#hoseoksriskybusiness

[taebaeboo]

Mockingbird | 1

bts x reader, shinee x reader | vampire au | 6.9k wc

inwhich a juvenile detention center is really a private academy for teens with an extra ordinary gift.

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence, potential murder, master/slave themes, potential smut

It isn’t often you find yourself in a position that you can’t charm yourself out of. In fact, your aunt would often say it's the worst amongst your best traits. You had mastered the art of getting what you want by the time you were six. All you had to do was look someone directly in the eye and put on a face of distress - a despondent brow coupled with a pouty lip. Your proficiency to slip under the radar became a craft all its own by the time you entered your final year of school. Alas, charm could only get you so far and it was only a matter of time before it led to terrible consequences.

"Son of a - " After nearly tripping over your own shoes, you hurry up the narrow stairs leading to the rooftop.

You had run straight for it in hope of refuge. The narrow escape wouldn't have been necessary had you not been loitering near a fire alarm when it went off, or been spotted running in the opposite direction. Because of where you were standing at the time, the hall monitor didn't see the trio of bullies you were conversing with. Oh but he saw you, and the moment you recognized the accusing look on his face you bolted. The leader of the trio didn't like the direction the conversation was going and pulled the alarm knowing full well a hall monitor would be making rounds.

These particular bullies have had it out for you for some time now, but your series of pranks in response to their tyrant reign is a story for another time. Truth be told they had it coming and better it be you locking them in a classroom, or scattering their uniforms after P.E. while they showered, or that one time you jammed the door to the gymnasium afterhours—better those silly pranks than an a defenseless, unstable student.

The fire escape is to the back of Justine Preparatory School, but that isn't what you’re aiming for. Using the fire escape means climbing down in front of the entire student body and pleading guilty to that hall monitor. So that's out of the question. The point of coming to the rooftop is to use the large tree at the side of the building for your escape. The founding fathers of the school probably planted the tree next to the building for the aesthetic without any idea that it would be used for mischief.

You reach the roof and pass the threshold with care to not make too much noise; the door is old and has the tendency to screech. You crouch down out of sight, unlocking your phone in the process and firing off a group text to "Bi+chacho Squad". You can hear the student body gathered outside in response to the fire alarm going off, your friends surely wondering where you are.

Do me a huge favor? Someone call out for me during roll call kthx

Lissa is the first to reply using a distressed emoticon.

Jennie is next, no problem. where are you hiding out?

roof, You have to wait several seconds before either party replies.

fam youre screwed, coming from Jennie that doesn’t mean much. Your eyes roll of their own accord as Lissa makes use of every frantic, crying, scared and hugging emoticon.

Let me be the bearer of bad news, Charlie finally joins the chat—as well as the feeling of dread. She’s the serious one of the group.

Y/N, youre royally fucked courtesy of tweedle dee and tweedle dum being incompetent of one simple instruction. they both called out for u the first AND SECOND TIME. Our homeroom teacher knows youre not here, theyre sending in the nations finest to look for you. Congratulations.

You groan, giving yourself a mental face palm and quickly shoot off a selective choice of cusses to your so-called best mates before pocketing the phone. Sirens close in in the distance. You have absolutely no time to waste, it's do or die. You scurry to the wall and take a deep breath before lifting yourself onto it. Carry the 1, divided by height plus distance and it looks to be a high chance of splinters and probability of dislocated fingers. Nothing you can’t handle.

Peering down, the ground looks much further than foreseen but that doesn't stop your body from tingling with anticipation. You shrug off your blazer, ball it up and toss it towards the lower branches. Your pocket buzzes but you ignore it, the commotion below grows louder and you take another deep breath to calm yourself. You crouch forward in preparation to launch yourself in three, two, one!

“Fuck!” You shriek as you’re suddenly pulled backwards. Your legs fumble, knee scraping the rough surface of the ledge. You jerk away violently, swinging an arm behind you and having your wrist grabbed in a firm hold. You pull away, quickly finding your footing and turning to face whoever touched you.

“What the fuck?!” You glare. From what you could tell the stranger doesn't care for your attitude, the expression on his face is more annoyed than sorry. He takes a step back, fixing his hood over a head of silver hair.

"Sorry, but you wouldn’t have made it. You’re welcome."

You scoff, peeved by this strangers unwanted actions. Had he not touched you, you would've been interested in hearing what he was doing there, he’s clearly not a student, you would remember a face like his, but right now your priorities are elsewhere.

“Are you kidding me right now? I don’t have time for this. You didn’t see me here.”

“Don’t!” The stranger grabs a handful of shirt to keep you from raising yourself on the ledge again.

You slap his hand away. “What now? What do you want?”

He points in the direction of the fire escape, “The stairs are over there.”

“I am well aware of that thank you. I do attend this school, unlike you.”

“I come for the view.” He tilts his head to the side.

"The view?"

“Yes.” You decide he's unbelievably shameless.

“Unbelievable. Why are you stopping me?” You ask, crossing you arms impatiently.

