men pass by, too close.

‘Went to school together,’ he says. ‘Did you go to school with Jungkook?’

‘He came to train with my parents when he was a kid,’ you tell Seokjin. ‘We used to compete together.’

‘Why did you give up fencing?’

He seems genuinely curious.

‘Wasn’t good enough,’ you say.

Seokjin looks at you searchingly.

‘I didn’t want it enough,’ you amend.

He nods. ‘That’s fair. I used to envy all the fencers who got early starts.’

You say, ‘It seems like you’re doing ok.’

You’re teasing him, of course, he’s a phenomenal fencer, and he’s got time to make his mark.

‘I kicked your ass today,’ he agrees.

You laugh. ‘Look at the size of you.’

‘Didn’t realise you were looking,’ says Seokjin, and there’s a flash of heat in his gaze.

Your heart starts to pound faster.

His eyelids lower just a fraction, enough that he looks devastatingly sleepy-eyed, lazy, when he says, ‘I’m sorry about your ankle.’

It’s hard to think when he’s looking at you like that.

Thankfully, the MC announces that Daegu’s very own Suga will be taking the stage, so you don’t have to muster enough voice to reply.

Seokjin’s friend Yoongi has a raw power to his voice, a kind of irresistible, sexy energy that draws you in even when it looks like he’s making barely any effort.

You’re kind of glad you never went to school with either of them.

After his performance, Seokjin takes you backstage to meet him.

Yoongi greets Seokjin with affection. His forehead still gleams with sweat, his hair is saturated with it.

He smiles politely at you as Seokjin introduces you.

You compliment him on his performance as Seokjin goes to get more drinks.

‘Seokjin says he went to dinner at your parent’s house the other day,’ Yoongi says.

‘You can come too,’ you say, not missing a beat. ‘My mom’s broth is delicious.’

Yoongi laughs. ‘Sure, I’d love that.’

‘Will you be around for the games?’ you ask.

‘I’ll probably try to be around if Seokjin competes,’ Yoongi says.

‘Great, I’ll see you there, then. My friend Jungkook’s going to the qualifying rounds as well.’

‘Perfect, you can explain the rules to me,’ Yoongi says.

You can’t imagine watching fencing with someone who doesn’t know the rules.

‘Ah, damn. Now I’ve fallen in your estimation,’ Yoongi says, softly.

You can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s ok, I can’t perform like you can.’

Seokjin returns.

‘I’m coming to dinner at Y/N’s mom’s house next time,’ Yoongi informs him.

‘And he’s coming to watch you fence,’ you say.

‘Great, you can explain how it all works to him. He doesn’t listen to me,’ Seokjin says, easy.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You’re too busy complaining about how I never listen to actually teach me anything.’

You tune out as the boys argue good-naturedly.

Seokjin gets your attention with a hand on your shoulder. ‘We should get going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

He drops you off outside your apartment.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘I had a great time.’

Seokjin grins. ‘Me too. We should go to Yoongi’s next gig.’

‘Love to.’

Seokjin gets out of the car, but you’ve already opened your own door.

‘Should I walk you to your door?’ he asks.

You can’t stop a giggle. Your door is barely two metres from where you’re parked.

‘I think I’ll be ok, you know.’

Seokjin leans over you a little.

His lips are close to yours, pink, plump, pretty.

‘Night Seokjin,’ you say, looking at him.

‘Night, Y/N,’ he replies. He leans down to kiss you on the cheek.

It’s sweet, warm, and he smells so good your heart does a backflip.

It’s the perfect end to the night.

***

Your voice is hoarse from cheering Jungkook on through the qualifying rounds. Seokjin, who’s higher ranked nationally and internationally, is only just fencing his first bout now.

He cuts a beautiful figure as he walks through the arena in his fencing whites, tall and lean. With his fencing mask off, his gorgeous face is on show, and you can see heads turning as he passes.

He stops in front of where you’re seated, eyes scanning through the people around you. When he sees you his face breaks into a smile, and your heart flutters.

Your own smile is bright, happy. You probably look idiotic smiling at him like this, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He lays his bag on the ground, pulls out a foil and starts warming up.

Beside you, sweaty Jungkook chugs water and nudges you.

Despite his sweatiness, you put an arm around him.

‘You’re doing amazing, JK, you’ll make the team for sure.’

His trademark shy smile is so bashful you think you can hear a collective sigh from the room.

Your friend is a heartstopper, for sure.

‘Well, there’s two rounds to go,’ he mumbles, faux-modest.

‘That’s true,’ you say, seriously. ‘And Wang Jinsong is strong today.’

His brows furrow, and his lips are already pouting when you laugh.

‘You’ll be fine, JK.’

Seokjin’s bout starts, and he lunges forward, aggressive, quick, skilled.

You wonder if his fencing style reflects his personality. He’s quick but calculated, a distinct style evident in his movements and approach.

At the end of his bout, which he wins with ease, he barely looks like he’s broken a sweat.

You’re impressed, and you should be more impressed by his skill than his thighs but damn his thighs are beautiful, long, lean, muscled.

You’re heading down to congratulate him when he’s approached by a fellow fencer. She takes her mask off, long hair swinging, and smiles at him.

Seokjin seems happy to see her, he’s smiling back.

They look striking together, both tall, long-limbed, beautiful.

‘Looks like you have competition,’ Jungkook says, unhelpfully, and you grab his arm.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ you say, a confidence in your voice you don’t feel.

Jin turns to you as you and Jungkook approach.

‘Hey,’ he says, warmth in his voice.

He exchanges congratulations with Jungkook.

‘So, are we on for a drink later?’ asks the tall girl.

‘Sure,’ Jin says, easily.

You work hard to keep any of your emotions showing on your face.

‘You did amazing, Jin,’ you say.

‘Thanks,’ Jin says.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause, and you turn to Jungkook. ‘So I should help you get ready.’

Jungkook’s quick sometimes when he wants to be. ‘Sure,’ he says.

You leave Jin and the tall girl standing together whilst you walk off with Jungkook.

‘Want me to kick his ass in our bout?’ Jungkook offers, after a moment.

‘For what?’ you scoff. ‘It was just a kiss, and he’s just going for a drink with a girl with legs longer than my entire body. No biggie.’

Jungkook laughs, and a moment later, you’re laughing too.

***

You do not know how Jungkook managed to convince you to come out tonight.

You’re more than happy to congratulate him and Jin for getting on the national team for the Asian games, but you do not need to see gorgeous Jin getting off with tall girl, who also made the women’s team.

You’re the least decorated person in the bar. Normally that would be fine with you, but your confidence is low tonight. You’re wearing a short skirt that would look a lot better if you had longer legs.

You collect a round of drinks and bring them to Jungkook, Mari and your friends.

In your absence at the bar, Seokjin and tall girl, whose name you now learn is Jihyo, have both joined your table.

You’re trying not to look to closely at how close they’re standing to each other.

‘I’ll get more drinks,’ you say, putting the tray down.

‘I’ll come with,’ Jin says. He looks at Jihyo. ‘Usual?’ he asks.

You don’t want to know how he knows her usual drink.

There’s a bit of a wait whilst the bartender makes your orders.

You look at the bottles lined up behind the bar like they’re the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

Jin clears his throat. ‘You look beautiful.’

You turn to him, expression carefully blank. ‘Thanks, Jin. Congratulations on getting on the national team.’

‘Thanks.’

You’re in damage control mode. You’re not going to ask him how he knows beautiful Jihyo.

Probably they fenced together at one point.

You very much hope so and also that she kicked his ass, unlike you.

‘Need a hand?’ asks the gorgeous bartender. He nods to your full tray, smiling at you.

Jin clears his throat again, stepping forward. ‘Thanks, I’ve got it.’

You fall into conversation with the person next to you, a pink-haired man with silver earrings and a flirty grin called Jimin.

He invites you to dance with him, and you’re tipsy enough to say yes.

You catch glimpses of Jungkook and Mari as Jimin whirls you around the dancefloor.

You’re coming out of the toilets when you run into Seokjin again.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen much of you tonight.’

‘I’m here now,’ you reply, lightly.

‘Yeah. Want to go somewhere a little quieter?’ he asks.

You step out into the cool night air with Seokjin.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘There’s a dessert place down the block. Want to get ice cream?’

You’re not sure about Seokjin’s taste in ice-cream but he sure looks pretty eating it.

He swallows a bite, throat working, and you avert your eyes.

‘I’m really glad I get to celebrate getting on the team, here with you,’ he says, suddenly.

You smile at him. ‘Me too. I won’t keep you long, I know you probably want to get back.’

Seokjin frowns a little. ‘Do you want to get back to the club? Because I’d rather be here, with you.’

‘What about your friends?’ you ask.

‘Hey, I owe you,’ Seokjin says, jokingly. ‘You opened the school at six am for months to give me extra training time.’

You try not to look too disappointed at his words.

‘I was happy to do it,’ you say. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

Seokjin laughs quietly. ‘I’m saying all the wrong things, aren’t I? I just want to spend time with you, because I like your company and I think I won’t have this opportunity in the coming few months up to the games.’

‘I like spending time with you too,’ you say, honestly.

‘Great. That’s settled then.’

Your phone starts buzzing. It’s a drunk and hungry Jungkook.

‘Are you ok?’ he hollers into the phone. ‘Where are you? I can’t see Seokjin either!’

You roll your eyes at Jin. ‘We’re at an ice cream place, down the road. Do you want ice-cream?’

Jungkook slumps next to you as Seokjin gets him ice-cream.

‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks quietly, eyes bright.

You laugh. ‘You should ask Seokjin that. Anyway, we need to look out for each other, and you’re too drunk to go anywhere alone right now.’

Jungkook perks up as Seokjin comes back with ice-cream for him.

‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks.

Seokjin, to his credit, just smiles.

‘I’ll get you ice-cream anytime, Jungkookie.’

After you’ve deposited Jungkook at home, you turn to Seokjin.

You’re about to ask if he’ll be ok getting home when he leans close, head dipping to bring his face closer to yours.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.

You slide a hand around his neck, pulling him closer still.

He swivels a little so he can face you straight on, and his lips capture yours in a kiss.

He tastes better than all your fantasies, caramel sweetness and the cherry chapstick you’ve seen him use sometimes.

You sometimes tease him about it, ask him which teenager he stole it from.

There’s nothing innocent about the way he licks into your mouth, the press of his hips against yours.

‘Want to come over to mine?’ he asks.

***

Seokjin drops his bag of foils by the entryway of his loft-style apartment.

You lean against the front door. You started off wanting to look around but now you’re just looking at him.

He’s so pretty, with his perfect skin, his hair pushed back from his gorgeous face.

He tilts his head, smiling at you.

‘You can come in,’ he says, sounding amused.

He takes a step towards you, then another.

Now he’s so close you have to tilt your head back to see his face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nervous.

‘It’s ok,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home right now if that’s what you want.’

You search his eyes. Then you put a hand on his chest.

Seokjin leans down. He’s still smiling as he kisses you. His lips are soft, gentle, undemanding.

Your own lips part under his, and in the end it’s your tongue that slips into his mouth first.

He lets you taste him, one hand gentle on your hip, his other hand cupping your jaw, fingers sliding under your hair.

You’re so lost in the taste and feel of him that it takes you a moment to realise you’re pressed against his front, fisting handfuls of his shirt.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

His lips are flushed from your kisses. He kisses your forehead when you pull away, and you wrap an arm around his neck, tugging him down so that your lips meet again.

His hand slides up your side, higher and higher, and at the first pass of his thumb over the curve of your breast, you moan softly. You’re panting a little, sticky and wet with arousal, and your clit throbs. You roll your hips against his, seeking stimulation, and feel the hard length of him against your belly.

Seokjin’s kissing down your neck now, humming against your skin. God, he feels good. The suction of his lips drags another moan from you.

He pulls back, admiring the mark he’s made on your skin. ‘My bed’s in there,’ he says.

As he turns, the profile of the bulge in his groin sends a gush of wetness between your thighs.

Fuck. You want it, you want him.

He smiles at you, like he hasn’t just caught you staring at his erection.

When he holds out his hand, you take it.

Seokjin takes you to his bedroom. He says, ‘Come sit.’

You sit next to him on his bed. He doesn’t give you any time to feel awkward, sliding his arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

His kisses are drugging, slow and languid and luring you into a pleasured haze. You have no idea how long you’ve been kissing for when you become dimly aware of the wetness between your thighs, the throbbing of your clit.

Seokjin grunts as your hands explore his body.

God, he feels so good.

You ask, hand flat on the broad expanse of his chest, if he can take his shirt off.

Seokjin unbuttons his shirt obligingly. You tug your dress over your head.

He gazes at you, frank admiration in his eyes. ‘You’re really pretty.’

You can feel your cheeks heat.

He traces a finger over the strap of your bra, then he lowers his head to kiss.

You tug him on top of you.

He comes willingly, settling his hips between your legs, erection pressing against your core.

You’re impatient with the layers of clothing between you. You want to feel more of him.

‘Take more off,’ you urge. Seokjin smiles at you, a little goofy, a lot handsome.

You encourage him by lifting your hips and wriggling your panties down.

‘Take everything off,’ Seokjin says to you. His voice is low now, his eyes dark.

You unclasp your bra.

For a moment he just stares at you.

Then he’s kissing you again, positioning himself, rolling a condom on.

He’s thicker than you expected. You grab his shoulder as he pushes into you, and he stills immediately.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You shift the angle of your hips and spread your legs more. ‘Yeah.’

He goes slow, and you marvel at his self-control.

‘You good?’ he checks when he’s fully inside you. Your grip on his shoulder tightens.

‘Yeah I’m good,’ you say.

‘You feel really good,’ Seokjin tells you, as he starts to move. He’s quiet then for a bit, concentrating as he thrusts, rocking against your hips.

God, he feels good.

You bite your lip, and Seokjin says, ‘fuck, you look so pretty taking my cock.’

His words make you tighten, and he smiles, slow.

‘You liked that. You want to hear more, baby girl?’

You’d never normally put up with being called baby girl but somehow when he says it, it sounds hot.

You moan as he thrusts harder.

‘What’s that, baby? Do you like it? Let me hear you.’

He tweaks your nipple, and you moan again.

He’s starting to get breathless now.

‘S’ fucking good,’ he pants.

You realise your nails are digging into his shoulder.

‘Seokjin!’ You cry out on a particularly hard thrust, when he grinds against your clit.

‘That’s it,’ he murmurs. ‘Who fucks you like this, baby?’

There’s pleasure in every stroke, spreading out from your spread cunt to your thighs, sending flares of sensation down to your toes.

You realise he’s waiting for an answer when he pinches your nipple, hard.

‘I asked you a question, love. Who fucks you like this?’

‘You do,’ you tell him. ‘Fuck, Seokjin, I’m close. Fuck.’

He presses his face to your neck, and you can feel his lips curve. ‘Gonna cum for me?’ he whispers in your ear, voice velvety, smooth.

‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘Yeah.’

‘Good girl,’ he praises when your head arches back and your body thrums with your orgasm.

He slows, thrusting gently as your body gradually relaxes into the bed.

‘You good?’ he asks. His voice is gentle, despite the fact you can still feel him, hard and twitching inside you.

‘I’m good,’ you assure him.

‘Good. Now you’re gonna take my cum,’ he says, and despite the fact you’ve just cum you feel another thrill of arousal.

‘Take it like a good girl, baby,’ he says.

He slows his strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into you again.

‘Can you take more?’ he asks.

You press a kiss to his neck. ‘Give me more, Seokjin.’

He falls quiet again, fucking into you until his thrusts get slower and slower and then, with a deep groan, he thrusts again, and is still.

‘So good,’ he tells you, face buried in your hair. ‘So good.’

***

Jungkook’s rustling into your bag like a ferret.

‘Stop that,’ you say, grabbing his hands to make him stop.

‘I need a snack,’ he whines.

‘You don’t need anything, we just ate,’ you tell him firmly.

‘I’ve been training hard,’ he tells you.

‘When are you leaving for national training?’ you ask, exasperated.

‘Next week,’ he replies. ‘Seokjin and I are rooming together.’

‘I’d better warn Seokjin that you snore, give him time to pick a new roommate,’ you say.

Jungkook frowns, then calms when you toss him a snack.

‘Are you guys dating now?’

‘Yes,’ says Seokjin, coming up behind you and grabbing another snack out of your bag.

You look up at him, flustered.

‘Aren’t we?’ he asks. ‘I mean, we’ve been —-‘

Your father’s voice sounds from behind Seokjin, and all three of you freeze.

Seokjin recovers his composure first. ‘I’ve been planning to tell you, sir, that Y/N and I are dating,’ he says, polished, calm.

You and Jungkook exchange a look.

Your father looks at you, and you straighten in your seat, nudging Jungkook’s hand away from your bag where he’s fishing for another snack.

