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lombredanslaeu · 5 years ago

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someone that loves you | lee taeyong

▸ taeyong x antagonist! reader

▸ summary: everyone always gushes about the protagonist - the goody two shoes, i-deserve-all-the-happiness girl. you never had a problem with people getting their happy endings, anyway. but lee taeyong won’t be the rescuing you in a shiny, white horse; you are also not his damsel-in-distress. you are the protagonist in their love story.; word count 4,352

▸ angst, fluff.

this isn’t proofread so i apologize for any mistakes! enjoy <3

You’ve known Lee Taeyong all your life; from being lunchbox friends in elementary school to being party buddies in college. You weren’t the best of friends but you did share the same closest circle of friends in college. You both watched each other grow up, but you weren’t the type of friends to gush about their love life with. In fact, the two of you could only hold a proper conversation if it’s in one of Jaehyun’s parties. Nevertheless, you always found him attractive. He was the hot, cool junior who is currently majoring in music. He has girls trailing behind him; one of those heartthrob male protagonist in a movie or a book. You had the advantage of being in his inner circle - which means you are one step further than the girls chasing after him. You aren’t so bad yourself - you’re quite popular, your hair was always in check, you liked girly clothing. Everyone in your department kisses your ass, if you’re being honest, and you could have anyone wrapped around your finger. Everyone except Taeyong.

“What lipstick should I wear for today?” Your friend, Yeri, asked you while holding two lipstick tubes near her lips.

“This one looks great with the university atmosphere,” you replied, poiting to the one on her left. “The other one would look great on parties and dates.”

“Ugh, you are so great at choosing lip colors.” She complimented. “Speaking of parties, you’re still up for Friday night at Jaehyun’s?”

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “He always hosts the greatest parties.”

“Right?” Joy spoke in agreement. “Besides, that might be the night you finally get it with Taeyong.”

“Oh please,” Yeri interjected. “You know Y/N doesn’t hook up on the first night.”

“I’m the complete opposite of what those bitches at the online forum say about me!” You added.

“You don’t have to listen to those forums, Y/N,” Joy said. You sighed and got back to eating your lunch. Joy and Yeri are two of your closest friends. You met during the first day of your freshman year. You only knew Taeyong as you both came from the same high school, but he looked like he already had friends; that led you to no choice but to talk with the girl beside you during chemistry. It wasn’t long until you started to hang out with Taeyong’s circle of friends. The night of Jaehyun’s party came. It was the same, old thing with Lucas being extra loud than his normal self, and it was either Johnny or Xiaojun in charge of the music. Except today, two unfamiliar faces came through the door.

“Who are they?” You asked Mark beside you.

“That’s Daeun and Euna.” Mark responded. “Apparently, Taeyong and Kun invited them since they’re new in campus.”

You felt a surge of jealousy rage over you. You know you don’t have any reason to feel that at all. It’s not like Taeyong would suddenly want to date you after all the gifts and letters you gave him on his birthday for the past years.

“Do I sense some kind of tension here?” Mark commented. He must have felt the shift in your body at the mention of Taeyong’s name.

“No?” You defended. “Why would I feel some tension?”

You got back to sipping your drink and watch as one of the girls converse with Taeyong and Yuta. She looks nice. She looks innocent and cute. You weren’t one to judge other girls at all. Even if you hated all your competitors, you never resorted to sending bashful comments to them. You walked away from the scene to find Doyoung and get him to get you drunk.

Your professor called in sick for the day, leaving you with no more lectures for the rest of the week. You silently thanked your department for having its finals week earlier than the other departments. You were scrolling through your social media apps to kill time and decided to watch a view stories on instagram. The first story was from Taeyong; it showed a picture of Daeun seated across from him in the library. You were used to seeing Taeyong hang out with other girls before. You would have let it slide like the other girls, except that you notice Taeyong has been hanging out with Daeun more ever since Jaehyun’s party. You skipped over to the next story to distract yourself. As you got invested on your phone, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up to see distressed Taeyong.

“Hey Y/N, are you busy?” He asked.

“Not at all.” You responded, setting down your phone on the table.

“Listen, I am terribly failing Professor Kang’s class,” He started. “He told me you’re his greatest student. So, can you coach me? We have a class debate and I need to win.”

“Okay, remember,” You said to Taeyong. You were explaining to him strategies on how to win a debate. “Analyze every argument your opponent has to say. Don’t miss out on anything.”

Taeyong wrote down on his notebook all the tips you’re giving him. Today was the fourth day you’re coaching him. You got to spend time with Taeyong even if all you did was stay in the library for two hours. During your breaks, you talked about your favorites - movies, songs, food, etc.

“If you win this debate,” You said to him. “I’ll treat you to a HONNE show on the 16th.”

“Woah, Y/N, that’s a deal,” He replied with amusement evident on his face. “I’m gonna destroy that Mingyu.”

You rushed through the hall to catch Taeyong’s debate on time. It was open for anyone to watch. You ditched the remaining hour of your psychology lecture to greet him with a huge bouquet of flowers and your promised ticket to HONNE if he wins. You saw the swarm of people exit the function hall, which means the debate was done. You wiggled yourself through the crowd in search for the boy. You spotted him near the exit with Jungwoo, Yuta, and Daeun.

“Taeyong!” You exclaimed, catching his attention. He walked towards you, smiling at the things on your hands. You noticed that your bouquet of flowers outshine the ones that Daeun gave to him. You mentally smiled at yourself for that.

“I won, Y/N! I won!” He exclaimed before slinging an arm over your shoulders for a brief hug. It may seem like a short, friendly hug to anyone but for you, it was like your skin suddenly felt what it was like to be appreciated.

“You have me as your coach, of course you would win,” You replied. “I’m sure you did amazing. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to catch it. As promised, see you at HONNE.”

He received the bouquet and ticket from your hands and gave you a smile that could light up the darkest parts of you.

“Oh Y/N, I forgot that Daeun and I had plans to catch this movie on the 16th.” Taeyong said. You felt your blood boil slightly. “It’s shows for the last time on the 16th. You can give the ticket to Johnny. He also likes HONNE.”

Taeyong’s rain check bothered you for the entire week. You really wanted to see HONNE with him; you even rejected Joy so that Taeyong could have the extra ticket.

“I thought it was Taeyong you’re supposed to go with?” Johnny said. You asked him to go with you for the concert.

“Yeah but, he has plans with that Daeun girl.” You said, rolling your eyes. Johnny chuckled at your response.

“Wow! The campus’ crush got rejected by Lee Taeyong?” He said with great amusement. “This is breaking news!”

You couldn’t believe it either. Any other guy would be begging to be the one you have a concert date with; the fact that Taeyong rain checked on you bothered you to the core.

“Hey, cheer up, Y/N.” Johnny said, his tone becoming concerned.

You sighed and force a small smile. “It’s fine, John.”

“Hey,” He spoke, facing you. “Do you really want Taeyong to be free on the 16th?”

His menacing eyes made you skeptical about whatever plan he has in mind. Johnny was always the deceitful one. He gets away with everything and anyone. For the past year of being friends with him, you’re guaranteed that Johnny’s plans never fail. The next thing you know, you’re sneaking into the university’s clinic. Your university clinic arranges a mandatory annual check up that each student must attend to. You only get one appointment every year and if you fail to do so, you’re not allowed to enter any contests/competitions for the rest of the year. Daeun was part of the archery team and they have a competition coming next month. As part of the debate varsity, you know that every team member takes the check up seriously; so does Daeun.

