Between The Lines

Between the Lines

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: office au, office romance, angst, strangers(?) to lovers, C-workers to Lovers, fluff towards the end

Summary: Y/n faces unexpected turmoil as she discovers that her new collaboration partner in the office is none other than Kim Mingyu, a figure from her college past associated with painful rumors. As they navigate their professional collaboration, Mingyu's persistent attempts to break through Y/n's guarded demeanor unravel a history of misunderstandings and hurtful rumors.

Warnings: slow burn-ish, reader is bullied in college, puckering of lips against each other, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: Happy Carat's Day! This is my first ever fic and I am not sure how this will go. This story is just an idea that has been in my drafts for ages. I hope you like it!

The harsh hum of the photocopier and the distant murmur of office life formed the backdrop as I stared at my screen, which had just received a notification of an email. The subject line sent a ripple of anticipation through me: "Collaboration Partner Assignment."

Opening the email, my eyes quickly scanned the details. I braced myself for the revelation, but nothing could have prepared me for the name that leaped off the screen – Kim Mingyu. My stomach churned, though I couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe it was the mounting pressure of the project or the unfamiliarity of working with someone from another company. A wave of discomfort washed over me as memories of college days resurfaced, memories I had long buried because of the same name! But it couldn’t be him, right?

I had hoped to leave the shadows of the past behind, but fate had different plans. Mingyu, a name that had once been sY/nonymous with popularity and my own insecurities, was now set to become an integral part of my professional life.

Navigating the familiar hallways towards the designated meeting room, my steps carried the weight of unspoken history. The door creaked open, revealing Mingyu already seated, his eyes lifting from a set of project documents to meet mine. A knowing smile played on his lips, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within me. It was him, Kim Mingyu!

"Y/n, right?" he said, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Mingyu. Looks like we're going to be partners on this project."

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the handshake. "Yes, Y/n. Nice to meet you."

The sterile hum of the office's fluorescent lights set the stage for a reunion neither of us had anticipated. Mingyu, a name echoing through the corridors of my past, now sat across from me in a conference room. His smile seemed to mock my silent discomfort, reminiscent of college days where he effortlessly commanded popularity, and I existed on the fringes.

"Ready to dive into this project together?" Mingyu's voice snapped me back to the present, his expression oblivious to the tumult of memories that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Sure," I replied, my voice masking the unease within. The corporate battleground was familiar, but the arrival of Mingyu resurrected a dormant storm.

As we settled into the collaborative routine, Mingyu's attempts to get to know me became increasingly apparent. In team meetings, he'd throw casual questions my way, trying to unearth the person behind the professional facade.

"So, Y/n, any exciting plans for the weekend?" he'd ask, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Same as always," I'd reply, nonchalant. I wasn't one to divulge personal details easily.

But Mingyu was persistent, undeterred by my guarded responses. "Come on, Y/n, there must be something you enjoy doing outside of work. Hobbies? Interests?"

His inquiry probed deeper than the surface, seeking to unravel the layers I had meticulously wrapped around myself. "Not really," I'd brush off, maintaining a stoic demeanour.

In the break room, he'd invite me to join him for a coffee, hoping to chip away at the walls I'd built. "Coffee break, Y/n? It's on me," he'd offer, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

"Thanks, but I prefer working through breaks," I'd decline, my gaze fixed on the computer screen.

Mingyu, always the optimist, remained undeterred by my cool demeanour. "Alright, next time then," he'd say, masking any disappointment that might have lingered beneath the surface.

Our interactions, or lack thereof, became a dance of casual questions met with guarded replies. It wasn't that I didn't notice Mingyu's efforts – I did. The truth was, I had carefully crafted my isolation, and I wasn't eager to let anyone in.

One day, as we reviewed project details, Mingyu tried a different approach. "Y/n, we make a good team, you know? But it would be even better if we understood each other a bit more. What do you say?"

His words held a sincerity that caught me off guard. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his eyes or the genuine desire to bridge the gap. I sighed, relenting just a bit. "Look, Mingyu, it's nothing personal. I'm just here to get the job done."

He nodded, understanding but undeterred. "Fair enough, Y/n. I respect that. Just know, I'm here if you ever want to talk."

The unspoken hurt lingered beneath the surface, but Mingyu never let it show. His attempts to befriend me continued, even if they were met with my persistent nonchalance.

In another attempt to connect, he invited me to a team dinner. "Y/n, we've been working together for a while now. Let's celebrate our progress. What do you say?"

I hesitated, then finally relented, "Fine, but just for a little while."

As the evening unfolded, I found myself in an unexpected situation – Mingyu's infectious charm gradually wearing down my defences. We laughed, shared stories, and for a brief moment, the professional barriers faded.

In the midst of the camaraderie, Mingyu leaned in and said, "See, Y/n? We're not that different after all."

I couldn't help but smile, the walls I had so carefully constructed showing signs of cracking. Mingyu's efforts were slowly paying off, breaking through the layers that shielded me from the world.

As we left the restaurant that night, I couldn't deny the shift in dynamics. Mingyu, once an unwelcome intruder from the past, had become a persistent presence in my present – a presence I was starting to appreciate, even if I wasn't quite ready to admit it.

The echoes of our team dinner lingered in the air as Mingyu and I left the restaurant. Laughter and camaraderie had briefly bridged the gap, but as we stepped back into the office building, I retreated into my familiar shell. The nonchalant exterior was my armour, and I wore it with practised ease.

Days passed, and Mingyu's efforts to break through my walls persisted, but my responses remained unchanged – short, guarded, and distant. The unspoken hurt beneath his eyes grew more evident with each interaction, until one day, frustration etched across his face.

As I sat at my desk, engrossed in my work, Mingyu approached, a determined expression on his face. "Y/n, we need to talk. Meet me in the meeting room in fifteen minutes," he said, his voice carrying a firmness I hadn't heard before.

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "Sure, whatever," I replied, my tone as indifferent as ever.

The meeting room, a neutral ground for professional discussions, now became the stage for an unexpected confrontation. As I entered, Mingyu was already there, his arms crossed, and a look of frustration etched across his features.

"What's your deal, Y/n?" he began, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and hurt. "I've been trying to get to know you, to be a good teammate, but every attempt is met with this... this wall you've built. What are you so afraid of?"

I sighed, my nonchalant facade momentarily faltering. "Mingyu, I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just here to work, not make friends."

His frustration bubbled to the surface. "You don't have to make it so difficult, Y/n. We're part of the same team, working towards the same goal. Why can't we at least get along?"

I leaned back in my chair, the familiar defences back in place. "Getting along is not a requirement for getting the job done."

Mingyu's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and disappointment. "It's not just about the job, Y/n. We spend a significant portion of our lives working together. Why make it miserable for both of us?"

His words struck a chord, a brief pang of guilt flickering within me. But I couldn't let him see it. "Mingyu, I have my reasons for keeping things professional. Let's just focus on the project and leave it at that."

He leaned in, his frustration giving way to a determination that mirrored the spark in his eyes. "Fine, Y/n. If that's how you want it, we'll keep it strictly professional. But know that it doesn't have to be this way."

Mingyu's proposal hung in the air, and for a moment, I considered the possibility of a truce – a ceasefire in the silent war that had defined our collaboration. The weight of his words pressed upon me, and I decided to break the stoic facade, if only for a moment.

"Fine," I responded, my tone betraying a hint of resignation. "Let's keep it professional."

As the days passed, our interactions adhered to the newfound agreement. Work discussions unfolded without the previous tension, and the strained atmosphere began to ease. However, beneath the surface, the unspoken distance lingered, a reminder of the unresolved history that bound us.

Late one evening, as the office lights flickered in the waning hours, Mingyu and I found ourselves alone in the workspace. The hum of computers and distant traffic outside seemed to amplify the silence between us. Mingyu broke the quiet, his voice softer than before.

"Y/n, there's something I need to know. The tension between us... is it just about work, or is there something more?" His gaze bore into mine, a silent plea for honesty.

I hesitated, contemplating whether to unravel the layers that guarded my past. In that moment, I decided to breach the unspoken barrier. "It's not just about work, Mingyu. There's history – a rumour that tainted my college years, and I believed you were behind it."

His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realisation flickering across his features. "Rumour? What rumour are you talking about?"

College, a realm of possibilities, unfolded before me. Amid vibrant campus life, I preferred solitude, finding solace in the quiet corners of the library. My routine, a sanctuary, was disrupted when a rumor about me and Mingyu, the campus heartthrob, began to circulate.

Whispers painted a false picture – a rejected proposal, a scornful comment. The rumor, like wildfire, labeled me as the girl who dared to confess, only to face ridicule. My once-unnoticed existence transformed into isolation as judgmental gazes and hurtful labels became my companions.

The most painful aspect was the misunderstanding – the lie that branded me a loner, rejected and ridiculed. The library, my refuge, now felt like a glass house, the rumor exposing me to the harsh scrutiny of others.

Mingyu, oblivious to the storm, continued his life, while I bore the weight of fabricated rejection. The rumor, a dark shadow, cast a long-lasting mark on my college experience. The isolation, self-imposed or not, became my reality.

"The one where it was said I proposed to you in college, and you rejected me, saying you'd never date a loner like me," I confessed, my voice holding the weight of years of perceived betrayal.

Mingyu's expression shifted from surprise to understanding, a furrow forming on his brow. "Y/n, I never spread that rumor. In fact, I had no idea it existed until now. In fact, I wanted to be friends with you back then and expressed it to some of my friends!"

My defenses faltered as the revelation sank in. The narrative I had carried for years, the resentment that fueled our strained collaboration, crumbled like a fragile facade. "But... why would someone spread such a thing?"

Mingyu's eyes softened with sincerity. "I don't know, Y/n. But I promise you, it wasn't me. I regret that you went through that, and I wish I could've been there to clarify things."

The weight of the misunderstanding hung heavy in the room. Mingyu's admission brought forth a vulnerability I hadn't expected, and the unspoken tension that defined our collaboration began to unravel. As we navigate the murky waters of our shared history, the silence transformed into a hesitant dialogue.

"Maybe," he began, choosing his words carefully, "we can move past this together. Start anew, without the burden of misunderstandings."

In the quiet office, Mingyu and I shared a moment where words seemed unnecessary. His hand found mine, a gentle intertwining of fingers that spoke volumes. Leaning in, he kissed me with a tenderness that felt like an unspoken apology.

The kiss was slow, each movement deliberate, as if time itself had slowed down. Mingyu's lips met mine in a dance of connection, a soft exploration that conveyed a shared understanding. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a promise – a promise to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of something new.

As our lips lingered in the gentle exchange, the weight of misunderstandings lifted. Mingyu's touch, comforting and sincere, became a bridge that spanned the distance between us.

The air shifted after the shared kiss, the unspoken tension replaced by a newfound understanding. Mingyu, eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity, gently pulled away, creating a space for words to bridge the lingering gap.

"Y/n," he began, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken sentiments, "there's something I'd like to propose."

I met his gaze, a silent invitation to continue.

"How about we take a step into the present? Leave the office behind for a while, just you and me. What do you say to a dinner? A date, maybe?" Mingyu's words hung in the air, a simple yet profound invitation.

The corners of my lips twitched into a hesitant smile, the remnants of the emotional whirlwind we had just weathered. "A date?" I echoed, the word carrying a hint of both surprise and curiosity.

Mingyu nodded, his eyes holding a hopeful gleam. "Yes, a date. No work, no misunderstandings – just two people sharing a meal and getting to know each other beyond the confines of the office."

The idea, once foreign, now seemed like a welcome proposition. A chance to rewrite the script, explore the uncharted territories of this evolving connection. "I suppose a dinner sounds nice," I conceded, the tension replaced by a sense of openness.

His face broke into a radiant smile, the lines of relief and excitement mingling. "Great! How about tomorrow night? I know a place not far from here. Casual, nothing too fancy. What do you think?"

Tomorrow night – a prospect that carried the promise of a fresh beginning. I found myself nodding, the corners of my own lips forming a genuine smile. "Tomorrow night sounds good."

Mingyu's joy was palpable, and as he pulled out his phone to exchange details, the office surroundings seemed to fade into the background. In the quiet aftermath of a shared kiss, the invitation extended marked a turning point – a step away from the weight of the past and into the possibilities of the present.

As we finalised the plans, Mingyu's gaze held a promise – a promise of a date that transcended the ordinary, a date that hinted at the potential for something more. The unspoken tension that had defined our collaboration was replaced by the anticipation of a shared meal, laughter, and the uncharted journey that lay ahead.