The stranger doesn’t answer, much to your chagrin. He’s looking at the rooftop door. The alarm has been neutralized by now, making the commotion below sound less menacing than before; they must have gotten word of a false alarm. But that doesn't mean you're out of the woods just yet, you aren’t ready to deal with that hall monitor and it’s not like you have a way to prove your innocence. It's easy to picture the fire brigade storming the rooftop any second now, which means it's time to go. You turn back to the stranger to tell him this but he's gone. Startled, you whip around to find him standing on the ledge. You hadn’t noticed him move at all.

“Get down before someone see’s you!” You whisper-shout.

“You didn’t see me here.” He answers then launches into the welcoming hands of the old oak tree with all the grace of a cat.

Your jaw drops at his lack of hesitance, but don't have time to gawk at the effortless way he maneuvers from limb to limb because the crash of the rooftop door announces that the nation's finest have indeed found you.

The clock overheard tick-tocks with a tantalizing pattern, so much so that you readjust your seat for the nth time to restrain from bouncing a knee or wringing your hands. You're uncharacteristically nervous, as you should be in the director's office, past slipups have landed you here before, but your friends were always ready to prove your innocence. Today you don't have an alibi as you were caught red-handed on the roof and both Lissa and Jennie were assigned detention for “false statements” or, as Jennie will say later on, “innocently impersonating a wrongfully accused friend what’s wrong with that show me in the books!”

Charm isn't going to get you completely off the hook this time, but it's worth a try.

“It’s come to my attention that you were seen near the fire alarm that was activated. Now tell me truthfully, did you pull the alarm?”

“Truthfully I did not, sir.” You answer carefully, enunciating each syllable and meeting his eyes. You know full well that mentioning the bullies wouldn't help at all. They always get away with petty things, but not like you do. No one can get away with things like you could.

The director considers this for a moment, “Thank you for telling the truth. Now tell me, what were you doing on the roof? Why didn't you evacuate with the rest of the class?”

The urge to roll your eyes is strong but you suppress it in favor of maintaining eye contact and putting on a face of distress. “I didn’t pull the alarm, but I was near it. I was scared the hall monitor wouldn't believe me so I hid on the roof where I thought I'd be safe. I'm sorry, I know it was wrong.”

The brief knit in his brow gives you hope that it worked, but the second he takes too long to respond a feeling of alarm sets in. "I see. Regardless, I see here that this is your eleventh write-up. These mishaps with other students—frankly, make you out to be a bully."

“A bully?” You squeak, feigning innocence. It's true you used your charms before for your own gain, but those times were justified—at least by your standards. The only way he would be bringing that up now was if those girls, the real bullies, said something against you. Lying snakes!

"Yes, a bully. I'm sure you're aware of our no-tolerance policy?"

"Yes, sir." You say slowly, palms beginning to sweat.

"Then you're aware that five write-ups are an automatic in-school suspension, and you have eleven. Eleven! I haven't the slightest clue how you've been excused for so long, but this ends now. Beginning tomorrow you are hereby suspended for three days and may not participate in any upcoming school events for the remainder of the year."

Now your jaw really drops. “Pardon me sir, but this is all a big misunderstanding. I really didn't pull the alarm and I'm not a bully. Isn't there a way we could work this out without suspending me?”

“I'm afraid not. The decision is final. Your guardian will be notified by phone.”

The walk back to class is tedious as you drag it out in a mixed state of irate disbelief, partially due to the unfair punishment, but mostly because you're cross with the rooftop stranger. He's the reason you were caught, after all.

Selective curses spill from your lips all the way to your seat where your friends have an animated conversation going on. Jennie and Lissa share sympathetic looks as you approach. They wait for you to make a move and pounce the second you turn to address them, eagerly awaiting details. With only twenty minutes till the school day ends, the instructor didn't bother with resuming class so it's a free period. You fold your arms on the desk and lay your chin atop, pouting at your friends.

“Thanks guys.”

Lissa drops her head on your shoulder, squeezing your arm in apology.

"Well? Are you going to tell us what happened?" Charlie asks.

You huff, then motion for them to come closer. When they do you tell them about the confrontation with the bullies, your suspension, but leave out the rooftop stranger.

"What blasphemy! This is injustice!" Jennie sympathizes like no other, complete with a fist hitting the desk; she raises her voice with every word and Charlie has to hold her down from starting a protest.

"What about the “other students”?” Lissa uses air quotes, “Did he say who is accusing you of bullying them?"

"No, but I can take a guess." you say, bitterly. You motion them even closer and whisper, "I have three days to return the favor, and I’m open to suggestions."

"WE. We have three days." Charlie interrupts, flashing you a knowing grin. "What's the worse that can happen?"

