You'd been Jungkook's stylist for just over two months now and it was going a little differently than you'd expected. You'd worked for years to get a position like this and you were confident in your skills - you had the knowledge necessary to be at the forefront of fashion and you were a good fit for the team. But working with Jeon Jungkook was becoming a problem.
The first day you arrived in the group dressing room, Jungkook was sleeping in his makeup chair, long lashes resting on his cheeks. He was taller than you expected, lanky, and broad enough in the chest and shoulders that it was clear he worked out. You'd seen him and the rest of BTS plastered all the media, of course, but being face to face was different. It was as though the cameras had done of poor job of capturing the cut of his cheekbones, the size of his hands, the thickness of his hair.
While you were admiring him, his eyes opened and he shook his head to push away sleep, pupils shrinking with the new light but then widening in his dark eyes as they took you in. He bowed slightly while staying seated as you introduced yourself. "Where is Choi noona?" he asked. "I'll be taking over as your stylist for the rest of the tour," you explained. He repeated your name and the sound of it on his voice, still husky from sleep, sparked something in you. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
From that moment on, there'd been tension whenever you were interacting. You'd often been able to tell when a man was attracted to you, and with Jungkook it was no different, although his interest surprised you. For starters, you were older than him, but more importantly, the members of BTS and their team were known for being professional and respectful, so Jungkook's behavior took you by surprise.
His flirtation began with little things; he took too long to look you over when you entered a room, stood far closer than necessary when you tied his ties, and his gaze lingered on yours as he unbuttoned his shirts for outfit changes, revealing his toned chest and smooth abs slowly, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You tried your best to look away.
Although you were single, you were a professional, and besides, you'd never been interested in younger men before. You'd also never been particularly impressed by celebrity - a man is just a man, no matter how famous. But you couldn't help but feel flush whenever you caught sight of Jungkook's muscular frame with his slim waist and long legs. Whenever you stood near him the difference in your heights that had you feeling small and needy.
You'd avoided watching him perform since you were hired because despite BTS' talent, the inappropriate feelings that were blossoming in you for Jungkook were exacerbated when you saw him dance. The way his hips were always in rhythm with his thighs, the general ease with which he moved his body, his confidence on the stage...all seemed designed to force your mind to thoughts of what he would be like in bed. Even when you hadn't watched, as he came off stage after performing the sheen of sweat on his neck and collar bone had your mind filling with filthy thoughts of other ways he could get that flush and sweaty.
One day before a performance Jungkook approached you as you were sorting accessories. "A belt loop has broken on these trousers, can you take a look [y/n]?" He was pointing to the pair he was wearing. This was not outside the realm of your duties, although usually there was a seamstress to handle this sort of issue and you looked around the room to see if she was available. The room was surprisingly empty, with only a few other employees milling about, looking at their phones or eating in the corner, their attention elsewhere. That made you nervous; without other staff or members nearby, there was nothing else to focus on besides how close he was to you, and how fuzzy your mind went every time you inhaled and smelled a mixture of his skin and his expensive cologne.
As you stepped forward to assist, Jungkook lifted his shirt, higher than was necessary and enough to give you a view of taut, tanned abs just above his belt. Your fingers itched with the urge to run your hand over the smooth muscles. You pushed the thought aside and bent to the task at hand. Where the loop had broken, threads were separating from the seam in a way that was rare in high end fabrics like these. It looked like it'd been ripped off deliberately.