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 37 + Written Chapter

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, written chapter (3.9K w.c), THE TRUTH FINALLY COMES OUT, some more closure and lots of it, some revenge that doesn’t have to do with seungcheol, tenderness, kissing, and who knows???????

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @ashes23 @writingbarnes @strawberryya

Nestled at a table in the café where you once plied your trade, you relish a refreshing vanilla cold brew,  your contemplative thoughts weaving a delicate tapestry as you anticipate his arrival. Your fingers trace patterns on the table, and a deep exhale signals your nervous anticipation.

The entrance chimes echo through the space as he enters, concealed beneath a dark hoodie. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he allows the door to close behind him. You offer a wave, inviting him to join you.

His steps, obscured beneath the loose ends of his dark hoodie, carried him to the table. "Good to see you didn't back out, Seungcheol," you greet, observing a hint of vulnerability in his lowered gaze.

The hood is removed, revealing his face, complexion tired but still unbearably attractive as always—if not more with the rugged 5 o’clock shadow kicking in. "You want to talk; let's talk," he responds, a mixture of determination and uncertainty in his tone, taking a seat.

You push his pre-ordered drink towards him, the Cherry Chocolate Chip Frappuccino. Tapping against the plastic cap, you remark, "Your usual, right?" He accepts it with shaky hands, the tip of the straw meeting his lips as he consumes the drink. A small sigh escapes him, and you can see relief washing over him, as if the concoction holds the solace he needs for the day.

"Fuck, I haven’t had one of these in a while."

Your fingers tap rhythmically against the worn wooden surface of the table, creating a subtle percussion that echoes your internal restlessness as you look expectantly in his direction. The soft hum of conversations around the café becomes a distant backdrop to the tension building between you.

Seungcheol sighs, a heavy exhalation that seems to carry the weight of unspoken emotions. He sets his drink aside, the condensation forming a small pool beneath it, out of view. His gaze fixates on you, and there's a subtle darkness in his eyes, a shadow that lingers, hinting at a mix of disappointment and distaste that you could only discern through the piercing intensity of his stare. The unspoken words seem to hang in the air, adding an extra layer of complexity to the already charged atmosphere.

"You moved on really quickly," he finally utters, the words landing with a weight that hints at a sea of emotions beneath the surface. The air thickens as the unspoken history between you both comes to the forefront, and the café's ambiance seems to fade, giving space to the brewing confrontation.

Softly scoffing, you take a sip. "As far as you know, I did."

"You made me look like an idiot.”

You nod, a subtle smile on your face and a glint of mischief in your eyes. "That I did."

"Sounds like it was on purpose? Was it?" he questions, leaning in slightly.

"Yes. That’s what I fully intended," you reply with unwavering confidence, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Why? What did I do to you?"

"It didn’t matter what you did to me," you assert, a spark of defiance in your eyes. Leaning forward, you continue, "It’s what you’ve done to probably hundreds of girls on campus and off. You treated them like they were disposable. You made them feel like shit."

As your words spill forth, your fingers assertively drum a rhythmic beat on the table, accentuating the gravity of your confession. The air between you crackles with tension, a deafening silence that reverberates through the intimate space, subtly underscored by the muted notes of the mood music playing in the background. 

He eases into the weight of your words, a subtle surrender reflected in the tightening of his grip. Each word you've uttered sinking into the space between you two and festering in to his flustered heat. Finally, his physical response becomes a silent acknowledgment, expelling a light sigh.

"So I was made to make you feel like shit,” you conclude. “Looks like it worked."

He nods briefly, his demeanor now carrying a hint of despondency. "So. You banded with a bunch of heartbroken girls to humiliate me?"

"No, but I did band up with some of their brothers and friends." You lean in, your expression carrying a mix of resolve and an edge of warning. "You're lucky you ended up this way; they wanted to beat the shit out of you."

"Fair enough…" He leans back, a subtle admission of defeat. "What were you supposed to get out of this?"

"...Not the point. What matters is that you got a taste of your own medicine."

"Okay, let me know this. At any point, did you ever have feelings for me? Even for a second?"

You chuckle, a cynical smile playing on your lips. "Maybe a second...then I came to my senses." The air thickens with the weight of unspoken emotions as you hold his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes.

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile, carrying a hint of pride. "I knew I still had it in me."

You roll your eyes, a dismissive gesture, as you were crossing your arms. "For the briefest second, until I learned about Haru."

Seungcheol's eyebrows furrow as he leans forward, a quizzical expression on his face. "You knew about Haru?"

"You broke her heart, gave her false hope just to get her in bed again, all while trying to get with me."

"Wait, while pursuing you? My eyes were only on you the entire time we've known each other.”

The look in your eyes shifts, a subtle skepticism emerging, as you tighten your arm cross. "Sure. And I should believe that why?"

He scoffs proudly and retrieves his phone, fingers tapping on the screen to bring up undeniable proof. The dates of his last contact with Haru unfold before you, and a puzzled expression crosses your face realizing the validity of his words. The timeline presented predates the commencement of this scheme, each dating back to a time before you’ve ever came across one another, solidifying his case.

You scoff, leaning back into your chair. "Alright, I'll give you that, but it doesn't erase what you did. Not just to Haru."

"Okay, so I'm a piece of shit that doesn't deserve happiness, is that it?"

A wry smile plays on your lips. "You said it, not me."

He slouches in his seat, tucking his phone back in his pocket, while a weariness settling into his posture. Bringing a hand over his eyes, he shields them from the harsh café lighting. "Okay, I can accept a loss," he concedes, the words laced with a touch of vulnerability. 

He asserts his attention back to you, determination oozing out of his eyes. "It won't change the fact that I developed feelings for you. That I've liked you since the first time I met you," he admits, speaking, with almost with what almost sounds like a lump in his throat, "or the fact that you had this chokehold on me.”

The admission hangs in the air, a raw and unguarded glimpse into his subconscious and pity seeps out of you. It takes you a few moments to realize behind this overly confident man is a person filled with hope, simply blinded with the luxury of option, now taking it upon himself to take upon his own hands—not the offers of the world—to forge his own path, using sheer audacity.

“Oh, Seungcheol…that wasn’t me,” you say blatantly. “That girl didn’t exist. She was a fake with the only purpose to fool you. I wasn't anybody before this. Just any average college student,” you shrug. “Sorry to break it to you but you fell for a facade. It’s time to let that go and get a move on with your life.”

"But she did exist,” he insists, disbelieving your dismissal, “that girl was you. Everything you told me to make me fall for you all came from your mouth, your attitude, your cadence. It was all you. If that wasn't you, it was a version of you.”

“Because I played a part. I was seducing you to hurt you,” you emphasize.

“And it worked! You could get anyone you want if you tried. That's what's similar about us.”

His words take you by surprise, settling in your system like a big pill, hard to swallow.

“But,” he adds noticing your disgusted expression, “I guess instead of being someone like me, use the influence on the person you really want. I may be just some big dumb jock to you, but I can’t deny my feelings no matter how hurt I felt. I was only hurt like that because it came from you, someone I wanted to earn respect from. So, if you can help it, make it possible with whoever it is you have in mind.”

For the first time, a nuanced vulnerability graces his demeanor, and your defenses yield to this subtle unveiling of humanity beneath his big ego. Your gaze, now keenly observant, reflects a tempered curiosity as you pose the question, "Why aren’t you like this with anyone else?”

He smiles warmly, cheesingly tucking his bed hair behind his ears. "Because I haven't felt for anyone else the way I felt for you...or maybe I'm saying all this because that's how badly I want—"

"Shut up." you rudely interrupt with an underlying chuckle. “I already know what you’re about to do. Nice try.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, undeterred. "Fine. At least I got my closure. Just…do what’s right for you, even if it's my brother."

"Your brother?"

"You know. Chan."

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming."

"Chan, you dick!" The words burst out, and you toss your tote bag in his direction. He catches it effortlessly, eyes as big as saucers, startled like a deer in headlights. "Woah, what did I do?"

"Um, I don't know," you say, exaggeratedly shrugging, a touch of sarcasm in your tone, "maybe keep something as big as 'YOU'RE SEUNGCHEOL'S BROTHER' a secret?"

Chan blinks, a flicker of realization crossing his face. "You found out. Well, shit."

"Well, Chan, you owe me an explanation." Crossing your arms, you tap your feet impatiently.

Chan lets the door shut behind him, his approach measured and expression unamused. He prepares himself for the rehearsed spiel, his narrative he's recited too many times to count whenever someone does happen to find out the so-called thing that should be trivial. "We're half-brothers. It all started when his mom married my dad. It was after a messy divorce, but being too young to understand things, Seungcheol followed his mom everywhere, and then I was born—"

"Skip to the present,” you said waving your hands before he could finish his tangent. “Please. How could you not tell me that he was your brother–did they all know? Was I—"

"No. No one knows," Chan's eyes dim as he walks away, claiming a spot on the couch, "except Haru, now you." The revelation hangs in the air, casting a somber tone over the room.

You follow suit, occupying the space beside him. Your eyes lock onto his, a subtle hint of betrayal in your gaze. "But you kept it from everyone. Even me?"

"Especially you." He meets your gaze, responding before glancing away briefly. His fingers fidget with a loose thread on hisshirt, a physical manifestation of the internal turmoil. "It's like throwing fire on fire."

"Fuel to the fire."

"Not the point."

"But so utterly wrong." You inject a hint of wry humor into the words, a subtle acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. The room, previously heavy with tension, lightens momentarily in your comedic timing.

"No one needed to know. I liked it that way. I wouldn’t have to follow under my big brother's shadow all the time—the athlete, the scholarship guy, the golden child. We were already plotting our revenge against him. I wanted to get back at him just as much as you guys. I didn't need you all walking on eggshells around me just because we're related."

You plant a palm against your chest. "I wouldn't have. I would've wanted to understand you. And the girlfriend, that's supposed to be Haru, isn't it?"

He laughs bitterly, wallowing in self pity. "One of the few things many people were wrong about. I get it, though. I pretty much followed her everywhere like a puppy. Easy to misunderstand."

"…And you still like her?"

He grins. "Liked, yeah. It broke my heart when I found out they got together, but she seemed happy. I only ever wanted to make her happy, and if that meant my brother, then okay. At least I'd still get to see her…When she found out about the cheating, she distanced herself, and it was harder to see her.” He speaks solemnly, reliving the memories as if they were yesterday. “Even if we look nothing alike, I'm sure I reminded her of him."

A pause hangs in the air, and you seize the moment to gather your thoughts. "You are so much more than your brother," you assert, your gaze unwavering and resolute.

"I know that now," he says, his fingers intertwining with yours, caressing over your knuckles. The touch is gentle, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort in your presence. "You helped with that. And I couldn't be more grateful."

You laid your other hand over his. "I'm glad you're better. Genuinely."

His eyes trace over your face, gently admiring your features, particularly your sincere smile that never fails to flatter you. A sense of happiness washes over him as he realizes how fortunate he is to have met someone like you. "I know you are.”

Pulling you into a warm embrace—the kind that conveys unspoken sentiments/-your hair nuzzles against his warm cheeks. "Which is why you deserve the best right now. Especially with what you're about to have on your plate."

Your brow furrows, not taking away from your return of the gesture. "What is that supposed to mean?"

“Nothing.” He chuckles, the rich sound resonating against your ear like a subtle melody. He pulls away form the embrace to direct you to the door, but not without your resistance against the tiles. “God, go before I can't take it anymore. Leave before I kiss you, please."

"Haha. Very funny. You haven't kissed me in what–a week? You think you’ll—"

Before you can finish, he interrupts your words with a spoken promise and you succumb, melting on the spot. Moving against you like fresh water down a stream, his hand cradles your cheek, teeth grazing the bottom of your lip. It's a moment reminiscent of everything you've experienced together for the first time yet distinctly different, a silent acknowledgment that this would be the last time he’s be able to kiss you like this. Warmth, care, a profound sense of gratitude—layers upon layers melded into the union of your lips, forming a rich mosaic of emotions that only the two of you could truly comprehend in this singular moment.

Finally, he releases you, gently guiding you towards the exit. Leaning against the door frame, his eyes sweep over you, a sly grin playing on his lips. He teasingly sinks his teeth into the cushion of his kiss-swollen lips. "Yeah, I do. Now go."

Rolling your eyes, the playful banter still dances in the air, leaving you slightly light-headed from the lingering effects of the earlier liplock. "Fine. I'll see you next week."

He nods, finally letting you go.