Your aunt isn't pleased to hear from the school during business hours. She called you the second the school day ended and you dreaded the conversation; you had sulked the entire time as you retrieved your blazer. Throughout the scolding in which you remained silent, she cut your curfew completely and told you to go home immediately after school. Besides classes you're not allowed out of the house or excessive use of your phone or laptop - she saw to it by turning off the wifi at night—otherwise known as cruel and unusual punishment. With limited time and resources, the three days of solitude were spent somewhat productively. You used the neighbor’s wifi to message the squad to discuss retribution and came up with a very unoriginal but very doable plan.

The plan is this: in the next few days leading up to the Autumnal festival, one squad member will skip lunch and bring a water-filled bucket up to the roof. By the time anyone takes notice to the missing cleaning supplies it wouldn’t matter. On a day Charlie had cleaning duty she brought up several bottles of craft glitter, much to everyone’s delight. It’s a very simple plan of dumping water over the club to which the bullies belong as they pose for a photo. The three bullies are always together, and although they’re the prime objective, everyone else in the line of fire will be an unfortunate casualty. Kind of like that infamous scene from Carrie, minus the pig’s blood.

D-Day. The plan is for Jennie to help you tip the buckets while Lissa and Charlie keep a lookout. There is a pair of double, steel doors that lead outside; Charlie is charge of inconspicuously removing the doorstopper to delay anyone trying to return inside the building. Since you're not allowed to attend the festival, during lunch you bring up the last bucket of water and wait for Jennie to come up after her club takes a group photo. The easy part is done, the hard part will be the escape afterward, but you're not worried about that right now.

As you pour the glitter into the first bucket a gust of wind blows it around, embellishing your singlet and fingers. That could be potentially incriminating but you don’t bother to dust it off since you had removed your button-up and blazer before doing this.

“Is this the best you can do?”

“Fucking hell!” You jump up and back away from the voice. It’s the same guy from before so you scowl, "You again."

“Call me Tae.” He’s standing not far from where you were crouched over the buckets, and judging by his expression he’s not at all put off by your glaring. He’s wearing the same dark attire from before, with the hood shading his face.

“What are you doing here again?”

"I’d like to make a suggestion."

You glance over towards the door. You hadn't heard it open or close, which means this guy must have been on the roof before you arrived so he definitely knows you’re up to something. Is he here to bust you?

"Um, depends on the suggestion." you say, warily.

"Relax, I'm here to help." He pulls a red vial the length of his palm from his jacket. You look between he and the bottle and raise a brow.

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"A bolder statement."

You hold back an eye roll. "What makes you think I need any help?"

"Call it intuition."

Contemplating the possibilities, you walk over to where he stands and take the offered glass vial.

"Why are you helping me?" You ask, turning it in your hand.

"Bullies deserve to be punished."

You move back to the buckets and uncork the top of the vial. There's enough red dye for each bucket, turning the water a deep, murky shade of reddish brown. The color looks off and disgustingly perfect.

"See you around."

"Wait, you're going to leave just like that? Stay and watch." You turn to the side find Tae moving towards the ledge from where he escaped last time.

"No, not today." He flashes you a toothy grin at you and jumps.

You don't mention his reappearance when Jennie shows up a few minutes later. She does, however, question the sparkling, murky water but is quick to display her delight when you inform her that it's red dye.

Gasps followed by blood-curdling screams are music to your ears as you and Jennie haul arse immediately after pushing over the buckets. If you had enough time to catch the looks on the faces below you would; but there isn't any time. The two of you split so fast you had no trouble making the jump from the roof to the tree, it carried your weight easily as you shimmied down the trunk and hopped down from branch to branch. You check to make sure the coast is clear before breaking into a run.

When you finally reach the threshold of your home your chest loosens, you lean against the frame to catch your breath and unlock your phone. Charlie sent you an image of the squad with shit-eating grins across their faces. It came with a message, by removing the doorstoppers everyone had to wait for the janitor to hear their screams before opening the doors.

Your friends celebrate a bit too soon though because the trio of haters were quick to point fingers.

Your aunt receives a second call from the director and this time she yells, actually YELLS at you! She's never yelled before, except that one time when you were a child and she stopped you from sucking your finger after accidently cutting yourself while playing outside. But that was for your well-being, something about tetanus, this is something else. She's angry. She never gets angry.

You wait a moment to catch your breath before heading back to school. The panic doesn't set in when you enter the directors office and an officer greets you, nor when you see your aunt with her arms crossed, panic sets in when you catch sight of a student already there; the leader of the bullies looks at you with fright in her eyes. Her hair is matte against her face and skull, red streaks stain her cheeks, uniform, and even the chair she sat on. The director take one look at your hands and it all goes very quickly from there; he says your aunt has already been informed and to follow the officer out without further disruptance. You wanted to refuse, of course, but stayed silent and grateful that the officer didn't put you in handcuffs and before you knew it, you found yourself staring at the cement wall of a holding cell.

Charged with incorrigibility.

Holding cells have absolutely no insulation, the other seatmates shiver due to the chill yet your blood is boiling. The grotesque image resurfaces every time you close your eyes; thick, glossy streams of dark red covering that girl from head to toe, the fear in her eyes had made your stomach knot and you couldn't shake the feeling that something is wrong. So terribly wrong.

