#rap music about money is usually like 'fuck you i can do that shit too' not JUST about the flaunt bb girl

[snekdood]

everyone who says they hate rap is required to listen to this song first

[gutwrenchflowerbomb]

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m currently riddled with Covid and the coughing has kept me awake. I’m bored but too weak and sick to do anything other than sit on this couch and think. And so now y’all gotta deal with it. And with the no doubt numerous typos.

Like many other neuro-spicy folks, I have a very strange memory where I can remember insane details about shit that absolutely does not matter while simultaneously forgetting where my keys/phone/glasses are, usually while they are physically on my person.

It often feels like at least 3 of the 27 tabs open in my brain at all times are hitting random on every piece of media I’ve ever witnessed - movie, tv, music, play, video game etc - and sometimes one of those tabs decide to be the main one seemingly for no reason.

I am going to share one of the reoccurring tabs.

This is old. Very old.

We were poor. We lived in a poor neighborhood. My neighbor had a PS1 but only like 2 games. We would save money up and rent games. But he would also find free demo disks, where you could play like 1-3 levels of a game, and we would just play those over and over.

Out of all of those, this is the one that has stuck with me, 25 years later. I will be doing the most inane shit, the dishes, driving to work, taking a shower. Actively watching a show.

Then this will take over.

Kids, this is Parappa the Rapper. And this video is the extent of what I know about the game because again - this was on the demo and it’s all we had. Literally have never played anything beyond this. I assume the goal was to rap good enough to get to the next stage but I have no idea what the story was. Was it just a never ending set of battle raps? Did he have to rap to impress bad guys in order to defeat them?

I’ll never know. But what I do know is that if you are around me and just say the magic words “Kick. Punch. It’s all in the mind…” I’m gonna bust out the whole fucking song. All of it. Both Master Onion and Parappa’s parts.

[stellardeer]

Tbh I haven't personally seen any of the people who are saying that they don't like rap because it's violent or because it's about sex and drugs or whatever, but I have seen all the response posts and I absolutely believe those people are out there.

And while I've already reblogged posts that have much better thoughts on it than I do, I feel like some people just need to admit to themselves that they aren't willing to engage with content that isn't relatable to them. Also that they are being super racist and biased about it, but it's ridiculous to write off an entire genre of music for subject matter that is found across literally all genres. Just say "I don't personally connect with this because it is not directed at me" and move on. You don't have to deride the entire genre just because it doesn't resonate with you, personally.

I'll be honest, I like rap, but I don't listen to a lot of it on a regular basis, and the majority of rap in my library is female rappers because they just tend to have things to say that resonate more with me as an AFAB person. I don't listen to a lot of the songs that get played on the radio, but I don't really listen to much of anything that gets played on the radio because the subject matter is usually shallow and generic, especially in pop music. I don't really like music with a lot of bass unless I am specifically wanting to dance or party, if Im just chillin in my home I dont like EDM or pop or anything too flashy. I don't listen to a lot of music (of any genre) that talks about wanting to make a lot of money or stunt on people or whatever because I do not share those goals/feelings. It doesn't mean I think that music is bad or that the people performing it or listening to it are lesser in any way. It doesn't mean I'm gonna say "rap is bad because they just talk about getting money", as if that's the only thing anyone has ever rapped about. Like idk I think it's fine to admit that you prefer certain subject matter in songs because you relate to it more but to say that all rap is violent or sexist so you don't like any of it is literally just racist.

I don't really like Drake because the lyrics that he himself writes and speaks in his songs give me the impression that he views women as something to own and he wants to be the next R Kelly or some shit. The groomer rumors weren't surprising to me in the least, I saw it coming from a mile away. So even though I used to think his songs were good I stopped fuckin with him. I've never heard a Kendrick song that I didn't like though (but I did think it was a little corny that he did a song with Taylor Swift cause I just don't like her 🤷) But like.. the fact that some of yall won't even go listen to their music and form an opinion of your own? The fact yall just hear "rapper" and immediately turn away? "Oh I don't care about this because rap is violent", like for real? You don't even fucking know who they are or what they rap about you, you've just already decided you don't care?

And at the end of the day, yeah, you can say "well not ALL rap is violent, here's such and such song that isnt!" but, again, as others have put it, that's just throwing gangster rap under the bus fr, like there's a reason people listen to it, there's a reason it resonates with its audience, there's a reality to it, it isn't glorification (well, maybe for some rappers it is) but they are literally just talking about their lives. To say "I don't want to listen because it's too violent" is like saying "Sorry I don't want to hear your story because it makes me uncomfortable, you should just keep it to yourself." Yall get how racist that is, right?

[ericleo108]

11/18/2022 Click here for Spotify or Apple Music. This is my 24th official release. “The Villian” is a rap track I wrote from the villain's perspective taking about socioeconomic conditions in America. The goal was to bring light to the socioeconomic conditions that the people face versus the wealthy. I tell the story as if I’m the villain, describing what that looks like throughout the entire song. I use the movie “The Wolf of Wallstreet” as inspiration. Usually my music is more clean-cut but rarely does the world present itself so properly. I wanted to know what it was like to join the debauchery, even if it was role-playing.

The cover art came from Gigzlogo from Fiverr. The beat is from KeyAnobeat.com. The track was professionally recorded, mixed, and mastered by Sam Peters at LA Luna Recording Studio in Kalamazoo Michigan. You can stream or download the track wherever music is sold. Thank you for your support. Be sure to follow because new music is released every first and third Friday of every month.

Lyrics:

Sure I’ll play the villian

Bitch who you fuckin with  Era era era, era fresh Bitch who you fuckin with Era era era, era fresh

I play the game like the Wolf of Wall Street Now these hoes are workin to call me Smart men hope that their business lasts Bitch I’m busy snortin coke off this hookers ass Don’t pay’um to fuck  I pay’um to leave  And tell um no kissing after suck’n the D She love her career, lucky to be me I employe another fair, nothing to me

Bitch who you fuckin with  Era era era, era fresh Bitch who you fuckin with Era era era, era fresh Bitch who you fuckin with I’m hotter than the summer is  You’re a customers is what it is I like when they’re dumg as shit I’m rich, white, and oppressive Passive aggressive Rob you with a contract And stay its an investment Bitch who you fuckin with Bitch who you fuckin with

I pollute the environment Reign like a tyrant Blame it on blacks  Say it’s because their defiance Look at them callin I stay ballin So i gotta keep attention  To stay apaulin  This like my Jake and Logan Paul shit Make money depicting the definition of audacious  I bitch about taxes  And complain about the back end  Looking good is what the tactic is  Exploiting what the workers did  Force women to have babies And deal with the enslavement  Servitude for family over payment No paid maternal leave In land of free       It’s business over people in the American economy Want your cake and eat it too? That’s reserved for what I do  I convince you not to vote your interests Sucks to be you Your not a product of environment, it’s your fault you failed You didn’t try hard or long enough, the opportunity’s there I make money work for me, while you can’t make ends meet I get cashflow from assets while I’m playin or asleep Propogandize populations to think like my sex Claim its hard work when it’s leverage and a mind set 

Bitch who you fuckin with  Era era era, era fresh Bitch who you fuckin with era fresh Bitch who you fuckin with I’m hotter than the summer is  You’re a customers is what it is I like when they’re dumg as shit I’m rich, white, and oppressive Passive aggressive Rob you with a contract And stay its an investment Bitch who you fuckin with

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bb / gg, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook is the lead singer in a rock band and failed his Biology class last semester, so he has to take remedial classes over the summer. You're the Biology TA, double major in Psychology and Biology, watching him freak out over his make-up exam because he had overslept. Both of you are surrounded by rumors. Does the title stand for bad boy / good girl or bad bitch / good guy? Who knows.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not the healthiest dynamic tbh; slight angst due to perceived unrequited love; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, begging, scratching / marking, choking, handjob (he is still wearing underwear), multiple orgasms, cowgirl, hair pulling, edging / orgasm denial, cock ring usage, m-masturbation, cum-eating); non-idol!BTS – rock singer, sub!Jungkook x studious, dom!reader

yes, it's SOWOOZOO JK, both the first yellow tropical look and the shredded black shirt look; for those who wanted him to be dom!JK, there is a moment when he is but not in the way you think because that's how I operate

--

Jeon Jungkook was a bad boy.

Wore too much black, dyed his hair too much, had tattoos, always had girls hanging around him. Sang in a rock band on the weekends, played electric guitar, played the game of how-many-numbers-can-I-get tonight? Never gave a girl his leather jacket to wear but was happy to buy her a drink and flirt with her until she got hot with arousal.

You were a good girl.

Always wore a blazer. Crisp white dress shirt and pleated skirt underneath, usually in a dark color. Sensible heels, but always heels. Did too many units a semester because you were double majoring in psychology and biology. Always arrived to class early, always turned in your assignments on time, always turned in your tests early and aced that shit. Took physics with calculus even though you didn’t have to because it was the harder one and you wanted a challenge.

-

Against the wall, shoving a fist into the neck, lips to lips, teeth snapping, hand travelling down, whimpering pleas and harsh growls, keep crying, I like it, ecstasy and pain, nails to skin. Tearing clothes off, biting, marking, I own you, and then, yes, you do, mouth and tongue, aching pleasure, cocked eyebrow, mocking the pathetic whines and cries, stopping right before the end, no, please, I’ve been good, and, you take what you get, hand fitting onto the neck, squeezing the sides, eyes rolling back, skin to skin, bruising slaps that would be seen tomorrow in the mirror, traced with shaking fingers and pants of an open mouth, moaning at the memory of sky-high pleasure while lightheaded and thoughtless, desperate to do it again.

-

There was a rumor.

Everyone liked Jeon Jungkook. He had two smiles, an endearing one and a teasing one. Both encapsulated the kind of person he was, honest and playful. He always sang with conviction, he rapped with savagery, and his lyrics were always from the heart. He always hung out with his bandmates after their performances at bars and interacted with those that came up to him. No one ever said Jungkook was mean or rude in any way.

And yet.

There was a rumor.

A rumor that Jeon Jungkook was taken.

He was the kind of guy that always made sure a drunk girl got home safe even though he didn’t know them. Paid for their taxi and everything. He focused a lot on his music and writing lyrics he thought would connect with others while taking into account his band members. He always told the truth if a girl confessed to him, saying he wasn’t looking right now, that he was very sorry if she thought otherwise, that there was someone he was already interested in.

-

“Oi.”

You slammed a hand onto the tabletop and Jeon Jungkook jumped, the shredded black shirt he was wearing falling down his shoulder, revealing his ink black tattoos on his tan skin. He was wearing a black tank top underneath.

“What’s with you? You missed the exam for your remedial class and you’ve spent the past ten minutes spacing out at your make-up exam,” you barked, pointing to his empty exam sheet. “You haven’t even filled out you name.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “S… Sorry.”

You frowned. Why was he apologizing to you? Honestly, why did you sign up for this summer TA position again? Oh, right, money and credits. Hmph. It was really just an excuse for the professor to slack off while you did the tedious things like grading and watching over idiots that skipped class. Sorry, overslept. Hung over, probably, since this was the Jeon Jungkook. Rockstar, hottie, famous in his own way.

Whatever.

He could be Jesus Christ and you would still be scolding him for missing his remedial Biology exam.

“Fill out your name so at least I can fail you properly.”

Not that it mattered, since you knew who he was. He didn’t know you knew who he was, and you had zero incentive to inform him that you were indeed aware of the existence of black-haired, tattooed, chiseled-jaw, sparkly-eyed Jeon Jungkook, all due to the constant snide remarks that followed you in your wake.

You wouldn’t be such a bitch if a guy like Jeon Jungkook put you in your place.

Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook?

This guy, this weirdo about to fail his fucking Biology exam in front of your face.

Impatiently, you rolled up the sleeves of your gray blazer and grabbed a chair, dragging it up to the table. You snapped the chair down and sat in it, smoothing your skirt. You liked to be neat. Even though university didn’t have a uniform, you liked to keep some sort of uniform for yourself. There was a sense of security in knowing you didn’t have to select an outfit every morning. Today, white dress shirt, gray blazer, pleated black skirt that hit slightly higher than mid-thigh. Every other outfit was some variation of this and, in the winter, you wore thick stockings.

You clicked your heels together under the table sharply.

He flinched at the sound.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. He was mumbling at his paper.

“I… I think I studied the wrong chapters…”

You clicked your tongue. Jeez.

His hand was shaking so bad that his pen was practically vibrating. You leaned over the table, grabbing his fist to still it.

“Stop.”

Your bare knees hit his bare knees, mostly because he was wearing black jeans with giant holes in them. Jungkook froze, head snapping up, silver earrings jangling, black hair flying, undercut visible for a second.

“You want to pass this class or what?”

He nodded quickly in response.

“Good. I want to get out of here. Keep your mouth shut. Answer to the first question is A.”

His eyes widened.

“Are you… helping me cheat?” he whispered, terrified.

You cocked your head, letting go of his hand. “You said you studied the wrong chapters. I’m not spending forty-five minutes of my life to watch you panic and then ten minutes more failing you,” you replied lowly, dangerous edge to your voice.

“I… couldn’t… I mean…”

You shoved his knees open with yours, narrowing your eyes as he yelped, pleading look in those brown doe eyes. You pressed your knees on the inside of his thighs, keeping them open.

“Answer to the second question is C.”

When Jungkook didn’t move, you reached over and cupped his chin. Felt his racing heartbeat pounding through his veins, coursing through your fingertips. Stared deep into those eyes, lowering the octave of your voice, keeping his thighs spread for you under the table.

“Listen to me,” you murmured softly. “Okay, Jungkook?”

“O… Okay…”

And he did.

-

There was a rumor.

Nobody liked you. Maybe it was because of your high scores ruining the class test average. Maybe it was the dismissive way you spoke to people, almost demeaning. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Students talked behind your back all the time, spreading rumors. Friends? What friends? You had an average of twenty class credits a semester. You didn’t have time to make friends. And besides, why try to make friends when clearly nobody wanted to be your friend?

And yet.

There was a rumor.

You ignored such things. You didn’t need such distractions.

-

“It would be too suspicious if you got full marks. This score is high enough.”

“O… Okay…”

“Get on the table.”

Jungkook scrambled on the wooden tabletop as you pushed his exam aside. You were still sitting in your chair. Your head tilted, eyebrow lifting at his speedy response to your rather suspicious request.

“You listened.”

He blinked at you. “Uh… yeah?”

Silence.

“Why?” you finally said.

Jungkook gulped. “Be… because you asked,” he mumbled, knees on the table, hands clutching his knees.

“You can just walk out and report me.”

He shook his head quickly, black hair flying everywhere. “I don’t want to.”

Your other eyebrow raised. He chewed on his lip, a flash of pink tongue in his movement.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Well.

You decided to test his conviction.

“Edge of the table. Spread your legs for me.”

Instantly, obediently, Jeon Jungkook surprised you by doing it, putting each leg on either side of you, chunky black sneakers hanging down. Shredded black shirt open, hands behind his ass, towering over you, and yet his eyes were watching you, waiting for more, begging for instruction.

“Hm.”

You raised your chin, seeing his impressively muscular thighs and body displayed for you to take. He was so close you could smell his clean, dreamy scent, like a meadow in summer dusk, surrounded by peeking stars and blinking fireflies. Interesting.

But you didn’t need the distraction.

“That’s it. You can go now,” you said dismissively, about to push your chair back.

His legs closed in, pressing firmly into your upper arms. Your eyes flickered up to him.

Jungkook shook his head very slowly.

“Do what you want.”

You saw his chest rise and fall, his silvery voice deepening, pupils expanding.

“I know you want to do something to me.”

His erection was bulging against the zipper of his black jeans. Your eyes went back to his face. He shivered at your sharp stare. All of this was happening in an otherwise empty lecture hall, with you and Jungkook at the very bottom.

Just you and him.

You placed your hands on his thighs. He jumped a little, but scooted closer to you. You slid your hands up. You undid the button of his jeans, scrutinizing those brown eyes. He raised his hips to help you as you pulled the zipper down.

“You don’t know me,” you finally said, no inflection in your voice.

He didn’t look away. “I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “Bad boy, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, but didn’t break eye contact as you pulled his pants to his knees and reached for his black boxer briefs. “No. I’m a good guy. I want to give you what you want.” You hooked your fingers over the waistband and nicked his skin with your nails, making him gasp, the pleasure evident in his tone. He did not try to hide it from you. “I want to be good for you.”

“Why is that?”

He hung his head a little.

“Something about… how you make me feel…” he muttered. His gaze finally faltered. You reached up and righted his chin, forcing him to look at you. Saw that Jungkook had a mole under his mouth, perfectly in the center. He had a nice shape to his pink lips. You tapped his cheek, nudging him to elaborate. “You… You’re so pretty… and smart… Everyone looks up to you because you have such good grades…”

You doubted that.

Jungkook probably had no idea that most of the school hated your guts.

You didn’t have classes with Jungkook, but you were sure he knew your name because your name was posted on the Dean’s List of the highest-ranking students of the university every semester. Also, you weren’t hard to miss. Every student moved out of your way when you walked through the halls, whispering behind their hands.

Jungkook brought you back to the present.

“I feel,” he whispered, voice trembling, gaze locking with yours. “I feel like I want to be on my knees for you.”

His skin was warm under your nails.

“Like this is where I belong, in your hands.”

You stood up.

Jungkook started, turning into a tight squeak as you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Lift up your shirt with both hands.”

He did was he was told, revealing his toned abs and the lower half of his pecs, biting his lip, clutching onto his tank top, ears turning red as he craned his head to look down at you. You didn’t give him any satisfying response. His tan skin seemed to glow under the overhead lights. You studied his face.

Reached up and began to rub his erection through his underwear.

“A… ah…”

“Gonna make you cum like this.”

He shook his head quickly. “P… Please, no…”

You felt him swell and twitch under your hand. He was pretty big. Thick. Pretty boy with a pretty dick, probably. You rubbed the head with your palm, feeling his pre-cum leaking through the thin fabric. He wasn’t kidding when he said you made him feel some kind of way.

“Why not? Make you cum in your underwear and then you have to go all the way home covered in it. All dirty, just for me.”

His handsome face twisted with sinful pleasure at your suggestion, whimpers in his throat. His cock jerked with need, wanting it.

“O… Okay. Whatever you want.”

So obedient.

“So obedient, Jungkook,” you purred, rubbing faster.

He nodded. “For you. Only for you. Just for you.”

Was it just saying those things because he thought that was what you wanted to hear? Or was that how he actually felt? Surely not the latter, considering he didn’t really know you. You leaned over him, placing your free elbow on the table to stabilize yourself. You hadn’t even kissed him.

“You’re so hard for me,” your drawled, lowering your head, letting your warm breath float down onto his skin. “You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Y… yes, please…”

“You want to be my toy?”

You pressed your lips to his bellybutton, feeling the smoothness of his skin, tasting it. He moaned at your kiss, your swift tongue flickering out to that delicious skin, whining when your teeth nipped at the softness. Fuck, he tasted so good that you wanted to mark him. Looked so fucking good that you wanted to mess him up, mar him with temporary imperfections on the perfection that was Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes…”

With breathless, lustful conviction.

You licked up his abs, increasing the intensity and speed of rubbing the engorged head of his cock, the pre-cum already soaked through and creating a slippery surface, turning Jungkook’s pitched whines to deep moans, a melody that filled up the entire lecture hall until was the only thing you could hear, Jungkook’s moans as you bit his skin, his moans as you sucked on his skin, moans as you kissed the hard muscle, cries for more at you left marks, pleading for you, sweet and beautiful, clutching his shirt so tight that his knuckles were white, the black tattoos of his right hand standing out, his cock throbbing in your hand, his hips rising to hump your palm, your name on his lips, over and over and over.

“Gonna… gonna cum…” he panted, sniffing slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Gonna cum like how you want me to, all over my underwear…”

Your fingertips touched his side, seeing him stiffen and then shudder at your gentle caress.

“Do it,” you murmured. “Show me how good you are at listening, Jungkook.”

He bit his lower lip, jaw clenching, squeezing his eyes shut, tipping his head back into the tabletop, whining your name in his chest, your palm working him, slick and hot and hard, pulsating under your roughness. With a sharp moan, his lower lip popped out of his teeth, dark red and swollen, small mole quivering.

“F-Fuck…!”

You felt it and heard it, the unmistakable jolt and squelch as his orgasm splattered inside his boxer briefs, drenching the fabric, drenching your hand, his embarrassed whines as he realized what he had done but still humping your hand, forcing out every last twitch of dribbling cum, causing you to smear it everywhere, coating the sensitive head and adding to the pleasure, his cheeks flushed red, eyes squeezed shut to savor the pleasure and avoid looking at you.

“Shh…”

You crawled onto the table, still holding his cock through his soiled underwear, squeezing it, free hand slipping under his head and lifting him, his eyes weakly opening, scared and anxious, but all you did was lean down and kiss him, pressing your lips to that pure softness, exhaling his name into his mouth, his scent staining your hand, his cologne filling your nose, your whisper in his throat.

“Time for you to go home.”

-

Jungkook thought you would tell everyone.

You did no such thing.

Instead, you ignored him.

He would see you three times a week and, three times a week, you arrived with the professor and left with the professor. Jungkook tried much harder to attend classes, but you seemed not to care either way. He would come to the front and collect his assignment and find that you had marked it up exactly like everyone else, red marks all over his incorrect answers. You didn’t even look in his direction.

The next exam was coming up quickly.

Part of him considered skipping exam day to have one-on-one time with you again.

“Jungkook.”

He jumped, jerking his head towards the hall, confused. Somehow, he had heard your voice. Or rather, did he imagine it? His teeth sunk into his lip, placing a hand on his forehead, confused. His head was confused. He couldn’t think straight. Why had he done such an embarrassing thing with you? Even you had told him to leave and report you. But Jungkook just couldn’t. Not then and not now. He had asked for it.

He still wanted it.

Nobody knew. Everybody thought he was a cocky, womanizing playboy. And he was, but not because of the sex. It was only because he was bored and that was all he could get. There was power in being on top.

And there was power in letting go.

You were bad for him.

He was a good guy.

You were a bad bitch.

And nobody knew.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder and yanked him around, the loose short sleeves of his yellow tropical shirt flaring out, making his sunglasses rattle on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him. Instant shivers down his spine at your stern gaze.

“Are you deaf?” you snapped. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

“I… S-Sor–”

You waved a hand dismissively, grabbing his right hand and slapping down a post-it into it.

“Chapters for the exam, including the date and time. Do not miss it this time. I will not let you make it up and fail you on the spot.”

You turned on your heel, letting go of his hand.

His left one shot out and circled around your arm, his rings pressing into your skin.

“Wait.”

You jerked your head towards him, glaring sharply. “Don’t touch me.”

