bts oneshots ✓ [completed]

✔Cooking Is Not My Forte (q3I06) | Seokjin

"Let's cook together!" Seokjin coos, attempting to pull you from the sofa. You stare at him, sipping your hot chocolate.

"Cooking is not my forte."

He sighs, trying again to pull you off the couch by your wrist. He finally succeeds in yanking you from q3l06the comfortable leather sofa, pushing your hot chocolate onto the coffee table in the process.

"Fine. What're we making, Chef Seokjin?" You decide to do as your husband desires. He claps, and pulls you after him into the kitchen.

Jin begins pulling out various ingredients, while you stand in the kitchen doorway, stiff and clueless.

"Ok, jagi. We're going to make Italian food." He announces. You blink, looking even more clueless. You weren't the best at cooking. Much less foreign dishes.

"What?" You ask, looking at the various ingredients that he had laid out on the counter.

"Blend these," Seokjin instructs, placing two bundles of strong-smelling leaves, a garlic clove, cheese, and olive oil.

"What am I supposed to make?" You ask incredulously, looking down at the ingredients. You had absolutely no idea what to do with these.

"Blend them." He says simply, pulling out a food processor from a lower cabinet.

"When did we get that?"

"We've always had it, jagiya."

"Right...." you say, dumping the ingredients into the processor while Seokjin puts a pot of water onto boil.

"We're making chicken, and pesto!" Seokjin says, snaking an arm around your waist while you begin blending all the ingredients together to make a slimy green sauce.

"That sounds awfully American, Jin." You inform him teasing manner, leaning into your significant other's inviting embrace.

"So does pizza. But you won't see me complaining." He retorts evenly, and starts putting chicken thighs onto a tray, blanketed in tinfoil. He side-glances at you, a teasing smirk playing his kissable lips. You roll your eyes, and add some olive oil to your mixture.

You unplug the processor, spooning the pesto sauce into a paper cup. Just as Seokjin slides the tray of chicken into the oven, he turns and looks at you.

"This doesn't look like a lot of pesto, Jin. Are you sure you got enough ingredients?" You ask, looking at the green sauce. It looked barely edible, all slimy and green.

But if Jin says it's edible, then you're willing to at least try it.

Seokjin turns, dumping a thin, cardboard box of uncooked penne noodles into the now-boiling water, sprinkling a bit of iodized salt into the aggressively-bubbling water.

"You really know what you're doing, huh Seokjin?" You lean into a corner, resting your elbows onto the cool kitchen counter. You bite at your thumbnail, staring at your husband of 7 months as he dances around the kitchen, tending to several things at once.

"I like to say I do, jagiya." He laughs, casting you a playful glance from the corner of his eye. You smile back at him earnestly, pushing the cup of sauce farther up onto the counter.

Finally, once things were sailing steadily, Seokjin tosses the hand towel that he had lazily thrown over his shoulder, onto the already-ingredient covered countertop. He looks to you before pulling you to his chest and resting his chin on your head.

"I love you, (Y/N). Thank you for cooking with me." He says, tightening his grip around you. You happily return the gesture, resting your chin on his shoulder.

The two of you may be married, but you still acted like teenagers, madly in love with eachother.

Your loving embrace was soon interrupted by a series of timers going off in the kitchen. Jin jumps away from you, as if you'd physically pushed him away.

You pout, watching him simultaneously turn off the timers, open the oven with his foot, and begin draining the pasta in the colander that he'd placed in the sink before he even dragged you into the kitchen.

As much as you wanted to help him, you had absolutely zero idea what you could do to help him.

"Mix this into the pasta?" He asks, holding out the paper cup of pesto sauce to you. You nod, taking the sauce and dumping it into the noodles that he'd poured back into the pot. With the spoon he used to stir the noodles while they were boiling, you smother the noodle with the green sauce.

"Bon appetit," Seokjin says, stepping back. His arm returns to it's home on your waist, pulling you to his chest. Somehow he always needed you as close as possible to him.

Not that you minded.

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I'm sorry that all I write is trash.

(2018) you should be.