A guard calls your name, telling you to follow him to the interrogation room. Since when does a harmless prank land someone in an interrogation?

Your aunt is already there red in the face and besides her is the director, but he looks uneasy and pale not like the rubious face he usually wears. The gooey image flashes through your mind again, which makes you shudder. The same officer that detained you motions to the empty seat, and the guard moves to stand in front of the door, blocking the exit if you were to try to escape.

Once you take a seat the officer clasps his hands together, "Now then, Y/N, I understand you have a history with bullying other students. Can you tell us the reason you commit these acts?"

Instead of giving you a minute to respond or form an answer he leans forward and makes eye contact. "Did you or did you not pour blood over your fellow students this afternoon?"

You swallow back the lump forming in your throat, "No. I mean, yes, kind of--It was a prank."

"So you did do it?"

"Yes?"

"Is that a question? It's a yes or no answer."

"No, ugh, it wasn't blood, it was just water and red dye. I don't know why you're talking about blood." You say this while looking the officer straight in the eyes.

"Where did you get this red dye?"

"Someone gave it to me."

"So you weren't alone?"

"No.." You hesitate. Jennie...Tae...

"Whom were you working with?"

When you don't answer the tone of his voice changes, "Where did you get the blood, Y/N?"

"You're not listening to me! It was water, not blood." You told him this already but he continues to insist. Something must be off, perhaps you're too nervous to work your charm.

The officer leans back and reaches down, he sets a clear evidence bag on the table and you recognized its contents as the schools female uniform. He slides it over the table so you could see the dark stains. You stomach flutters.

"We ran an analysis on these items of clothing worn by one of the victims. It came back positive as blood and as it happens," He waits for you to meet his eyes again. "We've received several reports of animal cruelty inwhich the remains of several dismembered strays were found in a dumpster drained of blood. Can you explain that?"

As it happens the blood drains from your face. "No, of course I can’t explain that."

He nods and turns his attention to your aunt. "Madam, I'm afraid I must insist on what we discussed. I feel it's the best solution under these circumstances."

You watch the exchange carefully, your aunt has leans on the armrest with her forehead pressed onto his finger, eyebrows scrunched in the same way she does when stuck on a crossword puzzle. She releases a defeated sigh and shifts to look at you. Such disappointment in those maternal eyes feels unreal.

"I want to believe you." She says at last. It's hard to decipher the underlining meaning behind that, especially when she doesn't meet your eyes. That hurts. You would never use your charm towards her, nor would ever lie to her.

"But Officer Wilson is right. It's time we give this a try."

"Give what a try?" You say.

"Reform school."

"Don't leave the country." Officer Wilson has the audacity to crack a joke while signing your release forms.

"Where the fuck would I go?" You say through gritted teeth. Your aunt is absolutely scandalized, as she should be, you've never exposed this side of yourself, but the officer pays you no mind, stating that he's heard worse.

The ride home is awkward; your aunt hushes anything you try to say to elevate the atmosphere. When you arrive home she takes your phone so you head straight to your bedroom and fall face first in hopes of dreaming the day away as a nightmare.

You stir awake at an ungodly hour, groggy and hungry you creep to the kitchen. A fixed plate sits on the countertop waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to eat it. It's an odd emotion to feel anger towards your aunt, but you do, and you don't want to give her the satisfaction of eating whatever she prepared. With the house silent as it is, it's hard to believe yesterday ever happened. You shake the thoughts of what's to come and turn on the kettle. While waiting for the water to boil, you fill a mug halfway with tepid water and swallow the supplements set beside your uneaten dinner. When the tea is ready you grab a banana on your way out of the kitchen.

You tiptoe back to your room, noting that the other bedroom door has remained closed. You slip into your bedroom and close the door without making too much noise, the last thing you want is another reason to be scolded. Out of the corner of your eye you see movement and freeze. The window is open when it should be locked, the curtains billow in the midnight air and a rather large, dark creature sits on the sill. The organ in your chest speeds up as you take in the raven pointing its beak in your direction, beady eyes glowing in the moonlight. It caws suddenly and in your startle hot tea spills on your barefoot.

You hop aside, but your sudden movement riles up the animal, it caws again louder this time and bobs its head as if sizing you up. It ruffles, spreading it's wings and begins to flap and caw and flap some more. You quickly inch to your nightstand to set down your snack and snatch up a pillow from the bed. The raven gets louder as you step closer but doesn't move from the sill. When you raise the pillow it springs forward, talons first. You shriek, swinging the pillow blindly and stumbling back. Your collarbone stings and you don't know how to react when the bird sweeps around the room over your head and out the window.

You rush over to it, slam the window close and lock it, then peer out into the night but fail to catch sight of the bird.

You close the curtains in haste and move to the vanity mirror to inspect the injury. The scratch isn't deep, but it's jagged enough that a bright line of blood seeps out. It's then you realise that the room is still dark, you look around, easily making out the layout of your bedroom despite having the curtains drawn, and scan the area for a sign that your aunt opened the window while you slept but find none much to your dismay.

