#btscreatorcorner

[opaljm]

ii. yours, truly (m) – jjk

⟶ pairing: female reader x Jungkook ⟶ rating: 18+ ⟶ genres & tropes: angst, future smut; arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, scorned lovers with a past, second chance romance, featuring ceo!jungkook & music producer!reader ⟶ summary: Ten years ago, you had run away from your family to pursue your dreams of becoming an idol. Eight years ago, those dreams were turned into dust and you were forced to beg your family to take you back in. Now, as a part of their agreement for making you a member of the illustrious Min family once more, you were forced to do their every bidding, including marrying the man you hated the most of all. ⟶ warnings/content tags: triple timelines runs throughout the entirety of the story (for now those three timelines are: the reader’s pov in high school, Jungkook’s pov in college, and both of their povs in present day), tension and hostility between the Jeons continues, Jungkook hates his job, producer shenanigans, alluding to family problems/drama, dramatic Jungkook and reader, this chapter is sfw! but spicier than chapter one 😉 ⟶ length & status: 21k words; in progress ⟶ a/n: beta-read by @yeonki-minnie​​. guys, i have school and a buttload of health problems that have been popping up recently so please dont press me for when I'll be updating or posting any fics. if you look at my faqs I state that I don't like those questions but I'm gonna need you guys to especially remember that for the rest of 2021 😭😭😭. I’m trying my best but please be mindful.  Y’all know I refuse to do math if I can avoid it so if there’s any discrepancies in the story please ignore them. that being said, Jungkook is a calendar year (so they were born in different years) older than the reader and as the story unfolds he is 25 while she is 24. ALSO! I think chapter three will be the first chapter with smut in this story so you guys have that to look forward to!

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“𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚢,

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜.

𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢,

𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎.

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎?

𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢,

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛;

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚆𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙸 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.”

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚢, 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

“I got us breakfast from Kokkili,” mumbled Kim Seokjin around the smoked salmon and cream cheese, everything bagel jammed into his mouth, his plump lips curling inwards to hold the food securely within the confines of his mouth and to prevent it from falling splat onto the ground. In his hands was a box with presumably more bagels and on top of that container was a cardboard drink holder with two iced and two hot Americanos.

Jungkook grunted awake at the intrusion, his face coming off from the charcoal gray leather mat that covered the giant expanse of the executive table that took up the centerfold in his office. There were imprints from the desk mat’s texture lining his cheek that had been pressed against it from the unexpected nap that Jungkook had fallen into. As he blearily looked up at Seokjin through bloodshot eyes, trying to blink away his tiredness in foolish vain, he was met by the cold heat of Seokjin’s disappointed glare. 

“Did you sleep here again?”

It wasn’t really a question when they both knew what the answer would be, so Jungkook didn’t even bother deigning his Seokjin hyung with a response. 

“Does the egg in my bagel have a runny yolk?” he asked instead, arms stretching forward for the delicious promise of sustenance. He appreciated that Seokjin hyung always bought him a hot Americano to be his first drink of coffee in the morning and an iced Americano to tide him over until lunch. 

Seokjin narrowed his eyes, “Jungkook, what the fuck?! You have a perfectly comfortable king size bed in a giant bedroom on top of a high-rise apartment complex in Gangnam, and you’re choosing to sleep in your office and get a crick in your neck.”

Jungkook shrugged, ignoring the concern, “You know hyung, I’m actually moving out. My parents bought me a rather large townhouse in Seocho as a wedding present and I’m going to tell Y/N soon that I feel like we should move in together. I know she has to work crazy hours and always be ready to drop everything to go to the HYP.E building, but I’m not saying she has to get rid of her apartment in Yongsan. I would just like to spend more time with her and finally start living together as a married couple.”

“Always the eternal romantic,” snorted Seokjin, his bagel had long been moved into his hand but now he took another bite from it, looking as dashingly handsome as ever, even with a dot of cream cheese staining his Bratz doll-like lips.

“Why not her, hyung?” Jungkook asked, taking offense almost immediately. He and Y/N might have had issues, but he wasn’t so uncivilized as to not be defensive of his wife. After all, she had taken his hand. “Almost everyone in our circle marries for business mergers and connections. The most we can hope for is companionship. The lucky ones get love. Min, no–Jeon Y/N is a much better candidate for my affections than the girls we went to school with.”

His wife might not have taken his name yet, but he had gotten into the habit of referring to her as Jeon Y/N in his head. And if he actually managed to convince her to stay after the year was up, perhaps she would want to change her last name to Jeon and match him, which was what he desperately wanted by the time children were on the table.

Seokjin’s brows furrowed darkly, “You’re speaking of your circle and your school experiences, Jungkook. Despite what you always wish for and more desperately pretend, we are not the same. The people who share the same type of life as I, marry for love, not for consolidating wealth.”

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat. A helpless gasp at the harsh brutal honesty of Seokjin’s words. Seokjin’s family had been there to build Jeon Pharmaceuticals from the ground up for the last fifty years. But while Jungkook’s family was able to grow their wealth and increase their power and stronghold over the Seoul elite, Seokjin’s family stayed the loyal accountants, managers, and clerks of the company, never daring to dream of more. 

Seokjin was perhaps the most audacious of them all, striving for more in life; working his ass off to get admitted into Seoul International Preparatory Academy and then graduating as valedictorian with a full ride scholarship to Dartmouth. Seokjin had finished his undergraduate degree in two years, which was practically unheard of but only possible due to his immense workload and work ethic while unbelievably double majoring in business and economics. He had a MBA from Columbia Business School; he could have had any job in the country, hell, across the globe. But here he was, for some inexplicable reason that Jungkook did not fully understand, working under the CFO when in all honesty that job should have been his. Why did the Kims continue to settle for middle management positions in a company that was truthfully theirs as much as it was the Jeons’? 

“Hyung,” Jungkook muttered quietly, “It’s going to be different once I’m in charge. I promise.”

Seokjin laughed hollowly, “There’s no need to do anything for my benefit, darling Jungkookie. I’ve long since learned that some people can never change the lot they’ve been dealt with in life and as a Kim, my job will always be to serve the Jeons.”

An uncomfortable heat crawled up Jungkook’s chest, painting its way up his throat with an ugly red flush that eventually overtook his cheeks and ears as well. This was so fucking unfair. He didn’t blame his hyung for the rage that he was honestly justified to have. If Jungkook had finished his MBA at the age of 23 and had returned back to Korea to work at the same company for the better part of a decade, seeing them through rebranding and consolidations until they had increased their net worth by 10 billion USD, but was still stuck in a middle management position that had only seen a $30 thousand pay raise in the form of promotions in the last seven years, he would have been livid too. His friend BamBam worked as a full stack computer engineer at Google and had gone from making $90 thousand in his first year to $150 thousand by his third. He had basically managed to increase his salary each year by the same amount Seokjin had accrued in seven. 

Jungkook’s own income was even higher as a C-level executive. He had gotten quarter bonuses as well as end-of-the-year bonuses that would have made him quite in a fury if he had been in Seokjin hyung’s position and had known what his colleagues were getting while suffering the same kind of mistreatment that his hyung had faced at Jeon Pharmaceuticals. But he was a far better man than Jungkook to just ignore it and continue to put his all into his work, refusing to lose his own morals and ethics just because of the industry he was in. His Seokjin hyung was exorbitantly better and more skilled than Jungkook when it came to both of their jobs. Hell, truthfully Seokjin might have been the one who was more equipped and better suited to be the future CEO.

It rankled Jungkook that it had only been a year and a half since he had finished his MBA at Stanford, and he was being considered for such a high-level position over the scores of individuals who were more talented and more qualified for the job. And in Jungkook’s opinion, Seokjin was at the top of the list of the pack of people who deserved to be CEO over Jungkook.

Immediately after Jungkook had been done with his degree, his parents had demanded his presence back in Seoul. Jungkook had spent the last eighteen months working his way up the company, practically going through positions and promotions at a speed that was unheard of. All the while, he learned the inside workings of the complicated system that it made up, a structure that kept on getting more and more labyrinthine as the corporation kept buying up smaller medicine companies and swallowing them whole, integrating them within the larger network of Jeon Pharmaceuticals. Park Pharma Corporation had just been one of the companies Jungkook had seen getting taken over; something that had both brought about his sister and his hyung’s union but also the very thing that had almost dismantled it. His father was quite determined to make Jeon Pharmaceuticals have the monopoly in South Korea as well as the rest of east Asia eventually. 

For his part, he had done what was required of him diligently. Jungkook had worked his way up from district manager to then being head of the research and development department, and now the chief technology officer (CTO). People might whisper favoritism at the works, but he had always tried to make himself worthy of the roles he took on, though he secretly agreed with them somewhat. Jungkook was not unqualified for the jobs he took on—rather, Jeon Pharmaceuticals had scores of more qualified and more experienced workers who deserved the promotions and roles he got more. Of all the jobs he had in the company, his time as the head of the research department had been one of the ones that he liked the most. 

In undergrad, along with his business courses, Jungkook had tacked on a variety of science focused ones which mostly centered around chemistry and engineering. By the time his third year had rolled around, his academic adviser had recommended that he should consider adding on biochemical engineering or biochemistry as a second major, and so he had decided to add on the engineering. His parents had been fine with it since it would help him when he finally got around to working at Jeon Pharmaceuticals, and it truly did aid him in understanding much of what was happening under his management of the research and development department. He genuinely found it fascinating how the team at their company was always at the forefront of medical innovation. The patents the engineers and scientists developed for medicine in the forms of prescription pills, antibiotics, and vaccines, just to name a few, truly intrigued him. 

However, Jungkook had known from the time he had taken that role that it wouldn’t be a position that would remain his for too long, despite how much he excelled at it and truly loved it. Right now, he was in the position of CTO, learning almost everything on the job because theirs was an industry that moved at a fast pace, playing a high risk gamble with the lives of not only everyone employed under the company and in partnership with the company but also with the lives of everyone that used the products and services offered by Jeon Pharmaceuticals. He had climbed the corporate ladder so high in one and a half years that it might have been a little concerning. Jungkook certainly thought so, even if his father didn’t because though Jungkook was talented and driven, though he was hardworking and cared about the company so much that he thought about it without end, the type of pyramid hopping Jungkook had done in so little time was only possible with the help of nepotism.

Speaking of Jungkook’s father, Jeon Jungnam was already talking to the board of directors and Jungkook knew that the plan was to have him take over his father’s position and transition into his role as the company’s CEO by the time that the third fiscal quarter started. This was actually only one of the many reasons that Jungkook couldn’t have news of his marital woes reaching his parents or in-laws. Any inkling of scandal could have Jeon Pharmaceuticals stocks plummeting in the public market, with the damage being so much worse if it came from the soon-to-be CEO. 

Jungkook couldn’t afford any kind of bad press about Jeon Pharmaceuticals before he was formally and ceremoniously inaugurated into the role through the infamous and extravagant ribbon ceremony of some sort signaling Jeon Pharmaceuticals’ induction to the future of science, medicine, and technology with the help of their new CEO. All of the pomp and circumstance needed to be completed and the board of directors had to throw their approval behind Jungkook before he could finally take his first measures as CEO. He had in mind a plan to throw everything for a drastic turn by taking some decisively unorthodox and ballsy moves, such as firing the current, and mostly useless, CFO Shin Donghyuk, and replacing him with the more deserving Kim Seokjin.

Jungkook and Seokjin stared at each other wordlessly and then Seokjin reached forward for one of the iced Americanos in the recycled paper cup holder. Grasping the cup in his right hand, he pursed his lips around the green paper straw and took a long dragging sip before then saying, “I hope that you will stop sleeping in the office now that you are going to be in the townhouse.”

Jungkook blinked at Seokjin hyung’s concern, still kind of drowsy, before he stretched in order to deal with the crick in his neck, rolling his shoulders and massaging his neck.

“I’m going to catch lunch at the Boiling Lobster with some of the guys from Finance, text me if you want to join, but I have to go meet with Shin right now or he’ll take it out on me for the rest of the week,” Seokjin grimaced. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, hyung,” Jungkook acknowledged numbly, blinking again dully, “See you later.”

It took a moment for Jungkook’s cloudy mind to register Seokjin’s departure as it was still suffering from his uncomfortable and minimal sleep, working overtime to make sense of things bright and early into the workday. He spent the next five minutes half-heartedly banging his forehead against the table, the impact softened by the padding of the desk mat, before regaining his composure and looking at his calendar. He had nothing to do until 10am, really, besides composing some emails and telling his assistant to handle some small tasks for him. Staring at his Patek Philippe world time clock on the wall in front of him, he realized it was almost 5pm for the person whose counsel he desperately needed. There was a slight– no actually, large, chance that the person was most likely very busy as their work day was approaching its end but Jungkook had his fingers crossed for their availability. And if they were unavailable, perhaps that just signaled that it was not meant for Jungkook to gain their counsel.

He pulled out his Samsung phone, the latest model since his father not only knew members of the Lee family but also found it important to bolster the Korean economy by buying local products and went straight for the video messenger app on his home screen. 

To Jungkook’s surprise, it took only two rings and then the video call was accepted, the screen getting bigger, but all Jungkook could see was the shaky close up of a pair of plump cheeks and a pointy chin as he heard the person holding the device let out a screech and started moving for their life, their grip tight as they scampered across the floor. All that Jungkook’s eyes, wide with surprise, could see was the fluffy texture of cream-colored carpeted flooring and some tiny chubby baby fingers. 

Confusion overtook his face as he tried to make sense of what was happening on the screen before the video was plunged into further darkness as the person moved into an unlit room. The phone holder’s crawl slowed, and they pitter-pattered along plush carpeting with soft foot and hand falls though Jungkook could still hear their loud breathing which was now accompanied by intermittent light chortles. 