The door closes with a soft click, its resonance fading into the room, leaving behind an atmosphere charged with a delicate blend of ease and contentment. As it seals shut, Chan discerns your gentle withdrawal, the remnants of the tender moment clinging to him like a poignant tableau preserved within the confines of a closed locket, a crystalline portrayal of shared emotions eternally sealed in the cavities of his memory.

"This is good, Chan," he murmurs to himself in reassurance. The room, now a haven of quiet contemplation, bears the lingerance of your history of your warm–and at times scorching–alliance, each detail etched into the fabric of furniture or plastered against these thin walls. “We did the right thing.”

Chan's declaration gains further clarity as you peruse your unread messages, deciphering the unspoken messages buried between the lines of the texts from the remnants of your former scheming team. Uncertain of how to navigate through their words, you can't help but notice the eerily close timing of their delivery, how impeccable they were.

Despite the initial confusion, you manage to piece it together, promptly responding to each message before making your way home.

As the appointed meeting time looms nearer, you meticulously dress, each step carrying a weighted sense, your nerves palpable in the charged atmosphere. The ticking of the clock becomes an almost rhythmic backdrop, a constant reminder of the impending event. Repeatedly checking the time transforms into a subconscious coping mechanism, each glance at the clock inching you forward in anticipation of the approaching footsteps that will soon reach the door, setting the stage for your path to the designated seat. Each second feels like an eternity, the quiet room amplifying the subtle sounds of your anticipation.

Finally, the door swings open, the subtle creaking sound echoing in the room as it reveals a solitary pair of approaching steps before came another, their distinct resonance filling the space. Seokmin and Mingyu exchange glances filled with a mix of confusion and bewilderment, their expressions mirroring the unspoken curiosity lingering in the air. Their gazes then gravitate toward you, and in that brief moment, the weight of anticipation is clear as crystal. Without hesitation, both Seokmin and Mingyu swiftly traverse the distance to your side, their movements synchronized like a carefully choreographed dance. The atmosphere thickens with the unspoken tension and anticipation, creating a moment suspended in time.

"Y/n?" Seokmin begins, a questioning note in his voice. "What's going on?"

"Yeah. I thought it'd just be the two of us," Mingyu interjects, "Like we planned?"

"Okay," you declare, clapping your hands together. "Clearly, something is going on that both of you are feuding over, and I'm here to settle it in person, right in front of both of you."

Seokmin awkwardly smiles. "Are we that obvious?"

"I'm sure she figured it out when you decided to go P-E-to the-T-T-Y on me."

"Do not use a catchy song to attack me."

"Shush," you interrupt them with a stern gesture, like a kindergarten teacher silencing unruly children. Your gaze pierces through the air, demanding attention. "Okay, fess up. Why are you both attempting to bribe me with these elaborate outings? What do you both want?"

Mingyu blinks. "Uh, Y/n?"

"Mingyu, don't act all confused," you assert, "I will not be caught in the middle again. This time I will mediate. Literally, what's up? What are you guys even trying—"

"Y/n," Seokmin intervenes cautiously, closing the distance between you. "We like you. We both have feelings for you."

"…what?”

They both chuckle, savoring the utter shock on your face. Mingyu nods, a subtle agreement in his eyes. "That's why we both called you out, to talk this out with you to see if you felt the same for either one of us."

"…So, you're telling me you want to send me into cardiac arrest?"

They both are taken aback, displaying grand gestures of defense. "No, no," Seokmin assures, his voice calming. "Take your time; we can wait. I'm sure this is a lot."

"We just thought to lay it out there, thought it was better than keeping it from you."

You suck in your breath. "You guys know this timing is insane, right?"

"We noticed," they answer simultaneously, guilt washing over them.

"But I can just give my answer right? Like right now?"

They're both pleasantly surprised and equally concerned by your response, observing how swiftly you adapt to the dual professions of interest. "I mean if you want—"

"—But there's no pressure."

You rapidly blink, assimilating into the unexpected situation thrust upon you. "Oh, but I do. So, uh. I guess—"

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 33

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, chan x y/n activities, seungkwan and budding friendship???, seungcheol doens't give up

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @huening-kawaii @writingbarnes @strawberryya

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 34

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, cheol having enough, seokgyu chats, JunRu learning new lore, snitches, betrayal???

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @writingbarnes @strawberryya

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 14K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily) masterlist

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, jk is selfish af, jk is delulu, oral (fem receiving), forced oral (m receiving) spanking, squirting, cum swallowing, creampie, soft yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, choking, rough sex, pussy pounding, bruises, manipulation, gaslighting, strong language, oppressiveness

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

author's note: so as I said in the preview, this did not go as planned but I really enjoyed writing this to the point that I might do a part 2, perhaps 3, but we'll see about that. JK is delulu af here and the reader does not think through everything. For those who did not read preview and came upon this just now - originally what i wanted to build around was how Rachel Green from Friends was offered a job at Louis Vuitton but it was in Paris and Ross did not want her to go - that was supposed to be the whole plot (with slight changes ofc), well and somehow it went a bit darker than i intended so instead of rom-com, i'd rather listed it as dark romance and yandere. Hope you'll enjoy it! Love, always.

1996

“He said what now?!” The sentence burst out of you with a high-pitched tone, nearly causing your latte to spill all over your pristine white blouse and grey blazer. Not exactly the ideal way to kick off a new month, you mused as your friend dropped the bombshell about a certain someone.

“That you’re the future mother of his children,” said your friend, an amused smirk playing on her face. “I seriously don’t know how you can still resist him, girl.” But resist him, you did.

Jeon Jungkook was undoubtedly one of the most sought-after and sexiest heartthrobs of the decade, possessed the best face card in the industry and carried the biggest ego in all of New York City. You could vividly recall the day he strolled inside of your office with the head of your department. A cocky, playful grin plastered on his face the moment his eyes landed on you.

Right from the very beginning, you made it crystal clear to Jungkook that your relationship would be strictly professional during your collaboration on the Calvin Klein project. He was given his own collection of men’s wear, and the job to work with him fell upon you.

You knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to elevate your standing within the fashion circle. Jeon Jungkook’s fame was immense, and your name would be signed on the collection too. It’s not like you are head over heels that your name would be associated specifically with Jeon Jungkook, but you understood right away that this could put you on the radar. Your boss had even hinted at the possibility of a higher position within the department.

He constantly teased you, flirted shamelessly, and crossed boundaries by touching you as if you were his girlfriend. It was wildly inappropriate, especially given that the two of you had never even gone out for a work dinner or lunch alone. There were always other people from the team, and yet he always managed to find a way to sit right next to you. But it seems Jungkook was still living in an illusion where you were his girlfriend.

Your gaze shifted to the majestic Twin Towers, standing proudly in the distance, as you let out an annoyed puff of air.

“He’s ridiculous,” you finally declared.

“Or cute,” countered your friend, opposing your viewpoint. She found this pseudo-relationship with Jungkook amusing, but a small part of her secretly wished you’d just give in and go out with him. It was quite some time since you were in a relationship, and Jeon Jungkook would definitely be a nice catch. You were not interested. Or you tried to persuade others that you aren’t.

“No, ridiculous,” you retorted again, lips pursed, and brows furrowed.

“Oh, come on, give him a chance finally!!” she exclaimed.

“Absolutely not! He’s egoistic, manipulative, a cocky little bastard with damn good hair,” you said, your tone rising as you reached your final proclamation, which had simply slipped out of your mind that way.

“See? One good thing — good hair. Marry him,” she laughed it off.

“Now you’re being ridiculous, and I’m going to be late for work.” You said while dusting your black skirt, grabbing your purse, and leaving a few bucks for the coffee. The song on the radio stopped your departure for a moment, listening to the familiar voice coming from it, you rolled your eyes.

“That’s a clear sign, Y/N. Give it a chance!” she called after you, and you couldn’t help but throw a side eye her way, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips nonetheless.

As the day passed, you found yourself increasingly entangled in the whirlwind of meetings, fittings, and photoshoots with an ever-present Jungkook. The photoshoots, in particular, became a source of both frustration and amusement. However today, a bigger problem surfaced.

“Why’s he half-naked, Lucy?!” You hissed at your assistant. Normally, you are very kind and respectful to everyone, but Jungkook had managed to irk you the moment you stepped into your office, finding him already seated in your chair with that smirk you despised. Bringing a coffee for you, which you never drink, or donuts that you always share with the department - not eating one yourself.

Jungkook, adorned in the latest Calvin Klein designs you two had meticulously crafted together, claimed a personal touch of his persona— at least, that’s how he described it. He looked effortlessly handsome, the camera adoring him, but what grated on your nerves was that his attention was solely focused on teasing you.

“We also have shirts, why is he not wearing one?!” You continued, expressing your disagreement to what was before you. What angered you even more was that you could not stop staring at his abs.

“We shot with shirts earlier. They said the underwear and jeans will appear more artistic if his V line and abs—”

“Alright! Alright!” You stopped her in mid-sentence. You didn’t want to look that way nor you didn’t want to admit that showcasing his V-line would enhance the aesthetics of the jeans. Therefore, you took a deep breath and walked towards the refreshments, you were in need of a second cup of coffee.

You heard the photographer call for a break, but you were focused on calming yourself with a steaming cup of coffee. Despite your irritation, you couldn’t deny that he looked breath-taking in the outfits you had designed, and it infuriated you.

Suddenly, two arms were laid flat on the table’s surface, caging you in between. You could imagine his devilish grin. He did this way too often, whether it was his fingers lightly tracing your arm or tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, looking intently into your eyes until you were fighting yourself to not get lost in his Bambi eyes.

“We’re almost done for today,” he whispered seductively into your right ear, his lips almost touching it. Your breath stammered.

“And yet you did not learn a single thing about professionalism or work ethic.” You bit sarcastically, turning slowly to face him.

Jungkook’s grin only widened at your remark, and you couldn’t decide whether you were infuriated or slightly flustered by his audacity. He leaned in even closer, his breath grazing your ear as he spoke in a low, husky tone.

“Tutor me then, in bedroom — preferably” he suggested, his lips still dangerously close to the shell of your ear.

“I don’t think so. You’re beyond help,” you shot back, trying to assert control over the situation. His proximity was distracting, and you couldn’t afford to let him undermine the fact that you were in charge.

Jungkook continued to hover over you, the photographer calling for everyone to regroup for the next set of shots. You seized the opportunity to escape his magnetic pull, smoothly slipping out from between the table and his arms, deciding to escape to your humble office, seeking solace in the calmness it provided.

It wasn’t long before the shoot officially ended, and you knew damn well, that the man wouldn’t leave you alone. The door creaked open, and you turned to find Jungkook leaning against the frame, that infernal smirk still etched onto his face.

“We did a good job, why don’t we celebrate it over at my place, baby?” he complimented, but there was an undertone of something else in his voice. You overlooked his physique and leaned back in your chair, narrowing your eyes, making a clicking sound with your tongue.

“Jungkook, again, this was a professional collaboration. Nothing more,” you asserted, emphasising each word. If you did not say this sentence at least a hundred times you don’t know. He never takes it seriously; it appears as he is still trying to hammer his way into your guarded heart.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered closer. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaving you with a cryptic grin as he exited your office. The only thing you could do is sigh.

Before you went to continue working, you heard how Jungkook’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“I bet I can change your mind, sweetheart!”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath.

“Not a chance.”

The denim collection with Jungkook was taking shape, and the buzz surrounding the collaboration grew with each passing day. A success, your boss was much more than pleased.

This success, however, meant even more for you. You were on cloud nine, basking in the glory of your hard work and the prospect of a ground-breaking partnership. Totally, forgetting to play unreachable when it came to the clinging boy who starred in this iconic collaboration. And that must have given him a false hope, perhaps a narrative in which you were his girl.

You were sitting in your office when you hung up the telephone after speaking with the vice president of Guess that contacted you earlier last week, offering you a part in a project for their brand, in Los Angeles. A dream come true for you. Leaving this place, after years of building your career from scratch, felt overwhelming. You loved working under Klein, yet it was time for you to take it higher. Your boss did not offer you a new position, and therefore, you did not hesitate to take the job opportunity and elevate yourself in fashion ranks.

It was an offer too tempting to resist, and you found yourself diving headfirst into the project, not even looking at the door when someone stepped in without knocking.

“You may leave the reception reports on the table, Lucy,” you said once feeling a presence in your office, not raising your eyesight from your computer, writing the prompts for the project Guess wants you to lead. Your twelve days’ notice already printed out, ready to be signed by your boss. You planned to stop by his office after you would finish writing the draft and sending it to the Guess team together with the copy of your portfolio that you needed to make before you leave.

When there were no reports left on your table after a good long minute, you looked up.