“Y/N, hurry up, the nurses’ lunch ends in 15.” Haechan whispered. He volunteered to be your look out. He was Johnny’s partner in crime so, you know that he’ll help you execute this perfectly. You found the schedules for the check ups for this and wrote Daeun’s name on the 16th.

You were walking back from a long meeting with your college organization. It was nearing midnight since you and your team needed to stay back and fix some stuff. The walk from your school to your dorm wasn’t very far and although it was really late, the street was illuminated with street lights. As you approached a bus stop near the exit of your school, you noticed a familiar figure.

“Taeyong?” You asked the person, who seems to be clutching his side because of pain. He lifted his face to you, causing you to see the few scratches and cuts lined with blood. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“It’s nothing, just came across some bad blood.” He replied, wincing as the cut on the corner of lips hindered him from speaking comfortably.

“This isn’t nothing, Taeyong.” You said with utmost concern. “Come with me to my dorm. I’ll help you clean that up before you catch a bus.”

You walked with him to your dorm. You couldn’t let Taeyong go inside a filthy bus with his exposed wounds. He sat down on your couch as you get the first-aid kit that the landlord placed in every unit.

“Care to tell me what really happened?” You inquired. You dabbed a piece of cotton on the cuts near his lips. Taeyong was always beautiful but he was too ethereal to be scarred with such wounds.

“I got into a fight with Daeun’s ex.” He sighed. “I overheard them arguing during lunch earlier. He threatened to hurt her if she doesn’t get back together with him so, I wait for him to finish his community service and went for it.”

Your heart winced at the fact that Taeyong got hurt for Daeun. It wasn’t the right time to compare but whenever people would comment hurtful prejudice to you, it was always the others guys who would come to your defense. Taeyong only knew Daeun for a short amount of time but he’s starting to act like her knight in shining armor. You couldn’t deny that Daeun was a sweet girl; she helped you with a physics problem once and told you that you could always ask for help. Your pride got the most of you and ignore her. Taeyong probably likes the sweet ones and you were too bitter for your own good.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” Taeyong said as you announced that you were done cleaning up his wounds.

“No problem.” You replied. “Just promise me you’ll get your ribs checked tomorrow.”

He smiled at you; and for the first time in quite some time, you felt like the good girl in this story.

Today was the day of the HONNE concert. You didn’t expect Taeyong to approach you since he knew Johnny will be the one you’re going with, but here he is - standing in front of you.

“Listen, I just found out that Johnny had a stomach flu and wouldn’t be able to go to the concert.” He said. You didn’t know Johnny had the stomach flu so this surprised you. “I didn’t want you to come alone so, I was hoping that his spot hasn’t been taking yet.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Don’t you have a movie to catch with Daeun?”

“Yeah but she was scheduled to have the annual check up today.” He replied.

“Great, see you at the concert.” You said, smiling at him before walking away.

“That was so fun!” Taeyong exclaimed as you both exit the concert venue. You decided to grab a drink in a bar nearby.

“Right?” You agreed, reciprocating the wide smile he has on his face. “’Location Unknown’ definitely moved me to the core.”

You settled in a booth in the bar. This bar was a great spot for concert-goers so you weren’t expecting to stay for a long time.

“Can I tell you something?” He said, playing with the bottle in his hands. You lifted your eyebrow to signal that you were willing to listen. “Daeun just said she loves me.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “And what did you say?”

“Well, she didn’t say it to my face. Taeil overheard her and Euna talking.” He replied.

“Do you love her back?” You asked. You hoped to the stars that he’ll say no.

“I don’t know.” You relaxed at his response. “But, I do like her.”

You felt like you lost your chance. Is Daeun prettier? Is she really kinder than you? Are you unlovable?

“Wait,” You held your palms up. “Why are you telling me this? We’re not that close.”

He shrugged at you. “I don’t know. After our debate tutoring, I realized that you’re actually cool to hang with. Besides, you’re not friends with Daeun or Euna, so I bet you won’t tell them what I have to say.”

“Are all of your friends close with them?” You asked.

“Yeah, almost everyone.” He replied.

Oh, so everyone likes them? You couldn’t deny that you may seem bitchy to other people. Yuta and Jaemin seems like they never liked you since the beginning, despite not doing anything to them. The fact that they like Daeun and Euna doesn’t sit right with you.

As the weeks go by, you witness first-hand how Taeyong and Daeun got closer. She was always present on Jaehyun’s parties and it seems like Daeun’s instagram stories are just becoming endless candid photos of Taeyong. You scrolled past her instgaram stories. Christmas time is coming up. You usually never give presents to everyone but this time, you were determined to be selfless. You carefully wrapped everyone’s presents. Butterflies flew in your stomach as you wrapped Yuta’s present. You knew he was never fond of your presence. He once called you “Regina George” because according to him, you fit that category. You never understood why he would label you as such. All you did was beat him during debate and spoke nothing but the truth about his shortcomings as a speaker. Jaemin, on the other hand, used to be your vice president in the debate varsity. You two got along together before; that was until someone showed you a screenshot of a tweet on his private twitter account saying that you were a bad president.

“I can’t believe you are this low.” You said to Jaemin.

“Well, you should believe that you are a bad president because you never listen to anyone but yourself!” His tone was more hostile. You were trying your best to stay calm but the comment he just gave blew whatever cool you had in you.

“Okay, you can keep talking but just now,” Your voice lowered as you say the last phrase. “I’m never gonna listen to whatever bullshit you have to stay.”

You remembered having half of the debate varsity turn their backs against you. But, it was the same old thing. You were always the villain in everything. You wanted to make amends with Yuta and Jaemin and gave them their presents.

Yuta scoffed at the gesture. “Oh please, trying to play nice since the comments about you on the online forum are starting to get into your head?”

“I’m just trying to be nice.” You said. “I know things aren’t cool between us, so I’m here to make amends.”

“Stop trying to be nice.” Jaemin spoke. “Stop proving that you’re not the bad guy when you know to yourself that you are.”

He got up and threw the present in the nearest garbage bin. You held back the tears that were threatening to form in your eyes. You’re Y/N. You never cry in front of people. You sighed in defeat and left the lecture hall.

“That wasn’t very nice, you guys.” Taeyong scolded the younger boys. He was the only one inside the hall aside from you, Yuta, and Jaemin. He excused himself from the two as he followed you into the hallway. He saw your sniffling figure near a storage room. He placed a hand on your shoulder which caused you to frantically wipe your tears.

“It’s okay, Yong.” You said.

“I’m sorry for what they said.” He started.

“You don’t have to apologize for their actions.” You replied, sighing. “Besides, apologizing for them won’t fix anything between us.”

“You’re a good person, Y/N.” He said, staring into your eyes. “I’m sorry it took me a while to realize that.”

Your heart was booming against your chest. He leaned forward and you felt his lips brush against yours. The next thing you know, your lips are moving in sync with his. You felt the universe sparkle with magic at the feeling. The boy of your dreams is kissing you. For the first time in your life, something felt ethereal. Your internal rejoice was cut short as you see the figure of Daeun from Taeyong’s shoulders. You were about to pull away but she already ran.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Taeyong.” You said, breathing heavily at the guilt.