“Hello?” Jungkook asked, his voice ending the word on a high ringing tone. 

“Mama,” Jieun called out in the dark room. The phone’s position moved; Jungkook was no longer looking at the lower half of Jieun’s cute baby face as she held it up for his sister. Instead, he saw ___’s hair a limp and messy cloud around her face, covering it as she had her head burrowed into a pillow.

“Jieun?” ___ muttered drowsily, “What do you have for Mama?”

Jungkook heard the rustling of comforters and bed sheets before his sister came onto the screen, her top half in a silk camisole she had been wearing as part of her makeshift pajamas.

“Gigi’s,” Jieun proudly exclaimed as her hands moved the device away from her mother and clutched it against her chest, leaving Jungkook staring into an abyss as all the light went away.

“Gigi, can Mama have the phone?” ___ asked.

“Mama… phone,” repeated the tot, easily pushing the contraption onto her mother’s awaiting palm.

“Oh, hello Oppa!” Jungkook’s sister exclaimed as she rubbed the sleepiness away from her eyes.

Jungkook rechecked the time on the world clock, and then his eyes narrowed as he peered at his sister, “You know at first I thought I got the time wrong when I realized you were in bed sleeping but things aren’t adding up, sis. Why are you sleeping at 4pm? It’s not like you to leave Jieun, or I guess Gigi, up and running around while you can’t keep your eye on her.”

His sister groaned as she stretched and then the phone fell into the sheets as she reached out to pick up her daughter and hold her close. When she picked up the phone again, he saw his niece pressing her plump soft cheek against her mother’s, squishing it into ___’s face, while a tiny palm was pressed to her cup her mother’s other cheek endearingly. 

“It’s a new development,” ___ admitted, “Jieun’s been referring to herself as Gigi. She finds her name too hard to pronounce and I guess she didn’t like calling herself ‘Oon’ anymore.”

“You two did pick a rather hard name for a baby to say,” Jungkook agreed, defending his niece. As always. Imagine thinking he would ever take Jimin or ___’s side over the cutest baby that walked on the planet, he snorted. Jungkook narrowed his eyes, make that the current cutest baby that walked on the planet, he was confident that his own children would be cuter than Jieun even if she had the Jeon doe eyes and Jimin’s chubby cheeks and pouty lips because there was no way in hell that his children with Y/N wouldn’t be utterly adorable. 

“She also doesn’t respond to us calling her Jieun when she’s been talking about ‘Gigi.’” his sister giggled, “It’s been bothering Jimin to no end. He’s home by the way. That’s why I was taking a nap. He was looking after my pretty Jieun-ie” she pressed a kiss to the top of the child’s head who let out peals of pleasured laughter. “Although,” she mused, “it appears it must not have been too great of a job if she was able to run away and wake up mama.”

“Why were you sleeping and letting Jimin take care of Jieun,” Jungkook demanded sharply, repeating his earlier question more fervently, “Are you sick?”

___ rolled her eyes, “I’m fine, Oppa. I just haven’t been getting a lot of sleep recently in between taking care of Jieun and work. Since I work from home and I make up my own schedule, I can only really get things done when she’s asleep at night. Jimin finished up early today and he said I should take a break. Truth be told, I should probably get a start on making dinner, though. Thank you for your well-timed call, Jungkook oppa.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you’re doing okay,” Jungkook admitted gently. 

She cracked a smile as she got up from bed cradling Jieun’s body tightly to hers and extending the arm that held the phone further out so that Jungkook could get a fuller view of them as the camera moved away.

 “Any particular reason you called ‘Min?” she asked, “I’ll give him the phone right now.”

“I just needed his advice for something,” Jungkook confessed.

When he didn’t explain further ___’s gaze shuttered off, “Ah,” she nodded, “Boring business stuff. Got it, no need to explain further.”

“I can literally see your eyes glazing over,” her brother scoffed.

“And there’s literally a reason why I switched career fields,” she deadpanned as her retort. His sister worked as far away from the medical and pharmaceutical spheres as humanly possible, even with her husband as a fancy COO. Jungkook supposed it helped from all their conversations outside of work to devolving back to work. He certainly appreciated Y/N’s job as a producer although she never talked about it with him, at least willingly. 

She stopped walking; evidently, she had reached Jimin. Her thumb twiddled with the phone and Jungkook’s view was flipped so that he could see Jimin reclining on the sofa as soft sounds of a soccer game flooded the background, flowing from the large 4k television set that was turned on into the phone’s mic.

“Jimin-ah,” ___ called out sweetly to her husband, “Jungkook oppa called you.”

Jimin’s gaze immediately shifted away from the television to stare at his wife, “Jagi, what are you doing up?” he inquired in sharp alarm. His eyebrows had almost reached his hairline and his eyes were wide with panicked concern. He reached out his arm, whether to grab the phone or pull his wife into his embrace, Jungkook didn’t know.

“Jieun ran away with your phone. She answers calls too now,” ___ laughed. “Better be careful, Jimin. Or at least get better security so that your one year old daughter can’t get into it. She took like 50 pictures of her lips.” 

Jungook silently snorted, not that they were paying attention. If he had Bratz doll-like lips too, and perfect porcelain doll features he might have considered taking 50 pictures of his lips. As it was, for now Jungkook’s go to selfie pose was pouting his lips while allowing his bared teeth to show through them in the center, jauntily set off with a flippant peace sign to the side of his cheek. 

“How did she even get into his phone? Doesn't it have facial recognition?” Jungkook inquired. Jimin was a slave to late-stage capitalism and Apple products. 

“Hmm,” his sister hummed, “I don’t think it’s that secure. I’ve seen her get into his phone before. Perks of Jimin and his baby face I suppose.” She was holding Jieun to her chest with the arm that also held Jimin’s phone and kept the call with Jungkook going. Her other hand was stroking her husband’s hair and he grabbed it, holding her fingers still in his grasp to glare at her lightheartedly. 

“You love my face, don’t lie,” he smirked. 

“Of course I do!” she easily agreed, “Jieun looks just like you and you’re my two most favorite people in the whole world. Speaking of Jieun, don't you have something to say to her?”

“Jieun,” Jimin tenderly chided, shifting his focus from his wife, looking at his child with an expectant face.

“Abba,” Jieun returned, voice filled with just as much indignation. She stretched her body towards her father, half-hanging off of ___’s arms in her attempts to go into her father’s hold. 

Jimin met her halfway, easily snatching her up and letting her gently flop onto his chest and abdomen. “Miss’d abba,” muttered the tot grinning up at Jimin.

Jimin playfully narrowed his eyes, “Yeah? Is that why you ran away when I was looking at the game? Jieun, we were supposed to be rooting for Bayern. Appa was teaching you the game.”

“Abba miss’d?” she cried out in alarm, ignoring the soccer discussion as boring Appa-talk, accidentally hitting Jimin’s chest with one tiny fist.

“Appa missed Jieun very much,” Jimin agreed, lifting the child up so that her plump tummy was level with his face and blowing raspberries. Jieun let out a storm of excited giggles until she got overwhelmed from the onslaught of raspberries and began squirming. When Jimin saw her getting uneasy, he quickly brought her back onto his lap. While he was looking at his wife holding up his phone and Jungkook on its screen, Jungkook could see Jieun slapping her father’s stomach with her hands lightly and getting confused why his was flat and hard unlike hers. After a moment she lowered her head to attempt to blow a raspberry, but quickly pulled away with a disgusted look marring her cherubic face when she couldn’t produce the same results on Jimin’s rock hard abs as when he had done it to her. 

His sister handed over the phone, and with a quick kiss to Jieun and Jimin’s cheeks left the room, likely going to start her dinner making process. 

“Jungkook, what can I do for you?” Jimin asked when they were finally alone.

Jungkook let out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know if it was that obvious to you, hyung, when Y/N and I were over for Jieun’s birthday, but we’ve been struggling with our relationship a bit. I just— I’m just struggling to even find somewhere to start or… Is it, how to start? How to start trying to move towards eventually having a relationship that’s like yours and ___’s. I know it’s a lot to hope for and not all arranged marriages end up with love. But, if we could have even half of what you guys have and become friends, I wouldn’t mind it,” Jungkook confessed.

“___ and I weren’t always comfortable with each other,” Jimin remarked. He pushed his blond locks back, revealing the clean-cut shave underneath.

“I know,” Jungkook responded quickly; he was desperate for any type of advice or insight.

“We didn’t even like each other that much at the beginning,” Jimin added on.

“I'm aware!” Jungkook cried out desperately.

“I’m pretty sure there was a week in there towards the beginning where I actually hated ___,” Jimin mused matter-of-factly, as he bit his lower lip and his eyes quickly darted back to the game before coming back to focus on Jungkook.

“It’s not like you were the perfect husband straight out the door,” Jungkook said, instantly defensive of his sister with a sharp tone flooding his voice, “___ didn’t like you all that much either.” 

Jimin bared his teeth in a somewhat lethal smile towards his brother-in-law, “Yes, I’m aware that when we got married, ___ married down and I married up.”

Call Jungkook biased, but he wasn’t going to play to his brother-in-law’s ego and comfort him by saying that marrying Jungkook’s sister hadn’t been him marrying someone out of his league. ___ was one of a kind and too good for most men; he had seen males throw themselves at his sister ever since she had started going to the same high school as him, but fortunately for him, as her older brother, and unfortunately for ___’s high school would be paramours, his sister had been frightfully shy her first year which had made most people suspect that she was a cold and snotty bitch. This could not be further from the truth, but once those first impressions had been made, they had set ___’s reputation in stone for the rest of her education. No one had dared to ask her out because they were terrified of getting rejected in a public or humiliating way.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook muttered at Jimin’s bluntness, “I just– I,” he sighed, “It’s hard for me to imagine why anyone would, or rather could, hate ___.”

“I was wrong for shutting her out,” Jimin agreed easily, though one of his eyebrows was still quirked in a scrutinizing manner that signaled he was still defensive over his behavior at the beginning of his marriage.

“But how?” demanded Jungkook, repeating himself, “How did you two even start getting closer or not being as… resentful?”

“___ seduced me.” Jimin shrugged nonchalantly after his candid remark had his brother-in-law sputtering.

“NO, SHE DID NOT!”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “Can you stop pretending your sister is an innocent beacon of virginity or something? She’s the mother of my child, which we both know happened through the furthest thing from immaculate conception. Hopefully if we’re successful, she’ll also eventually be the mother of my children. But it’s not like she was even a virgin when we got married. More power to her honestly, none of that matters so long as I am the only man she’s going to be with for the rest of her life.”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Jungkook sniffed, aggrieved on his sister’s behalf.

“Jungkook, she quite literally seduced me,” Jimin said, rolling his eyes. He would always defend his wife’s honor, but her brother was acting prudish for no reason. 

“That’s the best textbook definition of what she did. And I don’t hold it against her because it’s not like I was an unwilling party to it, so it’s nothing she can or should be shamed for. We had to create an heir and ___ thought that seducing me would be the best way to get us there. She wasn’t wrong. Things got a lot easier for us in every sense of the way after the first time we had sex.”

Jungkook’s face was twisted in a pained grimace at the talk of his younger sister having sex with her husband. He preferred to imagine that Jimin had suffered a massive headache that ended with Jieun bursting out of his skull like Athena from her father, Zeus. “Okay, okay, I get it. But is that really all?”

Jimin appeared deep in thought as he said, “___ was motivated by the threat of what would happen if we didn’t produce an heir and in turn that motivated her to attempt to get closer to me and try to make things work. Creating a child involved copulation for us because ___ was convinced that if we went in the direction of artificial insemination or surrogacy, the news would somehow get leaked from the fertility clinic and our reputations would be racked through the mud. What exactly is motivating your need to have a good relationship with Y/N? Did the Jeon parental units put in an heir clause again?”

“They didn’t,” bit out Jungkook. 

“I don’t know what to tell you Jungkook,” shrugged Jimin, “That’s the story of how Jimin and ___ became what they are today. But if you’re wondering how to be a good husband, it’s really not that different from being a good boyfriend. Just use your common sense, Jeon.”

“I see,” grated Jungkook in a clipped tone, “Well thank you for your advice, Jimin hyung.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the words you wanted to hear,” Jimin replied apologetically. “I think you just have to find your own way through trial and error. You’re a scientist, aren’t you? You should be an expert at running multiple experiments until you get the desired outcome or something that will satisfy you.”

“It’s fine, hyung. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did,” Jungkook struggled to get out, “It was just a shock for me to hear it being put the way that you said.”

“You’ll make it work,” Jimin smiled, his eyes slitting into happy barely visible crescents of joy, “You and your sister are alarmingly likeable people.”

Jungkook let out a strained laugh at the compliment, “Can I see Jieun before I leave? I have meetings starting up soon.”

“Of course,” Jimin easily agreed, angling the phone down so that Jungkook could make out Jieun in his lap.

“Hi Jieun,”

“Uncle Googie,” mumbled Jieun, rubbing her eyes, “Love you. Sleepy abba,” she whined tilting her head up towards her father.

“I’ll let you two go off to your own devices then,” said Jungkook, “Goodbye hyung. Bye bye Jieun-ie.”

After the phone call, Jungkook let out a silent scream before rubbing his temples in frustration. Perhaps he needed a little space from the situation so he could assess it with a clear mind. But it was impossible to continue his day without thinking of Y/N when she had started to flood his every waking, and unwaking, thought.