“You can’t just leave.” he said, standing tall in the frame of the door, stepping inside once you finally gave him your attention. You could sense a hint of desperation and anger in his voice.

You raised your brows at him. How does he know? The mere thought of you leaving for LA, leaving him behind, was enough to make him confess the depth of his feelings.

You leaned to the leather armchair and listened to him closely.

“What are you talking about Jungkook?” His eyes betrayed a mix of anxiety and vulnerability as he blurted out his fears.

“What about us? What about everything we’ve built together?” He stepped closer to your desk, looking directly to your eyes. You were taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. The air in the room thickened.

The once-confident man now stood vulnerable before you, stripped of the bravado that had defined him. And you were utterly confused and surprised how delusional this man is.

“What are you even saying, Jungkook?” you questioned, your tone a mix of confusion and frustration.

“You can’t leave me!” He raised his voice an octave higher.

“Calm your tits. I’m a grown-up woman. I can do what I want.” You sassed back at him, tired of this made up situation-ship in his head. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“We’ve built something special, and I can’t watch it crumble because of some job offer!” He continued his rampage. You took a moment to breathe his words in, closing your eyes and counting to ten to calm yourself.

“Jungkook, I appreciate your honesty, but I can’t give you what you’re asking for.” This caught him by surprise. Instead of screaming at him, you chose to play the I’ll stay calm and professional card.

His eyes widened in disbelief, a mix of confusion and hurt clouding his features. “What do you mean?”

Choosing your words carefully, you said: “I genuinely value this project we worked on together, but it’s time for us to part our ways.” To fool him was your goal.

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling upon him. “Who are you lying to, Y/N?” His words shocked you.

“I’m not lying Jungkook, I’m telling you the truth to your face, as you were too stubborn to hear it before.” You stood up from your chair, moving to lean on the front of your desk, to show him he cannot get to you.

The room fell into a heavy silence as Jungkook looked deep into your eyes, searching for the truth in your words.

“So, it’s all about the career for you? You’re willing to sacrifice everything else, including us?” Your jaw clenched, but you maintained your composed façade and with flaring nostrils and clenched teeth, you spoke.

“There is no us, Jungkook. Get it into your head already!” So much for being calm. The room crackled with tension as the argument reached an impasse. Jungkook shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“I can’t believe you’re throwing away what we have because of some job.” Your eyes widened even more and the fact he would not listen boiled your blood.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not your girlfriend! I was never your girlfriend, and I will never be your girlfriend!”

But Jungkook wasn’t ready to accept defeat. His frustration reached a boiling point too, and without warning, he grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you into an intense, angry kiss. It was a clash of emotions, a tumultuous blend of passion and anger that fuelled the fiery exchange.

Your initial instinct was to resist, to push him away, but the intensity of the kiss ignited a different kind of fire within you. His lips moved fiercely against yours, gripping your ass in his hands, making you moan to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers threading through the dishevelled locks as the kiss deepened, your frustration causing to tug them. He growled from pleasure at the sensation.

It was a collision of lips and tongues, a heated exchange that spoke volumes without a single word. Once his hands disappeared under your skirt and the heat intensified, a sudden surge of clarity washed over you, breaking the intoxicating spell.

With a forceful push, you broke away from the kiss, creating a space between you and Jungkook. You locked eyes with him, your chest heaving as you struggled to regain control of the situation.

“I need you to leave,” you stated, your voice cutting through the lingering tension, you leaned against the desk, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment.

Jungkook, still caught in the haze of desire, tried to close the distance again, but you held up a hand, halting his advance.

“Leave!” You growled, turning your back to him. You didn’t want him to see your face anymore, because soon enough, tears would break from your eyes. You’re overwhelmed.

A loud bang of the door signalled that he finally understood and left. Breaking down with tears streaming down your cheeks you gasped for air. Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to regain composure.

You’ve counted to ten again, wiping your tears. You felt taken advantage of. He went too far this time. But this was only the beginning of his tremulous and wicked plan he had for you.

You packed your purse, ready to leave your office, you just needed to grab your work portfolio that you needed to send over to Guess. But the space it always inhabited, on the conference table, was empty. And you had one lucky guess who the thief was. “Fucking bastard.”

In the days that followed, the chaos in your personal and professional life escalated. The stolen portfolio, a representation of your work, became a haunting absence. As if the life source of your hard work was cut down.

Determined to salvage what remained of your career, you began the arduous task of recreating it. But time was not on your side, and as you delved into the meticulous process, news of your termination from Calvin Klein reached you like a punch to the gut.

The phone call was impersonal, a cold voice delivering the news of your dismissal as if reading from a script. Some Jack from the HR department spoke to you, someone you have never ever seen in the building whatsoever. Your boss did not even pick up the call when you wanted to ask what made them push the decision to let you go. You certainly did not deserve this after years of working for the brand. The reasons were vague and you knew this had to source from someone powerful. In simple terms, someone snitched that you’re planning to leave.

As the reality of unemployment settled in, you clung to the remnants of optimism that lingered, but even that proved elusive.

You were hundred percent sure that he is trying to sabotage your whole life when the call from Guess, a reason you did not fight for your position at Klein’s delivered another blow.

Their decision not to collaborate with you crushed the remnants of optimism that clung to your spirit. The dream that had seemed within reach now slipped through your fingers, leaving you in a free fall of uncertainty.

They hadn’t even granted you the courtesy of waiting for your portfolio, even though it wouldn’t be what they expected. Whatever oral agreement had been in place disintegrated. So here you are — jobless.

All this left you reeling with disbelief. The career you had meticulously built, the dreams that had taken years to nurture, all unravelling at the seams. The pain was visceral, a mix of frustration, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal.

You were certain that Jeon Jungkook himself was pulling the strings behind the scenes. And you hated him for it, needed to confront him and say that shit with your chest right to his face— he can go fuck himself. Set the record straight once you’re there.

Whatever he was thinking by ruining your career will force you to do, he better fix it before you’ll sing to the media about his bunny smile and kind heart being all fake. The line had been crossed, and he would face the consequences of pushing you to the brink. Or so you thought it would go how your brain delusional thought it through.

Hence, with a heavy heart and a determination to confront the chaos head-on, you stood before the front door of his infamous penthouse. Emotions swirling within you like a tempest.

With a deep breath, you knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. The door swung open, revealing Jungkook’s bunny smile reaching his eyes.

“Well, well well, are we ready to talk like adults, pretty?” He mocked this whole situation because he knew this would end up in his favour, nonetheless.

He moved back to let you in, and you stepped into his apartment, a mixture of anger and desperation in your gaze.

“I know you took it,” you said, crossing your arms on your breasts. The heels of your black leather boots echoed in the apartment when you turned to face him.

“Took your breath away by that heated kiss, sexy, certainly. Otherwise, I did not take anything.” Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. The tension in the room was palpable as you square your shoulders, refusing to back down. You blinked twice at his cheesiness. The tip of your tongue moved to rest on the bottom of your upper teeth, your smile spreading on your face. The chuckle came out of you so naturally, laughing at his ridiculously ridiculous behaviour.

“Don’t play dumb, I know it was all you. You malicious sabotaging petty boy—” You retorted, articulation perfectly clear while the words laced with underlying frustration and anger.

He sighed, weariness settling over him. “You think I stole your portfolio to sabotage your career? You’re giving me too much credit, love.” Here he comes.

“I said nothing about my portfolio, Jungkook.” You said playing with his name on your tongue. A tense silence hung in the air as he considered your words, clicking his tongue, clearly annoyed and you were just getting started.

“I managed to figure that out. A drink? —” He offered, shrugging her statements of like snow in summer whilst he moved to the small bar that was a part of his spacious living room.

“I don’t want a drink, Jungkook. I want it back now,” you replied, your tone cutting through the casual offer. The anger in your gaze intensified, fuelled by the frustration of dealing with his nonchalant attitude.

“Let’s talk, baby.” He gestured towards the living room, as if trying to usher you into a more comfortable setting for the impending confrontation. He knew this was just a little shower, the real storm was still far away, giving him space to prepare.

As you moved, you could not help but notice the contrast between your demeanour and his. While your arms were still crossed defensively, his posture exuded a calm confidence that irked you further.

You took a seat on the edge of the sofa, not willing to fully settle into the illusion of camaraderie. Jungkook, on the other hand, sprawled onto a nearby chair, the picture of nonchalance.

“I need that portfolio to get a job because a certain someone has to be bitchy and sabotage my whole career because his big ass ego cannot take rejection. Give it to me,” you fired off, your words sharp and accusatory. He leaned back in the chair, smirking.

“Those are very bold words, Y/N. I would prefer to think of it as a wake-up call for you, not sabotage.” Your incredulous glare only intensified.

“Are you fucking serious Jungkook? A wake up call? You’ve just jeopardised everything I’ve worked for, and you’re calling this a wake up call?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I can get you a better job.”

You scoffed. The audacity of his response fuelled the simmering anger within you.

“You can’t get a shit, so give it back to me, and I’ll be on my way,” you requested.

Jungkook’s smirk remained, an infuriating mix of arrogance and nonchalance.

“No,” he said, smiling. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration reaching a boiling point. He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed by your rising anger.

“What do you mean no?!” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You were about to make a decision that would have consequences beyond your imagination. I had to intervene.”

“What the fuck are you on again?” Jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity of his stare almost unnerving while your voice went an octave higher. Your frustration reached its peak, and you stood up, pacing the room as you ranted. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

You needed that portfolio, it was a collection of years of a work and your best work to be specific. The lousy new version won’t get you a job at no high-profile fashion brand and you cannot afford to go lower than your last position.

“Alright—” You said defeated, turning yourself to face him again, you put off your black leather jacket and fixed your low ponytail, slumping back to his sofa. Spreading your arms on the backrest and cross your legs.

Jungkook took a moment to breathe in the sight before him; he was throbbing for you.

“—what do you want?” you asked. He leaned back further into the chair, putting his masculine tattooed arms to rest on the back of his head, showing his abs from under the white tank top he is wearing.

“What do I want?” he mused, as if contemplating the question but he already knew.

“Spill it out.” You barked and he chuckled at your eagerness. He got up from his seat and dangerously slowly walked towards you.

When he reached you, both of his arms pressed to the leather of the sofa inches from you, caging your body. Your breath stammered as you looked at him towering over you, the golden chain around his neck hanging.

“Firstly, I want you to be my good girl, apologise for being a brat the other day and admit there is an “us”. Secondly—” he whispered seductively, closing the approximate distance while doing so. He was right in your face, looking over at your lips evidently, he was controlling himself to not attack them. He invaded your personal space. The sudden shift in atmosphere left you breathless, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intoxicating energy he exuded. “I won’t apologise for any shit, now secondly?” You said while trying to hold your horses. You hate to admit your pussy was clenching and leaking under his gaze. He was attractive, and no one could deny that.

His fingers grazed your cheek gently, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.

“I want these feisty little plump lips wrapped around my thick cock—” you pushed him away from you once you heard his words. Grabbing your jacket and storming your way out to the door, angry with yourself that you let it go this far.

“You walk out that door, and you’re done in this city, fuck even the whole continent if I want,” Jungkook declared, his tone heavy with a sense of entitlement. The words hung in the air, a threat laced with possessiveness that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re bluffing.” His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths.

“You’re underestimating the consequences, Y/N. I’ll snap my fingers, and you won’t get a job. Anywhere.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips. You did not believe him one bit, determined to try harder at the job hunting.

“You’ve already done enough. You can’t do worse.” You scoffed, the absurdity of his demands pushing you further away. He stepped closer, the air thick with tension.

“You’re not leaving, Y/N. Either you’ll be my good girl and apologise, or all it will take is one phone call.” As you reached for the doorknob, he grabbed your arm with a force that bordered on aggression.

“I am my own woman, Jungkook.” Your eyes flashed with determination as you wrenched your arm free, emphasising every word of the sentence you just uttered.

With that, you swung the door open and stormed out, leaving Jungkook’s apartment and the tumultuous mess behind. The city lights greeted you outside, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere within.

Your telephone remained eerily silent, devoid of the calls and opportunities that once filled it with promise. Jungkook’s vindictiveness had effectively severed the threads connecting you to your professional life, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainties.

A tear escaped your eye as you clutched the piece of paper you fetched out of your mailbox — an eviction notice. You had fallen behind on rent, pleading with your landlord for more time, promising to pay in full for two months once you secured a job. But that ended up not happening, and that’s how you find yourself sitting in a messy apartment full of half packed boxes, no job, little money left, and a bottle of cheap wine.