‘Well, that’s fine,’ your father says, gruffly.

‘I’ll do my best by her,’ Seokjin says, seriously, and your heart starts to flutter.

He smiles at you.

Beside you, Jungkook crumples his snack packet, loudly and obtrusively.

‘I’ll look after Jungkook too,’ Seokjin says, and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

‘I don’t –’ Jungkook starts, whiny, at the same time your father says, ‘Good man.’ He pats Seokjin on the back.

As soon as your father leaves the room you pull Seokjin into a hug. ‘That was kinda sexy,’ you whisper.

He quirks an eyebrow at you and whispers back, ‘You know what this means.’

You look at him curiously.

‘I’m the boss. You’d better do as I say.’

Your mouth drops open at his devastatingly sexy grin.

‘I’ll see you for dinner later,’ he says, turning to leave.

‘Where are we going for dinner?’ Jungkook asks, coming up behind you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder.

‘You’re not coming,’ you tell him flatly.

‘Hyung will let me come.’

You turn and swipe the streak of chocolate off his cheek.

‘Come on, let’s fence. You need to work off those snacks.’

Jungkook lifts his top to show you his abs, and you roll your eyes so hard you nearly give yourself a headache.

‘Put those away Jeon, for the love of god.’

***

It’s been two weeks since Jungkook and Seokjin left for training camp.

Seokjin calls you, like clockwork, every other night, sometimes every night.

You learn what his voice sounds like when he’s tired, when he’s excited, and when Jungkook’s annoying him.

You learn he can talk about himself a lot, and it should be offputting but it’s endearing. Mainly because you agree with how good looking he thinks he is.

Jungkook often involves himself in your conversations, telling you about his fencing partners, occasionally about girls he thinks are into him.

It’s quieter in the fencing studio without them but you’re excited for them.

You’re closing up one day when you hear a familiar voice say your name.

You turn, the ripple of excitement morphing into a tide when you realise it’s really Seokjin.

He’s leaning against the entrance to the studio, smiling at you.

‘Seokjin!’

He’s faster, covering more ground than you as you split the distance between you.

You bury your face in his chest partly to hide your giddy smile.

Seokjin’s arms have always been strong, but as he holds you, you notice the changes in his physique.

He’s leaner, harder and god he looks prettier than ever.

He tilts his head down to kiss you, and as your lips meet, the studio lights click off.

‘It’s a timer,’ you say, waiting for your eyes to adjust.

In the dark like this, your other senses are amplified. You can hear his quiet breathing, smell the cologne he uses, fresh and crisp.

Seokjin’s hand slides down your arm, to the foil in your hand.

‘Are you still attached?’ he asks.

He lifts the foil and touches the tip to your lame jacket.

The green light of the scoreboard lights up, illuminating the darkness.

It’s familiar to you as a night light. You guess Seokjin feels that way about it too.

He smiles down at you. He looks beautiful in the half-light.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you.

You hope he can see the happiness on your face.

‘I’ve missed you too.’

The green light clicks off as you kiss him, but you don’t need it.

You curl your hand around Seokjin’s, and he drops the foil. It clatters to the ground.

At this point, his body, even in its slightly altered state, is as familiar to you as your own.

He curls a hand around the back of your head, another around your ass, and pulls you close.

It’s many minutes before you emerge from the studio, Seokjin’s arms still around you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

His lips are flushed from your kisses, the sweats doing a poor job of concealing his arousal.

‘Shit, look at you, wrecked for me,’ you say, teasing.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Talk all the smack you want now, when we get in bed I’ll shut you up,’ he jokes.

It’s a short drive back to yours, but it’s still too long.

Seokjin starts nuzzling your neck as you fumble with your keys, lifting your hair out of the way.

You let out a barely suppressed moan as he nips at the join between your neck and shoulder, and Seokjin presses his hips against your ass, grinding his erection between your ass cheeks.

The door opens, and you stumble forward, Seokjin’s arm around your hips, his hand still tangled in your hair.

‘Bed,’ he grunts.

You shed your clothes quickly and when you turn to help Seokjin with his you’re confronted with his bare chest.

His gorgeous, golden skin gleams in the light from the streetlamps through your open windows.

You dip your head and lick a strip up his chest, tongue flicking over his flat nipple.

Seokjin hisses, his hand over the bulge in his briefs, rubbing himself for relief.

He tugs your bra strap down and cups your bare breast, thumb flicking slowly across your hard nipple. His hands are more callused than they were.

You like discovering all these changes in him amidst all the familiar.

‘Can I?’ he asks, voice strained, fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties.

You slip your panties off, and he buries his face in your cunt.

‘Gonna get you wet so I can fuck you hard,’ he tells you. His fingers slip inside you as he sucks at your clit, and you’re so sensitive already you’re pushed into an orgasm.

‘Fuck,’ Seokjin swears, eyes intent on you. ‘Cumming already?’

He fingers you through your orgasm, stopping when you put your hand over his forearm.

‘Get inside me,’ you tell him.

Seokjin hesitates. ‘You’re sensitive, baby.’

‘I want you,’ you plead.

Seokjin laces his fingers through yours as he positions himself against you.

He goes slow, watching your face as he inches in.

Your cunt pulses as he enters you, and Seokjin stops when you moan.

‘Can you take me?’ he asks, voice strained.

‘I can take you,’ you assure him.

You both moan when he’s all the way in, hips flush against yours.

You tilt your hips, and Seokjin grunts.

‘So good,’ he tells you, ‘s fucking good.’

He moves slow, purposeful, grinding against you, and you feel the pleasure start to build again.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs into your ear, lips against your cheek.

He groans when you tilt your hips, lifting to meet his thrusts.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ you tell him.

His body looks so good over yours as he fucks you, you almost can’t believe he’s real.

His biceps flexes as he takes his weight on that arm. His other hand grips your hip, and he grinds on you so hard you squeal.

His hand relaxes immediately. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, give me more, Jin,’ you murmur.

He kisses your neck, lips plush on your skin. ‘I’m giving you all I’ve got, my love. You’re so good, look at you taking my cock.’

Your cunt tightens around him but he doesn’t ease up.

Not when you’re reduced to gasping his name.

Not when you’re pulsing around him as you cum.

He keeps rocking into you until you grab his chin and plant your mouth on his.

He kisses you, open-mouthed, as his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier until finally he cums, spilling inside you whilst your name falls from his lips. Fervent, like a prayer.

You hold him whilst he recovers from giving you the best fucking of your life.

***

It’s sometime between midnight and dawn when you awaken to Jin’s hand tracing a line down your bare back.

He stops just shy of the cleft of your ass.

You turn your head on the pillow to face him.

‘Hey Jin,’ you say, sleepy, soft.

He’s smiling at you, beautiful in the half-light of your bedroom window.

‘You can touch,’ you say, as his hand once again stops above your ass.

‘Here?’ Jin asks, fingers tracing over your ass to your cunt. You’re wet for him, you’ve been wet since you woke up to him touching you.

‘There,’ you confirm, and Jin’s fingers trace between your folds, like a tease, before he’s entering you.

He stills, fingers curled.

You turn on your side so you’re facing each other.

Your forearms cross, his long and strong and muscled, yours less so, as you reach for his cock and he slides his fingers into you again.

He’s hard, warm, twitching a little in your grasp.

‘I want you inside, Jin,’ you gasp as he pumps his fingers slowly inside you, stroking, filling you but not quite enough.

‘I want to be inside,’ he answers.

He pulls you under him and enters you again, and god, he feels so good you don’t want it to end.

His rhythm’s slower now, purposeful, pulling you to the edge relentlessly.

He groans with every thrust, going deep, hitting you just right. You hold on to his ass, digging your heels into the bed to give you purchase to fuck him back.

Jin seems to like it.

He swears. ‘I don’t think I can hold it, you feel so good, my love.’

‘Don’t hold it, cum for me, Jin,’ you coax.

He plunges into you again and again, and you cry his name as your climax hits.

‘Thank fuck,’ Jin groans. He’s already cumming, you can feel him wet and slick in you as you clench around him, milking him.

Jin pulls you on top of him as he collapses back down on your bed.

You press a kiss to his sweaty, broad chest.

‘We can do this anytime,’ you say, joking.

‘5 stars?’ he asks.

‘Four. I’ll give you another if you let me suck your cock.’

Jin laughs and pushes your face into his chest.

‘I don’t have to leave until mid morning.’

‘When’s your match?’ you ask, settling into his shoulder.

‘Next week.’

‘Lucky you’re not a boxer, I’ve heard they can’t nut for a month before each bout.’

‘You can blow me in the changing rooms on match day, I’ll never turn you down,’ Jin says.

You both laugh.

‘I’ll make you breakfast before you go,’ you promise.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Jin says. ‘And the blow job.’

‘None of that is a hardship, Jin.’

‘Marry me,’ he says, instantly.

You laugh again. ‘Cuddle me to sleep.’

‘Anytime,’ he promises, sounding sleepy already. ‘Anytime.’

***

You’re sitting in the stands waiting for the final fencing bout of the Asian Games.

Jungkook’s won a title in the team event, and he’s sitting between you and Yoongi, waiting for Jin to walk out onto the piste.

Jin emerges from the changing rooms, blinding and brilliant in his fencing whites.

Not for the first time, you admire how beautiful he looks, tall and strong.

He stops at the end of the piste. He looks up at you in the stands and waves.

You wave back, and Jin lifts the hand not holding his foil.

He blows you a kiss.

Beside you, Yoongi snorts and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

You only have eyes for Jin.

He slips his mask on and greets his opponent.

You know as well as Jin does that whether he wins or not, you’ll both be ok.

Jin slips into en garde, graceful, deadly.

The ref calls, ‘Allez.’

#seokjin fic #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #catch of the century

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bakugotrashpanda · 2 years

Text

Bargaining (18+)

Dabi x F!Reader

Treasure Planet AU Word Count: 5433

!!: sex, tiny bit of knife and blood

A/N: This is a part of @thegetoufather‘s Into the Movieverse Collab!

Worn bricks, grimy from centuries of use, are covered with people. Some, down on their luck, looking to work their way from one port to the next. Others call this part of town home. Red brick buildings with wooden upper stories - storefronts with the family who owns them living up above. Sailors in smart uniforms walk off their ships and towards the bustle of the city beyond the edge of the docks. Passengers disembark various ships, some have servants toting their luggage, others carry nothing more than the bags on their backs.

From your perch on the TSS Legacy you observe the comings and goings. Your own ship, second hand twice over, has seen better days. But the wood and brass still gleam in the sunlight. Your own crew is a sight for sore eyes, but you were short on time to muster together enough people to fly off before midday. Favors were called in, and now you have a functioning ship and crew albeit with questionable reputations.

Right now you need quantity over quality. All they need to know is that your trip is a research expedition of sorts, and nothing more.

A swath of green catches your attention. A green haired boy and an older blond man stop in the middle of the flow of foot traffic and look around. No one stops down there if they can help it with all the bustle and smells, so they must be your patrons.

Descending from the poop deck to the captain’s quarters quickly, you find your First Officer leaning against your door with a coat draped over his arm. Windblown blond hair free of its pompous uniform regulation hat stands on end. He’d need to take care of that before addressing the crew.

“Mr. Hawks,” you nod and pull on the dark blue overcoat he holds out to you. Your first officer smirks, knowing how much you dislike the formalities and hierarchies in the sailing world. “Do you have something to say?”

Golden eyes crinkle in amusement. “Not at all, Captain.”

“Then put your hat on.” You straighten your clothes and march towards the main deck. “We’ve got company.”

You watch the new duo board your ship and look around with awe. “Ah, Captain.” The older man holds out his hand, “I’m Professor Toshinori, and this is young Midoriya. Thank you for making it so we can leave as soon as possible.”

“Not a problem,” you nod. Behind him, the dock cranes load on the last of the provisions and your crew works on storing the boxes. “Once the final safety check is made, we’ll be off. I understand we’re heading towards the Beta Quadrant?”

“Ah, yes,” the man nods and starts fishing around in his pockets. “Young Midoriya foun-”

“Mr. Toshinori,” you interject and hold up a hand. The man stops digging through his pockets and stares at you. “I implore you to wait until we’ve had a chance to talk in my ready room. My Number One will take you there now. As for Midoriya,” you round on the young man at his side, “I’ll show him to his assignment.”

“Assignment?” both guests ask in unison.

“Yes,” you reply curtly, “We have no need for idle hands on this ship, and my cook could use an extra person. Nothing too dangerous of course.” Without waiting, you turn away from the group and head towards the kitchens. Quick footsteps falling in place behind you send a smile ghosting over your lips. This power is new to you: you walk and people follow. You give an order and it’s followed without hesitation.

Descending the rickety steps to the galley, you make a mental note to check it out when the journey is over. Perhaps after this gig is over, you’ll be able to buy a whole new ship and a reliable crew.

Thick smoke hangs around the kitchen and pours out into the dining area. Of course he pulls a stunt like this. Kicking in the door, you glare at your cook.

Tattoos wind up the arms and neck of a man with jet black hair. He hefts crates of food onto metal counters, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his face. Somehow the space is organized, but to you it looks like chaos.

“What did I say about smoking on my ship?” you hiss. Turquoise eyes cut over to you. The end of the cigarette glows brightly once more before a pile of ash falls off the end. And over a boiling pot on the stove. “Especially over the food?”

Locking eyes with you, the man takes one last drag and stubs it out on the counter. A stream of smoke cascades down a stained apron. “Yes, Captain.”

Clearing your throat, you paste a smile on your face. For as much pain as your cook has caused you, anticipation of seeing his face when he hears the news of his additional tasks will make it all the better for a moment. “Dabi, this is Midoriya,” you gesture to the green haired man behind you. “He’ll be under your care for the journey.”

Dabi’s eyebrow twitches. One hand ghosts over a pocket on his apron, no doubt where his cigarettes are. “And now I’m playing babysitter?”

“He’ll be helping with the cooking and cleaning,” you say. Strolling around the kitchen, you note the pile of pots, pans, and knives already sitting dirty in the sink. “As I recall, you make quite a mess wherever you go.” You shoot him a knowing look.

It takes a minute, but he sighs before finally responding. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“Midoriya,” you turn to your guest and try to give him a genuine smile. “We’ll be taking off soon, I suggest making your way up top. It’s quite a different experience than traveling by shuttle to and from the planet.” Green eyes widen in delight and he scampers off. You were like that once too; fresh off the shuttle and full of excitement for adventures to come.

Silence descends in the kitchen once Midoriya is gone. You could leave too. You should. There’s a whole ship that needs your attention, not to mention a professor you need to talk to.

But you lean against a metal counter and cross your arms. “You’re here.”

Dabi goes back to unpacking the crates in front of him. “I am.”

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

“Is there anything else you need, Captain?” So much hatred packed into your title.

“How long are you going to hold that grudge against me?” you hiss.

“I’m just a lowly cook aboard your ship,” he sneers.

Stalking over to him, you put your arm on top of the crate to grab his attention. “I gave you a chance to come with me.”

Dabi looks at you through long lashes. “Permission to speak freely?” It doesn’t matter what you say, he’ll let you know what’s on his mind – insubordination be damned.

“Granted.”

Dabi wipes his hands on the off-white apron and gestures to you. “Look at you. You wear their uniform. You sail under their flag. You decided to bow and lick the boots that stomped on us.”

You lean in, channeling as much of a haughty captain as you can. “And If I tell you to lick my boot?”

“Whatever you want,” he grits out, “Captain.”

Straightening up, you hold your head high. If he thinks that you abandoned your previous life, might as well give him what he wants. “Keep an eye on the boy,” you order. “The professor’s son will stay out of trouble.”

Dabi mockingly salutes you as you leave the kitchen. “Aye.”

Will he be a thorn in your side the whole journey? Undoubtedly. But will your history together affect how you deal with him? … Only time will tell.

The heavy wood door to your ready room opens soundlessly. The professor and your First Officer are seated at a round table off to the side. They stand as you enter and wait for you to begin the secretive meeting.

“I’ve put the boy to work in the kitchen. He’ll be out of the way there,” you say matter-of-factly and shed your heavy coat. “Now, Professor, tell me about this map of yours.”

The whole reason for this hurried trip; a historian running after a fabled treasure. As long as they pay, you’ll take them to whatever godforsaken planet they want. It makes a quick buck for you and keeps you out of reach of the solar navy fleet for that much longer.

“Midoriya found it,” the lanky man says. He pulls out a gold ball and places it on your desk. Intrigued, you pick it up and fidget with it. The various lines and indentations on the surface whirl beneath your fingertips. Somehow, this small orb will lead you to the treasure, and a handsome cut for both you and the crew once it’s been returned and appraised. “It details the lost treasure of Abaddon. We know for certain it’s on Regula but its final resting place is still somewhere in here. Midoriya can show you how to open it.”