[almost ten-ish years ago]

One would think that the more you went on with your life in Seoul, both your journey as a trainee and a student would improve. That could not be further from the case. Sure, you did find some sort of new normal, though you didn’t exactly like it. And maybe, the tiny dorm you shared with five other girls and your miniscule bunk bed had started to replace the memories you had of your California King size Vi Spring bed with its Diamond Majesty mattress and custom headboard in your impressive bedroom in your parents’ sprawling Daegu residence. And perhaps, Chun-Ah Arts High School was on par with Jeong Finishing School for Exemplary Girls, with the added benefits of not forcing you to take physical education classes with waist trainers cinching you in, taking courses on managing a household, or making it through a tea ceremony where the Queen of England and other foreign dignitaries were present, but at finishing school you were never treated like a second class student since most of the the girls had been too scared to interact with you because of your family; they would have never dared bully you. 

How ironic. The trainees had caught on to the fact that your high school was different from theirs; Big Shot certainly couldn’t afford to send them to SOPA or Chun-Ah like MS and GY Entertainments which had resulted in boatloads of resentment and tons of sabotage during trainee evaluations and practice while the people at Chun-Ah mocked you for everything from the way you breathed to the way you tilted your right hand to write your notes during class lectures. 

If this experience taught you anything, it was that a. music was your life and you would do anything to explore it and reach your full potential while also b. people were fake and had no idea what real class and poise was because you were mocked for being the exact way that you were when you were a rich girl. People saw dollar signs not genuineness and they treated people based on what they thought they would get for it. Your training from Jeong Finishing School was seen as snootiness instead of elegance and people mistook your quiet demeanor for rudeness.

Unfortunately, the people in Seoul that you had the misfortune of interacting with were amongst the shallowest types of humans to exist. But of course, they would be when the first half was pursuing becoming idols for fame and the second half saw nothing wrong with the way that their families extorted their workers and hoarded their money until they could be multi-millionaires, or even billionaires. In summary, both were obsessed with fame and status symbols. 

Today, you were wrapped up in a crewneck and track pants in the school’s colors, forest green with gold stripes across the chest and down the legs, shivering in the school’s backyard field in the dewy morning, preparing yourself for a five-mile run. Your vocal runs and exercises as well as enduring hours and hours of dance practice without end in sight had given you quite the stamina as well as aided in strengthening your diaphragm. You knew you were going to succeed running the required length well within the hour-long period that made up the duration of your physical education class. 

Strolling up to the fourth numbered track on the circuit, you rolled your shoulders and shoved your crewneck sleeves up your slender arms before you looked to your left. Hairspray Helmet was misting herself with Santal 33 from Le Labo, most likely an early defense against the scent of sweat, metal and dirt that the field would soon begin to kick up after the 100 or so individuals who had the first period class started to run. Beside Hairspray Helmet, Overplucked Eyebrows was smacking on Haitai acacia flavored gum while she tied the shoelaces to her unauthorized running shoes, if you could even call them running shoes since they were a pair of bright white hightop Converse All-Stars, with her floral breath flooding the air and warring Helmet’s perfume, only further succeeding in invading your sinuses and giving you an oncoming migraine. Excessive Lip Gloss Applier finished out the trio and stayed true to her name, applying a thick layer of Fenty gloss bomb in $weet Mouth. Her untied long reddish-brown dyed hair kept drifting into her face due to the wind and getting stuck to her lips from which she would have to continuously pick the strands off of with her long acrylic nails she had gotten done at Unistella’s Seoul nail salon. 

With a scoff, you moved away from the three who were probably going to spend twenty minutes walking each mile so that they didn’t have to actually complete five by the time that the P.E. teacher blew his whistle and called you all in to hit the lockers and change for your next classes. The trio were allergic to the concept of sweating and refused to do anything that would make their bodies react with more than a cute red flush that the other boys found attractive. Your gaze shifted ahead to the other group of individuals who occupied the space with your class; they were all wearing track pants and short sleeve t-shirts in a yellowy gold with glittering emerald green stripes which made it easy to distinguish them from your classmates. It looked as though you all were sharing the tracks with the freshmen today. Your teacher had appeared to have scheduled the run on the same day as the first years’ teacher. 

You squinted against the bright glare of the sun as you thought you saw someone familiar. Bringing a hand up to shield against the light didn’t particularly help much either to get you a better glance. 

You probably needed to update your prescription, but your parents had gotten you a year’s worth of contacts a while ago that you still hadn’t made much of a dent through and you couldn’t afford buying a pile of new contacts or brand new glasses right now. You were essentially in a slave contract which took care of your rent at the dorm and the things you needed or used at the agency that you would later be expected to repay with a 20% interest rate after your debut while your scholarship took care of your tuition, school meals, and textbooks. 

But the meager pocket money that you had run off with, since you no longer had access to the bank accounts your family had set up for you, that was money you had to use for toiletries and groceries as well as any emergencies that arose. There was no telling how long Big Shot would keep you in the ‘dungeons’ as a trainee and you had to stretch your pocket money so that it would last you that long, or at least as long as it took you to turn sixteen after which you could get a job at a convenience store or a cafe. To keep that pocket money from getting stolen, you didn’t keep it at the dorm. You couldn’t open your own bank account as you were underage, but you gave all of your money to your cousin Yoongi and he opened a new bank account for himself that you were on as the second user. Yoongi was a saint of a cousin, he would regularly take you out for food when he could, because, though his pursuit of a career in music had also been met with condemnation, he had never gotten disowned like you. It was entirely sexist, but what could you do about it?

As you stretched to prepare yourself for the twenty laps you would have to complete on the circuit to hit the five miles, you thought to yourself that you could just try to run closer to the freshmen by either catching up to them or slowing down enough that they lapped over you, so that you could see if your suspicions had been right, and you had seen a familiar face. 

Twenty minutes later, you were huffing along on your tenth lap. Your face felt like it was on fire, and you could only imagine how red and puffy your cheeks had gotten. You had long since ripped off your crew neck, throwing it onto the astroturf besides your teacher’s feet two laps ago, resorting to just running in your plain white t-shirt that had been underneath. Your school didn’t allow the girls to wear shorts for physical education unless they were on the school’s official sports teams, so unfortunately you would have to always complete your physical education classes in your long track pants which felt stifling in the muggy humid air of Seoul in the spring. Misogynistic pricks. 

But your furious pacing had paid off—you were gaining on the girl with the bouncy ponytail of shiny black hair. You currently looked like a hot mess as you furiously burned off calories, with a halo of flyaways and baby hairs that had escaped from your ponytail and were framing your head looking like errant horns and had sweat dripping from your temple. In contrast to your disheveled appearance, the girl ahead of you, the same person that Jungkook had ran away with a few days ago, had looked like Venus reborn with the physical exertion giving her a beautiful glow rather than making her sweat copiously like you and turn the color of a red chili pepper. Bubbly Barbie, you growled internally, naming her, as your teeth clamped tightly together in your rage and you found yourself reverting back to your habit of grounding your molars that you had mostly broken out of, or so you had thought.

Your eyebrows furrowed even more in animosity, and you found yourself picking up speed, competing with her in a race that she didn’t even know she was in, not only for a faster five mile time, but also for Jungkook’s affections. 

Seven more laps in, and now you were only ten feet behind her. Due to how far ahead her class had started from yours, it made sense that if she kept pace with you or ran faster than you, she would always be out of your reach. But it seemed like she was slowing down much more rapidly than you were, although you both were tired with the fifth mile being so close within reach. You wondered if she realized that you were tailing her or she just thought that you were just another person out of 100 running in circles, trying to complete this arduous task first thing in the morning. 

As you broke free and finally picked up speed, enough to make you cross those ten feet until you were suddenly ahead of her, only a hair's breadth away, a sudden thought flooded your mind. What was the point? you wondered, what would this prove? Neither Jungkook or the girl knew who you were. Neither of them knew about your helpless infatuation with Jungkook. That thought made you stop abruptly in place. There were two and a half more laps to go but you were seriously considering following in line with Hairspray Helmet, Excessive Lip Gloss Applier, and Overplucked Eyebrows, and going on a slow stroll for the remainder of the length. 

But time hadn’t stopped for everyone else as you had unexpectedly halted in the middle of the tracks. Certainly, the person who found herself tripping over your cocked out foot in its New Balance sneaker and then poked in the abdomen by your elbow that had been sticking out as you deeply breathed in and out with your hands on your hips hadn’t been expecting that. Her body twisted as she tried to prevent herself from falling on top of you and taking both of you down. She went sprawling and you could only look in horror as you saw that it was Bubbly Barbie who was frantically thrusting her hands forward to break her fall, so she didn’t end up eating rubber and asphalt. She had turned her body to save you and her right side took the brunt of that as her right knee banged harshly against the ground and her right arm got scraped up. You panickedily took in a sharp inhale as your hand came up to cover your mouth in shock. Before you could find yourself thinking too much about it, you found yourself immediately running away from the scene. You speedily finished up the lap and went up to your teacher, lying to him that you had completed the five miles before quickly picking up your crewneck and heading straight for the showers. He didn’t question you since you had always given your 100% in every P.E. class before this. This time, it had worked out in your favor. 

You were in your studio. Your current task at hand was helping Soobin work on a solo endeavor apart from Stray Together. He had asked for a very pop-esque song that was reminiscent of old school 2000s bubble gum pop. None of that EDM shit. Sometimes you wondered what was going through his head because what he had asked for was a cross between “Gee '' and “TT'' but if a male idol had sung it and not a group of nine perfect dancing and singing queens. Fortunately for him, HYP.E did have producers who could produce that kind of sound. They after all were the legends who had created the group Thrice from the ashes of the survival show Eighteen. That cutesy Halloween themed bop “TT,” that had given a new emphasis on Youtube streaming, had come out of the powerhouse that was HYP.E. However, unfortunately for Soobin, you were not one of those producers that had worked with Thrice to perfect their sound and musical image as a group. You were out of your element with this new project but like everything you pursued as a producer you were putting your all into this. 

You had been nineteen when the survival show Eighteen had come out, a long time ago since you had abandoned your own dreams of being an idol in a talent packed girl group as their main vocalist. Your parents had bought out your contract at Big Shot when you had crawled back to them in your senior year and begged them to let you be reinstated into the family. No, at nineteen, you were double majoring in music theory and literature at Daegu University while your cousin Yoongi had finally gotten enough clout at HYP.E that he could throw some of his weight around and get his way. Yoongi had used that sway to get you to be his intern while he was a junior producer at the company. 

Yoongi had been more focused in the hip hop scene at the time so all of the tracks he produced in that era had reflected that heavily. He also worked primarily with the boy groups and a few male solo artists so he had never really ended up creating anything at the time that could have been given to Thrice to add to an album, although your cousin was undeniably talented. He had preferred to work with deep poetic rap lyrics and emotional R&B sounds and the higher ups at HYP.E were content to let him do so. 

Where were you going with this? Oh. Yes! Yoongi had only started working with Thrice in recent years and you as an extension of Yoongi in your early years at HYP.E had been nowhere near “TT” when it was brainstormed, envisioned, and then fully stamped out. That had been HYP, Assassin Bang, Namjoon, and Sunmi. 

You had no idea why the young idol with the bunny teeth and dimples had specifically requested you to work on this track but you would do your best on it since it was an honor to be singled out like this by the idol singers, enough that they would think of going head to head with management and asking for you. Yes, HYP.E offered all of its artists a ton of creative liberty but when it came to assigning producers to tracks, rarely was anyone ever placed on a song from the start. The company liked to utilize a blind procedure where all of the producers that wanted to work on an album had to submit tracks and soundbites anonymously which were then assessed by a group of impartial producers who hadn’t submitted any tracks. Those beats were all then evaluated and picked apart before they were picked as the title track, one of the digital singles, a B-side, or something that was good enough to finish off the album. 

The guide was what was keeping you from sending it over to Soobin though, when you finally did make a mockup of something that could work as the first draft of his title track, for now. The beat was pleasant enough and you had no doubt that one of the older producers would want to look it over after Soobin added some vocals to see what could be included to give it more spice and flavor, but this was a nice starting point.

However, the guide had your voice singing the lyrics to the song you had christened “The Sea Shanty,” in your head, a title that Soobin would never come to know, or so you hoped. The male had been adamant he wanted to sing about dolphins. You had no fucking idea why—you hated those bullies of the sea. But Namjoon had started telling you about this whale in the ocean who was the only one of its kind and unable to communicate with anyone else due to the 52 hertz frequency at which it made its whale calls. This had made you devolve into pure madness and create a song where the lyrics were about the misguided and futile friendship between a dolphin and a whale. The international fans wouldn’t know the true heartbreak of the song though, not unless they read the lyric translations, since the tempo of the track was upbeat, and it sounded so bubblegum pop and sugar sweet, it was liable to give anyone who listened to it cavities.

Sunmi had been unavailable to sing the guide for you, sadly. You had done it yourself, but you were understandably reluctant to hand over that guide to Soobin to practice with. After all, you no longer sang regularly.  With a groan, you pushed your keyboard across your desk to clear the space off for you and then started lightly banging your head against the empty surface now that you were no longer at risk of accidentally pushing on a random pattern of keys with your forehead thereby ruining or deleting the very files on your desktop.

A light knock sounded before the door to L.8 Universe opened. You really needed to start using the lock on the door, you thought glumly as your eyelashes fluttered against the coolness of the glass topper that covered the entirety of your desk to keep the wood from getting scratched or banged up. 

“Hey.”

It was Namjoon.

You immediately straightened up. “Oh, hello Namjoon oppa,” you murmured. 

[almost ten-ish years ago]

You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t be blamed for her injury. 