The following morning is still awkward. On a normal day, by the time you would wake up for school your aunt would already be heading out. You wake up late today considering your expulsion and are surprised to find her dressed and leafing through paperwork with a mug of coffee instead of her usual tumbler.

"Morning. Working from home?"

"Yes, it seems like. Can you take a seat, Y/N? We have to talk."

You shuffle to the table, but don't sit down. Instead you lean over the chair with your arms crossed. When your aunt gives you A Look you look away and she sighs knowing you weren't comfortable enough to take a seat.

"What's going through your head right now?"

The night before, expulsion, reform school, take your pick. Instead you say, "It's unfair."

"What were you thinking?" Your aunt asks, sliding off her spectacles so you could see she was serious.

"I told you, it was just a harmless prank. I really have no idea where the blood came from."

But I have an idea...you leave that part out.

"Don't tell me you don't know the difference between water and blood, Y/N, please tell me the truth. I don't want to send you away either but if you don't tell us what's really going on I won't be able to protect you."

You remained silent for a moment then take a deep breath. Your aunt has always taken your side, but this time is different. This time you're guilty and she knows it. There's no bullshitting out of this one even though the intent was there, the intent to traumatize wasn't. Even so, it was strange to think that a complete stranger convinced her to send you away, or that you needed professional attention for your misbehavior. She's your only family and you love her, she knows you would never lie to her, but something is strange now.

"The truth, huh? If only you raised me better."

She miffs in a deprecated way as if that was a jab at her as your guardian. "You'll thank me one day."

"For sending me to a reform school? I doubt it."

"It's not a reform school. It's a special place for youths of your..circumstances."

You scoff.

You pick at your nails to avoid looking back at your aunt who was keeping an eye on you from beyond the barricade. It's as if she's making sure you actually go through airport security. You fail to notice the apprehensive expression she wore as she looked around.

She made peace with the decision that this was the safest route, but she still kept a wary eye out for danger. It's not long before she spots the telltale sign— sunglasses indoors paired with a neck scarf—which is meant to easily blend in with the public, but these people stand out to her trained eye. She starts when her shoulder is brushed and frowns when she catches sight of the "officer" that suggested this in the first place. He's dressed in civilian clothing, a stark contrast to the uniform, he nods in acknowledgement and waits beside her till you pass through security.

"This is for the best" He echoes her words from before.

For your sake, she hopes this is the truth.

The gate number on your ticket leads you to the furthest terminal where you take a seat next to a charging station. You pass the time scrolling through the last messages from your friends; lots of dramatic crying and distressed emoticons were used. They're cute to worry and offer to start an online petition to bribe the school into reinstating you. You shoot off a message letting them know you'll be back and for Charlie to hold down the fort while you're away. They won't answer till class ends but you hope one of them comes through while you wait to depart.

"Mm, bitchacho squad, really?"

You lock your phone and glare at the person sitting next to you. He gives you an amused look, you roll your eyes and shift in your seat with your back to him. You would move, but the seats have filled up quickly.

"Ouch, I'm sorry. No need to give me the cold shoulder." You ignore him. "Hey, come on, we got off on the front foot, my mistake. I'm Tae, what's your name?"

Tae? You flip around so quick Tae brings both hands up in faux defense. It's not him, it's not the same Tae you met before, if that’s even his real name. This Tae stares at you, waiting for an answer for your animated reaction. You settle back down on your seat, and the disappointment in your face must be more visible than you intended because Tae frowns, lowering his hands.

"Sorry for invading your privacy. It was just there, ya know. I didn't mean anything by it."

"All is forgiven. I'm Y/N." you introduce yourself.

Tae grins, his eyes overlook you quickly and you raise a brow. "First time at Bast?"

You nod in surprise. Bast is the name of the reform school. The only way he could possibly know that is if that's where he's headed. Is he a "troubled teen" as well?

"I could always tell; you new kids looks so fresh and innocent."

It's your turn to chuckle. "Are you stereotyping me, Tae?"

"I would never!" he laughs. "So where ya seated?"

Tae changed the topic quickly, you noticed.

"26B."

"So far back, you really must be new."

"Uh, yeah. New kid on the block sits in the back, I guess. Hold on, are you going to Bast too?"

"Uh, yeah." he mimics, "Everyone here goes to Bast. No one flies this gate except students. Want to sit up with me? I always sit by myself, it'd be nice to have a companion this year."

"That's mighty kind of you, Tae."

"I like when you say my name."

You pause, unsure of how to reply, but definitely intrigued.

"It's kind of intimate, no?"

You allow a smile to appear across your lips as you look around at the other students. Now that he mentioned it, they all seem to have a kind of aura about them. It made you feel like this was a clique that you didn't belong to. Not yet anyway. Tae's offer is tempting, but you want to connect with other people as well especially if you're going to be spending the next semester with them. You decline, Tae takes no offense, says he'll see you on the other side and you board the plane. The flight is uneventful, your seat neighbor doesn't talk much other than "Hello" and "Excuse me" to use the lavatory, so you end up regretting not sitting with Tae.