Still spinning the many planes of the supposed map, you address your First Officer. “Mr. Hawks, you have a keen eye. Once we set sail, see what you can decipher with the boy’s help.”

“Aye, Captain,” Hawks nods. Turning to the professor, he gestures to the door. “I’ll show you to your quarters now.”

You’re left alone with the puzzle. Would this amount to anything this time around? How many times had you returned to port with a dejected fortune seeker. Your pockets would be lined no matter what.

Staring at the oil painting of space hanging across from your desk you run your fingers along the frame before pulling it back. To the untrained eye, it just looks like a normal, unfaded wall behind it, but pushing slightly, you pop off a wooden panel. A small lock box sits in a hidden alcove. Taking the box out, you feel along the seam of the alcove until your finger hits a divot. Another hidden door pops open, and you tuck the orb in there.

The door to your ready room opens again, and Hawks walks in exhaling deeply.

“I’ve tasked you with a lot,” you say and replace the small lock box in the hidden cabinet. “But I have one more job for you.”

“And what’s that, Captain?” Hawks asks tiredly. He hangs his hat on a peg on the wall. Running a hand through his hair, he checks his reflection for his signature ‘effortless disheveled look’ as he likes to call it.

“What did I say about calling my Captain when it’s just the two of us,” you scowl. He shoots you a cheeky grin but says nothing. “Keep an eye on the boy and the cook. I’m hoping they can keep each other busy enough to stay out of trouble.”

All playfulness leaves his face. He resembles the older men in the service rather than the charming gentleman he can be during his personal leave; stoic, face weathered from years of sailing close to suns. “Is he…?”

You close the faux paneling with a satisfying click. Gears whir gently while the locking mechanism sets up again. “After our last fiasco, we have a full crew thanks to Dabi. But that doesn’t mean their loyalty is with me.”

Hawks nods. “As you wish.”

Is there anything he wouldn’t do for you? You could probably tell him you want the solar sails dyed green and he’d make it happen. “Where would I be without you?” you laugh gently.

“Stuck on a rock somewhere with no ship and no promotion.”

Your favorite part of sailing changes every time you leave port. Sometimes it’s watching the solar sails unfurl and reflect the light before takeoff. Other times it’s the momentary weightlessness before the antigravity system kicks in. More often than not it’s flying alongside the migratory space life and watching them play with the stars.

This trip proves no different. Immediately, you’re joined by a pod of gormaganders – a formerly endangered ‘space whale’ that sails the stars with its multitude of fins. They sail silently alongside the ship, no doubt following a stream of particles ejected from dying suns. Their bodies are twice as long as your ship, but these gentle giants mean no harm.

You travel amongst them for three days before departing from their pod and head deeper into space. There’s a solemn silence as you and the crew watch them depart. They were your travel companions, but now you’re on your own. The inky black space around the ship seems that much more terrifying.

Even though there’s no physical markers signifying where the Alpha Quadrant stops and the Beta Quadrant starts, there’s a feeling aboard the ship that stirs unease within you. The crew is antsy knowing the destination is upon them. Hawks has everyone double checking their work as a way to burn off excess energy, but it doesn’t put you at ease.

If there is one thing you can count on during your trip, it’s that Midoriya keeps Dabi on his toes with his natural curiosity. More often than not your chef tries to hand off cleaning tasks only to have the young man talk his ear off or stray from the task at hand. It gives you a small surge of satisfaction to watch Dabi tamp down his irritation with the boy and chase him all over the ship.

It takes another week and a half before Regula is visible to the naked eye. The closer you get, the more enthralled your guests are; the Professor spends most of his time scribbling in notebooks while studying the planet through a looking glass. Midoriya spends what little free time he has on the deck staring out into space and avoiding your cook’s grating call. You feel a modicum of pity for the men. There are faster ships out there, ones that don’t sail on and store solar energy. Ships that could’ve arrived at the planet at three times the speed you did. But that costs money and they don’t accept payments of maybe-promises of treasure at the end.

The semi-barren rock doesn’t look like much – the only thing going for it, if it is in fact a treasure trove, is that there’s no visible signs of sentient life. Part of the planet is covered in greenery while the rest is a muddy gray, as if someone started terraforming it to be hospitable, but quickly gave up.

Accompanied by two of your crew that you managed to hold on to when your ship docked after your last mission, the Professor and Midoriya headed down to the planet’s surface. For anyone outside of the need-to-know circle, it’s a research trip to investigate claims that there was once life on the planet.

Not the worst cover story you’ve come up with.

Everything seems to settle. There’s plenty for the crew to do now with offloading gear and survey equipment. And for a moment, you think everything might go off without a hitch.

And then on the third day, you find yourself and all your belongings floating towards the ceiling. Spheres of liquid hang in the air, their empty cups floating beside them. Pens. Papers. Books. Everything. Clinging to the table bolted to the floor of your ready room, you grab your communicator out of your pocket.

“Engineering, what's going on?!” you shout into it. When there’s no reply you try again. “Engineering, do you read me?” Still nothing. Shit. You’ve got to fix this, and fast. Pulling yourself over to your desk, you take out a pair of gravity boots – heavy duty shoe covers that will stick to any surface. Hopefully Hawks has already raised the alarm and the rest of the crew has tethered themselves before going after supplies floating away.

Making your way down the corridor adjacent to your quarters, you take a back entrance to engineering. You clang your way across the metal flooring, your shoes the only thing keeping you from flying into the ceiling – or worse. Your keys attempt to float off as you flip through the lot of them to find the one that’ll give you access to all the wires and systems hidden behind a metal door. Once inside, you throw open a panel and see a couple jacks hanging freely. Frowning, you plug them back in. It takes a moment for the systems to reboot, but the unsettling weightlessness in your body is replaced with an overall unease.

Those wires shouldn’t have been able to wiggle free, and there are redundant systems in place to prevent a total meltdown of the ship’s core life support functions.

Something thin, cold, and metal presses against the back of your neck.

“Funny thing, that boy,” a rough voice says. Heavy footsteps come from behind the open door. Dabi. “See he talks. A lot. And he talked about how his dad walked out on him and his mom. Only met the professor a few short weeks ago.” You lean back and feel the object at your neck bit into your skin.

Okay. A knife. Not a gun. A knife is easier to deal with. It won’t accidentally go off.

Dabi keeps talking. “At first I wanted to strangle him with how much he talked, but then he started spillin’ secrets. I know about the map an’ I know about the treasure.” He presses the knife deeper into your skin. A trickle of warm liquid runs down the back of your neck. “Hand it over.”

“It’s in my ready room,” you try to subtly lean away. “You and me. No one else.”

A throaty chuckle fills the room. “I don’t think so, Captain. One of my men will come with us. Just in case.”

“Have it your way.” There’s no need to provoke him at this point.

The flat side of the blade taps the side of your neck. Time to go. Slipping your feet out of the heavy, and now unnecessary, shoes, you and Dabi ascend towards the deck.

The only way you could describe the scene up top is chaos. Utter chaos. The crew – let’s face it, at this point they’re no longer your crew – are rambunctious, laughing and hollering like kids playing in a schoolyard. Red dust and smoke hang in the air, no doubt from a flare going off. Some notice you being led at knife point and cheer. Others are too caught up in the revelry to notice their surroundings. The few men loyal to you are tied to the main mast, struggling to be free of their confines. Another set of footsteps falls in line with you and Dabi.

You open the door to your ready room and find Hawks already there. His stance is wide, ready to give or take a hit. Judging by the blood hidden on his red coat and the bruises littering his cheek and jaw, he’s given and gotten plenty of action.

You give a small twitch of your head to get him to back down. Not yet.

Dabi heads to the table where you and Hawks would normally eat meals and navigate. With a nod, he gestures for you to sit with him. Reluctantly, you do.

“C’mon, Captain,” Dabi drawls, “Is it really necessary to have your underling here?” He dismissively gestures to your right-hand man who bristles. You watch the corner of his lip curl up in satisfaction, his tattoos following the movement and contorting with him.

“And I suppose you need your man?” you relax in your chair and cross your arms. “Get rid of yours and mine will leave too.” Without hesitation, Dabi jerks his head. Funny. He was so insistent that he have someone else here with him. The silent man at his side heads to the door without protest.

Hawks looks over at you. Holding his golden gaze, you nod. “But,” you say as he turns on his heels. “I don’t want bloodshed on deck. It’s a pain to get out of the wood.” Your gaze drifts over to Dabi who rolls his eyes but nods. His man at the door acknowledges him and walks out. Hawks follows after.

“Now it’s just us,” you smile at Dabi. It’s not a sweet smile, it’s the smile a predator gives its prey when it’s cornered. “You were loyal, so what happened?” Syrupy sweet mockery drips off your words.

Dabi leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You didn’t think large enough.” A tattooed finger taps his temple.

“And you’re ‘large enough’?” you scoff.

“You wound me, Captain,” Dabi holds his hand against his chest – where a heart would be if he had one. “You used to be one of us, selling out to the highest bidder, and now look at you. Captain. With your self-righteous dogs who trip over their own feet to follow your every word.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘loyalty’, something you know nothing about.”

“I’m loyal to money.” Dabi leans back in his chair and spreads his arms. Some stupid attempt to get you to believe that he’s vulnerable and in fact telling the truth.

You were once one of them. Someone who pushed a bucket and a mop around cleaning up after people who made your life miserable. Always ready to abandon ship at port in search of the next great adventure. And then you had to go and grow a heart, saving some higher up who repaid you handsomely with a career – a future where you didn’t have to pinch pennies and shovel shit.

And you took it. Built a name for yourself. Got your own ship, your own crew. Sort of.

“And you think that mutiny will get you money?” you raise an eyebrow.

Eyes bluer than the stars you sail darken. “I know that map will set me up well.” Dabi sneers. “Never need to answer to anyone again.” He stands abruptly and stomps over to you. Intimidation. You wouldn’t have your post if a man stomping his feet sent fear through your body.

Your eyelashes flutter as you take stock of him. “Why Dabi,” you purr, “Did you think I’d be quaking in my boots and just give you the map?” He looms over you and bends at the waist. A soft whisper has the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention.

“I can offer you something… more.” A hand trails down your side, ghosting over your breast before settling on top of your thigh.

“You think that finger fucking me will get me to hand it over?” Cute. You aren’t the young deckhand enamored with the mysterious pirate anymore.

“I’ll do more than finger fuck you,” he purrs. “I’ll have you begging for me, and if I can do that, the map is mine.” Interesting. It’s an unorthodox approach for sure, and it’s not like he would be successful. “C’mon, Captain,” he coos, his thumb casually stroking the apex of your thighs. “What d’ya say? A little friendly wager?”

“There’s nothing friendly about this.” You uncross your arms and wrap them around his neck. Your lips are on his, sealing the deal. Teasing the edge of his lips with your tongue, he obliges you and deepens the kiss. Quickly, you become a tangle of bodies. He lifts you, and with your legs around his waist, you soon find the smooth wood of your desk at your back.

Hot lips trail down your neck, stopping occasionally to leave a bold nip. You arch into him and give him all the access he could want. Teeth graze your skin and he latches on. You pull him closer. A small part of you wants a small souvenir of this moment – something you can look back on and gloat about.

Dabi’s fingers make quick work of your trousers. Warm hands save you from the cold surface, and your thighs find themselves wrapped around his head.

Dabi’s explosive and quick, diving in without hesitation. Your fingers tangle in his hair both to push him away and pull him closer; it’s too much and not enough all at once. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing, and with every swipe of his tongue against your clit, you’re seeing stars not charted on your maps.

Wanton moans fill the room, and you’re thankful that your First Officer is above deck with the rest of your crew.

“D-” you start and quickly shut your mouth. I’ll have you begging for me. He’s going to go after you with all he’s got, and as much as you want to moan his name, he might see that as a victory. A warm piercing nudges your sensitive folds, but you keep tight lipped.

You nearly cry out as cold replaces the warm face you were wrapped around.

Dabi smirks and fiddles with his belt. The large brass buckle gleaming in the low light of your ready room. “Tongue not enough for ya?”

“If I was looking to be eaten out, I could go into any port and be helped,” you pant. “If that’s all you’ve got-”

“Not even close,” he chuckles. Metal collides with the floor and you look up from your spot on your desk. Dabi gives his cock a couple of tugs before running the head through a concoction of your slick and his spit. More piercings rub against your sensitive flesh. Just how many had he gotten since he’d last seen you?

“About time,” you smirk.

“Aw,” Dabi says with mock sympathy, “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” He prods at your entrance but doesn’t push beyond that.

“If you’re going to fuck me, then I expec-” A gasp steals the rest of your thought. Dabi pushes into you but keeps it at just the tip. Your lower lip runs between your teeth. He stretches you just right with enough pain to mingle with the pleasure. You won’t admit it out loud, but it’s been a while since you’ve had company.

“You were saying?”

“I saw those shiny new piercings,” you huff, “Am I going to be your only conquest that doesn’t get to feel them??”

Dabi’s hips rock slowly, the movement bringing him closer to you. You greedily swallow him deeper with every movement. The piercings slide inside of you, adding a slight pressure inside that you wouldn’t normally experience. If you could, you’d have him lazily fuck into you for an hour just to feel it.

Dabi chuckles above you. “I get a new piercing for every ship I rob.” Another short, teasing thrust has your wrapping your legs around his waist. You want him all. Now. “Can’t wait to get another when I’m done here.”

He finally bottoms out, his cock filling you completely. You squeeze around his length. A sharp hiss fills the room. Dabi’s nails grab your thighs, leaving halfmoon indents. You wiggle your hips and watch him hang onto a thread of composure.

“Fuckin’ brat.” Dabi’s eyes smolder with lust. He hooks his hands underneath your knees and presses them back against your chest as far as they’ll go.

“Look at you.” He gives a shallow thrust and grins. “So fuckin’ greedy. So needy. You’re so fuckin’ wet for me.”

Dabi must not’ve liked the huff of annoyance you made. He gives a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your cervix. Your knees find their way to his shoulders and he sets a harsh pace. And while his words may be crude, he makes up for it in other ways – namely his thumb circling your clit.

You can feel it building deep inside you; it starts with the tingling in your fingers, the random bolts of electricity ricocheting around your body. Your breath becomes more ragged, heat rises to your cheeks. It builds – a small warmth that turns into a roaring fire, energy that begs for a way out.

“Dabi,” you moan breathlessly. Your words are borderline begging. “I-I’m gonna, I’m-”

“Do it,” Dabi growls, his hips pistoning against yours. “Come for me. Come on my cock.” Your cries fill the room and soon you’re chanting Dabi’s name. A prayer perhaps that this won’t end.

But with a final thrust, you can feel the throbbing inside your cunt. Dabi stills, flush against you, his head tilted skyward — caught in his own bliss. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him this at peace. You relax on your desk, knowing what comes next.

Emptiness.

Dabi pulls out and his warm touch turns into strings of cum, chilled as it touches the air, seeping out of you. And the fucker won’t even help clean up.

“Well, Captain,” Dabi drawls and tucks himself back in his pants, “it’s been fun, but a deal’s a deal.”

Tattooed fingers wrap around a gold orb beside you on your desk. You could stop him — wrap your fingers around him and counter negotiate. Perhaps return the favor and bring him to his knees while you suck him off? Maybe switch spots and ride him until he sees the stars you navigate.

But in your post climax haze, you can’t move. You can barely think straight.

“Dabi…” You try to catch your breath.

Dabi adjusts his belt buckle with a smirk. “At ease, Captain.”

The door clicks shut and you’re alone again. You stay supine on your desk until the raucous cheer dies down. They’re gone.

Smoothing your hair back, you find your pants and straighten your outfit. You’ve had your clothes on for all of five seconds when the door bursts open.

“Captain!” Hawks shouts.

“Mr. Hawks,” you reply curtly and stride over to the mirror.

“That bastard left with half the crew and the escape pods.” Hawks relays. “What offer could he have made-”

“Nothing,” you check out your appearance and your first mate in the reflection. Only a small bruise peaks above your collar. Nothing you can’t hide. “Untie the men on the main mast and prepare to take off. We leave once the Professor and Midoriya are back.”

“Captain?” Confusion pushes Hawks’ brows together.

“He’s on a fool’s errand.” You brush past him and head topside. Hawks follows closely behind you. “He’ll find nothing but disappointment and an angry crew that’ll destroy him the first chance they get.” You smirk at the thought. What’s the old saying? There’s no honor among thieves? “I saw the remnants of your flair. With enough luck we’ll be long gone by then.”

When your First Officer doesn’t respond, you lean in close and whisper in his ear. “You don’t think I’d bring the real map to those negotiations, do you?”

– Two Months Later –

You slam your tankard down on the worn table. Roaring laughter around you fuels your theatrics as you recount your harrowing escape from a dubious crew.