“Why? Johnny told me you liked me?” He said. Your eyes widened at the statement.

“Yeah, Taeyong.” You replied. “I’m in love with you. For all the years we’ve spent together, I thought one day, you would like me too. But Daeun loves you, and I know you like her. You shouldn’t have kissed me just because you knew I’m in love with you. That’s not fair.”

Taeyong furrowed his eyebrows. “Did she see us?” His voice was low but you could hear it.

“Yes.” You replied. “I’m sorry. I want you for myself that’s why I didn’t pull away immediately.”

“What if I said I want you too?”

“I am the bad guy.” You spoke as you stared in the nothing. Yeri and Joy decided to take you out after what happened. “I knew Daeun loves Taeyong and yet, I let him kiss me.” ”It’s not your fault Taeyong found you kissable that time, Y/N.” Yeri replied.

You rolled your eyes at her response and before you could say anything, Joy interjected. “It’s true, Y/N. You know in yourself that you wouldn’t kiss Taeyong since he said he likes Daeun.”

You groaned as you put your head in your hands. Your phone lights up and you saw that you got a new text.

Lee Taeyong [10:57 pm]: can we talk tomorrow? pls…

You [10:59 pm]: ok.

You waited for Taeyong on the bleachers near the soccer field. There weren’t a lot of people since students started going home to their hometowns but Taeyong’s friends were there.

“Oh, you’re here to steal Taeyong again, Y/N?” Jaemin asked mockingly.

You rolled your eyes as Mark said, “He’ll be here any moment, Y/N.” and gave you a smile.

You stared at the sunset and wondered what the rest of the day has in store for you. You spotted Taeyong chasing after Daeun during third period earlier. The guilt consumed you. You were typically the type to be selfish about things. You thought you were doing something great by giving out presents but based on Yuta and Jaemin’s reactions, you felt like you can never be kind to anyone. You spotted Taeyong walking towards you. You swallowed the butterflies that tried to escape your throat.

“Hey.” He said quitely. He sat down beside you. “About what I said the other day-”

His sentence was cut short by Euna running towards you.

“Taeyong!” She exclaimed as she was approaching. “Taeyong-”

“Euna, calm down,” He tried to help her catch your breathe.

“Daeun-” Euna began. There was a small pinch of worry inside you. You were worried that something might have happened to her because of what she saw. “I don’t know what you two are talking but- Daeun is on her way to transfer to another college. If you really like her, Taeyong, please stop her.”

Taeyong looked down, conflict evident in his demeanor. He stayed silent for a while as Euna went away. Your hands turned cold. He hasn’t said anything but you knew what his decision was.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered before bolting off towards Euna’s direction.

You didn’t realize that you were crying until you felt a tear drop on your legs. You thought you had him. The moment he said that he wants you too, made you feel like you’re up on cloud nine. But clouds disappear and the moment they do, you’ll be falling from the sky and down to the ground. You stood up and saw the look on everyone’s eyes. For the first time in forever, you saw pity on Yuta’s eyes.

News spread fast as they often do. The announcement of Daeun and Taeyong’s relationship went through your ear for the nth time today. With the guidance of chocolates and countless bottles of alcohol, you tried yourself to forget about Taeyong. As you were drunkenly singing “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo, you remembered who you are. You are Y/N. And you don’t cry for anyone.

“You’re prettier, Y/N.” Joy attempts at cheering you up. Yeri smiled at you and held your hand as a sign of comfort. You three chatted for a while until it was time for them to catch their flights home. It was the end of the semester but you were too bummed to go back to your hometown. The quietness of your town wouldn’t be a good combination with your thoughts. You figured that the city would be the best place for now. You mentally thanked Taeyong for making you believe that you could be a good person. You thanked him for the butterflies and the greatest kiss that you’ve had so far.

As you stood up, you saw Yuta standing in your direction.

“You’re a good person, Y/N.” He said all of a sudden. You tilted your head in confusion. He just smiled and walked away.

Before his figure became blurry, you noticed that he was swearing the shirt you got him for Christmas.

a/n: ya know in retrospect, this seems like ur typical cheesy teenage movie. might delete this soon hehehe anyway, feedback are always welcome!!

#lee taeyong #lee taeyong imagines #lee taeyong x reader #taeyong imagines #taeyong x you #taeyong x reader #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #taeyong smut #nct 127 #nct angst #nct imagines #nct drabbles

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jksangelic · 6 years ago

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peaches & piercings | two (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: light sexual themes, explicit language, hurt/comfort

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: second part! this doesn’t contain any smut, unfortunately. just some closure for those who come for plot. enjoy.

↳ words: 8.4k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

Nothing but heavy breathing. Too much saliva. Did this girl even know how to properly kiss? Nonetheless, he was hard.

How the fuck did I get here, he ponders, feeling nothing but lusty guilt and, possibly, bile in the back of his throat.

“You’re so hot,” Jennie drawls between kisses, fiddling drunkenly with Jimin’s zipper and whining when the damn thing wouldn’t budge. She resorts to palming his bulge over his black ripped jeans.

“Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging himself into her small hand and groping her breasts. He’s been with enough girls to tell that her bra was incredibly padded. The party raged downstairs, screams and laughter vibrating the entire frat house. American parties were crazy, Jimin thought.

He also thought he was done with this, done being some gross playboy that entitled himself inside any girl he laid eyes on, but he was fucking scared. You scared the living daylights out of him. So he’s doing what he knows best.

The girl was already stripped down to her underwear within the first minute, not really into the whole “build-up” that he normally enjoyed. When he busied himself with planting kisses along her collarbones, she complains, yet again, when he doesn’t get on with it.

He rolls his eyes, undoing the damn zipper himself and pulling down his boxers enough for her to access. She gasps, surprised.

“You’re Korean? I’m surprised you’re this big. I didn’t believe the other girls when they told me.” She talks so damn much, Jimin might implode. Rather, he just grows soft from the backhanded compliment.

This was his first night out since seeing you last, have been avoiding you for a few days to try to find some sort of explanation behind his jumbled thoughts. It, however, wasn’t his first night out since he had discovered he was hopelessly in love with you, hiding his denial by hooking up with whoever was prettiest at frat row parties. He was disgusted with himself.

Before he knows it, he’s tucking himself back in and leaving an angered Jennie and searching for Yoongi to drive him back home. Jimin was way too intoxicated to be around girls that want to use him for the sake of bragging rights. You were right, it really was like everyone kept tabs on who got to fuck who and the points they received for such encounters. He scrunches his nose in disgust.

He moves clumsily, nearly tumbling down the stairs and getting lost in the sea of bodies that danced on the first floor. God, he could hear colors. He even bumps into some classmate (wearing a hoodie at that, poor girl must’ve been baking), tiny voice asking if he’s okay and he just throws up a thumb and continues his search. At some point, he finds Yoongi man-spread on the couch, sleepily cooing into some girl’s ear as they giggle like they care what he’s saying.

“Yoongs,” Jimin slurs, “home. Please.” He doesn’t remember if he makes a face of friendly obedience or a face of you-just-cockblocked-me-bro but he gets up anyway and checks for his keys for at least two minutes before finding them on a lanyard around his neck. Even Yoongi is too drunk to drive but he doesn’t really care about their own safety at this point. Harsh reality of college.