"What a ride?" Tae finds you upon arrival, asking if you want to share a ride to the dormitories.

You didn't have to accept this time because an older gentleman holding an tablet with your name displayed across it steps into your line of sight. The chauffer wears a gold nameplate over his breast pocket with R. O'Connell engraved. He politely interrupts to escort you away, saying transfer students are taken to the head office before the dormitories. You bid Tae goodbye but not before agreeing to meet up on campus.

"I'll be waiting." He says, waving.

Much to your surprise and confusion, the shuttles to campus are unmarked town cars. You follow the chauffer to one of them and immediately become aware that you're riding by yourself. There is a partition between the front and back seat, since it's closed you feel a bit weird about the chauffeured ride to a reform school. The ride is long and you wish you carried an extra battery charger as the last of it dies out while playing a mobile game. You settle on gazing out at the scenery of open fields; the sun has long set and your eyes begin to droop with nothing to do.

You move to the partition and knock, "Excuse me, how much longer is the drive?"

"Within the hour. Not much longer now." Comes the reply.

"Okay, thank you." You say, sitting back and resting your head against the window.

You're jolted awake from your slumber by a nasty shove forward, the seatbelt across your chest holds you in place so your head jerks back violently. You rub your neck and look around with sleep in your eyes. You notice the partition is open now and the driver glances at you in the review mirror.

"What was that?"

"A fallen limb. It was in our path, due to this I swerved around it. I'm sorry for waking you, but we will be arriving shortly."

You nod even though he couldn't see it, stretching your arms out. The plains have transitioned into thick forestry that borders the road and there aren't any post lights, which makes you imagine how fucking terrifying a late night stroll would be. Deaths wish probably. Sudden movement catches your attention - a deer perhaps, it's too dark to tell - moving in the opposite direction of the vehicle. In a blink the forest ends and is replaced by pruned to perfection shrubbery, a stone monument has a faded, copper plaque that reads Vahst Academy and nothing else - no mention of a youth correctional school. The car slows in front of a wrought iron gate and a man in uniform waves the car through, a fountain is at the center of the roundabout where the car comes to a stop and you look out the window at the castle-like institution. You step out before O'Connell reaches around to open the door. He recovers quickly and brings around your luggage, making a point of holding it in his opposite hand so you couldn't take it; he motions with his free hand to the entrance.

Upon crossing the threshold into the building it's difficult to suppress the bewilderment that crosses your mind. When you asked your aunt about it she hadn't said much and you didn't know what to make of that. Did she not read up on the school where you were being sent? Through your own research the internet didn't provide any information for "Bast Academy", but you did find plenty of information on military schools and you prayed Bast wasn't one of those. Perhaps you heard wrong and should have searched "Vahst Academy" instead. So far everything, including the building, is the opposite of what you expected, the interior is heavily decorated in elegance; heavy, velvet drapes attire the walls but you don't recall seeing large windows outside, there are large chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling that cast shadows along the walls and illuminate the glossy marble floors and gold and red decor.

"Good morning. How may I help you?" A woman wearing a tight bun asks from behind the reception desk.

You smile at her mistake because the moon is out. "Hello, I'm here to meet with the head office?"

"May I have your name please?" You tell her and note the name engraved on her nameplate, M. Birch. "Here we are, before your meeting I will give you these to look through in case you have any questions."

She places a folder on the counter, spreading out the contents and pointing to each one as she spoke/explained. "A map of the grounds; Dormitory rules and regulations, including curfew and refectory hours; this is your class schedule for the upcoming semester - you may request any changes by visiting the advisors office; here is your access key, your uniform has already been delivered to your room; and finally, this form is an agreement to abide by our strict off-campus rules: Off-campus permits are by request only, you may submit a request with your housemaster and absolutely no outside visitors."

You sign as instructed, a bit overwhelmed and having trouble taking in all of this new information.

"Thank you and Welcome to Vahst Academy, Y/N, do you have any questions?"

You shake your head, take the documents and follow her instructions to the head office where you find the door already open. There's a man sitting behind a grand desk wearing a pinstripe suit that contrasts with his milky skin, round spectacles balance on the tip of his nose, and a quill flutters away as he writes.

You reach to knock on the door to get his attention. "Hello?"

"Come in, Y/N, take a seat." He says without looking up, scribbling away. His voice surprises you as you expected someone older, probably with a beard, not this young, clean-shaven man that couldn't pass for thirty yet. He takes a moment to finish writing then sets down the quill pen.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Kibum. I'm the housemaster of the North Wing—your house. I have to say, I was looking forward to our meeting."

"Oh?" You question because you can't say the feeling is mutual.

"Yes, we've only ever had one other transfer and that was years ago. The students here come from generations of the same families, even the North Wing students."

"What do you mean “even the North Wing”?"

"All the students housed in the North Wing are half-bloods," Kibum states like it's a fact you should already know.