And you yanked your arm out of his grasp, but his legs made the choice for him, following your swift strides, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, clutching the post-it and his last strands of sanity.

“Please, wait.”

“What?” was your curt response, not looking back at him.

“Please do it again,” he gasped breathlessly, unable to stop himself.

“Do what?”

“Have your way with me.”

You stopped walking.

Jungkook walked straight into your back and banged his nose on your head. He winced, stepping back and rubbing it gingerly. He didn’t register you turning around until it was too late and you were right in his face. You raised your chin and eyebrow simultaneously.

“No.”

He blinked rapidly, his tinted sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“W… Why? Did you not like it? Was… was I bad?”

You let out an amused scoff.

The side of your lips curved upwards.

He had made you smile, even if only a little bit. Just that small thing was enough to feed his courage.

“I…” Jungkook coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke again, voice still a soft whisper in his embarrassment even though no one was around to eavesdrop. “I can be better. I can do better.”

Silence.

He thought you were going to walk away again.

You reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Folded them neatly and tucked them in his tropical shirt pocket. Then your eyes found his again and he knew something was different. He could see you clearly now, his vision no longer clouded by sienna.

Now, Jungkook could no longer stop it.

He could feel it all over him, coursing through his veins, arousal like fire. Something about you and something about him. Jungkook could sense the danger, but he didn’t want to run even though he knew he should. He had heard the rumors surrounding you. They could be true.

And yet.

“I want it,” Jungkook breathed, inviting himself into the danger. “I want you. I want to be your toy.”

Your discerning expression didn’t change.

You reached up and gripped his chin, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He whimpered in his chest, moving closer to you.

“What’s my name?”

His brows furrowed, saying your name hesitantly.

You pulled his chin down so he was eye-level.

“Next time you say my name, I will be choking it out of you.”

-

Everyone thought Jeon Jungkook was the kind of guy to grip your wrist with his left hand and your throat in his right, his lips against your ear and his sweaty chest against your back as you slapped your ass into his crotch and fucked yourself with his rock-hard cock, his smirk in your ear as he provided you with a certain type of encouragement.

“That’s right, you want this dick, don’t you? Show me. Prove to me you want it.”

His fingertips tightening against the sides of your neck, listening to your pathetic cries and moans as you tried to squirm against him, brain running out of oxygen due to lack of blood, running out of thoughts, running out of pleas as Jungkook gripped your wrist, deep snarl against your hair as he roughly finished himself off using your body because that’s all you were, someone to be used by him and nothing more, neck suddenly released with a breathless gasp and shoved face first into the sheets with his right hand splayed on your back, his tattoos and your orgasm crashing down on you, his growls staining the air and a fierce jerk of his hips to spill into your tight hole and leave you moments after, nothing but a discarded toy in his eyes.

You thought.

That was what everyone thought when Jeon Jungkook stood on stage, flipping his dark violet microphone between verses and smirking like a devil, truly in command of every thought and every pair of eyes on him, surrounded by a heavy bass line and deafening drums, guitar solo tearing through the moment to emphasize the next of his lips nearing the mic again, entrancing the crowd with his beautiful lips and talented tongue.

No one knew.

-

You were riding him hard and fast, torn condom wrappers and used condoms littering his bed, back-to-back orgasms, his head pressed into his pillows, your hand around his neck, the other leaving long lines down his chest, scratching him so hard that it dotted red, blooming lines of pain.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, f-fuck…”

Jungkook was hoarsely whispering, clutching his sheets, black hair soaked with sweat, raising his chest to your nails, whimpering, punish me, punish me, punish me, and you muttered plainly with a sharp edge, you talk too much, your grip tightening again, pressing onto the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow, and Jungkook moaned gratefully, eyelids fluttering, the slap of your hips to his louder and louder, filling up his whole bedroom, rattling his bedframe, fucking him so hard he was slowly sliding up to his headboard.

Your name fell from his lips in pure ecstasy, back arching to shove his whole length fully into you, thick and hard and twitching with need, your slick walls clamping down on him, fitting to him with a hiss. He began to match you, breathless, lightheaded, world hazy, moaning from deep in his chest, I love you, and your reply was only tightening your grip, your hand and your pussy, harder, harder, harder.

“Aren’t you such a good guy?” you scoffed sarcastically, letting up for only a second to let him reply, blood rocketing back into his brain, flooding him with oxygen, and Jungkook sucked in a lungful of air, reeling.

“N-No…” he panted. “You’re the good girl… you’re always s-so… so good to me…”

His eyes locked with yours hazy with lust and love. You almost looked away out of instinct.

“You a-always remember… what I like…” he managed to choke out.

-

You left him when you were done using him.

You pretended he didn’t say those words to you. There was no point in acknowledging the nonsense that he said in the middle of being choked and barely functioning. You tapped your pencil against your textbook.

You caught yourself thinking about him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes flickered to the clock. Late at night on a Friday. He was probably at a bar. You watched the second hand of your plain silver clock tick, tick away. You never asked to watch him and his band perform even though Jungkook always made it a point to text you the address and the time.

It was obvious Jungkook didn’t want you to be his secret.

He wasn’t really your secret either. You just saw no benefit to letting anyone know there was a connection between you and Jeon Jungkook. After all, you were just using him.

You stopped tapping your pencil.

Stared at the second hand.

Tick.

Heard the voices of the rumors poisoning you, saying the things they said.

She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else because she’s a nerd.

The only reason she has good grades is because she fucked that one professor.

I heard she dated him.

I mean, there’s a reason he left in the middle of the semester, right?

He had a wife!

Snap.

Your eyes flickered down.

The tip of your pencil lead rolled across the page, leaving tiny pinpricks of granite.

There was never any evidence because nothing happened. Nothing happened between you and said psychology professor. He left in the middle of the semester because his wife had a miscarriage and he wanted to be with her. It had nothing to do with you. You had long discussions with him about life and existentialism, hanging out during his office hours.

Sometimes, you felt bad.

Had you kept him from his wife? Would it have not happened if he just skipped his office hours and didn’t spend them talking to you? These were irrational, foolish thoughts. They made you guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about.

He was a nice guy, mid-thirties. Everyone liked this professor.

They blamed you because they didn’t know.

Only you knew, because he told you with tears in his eyes and thanked you for being his student.

You didn’t tell anyone, because he did not owe you an explanation and you were not going to divulge someone’s personal business that they had shared with you in confidence. You watched your reputation crumble and fall apart, watched friends ostracize you, because you didn’t tell them anything and they didn’t believe you. You watched yourself turn bitter and hateful.

Just tell the truth.

There was no truth to be told.

You put your pencil down.

Closed your eyes.

Remembered Jungkook’s face.

-

Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. His hot breath was in your face, arms shaking as he held himself up, fucking you into his mattress with whines in his chest, begging you, begging you, begging you.

“P-Please… let me cum, please…”

You liked to watch the sweat clinging to his high cheekbones and neck, jaw glistening with tension, feeling his strong body between your legs, his twitching hardness sliding into you repeatedly in rough, hard smacks, squeezing him every time he was fully sheathed inside you, vibrations coursing through you every time he came down.

“Not until I’m done,” you growled and he whimpered, pleading look in those brown doe eyes, black pupils expanded, unable to cum because a vibrating cock ring was restricting his orgasm, keeping him hard but unable to climax, sending thundering pleasure through him and into you. He watched helplessly as you gripped his hair, hissing sharply as another wave of pleasure overtook you, closing your eyes to savor it, savor his swollen cock twitching inside you as he felt the intense massage of your pussy walls closing around him, throbbing around the head and driving him insane, moaning pathetically because he couldn’t follow suit no matter how desperate he was.

Jungkook didn’t ask if you were done.

He just kept going because you told him he couldn’t cum until you were done.

And you didn’t say you were done.

You stared into those brown orbs, hazy with lust and full of conviction to be good for you.

Desperate to be the best and the only one, not knowing there was no one else because no one else wanted you like the way Jeon Jungkook wanted you.

“Pull out.”

“B-But…”

“You heard me,” you exhaled, throbs of pleasure still trembling through you. Your hands slid down, cupping his chin, nails digging into his sweaty cheeks. “Obey.”

With a pained whine, Jungkook obeyed, pulling out of you, his cock covered in your juices, wearing a condom and the black cock ring. You reached over with one hand to press the button on the remote to turn in off.

“Take it all off. Let me see your cock.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the cock ring off, taking the condom with it, whimpering at the sensitivity, his tone hitting a lovely pitched groan as the silicone squeezed the base of the head. His whole body was shaking as it fell from his hands, the veins on his length standing out, head purple-red and angry, white pre-cum slowly beading at the tip, and his face, looking down at you, waiting for your next move.

Cock waiting to be used.

You tapped your chest.

“Cum on my tits.”

“B-But–”

You cut him off.

“You’re going to cum on my tits and then you’re going to lick it off while I watch.”

-

He listened.

Jungkook straddled your waist with his thighs, muscular and defined, right hand wrapping around his cock, sweat making the tattoos on his forearm and shoulder glow in the low light, smelling like sex and musk, his core tightening as he touched his overstimulated length, using the lube of the condom and his own pre-cum to add to the pleasure as he began to stroke himself, moaning as you lifted your hands and cupped your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes on the curve of your cleavage and points of your hard nipples sticking out, and then your face, an indifferent look with a cocked eyebrow, taunting him, unimpressed by his timid grip on his cock, so he squeezed harder, tighter, embarrassing cries falling from his mouth, living for the smirk that slowly began to form on your lips.

It empowered him somehow, that smirk, the little inkling of satisfaction that Jungkook wanted, needed, craved, knowing he was doing well, being good, furiously pumping his aching cock over your pressed-together tits and he couldn’t last, couldn’t help it, too overstimulated and too turned on, too in love with this to prevent himself from tipping over with a hot gasp, spilling streams of sticky white lines over your breasts, spreading them everywhere, making a huge mess because he wanted a huge mess to clean up, shoving the head into your cleavage and shuddering at the sensation of warmth to his scorching heat, able to feel the pulse of the engorged tip dripping out what was left, shivers up and down his spine, the words falling from his mouth that he never stopped saying even though you never acknowledged them.

“I... l-love you…”

He stayed like that for nearly a full minute, but you didn’t tell him to get off.

His eyes were closed, savoring the feeling.

Slowly, Jungkook gingerly removed himself, lowering his body over yours, tongue sliding out, touching your skin covered in his cum, his taste, mine, no one else’s, him on you, lapping it up, salty and bitter and yet he loved it, loved that you told him to do it, loved that you let him paint your skin with his orgasm and now his saliva. He didn’t care that you never said anything to his I love you, didn’t care that you seemed to pretend he never said it, because he would continue saying it when he was with you, hopeless as it was.

It was the small things that kept him going, sucking his own cum off your nipple and wrapping his lips around it, hearing your soft sigh of pleasure, feeling the tap on his thigh that instructed him to scoot up, the small thing of your hand closing in on his spent cock, sending sparks of pain but also pleasure, moaning into your skin as you massaged his balls with your fingers, knowing that he could take more pressure and roughness because he had just came, the small thing of your thumb rubbing the sensitive slit, his face pressing into your breasts, smearing his cheek with his cum and saliva, sliding across your slick skin because of the intensity of the high it gave him, the pleasure and the pain, his right arm coming up to wrap around you, tattoos cradling your torso.

“I love you…” he whispered to your racing heart under his ear, lost in the rhythm of your heartbeat and the firmness of your touch. Jungkook did not care if you hated him saying it.

He would continue saying it as long as he was with you.

-

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…?”

“Hmm.”

He placed his hand over the bottom of his phone and smiled at the cute girl that was talking to him at the bar.

“Sorry. I have to take this call. It’s important to me.”

He didn’t hear her response, because he backed away, bowing lightly, pressing his phone back to his ear.

“Ah, never mind, Jungkook.”

“No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“You’re at a noisy place. It’s Saturday night.”

Jungkook pushed through the people, mumbling his apologies and straining to hear your voice over the thundering bass. “I finished. Well, we finished. We’re only drinking. I can leave at any time. I’ll just text the guys to bring my equipment back for me. Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

He opened the door of the club as the dial tone rang in his ear.

Looked up.

Your hand dropped to your side. You were still in your white dress shirt and navy skirt, dressed exactly like you were when at school minus the blazer. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was in a torn-up long-sleeve shirt with the right sleeve removed, showing off his tattoos. His black hair was wild and half-wet, and he was wearing tight leather pants.

You clicked your tongue.

“I said forget it,” you repeated hollowly.

You sighed and turned around, skirt swishing in your wake.

“Wait, I’ll come with you–”

“Go back to where you belong, Jungkook.”

His hand closed around your forearm, holding tight.

“I belong with you.”

You stopped walking, silent.

“What is it? Tell me.”

You scowled. “It’s dumb.”

“So am I, remember?” he chuckled, his hand slipping down, squeezing yours. “I’m not very good at school.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Cars and people brushed past, but Jungkook was focused onto on your stillness, watching your eyes seemed to be thinking about many things. You hadn’t pulled your hand out of his yet. By now, Jungkook knew that if you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be shy about telling him right away.

You started walking again. Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“It was just a moment of weakness,” you mumbled under your breath.

“A guy…?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured tightly. “I understand.”

He did not. He wanted to cry.

Your eyes shot to him, pinning him in place. “You don’t understand, Jeon Jungkook. You understand nothing.” You pulled your hand out of his and Jungkook let go, trying to hold his pain, trying not to breathe because he was preparing himself for the inevitable, the moment you were going to break his heart and, if it was right here and right now, then so be it, because he had said how he felt repeatedly and there was nothing more he could do than that.

He loved you so, so bad.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, that it was madness, but he did anyway.

But you surprised him.

Your sharp gaze softened.

“You know what they say about me. You have to know,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “You must know the rumors.”

Good girl gone bad.

Jungkook frowned. “About you and the professor?”

He watched your jaw clench.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Your eyes shifted, not quite looking at him.

“Whether something did or didn’t happen, what does that have to do with me?”

And now you looked at him, guarded, not letting him know your thoughts.

“You…” He swallowed, trying to press the lump down in his throat. “You’re just using me, right? It doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, because in the end I don’t matter to you anyway… right?”

He did not want to cry and yet he did, because he knew he loved you. It was the small things, the way you never let up on him even in class, the way you picked days that were never the weekend and never before exams, the way you would brush your fingertips on his knuckles before leaving when you thought he was asleep, the way on the last time, the last time you were together, that you pressed your lips to his forehead when you thought he was asleep, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook was standing outside this bar and there were people he knew walking past, seeing you and him, but he kept his eyes on you, because the only one that mattered was you.

The one he belonged to was you.

He had decided that when he climbed onto the table that day.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a heavy breath. “If people say things about you, then they say things about you. Whether it’s the truth or not doesn’t change the fact I love you. It doesn’t make me love you less,” Jungkook said, speaking at his usual volume, because there was no reason to whisper the truth. “Even if it’s pointless and crazy, I want to be with you until the day you don’t want to be with me.”

His smiled and blinked back tears.

“Even if that day is today, I will never regret it.”

In this cruel summer, you could have ruined his reputation. You could have told everyone the kind of person he really was and you didn’t. You could have spread embarrassing stories of the things you made him do and you didn’t.

Even if he didn’t matter to you, Jungkook was confident that you weren’t a malicious person.

You rubbed your forehead. “The rumors will come to you.”

Jungkook laughed. “So what? I heard a rumor that I removed two ribs so I could suck my own dick. I admit, I considered doing it after hearing that.”

You scowled, but Jungkook only smiled in return. He could see the tension falling from your face with his comment. You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, as if to say, can’t be helped.

“There’s no other guy,” you muttered. “There’s just you and you’re dumb.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly, confused.

“You say it over and over and make me think about it all the time.” You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not a good girl. People pushed me away and I stayed there instead of trying to repair the burned bridges. I don’t even think I want to repair them. Who knows what will happen next? I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you through that shit.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, looking at him apologetically.

“You’re not the bad boy everyone says you are. You’re a good guy. You should find a good girl.”

Is that what you think? Jungkook chuckled, taking out his hand and rubbing his nose thoughtfully.

“I don’t want a good girl.”

He stepped toward you, lowering his hand and his head so that he was eye level with you.

“I love a bad bitch who can push me around and makes me their toy.”

He tilted his head, small curve on those beautiful lips, tiny mole underneath appearing with every smile.

“Which can only be you, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss you. He only wanted to look into your eyes so you knew his conviction.

“I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you say it.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to keep saying it until the day you leave me.”

Silence.

Ah.

Your eyebrow lowered and you gave him an indifferent look.

“Hm. I wonder when that will be, Jungkook.”

You leaned in, but before you kissed him, he heard the whisper against his lips, felt the shape of yours as they brushed against his, words he prepared himself to never hear from you, words that he thought you would never say, and that was fine with him, because you showed it, and that was enough.

He thought.

“I love you.”

And then your lips on his and his tears fell onto your cheeks because Jungkook wanted to cry all this time and he could not stop now, knowing that he was so, so in love with you and you finally, finally said it back to him.

--

masterpost

[blackmissfrizzle]

Chill Out

Characters: Rio x black!reader

Summary: Wine drunk + dancing= a very entertained but annoyed Rio

Warnings: Smut

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEA 💖 @starrynite7114 thank you for being such a great friend. I hope your day is filled with joy 😘 love you, babes! P.S. this was so hard to keep a secret from you lol

I highly recommend listening to these while reading:

Today you were on a high. You woke up feeling good and the day just kept on getting better. Your friends came over for drinks and gossip. During that time the playlist that was playing in the background had hits after hits, causing y’all to be singing dancing fools.

Eventually, the girls had to leave because it was a school night, but it was perfect timing because as soon as they were leaving Rio came back home.

“You have fun, mama?” He kissed you tasting the wine on your lips. You started getting bolder, nibbling on his lips and neck. Oh, it was about to be one of those nights, Rio thought.

Rio pulled away from you and went to the refrigerator for a water bottle. “Not right now. I wanna watch the game.” He explained, plopping down on the couch.

You tried to hold in your whining. It wasn’t often that Rio got to relax, so left him be. “Do you mind if I play music while I clean up?”

“Nah, you do you. I don’t wanna hear the commentators anyway.”

With his permission you turned the music up. It was a little mix of everything so when Crush started playing you got hyped since you haven’t heard that song in forever.

It's just (aah) a little crush (crush)

Not like I faint every time we touch

It's just (aah) some little thing (crush)

Not like everything I do depends on you

Sha-la-la-la, sha-la-la-la

Rio side-eyed you as you began to sing and dance like every white girl in a 90s movie. “Really? You jamming out to this mess?”

“Rude.” You continued singing and dancing along while you were wiping down the counter. Then the next banger came on and you had to rope Rio in.

Motownphilly's back again

Doin' a little east coast fling

Boyz II Men going off

Not too hard, not too soft

Before you were in the kitchen singing and dancing, but with this new song you migrated to the living room dancing in front of Rio. “What you know about this?” You taunted him while doing the running man.

Rio secretly loved that you were dancing like a fool. You were the sunshine in his gloomy life.

He tried not to crack a smile at your silliness, but he couldn’t help it. “Come here,” he crooked a long finger at you.

Continuing to dance, you shook your head no. He wasn’t about to rain on your parade. “Come here.” Rio repeated with more authority in his voice.

This time you complied and stood between Rio’s legs. Grabbing onto your hips Rio pulled you into his lap. For awhile he massaged your scalp while he just stared at you lovingly.

Rio was the king of building up tension. Usually, you would snap and tell him to hurry up, but that would only make him prolong it. However, you were enjoying it this time. His nose rubbing against yours, his breath tickling your face, his hands running along your body.

Eventually, his lips graced yours. He held your chin as the kiss got a little messier. But as usual it was magical. “I love you,” he smiled at you.

“I love you too.” You kissed him once more before you got up. He smacked your ass as you walked away, enjoying it ripple before he got pulled away by the game. “Be ready as soon as the game is off.”

“Okay, daddy,” you giggled and went off to finish cleaning.

As you continue to clean you continued dancing. During commercial breaks you would dance in front of Rio causing him to roll his eyes like he wasn’t enjoying it. Mostly it was silly dancing, but then the twerk songs started coming on and you couldn’t help yourself.

Damn, I want all three (come here), ooh

Ashley (ayy), ooh, Ashley (ayy)

I get hard when she walk past me (look at that ass)

'Cause she thick (thick)

Thi-thi-thi-thi-thi-thick (thick)

Thi-thi-thi-thi-thi-thick (thick)

Thi-thi-thi-thi-thick, she make me stutter

Thankfully it was a commercial break because Rio probably would’ve pushed you out of the way when you started twerking in his face. Instead he gripped a chunk of ass and told you, “Aye, chill with all that.”

“Oh, so Jake from State Farm is more interesting than me?” Rio didn’t say anything for a bit. He just rubbed his bottom lip while his eyes roamed your body. “Girl, you better move before you have my full attention.”

Rolling your eyes you moved out of the way and grabbed you a glass of wine. Fine, if he didn’t want to play, you’ll have fun on your own.

Two wine glasses later and you didn’t give one fuck. You were all up in Rio’s face rapping along with lyrics about using men. Even though, Rio was mostly expressionless you still caught his little quirks of reactions.

“He always asking do I love him? I always be tellin' him, "Uh-uh" I told him he pushing his luck, he better be happy I fucked him.”

“Watch it,” Rio lowly warned you. As usual you paid him no mind and played the next song.

Got more milkshakes than Kelis

Ain't met a nigga who can handle me

I think I should be in museums (hey hey)

'Cause this body a masterpiece (yeah yeah)

Can I fuck ya to a trap beat? (huh huh huh)

He said girl you tryin' to trap me? (Huh huh huh)

Ah hell nah, nigga no I ain't (what what? Uh)

You can hit that door, here go ahead leave (what what? Uh)

Rio couldn’t focus on the game. Between you twerking and rapping in his face, basically saying ‘fuck him’ had him hard as fuck, but he wasn’t about give into you. However, your determination was stronger than his. The last straw though was when you got on the couch popping over ass cheek at a time while looking at him “innocently.”

I wanna bust it on your face

He wanna see my shit squirt like he squeezed it

He finna die by this pussy, he need it

He wanna keep it like lock it and key it

I tell him to bring me my money then beat it

Give a nigga back to the streets, ayy

Even though the song wasn’t your words, it was still a challenge to him. You were directing all that energy to him and you about to get it back ten-fold.

While you were in Meganland, Rio was able to pull your shorts and panties to the side. He didn’t have the time so he pulled his dick out of his pants.

“Rioooo,” you reached back to grab onto his wrists when you felt him split you open. “Nah, what you running for? Remember you were gonna ‘leave this dick up in a casket’?”

Rio loved this song. The moment when he sees the brattiness dies and you become a compliant whimpering mess. Only he could do this. Only he could make this independent, strong woman weak.