Eventually, both of them stumble into their apartment around 2 in the morning, Yoongi raiding the pantry for something to calm his munchies and Jimin rinsing his face with cold water next to him. He felt the sudden need to wash off whatever filth Jennie left on him.

His roommate must’ve read his mind, nudging his shoulder and slurring a, “I’m surprised you didn’t fuck Jennie or bring her back with you. She was sexy as hell.”

“How did you know I didn’t have sex with her when I was there?”

“Dude, I can just tell. You don’t look like you had a recent orgasm, you look like you ate a bad quesadilla.” Yoongi laughs at his own joke like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said.

Jimin shrugs, not really feeling an explanation. Instead, he locates his phone he left on the counter before going to the party and turns it on, scrolling through a couple Instagram notifications and 2 new messages from you. He hadn’t been answering any, but he was happy you still cared in his own messed up way.

He smirks at them, imagining how much better his night could’ve gone if you had been with him instead of stupid Jessica. Or Jennie. Or something.

“Ooh,” Yoongi teases, stealing his phone and uninvitingly reading through the message thread, “you’re still talking to this girl? The cheerleader? That’s hilarious, dude, she’s so not your type.”

Jimin laughs nervously, colliding with Yoongi and reaching out for his phone, “C’mon, Hyung. Give it back. She’s hot.” Calling you “hot” didn’t sit right on his tongue, but he ignored it. Yoongi continues being a dick, waving his phone in Jimin’s face then swiping it away when he attempts to take it back.

“Can’t get enough of her, huh? Does she just have Class A pussy? Shit, think you’d let me have a go?”

Jimin’s blood boils, shoving Yoongi into the nearby wall with more force than intended and confiscating the phone, shuffling it into his back pocket before grabbing his collar and trapping him. He looks maniacal, nose flaring and eyes bloodshot.

“Talk about her like that and I’ll break your skinny ass legs, Hyung. Don’t fucking touch her.”

Yoongi just smiles, throwing up hands as a white flag. He was older than Jimin, sure, but he knew his place when it came to physical advantage. When Jimin lets him go, Yoongi takes out his pack of cigs, placing one between his lips and offering a cooling Jimin one as peace offering.

Although he doesn’t want to, he takes it and storms into his room.

What the actual hell is he doing. He shouldn’t be out partying of all things, he should grow the fuck up and confront you. Just accept what you were willing to give him and live happily, wholeheartedly.

That’s it. Tomorrow, he would sober the fuck up and tell you.

He flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling and foggy memory reminding him of when he was under yours, the first day he took initiative to change something. He pulls his phone out, reading over your messages silently and smiling whenever he skimmed over one of your purposefully-unattractive-but-still-attractive selfies. He always saved every single one of them.

It leads to scrolling through his small photo gallery, a couple of blurry photos from tonight his most recent, a few of those saved selfies before them, and that one video. Thumb hovering over, it forces him to play it.

It starts with giggling—his own, before the shaky camera focuses on a body behind the front counter of a record store that he happened to pass by. Some American song he’s never listened to blares overhead, a very excited and very loud singing you swaying your hips to the music. At some point, you even used a rolled up poster as your mic and hit every sour note there was. Jimin in the video laughs again, and the video shortly ends after your eyes widen in horror and connect with his phone.

He plays it two, no, three more times before he’s content and completely simmering in adoration for you. Somehow remembering to discard his pants and shut off the light, he decides to browse through his Snapchat briefly before turning in for the night. He saves your story for last, preparing himself for whatever uniform mirror pic you took (although, he secretly loved that bright ass uniform).

You posted four hours ago, grainy photo depicting you and a friend with red solo cups near your faces and white, toothy smiles shining brightly. For some odd reason, you’re wearing one of your gray cheer hoodies despite the warmth, hood barely revealing your right eye in the photo.

Jimin practically chokes, shooting up from his bed and trying so damn hard to recollect his memories before leaving the party.

“Fucking hell. Fuckfuckfuck.”

He didn’t just bump into some “classmate” wearing a hoodie, he bumped into you.

Three days. Three, unfulfilling, dreadful, and, quite expected, days since you were at Jimin’s. You patiently waited, gathering up every cell in your body and lecturing them to persevere and not force yourself back to his home in an angered blob of psychotic mess.

You went to class, you came back to your room, slept, went to cheer, and slept more. All in that order. You’d hope you would run into him at class and at least read his face, see what kind of state he was in and gather enough intel to come to some sort of conclusion—it was the uncertainty that made you nervous—but he never showed up. In your eyes, it was a simple yes or no, but it would also be wrong of you to rush a mental argument that wasn’t your own.

It worried you even more that he was skipping class because of it. Although he might not look it, he was very much into his studies and wouldn’t just play hooky out of nowhere. Which then made you wonder if there was something else that was bothering him, completely irrelevant to your own situation. Which then made you ballistic.

Maybe you were overthinking this. Maybe everything was fine and he truly just did need some time to himself and who were you to judge him for making a clear, healthy decision?

You slick your slightly sweaty hair into some abomination of a ponytail, having just gotten out of mandatory conditioning and exhausted beyond belief. It was barely reaching eight in the evening but the California sun was already set, majority of the day warmth creeping out and being replaced with a satisfying breeze.

The door squeals, Sara giving you a sympathetic smile on her way in. She knew the gist of what was going on, and you thanked the roommate process for giving you such an understanding gal that kept her “told you so” urges at bay.

“How you holding up? Did you go to cheer?” She lugs her backpack, which seems heavier than normal, upon her bed.

You shrug, “I went to cheer. I’ll probably just turn in soon.”

“That’s the thing,” she starts, unveiling a large bottle of Ciroc from her bag, “I think you should reconsider your plans for tonight.” Sighing audibly, you start to climb into bed to show your reluctance.

“Look, Sara, it’s really nice of you to—”

“No, Y/N, listen. You’ve been sitting around moping because of him and if he’s going to make you wait for his own goddamn approval then you can at least have some fun in the meantime. I even bought this extremely special bottle of vodka so we don’t have to drink cheap shit at Alpha Sig’s and—”

“You’re seriously trying to drag me to a party? Sara, I’m really not in the mood to be around drunk people and I haven’t even showered and what if Jimin texts me and I just don’t know,” you trail on and on, biting your nails out of habit and shoulders hanging in defeat.

“Hey,” your roommate coos, “don’t be such a worrywart.” She takes authority to untangle your hair from its hair-tie, smoothing it out with her own brush and braiding a random strand on the thicker side of your part line. Warning you prior, she sprits your face with some makeup-guru refresher spray and hands you her Chapstick.

“You look pretty, literally all the time. You don’t even have to change since it’s just a random party. Wear your stinky cheer hoodie and your spandex and throw on your sneakers and,” she pauses to unscrew the lid to the Ciroc, “take a swig of this and we’ll just go for a couple hours.”

Deep down, you knew she was right. You were obsessing to a whole new level and just needed to chill out. That, and you did owe her some obedience after disregarding her last warning. You brought the glass to your lips, burn barely stinging down your throat from practice (and high quality vodka) and waiting patiently as Sara touches up her own makeup. She even throws on a ratty t-shirt, presumably to make you feel better and you wanted to cry from how good of a friend she turned out to be.

“Ready?” she peeps, packing the bottle, her phone, and her wallet back into her bag.

You hesitate; what if Jimin really was going to call you tonight?

