#NEXT TIME JUST HAVE HIM GROW HIS OWN HAIR. pleathe

[leatherbookmark]

hongjoong's cutest outfit in the thanxx mv

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience. 

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him. 

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between. 

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify.  Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.” 

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status. 

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that. 

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk. 

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates.  "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do. 

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person." 

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that. 

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so." 

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along." 

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism. 

 "Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon." 

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?" 

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking." 

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the  finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit. 

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable.  But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs. 

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him. 

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In  their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He  enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness. 

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all  rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead.  You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly. 

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows. 

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

[rorysfm]

hllo demons n nerds ! i’m sage, coming 2 u live frm the est gutters! i am... v excited to be here but i am literally the worst at intros so i’m jus gonna diiiiive right into rory below ! 

(ISABELLA JONES, CISFEMALE) - Have you seen AURORA LEBLANC? RORY is in HER SOPHOMORE year. The DANCE AND SOCIOLOGY MAJOR is 19 years old & is a LIBRA. People say SHE is LIVELY, MAGNETIC, IMPULSIVE and UNRELIABLE. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that HER PARENTS ARE COVERING UP THAT SHE WAS KICKED OUT OF YALE FOR PLAGIARISM AND NO OTHER IVY WOULD ACCEPT HER, SO THEY BOUGHT HER WAY INTO YATES

ok,  so.. rory is a brand new muse of mine so.. pls bare w me while i sort her out. if u want to skip the mess below & just vibe check her.. here’s her pinterest!

BACKGROUND

born and raised in greenwood, south carolina to oliver and lauren leblanc. her parents were high school sweethearts who were voted most likely to get married and have a dozen kids running around

they stopped at 2 because they jus... their kids were a handful but rory will tell you they stopped after her bc they hit perfection :~) 

her mom’s family teetered between lower-middle class, her mom entering a bunch of pageants to bring in some extra cash for them. 

her dad’s side on the other hand, is where all the connections are baby!!

the leblancs come from a long long line of being wrapped up in the political world. governors, members of the state senate, mayors, advisers... you name it - a leblanc has had that position. 

her dad’s goals were no different than the rest of his family’s ... some would say even bigger bc he wants to do what no other leblanc was able to do, which is... run for president. (yes hello.. rory as the future first daughter?)

growing up her parents were honestly... not the best. like above all else they put oliver’s career above their kids and it wasn’t not being there for an important recital, or a parent-teacher night; it was being there for all the wrong reasons.

 every little thing they did was calculating to make the leblancs look like the perfect family. hugs and words of encouragement loud enough to filter through the room aimed at their darling children only for them to turn cold and criticise every single thing they did wrong as soon as they got into the car. it was pretty clear that oliver and lauren were a team, and their kids were just props. 

when rory was 12, lauren started making monthly appointments at the hair salon to dye rory’s hair blonde... she had a standing appointment every tenth of the month to have her roots touched up

rory’s mom jus rly... pushed rory on her looks and enrolled her in pageants, debutante balls, anything that showed off rory’s looks... lauren pushed her towards it.

rory and her brother declan stayed in their hometown for school until college bc their parents thought it made them look like more of wholesome family so instead of sending them off to boarding schools in london or new york, they opted for private schools in south carolina

both of them were of course pushed into going to well renowned schools, their grandfather had pushed them into going to yates since he, himself had been part of calloway and they were practically legacies and while declan followed thru with it... rory watched the cinderella story one too many times and like hilary duff..... sis went to princeton for political science!!!

only it ended up in flames bc tbh she was like a bull in a china shop, the freedom of not having her parents around to judge every single thing she did? or pushing her into doing things she hated? she od’d on FREEDOM. rory rly just did her own thing, kinda spiralled out of control.. never hard drugs but lots of drinking and partying.

she ended up getting put on probation and was flunking nearly every course. the pressure really got to her (like she knew her parents would get involved if you got kicked out or if she failed all her courses) so she ended up plagiarising an essay ... but gueSS what!! she was caught and her parents got involved anyways.

her parents ended up being able to keep things ... quiet by paying off the teacher that had caught her. the dean also agreed to stay mum about it (after accepting a hefty cheque), so nothing ever went of her record, nothing would ever be documented of this mishap.

but... it’s likely people still talk and while rumors can’t be proven, it still stopped rory from getting into yale, harvard and columbia when she tried

finally with her grandfather’s pull and the promise to build yates a new library with the next 5 years... rory was accepted just as declan had graduated. 