“Come on, baby. I thought you ain’t met anyone who can handle you. This sure looks like I’m handling all this shit.” Rio smacked your ass as he looked at your conjoined bodies.

It was too much and too little at the same time. Rio was giving you those long, slow strokes that had you near the edge, but could never quite push you over.

“Please,” you begged, trying to flatten yourself. “Nah, you gonna take this.” Rio pulled your hips up and got a tight grip on them to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

“Please let me cum, Rio. I’ll be good. I promise.” Your man chuckled, making you want to cry. He either wasn’t in a forgiving mood or he was gonna make you work for it.

Grabbing you by your chin, Rio turned your face towards him. Instinctively, he stuck some of his fingers in your mouth. “You want cum, huh?”

“Mmmhmm,” you nodded, gently sucking on his fingers.

“Why should I? You wouldn’t let me watch the game.”

“Because I’ll make you feel good, daddy.” Rio smiled at you before he bent down and kissed you while wrapping his arm around your body to start rubbing your clit. “Cum on this dick, bitch.” He whispered into your ear.

Rio sped up his pace a bit and you were going crazy, yelling out his name. “Rio, Rio, tak-, tak-, take me to the room. I’m gonna squirt.”

“So?” His voice was strained letting you know he was close to finishing. “I’m gonna ruin the couch.”

“Fuck this couch. I’ll buy another. Now cum on this dick. I’m trying to finish the game.”

With his permission, you soaked Rio’s clothes and the couch and not too long after you felt his seed coat your walls.

“Shit, I love you,” you smile tiredly as you laid your head against the armrest.

“Uh-huh, get up and take all your clothes off.” Rio pulled out of you and smacked your butt. You were about to object, but when you saw the look on his face, you quickly undressed.

For a moment, Rio forgot what he wanted you to do. Your body always hypnotized him. He just stared at you with his lip tucked in between his teeth. “Come sit on this dick, mama.”

Ugh, he wanted you to ride? You didn’t have the energy for that, but you listened anyway. Facing the tv, you sank down on his dick causing you both to moan in unison.

You began to bounce up and down, but Rio stilled your hips. “Nah, you ain’t gotta do all that.” Thank god, he was gonna do all the work. “You’re gonna sit here and be still while finish watching the game.”

“Huh?” He couldn’t be serious.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Rio closed your dropped jaw. “And if you move I’ll watch the next game even though I don’t give a fuck about that team.”

Rio didn’t give you a chance to object. He turned on the tv and ignored. Guess you should’ve chilled out earlier.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @miss-nori85 @xsweetdellzx @cherryblossomgirl20 @cocogodess15 @suburbanblackhoe @jad3djay @my-rosegold-soul @brattyfics @theartisticqueen @sesamepancakes

[mxchellesworld]

You know biggie?

Spencer Reid x Poc!Reader

Synopsis; Where Spencer enlists help from Morgan to try and impress you

Warnings; none, mention of smut, mostly fluff

a/n; this is very much a self indulgent thought i have so im very sorry that i modeled y/n kind of like myself. also as a black/mexican girl it is so upsetting that are rarely fics with cm characters and a poc so here we are. anyways hope you enjoy!

***

The day you walked into the BAU Spencer knew he was fucked. Though that’s how Derek put it, he wouldn’t disagree. From the moment he saw you were able to get Hotch to smile he knew you were special. 

You were a ball of vibrant energy. Always trying to bring people up when they were having a tough time. While you’d never admit it, Garcia had a run for her money. 

He was lucky enough to have his desk next to yours. Every time you walked by him in the morning, the mix of your coconut shampoo and the bright smile you gave him pushed him to do his best. 

Now he wasn’t a jealous man at all. It was more so that he wished to be able to have some moments with you like the ones you share with others. The one he wanted the most was how you acted with Morgan. 

Of course he was the big brother figure to everyone. So naturally whenever he was driving you’d always yell out, “shotgun” to sit with him. Spencer would just playfully groan but had no problem giving up his seat for you. If anything it was the perfect time to admire you. 

Even on the dullest cases you were able to lighten the mood by connecting your phone to the aux and blasting your favorite songs. He’d watch how you’d start poking Morgan’s arm as he drove to try and get him to rap along with you. 

Spencer would notice how he would bite his cheek to try and keep in the grin begging to spread across his face. You’d then pick up the imaginary microphone and give them the performance of a life time. Aiming the mic towards Morgan’s mouth he knew he couldn’t let you down and would always give in to your playful ways. 

But his favorite part was when you’d turn in your seat to sing to him. 

The way your plump glossy lips would curve in a smile with each word you sang. The way your big brown eyes showed how the emotions of the lyrics flowed through you. Even when you’d get a little bold and caress his face then playfully bop his nose. 

Morgan would be looking in the rearview with a shit eating grin on his face mouthing ‘you’re whipped’. 

For the rest of the ride he would be entranced by your curls bouncing as you bopped your head to the beat. 

Maybe he’d ask Morgan to write down some of your favorite songs. For research of course. 

_

After a year of you being on the team Penelope decided a party was in order to celebrate. Rossi being the generous man he was offered up his house for a pool party since it was June and the heat was coming on strong. 

Spencer walked into the back yard where the party was in full swing. You had asked for just the members of the team and their families. The adults were sitting around on lawn chairs or resting on the edge of the pool watching their kids. 

Looking around for you he saw you laying on the grass with Hank resting on your stomach. His tiny hands would reach for your face and you’d playfully press kisses to his palms causing a roar of giggles to come from his small body.

Spencer felt a hand clap on his shoulder and knew who it was. 

“She’s something else huh pretty boy,” Morgan said while looking at you cooing at his son. 

“Yeah,” he sighed longingly, “Do you uh, what do you think she’d day if I asked her on a date?”

“Pretty Ricky I know you have a IQ of a million in there so you should be able to run some guesses.” 

“So she’d say no,” Spencer said with a pout. 

Morgan smacked the back of his head which caused Spencer to let out a loud noise of disapproval. You walked over with Hank in your arms to see Spencer rubbing the back of his head. 

“Derek did you hit him?” you asked with a defensive tone. 

“He asked a stupid question,” Morgan said in defense. 

“Yeah yeah take your kid,” you said handing Hank over to him, “Spence let me get you a drink.” 

The only thing he could do was nod and return your smile. You motioned for him to follow you into Rossi’s kitchen. As he walked behind you it took all his strength to not let his eyes drop down to the small wrap you had around your waist covering up the bikini bottoms you had on. 

Though the water dripping down your tan back from the tips of your hair didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

Reaching into the fridge you pulled out a beer and quickly opened it. He felt his breath hitch as your fingers grazed his while you handed it to him. 

“Is that ok? I know you usually like whiskey or something when the team goes to bars but I figured you were driving home so I thought maybe a beer would be better to keep you on your toes,” he had never seen you ramble as if you were nervous. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered at the fact you had been so thoughtful of his drinking choices. Even if it was something so simple. 

“Yeah Y/n this is perfect.. You’re perfect,” he said looking down at you. 

“Oh- I uh um thank you Spencer. You are quite perfect yourself as well,” you said trying to regain some of your usual confidence. 

Neither of you had realized you were standing there until the beat of an all too familiar song brought you out of your trance, lost in his caramel eyes. 

Hypnotize by Biggie Smalls

“God I love this song,” you perked up, ready to head back out to the rest of the guests. 

“Did you know “Hypnotize” was released just weeks before his death on March 9, 1997,” Spencer tried to say keeping his voice from wavering. 

“You know Biggie?” you said with a questioning smile. 

“Y/n I grew up in Vegas of course-,” he cut himself off noticing your raised eyebrow, “Ok maybe I didn’t know him that well. I uh asked Morgan for some of your favorite songs to get to know you and did a little research.” 

“Aw Spence that’s really sweet. How about you come over tomorrow and I can put you on to some music?”

“I will be there,” he said raising his bottle. 

“Great. And Spence, I envy your glasses,” you said with a smirk. 

“What? My glasses?” 

“Cus they’re sitting on your face and I’m not,” you said winking at him then turning around and heading out the patio door. 

He looked in that direction to see Morgan peeking his head in with Hank in his arms. It was crazy to see how such a small child could have such a knowing look on his face. 

Spencer groaned and walked back out to the party. Making eye contact with you as you passed on the imaginary microphone to Penelope who gladly took it and sung at the top of her lungs. 

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

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

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

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

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

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world.

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

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

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

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

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

Some other day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you got me there, son."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

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

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

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then what are you doing here?

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

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

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

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

Yours.

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

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

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

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

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

You, however, just stare.

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

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

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

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

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

No, he is your weakness.

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

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

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

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

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

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

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

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

No. Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

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

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

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

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

Or.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waste it on me.

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

"Going—"

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

"Going—"

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

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

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

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

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

[yamigooops]

Tire Tracks

pairing: street racer! bakugou x mechanic! y/n

words: 2.8k

warnings: language 

Cars were your whole life. You grew up in your father’s mechanic shop and learned everything you knew from him. Customers came and went, some more frequently than others, but cars were the one constant thing in your life. You were able to lose yourself in the process of finding and fixing problems, speaking better with parts than with people.

You barely even registered the smell of oil and gasoline anymore. The thin layer of grime that coated your arms was like a second skin, and you were at home here. The cars all around you purred and multiple gaudy sound systems pounded in the crisp night air. The roar of engines was music to your ears, and you had spent the first 45 minutes of the meet up going around looking at the different setups people had.

Now, though, you were doing final checks on the one car that brought you here: Bakugou’s suped up racer. You rebuilt most of the engine yourself, put countless hours into making it faster and stronger. This car was your baby just as much as it was his, and you felt a twinge of nerves knowing what was to come.

“Everything ready down there?” barked the man in question. You finished double checking the last bolt before pushing yourself out from under the vehicle, only to find the blonde staring down at you impatiently.

“Yeah, it looks fine, no thanks to you,” you huffed, sitting up and wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “Listen, I get that you’re gonna go hard tonight, but if you fuck this car up again, I swear I’m done with you.” You put as much threat into your voice as possible as you stood, putting a hand to your hip and glaring at him.

A sly grin split his sharp features. “Aww come on, Y/N, we both know you wouldn’t give up that easy on her,” he taunted, placing an elbow on top of the car and rapping it with his knuckles. “You love her too much.”

He wasn’t wrong, this car was your pride and joy. “You’re right. It’s the person inside I’m worried about,” you rolled your eyes and turned away to open the hood. You had already triple checked everything underneath, but you needed something to occupy yourself with, so you didn’t have to be around Bakugou.

You had known the fired-up blonde ever since middle school, when his dad started coming to yours for maintenance. See, his dad was a local racer, and heard that your dad had the best service around. Well, he would often bring Bakugou in order to teach him about the inner workings of a car. Because of this, the two of you had practically grown up together, spending weekends at the racetrack and weekdays learning what your fathers had to teach you.

But that didn’t mean you liked one another.

Katsuki had always been full of himself. It could have been because of his looks or his dad’s success, or any other factor, you didn’t really care. All you knew was you hadn’t had a normal conversation in longer than you could remember. They always ended in one of you riling the other up, sometimes becoming yelling matches if things got really serious.

You sometimes questioned why you still worked with him, the little asshole. When you both turned 16, your parents decided to buy a junk car, and have you fix it together to test how much you had learned over the years. It took almost 6 months to get it into good shape, but you did it, the only setback being that you were constantly bickering. It was nearly impossible to make decisions about what to do because neither of you wanted to give in to the other.

After that, you continued to work on cars and decided to go to mechanic school after high school. Katsuki went to a traditional 4-year college, and you thought that would be the end of your tormented relationship with him, but no. He contacted you after two years and asked if you would help him with a project, which you agreed to. Ever since then, you’ve become somewhat of a team, travelling around the country to compete in race after race. Some were sanctioned and official, while others tore through backroads and had come to an end when the cops arrived.

Bakugou was one of the best street racers in the country, pushing himself and his vehicle harder than most were willing to do. His lack of inhibition and self-confidence were the keys to his success. Well, those and the fact that you were always there to fix up the damage he caused. You had been doing this together for four years, now each 24 years old, and you couldn’t help but admit that these races made you feel… alive. The whine of an engine as it shoots past you at near top speed, the screeching of tires as they skidded around tight turns, it was all like a fever dream.

The only issue with Bakugou’s racing was he tended to be reckless. Scuffed paint jobs, cracked tire plates, he always pushed his cars to their very limit and made you deal with fixing his mess afterword. Yes, sometimes he would help you, but seeing as you were the actual mechanic on the team you were stuck with the majority, if not all of the work.

“This race’ll be easy, Y/N. Don’t even worry. I mean, we’re gonna be on a dirt road in the middle of a field for god’s sakes, at least there are no buildings or streetlights to worry about,” he called from his place beside the car.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you groaned. “You’ll look at that open road and think it’s okay to push as hard as you can!”

“Babe, that’s what makes me so good,” he chuckled, stepping up beside you at the hood.

He always did that, calling you pet names just to piss you off. It always did, making your insides squirm with distaste. At least, you told yourself it was distaste.

“You’ve already checked this thing like four times, just settle down it’s fine.” His voice, normally course like metal grating together, had a softer edge to it. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and nodded. Pulling the hood shut, you turned around and leaned against it, crossing your arms. You looked over Bakugou as he pulled out his phone to send a text.

He’d recently gotten a haircut, shaving the sides of his head short and leaving the top to its normal spikes, and you had to admit, you thought it suited him better. It showed off his sharp jawline, which had only grown sharper as you got older. His bare arms were cut, unsurprising as he spent a great deal of time in the gym. He wore his signature high-necked black cutoff with a bold red X on the front, with army green cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. As per usual when he raced, he did his dramatic eye black to intimidate his opponents. It usually worked.

“Listen, I just don’t want you messing her up again, okay? I put so much into this car and the past three races I’ve had to set aside hours to fix her. I can’t keep doing that when I have paying customers that need my help too,” you tried to explain calmly. His head snapped up.

“I’m a paying customer too, don’t I get the same attention that your others get?”

“You’re more of a…side hustle.” The words came out with a bit of a grin.

One of his arched eyebrows raised dangerously. “A side hustle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Working with you is like a second job. I spend so much time on this damn car, and looking at your ugly mug, that it’s like working another part-time job on top of the shop.”

His lips turned down in a scowl and he took a menacing step forward. “First off, you get half the earnings every time I win. I don’t have to do that. Second, I’m hot as fuck, thank you very much.”

You scoffed. “You’re average at best,” you lied. You agreed with him of course, but you’d never tell him that even if you were on your deathbed. “Also, the earnings are the way you pay me for all the shit I do for you, remember? That’s the agreement. Plus, most of that money goes right back into her,” you smacked the hood. “So, in reality you pay way less than any of my other costumers.”

He paused at this, taking in your words. “Guess you like me that much, huh,” he chuckled after a moment. The words brought a flush to your face, and you silently thanked the fact that it was nighttime, and the only illumination came from the cars around you.

“No, it’s just because I’ve known you for years. Sometimes I consider upping your rates though, just to piss you off.”

That got him scowling again, an expression that made you much more comfortable than that devious smirk. “I hope you know your sense of humor really sucks.”

“Bakugou!” A rough voice called from behind the blonde, making him roll his eyes and turn around.

“What do you want, shark week?” He growled, facing Kirishima who was making his way over with a smile.

“Just came to make sure you were still up for this race,” the red head grinned, displaying his sharp teeth.

“You really think I’d back down against someone like you?” Bakugou crossed his arms and relaxed onto one leg. “This is gonna be easy as shit.”

Kirishima chuckled, “Don’t count me out so quick man, might not be as easy as you think.” He glanced over Bakugou’s shoulder and spotted you behind him. “Hey Y/N, you here to patch his ass up after the race?”

“You know me so well, Kiri,” you smirked. Bakugou let out a grunt, punching Kirishima’s shoulder playfully, the other man simply laughing at the disgruntled racer. “Best of luck out there,” you smiled genuinely. You had known Kirishima since high school, where he and Bakugou were best friends. They frequently raced these days, constantly trying to one up each other and keeping a running tally of who won. Currently Bakugou was up by two, if you remembered correctly.

“Thanks Y/N, your faith means the world,” he replied with another toothy smile.

“Hey, quit trying to poach my mechanic,” Bakugou yelled spiritedly.

At this, Kirishima simply laughed, turning to leave. “Just came to say good luck man, I would never try to steal her away from ya. You’re like a match made in heaven. I don’t know anyone else who could put up with your bullshit.”

“I don’t know of anyone else either, I’m really doing the world a favor, huh,” you called, loving the way your blonde partner whirled around and glared at you.

“See you guys after the race!” And with that, Kiri was walking back to his own car.

Bakugou stood there for a moment before turning around to return to the car. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep working with me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you don’t…” he said, so softly you almost didn’t hear.

You looked over at him in surprise, “What do you mean, I never said I don’t want to work with you.” It was so unlike him to say things like this that you were completely taken aback.

“It didn’t sound like that just now,” he grumbled, not looking at you. “I know I can be a lot to handle, so I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

You chuckled, making him look up curiously. “Bakugou, I’m a lot to put up with too. I’ve known you for long enough that it doesn’t even phase me anymore,” you said honestly.

He stared at you for a moment longer than necessary, making you flush slightly. “Yeah, whatever,” he growled in classic Bakugou fashion.

“Racers!” came a shout from nearby. The official of the race stood between the two cars, looking to the two men. “Are you both ready to go?” Both gave a thumbs up, and the man nodded. “Come line up at the start then!”

Bakugou took a deep breath before putting on his jet-black helmet and getting into his car with a sharp slam of his door. You moved away from the vehicle to let him go line up before returning to the side to say your final words to him. “Remember what I said,” you warned, leaning against the rolled down window. “Don’t fuck her up this time, got it?”

He smirked at you and narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about Y/N, this is an easy course.” “It better be, for your sake,” you rolled your eyes with a grin. You loved how amped up he got at the starting line.

“See you on the other side, kid,” he nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and stepped away from the car. The official made his way into the center of the two cars, and you made yours over to your pickup truck to watch the race. You climbed up into the bed and leaned against the cabin to look over the field. From up there you could see almost the entire track, and since the cars’ lights would be on you wouldn’t have any problem keeping track of them.

You watched as the official signaled to prepare to start, the engines of both cars revving loudly. A crowd had gathered to watch, and you smirked, knowing that only got Bakugou more amped. Loudly counting down from three, the official dropped the flag and the two vehicles were off, tearing into the darkness as fast as possible.

Bakugou accelerated just a bit faster, edging in front of Kirishima, who swerved slightly to avoid him. They made their way around the course, Bakugou maintaining the lead for most of the time, but losing it several times. Nearing one of the final bends, you saw the headlights on Bakugou’s car dip dramatically and fall a bit behind Kirishima’s for a moment before pulling back ahead. You got a bad feeling in your stomach at that. However, it was over in an instant, the blonde coming in first by a decent margin.

As he got out of the car, Bakugou was swarmed by the crowd. It took you a moment to make it out in the semidarkness and jumble of bodies, but as you hopped out of the bed of your truck and made your way over to Bakugou, you spotted it. The left half of his front bumper was crumpled and scraped. Anger swelled in your stomach, and you pushed forward with renewed vigor, shoving people aside and coming to a halt in front of the man in question.

“What the fuck Bakugou?! What did I tell you literally RIGHT before you left?” You got in his face as he took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Look at your fucking bumper! How the hell do you explain that, huh?!” Your anger at his carelessness blinded you to the way he was looking at you, the hunger in his eyes.

Just as you were about to go off again, you felt his hand grasping your chin roughly. This was such an unexpected move that your mind blanked in the seconds to come. “God you’re fuckin sexy when you’re mad,” Bakugou growled, pausing a moment before hungrily pressing his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was the heat. They were burning against yours, and they were soft, much softer than you would have guessed.

Snapping back to yourself, you put a hand on his chest – his muscular chest – and pushed away. You looked away, trying to clear your head. “Woah, you can’t just… kiss me…” you gasped.

“Why not?” He murmured in your ear, absolutely glowing with his victory. He was always an impulsive guy, but that doubled when he won. He was known to break things when he beat someone, so part of you wasn’t surprised that he did that, but it was so unexpected that you never would have thought it would happen.

You looked up at him and found a grin resting on his lips. You felt something in you snap, something that had been holding you back from what you’d wanted to do so many times before but never had the courage to do. Giving a minute shrug, you said fuck it and went in again. It wasn’t a sweet kiss though. He threaded his fingers through your hair, and the hand holding his helmet released it, coming to dig into your waist. It was hot and heavy, filled with anger and pent up emotion and victory. It was a kiss years in the making, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted it to happen. This man was leaving tire tracks on your heart, driving right through the barriers you tried to put up to block him out.

And you were okay with that.

[winter-fox-queen]

I only have my self to blame...

Frankie Morales x you fic 

Tags:  A lot of cursing.  So much cursing.  Drug use.  Angst.  

Summary:  I kept thinking about the coke rap they mention in the story.  And I thought, what if Frankie was innocent?  So most of this is about that, with a tense change so that when the reader enters the picture, it’s “you” -- no y/n.

I have never written a fic before.  I am no nervous AT ALL.  But I wanted to give something back, even though it’s not really romantic.  I logged into my laptop so I could use cuts.  XD  I am ashamed at how long it took me to remember my password.

2,083 words.

It was, really, a bullshit coke rap, but it was still Frankie’s fault.  He was flying one of the boss’s nicer planes, a pretty little Cessna Caravan, fitted out for luxury in the back, a curtain separating the pilot from the main cabin.  The curtain was partly folded back, so the rich folks in the cabin behind him with their booze, lounging in their leather seats don’t have to stare at the back of Frankie’s tousled, ball cap covered head.  

It also meant that he could hear what they were saying, the headset over one ear was quiet, but he’d already decided they were a bag of dicks and he wasn’t going to pay attention to them, as they laughed like a bunch of frat boys behind him.  There was a mirror, angled so he could see what was going on, and once in awhile he’d look.  There were five men and one woman, the men acting like a bunch of frat boys, the woman trying to pretend she was amused.

Frankie knew, of course, that the trouble was men like that made that secret chip on his shoulder come out. The one he tried to ignore.  Because I’m better than that, right?  They ain’t got nothing that I want.  But they did.  They didn’t have to worry about money…they didn’t have a new baby to worry about, they didn’t have to play the game of if-I-pay-this-bill-I-can-pretend-I-didn’t-get-that-one.  He was tired, worried about his lady, scared that he was going to fucking fail her, fail their little girl, Luna.  

He let out a long, pent up sigh.  He itched to put on some music, was considering it when the shuffle of curtain fabric told him he was no longer alone.