Moving in with friends or seeking refuge with your parents was not an option. They never supported your dreams enough to provide for you in such dire circumstances, especially at your age. Unmarried, jobless, and on the brink of homelessness, you felt trapped.

Despite your efforts to secure another job, including poorly recreating parts of your portfolio, rejections piled up, and the search for a new apartment proved equally futile. Not like you could afford it anyway.

The city that once held promise now felt like a maze of closed doors and dead ends. The mere thought of dialling his number sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of pride and necessity wrestling within you.

You drank the last of your wine, hiccupped, and cried. With only twenty-four hours to vacate your flat for the new tenant to come in. The friends you once thought you could rely on were facing their own struggles, unable to provide the sanctuary you so desperately needed. You had nowhere to go apart to his clutches if you of course did not want to freeze to death in the bustling city. It confused you how it came to having no other option.

Taking a deep breath, you dialled his number, each ring echoing the surrender of your independence. The telephone rang in your trembling hand. As the call connected, a heavy silence hung in the air and you desperately tried to calm your breathing.

“Jeon speaking,” his voice crackled through the phone. You were shaking in cold sweat, your eyes blood red from crying and alcohol clouded your mind enough to call him.

“Hello?” you heard his voice speak again, and another sob left your lips. The lump in your throat made it difficult to speak, but you pushed through the discomfort.

“I-I’m sorry.” The man on the other line smirked, seemingly thrilled to hear your voice. The next sentence you uttered, however, was even sweeter music to his ears.

“I need you.”

You heard his car park in front of your building the next morning. The boxes were long gone on their way to the heart of Manhattan where Jungkook’s penthouse awaited. It was only you and your suitcase with only necessities packed inside. The reality of the situation hit you as you looked around at the empty apartment. The purple walls, once full of pictures from trips with your friends, were now bare. The fridge stripped of silly magnets you liked to collect, stood empty. Nothing left.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the handle of your suitcase with a sense of resignation. You glanced out of the window on your way out, finding Jungkook casually leaning against his shiny black Jaguar, smiling directly at you. Closing your eyes, you mentally said goodbye to your small apartment.

Your hair, lazily put into a hair clip when you woke up, had a few stray strands escaping, framing your face that still showed signs of swelling from crying all night.

As you stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind you, the weight of the suitcase in your hand served as a physical reminder of the choice you had made. Is this really your only option?

The sound of Jungkook’s footsteps echoed in the corridor, approaching closer with each passing second. He ran up the stairs just as you were locking the door. His gummy smile met your gaze, a clear expression of his happiness. The heartthrob had finally gotten you where he wanted you all along.

He was dressed in a denim jacket and jeans from the collection you worked on. As if he was intent on reminding you of something. His long curly locks were gone, replaced by a short mullet.

You, on the other hand, did not feel to dress classy and elegant as you usually did. You swapped heels for a pair of white sneakers, a tight designer skirt for simple blue boyfriend jeans and your upper body was covered by a white shirt layered with a pink shirt you loosely tight on your waist, leaving the buttons half open.

“Baby?” he called out. You must’ve zoned out, as now he was holding your suitcase in his hand, ready to leave.

“M’sorry, I was in my head,” you apologised. You didn’t want to upset him by negatively reacting to the pet name even though you irked to tell him you’re not his baby.

He smiled softly, putting the suitcase down, walking over to you. He caressed your cheek, leaning in for a kiss. Turning your face, he landed his lips on your other cheek. The man chuckled and put the freed strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry. I got you now.”

The drive to Jungkook’s penthouse was filled with an uncomfortable silence as the city lights passed by in a dizzying display.

“Welcome home!” The words hung in the air, the irony not lost on you. This was far from a home; it was a gilded cage you succumbed to. You did not answer him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

He was saying something about a closet, but your mind totally spaced out looking at the boxes that you packed hours prior, casually sitting in his living room.

“Baby?” You looked at him, eyes wide when you realised you were not listening to him again.

“Do you want to start unpacking or should we head out for brunch first?” He approached you. Jungkook did not stop smiling since he pulled his car in front of your building.

Unpacking felt like an acceptance of this new reality, while brunch felt like an attempt to hold onto some semblance of normalcy.

“I... I think we should talk,” you finally managed to say, your voice carrying the uncertainty that lingered within. Jungkook’s smile wavered for a moment, but he quickly masked it.

You couldn’t ignore the fact that your life had taken a sharp turn, and the unfamiliar surroundings only intensified the sense of displacement. Jungkook threw himself at his sofa just where you were sitting months prior. He motioned with his hand, silently ordering you to sit.

“I promise not to bother you long. I just need you to get me off the blacklist so I can get a job. I can’t be tied to you indefinitely.” You spoke softly, careful to not anger him just yet. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the direction this conversation was heading, but you needed to set the record straight. This was temporary, at least in your mind.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, a subtle tension in his features. He sighed. Leaning forward, Jungkook grabbed the remote control of the HiFi that was standing proud, setting it on, and whence the soft tones of Isaak’s “Wicked Game” resonated the penthouse, you could not help but raise an eyebrow.

He petted his knee, a silent invitation. You were not stupid to not understand what he wants, yet you opted to sit next to him instead of where he wanted you.

“Maybe we got lost in translation, love.” He spoke leaning closer to you. The music seemed to underscore the unspoken tension in the room.

“You won’t leave me, baby. I’ll keep you so satisfied and happy; you won’t even want to go.” He whispered to your ear. The atmosphere became charged with a palpable desire. His proximity sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of temptation and resistance.

“You can’t keep me here against my will, Jungkook,” you asserted, maintaining a thin thread of defiance. Yet, the allure of his touch lingered in the air, clouding your better judgement.

“Try me, love. I’ve got ways to make you stay,” he countered, his tone dripping with confidence.

It took all you have in you to stand up and storm to the large windows that provided a magnificent view of Manhattan. This time, however, he was right behind you.

You heard him growl. He was angry, and he proved so once you found yourself pinned to the large window, your back facing him. He attacked your neck right away, bruising every single inch. His hand roamed over your breast, squeezing them to the point you had to moan. The situation escalated rather quickly, your resistance made him press you to his back even harder.

“I’m so tired of your running,” he groaned into your neck. You put your hands on the glass trying to push yourself away and give yourself space to free from his grasp, but he has put a majority of his weight on you. You can feel his growing pulsating bulge on your heart-shaped bottom.

“Maybe I should show you, who you belong to, princess.” He cupped your sex through your pants, and you whimpered from the sensation. You knew this was utterly wrong; you should not react to his touch this way, but you couldn’t help to notice the wetness pooling in between your legs once he continues to attack your neck with his soft plump lips.

“Jungkook-” You tried to resist, but his hand was already done with unbuttoning your jeans, sliding right down to your core. Your panties were sticky, your head was spinning, and the part of a window was getting foggy right next to your mouth from your hot breath.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He pulled his hand out of your pants for a second to wet his fingers and put them right back on the little bud that was waiting to be touched. He pressed his fingertips on your clit, circling it painfully slow. The heartthrob rutted his hips into your ass, looking for a friction, making you move your hips towards his hand. He chuckled to your ear.

“If you want that job, baby, why don’t you deserve it first?” you could sense a little hint of mockery in his voice. The pulsating beats of the music seemed to echo the rhythm of his movements. Now slow and calculated.

As the song reached its crescendo, his finger entered your vibrating heat. “Hm?” He pried, his finger moving in and out in punishingly slow, drawing silent moans from you when he brushed up the right spot.

“W-what do you want?” You stammered out of yourself.

“You. All of you of course.” Jungkook replied in a heartbeat. Your heart raced and your head was clouded by the pleasure he was providing. Moving his finger slightly faster, you found yourself bowing forward, your body wanted him to reach deeper.

“Please—” you whimpered when he slowed down the tempo again.

“Give me an answer baby, will you be my good girl?” Now it was your mind that raced, grappling with the implications of his question while squeezing your walls around his finger.

“Maybe you need a little more convincing, hm?” He softly bit your earlobe whilst inserting his second finger into your heat, making you moan louder than before. You pressed your forehead onto the glass and looked down at his hand in between your legs. The sight made your pussy clench even harder. A small tear escaped your eye, you are overwhelmed, and the pleasure is clouding your sound judgement.

“What will it be, baby?” His fingers finally raised the tempo, and your eyesight was getting blurry, biting your lip from the sensation.

“Fuck—” you nibbed at your bottom lip a bit harder, trying to fight with yourself. But you couldn’t. He was playing a game, and he was winning this round.

“Yes!” you screamed louder than you intended when he hit the sweet spot, making you see stars. You did not necessarily want to agree. It was more of a reaction to how good his fingers feel inside of you. But Jungkook’s interpretation did not align with yours.

What you did not expect is the sudden feel of emptiness once his fingers abdicated its place. You protested with an unpleasant whine of frustration.

He spun you to face him, being quick enough to grab you below your ass, illocutionary forcing you to jump up. Jungkook leaned in to kiss you while he navigated the apartment blindly, right to the master bedroom.

Now you were feeling thrown. Literally. Your body bounced a little while Jungkook stood at the foot of his king sized bed adorned in black sheets. You could smell his expensive cologne on them. He was very eager to continue what you started.

His shirt was long gone and so were his pants when he was pulling down yours, alongside with your through-and-through wet panties. He very quickly inhabited his head in between your legs. Licking all the dirty juice your pussy was producing.

You could not help but to bury your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging on it once he decided to abuse your clit, sucking on it, his piercing cold against your skin. You were starting to feel the knot inside your lower belly, moaning and panting out loud.

“I’m gonna!—” you breathed out heavily. Squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the heat rushing your body.

“Not yet,” said the heartthrob, parting away from you. You shot your eyes open to look at him towering over you, his briefs thrown away somewhere in the room, and his pride leaning proudly against his abdomen, angry and red. The perfect opposite of soft. You gulped down. He was definitely not lying when he suggested he is thick.

The heartthrob helped you get rid of the rest of your clothes, bending down to lay a single kiss right above your clit, maintaining eye contact with you all the time. Sticking his tongue out yet again, making a straight wet line up your belly, ending at the valley between your breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned, squeezing your tits while pumping his dick, he could not take it anymore.

He spread your legs further, making space for him to fit right in. Your walls are trembling from excitement, especially when he presses the length of his cock to your lips, coating himself in your juices.

“Condo—” you went to say when his lips silenced you in a hard passionate kiss. He moaned to your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance, stretching you open. You pressed your hands to his chest, parting away from him. He looked at you with confusion and you repeated yourself.

“Condom, Guk,” you said, using the nickname in an attempt to soften his hard features. Something told you that you might have just pissed him off. The heartthrob sighed and involuntarily got up, walking all the way to the bathroom, giving you a million-dollar view of his ass. Your gaze then shifted to his muscular shoulders, involuntarily admiring his impressive physique. You couldn’t deny he was hot as hell.

Your nipples were perky from the thrill that your body was going through. It was quite some time since the last you got laid. Maybe that’s why it took him minimum effort to turn you into a whiny, needy little bitch.

You heard the light switch going off in the bathroom, and the man himself appearing in the doorframe with the little shiny square in his hands. Tearing it open, he returned to sit on his knees on the bed while sliding the condom on.

He grabbed your legs under your knees with one swift movement, sliding you closer to him. One hand aiming his cock to your entrance the other finding its place on your throat, holding it with the right pressure to elevate your pleasure. Pushing all the way through, you whimpered loudly at the intrusion. He was big, and you felt like you’re going to explode. The heat rushed through you like a momentary fever.

The heartthrob could not wait for you to adjust to his size, and he started to snap his hips into you in a punishing tempo, making your body bounce up at every thrust and clench your eyes shut tightly. Loud moans coming out of you.

“You take me so well, baby.” He whispered into your ear seductively, panting and groaning from the pleasure. He was on cloud nine, finally having the woman he longed for quite some time.

“Got me waiting for this pussy almost the whole damn year.” You met his hungry gaze, your moaning synchronised with his. He crushed his lips to yours one more time before thrusting his cock in and out of your heat faster and deeper.

You bit down on his lip, him groaning at the sensation, slapping your ass in the heat of the moment.

“This pussy was fucking designed for me.” He claimed you.

He was hitting all the right places, making you squeeze your eyes shut again. He upheld his promise to fuck you good. You can regret this after, now it’s not the time.

“M’wanna pound this pretty ass too.” He pulled out of you, turning you to lay on your belly, slapping the already reddened skin before setting you on all fours, ass up. He did not hesitate to rut inside of you again, feeling him all the way in your stomach, you screamed his name.