She should’ve looked where she was going! Been more alert of her surroundings! you had angrily ranted to yourself in a bathroom stall after you had gone into the locker room. It had taken you another five minutes before you finally were able to get your panic under enough control that you were able to let yourself leave the stall and go into the showers. 

The rest of the school day was a blur. You had barely paid attention during your World History course; fortunately, not knowing European politics during the 1500s wouldn’t be something that would hinder you later in life. No one cared if an idol didn’t remember one out of the dozens of wars that England and France had fought against each other. Regretfully, not only had you bombed a Trigonometry pop quiz but more importantly you hadn’t been able to find it within yourself to be one of the standout sopranos during choir practice, which was something that you normally strove to be every single day. 

Now it was lunch, and you were still thinking about how your physical education class had ended that morning. You had picked up a tray filled with fresh white rice, buchu kimchi, danmuji, soondubu jjigae, and tangsuyuk from the cafeteria and immediately left the place, choosing to wander through the halls of Chun-Ah until you found an empty classroom with an unlocked door. To your luck, Ms. Lee, the Fine Art teacher had left her room unlocked like other Visual Arts teachers did most of the time since a majority of the traditional art, digital art, and mixed media students usually went into the rooms during their free periods to work on their time-consuming projects which would later be featured in their portfolios when it came time for college and art school applications. 

The desks were large individual stations with a singular mini easel laid on top of each of them, most of the canvases on those easels were uncovered but some of them, the ones that their creators still wanted to keep a secret from everyone else, had loose tarps laid over them that were careful not to touch or cling to the surfaces of the canvases and mess up the artworks underneath. You walked through the aisles of desks looking at the pieces. You were no art critic, but it appeared that the class was all working on an emotion unit. All the paintings depicted raw and unfettered emotion, the vulnerability and ugliness of humanity. It was likely one of the topics for their AP Studio Art exam, though you didn’t know for sure. 

You reached the end of the room and stood beside the windows where there was enough space for you to plop your butt down on the makeshift window seat and place your lunch tray next to you. After you put the tray down, you took off your backpack and placed it on the ground beside your swinging legs before scooching your bum onto the window seat. You used the metal chopsticks you had picked up in the cafeteria to pick up a piece of deep-fried crispy pork covered in sweet and sour sauce and place it into your mouth. 

The flavor of the tangsuyuk exploded in your mouth. The rich taste of the ginger infused sauce heightened the impact of the crunchy potato starch covered pork you were chewing on. As you grew older, mysteriously, your sensitivity to red meat kept growing much to the surprise of you and your parents. Beef was the worst for you, and you rarely ate lamb or mutton, but fortunately pork affected you the least. You would still be getting terrible stomach aches after this that would make it difficult for you to walk back to the dorm without keeling over in pain, no doubt, but you couldn’t afford to be picky when the school’s lunch would have to tide you over for the rest of the night and you wouldn’t be able to eat again until you had one ginseng shot and a single danpatbbang, a sweet bread bun filled with red bean paste, for breakfast. 

You picked at the glazed carrots, onions, and mushrooms in the tangsuyuk as well, dropping them into your freshly steamed rice and mixing them in, before picking up a nice amount with chopsticks to place into your mouth. You should probably avoid the rest of the pork in all honesty since you really could have only two or three pieces so that the pain was manageable enough that you didn’t end up having to go into the emergency room. The rest of the rice would be saved to soak up whatever broth of the soondubu jjigae remained after you had eaten all of the vegetables and tofu from the stew. You loved the bright yellow pickled daikon radish that made up danmuji, though the style of kimchi that made your other side dish wasn’t exactly one of your favorites; buchu kimchi was made of garlic chives and you didn’t like the flavor or the texture. 

As you sat there poking at your food with your metal chopsticks and porcelain soup spoon, the door to the art classroom opened. The person that stepped in, to your utter dismay, was Bubbly Barbie from earlier in the day. Would she continue to plague your existence, taunting and tormenting you? you wondered in frustration staring her down. 

“Oh,” she breathed, holding a steel dosirak lunch box between her hands, “I didn’t think that anyone would be here. I just came in here to work on my painting.”

As she stepped into the room, you noticed that her right knee was wrapped in several layers of tan adherent wrap while her right arm had a large rectangular bandage covering it and both her hands had white butterfly bandages covering the edges of her palms. You gulped as the guilt settled deep in the pit of your stomach but fortunately she hadn’t recognized you yet, or so you hoped.

She walked up to one of the desks towards the back, only the wall was behind them as they made up the last row of tables, before placing her boxed lunch on her desk. She stood in front of her canvas which you noted was one of the ones covered by tarp. 

Conversationally, Bubbly Barbie hedged, “You look familiar. Don’t you have P.E with me?”

Your breath lodged in your throat uncomfortably. You desperately thrusted your hand towards where your backpack was on the floor besides your legs dangling from the window seat, seeking your Hydroflask filled with what was most likely room temperature water by now, since the school day was almost half over, that you seemed to urgently need at the present to clear your throat. When it was finally in your hands you quickly flipped up the mouth and held the straw to your lips pursing them around it to gulp down the water that had a faintly sour taste to it because of the vitamin C powder you had poured into it earlier in the day to help your throat and soothe it after your hours of singing practice. 

“I’m sorry,” you confessed stiltedly, struggling to portray your guilt in an apologetic enough manner, “I didn’t mean to run away.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve looked where I was going,” Bubbly Barbie easily accepted. She had gone back to her lunch and opened the top two tiers, one of which was filled with eomandu (delicious fish fillet filled dumplings) and lettuce while the other contained gimbap made of eggs, tofu, danmuji, carrots, and cucumber. “Would you like some of my food?” She asked, “My family’s cook always gives me too much food since I’m not allowed to eat school lunches and I hate wasting it.”

“Uh, alright?” you replied hesitantly, going up to her, “Are you sure you’re really okay? I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she smiled. She used a fork to stab one of the round seaweed covered gimbap and shoved it in her mouth, you would have wondered why she wasn’t using her chopsticks but you realized that perhaps her injured hand was not the most dexterous at the moment, before picking up a stick of charcoal with her left hand, “It’s a good thing it was my right side that got the brunt of the impact since I’m lefthanded. I’m still able to draw so it’s all good.” 

You stood behind her peering at her canvas. On it was the portrait of a man in black and white. Fragments of hangul letters and half written phrases floated around his head. His image was fractured with lines and cracks running through his face. 

“It’s RM,” she said proudly, “He’s my favorite musician. He wrote the song Badbye which is what I’m depicting in this picture to show the emotions of fear and desolation and desperation.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I can see that.” Your cousin Yoongi was tangentially connected to the artist RM since they belonged to the same underground rap circle. You told her as much, “My cousin is friends with him.”

“No way!” Bubbly Barbie said in excitement, “How does he know him?”

“Oh,” you murmured in a sheepish manner, “They belong to the same scene.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Yeah. I’m– I’m actually a trainee at Big Shot,” you admitted.

“That’s so cool actually,” she laughed, “Maybe you can introduce him to me one of these days.”

“Yeah maybe,” you muttered, “I’m surprised you’re still in school. I've seen Hairspray Hel– I mean, uhh– Sakura. I’ve seen Sakura go home for less. One time she sang a note out of tune that out of embarrassment she gave the director the weak excuse that her voice was strained and that she had to immediately lie down.”

Bubbly Barbie snorted, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow, “Hairspray Helmet huh?” To your dismay, she had caught your slip and your harsh nickname for Sakura even though you had caught yourself halfway. “Well, I didn’t want my parents to find out about what happened. It was only first period, and I would have missed the rest of the school day. In any case, they’re ridiculously paranoid and they’ve only recently started letting me go to this school. I was homeschooled before this.”

“Oh. Are they the protective type?” you inquired.

“You have no idea,” groaned Bubbly Barbie, “But even worse than them is my brother. He’s actually the reason why I'm hiding out here for lunch ‘working’ on my project,” she made air quotes, “Oppa is so stifling with his care and concern. I’m not a delicate hothouse flower—I can continue the rest of the school day after tripping in P.E. I plan on not seeing him until dinner tonight since I go home early when he has swim practice. This way I can still buy some time before he figures out what happened.”

“Well, it was more than a trip,” you admitted wryly.

She rolled her eyes, “You sound like you’d get on perfectly with my brother. Can you please stop apologizing and asking if I’m okay? I’m fine, truly.”

“I never did get your name,” you suddenly realized as you picked up more tofu from the stew onto your spoon. 

“Oh! Sorry,” she exclaimed, “I’m Jeon ___.”

“Min Y/N.” 

Namjoon stared at the side of your face from where he was sitting beside you on the black leather chair you had previously been using to house a vinyl record player. He had moved the sleek black Music Hall MMF 11.3 turntable to the top of the shelf that contained all the albums that you had worked on, mostly a collection of brightly colored Glitzy and Stray Together albums that were autographed by your young idol hoobaes. To your displeasure, you wouldn’t be able to get it down until after he left and you could use his chair as the only other furniture you could use as a boost was your rotating Sidiz office chair, unless you had somehow persuaded Soobin to come to your office. Being vertically challenged was the worst. Shouldn’t be too hard, you mused, he would have to come here eventually to look at the latest version of the title track, anyways. 

“Y/N,” Namjoon coaxed, his right hand clicking the Logitech Pro X gaming mouse to replay the 30 second mark of your guide, it had been a birthday present from your cousin. You had no idea how to game, but it did help your hand keep from cramping after twelve hours of working on producing. “This is really good. I know it’s outside your comfort zone since you like working on the R&B, dream pop, and slow jam type songs more, but you hit it out of the park. I can easily see it being the breakout song of the summer if you change the song title from “The Sea Shanty,” he shook his head in bemusement. 

“You know I’m really bad at song titles,” you sniped wryly, “And that’s just a placeholder. I didn’t mean for anyone to see it but you came in unexpectedly. But are you sure?” you asked, looking at him in skepticism, seeking desperate validation. “It’s a fucking whale song. My guide doesn’t exactly do the best job at iterating the vocal sound of the track either.”

“That’s not your fault Soobin wanted it to be about dolphins and sea creatures,” snorted Namjoon, “But have you considered adding a tropical flair to it? Make it like more of a beach vibe, and maybe turn the songs around from being so depressing to something that is a little more open-ended?”

You side-eyed him, putting your hand over his on the mouse and clicking pause on the track guide. “So, you hated it,” you said flatly, “You basically just told me to change everything.”

“I didn’t hate it,” Namjoon insisted, familiar with your theatrics and the doubts that always flooded your mind during your creative process, “Nothing is perfect from the get-go. I had to write over the rap lyrics for Persona like 50 times. I wanted it to be flawless and immaculately go with the melody. I think you have really good bones here. Justー” he sighed, “Soobin’s main audience is Korean, he hasn’t really been focusing on the international market on his solo endeavors yet. I don’t think he can afford to have a song with such profound and melancholy lyrics at the height of the summer. The executives at HYP.E really want him to get a couple of music show wins with his first project. Bang Chan and Yeonjun did really well with “I Don’t Want to Admit,” and the “Song Cry'' cover. But if Soobin doesn’t do as well as projected, it throws the future members’ solo debuts at risk.”

He was right but it still rankled you. You had to put aside what you wanted to do to truly deliver both what Soobin and the company wanted from you. “Yeah, yeah,” you muttered as a retort.

“Well, if you’re done with that for now and want to take a break,” Namjoon interjected, “There’s been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

You shot him a dirty look, “Look Joon, I have no idea how the hell you and Jungkook know each other but we’ve probably known each other longer so please don’t come into my workplace talking praises about him or whatever. I really don’t need you to be our intermediary. Especially in the workplace, okay. I prefer to keep all of that out of whatever happens here.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, giving a glimpse into his more punctilious side. That side of him rarely came out but when it did, it showed why he had been chosen as the leader of the ill-fated BES, Bulletproof Eagle Scouts, before their early demise at the height of their career when two of the members were exposed to have an addiction to buying Pokémon cards in the black market that had thrown them severely in debt. 

“If you were curious about how Jungkook and I knew each other after seeing him the other day, you could have just asked instead of being so insolent,” he murmured silkily, admonishment harsh on his tone. “In any case, Jungkook and I have known each other longer. I’ve known him for the last eight years while I’ve merely gotten to know you two years after you started working at HYP.E. I always got the impression that Yoongi was afraid of you ending up with one of the producers here. He doesn’t trust musicians.”

“Other than himself,” you interrupted.

“For relationships?” Namjoon asked, “Perhaps not even himself. But then again, the tortured romantic souls of artists never did have a great track record. Think of ABBA; Fältskog and Ulvaeus got a divorce in the early 80s and so did Lyngstad and Andersson. ABBA couldn’t survive much longer after that.”

“John Lennon and Yoko Ono stayed together,” you muttered.

“After Lennon’s death, his son Julian exposed him to be a hypocrite who treated his wife and son badly. I’m not saying Yoongi is a terrible partner. I just think he’s gotten burned so many times he’s put up walls that are going to be hard to break down.”

“True.” you admitted. Switching the subject you asked, “If you weren’t going to discuss Jungkook with me, then what?”

Namjoon let out a heavy sigh, “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about earlier this year? I’m only mentioning it because of the guide. I think you give yourself too little credit. You have an amazing voice Y/N, I wish you would share it with the world. You have so much more to offer to the music industry than just your talents as a producer.”

You straightened out, your back moving away from the curve of your Spiderman ergonomic chair, as your hackles were raised, and you immediately became on the defensive.

“Y/N,” Namjoon groaned.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready to do that. I told you I gave up on ever singing years ago. I’m not sure I want to go back to it.”