The sole woman from the back gave him a shy smile.  “Do you mind? They’re acting like idiots back there.” She had a stylish, blunt cut, a white button shirt and a short, black skirt.  Everything was fitted perfectly so the clothes molded against her.  It looked polished rather than cheap.  He smiled politely  and shrugged as she arranged herself gracefully into the copilot chair.

“So, you said your name was Frankie?”  She reached out with a foot and nudged his chair.  She’d shed her high heels, and, despite the shortness of her skirt was gathering her legs under her.  

Lady, you might as well have a danger sign around your neck.  He nodded, feeling a little out of his depth.  

“Macey.  Pleasure to meet you.  You been a pilot long?”

He nodded.

“You don’t speak much, do you?”  She was flirty enough that even he, usually captain obvious, caught on.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I’m trying to figure out how to slip the face I have a wife and kid into the conversation.”  Wife was a stretch.  He wanted to marry you, he dreamed about it.  He wanted to give you everything – a nice ring, a pretty dress. A day to be a be special, to feel loved. Proof to all your  friends and family that he could take care of you, that he was worthy.  He was scraping up money, setting it aside.  If he didn’t go for a diamond, maybe he could get her something else nice. Maybe an opal.  Opal rings couldn’t be that expensive, right?

She laughed.  “Sorry.  I’m bored.” She held up a hand.  “Scout’s honor, I will do nothing to hurt your marriage.”

He gave her a grin.  “Well, then, tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Yeah.  Once we touch down in…”  He looked at the time “About two hours, we won’t see each other again. So tell me a story.  Something you’ve always wanted to tell someone, but you couldn’t.”

She arched an eyebrow provocatively.

“Not like that, not a secret.  Just a story you want to tell.  Can be anything, I don’t care.”

She looked bemused for a second.  Then she starts, haltingly, as if she’s never had t actually make real conversation.  As if she’s never had anyone to listen to her.  And the thing is, she’s funny.  Clever. He finds himself laughing as he does his thing, even throwing back a couple of smart remarks of his own.  She has a gift of making him feel like he has a wicked sense of humor, and for a little bit, the cares he’s been harboring fall silent.  

So does the cabin behind him, once.  He has a mirror, set low, so he can see behind him.  The ringleader of the group is glaring at him, not looking too happy.

Well, fuck him. What can he do?  

A lot, apparently.

They land, and Macey gets up to go out the back.  “Thanks, Frankie.  Good luck with everything.”

“You, too, thanks for passing the time with me,” he says, and sets about the tasks.  He checks gauges, writes things down, and finally, goes back and checks over the cabin.  He gets out a basin from a cabinet and puts the used rocks glasses in it.  He won’t wash them – he’ll just dump the basin on the sideboard inside the hanger.  He doesn’t have to do the cleaning, but Allie, the janitor who usually cleaned up the planes, had hurt her back and everything, like picking up candy bar wrappers and throwing them away, checking the seats to see if anything had been left behind was an extra chore she did not need.

The plastic baggy was almost invisible against the beige leather of the seats.  He picked it up, made a shocked little huff, like he’d put his hand on a snake.  Coke. A pretty good amount of it, too. The old craving raised its head, making his hand shake a little.  He heard voices, and shoved the baggy in his pocket.  I’ll pitch it.  He had to take a leak, anyway, he’d go, flush that garbage down the toilet, and there. Done.  He wasn’t that man any more.  It was the one thing he could do for you.

He grabbed the waste basket and put it next to the door, grabbed the tub of glasses and put it under his arm.

“Frankie?  You in there?”

“Yeah, boss…coming.”  Snagging the clipboard to put on top of the glasses so he’d have a free hand if he needed it, he went down the steps and onto the tarmac.

Hector stood there, hands in his pockets, looking ore hang dog than usual.  “Yeah, boss?”

“The passengers said you were flying high, Frankie.”

That stopped him dead, like to concussion from a bomb, hitting his face and chest and taking out the air in his lungs.  “What? No, I’d never…”  

“They said that they saw you – just before take off.  And you know, I don’t want to believe it, but looking at your eyes…they do look awful red.”

“I’ve been up late with Luna.  She’s not been sleeping that great, and I can’t leave it all on…”

Hector nodded, as if he believed him, but Frankie had a feeling he didn’t.  He’d give real money to know exactly what the fuck had been said. “Turn out your pockets, Frankie.”

You jackass.    He attacked himself.  Did you really think they just accidentally left that much coke behind? You fucking jackass.  “I found some shit they left behind, but you gotta believe me, Hector, I am clean.  I’ve been clean for a couple years now.”

“Just show me your pockets, son, then we can just leave this behind.”

He took the coke out. “I told you, I found it on the plane.”

Hector shook his head, and started to walk away.  

“Look, I’ll take a test.” He jogged a little, caught the other man’s arm.  “Seriously. You can watch to make sure I’m not cheating.  You’ll see. I’m clean.  I’ll take a drug test right now.”

“You just happened to find a baggy of coke?  That the passengers happened to leave behind?  And why would they accuse you, if it’s not true?”

Frankie dropped his hand. I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I said some asshole thought I was flirting with his girl and thought he’d get back at me…hell, I’m not sure I believe it.

“I’ll be reporting you. They’ll suspend you.  Maybe they will go easy on you, you being a Vet and this being your first offense…but you need to clean out your locker.  I’ll write a check for what we owe you.”

“I…I need this job.” He could hear an edge of pleading in his voice, and he hated it, but he’d go down on his fucking knees and beg if he had to.

Hector’s eyes hardened. “And I don’t need to send a druggie up in one of my planes.”

**

Frankie took the back roads home.  There was an old farm gate, a place where he could pull off the road and stare, blindly, at overgrown fields.  

“What am I gonna do?” He whispered, over and over, like a mantra.  “What am I gonna fucking do?”  His hands clutched the steering wheel, knuckles white.  He could barely breathe, and when the words wouldn’t come he just sat there, panting, beating his head against the steering when and wondering how he’d survive this.

When his breathing steadied, he got back on the road, and went home.  It was the only thing he could do.

You knew something was wrong, he could see it, but he wasn’t being exactly subtle, pressing his spine against the doorframe like he was ready to run.

“Hey baby,” you say, and he smiles a little.  Tries, anyway.

“Where’s Luna?”  He’s surprised how hoarse his voice is.  He shouldn’t be.  He’d been in some bad situations, but he’d never felt this a drift, this terrified.

“Laying down.”  You say it sweetly, like everything is OK.  You’re cooking bread in the over, something’s in the crock pot and everything smells like home and like everything left to lose.

You lean against the sink. If you reached out, you could almost touch him, but you don’t.  There’s a look in your eyes, like Frankie is a wild animal, easily spooked and so you’re going to move slow and careful.

“I lost my job.”  He says it so quietly he’s not sure you heard, until your shoulders drop a little.  

“Oh, honey, what happened?” No recrimination.  Not yet.  You take a step closer to him.

So he tells you.  He doesn’t lie, just lays it all out there.  Not looking at you, not daring to, instead staring at the refrigerator door and all the magnets and photos and clutter.  But seeing them, either.

“He didn’t believe you?” You practically shriek it out.  “What the fuck…you’ve been an awesome employee for what?  A year and a half now  and he wouldn’t even let you take a damned test to let you prove yourself? Seriously?  I’m going to kick his ass…”

The baby monitor interrupts her, Luna making fitful little noises.  After all, the house was not that big.  You hold a finger up to Frankie.  “Hold that thought.”  You leave the kitchen, shaking your head, and Frankie stands there, feeling like he’s on the edge of the precipice.  

“Ah, Luna, baby, what’s wrong?”  He can hear you, a much gentler, sweeter voice echoing out of the monitor.  He stands over it, hands clutching the counter on either side of it, listening.  You are both everything to him.  Everything.

He listens to you say nonsense as you change the little baby, to you muttering about how such a tiny, adorable thing can smell so bad.  “You must get it from your daddy,”  you say a little louder, as if you know Frankie is there, listening, and he grins a little.

He doesn’t move, when you come back out into the kitchen, when you wrap your arms around him.  You hug him tight and he starts to feel a little less adrift.  

He turns, looks down into your eyes.  “You believe me?”  Puts his arms around you carefully, like he’s still not sure of his reception, because he still doesn’t feel like he deserves this, the right to touch you.  

You reach up and cradle his cheek.  “Always, mi vida.  Always.” And he starts shaking, and he starts crying and he buries his face in your neck so you can’t see, and you toss aside the ball cap so you can stroke his hair.  “It’s going to be alright, honey.  We’ll figure it out.  Its going to be alright.”

[hybridfanfiction]

Owner Training - 9

- Lonely Kitten - 

If there was anything that made you hate having to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work besides the fact that you were actually going to work , it was the sight that greeted you when you went to say your goodbyes for the day.

Yoongi was curled up on the right side of the bed, the blankets pulled up so much you could barely see his face. He looked so comfortable and cozy, and you wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and let his soft purrs lull you back to sleep.

Yoongi suddenly does that weird snore/snort combo he does when he’s jolted from sleep, and he turns to the other side, now facing the doorway. His eyes are still closed but your heart flutters a little when he tugs some blankets back like he’d worried he’d pulled them off of you.

You grin and walk up to him, bending over to press a small kiss to his forehead. He cracks one eye open and looks up at you sleepily.

“Work?” he mumbles, his voice adorably slurred.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll see you later, kay?”

He hums and smacks his lips. “Don’t stay too late. You’ve been working too much.”

He had a point. You’ve already worked nine days straight this week and you were going crazy.

“I won’t. Today should be an easy day.”

How he manages to project so much skepticism with just one eye is a mystery.

“Promise?”

“Sure, baby. I promise. Love you.”

“Love,” is all he manages to mumble before he falls back asleep.

****

The thing about your job is that...you hate it. You’d gone into this job expecting to be able to make a difference. That you’d find abandoned kids great homes, bring families together, or...you didn’t even know. It was a lot of rainbows and unicorns. The reality of it was that you saw a lot of kids being given back to abusive homes because their dad passed an anger management class, only to be back in the system six months later. Parents would take each other to court over visitation rights, and only relent when they received even more money from the other. And those were just some of the more mild issues. Basically, this job had opened your eyes to the fact that people were monsters.

And on top of the actual work, was the fact that your seniors and boss made your life a hell. Instead of treating you with the respect due to you as a fellow lawyer with the same shiny degrees as them, they instead handed their work off on you or made you do menial tasks like you were just another paralegal ( NOT to shit on paralegals either - their job was hella hard too).

You didn’t even have your own office! You were just another desk in the sea of paralegals and secretaries. When you’d brought it up at your last review, you’d been told it was because you were the new hire and you had to work your way up. Well, you’d been working here for several years now, and the hotshot young guy straight out of Yale that they’d hired a year ago already had a private office and his own secretary.

Literally, the only thing keeping you going these days was the fact that you needed the money and you didn’t know what else to do. At least you had Yoongi waiting for you at home to look forward to.

“L/N, I’m going to need your help with these pleadings. Need them done for tomorrow. Thanks,” Johnson, one of the lawyers you hated the most, threw a pack of client interview notes on your desk and struts off without even giving you a chance to reply.

You sigh and look at the packet, debating setting them on fire and walking out of the building like a boss. But then he’d just complain to the big boss, who would call you in and give you a talking to. It all seemed like too much of a hassle. (You knew you were being bullied for being the only female lawyer here - it was ridiculous and sexist. Like, hello? Is this 1924? No.)

You’d get out of here eventually. Somehow. For now, you simply pull the packets closer and get to work.

Yoongi is going to kill you.

****

When you arrive home and finally kick off your heels with a happy sigh, it suddenly hits you that your apartment is silent. No TV, no booming rap music, not even the blessed sounds of cooking that your empty stomach had been looking forward to.

“Yoongi?”

“Nice of you to join us.”

You jump as he mumbles the words, finally pinpointing him in the corner of the dining room. He’s lounging in one of the chairs with his arms folded, his eyes screaming his disappointment.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry.”

“Late, she says. It’s past midnight,” he scoffs.

“I know! I was going to leave earlier but I got stuck with some extra work.”

“You promised.”

His tone hurts you and you feel horrible.

He reaches out his hand, looking you dead in the eye...and pushes your vase of wildflowers right onto the floor.

The glasses crashes everywhere and he merely sits back and looks at the mess with a slight smirk.

“What the fuck, Yoongi?”

He shrugs. “It was in my way.”

“Why do you... aw hell ,” you whisper, feeling tears well in your eyes.

Suddenly, he leans foreword, looking at you with alarm. “Why the fuck are you crying? No, wait , stop that.”

“I’m so so-sorry,” you hiccup, as your tears turn to wails. “I’m a horrible person and a horrible girlfriend. I can’t do anything right. I’m a failure.”

Yoongi rushes to you and crouches down, pulling you into his chest.

“No, you’re amazing. The best. I’m just throwing a tantrum like a baby because I miss you. I’m sorry, I’ll be better,” he croons, petting your back frantically in an attempt to comfort you.

You lean into his touch and let yourself cry until chest and throat throb in pain too much to continue. Yoongi presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Better?” me mutters, and you nod your head, finally looking up at him. His eyes are red too, with tear tracks down his cheek. You swipe at them and he kisses your hand.

“Sorry,” you whisper hoarsely, and he shakes his head.

“No need. I’m sorry I was being a brat.”

“You have a point though. I’m never home.”

“Because you’re literally working to take care of us.”

“Yeah, but...even I know that they are working me too much. I’ve never been so stressed in my life, Yoongi. And today I had to literally watch some kid cry and be torn away from the foster family that’s been raising him since he was two weeks old and be given to his druggie mother who he’s seen once in three years. I just...how is that okay?”

“It’s not. Not everyone has as big a heart as you, love.”

You grunt and relax into his touch as he pets your hair soothingly.

“If you could find something else, what would you do?”

You consider the question. “I’m not sure. I think there’s still a part of me that desires to help and make a difference, but then there’s the me that’s been at this for awhile that isn’t sure that’s realistic. I’d still work in law, but...I don’t know. I don’t know who would actually need me.”

He hums and tilts your head up. “Want some tea?”

“Yes please,” you smile softly as he stands up and reaches out a hand to help you up.

He peeks sheepishly at the glass and gestures for you to go sit on the couch.

“I’ll clean it up”

“Seriously though, Yoongi. My vase?”

“Honestly, I’ve been feeling the urge to push that off the table for a few days and I just used that as an excuse. I’ve also been eyeing the wine glass display, but I’ve held off since I actually use those,” he chuckled on his way to the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare. Bad Kitty.”

“Kinky,” he hums, then you hear the click of the electric kettle.

You wait in silence, exhausted after your outburst of emotion. Truthfully, it was probably long-due. A few minutes later Yoongi returns and hands you a mug full of lemon and ginger tea, blowing on his own mug as he settles in next to you.

“I had a thought,” he rumbles after taking a sip.

“Finally,” you snort, grinning when he pinches you.

“You never call in sick or go anywhere so you probably have a shit load of vacation time saved up, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I should have at least a couple weeks worth. I usually just cash out at the end of the year.”

“Take it. Let’s go on vacation. No sense killing yourself over a job you hate, and I want to spend some time with you.”

You sigh, leaning into Yoongi’s warmth. “Yeah, you’re right. Where shall we go?”

He shrugs. “Jeju? I don’t know. I don’t care as long as it’s somewhere with a nice bed and I get to see you in a bikini”

You pinch him and he laughs unapologetically.

“You know I love you right? No matter how much I’m away or if we are having some stupid fight - I love you,” you ask, your voice soft and a little shy.

He picks up your free hand and places a kiss on the back of it, squeezing it gently.

“I love you too, even when I’m being a brat or when you forget to pick up ice cream.”

“Wow, that’s deep.”

“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a man of refined tastes.”

****

Notes:

Why are my cats always knocking shit off my counters?

Also, I had a few requests from people who wanted to send me fanart. You can email it to me at smirksslayme@gmail.com or tag me on here. I’d love to see it.

I think I have a twitter made but I can't remember it right now lmao. If anyone wants that I'll try to find it later.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Pride and Fidget Spinners (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of the You’ll Never Shop Alone (YNSA) collaboration with @underthejoon and @suga-kookiemonster

Creative Content Contributor: @underthejoon, for this amazing banner

Rating: 18+

Warnings: oral (female receiving), dirty talk, big dick (it’s seokjin, duh), everyone in this fic is a brat, seokjin talks about fair lending

Genre: Rom-Com / Smut / Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 18,623

Summary:   Seokjin has always prided himself on being the top mall kiosk salesman. His turf, the spot nearest to the fountain, is due to him being the undisputed best in the game. At least, until you arrive and throw his world into chaos.

[ cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

I GET KNOCKED DOWN, BUT I GET UP AGAIN 

YOU ARE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN

I GET KNO –

SLAP. Seokjin’s hand finds the buzzer, tuning off his alarm to burrow further under the covers. Sunlight streams through the open windows, pricking the back of his eyelids but Seokjin refuses to look. He can sleep for five more minutes. Five more minutes will not kill him.

Somewhere else in his apartment, a bedroom door slams. Wincing, Seokjin pulls his comforter higher. His roommate, Min Yoongi, spends most of his time annoyed with the world – but especially in the morning, and especially before having coffee. Loud banging continues, along with the sound of facial products hitting the sink. Groaning out loud, Seokjin pulls a pillow over his face.

Unfortunately, he is now awake and unable to slip back into his dream. It was a good one, too. Something about Iron Man and that hot barista at the mall Taehyung is crushing on. Squinting into his pillow, Seokjin abruptly sits up and tosses this on the floor.

“Fuck!” he yelps, throwing up a hand.

Every day, Seokjin somehow forgets to close his blinds before sleeping. Groping his way into the bathroom, Seokjin ruffles a hand through mussed morning hair. Turning on both taps in his shower, he waits for the water to warm and stares at himself in the mirror.

Clapping both hands to his face, Seokjin drags down the side of his cheeks. Getting older is weird.

Before he can get too hung up on this fact, Seokjin steps into the tub. “I GET KNOCKED DOWN,” he sings, lathering himself with soap. “BUT I GET UP AGAIN!”

Once out of the shower, dried and with a towel wrapped around his waist, Seokjin wanders into his closet. The sight dims his spirits a bit, seeing rows and rows of neatly pressed suits. Seokjin stares them each down in turn, knowing blinking is a weakness.

Reaching past them, he sighs.

The one at the front is navy, pin-striped and stares at him mockingly. Seokjin remembers wearing that one on his first day of work, nearly three years ago. He remembers how proud his parents were of him when he called them on his way home.

Seokjin’s heart sinks at the memory. That first phone call overlaps with another, less pleasant one. The one after his company decided to move their programming center out of his city. Seokjin was not one of the engineers selected to go. He was – rather unceremoniously – let go.

Let go. Seokjin snorts at the memory. Let go is such a nicer way to say fired. Fired has the ring of burnt smoke to it; it stinks of crumbling foundations and all hell breaking loose. If a company wants to yank one’s livelihood out from under them, Seokjin at least feels they should have the decency to call it what it is. Let go.

Shaking his head, Seokjin pushes past the suit to grab a white button-down. It has been nearly six months since that second call. Four months since his severance ran out and Seokjin realized he needed a job. Three months and three weeks since he began working at the Fidget Funk – even thinking the name makes Seokjin wince.

If someone had told him three years ago that he, Kim Seokjin, with his fancy degree and multiple years of experience, would ever be working a glorified mall job, Seokjin would have laughed in their face. He would have asked what they were smoking and if he could share – and yet. Here he is.

Frowning at himself in the mirror, Seokjin zips up his pants. Perhaps the worst part is that Seokjin was not upset when he was ‘let go.’ He was not actually disappointed by the firing, which disappointed his parents even more. When Bob and Karen from HR sat him down in that tiny, white room and handed him a tiny, white packet, Seokjin could not stop grinning.

His colleagues thought he had been kept when he left the room. That is how much Seokjin hated that company. His pure joy at finally leaving was enough to make up for the sucky way it happened.

Honestly, Seokjin was not surprised when he was fired. His entire last year he worked there, Seokjin spent most of his free time designing apps on his phone. No wonder they let him go, come to think of it. He was hardly their employee of the year.

Grabbing both wallet and keys, Seokjin shoves these into his pockets. Stepping into the hall, he glances at Yoongi’s room. “Yoongi!” he calls. No answer. “Hey! Min Yoongi!”

Continued silence, apart from the harsh thud of bass.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Seokjin tries again. “MIN YOONGI!”

The door at the end of the hall opens, hitting the wall. “What?” With a yawn, Yoongi drags a hand through his hair. Bleached blond strands fall about his face. “You said 10:00 AM. It’s 10:01.”

“Right.” Seokjin looks at him pointedly. “But I need to have the kiosk set up by 10:30, or else Bertha gets pissed.”

Yoongi walks past him and frowns. “Who’s Bertha? I don’t remember you working with anyone named Bertha.”

“I don’t.” Seokjin shrugs. Today is one of the rare days their work schedules lined up and – amazingly enough – Yoongi agreed to carpool. “Bertha is the name of my fidget spinner display. She’s temperamental.”

Yoongi groans, shutting the door. “Dude, you need to get a hobby.”

“I do have a hobby!”

“Then, get a girlfriend,” says Yoongi, sliding his keys from the lock. “You have way too much free time on your hands.”

“Do not,” Seokjin mutters, shoving both hands in his pockets as they walk to his car. “I’m working on loads of stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Yoongi flips his phone. “Which amazing app is it today? Let me guess. The one which meows every time a cat comes near? Or, the one which ranks all the apps in your phone from most to least used? Or, maybe –”

“Hey!” Cutting him off, Seokjin pulls open his car door. “You left out Alliterate! The handy app which suggests words which start with the same letter as yours – for casual alliteration.”

Yoongi stares over the roof of his car. “Dude, who would buy that?”

“English majors. Dramatic teenagers writing letters in the eighteenth century.”

“Seokjin.” Yoongi slides into the passenger seat. “You don’t give a fuck about any of these ideas, and therein lies your problem.”

“Oh, really?” Seokjin sticks his keys into the ignition. The car is sweltering, baking from having been left in the sun all morning. “Unlike you and your SoundCloud rapping?”

“Exactly unlike me and my SoundCloud rapping.” Grinning, Yoongi buckles his seatbelt and looks over at Seokjin. “Speaking of which – I have a new track to play.”

“No.”

Turning on the engine, Seokjin winces when a red warning light appears. He apparently needs an oil change soon but – with what money?

“Yes.” Yoongi reaches out, already hooking up his phone. “Just these two hooks, okay? Tell me which one you like more.”

Twelve minutes later, Seokjin pulls into his unofficial parking spot at the mall. “Will you look at that?” he says, turning off the engine. “We’re here! Time to go sell those fidgets!”