“Jungkook!” his thrusts set a brutal pace that you were not sure if you’ll survive. Their moans continued to echo in the room.

“You belong to me.” He growled, pounding your pussy, the sound of skin slapping was audible ten times louder than usual. The knot in your lower belly appeared again, got you moaning uncontrollably.

Jungkook sensed that your climax was near and went to rub your clit with the desire to make you cum all over him while getting himself off with you.

“Guk—” you choked on your words, your legs and hands were trembling, tears springing out of your eyes. You desperately needed to cum.

“I know, baby.” He kissed the arch of your back, making his hand and hips move even faster, hitting your cervix. If this is heaven, you don’t want to leave.

“I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You shouted, feeling the knot untying itself rather quickly. Jungkook growled right to your ear. He was close too, dangerously close.

“Baby!” He whimpered, feeling the tension rising.

Your juice splashed the sheets as you squirted all over his cock, crying, the orgasm hitting you way too hard. Jungkook’s hips did not stop while he chased his own release, complimenting you, your body, and how you are such a good girl while doing so. With a loud moan and one last deep thrust, he came in you, holding you still while he emptied himself. The warmth of his release felt too authentic, but you were too fucked out to notice.

As you were also too fucked out to notice the empty abandoned condom laying on the ground.

“I love you so much baby—”

It was getting dark outside when you woke up, your head pounding as you looked over your naked body and evident ache in between your legs. The sheer curtains that are covering the floor to ceiling windows, once airy and light, now filter the early evening light into a soft, diffused glow, creating a cosy atmosphere. You cuddled the soft sheets that were wrapped around your lower body, thinking that you could sleep some more.

But when you heard the muted notes of En Vogue’s Whatta Man blasting somewhere in the penthouse, any hopes of serenity were shattered. A curse slipped through your lips as the reality of your surroundings hit you.

“Fuck,” you muttered through your teeth, the small fists pounding against the bed. To muffle the scream of mixed emotions, you seized a leopard-patterned pillow, pressing it against your face.

You had willingly let this happen, all for the pursuit of a damn book and damn fucking job and your damn fucking career. But why was it so precious, you might ask? Your portfolio wasn’t just a collection of pages bound together; it was a culmination of dreams, aspirations, and relentless hard work. Each design you made over the years, a carefully curated piece of your artistic vision, held a piece of your soul.

The portfolio was your identity as a designer, a visual storyteller who poured emotions, creativity, and skill into each piece of clothing. It was something you presented yourself with, and you believed it held the power to open doors. It got you your first adult job after you spent two years in the big apple on your own, dreaming big while washing dishes behind the counter.

And it got you the second job of your early fashion career, a higher position than sales assistant, the head designer at the men’s wear division at Calvin Klein. You were aiming to become the head of the department when a better offer came your way, from Guess.

The project they offered you to be a part of was a kind of interview to get through and sit as the executive director of the women’s department. You were thrilled to accept as you always wanted to design for your gender.

And he fucked it up. So, you have to excuse yourself by letting your guard down, giving him a chance to sway you. You are doing this for you and your career.

You sat on the bed, eyeing the modern bedroom that screamed his name as did the smell of the room. Just like you remembered before you blacked out from all the pleasure he forced upon you.

Sighing, you moved your sore naked body to the edge of the bed. A black leather armchair caught your eye, a clean set of underwear laid out on it, burning under your gaze. You gulped down. This was your mess after all. You let him come too close—extremely close, judging by the recurring ache between your legs.

“Fuck it, it’s fine.” You’d manage somehow, or at least, that’s how you decided to play along with his nonsensical fantasy and possessive behaviour.

You tiptoed down the penthouse, searching for the devil. You knew you were going the right way when the music grew louder. Peeking from the narrow hallway into the living room, he was nowhere in sight. Only the RCA telly with MTV on indicated that he must’ve been there.

The sizzling sound of something cooking and a pleasant aroma hit your ears and nose. He was in the kitchen, cooking. Jeon Jungkook was in the kitchen, cooking. A certain degree of domesticity welcomed you as you stepped into the all-blue kitchen. His kitchen was way nicer than yours, you noted. Large cabinets, the island full of food ingredients he was preparing. Your gaze lingered as your eyes traced his masculine, naked back, tattoos shouting at you. Your knees felt weak at the sight, your body reacting to him as if he were the alpha wolf.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip. He was swaying his hips to the rhythm of the song. Even from this point of view, you could tell he is in a very good mood. It seemed like he was glowing.

You leaned against the arch, contemplating whether to make your presence known or observe from the shadows. Before you could decide, he turned around, planning to cut the vegetables, his eyes locking onto yours immediately. Bunny smile plastered on his face, reaching his ears — a juxtaposition to how anxious you looked in his big shirt.

Quickly circling the kitchen island, he reached you in a matter of seconds. The heartthrob was beaming with happiness seeing you in his kitchen, in his shirt, barefoot, face raw, and all his. At least, that was his perspective after he finally got you where he wanted you.

“Baby!” He squeaked happily, pulling you by your wrists. The movement causes your petite frame to collide with his naked torso. Jungkook did not let you speak even if you wanted to, instead he pulled you even closer, pressing his lips to yours. You yelped, surprised by the unexpected collision. The vulnerability you felt in his presence only heightened as he claimed you, his happiness seemingly derived from having you exactly where he wanted—vulnerable and dependent on him.

The kiss lingered for a moment, and as Jungkook pulled back, his eyes locked onto yours again, gleaming with an unspoken mischief you could not decipher. He seemed to revel in the flustered state he had induced, and a cocky grin played on his lips.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, his warm breath grazing your ear as he finally released your wrists, pecking your lips softly again. The shirt you wore clung to your form.

“It’s almost five pm.” You muttered back after you gave the digital clock on the stove a glance. He laughed it off, not replying.

“How do you like your steak?” he asked, his tone casual as if the passionate kiss hadn’t just occurred.

“M-medium rare,” you stammered, still processing the sudden turn of events. He chuckled, the sound resonating in the cosy kitchen as he came back to the stove to resume cooking, what you assumed is your dinner. Your stomach growled loudly when the delicious smell hit your nostrils, loudly. Jungkook even looked your way, encouraging you to take whatever you wanted from the fridge that was next to him, until dinner was ready.

You looked at the silver double-door fridge, and suddenly, your hunger vanished. Those were your magnets that were on your fridge just hours prior. He went through your boxes and unpacked them. The world was spinning, and your stomach was dangerously twisting.

He noticed the change in your expression, the playfulness in his eyes fading as he followed your gaze to the fridge.

“Something wrong, baby?” he inquired. You swallowed hard, attempting to mask the unease that threatened to bubble to the surface.

“No, nothing,” you replied, forcing a tight smile. His attention returned to the stove, the sizzling sounds and savoury aroma filling the kitchen. The clock on the stove continued its indifferent march towards evening. But your mind stopped.

“I-I think—” you stammered, it was hard for you to speak when there was an evident lump in your throat that wanted to emerge to the surface.

“Baby?” he raised a brow at you, letting everything he was doing to approach you again. You gulped down, trying to breathe it out.

“I think... I need—,” you tried, the words escaping in a breathy whisper. Jungkook’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern as he stepped closer. That got you even more anxious and a quick escape was a way you opted.

Your legs carried you back to the room where you knew a bathroom would be near. You heard him calling your name, but he did not run to get you. He must have thought that you’re trying to run again, but when he saw you going the way the master bedroom is, he did not push it.

You slumped right to your knees, emptying your already empty stomach into the toilet. Tears stringed from your eyes. Before you could calm or clean yourself the door creaked open, and Jungkook’s concerned voice seeped into the bathroom.

“Oh my god! Are you okay baby?” He hovered in the doorway, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. You didn’t have the strength to respond, only offering a weak nod as you continued to empty the contents of your stomach.

His footsteps approached, and you could feel him kneeling beside you, one hand tentatively rubbing your back.

“Easy, baby. Easy,” he murmured softly.

After a moment, the nausea subsided, and you leaned back against the cool porcelain, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jungkook remained by your side, a true concern readable in his eyes.

As you caught your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the familiar objects around the bathroom. Toothbrush, hairbrush, all your makeup and even your pyjamas, had found a place alongside Jungkook’s in the bathroom. He was blurring the lines between your lives.

Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you winced at the sight of prominent hickeys and bite marks adorning your neck. You caught Jungkook’s worrying gaze but did not pay attention to it longer than you needed to.

“When was the last time you ate properly, baby?” he asked, caressing the small of your back, kissing the top of your head. You touched the tender skin on your neck, a mix of shame and regret settling in the pit of your stomach.

You knew very well that this wasn’t a doing of the lack of nutrition within your body but it did stop you to think for a second. When was the last time you had a proper meal and not a cheap ramen noodles from a convenience store near your building? You did not recall, so you rather opted to shrug your shoulders and reach for your toothbrush that could have melted under your gaze at this point.

“Why don’t you freshen up, and I’m going to finish dinner.” He sighed and kissed your temple. You’ve let him. He has done worse. As he left the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed—physically, emotionally, and now even in your most private spaces. Your eyes lingered back on the assortment of makeup and personal items neatly arranged beside his.

Brushing your teeth never felt so foreign and unnatural. Your eyes darted around his room after you finished, and that’s when you noticed what you did not when you woke up —a closet, half-filled with your clothes. Neatly folded, hanged right beside his. Even your jewellery was sorted by the type of metal. Your shoes, your skirts, dresses, everything. He had seamlessly integrated your wardrobe into his, as if signalling an intention far beyond a temporary stay.

Then all your pictures scattered on the walls as you walked down the corridor back to the heartthrob who swayed you here. Feeling the unease building in your stomach again.

Jungkook stood by the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you approach. His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and possession. This all seemed like a stage for a performance you hadn’t signed up for.

The steak, perfectly cooked to your liking, accompanied by a side of vegetables. The spread looked delectable, and your stomach rumbled again, reminding you that you hadn’t had a proper meal in days. The scent of the meal teased your senses.

As you picked at your food, a question lingered in the back of your mind—how had it come to this? Have you really had no choice but him? Was this worth the trouble? Perhaps.

Your parents would think of you as a failure if you returned home. and your pride did not allow you to pick up your old job and be a girl for everything. You worked in the fashion industry and you were willing to do anything to maintain it.

“Are you listening to me, baby?” Jungkook broke the stream of your consciousness, his voice soft yet insistent. You hummed in response but your ears could not pick precise words that left his mouth.

“There’s Grammys next week, do you have any design for the red carpet so we could match—”

“What about the job?” You interrupted him, setting your fork down, staring at him viciously.

“So the Grammys—” he tried to continue without replying to you but you were having none of it.

“So the job, Jungkook.” You said through clenched teeth one more time. You weren’t about to let him sidestep the conversation about your career.

He sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching with a momentary annoyance. The room crackled with tension, the unspoken power dynamics unravelling before you.

“You’ve been a very good girl so far—” he lifted the handkerchief he had on his lap and placed it on top of the table next to his glass of red wine.

“Why do you have to misbehave now.” His attempt to redirect the conversation towards your behaviour only fuelled your frustration.

“I’m not misbehaving, Jungkook,” you shot back, your voice sharp and unyielding. “I need to know about the job. I need to know that you’re actually doing something concrete to help me, not just playing puppeteer with my life.”

“There’s an opening at Givenchy, and Prada or Dior but—” your eyes were full of false hope.

“—until I can be sure you won’t leave me the second you get the new job. You won’t go to any interview.” He leaned back, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying the power play.

Your mind raced, torn between ambition and self-respect. You had worked tirelessly to establish yourself, and the taste of success was within reach. Yet, the cost demanded by Jungkook was steep—an indefinite surrender of your autonomy.

“That’s not what we agreed upon—” You whined out, anxiety clutching your insights in tight grip.

“Oh but we did baby.” He answered swiftly, smiling sweetly.

“I—” you wanted to protest, but he was quick to dismiss any argument you wanted to come up with.

“I said I want you, and you agreed, baby. You can’t take it back.”

“What does that even mean?!” You whined out.

“That I won’t let you slip through my fingers again. You belong here with me, and you better learn your place or prepare for a farewell with the magnificent fashion world of yours.” The ultimatum echoed in your mind as his gaze was trying to make you submit. Jungkook’s possessiveness loomed over you, a suffocating force that sought to confine your wings.

“You can’t force me,” words slipped past your lips, a proclamation of your refusal to succumb to his dominance.

“You underestimate the lengths I’ll go to keep you, Y/N,” he retorted, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge.

