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bbhyeoliskooks · 4 years ago

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/* 𝐈�� 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 *\

It’s strange that even though Taehyun doesn’t return your feelings, he becomes jealous when another boy grows closer to you.

*^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^

Pairing: Taehyun x Reader (female)

Genre: 2 cups of fluff and like three tablespoons of angst

Warnings: Puking, Attempt at drugging in punch ._.

Song: It Might Be You

(Guys! Guess what. I’m making another unrequited love au yay)

*^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^

Of course, moving on was going to be difficult. A big blow to the heart obviously wasn’t a good thing, but you knew you had to do keep going forward or else everything would be awkward. This was what you prepared for, but it was going to be hard when you thought of his words every second.

A lot of people would laugh at you for being so weak under pressure, but you confessed to Taehyun just a month ago when he asked you if you possibly liked him.

After a year of hiding your feelings from your best friend, you couldn’t take it anymore and you told him what you truly felt. You should’ve known better not to say anything about your foolish love, but you weren’t able to keep what was forbidden from him any longer.

Just the way he would brightly smile at you was enough to give a tremor in the knees because you were so in love. You couldn’t go a minute without thinking about how sweet he was like an amber flower and he would envelope your happiest dreams in a vibrant, heavenly-like scenery as you reached out to take his hand. You swore that every time you would take grasp of his hand, he would pull away no matter how tight you held on which caused you to wake up with a deep frown on your face.

Quickly it became very unbearable, and you loudly burst, telling him that you wanted to give your relationship a chance.

It was obvious that he didn’t like you as much as you did by the dumbfounded look on his face when you told him, but you hoped that somewhere deep in your heart that he longed for you as well. Your delusions were quickly shut down as he softly reminded you that he only felt platonic feelings towards you and desired to continue being your best friend since you two had a lot of history with each other. You didn’t know how you did it, maybe by the adrenaline or so, but you managed to keep a fake smile on your face through the day before coming home and letting tears out from how much you wanted to turn back the time and just say no when he asked you.

It was a good thing that he shut you down before the heart grew fonder, but you hated it more than anything. More than anything, you wanted to hold him in your arms while you watched the gleaming stars of the night fall down into the palm of your hand, reassuring that he was the only one for you. It was a shame that you couldn’t get what you wanted, and you had to accept the fate of destiny before you moved on.

It was considered strange for someone who was just rejected, but you actually made an effort to get over Taehyun each day. You cursed yourself for falling in love with your best friend knowing that it would be hard to find someone who you really liked enough to replace him. By making those attempts, you went out more- going to parties that everyone was invited to, talking to those out of class, and calling the boys that had a bad reputation for playing with other girls’ hearts. You did things that you didn’t like just because you were hurt.

Eventually, your strong friendship with Taehyun had grown apart each day since you tried to avoid seeing him. You wondered if he was disappointed in you for acting this way, but perhaps this was the only way to purge your feelings. That led you to try even harder than before because you wanted to salvage what little you had with him. Despite your efforts, you would find his breathtaking smile in the most saccharine of dreams you had at night while you soundly slept.

It only made you unhappy because you had put a limit on seeing him each week as well as ditching him every time he asked to hang out with you.

Today was a bit different than the others, the only thing being that you wanted to throw up whatever you had in your system. You got up from bed that warm morning with a lightheaded feeling and a parched, dehydrated throat. You felt horrible because all of the energy was drained out of you even after a great rest and decided to take some syrup medicine for colds like this. It seemed strange to you because you slept for a good amount, maybe ten hours at most if you counted correctly.

Your stomach was bubbling when you drank a little bit, although not the good kind. There was a big exam today that you studied for, so you knew you couldn’t skip class just to stay at home and get better. Yes, it wasn’t wise at all, but you didn’t want to miss the test that you had been stressing over all week.

Not to mention a party today that a specific someone invited you to go as their partner. You had to go because you would grow guilty if you saw him sad the next day. Lately, you had been talking and found out that you had many things in common. His name was Min Minho, a boy who was from the other class and somehow became your study partner. It was fun to go on little dates with him for just the two of you, but it was as if your heart was only dormant when you were with him. You didn’t feel butterflies when you saw him like with Taehyun, but perhaps with each time you spend with him, your heart would flutter. You were forcing your heart to like him, your feelings being as real as much as the way you denied you loved another boy who was your best friend.

---

You found yourself dozing off in class even if you had drunk a few cups of coffee from your favorite cafe. Usually it worked if you had one cup, but it wasn’t enough to energize you, and you kind of overdosed drinking three. For a few times during different classes, you went to the bathroom just to throw up nothing because you didn’t have breakfast. You thought it would help, but it went the opposite of what you expected.

In times like this, Taehyun would scold you while feeding you a lot of food during lunch that he purposefully brought from home, a little meaningful thing that he always did when he somehow guessed that you hadn’t eaten yet. You hoped that he wouldn’t nag you for today when you two sat together to eat lunch as promised on the rooftop.

You walked out of the bathroom with a frown engraved on your lips. You were too busy thinking about how you would fall over if you didn’t sleep that you didn’t notice that someone was waiting for you, leaning against the wall of the girls’ bathroom. You bumped right into him, tripping over your feet and shutting your eyes at the impact of the floor hitting your bottom.

“I-I’m so sorry.” Your head was incredibly dizzy, and you stood up slowly from the spot on the tile. The person helped you up a little bit with a soft grip on your arm, and you recognized that scent from anywhere. You opened your eyes and gasped when you made eye contact with Taehyun and involuntarily slapped his hand away.

He gazed at you anxiously, realizing that you looked a bit heated and cleared his throat at your panicked stare directed at him. “Y/N, you feel too warm. Are you sick? You never go to the bathroom in the morning unless you need to throw up.”

You shook your head, holding in the urge to throw up again so you wouldn’t seem sick in front of him. You couldn’t let him check up on you daily after he rejected you a week ago. It was ridiculous, but you wanted to save enough dignity to meet his eyes every time you saw him.

You found it funny how you prioritized your pride more than telling the truth.

“I’m feeling fine, Hyun. I should go back to class now, see you later?” You didn’t give him time to answer before rushing away using all of the strength in your legs. He glanced at your direction, sighing in disappointment as he watched you drift away from him for the nth time that week. “She always says that, but it never carries through.”

---

You got ready that night after a few hours of rest and homework, but that made you feel even worse than earlier. You thought that catching up on a little bit of rest would heal you a bit to keep what little food you ate earlier, but that didn’t work. You just felt sicker when you got up from bed, however you couldn’t leave Minho alone. You’d be so guilty even if you called him to let him know that you were sick.

Taking a few more teaspoons of medicine and chugging a bottle of water, you wondered if Taehyun was really going to be there. He didn’t go to these events, but you heard that a girl from his homeroom asked him to come so she wouldn’t be alone. This irked you since he said yes immediately, but you could only be curious. Maybe he liked her which is why he agreed and that hurt you much more than the rejection. You should’ve known with the way he didn’t hesitate to accept.

The place was full of sweaty teenagers who were dancing in every corner. You pretended to realize that it wasn’t your thing, but you knew this whole time, getting angry at yourself for not staying at home. It was so warm and stuffy that you wondered if you would ever be able to find Minho in this mess. You hated that you were in the middle of everything, and walked over to the drink section when a familiar figure walked up to you.

“Y/N! My baby is here!” Your tired mind was hazy with burning thoughts, but you knew that voice straight away when it passed through your ears. It was Minho, but why did he call you his baby? You weren’t in a relationship with him, so he had no right to call you that as of now.

You turned back to see him holding one red solo cup in his hand that meant he had gotten punch from the table. You were going to yell at him for calling you that, but you knew that it would come off as rude when you had been leading him on this whole time. Maybe tomorrow was the a better time to remind him that you weren’t looking for a relationship when the music was blasting so much so that he was barely able to hear you. ”Uh, hi? It’s good to see you as well, Minho.” You could hear your voice dripping with passive aggressiveness, but he didn’t seem to actually catch on how pissed you sounded with your clenched smile.

He stepped closer to you with a smirk on his face as he gripped onto your arm. It was too tight for your comfort, but you couldn’t get out of his grasp. He raised an amused eyebrow at you who surrendered easily and fell against his chest as your strength had failed you. He smugly chuckled at your weakness and patted the top of your head despite your muffled sounds of protest. “Take a drink, baby. You are a bit tired and I think it will definitely make you feel better.”

Many alarms were going off in your head, but all that was ringing through your ears was to be polite. Minho was your study buddy, you knew that you could trust him as always. He wouldn’t drug you or something like that, right? Oh, if you just looked at the evidence before then you would see how much you were a fool for not thinking that he had ulterior moves.

You lazily opened your mouth a little, feeling hypnotized by his charming green eyes as he was about to pour the drink. You were waiting for the liquid to fall straight into your lips, but it never came when the grip on your arm suddenly became loose. You rubbed your eyes in shock when you saw Taehyun grab the drink in Minho’s hand causing the both of them to get drenched from the sudden movement. You weren’t able to make sense of it at that moment and thought that Minho was only looking out for your well-being.

Taehyun sprinted up to you as you felt yourself gradually become light each second. His hands were wet from the drink when he took your hand into his, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to go home by yourself because you were already pissed that today was ruined just because you had a tiny little cold. You were sure that the exam went terrible, and now that the two of them were fighting for no reason was not much worse than the two of them compared.

You glared at him and forcefully jerked your hand from him. “Get away from me! Leave me alone, you know you’re only making it worse.” His eyes widened and he stepped towards you with uneasiness in his stance. “Y/N... I’m only trying to help you, but you do all of these things that I tell you not to! Your boyfriend here was trying to drug you, and it wouldn’t be a good thing if I wasn’t here.”

He was in disbelief that you were angry at him when it was supposed to be the other way. Why couldn’t you see how worried he was for you? Especially after he had hurt your feelings unintentionally. He couldn’t stand seeing you sad because of him and tried to give you space so you could move on, but that clearly turned out sour. He did some thinking these past few weeks and realized that all he craved for was your soothing presence. Just for you to be in his arms while he softly sang you to sleep was enough for him, but he couldn’t see it until now.

It was really unfortunate that you had to avoid him to make him discover his feelings, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you had already moved on due to how he treated you this week.

When he went back to class today after talking to you, he knew that you were lying to him when you told him that you weren’t feeling sick. He was planning to grab a little bit of food for you during dinner so you’d feel a bit better, but he was startled when you didn’t answer the door. He cursed himself for not remembering that you were planning to go to the place with Minho when he advised you not to. He always got bad vibes from him, and this just proved his point when he begged you to stop seeing him. He was your boyfriend now, right? Taehyun had no right to be jealous, but he couldn’t stop himself from being so when he might’ve lost the chance to be with you.

“Boyfriend?! You think he’s my boyfriend after a month you rejected me?! What are you trying to say?” You clenched your jaw feeling the tension elevate in the atmosphere, growing frustrated at what your best friend was assuming. You were probably overreacting, but after all of the crap that happened, you found this the only way to escape the situation.

He grabbed your hands pleadingly that it would seem desperate to whoever was looking your way. This time you didn’t pull away because your heart was yearning some type of affection from Taehyun even if it was something little like this. You were too weak both inside and weak to walk away from him. It was ridiculous to anyone from the outside, but perhaps more or less 30 days without touching him was not suitable for someone like you.

“That’s what you realized after I supplied you with all of that information?” He sighed in disappointment and brought you closer to him, a stern glare on his face. “He was going to do something awful to you! Why can’t you see how much you’re hurting yourself when you go to these things? You’re so naive when I’m not able to watch over you for a little bit!”

You sniffled, realizing that the drops of tears that you tried to hold back were already falling. He was yelling at you and for a good reason, but it was tiring to hear the same things over and over again from your friends, and especially from him. You acknowledged that it wasn’t good for you when you’d wake up every morning with a headache, but you didn’t want to hear it from him. In your head, if he was really looking out for you then he wouldn’t avoid you like you did.

It was an extremely petty and unfair opinion, but that still didn’t stop you from feeling hurt.

“I know, I know, Taehyun! Don’t tell me again that I’m wrong!” You furiously rubbed your cheek when yet another tear fell. His expression became horrified when he noticed that you were upset, but you didn’t have a chance to listen to him since you interrupted him. “I know I shouldn’t go to these parties since I might be in danger whenever I talk to someone I haven’t met. I know I shouldn’t meet up with people that you warn me about. I know I shouldn’t go without your permission because you’re always too worried about me, but if you only knew the reason why, then you’d understand!”

You looked up into his sparkling eyes, subtly letting him know that you were the most vulnerable in moments like these. You hadn’t been very open with him this past few year because of your heart, so this could be the only time where you’d truly be honest to him. Of course you confessed, but you lied and said that they were only minor feelings when they were the exact opposite. Hopefully, he would be able to see through the obstacle of your tears and understand how hurt you felt from making terrible decisions.

“I’m sorry, okay? I really am. I shouldn’t have fell for you I know, but you don’t have to rub it in. I’m tired of feeling like this because I’m aware you’ll never feel for me like I do. What makes it worse is that I’m trying to get away from you, but you always seem to haunt me in my dreams! I love you so much so that it seems hopeless.”

He peered into your twinkling eyes that were unfortunately filled with what he hated the most, a look of genuine sadness because of him. He couldn’t help but smirk at how adorable you sounded, but you took it as a hint that he was mocking at you for saying the truth. You lingered for a little bit for him to say something just in case although being delusional wasn’t the best choice right now.

Taehyun cleared his throat and let go of your hands before scratching the back of his neck. You looked at him again instead of the dim floor, seeing a little bit of red coating his cheeks. You shook your head rapidly, swearing at yourself for thinking that he was nervous because he had something to say- something like a confession. You waited for a while, a few doubts clouding your mind until he spoke again, mentally preparing your heart for the worst.

“Y/N... I’m sorry, but I don’t think I like you.” You had to hear it for the second time again. He was saying something with a big grin on his face, but you couldn’t hear it without the sound of your heart cracking piece by piece in your ears. It was almost like anyone could hear it shatter, and you just wanted to get out of there. Even getting for the rejection wasn’t good when you actually had to process what he said.

You gulped the big lump in your throat and softly smiled at him, one that was obviously artificial for someone who knew you for a long time. Here you were again hiding your heartache despite how much he knew! You wanted to hit yourself wherever you could for feeling the things you were as the hate for yourself grew more stronger. Questions racked up in your head like if there was someone better than you and you weren’t good enough to appeal to him.

“Ah, see? I was right. I should get going though. My stomach hurts and I feel a bit under the weather.” He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips thinking for a second before saying something. Again, you didn’t give him a chance as you glanced at his confused face and waved a hasty goodbye that only he could see. “I’ll get going, Hyun! See you tomorrow!”

You were sure that you looked like a fool at the moment, but you took off the heels that you were wearing and ran away from his sight while he was yelling at you to stop. You didn’t know how you were able to do it, maybe because of the adrenaline rushing through your blood, but you made it home in one piece after walking by yourself in a gloomy night.

You crashed into bed drawing out a long sob that had took the remaining energy out of you. You shouldn’t have gone to this party knowing that Taehyun would be there. Heck, it didn’t even ring an alarm bell in your messed up head that suspicious Minho tried to drug you with something! One of the people that you trusted and wanted to get closer to had ulterior moves that you didn’t perceive, yet you skipped past of it and looked more into the relevant rejection. It was probably the reason why Taehyun wasn’t able to see you in that way because you were too naive to be around with. The negative thoughts reverberating in your cracked heart was enough to knock you out, as well as the perpetual tears that flowed out from you.

---

The following day, you awoke to a few quiet shuffling sounds from the covers. The morning sunlight was shining through the window which caused you to wake up from your deep rest with a subtle frown on your face. It wasn’t supposed to be this bright when you had to get ready for school, and it confused you as to why the sun was peeking from the corner of your window. You felt tired than usual again, but it wasn’t an excuse to get back to sleep when there was a lot of work to complete.

You were actually tempted to fall back asleep and snuggle against your fluffy plushies until you realized that today must’ve been a Saturday. You were so lucky to have a day to yourself! A sigh of relief came out of you and you rubbed your cheek against the pillow you were resting your head on until a big realization smacked you right in the face.

Wait a sec... yesterday was a Thursday, right? That only meant today was a Friday then! Didn’t your alarm go off?! You shot up from your spot on the bed, but instantly stopped from how dizzy you felt. It felt like you were going to fall over if you didn’t have the bed to support you from underneath your sweaty palms.

There was a light chuckle from someone on the corner of your bed and you sat up slowly before they ushered you and tucked you back in. Your eyes seemed to be waking up as they were filled with a black horizon that stretched across both of them. You rubbed your face, groaning as you thought it was your guardian who came back from one of their business trips. You sighed and smiled softly, thinking that they would make your favorite food for the day since you were feeling terrible. It was a surprise when your vision finally cleared.

Your eyes widened when you made eye contact with Taehyun and you plunged back into the heavy blanket, covering yourself so that he wouldn’t see how ashamed you were. How did he come inside anyway? It obviously wasn’t like you handed him a key earlier that month when you warned him that it was for only for emergencies.

Just like that, a big gush of memories whipped across your head and you slowly regained what you had said yesterday. You facepalmed yourself and held your breath, wishing that he wouldn’t say anything about what happened last night.

It was quiet for a moment before he spoke up. You could tell that a grin was gracing his features because of how playful he sounded, but you didn’t want to look. Yes, he was breathtaking to look at, but that wasn’t the point! You wanted to hit yourself for thinking of those few words while you wondered if he was going to say something.

“Why didn’t you stay at home yesterday, dove? You were sick, and you shouldn’t have gone out like that. I was planning for us to order some take-in and watch movies all night and hold you in my arms.” You covered your eyes with the blanket, feeling embarrassed for thinking in such an irrational way. Your mind must’ve been heavily tampered with how sick you were if you thought yesterday that Taehyun was in the wrong.

“I couldn’t have let Minho go alone! You know exactly who I am, probably better than myself. I understand now that I shouldn’t have entrusted him with my secrets, but if you got to know his persona, then you would’ve been fooled too.” He didn’t say anything, so you continued to fill the empty bubble of silence. “By the way... I’m sorry for acting like that towards you. I should’ve been more mature about the situation, so I sincerely apologize for my actions.”

He smiled at you, inching towards your spot to hold your hand. You peeked out from the covers and you accepted it hesitantly but happily since he forgave you by the grin he was shooting at you and slid closer. “Hey it’s okay, but you should’ve brought me. You didn’t get to hear what I said before you ran away.”

Now, your heart was pounding. Was he seriously going to reject you for the third time? You held back a laugh of disbelief because you didn’t want to talk about how he rejected you twice, much to your embarrassment. It was difficult to look him straight in the eye and smile as if you had really meant it. Nonetheless, you remained quiet as to hear what he had to say and looked sadly at his drooping figure. “What do you want to say that could possibly make this better, Taehyun?”

He exhaled in the comforting silence, seemingly clearing his head for a second before turning to you. “Well this is going to sound awkward, and you might not accept it anyway after all I’ve done. I thought you said no yesterday when you ran away, but turns out you didn’t hear me. I thought it’d be better to wait for you to get some rest since it might’ve come out as a shock.”

You nodded your head, a bit puzzled on why he was rambling. He usually didn’t do this unless he was nervous to tell the truth or something like that. You hoped that it was good, one that wouldn’t send another hit to your poor heart that you still needed a bit more time to mend.

“What I’m saying is... I love you, Y/N. I really do, it’s just that I didn’t see it until you avoided me.” Words were caught in your throat and you were going to yell at him to stop playing with your feelings, knowing that he was blind sometimes. However, by the look in his shimmering eyes plus the tint of sadness, you realized that he was only telling the truth.

You were unable to say anything as your mind couldn’t find the words to, so he continued. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all of that. I did a lot of thinking, and I couldn’t help but be jealous when you hung out more with Minho. By that point I had already known I loved you so much, but I was unable to say something to you because I thought that you had already hated me.”

There were tears welling up in his eyes that he tried to hide, but you saw through him anyway. You heard how innocent the little sniffles coming from his nose were, and grinned although he couldn’t see it with how busy he was trying to conceal his tears. His feelings towards you were so pure, but he couldn’t put them into words and he didn’t know if you were going to reject him like he did to you.

The baby bluebirds were chirping outside of the window when you were the first one who finally spoke up. It had seem like a long time where you both wallowed in your thoughts and waited for the other to say something, even if it was negative. He just gazed at you longingly as you did the same, wondering if he could feel how much you were at the moment.

Your voice started a little wobbly, but you didn’t mind. You just felt so happy that you finally had what you desired after a whole year. “So this whole time, you love me?” He was going to say a word, but you were quick to cut him off. “I have absolutely no words to say. I can’t say anything, but yes! Of course, I still love you, dummy. What makes you think that I was going to say no?”

You jumped up from the bed to give him a back hug on the edge of the right side and nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck. He giggled a sweet melody, wiping away the few tears that had fallen and leaned into your embrace.

“So, you’re my girlfriend now?”

“You must be blind if you think I’m going to say no.”

Both of you laughed a little before you grew quiet at what you both obtained.

This was the feeling that you had strove for, to finally know that he was yours and that you were his.

*^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^◯)*_^ω و *^

Posted: 7/25/20- Added to Queue

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sombreboy · 5 years ago

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Love Maze »8

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 8.8k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, use of homophobic slurs (censored), mentions of abusive parents, floooofff

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡ Banner made by my lovely @ppersonna chu chu ♡

The next day came quick enough, Jungkook throwing his backpack over his shoulder before heading to the morning practice. Even if he technically barely got any sleep, he still felt more rested than he's ever been before.

It's crazy what a new relationship does to you.

Jungkook headed down to the locker room, empty as it was due to him being early-- nothing new. He enjoyed the silence, but this time, he wondered when Taehyung would arrive.

Kooks mind wandered, a small smile on his face as he pulled his hoodie off, digging in his backpack for his Jersey

The following morning, Taehyung showed up to school earlier than normal. He didn’t want anyone to question him, even less gawk at him like they did the last time.

So, he figured it’d be best to change into his basketball attire and keep to himself for the first half of the morning. Of course, Jungkook would most likely want an explanation, but Tae had yet to think of one.

Just the thought of that stressed him out.

What could he tell his boyfriend?

Definitely not the truth. At least, not now..

Avoiding eye contact with a few of his peers, Taehyung pushed on the locker room door, not expecting to see anyone else there.

The elder looked bad, more bruises now adorning his face. It seemed like he could never seem to catch a break.

Much to his dismay, Jungkook was there. Tae’s eyes widened, before quickly recollecting himself.

“Before you say anything, I’m fine.” He lied, and maybe it was obvious he was lying. He didn’t want Kook worrying about him.

The smile that had adorned the younger's face quickly faltered when he laid eyes on Taehyung. He looked like absolute shit

"You call that fine? how could that be fine?" Without hesitation, Jungkook drops his water bottle to the floor as he jogs up to Taehyung, his hands immediately reaching out to delicately cup the elders face, guiding it into different angles so that he could examine the bruises. These were new, not at all the old ones because of Ash from the other day.

"What the fuck happened..?" His doe eyes were, indeed, worried-- whether Tae wanted it or not.

“Nothing happened, okay? I just..”

What else could he say to justify himself? Taehyung had nothing.

Jungkook was smart, he’d be able to pick apart his bullshit of an excuse in a second.

“I fell somewhere..”

He dreaded waiting for Kook’s reaction, he knew what he said was stupid,

“I don’t want you worrying about me, alright? I’ll be fine.” The elder smiled, pulling Jungkook close to him by the waist, “Quit frowning so much.. your face is going to stay that way.”

Taehyung teased, hoping to ease the tension for now.

He pressed a soft kiss on Jungkook’s scar, still holding him close.

Jungkooks frown fought the muscles pulling in his face, eventually losing the fight as he couldn't help but smile at how easily he was swooned over and over by Taehyung-- even if it was through a simple kiss on his cheek, and feeling him close.

"Fine," he breathes out, still not completely convinced that it was nothing, however he can tell that Taehyung doesn't want to push it further. And knowing him-- there was no use in trying at this time.

"Hey, you're here early..." Jungkook's hands settle at the elders waist, memories from last night replaying in his head. He loved this part of his body, the way his waist slightly curved inwards, kooks hands perfectly molded into the dip, "Wanna join me for the warm up?"

The moment Jungkook’s hands moved to his waist, that same submissive, whiny, pathetic Taehyung arose to the surface.

It was insane how much a touch came with so much recollection.

He still had some bruising on his hips, given to him from Kook’s strong hold.

The younger one was buff, there was no doubt about that. Those continuous days at the gym paid off.

At this moment, no matter if he was taller than Jungkook, Taehyung felt incredibly small in his arms. He only towered him by an inch, so there was barely any difference, but still.

“Warm up? My ass still hurts.” Tae threw his head back with a groan, really not looking forward to any future practices.

The elder couldn’t move without a limp, how was he supposed to run across the court?

“Fine. As long as you promise to go easy on me.” Taehyung smirked, pulling away to change out of his clothes and into his Jersey and shorts.

"If I could do it, so can you," Jungkook chuckles, cringing at the memory-- the day after the locker room fuck. He was such a mess at that time, now it's Tae’s turn to run with a sore ass.

He was only kidding though, his genuine care for him slips through as his eyes are fixed on the elder changing, almost dumb looking for how hes not even subtle about his stare in admiration.

"You look pretty."

His eyes rake Taehyung's torso, able to distinguish the bruises caused by himself-- but also noticing the bruises that weren't.

When Taehyung noticed Kook staring at him, he grinned, until he remembered the other bruises painted on by his father.

There was a noticeable splash of dark purple on his stomach, where the man had kicked him before leaving him to bleed on the floor.

Not wanting Jungkook to continue looking at it, Tae quickly threw on his Jersey.

“Thanks..” He smiled, a boxy smile too. Those were rare, but Kook easily brought them out of him, “Now come on, let’s warm up.” Taehyung threw an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder after he put on his shorts, leading them out of the locker room.

It was nice being the only two ones there, quiet, not so much commotion. Sometimes he needed that in his life.

Jungkook must be growing into a man-- because lately all he seems to think about when Taehyung's body is so close, is to touch. Kiss. Even the urge to sink his teeth into the elders skin hits him way too frequently. He was like a source of gravity, a temptation from the devil himself-- and not just indulging in him every second felt like a sin in itself.

And then there was the other feelings; the raw, pure, appreciation for the man. He felt so calm, safe, and happy around him.

The two sides of his love really created a clash.

Anyway, some running always helps when he needs to clear his mind. As they make it to the court, kook still keeps his hand tightly wrapped around the elders slim waist,

"If you can't run, just jog." Kook reassured, rubbing his large palm on taes side for a moment, eyes glancing over at him with pursed lips, "Or just stretch. You can watch me?"

The elder thought about it for a minute, nodding his head,

“I’ll watch you.” Taehyung hummed, walking next to Jungkook’s side, the word ‘personal space’ so foreign to them.

What he didn’t know was that Namjoon was standing outside of the practice hall, a smile so big his dimples could be seen.

What could he say, he was proud.

It was a nice change, not having to break up their arguments anymore. The elder didn’t want to intrude on their time together, so he went down to the locker room.

“Go on, baby. Show me what you’ve got~” Taehyung bit down on his lip, preventing a grin from spreading. He sat down in the middle of the gym, cross legged whilst he watched Jungkook make circles around him, giggling when he’d get a little dizzy.

He liked this, that was for sure.

Jungkook kept shooting glances and silly grins towards taehyung as he ran around the court, shoes squeaking against the floor,

"Taehyungie, do I look cool?" The younger fished for praise, a mischievous smile playing on his bunny like teeth. He kept going for a bit until he decided to make an abrupt turn, instead jogging towards his boyfriend. He slows down, halting in front of him as he gazes down at the elder through his sweaty, dark locks that dangle over his eyes.

Taehyung stood up, fishing for his water bottle before extending it out for Jungkook to take, one hand resting on the younger’s back, “The coolest. After me, of course.” He playfully nudged Kook with his shoulder, about to reward him with an innocent kiss when the rest of their teammates began showing up.

Taehyung made some more room between them, scratching at his nape. He wished they could’ve spent more time alone.