“Y/N you have so much creativity and artistry in you that is yet to be explored. You could go so far if you would only give yourself the opportunity. You’re limiting yourself by sticking to Glitzy’s teen crush noise pop sound especially when that isn’t even your personal style,” Namjoon groaned. 

“I’m not ready to drop a mixtape. I'm sorry. I’m not even a Hip-Hop artist.”

“Mixtapes are no longer just being limited to Hip-Hop, it’s a way for an artist to share their ingenuity and projects without the added pressures of being trapped into the formulaic framework of an ‘album.’ You wouldn’t have to worry about any promotions that the company might want to do to announce your comeback like Soobin has to deal with or the pressures of getting a certain amount of streams and number ones on the charts, music show wins, longevity, etc. You are free to be your most authentic self and share the music that speaks to you and has meaning and layers to it. You don’t have to look at it as a product since it will be free and that will in turn free you from those feelings of obligations you have towards those that download your music. If you’re in a rut creatively, working on projects that might not turn into anything or can be used towards your mixtape is a nice outlet.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you finally admitted after Namjoon’s impassioned outburst. “I’m not agreeing to release a mixtapeー”

“But?” interjected Namjoon.

“But.” you repeated, “I guess I could be open to the idea of creating a few tracks with me in mind as the artist to perform them.”

“I can’t wait for you to explore the genres until you finally discover your own sound,” Namjoon mused, “I can see you as someone with the emo and dark pop of Melanie Martinez and the indie art pop and alternative flair of Halsey.”

You let out a dry laugh, “You give me too much credit. But I can’t work on that now. I have to rearrange the guide for Soobin and go back to the drawing board for the lyrics.”

[seven and a half-ish years ago] 

It was Christmas Day.

Not that Jungkook was celebrating it. 

He was still asleep, in his all but empty dorm room, save himself, lulled into deep slumber by the unexpected cold in his dorm room that winter morning. By his second month of university, Jungkook had realized that there was no point in him confining himself in a shoebox sized prison cell like room with two other dormmates who might judge him for who he was, not that he had any control over it. And he had seen too many of his friends’ friendships get ruined after sharing a living space. 

No– Jungkook had realized the importance of separating his social and home lives. He could stay up as late as he wanted, working on organic chemistry equations or get up super early to go to the Terman Engineering Library, without destroying his relationships with other people. He was also turned away from living with others after coming back to school after Fall Break and seeing that his roommates had sold everything he had left in the dorms from his mini fridge to his Gucci slides. He had to report them, even if everything would have been easily replaceable and he didn’t want to make it an issue. Through the faults of his freshmen roommates entirely, he no longer felt safe living in his own dorm. 

It had been a big thing, when Jungkook had wanted to change rooms and the housing board refused to let him do it for the reasons he gave of mental health and feeling uncomfortable and iced out, stating that those could all be worked out and resolved. He had finally had to give out the real reasons. Then, the housing director had to ask him if he wanted to press charges as a part of protocol. He did not. And the Residential Advisor had to monitor the three of them leading up to the disciplinary hearing. But the university had dismissed them for it even if Jungkook had wanted to sweep the entire thing under the rug. His two sullen roommates had watched him move out with the RA standing guard from the hallway to keep sure nothing got too volatile or violent. They blamed Jungkook for the departmental committee finding grounds for dismissal and expulsion, as though Jungkook had ruined their chances of being first generation graduates or giving their parents a chance at retirement instead of working themselves to the grave. But Jungkook had done his best to be nothing but kind to them. He understood wanting to eat the rich but if they had even put in a little effort to get to know him, they would have seen that he was not like his father and other stereotypical evil billionaires. In another lifetime, perhaps they would have also become friends.

All in all, it had certainly soured his willingness to live with others. 

Though it rarely snowed in California, and the sun was shining brightly through clear skies that gave no hint of the harsh bitter cold that persisted underneath them, there was still frost hugging the edges of the windows. A full body shiver-inducing chill wheedled its way into Jungkook’s room through its gaps and crevices as well as through the unsealed perimeters of the metal door that kept his room shut.

The temperature in his room was controlled by the housing department. The dorms didn’t have individual thermostats that the students could control. No doubt, the university didn’t want their gas and electricity bill to go up because of the students. As such, it was 28°F in Jungkook’s room, and Stanford, assuming that most of its students wouldn’t be at school for the holidays, had turned off the auto-heating for all the floors of the residential halls. Instead, they were only keeping heat in the room for the students that had told their floor that they would be staying at school.

That would’ve been fine, except一 Jungkook had not been one of those students. 

Instead, Jungkook had boarded the plane back home at the San Jose International Airport ten days ago, expecting that his return home would have been a welcome one. His sister had been happy to see him, and it had started off well enough. 

But if it had gone smoothly then Jungkook would not be here all alone in the dead of winter huddled underneath two scratchy comforters from Target, a duvet from Ikea, and a fleece red blanket that had a giant red S outlined in red and white with a redwood tree in the center from the student store. 

His cellphone was dead, completely drained of juice from his frantic attempts to reach out and communicate ever since his plane had touched down on the landing strip. It had been futile as all his desperate attempts had been met by avoidance. The device was lying next to the soft halo of his rumpled black hair, a bedheaded mess on his pillow. There were dried tracks, his tears from crying himself to sleep when he had made his way back into the dorm last night, staining his cheeks. 

What difference did it make if today was Christmas?

He had been strong-armed into stepping onto the plane in Incheon on Christmas Eve. Cruelly, he had gotten marched to the private entrance for VIP fliers with two of his father’s men locking him in between them with the harshness of their grips on his biceps. And due to the time difference, his family had probably all celebrated the occasion hours ago. They were likely getting ready to attend the Jung’s Christmas Ball right at this very moment.

Jungkook should just stay in bed for the entire day. God, he wanted to. But the pounding in his head and on his door wouldn’t relent.

At first, he had thought he had been dreaming but as the loud knuckle raps continued to rain down on his front door, he was unceremoniously nudged out of his restless slumber. He blearily looked towards the door as he rubbed his eyes and tried to dislodge the few remnants of his drowsiness away as he blinked. The resounding knocks did not ebb.

What the fuck?

No one knew Jungkook was here. There had been too little time in between his father deciding to forcibly make him leave and his arrival to San Francisco that he hadn’t been able to text any of his friends to let them know that he would be back early. 

The way that he had left the country had brought on another onslaught of crying. He couldn’t help himself, as he sobbed, his pillow becoming wet from the snot and tears that dripped onto it. He had truly gone and done it this time. He didn’t know why he always was so sure his father would never find out一 his father always found out. And then he made it his life’s mission to ruin his son’s life as much as possible as a consequence for Jungkook’s disobedience. 

When he had shoved Jungkook into the chauffeured town car, he had hissed to Jungkook that he would no longer be paying for anything except for that which was related to his education. This meant that there would be no food for Jungkook unless he ate in the dining halls, no housing for Jungkook unless he lived in the dorms, and absolutely no money for anything else. 

That much had all been fine. Jungkook wasn’t a spoiled child. But what hurt him the most was that his father had not only said that he would no longer be paying for Jungkook’s plane tickets to go between home and school but that he had also sentenced Jungkook to stay in the United States and not return back to Seoul until he had that iconic parchment colored diploma in hand, in its special red leather folder, a script font denoting his Bachelors in Biochemical Engineering and Business and Latin honors of summa cum laude with the gold seal of Stanford University marking it for authenticity. Whatever job Jungkook could get working on campus, it would never be enough to pay for more than one round trip to Korea a year to see his sister. That part hurt the most. His father would pay for him to study abroad and even do an exchange program for a semester in yet another foreign country, but he refused to let him back home to see his family. 

Jungkook had been ignoring the knocks for the last five minutes as he laid in bed, heavy in his thoughts, but the raps grew even more persistent until it sounded like whoever was behind the door was attempting to take it down by sheer force. Suddenly spooked, he got up and edged his way to the entrance to his dorm while clinging to its walls, his white toe socks aiding him as he scampered over the ugly grey threadbare carpet that covered the floors. 

Jungkook took a deep breath for mental fortitude and swiftly opened the door, just narrowly missing Kim Namjoon’s hand as he swung it forward for another knock.

“Namjoon hyung?” Jungkook sniffed, his nose still clogged after all his crying. 

“Jeon Jungkook!” barked Namjoon almost sounding accusatory; he seemed irate, though for the life of him, Jungkook could not imagine why. 

“Namjoon hyung, what are you doing here?” Jungkook asked, “How did you even know that I would be here?”

Namjoon blinked, his expression losing some of its heat as he carefully took Jungkook in, “Jungkook are you okay?”

“Not really, I suppose,” Jungkook confessed tearfully. “But I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Oh, I saw you come in last night,” Namjoon interjected stiltedly, “I’m the residential advisor for the first floor remember? There’s not really any freshman that gets in or out of the building without me knowing. Especially since the security guards ask me to sit in and watch the cams while they take bathroom breaks when I’m around.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jungkook mumbled. “Can I help you hyung?”

“I–” stammered Namjoon, “I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”

“Oh. Thank you hyung, but I’m really not up for conversation.” 

Jungkook moved to close the door again, but Namjoon blocked his way, holding it open, “But,” he blurted, “It’s Christmas, Jungkook! You can’t be alone on Christmas! One of my friends planned a brunch and you can come with me if you want.”

“I must confess hyung, I’m not really up for company either.”

“Oh, well,” paused Namjoon, “That’s okay too, we don’t have to go celebrate with a crowd of people.”

“Hyung,” pleaded Jungkook. “Don’t cancel your plans to spend time with me, please.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong Jungkook,” retorted Namjoon gruffly, “But I’m not leaving you alone today, so why don’t you put on a pair of real pants and get your fancy down jacket because we are going to go grub down on all you can eat soup dumplings at Madame Fong’s.”

Every so often, Jungkook got the urge again to change up his appearance. Usually, it was tame enough that dyeing his hair another color would be all that was needed to satisfy him. But since coming back to Seoul a year and a half ago, he’s kept his hair the same business appropriate black color to offset his bankkan hairstyle, which was slightly different from the more popular comma hairstyle. It was a half down hairdo that showed off his bangs but had the rest of his hair pushed back with hair pomade or gel depending on how much effort he wanted to put into it. He could still pull it off, though it had been a month and a half since his last cut and his hair had grown out quite a bit. 

But Jungkook’s inability to dye his hair made his need for change manifest in other ways and he usually found himself at the Truth Studio tattoos and piercings parlor that was owned by one of his high school friends, Kim Yugyeom. Yugyeom was responsible for inking on the long stretch of images that covered Jungkook’s right arm from the fingertips all the way to his shoulder and curving around to cover his blade as well. Of all the tattoos Yugyeom had etched on Jungkook’s golden skin, his favorite creations were probably the tiger lily that started above his brachioradialis, his birth flower which had its meaning “Please Love Me” written underneath it diagonally, and the ornate clock he had across his forearm which always reminded him to treasure time since it often felt like he was moving at a pace much faster than his peers. 

However, today, Jungkook was at Yugyeom’s tattoo and piercing parlor for a wholly different reason, and he had to tamp down on that part of him that was very vocally yet entirely internally screaming at him to change things up.

He was waiting for Yugyeom in the little office his friend had towards the back of the building while he was off working on a client. Their friend Eunwoo’s birthday had passed a couple of weeks ago but the male had been in Europe all this time, so they were planning a huge ‘surprise’ event for him to take place on an upcoming Saturday. The details were almost completely finalized; they just needed to add a few finishing details. 

After a man became a star of Eunwoo’s magnitude or had his caliber of talent, which had endless scores of devoted fans who sent coffee shop trucks to his every project and opportunity thrown his way as well as dozens of talented showrunners, directors and scriptwriters who chased him down and were desperate to work with him, not having a lot of buzz and hullabaloo surrounding his birthday festivities was nearly impossible. 

Eunwoo was aware that his friends were setting something up for his birthday that would inevitably end up on the entertainment section of various outlets to some degree. This year, instead of planning an intimate affair that would get leaked to the press by some inexperienced staff member at the private room of the club they booked that didn’t know the proper protocol for VVIP guests or a yacht captain that didn’t care about secrecy and thought opening his mouth to the gossip rags would get him a bigger paycheck than the one Jungkook would sign in return for his services, the same age gang had planned something bigger and more elaborate. 

It was going to be a moment to celebrate not only Eunwoo’s age but his triumphant return after his film “Among the Marigolds” had likely won Grand Prix and he had won Prix d'interprétation masculine at the Festival de Cannes for his performance as Mikkhail Ko, a dead broke struggling musician and international transfer student, just one of the members of a circle of unlikely global friends who had all come in and out of each other’s lives for the next fifteen years after their unlikely friendship that formed when the University of Edinburgh canceled their degree’s subject and left them all floundering in their final year. 

The celebration was set to take place the weekend after Cannes since everyone in the Korean showbiz industry was well familiar with the talented actor’s superstitious side and how he refused to celebrate anything that had an awards ceremony coinciding with it until the ceremony was over, so Jungkook and his friends had a little more than a month left to perfect their planning.

It would also be the first time that the entire group would be able to see each other in more than two years. Minghao had married a model eight months ago and had been traveling the world with her as she walked different runways in four continents, who had finally returned to Seoul after finishing the latest show in Tokyo as the face of Prada’s fall/winter collection. Jaehyun had been busy raising his twin sons as a single father but now that they were both two, he had found the perfect daycare to keep them occupied during the day and au pair to help him at home. The others had been equally busy and unavailable themselves—Mingyu and Dokyeom hadn’t even been able to make it to Jungkook’s wedding in February.