PRESENT

pulled up to yates in her vintage baby blue mercedes benz convertible from the 60′s

she’s brand new to yates, and switched out of political science.

out of all the activities and hobbies that her parents tried to push her into, dance was the only one she actually enjoyed doing and fell in love with 

her parents let her major in it, as long as she did a double major.. so sis took sociology because why not?

spent her summer dancing with the new york ballet company in their production of a midsummer’s night dream. 

honestly.. loved it but also was lowkey bummed out she missed out on a proper summer

right before declan had graduated, rory had come up for a campus tour and ended up partying at yates for a weekend

probably got herself into a bit of trouble, and probably made a nice little impression on a few people!

PERSONALITY

honestly.. chaotic good. she’s always been a little more on the wilder side than declan.. a little more carefree and daring and just always needed to be told to behave

in fact has a tattoo that says BEHAVE  on her forearm, that she got one night back in princeton. 

that said, she’s very good at playing her part in the family

dubbed as the golden girl... bc she is just that kind of girl that has a magnetic pull to her, a smile that could combat the sun and just naturally very charming and genuinely nice?? very good a convincing you without being manipulative about it

does only angel by harry styles play when she walks in the room? possibly.

the kind of girl that you spend weeks thinking about after one (1) conversation

still gets her hair dyed blonde the 10th of every month, bc her mother has convinced her she is just not meant to be a brunette :/ 

honestly.. she’s insecure abt a lot of things because of her mom  :/

has really great posture and etiquette from all those pageant days. also really good at making cranes out of dinner napkins from being bored at functions her parents forced her to go to

would probably throw hands if she caught someone talking badly abt her brother bc she’s protective of him

very much a hopeless romantic, gets heart eyes very easily and likes to chase until it isn’t fun anymore and falls in love with multiple people a day. 

tragically likes country music :/

promised her brother she wld.. try to be good and stay out of trouble but i reckon.... she won’t plagiarize an essay ever again but everything else? the partying? fair game.

CONNECTIONS

tbh i will take anything yall will give me... i am @ ur service serving rory on a silver platter to u

i’m also big on chemistry so we can just see where things go as well since rory is new to yates this could be fun!!

a few people she met while she was visiting last year.. someone she clicked with and they stayed in touch, maybe someone she flirted with but doesn’t remember then (even tho she’ll pretend she does!), someone she hooked up with perhaps? someone she spent all night talking to? 

a brother’s friend she’s met a couple times? 

good influence/bad influence

family friends

family rivals

cousins could be fun

a roommate

a tutor?

tinder matches? hook ups, flirtationship .. anything angsty!!

friends!! pleathe i will take them all.. a girl squad would also be quite fun!

ok.. that’s all tht my lil brain can come up with.. im sorry this is so long and such a mess but hmu if you’d like to plot!! 

[shuskas-story-book]

4/13/18 ‘Hello’

An EriSol Humanstuck fanfic written off the song 'Hello' By Adele

Hey thith ith Thollux. Thorry I couldn't anthwer your call, tho go ahead and leave a methage after the beep *BEEP*

Eridan sighed softly, listening to the message that he had almost burned into his memory. He felt it was finally time to actually try to talk to Sollux again.

"Hey, Sollux, I-it's me Eridan. I was uh...I was wondering if you'd want to meet up? I know we left off pretty bad all those month's ago, so we can...maybe go over everything" he said softly, taking a deep breath and looking off to the side and sitting the picture of himself and Sollux on a pier . "You know...they say that times supposed to heal you but...I haven't healed much......."

He lifted his head in shock as he heard a sudden click on the other end of his line. "h-hello? Sollux is that you? Can you hear me?" he asked, heart racing and his voice shaking a bit as he heard a deep breath before a sigh on the other end. "Yea...I can hear ya ED" Sollux replied softly. Eridan started to tear up a bit and covered his mouth, a soft whimper escaping him as Sollux spoke up again.

"Lithen ED, I'm home....You caught me in a daydream honethtly. How we uthed to be when we were younger and didn't have tho many thingth holding uth down. Before you dethided to call....I had forgotten how it felt before my world thatered around me" he said softly. Eridan automatically felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Sollux was referring to the night Eridan had gone out to Cronus's Bachelor party and gotten drunk before having sex with a few different people. Granted it was all instigated by Cronus that night, but when Sollux had tried to get Eridan to have sex with him a few nights later, just to make him feel better about accidentally cheating on him, but it all went downhill when Eridan called out another's name. Things had happened so fast and he couldn't do anything to stop the pain he caused with that one word.