“I think I’m just gonna sit this one out..” The elder murmured, taking one last look at Jungkook before limping over to the bench, getting greeted by some of the guys.

They asked him about the new bruises, as well as the limp.

Taehyung lied straight through his teeth, saying that he got in a fight and ‘beat someone’s ass.’

The guys joked about it being a f*ggot, taking into consideration some of Tae’s homophobic remarks in the past.

Taehyung just laughed, like a chameleon blending into its surroundings.

It was fine, it wasn’t like he actually thought that..

A little bit of acting can’t hurt.

He looked at Jungkook one last time, eyes softening. As long as they didn’t call Kook a f*ggot, he would keep quiet.

Jungkook chugged his water down, eyes following taehyung in confusion, as to why he suddenly distanced himself in the presence of the team-- until the homophobic remarks are echoing, a little confused by why tae would laugh. Maybe kook was just sensitive, but he chose to let it be, a small, cringey smile on his lips at the situation. As long as they didn't keep going on about it-- he would keep quiet.

Jungkook averted the elders eyes during the moment, a bit uncomfortable hearing the words being so casually thrown. Instead, he refocused on stretching a bit before his hyungs will come over to him, catching small glances towards tae.

After stepping into the Gym, Jimin made his way towards Jungkook, a beaming smile on his face remembering yesterday’s events. The shorter would’ve been lying if he said it didn’t make him feel single as fuck..

But, it was okay. His prince or princess charming will come in and sweep him off his feet anytime soon.. at least he hoped.

“Hi Kookie!” Jimin ruffled the other boy’s hair, following his gaze which seemed to lead to Taehyung.

He smirked.

“Looking at your boyfriend?” The elder teased, not knowing how much truth lingered behind his words. The most he knew was that Jungkook and Taehyung liked each other, that’s it.

“Woah, what happened to Tae?” Jimin finally asked in the midst of his stretching, taking notice of Taehyung’s new complexion, dark red with a hint of purple.

Jungkook shrugged at Jimin's questions,

''He got into a fight,'' He wasn't sure what really happened, but it must've been it. What bothers Kook however, is, how did Tae manage to get into a fight from when he dropped kook off at home until the morning? It didn't make sense...

At the mention of 'looking at your boyfriend', Kook wasn't sure if he could expose the fact. The hyungs knew they liked each other, right?

But, he simply decides to avoid the question, finishing his stretching before catching another glance towards Taehyung.

He just wanted this practice over with, so he could spend more time with his new lover.

All Jimin could do was nod, mind wandering back to Taehyung’s ‘delinquent’ years. The latter’s always been someone who kept to himself, but it was in Middle School where a lot of the physical fights began.

God, the moment Jimin found out was the moment he wanted to beat Tae’s ass. His friend wasn’t violent, he knew that.

Taehyung barely spoke about it, but Jimin was sure that it had something to do with his mother’s death. Not a lot of people knew about this.

“Well, he needs to get that treated before it gets worse.” The elder noted, looking at Taehyung one more time before diving into practice.

After a couple hours of hard work, practice was finally over.

Tae mainly just sat there, staring at Jungkook like a proud boyfriend. Kook was a really hard worker.. It was something that only drew him in even more.

“Fuck, that was tiring.” Yoongi whined, his skin glistening with sweat whilst he changed out of his Basketball attire.

Taehyung didn’t say anything, just waiting for his hyungs and Jungkook to get dressed.

Jungkook wipes his forehead with the sweaty jersey that he’d pulled off his torso, chest heaving as he’s still exhausted from today’s practice. He’d put his everything into it today, he really needed to get all his energy out— so he could manage the rest of the day without being too jittery about his boyfriend.

“Ah, tiring but it felt good.” Kook chimed in before he dug out his clothes to put on.

Quicker than he expected, Taehyung’s sharp eyes enlarged when he looked at the clock.

School was almost out. A few more minutes and he’ll finally be free from the boring lectures and piles of work.

Tae guessed the time ticked by faster than usual because he was doing something he enjoyed. He probably looked like an idiot smiling down at his crotch, texting Jungkook in secrecy.

The boy was a mushy mess..

To: Kook🥴 Don’t take forever this time, I’m gonna give you a ride 😁

The elder pressed send and leaned back in his chair, anxious to hear the familiar bell ring.

Once it did, he was one of the first people to get out of there (per usual). But this time around, Taehyung’s strides were more quick paced.

He wanted to see Jungkook.

The boy waited in the common area, peeking above students’ heads to hopefully catch a glimpse of Kook, rocking on his feet.

Jungkook smiled like a dork when he checked his text. He didn’t reply— he was a rather terrible texter. But the indicator of “read” should be enough.

He strapped his backpack over his shoulder when the familiar bell finally rang, quick on his steps to shuffle through all students to make his way over to the common area, doe eyes searching for Taehyung.

Once he found the familiar face, he also caught a glimpse of another pair of eyes in the crowd. There’s no way he wouldn’t know who those eyes belonged to.

Ash.

Jungkook froze when they made eye contact, however, before he could react, ash had left the area. He didn’t do anything.

Kook was frozen in place, lips slightly agape in shock, momentarily he forgot about his boyfriend waiting for him just a few steps away.

“What’s wrong with you, Kook?” Taehyung playfully nudged Jungkook’s shoulders with his, keeping his hands in the warmth of his pockets despite having the urge to tangle their fingers together.

Too many people around..

“C’mon, let’s go.” Tae swung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, not thinking much of it since he’s seen pairs of friends do the same thing.

As he practically dragged Jungkook towards the exit, Taehyung let out a quiet wince. One of the cuts on his face from his father’s ring stung like hell, small beads of blood oozing from the opening.

If only Tae knew how to bandage himself up properly, this wouldn’t have happened

Taehyung immediately shook his head at the idea of going home, the memories from last night were still too fresh, and apparently so were the cuts and bruises. He didn’t want to risk meeting gazes with his father again, at least not so soon.

What happened last night.. it was new. The most he’s ever endured from the man was a slap on the face, and a lot of mental abuse. But never this..

“I’ll go with you to the store,” Taehyung smiled, shifting his attention to Kook whilst they continued walking to his car, ignoring the injury pricking at his skin.

The elder felt guilty; Jungkook will have to bandage him up again. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and not cared about his father’s toxic decisions. But, he did.

“Then we can hang at your place?” Tae unlocked the doors, sitting on the driver’s seat before turning the key, the somewhat crappy engine starting to run.

Jungkook slumped down in the passenger seat, closing the door with a loud thud. He looks over at Taehyung's face once more, and without thinking his hand reaches out for the elder, as if he wanted to graze his chin with the pads of his fingers,

“Sounds good to me, I really need to patch you up...”

As there were still students around, the sweet gesture Jungkook was offering had the elder turn his head away without thinking, causing kooks hand to stop mid air. He let his hand fall back into his lap, thinking maybe it was too painful for kook to touch him.

“I still don’t get how that even happened?”

“I told you.. I fell.”

Taehyung turned his head back to Jungkook, knowing his excuse was far from believable. But, he had to say something.

And in his mind, something was better than nothing.

He knew he needed to confide in Jungkook some more, but it was hard when Tae couldn’t really admit that to himself. He didn’t want to believe that his only parental figure was an alcoholic, that he didn’t give a shit about him..

It hurt to think of it, much less voice it out loud. Maybe when he, himself, comes to terms with the fact that he basically has no family left, then Taehyung will open up to Jungkook.

Someday..

Not saying another word, Tae drove off to the nearby store.

Like a lost puppy, he followed behind Jungkook, not having any clue where anything was.

“What is it that you need?” The elder asked, letting Kook do his thing while he stayed close, much like a little kid at a store.

Jungkook made his way through the shopping isles, filling up the little basket in his hand with anything from med supplies to some food. He’s been saving up, and he finally could treat himself a little bit.

Well.. he really wanted to treat Taehyung. For dinner. That he’d cook.

Hopefully that wouldn’t be too cheesy.

It wouldn’t be anything too complicated, a simple dinner of rice(the nicer kind!~), meat (a luxury in kooks household), and some sides. Just the thought had kooks mouth watering.

“I’ll patch you up and feed you, is the plan. Sound good?” Kook flashed Taehyung a wide smile, but as soon as his eyes shifted focus on the statures moving further away behind the elder, the same frozen expression from earlier adorned Jungkooks face.

Just, this time, it wasn’t Ash, It was worse.

His parents.

He almost drops his basket, clutching into it before it would slip from his fingers, eyes widening as panic strikes— he needed to get the fuck out.

But all he could do, was to turn his back against them, head hanging low as he struggled to breathe.

Fuck, he hasn’t had an anxiety attack in so long. Why did it have to happen now?

“Yeah, sounds gre— Jungkook?” Taehyung didn’t waste a second before dropping the huge bag of chocolates that he was looking at, settling his hands on the boy’s shoulders as he craned his neck to meet Jungkook’s eye.

“Hey.. what’s wrong?”

Tae’s brows furrowed, worried from the sudden change of attitude.

The younger looked terrified.

“Baby, look at me.” Taehyung whispered so that only Jungkook could hear, gently tilting his chin up with his index finger, “Kook, you’re scaring me.”

The elder wasn’t aware of the pair of strangers behind Jungkook, his only focus being on his boyfriend, as it should be during a time like this one. Tae’s never seen Kook act this way.

Shallow, quick breaths were heaving from Jungkook's chest, his eyes glossed over and blown wide as he stared into Taehyung's eyes. He couldn't get the words out of him even if he tried-- screaming inside of his head to say something.

"Jeon?" A deep voice vibrated a few steps behind Taehyung, the clicking of the man's shoes indicating that he's coming closer.

Jungkooks body was almost shaking at this point, but as soon as his father's voice reached his ears, he stopped. Instead, that face was replaced with a stern expression, jaw clenching as he refused to meet the man's eye.

"Father."

Taehyung didn’t know what to do other than watch the whole thing unfold from the sidelines.

He stared at the man ahead of them, remembering one of the most shocking words Jungkook had admitted to him the day he took him in. Honestly, with the strong hangover he had, Tae was surprised he still remembered.

But this wasn’t something he could just.. forget. This was huge. Kook’s parents threw him out, for fucks sake. And all because of him..

“Hey.. Jungkook, maybe we should go.” The elder gently tried tugging on the boy’s arm, keeping an eye on his father.

He didn’t want this situation to worsen, it was already uncomfortable enough.

“What, are you not going to greet your own father?” The man stepped closer, a growing frown on his face. He hadn’t seen his son in months, and had honestly hoped that he’d come crawling back to them. But he never did.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, but he could feel the fury build in his body, his biceps clenching as he curled his hands into tight fists.

“And who’s this?” The man clicked his tongue at the sight of taehyung, a small hint of recognition in his eyes, “Ah...” his eyes returned to his son with a mocking grin, “I see. You still haven’t grown up, hm?”

“You know what?” Kook hissed through his teeth, “Go. Fuck. Yourself.” Any moment,, if he wasn’t held by taehyung, he swears he’d end up throwing hands.

The moment the man’s devilish eyes landed on him, Taehyung had trouble staying unbothered. The words that followed after surely weren’t of any help, and Tae wanted to punch that mocking grin off the man’s face.

But, Jungkook’s father wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth their patience, nor the commotion.

“Jungkook, let’s go,” Taehyung said more sternly, “He’s not worth our time.”

The elder glared at the man, his grip tightening on Kook’s arm, as if he was afraid that he’d slip away from his hold. His eyes soon landed on Kook’s mother, noticing how she was keeping her distance from the chaos.

‘Pathetic.’ Was all Taehyung could think, internally judging her for keeping quiet in a public place, when she had no trouble screaming at Jungkook inside of the house.

Jungkook eyes flickered towards his passive mother, his expression mixed. He loved his mother— far more than his father. And he knows she loves him, she was there for him. But she’s too devoted to her husband to have a voice of her own, and it hurt their relationship more than anything.

“Yeah..” kook sighed, his heart beating so hard it could burst any moment from the mix of emotions he’s going through. He didn’t relax in Taehyung's hold, but it did help him feel grounded. Collecting himself, his hand moves to wrap around Taehyung's arm, while the other is still holding the shopping basket.

He had nothing else to say to his father, keeping his eyes on his mother as he pulled his boyfriend close with him to head towards the cashier to get what he needed, leaving behind the two people who told him he’d never make it on his own— that nobody would ever want him.

They were wrong. And that’s the biggest victory of them all.

His father was dumbfounded, frowning as he watched his son leave with the very boy he deemed at fault for his sons...difference. He had nothing else to say right now. He’d wait for him to crawl back when his heart was broken and needed money.

He’s sure of it.

Once they stepped back in the safety of his car, that’s when Taehyung turned to look at Jungkook, his vision no longer set on glaring at the boy’s father,

“Are you alright..?” He asked, not really knowing how to confront someone in a situation like this one. It was messy, “He’s a fucking ass, Kook. They don’t deserve you, it’s their loss.”

Taehyung stated, gaze laced with worry as he waited for some sort of reaction, anything to let him know that Jungkook was here with him/, not hung up in the store with his father. Tae knew it wasn’t that easy, though.

He pursed his lips, moving his hand to rest on top of Kook’s, thumb caressing over the skin.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

Taehyung said ‘home’ as if he lived there as well, not fully aware of his own phrasing yet as he started the car.

As it turned out, Jungkook and him did share one common item: Shitty fathers.

Jungkook felt numbed, his head racing to process the situation. His body had gone through probably every single emotion he was possible of having throughout the span of ten minutes.

He glanced over at taehyung when he started the car, focusing entirely on the features of his boyfriend. He was just... everything.

Home? As if all his anxieties were slowly washed away, they were replaced with warmth.

Jungkook wouldn’t stop looking at the elder, leaning back into his seat with a content smile pulling on his lips, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m glad that I have you.”

“Okay, this is no excuse for you to be so corny.” Taehyung scrunched up his face in displeasure, acting like he didn’t enjoy Jungkook’s sweet words.

He prayed that the tint of pink dusted over his cheeks didn’t give his obvious acting away, but, his smile surely did.

“I’m..” The elder chuckled, softly squeezing Kook’s thigh. “I’m glad that I have you, too..”

God, Taehyung wished he would have kissed him right there, but he held back.

It was okay, he’d have plenty of opportunities to kiss Jungkook tonight.

With one last cheeky grin shot at him, Tae drove off to the younger’s apartment, happy that they were out of there once and for all.

Jungkook went back to his old self within the span of the drive home, feeling giddy from Taehyung's words. Never did he ever imagine for this to be his reality.

But he sure was grateful for it.

As they got out of the car, kook unlocked the door and stepped inside with the elder, making his way to the kitchen to unpack all the groceries on the counter, “Go sit down and I’ll take a look at your face” he glanced over his shoulder as he grabbed the med supplies, “Then I hope you’re hungry,we’re eating good tonight!”

Taehyung did as Jungkook told, plopping down on the couch when— “Fuck..”

For a mere moment, he forgot he was a little sore.

Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook.

With a small grimace, Tae situated himself a little more comfortably, patiently waiting for Kook to join him as he mumbled sour curses under his breath.

“We’re eating out tonight?” Taehyung cocked a brow, looking up at the younger, watching the boy’s every move from his spot on the couch, “I’ll pay.” The elder offered, knowing he had some leftover money left.

Since Jungkook was his boyfriend and all, Tae wanted to help him. With rent, food, whatever it may be.

Jungkook strolled over with a wide smile before he sat down next to Taehyung, putting the supplies in his lap as he turned his body towards the elders.

“Nope, I’m cooking.” He was excited, raising his eyebrows in a playful manner. Kook loves to cook, and he’s rather decent at it. He just hasn’t been able to show it off because- well, money.

And he’s never had anybody to cook for.

“Look at me.” He murmurs as he scoots closer, brushing Taehyung's fringe off his face before leaning in to examine the cuts in his skin, “the one on your cheek is deeper than I thought...” he pouted, grabbing a disinfectant pad, “It’ll definitely sting.”

As if it was a natural reaction, Taehyung raised both brows. His mouth went ajar, wondering if he’d heard right.

“You cook?” He questioned, his expression gradually reverting back to normal. Never in a million years did he think that Jungkook would be making him a meal— let alone cook.

Tae was enjoying learning new things about the boy, and he was excited to get a taste of the food.

“You’re pretty, handsome, cute, and talented. What can’t you do, hm?” Taehyung teased, wanting to praise his boyfriend.

Looking at him, Tae slightly tilted his head to the side to give Jungkook a better view of the cut.

He wasn’t looking forward to the stinging part, knowing he was a baby when it came to such things.

“Hey, thanks for taking care of me.” The elder mumbled, trying to stall him. But a bigger part of him truly meant it, and what better occasion to tell Kook rather than now?

''I'm good at everything.'' Jungkook smiled with a spark of mischief in his eyes, but giddy over the praise nonetheless.

He used one hand to gently hold Tae's chin between his fingers, as to hold him in place when he used his other hand to carefully pat the wound, knowing it's gonna sting badly. Kook hisses sympathetically, as if he could also feel the pain when he feels the elder twitching underneath his touch, ''I'll always take care of you, but... I'd prefer if this didn't become a regular thing-- You being wounded, I mean..'''

Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth together, gripping onto Jungkook’s thigh to keep himself grounded.

“Fuck..” The elder hissed along with Kook, wanting the initial discomfort to be over immediately. His face was scrunched up into a frown, but slowly, the strong nip began to fade away.

The muscles on his face soon relaxed, and so did the grasp on the younger boy.

“It won’t become a regular thing.” Taehyung reassured, bringing up his index finger to feel at the cut on his caramel skin, wincing slightly.

Jungkook finished cleaning his boyfriend's wounds, putting the medkit to the side before shuffling closer to the man, softly cupping his jaw to draw him in for a kiss. Nothing feverish about it, just a soft, slow press of his plush lips onto his, humming in content when he feels the warmth.

He withdraws to look at Taehyung, a small smile pulling on his lips,

''Good. I like your face, so I'd like for it to be bruise-free... Now, are you hungry? I'll start cooking.''

The elder happily gave in to the soft kiss, smiling in the midst of it.

When Jungkook pulls away, Tae’s eyes are still drawn to his lips, licking over his own at the inviting sight. The elder leaned back into the couch, shyly grinning from ear to ear, east to west. He felt much better, lighter, too.

“I’m always hungry!” Taehyung shouted, excitement obvious in his low voice. The latter couldn’t wait to spend a calming evening with Jungkook, eating delicious food (At least gets hoped..), cuddling— maybe watch some TV?

It all sounded like something he’s craving for god knows how long.

“You need any help?”

''You just need to look pretty and keep me company,'' Jungkook chuckled, getting up from the couch. He wanted to do everything, and give Taehyung a chance to just relax--- And he /really/ wanted to do it perfectly for him to eat.

Kook smoothed the pads of his fingers across Tae's jaw in an affectionate manner before turning to walk into the kitchen to prepare a cutting board, shuffling through his drawers for that one knife he likes to use, ''And I don't want you to accidentally cut yourself, you're clumsy!''

“I’m not clumsy.” Taehyung childishly fought back, pushing himself up from the couch before walking over to Jungkook, wrapping his toned arms around the boy’s waist.

“What are you making?” He questioned, chin resting atop Kook’s shoulder whilst he looked down at the different veggies on the cutting board, eyes studying the way Jungkook carefully handled the knife.

Yeah, maybe he was right. Tae would cut himself, he could be a bit lost at times.. and clumsy.

''Ground beef vegetables stir fry, I've been craving it all fucking day..'' Jungkook already felt his mouth watering at the thought, skillfully chopping up the vegetables before he put them momentarily to the side, grabbing the meat to put it in the sizzling pan, all while having his boyfriend sweetly embracing him.

This was nice. really nice. Jungkook could get used to this. In reality, he probably already was, he couldnt imagine being without the elder at this point...

''I'll make a lot, so we will definitely end up in a food coma tonight.''

While everything is finally blended together in the pan, he slowly stirs the food, the aroma of the delicious food filling the room.

''It's almost done, so you could go and pick a movie if you'd like? I have a few dvd's by the tv''

Untangling his arms from around Jungkook’s figure, Tae waltzed over to the TV, crouching down to examine the list of DVD’s that ranged from comedy, action, adventure, fantasy— anime.

Yet another thing Taehyung didn’t know about the younger..

He was a fucking weeb.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, fingers brushing over the plastic, trying to see if a cover caught his attention.

“You like anime.” Taehyung asked, but it sounded more like a statement than anything.

“Spirited Away? What’s that?” The elder flipped the package over, eyes quickly skimming over the movie description, trying to make sense of what it's about.

“Spirited Away it is.”

Tae decided, crashing down on the couch with his arms outstretched along the backrest.

Truth be told, he didn’t care about the movie. He just wanted to spend time with Jungkook.

Jungkook hummed a quiet song as he prepared two generous bowls of the finished stir fry, proudly decorating the dish with the colourful garnished vegetables. He always was quite the perfectionist, whether he knew tae would simply gulp it down in an instant or not.

He grabs the two bowls and carries them out to the living room, a beaming smile on his face as he finds the very man that will be the tester of his cooking,

''Did you find a movie? Hurry, hurry, sit down!''

“I am, I am!” Taehyung laughed, his boxy grin on full display as he made room for Kook on the couch, carefully reaching for one of the nicely decorated bowls.

The smell.. if it tasted the way it smelled, Tae was sure he would love it.

The elder brought the bowl down after sniffing it, picking up a spoonful of the food before shoving it into his mouth. His cheeks were puffed out whilst he chewed thoroughly, humming in delight.

“I like it!” Taehyung smiled through a mouthful, giving Jungkook a thumbs-up for accentuation. It’s been a while since he’s had a nice home cooked meal. It made him feel warm, “I thought it would taste like shit but..” He laughed, eyes crinkling. “I’m kidding~” The elder took it back, pecking Jungkook on the lips after his first bite.

“I like it a lot.” After Taehyung repeated himself, he held up the DVD in front of Kook’s face, “Spirited Away.”

Jungkook was vibrating with joy at the praise, his cheeks flushed at how fucking /cute/ Taehyung could be. It irked a part of JK that was severely less innocent than he usually is.

His doe eyes blinked two, three times as he stared at the DVD cover, grasping it into his own hands,

''You like anime?'' Kook looks up at the elder, ''This is a really good movie~'' He chimed, moving so close to taehyung that their sides were pressed together. He was excited, this movie is his favourite-- And food, and .. Taehyung.

He wishes this night would just go on forever.

“First time I’ve ever heard of it. Spirited Away, I mean.” Taehyung shrugged, blowing off the steam on his spoonful of rice before stuffing it into his mouth. The elder learned from his mistake; the previous bite nearly burnt his tongue off.

Tae let out a content moan, finding Jungkook’s cooking to be delicious. It definitely beat frozen pizza any day.

He would love to have this sort of meal on a daily basis, but Taehyung was aware of how lacking he was in the cooking department.

After he fumbled with the DVD player, the beginning music was his cue to join Jungkook back on the couch, bowl of food situated on his lap whilst he ate, gaze flickering back and forth between the bright screen and the dish.

Sometimes, Taehyung would be so into the movie that he’d spill a few grains of rice. And much like a little kid getting caught red-handed, he would look back at Jungkook and hope that he didn’t see a thing.

Halfway through, and the elder’s bowl was squeaky clean, not a single trace of food was left behind. Taehyung was full and entertained, what more could he want?

Surprisingly, he did want something else though.. answers, to be exact. He still couldn’t forget about what happened in the store, quite frankly, Tae’s been thinking about it ever since it happened.

He just wanted to make sure Jungkook was really okay.

The younger had an anxiety attack, it wasn’t just something Tae could brush off..

“Hey, Kook?” The boy turned to look at him, treading carefully with his words, “About what happened earlier.. with your dad, how do you feel?— I mean, are you fine? I know it must’ve been a lot.”

Taehyung mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers.

“When was it that you got thrown out..? Since when have you been living on your own.”

Jungkook placed his empty bowl away and repositioned himself on the couch, knees pulled up close to his body as if he's hugging himself. He turned his head slowly towards Taehyung, a little surprised by the sudden question.

"Hm... I'm okay." He smiled vaguely to prove his point, a small head tilt following,

"Just a couple months." It was more than a couple months, "almost the entire semester? I don't remember... since I joined the team." Kook shrugged, his expression turning sadder,

"It's been... tough." His eyes flickered between the bright tv screen and back to his boyfriend, "But I'm okay now. It was worth it... I just.. seeing them again was like-- everything just came back to me like a fucking wave."

Taehyung acknowledged the younger’s answer with a faint nod of his head, letting Jungkook know that he was listening to his each and every word. Letting him know that he could confide in him— that he was there.

That’s what boyfriends do, right?

“Your dad’s an asshole..” Taehyung spat, angry that Jungkook had to go through any of that. He couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault— Kook caught feelings, and he made the mistake of trusting his parents.

The elder turned his body to face him, scooting closer.

His attention was no longer on the movie, simply allowing it to be background noise whilst they spoke. Jungkook’s ‘DVD’ about his hardships in life interested Taehyung far more.

“Your mom didn’t take a part of it; she was quiet.” He paused, “Is she like your dad?”

If Jungkooks expression wasn’t sad enough yet, it surely was now. He can handle the topic of his father far better than about his mother—she’s just... well, she’s mom,

“No, she’s... she’s a great mom.” Kook sighed, his shoulders sagging, “She just...chose her husband first when it came down to it.” He shrugged again, “Always did. When it was just the two of us, she was the best mom.. but when he’s around, it’s like I don’t exist.”

The thought in itself had Jungkook eyes glassy with tears threatening to fall to his cheeks any moment. He takes a deep, shaky breath to calm down, but his next words broke him,

“I just wish she—“ his voice breaks into a sob, “ah—fuck...”

Frustration grew into his sadness, biting his lower lip to prevent it from trembling.

It pained Taehyung to see Jungkook like this, so he immediately engulfed the younger in a warm embrace. With Kook’s face pressed up against his chest, the elder’s hand gently smoothed over the boy’s hair, occasionally running his fingers through the loose curls.

“Hey, it’s okay..” Taehyung’s voice was muffled against the side of Jungkook’s head, not pulling away before pressing a chaste kiss on the spot.

When he finally looked into Kook’s glassy eyes, Tae wiped the stray tears away with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t want to see Jungkook cry anymore.

Jungkook breathed in a sniffle, nodding once as he blinked, forcing the remaining tears out of his eye to trickle down to Taehyung's thumbs,

''I'm okay...'' He smiled through the tears, his own hands wrapping around the elder to pull him in for a hug. He really needed it, and the warmth of tae's body was comforting, leaning his face into the crook of his boyfriends neck,

''Because I have you.''

Taehyung swore his world had come to a halt, chuckling softly at Jungkook’s words whilst he rubbed his back, feeling the wetness of Kook’s tears temporarily staining his skin.

“So cheesy..” Tae quietly breathed out, nevertheless burying his nose against Jungkook’s fluffy hair, letting him know that the feeling was mutual even if he didn’t say anything.

Taehyung was not the most open person, but for Kook, he’ll try to be. The younger had just opened up to him about his past, it was only fair that he did the same.

Tae wouldn’t say everything, but, just enough to let Jungkook know that he wasn’t alone.

“My dad is a drunk.”

Just admitting that out loud.. it was a big step for Taehyung.

He didn’t want to admit that someone he cared for was partaking in something so self-destructing, but it was the truth. It was about time he came to terms with reality.

“He doesn’t like to admit it but, he is.”

Taehyung gulped, jaw clenching.

“After my.. uh..” He had to take a small pause, trying to desperately fumble with his thoughts so they made sense, “After my mom died, he became worse.”

The elder’s mind immediately traveled back to the beating, the constant cursing.. the /yelling/.

Taehyung didn’t know how much he needed to let those demons out until now, in Jungkook’s embrace.

Jungkook's breathing stopped momentarily, processing the information he just heard. For a bit, he remained simply silent, keeping his arms around the elder. Slowly, the embrace tightened further in comfort, nuzzling his nose against Tae's neck,

''It's not your fault.'' He whispered out the words carefully, his hand rubbing circles over Taehyung's back. They both needed this, and they both had each other. Together, they could be stronger, ''I'm sorry...'' He's sorry that Tae had hardships like this on his own, and he was sorry that he couldn't change his reality.