So what if he did? You can’t wait around like his dog, at his beck and call only when he deems it “time”. To hell with that, you were still your own person and if worse comes to worse, you’d get back to him when you’re free.

“Ready.”

You’re fuzzy by the time you get to the Alpha Sigma house, Sara dedicating her night as DD and stopping you after another two shots in the car. You’re both flurried with greetings all the way to the kitchen, some faces you even recognize from cheer and you laugh at the irony of it all. Even Suzy was here, slinging her arm around your shoulders and sloshing some of her beer onto your hoodie.

“Shit, sorry. I think I filled this cup way too much. Wanna half it with me? ‘S just beer,” she giggles, dumping half of it somewhat messily into another solo cup and handing it to you before you can even nod.

“Are you ‘kay? By the way? Seem sad at practice,” Suzy pouts, sipping on the beer and scrunching her nose from its bitter taste.

You snort, “I’m fine. Just some boy problems, I guess. I don’t really know if this guy likes me or not? I mean, he does, but I don’t know. I’m rambling,” you awkwardly laugh. Suzy doesn’t mind one bit, hanging onto every incoherent word with a look of suspicion.

“Y/N, everyone likes you! You just need to bite back, you know? Guys don’t like apples they can pick from the ground, they like the ones in the trees!”

“… Wait, what?”

“I think she means that if you make him work for you, he’ll be more interested than someone who’s just pining after him,” Sara translates, obviously very entertained by two drunk girls trying to solve a problem.

“Yeah! That’s what I said,” Suzy pouts, “Anyway, gimme your phone!”

You don’t know why but you do. Why are you always giving people your phone without asking why they need it first? She goes straight for Snapchat, reaching the phone around your face again and posing with her beer; you do the same, replacing most of your face with your cup.

“No,” she whines, “you have to show how pretty you look and how much fun you’re having so he gets interested in what you’re doing.” You try again, cup below your lips as you flash a bright smile, one that reaches your eyes. In the midst of it all, the camera shutters and you and Suzy study it.

Perhaps it was from the drinks, but you glow in the picture with a reddened nose and your hoodie covering one of your eyes, the motion in the shot giving it character. You looked like the epitome of fun.

“This one’s perfect,” Suzy says, typing in a flurry of horrendous emojis as the caption and sending it to your story. “You’ll hear from him in no time,” she assures.

The rest of the night goes as planned, beer pong and dancing and holding Suzy’s hair as she dry heaves into the toilet but going for another round when nothing comes up. You feel relieved for the first time this week, actually.

Eventually, you lose Sara in the crowd so you venture around by yourself, talking to a few acquainted faces and finally settling in a corner of the living room for a quick breather. Pulling out your phone, a flash of mint crosses the horizon and a sense of familiarity piques your interest. Locking eyes on the source, you find Yoongi sitting on the couch opposite of you, completely absorbed in a conversation with some petite girl with various piercings sprawled on his lap. Your stomach clenches.

If Yoongi was here, there was a large chance Jimin was, right? Instead of asking him, you scramble to get as far away from his presence as possible, tripping over chairs and a coffee table and rugs until you round a corner as quickly as possible and—

“Ah,” a voice grunts, thumping back into the nearby wall from the collision.

“I-I’m sorry, are you okay?” you mumble, pulling your hoodie back on for safety and making eye contact with the man’s open fly. He just throws up a thumbs-up as response, far too drunk to pull together a sentence, let alone an apology.

You realize, now, that this man wears all-black, smelling of cigarette smoke and a little of women’s perfume, and your heart plunges when you see Jimin’s profile as he maneuvers his way past you.

You worried for days on end about him, and he was just partying? Was he fucking joking? He didn’t even recognize you, he was so plastered.

Slumping your back against the same wall, your brain is surprisingly calmer than you expect. You couldn’t judge him when you were at the same party, he probably needed to let loose too.

“Jennie! Where the hell did you go? I’ve been lookin’ for you for, like, twenty minutes!”

Suddenly sensitive to the overall volume of the party and obnoxious girls, you start to turn to find Sara.

“Chill out, Em. Was trying out that new transfer student for a ride,” her saccharine voice purrs. You whip your head in horror.

“He was fun, sure as hell lived up to the expectations,” she continues.

“No shit, you were with Park Jimin?” her friend, supposedly Em, squeals.

You don’t hear Jennie’s answer, tears stinging hot down your cheeks and legs wobbly as you search the downstairs for Sara. She takes you home without asking what happened.

It was a lot better than you thought it was going to be.

The pain, you mean. And the small dosage of utter humiliation that followed the next day. It wasn’t even that big of a deal once you thought about the Grand Scheme of Things; you got rejected, in a shitty way sure, but it was just a rejection. You knew that eventually you would move on once your classes switched and you would hear about Jimin way less and you’d find someone else to focus your attention on and all would be numb and forgotten.

Sara prodded for an explanation, knowing there was some sort of trigger to cause you to sob on her shoulder in drunken defeat and tearing her away from the party before it was even close to being over. For majority of her questions, you dodged them entirely and instead apologized for the nuisance you caused her. And in all honesty, you weren’t quite sure if you could handle trying to break down and reimagine the events that occurred that night. It would be agonizing.

But it was a lot better than you thought it was going to be.

She left you after a while, having her own life to deal with and albeit, school. Today left a great opportunity for you to catch up on some studying for midterms, contemplating popping (a healthy intake of) Adderall but forcing yourself to focus by your own will. You got a lot finished, feeling refreshed and fully capable by 5PM.

Then you got antsy. For once, cheer wasn’t on the schedule and as much as you should rejoice in your occasional freedom, you feel the need to run. Drain the excess stress and energy you have by a quick pop-in at the gym.

Deciding for it, you jump out of bed and aggressively chuck on your sneakers—the same ones you wore last night. Hell, you didn’t even change from last night, wearing the same hoodie and shorts that you had worn to cheer yesterday. You were absolutely disgusting.

You leave everything but your keys, deciding you didn’t want any distractions or had a need to bring anything else because all you could think about was to runrunrun. You even run down the hallways, zipping down the stairs and bursting through the doors like some sort of madwoman. Stopping a few feet outside, it’s the first time you’ve really looked, nonetheless been, outside today. It surprises you more than anything that it’s raining of all things, droplets big and heavy and creating dark spots on your grey sweatshirt.

“Tough luck in sunny-ass California, eh?” you ask yourself. It wasn’t as rare of an occurrence in the northern half, but the irony of it all really put a damper on things. You abruptly realize that you stand in it for quite some time, letting the fat drops soak your shoulders and the humidity make your skin sticky.

From someone else’s view, this was probably some dramatic moment for the protagonist to break down crying and the love interest, in this case it was asshole-Jimin, would unexpectedly pop out of nowhere to dry their tears. But you weren’t crying and this wasn’t some poorly filmed soap opera. Jimin wouldn’t come begging for your forgiveness and you would just get wet from the rain out of spite, and maybe because you’re a little dumb.

Actually, you thought, this is a whole lot worse.

Then, you’re fucking angry. Your feet move before you can properly deduct your best options, carrying you the total opposite way from the gym. You even go as far as to jog, rounding corners without slowing and completely leaving the campus, hoping you remembered the directions right.

To hell with what Jimin thinks. If he’s too coward to face you, then you’ll do the damn thing yourself.