“And then,” You pick a coin up off the table and perform the oldest magic trick in the book and make the coin disappear and reappear from behind the ear of your first officer who bemusedly listens to your tall tale. “With a bit of sleight of hand, I managed to talk him down and save the map.”

Hawks stifles his laughter and takes a long drink. Eventually you had to tell him what happened – as if the stench of sex in your ready room didn’t give you away. But he lets you have your moment among colleagues.

The next captain at the table starts his story of encountering pirates in another quadrant and all attention falls from you.

“Sleight of hand, eh?” a voice says behind you. Turning, you see the last man you ever expected to see in port again. Somehow, Dabi stands in the middle of the tavern in a freshly pressed blue overcoat. A single stripe on his shoulder denotes his rank. A badge of honor for some, a mark of shame for those who spend their whole lives trying to outrun and undermine it.

“Dabi,” you coo, “I never thought I’d see your ugly mug again.”

“What can I say, I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“And the new uniform,” you say, sliding a hand down the lapel of his coat to rest on his chest.

“The downfall of my… rescue negotiations.”

“And in the end you gave in like the rest of us,” you laugh knowing all too well that a life serving and sailing the stars is better than being grounded on a floating rock rotting in a prison. “What’re your orders?”

“I’m to report to the Captain of the TSS Legacy.” Turquoise eyes flick to you. “Something about her being the only one that can handle me.”

#dabi #dabi x reader #intothemovieverse #collab

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persphonesorchid · 1 year

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Cupid's On Holiday - KSJ || Teaser ||

Genres: Angel!Au | Fluff, angst, smut, slight enemies to lovers, humor. (Specific smut warnings will be added to the full fic post :))

Rating: Mature

Notes: Hello all!! Guess who's back with another fic?? It's my drop for @raplinesmoon , @kithtaehyung and @joheunsaram 's Catch Of The Century Collab! Full fic will be out by Thursday and I'm so excited to share it with you all! Please look forward to it, and check out the other fics on the Collab that's already out! As usual for my teasers, three scenes in no particular order. I hope you guys enjoy the sneak peek 😜

“Guys, this is Seokjin.” Jungkook smiles, waving a hand at his friend, “He’s on the archery team.”

Seokjin bows his head in greeting, “Hello.”

“Jungkook talks about you a lot. It’s nice to put a face to the name.” Yoongi says as you struggle to come up with anything that won’t give away how nervous you suddenly felt.

“This is Yoongi, and Y/n.”

Yoongi nudges your side again and you smile, “Nice to meet you.”

It seemed like the moment stretched on for ages, and you’re stuck in a void being watched by someone you can’t see.

“You sure you’re good, right? You seemed a bit gone back there.” Yoongi asks, unloading the contents of Jungkook’s basket onto the counter, shaking his head as he picks up a packet of mint gum and places it with the things. “Well, actually, you looked stupid – and I don’t mean that in the way it sounds. You just kinda...blanked. Like the second you saw him you went outta your head.”

“Huh...” You look back to where Jungkook and Seokjin are still talking, still feeling watched even though he wasn’t looking. “Kinda felt like it.”

Staring at your door, you sigh, you’re happy for him, really. Everyone else shouldn’t suffer with you.

“Hello.”

You startle, a frightened screech leaving you as you turn. The person behind you yells, too, backing away from you with wide eyes.

You press a hand to your chest and take a deep breath, “Dude. My heart almost fell out of my ass. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

“Why’d you scream like that? You scared me!” Seokjin presses his back against the wall behind him, a hand against his chest also.

He relaxes, hands dropping at his sides, and you do the same, laughing a bit at the situation.

“Did you need something?” You ask, watching as he steps closer.

“Actually.” He puts a finger up, “I came to make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”

“Huh?��

Seokjin straightens his form, smiling again, “I can help you.”

You blink, looking off to the side before your eyes settle on him again, “....help me with?”

Seokjin looks a little confused now, brows furrowing and he puts his hands behind his back and chuckles. “Your problem.”

When you stare at him blankly he sighs, “I can help you find the one you’re destined for.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No. I’m not drunk. I’m being serious!” He says, shaking his head, “Why do I always have to do this? I hate this part.”

He suddenly looks at you and you freeze, giving a slow, awkward smile. “Um. Whatever it is... I’m okay. You should go lie down or something.”

“I’m not drunk.” Seokjin repeats, “Your friend went out on a date right? I saw him on the way up.”

That’s weird. Yoongi only left a few minutes ago, if Seokjin took the stairs there’s no way he would’ve seen him.

“I can help you with that. Getting a date, I mean.”

“Are you asking me out?”

You laugh and he frowns, but what else are you supposed to do? He looks completely serious, and you wave a hand at him.

“Okay.” You say even though you don’t believe him, giving him a thumbs up, “That’s nice. I’m gonna go...and you can go lay down, okay?”

You turn quickly, opening your door and slipping inside. You leave him standing there, shutting the door behind you.

“...oh-kay...”

He’s seen love make people go distances they’d have never dared to otherwise. He’s seen it in simple words and touches, grand and minute gestures.

You’re happier now, despite the trial and error and the hoops you have to jump through to get where you want to be.

It’s the way your hand felt in his when you held it for the first time. It was after one of your many dates, a Saturday evening when the sun was already dragging the moon into the sky.

He’d been content to watch you then, boots kicking at the snow that was piling up quickly.

Tagging: @xpeachesncream @taestefully-in-luv @bangtansmauyeondan @madbutgloriouspond @blog-name-idk @matchstick6812 @btsstan12 @allhobbitstoisengard @amon-rei @dontstoptime @luaspersona

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effortandmore · 1 year

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the restitution coefficient | ksj x knj (18+)

summary: seokjin has everything going for him. he was one of the youngest people to make VP at his company, at the top of his class in college, is a bit of a racquet sport savant, an excellent cook, and good-looking. like, really good looking. according to people other than his mother, thank you very much. so, when things around him start to crumble because of one stubborn and annoyingly attractive client, he finds himself looking for vindication in a place he's sure he can’t be beat—the annual office ping pong tournament.

pairing: seokjin x namjoon

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: office/co-worker au, enemies (seokjin thinks so, anyway) to lovers, smut, fluff, minor angst

warnings: smut, swearing, mentions of alcohol, seokjin is bad at communicating, bad puns (at least i make myself laugh). here are the specific smut tags: kissing, oral sex, they're soft and annoying and seokjin talks too much

word count: 15.6k

a/n: hello! if you know anything about me, you know i love namjin v much, so here is my first namjin fic. it's my contribution to the Catch of the Century collab to celebrate jin's birthday. i had fun writing it, i hope you have fun reading it. thank you so much to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me—and to @hot-soop for the banner! you're all so lovely and i am grateful. you can read this on ao3 if like me, you prefer it for reading

There is a Kim Seokjin who still feels, most days, like a nervous kid. This Seokjin wears his coziest hoodies on the weekends and plays video games until his eyes burn and sometimes forgets to eat and shower. He is an introvert, he is insecure sometimes, he is just trying his best.

But there is also a Kim Seokjin who thinks, “never let them see you sweat,” who is quick to a one-liner, and who has, for his whole life, been faking it until he makes it. And, he supposes, by most accounts, he has made it (for better or worse).

For this version of him, there’s no question that Seokjin is the best. It's an indisputable fact, on par with universally known truths like gravity and… Well, he can’t think of too many more right this moment, but suffice it to say that his (put-on) superiority is well-known within his circle of friends, around the office, probably to passers by on the street, even.

He was the youngest person to make VP at his company (except for his boss, Min Yoongi), at the top of his class in college, is a bit of a racquet sport savant, an excellent cook, and good-looking. Like, really good looking. According to people other than his mother, thank you very much.

But her, too. Obviously.

And this is true for all the different versions of him: it’s all come relatively easy. Sure, he works hard sometimes—he studied in school, he has a diligent skincare routine, he devotes weekends to the gym and to his gaming hobby, he takes tennis lessons and plays table tennis nearly every day. So, it’s not like things have just been handed to him. Maybe they’ve been made easier because of his looks, a little natural aptitude, a lot of charisma… (And the ability to convince himself and everyone around him that he’s doing great). It’s just that even when he’s had to try, he hasn’t had to try that hard. He’s never struggled, not really. This persona he puts on, it works for him. It’s helped him get more than he ever thought he deserved.

And as anyone would, he likes it this way.

And he really doesn’t like it when things don’t come as easily as he’s used to.

Because that makes him feel like the other Seokjin, the one he doesn’t really want anyone else to see and who he doesn’t want to see reflected at him when he looks in the mirror.

It’s the feeling of things not clicking for him that has him down in the basement of the tall, gray office building he works in, grunting and sweating, frustration coming out of him by way of a series of steady thwacking sounds.

“You’re scaring me a little today,” Jungkook pants, face flushed. They’ve been at it for over thirty minutes and Seokjin’s usually done by now, ready to flash a brilliant grin, straighten his tie, and ride the elevator back up to his office to close another deal.

“Just—thwack… so—thwack… annoying—thwack…” Seokjin isn’t in the same shape as Jungkook. He’s leaner, less muscle, but has a little more stamina for cardio like this. He wouldn’t dare challenge the other man to a lifting contest, but at this, he’s sure he can win.

He always wins.

Jungkook sighs when he misses his next shot just wide of the blue table. Seokjin can’t help the satisfied smile spreading across his face when he wins again, just like he does every day. He makes sure to wait until Jungkook’s paying attention before he throws his arms up in victory and shouts something unintelligible about being the greatest of all time. This win is exactly what he needed today.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook says, softly as always, which is a little funny because Seokjin knows he’s a confident kid; good at his work, strong, attractive, smart (reminds Seokjin a little of himself, if he’s being honest). “Another ping pong victory must feel good.”

Coming from anyone else, it might have come across as sarcastic, but not from Jungkook. He’s almost always earnest. Seokjin can’t relate; he moves through the world by keeping anything too honest tucked deep down inside. But he envies his coworker for it a little (and will never, ever admit that out loud).

“It does,” he says, unrolling the sleeves of his button-down. “Even though it’s called table tennis. How many times do we have to go over this?” And then more to himself than his companion, “I needed that.” It’s as transparent as he cares to be.

“Do you want to talk about the deal?”

Seokjin scoffs. “No. It’ll be fine, I’ll make sure it gets sorted out.”

And he means it. He will. He’s Kim Seokjin—he always wins. Maybe this one will just take a bit longer than it should have.

The deal is big. It’s really big; that’s why he’s involved in the first place. Usually he’s overseeing things these days; it’s a perk of being the VP of sales. He assigns his team to deals; doesn’t take the lead on them anymore. Jungkook, with his wide eyes and easy smile, is one of his best sales directors and gets most of the large contracts assigned to him. But this one was too important, so Seokjin took the client on himself, confident he could close in the first quarter.

Except it’s about four in the afternoon on 31 March, and he hasn’t closed the deal. He won’t today. For the first time in recent memory, Kim Seokjin needs to admit defeat. Which is why he really needed to at least win that fucking table tennis game.

When the elevator doors open on the top floor of the office tower, he’s sure he’s got everything under control. He’ll march into Yoongi’s office with all the quarterly sales numbers and explain that while yes, this deal was Very Important, certainly closing it in the second quarter won’t be a problem—his team has met their goals for the first quarter. In fact, it’s possible that Seokjin is really doing the company a favor by postponing this deal… It will help to pad April’s figures, which is usually a slow time for new contracts.

Yes, he thinks, this is all plausible, reasonable. Foolproof.

The smug smile on his face withers, however, when he passes Yoongi’s office on the way to his own and sees the CEO of the company already has a visitor. His assistant clears his throat, just loud enough to get Seokjin’s attention. “Yoongi-ssi asked to see you in his office when your meeting with Jungkook was done.” And then he adds in a hushed tone, “I think you’re in trouble.”

Taehyung smirks when he says it and it’s enough to sap all of the remaining joy out of Seokjin’s body. Why does he keep such a shithead assistant around, anyway? He’s the Kim Seokjin—he doesn’t deserve to be mocked by someone who works for him.

“You’re in trouble,” he retorts, immediately regretting it. It’s weak and he knows it. He’s too distracted to come up with anything better, though, so before Taehyung can give him another smartass comment in return, he continues. “Who’s in there with him?”

Taehyung just shrugs. “Some client, I think. You could ask Jimin if you really want to know. But they’re waiting for you.”

“You know,” Jin says as he straightens his tie and starts walking toward his boss’ office, “he’d hate knowing you called him Yoongi-ssi.” Yoongi tends to be casual with them in the office, which always throws Seokjin off a little—he prefers to draw boundaries between work and his personal life.

“Ooh…” And Jin can almost hear the smirk on Taehyung’s lips. “What do you think he does to bad boys?”

“You’re disgusting,” Jin calls over his shoulder.

His assistant lets out a giggle and Jin rolls his eyes even though he’s trying not to laugh, too. He’ll never let Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin, see him smiling as he passes toward Yoongi’s office. He’d have to admit how much he loves Taehyung. Not going to happen.

Observing through Yoongi’s floor-to-ceiling glass walls, Seokjin is sure that his assistant is wrong about the man in there with his boss. Because Seokjin would remember this client. He can only see the back of the man’s body, but it’s enough of a look to know that it’s a figure Seokjin would have committed to memory if he’d ever been fortunate enough to encounter it in person. The man is broad across the shoulders (but not as broad as Jin) and his honey brown hair skims across his neck in a manner that’s meant to look haphazard, but probably cost as much as one’s of Jin’s own haircuts. Or more.

Maybe it’s that the man is less gifted when it comes to his facial features and that’s why Jin doesn’t remember.

He knocks on Yoongi’s door with a couple quick raps and then pushes it open and steps in. He should bow, probably, he should say something, but he sees the client’s face and he is… uncharacteristically speechless. There is nothing wrong with the client’s face. Except that it’s pretty close to fucking perfect. The man stands, and oh… he’s tall. Big. Big everywhere, Jin thinks.

The perfect man, which is what he is now known as in Jin’s mind, reaches his hands out and gives a wide, dimpled grin.

It takes all of Jin’s years of practice in presenting a careful image for him to smile back professionally—although he’s pretty sure he’s the color of a tomato, and about to just say “dimples” instead of anything coherent.

“Seokjin-ssi, it’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Kim Namjoon!”

And, oh… That is… a problem.

“Kim Namjoon?”

“Yes?”

And god, he’s being rude, he realizes. He shoves his hands forward mechanically and shakes the actually-not-perfect man’s hands and bows his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Namjoon-ssi.” Because Namjoon is a client. He is the client; the one who won’t close this fucking deal with Seokjin—the one who is causing him to lose beauty sleep and eat hotteok outside of his cheat days and has possibly caused not one, but two stress pimples to appear on Jin’s face in the last month. The client he’s only ever spoken to exclusively on the phone because he doesn’t know how to use his webcam. He’s the single most infuriating person Jin has never met. Until now. When they are meeting. And Kim Namjoon is unfortunately gorgeous and tall and apparently nice even though Jin wants to shake him by the shoulders and start begging for him to sign the contract already.

“Have a seat, Jin,” Yoongi says in a calm voice that Jin very much wishes did not have the undercurrent of amusement in it that it most definitely does.

So, he sits next to Namjoon and gathers himself for whatever it is that’s happening here. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Namjoon is still smiling, and Jin can’t decide if that means he’s not about to be fired in front of their most important potential client or that Namjoon is taking pleasure in the fact that Jin is about to be fired in front of him.

“You’re not in trouble,” Yoongi says, mercifully.

Seokjin lets out a high-pitched, nervous cackle, snaps his mouth shut immediately after, regrets most of his life choices, and then swallows any dignity he has remaining and nods. It’s a long three seconds. “Of course not. Thank you for the reassurance.”

A few more mildly torturous seconds pass where no one speaks, and Seokjin starts to sweat like he’s in the middle of another table tennis game with Jungkook. It’s not quite his worst nightmare, but having his most difficult client sitting less than a meter away from him on the day he failed to close the biggest deal his company’s had in the pipeline in a long time comes… pretty close to the top of the list.

“So…” he starts, hoping he sounds slightly more composed than he feels inside, “What brings you here Namjoon-ssi?”

Kim Namjoon straightens up in his chair before leaning unfortunately closer to Seokjin. He looks positively pleased to be in Yoongi’s office, dimples more prominent than when Seokjin walked into the office and eyes bright. “Well, first, I should apologize.”

It isn’t at all what Seokjin expected to hear and he doesn’t hate it, but it certainly seems like it’s going to be followed by a second thing that he strongly suspects he may not like quite as much.

“Not at all,” Seokjin replies, although there’s a small (large) part of him that does think his client should apologize for being so difficult to work with (and a little bit for not knowing how to use a webcam).