However, he knew one thing for certain;

Taehyung wouldn't have to go through this alone, just like Kook wouldn't ever have to worry about anything, because he had his one strength embracing him already.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Taehyung weakly assured, drowning in the younger’s touch, his own hands losing the steady momentum they once had. Instead, they gripped at the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, Tae inhaling the younger’s scent as a way to obtain some closure.

Jungkook made him feel comfortable— he made Taehyung’s skeletons easier to reveal.

“Every time I’m with him.. I just, I’m scared, Kook.” He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers digging deeper into Jungkook’s back.

“Every time I’m with him, it makes me miss my mom even more.”

The elder’s hands relaxed, nestling his nose on the younger’s shoulder. He had a strong urge to cry, but he wouldn’t allow himself to.

Taehyung was already vulnerable enough, ‘“She would’ve loved you, you know.”

Jungkook felt torn between his growing anger towards Taehyung's father and the sadness of the long lost mother. Their lives were so different, their families so different--- yet it wasn't different at all.

They were both hurting. They were both treated unfairly.

He pulled back to look at his boyfriend, a small smile shining through his still glassy eyes, ''Yeah?'' His lower lip trembled at the thought-- being loved by taehyung's mother? He wishes he could say the same about his own. Maybe one day.

''Taehyung,'' He whispered as he leaned in closer, his hands moving up to gently cup his face, guiding the elders face so closer to his own that their lips were grazing as he spoke in words so quiet it was barely audible, scared to sound it out properly-- But unable to keep it hidden any longer, ''I love you.''

The elder nodded, mirroring Jungkook’s look of happiness.

Last he remembered, his mother was very open minded.

When little Taehyung was about to begin Preschool, he was obsessed with ‘My Little Pony.’ So much so that he begged his parents to get him a backpack with the familiar characters on it.

Heck, it had Rainbow Dash in the front; it was the best backpack in Taehyung’s big, sparkling eyes!

After a lot of begging, his father refused. Instead, the man held out another backpack with the ‘Hulk’ on it. It didn’t matter what his son preferred. It was green, not pink.

That same night Taehyung couldn’t sleep. His parents were fighting again, making Tae bring up his small hands to his ears.

He flinched under his covers at the sound of furniture being tossed around, followed by more yelling.

His papa could get very angry at times..

Long story short, the next day his mother surprised him with the backpack. She wore a dark bruise on her wrist, but Taehyung was too excited to notice.

At the age of four, that backpack was Tae’s greatest possession. He wouldn’t go anywhere without it.

It was too pretty not to show off.

Subconsciously smiling at the memory, Taehyung shook himself out of it, meeting Jungkook’s eye.

“Hm.” The elder hummed, waiting for Kook to spit it out, nuzzling his nose against the other’s as he waited.

God, he wanted to kiss him. Hard.

Then, pushing all of his longing to the side, Taehyung’s eyes went wide.

His lips were slightly agape, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. No, he definitely heard wrong.. Right?

“You— you love me..?” Tae questioned, frozen in his place.

He didn’t know what to say, he was at a loss for words.

The elder’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, hands clammy and mouth dry.

Taehyung hadn’t heard that phrase in a while, it was a little overwhelming.

Jungkook nods, withdrawing himself a little to get a proper look of Taehyung's reaction. He seemed shocked— frozen. Maybe it was too much. Maybe Jungkook shouldn’t have said that.. anxiety in the form of a heavy weight in his gut appeared, his own eyes flickering between Taehyungs, obvious growing panic.

Fuck, he should’ve stayed quiet. Maybe this was not at all something tae wanted to hear.

“I... sorry...” it’d just slipped out, and he meant it. But now, he felt scared to have opened himself up this much. What If this scared the elder off?

But he couldn’t lie..

“Yeah.” He whispered weakly, and the vulnerability in his voice was apparent, feeling his heart beat harder and harder until it almost hurt underneath his rib cage.

Kook averted the elders eyes, quickly looking down in his lap as he could basically hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Taehyung wasn’t stupid; he was aware that when two people date, there’s romantic feelings involved but.. love. That’s not just any feeling, it came with a price.

Jungkook loves him. He couldn’t fully process it.

Did the younger interpret the word in the same way? Because to Taehyung, loving someone is to admit that the other person completes you in every way, that they’re the reason that some mornings shine brighter than others— It’s equivalent to the love you have for your favorite videogame, plus a thousand. It’s equal to a lifetime supply of strawberry milkshakes from McDonald’s, because lord knows how much Taehyung loves those.

To him, that’s love.

Is that how Jungkook felt..?

Breaking the distance between them, now it was Tae’s turn to sandwich the boy’s face in between his hands, gazing into his doe eyes.

“Thank you for opening up to me,” he whispered, not wishing to make things uncomfortable.

This was the best night he’s had in awhile, Tae didn’t want to ruin it.

Slowly, Taehyung’s lips clashed against Jungkook’s in a soft kiss, taking his time with it this time around, “You taste like vegetable stir fry.” The elder breathily chuckled after withdrawing from the kiss, thumb brushing over Kook’s rosy bottom lip before placing one last peck on it.

“Are you tired?”

Jungkook's eyes widened and softened within moments, his anxiety washed away with the simple gesture of the kiss.

He wasn't rejected, but the words weren't repricocated either. And that's /okay/, he did expect too much too quickly, Taehyung had, after all opened himself up more the past week than he's had in years.

Kook smiled at the comment about his foodie-breath, nodding vaguely at the question,

"Yeah, it's been a long day..." he melted into taes soft touches, feeling his body relax once more, "Do you want to... stay?"

He offered the elder to stay the night, itd be the first time since he'd spent the night, and leaving the very next morning.

This time he hoped that he'd be able to wake up next to him instead.

"I...you can, if you'd like... I want you to."

“Yeah,” A lopsided smile pulled at the corner of Taehyung’s lips, who was comforted by Jungkook’s calm demeanor, “I’ll stay, but I gotta warn you.. I snore.”

Taehyung forced himself up from the couch, walking over to the sink to rinse his plate.

He felt lighter, like there wasn’t an excruciating weight on his shoulders sagging him down any longer, like the build-up in his chest had vanished.

The elder might’ve not opened up completely in terms of how he got his recent bruises.. but, someday. Someday he’ll tell Jungkook all of it. But, tonight, it felt like a good start.

Jungkook followed into the kitchen like a puppy, rinsing his plate quickly after taehyung is finished, "That's okay, I kickbox in my sleep." He joked, letting his hand stroke along taes back as he passed him on his way back to the living room, turning off the tv. They'd have to pick up and rewatch the movie on another occasion.

Jungkook strolled over to his bedroom, automatically pulling his shirt over his head out of habit, "I'm ready, I demand a proper cuddle-up!"

The elder scoffed, taking off his shirt as well as his pants, leaving himself in just his boxers.

It was more comfortable that way.

“So you’re a kicker and a little bossy. Unbelievable.” Nonetheless, Taehyung wrapped one arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, drawing him closer after pulling the blanket up to their naked chests.

Tae could feel his feet brush against the younger’s from under the cover, legs practically tangled together whilst they stayed in each other’s arms.

Jungkook chuckles breathily, cuddling up close and positioning himself so that he could press his cheek against Taehyung's chest, one leg and arm tangled on top over the male. He melted into the elders body, softly exhaling a content sigh as he was able to listen to the rhythm of Taehyung's heartbeat, slowly calming down with every passing second.

He could stay like this forever-- he was certain of it.

Sleep came quicker than he expected, the warmth of safety and love giving him a sense of peace he's never been able to experience since he was a child, when his mother used to hold him to sleep.

After minutes of Taehyung’s eyelids struggling to make up their mind, they eventually fluttered close, pulling the elder into dreamland.

That night, Taehyung slept like a baby.

His worries were left outside Jungkook’s front door, neglected and alone.

For the first time, he was at peace; holding Jungkook tight.

The only thing that was far from peaceful was Tae’s loud snoring.

Hell, if it was one pitch higher, it might’ve actually been enough to serve as an alarm for the entire apartment complex.

It was an endearing (noisy) quirk of his, but that was Kim Taehyung.

#fic: Love maze #Taehyung x Jungkook #Taekook fic #Taekook series #taekook school au

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han-shinsuke · 4 years ago

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h i n a t a s h o y o x ME (lmao 😂)

🌼♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

• i n e b r i a t e

(verb) make someone drunk.

–1–

2:30 pm [ Camp Edinburgh ]

No way. Why would I do that? I'm not that desperate to get noticed by him. No. My answer will always be 'no'. No one can change my mind. I will not risk my reputation for him. Call me coward and stupid but I don't really care at all.

“Why not, Hannah? All you have to do is to confess your feelings and all.” Rei insisted. Wow. Confess my feelings? That would be the end of me!

“You're really a coward, sensei.” Rica added.

“She's just afraid of getting wrecked by Shoyo.” What the actual fxck?! I grab my friend, Lou and gag her with the bread that I'm about to eat. For fxck’ sake! We are surrounded by other people!

“Seriously, guys? Did you bring me here just to gang up against me?” I question their true intentions after inviting me–no! They dragged me here! In this camp that I thought they organized for the four of us! “I shouldn't have trusted you guys, you're all traitors!” I said in my annoyed and on the verge of crying tone.

No matter how hard I tried to tell myself that I should stop, I always find myself looking at his direction.

Up on the hill, I am once again, a few feet away from him. Hinata Shoyo, you are the dream that haunt me during daylight.

–2–

I used to read fairy tales when I was a kid. And up until now, I still read them. In hope of finding the right one. In hope of feeling the same euphoria all over again.

Freak. That's what they called me back in high school. Freak. Because I dressed like a rat during our play. A pest who got lured by the Pied Piper of Hamelin into the Weser River. If someone will ask me which story is my favorite among the hundred of tales I've had read, I'd tell him/her that it's the story of the rat-catcher and his magic pipe.

Why? Why not Cinderella? Why not Snow White? Why not the fairy tales wherein princesses were saved by their princes?

My answers will always remain constant.

Because my heart was taken by an ordinary man.

And I have no plan of taking it back.

For I am no princess and he is no prince.

Shoyo, after all these years, I'm still into you.

–3–

“Where's Lou, Rica?” I asked my other friend. My eyes and fingers are busy doing some assessment tools on my laptop. I know. I know. I should at least let myself enjoy this temporary freedom for as long as I can but my top priority for now are my students. I must work hard.

“Probably inside a tent somewhere, banging Wakatoshi. Come on, sensei! I'd like to dance with them!” Rica pointed the bonfire in the camping site where most of the guests, including all the members of Japan National Team are dancing around it while holding a bottle of ale.

“Then join them! No one's stoping you from doing so!” I lift the disposable coffee cup from the wooden table and finish the remaining liquid mixture in one chug. Damn. I think I already reached the limit of my caffeine consumption for a day. But I want more! I still have work to do!

I signal the barista to serve me another cup and he nodded.

“What’s Rei doing there? Is he, her friend, too?” Rica asks, stopping my fingers from hitting the keys of my laptop. Again, she pointed at a specific spot. This time she's directing my eyes back to the coffee counter.

“Not sure,” I shrug my shoulders. “You know her, she's a guy magnet.” I said, smiling.

“Anyway! I need to go now! You're such a killjoy! Loosen up, Hannah!”

“Yeah, whatever.” I rolled my eyes then ushered her to join the fun in the camping ground.

For the record, I am not risking my reputation for him. I won't confess to Hinata Shoyo.

–4–

What's so funny? I keep asking this question to myself. Rei was laughing for as long as I can remember. And why is she interrogating me while I'm working? For every correct answer, a scoop of affogato will be served. That's our game arrangement. Yes. Interrogating me is just a game for her.

“You are aware you have a gene called PDSS2, right?” Woah. What was that? My vision suddenly became blurry for seconds right after she asked that question.

I press a finger on my temple and regulate my breathing. This symptom!

“I am, Rei. I could get intoxicated by caffeine and behave like a drunkard.” But that doesn't mean I am unaware of my actions.

“Want me to walk you in our tent?” Rei sounds different. Wait! Why is she treating and talking me like a weak kid?! No. No way! I feel like I'm floating! And my heart suddenly change its' rhythm. Another symptoms of caffeine intoxication!

“You tricked me!” I accused her and she just laugh again. “Kill me, Rei or else I will keep talking like an idiot and I won't stop until the caffeine in my system completely metabolized.”

“I did not tricked you, Hannah. You did this to yourself. That's what you get from being a coffee maniac.”

“I hate you, Rei.” I sighed then shutdown the laptop. “But I hate myself, too.”

“Hydrate yourself to reduce the caffeine effect.” Rei hand me a bottle of water and help me drink it, “how high?” she queried.

“So high that I feel like jumping from here and crash myself to the grassy ground.” I replied.

Rei taps the table. She's instructing me to lay my head there. I obeyed her.

“Do you still love him, right?” She asks, mirroring my condition and position. Now, we are both laying our head atop the table as we face each other.

“You know I didn't stop, Rei.”

“Then take a risk. What's stopping you from expressing your love for him?” she asks, putting her phone between our face.

“The reality, Rei! He's out of my league. So please stop forcing me to spill the beans for him.”

“Do you fear the possibilities of him rejecting you?”

“I fear everything about him. Shoyo Hinata is the perfect definition of fear for me. He made me feared love. He made me feared living this lifetime without him. You know what, Rei? Not all untold love stories deserves a chance. Not because they are unworthy of time and space. But because some of them are meant to be hidden. That's where my love for him resides. Inside a chest of secrets.”

–5–

“..... that's where my love for him resides. Inside a chest of secrets.”

This is what I hate the most after consuming high dose of caffeine in a day. I spoke things I shouldn't. And I cried in a place where I mustn't. Instead of drowning myself with unnecessary thoughts, I let my friends drag me inside the circle of people partying around the bonfire. I don't remember starting but I found myself dancing along the waves of people, along the hyper beat of the song playing in the background. I dance until my legs break. Until my throat hurts from laughing and playing along with my friends and former classmates.

Shoyo's there but made no move to approach me. I just caught him looking at me from time to time and every time our eyes met, he would give me a timid smile and a nod. If only you knew, Shoyo, I want more from you.

“Going somewhere?” I was surprised when a former Nekoma alumni went to me and start talking to me.

“Yes. Back in our tent. To sleep.” I believe his name is Kuroo Tetsurou. I stand on my feet and step backwards. I feel so dizzy.

“Mind if I come?” Did I heard him right?

“Uh, why?” I shook my head harshly. The caffeine is kicking me good in the head.

“You’re supposed to say, 'yes' babes. I’m clearly trying to get under your pants.” Woah. He's so straight forward!

“Well, uh... you are targeting a dull one, Mr. Kuroo. I'm afraid I am incapable of satisfying your needs tonight.” I smiled at him then waved goodbye.

Okay. I don't do one night stand.

I was humming my favorite song along the way when a hand grab my arm then I found myself spinning before landing on a broad and hard shoulder of a man with a very familiar hair color.

“Argh. Put me down, please. I feel so dizzy.” I am not a sack of rice so why are you carrying me like this...... Shoyo Hinata.

“I’m glad you declined, Kuroo's offer.” there's a hint of amusement in his tone while he keep moving forward.

“Are you really talking to me now, Shoyo?”

“Yeah...”

“Can you put me down? Everything is spinning. I feel so lightheaded. I might speak nonsensical things.”

He's deaf. It's confirmed. He really didn't bother putting me back on my feet.

“I think I've heard enough from you, Hannah.” Shoyo says, stopping on his tracks. He put me down but hold my forearm tightly as if I have plan of running away from him. I shook my head again. Trying to clear out the dizziness and drowsiness. “Get inside.” He pushed me down on the soft futon inside his tent and hovers above me.

His proximity is causing my heart to flutter.

“What do you mean you have heard enough from me?” I questioned. Slowly closing my eyes.

“I heard your conversations with Rei.”

“How? You weren't there.”

“She put you on the line during your talk. I heard everything.”

“Ah, that's why she put her phone between our face. That witch!”

I heard him giggle after my outburst. Then I felt his hand on my face. His fingers tracing my lips. His warm breath fanning all over my face.

“May I taste your lips?” His question send electricity throughout my body. I didn't respond. How to? In my current state, responding accordingly is not possible.

My eyes are closed and my mind is in haywire!

“My lips tastes like coffee. I had three servings of americano and four scoops of affogato.” Bravo, Hannah. I deserve a reward for my smart answer.

“I would perceive that as ‘yes’ then,” he whispered.

Don't judge me. I'm on my right mind. And I am aware of his actions. I just don't feel like stopping him when he started claiming my lips.

I dreamt of this moment once.

Would it be too much if I let my guard down tonight?

Just this once, I would like to have a taste of heaven.

“Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?” Shoyo asks, his lips trailing soft kisses along my jawline.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Marry me instead.”

“That's what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then I'll taste your other parts as well.”

“Be gentle.”

“I can't. You know I can't.”

Dear Lord, give me strength to withstand the storm he would bring tonight.

–end–

#hinata Shoyo #haikyu #haikyuu #anime #imagines #love #fluff #hinata shoyo imagine #sun

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dr-ground-zero · 5 years ago

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Todoroki Roulette

(this is a bnha sickfic intened for fluff I’m not trying to ‘fetishize’ these characters. Sometimes I just like sickfics for the fluff so don’t come for me please) Midoriya knew something was off about his boyfriend since this morning. He was quieter than usual and seemed unfocused which wasn't like Todoroki so it concerned his lover. Though during class he seemed to have a feeling, he noticed that the other was much paler than usual. He could also hear fain sniffling, see him rub at his nose with a knuckled finger and. Todoroki would constantly pinch at his nose and make a soft "Htch!" sound. Finally during lunch, Midoriya dared to ask the other who didn't look to be hungry and just picked at his food. "Todoroki-kun are you okay?" Suddenly raising his head then grabbing it and wincing, his answer didn't convince the 'All-might brat'. "I'mb fide b'Midoriya" His voice was hoarse and congested, Midoriya frown and sighs but then looks confused when he hears a soft. "Hehh hiieh heh heh" Then a loud "HEETSSHH! HET-knnk! Het-chiiew!" Trying squash down the sneezes didn't work this time as his body needed to let them out. Fire comes from his mouth and smoke from his nose that's starting to get an irritated pink around the nostrils. "bl-bless you Todoroki" Everyone around saw this and it only made Todoroki more embarrassed and upset, so he ran. Midoriya stood confused while other's were either scared, but it didn't stop the green haired male from chasing after him. Running down the hall and into the bathroom, Todoroki gasped for air then sputtered into a coughing fit as he leans against the cold tile wall. Shivering as his quirk was malfunctioning with his fever making steam as he pants through congested breathing. Midoirya's not far behind and walks in seeing a shivering Todoroki holding himself, wiping his nose on his jacket as it dripped chilly frost. "T-Todoroki-kun" His voice is soft as worry filled him, but Todoroki shrunk away. "G-get away, I'b dadgerous" Knitted brows of confusion showed on Midoriya's face. "Dangerous? Todoroki its fine, no one got hurt-" "yet..D'no ode got hurt yet" Sighing softly, Midoriya approaches with a comforting smile. "Well I'm your boyfriend so I don't care, its my duty as your boyfriend to love you unconditionally." He states in a matter of fact way, the closer he got the more he could see what the problem was. "Todoroki..are you sick?" He couldn't lie to the broccoli boy, not when he was willing to help him. "Y-yes I am'b" His words punctuated with a stuffy sniffle, they're only inches a part another step and now only centimetres. A sweet scarred hand reaches up to feel an un-naturally warm right side and forehead. "Oh Todoroki you're burning u-" Cut off by the same "heh heeeh heh" Midoriya ducks for cover to avoid which ever result would blast from the double quirked male. "HET-chiiew! Het-knnk! guh huxxiew!" The last one causes a flurry of snow flakes to come out, and Midoriya's already going through his book bag for tissues. "Here, and don't stifle next time, you'll feel better if you let the sneezes out." Holding a tissue up the runny nose of his boyfriend gently wiping it for him. "Why don't we go to the dorms? I'll just ask Uraraka to tell the teachers you're sick and that I'm taking care of you." He throws away the tissue and wraps an arm around the taller's waist to lead him to the cafeteria to grab their bags. "A-alright, I'll try d'not to be to b'much trouble for you." Midoriya rolls his eyes playfully "you're the good kind of trouble so don't worry about it, babe." With that the two boys made their way to the cafeteria and were greeted with many stares but Midoriya just leads him straight to their table. "Uraraka, can you do me a favor please?" Asked Deku kindly, Uraraka had a sweet smile "sure Deku what do ya need?" She didn't notice Todoroki leaning against Midoriya until he picked up Todoroki's book bag. "I need you to tell the teachers that Todoroki is sick and I'm taking care of him." The rest of the dekusquad hears this and frowns sympathetically. "Oh I'm sorry to hear your not feeling well Todoroki, that explains the fire.." Says Iida who joins along with Tsu. "Sure thing Deku, feel better Todoroki." "yeah get well Todoroki" Carrying both book bags, its time to head back to the dormitory. Leaving the cafeteria and soon the school with a sniffling, sickly Shoto Todoroki following close Midoriya kept an eye on him as they strolled. Entering the dormitory they head to the elevator, still leaning against Midoriya for support the older was trying rid of the teasing tickle in his nose by rubbing it, but it wasn't working. Feeling the tickle flourish and get worse, his nostrils began to flare and he tried to warn Midoriya. "B'mid-heeh hiih Midoirya aaah" Seeing the pre-sneeze look on his face Midoriya got behind the half n half boy, before flames burst from his lips. "HEEETSSHIEW! HEETTSIIEW!...heh heh HETTSSIEW!" Sniffling the smoke cleared but still left the stuffed up one coughing, so soothing back rubs were the temporary remedy. "Bless you babe" Now being the the private of the dorms and only Midoriya was around, Todoroki relaxed and seemed to melt more for the loving touch. "thagks" "You're welcome babe, come on." Guiding him out of the elevator and heads to their dorms. "My dorm or yours?" "It doesd't b'matter" Midoriya nods and goes to Todoroki's dorm, letting him unlock the door and then going inside. "You go and get changed, do you need help?" Midoriya asked while Todoroki sluggishly began to undress, he shakes his head so Midoriya goes to his own room to change. Coming back quickly after hearing a thud, Midoriya sees Todoroki laying on the bed. He'd sneezed and fell onto the bed when he stifled. Clad in a black long sleeve shirt, and a green short sleeve shirt over top of it with a bunny on it, and comfy blue skinny jeans. Midoriya huffed putting down his sick kit, and helping Shoto into bed. Shoto was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, once under the covers Izuku got set up. Setting the tissues on the bed, knowing his boyfriend would definitely need them. Then going through his 'sick kit', first getting a thermometer. He needed to get a number on that temperature seeing how flushed the other look. "open up Sho~" Slightly parting his lips for the tool to go under his tongue, Shoto leans against the pillows of his bed to sit up a little. When they hear a small beeping noise, Midoriya frowns when he takes the thermometer away. "38.6C (101.5 F) definite fever, lets hope it doesn't get any higher." Putting the tool away, and then getting out the cold medicine making Todoroki cringe. "I know it taste bad but, you have no choice." He made the other chug down the cold syrup, then giving him water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Sniffling and rubbing at his nose that starts to drip, it started another tickle in Todoroki's poor nose. Scrunching up his nose, trying to rid of the tickle, it wasn't working and icy mist was starting to flow from his open mouth while he hitched. "heeh hiieeh heh heh" Scrambling to grab a tissue, pressing it to his nose for him Midoriya braces for what will happen. "HEETSSIIEW!...HEESHIIEW! HETTSIIEW!" The tissue was basically frozen, and soft bites of frost stick to Todoroki's nose that was gently cleaned up. "Bless you Sho, come here." He pulls Todoroki into him and pulls the covers around them. Laying his head on Izuku's chest, Shoto sighs at soft back rubs he got. Todoroki was sleeping lightly in bed with Izuku, when he woke up stuffed up in the head and dizzy. "Oh god by head" He rubs his temples feeling his head pounding and full of what could be described like cotton. He coughs into his fist letting out a bit of smoke, then grabbing a tissue to blow his nose. Though the texture of the tissue was enough to bring out a tickle and a teasing one at that. Leaving the boy in a hitchy itchy nosed limbo with steam coming from his mouth only making the teasing worse. His chest heaving sporadically as he geared up, Midoriya wakes up to this and rubs his eyes groggily. "hm babe?" Though he grew fully away when the other sneezes explosively. "heEETSSIEW! HEETSSIEW!" Smoke fogging up while his nostrils twitched, "S-sorrry" Midoirya gave his nose a soft kiss. "You're not done yet." A sharp gasp when the tickle finally spread enough for him to sneeze again. "HEEXXIIEW!" Snot dripping from his nose, Midoriya fans the smoke away while grabbing a tissue to press against Todoroki's nose "Poor baby bless you" He cooed while adjusting Todoroki in his arms, soft soupy sniffle come from the nose that's starting to turn red. "thagks babe" Midoriya checked the time on his phone, seeing he'd gotten a few from the dekusquad. 'hey Deku u and Todoroki ok?' 'hows Todoroki?' 'try not to get sick Midoriya' So Midoriya texted back in the chat 'Todoroki and I are okay, he's just got a bad cold that's messing with his quirk..I'll try not to get sick but I don't care if I do' When he sees the time, he looks to Todoroki and says in a soft voice in case the boy had a head ache. "Baby I think you should eat something" "I'b dot hugry" Midoriya chuckles grabbing a tissue and handing it to Shoto. "Sho baby, blow your nose I can't understand you." Shoto does as asked and then throwing away the tissue. "I'm not really hungry" "Well you still need to eat, how about some soup? It'll help you get your strength back up." Todoroki knew the other was right, but he didn't want the other to leave him and lose the shared body heat he needed. "I wont take long alright" Giving a short peck to his forehead, Midoriya gets up from the bed to go and make Todoroki soup. Leaving the dual quirked sickie in bed alone to his own devices. So he laid up in bed and went into his phone, until he got bored and started to feel clingy. So he gets up and wraps the blanket around himself to keep his fever chills away and heads down stairs. In the elevator Todoroki was sniffling and sneezing rubbing his nose with a fist covered blanket. Shaking a little from weakness and slight chills, he waits until he reaches the common room ground floor. He then walks into the common room kitchen, some of the students were there as class was over finally seeing Todoroki some giggled some just stared. "Izuu~" Todoroki says while wrapping his arms around the other making him jump. "Sho baby, what are you doing out of bed?" Midoriya says turning to look at his boyfriend who'd wrapped himself into a blanket. "I don't like being alone right now" Nuzzling his chilly drippy nose against Izuku's neck, but that causes a tickle to make his nose twitch and his breath catch. "heh heeeh ieeh" Midoriya panicked a little and got behind his boyfriend trying to guide him away from lighting anyone up or freezing them. "HEETSSIEW! HEESHIEEW! HETTSIIEW!" It made a couple people jump but, no one was burned or frozen so that's always good. "bless you Sho-chan" Sniffling and rubbing at his nose he slumped forwards. "Thagks Izu" "what the heck was that?" Asked Uraraka who walked towards the two boys. "Todoroki's quirk malfunctioning" Uraraka nods in understanding, while Midoriya guides his boyfriend to a stool at the island counter. "How ya feeling Todoroki?" Todoroki peered over to the brunet who offers a sweet smile. "awful." He answered plainly with a soft snort, Midoriya's still working on the soup adding things to it. While the soup was cooking Midoriya gently ran his fingers through Todoroki's hair cooing at him sweetly. "I know you don't feel good Sho baby~" Todoroki opened his arms making grabby hands like a child, Midoriya knew what he wanted. Giving him a loving embrace and a short kiss on the lips. Uraraka 'awed' at the two commenting on how much of a cute couple they are. Parting away, Midoriya goes to grab a container to put the soup in and grabs a spoon, he ushers the other upstairs. "Bye Uraraka talk to you later." The round faced girl waves good bye to her friends while going on her phone. Back in Todoroki's bedroom, with a closed door Todoroki sat up in bed while Midoriya gave him soup. It was a sweet gesture that Midoriya didn't mind doing for his boyfriend who's hands shook too much to hold the bowl on his own. Soggy sniffles, nose rubs, from the warm soup making his nose run resulted in it turning red. His stomach full of said soup, Shoto grew tired. Setting the soup aside on nightstand next to the bed, Midoriya crawls under the covers and pulls Todoroki too his chest to use as a pillow. Their legs tangled around and strong arms wrapped to hold each other close, Midoriya's hands dance around to lull his boyfriend into a blissful sleep.