One, two, three houses down. You don’t even really know where you’re going, reversing a few steps and rerouting down different blocks and while getting completely drenched by the rain. Was it hailing now? Not possible.

You’re honestly about to give up before you see that goddamned mint-colored head poking out from a porch, a small dot of orange extending from his lips and you have the urge to rip the cig from his mouth and chuck it. So when you get close enough, you do.

“What the hell?” but he only eyes you with indifference. He kinda reminds you of a cat.

“Is he home?” Yoongi nods, face only lifting in recognition once he makes contact with the cheer hoodie.

“Great,” you smile, shoving past him and through the open front door. You don’t know why the hell Yoongi is smoking outside in the first place, because the whole house reeks and is hazy beyond belief. But when your eyes land on him, you see clear as day.

Jimin has a cigarette of his own drooping from his lips, nearly spitting it out when he stumbles to stand straight in front of you.

“Y-Y/N, what’re you doing here? What the hell happened?”

You don’t understand the entirety of his second question until you hear the tiniest of droplets on his hardwood floors, quickly examining the damage in which how wet you were, then totally disregarding it altogether. You probably looked feral with second day clothes, puffy red eyes and a tangled mop in exchange of hair, but at this point, you didn’t give two damns.

“Give me time? ‘Give me time’? What kind of pathetic excuse is that? How completely dense do you have to be to not even have the strength to tell me the truth? You win, Jimin, I’m not your type nor am I as hot and ready as Jennie, okay? If I’m too much of this preppy bitch you constantly view in your eyes, then leave me the fuck alone! Continue to dangle yourself in front of every girl’s hungry face, for all I care. Just don’t act like you care when you lack any human emotion thereof and don’t,” you snap your arm away when he reaches for it, “include me in this little circus act of yours anymore.”

You come up for air, running your hands through your soaked locks and laughing like some sort of psycho. For the first time today, the weight that lingered on your chest is lifted. This was, like, some enlightenment type shit.

Jimin looks like he’s on the verge of crying or slapping you across the face, if the two could relate somehow. He knew this would happen sooner or later, drowning himself in packs of Marlboro’s to ease the guilt from his mind. Even worse, seeing you in person and seeing you so filled with hatred was making him fall even more in love with you, if it was possible. His thoughts were facetious, wanting nothing more than to engulf you in his arms and keep you here, with him. It was a little late for that.

You pipe up again only to die down, eyebrows knit together in concentration of what your next move was. Instead, you let your true emotions show in hopes that it kills him. You let your tears fall for the first time that day, lips pressed hard into a line and sighing so slow that your breath shakes. Seeing you like this made Jimin’s stomach plummet.

“You’re not my type either,” you whisper, expecting some sort of response or outburst or at least a fucking attempt of an explanation from him. But you don’t wait forever and you show yourself out the door.

You were pretty good at this whole ignoring game, he had to admit. Only after a certain amount of phone calls, voicemails, and texts (12, 3, and 8, by the way) did you finally go through with blocking his number entirely. You would sit on the exact opposite side of the lecture hall, surrounding yourself with occupied seats so he couldn’t just sit next to you, and practically dodging bodies to leave before he could catch up. He stopped trying that approach when he made accidental eye contact with you during class, eyes filled to the brim in pain and regret and longing to turn back the clock so you wouldn’t have to suffer because of him, it made him sick.

Jimin starts his walk home, had finished utilizing one of the lounges to study for a few hours. Like always, he beelines around the stadium to get to one of the main streets, passing by different athletic groups on the track.

He even sees you on the turf, practicing tumbling passes with the rest of the team, smile plastered on your face when your one friend… Kook, talks to you on the sideline. His heart wrenches, haven’t seen that smile in days. Trying his luck, he jumps over the dividing gate and walks down the track to your area.

You see him eventually, mumbling curses and cowering behind Jungkook even though he can’t completely hide you.

“What the—what’s wrong?”

“It’s him. I don’t want to talk to him,” you whimper, hating confrontation and hating lies even more so. Jungkook grips your shoulders, giving them a squeeze and showing an easing smile.

“I’ll take care of it. Go get some water from your bag,” he assures. You feel like crying for the rare occasion that your teammate, as stubborn as he was, would stick up for you in a time of need, nodding obediently and scurrying off to find your duffel.

Jungkook turns, his best look of intimidation etched onto his toned features and crossing his muscular arms for effect as Jimin walks up.

“I really need to talk to her. I’m not trying to hurt her, just want to clear up some things,” is all Jimin says, overlooking his opponents battle stance.

“We’re in the middle of practice right now. Cheer squad members only. Get lost,” Jungkook growls. Jimin rolls his eyes, ignoring Jungkook’s warning and trying to maneuver around him, instead being met with his beefy shoulder and a final glare of warning, “I said, get lost.”

Without thinking, Jimin rolls up his sleeves, tongue-in-cheek, ready to force his way through and teach this kid to live up to his word. But your eyes meet Jimin’s, worry for your friend apparent and willing an awkward encounter if it means it’ll protect Jungkook. Jimin sighs, backing down immediately and nodding.

“Please, just tell her to give me a call, at least. Sorry for interrupting.”

Jungkook can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy, waiting until Jimin starts heading back until he calls out, “I will,” and giving him a hard but assertive smile. Jimin wouldn’t be trying so hard to reach out to you unless he really had a reason to.

“What did he say? He looked like he was about to kick your ass,” you prod, searching your teammates for any hint of reaction. He simply shrugs.

“He just requested to talk to you. He wasn’t really being an ass or anything. Actually, just being a little desperate. Are you sure you don’t want to hear what he has to say?” Jungkook asks. He was all for protecting you and valuing your wants more than anything, but he knows from personal experience that guys never try that hard unless they really have the hots for someone.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Deep down, you really wanted to hear him out, hope it was all just a poorly-timed misunderstanding and have him tell you that you were what he really wanted. But then you remembered how unsurprised Yoongi was when he took yet another girl home, and how Jimin flat-out ignored you for days, and that god-awful Jennie that was literal walking evidence of your worst concern.

“No, I don’t want to hear anything he has to say,” you conclude.

Over the weekend, Jimin finds himself stuck in the dance studio for hours, working out all the stress he’s accumulated over this whole thing. He doesn’t even know if he’ll get over it as long as he stays here, contemplating dropping school altogether and going back home to Korea. He shoos away the thought as quickly as it comes, he was just being dramatic.

His muscles heave with every move, exhausted and overworked, yet he perseveres. His limbs beg him to stop, but he pushes himself even harder. Dripping sweat, his toe catches on his other foot and stumbles, floor coming so fast that only his elbows are able to catch the fall in time. The impact shakes his bones and makes him cry out in frustration, but he’s fine otherwise. Jimin rolls onto his back, a bubbling anger rising and tempting him to smash every mirror in this studio that reflects his pathetic self and his pathetic actions that haunt him like an ugly scar. Your face flashes in his mind, some odd sleepless-inducing mirage laughing at him.

He calms.

Flinging his bag over his shoulder, he practically forces himself to leave. More than anything, he needed to sleep and focus on finals that were this following week, not worry about some girl that didn’t even want to talk to him.

On his way, he sees Yoongi’s hair on the opposite side of the quad, coffee in hand and face contorted into a rare smile as he talks to some girl. Jimin, the cockblock that he was, changes his course in hopes of bribing his hyung to take him home.