"I'm sorry, half-bloods? Like, an illegitimate child of one of these families?"

Kibum chuckles. "Yes, exactly that. Judging by your reaction, I take it you haven't been briefed on how we run things here at Vahst?"

"I was told this is a reform school. For troubled teens."

His brows raise, "Hardly. Y/N, this is a school. A school for teens with extra ordinary gifts." When you don't say anything he continues. "You're here because you've been ousted by a scout and we can not—will not—leave one of our own to fend for themselves in the human world. There are impending dangers you are not yet aware of, but not to worry, here you will learn how to defend yourself, how to conceal what you are from an unfavorable, and control the urge to feed."

Your brows knit together at a loss for words. What do you say to all that? He calls your name and you look at him again, he narrows his eyes and your heart jumps to your throat at his next words.

"The blood that flows in your veins is that of a vampire and human. If you hadn't been discovered any feral vampire or hunter could have easily taken advantage. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

You shudder, swallowing hard.

"Ha..ha ha." That is all you can manage at first. You meet his eyes, hoping he would draw sympathy from your sad eyes. "I really don't belong here, this is some kind of sick mistake. Please let me go home."

Kibum barks out in laughter, startling you. "Did you really just try to compel me?" Fear creeps into your veins, body going numb at his mocking tone. "That may work on humans, but your skills are lacking. Your compulsion doesn't work on me or anyone else with experience above novice. Do you have any questions for me?"

"I...I.."

"I'll take that as a 'no'. Now, shall we begin?"

[taebaeboo]

Stop The Candy Shop | 1

bts | PG-13 | 944wc

Jimin likes to lie to himself about his job—that he doesn’t actually need it. He’s doing it for the thrill, not the money. When in reality the pressure of university tuition and financial stability for himself and his family pushed him to consider selling his body. It started off as a part-time job after classes ended. He would ride the bus for close to an hour to the masseuse parlor across the city, wave to the daytime receptionist and proceed to sterilize the seven private rooms before the Evening Hours began. He would then seat himself at the front desk, greet customers regularly, and remain ignorant to what happens behind-the-scenes.

The massage parlor is what you’d expect: part legitimate business, part happy endings.

Jimin really did try to fake obliviousness but that caught up with him when a particularly rude customer made a fuss in one of the rooms. Jimin could hear a ruckus, tools clattering and the masseuse calling for help. He had abandoned his post, rushed to the room and shoved the businessman away from her. Calling the police wasn’t an option. The client left shortly after but not without making a loud fuss. The commotion resulted in the occupants of the other rooms to stick their noses out, and a couple of those clients coming to Jimin’s aid; the four of them got rid of him together. No one likes an idiot ruining their happy ending. After which those men were given a free service as a courtesy. Thank goodness for loyal customers.

That night had earned Jimin a reward of sorts, if you want to call it that. The owner presented an upgrade from his position as receptionist to Evening Masseuse. No massage license required; the difference between Morning and Evening being obvious—the pay.

The owner trusted Jimin enough to give him a job in the first place, it was inevitable that this would happen and for that, Jimin was grateful though he’s not going to lie, he was a tad self-conscious. The owner was quick to mention that she is most definitely aware of his financial status and she was prepared to offer him a percentage more than what the ladies make given he would be the only male masseuse.

While the parlor caters mostly to men, female clients had expressed interest in the evening receptionist in the past. It was only a matter of time before the owner caught wind of this.

At first Jimin was skeptical, it’s not that he was uncomfortable with his sexuality, it was just. So. Sudden. Here was a kind employer offering him 2x as much as he makes in a week for a single session. If it went well, and he gathered a decent fanbase (otherwise known as a group of loyal clients that specifically request for his services), he could earn 3x as much. The catch is this: the clientele can be female or male, weekly STD tests, and the upmost privacy. Not bad. Only for a little while, he lied to himself and accepts the position.

“A little while” becomes a bit over 10 months. Despite his doubts in the beginning Jimin now maintains a loyal fan base of both men and women under the guise of “Minnie”. The pay is fantastic, the hours decent. Up until recently he had grown so accustomed to providing a service multiple times a night that when a new client stops him mid-disrobe he doesn’t know how to react.

Jimin doesn’t know his name so he dubbed him, “Suga”, for his passive-aggressive-but-low-key-sweet personality.

The man, Suga, comes in at least once a week religiously for Jimin alone. He pays in advance and always requests the room furthest from the entrance—the only one with a sturdy bed guised as a massage table. Suga isn’t looking for anything sexual, and if he is he has never mentioned it, instead he comes in to talk. He simply wants Jimin’s time.

Strangers are better for talking, he had justified.

Strangers are better for other favors as well, Jimin had implied, wiggling his brows. It didn’t work.

Today Suga talks about the political change occurring in the country, but the drawl in his voice lets Jimin know otherwise.

“What’s bothering you today?” He asks, combing through Suga’s dark locks.