Speaking of Jungkook’s wedding. The groom, himself, had his life completely turned upside down in between his new wife and his constant shuffling of positions at Jeon Pharmaceuticals. Thinking of his pretty wife who reminded him of a gumiho with her eyes that were sharp with cleverness and reminiscent of a fox’s, he had to convince her to move in with him today. He groaned, remembering that he also had to convince her to join him for the fête for Eunwoo when he got the chance. Beguiling Y/N was a complicated affair and Jungkook had to always think of an ironclad plan of how to get his way that had multiple backup and alternative methods of persuasion to fall back on at any moment that his attempt to work her went south. 

As Jungkook was ruminating on how complex life had gotten since getting leg-shackled, Yugyeom finally walked into his office, still working in his antibacterial sanitizer into his hands, having pressed down on the the door handle with an elbow and kicking it further open with the tip of right foot, enclosed in a steel toed boot. 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Jungkook elated, “Things happened.”

“I just got finished with working on a client that added seven new piercings. I think that has been the most fun I’ve had in a while,” Yugyeom admitted, “There’s some sick kind of pleasure I derive from poking holes in people’s bodies.”

Jungkook snorted.

But before he could even say another word, he was once again interrupted by Yugyeom, “Don’t fucking judge me bro; it’s a safe space at Truth Studio.”

“Like you even care about my opinion that much,” Jungkook teased, “Or should we finally talk out what happened at Madame Dupont's when we were 20.”

“Don’t you dare!” hissed Yugyeom. 

Madame Dupont’s had been a French pleasure house that specialized in the more depraved and less socially acceptable kinks that the boys had accidentally found while doing their summer abroad program through their universities. The two had ended up going to different schools: Jungkook at Stanford, of course, and Yugyeom at the University of Chicago but they had planned out their course loads so that they could spend their fall semester abroad in the same year at Sorbonne University. Mingyu and Jaehyun had been able to coordinate it with them too and they had shared the student apartment between the four of them. 

It had been a tiny, cramped space with a living room that merged with the kitchen, a singular bedroom that had a decently sized walk-in closet, and one bathroom. The four males had ended up shoving their individual, as flimsy as cardboard and ridiculously narrow, beds together, backing them against a corner between two walls creating one large bed and had slept next to each other sharing sheets, pillows, and comforters to open up more space in the room for storage and walking. It had definitely bonded them together like none other and had additionally made them infinitesimally closer. But it had also meant that they had to get inventive in their sexual pursuits with the adventurous French girls and they had ended up at the sex club. 

It had been a BDSM safe haven. Let's just get that out of the way. Jungkook had learned more about himself than he had ever known and Yugyeom had discovered his fascination with shibari. 

“Changing the subject,” stressed Yugyeom, “I did two lip piercings for the client. They wanted two white gold hoops on their lower lip that was aligned with their upper canines and in the trick of light I guess you could say that they could make people think that his teeth were extended like vampire fangs. They also got a new eyebrow piercing and added to the row of extensive collection of helix piercings they had lining both ears. And get this,” whistled Yugyeom, “A freaking guiche piercing behind their ballsack!”

Jungkook grimaced looking at Yugyeom’s hands, “Well I hope you thoroughly washed, disinfected, and sanitized your hands after that.”

“I was wearing latex gloves.”

“Okay and? You should still,” scoffed Jungkook.

“Oh my god,” Yugyeom rolled his eyes. “I fucking did.”

“I want new piercings,” whined Jungkook, “Being next in line for the CEO sucks.”

“You sound so privileged and out of touch with reality,” snorted Yugyeom, teasing his older friend. “Imagine complaining about having the opportunity to become CEO of a multi-billion dollar and well-respected corporation.”

“You’re right,” Jungkook agreed, his words tightly wound from a place of hurt. There was a shakiness to his voice.“I am privileged– I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook no I–” stammered Yugyeom.

“Bambam’s been having a headache with the catering. Apparently, the resort took back their agreement for independent businesses and freelancers for events that take place, and they sent him a list of vendors that they’re associated with,” Jungkook cut across him sharply. “Do you have time to meet up with the gang at Dokyeom’s after work?”

 “What the hell,” retorted Yugyeom, “Does this violate the contract that Mingyu had signed when he put down the deposit? And yeah, I’m free! Let’s go dude.”

“Apparently not,” groused Jungkook, “But it was Eunwoo’s favorite Japanese restaurant! Den never does catering and it also rarely closes down on the weekend to cater to a singular clientele. Especially a client who was paying top dollar to fly out all the chefs to Seoul from Tokyo for a party. None of the hotel’s partners specialize in kaiseki cuisine. He talks about their fucking foie gras monaka all year long. Alright, sounds good. I’ll drive.”

“Well of course they don't, this is Korea,” snarked Yugyeom bitterly, “What alternative did he come up with?”

“He’s in between Soigné & Shanghai, if you can believe it, a company that specializes in modern Chinese and French fusion and 7 Senses which ‘reimagines the time-honored traditions of Korean cuisine with a contemporary touch’ if the caterers aren’t completely speaking out of their asses.”

Yugyeom snorted, “At least I know that the event planner is going to do a spectacular job. You know, I’m actually very excited. They’re getting ice sculptures as centerpieces and ten champagne fountains to fill out the space and get the guests well and truly hammered.” He smirked infectiously, and Jungkook’s lips pulled up to reveal his pearly whites as he stared at the shine of his friend’s grin.

Yugyeom tidied up, getting prepared to leave his shop as his workday was over. His employees would be closing up the parlor today. “You ready to meet the boys at the nightclub? I’m good to go if you are.”

Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly and moved his feet off the desk, brushing out his pant legs to get rid of the wrinkles. 

“Did Minghao tell you his wife, Nana, is excited to meet Y/N?” Yugyeom asked as he locked up the office behind Jungkook after they had both left the room.

Jungkook scrunched up his forehead, “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, expect a lot of double dates in your future,” Yugyeom teased, “For some reason, Nana didn’t like Sowon and she said that Yeji is too young for her.” Jaehyun’s ex-wife and Eunwoo’s girlfriend. 

“Yeji is only two or three years younger than us,” mused Jungkook in confusion, “or so I thought, anyway.”

“Nana is older than Minghao, remember? Also, Yeji definitively acts like she’s a part of gen Z and I’m pretty sure we’re millennials.” 

“Y/N’s gen Z, the divide happens the year after us,” snorted Jungkook.

“Yes, but your wife is more mature than you,” explained Yugyeom mockingly slow, enunciating his every word. 

“Shut up,” sniped Jungkook, punching Yugyeom in the arm softly.

“We want to meet her okay,” Yugyeom stressed, “Properly. We barely got to talk to you at your wedding, let alone interact with her. And, I know you said the two of you knew each other from before and you were going along with the wedding; however, we still can’t help but worry about you because of the abruptness of it all.”

“She’ll be at the party,” promised Jungkook, clicking on his key fob and unlocking his belladonna purple Rolls Royce Phantom, yet another wedding present from his parents, in mind with the thought of it becoming his family car, though his wife had yet to ride in it or drive it. It was certainly an upgrade from the metallic black Mercedes Maybach S 580 he had been driving since his return to South Korea after finishing his MBA. But as this was a present that was meant to be shared and enjoyed with others; Jungkook frequently found himself volunteering to chauffeur when he and his friends got together. 

“Hey, Jungkook?” asked Yugyeom softly as he sank his butt into the buttery white leather expansive seats. 

“Hmm,” murmured his friend, shifting the gear to neutral and checking his mirrors. 

“I didn’t,” Yugyeom paused, “I didn’t mean to invalidate your feelings.”

Jungkook stayed silent, fiddling with the vents in between their seats, tilting them up and then messing around with the radio until he found a station he liked.

Yugyeom sighed and then continued, “You have a right to express yourself the way you feel that you are. It’s not fair to you that you have to always have to cover your arms or your right hand, or even that you had to take out your gauges and only wear one set of nondescript earrings. I hope things get better for you at work soon and if you ever need help showing who you are to the world, I’m here for you, and I’ll help you do it.”

“Thanks man I really appreciate it,” chuckled Jungkook, “You better pencil me in for a conch piercing and one on my eyebrow for right after my inauguration as the head of the company.”

“Of course! It’ll be my gift to you to celebrate the occasion,” Yugyeom snorted agreeably, “And once you want to start on your left arm because you ran out of space on your right, I’ll be there for that too.” 

Jungkook was not tipsy. He was euphoric. 

He felt like Harry Potter in the Half-Blood Prince movie after the titular character had drunk down a vial full of golden Felix Felicis, liquid luck, and decided to convince his Potions professor to attend the funeral of a giant spider with him.

He felt that same type of confidence in the face of the absolute absurdity he was about to involve himself in.

Or so, he had convinced himself that he was confident at his chances of succeeding as he stood outside the twenty-five story structure that made up the massive HYP.E building. It had eight levels underground as well and was a truly magnificent piece of architectural conglomeracy that stood out as a recognizable landmark as a part of Seoul’s business sector’s cityscape. It was 11pm, and the lights were off in the office and employee welfare departments. However, the ground floor to tenth, which made up the entertainment production section, had a speckled formation of lit up offices bathing the building in black and yellow against the navy blue cloudless night sky. 

His wife’s office was not one of the ones with their lights on. Some of them were no doubt from desperate trainees and already debuted idols using the impressive in-house gym or from the trainees and idols similarly locking themselves up in dance practice rooms to practice solo, leaving the rest of their teams scampering to find other unused rooms to brush up their moves in. He remembered that Y/N had a windowless studio and was almost bathed in darkness courtesy of the deep almost black but actually plum gray walls. She couldn’t function in the darkness however and had rows of yellow white twinkle lights and neon light stripes brightened to a peachy color lining the room, introducing light into the space. 

He got sidetracked as he pondered about Y/N’s L.8 Universe studio and contemplated whether or not he should get her smart light bulbs for further illumination of the place. Though Jeon Pharmaceuticals mostly worked on the medicine and health side of things, the technology department had connections with just about every major tech or electronic company in East Asia you could think of. But as he was thinking, he was also walking and he entered the building, fully determined to make his way to her floor and inform her that she had to move in with him. Oh, yes, this part is important. He had to tell her she had no choice in this; she had to do this as one of the stipulations of their marriage for the next year. But he had no idea how to convince her of it in a way that would make her easily agreeable and readily acquiesce. 

The lobby of the HYP.E building was mostly empty, the fountain was still running water but more slowly and a lesser amount while the lights were dimmed. The entrance greeters had left for the day a long time ago. Jungkook blearily raised an eyebrow, swiping his mouth with the back of his left hand. Now that he was actually in the building, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of anxiousness. Perhaps liquid courage had not been the best idea after all. 

As he loitered in the lobby, he heard the elevators up ahead of him open and saw two individuals come out, the female walking swiftly and several paces in front of the male. They were making a beeline straight for him, most likely going to pick up a dinner order delivery as they worked overtime at the office. Jungkook was confused when the female turned in her tracks slightly and headed right in his direction, almost barreling into him as her arms wrapped around his middle and her face became smooshed against his chest.

The panic increased. “Uh, um,” Jungkook stuttered. He was married and this was his wife’s building. His hands moved to grasp her waist as he made the decision to throw her off him. 

“Just go along with it, Jeon,” muttered Y/N against the hollow of his neck. 

Jungkook gulped, nervously taking advantage of the situation to have his hands finally fall on your waist and his fingers stop jerkily fluttering. “Hello, wife.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, “Not that I mind; you’ve finally decided to be useful for once. But... is this going to turn into a regular thing? I can’t have my husband visiting me at work every day.”

“Why not,” retorted Jungkook mulishly. The buzz he had made it slightly hard for him to focus and though he wanted to pay attention to the odd phrasing of Y/N’s words… just how was Jungkook being ‘useful for once’… he soon found himself distracted as you spoke again.

“I mean, why would you even want to?”

Through your entire back and forth, you hadn’t once made a move to break out of Jungkook’s hold. If anything, this was the longest he had been in such close proximity to you. Even at your wedding, you couldn’t get away from him soon enough after you two had been declared husband and wife and he had sealed the deal with his lips in the faintest semblance of a kiss. It had been more like a brush, honestly, with how quickly you had turned your head away and then stepped out of his embrace.

“I was thinking that I could start taking you back home after your work is done for the day,” Jungkook suggested.

“What would be the point, we don’t live together.” Y/N sounded utterly confused.

“That’s actually why I came today. I wanted to discuss something with you,” Jungkook confessed. His fingertips were rubbing circles into your sides, but you didn’t say anything. Later, Jungkook would blame his forwardness on the alcohol, though he would still be unable to explain why you had gone along with it so easily. 

You took advantage of your husband’s intoxicated absentmindedness to glance to your left where Junsoo was loitering a few paces away, after having coerced you into eating a meal with him. You preferred to build natural relationships with the trainees instead of this kind of forced interaction where it was clear that the only reason they were paying any attention to you or kissing up was because they thought you had a rather great deal of sway when it came to finalizing the new groups’ picks of trainees that would be debuting. You shook your head at him in faux sheepishness and shrugged, indicating that you were otherwise occupied with Jungkook.  

“Oh well, the lobby isn’t a good place for that. Let me just get my food and we can head to my studio.”

A little later, you were walking side by side to your much taller husband with a bag of food from Tokkijung that you had refused to let Jungkook hold much to his displeasure. Chivalry wasn’t dead, Y/N just hated it. 

“Why were you so excited to see me,” he scrunched up his face with suspicion as he side-eyed you, the thought suddenly intruding his mind on your walk after being forgotten ten minutes ago, “You’ve never been that thrilled to see me. Not even when we were in high school.”

You stopped dead in your tracks in your shock that Jungkook would bring up things that you had thought you both had both agreed to leave in the past. Although, truthfully it wasn’t as if you had ever had a discussion about what topics were considered off the table. 