#bnhasickfic #non kink blogs don't interact #nonkink blogs don't interact #nonsickficblogs #creeps don't interact

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talesofpanem · 5 years ago

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If You Can’t Take the Heat...

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: T

Trigger warning: depictions of abuse

Summary: When the summer heat ratchets up, Peeta Mellark finds the bakery’s kitchen an impossible place to be.

Sweat drips into my eyes as I pull yet another tray from the oven, and I try to wipe it away on the shoulder of my heavy canvas apron. Good for preventing burns from hot pans, but stiflingly hot to wear on a day like this. When I spin to set the bread on the counter, my head swims, and I lean heavily against the steel surface, head bowed.

It’s the fifth day in a row of oppressive, intolerable heat that has everyone sluggish and moving more slowly than usual. And it has Mother in a particularly foul temper. You’d think she would be pleased, what with everyone in the district coming to us for bread and tarts since it’s too hot to cook in their own homes. But Mother is never pleased.

Particularly with me.

As if summoned by my uncharitable thoughts, Mother storms back into the kitchen. “Peeta, you stupid creature, get back to work! If you moved any more slowly you’d be going backwards!” I wish I had the guts to point out to her that everything would go a little faster if she was helping, instead of hiding out in the cold storage, pretending to do inventory. But talking back to Mother just makes things worse, and I’m all too aware of just how tenuous my place here is. So I keep my mouth shut and push through the nausea and dizziness, moving the hot loaves of nut bread to wire cooling racks. Behind me, Rye surreptitiously kicks away the brick that we use to prop open the back door when Mother isn’t in the kitchen. She’s convinced that having it open even a crack will have ‘the district riff-raff’ storming our bakery to steal the food.

Her sentiment, not mine.

As much as Mother hates me and my brothers, she hates the rest of the district more. Particularly the poor people, which is pretty much everyone. And particularly people from the Seam, which is 9 out of every ten people in District 12.

I go back to my station and concentrate on working. It’s a challenge, getting our usual recipes to turn out well when it’s so hot in the prep area. It makes the pie crusts tough and the bread doughs sticky. Not that our customers complain. They’re just grateful to not have to stoke a fire this week.

Mother disappears in a huff and I relax a little. The dizziness persists, though. I feel unsteady on my feet, listless and clumsy. Rye, who has been splitting his time between the front shop and the kitchen, passes me a cup of water and I chug it, despite how warm it is. I just have to push through until Dad and Brann get back from the train station. Dad will let me take a break before we unload the carts, I’m sure. I just need to keep it together for another hour at most.

The bell out front rings again and with a sigh, Rye heads back to man the cash. It’s cooler in the front, without the ovens, but he’s spent as much time with me as he can spare, trying to help me keep up with the baking. Trying to shelter me from Mother’s wrath.

The water shifts uncomfortably in my empty stomach. It’s been too hot to eat much this week, especially the stale bread that makes up the majority of our diet. And I haven’t really had any appetite anyway. But the sloshing gets worse, and I realize I’m going to be sick. I stagger towards the door, pushing it open and sticking my face in the narrow opening, hoping a bit of air will stave off the sickness.

Voices float back. Mother, promising that something is right back in the kitchen. In my lightheaded, disoriented state, I don’t realize that she’s heading my way until it’s too late.

“Lazy, ungrateful boy,” she shrieks, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I’m already slumped against the doorframe, I don’t have the energy to defend myself or even to flinch. Her barrage of insults continue, I think, but it all sounds tinny and warped. She’s pulling me back from the door and I can’t even warn her that’s a bad idea as I start retching.

She screams.

My scalp is on fire as she heaves me through the door using her grip on my hair. But that pain is eclipsed by the ground rushing up to meet me as I careen off the back steps, landing on the hard packed dirt in an explosion of agony.

The bakery door slams shut above me with a ringing metallic finality, and a hot blackness carries me away.

o-o-o

My head is pounding, by far the worst headache I’ve ever had. I groan, and someone shuffles near me, the crunch of gravel right by my ear. It all rushes back - the heat, the nausea, my mother, taking a header down the cement steps out back. I can’t muster the energy to check, but I’m fairly sure my head took the brunt of it this time. A hand on my shoulder eases me up onto my side. Rye must have found me. I wonder how long I’ve been out here; the sun is no longer beating on my face. The cool edge of a cup, or maybe a flask, presses against my lip. Cold water rushes in; I try to gulp the unexpected delight, to soothe my aching throat, but it retreats.

“Slowly,” a soft, sultry voice says above me. Definitely not Rye. I crack an eye open and wait for the world to come into focus.

A pair of silver-grey eyes emerge from a mist that matches them exactly. A little grin lifts my lips. Katniss Everdeen leaning over me. This is the best concussion dream ever. Dark brows crease, and a soft hand presses against my forehead. “You’re a little cooler,” she says, then the hand retreats. I want to complain, to beg her to touch me again. Instead, a cold, wet cloth presses against my forehead, and a similar cloth is lifted from the back of my neck, swapped for a cooler one. I let myself drift away again, to where the pain can’t follow.

What feels like seconds later I’m shaken awake. “You have to drink more water,” concussion dream Katniss says. This time, when I open my eyes I can focus. I’m still lying on the ground, but not by the bakery door. I’m in the shade of the miller’s shed, my head pillowed on my folded apron, the stench of vomit heavy in the air.

And Katniss is definitely not a dream. She’s sitting cross-legged beside me, dusty boots tucked under dirty linen pants, what I recognize as her typical hunting apparel. Her usual scruffy leather jacket is absent, probably in deference to the heat. Instead, she’s wearing a dull green shirt with no sleeves, sleekly muscled shoulders bared to my gaze. I take the flask she offers, sipping slowly and cringe internally. The most beautiful girl in school is finally talking to me and I’m lying in the dirt with vomit on my shirt.

“Are you feeling any better?” Katniss asks.

“Yeah,” I rasp. “Thank you.” I try to sit up but she stops me with a gentle hand to the shoulder, and I freeze.

“Give it a few minutes,” she says. “You were out awhile.”

Panic jolts through me. “How long is awhile?” Mother will kill me for slacking in the kitchen, even if she’s the one who tossed me out here.

Katniss shrugs. “About forty minutes, I guess?” Shit, I am so dead. Katniss scowls. “You’re lucky you’re not dead. You were hot as a coal stove when I dragged you out of the sun.” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. I did not mean to say that out loud.

“I should get back in,” I say, though I honestly want nothing less than to go back inside that oven and deal with Mother’s wrath. “They’ll be worried.” The look Katniss gives me quashes any hope that she didn’t see exactly what happened. Shame steals through me. She must think I’m pathetic, eighteen years old and letting my mother push me around. Katniss Everdeen would never allow anyone to push her around that way. She’s been taking charge and caring for her entire family since we were just kids.

“She hasn’t come looking,” Katniss says, peeking through the rhododendrons that border the miller’s yard and shield our hiding spot from the bakery door.

I close my eyes, pain and humiliation burning. Her hand on my head startles me, not checking for injuries, just running gently through my sweaty hair, brushing the overlong curls back. It feels so good to be touched with kindness that it’s all I can do to stave off the tears. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to stroke my hair while I struggle to get ahold of myself.

“You deserve better than this,” she says when I’ve calmed.

“Thank you for finding me,” I say, my voice thick and watery.

“I owed you,” she says, and her thumb shifts, softly stroking the skin beneath my eye. My eyes pop open in surprise and wonder. There isn’t a wound there now but something about her expression makes me think she’s remembering when there was, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Is this about the bread, from when we were kids?” I hate thinking about that day long ago when Katniss, skeletal and starving, had shown up in the bakery yard. I’d done the only thing I could think of to help, scorched some bread in the fire, knowing that while Mother might make us eat the stale and misshapen loaves, she’d never serve a burnt loaf even to us.

But I know how people in the Seam feel about repaying a favour, no matter how small. Gale Hawthorne had given me a basket of apples and a heaping dose of attitude last fall when I distracted the mayor so Gale could sneak Madge back into her house. It was ridiculous, that he felt he owed me for such a small kindness. But he said that was the Seam way, and I’d never understand.

I hadn’t even done it for him, not really. I’d just been so damned happy to see him sneaking around with Madge, to find out that he wasn’t with Katniss that way, despite the hours they spend together in the woods on Sundays. So when I saw Gale and Madge kissing on the Undersees’ back steps and heard the mayor coming up the walkway, I engaged him in a conversation. Anyone would do the same.

“No,” she says, then wrinkles her cute little nose. “Well, a little. But not only that.” Her hand falls away, and I push myself up to sitting.

This is the first time we’ve ever spoken, beyond a muttered good morning when she comes to trade squirrels and goat cheese with my father, and I’m desperate to keep going, despite the circumstances. I tried all through school to think of a way to talk to her, but I always chickened out. Even after our last reaping just 6 weeks ago, I wanted so badly to go congratulate her, but when her family had surrounded her I’d only skulked away. My own family, of course, had been nowhere to be found.

“Then why?” I ask, searching her eyes. They’re grey, most people in the Seam have grey eyes, but in the shade they almost glow, quicksilver and sparkling. Enchanting.

“I, well. I’ve been watching you. And trying to figure out a way out of your situation.” I cringe again. As the third son, my situation is obvious to anyone who cares to look. There isn’t enough business at the bakery, even in busy times like these, to support three men and their future families. I’ve been kept on past my last Reaping only because Brann hasn’t yet married. But Mother has been working hard to find him a wife, so my days here are numbered. And my choices are slim. Go into the mines or marry a merchant girl with no brothers. Neither of which are very appealing. Though I guess the mines are where I’m likeliest to wind up, since I’d never subject a girl to a loveless marriage with me. I’ve spent far too long watching my parents’ misery. “I was coming to talk to you. That’s when I saw the witch.”

“I’m sorry you saw that,” I admit.

“I’m not,” she says. “She left you unconscious and bleeding in this heat. You could have died, Peeta.” Her voice, unbelievably, cracks with emotion, and she scowls, looking away.

“And you took care of me.” She could just as easily have knocked on the back door, or gone around front and demanded Rye or Mother bring me in. She could even have called the Peacekeepers. Instead, she took care of me. Not her healer mother, but Katniss herself. My heart feels like it might burst. Despite everything, this might be the best day of my life, hunched in the dirt with the girl of my dreams.

“I did,” she says, swinging her silver gaze back to me. “Anyway, I think I have a plan,” she says.

“Really?” I’ve been trying to come up with a plan for months, a way to live a real life away from Mother and all of her hatred. But I’ve been dragging my feet on implementing anything, because the mines are a hard, horrible life. And because I love baking, at least when Mother isn’t around or when Dad is there to shelter me from her. It’s hard to imagine doing anything else.

Katniss reaches behind her for the canvas bag she usually carries her hunting catches in, but instead of a squirrel or a bunch of herbs, she extracts a book, setting it gingerly in my lap.

It’s old, generations old, maybe even from the dark days. I open it reverently, understanding without her words that she’s sharing something important with me. The early pages are all medicinal herbs with time-faded illustrations and descriptions. Further in are hand-drawn images of plants, with where to find them written in the margins in slanted hand. I glance up, confused, and Katniss smiles. It’s such a rare thing, her smile, that I’m struck dumb. Or dumber, anyway.

She leans into me, her shoulder against my own, and flips the pages almost to the end. More drawings slide by, of edible plants, and handwritten descriptions in what I recognize as Katniss’s hand. A plan, I think, for keeping her family alive. I’m struck by her tenacity. I’ve always known she was fearless. But I’m learning just how smart she is too. Finally, she stops at a drawing of a bushy-topped plant that looks vaguely like the wheat stalks from which bakery flour comes. We don’t grow wheat in District 12, it comes from 10, but I’ve seen pictures of it on the sides of the flour bags that come from the Capitol.

“It’s amaranth,” she says. “You can make flour out of it.” I’m surprised, I had no idea you could make flour out of anything other than wheat. “And this,” she continues, flipping the page, “is buckwheat. Apparently it makes a flour almost the same as what you get in the bakery.”

While I’m enjoying her enthusiasm immensely, I have no idea what this means for me, and I tell her so. She doesn’t get upset with me, she simply grins. “Both of these grow here, in Twelve. I found a book in the library, and I’ve been studying which grains can be used to make breads and cakes. I found these two that looked familiar. Lots and lots of amaranth grow in the valley about a mile from here, and we could probably get the buckwheat to seed in a garden, so we’d have enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough so we could open an eatery, in the Hob,” she says, and her enthusiasm is tempered with a little bit of what looks like fear. “There’s an open booth and it has an oven. You could bake bread and I could sell some of my game, and Prim could sell any extra goat milk and cheese. With Greasy Sae gone, people need a place to buy food that’s not in the merchant quarter. I think we could really make this work. I mean, I know it’s not as good as what you have now…” she trails off, biting her lip.

“My mother wouldn’t allow it,” I say, then immediately want to slap myself when Katniss’s soft, pleased expression hardens into something angry.

“She can’t stop you,” she says fiercely. “She’d never even come into the Hob.” That’s true, there’s no way Mother would be caught dead there. “And if she did,” Katniss continues, “I wouldn’t let her come near you.” That’s incredibly sweet, and my heart turns strangely in my chest. But that’s not really what I mean.

“She won’t let me live at home unless I’m slaving in her bakery.”

“If we’re partners, you won’t have to live there. You won’t ever have to see any of them again, if you don’t want to.”

“How?” I start, then realization kicks in. She’s not just talking about a business partnership.

She’s talking a life partnership.

Marriage in District 12 comes with a house; apart from winning the games, or having your parents die, it’s the only way to get a house in District 12.

I love Katniss, I have loved her in some way since we were five-year-olds. Which is why I can’t let her do this. I can’t let her sentence herself to a loveless life with me just because of some misguided sense of obligation.

“Marriage?” I gasp. Katniss nods, eyes wide and serious. “Why would you do this?” I ask again, like a muttation parroting the same word over and over.

She huffs. “I told you, because you deserve better than this.”

“So do a lot of people in District Twelve,” I remind her.

“I don’t care about those people,” she whispers, and I hold my breath. But the rest of the words don’t come. And without them, this can’t happen.

“I can’t let you throw your life away for me,” I tell her, and it hurts my heart to do so, with everything I’ve ever wanted laid out before me. But it isn’t really mine for the taking. “Sentencing yourself to a life of misery won’t be doing me any favours.”

“It won’t be like that,” she says, defiant, but also maybe just a little hurt. She wraps her arms around herself and looks away, through the rhododendrons again. “Maybe I want this for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that?”

“Do you?” I whisper. A thousand emotions play across her expressive face while I hold my breath, everything I’d never even dared to dream hanging in the balance.

“Yes,” she says, barely a breath. “I know you don’t feel the same, but maybe someday-”

I cut off her words with my mouth, kissing her with all of the joy in my heart, however puke-scented it might be. She stiffens, but doesn’t push me away, and after a moment her hands slide into my hair again, but this time they twist in the curls at the nape of my neck.

The kiss is everything a first kiss should be, sweet and perfect, and when we break apart I am dizzy again, but this time with euphoria. “I have loved you forever,” I confess, and she blinks.

“But you’ve never even spoken to me, no matter how many times I came to the bakery…”

I laugh, for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. “I’m a coward,” I tell her, and she laughs, a gorgeous, musical sound.

“That kiss didn’t feel very cowardly.” Then she leans in.

Our second kiss is slower, but no less enthusiastic, and when her hot little tongue pokes shyly into my mouth, all of the blood in my head runs south. “Katniss,” I breathe against her lips, and I can taste her smile.

“Come on,” she says, pulling away and reaching for the book, slipping it into her bag. “Let me show you the stall. Then we can talk about what to do next.” She extends her hand, and as she does, I hear the bakery door clang open, Mother’s shrill voice bellowing my name.

I don’t even think twice, wrapping Katniss’s tiny hand in my own much larger one, and letting her lead me into the future.

#tales of panem #talesofpanem #submission #week 8 #heat #xerxia31

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fvckvalenciano · 5 years ago

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introducing benji !!

[ FROY GUTIERREZ // 20 // CIS MALE // HE/HIM // MUSE J ] can you believe BENJAMIN ‘BENJI’ VALENCIANO is apart of the stellar world tour? the industry has dubbed him THE CHARLATAN and he has quite the reputation. sources say he is [ ENGAGING ] and [ ASSERTIVE ], but can also be [ VINDICTIVE ] and [ QUICK-TEMPERED ]. however, he is best described by the song [ SUPER RICH KIDS ] by [ FRANK OCEAN ]. i can’t to see what the stellar world tour has in store for him.

bio & pinterest

hi hi !! i'm sure you guys will recognize this as a reoccuring theme sooner rather than later, but i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing at any given moment, so i'm just gonna dive into a quick introduction to benji and hope for the best ! if you are interested in some slightly more organized thoughts i would recommend taking a look at his bio ( which i just fixed the link for because i'm dumb and it was broken this whole time haha, so let me know if there are any problems! ) & i hope you guys enjoy :)

okay so benjamin is born in greenwich, connnecticut, a town famous almost exclusively for housing some of the wealthiest families in america and not much else. his moms are both lawyers, cutthroat defense attorneys that pay for the family's summers in europe and vacation homes down south with somebody's elses blood money. he's an only child, and their scrutiny is merciless as it curates an envy for the anonymity of the shadows. their expectations pile too high in his throat, and he fears the day he chokes and lets them down, for it is inevietable. but he knows they'll do anything to get him across that finish line, walking across the stage at a prestigous law school he couldn’t care less about, which in an odd way is more terryifying than it is comforting.

music is not something that even crosses his mind until much later in life. it was never an option, still isn't, so he decides early that it is not worth the energy of entertaining, even as he finds peace only when the music is loud enough to drown out everything else. he is desperate to mold himself into somebody worth his mothers' undying affections, not just charades and party tricks. but they are patient with him nonetheless, smiles tight and forgiving through it all, and his stomach turns more often than not with the way pity flashes in a matching set of cool eyes, lightning-quick.

benji is created in just sixteen hours and thirty-seven minutes, an accident. it's a textbook definition of overnight fame, a shoddy youtube video gaining far more traction than it was ever meant to. he's nineteen and only in his second semester at college, and music was never the plan, but neither was law school, really. it's a headache, dizzying to imagine taking a life where he steps outside of his family's hold, and he is forced to make a real decision for the first time in his life. so he does.

in the same breath that he signs a contract with the label, they are prying his music from his fingers, the lyrics of missing a life that was never his to begin with are lifted away and delivered to somebody that looks more the part of soft and remoreseful. ( cue lincoln entering stage left, hello bb ) rather, he’s fitted with quick and aggressive lines, still technically his words but molded in a way that don’t fit right in his mouth. they tell him it fits his image better, and doesn’t he want to be famous? the worst part is that it works, his fans eat it up, and demand more, more, more. anger thrums beneath his skin, obvious even as he shoves it down like always, but any pr agent could spot it from a mile away, and they tell him to use that instead. he is familiar with the use of disguises, years of sneaking around in his own home make excellent practice, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth all the same. nobody has ever allowed him the vice of anger before, though. he knows a lifeline when he sees one, and he runs with it. benji realizes all too late that this is not the freedom he thought he would be granted, realizes he should have known better, that he let himself get passed over from his mothers’ iron grasp to the label’s. he decides he prefers the way disappointing others lasts longer and feels better than chasing approval, and lets this time be different.

[ H E A D C A N O N S ]

( i know this is all dramatic backstory so far lmao, let me introduce you to who this dumb asshole really is )

more than anything else, benji is all bark with no bite. he’ll curse you out for accidentally waking him up at 7:30 instead of 8:00, and hold the grudge for hours with icy stares and glorified pouting, like he’s got a personal vendetta for making himself miserable. he’s often a bit standoffish, distant in the apathetic way that you could cry on his shoulder for hours and still not hear a word out of him, look over and he’ll offer a placating grin and a shrug. he tells the truth to a fault, blunt and unforgiving and too impatient to waste time playing games with lies and faux-affection. even with all his own bouts of irritability, the kid is an absolute idiot when it comes to reading people and understanding social cues and he’s often left blind-sided when people are pissed at him without explicitly spelling it out. still, he doesn’t hold any actual distaste for anybody on the tour, floating between groups based on whoever’s personality suits him better that day, unless they are the ones to escalate the matter, in which case, good luck charlie. forgive-and-forget isn’t really in his vocabulary. once he makes a decision, it’s near impossible to get him to change his mind.

when he wants to be, or if you’ve entertained his interests in one way or another, he warms up and and indulges you with his internal monologue ( your chances are better if there’s a camera around, he doesn’t often bother wasting the energy otherwise, but still ) actually, it is not as hard as it sounds to gain his favor. crack a dumb joke about pr or offer him half a snickers bar and you’ve already got a foot in the door, baby. he reveals his friendship in odd ways — sarcastic comments and random compliments, nonchalant and declared like fact rather than opinion.

the real shortcut into his brain is alcohol. flash forward to like 11pm on any given day and the asshole is chugging fireball like it’s the first sip of water he’s had after years of dehydration, suddenly all bright grins and loud laughs, eager to collect drinking buddies like playing cards. it’s a harsh juxtaposition, from brooding and fabricated to giggling and tipsy, and his tolerance isn’t nearly as high as he likes to pretend it is, so he’s drunk off his ass and acting a fool more often than not. he’ll trade secrets easily, charming and tongue loose in a way that it never is when he’s sober. ( don’t even get me started with the amount of people he hooks up with, oh boy ) drunk benji’s a real headache for the crew, considering he’s not of drinking age yet in america and he’s got a rigid mask to maintain in order to keep up his charades and remain relevant. he refuses to be ashamed of it, though, and he’s adamant to make things difficult for them, relishing instead in impulsive decisions he never got the chance to make for most of his life. long story short, in a pinch, buy him a handle and he’ll probably like you.

when i say benji will try anything once, i mean it seriously, offer him literally anything and odds are that he’ll say yes. it’s kind of ridiculous. his self-destructive streak is always up for a good time, wink wink ( this doesn’t just mean drugs or anything, like dare him to eat an entire jar of nutella in under 10 minutes? where’s the spoon )

unfortunately he’s a stereotypical rich kid through and through, and he’s got the nicotine addiction to show for it. he won’t even smoke cigarettes out of the principle of the thing ( unless he’s blackout drunk, in which case, oh boy, watch your pockets ) but he’s got at least two juuls on him at any given moment. nobody knows how he manages it, but he’s got an extensive supply of the mango flavored pods even though they’re banned, because they’re the only ones he’ll use. he’s got lots of connections, and the fact that he uses them for this pretty much sums up his entire personality.

you would think that benji, with his reformed rich kid attitude and all his burning anger and sarcastic eye-rolling, would only drink expensive coffee, black and strong, right? no. he’ll walk up to any barista, pissed just to be awake before noon and gaze as hard and cold as hell itself frozen over, and order himself a frozen caramel frappuccino with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle on top, deadpan and monotone. to add insult to injury, he’ll chase it by shotgunning a can of redbull, living off of unhealthy amounts of caffeine to have enough energy to deal with the others at all times. it’s ridiculous.

he’s grudgingly okay with the fact that his social media accounts have been sacrificed for his image, wiped clean and shaped into the public figure he is today. however, he guards his spotify account with his life, keeping it private and refusing to monitor this aspect of his life. his music taste is everything to him, and while he’s willing to plaster songs he’s never listened to all over his instagram story, his spotify is an extension of him, and he fights like a dog to keep it that way.

last but not least, benji’s fashion is atrocious. really, for the greater good nobody should let him dress himself, ever, and they usually don’t. he’s got quite the bad reputation amongst the stylists, infamous for scowling at the high-fashion look they want to stuff him in, refusing to hear reason to the fact that he has to wear makeup to the red carpet. whenever he knows beyond a doubt that no cameras will be waved in front of his eyes, he practically lives in sweats like it’s his religion, paired with genuinely whichever shirt he first lays eyes on. ( listen, he grew up filthy rich and just bought his first pair of sweatpants when he went to college, let him indulge bb ) some members will swear up and down to the fact that they saw him walk around in mysteriously stained sweatpants and a stolen back-up dancer’s skin tight, hot pink mesh crop top for a full hour into rehearsal before he woke up enough to realize his mistake. he’ll bite your head off for even bringing it up, but glance down and double-check what he’s wearing just in case.

oh wait also he’s dyslexic. words blur together in a way that makes writing lyrics a bitch, and just one song take him weeks to finish. it makes the sting of having them ripped away even worse. ( also i get to spell things wrong in the group chat and it’s in character lmao )

#introstellar #im on mobile idk how this looks ill fix it later #also sorry this got long lol

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simisunny · 4 years ago

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Mother May Be (Part 1)

Another day, another dead end.

Detective Peterson lets out a sigh of misery as the clock strikes ten, telling him it’s time for him to give it a rest until the next day. There is no use for the detective to stress himself out by working extra hours, searching for anything that would satisfy him. There's always tomorrow, Peterson thinks somberly.

Though he knows there might be no chance at some point.

"Damn it!" The detective says under his breath as he straightens every crime scene photo and statements on his desk. He shouldn't take it too hard, but it’s his responsibility when it comes to cases. And every case Detective Peterson works on, he would get the culprit from fingerprints to inconsistencies with testimonies.

But the case he's working on, there is no way the detective could pinpoint the murderer.

Dressed in a blue and white striped pajama shirt and a white t-shirt, he slumps into bed before covering himself in a wooly blanket, shielding himself from the winter air. The heater he bought for his apartment wouldn't warm up his room much. And the detective couldn't bother the landlord by turning up the heat, because she claims that "it costs too much money."

Come on, Allan, he tells himself. Just sleep. Don't even think about the cold or the case. You need to sleep.

But as thirty minutes passed, he opened his eyes, growling in frustration. There's no way he can sleep.

There is another option that Detective Peterson can try, though. So he gets out of bed and puts his black overcoat and shoes on. But before he could head out, Peterson eyes the gun lying on top of the drawer. He can't go unprotected without it, so he takes it, puts on the safety lock, and slides it halfway inside his pants, where the handle is pressing against his back. Satisfied, Peterson takes off. And it doesn't take too long for the cold air to blast onto his face, causing his eyes to water. Yep, that did the trick.

As he turns to the corner of the street, he notices a flyer of a missing child. It is a smiling seven-year-old boy with a blue and yellow striped t-shirt. This is aching for the detective so much, and this is the latest victim the suspect had his hands on. One child after another, the suspect gets away with it, leaving Detective Peterson to trace the bastard as he keeps promising families he was on it. Peterson was so determined since the first missing case. But as it multiplied, it horrified him. Even the picture that's taped onto a pole is making him sick.

"Why do you torture me so much?" he asks as if he will get an answer. Then, the detective groans. "Get it together, Allan. A quick drink should suffice."

It doesn't take too long for Detective Peterson to find the bar that he and his co-workers would go to whenever a celebration is called. Usually, he never drinks unless there's a special occasion. But because he could not quiet his mind, this will be the first and last time to do it.

As he enters, there are so many people in attendance. Though the detective finds an empty seat—right where the bartender is serving drinks behind the desk. "What can I get you, sir?" the bartender asks.

"Blue Moon should do. It's strong enough to forget, right?"

The bartender blinks in bewilderment. "Um...sure, I guess? Why do you ask?"

"Just something that I need. Don't worry about it."

Without saying a word, he pours the detective a drink and hands it to him; the amber liquid is filled to the top, which the frothy part is around the rim. He takes a sip, which the liquid burns down his throat when he swallows. Though, it's what the detective needs.

"I see you're enjoying yourself," an unfamiliar voice says.

Detective Peterson glances at the woman, who's smiling at him as she takes a seat beside him. The woman looks older than Peterson, but not a lot. A few gray hairs around her hair and small wrinkles on her cheekbones, but her heart-shaped face and brown eyes look warm like a mother's touch. Though she wears a brown overcoat and jeans.