“You’re sick.” You spat out at him, standing up to leave when he grabbed you and held you tight. You were looking up at his face, seemingly angry with your words. His eyes darkened, a fleeting moment of anger crossing his features.

“Aren’t you a bit ungrateful, my love?” he seethed, his voice a low growl. The possessive tone sent shivers down your spine, but you refused to cower under his gaze.

“I’m providing you with shelter, food, money and most of all my love.”

“It’s sick, Jungkook. This isn’t love,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his grip unyielding. He scoffed, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“You’re testing my patience, Y/N. You’re mine,” he retorted quickly, not letting you go. You wanted to protest, to tell him to fuck off, and even worse things, but he was not finished.

“Think with your pretty little head, won’t you?—” you glared at him, defiance burning in your eyes.

“—you can live like a princess, you can have your dream position and on top of that a loving significant other — me.” The seconds felt like an eternity, the weight of his possessiveness pressing down on you.

“What is success for when you cannot share the joy with someone you love.” He whispered, a sinister undertone in his words. You had a feeling he’s not only talking about you. You had to think, and you had to think quickly.

“You’re asking me to give up my autonomy, Jungkook.” You shot back, your voice unwavering. He scoffed, the air heavy with tension.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, Y/N. You need me—” He chuckled, a condescending tone lacing his voice.

“—what were you gonna do if you didn’t come to me? Hm? Your mami and papi who are disappointed in you or your fake friends who did not bat an eye to try and help you out?—” You turned your face away from him, not wanting to let his words affect you.

“—I helped you. I am here for you!” He shook you, still holding a tight grip on you.

“All I’m asking in return is you to give yourself to me.” With a defiant push, you broke free from his grasp, leaving him seething in frustration. Covering your face with your palms, you sobbed.

“Love and loyalty is not that big of a price when you think about it.”

“You promise?” you choked out through your tears. You were tired, exhausted to the bone, and this was taking a bigger toll on you than you would expect. You wanted to trick him and instead he tricked you. But you needed to play by his rules to win in the game he started. His eyes softened momentarily, a twisted form of concern flickering in his gaze.

“I promise, baby,” he murmured, his tone almost soothing. The fire has ceased for now. Or so you thought. Despite the fragile promise, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were dancing on the edge of a precipice, held by the strings he so skilfully pulled. But the stakes were high, and you couldn’t afford to falter. You had no shelter, almost no money and no one to turn to. For now. You promised yourself, this is temporary. You will find a way out of this arrangement.

You finished your dinner. He insisted. You stripped naked while he was drawing the bath. He again insisted. The penthouse, filled with music and the fragrance of expensive candles. You allowed yourself to be led, like a puppet, your exhaustion overshadowing your instincts. As you sat there in the hot water, vulnerable, he wiped away your tears.

The water lapping against your skin is like an ominous reminder of the depths you found yourself in. Jungkook’s hands traced patterns on your back.

Jungkook, seemingly attuned to your exhaustion, wiped away your tears, the gesture carrying a strange mixture of care and control.

“It’s all gonna feel better once you accept it.” Said he, right to your ear, sending shivers down your naked body. You pressed your legs to your chest to hide yourself, a futile attempt at preserving some semblance of privacy, even though he had seen it all.

“I cannot grasp why you would do this to me, Jungkook,” you sobbed, letting him hold you against his chest.

“I did it for us, baby.” His hands firmly gripped yours now, making them stop hugging your knees. The heartthrob wanted you to relax in his presence. A laughable request considering the circumstances that led you here.

“Stop being delusional. There is no us.” You finally let him move your hands only for you to grab the frame of the bathtub and attempt to pull yourself up and away from him. He did not fancy this attempt of yours, and he let you know that by grabbing a large portion of your hair, dragging you back.

Your body slammed to his naked torso with a loud slap caused by the wet skin on skin contact. It took your breath away for a good minute.

“You didn’t seem to argue about it earlier today when my cock was hitting all-the-right-places, making you squirt, hmm?” Said the raven haired man, still holding your hair in his fist. He did not intend to hurt you, no, it was not as painful as the whole humiliating scenery and the fact you could not break free of him. He’s putting an example of what will happen once you stop behaving again. Putting you in your place — that’s what he called it.

“Matter of fact, Imma show you again that there’s us baby, until you realise it yourself.”

Trying to wiggle out of his grasp, you whimpered every time you pulled your hair back to make you stay still. And as if he changed his mind, your body was pulled out of the warm water, letting your hair go, making you fall down to the bright rug on the floor of the bathroom. Soaking it wet you looked up to him towering over your shivering physique.

“It was about time for you to show me how you are grateful to be my good girl—” he stepped closer. You did not want to look at him, knowing well what he is talking about.

“Open up baby—” you shook your head, pulling away from him and his hard member that he was holding just inches away from your face. You felt it meet your cheek and immediately retrieved yourself again which made him even more frustrated. His cock was painfully hard, and you were not cooperating.

The tattooed hand in your hair pulled you right back, his eyes bore to yours with a hard stare, and you swear they got even darker. His other hand was clutching your jaw, harder and harder until you involuntarily opened your mouth wide enough.

Taking the chance right away, he slipped his thick and hard manhood into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He hissed at how your teeth slightly scraped his dick. You choked on it, but he was unfazed by it, continuing to thrust into your throat, making tears fall down your cheeks.

“I knew you could be my good girl.” He groaned, praising you with each of his hard thrusts into your mouth. Your breathing was shallow, and you tried to get as much air as you could. He was moaning loudly, the wet sounds of his cock slipping in and out of your mouth, covered by your saliva made him even more aroused and hungry for you.

“You just need a bit of a re-education.” He was getting lost in the pleasure your mouth was providing him, and you were deprived of the air you needed. Your hand hit his pelvis when you thought you’re going to pass out soon.

“Just a moment more, baby. I know you can take it.” He said through gritted teeth. Jungkook was panting loudly, mixing it with loud moans of your name.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re my heaven.” Your nails were scratching his abdomen, trying to break free, but his hold was too strong. You were drooling all over his cock, and your hand started to spin from the lack of oxygen and how quickly your head was bobbing.

He was getting dangerously close and his sloppy movements reflected that. He managed to pull one last thrust before he was cumming down your throat. He was letting his dick soften, pressed on your tongue while the hot semen was springing out of his tip.

“Swallow.”

The night wore on, shadows dancing on the walls as you lay there, pressed to his chest, his hand limply laying on your hip, contemplating the surreal turn you took.

If anything arose in you during the intercourse you wish you would wipe out of your mind, it was a determination to break free from the suffocating grasp of the penthouse.

Jungkook laid beside you, his breathing steady, a façade of tranquillity painted on his features. As he drifted into a seemingly serene slumber, you waited for the right moment to seize the opportunity.

When you were certain he was deeply asleep, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, a shiver running down your spine as you tiptoed through the room.

The moon cast a pale glow through the sheer curtains, guiding your movements as you tiptoed across the room. Your hand grasped the cold doorknob, the soft creaking of the door threatened to betray your escape. Your body frozen in time, your pupils shaking, fearing what happens if he wakes up. You wait a minute to make sure he is not coming to drag you back before you open the door in one swift movement.

You rethought the tasks you listed in your plan. Find the portfolio and get the fuck out as quick as possible. Everything else is replaceable for you. The mindset that the portfolio is the only key to all your problems, remained.

The adrenaline surged through your veins, the pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet hallway you walked through to get to the front of the penthouse.

He never took you upstairs, therefore you assumed that’s where he must’ve hidden it.

You approached the staircase, the carpet soft beneath your feet. The air seemed to grow heavier with every ascending step. The possibility of him waking up was not zero.

As you reached the upper level, you noticed the subtle shift in the ambiance. The hallway, adorned with pieces of art that whispered tales of luxury, and all his awards he won during his career, displayed to show his success. You passed several open doors, a home recording studio in one of them, be ridden of what you were looking for.

The hallway led you towards a set of double doors. That must be it. The doors creaked open, your gaze scanning for any sign of your portfolio. Your eyes flickering between the meticulously arranged accolades and the sprawling desk. He must be using this room as his office.

The seconds stretched into minutes, the urgency escalating with each passing heartbeat. You began with the drawers of the glass table, trying to be as quiet as possible. You cannot afford to cause commotion.

Anxiety wrapped around you, a vice tightening with every passing moment. You went through the library too, looked under every surface, you could not find it.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself. There must be another place he could have hidden it. Your eyes fell upon the stack of papers, leaning your head to the side you examined the tabloid underneath with your face on it.

You fished it out in mere seconds, eyeing it unbelievably. If you were on the cover of a tabloid you would for sure know that. But you were not aware that your face appeared in Star magazine, right beside Jungkook. “Jungkook’s Mysterious Muse Revealed!” the headline screamed at you.

It was not only you after all. Society has convinced Jungkook that you two are sort of an item. A clandestine affair, a narrative spun by the society, linking your name with Jungkook’s in a tale of intrigue.

It was dated right when you started working on Klein’s campaign, back in April. It is almost the end of November now, and this is the first time you’re seeing this. You couldn’t fathom how deeply the web had been woven around you. The urgency of the situation intensified, and you combed through every conceivable hiding spot.

A sudden noise from downstairs snapped your attention. Fear gripped you, and your heart raced. Did he wake up? The urgency of the situation intensified, and you felt the weight of the clock ticking against you.

You sobbed and when you went to rub your eyes, they fell upon the other room diagonally from the one you were searching now. The doors were slightly ajar and you could see soft shades of colours within. In a last-ditch effort you marched towards it.

But ever stepping inside you regretted. The whole scenery that was revealed once you opened the door swiftly caught your breath in your throat.

The soft shades of colours painted a haunting picture—a baby room, unfinished and untouched by time. The sight startled you, sending a shiver down your spine. This can’t be.

“No..” You whispered to yourself, panicking. Your hands found their place in your hair. He is one delusional man. There is no other explanation, he is sick in the head if he thinks he is going to baby trap you.

A sense of dread overwhelmed you, and in your shock, you stumbled over something on the floor, hitting your head in the process. You groaned from the pain, forgetting that this commotion must have been loud enough for Jungkook to wake up.

As you rolled to the side, your eyes widened in disbelief. The portfolio was taped to the bottom of a cabinet. Without a second thought, you ripped it free, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

The rain outside intensified, a symphony of droplets against the windows. With the portfolio clutched in your hands, you ran down the stairs, right to the front door you prayed would not be locked. Would he be that careless? Yes. The degree of his mental instability was enough for him to believe that you are his and you would not think of running. He cut off every single option you had.

First, by making sure that your former employer would get to know you’re planning to leave the brand, enough for them to let you go. Second, he successfully obtained your portfolio that you were stupid enough to not make a copy of, which resulted in not meeting the deadline with Guess and losing that job opportunity too.

Third, he did not expect you to not stay the first you went to his penthouse but he was determined to go to extremes. So, every single fashion brand that had department stores in New York and in the rest of the world, backlisted you. No job application you sent, assistant buyer, a visibly lower position to what you had at Klein, would be turned down.

Fourth, make sure your landlord has already a tenant replacing you, ready to pay double for your apartment if they can move in as soon as possible.

That you’re alienated from your parents played his cards right and he never wished anything bad upon someone else, but how he thanked God that your friends have either too small apartments for another person to live in or they were struggling even more than you were. But lucky for you. He was right there, waiting for your call.

The handle felt too cold in your hand once you pushed the front door open merging the distance to the elevators, you were madly pushing the down button.

The seconds felt like an eternity as you waited for the elevator. Your breaths came in short, erratic bursts, mirroring the frenetic pace of your heart. Quickly stepping inside the metal box you heard it.

“Y/N?!” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. His eyes momentarily locked with yours. You were clutching your portfolio to your chest, the other hand pressing the close button, praying it will close faster.

He must have heard you running down the stairs, or perhaps when you tripped and fell. You even forgot that you’ve hurt yourself. The adrenaline was overshadowing the pain.

“Come back right now!” He was mad, that much you could tell.

With the last determined push, you closed the door on him, severing the visual link between you. Letting out a relieving breath, you knew that this is far from being over. The elevator descended, carrying you away from the penthouse.

He cannot make it all the way down in time before you’ll disappear from the area. You prayed, he would not.

The lobby welcomed you as the doors opened, the room blurred as you stormed towards the exit, your heart pounding in rhythm with the rain. You burst into the rain-soaked night. Clutching the book tightly, a surge of triumph coursed through your veins.

The cold drops pelted against your skin. The relentless downpour soaking your clothes and hair. Running towards the street, you waved at the cars, hoping a taxi would stop.