Eridan quickly came back to when he heard a soft hello from the other side of the phone. He could partially feel the tears that were rolling down his cheeks as Sollux spoke. "ED? Hello? Can you hear me? ED pleathe I mutht have called your name a thouthand timeth!" he whined softly as Eridan gave a sniffle and nodded. It took a moment before he realized Sollux couldn't see him. "I-i'm sorry Sollux....I just....I-i just called to tell you that I'm....I'm so sorry for everything that I did....that I HAVE done." he replied softly.

"But....Every time I called you you...you were never home I-i just.....I even came to your apartment and banged on the door....just shouting your name from the hall" he continued, sniffling as the tears started to freely roll down his cheeks. "At-at least I can say I TRIED to tell you I was sorry for breaking your heart Sol" he sobbed, looking away from the photo he had been looking at.

He heard a snort from the other end of the line before an overly sarcastic reply was given. "Well it don't matter now doeth it ED? It CLEARLY doethn't tear you up like it doeth me." Eridan couldn't help a soft, almost bitter laugh as it escaped his trembling lips. "Tho....Eridan pleathe.....Letth get thome coffee alright? Fill'th Cafe?" Sollux asked, a small mile in his voice. "Let'th thay in thirty minuteth leave your apartment and we'll meet up like we uthed to."

Eridan agreed and the call ended, quickly going around the apartment and getting himself ready. He paused to catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror and he could see the bags under his chocolate brown eyes, the way his clothing just hung on his slim form and the now pale purple puff of hair he had always managed to convince his boss to let him keep. He looked like a mess.

Thinking quickly, he managed to get himself in the shower and actually gel his hair back in the way he knows Sollux likes it and grimaces. When was the last time I did my hair? he asked himself, shaking his head. He got things settled and donned a dark purple shirt and his favorite pair of dark blue jeans before pulling his shoes on. Damn, five minutes late to leave already.

He darted out of the apartment, locking it in his wake and hurriedly walked down the board to the cafe. Fill's Cafe had been the place they met, the place that Sollux had proposed. Eridan's eyes started to water as he ducked his nose down into the red and blue infinity scarf he wore. The wedding would have been set for the next day had Cronus and his own fucking marriage that sent Eridan and Sollux down this path.

Eridan shook his head and tried to hold back the tears as he looked up to the faded green and yellow sign to the cafe. He could hardly think straight as he stepped into the cafe and looked around. Sollux was sitting over in their usual spot, two coffees in front of him and an empty seat. He looked up to Eridan with a small smile, waving him over and watching the younger male.

"Sollux I-i-i'm so sorry I-I was I mess I had to take a shower a-and-" he froze as Sollux raised a hand, moving towards the seat in front of himself. "Hello ED....." he said softly. Eridan nodded and sat down, looking off to the side. "I-I'm sorry Sol.....it's so typical to talk about myself like that......i-i'm so sorry" he whispered, shaking his head before turning a sad smile up to Sollux.

"I-i hope you've been well" he said softly. "Did....you ever make it out of that dead end job?" he asked, tilting his head as he carefully took the cup in his hand. Sollux let out a shaky sigh of his own and nodded, throat tightening at the sight of Eridan's engagement ring still settled neatly on his finger. He reached out and took Eridans hand, pulling it over and turning it over in his own, computer calloused hands. "ED.....ith no thecrete that the both of uth are running out of time....It'th what humanth do, get mad at one another, leave, and grow old with that bitter feeling in their hearth" he said softly, taking a deep breath and looking up to meet Eridans with his own bi-colored eyes. "I'm thorry I broke your heart Eridan" he whispered.

Eridan's heart nearly stopped as Sollux removed the ring. He couldn't put two and two together at this moment. He came here to tell Sollux he was sorry, to beg for forgiveness and yet, Sollux was pulling the ring off his finger. Eridan let the tears he was holding back roll down his cheeks as he softly started to sob. Sollux looks up to him and frowned, moving out of his chair before getting down on his knees with Eridan's hand held to his chest.

"Pleathe don't cry ED, you know I hate theeing you cry" he whispered softly. "I'm not trying to puth you away. Eridan pleathe, give me a thecond chanthe to forgive you. I know thith ith a weird way to do it but....I-i jutht want you to put the ring on a chain.....Give me a chanthe to forgive you properly and we can try thith again later on" he said softly, holding the ring up for a moment before placing the golden band down in Eridans palm.

Eridan watched him closely, putting the ring on the table and nearly jumping into Sollux's lap as he pulled him into a hug. "Thank you sol.....thank you" he whispered, hiding his face against Sollux's neck and let his boyfriend shush him softly and enjoy the feeling of the other's arm around him like they should be.