“I know working with my company hasn’t been the easiest for you,” Namjoon continues. And fuck, he’s got this bashful sort of grin he gives like he’s embarrassed and contrite and so fucking handsome Seokjin might forget to breathe a little bit. And forget to respond. When he stops staring at his client, he sees Yoongi watching him expectantly with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Seokjin finally says. It comes out in a bit of a rush as he waves a hand in polite dismissal. “You’ve been a pleasure to work with.” He hates the words as they come out of his mouth, because he’s a lot of things, but he’s not really a liar. Not like this. Kim Namjoon has been a complete pain in his ass to work with. To reiterate: he can’t use a webcam. And that’s not all! He asks for the most minute changes to every single document Seokjin and his team provide. He takes forever to make the smallest of decisions and then proceeds to change his mind about them quite literally hundreds of times before he finally settles.

“I’m glad you think so,” Yoongi chimes in, “because you and Namjoon-ssi are going to be working together much more closely for a while.”

Seokjin looks between Yoongi and Namjoon waiting for more explanation. He’s not sure how he could possibly work more closely with Namjoon. This project has been his entire life for months. He has been eating, sleeping, and breathing this deal and the only thing that takes up more of his time than closing the deal lately is wondering why a grown adult who is the Vice President of Operations for a fairly large company can’t use Zoom.

He chokes down every pained, sarcastic comment couched in a joke he might want to make and gives his most winning smile to his boss. “That sounds great,” he says. He’s almost sure it doesn’t sound like he wants to cry.

But he does want to cry. Especially when Namjoon beams in his direction and nods, excited like a retriever. “I think so, too, Seokjin-ssi! I’m looking forward to this so much.”

Swallowing the large lump that’s forming in his throat, he smiles back. “So, so great…” he mutters. “So… exciting.”

***

Over the weekend, he sort of has time to process the drastic turn his work life is about to take. Kim Namjoon, Vice President of Operations for one of the country’s most prominent seed and soil companies, is coming to work out of his office. Not the building, mind you, but Seokjin’s very own perfectly-curated-to-his-own-tastes-and-not-big-enough-to-share office.

It’s enough to make his face break out with a third pimple.

Yoongi and Namjoon had dreamt up some ridiculous theory that Namjoon’s boss, the CEO of the seed and soil company, might be willing to sign the deal with just a few more adjustments to the contract and a well-constructed pitch video. Namjoon says he wants the software that Seokjin has to offer, says he knows it will streamline work for his front-line employees, but his boss is apparently… particular. Hard to please.

Theoretically, it should make him feel better that Namjoon claims to have not actually been the blocker to getting this deal signed. He says he’s nothing more than a middle-man; trying to convince his boss that Seokjin’s software will be a win for them. Theoretically, he should have laughed when Namjoon said he’d been spending the last few months “planting the seed” about how helpful the software would be with his boss. Seokjin loves puns. But loves them most when he’s the one making them; loves them a little bit less when they’re delivered by his nemesis and then immediately followed with a bashful grin and two impossible to ignore dimples.

As he gets ready for work on Monday morning, he still can’t laugh at Namjoon’s bad joke, and he doesn’t feel better about having to share his space. He feels inadequate and annoyed (and he knows at least Yoongi will be able to read it on his face—probably Jungkook and Taehyung, too. This makes him vulnerable, like a gazelle in a Richard Attenborough narration. He can’t think of anything worse) and he hates those feelings almost as much as he hates the circumstances.

It doesn’t help that it’s one of those mornings where nothing is going his way. He did get that third pimple over the weekend (and a fourth if anyone’s counting—Jimin will be), and he accidentally squirted concealer all over his bathroom mirror when he was trying to cover up said pimples. He must’ve made his coffee in too much of a rush because there are grounds in it, and he missed his first alarm so he’s now forced to drink the sludgy coffee because he would have had to sacrifice his skincare routine in order to make a new pot, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that with the rough state of his chin.

After missing his usual train, he dashes through the wet, gray morning streets to the office from the later train. He spends the jog hoping he beats Taehyung there, because the last thing he’s in the mood for is taking shit from his own assistant for being late. It’s far more entertaining to be the shit-giver, and Taehyung and Jimin are easy targets—both usually late on Mondays, conspicuously arriving together with one of them in the same clothes they wore on Friday.

It’s not his lucky day.

“Hyung is late!” he hears a sing-song voice call as he emerges from the elevator. So many things are wrong with this scenario, the first being that Tae knows he’s not supposed to call Seokjin his hyung when their other coworkers can hear, and the second that Tae and Jimin are sitting atop Taehyung’s desk, pointedly not working and looking a little too pleased for a Monday morning in their bleak office building.

“What’s got you two so enthused?” he asks, setting his bag down by Tae’s desk, ignoring the use of the informal honorific, and adjusting his running-tousled necktie.

“It’s moving day!” Jimin replies cheerily, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of Seokjin and Yoongi’s offices.

“I don’t see what there is to be excited about,” Seokjin mutters. Namjoon is in Yoongi’s office, gesturing enthusiastically as Yoongi watches him with that familiar half-amused grin on his face.

Taehyung reaches up and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now, hyung, maybe this will be good for you. Help you loosen up.” He’s giving Seokjin a shit-eating grin when he adds, “I hear he’s really good at ping pong, too.”

Seokjin definitely should have scolded him for the hyung thing the first time.

Instead, he grabs his bag and takes a step back from the two assistants. “Table tennis. And don’t you have work to do?” he tells more than asks as he heads past them to his office.

“Try and have an open mind, hyung!” Jimin calls as Seokjin shuts the door.

Kids these days are so disrespectful.

In his office, another desk has been added. It’s not yet full with paperwork and photographs like Seokjin’s desk is, and he wonders for a moment if Namjoon will even bother. It’s not like he’s here permanently; there’s really no reason for him to get attached to the space. To Seokjin’s space.

There’s not much time to think about it before the door swings open. No one just comes in without knocking except Taehyung, so Seokjin doesn’t even look up from his screen before saying, “You need to knock it off with the hyung stuff when we’re in the office, you know?”

And Taehyung is generally unpredictable in his replies, but silence is never an option he indulges in, so when there’s no response, Seokjin knows something is wrong.

“Tae?”

He hears a throat clearing in response and just from the tone of the sound, he knows it’s not his assistant.

“Seokjin-ssi?”

“Oh, it’s you.”

“If by ‘you,’ you mean Namjoon, then yeah. It’s me. Do you think you could give me a hand?”

Namjoon is in the doorway to the office with a large box in his arms. Seokjin knows the box is large because Namjoon is large, one of the facts he’d managed to retain from their first in-person encounter, and the box conceals most of the upper-half of Namjoon’s body. All Seokjin can see above the box are his behind his glasses, and the stupid, stupid dimples on display.

He realizes that he hasn’t actually responded to Namjoon yet, a moment past when it turns awkward. Oops.

“Sure, what can I do?” he asks, standing from his desk.

“If you could just grab Ponyo, that would be great. Thanks Seokjin-ssi.”

“Ponyo?”

Namjoon gestures with his chin to the glass bowl stacked carefully atop the box he’s holding. “Ponyo. My fish.”

“Clever,” Jin says as he grabs the fishbowl.

“Ah, not really. But thank you. She’s a good companion, doesn’t talk back. And I’ve had her for a long time.”

“So you like the strong, silent type?”

When Seokjin looks up, Namjoon is staring back at him, wide-eyed, and he could swear there’s the hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Not exactly,” Namjoon mutters as he turns and sets the box down on his new desk.

“It was a joke, Namjoon-ssi.”

“Right. Of course.” Namjoon straightens his tie and won’t make eye contact. “Well, thank you for your help. I’ll leave you alone now. Well… not really alone. But…”

It’s going to be a long few weeks, Seokjin decides. He may not be Namjoon’s biggest fan, but it would be better for both of them if it wasn’t this awkward the whole time they’re sharing an office. So he extends an olive branch. “I’m going down to get some coffee. Would you like anything?”

Namjoon brightens immediately. “Thank you, Seokjin-ssi. Iced americano, please,” he says as he starts to pull his wallet out.

“My treat,” Seokjin replies, waving him off. “A ‘welcome’ gift, I guess.”

Namjoon smiles again—wide and really very pretty, Seokjin admits to himself reluctantly—as he gives a quick, shallow bow.

He’s so polite. Infuriating.

Seokjin can’t explain why getting out of his own office feels so much like a relief. This is the first time he’s found so much solace in an elevator ride. So far, Namjoon’s really not at all what Seokjin had made him out to be after months of tedious back and forth. But it’s best to exercise caution in these situations, he thinks. You never know when people are waiting for you to show your vulnerable side. And it’s only been five minutes of Namjoon being polite compared to months of him being the most difficult client Seokjin had ever had.

“Good morning, Seokjinnie!”

Seokjin assesses the lobby of the building quickly, making sure no one he knows heard the nickname. What’s with people not just using his name today, anyway?

“Morning, Hobi.”

“The usual, hyung?”

Hobi is a saint in a man’s body, this is something Seokjin knows for sure. He used to work in the office on the software development team, and about a year ago decided that the money wasn’t worth it. Seokjin envies him if he’s being honest, walking away from security in exchange for a chance at happiness isn’t a risk he’s ever been willing to take. But it worked for Hobi; he owns the small cafe in the lobby of the office building, and he does well for himself without working the grueling hours that he used to—the hours that Seokjin still works. Supplying all the office lackeys their daily caffeine dose suits Hobi, too, even if he does get flustered when the line is longer than one person.

If Seokjin was really interested in the highest quality drinks, he’d go a block down the street to the hipster shop where all the baristas are hot, but dicks. What Hobi provides is a different kind of comfort. He’s everyone’s friend—even someone sort of closed off like Seokjin can’t help but open up a bit to him. They’ve known each other for a few years now, and while he’s not sure he can call anyone his best friend, Hobi is pretty close. Countless movie nights and talks over chicken and beer have sort of cemented that.

Seokjin nods. “The usual and a large iced americano, too.”

Hobi pauses and lifts an eyebrow over his ridiculous glasses with yellow lenses.

“For the new guy,” Seokjin explains. “Just this once.”

“Oh! For Namjoonie! I should have known.” Hobi gives Seokjin a smirk and sets about making the drinks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

As soon as the question comes out of his mouth, he knows it shouldn’t have. It’s inevitable that he’ll regret asking.

“Nothing,” Hobi says, “he’s just… you know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Seokjin replies automatically, then realizes he sounds a little dreamy. “I mean… he’s fine. It’s polite to do something nice for the new guy. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything, obviously.” He’s definitely rambling now, and he can feel the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s just coffee. And he’s a client,” he adds in spite of himself.

How the fuck does Hobi always do this? It’s a waste that he owns this coffee shop. He should be a fucking Interpol agent or something.

“Mmhmm.” It’s obvious Hobi sees right through him. Of course he does.

“He’s mostly insufferable,” Seokjin continues, trying to act nonchalant. “How do you know him, anyway?”

“Oh, Jinnie… I know all the cute boys in the building.” Hobi sets two drinks down on the counter next to the espresso machine. “Anything else on your mind?”

“I have to share my office with him.” This comes out of his mouth as a full-blown whine, far more plaintive than he’d meant to be out loud.

Hobi just laughs. “I heard. Well, should be interesting, at least.”

Grabbing the drinks, Seokjin pouts. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Movie night this week?”

“Yeah, but I get to pick this time.”

Hobi grins as Seokjin turns to head back to the elevator and his office. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

***

It is very bad.

The first day is fine. Namjoon is quiet (mostly), he puts his things away and organizes his desk while Seokjin works. They make polite conversation at appropriate intervals and Namjoon leaves promptly at five in the evening. Probably a husband or wife to get home to, Seokjin decides.

On the second day, Namjoon arrives at the office first, and there’s a steaming flat white waiting on Seokjin’s desk for him. It’s a little surprising, but appreciated, and Namjoon gives a trademark shy smile when Seokjin thanks him. It’s infuriatingly cute.

Then Wednesday happens. Wednesday is table tennis day. Everyone in the office knows that. It’s when he and Jungkook head down to the basement before lunch for their “Wednesday sales meeting” and Seokjin proceeds to destroy him for an hour before buying him lunch.

So, on the third day, Seokjin heads to the elevator just before eleven in the morning. Namjoon’s been gone for a while, said he had a meeting earlier, so he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone when he heads out. But Jungkook isn’t by the elevator waiting like he usually is. Maybe he’s taking some initiative, Seokjin thinks as he steps into the lift. When he gets to the basement, he loosens his tie as the elevator door opens and stops dead in his tracks after he turns the corner. Because Jungkook has taken some initiative. He’s in the middle of what looks to be a contentious match already.

With Kim Namjoon.

“What’s going on down here?” He means to keep his cool, for it to come out as a question. But it’s more of a squawk. Mortifying.

“Oh!” Namjoon is breathing heavily and his eyes widen when he notices Seokjin. This, in turn, makes Seokjin finally notice that instead of just rolling up the sleeves of his shirt like a civilized person, Namjoon has removed his shirt, leaving him in only a white undershirt. A tight, white undershirt that moves with his arms and his chest when he moves and is unfortunately quite devastating. Seokjin is definitely staring, which he only realizes when Namjoon begins to speak again. “Seokjin-ssi! Jungkook was just showing me the ropes. He mentioned you two play and that there’s an office tournament in a few weeks.” He pauses and breaks out his stupid, dimpled smile, because of course he does. “I just love ping pong,” he says brightly.

“Yeah, hyung. Namjoon-ssi loves ping pong. Just like you!”

Seokjin turns to face Jungkook, who seems to have forgotten that he is Seokjin’s employee.

“I think it’s so nice everyone here is so close,” Namjoon says earnestly before Seokjin can remind Jungkook that they’re in the office and that he is Jungkook’s boss. “You can call me hyung, too, Jungkook-ah. If you want. I feel like we’re becoming friends already.”

This draws a snort of disbelief out of Seokjin, and a starry-eyed, nervous smile from Jungkook. “Hyung…” Jungkook whispers, seemingly to himself, trying out the word. Then he nods enthusiastically. “I’d like that, thanks, hyung!”

“It’s called table tennis,” Seokjin interrupts. “Table tennis, not ping pong. And on Wednesdays, Jungkook and I play.” The words come out in a rush as he rolls his sleeves up and moves to stand next to Namjoon. It’s not that he means to be challenging, but this is his day.

“Don’t tell me you wear pink, too.”

Seokjin just glares (even though under normal circumstances, he would probably laugh). This is his table, his basement, his office, his Jungkook.

Namjoon backs down quickly. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” he says politely, handing his paddle over.

“You didn’t!” Jungkook chimes in. “I had fun playing with you, hyung.”

“Me too, Jungkook-ah, thank you!” Namjoon starts to put his shirt back on and Seokjin hates that he feels conflicted about it.

“You can stay, if you want,” Seokjin offers in a moment of pectoral-induced weakness. “You know, to get some pointers.”

“Namjoon hyung doesn’t need pointers! He beat me twice already. But I was about to come back, I swear.” There isn’t even an attempt on Jungkook’s part to disguise his adoration.

It’s disgusting.

“I can always improve,” Namjoon chimes in as he sits on the old folding chair they’d dragged down from a supply closet. “Plus, it would be nice to get to know you both better.”

Jungkook flushes and Seokjin rolls his eyes. This guy just cannot be for real.

When they play, Namjoon calls out encouragement to both of them in between scrolling his phone. Something on there must be interesting because his thumbs are flying pretty frequently. It’s unfortunate that Seokjin notices this, because it means that he’s not paying as much attention to the game as he should be.

The unthinkable happens.

Jungkook lets out a loud whoop and Namjoon claps enthusiastically from his chair. “Good job, Jungkook-ah!”

Seokjin loses table tennis that day. As he stands on his side, motionless in disbelief, he can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of sign.

“I have to go,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to roll his sleeves back down or straighten his tie before he gets on the elevator.

Wednesday makes one thing clear: Kim Namjoon is going to be a problem.

Over the following weeks, things continue to get worse.

First, Namjoon buys their lunch. On the surface, this is fine. Nice, even. A gesture that most people would appreciate. Especially considering that Seokjin has… maintained a professional distance between them to say the least. They barely talk after the table tennis incident, and when they do, it’s entirely about work. Namjoon, to his credit, tries, but Seokjin isn’t really sure why. It’s obvious he was trying to prove something in that basement.

Things go downhill when, after lunch, Seokjin begins to feel itchy. Really itchy. Itchy all over like poison ivy or nettle stings. The sort of itchy that’s also warm and makes you feel like your skin is just some sort of scratchy wool sweater that your grandmother won’t let you take off because you look “cute.” He tries splashing water on his face and hands, but it just keeps getting worse. It’s almost like… it’s almost like an allergy.