“I suppose that’s true, but you helped me out this time,” Y/N admitted. Once again, the alarm bells were ringing in Jungkook’s head. Helped you out how? 

You didn’t seem to be paying any heed to the inner turmoil that was ransacking Jungkook’s brain, instead walking ahead of him with brisk strides that he admired for a moment, noting the way your ass flexed in those too tight pants, in his opinion, and the way your hips swayed so rhythmically. It took him a second to realize that you were twenty paces ahead of him and he suddenly found himself playing catch up.

Jungkook looked at all the food containers in between your hands, “That’s an alarming amount of food. Were you planning on downing all of that by yourself?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Consider yourself lucky Jeon, you can stay and eat some if you want. I did say I would try to be amicable for the next year, didn't I?”

You two had reached your room and you accessed the locked door with the fingerprint scanner, letting Jungkook in ahead of you and closing the door behind you both.

You immediately went to the coffee table unpacking the side dishes of tempura vegetables, vegan gyoza, tamagoyaki and chilled tofu. Jungkook raised an eyebrow quizzically when you pulled out two ramen bowls and one of them was a tonkotsu pork one, “Y/N, you don’t eat red meat,” he couldn’t help but remember that after the humiliating spectacle the two of you had put on at his niece’s birthday party.

“I guess you lucked out then,” you said, a sense of finality to your words that allowed no space for question while you avoided answering why you had two servings for dinner. You placed the ramen in front of him on the coffee table so he could enjoy the meal from where he sat on your small two-seater, “I can smell the alcohol on your breath. You must be getting the late-night munchies.”

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he ignored the slight to ponder over the abundance of food instead before slowly coming to a freeze. “Y/N,” he groaned in a slightly chilling manner, “Who were you going to eat dinner with?” It seemed that he didn’t care too much about your attempts to table a discussion.

“Why are you here?” interrupted his wife instead. “Didn’t you say you had something important to tell me.”

Jungkook sighed, reaching for his forehead to rub at his temples with the three middle fingers from both hands. He let you beguile him and hedged, “We’ve been married for two months, and you haven’t even gone through the wedding presents with me.”

“Is this what this is all about?” you asked, shoving a gyoza in your mouth, “If you wanted me to write thank you notes or something you could've just divided the list in two with us both taking a half.”

“No,” grunted Jungkook, as he opened the ramen container and the smell of rich fatty pork overtook the air. “This is about how my parents bought us a car to share and an apartment to live in together but you’ve yet to make use of either.”

“I don’t have a car,” muttered Y/N, almost intentionally missing the point.

“I know,” whined Jungkook, “So from now on can you use the Rolls Royce? I still have my old Mercedes Maybach I can use if we both need a car at the same time.”

“You want me to drive a five-hundred-thousand dollar car… are you insane?” 

“Then I’ll get you a chauffeur, or whatever, I’ll drive you around in it but you know what my parents are like一 we can’t ignore a present from them unless we want our heads on pikes.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you blurted, “You were serious about driving me home? No offense but I kind of like that you don’t know where I live.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I know all about the apartment in Yongsan, Y/N, Namjoon hyung’s building is literally right across from yours. No, this is about you moving in with me because of the other wedding present from my parents. You need to move into the Seocho townhouse.”

“Why?! I like things as they are now!” you protested. You skipped over the part where Jungkook said he knew exactly where you lived. You knew his address too, but the difference between him knowing where you lived and driving you home was that your husband was the type of man who would see you up the building all the way to your floor and make sure you entered the door to your apartment before leaving you, all to make sure that you were safe and sound. You didn’t need that kind of attention from him. 

“Well of course you do, but you’re hardly giving it your best try to make this marriage work when we live twenty minutes away from each other and have busy schedules, now are you?”

“Ugh, when do you want me to be moved in by then?” You were quickly realizing you would be getting nowhere by arguing with Jungkook even if the man was half drunk. 

“Cancel your plans for the weekend, you need to move your clothes and things into the apartment,” Jungkook shrugged.

“Are you serious, Jungkook? It’s not even the end of the month and I paid the rent which is fucking expensive, you know? Some of us work for our money and every won matters.”

“I’ll pay for you to break out of your lease,” Jungkook replied with a hardness to his voice. He worked for his money too. What the fuck. “But I won’t let you use that as an excuse to push back your move-in date.”

You bit your lip and glared at him.

“I’ll even organize movers and be around for the weekend if you need my help,” he suggested.

“No, I can do this myself!” you angrily bit out. 

Jungkook ignored your irate glare and continued to grub down on the food. Before he could forget he felt the front pocket of his black Burberry lambskin coat and took out the key fob for the Rolls Royce placing it beside the container of tofu you had been eating from. 

“I need you to take the car home tonight. Actually, keep it until you move in,” he muttered, “I can’t drive it home right now and I’m sure that even though you don’t have a car, your apartment still gave you a parking spot.”

You scowled, “Actually they did not. And how are you going to get home if you give me the car?”

He shrugged, “I was planning on ordering an Uber.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jeon Jungkook,” you gritted, “I can drive you home and park the car in your garage before getting an Uber for myself.”

“Sounds good to me,” he nodded, inwardly smiling. He had never forgotten how outspoken you were, but it had been some time since he had heard you swear so freely as you tried to express yourself. “I’m going to get water from the on-floor snack station. Do you want anything?”

The news that you were changing homes quickly slipped from Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s mouths into the other ears that made up the workers at HYP.E building. Neither of them could keep a secret to save their lives, and they were best friends. Perhaps you and Jungkook would be better off with new confidantes. 

But Yoongi’s loose tongue, fuck the tongue technology, and flapping lips were why you found yourself in this predicament bright and early on Saturday morning. You were already up, doing last minute packing of boxes with a mug of steaming hot jasmine green tea that still had the spoon you had used to stir honey in it. The mug you were holding was ginormous, requiring both hands cupping it to drink from it, and you nearly burned your tongue as you were sipping from it when you heard a knock on the front door.

Biting off a curse you put the mug down, looking back at it wistfully, knowing that its heat would be gone quickly, before you went to the entrance of your studio apartment. It would be just like Jeon Jungkook to show up uninvited at your home after you told him you didn’t need his help. 

“Can I help you,” you greeted with a scowl, opening the door with as much force as you could muster up on your 5’3, read: 5’2 and mere millimeters, frame. 

“Hello sunbaenim,” answered Kang Taehyun, bowing as low as he could without bending his knees, which was actually quite far. The twerp was deceptively flexible. In his hands was a giant plastic box with air holes within which was a relatively small albino corn snake.

“Taehyun, what are you doing at my apartment? You can’t just meet up with random women when Dispatch is obsessed with trying to ruin Stray Together’s career with any hint of scandal,” you admonished him. 

“It’s okay, noona,” Taehyun said, stepping carelessly into your home, a giant smile taking over his angelic features, “You’re married and you’re also my producer.”

“How did you even find out my address,” you groused, locking the door behind him and following him as he walked through the apartment.

“Soobin gave it to me after he found out you were moving,” he chirped.

“Excuse me?” you blurted. “And how does Soobin一”

Taehyun ignored you as he looked over the disorganized mess of half-filled boxes as well as the unconstructed ones littering your floor, making it a safety hazard to walk. He put down the box with his pet in it on top of an empty bookshelf lining the wall and turned to you solemnly, stippling his fingers together as he looked at you.

“Noona, is it true you’re moving to a townhouse?” he asked instead.

“Iー yes,” you stuttered, “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Noona you have to take Aengdu in to live with you!” he begged, falling on his knees before you and clinging to your legs.

“Taehyun, what?”

“Aengdu went viral after the SMOAs found out about his existence.” he bemoaned. “Did the members really have to blurt out that I spent a lot of our furniture allowance on a pet snake? He was for the entire dorm to enjoy!”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” you replied, grimacing around the sip of tea you had just taken. Either it was the draftiness of the apartment, or this mug just didn’t retain heat well; your drink had already gone lukewarm in the short time since Taehyun had entered your home.

“Noona, noona,” repeated Taehyun, trying to make you understand, “Our apartment manager found out. Apparently, we’re not allowed to have pets. I didn’t know! Why on earth would HYP.E even get us an apartment that had rules against pets?!”

“Oh,” was all that you could answer in reply. You could only shrug as you looked at him helplessly, “Taehyun, I wouldn’t even know the first thing about keeping a pet snake alive or healthy.”

“It’ll only be for a little while, noona.” urged Taehyun, “Our managers said that they’re trying to get us a larger apartment that would fit thirteen people more easily. Rooms with three and four instead of five of us in one room on bunk beds and eight in the other. And if you bring him with you to work, I can even see him there!”

You narrowed your eyes, “Hmm, Taehyun,” you mused as you pondered over the request, “I’ll do it on the condition that I don’t have to transport him anywhere and that out of all of you, at least one of you will come by each week to visit your pet.”

“Sounds good to me, noona! You’re an angel sent from above!” breathed Taehyun, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. 

“I really need to get going by filling up these boxes; the movers are coming within the next hour.”

“I can stay and help,” Taehyun chirped cheerfully, “It’ll help me figure out the directions to your new house anyways if I help you take Aengdu with me.”

A little later in the day, you were at the townhouse in Seocho, busy organizing. The structure of the place confused you a little. Of the five stories, one of them was the attic and the bottom two were the garage; the lowest floor was an underground basement garage while the the floor above it was more of a half garage with space for a rather large mudroom or junk room finishing off the space with a half bath and a decently sized but incomprehensibly placed open stretch of flooring. The first livable floor had a giant kitchen as well as an expansive living room with other rooms boxed off for other types of recreation and the second livable floor had four bedrooms and two bathrooms, one of which was attached to the master bedroom.

You assumed your husband was out for the weekend doing God knows what, but to your surprise, as you were helping the movers unbox your expensive state-of-the-art Vitamix blender and Jura automatic espresso and coffee machine, Jungkook walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. 

His wet black hair was clinging to his nape and curling into messy tendrils as it dried. There was still a little bit of water clinging to his chest and dripping down from his hair to trail down his body. Your husband was built like a Greek god, you noted with bemusement as you took him in with a slackened jaw. That man had muscles upon muscles lining his entire frame, tightly corded with not even an inch of fat anywhere. His abdomen featured an eight-pack and his tummy was flat with a delectable trail of dark hair acting as an arrow pointing south. His biceps were as big as a holiday ham served on Christmas and the right arm had a full sleeve of tattoos decorating it down to his fingers; you had never noticed them before because for a majority of the time that Jungkook was with you, including on your wedding date, he always wore long sleeved shirts and a black Nappa leather Prada glove on his right hand.

When he walked past you to head straight for the fancy Samsung refrigerator, you gasped when you noticed that you could see the perfectly round globes of his ass jutting against the towel, one ill-advised move and that tiny sham of a towel he had wrapped around his hips would come undone and show you his glorious lower half, revealing not only his sculpted ass that you could bounce a quarter off of but also the cock that you knew would be magnificent.

“What are you doing here?!” you spluttered, angry at how his mere presence had put you at a shocking loss for words moments earlier.

“I live here,” Jungkook retorted as he grabbed a grapefruit and ran it under cold water in the sink to wash it clean. 

“You told me to move in today!” you protested, taken aback. You hadn’t expected that your first interaction with Jungkook would have come so quickly nor that he would have been basically nude when it had happened.

“I told you to move in this weekend,” Jungkook deadpanned wryly. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t ever be around when we were living together?”

You narrowed your eyes into slits as you gazed at him, giving him a disparaging once over, “I didn’t expect you to be au natural in the common areas, especially when we had company over!”

“I didn’t take you to be a prude,” scoffed Jungkook, plating up his freshly cut grapefruit into a bowl and grabbing a pair of stainless steel chopsticks from the utensils drawer. “I’m sure the movers have seen other men walking around in towels before. Don’t you ever go to the bathhouses, Y/N?”

He held in his laughter; your eyes were so narrowed and squinty that you didn’t even look as though you could see him through the rage of your glare. 

“Can you leave?” you hissed, slumping onto the kitchen island where Aengdu was sleeping blissfully unaware in his temporary home. Your shortened hair swept over your face from the haircut you were soon beginning to regret. Jungkook was talking out of his unfortunately beautiful and entirely undeserved spectacular ass; bathhouses were sectioned off based on gender for common areas. You might see men in the clothes the establishment provided where the hot food and snacks were, but you didn’t see them walking around with their chests out in skimpy towels. “You’re slowing me down and I have more than just unpacking on my schedule for this weekend!”

When he noticed the snake out of the corner of his eye he ambled towards you with smooth fluidity to his strides, “You have a pet snake?” he inquired.

You were taken aback by the sudden close proximity you had to Jungkook. It was even more distracting and unnerving when he was only about ten inches away from you and you could practically feel his body heat radiating off of his golden uncovered limbs. 

“I do. Is that a problem?” you sneered at him, peeling back your lips and baring your teeth with hostility.

“No,” Jungkook shook his head, “Can I hold him?”

“I suppose,” you muttered. But all too soon, you regretted your words when you saw the thin corn snake wrap its red and white body around Jungkook’s tatted sleeve. The man looked like the epitome of lust and sin. 

“What’s his name?”

“Aengdu, but if you’re going to play with him can you not do it here? You’re一 distracting me.” FUCK. You had meant to say ‘You’re bothering me.’

Jungkook smirked as he put the snake back in its little habitat before snapping on the plastic lid. He held the box in the grasp of one of his massive veiny hands while he had the grapefruit in his other. “Okay, Y/N. I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need any help.”

“Why would I need help?” you objected vehemently. 