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi pushes open the door. Shoving his white Auntie Anne’s visor further up on his head, he glances around. “You’ll be sorry,” he says, slamming the door. “You’ll all be sorry!” Yoongi yells at the empty parking lot.

Patting him once on the back, Seokjin walks inside. “You know that I like your music.” Seokjin shivers when they both hit the AC. “More than like it, in fact. You’re too good and you know it – your head is inflated, and I have to take you down a peg.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah, because all this pretzel rolling is inflating my ego. I’m basically Kanye, pre-Kim. Or Kanye, post-Kim. Say what you will about the guy, he’s remarkably consistent about how good he thinks he is.”

Snorting, Seokjin quiets when they pass by Kay Jewelers. Both men swerve to avoid eye contact, since they never know when what’s-her-name will be working. Seokjin makes a face. He always forgets her name, but the Kay Jewelers girl is usually after the dick of someone in the mall. Both he and Yoongi have been on the receiving end of that hunt before.

“Alright.” Coming to a stop at his kiosk, Seokjin lowers his gym bag to the ground. “Here is where I bid thee adieu.”

Yoongi continues walking. “Bye.”

“BYE, BEST FRIEND!” Seokjin yells, waving as Yoongi crosses the food court.

Several heads turn, and Seokjin continues waving until his roommate is gone. Grinning, Seokjin returns to his kiosk. Unlocking the metal grating, he pulls this up to reveal a brightly colored display. The morning routine is standard. Inventory, balancing the register, ensuring all displays are functional. Each time he passes the front, Seokjin sees his name on the register.

The kiosk’s top salesman, three months in a row.

It might seem like a silly thing to be proud of, but Seokjin is at a point in his life where everything has gone wrong. Everything he does seems to become a failure and even though he hates this job and hates these fidget spinners (okay, that’s harsh – no one hates fidget spinners), at least he can succeed at this one, small thing.

Selling shit to people they absolutely do not need.

Leaning against the counter, Seokjin crosses an ankle to wait. The mall opens on weekdays at 11:00 AM, prompt. Some places are open earlier – like Java Joe’s, the coffee shop, and maybe the gym – but Seokjin’s kiosk is standard mall hours. Rubbing his eyes, Seokjin glances longingly in the direction of Java Joe’s, but there are only five minutes until the mall opens. He needs to remain where he is.

Pulling his phone from his jacket, he shoots off a quick text.

Seokjin: yo [10:55 AM]

It takes a moment for Namjoon to respond.

Namjoon: what do you want? [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: nothing!!! [10:56 AM]

Namjoon: … [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: ok fine [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: I’ll come clean [10:56 AM]

Seokjin: are you doing the morning shift at T-Mobile [10:56 AM]

Namjoon: …. Yes [10:57 AM]

Namjoon: why? [10:57 AM]

Seokjin: do u think… on ur next break… u could bring me some coffee?? [10:57 AM]

Namjoon: get it yourself [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: pleaseeee Joon?? I never ask you for anything! [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: Chad called in sick, so I’m here all alone : ( [10:58 AM]

Namjoon: sigh. Fine – can you hang on until 1? [10:58 AM]

Seokjin: : ( [10:58 AM]

Namjoon: ur the worst but fine, I’ll try to get away sooner [10:59 AM]

Seokjin: THANKS JOON [10:59 AM]

Seokjin: grande iced Americano, no milk [10:59 AM]

Namjoon: u wouldn’t treat Yoongi like this [10:59 AM]

Seokjin snorts, shoving his phone in his pocket. He absolutely would treat Yoongi like this – problem is, Yoongi rarely responds. He usually spends his work breaks engrossed in his music. If anything, Seokjin is the one who brings coffee to him.

The first two hours pass by at a glacial pace. Seokjin regularly looks at his watch, wondering why the day is moving so slowly. True, it is a weekday but there is usually steady traffic. Stay at home parents and high school kids with nothing better to do than spend their summers at the mall, drinking Orange Julius’ next to the fountain.

It took Seokjin two months to convince his boss to put in for this spot. Next to the fountain is prime mall real estate, since you need to pass by it in order to reach anywhere else. Which is why it is strange that Seokjin has had zero customers.

He is still frowning when Namjoon appears at his workplace, iced coffee in hand. Namjoon wears his T-Mobile manager uniform, complete with a badge which declares his name and title. Kim Namjoon, Assistant Manager.

“Two?” Seokjin fake gasps, holding out a hand. “All for me?”

“Nope.” Namjoon only gives one to him. “One is for me.” 

“Rude.” Seokjin sniffs, turning to survey the mall.

“What is? The fact that I brought you coffee?”

“Sure.”

Namjoon laughs. “What’s up with you today? You seem super distracted.”

Squinting at the fountain, Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t know. Things have been so quiet today. Is there something going on? A deal at Woodbury mall, or something?”

“Hm.” Namjoon’s brow furrows. “Not that I know of, I – oh, wait.” He straightens, glancing across the food court. “When I was walking over here, I did see a new kiosk. Maybe they’re taking some of your customers?”

“A new kiosk?” Seokjin looks up in alarm. “Where?”

“There.” Namjoon points behind a browning, potted plant.

Seokjin peers in the direction Namjoon is pointing. In his line of vision stands a brand-spanking-new kiosk. The sides are all pristine, gleaming and white, with the kind of bright-colored accents designed to draw people in. Neat boxes of toys line the shelves, almost as pretty as Seokjin’s own display.

Groaning, Seokjin sinks to his kiosk. “Drones?” He glances at Namjoon. “How are fidget spinners supposed to compete with fucking drones?”

“Dunno.” Namjoon takes a sip of his coffee. “I first saw them this morning, but they’re getting pretty good business. Nearly tripped over their salesgirl on my way here. She’s cute,” he adds, glancing at Seokjin.

Seokjin glowers. “Cuter than me?”

“Maybe.” Namjoon shrugs.

“Impossible.” Seokjin glares in the direction of the kiosk. On one side, he can barely make out the shape of a worker and based on what he sees, Seokjin begrudgingly thinks Namjoon might be right. You could be cute.

Namjoon drains the rest of his cup. “Well. Gotta go,” he says cheerfully, clapping Seokjin on the back. “Breaks don’t last forever. Hope the rest of your day picks up.”

“Thanks,” Seokjin mutters. “Hope so, too.”

Namjoon leaves, returning the same way he came towards the T-Mobile store. Seokjin continues to glance at the competing kiosk, staring with envy at its remote-controlled helicopters.

Up until now, the competitive landscape at the mall has been easy. There is a guy on the second floor selling Proactive but other than that, Seokjin has never had real competition. Until now, it would seem.

Rather than be turned off by this fact, Seokjin tilts his head. The only reason he lasted as long as he did at his prior company is because of how competitive he is. Even if Seokjin does not care about the product, he still works tirelessly to be called number one. He should stop by and check out the competition – just to be certain there is no real risk.

Seokjin’s phone buzzes, revealing a text from his boss. Lisa will be here at 5:00 PM, meaning Seokjin only must hold out a few hours before he can see the new kiosk.

Only a few more hours until he knows what he is up against.

Lisa’s arrival at five means Seokjin is afforded a half-hour break. He uses this to grab food, bothering Yoongi at Auntie Anne’s before moving on. Dinnertime at the mall is typically crowded and Yoongi tends to throw mustard if Seokjin overstays his welcome.

Not wanting to ruin his button-down, Seokjin wanders in the direction of your kiosk. He eyes this as he approaches, finding the reality of the situation to be worse than he feared. The drones you stock are cool and what is more – they are all beautifully displayed. The stand might even rival Bertha.

Crossing both arms over his chest, Seokjin examines the kiosk. The products are neat, all of them aligned in carefully placed rows. The fingers on his right hand twitch, really wanting to touch the remote- controlled helicopters, but before he can move –

“Can I help you?” you ask, bright and cheerful. Seokjin flinches, gaze darting to you.

Fuck – seeing you up close, Seokjin’s jaw nearly hits the ground. You are gorgeous. There is no other word for it. The smile you give is infections; it makes him want to smile back. More than that – Seokjin finds himself wanting to be the reason for that smile, but no! Straightening his spine, Seokjin reminds himself that you are the competition.

Looking at you, his scowl deepens.

Your own smile falters. “Did you want me to take that one out?” you ask, pointing at the drone. “Show you how it works?”

Seokjin shrugs, as though he could not care less. “I’m not here to buy, actually.”

Now, it is your turn to look confused. “I – uh, okay.” You squint. “Then, why are you here?”

Seokjin realizes how creepy he sounds. In your eyes, he has wandered over, stared at your merchandise for a prolonged period of time and then announced he was not here to buy. A grade-A creep rivaled only by that one flasher who lurks in female footwear.

“Uh…” Backtracking, Seokjin jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I work at that kiosk, actually. I’m Seokjin.”

Unimpressed, you glance in this direction. “Y/N. And – uh, okay?”

“I stopped by to say hello. And to see what you’re selling.”

As he speaks, you read the name of his kiosk. Your upper lip twitches as slowly, you return to looking at him. Seokjin is unnerved by your smile. For some reason, he has the sinking suspicion he is the butt of your joke.

“Oh,” you say, tone entirely different. “That kiosk. Brandi mentioned you.”

“Brandi?”

“My boss.” You wave towards the middle-aged woman on the other side of the kiosk. Seokjin thinks he has seen her around before. “She said you’ve been selling pretty well the past couple of months. Great job.”

Seokjin tries not to seem smug – there is an undercurrent to your tone which screams subterfuge. “I mean, yeah,” he says carefully. “Things are going pretty well for us.”

“Strange, then.”

“What is?”

“Strange that we’re doing so much better than you.”

Someone could scrape Seokjin’s jaw off the dirty, child-scuffed floor. You smirk at him, tapping two fingers against the pretty, floral sleeve of your tunic. If Seokjin did not know better, he would think you were flirting with him.

Except you just fucking insulted him.

“I…” Shaking his head, Seokjin’s voice is strangled. “Mall traffic has been slow this morning. No big deal. I guess once you’ve been around longer, you’ll know that.”

“Hm.” You purse your lips. “I don’t know – things have been pretty crazy for us today. We already ran out of a product. Wild, right?”

Seokjin’s mouth dries, his ears starting to buzz – all evidence of his pure hatred of you. Obviously. It could not be anything else.

“You ran… out of something? Already?”

Seokjin’s voice squeaks on the last word, making him cringe.

“Not bad, huh? Although, I guess once we’ve ‘been around longer,’” you mock with a grin, “we’ll get more lulls. Must be nice.”

In the face of his clear disbelief, you have the nerve to wink.

Seokjin begins to see red. “Yeah,” he croaks, recovering himself. “Beginner’s luck is nice, too.”

Your smile disappears. “How long is your break? I don’t think my kiosk could afford to have me gone for so long.”

Not looking away, Seokjin shoves the rest of his pretzel in his mouth. Chewing exaggeratedly, he watches you wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles around cinnamon-sugar bread. “Thanks for the reminder. I do need to be getting back. Can’t have my kiosk without its top salesman.”

Nose wrinkled; you continue to stare. “If that’s your idea of finesse, I think they can manage without you.”

“Please.” Seokjin gives you a pointed look. “I’m literally dripping with finesse.”

Your lips twitch, suppressing the gesture. Seokjin is impressed by your stoicism, since he knows he is a good-looking guy. That much is a non-debatable fact. Even if it were not, he can see by the way your gaze lingers, that you like what you see. And still – when your gaze returns to his face, your expression is artfully composed.

Fuck, Seokjin realizes. You really are going to be competition.

“Is that all?” Blithely, you turn. “Did you just stop by to see how much better we’re doing?”

Seokjin scowls at your arguably perfect behind. “I came to see how much product you have left, yeah.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you grin. “Why? Worried we’ll sell out before you can buy?”

“No.” Undercutting his conviction, Seokjin glances again at the helicopter. “I’ve got my hands full, thanks.”

“Ri-ght.” You draw out the word. “Then, you should probably get back to the, uh – Fidget Funk.”

Seokjin’s ears turn red with embarrassment. “I will,” he blurts, spinning around on his heel. “You have fun at the Drone Dome – fuck,” he mutters, coming to a stop. “That’s actually such a cool name.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks away. All the way across the food court, your laughter rings out behind him. Upon reaching his kiosk, Seokjin glances over his shoulder. You are not paying attention to him, already engaged with another customer and Seokjin’s stomach slowly sinks.

He might be in trouble – and in more ways than one.

Seokjin arrives the next day ready for battle.

Before, he was unprepared – caught off guard by your wily ways, but no longer! He is Kim Seokjin, crusader of goals and defender of the kiosk. The fact that Seokjin does not care about fidget spinners does not matter. They are his unfortunate chosen weapon and so, he will die upon this metaphorical sword.

Leaning against his kiosk, Seokjin spins a toy in one hand. Smiling and nodding at everyone who passes, he tries not to seem creepy or make eye contact for too long. This is the number one rule of kiosk sales – be deliberate, but approachable.

Most kiosk salespeople fail here, never ascending past the first stage of selling. They leer at shoppers, approaching women with earbuds in, or spraying perfume without asking. Not Seokjin. Seokjin is the very image of class, one ankle crossed over the other.

Seated at the food court is a large group of collegiate girls. At least, Seokjin assumes this based off one girl’s University sweatshirt. They sit clustered around Starbucks drinks (a slap in the face to Java Joe’s!), giggling every so often and glancing at Seokjin. Despite knowing they see him, Seokjin pretends not to care. Every so often, he pushes a hand through his hair and angles himself in the light.

Eventually, he knows one will come over and when they do, Seokjin will whip out the charm. A shadow steps into his path, blocking the sunlight.

Seokjin frowns. “Get out of the way,” he says, bored. “I almost have a sale.”

Arms crossed; you glance over a shoulder. The group of girls glare at you, clearly perturbed at having their view interrupted.

Snorting, you return to Seokjin. “Oh, please. So, what – you’re a pedophile, in addition to creep?”

Jerking upright, Seokjin scowls. “I am not a pedophile. I’m just trying to make a sale.”

“Of what kind?” you ask pleasantly.

“Fidget spinners.”

“Hm. Could’ve fooled me.”

Shrugging, you take a long sip of your coffee. Seokjin tries not to linger on the way your lips wrap around the straw.

I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says stiffly. “Now, move. You’re blocking my light.”

“Whatever,” you yawn, leaving. As you enter the food court, you give Seokjin an excellent view of your backside walking away. “We’ll still beat your sales target today, anyways!” you call back.

Glaring at your retreating head, Seokjin holds out for as long as he can before dropping his gaze to your ass. Waggling fingers over your shoulder, you disappear behind the potted plant. The college girls resume looking at him but now, Seokjin finds he does not care.

Really, he should be thanking you. As soon as you are gone, three of the girls wander up to his kiosk. Seokjin sells five fidget spinners in one hour, thanks to the jealousy your presence provoked. Rather than be pleased by this fact though, Seokjin becomes even more agitated. He does not like feeling in your debt.

The next time your shifts overlap, determined to get even, Seokjin switches tactics. He parks on the opposite end of the mall, necessitating he should walk by your kiosk. Yoongi complains about this, but Seokjin merely ignores him.

Slowing as he passes your kiosk, Seokjin waits for you to look up.

Both elbows leaned to the counter, you scroll casually through your phone. When your gaze flicks up, taking him in – you blink.

“Oh, come on,” you groan.

Waving to Yoongi, Seokjin veers in your direction. “Oh, hey!” He stops at your display, nonchalantly stretching his arms overhead. “Having a good morning?”

Gaze darting to his pants and back up, you almost seem flustered. “I – how tight are those jeans?”

Seokjin’s grin widens. “What, these old things?”

Turning around, Seokjin checks out his own ass, as though surprised by its appearance. He is rather proud of his legs, actually. There is a reason Seokjin spends so much time in the gym with Jungkook. His newly bought skinny jeans show off his best assets. Not to mention how satisfying it is to see you rendered speechless.

Your gaze returns to his, smoldering. “There’s a tag still in the pocket, genius.”

“Oh.” Grandly, Seokjin plucks this off – fuck, that just cost him an entire week of spending allowance. “Well, there you go. Wouldn’t want to distract from the view.”

Jaw clenched, you seem as though you want to say more, but hold yourself back. “Great.”

Seokjin smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Whirling around, you pretend to be busy but Seokjin can tell your register has already been counted.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your kiosk?” You glower, glancing over your shoulder. “I’d hate to waste any more of your time standing here.”

Seokjin’s grin broadens. “You’re right,” he agrees. “That’d be a shame. See you around, Y/N!”

Happily, he turns and walks back the food court. With each step his grin widens, imagining you watching him leave. The rest of his day is spent in lazy self-satisfaction.

As it turns out, Seokjin should have been warier. Your silence was not acceptance of defeat, but a determined self-call to arms. The very next day, Seokjin walks past your kiosk and nearly spills his drink down his shirt.

You stand off to the side, bent to display a generous amount of cleavage. Seokjin’s jaw drops, unable to look away. He realizes how inappropriate he is being when you look up and see him.

“Seokjin!” Straightening, you wave.

The action makes your breasts bounce, causing Seokjin’s pants to feel tighter.

Yoongi snorts at his side. “Good luck, man,” he says, patting Seokjin once on the back before walking away.

Seokjin is left alone, facing the wiles of his enemy.

“Hey,” you say, raising both brows. “Seokjin? Are you okay?”

Forcing himself to move, Seokjin walks robotically forward. He does not allow himself to look below your collarbone – fuck, you must be wearing a push-up bra. There is no other way a single day could cause such a dramatic transformation.

Unable to help himself, Seokjin sneaks another peek.

When he looks up, you are smirking at him. “See something you like?”

The tips of Seokjin’s ears turn crimson. “I – what?”

“The merchandise,” you say sweetly, waving a hand. “We just got in a few new toys over the weekend.”

Seokjin has no response to this, having momentarily forgotten what words are.

Your lips twitch. “Is something wrong, Seokjin?”

Seeing the teasing look in your eyes, Seokjin fumes. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, jaw snapping shut. “I’ll just be on my way, then. Lots of… fidgets to spin.”

Turning around, he dramatically walks off.

He cannot help but feel oddly unsettled, throat burning in a way which does not make sense. Anger, he tells himself. The emotion is merely annoyance. It is completely natural he would hate his competitor. Natural, for him to think about what their lips would look like shut up by his.

It takes two weeks for Seokjin to enact the next phase of his plan. Which is – dramatic entertainment. Basically, phase two involves Seokjin researching fidget spinner hand tricks for hours at a time on YouTube. It reaches to the point where Seokjin is in near hibernation. Jungkook sends him texts every so often, asking when he will return to the gym, but Seokjin is a man on a mission and cannot be stopped.

He starts off slowly, learning the simple fidget spinner hand transfer. Next is the hand twist, rated Difficulty Level Two by the most known YouTube star. From there, learning the around the back is easy. This maneuver is more complex – it involves Seokjin physically throwing the fidget spinner over his shoulder to catch in the other hand.

Once Seokjin can control two fidget spinners at once, he deems himself ready.

Phase two goes into action on a busy Saturday afternoon. Seokjin hijacks the Fidget Funk’s speakers, hooking up his iPhone to the horror of his co-worker, Lisa.

“Oh, no,” she groans. “Please tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Are you thinking I’m doing a fidget spinner trick show?” Seokjin adjusts the sweatband on his forehead. “Alright, then. I won’t tell you.”

“God, how embarrassing.” Lisa slumps low in her chair. “Well, at least do it before Chad gets here.”

“Noted. What song should I use?” Seokjin flips through his playlist. “Hero by Enrique Iglesias? Whatcha Say by Jason Derulo? The Cha Cha Slide?”

Lisa stares in disbelief. “What vibe are you going for, exactly?”

“None of those?” Seokjin frowns. “What about All Star by Smash Mouth?”

“How about Cotton Eyed Joe?” Lisa offers. “That seems more fitting with all of… this.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, Seokjin selects a song to press play. The first notes of Everybody by Backstreet Boys plays through the speakers. Lisa groans and slumps even lower.

At first, no one notices Seokjin at all. People sidestep him, focused solely on getting to the food court but then, Seokjin executes a perfect shoulder throw. A kid stops to watch. His mom stops too, trying to drag her kid forward but failing in her mission.

“Hey!” Seokjin beams, switching the spinner from one hand to the other. “Want to see more?”

The boy nods and before long, Seokjin has managed to gather a small crowd. Over the ooh’s and ahs of children, Seokjin converses with their moms.

“Fidget spinners are proven to help concentration in both kids and adults,” Seokjin says with a hand twist. “One of my friends was telling me a story the other day. He and this AVP at his office are both tactile people and remember better while doing something with their hands. So, they end up having this entire meeting while playing with fidget spinners from her office.”

The moms all laugh, moving forward to let their kids pick out a toy. By the time the day ends, Seokjin has beaten all previous sales records. He has also managed to capture the attention of most people in the mall – including you.

And Namjoon, who stops by before closing.

“Dude,” Namjoon laughs, leaning one arm to his kiosk. “Why are you being so extra lately? It’s just a temp job. Who cares?”

“I care, Namjoon.” Seokjin bristles. “Is it so wrong to want to do well at my work? To want to improve the sales of my peers. Frankly, Namjoon, I’m insulted you would –”

“Hey, Kim!” you yell, passing by. “Heard you’re trying to break into show business!”

Seokjin abruptly stops talking. “Trying?” he calls back. “I’m already there. Were you able to catch a performance?”

Rolling your eyes, you walk backwards. “Of course, I did! The whole fucking mall saw you, Seokjin. Your music was so loud, people physically moved in the food court.”

Seokjin’s grin widens. “What’d you think?”

“I think you should stick to sales.” Shaking your head, you try not to smile. “Anyways, just wait until you see what we’re doing this weekend. It’ll make your lame tricks look like nothing!”

“Can’t wait!” Seokjin cups both hands over his mouth. “I love to watch lofty dreams come crashing down!”

Shaking your head, you turn around and disappear into the mall. Once you are gone, Seokjin returns to Namjoon.

“What?” he blinks, seeing his friend’s smug expression.

Namjoon’s smile widens. “Oh, nothing.”

“What?”

Namjoon merely laughs, grabbing his smoothie and turning away. “Good luck with that, man!”

Seokjin stares after, not understanding but deciding it is not worth his while. Namjoon always thinks he knows so much – granted, he usually does, but that is not the point. The point is Seokjin does not and so, he should not worry about it now.

The next day is busy, which means Seokjin barely has time to consider the performance you mentioned. He is again covering for Lisa, who failed to show up. Chad and Seokjin are the only ones covering the kiosk, which Seokjin despises because Chad is his least favorite co-worker. Lisa may be flaky, but at least her presence is tolerable. Chad is always going off on tangents about who wronged him on Twitter that day, and why.