She looks familiar, yet Peterson doesn't know where.

"I guess you can say that," the detective answers before taking a couple more sips of his drink. "What's a woman like you doing here? Unless you have some friends to hang around."

She chuckles. "Nah. I'm only here to live life to the fullest while I make some new friends. Don't let appearances fool you, dearie." The woman winks and extends her hand toward Detective Peterson. "The name's Agatha. What's yours?"

"Allan, ma'am." He takes her hand to shake it.

"Please, call me Agatha. What's with this 'ma'am' stuff? I may be old, but I like to feel young."

"As you wish, ma—-I mean, Agatha." Detective Peterson rubs his face before laughing. "Sorry. I'm used to giving people formalities when I come across people on the job."

"Aww, you just gotta let loose for once. So what are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Detective," he replies.

A sad smile blooms on Agatha's friendly face, as if she's seeing through the detective. "Must be a tough job, I see. You look tense if you don't mind me assuming."

"Not at all. It's been rough lately, but I'll be okay." He chugs down on the remaining beer, not bothered by a burning sensation in his throat. And when he's done. The detective lets out a sigh of relief.

"Woah, slow down there." Agatha chuckles. "You better not be planning on killing your liver. Now that's a crime."

Then, it's Detective Peterson's turn to laugh once more. "That's funny. First time I heard that before."

"But in a serious matter, you need to take it easy. Wouldn't want you harming yourself, now do we?"

The detective arches his eyebrow while resting his cheek against his palm, while his elbow is resting on the glossy, wooden table. "You sound as if you're my mother. I thought you're supposed to be fun."

The woman shrugs and straightens her posture as she orders two drinks—-which she claims as her favorite—-before she turns her attention to Peterson. "I am fun, but we all know that we have our limits. We can still take risks, but we must also understand what we're not capable of."

"Well, that sounds gloomy, in my opinion."

Agatha playfully sighs as she swings her legs around. "Tell you what? One more drink for you, and we'll call it a night." The bartender returns with two drinks at hand, and then Agatha slides one of them to the detective. "How about it, Allan?"

He can't help but grin playfully and nodded.

"Ah, ah, ah!" The woman raises a finger when Detective Peterson is about to take a sip. "There's just one thing that's missing." Pulling out of her purse is a small lemon, and she cuts it in half with a knife which was also in her bag.

"You keep a lemon and a knife around?" the detective asks in an incredulous tone.

"Garden fresh. I'd rather eat my fresh fruits than what they serve in restaurants, don't you agree?" Sliding the sliced lemons on each of the glasses' rims, Agatha hands the drink back to the detective. "Have at it! I made sure that the concoction has a delicious taste."

For one moment, he is hesitant about what Agatha has done to their drinks. Detective Peterson's intuition as—-well, a detective, is telling him he cannot take it. Though Agatha is sweet to him tonight, and the detective cannot decline the offer. This is his night, and he should let loose after everything he's been through lately.

As he takes the offered drink one last time, Agatha raises her glass as she beams at him. "To new friends, and a night we cannot forget."

"Cheers." The detective nods in agreement.

With their glasses clinked together, he finally gets to taste the beer. And as the concoction reaches his palate, Detective Peterson moans in delight as he takes a couple more gulps of his drink. "You're right," he admits as he finishes his drink. "A tinge of your lemon is perfect."

Agatha winks at him. "It's all in the magic touch I have."

"Magic touch, huh?" The detective chuckles at the thought before adding, "You can probably put a spell on me."

A sly smile appears on her lips. "Now that's something I never heard."

For some reason, Detective Peterson is feeling sweaty and a little dizzy. It's typical for drinking two beers, right?

"Are you feeling okay, Allan?" Agatha asks, concern written on her face.

"I... something's... wrong…"

Before he can stand upright, his head collides against the table before the detective falls inside the black.

#horror #suspense #short story #mystery #amwriting #halloween #blog

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starlightshowtimeproductions · 5 years ago

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Double Feature Fatality!

Shu-hua Chiu falls out of the sky. Her feet hit the stage beneath her with a resounding thud. She barely sticks the landing, her whole body shaking from the reverb she felt. A less experienced martial artist may have fallen over, but she takes the pain with gritted teeth. She reaches for her cane, only to find nothing but air.

“Alright…” She’d have to stand on her own, then.

It looks as though she’s been dropped onto a stage, right in the center for everyone to see. A large projector screen has been pulled down behind her. Not knowing where to go, she takes an uncertain step towards it.

The lights shut off. The chugging of an old-fashioned film reel echoes in the theater. A video plays on the screen, gray and grainy like something taken out of the 30s with all the cracks and discoloration to match. Black spots dot the footage in random places, but they don’t hurt its legibility. It’s a video of a fight between two women.

Two oddly familiar women...identical to the one watching their duel, save for the gi on one of them. She watches their swings and punches—how they don’t quite seem to hit with full force, how they barely dodge each other’s hits in time. The choreography’s tight without much room for error. As Shu-hua takes it all in, she realizes what she’ll have to do. This is for her to copy.

Light floods the theater once more. She’s not sure if the other Shu-hua walked onto the stage in the darkness or just materialized. It doesn’t matter. Shu-hua mirrors her doppelganger, adopting the proper stance just as she does. Just as in the video, her clone runs towards her. Shu-hua steps out of the way. She spins, bringing out her leg for a high kick that makes her scream from the effort.

At the very least, she hasn’t missed her beat. Throughout it all, she follows the choreography to the letter. She throws punches that bring tears to her eyes, she weaves out of the path of kicks that would’ve sent her to her knees, and she makes it all look good. If she wasn’t fighting to her death, this would be a beautiful performance.

Once their fight reaches its conclusion, the theater goes dark. A new video plays. This time, they’re holding swords and the real Shu-hua’s holding a hand over her heart as she watches. Her breathing is labored, every gasp of air rattling her on the inside. Her muscles ache. Her joints are protesting even though she’s not doing much more than standing at this point. She… Swordplay? Can she handle something like that in her current state?

She’ll have to try. The video ends. The lights come on, like they did last round. Another Shu-hua stands before her, her sword in hand. The same weapon instantly appears in Shu-hua’s hand. It wouldn’t be a fair and accurate fight if she didn’t have one, too. She counts in her head, syncing every number to the choreography she’ll have to complete.

The fight begins. Shu-hua strikes with her sword. She parries. Shu-hua moves her blade away. She goes in for a hit that gets blocked. They’re interlocked for two seconds before trading dodges and blows. It’s graceful, and so much of Shu-hua is agony as she goes through the motions.

She missteps. Her doppelganger’s sword cuts at her side, ripping straight through her jacket and drawing blood. Shu-hua returns with a swing different from the choreography. She needs to gain an advantage here—

Electricity shoots through her. Shu-hua collapses with a yell. Her clone freezes, watching Shu-hua through narrowed eyes. They’ve still got another fifteen, maybe twelve seconds to go.

No deviations allowed.

“I get it…”

Shu-hua gets back up. She points her sword at her doppelganger.

Back to the fight. There’s a couple of times where she’s too slow. She stumbles. But she makes it through. Her clone disappears, and Shu-hua’s left alone on the stage to catch her breath. How many more fights would she have to complete? Every breath she takes feels worse than the last. Everything’s burning now. Her lungs. The slice across her stomach…

The theater goes dark. A new video plays, titled “Final Sequence.” It’s a routine that starts with a cartwheel to the left. Then, more acrobatic fighting. If she focuses, she can do it. She knows she can. Once the video ends and the lights come back on and her doppelganger’s staring her down, Shu-hua gets right into it.

She launches herself into the cartwheel, her arms shaking.

She falls over.

The wound on her stomach opens wide. Her blood spills, but she gets up one last time.

...Only to fall again.

It’s over for her.

Shu-hua dies, under her shadow’s unfeeling eye.

-----------------------

[ SECURE THE PREMISES ]

It happens in the blink of an eye. A new scenery. A new 'set'.

Chopped grass stretches out, as if trimmed to some perfect short height. In front of Alisa is an obstacle course, reminiscent perhaps of something found in a military or police academy. Even from this far, she can see a sign in the distance. Finish. If she makes it... then maybe...

Her first step is shaky, but it moves forward. Where else is there for her to go? What else is there for her to do?

The smooth slope upwards is the first checkpoint. It'll be hard to maintain your footing but it's possible, if she just perseveres. Nervous steps turning into running footfalls as she attempts to scale the arcing ramp. However, rather than the sleek surface one would expect, a myriad of small spikes coat both the ground and the rails. Alisa stumbles and struggles to find her footing as both hands hit the ramp, pricking them both. Still, she perseveres. With a shuddering breath, she digs her fingers in and pulls herself to the top of it, basically sliding down the other side. That's sure to bruise. It doesn't matter. She can keep going.

Next is a net to climb. It's obvious even from here it's snagged with small pointed needles and blades. But the only way is up. Each step up the net is grueling, each one tearing into her skin subtly, knees, fingers, thighs. She exerts herself to stop herself from getting stuck. Still, she perseveres. Her vision dizzies as she stands atop, ready to jump down into ice cold water. With a deep breath, she leaps and sputters upon hitting the surface. She hits it bad, leg in agony, body in pieces, but any screams are muffled by bubbling water. She barely manages to splash her way to shore. Thankfully, it's shallow.

It's not a surprise when the third checkpoint is a sandpit underneath barbed wire. Ragged breaths come out of her tired mouth as she gets onto her hands and knees and prepares to . Does she need to do it this way? Couldn't she just escape? Why go along with a cruel course like this? Honestly, she hasn't thought about it. Maybe that's why she's in this mess. If she could only think critically. Wire cuts and curls around her, further shredding her skin. She bites her lip as she struggles; so many scratches, both deep and shallow have cut into her face so much red is beginning to colour her vision.

Still. She perseveres. Each crawl towards completion has her snagged on another piece of wire. She grabs at the ground, she grabs at the barbed wire as her vision blurs. Disgustingly, bravely, in the most unrefined fashion, Alisa struggles towards her goal, tears pooling in her eyes. Is it regret? Pain? It doesn't matter anymore. The water stings at her wounds as she digs in her nails and completes the crawl, her left leg dragging behind pathetically.

What she's always wanted is ahead of her. The finish line. The police academy exam she failed. The father she had disappointed. The studio filled with people she'd let down. It was all building to this moment. Blood is pouring from her wounds, onto the ground as she limps to the door. Alisa, pulls it open and... a brilliant light... and laughter... she smiles at the thought of succeeding.

Bang!

A shot rings out and goes right through her chest. Ah. Of... course. There was no way it'd end any other way, right? She was stupid for believing anything otherwise. It's all fuzzy after that. Her lightheaded corpse teeters over and hits the ground, blood pool out from the sudden gunshot. Still... she perse...v...

Her hand reaches for something, anything. Any hope. Any support. "I ... j... ju... s... wanted... t..."

It falls to the ground by her side, a pained expression left on her face as the laugh track goes on. The defeated, bruised, broken and bloodied corpse of Alisa Belikova lays there.

For it was a joke, wasn't it?

To think it could end any other way.

#Chapter 3 #Trial Execution #Trial

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creativestalkerrs · 5 years ago

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Sunflower University 🌻 Prologue 🌻

The Last Night They Saw Cit Clementine

Summary; How can one night change everyone’s life forever?

Warning; sexual themes, angst, violence, swearing, drinking

Word Count; 4.1k

A/N; Part one will be up on Monday or Tuesday! I’m having so much writing this series so far

Most universities have frats and sorority's were they party almost every night and hook up with the hottest one there. Sunflower University is no exception. In this school of six thousand students, of trust fund babies, famous celebrities and genius children, there is one main fraternity and one main sorority. Arguably harder to get in then the school itself. The Sunflower House and The Phantom House. Every spirt week, on that Friday, the Phantom House will pull the biggest and most exclusive party on campus. You’d have to be a celebrity, know someone in the house or win a ‘golden ticket’ to go inside. Although the headcount on campus was low, they didn’t want just anyone walking in those doors. They wanted the best. Due to the nature of the fraternity, they wanted all the girls in the Sunflower House to come and bring all of their hottest friends along. That included the smartest girl in the house, Cit Clementine.

Cit Clementine was a journalist for the school’s newspaper. She studied psychology, longing the day to get a job as a psychologist. She wanted nothing more than to help others. A heart of gold and sharp as a tack. Cit wasn’t one to party but she wanted to interview some frat members that night. Everyone wondered why Cit was even a member of the Sunflower House. Cit wasn’t anyone special. The leader of the house, Sadie Nyland said she was hot and smart and that guys would want to bang someone pretty in both the chest and the mind. That’s why Sadie wanted her in the house. Cit never complained, the house was nice and she didn’t have to pay for extra for housing. It was clear that Sadie never genuinely liked Cit. Sadie never really liked anyone. Sadie was brought up with no financial struggles and lived a happy life with everything handed to her. She was even handed a spot at Sunflower University, as Cit worked the hardest she could for this opportunity.

It wasn’t all bad living in that house. It never was. Sadie let her good friend be one of the sisters, Iren La Vila. She was smart, but not like Cit was. She would make out with the football team in the library as she did her cheerleading at games. She was fun to be around and Cit and Iren were lucky enough to go to the same school and even the same sorority. The sorority house was big, but there wasn’t a lot of members, considering its exclusivity. Like how I mentioned before, celebrities went to this school. Not a whole bunch, but just enough for this school to make people wonder what goes on. The Sunflower House had two celebrities. Zendaya Coleman and Billie Elish. A random two for a sorority, but a fun duo. Zendaya enrolled and got in after she found out her good friend and co-worker, Tom Holland would be joining with his friend Harrison and his two brothers Harry and Sam, she thought it would be fun to have some college life under her belt with her best buds and it turns out that they got in the Phantom House. However, Harry Holland, Tom’s younger brother moved out of the house only 3 weeks being there and moved into a dorm so he could study. What a lad. Peaches Carhart, Sadie’s best friend use to have a thing for Harrison but broke it off. Peaches were Sadie’s pet, her messager. If Sadie didn’t want to threaten someone or didn’t feel like asking someone to fuck off, Peaches would do it for her. It was no secret that Peaches was gullible. It was sad because, underneath the perfectly molded silicone, there once was a good heart that turned rotten and she is extremely intelligent as well, but throw it all away when Sadie told her she could get anyone she wanted, including Harrison Osterfeld. Venus Carlberg said she was cursed and it wasn’t one she set herself. Venus was an odd one, popular and pretty and slept with almost everyone in the Phanton House, but she was too odd for her own good. Sadie and Peaches swear she was a witch that got involved with black magic and voodoo, but they never asked nor cared just in case if it was facts. How could someone have such a good stream of luck anyways?

Due to the nature of the sorority, all the girls in that house got ready to get hammered, get laid and have a great damn time. Cit never bothered with spirt weeks, but she wanted to go to interview some of the frat guys for a project her professor, Dr. Jake Gyllenhaal assigned just a week before. Cit believed that this was a perfect opportunity to get the information she needed. Ask the questions, write the article. Cit winged out her eyeliner, pushed up her chest and tied up her converse. She was the 2nd person to be done as she waited around for all the princesses to look good. She knew their makeup would melt off before they got a chance to sleep with Tom Holland and or Dean White, the leader of the frat.

She went downstairs to get a drink of water to see Zendaya sitting on the barstool, on her phone. Cit and Zendaya had this friendship. Zendaya was beautiful and sweet and not like everyone in this house. She was honestly the most real of them all, even more, real then Cit. Cit filled up her glass as she chugged the water down, Zendaya looking up and smiling. Cit put down the glass and sat next to Z.

“Spirit week is always the stupidest week that this university has to offer,” Cit complained, leaning her head on Z’s shoulder. Z began to pat her head, still scrolling down her dash.

“I know… but there will be free booze and Tom and the boys will be there so it won’t be that bad,” Z smiled looking at the positive side of this party.

“I need to interview Tom for my class. I’m planning on getting Mr. G’s project done this weekend so I can enjoy myself this week. Iren and I are going to go to Grece for vacation. Her family got a house there and it’s much needed,” Cit smiled as looked at what Z was doing.

“You deserve a vacation and spring break is just around the corner… Filming all of those Spider-Man movies and school is too much. But hey, it’s fun,” Zendaya smiled, getting up from the barstool to get a glass of water.

The clinking of heels coming to the kitchen came closer. Cit looked up to see Sadia head to toe in designer. Her dress was tight and her chest was almost spilling out of it. Cit couldn’t deny that Sadie looked hot, but she still didn’t understand why she would wear all designer to a frat party. The room would be dimly lit and no one would see what bran underwear she was wearing and all those dumb frat guys would probably spill red wine all over her. “Everyone is in the car, come on sluts,” Sadie scoffed as Z finished her refreshing drink of water as Cit nodded her head and laughed to herself. Sadie turned on her heel and left, phone in hand as she was texting one of the guys that they were on their way.

“Don’t want to keep princess bitch ass waiting,” Zendaya laughed as they both laughed and walked out of the kitchen and to the car. Cit still didn’t understand why they could have walked. It was only three blocks from their house.

As all the girls talked, or lack of talking, Cit felt a bit dizzy. She looked down and try not to speak. “What’s wrong with you?” Peaches asked, with concern yet arrogance. Cit took a deep breathe in and smiled.

“I just feel a bit dizzy… I’ll be fine,” Cit smiled.

“You better be fine, Clit. If you fucking ruin this for me, you’ll be out of the house in only a matter of minutes. Remember, you represent me. All of you represent me. If you look bad, I look bad and I don’t want Tom and Dean to think I look bad,” Sadie barked. Sadie was more of an arrogant asshole when she’s stressed. Especially when its spirit week.

“Hey calm down, Sadie!” Iren barked back. “No need to take out your stress of Cit... “ Iren throw her arm on Cit, rubbing her back.

“Ah, whatever… sorry, I guess,” Sadie rolled her eyes as she pulled out her phone.

“Why do you want to look good for Tom or Dean anyways?” Z asked.

“Dean is the leader. Two leaders need to look good, if he doesn’t think I look good, he can ruin me and all of you. We’re rivals, yet we need each other to even everything out. And with Tom, he’s mine. Have you seen us?” Sadie grind.

“Tom isn’t anyone's. What makes you think he wants you?” Venus asked as Z rolled her eyes at Sadie, knowing her friend would never date someone as bitchy as Sadie Nyland.

“Just look at me. I’m hot,” Sadie smiled and winked.

“Do you think that’s a bit degrading? Do you want to be more than a piece of meat for guys to droll over? I mean don’t get me wrong Sadie, you are hot, but you can also be witty and funny. I think guys would like that too,” Cit explained, trying her best to not tell her off.

“Witty and funny won’t get you anywhere. I’m a leader and I have to use everything to be on top… Thank god we’re here. All this chat is starting to make me dizzy too,” Sadie rolled her eyes as everyone began to exit the vehicle. Cit being the last one out. Iren helped Cit, walking her in to make sure she would be fine. Cit walked in the house, music blasting.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Iren asked at the front door.

“Yea… I’ll be fine. I’ll find you if I’m not. Enjoy yourself,” Cit smiled giving Iren a hug.

“Are you double sure?” Iren asked.

“I’m double sure. I’m going to find some of the frat guys to interview them. I don’t think I’ll be drinking much,” Cit smiled as she grabbed her note pad out of her bag. She looked around the crowd of people to find any member of the frat. It didn’t take long for Sadie to grind up on Dean White or Peaches to flirt and or fight with Harrison. Cit sighed and went to the kitchen to get herself some beer.

Pouring herself a cup in a red solo cup, she became a wallflower, writing what she saw from the sidelines. She still felt dizzy but it didn’t bother her too much. Cit just though if she survived one hour of this bullshit and got what she needed, then she can leave without Sadie noticing or caring.

“Why are you not dancing?” One member of the frat asked. It was Sam. Cit smiled as she took a drink.

“I feel a bit dizzy. I’ll dance a little later… Hey, you’re a member of this frat. Can I ask you a few questions? It’s for my journalist class,” Cit smiled.

“Yea, shoot,” Sam smiled back. Sam wasn’t like his brother Tom, although he still was kinder to others, he did hang out a lot with Dean and Dylan, but he got the common sense from Tom and Harry. “What is your project exactly?” Sam questioned taking a swig of his drink.

“My teacher wanted us to ask 5 questions about current events and see how 5 different people respond. You’d be my last person to interview,” Cit bit her lip as she put down her cup and flipped to a new page in her note pad.

“Sounds boring, but interesting… wait I think my brother has that class. You know Harry?” Sam asked.

“Yea he sits in front of me. He’s a film major, right? Always see him with a camera,” Cit asked.

“Yep… he’s a good director. Anyways, ask away and I’ll take you to dance,” Sam winked. Cit nodded, unsure of how to respond.

“How do you get your news?” Cit asked, leaning against the wall. She felt even dizzier than before but shook it off as she sat up straight.

“Usually Twitter… I try not to get political. I want to fix that but,” Sam said taking a drink of his beer. Cit wrote down his answer as she put her hand on her head. “You okay? You look kind of pale,” Sam noticed.

“I’m fine, just dizzy… Ah… What’s your major?” Cit asked.

“Unsure how it connects but whatever… I’m studying for Business management, something interesting. I hope to start a business of my own sometime in the future if being Tom Holland’s brother doesn’t work out,” Sam laughed making Cit chuckle.

“I like that… I never knew that about you, what does Tom study? Wait, I’ll ask him later. What do you think we need to do about climate change?” Cit asked.

“Reuse, reduce, recycle… Say, drop the questions and dance with me. You can finish up later,” Sam asked, pushing a piece of hair back from Cit’s face. Cit raised an eyebrow and leaned her body.

“Really Sam?” Cit asked with a smirk, crossing her arms.

“Cit… please. I had my eye on you all night and all the other nights. You just need to give me a chance,” Sam winked.

“Sam… please. I’m not into you. How many time do I have to say that? I’m sorry Sam, you’re cute and smart but Phantom House dudes are not my type. Say, if you whoa me, you can pick me up for drinks so time,” Cit smiled as she bopped his nose and walked the other way. Sam grabbed Cit’s hand.

“Cit… I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m sorry if I was a dick. I know I’m not Tom or Harry, but myself,” Sam begged. Cit sighed.

“You never hurt me. We were never together. Now if you excuse me… I’m going to find someone who can finish up my assignment. Goodbye, Sam,” Cit rolled her eyes and walked away. Sam wanted to chase after her, but he knew she would never feel the same way that he felt. Maybe he needed to let go, but he didn’t quite yet.

Sam looked around to find Tom. Tom could be the only one to talk to Cit. He knew deep down Cit would listen to him. “Tom!” Sam yelled as he saw Tom grinding up against Sadie Nyland and Friday Adams, who dropped out of the Sunflower House months ago. “Tom,” Sam said as Tom looked up basically fucking Friday. Tom rolled his eyes to see Sam.

“What do you want, I’m kind of busy,” Tom said, clearly annoyed.

“I need your help. Please, it’s urgent,” Sam bagged. Tom pushed Friday off and pushed Sadie off, who was too drunk to realize she was being a bit gay with Friday.

“What is it?” Tom asked, pissed.

“Can you please talk to Cit for me? No matter what I say or do, she won’t give me a chance. I just want to dance with her. Maybe if you talked to her she’d listen,” Sam asked.

“Cit Clementine doesn’t fuck with Phantom dudes, you know that. But since I am Tom Holland and your brother, I’ll talk to her,” Tom smiled in his drunken state.

Tom pushed passed Sam to try to find Cit. Cit was upstairs talking to Venus and Iren. “Mind if I steal your friend for a minute,” Tom asked.

“Tom if Sam sent you, I swear I’m going to kick his ass. I’m not interested in him!” Cit shouted Tom looked at Cit. “Tom… you know how our relationship is. I can’t be with him,” Cit softly spoke.

“I just don’t understand Cit. He would walk miles for you. I’m his older brother, I hate seeing him like this,” Tom wanted to know why Cit was rejecting Sam. There was more to it then not dating Phantom guys. Sam liked Cit for being her own person. She wasn’t fake. Tom would want to be with Cit too if Sam wasn’t so eager to get her. A big flaw when it came to Cit Clementine was she had a hard time listing. Yes, she listed well to her friends, family, and teachers, but when it came to Sam Holland or anyone who tried to throw their love at her, she didn’t want to hear it. Cit never found her prince charming because of it. Iren saw the disaster that was Cit and Sam’s relationship and swears that Cit was philophobic. The thing was, Cit never had a real relationship before, so why was she so philophobic towards Sam? Even Iren could see how perfect Sam was for Cit. He was smart, despite popular belief, a good kisser (she would know; freshman year homecoming game), charming and a gentleman. If it wasn’t for Sam, Cit wouldn’t have landed an opportunity at the Sunny’s Writers Club. Was Cit being a bitch to Sam? She couldn’t be. Cit is nice. Maybe Cit realized this. She looked down the stairs to see the curly-headed twin smile at her as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“It’s called philophoba. Look it up,” Cit sighed as she pushed Tom out of the way and walked down the stairs. She stood in front of Sam, looking him straight in the eye. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How would you describe our political party?” Cit asked Sam. Cit knew her dumb questions wouldn’t get her far, but Sam was just happy she was talking to her again.

“Fucking shit,” He responded. Cit smirked but it didn’t last long as it fell. She felt awful. Maybe it was the dizziness or the beer, but she couldn’t help but think Sam looked amazing from this angle.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry if I’m being an asshole… I feel bad and apologizes aren't really my thing but-” Cit was cut off.

“But what? What is it then Cit? You’re impossible. I’d do anything for you and anything to be with you. Why can’t you see this? All these other guys treat you like shit, but I… I would kill someone for you if I had to,” Sam was frustrated and drunk and all he wanted was her. Cit Clementine, but Cit couldn’t love.

“Stop forcing it then,” Cit didn’t want to deal with Sam anymore. She began to walk away from this argument before things got worse.

“Maybe Gabe Miller was right about you… I didn’t want to belive that fucker… but it all makes sense. I defended you when Gabe said those shitty things about you last month. Now I think what he said was true… and your little stunt you pulled with him,” Sam pulled out the big guns as Cit turned around, hurt. Tom, Venus, and Iren were watching this unfold, unsure if they should stop this mess. It hurt the girls to see Cit be beaten on by Sam like that. She made one mistake and now everyone would know because Gabe Miller had a brain the size of a pea and only talent is drinking 8 beers in one minute, which is arguably not that impressive.

“I was drunk, I barely knew you nor anyone at Sunflower Uni, and I just wanted to have fun. I was still living at the dorms, damnit! You can’t hold that against me, Sam. I said I was sorry, I don’t know what more you want from me… I’m leaving and if you want to, we can talk when you’re not drunk,” Cit protested as she rolled her eyes and went to Iren and Venus. “I’m leaving. Tom… get your brother under control no wounder no girl wants to date him…. I’ll text you when I’m back at the house and don’t tell Sadie I left. Goodbye,” Cit’s voice cracked, she sounded like she was holding back tears from the argument she just had.

The next morning was rough for everyone. Everyone was hungover, hungry and tried. Tom and Harrison after every party would go on a jog around Sunflower’s campus. Tom felt bad for what happened between Sam and Cit and wanted to apologize on behalf of his brother, who was passed out on the sofa of the house.

Jogging passed the park that was near Sunflower House, Tom noticed something unusual while passing the park. This route while jogging wasn’t unusual, they jogged this almost every morning and Tom noticed every detail from it. From the cracks in the sidewalk to the fenced flowers. Nothing could get in that bed of flowers, but he saw something was. Tom slowed down to take a look but Harrison, without words, pushed him so they could make it back to there house on time for breakfast. So, Tom pushed it off and he would look at it on his way back, being late for breakfast or not, he couldn’t wonder what got into the flowers, the tall sunflowers that grew.

Seeing the house come closer as every step they took, they began to slow down, sweat dripping off of Tom’s nose, a piece of his curl hair stuck to his forehead, he pushed the doorbell as the two boys waited for someone to answer. Soon Zendaya greeted the two.

“Hey doofus, why are you here?” Z asked.