It took a minute for some yellow car to appear at the curb, not wasting time, you ran towards it.

A smile appeared on your face after a long time. You did not know where you’re going, nor what you’re going to do next but Jungkook was never supposed to be your option and now you got the chance to choose differently or not? This is your second chance, and you’re willing to take it.

Your hand touched the handle of the yellow vehicle, opening the door and planning to leap inside as quickly as possible.

A strong tattooed hand closed abruptly. You gulped down an enormous lump in your throat, almost not breathing. How could this happen? It was mere minutes. Did he run the stairs? Did you take too long to catch a cab? Should you just run as far as possible?

Every single thing you could have done differently would not change the outcome it seems. And every single thing worked out in his favour, again.

His palm pressed on the taxi door firm, you could not open it anymore nor he would let you hop in the front seat. Your heart pounded in your chest, the tension and fear to face him was killing you. The portfolio now felt like a burden, if you make peace with losing it and your career, would you avoid this?

You could feel his eyes burning holes to the back of your head.

“I will not go back.” You said, voice resolute, but inside you were shaking. You could feel his hot breath on your cold skin, similarly you could feel his body pressing to your back. Once he reached your ear, you felt his lips mere inches from it, whispering.

“You will.”

I N T E R L O G U E 

Jungkook settled into the plush leather chair after he finished carefully unpacking all your belongings, believing he is helping you to settle down. His fingers deftly dialled his mother’s number. As the phone rang, he gazed out over the city lights sprawling beneath him, a realm he had conquered with ruthless determination.

His new song, obviously written about you, was an enormous hit, granting him another Grammy nomination. But what was his success for when he did not have his love to share it with?

He smiled to himself, he got you. After long months of chasing you, then giving you the space you needed to realise he is your best shot in this world, you’re finally where you belong. Next to him.

The familiar voice of his mother greeted him, warm and comforting.

“Eomma—” Jungkook said, his tone affectionate.

“Jungkook, dear! How is my baby?” His mother’s voice held a blend of joy and concern.

“I’m doing well, Eomma. I have some news to share,” he said, his eyes glancing toward the bedroom where Y/N lay, unaware of the conversation taking place.

“Oh? Do tell,” his mother replied, anticipation evident in her voice. Jungkook leaned back, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

“Y/N moved in.” His mother’s delight was palpable through the phone. Jungkook let her know the very moment he stepped into your office that he is very much interested in you. That he met the special one he wants to grow old with.

As he spoke, he subtly weaved a narrative of love and destiny, carefully crafting the tale of their supposed connection. His mother listened attentively, hanging onto every word.

“Are you going to propose over Christmas like you wanted, Kookie?” His mother gasped with excitement. Jungkook glanced at the bedroom once more, satisfaction settling within him. The diamond ring well hidden deep inside of the closet. But that’s given and final in his mind, there’s something more he selfishly wants. Not only will it make sure you won’t be able to leave him any more, it will give you reason to grow to love him back. After all, he would be the only person who you can grow old with.

“We’re trying for a baby, Eomma.”

.

.

.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy - @mylyus-blog - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngr - @mizuumii @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SUNSHINE MY LOVE MY EVERYTHING!!!! MY "CALM DOWN HAEYO JEBAL!" !

Mismatched Mails

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x fem!reader

Trope: The Boy Next Door

Genre: Fluff Fluff and Fluff cause our happy virus is full of LOVE

Summary: Y/N, intrigued by a misdelivered package, encounters Seokmin, the boy next door. As they navigate the mix-ups of the mismatched mailboxes, a charming friendship blossoms. Their shared journey includes reviving a neglected garden, late-night conversations, and laughter-filled moments.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N : IT OUR SUNSHINE'S BIRTHDAY!!!!! I wish him all the love in this universe!!!!! Just one smile from him brightens my day I love him!!!

The unexpected package sat on my doorstep like a mystery waiting to be unraveled. Its label revealed that it was meant for Lee Seokmin, the boy next door – a neighbor I had barely exchanged more than a passing greeting with. This mishap felt like the perfect excuse to finally break the ice.

Summoning courage, I picked up the package and approached Seokmin's house. A nervous excitement tingled in my fingers as I knocked. The door opened, revealing Seokmin's warm smile. "Hi, I'm Y/N. This was delivered to my place by mistake. It's for you," I explained, extending the package toward him.

Seokmin's eyes widened in surprise as he accepted the box. "Y/N, right? Thanks a lot! I wasn't expecting anything today," he said, a grateful smile playing on his lips. It was the first time I had seen him up close, and his easy going demeanour made me feel oddly comfortable.

As he inspected the package, my eyes couldn't help but wander to our mailboxes. His, a faded red, stood next to the charming blue of mine. "Our mailboxes are quite a mismatch, huh?" I remarked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

Seokmin chuckled, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, they are. My grandpa gave me that old red one when I moved in. I always thought it added character," he shared, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Curiosity sparked, I probed further. "Any particular reason for the blue one?"

He scratched his head, contemplating the question. "Honestly, it was the only one left at the hardware store when I moved in. Guess fate brought us these mismatched mailboxes," he mused, and our laughter echoed in the hallway.

Before I knew it, we were talking about everything from favourite books to childhood memories. As we chatted, the awkwardness dissipated, replaced by a growing sense of connection. As Seokmin closed the door, I couldn't help but smile.

The days that followed were a delightful blur of intentional mix-ups and newfound connection. Each interaction with Seokmin left me craving more, and it seemed he felt the same. Late-night conversations on the porch became our sanctuary, the only place where we could be completely ourselves.

One evening, after another successful mail exchange, we found ourselves sitting on the porch steps, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights. The air was filled with the subtle scent of blooming flowers, and the mismatched mailboxes stood as silent witnesses to our growing camaraderie.

Seokmin leaned back, his eyes scanning the night sky. "You know, Y/N, I never expected misdelivered mail to lead to such interesting conversations," he confessed, a playful smile playing on his lips.

I chuckled, feeling a warmth spreading through me. "Life has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn't it?"

As we continued talking, I couldn't help but notice the genuine curiosity in Seokmin's eyes. It was as if every word I said mattered, and his laughter made me feel like I was part of something special. The mismatched mailboxes became our shared secret, a symbol of the serendipity that had brought us together.

One weekend, as we tackled the neglected community garden, Seokmin's hands dirtied from planting flowers, he turned to me with a mischievous grin. "You've got a little dirt on your face," he teased, reaching over to wipe a smudge from my cheek.

I couldn't suppress the laughter that bubbled up. "Thanks, gardener boy. You've got a little something, too," I replied, returning the favor.

As we worked side by side, our laughter echoed in the garden, blending with the rustling leaves and chirping crickets. With every shared joke and every stolen glance, the connection between us deepened, like roots intertwining beneath the surface.

In a quiet moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Seokmin looked at me with a sincerity that took my breath away. "You make everything feel lighter, Y/N. This garden, these moments – they mean more because you're a part of them."

His words lingered in the air, and I felt a flutter in my chest. The garden, once neglected, now flourished – a testament to the beauty that could emerge from collaboration and care.

As the days turned into weeks, and our garden project flourished, Seokmin and I found ourselves drawn even closer. The mismatched mailboxes, once a source of amusement, now stood as silent witnesses to the blossoming connection between us.

One lazy afternoon, as we sat in the shade of our flourishing garden, Seokmin's fingers idly traced the patterns of the mismatched mailboxes. "You know, we've put so much effort into this garden. Maybe it's time to give our mailboxes a little makeover too," he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A makeover for our mailboxes?"

Seokmin nodded, a playful smile playing on his lips. "Why not? It's a fun way to mark the growth of our friendship."

And just like that, we decided to switch the mailboxes – a symbolic gesture of unity and the beginning of a shared journey. As we unscrewed the mailboxes from their posts, Seokmin spoke, his voice carrying a sense of quiet excitement.

"You know, these mailboxes have seen it all – the misdelivered packages, our late-night conversations, the birth of our garden. They've been witnesses to the story of us," he said, his gaze locked with mine.

I couldn't help but smile. "Our little mismatched mailboxes have become a part of our narrative, haven't they?"

With the switch complete, the charming blue mailbox now stood next to the faded red one. It felt like a visual representation of our intertwined lives. Seokmin grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There we go – a match made in mailbox heaven."

As we sat on the porch, admiring our handiwork, Seokmin turned to me, his expression softening. "Y/N, from mismatched mail to a shared garden, you've made every moment brighter. I cherish the memories we've created together."

His words hung in the air, and I felt a warmth spreading through me. "Seokmin, you've brought so much joy into my life. I couldn't imagine this journey with anyone else."

In that quiet moment, with the mismatched mailboxes standing as a testament to our unique story, Seokmin's hand found mine, fingers intertwining in a gentle, reassuring grip. Our eyes locked, and I could sense a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrored my own feelings. His voice, a mere whisper, carried a weight of emotions. "Y/N," he said, his breath warm against my skin, "from the first misdelivered package to this very moment, every step with you has been a treasure. I don't want to imagine this journey with anyone else."

My heart fluttered in response to his sincerity, and as he leaned in, the world around us seemed to fade away. Our lips met in a tender kiss, a fusion of shared laughter, late-night conversations, and the unspoken confessions that had shaped our connection. In that intimate embrace, the mismatched mailboxes became more than a quirky detail – they became the symbols of our journey, our resilience, and the beautifully imperfect love that had unfolded.

As our kiss lingered, Seokmin pulled back, his eyes searching mine for confirmation. "Y/N, I don't know about you, but for me, this feels like the beginning of something extraordinary. What do you say we let our story continue?"

A surge of affection overwhelmed me, and I nodded, unable to find words that could encapsulate the depth of my emotions. Seokmin smiled, a soft and understanding expression, and with our hands still entwined, we sat on the porch, the mismatched mailboxes behind us, illuminated by the soft glow of our garden.

"Here's to the future, Y/N," Seokmin whispered, his voice filled with hope and promise.

"Here's to the future," I echoed, and in that moment, beneath the stars and surrounded by the symbols of our unique love story, we embarked on a new chapter that promised laughter, shared dreams, and the beauty that comes from embracing the unexpected.

BONUS

Our home was a lively swirl of laughter and chatter as friends gathered to celebrate Seokmin's birthday. Soonyoung and Seungkwan, the dynamic duo, were in the middle of their classic bickering routine, providing the background music to our joyful chaos.

"Soonyoung, if you eat another slice of cake before the birthday boy, you're in trouble!" Seungkwan playfully scolded, brandishing a spatula as his weapon of choice.

Soonyoung grinned mischievously. "Can't resist the temptation, Seungkwan. It's for quality control purposes! Tiger never fails to check!"

Amid the banter, I searched for Seokmin, who was surrounded by friends, a warm glow in his eyes. When he noticed me approaching, a grin stretched across his face. "Hey, beautiful. What's the plan?"

Leaning in, I whispered into his ear, "I have a surprise for you. Follow me."

Curiosity sparkled in Seokmin's eyes as I led him to a more secluded corner. With a mischievous smile, I placed his hand on my stomach. His eyes widened with realization, and a mixture of emotions danced in his gaze.

"Happy birthday, Seokmin," I whispered, a teasing smile playing on my lips. "Looks like we're going to have a little someone joining our story."

His eyes filled with tears, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. "Y/N, this is the best birthday gift ever. I can't believe we're going to be parents."

As we shared the news with Soonyoung and Seungkwan, the atmosphere shifted from playful banter to heartfelt congratulations. Soonyoung's eyes widened, and he exclaimed, "Whoa, a mini-Seokmin on the way! We're going to have so much fun spoiling that kid. We can name them BooSeokSoon or better Horanghae~~"

Seungkwan giving BOObamstic a side eye to Soonyoung and his tiger agenda, added with a grin, "Congratulations, you two. Parenthood – the grandest adventure of all."

As the party continued, Seokmin couldn't stop smiling. He held my hand, his thumb tracing small circles over my fingers, a silent acknowledgment of the new chapter unfolding in our lives.

Underneath the fairy lights and surrounded by the warmth of friends, we celebrated not just Seokmin's birthday but the beginning of a journey into parenthood. As the night unfolded, I stole a moment to look outside our home. There, illuminated by the soft glow of the garden lights, stood the mismatched mailboxes side by side – a quaint symbol of the journey that had led us to this magical point in our lives. As Seokmin joined me, our fingers intertwined, we gazed at the mismatched mailboxes, a silent acknowledgment of our shared story and the beautiful chapters yet to be written. The promise of a growing family, laughter echoing through the halls, and love that would continue to flourish just like the garden we had nurtured together.