Chad is also terrible at customer service – no surprise – which means Seokjin must handle all returns and exchanges. A tedious task in itself, let alone with Chad’s monotonous voice in his ears. In fact, the morning is so busy, Seokjin barely remembers to eat, let alone visit you.

It is the sound of cheers over the food court which make him look up.

Midway through a transaction, Seokjin pauses to glance at your kiosk. You and your Manager – Brandi – stand before it, navigating two competing drones in the air. It seems several people are betting on which drone will win.

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin returns to his customer. Smiling blandly, he hands the woman her money and ignores the wild cheers growing steadily behind him. It makes Seokjin’s teeth grind, realizing you might be drawing a bigger crowd than he did.

Unable to stop himself, he peers over his shoulder. Seokjin’s eyes widen. Above the food court, a helicopter loops circles around a remote-controlled plane. They no longer seem to be racing, dive- bombing the crowd and swooping up at the last second. Kids squeal in excitement, running around underneath.

Seokjin scowls, slamming shut the register. His mind revolts at the knowledge that your show is better than his – also, there is the maddening fact that Seokjin wants a drone for himself. Huffing under his breath, Seokjin turns away.

Before he can tell Chad he is going on break, a scream pierces the crowd.

“MOVE!” Seokjin hears your voice above the rest. “KIDS, MOVE!”

Seokjin whirls around, spotting the helicopter spinning out of control. Kids duck from its path, their hands held overhead as the helicopter sputters, dips and sputters again. Steam curls from its top, clearly not responding to the remote you hold in one hand.

Worse than that, the drone is headed in their direction.

“Chad, move!” Seokjin yells, diving out of the way.

Chad looks up just in time to see the helicopter crash into their kiosk.

Fidget spinners fly every which way. From his spot on the floor, several hit Seokjin in the back of his legs – he winces, curling into himself. Chad’s sputtering continues above as the slow whir of helicopter blades begins to wind down.

Seokjin hesitantly looks up. The kiosk above him is chaos. Nothing seems to be broken, but his carefully placed display – Bertha! – is entirely out of whack. Brightly colored boxes lie on the floor, shelving hanging precariously off the sides of the kiosk.

You dash into view, skidding to a stop inches away from his nose. “I’m so sorry!” you cry, a useless remote held in one hand. “I don’t know what happened, I swear.”

Your gaze darts to Seokjin’s, still lying prostrate on the floor.

He slowly pushes himself to stand, staring in shock at the disastrous kiosk. Seokjin expects to feel angry. He should feel pissed, since all his hard work was erased and now, he will have to spend several hours cleaning it up, but – nothing.

Well, that is not entirely true.

Seokjin wishes he could wipe that look of distress from your face. “It’s alright,” he says, still looking at you.

Surprise flickers over your expression.

Chad steps out from behind the kiosk. “Oh… my… god,” he says, eyes wide.

“I’m really sorry,” you repeat, face twisted in agony.

Before you can continue, your manager appears. “Go back to the kiosk, Y/N,” she says, sighing. “There are a bunch of customers to take care of. I’ll handle this.”

It appears you wish to say more, but a stern look from Brandi is silencing. Giving Seokjin an apologetic look, you turn on your heel to walk across the food court.

Brandi waits until you are out of earshot before looking at Seokjin. “I’m sorry about the disruption,” she offers.

Seokjin tears his gaze away. “It’s okay.”

“What?!” Chad stomps out to point a finger at Brandi. “It is not okay! You and your dumb drones wrecked our display!”

Brandi looks at his finger, unimpressed. She glances at Seokjin. “You can throw that helicopter away. If anything of yours has been damaged, let me know. We’ll pay for it – just send me an itemized receipt by the end of the day, okay?”

Seokjin nods, a bit thrown by the interaction. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

Brandi looks at him thankfully, turning around to return to her kiosk. Once she is gone, Chad whirls on Seokjin.

“Man, what the fuck?”

Bending, Seokjin picks up a lone fidget spinner. “What do you mean, what the fuck?”

“They should’ve…” Chad trails off, shaking his head. “Done more. I don’t know. They should’ve cleaned up the whole area, or something!”

Seokjin snorts, replacing the toy on the counter. “Relax,” he says. “It’s not like anything is seriously damaged. We just need to re-stock the display and besides, they don’t know how to do that. It’ll be faster if we do it.”

“Even so,” Chad mutters. He begins cleaning up, casting an angry glance in the direction of the Drone Dome. “They should still fucking pay.”

“They will, if anything’s broken,” Seokjin says simply.

He then tunes Chad out, putting himself to work. Re-stocking Bertha takes a while but, in the end, Seokjin is happier with its order. He keeps thinking you will stop by after your shift, but you do not. Perhaps you are too embarrassed to do so, or maybe Brandi warned you not to go near them again.

Whatever the reason, Seokjin cannot leave before closing. When he finally passes kiosk on his way to the gym, everything is closed, and you are nowhere in sight.

Seokjin lingers a moment before he moves on.

SLAM.

Seokjin drops his barbells, the sound echoing through the gym in a satisfying way. Several women on the elliptical look up in annoyance.

“Sorry!” Seokjin calls, wiping sweat from his neck.

Although the women continue to glare, they return to their workout. Jungkook snickers into the sleeve of his t-shirt, biceps bulging beneath the tight fit of his clothes. Pulling a power bar from his pocket, Jungkook waves at the weights Seokjin discarded.

“Give me ten more.”

Seokjin glares. “Go choke.”

“Can’t.” Unwrapping his snack, Jungkook takes a large bite. “Told my current hook-up that was just for her.”

“Gross.” Seokjin groans, bending to grab the weights. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Jungkook grins, displaying chocolate and teeth. “Ten more,” he repeats.

Despite several muttered curse words under his breath, Seokjin obeys. Dropping the weights again on the floor – in direct defiance of the no weight-dropping sign – Seokjin grabs his knees with both hands.

“Alright,” he huffs, squinting at Jungkook. “I don’t care anymore if I’m in shape. I care more about snacks. Snacks and alcohol.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that.” Jungkook takes another bite. “I’m using one of my free guest passes on you, so you better be worth it.”

Rolling his eyes, Seokjin takes a long swig from his water bottle. Despite this, he still follows Jungkook as they walk to the treadmills. Jungkook is right, he is doing Seokjin a favor by letting him work out for free. Truth be told, Seokjin hated Jungkook when he first began at the mall. Jungkook was young, good- looking and got tons of attention – male and female, alike.

He was the competition.

Over time though, this distrust dissolved and somehow, Jungkook is now one of Seokjin’s closest friends. When he is not annoying the hell out of him, that is.

Throwing his wrapper in the trash, Jungkook wipes both palms on his pants. “So.” Stepping onto a treadmill, he turns the speed to three. “How’s it going with drone girl?”

Seokjin follows suit. “She knocked over my display today.”

“Like, on purpose?”

“Nah.” Seokjin shakes his head. “On accident. She was doing a demo and one of the helicopter drones broke. Crashed into my kiosk.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Still – annoying. Increase your speed.”

Seokjin obeys. “Eh,” he huffs, beginning to jog. “I don’t think it was on purpose. But still, she’s just so frustrating.”

“What’s frustrating? Increase your speed again to four.”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin says, following suit. “She’s frustrating. She has this way of looking at me, you know?”

“Looking at you in like, a creepy way?”

“No…” Seokjin’s feet pound the treadmill. “She’s a tease.”

“Sounds hot.”

“She keeps messing with me.”

“You keep messing with her.”

“She made fun of my fidget spinners!”

Jungkook bursts into laughter. To add insult to injury, he barely seems winded at all by their run and Seokjin is panting.

“Dude. Fidget spinners suck. I’ve heard you say that on multiple occasions.”

“Sure, but she doesn’t have to say that!”

“Whatever, bro.” Jungkook grins. “Sounds to me like you want to fuck her.”

Seokjin is so startled, he nearly trips on the treadmill. “I do not.”

“No judgement here! Do it once, get it out of your system.”

“I don’t want to fuck her, Jungkook.” Seokjin glares in his direction. “She hates me. And I hate her!”

“O-h,” Jungkook says knowingly. “So, you’re in love with her. I get it. Increase your speed to five.”

Seokjin obeys, face turning beet-red. “Jungkook,” he growls. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

Reaching out, Seokjin turns the speed on Jungkook’s treadmill to eight.

“Hey!” Jungkook yelps, breaking into a sprint. He manages to keep up, pushing a hand through his hair. When Seokjin rolls his eyes, Jungkook grins. “Nailed it.”

Seokjin returns to his machine. “Besides, you’re one to talk,” he mutters. “Aren’t you in love with the juice girl, or something?”

On reflex, Jungkook glances over his shoulder. Seokjin can tell by his lovesick expression he is right. Juice girl only started working recently at the gym and from what Seokjin can tell, Jungkook is entirely smitten. He has never been subtle about the women he likes, but with juice girl, Jungkook seems to have met his match.

She is completely immune to his charms. Seokjin cannot help but feel sympathy for the guy. Or – at least, he does until Jungkook returns to him with a grin.

“So.” He wriggles his eyebrows. “How hot is kiosk girl, anyways?”

“No.” Seokjin reaches out to increase Jungkook’s incline. “You’re not going to fuck my mortal enemy.”

“Well, if you’re not going to.”

“Think about juice girl!” Seokjin yells – entirely unintentional, but he is running out of breath.

Jungkook retaliates by upping his speed. By the end of their sprint, Seokjin feels like collapsing. He steps off his treadmill with wobbly legs, feeling as though he has just run a marathon. Not that Seokjin would ever run a marathon, of course, but he can imagine. Jungkook follows suit, hopping down from his machine.

“Good workout.” Jungkook wipes his forehead with a towel. “Wanna come over and hang? Hoseok from Foot Locker is gonna come, too.”

Seokjin nods, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Yeah, okay.” He glances again at the door, but your kiosk is too far to see. “Sounds good to me.”

As they walk towards the locker rooms, Jungkook chatters aimlessly but Seokjin cannot stop thinking about you. While he showers and changes, Jungkook’s words replay in his mind. The idea of Seokjin having a crush on you is insane. The two of you have barely exchanged one nice word since you met.

Still. Snapping a towel free from his neck, Seokjin continues to wonder. He does think about you an awful lot. Usually, he is thinking of new ways to annoy you, but that is more than he thinks about anyone else. Chad, for instance – or Lisa.

Frowning, Seokjin slams shut his locker. He cannot ignore the initial attraction he had for you. If you had not been his competition, Seokjin would have probably asked you out.

The moment he thinks this, he freezes. Maybe this is why you annoy him so much – Seokjin is attracted to you and can do nothing about it.

Under any other set of circumstances, this fact would be enlightening but things being what they are though, nothing has changed. You still hate him. Seokjin still finds you his competition.

Staring at his locker, Seokjin’s lips twist.

“Seokjin!” Jungkook yells from the door. “You coming, or what?”

Jerking himself free from his thoughts, Seokjin picks up his bag. “Coming!” he yells, pushing you from his mind.

Seokjin has the next two days off work. He uses this mainly to work on his apps, pouring time and energy into working the kinks from his latest round of updates. In between each stroke of his keyboard, he is thinking of you.

Seokjin hates Jungkook a little, for pointing out the obvious fact that he likes you. Before that, Seokjin took his fixation with you at face value. He did not like you; he was just annoyed by you. Now, though.

He cannot help but wonder.

Exhaling loudly, Seokjin slumps against his kiosk. His manager is off once again – honestly, that dude never works – and Seokjin is stuck working with Chad. Absently, Seokjin twirls a spinner around his finger.

“You okay, man?” Chad breaks the silence.

Shaking his head, Seokjin stares into space. “Oh, yeah. Just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.”

“With what?”

Seokjin shrugs, not feeling like talking.

Chad is one of the few people capable of getting under his skin without saying a word. It is something about the way Chad stands – chest puffed, gaze lazy, as though the world owes him something. He always wears a backwards cap, even inside and Seokjin suspects a receding hairline to be the cause. Whatever the reason, Chad always has a chip on his shoulder.

He seems to be compensating for something. Although what he could be compensating for, as a white male in today’s economy, Seokjin has no idea.

“Hey.” Voice lowering, Chad nods towards the food court. “I know something which might cheer you up.”

Seokjin straightens when he realizes Chad is staring at you. Anything which cheers Chad up could only have the opposite effect upon Seokjin.

“What?” Seokjin asks, suspicious.

Chad leans in. “You know the bitch who ruined our display a few days ago?”

Seokjin’s jaw tightens, hearing you called a bitch. “What about it?”

“Ha.” Chad laughs, not hearing the clear warning in Seokjin’s tone. “Don’t worry about paying her back. I got this.”

Alarm bells go off in Seokjin’s mind. “What do you mean by, ‘I got this?’”

“Let’s just say it’s taken care of.”

“No.” Seokjin drops his phone, standing up from his chair. “Let’s say more. What the fuck did you do, Chad?”

Chad blinks at him in surprise. “Whoa – chill, dude. What’re you pissed about?”

Seokjin pauses, uncertain. It is not as though he knows you, not really. But still – Seokjin remembers how sincere you looked that day, apologizing for the display. You did not mean to injure their kiosk; he knows that much.

“Chad…” Seokjin mutters in warning.

He does not get further before screams erupt from the food court. Seokjin’s head whips sideways, spotting the source of the commotion. Once again, a drone is loose in the mall. Like two days prior, a rogue helicopter flies over the food court. It seems out of control, dive-bombing people at random and sending them running.

Seokjin’s mouth drop. Before he can move, the drone careens towards the ground. A girl stands alone next to the frozen yogurt place, holding her cone and staring at it in terror. Her eyes widen, fixed on the drone and Seokjin moves on instinct, darting into the crowd.

Before he can arrive, the girl’s mom appears to yank her to safety. Her cone spills in the process, mint chocolate chip on the ground, but at least the helicopter misses, swooping and diving again. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, realizing the drone moves much too fast to be out of control.

Glancing around, Seokjin realizes Chad is on his phone. When he sees Seokjin looking, Chad waves at him with a grin.

Seokjin’s stomach heaves. Before he can move, you are barreling towards him.

“YOU!” you yell, pointing a finger. Several people between you look up in surprise.

Seokjin blinks, also pointing at himself. “Me?”

“You!” you gasp, skidding to a stop. “What the hell did you do to my drone?”

You are holding several remotes in your fist, Seokjin realizes. Apparently, none of them are working. The helicopter swoops dangerously close to you both and Seokjin ducks out of the way.

“What did I do?” he blurts, staring upwards. “You think I’m the one behind this?”

“No, shit!” you yell, dodging the drone.

“Y/N, I –” The chopper dive-bombs again and Seokjin groans. This is not going to make you believe him, but he needs to do something before someone gets hurt. “Fuck it!” he yells and takes off.

Sprinting away, Seokjin hears you yelling behind him. Ignoring you, Seokjin leaps onto a table. He is not sure how Chad is controlling the helicopter – possibly from his phone, but Seokjin would not put it past him to have someone stationed elsewhere in the mall. Based on the depth of his vengeance on Twitter, Seokjin imagines Chad to be petty.

All Seokjin knows is he needs to stop the drone and a sure-fire way of doing that is getting the drone from the air.

Above, the drone does a loop before dive-bombing a cluster of girls exiting the lingerie store. The girls squeal, scatting in every direction as the helicopter pulls from its spiral. Leaping into the air, Seokjin’s fingers barely brush a wing before falling back to the ground.

“SEOKJIN, GET BACK HERE!”

Ignoring you, Seokjin continues pursuing the drone. “Sorry!” he yells, dodging a woman. “Y/N, this isn’t what it looks like!”

Your footsteps pound behind him, catching up. “It looks like you hijacked one of your drones!”

“See!” Seokjin glances over his shoulder. “I told you it wasn’t what it looks like!”

“Huh?”

“Aha!” Seokjin leaps into the air. Fuck – he barely misses. Crashing again to the ground, Seokjin takes off running. He uses his next jump to leap onto a table.

A guy looks up from his hot dog, mustard dribbled onto his chin. “What the f –”

Seokjin leaps into the air, fingers grazing the wing of the helicopter. Eyes narrowed, Seokjin swears as his heels hit the ground. A mother nearby covers the ears of her child.

“Sorry!” Seokjin yells in response.

A hand grabs his arm. “Kim Seokjin!” you blurt, whirling him sideways to face you.

Seokjin glances over your shoulder in distress. “It’s getting away!” he blurts, shaking free to sprint towards the fro-yo.

Your mouth drops, but you follow. “What are you doing?”

Not having the breath to answer, Seokjin runs faster. For the first time in his life, he is grateful Jungkook pushes him so hard at the gym. Jumping again in the air, Seokjin thinks he has done it – until you jump suddenly in front of him, swatting his hand.

“Hey!” Seokjin yelps, stumbling as he hands. “What the fuck, Y/N?”

“Mine!” you yell, darting forward.

“Wait – Y/N!”

Grumbling, he chases after you. The two of you must look ridiculous, racing around the food court. As you pass Auntie Anne’s pretzels, Seokjin swears he can hear Yoongi cracking up at the register.

One second, you are ahead of him and the next, Seokjin is. He runs faster, pumping his arms as he spots the drone by the fountain. Cutting you off, Seokjin puts on a sudden burst of speed and leaps into the air. His fingers wrap around metal, yanking the helicopter from the sky. As he descends, Seokjin cannot help but laugh – until your hand finds his elbow, pulling him sideways.

Seokjin yelps, stumbling when his feet hit the concrete.

There is a dangerous, teetering moment where you both hover at the edge of the fountain – and then he falls, taking you with. Seokjin yelps, soaked to the skin when a water jet hits his face. A second splash follows as your butt hits the water.

If feels like a scene from a movie; that moment when a song cuts at a party. One second, everything is happening and the next – nothing.

Slowly, Seokjin pushes himself to sit in the water. The trickling sound of the fountain fills his ears, one of his hands resting on something which is definitely not a penny.

“Gross,” Seokjin groans, seeing the wad of pink gum.

His pants are soaked, so is his shirt and Seokjin does not even want to imagine the state of his hair. Removing his hand from the water gum, Seokjin looks up.

You glare back at him, making Seokjin recoil.

At least the drone is down.

Seokjin can see its red wings submerged in the water, bobbing genteelly in the waves of the fountain. Slowly, the sounds of the mall filter back in. Someone nearby snickers and someone else starts to clap. In his peripheral, Seokjin can see a few teenagers recording and slowly, he closes his eyes. If he goes viral, there is no way his manager will keep him.

You seem to realize the same thing, glancing around you in panic. Seokjin realizes your situation is noticeably worse than his, since you were wearing a white t-shirt when you fell. The material sticks to your skin, making each curve of your body apparent.

Seokjin swallows, understanding crashing into him with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

He likes you.

Fuck. Seokjin likes you, and he is a giant idiot.

Snickering at the food court grabs Seokjin’s attention. It appears he is not the only one to have noticed your shirt. At least your bra is white, but this does not seem to matter to fifteen-year-old boys.

Glancing down, you inhale and cover your chest. Seokjin awkwardly tries to stand, rushing forward to help but slips in the process, nearly falling again. It does not seem as though you desire his help anyways, springing to your feet with tears in your eyes.

Teeth chattering, you hold one hand before you. “Stay away,” you blurt, wet strands of hair plastered against your face. As though unable to help yourself, your lower lip quivers. “I fucking mean it, Seokjin. Stay away from me.”

Seokjin’s feet falter beneath him. “I…” Staring at you, he slowly nods in defeat. “Okay.”

You bend, scooping the helicopter into your arms before turning away.

Giving him another scowl, you climb from the fountain. Your sneakers make squishing noises against the linoleum as you stalk through the food court. Seokjin continues to stand there, ignoring the water jets which repeatedly hit his kneecaps.

His stomach sinks, watching you disappear.

Logically, Seokjin should go and find mall security. He should explain to them what happened before they find him, or worse – before he goes viral on the web. Less logically, Seokjin wants to run after you. He cannot simply leave things between you like that.

At the very least, he should find you a dry t-shirt. Maybe Hoseok could get him one from Foot Locker.

Because this is partly his fault. Seokjin was not the one who took over the drone and he did not push you into the fountain, but you only reacted that way because of how Seokjin has treated you. It was not a wild leap of thought to assume Seokjin was the culprit.

Before he can think about this further, a laugh breaks through the crowd. Turning around, Seokjin sees Chad running towards him.

“Wow.” Chad skids to a stop at the fountain. “That was incredible. Did you see how wet she was? And guess who got it all on camera?” He winks, waving his phone.

“Did you?” Seokjin speaks pleasantly, although he is starting to see red. “Can I see that?”

“Sure.” Chad grins, handing over the phone.

Accepting the object, Seokjin promptly throws this into the fountain.

Chad’s mouth drops open. “What the fuck?” he blurts, watching the metal sink to the bottom.

Seokjin brushes off his hands. “You’re fired,” he says, stepping out of the fountain. Water drips from his shirt, splashing the ground at his feet.

Chad’s eyes bug. “You can’t fire me, asshole. You’re not my manager.”

“Maybe not.” Seokjin shrugs and walks past. His hands open and close, curling into fists. “But he likes me better than you and he’ll believe me when I say this was your fault.”

“You dick!”

“That���s right,” Seokjin mutters. He glances at your kiosk, only to find it empty – Brandi must be helping you to clean up. Something twinges in his chest, knowing this is partly his fault. “I guess I am.”

One week later, Seokjin cannot stop thinking about you.

He tries to forget. Truly, he does but this proves itself to be more difficult than he realized. Seokjin did not understand before, how deeply you integrated yourself in his life. He did not realize how much he looked forward each day to your banter, to hearing your laugh whenever he passed by your kiosk. The past month has been bearable only because of your presence.

Slumped at the counter of Auntie Anne’s pretzels, Seokjin stares forlornly across the food court.

“Either smile or move.”

Seokjin turns to Yoongi in confusion. “Huh?”

“Either smile,” Yoongi repeats. “Or move. You’re bumming out all my customers.”

Seokjin glances at the empty food court before him. It is 10:00 AM. “What customers?”

“Exactly. All my customers are scared off by how sad you are.”

Seokjin manages a weak chuckle. “Trust me, my face is not what’s driving your customers away. If anything, it’s your latest SoundCloud mix.”

Yoongi frowns, perturbed. “Take that back.”

Seokjin winces, seeing the genuine hurt on his face. “Sorry, man,” he mumbles. “I’m just not in a great mood today.”

“No shit.”

Seokjin cracks a smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“Much in the same way climate change is obvious to everyone but the Cheeto.”

Stifling a laugh, Seokjin quickly sobers. “I just… I don’t know. I thought she’d hear me out, at least.”

The entire past week, Seokjin has parked at the opposite end of the mall from your kiosk. It makes his morning walk shorter, but somehow lonelier.

“So, this is about her, huh?” Yoongi lowers his elbows to the counter. “She’s gone incommunicado.”