“I’m here to apologize to Cit for Sam. They had an argument last night and since Sam is too hungover, I thought I’d pass the message,” Tom smiled.

“Yea… sure, I’ll get her. Come in and get some water,” Zendaya smiled, Tom smelt her perfume and grinned. Roses and vanilla. Z was the only one up, due to the fact she didn’t drink last night. Z was surprised to see Tom and Harrison, sure they would skip their morning job after the party. Tom and Haz went to their kitchen, still shocked at how clean and perfect it was. Tom and Haz were familiar with the house, hanging out with Z and Peaches a few times as Tom and Z would watch a movie as Peaches and Haz basically had sex on the living room chair. Tom grabbed a glass for both of them as they took long drinks. Z came down, Cit-less.

“She’s not in her room or any other room… She must have gotten coffee or something or somewhere to study. I’ll text you when she shows up. Sorry you guys,” Z apologized as they finished their water.

“It’s fine, I’ll come back later with Sam this time,” Tom laughed. “See you later Z,” Tom waved as they left the house. Haz and Tom jogged their way back, but when Tom made it to the park, he let Haz leave him behind. As he looked inside the fence he saw a shoe. One black conver. Tom, though it was unusual to see a shoe in the flowers so he looked deeper. He walked around the park to see if another shoe would show up. He walked over the bridge and looked at the ducks in the pound, only to see another shoe.

Tom walked down to the pound to get a closer looked. He didn’t release that this very moment would change everyone’s life on campus. And for Tom Holland to discover, he’d be mentally fucked up for the rest of his life. He couldn’t believe it.

It was someone, dead in the pool of their own blood. Their throat slashed and their face beat into the point where you couldn’t recognize it any longer. A gruesome scene to stumble upon on a Saturday morning. Tom wanted to look away but he was mortified. The show. The shirt. The hair. He recognized it all. He didn’t want to believe it. He pulled out his phone to call for help. And help he got.

At that moment, where everything unfolded, Cit Cleminetine was confirmed dead and the victim. Everybody wanted to know the truth on why and how and who. That was the last night they saw Cit Cleminetine alive. Now, how will everyone react when she’s dead? Everyone is a suspect. Everyone has a story. Everyone can lie, tell the truth or be the next one in this game because it’s only going to get worse from here. Welcome to Sunflower University.

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years ago

Text

Image is Sweet (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of The 7 Society, a series with @underthejoon.

Creative Content Contributor: moodboard by @baebae-goodnight (WHOSE MOODBOARDS INSPIRED THE WHOLE THING)

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Warning: threesome, semi-public sex, sensory deprivation, dirty talk, rough bj

Word Count: 16,700

Summary: Park Jimin, star lacrosse player, always in the library, loves volunteering and carrying grocery bags for grandmothers. If he continues this way, he’ll inherit the entire family fortune. Unless, of course, you find out what he’s like behind closed doors. [ THIS IS A REPOST ]

• JIMIN •

Staring out at the water, Jimin’s hands grip the railing. The metal is cold beneath his fingers, the first tinges of fall in the air but still, he doesn’t head back. Though the night is frigid, it’s at least ten degrees warmer than the gazes inside and Jimin just can’t bring himself to enter. Exhaling gently, Jimin brings his glass to his lips. Champagne, from a region in France Jimin has never visited but the label was expensive, and that’s all that matters.

The ocean before him is calm, belying chaotic nature beneath. Wind whips Jimin’s hair, flaps the lapels of his jacket to strain at his buttons. Jimin keeps drinking, relishing in the first time alone he’s had to himself all evening. The deck around him is quiet, marred only by the sounds of thumping bass and laughter from behind.

Right now, Jimin’s thoughts are blank – carefully so. If he thinks about things for too long, his musings take on a dangerous shape, and Jimin is not dangerous. At least, that’s not who he is to the public and that’s all that matters. Jimin is the bright star of campus, the beautiful golden boy whom everyone loves. He would never do anything bad, an image he’s worked tirelessly to protect.

Image. Jimin’s grip tightens on his glass because if there’s one things his father taught him, it’s image. Image is everything, more important than truth because image is the thing that the public believes. In a face-to-face conversation, 55% of communication is relayed through body language; another 38% through tone and a measly 7% through the words that you say.

Which means that if you look and act the part, the battle is already won. Taking a casual sip from his drink, Jimin contemplates its depths. His father has taught him other things, to be sure – how to smile, digging the knife in someone’s back; how to breathe through the pain that you cause; how to sleep after winning a battle the wrong way.

Jimin has never been good at any of these things. He’s good at image though, so this is what he clings to and keeps his father at bay. So long as Jimin acts the part, his father leaves him well enough alone. Until he graduates University, that is and becomes the Park family heir. Swallowing the last of his glass, Jimin stares out at the ocean and considers dropping his glass overboard. It’s something his father would do, certainly – no one here would notice, no one here would care.

Jimin doesn’t do it in the end, he simply turns away from the night to walk inside. Placing his glass on a passing waiter’s tray, he smiles genteell and the man nearly stumbles. It’s not an unexpected response and Jimin continues on his way; his entrance draws stares from the rest, though this is also nothing unusual. Everyone knows Jimin, though none will say this out loud. Such a thing would be uncouth, distasteful but at the same time, everyone must know who he is.

The party at the front of the boat is loud, yet controlled; no one is puking, no one is grinding to the beat of the music. The front is nothing wild, nothing racy – the lighting here is dim, décor kept elegant and there’s nothing to detract from his golden image. Jimin keeps his expression carefully neutral, walking to the back of the boat because the image of the front is much different from reality.

Winding his way through the party, Jimin smiles and laughs with the others. He needs to be seen, needs to be heard before he disappears for the night. This is where Jimin excels though, always careful to check the boxes of image before giving in and ruining it completely. He knows how to be charming, how to be polite, how to call a person by name and have conversation topics ready. Business, leisure; it all comes easily to Jimin, all blurs together until he’s dizzy from more than the champagne.

Once he’s past the length of the crowd, Jimin hovers at the back of the boat until no one looks and then he slips out in the hall. Fairly standard in design, spanning the entire width of the boat and meant to take guests from one deck to the other. Midway down there’s a door, one Jimin stops before to glance furtively either way. Once, twice, he raps on the wood.

There’s a pause, a long moment where Jimin once again glances sideways – then the door cracks open.

“Password?” a stranger drawls.

Jimin rolls his eyes, shifting his weight. “Let me the fuck in, Taehyung. I recognize the sound of your voice.”

“Ha! You won’t get me with that one, potential imposter! Password, or I’ll make you walk the plank.”

“Dulce,” Jimin murmurs, glancing up at the ceiling, “periculum.”

Danger is sweet. Taehyung doesn’t respond to this at first, pushing shut the door to swing fully open. “Correct!” he crows, lifting a glass of champagne. “Welcome to the back of the party, Park.”

Stepping inside, Taehyung shuts the door to seal them off from the rest of the boat. He grins at Jimin’s appearance, smelling strongly of champagne and cologne – both of which likely cost more than the crystal glass he holds in his hand. Straightening his jacket, Jimin glances past Taehyung down the hall. “Did I miss anything?” he inquires, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

Taehyung shakes his head. “Not much,” he allows, falling into place beside him. “Some girl dared Jennie to butt-chug a fifth of vodka. She might do it, that’d be entertaining.”

“Butt-chug?” Jimin repeats, somewhat appalled. “So, what – she’s just going to strip, and someone will pour vodka up her ass?”

“I’m as intrigued by it as you are,” Taehyung grins, shoving a hand through his hair. Wavy strands fall around his face, prompting the stares of onlookers. “I don’t know if I’ll be turned on or completely disgusted. Bit of both, I imagine.”

Laughing at the image, Jimin continues down the hall. The space opens out at the back of the ship, night sky above them dark and speckled with stars. The breeze is heavy, laden with salt and the scent of alcohol below. Jimin stares into the crowd, gaze as unfocused as his thoughts. When Taehyung lazily presses a glass to his hand, Jimin accepts it without question.

People tend to be confused, when they first realize Taehyung and Jimin are friends. Perhaps friends is the wrong word; the two are really more like brothers. There’s Jimin, campus golden boy; star of the lacrosse team and eventual inheritor of the Park family business. Then there’s Taehyung; as shadowed as Jimin is light, the caustic recklessness to Jimin’s cautiousness. Taehyung is the dark horse of his family, a man who couldn’t care less about the wealth and prosperity he does have; only insomuch that it gets him places.

At least, this is Taehyung’s appearance but like most things, image is not what it seems, and Taehyung is no exception. Jimin and Taehyung have been friends for longer than he can recall, to the point where he’s more like family than anyone else in his life. Stopping that thought, Jimin drains the rest of his glass. It’s not worth thinking about.

Continuing his scan of the party, Jimin feels his vision dulled by alcohol. It couldn’t be anything more than that, couldn’t be this dark, empty hole which eats him alive. It’s a daily reminder that his life is meaningless, that he is a shallow image of nothing and all this could disappear overnight. The thought is too dangerous for a party like this, so Jimin searches aimlessly through the crowd for a distraction.

He finds one in the shape of a girl by the bar with the largest tits and smallest waist Jimin has ever seen. Seeing Jimin staring at her, she arches a brow in a way which makes his cock stir in his pants.

Taehyung turns, seeing what he’s looking at. “Nice,” he snorts. “That girl is fun, freaky as hell – I hear she’s down for threesomes, but I was too drunk that night to ask.”

“Hm.” Jimin considers, bringing his glass to his lips. “How long ago was this?”

“Dunno. Last year, I think?”

Nodding, Jimin breaks eye contact and turns. Anyone Taehyung thinks is freaky definitely is, which has him interested but the party is only beginning. Jimin is here for the long haul, he likes having options and that girl is only one of them.

Taehyung exhales, shifting closer. “Incoming,” he mutters, drawing Jimin’s attention to the hall they just exited.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jimin nearly groans out loud. Of course, Seokjin is here – this is a party, after all. He looks immaculate, brushing non-existent dirt from his sleeve as he walks; dark hair pushed back from his face to reveal deep eyes and full lips. Seeing Jimin standing before him, Seokjin’s face darkens as he walks closer.

Though everything about Seokjin is poised, his eyes remain steely. “Park,” he drawls, coming to a stop.

Jimin takes a sip from his drink. “Seokjin,” he returns, inclining his head.

Seokjin’s two cronies stand on either side and it’s not Jimin’s imagination, that the music is now lower. The song switches to something softer, something with less words and Jimin knows it’s so they can be overheard. The Parks and the Kims, an age-old rivalry which goes back decades, to some business deal or personal matter which went desperately sour. It’s been so long, no one really remembers the real reason.

Seokjin scans Jimin, landing on his face. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he states, lifting a brow. “I thought this was a more exclusive event.”

Jimin stares. “You didn’t think I’d attend my own party?"

For this is his, after all – Jimin’s end-of-summer celebration, the last hurrah before the last year of school.

Seokjin looks around him, in mock-surprise. "Oh, this is your party? I get so many invitations during the week, it’s hard to keep track.”

“Must be difficult,” Jimin deadpans. “Not knowing how to count to one.”

When someone snickers below, Seokjin scowls. “Just stay out of my way,” he mutters, shoving past Jimin as he walks away.

Jimin waits until he’s gone, Seokjin’s two henchmen soon following. Taehyung winks at them both, blowing one a rather lazy kiss and, stifling a grin, Jimin turns around.

Jimin: hey, sorry about the diss [12:04 AM]

The reply from Seokjin is instantaneous.

Seokjin: you twat!! I’m supposed to keep a straight face during our arguments haha I nearly lost it [12:05 AM]

Grinning, Jimin slips his phone back in his pocket and turns back towards the party. Just another example of the hypocrisy of their world – on the outside, he and Seokjin are enemies but in real life, they’re friends; to the point where this entire thing is ridiculous, though try telling that to their parents. Parks and Kims don’t get along, end of story.

Taehyung yawns by his side. “Well,” he drawls, dropping the cherry from his drink over the railing.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Taehyung calls, without bothering to look. “I’m gonna go find someone to fuck. See you later, Park.”

With that he leaves, giving him a small salute before sauntering off down the staircase. Jimin stares after, sipping from his glass before following. The party is crowded, more so than Jimin thought it would be – he wonders absently about crowd limits before pushing the thought from his mind. He pays people to worry about things like that.

Winding his way down the stairs, Jimin heads off in the direction of the bar. Another drink would be nice and there’s still that girl from earlier, the one with Taehyung’s kink seal of approval. Jimin isn’t really looking where he’s going, isn’t listening, until –

“CANNONBALL!”

His gaze snaps up, whirling in time to avoid the giant wave of water which crashes over the deck. Several girls shriek, soaked to the bone – hoots and whistles soon follow, much to Jimin’s annoyance. Exhaling, he shakes water from his hand, wringing his sleeve as he turns and nearly smacks into someone.

“Fuck,” Jimin yelps, grabbing your elbows to keep you from falling. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

Groaning, you stare down at the entire glass of wine you’ve just spilled on your shirt. “Shit,” you whisper, not looking up. That will stain, but that’s not your biggest concern. Your biggest problem is that this is Park Jimin, and he can’t see your face.

Staring at the top of your head, Jimin’s gaze remains slightly unfocused. He’d like to help, but you keep refusing to look at him and he can’t tell if you’re pissed or not. “Are you okay?” he repeats, leaning in – only for you to spin abruptly away.

“I’m fine,” you call, waving a hand over your shoulder. “Just – keep on walking, okay?’

Then you’re gone, disappeared into the crowd and Jimin is left staring at nothing. He blinks, something stirring in his half-drunken state, but he can’t find it in him to care. If you don’t want his help, he’s certainly not going to force you to take it. Jimin is no one’s white knight, he’s not going to chase after you like a psycho. Returning to his walk through the crowd, Jimin finds his original destination and it doesn’t take long before you’re pushed from his mind.

When he’s next to the girl, he finds that she doesn’t play games; which is somewhat disappointing until she whispers, "fuck me,” into his ear and Jimin’s cock twitches in excitement.

“Let’s go,” he grunts, grabbing her hand to pull her straight through the crowd. One of the best parts of throwing this party, of owning this ship is he knows the layout of the halls – knows the best places to sleep and to fuck. Jimin brings the girl onto the dance floor, turning around to ask, “Just you?”

Her eyes darken. “Who would join us?” she murmurs, and it doesn’t take long before another is found.

Jimin has the ability to draw people in, with his wavy blonde hair, thick lips and his smile. Just a few, whispered words about what he’d like to do with said lips and the second girl is agreeing, following the two of them back. Time is a bit fuzzy, thanks to the alcohol, but it can’t be more than five minutes before they’re naked on the bed.

Jimin pauses, draining his drink to place this on the counter. “I’m going to be rather demanding tonight,” he informs, unbuttoning his cuffs. “Is that alright, ladies?”

They nod, already shifting with anticipation. Asses pressed to the sheets, chest arched on the wall, Jimin stares lustfully at the curves of their breasts, peaks of their nipples, the swell of where their thighs meet.

“Kiss her,” he murmurs, undoing a button.

The first girl nods, turning to open the other’s mouth with her own. The second is hesitant, has likely never done anything like this before, but it only takes a few moments before she’s melting into her touch. Her hands slide around the other’s waist, eagerly brushing nipples until they become hardened peaks.

Jimin just smiles, dropping his shirt on the ground. “Good,” he announces, bringing their attention to him. “What lovely lips you have, sweetheart,” Jimin informs the second, walking closer. “I’d love to see them wrapped around my cock.”

The girl’s eyes widen when she nods, scooting closer as Jimin kneels on the bed. Her hands reach quick for his belt, Jimin’s eyes meeting the gaze of the other to gesture lazily forward. Hands sliding into her hair, his mouth opens hers; tongue pushing lazily into her mouth while the other girl’s hand finds his cock.

“Ah,” Jimin exhales, thrusting into her touch. “That’s it, baby, put my dick in your mouth.”

Whimpering, the girl shoves his pants down his thighs and bends on the bed. Jimin hisses when her lips find his cock, wrapping around him to slide slowly upwards. She’s good, enough that Jimin nearly forgets himself for a moment. His eyes flutter shut, only to snap open and focus on the other.

“Come here,” he demands, pulling her into him. Jimin’s hands drift down over her body, brushing her breasts and between her bare legs. Slipping his finger inside, he fucks the girl slowly – listening to her moan and adjusting his rhythm. He grips the other girl by the hair, pulling her onto his cock.

Thrusting, he relishes the sound of her gagging before pulling away. “What about your friend’s cunt,” he murmurs, kissing the first girl’s neck. “Don’t be stingy, let her have some fun.”

The girl obeys, sliding her finger into the second – the girl gasps in response, eyes wide around her mouthful of Jimin’s cock. “Oh,” she moans, sliding off with a pop.

Jimin chuckles, stroking over himself slowly. “This is your first time with a girl, isn’t it?” he asks, watching her be fingered from behind. She nods, eyes fluttering shut with arousal. “Mm,” Jimin sighs, “then we better make tonight enjoyable, yes?”

Moving closer, his hands cup her breasts and she moans. “Will you fuck me?” she asks, breathless when he starts to play with her nipples.

“Later,” Jimin agrees. “Later, you can bounce on my dick while your friend rides my face – how does that sound?”

Nodding, she eagerly presses her ass into the other girl’s hand. “Yes, please.”

“Ah,” Jimin exhales, tugging her nipples between his fingers. “Good girl. I’ll eat you out, if you keep talking like that. Would you like that? Do you want me to lick your sweet, little pussy?”

“Yes,” she chokes out, nearly moaning the word.

“Good,” Jimin nods, cock hard with excitement. If her response is anything to go by, this night will be fun.

Just like the last night, and the one before that. Something dark and hollow settles deep in his chest; at least, until the girl takes his dick once more in her mouth. “Ah, shit,” Jimin hisses, head thrown back in response. “Keep going,” he grunts, until all his qualms fade away.

Walking across main quad, Jimin pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up. It’s cold this morning, almost as though his end-of-summer party called things into motion. Adjusting the buds in his ears, Jimin turns up his music and squints into the fog. It’s early, well-within the hours before the rest of the campus will be awake. The grass squishes beneath his sneakers, mist rising to bleed into the air.

Jimin is hungover. Last night was fun, but it left him with a headache of monumental proportions; along with dry mouth which has him wanting to die. Not that it matters, he’ll be expected to suck it up at practice; Jimin is captain, meaning he’s always on form. This morning he’ll lead the drills, lead the laps and the strength training and the exercises; which to be honest, sounds like torture. Taking a long sip of his coffee, Jimin attempts to regain some resemblance of energy.

The sandstone of the lacrosse stadium is now visible, rising in the air the closer Jimin gets. He blocks out the sight, concentrating instead on finishing the last of his coffee. It may be dehydrating him, sure, but without it, he’s dead.

“Park Jimin?”

At first, Jimin doesn’t hear. He nearly walks past you, too absorbed in his music – but then he sees you, standing framed in the arch of the locker room and it’s such a strange sight, that he comes to a halt. Feet stumbling to a stop, Jimin glances at you from the sign overhead.

“I’m not still drunk, am I?’ he mutter, lifting a hand to his eyes. "You’re female, and that’s the guy’s locker room.”

Rolling your eyes, you step free from the sun and Jimin sees you clearly for the very first time. As far as first impressions go, it’s not a great one. You’re dressed in a lumpy cardigan, buttoned up over your boobs, paired with brownish colored pants and loafers. Actual loafers, and stifling a smile, Jimin takes a sip from his cup.

You don’t seem concerned with your appearance, walking until you’re standing underneath his nose. At least you smell nice, Jimin decides. “You are Jimin, aren’t you?” you query, squinting up at him. “I didn’t get the wrong name, did I?”

Jimin blinks, looking around because in his years of experience, people tend to know who he is. “Uh, no?” he responds. “You got the right name. What is this? Are you writing an article for the paper, or something?”

Blood drains quick from your face. “Who told you?” you snap, whipping around. “Was it Marcie? God, she can be such a blabbermouth, I swear that’s the last time I tell my editor anything, I –”

“Uh,” Jimin reaches out, tapping the notepad you hold. “Lucky guess, Sherlock. You’re holding a notepad, there’s a camera bag slung over your shoulder and we’re standing in front of the lacrosse stadium. I figure you’re doing a sports story, or something.”

“You’d be the Sherlock,” you respond, automatic.

“Huh?”

“If you’re the one deducing something,” you explain, rummaging around in your bag, “you’d be the one called Sherlock.”

Jimin just stares at you, since you’ve ignored everything else he just said. “Um. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” you nod, finally finding your pen. “Right, yeah.” Jimin leans in to look at your notebook – only for you to snap the book shut, inches away from his nose. “No looking,” you frown. “I don’t read your secret, uh, lacrosse notes – do I?”

Jimin nearly chokes. “Lacrosse notes? I take it you’ve never seen a lacrosse game –”

“Y/N,” you supply. “And no, I haven’t. Am I missing out?”

“Well.” Jimin fights back a smile, unsure if he should be amused or offended by this entire interaction. “Seeing as I’m the team captain, I’m obligated to say yes.”

“Obligated,” you return, arching a brow. “Meaning, you don’t want to?”

Jimin just shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. “Is this part of the article you’re writing?”

“Oh. No, not really.”

Though Jimin waits, you don’t explain further, and he watches with interest as you push a hand through your hair. The color catches the light, strands shining where they fall and Jimin has the sudden, strange urge to touch. His hand is half-raised before he can stop himself, to which Jimin quickly changes into a fix of his own hair. Odd. Now that he looks though, he can’t help but admit you are attractive. You are dressed like an idiot, yes; a bit abrasive, sure, but pretty.

Swallowing, Jimin is uncertain why he finds the fact so unsettling.

“Well,” you hesitate and, for the first time, you seem awkward. Wrapping both arms around your notebook, you stare. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

When you tell him this, Jimin’s stomach sinks in response. Of course you do. In his many years of experience, people only tend to say this when they want one of two things. One, they want a favor from Jimin; or two, they want a favor from his family.

Expression darkening, Jimin moves to walk past. “Ah,” he exhales, draining the rest of his coffee. “I’m already late for practice, actually. Sorry.”

“It’s about the 7.”

Stopping suddenly, Jimin freezes. He doesn’t move, not when you walk around him to face him, nor when you appear several inches away from his nose. Now you’re the one squinting up at him, like you have a bug in your eye.

“I,” Jimin frowns in response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Inside though, he’s buzzing – even more than before because fuck, no one is supposed to know about the 7. What’s worse, no one should ever connect him to the 7 because Jimin isn’t even a part of the Society. Not yet, anyways.

Eyes darkening, you hold your pen like a sword. "I don’t believe you, rich boy.”

Keeping his expression carefully blank, Jimin swats your pen away. “Believe what you want,” he snorts. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, what matters is what the public believes. You have no proof, you’re just giving me reactionary statements.”

Somewhat confused by his response, you frown. “I think others will believe me, once I publish my account of the party.”

Something leaden sinks into Jimin’s stomach, realizing why you seem familiar. You were at the party, the one he spilled his drink on that night. Even half-drunk and having never seen your face, Jimin recognizes your shape. Mouth suddenly gone dry, Jimin lifts his cup to his mouth before he remembers it’s empty. On the inside he’s sweating, though he fights to remain calm.

“The party?” Jimin repeats, unconcerned. “The one on the boat? I remember you. What of it?”

Though you seem surprised by his admittance, you take a step closer. “This,” you insist, thrusting out your hand to give Jimin a paper. His hand closes around it, automatic. “I need to talk to you about this photo,” you inform, before pulling away.

Jimin tilts his head, taking the paper without opening it. The weight is heavy, creased down the middle and Jimin slips it into his pocket. “I don’t know who you are,” he responds to you, quiet. “And I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong guy.” When Jimin turns to leave, you snort and he looks back over his shoulder. “Something funny?”

You’re pissed. That much is obvious, from the set of your mouth walking towards him. “Don’t think you’re so mysterious,” you huff, poking him square in the chest. “I have copies of that photo and I will print it with my story if you don’t meet me to talk. Just because I’m a girl,” you blurt, voice rising at the end, “doesn’t mean I won’t take you down!”

Jimin arches a brow. “An intriguing proposition.”

“Oh, lord,” you wince, jaw clamping shut as you turn away from his gaze. “Think whatever you want. I’ll wait, Jimin, I have nothing but time.”

Lips pressed together to keep from laughing, Jimin watches you go. He assures himself that there’s nothing to worry about, he’s untouchable. Nothing really happened on that boat, nothing multiple witnesses wouldn’t support Jimin on, anyways. Then Jimin lifts the paper, opening the fold.

Before him, the world seems to tilt, his gaze wavering with nausea while Jimin takes in the image. It’s a photo, one of him at the party and he’s not alone. Jimin is leaning on a bar, talking to that girl and – oh, fuck. Jimin shoves a hand through his hair, realizing what’s on the counter between them.

Cocaine. Pure, white powder that’s blatantly obvious, and Jimin wonders how he missed it that night. Someone must have been there before them, left it out because the powder’s half-gone, white lines clear as day. Staring down at the image, it almost seems to blur and Jimin realizes he’s done for. If this photo got out, it would ruin him.

Jimin’s entire life is built around image, around being this perfect man whom everybody can trust. A scandal like this would ruin his credibility, which is the only thing of value he can give to his family. Crumpling the image in his fist, Jimin turns around towards the building. Barely aware of what he’s doing, he walks angrily inside and tears off his sweatshirt. Tossing this into a locker, he changes quickly because he’s already late and when he jogs out on the field, Jimin’s lips are set in a line.

He can’t get the photograph out of his mind, that damn photograph with one line of writing at the top.

Coffee Bean. Wednesday night, 7:00 PM.

It’s exactly seven, when Jimin enters the coffee shop. He spots you right away, seated at the table next to the kitchen – you’re fiddling with the straw in your drink, some iced coffee Jimin has no idea the name of. Whatever you’re drinking, you seem nervous as you sip, which gives Jimin a small amount of satisfaction shutting the door. Clearly, this isn’t your normal method of information gathering.

This is something he can use, later.

Walking inside, Jimin can’t help but think about what’s at stake – his reputation, for one; a potential membership with the 7, for another. The 7 Society. An infamous organization at the University which few, if any, can definitively speak on. Jimin isn’t a member, not yet but there’s always a very small pool of candidates and he’s definitely one of them. If this article runs though, he won’t be anymore.

Pulling out a chair to sit down at your table, Jimin says nothing when you jerk back in shock. It’s oddly endearing, how startled you look. Here you sit, blackmailing him with the nerve to look embarrassed. Dressed in another one of those cardigans, at least this one remains mostly unbuttoned and Jimin is about to comment on this fact when, he remembers why he’s here.

Lacing his hands on top of the table, Jimin cocks his head to one side. “Hi,” he greets.

Though you don’t respond, your eyes lower to his clothes. “Did you run here?” you query.

Jimin frowns. He knows what he’s wearing – a thin, black hoodie and sweatpants, straight from his locker. “Yeah,” he nods. “You didn’t give me much of a choice on the time. Not like I could text you or anything, so I literally ran from practice.”

“Oh,” you respond, somewhat embarrassed. “I see.”

Jimin lets the silence grow, not wanting to make things easier. You were the one who started this, are the one threatening him, which means you can speak first. On the table between you, your fingers trace over your notepad and Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, wondering if you ever leave it behind. It’s strange, to write free-handed, isn’t it? Jimin doesn’t really know, never having been a writer himself.

There’s something delicate in your motions, almost nervous and Jimin feels himself softening, despite himself. “So,” he exhales. “About the photo.”

You look up, relief clear on your face. “Right,” you nod, exhaling. “I’m sorry about that.”

That’s not what Jimin expected. “You’re sorry?” he repeats, somewhat incredulous.

“Yeah,” you agree, biting down on your lip. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this…”

“You didn’t mean to blackmail me.”

Gaze sharpening, you frown. “I’m not blackmailing you.”

“Oh?” Jimin leans in. “Then what do you call it? There’s a compromising photo of me that you’re going to release to the public unless I do what you want. Blackmail.”