“Kim Namjoon!”

Namjoon whips his head up from his computer when his name is shrieked into the office.

“Is everything okay, Seokjin-ssi? You look flushed. Are you feeling okay?”

“Garlic!”

His officemate just stares at him blankly, clearly unwilling to admit to his sabotage.

“You put garlic in my lunch!”

“Uh… I mean… I didn’t make the lunch, but there could have been garlic in there, yes?” He phrases it as a question. Still playing dumb, apparently.

“I can’t believe this,” Seokjin complains. “Look at me!” He sticks his arms out, pink from the scratching and probably also from the rash that’s taking over his entire body as he speaks. “I can’t work like this.”

“I think I’m missing something…” Namjoon says softly.

“Sure,” Seokjin says. “You didn’t know I was allergic to garlic.” He rolls his eyes. “Did Taehyung put you up to this? Jungkook? Is this some sort of joke you’re all in on? You think this is funny, Namjoon-ssi?”

Namjoon’s brow lifts. “You’re allergic to garlic?”

Seokjin scoffs as he snatches up his suit jacket, and his laptop. He types out a quick message to Yoongi on his phone letting him know he’ll need the rest of the day off to recover from the horrible prank that’s been played on him.

“First table tennis, now this,” he says on his way out. “I hope you’re happy!”

Before he shuts the door—definitely not a slam, even though he really, really wants to for the dramatic effect—he thinks he hears Namjoon mutter, “I’m mostly just confused…”

Needless to say, their progress on the pitch video for Namjoon’s boss is slow. Seokjin miraculously recovers from the garlic incident, which everyone swears was not a prank, but Taehyung and Jimin do nothing to ease his suspicion when they snicker while he interrogates them. It wasn’t even a good prank, because all it does is set them behind schedule. Well, it does, and the arguing.

For the pitch, they’re supposed to be working together on supplemental materials, but they just can’t seem to seem to see eye to eye. Namjoon wants everything spelled out—so much detail, so many… words. It’s not Seokjin’s style. He’s better with visuals—charts and interactive videos and talking his clients through them. It’s proven. It’s gotten him this far. Namjoon’s not a marketer, not a salesperson. He’s a… Well, Seokjin isn’t quite sure what Namjoon is. But Seokjin is definitely a sales guy. The best sales guy. So to have this seed-man arguing with him (politely, of course, and it’s maddening) about how to properly make a pitch video is absurd.

In the end, they agree to make two separate videos and let Yoongi choose which one to hand over to Namjoon’s Board of Directors.

Namjoon looks a little confused when Seokjin offers Jungkook’s assistance. “Are you sure?” he asks, “Jungkook-ah is your best, you don’t have to do that.”

“Well, you need someone who knows how to operate a video camera, don’t you?”

Namjoon nods dumbly, like he’s still confused, but accepts the help. Good, Seokjin thinks. He wants this to be a fair fight. It’ll be more satisfying that way when he wipes the floor with them.

One day a week or so later, Seokjin shows up to the office, and he’s optimistic. He and Taehyung have been making good progress on his work for the seed company and Namjoon’s been gone with Jungkook a lot working on his own. They haven’t had to interact much, and it’s been good for Seokjin’s focus. It’s curious, though, that Namjoon remains friendly when they do see each other. It has Seokjin on edge, like the other shoe will drop any moment.

When he walks into his office, it’s clear that the shoe has indeed dropped.

“What in the…”

Plants. Plants everywhere. This was supposed to be a good day.

Namjoon’s head pops up from behind his desk, which is covered in small pots. So are the windowsills, all the empty spaces on the bookshelves, parts of the floor, and Seokjin’s own desk.

“Good morning, Seokjin-ssi!”

“Plants,” he says. He’s having a hard time wrapping his head around what he’s seeing.

“Seed starts,” Namjoon agrees. He sounds… proud. “They’re from my personal collection, but I thought they would work for the video Jungkook and I are making.”

“Your personal collection?” Seokjin finally stops scanning the room to look at the other man. “These are yours?”

Namjoon lets out a soft laugh. “Yep. Well, they’re only part of my collection. I was worried there wouldn’t be enough… Actually, do you think I should bring more? Jimin and Taehyung said more might be better. This is only a third of what I have on my balcony… Hobi seemed to think it would be enough, though, when I asked him…”

Seokjin isn’t sure if Namjoon is speaking to him anymore, or to himself.

There are a hundred questions floating through his head about what exactly is happening in his office, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask because the door opens and Yoongi peeks his head in.

“Looks like you two are getting along,” he notes, scanning the room.

Namjoon looks to Seokjin, and it’s clear he doesn’t know how to answer, that he’s waiting for Seokjin to respond.

It’s not like he can tell his boss that their client is actively trying to sabotage him. Not in front of Namjoon, anyway. There’s no other option than to lie through his teeth. “We’re doing great,” he says, and plasters on a giant (fake) smile. He feels a little off-kilter because when he says it, Namjoon positively beams. But he has to know it’s not true—he’s the one causing all these problems, anyway.

“Good, good…” Yoongi murmurs. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Just wanted to check in on your progress. Only about a week until we need to deliver the pitch. We’re on track, I’m assuming?”

They both nod in agreement, but neither of them makes eye contact with Yoongi. Namjoon’s staring at Seokjin and Seokjin is staring at the dozens of five centimeter paper pots covering his desk. On track is one way to put it, he thinks.

Yoongi hums his approval and backs out of the doorframe, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“I have to go,” Seokjin says curtly.

“Oh… Is something wrong?”

Seokjin thinks if he lifts his eyebrows any higher, they’ll take flight. And he’ll get wrinkles. Which is unacceptable. “Is something wrong?” he repeats back to Namjoon.

“You sound upset.”

“Oh. Of course not. Of course I’m not upset that my whole office is being taken over by a table tennis prodigy who spreads manure pots everywhere and steals my friends and gives me garlic poisoning and thinks he can do my job better than me!” His voice rises higher and higher as he goes on and he knows his whole face is flushing down to his chest. Namjoon starts to protest, but Seokjin cuts him off. “No. I’m leaving. You can have the office—Taehyung and I can work from the conference room. Congratulations, Namjoon-ssi. You win today.”

He tries to ignore the fact that Namjoon looks thoroughly confused and, if he’s not mistaken, more than a little bit hurt.

On top of everything, he’s a good actor, Seokjin thinks.

Of course.

This point is proven when later that day, Seokjin begrudgingly realizes he needs some paperwork out of his office. He really doesn’t want to give Namjoon the satisfaction of… well, of anything, but he needs those papers, so he heads back to his office. When he opens the door, Namjoon is at his desk, surrounded by his annoying plants, talking to someone. It’s weird, because Seokjin doesn’t see a phone in his hand or earbuds in… Maybe Namjoon is talking to himself.

Then he hears another voice. Tinny, like it’s coming through… a computer speaker?

Namjoon notices Seokjin and freezes. Caught. Caught on a video call. Which he told Seokjin he “never did.” Told Seokjin he thought his “webcam must be broken.”

Kim Namjoon is a snake and a liar and Seokjin doesn’t even care anymore that he’s got pecs and dimples and really nice thighs—his slacks look stupid anyway hugging his thighs like that—it’s inappropriate. No one this shady is attractive. Not even people who look like Namjoon.

Seokjin storms out of his own office and straight to the elevator.

“Seokkkkkkjinnnnie!”

All he can muster in response is a grumble. Even for Hobi.

“I hate him.”

Hobi, infuriatingly, just laughs. “The usual?”

“Yes, please.” Seokjin paces in front of the counter while Hobi makes his drink. “He’s a liar,” he whines, “and he filled our office with plants.”

“Not plants!” Hobi gasps, showing the appropriate amount of shock at the distressing news, but then when Seokjin looks over at him, he’s laughing again.

So much for friendship.

“It’s the last straw,” he says as he takes his drink from the counter. A large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. One of his favorites. “First there was having to share an office, then the fact that he took over my Wednesdays with Jungkook. Then the garlic, and the terrible ideas he kept pitching, and now the plants…” He pauses to lick whipped cream off of his top lip. “And he lied about the webcam, Hobi. He knows how to use the webcam!”

Hobi looks at him above the rim of his glasses. The look is more stern than the ones he usually gives. It’s the same one Seokjin gets when he’s being obnoxious about a video game or when he doesn’t let Jungkook have the last piece of chicken.

“What?” Seokjin asks flatly.

“Nothing.” Hobi raises his hands defensively and shakes his head.

“Just say it, Hobi.”

His friend pauses his work wiping down the milk steamer and tilts his head before he speaks. “I know you see things one way, but have you considered that there might be another side to all this?”

“No.” He’s sure he’s pouting now, but is it so much to ask for Hobi just to agree with him?

“He’s a nice guy, Jinnie. He thinks you hate him.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I think you should give him a chance. Maybe there’s an explanation for all of this, you know. You could just… try.”

“Hmmph.”

“We’re going out on Sunday. He’s coming. You should come, too.”

Seokjin’s eyes fly open in disbelief. “You’re hanging out with my archenemy? On a school night?”

“Don’t be dramatic. And yeah, we all are. Jungkookie, Taehyung, Jiminie, and me. We’re taking him out. It’s hard to be the new guy, Jinnie.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Yah, especially when you’re a saboteur.”

“Stop that.”

“Make me.”

“I’ll switch you to decaf.”

“This is hot chocolate, Hobi.”

“That’s what you think!”

Seokjin can’t help but smile. “Fine. I’ll give him one chance. But I don’t like it.”

Hobi smiles broadly. “Good. I knew you’d come around.”

Seokjin waves him off and crosses the lobby back to the elevator. “Just make a note for the history books that I’m being the bigger person here!”

“Sure will.” He can hear Hobi laughing at him even when the elevator door closes.

***

They make it through the rest of the work week with no “Namjoonings” as Seokjin has started calling them in his head. Namjoon rearranges the office to get almost all of the seedlings out, apologizing for causing Seokjin any inconvenience and bringing him an “I’m sorry” bonsai. When Seokjin says he barely remembers to give himself water, Namjoon just grins and promises to help care for the delicate tree himself. It’s kind of sweet.

On Wednesday, he even gets Jungkook to himself for the first time in weeks. Without Namjoon watching them play, it’s much easier to focus, and Seokjin wins table tennis that day. All three times they play.

He and Taehyung wrap up their pitch video on Friday, final edits made, adjustments inked in the contract, and he delivers everything to Yoongi for review feeling good. Of course, he’s curious about what Jungkook and Namjoon have delivered, but he feels good enough about his own pitch that he’s not letting it bother him. He’s the expert, and he taught Jungkook almost everything he knows, so he feels confident that even if Jungkook and Namjoon did a good job, Seokjin did better.

It’s the best couple of days he’s had at work in weeks.

Sunday night, he finds himself still in a good mood, crowded into a karaoke room with his best friends, a beer in hand and one Kim Namjoon sitting next to him, fidgeting with his sleeve nervously.

He’s different outside of the office, and Seokjin notices it right away. Namjoon is clearly uncomfortable with him, and it’s strange, even to Seokjin, that if Namjoon had been trying to ruin his career this whole time, that he would feel nervous around his victim. So that, combined with the apology plant and the daily drinks he’s found on his desk with cute doodles drawn on them make Seokjin think that it’s possible Hobi has a point with his whole “two sides to every story” thing.

Maybe.

Taehyung and Jimin are in the middle of a passionate duet of “I Got You, Babe,” when Seokjin decides he could, under the influence of two beers, be bothered to at least try and clear the air.

“Namjoon-ssi?”

Namjoon practically chokes on his beer. “Oh! Uh… me? Yeah?” He looks surprised that Seokjin is even speaking to him. It’s pretty cute. It’s the first time Seokjin has seen him outside of the office, and he looks like a different person. Even more attractive, which Seokjin resents. He’s got shorts on, (no one should have legs like his—it’s rude) paired with expensive sneakers and a soft-looking, oversized hoodie. His hair is apparently freshly washed, and it’s fluffy under the hood he’s had pulled up most of the night. He looks cozy. As someone who’s practically always cold, Seokjin likes it when people look cozy, when they look like they could wrap him up and keep him warm… Even his enemies. Or, alleged enemies.

“I thought… Well, Hobi thinks we should talk things out.” As cute as Namjoon is, and maybe because he looks so cute, Seokjin can’t bring himself to look the other man in the eye.

Namjoon smiles. “Hobi thinks?”

“Maybeiagreeitwouldntbesobadforustotalk.” God, he’s a mess. The words just tumble out. Why is he nervous about this?

“Yeah, I think that would be good, too.” Namjoon removes his hood and leans in closer to Seokjin—it’s loud and so it makes sense that if they’re going to talk he wants to hear a little better, but the proximity is making Seokjin a little woozy. He even smells good. It’s devastating.

He clears his throat. “Well, it’s come to my attention that I may have made some assumptions… And that it’s possible that you didn’t actually try to give me garlic poisoning on purpose.”

At that, Namjoon comes very close to spitting beer out in laughter, a hoodie-covered hand flying up to contain it.

“Yah, it’s not funny, Namjoon-ssi!”

“Sorry!” Namjoon wipes his mouth and then gives Seokjin a very serious look. “I would never, ever try to intentionally give you garlic poisoning. I had no idea you were allergic. I swear.”

“You promise?”

“I swear,” he repeats. He doesn’t look like he’s lying, but Seokjin’s been fooled by him before. Probably been fooled.

“Okay… What about Jungkook? Why are you turning him against me?”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide. Wider than wide. “I really… I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

“What does that mean?”

“Jungkook is crazy about you! When we play ping pong, he’s always talking about ‘sunbaenim’ this and ‘Seokjin hyung’ that. It’s overwhelming sometimes.” Namjoon looks across the room to where Jungkook and Hobi are laughing with each other. “When we made our video, he kept saying things like, ‘Seokjin sunbaenim would want it like this.’ He never shuts up about you. I could never replace you, Seokjin-ssi.”

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea about me or my intentions here.” Namjoon’s looking at him earnestly, tilting his own head down to try and meet Seokjin’s gaze, which has settled somewhere on the floor. “I respect you, I’ve always liked working with you, and I’d like it if someday, we could be friends, too.”

“Friends,” Seokjin mumbles, trying to think about what Namjoon’s been saying.

“You know, friends. Like where one of us doesn’t hate the other?”

And that’s it for Seokjin, because Namjoon looks hesitant and cautious and soft and cozy and not at all like the villain Seokjin’s made him up to be in his head. “That could be arranged, I think.”

Namjoon’s dimples make their first real appearance of the night. “Yeah?”

“But you need to teach Ponyo some manners.”

“Huh?”

“She’s always chewing with her mouth open.” Seokjin hollows his cheeks and does his best fish impression, which results in Namjoon doubling over in laughter, his hand flying out to Seokjin’s knee to steady himself. Because Namjoon is his client, technically, he tries really hard to ignore the immediate flush he feels at the contact.

“You’re funny, Seokjin-ssi,” he says as he catches his breath.

“Hyung. Seokjin hyung. Outside of the office, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

Seokjin nods and gives his attention to the singing, trying not to show how pleased he is that Namjoon is pleased, but when he glances back out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but feel something funny in his stomach at the sight of the dopey grin Namjoon is giving him from behind his beer bottle.

Even he can admit that, this one time, Hobi was right.

He probably drinks too many beers that night. He’s not drunk drunk, but he’s warm and flushed and even giggling when they stumble out of the noraebang a couple hours after his newly forged friendship with Namjoon takes root. They divide into taxis, everyone calling it a night fairly early so they can show up to work in the morning without having to be on the receiving end of Yoongi’s “what the fuck were you thinking?” face.

Somehow, as he watches Jimin and Taehyung pile into a taxi, then Hobi and Jungkook, it doesn’t occur to him that he’s left with Namjoon until he feels a hand on his shoulder and hears, “Hyung, want to share?”

He thinks his brain must leave his body for a moment, because without even thinking about it, he replies, “Want to come over? One more beer?”

There’s almost immediate regret when Namjoon doesn’t answer. Seokjin can’t even bring himself to turn his head to look at the man standing next to him. He’s sure he’s crossed some sort of line—a line he’d probably been the one to draw in the first place.

He barely hears Namjoon’s answer. “Yeah, okay. One more drink.”

It’s a surprise to say the least. But a good one. Seokjin takes a couple of deep breaths and lets himself sneak a glance at Namjoon. Those damn dimples are back. But instead of being annoying, Seokjin thinks they’re beautiful. Something about how happy Namjoon looks tilts Seokjin’s world on his axis. Just momentarily, anyway. Then he remembers that they’re barely friends and he’s been objectively horrible to this man for weeks—this man who is technically his client. As they get into the taxi to go back to his apartment together, he takes more deep breaths and tells himself to get it together—this is just what friends do.