Jimin didn’t have the sharpest of sight per se but he could pick your face from a crowd in seconds, that same face laughing and smiling at his roommate like you two were best friends now. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion or the utter shock, but he spins right back around and opts to walk home without another thought.

When he gets home, he patiently waits for Yoongi, building a script in his head of the calm questions he’ll ask that will shed some light on what he could possibly be talking to you about. Yoongi was an attractive male himself, and surely wouldn’t give a shit about taking Jimin’s love interest for his own.

The door squeaks open after a short while, Yoongi muttering a short, “I’m home,” and treading to the kitchen. Jimin pops up from the couch and follows him, waiting for Yoongi to stick his head back out from the fridge.

“Shit, dude,” Yoongi jumps at Jimin’s sudden appearance, “prima ballerina is light on his toes.”

“What were you doing talking to Y/N,” Jimin asks without hesitation. Yoongi stares him down, amusement drawn on his face.

“What, are you stalking her now?”

Jimin’s eye twitches, “And are you suddenly interested in cheerleaders now, too? Just tell me what you guys were talking about!” It takes all of his patience to not unleash his pent-up anger on his hyung, knuckles turning white from squeezing his fists.

Yoongi leans against the counter, “Chill. I don’t like her. Accidentally bumped into her, quite literally, and got caught in a conversation.” Jimin internally chuckles, you were so goddamn clumsy.

“You should talk to her, no matter what,” he continues, “I think she’s really hurt right now but she’ll let you soon I bet.”

Jimin wondered if that was true.

Minthead’s words bounced around in your skull. They had been bouncing around throughout the week, even following up to your psych final. You took Friday’s final opening as there were too many students in the class for the professor to monitor and, honestly, it gave you more time to procrastinate on studying. Not that it mattered, you couldn’t focus anyway.

What you didn’t find surprising, no thanks to Lady Luck, was that Jimin picked the same day as you. He waved and smiled upon seeing your arrival, in which you rolled your eyes and sat near the back corner. Jimin, having enough of this game, collects his things and travels all the way across the lecture hall to plop down two seats away from you.

“Cheating, are we, Mister Park?” the professor eyes him with suspicion worn down with fatigue.

“N-No, sir.” Jimin clears his throat, whispering to you without his notice, “Look, we need to talk. I’m not letting you leave until you hear what I have to tell you.”

“Oh, so you’re blackmailing me now?” you spit.

“Don’t be stubborn. You don’t have to forgive me, you just need to hear my side of the story so we can both feel at ease,” he chooses his next words carefully, “although, I don’t want you to hate me, if I can help it.”

“No more talking, turn in your packet in the front when you’re done. You may leave when you’re finished,” the professor instructs, handing you both your finals.

You don’t look at Jimin for the remainder of the hour, focusing on the questions as hard as you can with a lingering indecisiveness nagging you in the back of your skull. How could you trust what Yoongi told you? What if Jimin was behind all of what he said in order for you to just be wrapped around his finger again? You were just starting to feel better, back to normal, even.

When you’re finished, you round up your stuff and submit your final. You don’t look where he’s sitting when you exit the hall, but you know he’s watching you leave. The doors shut quietly behind you and your brain fights to come to a decision.

“Forget it,” you mumble, feeling defeated and walking towards the quad.

It takes Jimin an extra 15 minutes to finish writing his answers, his mind whirring and cursing himself for taking so goddamn long, but how was he supposed to focus? Not when you completed it so early and probably left ahead of him. He all but jogs out, looking down each side of the hallway to look for you. He’s not surprised that you didn’t wait.

“Dammit!” he grunts, punching a decent-sized dent in the drywall. People around eye him, whispering words of concern and fear but he doesn’t care. Just paces outside as fast as he can to avoid familiar faces or staff.

“Jimin? Geez, dude, you look like a raging bull,” you call out to him, stepping away from a nearby bench and catching up to his angered frame.

“Y/N? I thought you left,” he exhales with relief, rubbing his bruising knuckles in his other hand, “Does this mean that you’ll talk to me?”

You shrug, eyes catching on his small injury, “I, uh, yeah. What happened? Are you okay?” You pull his hand towards you, brushing away debris from the wall and examining the damage, eyebrows knit in caring concern.

His heart races, how could you possibly touch him right now? How could you prioritize his wellbeing when he’s hurt you so badly? Pulling his arm away, he nods his head towards the bench you came from, “Wanna sit? I’ll make it quick, if I’m interrupting you.”

When you take a seat, several inches away from him for safe measure, you finally get a good look at Jimin for the first time in days. His hair stuck up in every direction and looked slick from grease, his normally dewy complexion pale and dull, and even more, reeking of cigarette smoke. He looked like hell, and even though you shouldn’t, you feel victorious in some way.

“I’m just going to cut to the chase,” he starts, “I get bored of girls really easily. I don’t like being obligated to a relationship because they’re totally bullshit most of the time. And I don’t have the patience for one single person.”

“Great, thanks, Jimin. I’m leaving now,” you say with a sarcastic laugh, starting to stand up until he grabs your wrist.

“But there’s something so different about you. I can’t get you out of my head. You’re pretty, fuck, you’re gorgeous. More than that, you’re strong and smart and not afraid to raise your voice and you’re not this overly-optimistic person but everything you touch is just suddenly so much better and I truly felt like you were doing that to me. You were making me better and pushing me to do what I love and all the more I fell in love with you along the way, but I was scared.” His leg shakes more and more as he continues and you can’t help but stare at his nervous antic.

“I tried so many times to forget you, to convince myself that this was just some,” he whirls his hands in the air, “phase, or something. But it just felt so wrong and I regret ever trying to attempt to do so. But I want to change, I want to love you and I want you to forgive me.”

“That’s a lot to ask for, Jimin. It’s a little too late for that,” you say, voice wavering. You wish you could punch yourself for being so weak in front of him. Or, even better, you could punch him.

“Too late? It’s not too late, baby. Let me show you how good I can be for you. You’re talking about the party, right? And the girl? That was nothing.”

You wince at his nonchalance, “Perhaps it’s nothing to you, Jimin, but the last thing I was expecting was for you to run off and fuck some sorority girl when you were so confused about me. That’s not how this works.”

He looks appalled, “What? You think I fucked someone?”

“I know you did. Some girl stumbling down the same time you did said so when she was talking to the rest of her Jimin fanclub,” you spit. This is where the real test came in.

“I didn’t—no. I didn’t screw anyone that night, oh my god. That’s why you’re so mad at me,” he ruffles his hair, completely dumbfounded, “Okay. I’m going to tell you the truth. I was with that girl, and I was intending to…” Your heart wrenches.

“But I didn’t! We made out a little but it was so wrong so I left before anything real happened and it was really my ah-ha moment that I wouldn’t ever be happy unless it was with you, Y/N. I mean it.”

“How do I know to take your word over hers? If I were to forgive you, how do I know that you won’t do anything stupid again?”

“Unfortunately, you don’t know. I wish I could provide evidence somehow, anything that would ease your mind. All I can ask for is just one more chance and promise you that it’s all I’ll ever need. Take all the time you need to be comfortable with me again, break my heart, literally give me a stick-and-poke of your own name, I don’t care.”

You laugh a little at his exclamation, the air lightening up enough for Jimin to grab your hand with courage. Squeezing a little, you look at him sternly before wriggling your hand out of his grasp.