“Yeah, it’s about her. I guess I can’t really blame her for being mad at me.”

“No?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “I was kind of a dick.”

Yoongi snorts. “She was a dick, too.”

“Yeah, but I started it.” Seokjin takes a sip of his coffee. “I was the one who approached her all weird, called her the competition. That set a tone.”

“Okay.” Yoongi tilts his head, thinking. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?” 

“I’m going to do nothing about it.”

“Then stop complaining to me.”

“I’m not complaining!” Seokjin looks up and sighs. “Alright, maybe I’m complaining a little. I just… wish I’d realized I liked her sooner.”

“Who cares about that? Tell her now!”

“But she hates me.”

“She hated you then!”

Seokjin glares and takes another sip of his coffee – sputtering, he chokes, “Oh, shit – that’s hot.”

“Hey.” Yoongi gives him a look. “She thinks you messed with her job. That’s way different than wearing tight pants, or putting on a fidget show, or whatever.”

“Fidget spinner show, Yoongi. Fidget show sounds like something else.”

“Both are lame,” Yoongi says. “And my point still stands. She’s mad at you now because of something you didn’t do. Now, move your elbow – I need to clean that spot before lunch.”

Seokjin obliges, dutifully removing himself from the counter. Drinking his coffee, he stares out at the food court. Up until now, Seokjin thought he was doing the noble thing. He was respecting your wishes by giving you space. You said you did not wish to see him again.

Yoongi is right, though. You said all that laboring under a misconception. More than respecting the words said in anger, perhaps it is better for Seokjin to tell you the truth. Maybe pretending to be noble is just another way of chickening out.

Because if Seokjin explains everything to you and you still do not care, it means he is alone in all this. His feelings are one-sided and everything before now was merely a rivalry. The spark Seokjin feels when he looks at you, the burning desire to kiss you – if you knew all that and still hated him, then Seokjin would be alone.

Seokjin exhales and looks up. “Gotta go,” he says, slapping the counter. “See you after your shift?’

“Wait!” Yoongi catches his arm before Seokjin can leave. “Bracelet buddies?” he grins, holding up the pink cat charm wound around his wrist.

Seokjin groans, dutifully rolling up his sleeve to showcase the pale pink alpaca. “Bracelet buddies,” he says glumly.

Yoongi gave him the gift several days ago; payback, he said, for all the women Seokjin has sent his way with the promise of a free pretzel. That used to be Seokjin’s way of scoring dates at the mall. At least, before he met you. Seokjin is obligated to wear said bracelet for three months, or else Yoongi will send their friends pictures of him sleeping with his mouth open on the couch.

If he is being honest, Seokjin does not entirely hate the bracelet. The alpaca is kind of cute, but Yoongi cannot ever know that. Waving goodbye, he manages to scowl and keep up appearances when he heads towards his kiosk.

For the next several days, Seokjin continues to wimp out.

Kind of.

While he does not actually explain what happened, he tries to make up for it in other ways. On Monday, he overhears you telling the Kay Jewelers girl the legs of your stool are too short. As a result, Seokjin volunteers to work late and stays long after closing. Before he leaves, he goes to your kiosk and switches your stool for his.

On Thursday morning, your shifts overlap. Seokjin sees you yawn passing his kiosk, mentioning to Brandi you did not sleep well the night prior. Ducking behind his counter, Seokjin does not make eye contact.

Still, he stops by Java Joe’s on his break and begs Taehyung for coffee.

Taking the long way back through the mall, Seokjin visits your kiosk. It is the first time he has tried talking to you since the Great Fountain debacle. As you come into view, Seokjin swallows and forces the words from his lips.

“Hey.” He comes to a stop at the register.

You freeze when you see him. “Um. Hi?”

Seokjin holds the coffee tray out like a shield. “I was at Java Joe’s and Taehyung brewed too much espresso. Lisa doesn’t drink it, so I was wondering if you wanted it?”

Your lips part, staring at him for a moment.

When you do not immediately respond, Seokjin starts to sweat. “You don’t have to take it,” he says quickly. “I can give it to someone else. It’s too much for me though, and you were on the way back from the shop…”

Trailing off, Seokjin wonders if this entire endeavor is foolish. The tray he is holding is full – four, small cups of espresso which cost an hour of pay. Of course, you do not need to know that. You only need to know that he thought of you.

“I – yeah,” you say slowly, reaching out for a cup. “Thanks, Seokjin.”

Seokjin blinks, since your response was almost cordial. Before he can get too excited about this, Brandi appears.

“Wow, thanks!” she enthuses, grabbing a cup. “That was so nice of you to do this.”

“Right.” Seokjin deflates just a little. It is not as if he does not want Brandi to have espresso, but he was hoping for a shared moment with you. “Just spreading the love – or caffeine, as it were. Anyways…” His laughter trails off, gaze darting to you. “Guess I have one more cup to distribute. Enjoy!”

He turns around too fast for you to respond.

Each step he takes, Seokjin half-expects to hear you call out behind him. If this were pre-Fountain Incident, you probably would have. An insult, or horrible pun – something to let Seokjin know you were watching him walk away, but now there is only silence.

This goes on for a week. Seokjin continues to do nice things for you, passing by in the hopes you will say hi. He holds his breath and hopes you will speak first, but it seems you are determined to continue icing him out.

Seokjin supposes he cannot blame you for this. It is not as though you were friends, after all.

He has almost accepted the idea that you will continue being strangers when one day, Seokjin looks up and finds you at the register.

All words instantly die in his throat.

If he thought he was in the process of getting over you, Seokjin was sorely mistaken. The days of silence have not lessened his want, but only intensified it. It makes him swallow, uncertain, which must be a first. Out of all his friends, Seokjin is not the one to call shy.

Tentatively, you smile and Seokjin realizes he still has not spoken.

“H-hi,” he stammers.

Your shoulders seem to relax at his nervousness. “Hi. Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Seokjin says, slamming his register shut. “Lisa is on break, but it’s been a slow afternoon.”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Same. Guess we finally found those lulls you were on about.”

Seokjin chuckles under his breath. The space between you falls silent again.

“I, uh…” Twisting your hands before you, you seem unsure what to say. “I haven’t seen you around, lately.”

Seokjin’s heart stutters. “Oh. I guess.”

“That’s kind of my fault,” you say. Seokjin’s gaze drops to your hands, which continue to twist. He finds the gesture oddly endearing. “I was the one who told you to stay away.”

Arching a brow, Seokjin turns towards the register. He does not know what to say without being rude. Yes, seems like the most obvious answer, but that could be construed as impolite. Casually, he sneaks a peek sideways. You are right, though – this is partly your fault, also. Even if the other fault is his own.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I don’t blame you for saying that, though.”

“You don’t?”

Curiosity laces your tone and Seokjin looks up, surprised to see a question mark in your gaze.

“Brandi told me Chad was fired,” you add.

Seokjin stills. “Yeah. He was.”

You pause, as though waiting for an explanation. When none comes, you narrow your eyes. “He was the one who messed with that drone, wasn’t he? Not you.”

“I – yeah, I guess so.”

Exasperation enters your gaze. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did!” Seokjin protests. “I told you when we were chasing after the drone and you didn’t believe me!”

“Oh,” you say, wilting a bit. “Right.”

Seeing your face, Seokjin softens. “Look, it’s not a big deal.”

“Is it?” you ask in disbelief. “I yelled at you in front of the entire mall for something you didn’t do, and you’re saying its fine?”

Seokjin’s lips quirk. “Well, when you put it like that.”

When you roll your eyes at the ceiling, he laughs. Weirdly, it feels good to have you disparage him a little. It feels as though you are on even footing again.

“I mean, it’s not like we were friends,” Seokjin continues. “Why wouldn’t you think it was me?”

“Hm.” You blink, taken aback. “I guess you’re right.”

After another long moment, Seokjin adds, “We could try to be friends now, though. If you want.”

You bite down on your lip. “Are you giving me a formal offer, Seokjin? Should I sign on the dotted line somewhere?”

“I can make a contract if you want. All good peace treaties are in writing.”

“Is that what this is? A peace treaty?”

“Of a sort.” Seokjin raises a brow. “I can’t promise to stop kicking your ass in sales, though. I was born talented.”

“Or, maybe it’s Maybelline,” you shoot back. “I wouldn’t want you to stop, though. It’s been too quiet around here without you blasting Backstreet Boys.”

“Liked what you heard?”

“Who doesn’t like Backstreet Boys?”

“Monsters.”

“Agreed.”

“Wow.” Seokjin’s brow furrows. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever agreed with me.”

“I know.” After a moment, you frown. “It’s oddly unsettling.”

Seokjin laughs – a short, surprised burst which makes you smile. “Well...” Trailing off, he finds himself unsure what more to say. “Is that why you came over?”

“Let’s see.” You lift a hand, ticking things off on your fingers. “Tell you I know you didn’t sabotage my job. Check. Ask to be friends? Check. Oh,” you add, as though only remembering. “There was something else I wanted to say.

Seokjin waits, holding his breath as you start to lean in.

Angelic, you smile. “I lied before,” you say. “We aren’t having a lull. See you around!”

Dropping a wink, you turn to walk across the food court. Seokjin watches you go, legs having effectively turned to jelly in your presence. It is unfair that you have this effect on him. Slowly, he lowers himself onto his stool. It would seem the two of you are friends now.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Seokjin wonders what he has gotten himself into.

Over the next couple of weeks, Seokjin stops by your kiosk more often. He learns your usual morning coffee order – a grande iced Americano – and occasionally brings it along. You seem to have switched to the morning shift, he notices. Before, it was about fifty-fifty which time of the day you showed up.

At some point, Seokjin explains about his former job and current app development side projects. This turns into a running joke of him bouncing ideas off you.

“Okay,” you say, folding your hands across a wan food court table.

Seokjin takes a sip of his coffee. “Okay, what?”

“Okay, what’s today’s app idea?”

Seokjin snorts. It is 10:00 AM and neither of you must be at your shift yet but somehow, you both managed to arrive early.

“What about this?” Seokjin leans back in his chair. “Angry birds, but – instead of birds, its photos of friends that you upload yourself.”

“Pass.”

“Hm. A Bachelorette fantasy league app?”

“Hard no.”

“Okay, so this one is a kid’s game.”

“Go on.”

“A kid’s game where you change the oil of your dad’s car as fast as you can.” 

You snort, nearly spilling your drink. “Seokjin! That’s a terrible app idea.” 

“Bonus points if you spill no oil on the driveway!”

“Seokjin!”

He grins. “Yeah, Yoongi said it was bad, too. I don’t get it.”

“Please.” Shaking your head, your smile fades the longer you look at him. “I don’t believe any of those are your actual idea, though.”

“Huh?” Seokjin blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Those are just the ideas you tell people to make them laugh,” you observe. “It gets them off your back, so you don’t have to say your actual idea. You know, the one you really care about.”

Seokjin pauses, mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You arch a brow. “I get it. That’s how I am with my writing. Freelance doesn’t exactly pay for dreams, does it? I tend to downplay my favorite ideas, so then if they don’t work out – hey, at least it wasn’t something I cared about. You know?”

Seokjin is not quite sure how to respond. In only a few sentences, you have looked inside him and summarized his thoughts. No one – not even Yoongi, whom Seokjin has known for years – is able to read him as well.

Inhaling gently, Seokjin leans back from the table. “Well,” he admits. “There is this one idea.”

“Oh?”

Nodding, Seokjin considers where to begin. “Do you know what fair lending is?”

“Not really, no.”

“It’s the unbiased treatment of customers by banks.” Seokjin pauses and, when you do not seem bored with the topic, begins to speak freely. “It ensures financial institutions provide uniform services, regardless of bias.”

“Gotcha. So, it’s like equal opportunity but for banks?”

“Kind of, yeah.” Seokjin exhales. “Basically, I want to create a fair lending app. There is a lot out there to help with credit decisions and stuff, but I want to put it all in one place. I want to break down the ‘non-biased metrics’ banks use and warn people how there could be bias involved.”

Your frown. “What do you mean?”

“Take income, for example.” Seokjin grips his cup tighter. “The vast majority of people below the poverty line are minorities. So, if a bank has a hard and fast income requirement for a loan, they inadvertently discriminate. It’s why a variety of factors are mandated to assist in … what?” Seokjin blinks, seeing you staring. “What is it?”

Hiding a smile, you shake your head. “Nothing, it’s just a cool idea. I think you should do it.”

“But then who will make bachelorette fantasy app?” Seokjin jokes, ducking his head.

“Someone else.” You wait until he looks up. “Do the fair lending app.”

Seokjin finds he cannot think of another joke. “Alright,” he says slowly. “It’s a plan.”

You nod, sipping your coffee as silence falls in between you. It is unnerving, how easy it is for Seokjin to talk to you. With most people, it takes him a while to show his true colors but with you, he finds he cannot be anyone else.

Glancing at his watch, Seokjin realizes how late it is. “Shit,” he mutters, jumping out of his seat. “It’s nearly 10:30.”

You wince, standing as well. “Damn, do you have to open today?”

“Unfortunately so.” Seokjin grabs his coffee. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay, Y/N?”

“Okay,” you say, waving when he turns out of sight.

Seokjin does not hesitate to walk away. He curses himself the entire way to his kiosk because he is becoming much too comfortable with being your friend. Enough that he keeps catching himself thinking about more.

It is hard not to think about his hands wrapped around yours on your coffee cup. Hard not to imagine carpooling with you in his car to work. Seokjin tries to be on his best behavior but still, the fantasies worm their way in.

It is why he has created several rules of conduct around you. First and foremost is never stay for too long. The second Seokjin feels himself becoming attached, he leaves. Like now, for instance. Seokjin does not really have to be at the kiosk before eleven but the way you were looking at him made his heart beat out of his chest.

Self-preservation, he reminds himself.

The rules are working until Taehyung throws a party.

“Saturday night,” Taehyung grunts, slamming Seokjin’s coffee order on the counter.

Seokjin blinks, reaching up to take both cups. Lately, Taehyung has been in the worst kind of mood. This mostly seems to stem from his hot co-worker who will not take him seriously. All the guys in the mall gave him shit about it before, but the kid really does seem to like her. Which sucks, since Taehyung has a reputation and the pretty barista clearly has heard of it.

“The party is at your place?” asks Seokjin, glancing up at the counter.

Taehyung nods. Loud enough for his co-worker to hear, he adds, “The party will be at my place this weekend! Can’t wait to see you there, Seokjin!”

Seokjin snorts, shaking his head. “You’re whipped, man,” he whispers. Then, loud enough for the female barista to hear, he adds, “I’ll be there! In fact, everyone should come!”

The girl does not react, busy at the register and Seokjin shrugs.

Sorry man, he mouths to Taehyung before pushing open the door. Making his way through the mall, Seokjin walks past your kiosk – only to see you deep in conversation with another guy. Seokjin does not recognize him as your co-worker, but he does recognize him from the gym.

Occasionally, Jungkook talks to him before they work out. Seokjin never found the guy threatening before.

Seeing him now though, the oddest sensation unfurls in his stomach. He does not want you talking to this guy – the desire flashes through Seokjin’s mind faster than he can stop it. Before he can turn around and leave though, before Seokjin can separate himself from the situation, you look up and smile.

“Hey, Seokjin!”

“Hey, Y/N.” Plastering a smile on his face, Seokjin forces himself to walk towards your kiosk. “And you are…?” he asks, looking at the stranger.

The guy grins, unconcerned. “Hey, I’m Josh.”

“Cool.” Seokjin returns to looking at you. “Are you coming to Taehyung’s party this weekend, Y/N?”

Everyone at the mall knows who Taehyung is. He is a staple for anyone who drinks coffee – and chances are, if you have stopped by Java Joe’s in the past three days, you are invited.

Your eyes widen. “I was thinking about it.”

“Cool.” Seokjin casually leans an elbow against your kiosk. He forgets about the wheels though, and as a result, the entire thing starts to move. Frantically attempting to right this, Seokjin nearly spills his coffee in the process.

“Anyways…” he mutters, ears turning scarlet.

You clamp your lips tightly together. “So, you’re going to be there?”

Seokjin nods. He has no idea what he is doing. He has no idea what Josh is doing, since he has not said a word since introducing himself.

Glancing at him now, Seokjin is reminded of Chad. Not because the two look anything alike, but because they both have that air about them. That condescending, could-bench-press-you-in-seconds look. Seokjin bets that, at some point in the past ten days, Josh has worn a snapback.

You are standing close very close to him, though. Seokjin cannot ignore this fact.

“Cool.” Your gaze lingers on his. “Then, I guess I’ll see you there?”

Seokjin nods. “Guess so. We’ll see!”

He turns, walking away and overhears Josh ask you details about the party. Gritting his teeth, Seokjin uncurls his hands from their fists. You are not his to be jealous of, he reminds himself. He has no right to be angry if you decide to date someone else. But still, Seokjin’s mood remains sour for the rest of the day.

You do not visit at the end of your shift. If could be because you are genuinely busy. Or, it could be something else. Or, someone.

Seokjin has the next two days off. He uses them to work on his fair lending app, getting a good bit of coding done in his apartment. Your voice plays in his mind as he works, telling him to go for what he wants.

Seokjin is tired of working at the Fidget Funk. He is tired of waking up every morning, going to a job he hates and feeling as though he is doing nothing with his life. What was supposed to be a temp job has stretched into months and Seokjin needs to act for anything about this to change.

There is only so long he can complain before doing something about it.

He wants to do what he loves; wants to do something he cares about – not this. Sometimes, making that decision is the hardest part.

The night of the party, Seokjin drives there with Yoongi. Yoongi, surprisingly agrees to come with little coercion. Usually, Seokjin needs to drag his taciturn roommate to social events. He was easily convinced tonight though, which results in Seokjin being more nervous than normal.

As they enter Taehyung’s apartment, he pauses on the threshold.

If he had your number, he would have texted to see if you were coming, but Seokjin does not and so, he could not. Wandering into the room, Seokjin winces when no one removes their shoes. Parties are always strangely barbaric in that regard.

Taehyung’s apartment with his roommate, Jimin, is much larger than his. Seokjin remembers Taehyung saying Jimin came from money but does not remember specifics. Jimin is a night nurse at NorthShore Medical center and often stops by Java Joe’s in the morning for coffee. Other than that, Seokjin does not know much about him.

Walking inside, Seokjin realizes Taehyung has downplayed Jimin’s wealth. There is no way they could afford this place on a nurse and barista salary. A bunch of people are outside – because there is an outside; a large balcony overlooking the city – chatting about nothing over the rims of their drinks.

Yoongi disappears as soon as they enter, heading off to god-knows-where. He leaves Seokjin alone, who shifts his weight about nervously. Glancing up, he spots Namjoon in the kitchen and hastily rushes towards him. Finally, a familiar face.

“Joon!” he calls out.

Namjoon waves, re-filling the cup in his hand. When Seokjin reaches his side, he hands another to Seokjin. “Hey,” Namjoon nods. “You just get here?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin scans the party again, red cup in one hand. “Is everything c –”

Cutting himself off mid-sentence, Seokjin stares when you walk into the room. Everything he wanted to say falls from his brain to the floor. It is not unlike that one scene in She’s All That, when Laney comes down the stairs and Freddie Prinze Jr. loses his mind. Seokjin cannot think, looking at you.

A red cup is in your hand, matching the red gloss on your lips and god, Seokjin cannot stop thinking about kissing it off.

He swallows, hard – and then notices the guy at your side.

You laugh, turning sideways to Josh. Because that is who it is, of course – the same muscle- bound jock you were talking to at the drone kiosk earlier.

Jungkook appears as well, clapping Josh on the shoulder. Seokjin scowls, swallowing a larger sip of his drink than intended. First, this guy tries to steal his girl and now, his best friend. Eyes widening, Seokjin straightens. Shit, you are not his girl. He needs to stop thinking that way.

“Seokjin?”

Seokjin realizes Namjoon is staring at him. “Uh, yeah?”

“You trailed off in the middle of a sentence and have been hard-core staring at that girl ever since. Is – oh!” Namjoon’s eyes light up. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“That’s who?” Seokjin hastily swallows his drink.

“The girl! Fountain girl!” Namjoon shoves him. “The one you’re head over heels for!”

“Okay, fountain girl is a horrible way of describing her. And yeah, maybe that’s – shit, shut up,” Seokjin hisses. “She’s coming this way.”

Namjoon snorts into his drink. You are, indeed, waking towards them but Josh is no longer beside you. Craning his neck, Seokjin looks over your shoulder but does not see the guy anywhere.

“Hey.” You come to a stop right before them, glancing at Namjoon. “Namjoon, right?”

Namjoon sticks out a hand. “Yep. Y/N?”

You take this, stifling a smile as you shake. “Yeah.”

“And, of course, you know Seokjin.” Namjoon grins at Seokjin’s flustered expression.

“Uh-huh,” you say, offering him a tentative smile. “We go way back.”

Feeling somewhat nauseous, Seokjin takes another sip of his drink. “Y/N and I are friends.”

A flash of something – uncertainty? Annoyance? – crosses your features. “Right,” you say carefully. “Friends.”

Your expression remains stubborn though, and Seokjin wonders if he has done something wrong. Changing the subject, he glances around the apartment. “Have you been here before, Y/N?”

“No,” you confess. “But damn – which roommate won the lottery?”

Seokjin grins. “I know, right? I can show you around if you want.”

You blink, taken aback by his offer and Seokjin wonders if that was too forward. Well, fuck it – he is not getting anywhere by being subtle.

“Yeah,” you say, recovering yourself. “I’d like that.”

Pushing himself off the counter, Seokjin says goodbye to Namjoon and plunges into the party. He continues to look for hot gym guy, Josh, but does not see him anywhere. It is unlikely you came here together, but not impossible. Perhaps the two of you are dating. Perhaps you like him and want to date him in the future.

Seokjin is so busy running through what-if scenarios, he does not notice you looking at him.

“Right, so Taehyung and Jimin’s rooms are that way.” Seokjin leads through the crowd. “Aka, that hall is off limits. This is the living area and well, you already saw the balcony.” Steps faltering, Seokjin looks sideways at you. “Did you see the balcony?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“Scared of heights?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, then you’re lucky.” Seokjin mutters, pushing open the sliding glass door. “Luck you never met that dick, Jared Karinsky.”

Laughing, you follow him out on the balcony. There are only a few other people outside and, once the door slides shut, it feels as though you are trapped in another world.

“Who’s Jared Karinksy?”

Glowering, Seokjin takes a sip of his drink. “Some dick who knew I didn’t like heights, but still brought me to the top of the jungle gym. Then, he left me there. It took two hours for my brother to find me and get me back down.”

Laughing, you lean against the railing. “I take it that didn’t help?”

“It did not,” says Seokjin. “If anything, my fear was worse after.”