Seokjin keeps a tidy apartment, so there’s no apologizing for the mess or explaining himself. If anything, it’s sparse, because he spends so much time at work and rarely entertains at his own place, except for movie nights with Hobi.

It should be weird to have Namjoon there, but what’s weird is that it’s not at all. Namjoon slides his shoes off, settles in the living room and doesn’t waste any time asking Seokjin to talk more about himself, to tell him about the friends and family members in the photos around his apartment. He’s a good conversationalist—he asks interesting questions and laughs at Seokjin’s bad jokes and really listens when Seokjin speaks, making a lot of eye contact and nodding along at all the right places.

And he’s funny, too. Self-deprecating a little, but it makes Seokjin more comfortable around him, like he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Seokjin learns a lot about Namjoon while they both drink another beer—he has a younger sister, he loves plants in a way that wasn’t already apparent (sings to them and names them and it’s just about the most endearing thing Seokjin has ever heard in his life), he “dabbles in poetry,” likes to go to museums, and claims to only make friends with people who can cook, because he’s a self-proclaimed disaster in the kitchen. More than one of his stories of near-catastrophe has Seokjin in a riot of laughter, and it’s not long before Seokjin is wondering how he’d let himself miss out on this person for so long.

They talk until neither of them is doing a good job of keeping their eyes open, and he doesn’t think twice about offering his spare bedroom when Namjoon says he should probably get home. It’s late, they’re both tipsy, he reasons. Tells Namjoon to just set his alarm a little early to go home and change before work. They have their pitch meeting with Yoongi at 9am, so it’s not like either of them needs to be there early, anyway. “Unless you have someone waiting for you at home,” he tacks on.

Namjoon ducks his head and grins. “No, no one at home. Just the plants and me. But are you sure, hyung?”

He shouldn’t feel the small bit of giddiness he does upon hearing that Namjoon is single. “Yah, it’s nothing. Bathroom’s on the right, guest room is just past it. Sheets are clean and there’s a spare toothbrush for you. Let me find you something to wear.”

He shuffles to his own room and digs around for something that will fit Namjoon. He’s taller and bigger, but Seokjin has broad shoulders and wears baggy clothes around the house most of the time, anyway. He finds an old black t-shirt and some joggers and gives them to Namjoon, who is impossibly even cuter when he’s sleepy. Seokjin needs to get to bed before he says something he shouldn’t like, “can I touch your hair?” or “want to cuddle? Your chest looks comfy,” (It does) or “can I please kiss you?”

It’s confusing, the way he feels. His whole idea of this man has been flipped upside-down in the course of a day.

“Hyung?” Namjoon’s eyeing him curiously, one side of his mouth turned up in a soft smile.

“Sorry… Spaced out. Need anything else?” He swallows down the weird sensation he feels in his chest and smiles at Namjoon.

“No, I’m all good. See you tomorrow. Thanks again. I had a lot of fun talking with you.”

“Goodnight, Namjoon-ah.”

“Goodnight, hyung.”

Sleep. He’ll feel better once he gets some sleep, he tells himself.

***

In reality, what ends up happening is that Seokjin feels much, much worse.

It’s possible he had more to drink than he thought. He wakes up in the morning to sunlight, and this is the first bad omen. Bad because he should have been up before the sun came up if he wanted to be to work on time, and Namjoon should have been up even earlier.

Namjoon. Shit.

Seokjin rolls out of bed, his headache hitting him almost immediately.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, as he pulls a shirt on and grabs his phone. Things go from bad to worse almost immediately. It’s 8:45 am and he is late. Late, late. Completely screwed late. Late for the most important meeting he’s had at work in months. The only solace is that if he’s late, then Namjoon is late, too. He scurries down the hall to the guest room, only hesitating for a second before throwing the door open. There’s no time for modesty, he thinks, they have to get moving.

“Namjoon-ah!”

But his call is into an empty room. Namjoon is gone, and the clothes he borrowed the night before are folded up neatly on the end of Seokjin’s guest bed.

Fuck.

By the time he’s on the subway (still so, so late), he finally has time to think about the situation. And he’s mad. Really, underneath that, he thinks he might be hurt that this man who he wanted to kiss so badly the night before is really trying to screw him over. And for no reason that he can think of. He let his guard down with Namjoon for one night, and this is what happens. It was probably Namjoon’s plan all along: get Seokjin drunk, decide not to wake him up, let him show up late to the meeting so that Yoongi will have no choice but to choose Namjoon’s ideas.

He’s so stupid for letting this happen. He knew Namjoon was bad news. He should have never listened to Hobi. All the good-looking ones are evil. Except him, of course.

“Morning, Jinnie!” Hobi calls brightly as Seokjin dashes through the lobby.

“No time, Hobi. I have a seed-man to take down.”

It’s probably the fastest he’s ever made it from his bed to the office. Of course, he knows he’s made some sacrifices in order to get there sooner—he hasn’t moisturized, his tie is crooked, and he’s sure his socks don’t match—but it’s all going to be worth it when he gets there and can plead his case to Yoongi.

When he gets off the elevator on his floor, he sees Yoongi alone in his office, no Namjoon. This is good. Maybe they rescheduled the meeting. It’s only 9:20, there’s no way they’re already done. He sprints across the floor, pausing briefly at Yoongi’s door to catch his breath, and then he knocks and pushes the door open a crack.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

“Oh, you decided to show up.”

He’s about to launch into an apology-slash-explanation when Yoongi speaks again, holding his hand up to gesture for Seokjin to be quiet. “I don’t want to know. I know you all went out last night, Namjoon told me.”

Kim Namjoon, Seokjin is now one hundred percent sure, is a rat.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says, bowing slightly. “It won’t happen again.”

Yoongi laughs. “It probably will, just don’t make it a habit.”

“Of course.” There’s a pause where neither of them speak after that. Seokjin decides to just go for it. “So, about the meeting…”

“We had the meeting.”

“You had the meeting?”

“Namjoon and I met at nine.”

He wants to be mad, and he is with Namjoon. Not with Yoongi for having the meeting at the scheduled time.

“Oh, I see.”

“I’ve made a decision, and I’ll submit everything to the Board today for their Wednesday meeting.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” He wants to cry. Seokjin closes the door to Yoongi’s office and makes his way to the bathroom as quickly as he can. There’s no way he’s going to cry out in the open where anyone could see.

Years and years of hard work down the toilet because of one night of karaoke. Because of Kim Namjoon being a rat who didn’t wake him up. He can feel the pressure building in his head, worse than the hangover headache he woke up with. There’s nothing he can think of worse than failure, and now he’s failed in the biggest way. His dongsaeng and his client beating him at the one thing he’s always been the best at. It’s the worst feeling. Like he’s let Yoongi down… Like he’s let himself down.

He leans against the counter and fights the tears back. He’s Kim Seokjin. He doesn’t cry at work. The door to the bathroom swings open while he’s splashing cold water on his face. He didn’t bother with concealer that morning, so there’s nothing to mess up with the water.

“Seokjin-ssi?”

Of fucking course.

“Namjoon, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh. I uh… Just wanted to see if you were alright. I was worried when you didn’t come to the meeting this morning.”

Seokjin laughs, loud and bitter. “Sure you were.”

Namjoon stands in the doorway, a surprised look on his face. “I was, yeah.”

“You don’t have to lie anymore, Namjoon. You win. Yoongi told me everything was decided. Congratulations. I don’t know why it was so important to you to do this to me, but I hope you’re happy.”

Namjoon’s voice is soft when he speaks, and he takes a cautious step closer to Seokjin. “You have to believe me when I tell you I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t have to believe anything you say, actually.”

“I’m not sure why you’re upset with me, hyung.”

Seokjin stands up straight. “Hyung rights revoked, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks like he wants to laugh. Insulting. Seokjin pushes past him out the bathroom door. “Seokjin-ssi, wait, please.”

Seokjin does not wait. He strides to Yoongi’s office (Namjoon two steps behind), tells him he needs a personal day, and gets on the elevator to go back down. He’s done with Namjoon, done with this office, and done with being a fool.

He makes it home without any fanfare and sleeps most of the day. When he wakes up to make himself some food that evening, he sees chat messages from Hobi and Taehyung, asking if he’s okay. They offer to bring soup in case he’s not feeling well and both ask for him to let them know if he’s alright. He ignores them. Instead, he leaves Yoongi a voicemail, telling him he’s taking the next day off as well, stomach bug.

It’s not far off from the truth—he feels awful. Prickly and queasy and bad all over. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Namjoon standing in his living room, looking soft and innocent and kissable and happy and he hates it. It’s the feeling of insecurity he’s tried to battle his whole life, now creeping back in. He shouldn’t have let himself think a pretty boy with nice dimples and a couple of good jokes really wanted to be his friend—maybe even wanted something more.

There were a couple moments, like when Namjoon shuffled closer in the karaoke room, or when he laughed at every single one of Seokjin’s worst jokes, that Seokjin thought there might be a spark there. That maybe Namjoon’s chest felt like it was full of firecrackers when they made eye contact, too.

He feels like a fool.

He ignores his friends that night and all the next day, plays video games until his thumbs hurt, and calls his mother. By the time Tuesday night comes, he’s feeling a little better, a little more capable of putting his protective shell back on and showing up at the office. Plus, the next day is the annual table tennis tournament, and Seokjin never misses that. It was his idea to begin with, and he wins every year.

Kim Namjoon may have won the pitch competition, but he’ll never beat Seokjin on the blue table.

That night, he tells himself reaffirming statements in bed: he’s smart, he’s talented, he’s attractive, he’s Kim Seokjin and he can do anything. He only believes approximately half of it, but figures the more he repeats it, the closer it gets to true.

He sets no fewer than eight alarms for Wednesday morning. In the interest of showing everyone that he is, in fact, not to be fucked with, he wakes up extra early and makes sure his hair and face are both perfect. He puts on his nicest suit and packs his lucky table tennis clothes—a navy blue and white Fila outfit that he’s never lost tennis, squash, or table tennis in. He makes himself an Ediya latte and adds a little extra sugar. He deserves it.

Because it’s a big day, he packs a lunch instead of relying on cafeteria food or a pastry from Hobi’s shop. He needs the nutrition. He hasn’t seen the tournament bracket yet, but he’s sure he’ll be playing Jungkook, who will keep him on his toes.

At the office, everyone regards him carefully. He expects to have to ignore Namjoon in their shared office, but when he enters, Namjoon is nowhere to be found. Ponyo mouths at him from Namjoon’s desk—she’s always watching. When he asks Taehyung about it, casually of course, Tae just points to one of the conference rooms. There’s a “do not disturb — call in progress” sign tacked to the door.

So the first half of the day is quiet. He doesn’t see Namjoon, but he does notice his name listed in the tournament bracket that’s been posted in the lunchroom. He’s on the opposite side from Seokjin, which means they wouldn’t play until the final, and Seokjin’s pretty confident Namjoon won’t make it that far, anyway.

Part of him wonders if he’s going to hear back from Yoongi about the deal with Namjoon’s company today. Their board meeting is happening, and they should be making a decision about whether to give Yoongi and Seokjin their business. It would obviously be a huge relief, even if Jungkook is now entitled to a large chunk of the commission. Money doesn’t really matter, because being done with the deal means Namjoon will go back to his own office, and Seokjin will be rid of him. It should be a weight off of his shoulders, and he shrugs off the small voice in his head that doesn’t want to go back to not seeing Namjoon every day.

Well, he thinks sarcastically, maybe he will see Namjoon now that he’s miraculously discovered how to use a webcam. Asshole.

After he eats lunch, he changes into his workout clothes and heads down to the basement. It’s finally his time to shine.

The elevator is crowded, and he has to ignore the looks he gets from workers who get on at other floors. No one looks better than him in a track jacket, anyway, they’re probably just jealous.

Or, that’s what he thinks until he makes it to the basement and sees Namjoon. Dressed in a familiar outfit. Familiar because it looks exactly like Seokjin’s.

The universe is a cruel place.

Once again, his stomach is a muddled mess of horny rage. No one should look that good with a sweatband on. No one that terrible should look that good, period.

He falls into conversation with Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook, who collectively look like they should be on the cover of some high-fashion sports magazine. He’s not sure he’s ever seen so much lycra in one place. Jimin gives him a wry smile when he notices that Seokjin is looking. “Like what you see?” he teases.

“Just surprised you think you can play in that,” he retorts.

“Oh, we can play,” Taehuyng chimes in with a greasy wink. It’s made worse by the fact that he can’t see where Taehyung’s hands are. No doubt attached to Jimin’s body somewhere. They’re disgusting.

“You don’t have to be that gross,” Seokjin whines.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I really think they do.”

Hobi, their official tournament referee, blows an obnoxious whistle, getting everyone’s attention. Well, almost everyone. Out of the corner of his eye, Seokjin sees Namjoon staring at him. He can’t tell what kind of look is on the other man’s face. Probably smug. Which is fine, for now. Seokjin will have fun wiping any smugness right off his pretty face later.

The first match is easy, some guy in IT who looks like he’s never stepped out from behind his computer in his life. Then he beats Jimin in the second round and observes that Namjoon seems to make it easily through his first two rounds, as well.

In the quarterfinals, Seokjin has to fight a little harder to beat Taehyung, usually an easy win made more challenging when he notices Namjoon watching from the other side of the room. If he’s not wrong, it even looks like Namjoon is cheering for him?

Probably another one of his tricks.

Seokjin has to face Jungkook in the semifinals, and on the other side, it’s Namjoon and Yoongi. Yoongi is objectively bad at this, but he’s competitive, and he’s also the boss of most of the people currently in the basement, so no one ever wants to play him. Seems like Namjoon is this year’s sacrificial lamb, on the receiving end of Yoongi’s shouts and cheating accusations when he loses point after point. Good.

Jungkook has learned a lot since he started at the office. He’s gotten better at sales and a hell of a lot better at table tennis. He’s beat Seokjin before, and they both know he can do it again. But sometime in the second match of three, it’s almost like he gives up.

“Yah, put up a fight, will you?”

“I have a cramp, hyung.” Jungkook bends down to rub at his calf dramatically, and if Seokjin is suspicious, he pushes it out of his mind and takes the “cramp” as a gift. He easily beats Jungkook to take the best two of three and make it to the final.

The final against Namjoon.

He takes some time to adjust his wristbands and drink some water before the match starts. Namjoon seems to be keeping his distance, but every time Seokjin looks over at him, he’s looking right back. He looks sad, almost. Finally, with a minute or so left until their match time, Namjoon approaches him.

“Seokjin-ssi… hi.”

Seokjin looks him up and down with his best competitive glare. He absolutely does not let his gaze pause on the muscles in Namjoon’s thighs. “Well, maybe we can settle some things today, Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon furrows his brow. “I still don’t think I understand why you’re mad at me.” Then he whispers, “I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Does it really matter?” Seokjin adjusts his own sweatband and rolls his shoulders back. He steps past Namjoon and toward the table before Namjoon can reply. Faintly, Seokjin hears him say something. It sounds an awful lot like, “It matters to me.”

But he won’t let his guard down this time.

Except he does.

The first game goes fine; he cruises to an 11 to 6 victory easily. Something happens in the second game, though. Jungkook is talking to Namjoon between points, and it starts out fine, and then he asks if Namjoon really has to leave the office to go back to his actual job, to which Namjoon replies, “I’ll never leaf you, Jungkook-ah.”

It’s stupid. And it’s hilarious. Plant puns from the seed-man.

Seokjin misses his shot as he tries not to laugh. Namjoon notices that he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, and this causes a triumphant, deeply-dimpled smile to appear on his face.

“You like plant puns, Seokjin-ssi?” he asks as he serves the ball.

“No,” Seokjin lies.

“What did the cactus say to the other cactus?”

“No idea,” he grunts out as he returns a surprisingly good shot from Namjoon.

“You’re looking sharp.” Namjoon delivers the punchline with a killer backhand, and Seokjin misses the ball again.

“I hate you and your stupid jokes,” Seokjin announces. Even if he doesn’t hate them at all. In fact, he’s struggling to hate Namjoon, too. It’s actually the worst.

“But I’m just pollen your leg,” Namjoon riffs.

Seokjin misses another shot as Taehyung and Jimin fall into a pile of laughter on the floor next to the table. Even Yoongi is giving a snort.

“You’re all the worst!” Seokjin shouts as he sets his paddle down. He’s lost the game to Namjoon. 9 to 11. So embarrassing. “Hobi, can we institute a ‘no puns at the table’ rule for the final game?”

“No,” Hobi says, his tone light. “This is way too entertaining.”

“Fine.”

He’s so annoyed, he’s practically shaking. Kim Namjoon with his dumb jokes winning everyone over while Seokjin just suffers. It’s unfair, it’s enraging, it’s… well, it’s actually really cute, too, which just makes him more angry. Why does his nemesis have to be funny and attractive?