Dipping into a scowl, you lean closer as well. “Like you’re so innocent. Park Jimin, handed the world on a silver platter, given every opportunity money can buy. Just because you fucked up,” you hiss, “and I have a photo of it, doesn’t give you a right to be upset. You did something wrong! You deserve to be called out.”

“Except you’re not,” Jimin points out. “You’re offering to push this under the rug if I help with your story. Blackmail.”

Staring for a moment, you let this quietly sink in. “Whatever, call it what you want. I actually,” you sigh, drumming your fingers on the table, “was trying to get an interview with Taehyung on the boat. With his family history, I figured he’s a shoe-in for the 7. Then that photo happened and, well,” you wave a hand, “here we are.”

“Gee,” Jimin drawls. “I’m flattered to be your second choice.”

Eyes narrowed, you seem about to respond when someone bumps into you from behind and nearly spills a drink on your head. Jimin’s head snaps up, narrowing in on the offender and he frowns, recognizing no signs of remorse.

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Jimin coughs. “Professor Nam,” he greets, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “What a surprise, seeing you outside of the classroom.”

The man stops. “Jimin,” he blinks, shaking hair from his gaze. “I didn’t see you there. How are things, how’s the grading coming?”

Though Jimin’s smile tightens, it doesn’t waver. “The grading is going fine, thank you,” he nods. “How’re Lucy and the kids?”

“Good, good,” the man drones, absent-minded. He glances at his Cartier watch, nearly spilling his coffee once more. “Same old, you know.”

The man has yet to acknowledge your presence, despite having nearly soaked you twice now with coffee. “I really don’t know,” Jimin responds blithely, causing you to snort in response.

Professor Nam looks down at you, brow creased in disapproval. “Well,” he exhales, switching his coffee to his other hand. “I’d better get going. See you in class, Jimin,” he nods, walking away.

Jimin watches him go, shop door opening and shutting. “Prick,” he mutters, gaze unmoving. “I TA for that guy, he’s a real piece of work. Anyways,” he states, returning to you, “we were discussing your blackmail.”

Before, you were feeling almost grateful – that guy was being a dick, and Jimin didn’t approve – but now you remember why you’re here. “I’m not blackma – ah, fuck it,” you sigh. “Call it whatever you want, Jimin.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jimin grins, lacing both hands behind his head. “Alright, spill. Tell me what you know about the 7 and what you want from me, in return.”

“What I want from you in return,” you repeat, mulling over the words.

Jimin just watches, staring at the dimple furrowed between your brow. Oh, fuck. Jerking himself backwards, Jimin pointedly looks away. You’re blackmailing him, for god’s sake. He shouldn’t be thinking about dimples anywhere on your body but then – oh shit, your body. Folding both arms across his chest like a shield, Jimin glares.

“So,” you exhale, pushing both hands through your hair. Strands fall around your face like weapon, a crazy pattern matching the one on your sweater. “There’s this secret 7 Society, made up of seven men, all varying ages but from the same incestuous families.”

Jimin nearly chokes. “Incestuous?” he coughs.

“Oh, you know,” you respond, rolling your eyes. “It’s all the same people in these things, the same well-to-do –”

“Well-to-do?”

“Well-to-do families,” you continue, as though uninterrupted. “The ones who came over on the Mayflower, or some shit and think that because of this, they can buy your ass – or, well, they can try.”

Despite himself, Jimin smiles. “That’s an interesting theory.”

“Right?” you respond, not seeming to catch onto the sarcasm. “Anyways, the 7 Society are a bunch of rich, elitist dicks who think they own the word and do terrible things because of it. I want to write this story,” you inform, sitting up straight. “I want to expose them. The Society has this reputation for corruption, scandal, blackmail –”

“Oh, the irony,” Jimin grins.

“Shut up,” you scowl, shaking a finger in his general direction. “This is different, I’m doing this for the betterment of society – you just fuck around with people because you can.”

“The betterment of society?” Jimin blurts, unable to contain his laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re getting nothing from this, right? No job offers, no magazines calling for you – no money, no fortune, no fame,” Jimin ticks each one off on his fingers. “Just face it, Y/N,” he shrugs. “You’re no better than I am.”

Your fingers still for the first time and Jimin sobers, seeing how his words have affected you. You’re not better than him, not in this, which you seem to have realized. Mouth snapping shut, you sink low in your seat and Jimin begins to worry you’ve lost all ability to speak.

“Let’s just say,” he starts, giving you a break. “Let’s just say that you’re right, for a second. Say I’m involved with this mysterious society – what then? This is all just gossip, hearsay. The University won’t print it, not without proof.”

“True,” you croak and, seeming to recover your resolve, you stare down at your notes. “That’s where you come in.”

Glancing sideways, Jimin looks out the door of the coffee shop. You think he’s one of the 7, he realizes – either that, or you just don’t understand how the Society works. There are only 7 members at any given time and only when you’re a member, do they let you in on their secrets. Jimin knows only rumors right now; rumored names, rumored happenings and rumored information. As far as the truth goes, Jimin won’t be much help.

Some people say being a part of the 7 grants access to wealth. Others say there’s women, there’s drugs, or there’s gold. Jimin thinks that the answer is simpler. It’s power, that’s all. It’s fear of the unknown, the men in the shadows and it’s the prestige of being exclusive and elite, that’s all.

Tilting his head, Jimin examines your face. “And how would I help? What, specifically, do you need from me?”

“A story,” you respond.

Jimin can’t help but admire the way you speak. There’s fire in your eyes, venom to your words and Jimin is certain he’s never felt so strongly about anything in his life. Certainly not about his work, nor his school, nor any one person. The closest he’s come to feeling this way is about lacrosse, but even that was before his father mandated he play for his image.

“A story,” Jimin repeats. “I could help you with that.”

Though you’re shocked by the agreement, you attempt to play it off as nonchalance. "Ah, okay,” you shrug, nearly missing when you lean one elbow on the table. “That’s great.”

Jimin looks away from you, smile fading. “After all, I don’t really have a choice – do I?”

Wincing, you look down. “I – well…”

“It’s just.” Jimin leans in, until his face is too closer. “You want to be a journalist, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” he continues, “do you really want this to be your start? A story you got through blackmail, filled with lies and halfway research. If you don’t go about things the right way, are the results really worth it?”

Something flickers in your gaze, flaring to life. “The right way,” you repeat, the words quiet. “My entire life, I’ve gone about things the right way and look where it’s gotten me. Look where it’s gotten my mother,” you exhale, “who works three jobs and never has time to do anything else. It’s easy to talk about the right way when all you have are options. It’s harder, when you work as hard as I do and still have nothing to lean on.”

Every word you say is a dagger, thrown with the precision of an assassin. Jimin’s stomach sinks because you are correct, he has every opportunity to do the right thing and he rarely does. You are also wrong though, because Jimin doesn’t have every opportunity, just certain ones. There are some parts of himself he’s sacrificed, some things he’s given up to maintain this image. Jimin has seen things, done things, hurt parts of himself which should never be touched. Yet still, he can’t say that you’re wrong.

“I didn’t say don’t write it,” Jimin exhales, placing his hands flat on the table. “I just think things are more complicated than you think they are.”

You hesitate at this response; just for a moment, but it’s there. Jimin sees your uncertainty and knows he can exploit it, but the funny thing is, he doesn’t want to. Your words leave him hollow because, even faced with the prospect of nothing, Jimin finds he doesn’t care. If he woke up tomorrow and everything – the cars, the boats, the booze and the 7 – even if it all disappeared, Jimin wouldn’t care.

His father would, though; which is why you should worry.

Jimin shakes his head. “Y/N. You said it yourself, these are some of the most powerful men in the world. If you expose them as part of the 7, do you truly not see the danger?”

Running your finger over the spine of your notepad you nod. “I see it,” you agree. “I see the danger. What kind of a journalist would I be, if I avoided things because I was scared?”

When you say this, Jimin stares because he’s never known such conviction in his life. “I suppose,” he murmurs, gaze flickering. “How do you want me to help, then? That photo can’t be seen by the public, I can’t allow it.”

Once more, you seem guilty. “Yeah,” you mutter, looking away. “I guess. Listen - can I ask you something?”

“Might as well,” Jimin shrugs. “I don’t see how this could get any worse.”

Shooting him a glare, you let your hands fall to the table. “Why do you do it?” you ask, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. You seem to have everything, everyone loves and admires you. Why would you throw it all away, on something like drugs?”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. “Y/N,” he responds, eyebrows raised. “The drugs in the photo aren’t mine; you know that, right?”

For a moment, you’re flummoxed. “I – what?”

Jimin nods. “I don’t do drugs, Y/N. Do I fuck around a lot? Sure. Am I a mild alcoholic? Maybe,” Jimin shrugs. “But the hard stuff, not for me. Like you said, I have a lot to lose and with my family, image is everything.”

His words are laced with meaning, so much so that you stare. “So,” you start to say, before stopping. “The photo…?”

“Isn’t true,” Jimin answers.

This seems to floor you, based on your expression and while you’re sitting there, silent, Jimin pushes himself to stand. “I have to go,” he explains, sliding his bag over his shoulder. “Homework and stuff.”

You nod, still dazed by his confession. “Right. That makes sense.”

Jimin waits, certain he could say just about anything right now and you’d agree. There’s this look on your face, the knowledge that you’re blackmailing for something he didn’t even do. It seems to have crossed a line for you, one which wasn’t there before.

Finally, you look up. “Alright. Thank you,” you respond, fingertips white while clutching your notebook.

Jimin softens, and he’s not sure why he does what he does next. “Y/N,” he states, waiting. “Just because something seems perfect, doesn’t mean that it is. Images can be deceiving, you know – I wouldn’t take too much stock in mine.”

You nod, wanting to respond to him but Jimin is already turning away. He slips headphones into his ears, ignoring the pounding rhythm of his own heart and it isn’t long before he’s gone, leaving you sitting alone at the table, wondering what the hell just happened.

• Y/N •

One week later, you’re still wondering.

Lying flat on your back, one arm is flung over your eyes while you attempt to sort through your thoughts. It’s been days, days since meeting Jimin and everything went to hell. You need this story, that much is certain. The time you’ve spent on this paper has taught you lessons in seniority, in tenure, in what it takes to get noticed.

You need the 7 Society, need the hook their name gives. It’s going to be your entryway, a story which will lead you to bigger and better things but in order to get there, you need a foot in the door. That, in addition to the teeny, tiny fact that you already told your editor. Groaning, you flop onto your stomach. Lip held between your teeth, you skim through your notes. It’s been days since you looked at them, really looked because each time you do, you get a little bit nauseous.

This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You and Jimin were supposed to meet, he was supposed to be a dick and you were supposed to force him to help you. Instead, he was nothing like you thought he’d be – maybe a touch arrogant, bit hard to read but overall, he was nice. Snorting out loud, you bury your face in the sheets. You’re lying, plain and simple because Jimin was interesting, intelligent and weirdly enough, seemed to get you. It’s enough that you can’t stop thinking about him, which is the other problem.

It’s all part of his appeal, to be honest and staring down at your notes, you try to make sense of it all. Park Jimin, twenty-two years old, heir to the Park family fortune. His father is the CEO of one of those giant corporations, the conglomerates you’re always surprised to find own both your favorite organic conditioner and the DEET bug spray you protested.

The pages of your notebook are crammed with information, alternating between photos and notes, pictures of the party and observations you made. Even that night, when Jimin bumped into you and spilled your drink, he was entirely apologetic. He said he was sorry, was trying to say more when you abruptly left. The moment replays in your mind, staring down at your notes.

Jimin is a bit of a contradiction. He didn’t seem upset by the photo, making it seem like he doesn’t care about your story. Or maybe he does, and he’s cocky enough to think you can’t touch him. There was the one comment he made, about the men in the 7 being the most powerful in the world. A chill goes down your spine at the thought, since although this might be a deterrent to some, if just spurs you on.

All your life, you’ve hated men like this. Men who can crush, who strangle the happiness out of others for the sake of their own. You know men like that on the paper, at your job, men who ran your after-school care programs and looked the other way while boys had their fun. Men who left your mother when you were little, who taught you to be self-sufficient at a very young age. It’s men like this who fuel your anger, which is part of the reason you want to write this story.

It’s all fake, though. The photo isn’t real, and you can’t help but feel torn by that fact. Jimin doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not when he’s done nothing wrong and, shutting your notebook, you lower your head to its cover. You can’t do this to him, you can’t. Though Jimin might be spoiled, smug and a little bit arrogant – he’s not a bad person and realizing this fact, you roll onto your back. This will make you very unpopular with your editor, might even get you kicked off the paper.

It’s a lesson in professionalism, you suppose. Vet your sources, always be certain there’s substance before you announce a story. It’s crappy to learn this through trial and error, and you close your eyes at the thought.

When there’s a knock on your door, you turn your head on the bed. It’s past 8:00 PM, you’re not expecting any company and as you stand from your mattress, they knock again.

“Coming,” you call, padding over to the frame and when you fling open the door, you freeze. “Jimin?”

He stares back, looking woefully out of place in your dormitory hall. “Can I come in?” he asks, peering over your shoulder.

You stand there for a moment, trying to reconcile the sight of him before you shake your head quickly and step aside. “I guess?” you respond, brow creased with confusion.

Jimin walks forward, shoulders brushing for you to fight back a shiver. Weak, you tell yourself, as you shut the door and turn, only to stare at the sight. It’s strange how not strange it is, seeing him there. Jimin fits in your room. When you talked to him before – in the coffee shop, outside the lacrosse stadium – you were very aware then, of who he was. He was Park Jimin, of the Park’s but here in your bedroom, he seems more like a guy.

Then he turns to look at you. Right, a fucking beautiful guy.

“So,” Jimin exhales, shifting his weight backwards. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, he’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans which both likely cost more than your computer. “You live on campus?”

“Yeah,” you nod, watching him sit on your mattress. Jimin bounces for a second, touching the squishable hedgehog resting on your pillow. “Why?” you ask. “Do you live off?”

Jimin nods, looking at you. “Yeah, since sophomore year. I uh, may have been asked to leave campus.”

“What?” Crossing your arms, you fight back a smile – Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, though you try not to notice. “What did you do?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Jimin grins, leaning onto his hands. “This senior RA thought I slept with his girlfriend, or something.”

“And?” you prompt. “Did you?”

“I thought they were broken up!” Jimin complains. “How was I supposed to know she was lying?”

Leaning your shoulder to the wall, you look up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, maybe you could have just not fucked your RA’s ex?”

“But where’s the fun in that,” Jimin whines. “She was hot, I was there. Your classic rom-com situation.”

“That’s not,” you stop, shaking your head because it’s not worth the effort. “Nevermind.”

Jimin looks around the room, shifting on top of your bed. Your gaze drops to his legs, which was a mistake, because fuck. He’s pure muscle, from the curved tops of his thighs to those slender hips and shoulders. When your gaze reaches his face, you realize he’s staring as well but rather than be embarrassed, it only makes you more curious.

“Why are you here, Jimin?” you ask.

His hair looks soft, curled against the nape of his neck, in contrast with his body. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” Jimin shrugs. “I said I’d help with your story and I can’t imagine you’re giving me much time. All good con artists have a timeline.”

“I’m not a con artist,” you scowl and Jimin grins, taking way too much pleasure in your annoyance. “I just want to tell people the truth.”

His smile lessens, somewhat. “Oh? Does one truth cancel out the other, then?”

You fall silent, because you don’t have an answer to this. Except that you do, and it doesn’t. You won’t write the story like this and you mean to tell him that – but then Jimin stands from your bed. Adjusting the bag on his back, he closes a zipper that’s come undone as he walks.

He comes to a stop before you. “I’ll help with your story, but I want something in return.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen a glimpse of the man people are afraid of. Park Jimin, the infamous Parks, who take what they want and don’t apologize for the action. There’s a hardness to his tone, certain ice in his gaze and you realize Jimin could be dangerous if he wanted to be.

“What do you want?” you ask, lifting your chin.

“My name left out.” Jimin’s jaw tightens. “Along with my family’s name. No one can ever know I was your source, no one can ever trace this back to me. Promise me this, it’s important.”

Slowly, you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Jimin repeats. He clearly thought he’d have to convince you, thought you’d put up a fight, because having an unnamed source is much harder to verify. “Just like that?”

You wonder if you should fight him more on this, but you simply uncross your arms. “Just like that. I’m a very reasonable person, Park Jimin.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Oh, I’m sure. You know,” he muses, walking closer, “it’s strange to hear my full name on your lips.”

“Oh?” He stops, much too near to your frame, but you find yourself unable to move away. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, gaze dropping. “It seems formal, and there are more... informal things I’d like to do to you.”

Your eyes fly open. “W-what?” you stammer.

Jimin smiles, absently. “I shouldn’t like you, should I?”

“I – what?” you repeat, dazed by the implication.

Jimin takes another step closer. His brow furrows. “By all accounts, I should hate you. You semi-stalked me,” he points out. “You took a photo of me in a compromising situation and are using said photo to blackmail me. Not to mention, you’re somewhat abrasive and strange,” he nods. “I should really dislike you.”

Staring back at him, something stirs in your stomach. “But,” you breathe, uncertain what you’re doing, “then... are you saying you don’t?”

Jimin’s eyes glint. “I should dislike you, since you’re threatening everything I have, but that’s the thing – I don’t really care.”

Head spinning, you realize you were right about one thing, when his hand encircles your wrist. Jimin doesn’t care about the life he has, he doesn’t care if your article takes it all away from him. The underlying reason for this intrigues you, but that question will have to wait until later.

“The only reason I care about what you write,” Jimin continues, “is because I know others will care. There are powerful members of the 7, powerful people in my family who want – no, who need – me to be a part of it. Those are the people you should be worried about, not me.”

His words leave you speechless, which is a rarity. Jimin wants you to stop writing because, what – he cares? The thought is foreign and yet, the gaze he’s giving you right now is sincere. It sends you reeling, tangles your thoughts because you keep reminding yourself this isn’t real. This is what Jimin is good at, manipulation, you’ve learned that from your research but still, you can’t help but believe him.

After all, you are still manipulating him, too. Despite your earlier convictions about the decision to pull the story, you haven’t told him.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I,” Jimin finishes, quiet.

He says this as a statement, but you see his hesitancy and it’s this, more than anything, which throws you. Jimin always seems so sure, like he knows who he is but now he’s staring with more than a little confusion. You two might attend the same school, but before this you existed in separate worlds. His world is one of parties, expectations and duty – before you met, you thought that you hated him. When you did meet, Jimin probably hated you.

Now, though – you suck in your breath, because Jimin’s fingers are tracing gentle patterns on your wrist. Lately, writing has been hard for you. It’s been more work than fun, it’s been about proving yourself to people who don’t matter and lately, you’ve started to wonder if it’s worth it. It’s been so long you’ve worked for the same dream, that sometimes you wonder if you’ve given up too much. Three relationships, all since college and each one failed, for the same reasons. You were never there, never available and each one said you loved your work more than them.

Looking up at Jimin, you see parts of yourself. He has this drive, this ambition to be the best but lacks conviction, something to believe in. As his fingers curl about your wrist, anchoring you closer, it’s alarming how easily his shape seems to fit.

This is when you should tell him, but you don’t. “You should hate me,” you agree. “If you just look at the facts, I’m not a very nice person.”

“Nice,” Jimin exhales, corner of his mouth lifted. “I haven’t heard that word used about me in a long time.”

“I guess we’re the same, then.”

Jimin doesn’t look away. He uses his gaze like a dagger, dragging up the length of your body, caressing your throat. “I guess so,” he acknowledges. The moment lingers, until Jimin shakes his head. “Saturday,” he affirms, letting go of your wrist. “Saturday night, 10:00 PM. Meet me at the side of Capital hall and I’ll hold up my end of the deal.”

“Saturday,” you agree, too distracted by the ghost of his hand on yours. “I – yes.”

Jimin nods, brushing past to open the door. He doesn’t wait for a response, glancing over his shoulder while leaving. “See you then,” he winks, slipping out in the hall.

It’s several minutes before you come back to your senses and when you do, you realize you never told him. Jimin still thinks you’re writing the story and you have no way of telling him otherwise. Aside from meeting him this Saturday night.

It’s unnerving, how much it excites you and when you fall asleep that night, it’s to dreams of strangers and darkness.

Saturday night is clear, if chilly. You stand shivering beneath the boughs of an elm tree, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you misread him, in your room and at the café – worse, maybe Jimin intended you to misread him and this is all a game. He could be setting you up, with no intention of helping and taking a deep breath, you force yourself to stay calm. There’s no reason to freak out.

You shouldn’t feel conviction for a man you don’t know but for some reason you do. Against all better judgement, you trust Park Jimin. Still, the hour is late, the weather is cold and you find yourself wishing you’d brought with you a jacket. Any sort of jacket would work, but you had nothing to match this dress that’s not yours.

It’s Nivea’s, a girl on the paper you get lunch with occasionally. Late last night you showed up at her door, realizing belatedly most people go out on a Friday. She answered the door though, flinging it open to seem somewhat surprised by your presence.

“Y/N!” Nivea smiled, gaze traveling past to the hall. “What’s going on? Did I leave something behind at the paper?”

Cheeks flushed, you realized you might have a problem. If the most logical explanation for your visit was Nivea leaving something behind at the paper, you clearly needed to leave the place more often. “No, no,” you shook your head. “Nothing like that. It’s just – ah, this is awkward, you see…”

When you trailed off, Nivea arched a brow. “Want to come in?”

“Yes, please,” you exhaled, stepping inside.

It only took a few minutes for the story to come out. You liked this guy, he was always well-dressed, and you had nothing to wear on your date. Of course, this wasn’t the real story, but you could hardly tell Nivea the truth. Her eyes lit up was you spoke though, and by the end of your sentence she was clapping her hands.

“Of course!” Nivea gushed, flinging open her closet. “I love to play fairy godmother, it gives me everything I love; fashion, plus an insane amount of control. Let’s see,” she tutted, pulling out a dress to examine. “Pink? No? I’ll admit,” Nivea laughed, rummaging in the back. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to overthink what to wear on a date.”

“I’m not, really,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, I kind of want to surprise him.”

“Hm.” Nivea stared, squinting. “Well, can’t argue with that. Turn around,” she motioned, and the night flowed from there. Two hours later, you were leaving her room with a dress, red lipstick and a promise to take pictures.

A promise you’ll unfortunately have to break but there’s also the lunch date you made for Monday, one you’re determined to keep. It’s been too long since you hung out like that, you’ve been so caught up in work and the paper that somewhere along the way, you forgot to have a life.

You’re wearing Nivea’s dress, standing beneath the giant elm tree and slowly freezing your ass off. Earlier you tamed your hair into submission, arranging it to flow in gentle curls down your back. You even managed to squeeze into this dress, the more modest of Nivea’s options – though even this shows more skin than you’re used to. The hemline is mid-thigh, with a scoop neck and low back which need constant adjusting.

You’re so concentrated, you don’t even notice when Jimin taps you on the shoulder. “Hey,” he greets and the moment you turn, his eyes widen with shock. The awe disappears quickly, smoothing out in a smile but his lingering look that he gives you sends sparks zipping over your skin.

“Hey,” Jimin blinks, repeating himself. “Hi.”

You smile, because in the entirety you’ve known him, Jimin has never fumbled for words. They’ve always come naturally to him, but right now appear to be absent.

“You look nice,” you say because he does, this is true. Jimin is wearing an all-black tuxedo, blonde hair pushed back from his face in devastating fashion.

He arches a brow. “What, this old thing?”

“Old,” you scoff, scanning his torso. “I will give you one hundred dollars, if you tell me you’ve worn that before.”

“To quote Kim Seokjin,” Jimin sighs, offering you his arm, “anything off the rack is already old.”

“Who’s Seokjin?”

Jimin laughs, pulling you close as he walks towards the hall. “Please, say that to him.”

Capital hall is a stately building, looming high while you reach the side door. Craning to look over your shoulder, you come to a stop beside Jimin. “Uh,” you blink, when he knocks on the door. “Jimin, I think this is a side entrance. I saw people going in over th –”

The door creaks open, only a crack. “Password?”

This silences your response, glancing wide-eyed at Jimin. It shouldn’t shock you, since there was a similar set-up on the boat but then, you doubt you’ll ever get used to this sort of thing.

“Luceo non uro,” Jimin answers.

The door closes before you, sounds of unlocking within.

Turning your head, you take in Jimin’s profile. “What does it mean?”

He remains facing forward. “I shine, not burn. My friends are going through a Latin phase,” Jimin grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“I shine, not burn,” you repeat, while the door swings open. “I like it.”

Jimin enters the doorway, leading you on. “Do you?” he muses. “You’re easy to please, once you get past the whole blackmail thing.”

“Jimin!” you hiss. Glancing sideways, it appears no one heard and you slowly relax into the crook of his arm.

Door thudding shut, Jimin leads you down the hall. “Kidding,” he grins, face half-hidden by shadow. “At least you have something you’re working towards, which is admirable. That’s more than can be said of me.”

He stops before the next set of doors, one hand resting on the handle and without stopping to think, you lay your hand over his. “Jimin,” you state, while he looks up in surprise. “You have more to offer than you think you do.”

Jimin just stares. “I didn’t think you saw me like that,” he murmurs, bending so that some hair falls into his gaze. “I thought I was ‘just another rich asshole, screwing my way to the top’?”

The hall around you seems to fade, heart thrumming much too loud in your ear. “You,” you exhale, licking your lips. “You read my notebook?”

For that’s what he just quoted, a private observation from the party when you saw Jimin disappear with those girls. You wrote that note quickly, didn’t tell anyone – and slowly, understanding dawns. That day in your room, when Jimin stood up from your bed, he was zippering his bag shut. He must have grabbed your notebook and though you kind of want to yell at him, you also kind of want to laugh. It was a ballsy move, that’s for sure.

Jimin’s eyes glimmer. “What a terrible invasion of privacy, I know,” he deadpans. “I suppose you’re not the only one with leverage now.”

Staring back at him, you fight your smile. "Huh,” you return, facing forward. “An interesting observation. Lead the way, Park.”

He grins, taking your elbow to push open the doors. You should be angry, should be furious but instead, you find yourself feeling somewhat relieved. There’s some embarrassment, sure, because your observations were less than kind but mostly, you feel relief. You may have been the bad guy before, but now you’re even.

Walking through the doors, all thoughts of the notebook fall quickly from mind. The room around you is beautiful and though you’ve been in Capital hall before, you’ve never seen this. “What is this place?” you ask, twisting around to look.

Jimin continues to walk, leading you through the shadowy bodies. “Cope and Stewardson,” he nods at the ceiling. It’s intricately carved, spiraling out to reach etchings on the walls. “A Philadelphia architecture firm known for classic, Gothic architecture style exemplified throughout many East coast collegiate campuses. The ceiling was a surprise, a gift from one of the architects to the Dean. Rumor has it,” Jimin continues, winding his way through the crowd, “he was in love with him.”

“I see,” you whisper, staring up in awe. “Why is this room kept a secret? I’ve been here many times, but never heard it discussed.”

Jimin’s answering smile is wicked. “It’s amazing what money will keep hidden, isn’t it?”

“Prick,” you mutter, much to Jimin’s amusement. The room is beautiful though, as is the crowd and not for the first time, you’re grateful for Nivea’s help. In a room full of strangers, at least you don’t stand out. Or, this is what you’re thinking until Jimin leans in.

“People are staring,” he murmurs, pulling you closer.

“Oh?” you blurt, looking up in alarm. “Why, because they don’t know me? How can I fix it?”

“Well,” Jimin sighs. “You could start by not having dressed like that.”

“Like what?” you hiss, glancing sideways.

Meeting Jimin’s gaze, he smiles. “Like the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s a pause, while his words sink in – you let yourself bask in his glow, allow yourself to fall headlong into his gaze, before forcing yourself away. “Do you find,” you comment, continuing to walk, “that pretty words tend to get you what you want?”

Jimin follows you, laughing. “Usually,” he admits. “Though admittedly, this doesn’t seem to be the case with you.” Coming to a stop at another door, he looks your way. “After you.”

The doors are heavy, solid oak which take a moment to open and once you do, you find yourself facing a library. You hear, rather than see when Jimin shuts the doors behind you; the sounds of the party are cut off abruptly, leaving you in silence and taking a step, you turn around in a circle.