“I don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t give anyone second chances. It just makes what they did to me okay, and it’s not okay even if you didn’t go all the way. You still hurt me, Jimin.”

His face droops with melancholy, “It’s not okay, it’s not okay at all. But—Y/N. Please. Just make one exception…”

“I—” your eyes well with tears, again, “I don’t know Jimin. I want to but I’m just not sure.” Your flight responses kick in and you hop off the bench.

“I have to go. I have to get to practice and there’s a performance at halftime tomorrow and I just don’t have time for… this.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I won’t bug you anymore but please just think about it. About me.”

You nod and smile feebly, forcing your body away from him as fast as you could without sprinting. You didn’t even have practice for another hour and you’re sure Jimin knew that, but it would only be moments before you dove into his chest and thanked him for coming back, and you didn’t want to be so weak.

Assuring yourself that you’re just overwhelmed and possibly overthinking, you opt to head to the gym, despite being an hour early.

Suzy somehow convinces you to sit out for the game until performance at halftime, not taking your arguments as valid and forcing you to sit under the cheer tent, arms crossed in bitterness. Here you were, now forced to think about all that’s happened while Jungkook bases Nani out of all girls. You didn’t have a problem with her, but Jungkook was your base goddammit.

“Jimin really likes you, and I can vouch for him that he didn’t do anything with Jennie that night. Unfortunately, because of you, he hasn’t been able to do anything. Never brings girls home anymore, hasn’t smoked until just recently. Even told me that he’s into dancing? ‘S weird,” Yoongi chuckled. You laugh with him, unaware that Yoongi has any expression aside from cynical indifference.

“Why are you telling me this?” As much as you appreciated his concern, why the hell did he care?

“Because all he fucking talks about is you. How pretty you are and how he was going to ask you out to a movie and how cute you eat your food? So gross, just give him a pair of used panties already,” he scrutinized.

“He can’t seem to get out of this rut, either. I’m guessing it’s because you’re pretty mad at him,” he admits after a while.

The words play in your head like a broken record, eventually giving you a gnarly headache. You were sure he was telling the truth; intentionally scheming with Yoongi to not tell Jimin of your meeting, hoping both of their stories aligned completely parallel. Jimin even told you things he didn’t need to, things Yoongi left out.

So why were you hesitating?

“Y/N! Time to shine, lazyass. Start stretching,” Jungkook yells, shaking you out of your thoughts. You do as you’re told, stretching briefly while the clock gets closer and closer to halftime. It sounds with a loud, obnoxious tone, and you run out with the rest of the team and the marching band when the football players clear the field.

The rest passes as it always does, your mind fogging out the routine having done it so many times. Suzy calls, Jungkook throws, the band plays alongside and you subconsciously follow along to the counts playing in your head.

Then, the crowd just stops cheering. You all continue, trained to push through no matter the distraction until a horrendous screech fills the stadium, the scoreboard glitching until it switches input to a live broadcast.

Losing your balance and doing the absolute opposite of what flyers should do, you crumple and reach forward to break your fall. You don’t know how, but Jungkook shoves your feet back just in time to bear-hug your waist, preventing an ugly face-plant with the ground.

“Thanks,” you heave, “What the hell is going on?”

“Probably some frat idiot prank, do you think we should just get off the field?”

“Shut it, look,” Suzy interrupts.

“Uhh, I don’t know if this is working,” a voice booms through the stadium, video focusing on some guy in a hoodie as people in the distance struggle to keep people, presumably staff, into the announcing room.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s Jimin,” you whisper, catching Jungkook’s wheeze of surprise with a mutual look of chaos.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have before I gotta skedaddle but here I go: Y/N, the one on the cheer squad preferably, I have severely fucked up. I underestimated you but you were never wrong about me because I am a total asswipe. But I want to prove that you’ve changed me and I want to be your boyfriend and always take half of your portions of food and criticize the American government,” someone yells fuck the government! in the distance to this, “and dance for you and hell, baby, I’ll dance for you and—oh shit.”

There’s a ripple of giggles and whoops throughout the crowd as Jimin darts past someone that attempts to contain him, briefly showing an exasperated face before they switch the scoreboard back to its numbery self.

“I don’t ever think I’d see the day Park Jimin would ever confess his feelings… to a cheerleader… at a televised game,” Suzy speaks between cackling. This would have been mortifying if it weren’t so utterly amusing; your cheeks straining from how hard you’re smiling. Jimin was an exceptional son-of-a-bitch, but there wasn’t really much wrong with letting your naivete get the best of you. If you gave up on every person that caused you trouble, how would you ever know what unconditional love feels like? Because you were pretty damn sure this was it and you didn’t want to give it up.

You love Jimin.

“Oh, here he comes,” Jungkook informs. You both watch as Jimin sprints onto the field, scouting for your eyes among everyone else’s and screeching to a halt in front of you with a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, what’s your answer? Because honestly, we’re not each other’s type at all appearance-wise but I can’t imagine being with anyone else at this dreaded school and if I get suspended without getting something out of this then—”

“Oh my god, Jimin, just shut the hell up, okay? You win,” you roll your eyes and wipe that stupid smile off with a caress to his sweaty face and a planted kiss on his lips. Jimin’s insides explode, either from the kiss or the incredible 4k he just sprinted but nonetheless he’s so fucking in love.

He lifts you off your feet, hugging the remainder of air out of your body and making you squeal.

“I love you, I love you, and I’m so sorry,” he repeats like a mantra, those beloved puppy dog eyes brimming with flickering adoration and regret and relief all at once.

“I—I forgive you. Really, I do. I love you, even if you make me want to shove a pom-pom down your throat,” you cry in happiness. He kisses you one more time, quick but piercing and so right.

The crowd cheers as they watch the display, and oh bologna when you signed up to be a cheerleader you didn’t think you’d catch this much attention, and even more so when Yoongi suddenly runs over with a wireless mic in hand.

“Before we get back to your soccer game, can you just clarify to the audience what you said to this little outburst right here?” He announces with deadpan enthusiasm. You knew that he secretly enjoyed this commotion, probably reveling in it like some odd middle-man that liked to watch his friend’s problems go up in flames.

You hesitantly take the mic, “Yeah, um, I said yes. I said yes and I might be making a mistake but yeah he’s taken, I’m sorry ladies.” What kind of crappily scripted teen movie was this?

You start to hand the mic back to Yoongs, but Jimin snags it and adds a quick, “Uhh last words: Fuck you Jennie, you lying bitch! ‘Kay, enjoy your game.” You choke at the exclamation.

“… Too soon?” You dramatically shrug and make a just a little sign with a pinched thumb and index.

“Jimin, how much did you have to drink to do all this?”

“A little shot for courage is nothing, babe. Oh—evening kind sirs!” Three older, and visibly agitated, teachers grab Jimin by the arm. “I’ll be back, hopefully, I’ll wait for you after the game!”

Waving him off, you return to the sideline before the pack of oblivious football players maul you. You watched his pink mop bob off into the distance, Yoongi soon accompanying him with the rest of his hooligans as they’re scrutinized by the teachers. Chuckling, you ponder how long a relationship you two could pull off, a small part of you hoping it’s deeper than calf love, and a larger bit knowing it is.

a/n: yay! you made it! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, poppy

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