“You don’t have the exact layout of the townhouse down yet; you might need help finding a few things,” Jungkook spoke slowly as though he was explaining to a child, “How much longer do you have these men on the clock? Your husband is a strong man, Y/N.”

His biceps seemed to purposefully flex to further prove his point under the locked gaze of your eyes that kept waywardly finding their way back to attack Jungkook’s bare upper half with their heated glances. 

“Go.”

Jungkook let out a chortle of laughter as he finally made his way out of the kitchen. Leaning against the wall of the hallway, still watching you flit about the room unpacking and putting things away, though you could no longer see him, he noted that there might have been some sense in what Jimin hyung had told him the other day. No one could resist a Jeon who was actively trying their hand at seduction. Jeon Y/N, yes you were still technically Jeon Y/N even if you vehemently objected it and claimed otherwise, had no idea what her husband had in store for her. 

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This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution - Non Commercial - No Derivatives 4.0 International License

©OPALJM 2021

[youarejesting]

Namjoon’s rules

[Masterlist]

Beta: @juniethebug​ Rating: 16+ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Mafia, enemies2lovers. Trigger Warnings: mentions of Violence, Gore, Torture, Drinking and wetting yourself in public from fear and a full bladder during a gun fight. Words: 9.4k

Summary: The leader of a mafia should be calm collected and poised. He should live meticulously and know what he needs to do. Namjoon was that man, he had rules that kept his business running smoothly and nothing can get in the way of that. Can it?

[Part 1]

A man should only cry 3 times in his life; when his mother dies, when he gets married and when he sees his firstborn.

Routine is key.

Eat breakfast.

Work out every morning before you shower.

Work hard.

Things are not bought, they are earned.

A man should never cancel dinner plans.

If you are staying more than a night unpack.

Keep your word.

You don’t have to like sports but you should understand the concept

Buy a tuxedo before you are thirty and stay that size.

If you wear cologne, no one should smell it from five feet away or five minutes after you’ve left. ~ Jimin

When giving a toast short and sweet is always best.

Never let the man who provides you with your weapons the chance to provide them for anyone else.

Never take an ex back. She tried to do better and is settling with you.

Your home is your castle.

Never ask the same question twice.

A powerful man never moves unnecessarily, which includes opening doors and stepping aside from someone.

A man is never late.

Always learn a language men should constantly strive to learn. 

Never go to a party empty-handed. 

Always bring a Handkerchief. Women cry.

Go to the toilet before leaving the house.

Keep your emotions out of your argument.

Listen to your elders.

Follow orders to the letter.

 Always wear shower shoes in a locker room.

 Women and children first.

Honour is the gift man gives to himself.

 Pick up a weapon and stand a post.

If you’re not scared you’re not going fast enough.

Make every day a good day to die.

 Never look at a menu for more than 90 seconds.

 Be grateful.

 Be like water

 Be like stone.

 Take a challenge.

 Keep your expression vague.

 Never let people know what you're thinking.

 Never let your next move be predictable.

 Never say Never.

 Look at your accomplishments, not your shortcomings.

 Finish what you start.

 You don’t have to like it to eat it. ~ Yoongi

 With enough Garlic, everything tastes good ~ Yoongi

 Eat every apple you see.

 Don’t fill up on bread.

 Never make a scene.

 It’s okay to forgive as long as you never forget.

 Don’t stare.

 Never be the last one in the pool.

 Always carry cash.

 No when to quit.

 Never forget a name or face.

These were some of Namjoon’s rules. Jungkook would wake every morning at the same time, he would eat a healthy breakfast and work out before a shower. Dressed in a suit he would go to his desk and work as diligently as he can muster. 

He would be visited by Taehyung and Hoseok who wanted him to play as always and after some goofing around he would hit the gym to spar with Jimin. Whenever Jimin was able to spare some time for him, after getting married with Yoongi the two have been quite happy on their own.

He had dinner with everyone taking the same seat as always, the right-hand side, beside the head of the table. He heard the pitter-patter of feet running round the mansion and the bark of a dog and he laughed. “Junior, come sit down for dinner before your father gets cross.”

The boy sat and Jungkook gave him a small smile. He would return to his office and look over the list once more before reaching the end. “Number fifty-four; never forget a name or face,” He said looking at the picture of Namjoon and looking happy. 

“I know you said a man should only cry three times but I am calling bullshit.” Jungkook cried occasionally, Namjoon was like a father to him, he had taken him from the orphanage and raised him as if he was his own son. It was only right that he could mourn the loss of his leader and father figure. He looked down at Namjoon’s rules, a list forever unfinished.

[Part 1]

[youarejesting]

BTS Among US.3

Summary: You have a crew of 11, well now 10. The captain has been killed. Whatever it is doesn’t appear to be human but from the evidence you gathered, whatever it is, is pretending to be one of you. Who is it and why? Rating: T (teen and up) Genre: Murder mystery, supernatural, comedy, angst, action, adventure and more. Schedule: Updates every FRIDAY EST./SATURDAY AEST. please get your VOTES completed before Saturday or your bias may be kicked off the ship. Anouncements: Sorry this wasn’t out on Friday/Saturday my life is honestly in shambles haha like today couldn’t get any worse. but on the bright side this one is long almost 2k.

The next morning saw Jimin in the cafeteria lined up with his tray in hand, you felt a little reassured after yesterday that he was not the imposter. The two of you had no trouble talking freely through your headsets while waiting in line for breakfast. Hoseok in his red suit rushed out of the cafeteria so quickly that the cutlery on his tray rattled. Across the room, the doors to the cafeteria opened and a figure in a purple suit entered elaborately with a party hat on. 

“Jungkook what are you wearing?” You laughed as he struck a pose for you.

“I was bored and tried to spice up my suit,” His voice leaked through your headset. You were almost at the front of the line when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning to see the pink suit standing behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind, I joined your channel, I just wanted to talk?” Seokjin’s voice was its usual breathy tone, “I just was wondering, I have to fix the faulty wiring today since captain cyan is gone. I was wondering if I could go with you it’s kind of nerve-racking moving around on your own, and electrical is a scary place, I wouldn’t mind having someone watch my back”

“Uh, yeah of course” You were nervous, the same way you were nervous around Jimin. You retrieved your breakfast and headed out to the Admin you scanned. You had to scan your ID every morning and download your daily files. This was a task everyone did every day, Jimin stepped up to the ID machine and while you all stood waiting behind him, you noticed you didn’t hear the signature beep.

Had he forgotten his ID card? You pondered this thought making a note to address it at the meeting if needed as it was suspicious behavior. But you had been with him just yesterday so sure if he wanted you dead he could have killed you when you were getting your medscan.

Taking your breakfast down the hall and into your office you placed everything onto your empty desk and popped off your helmet. It was nice to feel the artificial air on your face, something you never would think you would find such a luxury.

Taking a deep breath you began uploading the files onto your computer and waiting for them to upload before setting the updated flight pattern, the pattern was still the same and instructions were similar to the day before. Shoveling in your breakfast, you got a quick call from Seokjin. Securing your helmet back in place you answered quickly trying not to cause suspicion.

“Hello, Seokjin this is Y/n how can I help?” It was your typical greeting hoping the familiarity would put him at ease.

“Hi, I was wondering if you had finished breakfast and wanted to join me?” His voice was nervous. “It’s just since captain cyan is gone, I have been taking over some of his jobs”

“Of course, where should we meet?” You asked, gathering your things, hoping you could hand back your tray to the cafeteria.

“Well, we could meet at electrical but I will have to put back my tray” Seokjin sighed as you heard a small clatter of cutlery on the tray through your headpiece.

“I will meet you in the cafeteria, I also have to return my tray” You walked up the corridor passing by Hoseok’s office, knocking on his door hoping to see the young man. The doors opened and Hoseok shuffled cautiously in his suit, you gestured with three fingers it was the channel you favored and he switched quickly, “Hey Hobi, can I return your tray?”

He confirmed handing over his leftover things from breakfast, you tried to give him a reassuring thumbs-up, knowing there wasn’t much else you could say that hadn’t already been said. He gave a weak thumbs-up back still appearing timid and the tiniest “Thank you”

You were unsure if the thank you was regarding the tray or the fact you hadn’t killed him. Shrugging it was something you wouldn’t allow yourself to dwell on, that would only lead to paranoia and impulsive acts.

You met Seokjin in the cafeteria and the two of you handed over your breakfast trays. “Are you ready?” Seokjin asked, looking at the instructions on the device in his hands. “We just have to fix a few broken wires”

The two of you made it as far as the electrical room before you were cackling and making puns, Jimin passed by holding what appeared to be one of Hoseok’s potted plants from O2 and the two of you waved at him as he passed.

The electrical room was creepy and you couldn’t help eye the vent on the floor, wondering if whatever it was imitating one of your crewmates would jump out. The two of you were fixing the wiring, still making puns, and talking about food. You were in the middle of connecting the first wire when the lights went out. 

Seokjin stopped digging through his tool belt and found a torch for you to continue working. “That may have been our fault” He laughed looking around at the wires curious for any bad connections.

You tried to focus on the wires, trying to ignore the shifting shadows around you, the obscure shapes, and the faint creaks that echoed in from strange parts of the ship that you could have sworn were the vents. You instead tried to focus on leading the wire from where it had broken over to the other side making the necessary repairs. 

At some point, your hands stopped shaking, and you were diligently working not allowing yourself to think beyond the wires in the wall. It was better this way, you found if you blocked everything out you would be 

Between connecting the second and third wire you heard footsteps in the corridor. Turning and pointing the flashlight towards the doorway, you see a figure pass only noticing a party hat and the soft creak of a vent. “Jin I think Jungkook just walked past?”

“We should follow him?” Jin mumbled,  moving to the door and peeked his head out, looking around after him “What is he doing down here, he should be in upper engines” 

You had to still fix the wires and handed the torch to Seokjin to hold, freeing up both hands to reconnect them. Hoping that if it was your mistake for the lights being out that you could fix the problem quickly. 

There was a clatter outside and Seokjin turned torch pointed at the door, he was visibly shaking as he stepped in front of you. “Can I get everyone’s location?” Namjoon asked, there was a pause before people began giving their location and company.

“Uh we are in…” You focused on the lights it was important you fixed the, with the last wire connected the lights coming back on. You whipped back around to see Seokjin clutching the torch still pointed at the empty door and looking out into the hall. He whispered quietly “I thought I saw something”

A scream rips through your headsets and you felt your blood run cold. Between gasps brown, one of your best friends said, “Hoseok’s dead.”

All of the crewmates rushed into the security office run by Jung Hoseok. Yoongi barged past those in the doorway effectively pushing you into Namjoon’s strong chest to see Hoseok's body torn in half and left on the floor. 

“No no no, we were just talking, this can’t be real” Yoongi shook his hands curling into fists he frowned “I was just talking to him over our headset, he said he saw purple and brown, it has to be one of them?” 

“Whoever did this, I will kill you,” his voice was furious but broke into a small sob. Jimin bent down to check Hoseok’s pockets. As his form lowered you could see behind him on the desk was the pot Jimin had been carrying earlier that day. 

“I’m not accusing anyone but I saw Hoseok this morning, I asked him to return his breakfast tray, but Seokjin and I saw Jimin carrying that potted plant which is now on his desk.” You tried to keep your voice level and passive “That and when scanning our ID this morning Jimin’s didn’t beep meaning he didn’t swipe a card”

“I left him alive ages ago and Yoongi said the two were just talking and Hoseok mentioned purple and brown, I actually had my card but it was inside my suit and we can’t take them off in the event of a breach,” Jimin said calmly, he understood your point of few even if you were accusing him. Pulling a notebook from the chest pocket of the top half of Hoseok, he flicked through it. “I think you should read this”

You took the notebook and frowned. “They move through the vents and can see in the dark. DON’T TRUST ANYONE”

“We need to look at the blueprints of the ship to know what vents connect where” Namjoon said “Maybe then we can pinpoint who had access to Hoseok’s office”

“I was with Green we were discussing the samples taken from the last planet, we believe one of the objects we obtained has gone missing,” Orange explained “We were in storage moving to the cafeteria when we received the call”

“Seokjin and I were in the electrical, we were reconnecting wires when the power went off, I thought I saw Jungkook in his party hat walk past the door he could have come down from security through the lower engines after killing Hoseok.” You explained casually still not trying to appear too defensive.

“I was in O2” Yoongi explained, no one had seen or heard from him but he was the last person to hear from Hoseok before he died. Namjoon was also apparently alone in the admin without any witness’. “It’s a bit suspicious that he asked where everyone was when the lights went out as if perhaps he was trying to find who was alone and vulnerable.”

“Okay green and orange can vouch for each other and white and I can vouch for one another” Jin gestured to you the collective nods around the table “Black was alone as was blue and that leaves brown, yellow, and purple.”

“I was in medbay with yellow, Jimin asked me to do a medscan while I was being scanned. Jungkook stepped into the room, saw us both, and turned to leave.” Brown gestured across the table at Jungkook  “That’s a bit suspicious”

“I went to see Jimin, he wanted me to do a medscan but I saw he was already busy doing a medscan and thought I would come back later when the power went out.” Jungkook huffed at the accusation of being called suspicious.

“We have to vote,” Orange said, taking charge, “we can’t be here all day waiting for another death?”

“Please keep in mind the incidents and comments addressed within the previous meeting. As you take your vote.” Namjoon added his voice lethargic. 

Pieces of paper were handed around the table.

[VOTE HERE]  

I changed the way the voting was conducted so now you will vote at the end of every chapter and the results will be the first thing in the next chapter. Vote to save your bias and expose the imposter before its too late.

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