“Lovely,” you breathe, because it is. The books are hidden, kept here to keep students from touching – which, naturally, makes you want to run your hands all over them. When you glance over your shoulder to look at him though, you find Jimin still hasn’t moved. “Where are we?” you ask.

“Rare books library.”

“I see,” you nod, returning your gaze to the tomes. “And why are we here?”

Jimin regards you thoughtfully, biting his lip. “Well,” he sighs, pushing himself off the door. “You said you wanted a story, I’m here to deliver.”

Your heart sinks at this, because it’s no longer what you want. Somewhere along the way, you stopped caring about how Jimin can help you and just wanted to be near him. That’s why you didn’t tell him about the story, you realize. You wanted to see him tonight, wanted to keep seeing him, no matter the cost.

Jimin stops before you. “I have something to show you,” he confesses.

A shiver goes down your spine. “What?”

Lifting a finger to his lips, Jimin indicates silence before grabbing your hand to tug you sideways. You would protest but frankly, you enjoy the feel of his hand on your skin. His warm fingers wrap in yours, sending a shock up your spine.

Winding his way through the stacks, Jimin leads until you find yourself wishing you’d brought a ball of twine. “Where are we going?” you groan, as Jimin turns to face you.

He arches a brow, unamused by your impatience. “Sh,” he repeats, before turning around. He continues, leading you forward until the two of you reach the end of a hall. There’s nowhere to continue, except for the door on your right.

Jimin stops, glancing down the hall to return to you. “Take out your phone,” he instructs, barely audible.

“Why?” you whisper, but obey all the same.

“Just look,” Jimin murmurs, placing his hand on the knob. He twists silently, pushing open the door to ensure ensuring nothing squeaks. When it’s open a rack and you can see what’s inside, it’s a difficult thing to stifle your gasp of surprise.

Professor Nam. You recognize him from your run-in at the coffee shop, but you would have known him before. Jimin might be his TA, but Professor Nam is well-known on his own. He’s the owner of several large publishing companies, an incredibly powerful man both at the University and outside it. Right now, though, the sight of him just makes you sick because kneeling before him is a girl. Not just any girl, one you recognize as a freshman on the paper. You can’t recall having spoken, just that she seemed kind of young and naïve. She doesn’t seem this way anymore, with her mouth wrapped around his dick.

Almost on auto-pilot, you press the capture button. Barely aware of what you’re doing, you document the scene and stumble away from the hall. Jimin is right, this is a story and – more than a little nauseous at the fact – you turn yourself away from the sight. Jimin closes the door behind you, following when you start to walk away. You keep on walking, completely silent until reaching the first room that you entered and then turn, shoving Jimin’s back to the wall.

“What the hell,” you hiss, inches away from his face. “Why bring me here, what was that?’

Jimin allows himself to be manhandled, though his eyes narrow in response. "It’s the story I promised,” he returns. “That’s it.”

Slowly, you release him, taking a step back. You understand now – Jimin promised you a story, not your story, not the 7 Society. He just promised you a story, and he delivered. Jimin is right, the 7 Society is a fluff piece at best, unless you can piece together the corruption and greed which surround it. You can’t right now, meaning it’s unsubstantial. This story though, there’s clear proof of misconduct.

A professor, sleeping with his student. Glancing down at your phone, you begin to realize the implications. “You lied,” you reiterate, unsure why this keeps sticking in your throat.

Jimin’s gaze softens. “I couldn’t let you run that story.”

All his reasons come back, the most striking of which was the story was dangerous. In his own, weird way, Jimin tried to protect you. He knows this world better than you, and he knows what would happen if you wrote that story.

“I wasn’t going to write it,” you shoot back, uncertain why you care. It hardly matters, but you need him to hear. “The article, I mean, I wasn’t going to write it. You were right, blackmail isn’t how I want to start my career.”

Refusing to look away from you, a muscle in Jimin’s jaw ticks. “Oh?” he responds, taking a step. “You expect me to believe that? Your words don’t really line up with your actions, Y/N.”

“I,” you hesitate, unsure what to say. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I meant to, when you came to my room but, I don’t know – I just didn’t.”

You realize how close he is now, how little space there is between you. The tips of Jimin’s shoes brush yours, lips within kissing distance of your own.

“Putting all that aside,” Jimin allows. “You have your story. Professor Nam has been fucking that student all semester, she currently has an A despite turning in zero homework assignments. It’s a great story, Y/N, you have to admit.”

“It is,” you admit, dropping to a whisper. “How did you know?”

“I TA for him,” Jimin reminds. “I noticed the discrepancy in her grade but when I tried to fix it, Professor Nam changed it back. I figured it out later, overheard them planning to get together tonight.”

“I see,” you respond, staring back. It’s true, it’s the perfect story to get your foot in the door; if Jimin can give you proof of missing grades, it’s undeniable evidence. “But… why?” you ask, your confusion growing. “Why are you helping me?”

Jimin shrugs. “A blackmailer is more likely to agree to a win-win scenario. This way, everyone goes home happy; you get your story, my name remains clear. Is there a problem with that?”

“I,” you pause, gaze flicking down the hall. “It’s not entirely win-win. Professor Nam will lose his job, it will hurt his wife and daughter.”

“Ah,” Jimin responds, words tight. “So now you’re concerned about his feelings.”

The implication being that you don’t care about his own and, chin jerking up, you take a step forward. “Listen,” you huff. “I already told you I wasn’t writing the article. Why do you think I didn’t notice my notes had gone missing? It’s because I haven’t been looking at them, I’ve been avoiding the story!”

Pausing, Jimin seems taken aback. “That’s true,” he muses. “You seem like the type of person to notice their notes are gone.”

“Believe what you want about me,“ you snap. “I know the truth and I wasn’t going to write it. If it makes you feel better, if it helps you sleep at night to imagine me the villain, then by all means –”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin interrupts, stopping your rant.

Stumbling to a halt, your chest rises and falls. “I – what?”

Sensing he’s hit upon something important, Jimin tilts his head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t writing the story, Y/N? Why keep up the charade?”

Unable to come up with a suitable response, you blink. “I – because, I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Jimin considers. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you why I helped you find another story. You know, instead of just threatening you.”

“There was another reason?” you respond, barely able to concentrate with him so close. He seems earnest, though and for some reason you think back to the moment in your room, when he said that he liked you.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I?” you whisper, eyes dropping to his lips.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you exhale, startled when his hands find your arms. “You lied to me, stole from me, took the story I wanted to tell and replaced it with another. That’s just for starters.”

Jimin’s hand skim your arms, lifting into your hair. “Borrowed,” he corrects, smile flitting over his lips. “Borrowed your notebook, with every intention of returning. I just wanted to see what you wrote about me.”

“Oh?” you ask, hypnotized by his touch. “And what did you find?”

“I found out that you hated me. At first,” Jimin adds, a caveat.

“I should still,” you return, just as softly.

“And do you?”

“No.”

You don’t know who moves first, you or Jimin, but somehow his hands are fisting in your hair, while your lips bruise between his. His kiss is desperate, catastrophic and you feel yourself careening over an edge but can’t find it in yourself to care. Your hands clutch hard at his waist, just as consuming as he.

His words are muffled, pushed between teeth and tongue. “Y/N,” Jimin groans, “I want,” his thumb brushes your collarbone, “you,” he inhales, “so fucking badly.”

“Ah,” you moan, unable to think around the press of his lips, “same.”

“Good,” he grunts, hands sliding down to your hips. “Turn around. Face the wall.”

You obey, touching your hands to the panel while Jimin steps up to press himself from behind. His fingers trace your arms, sliding down to your front. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m not nice, Y/N, I never have been.”

“Oh?” you shiver, when his fingers dip lower. “You think I was lying?”

“No,” Jimin agrees, pushing the silk of your dress between your legs. His fingers brush over your sex, teasing in slow, gentle circles. “It makes me feel better, for all the awful things I want to do with you tonight.”

There’s not time to respond, before he flips you over and your back hits the wall. “What do you want me to do?” you breathe, staring up at him.

Jimin’s answering smile is angelic. “Where’s the fun in telling?” he murmurs, fingers sliding low to your wrists. “Come on,” he exhales, pushing open the door to the main room. “I want you naked in my bed, and I won’t be kept waiting.”

Rolling your eyes, you let yourself be pulled. “Won’t be kept waiting,” you repeat, while he leads through the party. “We’ll see about that.”

Jimin stops abruptly, pulling you to him. “You would do that?” he purrs, all silk and sweetness. “You wouldn’t be so cruel, would you, Y/N?” His fingers drift down to your sides. “You wouldn’t be so cold.”

All retorts die when Jimin spins you, hungry lips crushing to yours in a kiss. He coaxes you open before him, hands sliding lower to cup your ass. “Come on,” Jimin exhales, breaking away and re-grabbing your hand.

Though you scowl, you follow because fuck, is your heart racing. The other people in the room are barely visible, too focused on the sight of Jimin’s ass in those pants, his right hand in yours and the next thing you know, you’re standing out on the curb, Jimin beside you, squinting down at his phone while slipping one arm around your waist.

“Two minutes,” Jimin announces, looking up. “Greg is completing a ride nearby.”

“Greg?” you echo. “You ordered an Uber? Huh. I would’ve thought Park Jimin had his own, personal driver.”

Grinning, Jimin drops his phone into his pocket before removing his jacket. “It’s an Uber Black, if that helps.”

“Kind of.”

Shrugging his jacket onto his shoulder, Jimin just smiles when the black Mercedes S-560 rolls up to the curb. He steps forward first, opening to door to allow entrance and once you’re settled inside, Jimin follows. “Park place,” he announces, at the driver. “How are you doing tonight, Greg?”

The man – Greg, presumably – nods in hello. “Not too bad, yourself?”

As the car pulls away from the curb, Jimin gently lowers his jacket over your lap. “Not bad at all,” he answers, fingers drifting along the edge of your knee. “Busy night, tonight?”

When the driver responds, Jimin’s hand slips under his jacket. Your eyes widen, realizing what he’s doing; your dress is already half-bunched at your waist, lifted and scrunched from climbing into the car. Jimin’s fingers move gently, coaxing your legs apart on the seat and you squirm at the touch, biting down on your lip when his thumb brushes your panties. Hearing the noise you make in your throat, Jimin turns his head in disapproval.

Leaning in, his lips touch your ear. “No noise,” Jimin whispers, “or I’ll stop. So,” he announces, smiling at the front. “What’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened in your car?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen…”

Pulling your panties aside, Jimin slips a finger in between your legs – his jaw slackens, at the touch of your arousal. “That so?” Jimin manages to respond, though the sound is strangled. Turning to look at you, his gaze burns while his hand slides lower, ghosting over your slickness.

Trying not to whimper, you shift your hips on the seat. Up ahead, your driver is going on about the time some girl puked in his car, and Jimin takes as his opportunity to slip a finger inside. Clasping one hand over your mouth, you stifle a groan when he curls his digit upwards.

Arching his brow, Jimin continues to watch. “God, what a mess,” he sighs. “That must have been incredibly frustrating.”

The driver agrees and Jimin starts to rub gentle circles on your clit. Fuck, you mouth, head hitting the seat while your hips rock into his palm. Jimin smiles at the sight, sliding his finger in and out while continuing to make pleasant conversation with the driver. You grab onto his knee, squeezing tight for each stroke that he makes and Jimin slows himself marginally, languidly exploring your body. His fingers trail around your entrance, up your cunt, until your entire body is shaking and you can’t help but moan.

Jimin’s withdrawal is abrupt, sinking back on the seat. “Disappointing,” he remarks to the driver, though he’s looking at you. As you continue to watch, Jimin brings a glistening finger to his mouth and sucks. “You must have been close,” he comments, sliding the digit from his mouth to look forward.

“I was,” Greg laughs, continuing to drive. “Honestly, I nearly –”

Eyes narrowed, your gaze drifts from Jimin’s smug expression downwards. He’s half-hard, straining against his pants, a fact which makes you smile. At least he’s not entirely unaffected by the situation, judging from the state of his hard-on.

“Anyways,” the driver continues, car pulling to a stop. “Thanks for riding, you two. Your place is on the right.”

Jimin nods, tugging your skirt down with agile fingers. “Pleasure’s mine,” he allows, pushing open the door. “Y/N, are you ready?”

Still glaring, you tug your dress lower while scooting outside. “I’m fine,” you huff, stepping out on the curb. The air outside is chilly, enough that you’re shivering before Jimin places his arm around you again. He leads you into his building, waving to the doorman and walking you back past the mailroom.

Inside the elevator, Jimin stops beside you. “Did you enjoy that?” he murmurs, continuing to face forward. “Did you like being fingered in public like that, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you whisper, cheeks enflamed at the thought. “I liked it a lot.”

“Mm,” Jimin sighs, satisfied. “I thought you would. I think you’ll like a lot of things we do tonight, Y/N.”

“What,” you pause, licking your lips. “What sorts of things?”

Jimin just smiles. “Tell me a fantasy you have.”

Heat spirals through your core, wicked and wanton. “I don’t know,” you whisper, eyes wide. Truthfully, you have a lot of fantasies but haven’t ever voiced them out loud. No one’s ever asked before.

Seeing your expression, Jimin turns. “Hey,” he murmurs, coming to stand before you. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to.”

Staring back, his gaze is calming enough that you blurt, “Sensory deprivation.”

Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Oh?”

Rather shakily, you nod. “I – blindfolds and uh, other things.”

“Hm,” Jimin muses, his smile delicate. “I know.”

Then the elevator chimes, doors opening as Jimin takes your hand and pulls you out in the hall. His apartment is at the end and as he opens the door, you can’t help but stare. It’s a surreal moment, watching Jimin flick on the lights, dump his jacket on a chair, toss his keys on the counter.

The apartment is spacious, full of dark wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. It lets in the night, lighting the place with cityscape and moonbeams. The apartment itself is sparse, elegantly designed in shades of charcoal and blue – it fits Jimin, somehow and when he notices you staring, he comes to a stop in the kitchen.

“Something wrong?” he asks, rolling up a sleeve.

“I was just thinking,” you hesitate. “It’s strange that I’m here.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment, leaning both hands on the counter. “Why, because of how we met?”

“Well,” you pause, then nod. “Yeah, kind of.”

Without removing his gaze, Jimin walks around the counter. “I guess,” he admits, stopping before you. “Everyone’s story has a beginning – but that’s hardly the most important part.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, since it sounds like something a writer would say. “I suppose.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Jimin admits, “but that goes without saying. I find you interesting,” he amends, cocking his head. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Wow,” you respond dryly. “Thanks.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jimin laughs. “You were right when you said I’m surrounded by opportunity. I’ve never gone hungry, never had to wonder where the rent money was coming from. Even with that though, I’ve only ever had certain kinds of opportunities – not particularly moral ones, at that.” Falling silent, Jimin seems to remember. “I did a lot of things which left me hollow. But,” he continues, “this was before I met you.”

You have nothing to say to this, since it’s too strange to consider yourself an influence. You, an influence on him. Jimin reaches out for your hands, seeming unable to keep from touching you, his fingertips sliding up the expanse of your skin.

“You care about your writing, your stories,” Jimin continues. “I’m not sure I’ve ever cared about anything the way that you do. I want to,“ he hesitates, glancing up. "I care about you. And I don’t want to analyze that fact.”

The air between you thickens, silent but for the sound of your breath and the tick of his clock. “Kiss me,” you whisper, tilting up your chin.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate, lips descending as his arms wrap greedily around you. He pushes you back against his counter, hips digging to yours while his hands slide into your hair. Jimin isn’t gentle with his kiss; he demands what he gives, and what he gives you is fierce. The moment he pulls back for air, you undo the straps of your dress.

Gaze heated, Jimin’s pupils dilate at your exposure. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his gaze back to yours. “My room, now.”

When you nod, he grabs for your hand and tugs you off down the hall. “This way,” Jimin murmurs, leading you inside a room on the right and shutting the door behind you.

His bedroom is the same as the rest, decorated in shades of smooth wood and glass. When you turn to look at him, Jimin is already removing his tie and, while you continue to watch, he unbuttons buttons of his shirt until it falls to the floor.

Walking towards you, Jimin keeps his pants on. “Do you still want this?” he asks, sliding his tie between his palms.

“Yes,” you exhale.

“Good.” Jimin looks at the foot of his bed. “Sit.”

Heart racing, you move to lower yourself to the mattress – palms lying flat on the bedspread until Jimin follows to lower one knee on the sheets. His first kiss is gentle, a molding of mouths until you grow hungry and a soft moan escapes. Jimin breaks away at the sound, descending your neck to tug at your bra.

“Ah,” you gasp, when Jimin undoes the clasp. “Jimin.”

He continues, mouth closing around your nipple while you reach for his pants. He slaps your hand, pushing you back on the bed and straddling you fully. Continuing to kiss, his fingers trace over your nipples until you’re arching against him and then he pulls himself away.

Jimin reveals the silk tie in his hands. “Yes?” he affirms.

You nod. "Please.”

Inhaling, Jimin lifts your head to gently tie the fabric over your eyes. It shuts out the room and when you can’t see a thing, his lips slowly descend your body. Mouth trailing your chest, his thumbs brush over your skin while his lips find your legs. At your panties, he stops and you feel Jimin’s weight lift from the bed.

He must kneel because his hands return at your knees, pushing your legs apart on the floor. “Fuck, Y/N,” Jimin moans, bending until his lips touch your thighs. His mouth ghosts over your panties, not pulling them aside. “You look so beautiful.”

“Jimin,” you whimper, arching your back. “I need more.”

Chuckling, he pulls your panties sideways. “Too bad you’re not the one in charge, hm?”

It’s unexpected, the suddenness with which he yanks your panties down. Cold air touches your legs, until his mouth closes hot on your sex. You gasp, arching upwards while Jimin’s hands pin you flat to the bed. “Fuck,” you choke, when he slips in two fingers – the sensation is unbearable, after so much denial.

Jimin softens, giving slow licks to your clit while his fingers curl upwards. He pushes your hips down, spreading your legs to draw noise from your throat. “Jimin,” you gasp, grinding your hips into him, “don’t stop.”

Lips curving into a smile, Jimin nods. His nose brushes your clit and then he’s sucking, fingers plunging back inside you.

“Jimin,” you gasp. You attempt to ride out the rhythm but it’s hard, without seeing what he’s doing. He keeps changing the tempo, alternating in a way that’s driving you crazy. He brings you to the edge, over and over until your entire body is shaking with need.

“Not yet,” Jimin muses, at your expression. He slides his fingers out, using them to circle your already wet clit. “You don’t get to come, not yet.”

Still unable to see him, you feel his lips brush your hip, drifting higher until he comes to a stop at your mouth. “Will you be a good girl,” Jimin purrs, “and help me, Y/N? Will you take my dick in your mouth?”

Mouth watering, you nod; Jimin exhales in approval before unbuckling his belt to drop this onto the floor. The bed dips when he rejoins, kneeling on either side of your chest. His cock first touches your cheek, smearing pre-cum to your lips before you open your mouth to take him inside.

Jimin hisses, seeing your lips wrapped around his cock. “Shit,” he moans, jerking up when you suck.

It’s different like this, both your arms pinned by his thighs and unable to move. Hollowing your cheeks, you take him further and when Jimin thrusts into your mouth, he makes a groan of approval.

“Shit, baby,” he pants, hands dropping to your hair. He must be curved over your body, hips thrusting into your mouth while his hands grip the sheets. His cock is so deep, hitting the back of your throat for your eyes to mist with tears. When one slides down your cheek, Jimin catches it with his thumb. “Too much?” he murmurs, forcing himself still.

Though you shake your head no, Jimin slides himself out with a pop. “No,” you gasp, able to speak but Jimin just tuts.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, bringing his hands down your front to open your legs with one hand. “You’re already so swollen, baby, I just want to fuck you.”

“Oh,” you exhale, squirming beneath him. “Yes, please.”

Jimin chuckles at your response. “That’s it, baby,” he muses, lifting you higher on his bed. “Why don’t we remove this blindfold, hm? I want to see you,” he confesses, hands gently working the knot.

When the room comes into view, silk dropped from your eyes, it’s hard to concentrate because Jimin is kneeling, cock hard and glistening with your saliva. It makes you want him in your mouth, but you forget this entirely when you look over the rest of him. Every inch of perfection, from Jimin’s long, lean muscles to that blonde hair falling into his gaze.

Catching you staring, Jimin smiles. “Believe me,” he murmurs, dragging a finger up your sex, “the feeling is mutual.”

Bending to his end table, Jimin grabs a condom from a drawer to tear open the foil. He rolls this onto himself, hand stroking swiftly down the hard length of his cock. Watching him do this, you find you can’t look away.

Jimin sees where you’re staring. “Masturbation?” he asks, reaching our for your hand. Bringing your fingers to your clit, he rubs slow, gentle circles. “Mm,” he notes, seeing your eyes darken with pleasure. “Maybe next time, baby. Right now, I’m impatient and want you to lie on your front.”

Nodding, you roll over and once you’re in place, Jimin straddles you from behind. With your legs pushed between him, it’s nearly impossible to move and Jimin brings his hand to your ass. “Ah,” he exhales, grabbing hold of his dick to slide up and down your opening. “Such a tight pussy, Y/N. Do you want me? Tell me how much.”

“So much, Jimin,” you groan, pushing your ass into his hands. “Please, fuck me.”

“Good,” Jimin agrees before entering you in one, smooth motion.

He fills you entirely, making you gasp – your back arches, at the sudden feeling of fullness. Grabbing onto your hips, Jimin stills and you realize he’s thrown off as well when you hear his breathing. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, grip near-bruising. “You’re so tight. Fucking amazing, the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you retort, though you’re unable to keep still when he slides back inside you.

“I do,” Jimin grunts, thrusting again, to make both of you groan. “This time I mean it, though.”

“Ah,” you gasp, when he slams into you once more. “Excuse me, if I don’t believe you.”

“Oh,” Jimin chuckles, bending forward. “Believe it, baby. I’m about to fucking come, that’s how tight you are – tell me something unsexy. I need it, I swear.”

Squeezing your ass, he slowly withdraws, only to slam back again in a now-punishing rhythm. “Ah,” you moan, closing your eyes. “My closet is full of cardigans.”

“Not helping,” Jimin groans, “all I want to do is tie you up with one. Fuck you senseless, and leave bite marks on your inner thighs.”

His words leave you gasping, hands fisting in the sheets. “This is my only thong, everything else is high-waisted!”

“But,” Jimin murmurs, spanking you roughly, “what an ass beneath them. Not working, Y/N.”

“I,” you moan, when he tugs on your hair and starts fucking you – hard. “I masturbated to you, that night on the boat.”

Jimin’s hips stutter, resuming their motion. “Y/N,” he hisses, “that’s so fucking hot – that’s the opposite of what I asked.”

Turning around to look at him, you meet his gaze and smile. “I mean it,” you respond sweetly. “I didn’t even wait until I got home, I just found a bathroom stall.”

Jimin’s hair falls damply into his gaze. “Fuck, Y/N,” he grunts, grabbing hold of your ass. “That’s so hot – I’m,” he breaks off, cock hitting your walls in thrust after thrust. His hips leave you trembling, shaking beneath him while your clit slides over the sheets.

The sensation is too much, you’re already half-gone and when Jimin chokes out your name, you come apart in response. It seems like ages before you come down, before he pulls out of your body and rolls off the bed. Jimin exhales, gently sliding a hand up your leg before retreating to the bathroom. Falling onto your side, you curl up in his sheets and wait for him to return.

Jimin reenters quickly, pausing in the door. “Do you,” he hesitates, almost unsure. “Do you have anywhere to be tonight?”

Staring back, your heart starts to sink. “I,” you swallow, trying not to show your uncertainty. “If this was just sex, that’s fine, Jimin. I can leave if you want, don’t dance around the question.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “No,” he responds, oddly insistent.

“No?” you repeat.

Jimin shakes his head, crossing the room to stop at the side of his bed. He’s naked, a fact which should be awkward, but somehow isn’t. “I don’t,” Jimin hesitates, squinting down. “I’m not the type of guy who has girls stay the night.”

Heart sinking, you begin to feel naked – of course, you misunderstood him. That wasn’t a no, stay; it was a no, don’t get the wrong idea. This was just sex, and of course you should leave. Glancing around for your clothes, you remember they fell in his kitchen but when you try to get up, Jimin grabs for your hand.

Staring at his fingers wrapped in yours, your brow furrows in response.

“Sorry,” Jimin winces. “That came out wrong again. The last time a girl stayed at my place, I was probably wasted. I’m not drunk now though, and I want you to stay.”

His expression looks pained, but you imagine this is because this is the least eloquent Jimin has ever sounded. “Are you... sure?” you ask, fear uncurling in your stomach.

Jimin nods. “I’m sure.”

Warmth settles over your body, as you nod. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Jimin smiles. “Okay,” he grins, turning away from the bed. Walking over to his dresser, his dick swings and you snort into your hand, stifling a laugh. “I wouldn’t laugh, Y/N,” Jimin calls back. “That dick was making you see stars a few minutes ago, it can do it again.”

Grinning, you scoot back on his bed. “I’m counting on it,” you inform, catching the t-shirt he throws at you. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Jimin grunts, shimmying boxers up his thighs to return to the mattress. “Scoot over,” he whines, pushing your hip. “That’s my spot.”

“Your spot?” you laugh, though you move. “Your spot is in the middle of the bed?”

“Yeah,” Jimin grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “So’s yours.”

“Oh, the cheese,” you complain, though you’re smiling.

Jimin’s arms tighten, pulling you closer and it isn’t long before you’re both fast asleep.

• JIMIN •

Waking the next morning, Jimin sees his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It’s too early to be up and, cracking open one eye, Jimin’s plan is to ignore it until he sees the name of who’s calling. Taehyung. Knowing Jimin’s best friend, he could be calling from jail, so Jimin rolls reluctantly from bed to grab for his phone. By some miracle, you continue to sleep – Jimin smiles at your shape before disappearing into the hall.

“Hello?” he whispers, not wanting to wake you. Last night was the best night of his life and fuck, if Jimin is going to screw that up now.

Taehyung snorts. “Why’re you whispering, man? Sneaking out of someone’s apartment?”

“Uh,” Jimin mumbles around his yawn. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up?”

“You hear about Professor Nam?”

At the name, Jimin glances over his shoulder. “No. What about him?”

“Well,” Taehyung drawls, clearly enjoying the drama. “Rumor has it, the editor of the school paper has a scoop from a writer. Nam was boning some freshman, got caught on camera and it seems clear he’ll be fired. Terrible situation, just awful.”

Jimin stands frozen; he nearly laughs out loud, once he realizes what’s happened because fuck, when did you even have time to send an email? Smile growing, Jimin realizes dating you won’t ever be boring. “Huh,” he shrugs, aiming for nonchalant. “What a bummer.”

“A bummer,” Taehyung repeats, stifling his chuckle. “You know who Nam is, don’t play dumb, Jimin. He’s one of the 7 and if the scandal breaks the way I think it will, he’ll be kicked out. Which means a new member of the 7 will be inducted.”

Jimin’s jaw tightens, in response. “I guess,” he responds, stomach twisting with guilt. “Didn’t think about that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Taehyung scoffs. “If Nam is out, we all know who’s next on the list.”

Jimin doesn’t respond – he doesn’t need to, they both know it’s him.

“Anyways,” Taehyung coughs, as horns honk in the background. “Just wanted to call and congratulate before the Society gets off their fat asses and tells you themselves. Cheers mate – hope someone sucks your dick good today.”

Before Jimin can even respond, Taehyung hangs up the phone. Setting the device on the counter, Jimin lowers his face to his hands. It seems his calculation is true, Nam was a part of the 7. Jimin had his suspicions before but he was not certain. This was a large part of the reason he pointed you in Nam’s direction. His father will be pleased, to have Nam kicked out and a spot open up. Now, though – Jimin’s stomach sinks, as he realizes the coming implication.

Nam is out. Jimin is in.

As though on cue, Jimin’s phone rings on the counter.

“Hello?” Jimin answers, staring out the window.

“Park Jimin, welcome to The 7 Society.”

[ Master List ]

#jimin smut #bts smut #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin au #bts au

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