What’s apparent, as the third game begins, is that being mad is not helping his game. Neither is having to look at Namjoon’s face across the table. He could swear Namjoon’s mocking him every time he smiles.

How dare he.

Thinking about it just gets Seokjin more worked up, and he misses more shots. Then thinking about missing shots causes him to miss even more shots. He’s barely hanging on until he’s not actually hanging on at all, and shouts from Jungkook announce Namjoon’s victory.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Kim Seokjin is officially a loser.

It doesn’t sink in right away. Not until Namjoon says, with convincing sincerity, “Wow! I can’t believe I won the ping pong tournament…”

“You did it, hyung!” Jungkook is clearly excited. Traitor. “You won ping pong!”

And something in Seokjin snaps.

“It’s called table tennis, you assholes!”

He shouts it, and everyone in the room freezes.

He would be embarrassed if he thought about it, but instead, all he can think about are all the things that have gone wrong for him over the past few weeks, all tied back to Kim Namjoon.

Before anyone can move, he stomps to the elevator and slams his fingers into the buttons repeatedly until the car finally makes it to the basement and the doors slide open. It’s overwhelmingly silent in the room as he leaves—and if Taehyung and Jimin are quiet, he knows he’s probably crossed a line. He just doesn’t care. When he steps onto the elevator, he keeps his back to everyone until the door closes. When he’s finally alone, he slumps against the wall and sighs.

He’s probably going to need to find a new job.

Back in his office, he’s packing some things into his bag, hoping to avoid the rest of them. He figures if he can sneak out in the next few minutes, maybe take the stairs down, he’ll miss them all making their way back up to the office.

Of course, he figures wrong.

The door to his office opens carefully, and he can see a flop of brown hair appear in the crack.

Against his better judgment, he says, “You can come in, Namjoon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No is what he means, though. But he’s tired. It’s exhausting to fight all the time. He doesn’t have it in him anymore, he’s pretty sure.

Namjoon slips into the office and pulls the door closed, leaning back against it. “Can we talk?” he asks.

“Talk if you want.” Seokjin crosses his arms and waits.

“The board approved the deal today,” Namjoon says. He looks happy. His eyes are bright and hopeful. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

To rub it in, no doubt. Namjoon is such a jerk.

“Congratulations to you and Jungkook, then.” It comes out pretty harsh, but he figures it won’t really matter anyway.

“Huh?”

“Your pitch, it worked. Congrats.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I think you’ve got some things wrong, Seokjin-ssi.”

At that, Seokjin huffs. “I’ve got some things wrong? Me?” He steps closer to Namjoon. “I think you’ve got some things wrong thinking you can some in here and lie about not knowing how to use a webcam,” he sticks a crooked finger out and points at Namjoon’s chest, “and fill my office with plants to drive me out and almost kill me with garlic and purposely make me late to that pitch meeting and think you can get away with it because you’re funny and smart and hot!”

Seokjin is practically in his face now, but instead of backing down, Namjoon grabs his finger. “You think I’m funny and smart and hot?”

“Not the point!”

“You want to know why I lied about video calls?”

“No.”

“Because I looked you up on Naver and saw your picture when we first started emailing. Because I couldn’t even talk to you on the phone without blushing. Because you are the most attractive person I’ve ever seen and I was nervous, hyung. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it together if I had to look at you while we talked.” Namjoon gives Seokjin’s finger a squeeze. “I know it’s not appropriate, and I’m your client… So I never said anything.”

Seokjin squeaks. Honest to god squeaks. It’s such a far departure from what he expected Namjoon to say, he doesn’t even have a good response.

“And as for the garlic, I think we’ve already covered that. And the meeting? Hyung, I tried to wake you up when I left, but you yelled at me to stop being ungrateful and then you rolled over and started snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Seokjin says weakly.

“Okay, sure.” Namjoon gives him an affectionate smile. “I thought you must have had your alarm set. I didn’t know that you didn’t.”

“Oh…”

“And the pitch we sent the board was yours.”

Seokjin finally snaps to attention at that. “What?”

“It was the best one. I watched them with Yoongi and told him to send yours. So you got the deal done, hyung. It was all you.”

“You really did that?”

Namjoon nods. This is all… a lot to process.

Maybe Seokjin was… not exactly right about Namjoon’s intentions.

“And you think I’m the most attractive person you’ve ever seen?”

The almost giggle Namjoon lets out is the cutest thing Seokjin has ever seen, so maybe they’re even. “Yeah, I do.”

“You’re the worst,” Seokjin says, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

“Mmhmm. I’m the worst, but I’m technically officially your client, so you have to be nice to me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.”

And it occurs to Seokjin that instead of wiping the smug grin off Namjoon’s face, he wants to kiss it off. So with very little consideration to what that might mean for his career, he leans in to do just that.

Except Namjoon beats him to it.

And thank god, he is way better at kissing than he is at sales pitches. He’s careful with Seokjin, lips moving cautiously. It’s sweet and soft and Seokjin hears himself sigh into the kiss as it deepens, as Namjoon drops Seokjin’s finger, and moves to hold his jaw instead. He takes the lead, tilting Seokjin’s head just so to deepen the kiss, and then smiling when he pulls away to catch his breath and sees Seokjin chasing his lips.

“Was that nice enough?” Seokjin teases when he finally gets a hold of the thoughts spinning around his head.

“Mmhmm… Very nice. Wanted to kiss you since the first time we met…” Namjoon barely finishes his dreamy, murmured response before he’s pulling Seokjin back in, connecting their lips again. It’s possible that Seokjin has wanted this more than he’d been admitting to himself, because he’s almost sure he’s too eager, licking along Namjoon’s plush and perfect bottom lip in hopes he’ll find space to change the kiss from sweet to heated. It’s probably only been seconds, but he’s already impatient, wanting more, more, more.

They kiss and kiss and kiss with Namjoon pressed up against the office door… The office door. Seokjin pulls away abruptly. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Namjoon looks like almost every possible emotion passes over his breathless face as he registers what Seokjin’s just said. He lands on something like disappointment. “Oh… I must have…”

“No, no! You didn’t. But…” Seokjin leans over to his side to peer out of the glass, “We shouldn’t do this here. Everyone will be back any minute.”

A strong arm wraps around his waist, and he’s tugged into Namjoon’s chest before he knows what’s happening. (And he was right, for what it’s worth. It’s very comfy, even though it’s shaking with Namjoon’s gentle laughter).

“What’s funny? I’m going to get fired,” Seokjin whispers into Namjoon’s shirt.

“I think if you were going to get fired, it would have been when you called everyone in the office ‘assholes’,” Namjoon says gently.

“Hmm… Points are being made.”

“Plus, Yoongi sent everyone home.”

Seokjin looks up. “He did?”

“Yeah… He thought it might be best after… You know.”

“Me.”

“More or less,” Namjoon agrees.

Seokjin groans into Namjoon’s collarbones. “That was embarrassing,” he whines.

Namjoon hooks a finger under his chin and tilts his head up. He’s giving Seokjin a completely enamored smile, and Seokjin’s almost sure he’s been on the receiving end of that look before, but he’s just now recognizing it for what it is. “I thought it was cute,” Namjoon whispers.

“Cute? Hah! You’re a liar, Kim Namjoon.”

“I’m not,” Namjoon says, still grinning when he leans down to place another delicate kiss on Seokjin’s lips.

“I don’t deserve this…”

“No, you really don’t,” Namjoon readily agrees. “You’re lucky I like you a little mean.”

“Oh?” Seokjin feels his ears turn red at the insinuation.

Namjoon kisses him again and then nods. “I just really like you, hyung. You’re passionate, funny, and really good at table tennis.” He’s smiling now, teasing a little, but it feels really nice to hear someone say those things, especially someone who seems like he really means them.

“Of course you do,” Seokjin teases. It’s one of his nervous tics, joking to take the pressure off, to turn the attention to something else. But when he does it this time, he realizes he doesn’t want to brush this off or make a joke out of it. “I really like you too, Namjoon-ah.”

“Good.” And Namjoon’s breath is warm against the shell of his ear when the word is whispered into his skin. It makes Seokjin’s whole body tingle. It’s not helping that Namjoon’s hands are wandering, fingertips pressing into his waist, sliding along the bottom of his shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Seokjin nods, and he’s immediately manhandled so that he’s the one backed up into the door, Namjoon looking him up and down, then leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses up over his jaw and down his neck.

“So pretty, hyung,” he whispers between kisses. “Want to see more of you.” Namjoon slips his hands beneath his jacket, playing at the sensitive skin above his waistband.

“Here?” Seokjin is a little breathless, a little surprised. The Kim Seokjin who likes to be the best (and who works very hard every day to make sure that’s always the case) would never do this in the office, never take the risk… “Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

Maybe it’s time to be a new version of himself.

He’s quickly shed of his jacket and shirt by Namjoon, who whispers praises into the skin of his collarbones and chest. He’s getting hard with little assistance, and normally it would be somewhat embarrassing, but worse things have happened in the last hour—he might as well lean into it. So, when Namjoon asks if it’s okay to touch, he nods immediately and is rewarded with a single, teasing finger dragged over his shorts along his length and sending a shudder down his spine.

His head falls forward onto Namjoon’s shoulder as the other man softly bites and kisses across his skin. At this point, he’s prickly with anticipation and getting painfully hard, but when he looks up, all he sees is…

“Ponyo,” he says quietly.

Namjoon lifts his head from Seokjin’s pulse point, where his lips have started to become a semi-permanent fixture. His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed, and his lips are kiss-swollen when he answers, “You want to talk about my fish right now?”

Seokjin points to where she sits on the desk. “She’s watching…”

“She’s a fish.”

He can’t tell if Namjoon is endeared or exasperated.

“Both,” Namjoon says.

“I said that out loud?”

“You say a lot of things, hyung.”

That earns him a slap on the shoulder. “Can we turn her around?” Seokjin asks.

Namjoon lets out a deep laugh and smiles fondly. “You know she could just swim in any direction, right? It wouldn’t matter.”

“I would feel better.”

Namjoon lifts an eyebrow and mumbles, “Can’t believe I still want to suck you off after all this.” At least he’s still smiling.

“Fair,” Seokjin replies as Namjoon goes to move the fishtank. “Me either if we’re being honest.”

With Ponyo’s innocence maintained, Namjoon comes back to a shirtless Seokjin and resumes landing soft kisses across Seokjin’s jaw. It’s so nice, and Seokjin really can’t believe that this is happening—he meant it when he said he didn’t deserve this, but he’s so glad it’s finally real. The moan he lets out when Namjoon drops to his knees probably says enough, but he wants to make sure it’s really clear. “This is like a dream,” he says.

Namjoon looks up at him from where he’s untying the knot holding up Seokjin’s shorts. “Hmm… You have interesting dreams.”

“They’re usually not this good,” Seokjin says, his eyes falling closed as Namjoon slides his shorts and briefs down.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Stop talking.” Namjoon emphasizes his words by finally taking Seokjin’s cock in his hand, squeezing a little too carefully before licking along the shaft.

“Okay, I’m stopping,” he agrees, voice pitched higher as Namjoon wraps his lips around his cock. He can feel when Namjoon chokes back a laugh. “For real now,” he adds on in a whisper.

And he keeps his promise. It would be hard to formulate words even if he wanted to with the way Namjoon is working him over with his tongue and lips. His cheeks are hollowed as he takes Seokjin deeper, eyes watering, and he looks devastatingly good like this. If he didn’t want to see how far this could go, he’d be worried that the next thing Namjoon chokes on won’t be laughter.

When Namjoon reaches to squeeze his balls, Seokjin groans and his head thuds against the door behind him. It’s so overwhelming. Moreso when he brings himself to open his eyes and looks down to see Namjoon’s lips spread wide around his cock and one of his hands down his shorts stroking himself.

“You like this, Namjoon-ah? Like it so much you’re touching yourself for hyung?”

Namjoon just moans around him in response before he pushes further down Seokjin’s cock and swallows around the head.

“I’m close…” Seokjin whispers, and there’s no hesitance—he’s met with more encouraging hums as Namjoon moves faster.

He tries to reach down to pull Namjoon off of him before he comes, sure that it’s too much for a first time, but Namjoon just squeezes his thigh and then holds Seokjin in place, not letting him pull back.

When he comes, he thinks his legs might give out, it’s the best orgasm he’s had in ages—the only one he’s had with someone else in longer than he’d like to admit—but Namjoon keeps a steadying hand on his leg and holds him tight while he swallows and slowly pulls off, licking Seokjin clean.

“Okay, hyung?” he says, voice a little gravelly. It’s incredibly sexy, makes Seokjin wonder what he sounds like in the morning, wonder what he’d sound like when someone was taking him apart instead of the other way around.

“So good, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon stands and lets Seokjin pull him in for another long kiss. He tastes like Seokjin and it’s one more thing added to the list of surprisingly hot experiences that have happened to him today. They hold each other for what feels like an hour, but really can’t be more than a few seconds before Namjoon pulls away and looks down between them. “I should.. Uh…”

“Can I help?” Seokjin asks.

“Oh, uh… No, thank you. This is… Well, it’s my turn to be embarrassed, I guess.”

When Seokjin looks down, he sees a dark patch on the front of Namjoon’s shorts. “Oh, you really did like that?”

Namjoon’s cheeks turn even more pink. “Stop, hyung… I swear this isn’t a thing that happens to me usually.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to be reassuring. “It’s fine, Namjoon-ah, I think it’s kinda hot.”

“Now who’s the liar?” They both laugh into each other's shoulders until Seokjin shivers. “Cold?” Namjoon asks.

Seokjin nods, and Namjoon grabs his clothes for him from their pile on the office floor. Since Namjoon needs to get out of his dirty shorts, he puts his suit back on while Seokjin gets dressed. They look like quite the pair with Seokjin in a tracksuit and Namjoon in an actual suit—it’s even more of a relief that Yoongi sent everyone home, now.

The longer they’re quiet, the more he worries that things between them are going to be awkward. They probably should be given what just happened.

“So, uh…” Namjoon looks as nervous as Seokjin feels. “We did that.”

“We did. Yep. And you’re still my client, so…” He really hopes Namjoon isn’t about to tell him that this was a mistake, something they should pretend never happened.

“So, I think you should give my account to Jungkook. If you want.”

“Okay… That can be arranged.” It’s hard to control the grin that’s blooming on his face. “What do you want, Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon smiles and grabs both of their bags, handing Seokjin’s to him. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

***

They do go out to dinner, and after, Namjoon comes over. Seokjin gets to confirm that the sounds Namjoon makes when he’s at someone else’s mercy are just about as perfect as any he’s ever heard. In the morning, Namjoon wakes him up carefully with warm kisses even though now that the project is done, he can go back to working from home or his actual office, and Seokjin is the one who actually has to get out of bed.

After a shower and breakfast, Namjoon rides the subway with him to his office, holding his hand the whole way. They barely let go when they enter the building, just in time for Hobi not to catch them. He thinks, anyway.

“Ah, Jinnie! And Namjoon! Good morning.”

“Hi, Hobi,” they say in unison.

“The usual?” he asks.

They nod in unison, and then Namjoon whispers, “Hyung, I’ve never told him my “usual,” but I can’t tell him no. He just makes me something different every time.”

“Oh, same for me,” Seokjin agrees. “That’s what he does to everyone.”

“How does he stay in business?” Namjoon asks, wide-eyed.

“Never underestimate the power of a smile,” Hobi chimes in as he sets their drinks on the counter.

“Or the fact that he’s the closest coffee shop for the hundreds of people in the building,” Seokjin counters.

When they get to the elevator bank, Seokjin knows it’s time to say goodbye, at least for the day. They’ve already made plans to meet after work to play table tennis together—Namjoon says that couples who have hobbies together are happier. Seokjin’s just happy that Namjoon wants to be in a couple after everything that happened, so he promises to be on his best behavior during any competitive scenarios. He’ll try, at least.

While they wait for the next elevator, clearly dragging out their temporary good-bye for as long as possible, Seokjin says, “I had an idea.”

Namjoon lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Maybe next year’s tournament could be doubles.”

Even though Namjoon won’t be working from their office, won’t have the opportunity to beat him next year, nothing really sounds better to Seokjin than to win with Namjoon by his side, as dumb as it sounds when he’s tried to say it out loud. Fortunately, Namjoon doesn’t make him.

“Sure, that’s a good idea, hyung. Who’s gonna be your partner?”

“Well, even though you won’t really be around the office much, I was thinking you would.”

Namjoon just gives him that same bright, dimpled grin as he did the first time they met. “Of course I will. We’ll be unbeatable.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, returning his smile. “I think we will.”

#seokjin fic #namjoon fic #catch of the century #btswritingcafe #seokjin fanfiction #seokjin smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x seokjin #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts imagines

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