He listens intently at first; he’s a good listener Suga had mentioned once in passing. He notices the tension in Suga’s frame, the almost unnoticeable hesitation when he starts a new sentence; being a good listener, Jimin catches on that Suga doesn’t seem up to talking today. Then why is he here?

“You know,” Suga licked his lips, “You’re not my first masseuse of the night.”

Jimin perks up. “You’re not my first client tonight, but certainly my favorite.”

“Hm?” Suga opens his eyes and places a hand over the one Jimin has on his cheek. “You’re not annoyed that I don’t want anything else from you?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

Suga moves then, much to Jimin’s curiosity. He watches the man rise off his lap, step off the massage table and move to stand in front of him. Jimin cocks his head to the side playfully. His impish grin widens as he’s gently nudged off the table, as the attractive man in a crisp suit turns him around and not-so-gently pushes him back on the table with his arse in the air. This brief moment of dominance is enough to satisfy Jimin’s needs.

Finally, he purrs, arching into the hand slowly feeling it’s way across his back. Suga leans over him and Jimin is ready for anything…except this.

“See you next week.”

[taebaeboo]

Love on Layaway | 1

bts | pg | 759wc

scene: delayed flight due to an incredible lightning storm. jungkook receives a comp from the airline--one free night at the aeroport hotel. there he meets a talkative stranger at the hotel bar. yup.

With drugstore earbuds I listen to the drawls of B.o.B's "So Good". The idea of purchasing a proper headset hasn't crossed my mind in years. They're clunky, large and expensive. A hindrance really. A presence to my right makes itself known--I scoot to the left for the stranger to pass without bumping me.

A short moment passes and I come to the daunting realization that the strange is still uncomfortably close. Perhaps they do not realize this, that they are terribly close to the table behind them. 

Tap, tap.

Truth be told I see if before feeling it. I tug at the earbud in my right ear, it drops to the table and bounces onto my lap. I turn my body to address the stranger, ready to say the common phrase, "no worries, mate", or something along those lines.

"Ah, there it is. You couldn't hear me." 

I'm not one to address strangers by looking them in the face--there's no need to when all we're doing is sharing a brief exchange of formalities that neither of us will remember so after. But this person. This stranger is directly after my attention.

I blink. 

"Me?" I wonder aloud.

"I've been trying to get your attention." there's laughter in his voice. "Well, more like repeatedly saying 'Hello' till you noticed me."

I subtly glance at him. No drink in hand, nose nipped, cheeks dusted in a light flush--he must have just come in. 

"Mind if I sit?" He motions to the empty barstool across from me. I shake my head right away, motioning to the open seat with my pen.

Please, don't speak to me.

As per proper public etiquette I hesitate to reinsert the earbud for the chance that the stranger comments something else--"thanks." or "it's cold outside, brr."--something of that nature. From there I would simply fake a small smile, a noise and a nod in agreement then return to my work. 

The stranger goes 'round the small table, drops a dark bag on his side, shaking the table a bit and raises himself up on the barstool.

"Ah, sorry. Did I mess you up?"

I scrutinize the squiggle that trailed from my pen. The answer is, "yes, you did indeed screw me up", but I'm not going to say that. Instead I quickly say,

"Not at all." To ensure that, no really, dropping his bag like that was okay.

"Oh good. Where are you from?"

There it is.

This is the part I detest: small talk. 

Where am I traveling from? Where am I going? What do I do? Family? Friends? Wow, my English is actually pretty good bravo. Ergo, all the bullshit that comes with small talk wherein strangers actually want to talk about themselves and not listen to a word I say.

I hesitate to answer, readying myself for the shitstorm.

"Korea." I wait for the typical gangnam style pun.

"Which one?" he jokes. news flash: that is not funny. in fact, it's incredibly offensive.

I haven't written anything in the past minute just holding a pen posed to scribble is starting to irk me. 

"South. South Korea."

"That's still incredibly vague." I take another quick peek at him now and see that he grins. 

I guess you could say I've begun to tease him so I do so further. "Busan."

"I have no idea where that is," he exclaims. It seems like he had that one prepared. "How far is Pusan from Seoul?"

"Busan," I correct instinctively and immediately berate myself.

He hums. "Can I ask what you're doing right now, mister...?" He trails off, waiting. Hoping?

I consider lying then reconsider. "Jeon. And I'm in the middle of translating right now." 

His hand extends into my personal space, I look at it then finally up at him. He smiles again. "Hi John, I'm Taehyung. My friends call me Tae."

My heart beats loudly in my ears. The majority of the time I fuck with foreigners by telling them my full name, but today is different. Taehyung is Korean, clearly messing with me, and seemingly trying to engage in conversation. Or he's really confident in his small talk game and trying to get in my pants--but that's a stretch. 

I quickly take his hand, pen abandoned. "It's Jeon. Jeon Jungkook."

Taehyung, like every other foreigner, repeats my name and butchers it. He's either messing with me or his thick America accent is real.

"Was that close?"

"John is fine."

"That's no fun, come one, help me pronounce it right."