You grin, draining the rest of your cup as the wind ruffles your hair. It makes Seokjin’s heart ache a bit to look at.

“Well, I have to say –”

The glass door slides open, interrupting whatever you were about to say. Josh’s head pops out. “Y/N!” he grins. “I was looking for you.”

You slowly turn towards the interruption. “I... oh. Hey, Josh.”

“Are you busy?” Josh glances between you and Seokjin.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Seokjin feels oddly foolish. It seems obvious now, that you came here with Josh. You must have been making a beeline for drinks when you ran into Seokjin in the kitchen. Seokjin assumed, then. He thought you were free. When he grabbed you, he was yanking you away from the guy you really wanted to be with.

“Not busy.” Seokjin drains the rest of his cup. “Not busy at all. Have fun,” he mutters, brushing your shoulder as he moves towards the door.

When he leaves, Seokjin does not look back and so, he does not see your lips part. He does not watch you stare after him with equal parts frustration and anger. All Seokjin sees is the kitchen before him, full of alcohol for him to consume. Alcohol he will need to get through the rest of this party.

He is almost to the kitchen when a hand grips his arm, yanking him around. “What the fuck was that?” you say, brows furrowed.

Seokjin stares at you, alarmed you are in such close proximity. “I – huh? What the fuck was what?”

You scowl, leaning in and Seokjin leans back. “That!” you demand, waving vaguely at the balcony. “Why did you run away?”

“Run away?” Seokjin’s gaze darts towards the offending location. “I thought you wanted to talk to that guy?”

“Why would you think that?” you ask, brows furrowing further.

“I…” Seokjin finds himself at a loss. “I don’t know. Didn’t you come here with him?”

“With Josh?” You wrinkle your nose. “You mean – my cousin, Josh?”

“…cousin?”

You nod, looking at him incredulously. “You thought I wanted to talk to my cousin, Josh, as opposed to you?”

A lightbulb clicks in Seokjin’s mind. “I – he’s your cousin?”

“Yes, he’s my cousin.” Scowling, you take a step closer. “But even if he weren’t, why would you just leave like that? We were in the middle of a conversation!”

“I don’t know!” he blurts, gaze narrowing at your tone.

Out of the two of you, Seokjin is the one with the right to be angry. You are the one looking so damn good tonight and currently yelling at him for something he does not understand.

Vaguely aware they should not have this argument in the middle of Taehyung and Jimin’s kitchen, Seokjin grabs your wrist and tugs you into the hall. The forbidden one, next to the bedrooms. Realizing this, Seokjin keeps going and decides to beg forgiveness later.

Dropping your arm, he whirls around to find you mere inches away.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?” he accuses, pointing a finger. “For that matter – why didn’t you ask if I was going to the party tonight? If my presence is so important to you.”

Glaring at him, you bat his finger away. “You asked me first! Besides, I thought it was obvious I wanted you here. You know… because of the… and…”

“Because of the what?”

Somehow, you have gotten very close to Seokjin. The tips of your toes are just brushing his. Electricity crackles between you, making Seokjin’s heartbeat oddly erratic.

Glowering, your gaze darts to his lips. “Oh – seriously? Shut up and kiss me, you ass!”

Grabbing your face, Seokjin does just that. His lips crash into yours, the kiss muffled and urgent as he backs you to the wall. You groan, hands fisting in the back of his t-shirt. Seokjin cannot think beyond his hand resting on your jaw, then sliding into your hair, then moving down to your ass.

He cups you against him, head reeling from the sudden warmth of your mouth, your body and the urgency of your touch. Seokjin has never wanted someone so badly. Each brush of your lips leaves him wanting more, an endless desire alight in his veins.

Your mouth opens, tongue flicking with his as Seokjin’s heart nearly explodes. He cannot breathe – each breath mingles with yours, leaving him dizzy and parched.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to lean his arm to the wall.

You stare up at him, breathless and confused. Your chest continues to rise and fall, lips swollen from the wanton press of his mouth. Seokjin cannot look away.

“I…” He exhales, glancing towards the living room. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You nod so fast, you nearly hit your head on his chin. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Seokjin reaches down, grabbing your hand. “You good with my place? It’s only a few minutes drive.”

“Yeah,” you answer, following him down the hall. “Roommate?”

“Here. At the party.”

“Good.”

Dragging you into the foyer, Seokjin digs his phone from his pocket. Letting go of your fingers, he shoots a text off to Yoongi, telling him not to come home. He can face the consequences of that later. Shoving his phone in his pocket, Seokjin opens the door.

“Do you have a coat?” he asks, looking at you.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.” Seokjin shuts the door to the hall and the noise of the party fades. “This way?”

“Sounds good.”

When you move to walk past, Seokjin grabs your hand – he cannot help himself. Pushing you against the wall, he relishes your muffled exclamation of surprise and kisses you fiercely. Thoroughly. The way he has wanted to for so long.

Hands sliding into your hair, Seokjin feels you arch against him. Your hand is on his hip, pulling him closer and Seokjin cannot stop thinking about your hand on other places.

When he finally breaks away, you stare at his lips. “That’s…” You swallow, voice sounding strangled. “Fuck.”

Seokjin grins. “Come on.”

Grabbing you again, he pulls you into the elevator. The entire way down, the air between you is electric. Seokjin shifts his weight and you follow suit. Raising a hand, you rub the back of your neck. Seokjin’s skin prickles when he sees.

When the door dings, opening into the lobby, you suddenly come to life. Newly determined, your hand wraps around his and pulls Seokjin outside. He practically throws his keys at the valet, wondering how on earth he is going to survive the drive home without touching you. Thank god he only had that one drink tonight. It would have been torture to be so close to fucking you and then not.

Startled by the thought, Seokjin realizes the truth of the matter. He is going to see you naked. Whirling to face you, Seokjin blurts, “This isn’t some random thing. You know that, right?”

Surprised, you glance at him. “I – what?”

“This.” Seokjin steps closer and his peripheral, sees the valet hop out of his car. “I really like you, Y/N.”

Staring up at him, you blink. “You do?”

“Of course, I do! You thought I didn’t?”

“I thought you hated me.”

“Of course, not!” Grabbing his keys from the valet, Seokjin opens the passenger door. He waits until you sit before crossing to the driver’s side. “Why would you think that?” he asks, sliding into the seat.

You stare at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Seokjin pulls out of the driveway. “I’ve liked you for so long! I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Uh! Could’ve fooled me.”

“Are you serious? I was such an idiot in front of you! What other explanation is there?”

“That you’re an idiot!” you answer, scowling. “Are you seriously saying that was your idea of flirting?”

“I mean… well, no, but…”

You snort, facing forward. “You’re so bad at this.”

“At what?”

“This!” you insist, gesturing between you.

“Oh, come on! Like you’re Juliet, or something.”

“Who?”

“Juliet! Of Romeo and Juliet!”

“They… Seokjin, they died in the end!” you say incredulously.

“Well, what do I know?” Seokjin makes a sharp right, pulling into his parking lot. “I never finished reading that play, actually – fell asleep a third of the way in. What I’m trying to say is that you’re also shit at this.”

“Oh, really?”

“You said you never wanted to speak to me again,” Seokjin reminds, throwing the car into park.

Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “I apologized for that.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to be friends!” Seokjin shoves open his door and exits the vehicle.

You exit as well, slamming the door shut. “Well, it seemed like the next logical step!”

“No.” Seokjin strides forward. Caging you against the car, he growls, “The next logical step would’ve been admitting you liked me, too.”

“Too?” You blink, stuck on the word. “So, you admit you like me?”

“Never said I didn’t.”

These last words are muttered against your lips, Seokjin cutting off further retorts with a kiss.

Arching upwards, your hands twine around his neck. Seokjin’s mind stutters, unsure what to think. His brain is a vague mess of swear words and exclamation points when his lips move against yours. It is hard to grasp the fact that you are here, with him and wanting him the same way he wants you.

Breaking apart, Seokjin rests his forehead to yours. “Okay,” he manages. “I know you said you wanted to leave with me. I know you got in my car and drove all the way here. But – because I want to be sure – do you want to come in?”

Breathlessly, you laugh. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Withdrawing, Seokjin takes your hand. “Then, let’s go.”

Climbing the outdoor stairs to reach his apartment, Seokjin pulls the keys from his pocket so he is prepared to enter. He does not check his phone, certain Yoongi has texted him multiple epithets about where he can stick his ass.

Bracing his hip against his door, Seokjin jiggles the key to shove it open. Once you are both inside, Seokjin half-expects you to wrinkle your nose. It is not as if his and Yoongi’s apartment can ever compete with Jimin and Taehyung’s.

You do none of this, though. Stepping inside, you place your purse on the counter and glance around curiously. “You live with that guy from the food court, right?” you ask, turning around. “Yoongi?”

Stepping forward, Seokjin crushes his mouth to yours.

You inhale, the noise caught by his lips when your hands slide up his back. One of your legs curls around his, rubbing your core against the meat of his thigh. Seokjin’s head spins, gripping your ass to push you against the counter. You make a muffled noise, gasping when Seokjin hardens into your crotch.

It is embarrassing how ready he is for you. All it took where a few whispered words about how badly you want him and here he is, rock-hard and on edge. Admittedly, the noises you make are not helping.

“Shit,” Seokjin breathes, kissing down the slope of your neck.

You arch your throat, allowing more access. Your skin tastes of berries and something else – probably a perfume Seokjin does not know the name of. The warm press of your core to his leg leaves Seokjin reeling.

“My room?” he gasps, hand dragging up your side.

Frantic, you nod. “Yes.”

Bending, Seokjin grips your legs and lifts you against him. He stumbles towards his bedroom, realizing too late you are heavier than he thought. Maybe Jungkook was right about adding weight to his reps. Kissing you again, Seokjin staggers into his bedroom and drops you on the bed.

Laughing, you grab your top to yank overhead. There is some skepticism to your gaze, as though you expected him to fall short in carrying you. Seokjin’s ego flames in response. Growling lowly, he rips off his shirt and descends on the bed. Parting your legs, he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Take off your jeans.” Seokjin looks up.

You blink. “What?”

“I wanna eat you out.” Seokjin cocks a brow. “Or, is that too much?”

“No,” you glower, undoing your buttons. “Go for it.”

As you shimmy your jeans down your legs, Seokjin’s mouth dries at the sight of your panties. He did not imagine them to be lace. He did not imagine them to be quite as revealing as they are. Slowly, Seokjin reaches out to peel these aside. You inhale, arching on the bed. Seeing your pussy like that, laid out before him, he can hardly breathe.

You are wet for him. Theoretically, this makes sense, but Seokjin did not think he could make you wet. Did not think he would ever see you as drenched as you are, the lace in the middle much damper than the rest. Pressing another kiss to your knee, Seokjin inhales and makes his way higher.

Flicking your clit with his tongue, he teases at more. You mewl, curling inwards and Seokjin pushes your legs down. He sucks the length of your folds, getting you good and wet before he returns to your sex. You arch again, pussy clenching even through there is nothing inside you.

Smirking, Seokjin takes pleasure in this fact. Your folds are glistening, ready even though has not touched you yet. He has not even pushed a finger inside that tight, wet cunt of yours. Lowering his head, Seokjin’s tongue curls over your clit. He turns needy, licking until your hands fist in the sheets on either side of your body.

“Seokjin,” you groan. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Seokjin leisurely sucks on your clit, pulling it between his lips. His other hand drifts to your cunt, tracing in circles.

You moan beneath him on the bed, arching to try and push him inside. Seokjin memorizes the visual – the black lace of your bra barely hiding your nipples, hair splayed on his comforter with his hands on your thighs.

“I need more.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin lazily traces your pussy. “Want me to finger you?’

“Fuck, yes.”

“Mm.” Seokjin sucks your clit until you cry out from pleasure. Releasing you gently, he sits back on his heels to rub with his fingers. “I could probably make you come like this, though.”

Reaching underneath your body, you unhook your bra. Seokjin stares in awe at your chest, bared before him. “Probably,” you agree. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to come inside me?”

Seokjin’s teeth grit, the words going straight to his cock. Already, it pulses against the tight fit of his jeans – when he feels how wet you are, Seokjin cannot stop imagining himself inside you. Grabbing your wrist, he brings your hand to his crotch.

You inhale when you feel how hard he is. “You’re so… big,” you murmur. “Will you even fit?’

Seokjin smirks, bending until his lips cover yours. “Not yet,” he agrees, spreading your legs with one hand. Stroking your center, he wets himself with your arousal. “That’s why I gotta stretch you out first. Get you ready for this dick.”

“O-h,” you gasp, mouth a perfect o as Seokjin’s finger pushes inside.

It is a tight stretch. Seokjin feels a bit light-headed, imagining something so tight and wet wrapped around him. Withdrawing, he pushes a finger inside you again. Rolling your hips, you force Seokjin deeper and he clicks his tongue, hand grabbing your waist.

“You don’t get to be in control,” he instructs, finger sliding back out. Adding another one, he slowly fucks you again. “You just have to lie there and take it.”

“Good,” you breathe, two of his fingers inside you. “Finally. I’ve been wanting you to yank my panties down and fuck me for weeks now.”

Seokjin’s jaw clenches – shaking his head, he is certain he must have misheard. “What?”

A smile curls your lips. “You heard me,” you say sweetly, pussy squelching as Seokjin’s fingers slide in and out. “You’re so hot when you’re mad. Why do you think I teased you so much? Wanted your dick in my mouth to shut me up.”

Heat blazes through Seokjin’s veins. He has never been this turned on in his life – hearing such sinful things from your angelic lips. Sitting back on his heels, Seokjin frantically undoes his jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he mutters, pushing them past his ass.

Yanking out his cock, Seokjin wraps a hand around his girth. He rubs himself roughly, ignoring the pre-cum dripping from his reddened tip. Already, he is steeling himself to not come inside you. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch him touching himself, lips parted in awe. Seokjin stares back, realizing you are as tuned on by him as he is by you.

Your gaze darts to his face. “Condom?” you ask, voice unsteady. “I don’t think I’ll last long once you’re inside me.”

Nodding, Seokjin grabs one from his drawer. Ripping open the packet, he rolls this on. Lowering an arm to the bed, Seokjin positions his cock at your core. As badly as he wants to be inside you, there is something so tantalizing about teasing. Spreading your legs, Seokjin rubs his cock to your clit and watches you twitch in response.

“Seokjin,” you groan, arms sliding around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Need you to fuck me so good,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Cock at your entrance, Seokjin slowly pushes inside. “Like that?”

“Mhmm.” You nod, breath hitching slightly. “Like that.”

“There?” Seokjin pushes in a bit more, moaning when your walls flutter around him.

You are squeezing him so fucking tight, Seokjin wonders how much more you can take. He is aware of the fact he is big. It would not be the first time a girl could not take him; would not be the first time he gave up and ate the girl out until she came.

“No!” Eyes flying open, you grab Seokjin’s wrist when he starts to withdraw. Lips parted, you stare at him in a daze. “Please keep going,” you beg. “Don’t wanna stop.”

Seokjin arches a brow. “You sure? Sure it feels good?”

“Good?” You stare at him with a fucked-out expression. “Oh my god.” Wrapping both legs around his waist, you push Seokjin in deeper. “You’re stretching me so good, baby. Can’t wait until you’re pounding this pussy.”

“Fuck,” Seokjin hisses, gaze darkening. “I think I somehow got harder.”

“I know,” you laugh, somewhat dreamily. “Felt your cock twitch inside me. So fucking hot.”

Seokjin continues to ease inside you, inch by inch until your eyes start to water. Biting down on your lip, you urge him on and before long, Seokjin bottoms out. He stops there, panting at the feeling of being so deep inside you. Glancing down, Seokjin sees your pussy split by his cock and cannot contain himself any longer. He slowly pulls out.

“What…” Grasping for his ass, you panic a bit. “Seokjin, don’t –”

Grabbing your knee, he slams back inside you. The two of you groan at the same time. Him, because he has never felt anything as tight and wet as your cunt and you because his dick is so large, your body is trembling.

“God.” You fall back on the bed, chest bouncing. “I fucking knew you were big. There was no other way you could be so annoying.”

Seokjin withdraws, reliving the sweet sensation of thrusting his cock in your tight pussy. You are so warm and so wet – now that you have been stretched, you mold easily to him.

“Fuck,” you gasp, lifting your hips to his.

Seokjin toys with you. Slowly sliding in and out, he brings his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing. “You thought I was annoying, huh?” he breathes, lips hot in your ear.

Nodding, your hands fist in the sheets. “Still do.”

Chuckling, Seokjin captures your lobe with his teeth. His hips roll against you, pressing you into the mattress. “Mm. Know what I think?”

“What?”

“You talk too much. Flip over.”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“Thought you wanted me to shut you up?” Seokjin presses a sweet kiss to your mouth. “Now, flip over, so I can fuck you senseless.”

Withdrawing, he ignores every inch of him which screams to stay put. It is worth it though, when you finally flip onto your stomach and stick your ass in the air.

Inhaling, Seokjin runs a hand up your drenched pussy. Your lips are swollen, messy with slick from him eating you out. Lifting himself onto his knees, Seokjin grabs his dick and pushes against your center. Slapping your clit a few times, he hisses when he feels you tremble beneath him. Hands soft on your hips, he slides into your cunt.

“Ah!” you gasp, head thrown back from the motion.

Wrapping your hair around his wrist, Seokjin thrusts into you again. He can feel every inch of your cunt, feel the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock. God, you are driving him crazy. Thrusting harder, Seokjin cannot separate the sensations before him.

Your ass pushing back on him, the way your moans fall from your lips. The tight wetness of your heat, his cock disappearing in and out. Leaning down, Seokjin slides an arm around your ribcage and pulls you against him.

He continues to fuck you like that, cock entering your body at a punishing speed. You feel so good pressed against him, nipples hard as they peek through his palms. Seokjin’s lips find your neck, sucking a hickey into your skin.

“Fuck,” you groan, walls tightening around him. Your bodies bang together, his cock fucking you open in a way which barely seems decent. “Fuck – Seokjin – yes! Oh my god, yes.’

“Yeah?” His grip tightens around you. “You about to come on my dick, baby?”

“Yes!” you gasp. He is basically holding you up at this point, fucking you senseless. “Oh – oh! I thought… you – mmph – wanted! Me – fuck! Quiet!”

Chuckling, Seokjin slides a hand between your legs. Finding your clit, he begins to rub with his fingers. “Changed my mind,” he grunts. “Wanna hear you scream my name so loud, you wake all my neighbors.”

“S-Seokjin!”

Your legs start to shake, trembling with your impending orgasm and Seokjin is not doing much better. The only thing holding him back is the intense desire to feel you come wrapped around him.

“C’mon,” he groans, angling his hips even deeper. “Wanna feel this tight, little pussy come on my cock. Can you do that, baby? Can you?”

“Yes,” you gasp and then you are coming undone.

Seokjin groans, biting your shoulder when your pussy clamps down. Your orgasm is so intense, Seokjin is surprised he can keep you against him. Pushed over the edge, Seokjin shudders when he lets go and releases into the condom. It goes on for so long, his cock aching as you take every last bit of him.

Slowly, his hand falls and strokes down your side. Lips brushing your neck, Seokjin exhales and gently withdraws. Everything is over-sensitive, each inch of his body buzzing with satisfaction. Tying the condom into a knot, Seokjin tosses this in the garbage and sees you roll out of bed.

His stomach twists. “Where are you going?” he blurts, wincing at how needy he sounds.

It is only – you look so fucking beautiful. Hair messy and lips swollen, traces of arousal lingering on the inside of your thighs. You smile at him, as if sensing his nervousness.

“Where’s your bathroom?” you ask, sheepish.

Seokjin exhales, relief coursing through him. He points to the left. “Over there,” he says, collapsing on top of the sheets. His dick is limp, soft in his lap, but looking at you, Seokjin is already thinking about more. “Want me to show you?”

“That’s alright,” you laugh, turning around. “I think I can make it to the closet alone.”

Grinning, Seokjin falls back again. “Come back soon.”

“Okay.”

Glancing at him over your shoulder, you sneak another peek before disappearing.

Seokjin stares at his ceiling for a moment before he remembers his roommate. Wincing, he reaches down to fish his phone from his jeans. Unsurprisingly, there are several missed texts from Yoongi.

Yoongi: k lol [11:01 PM]

Yoongi doesn’t matter won’t be sleeping anyways [11:01 PM]

Yoongi: too busy eating dessert ; ) [11:01 PM]

Groaning, Seokjin plugs his phone into his charger. He guesses this means Yoongi found someone else to hook up with. Rolling over in bed, Seokjin starts when you open the door.

“Hey.” You smile, almost embarrassed. Walking towards him, you bend to scoop your underwear from the ground.

“Whoa!” Seokjin blurts, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into the bed before you can get dressed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting on clothes,” you laugh, curling into his side. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Mhm.” Seokjin’s nose nuzzles your hair. He is not sure why, but something about this feels right. Having your limbs entwined in his, your hand resting soft on his chest. He feels warm, satisfied by the thought of being near you.

Sleepily, you smile. “I’m not allowed to get dressed tonight, is that it?”

“Nope,” he agrees, heart soaring the longer he looks at you. “Something that good needs repeating.”

Laughing a little, you curl tighter around him. “Does that mean you want to repeat it?” you ask, uncertainty to your voice.

Sliding two fingers under your chin, Seokjin tilts your head up. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “I can’t think of anything I want more, to be honest.”

“I – same.”

Laying your head on his chest, you are quiet for a moment as Seokjin basks in the silence. Then, he exhales and adds, “I mean, aside from trouncing your sales targets, of course. I always want to do that.”

You snort, shoving his side. Seokjin pulls you in closer, grinning widely. It is a lie, of course – right now, there is nothing he wants more than to be with you.

[ COLLABORATION MASTERLIST FOUND HERE ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[mellometal]

gurrrrrrl i love your dhar mann posts. ive seen some youtubers call him out for cringe but you are the only one who calls out his racism. if you watch his videos you usually see black kids being portrayed as bullies to the white ones or asains being portrayed as smart. not to mention the portrayal of women - their eithr housewives-esque women submissive to their husbands or 'bitchy' sluts that act spoiled, and are usually punished for not liking the boy...it just reads like a terrible incel fanfiction

Hello, anon! Thank you for sending this in. ^.^

There are definitely more people who do call out his racism in those videos, and they did this before I called him out on it, so I'm not the only one. (Did you mean on here or in general?)

Being a white woman, I will never know what BIPOC or AAPI go through on a daily basis. What they go through in general is horrible and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. That doesn't stop me from educating myself about what they go through, reading up on their histories, sharing things about BIPOC and AAPI historical figures and their impacts on the world, supporting BIPOC and AAPI creators, speaking out against racism, signing petitions, sharing resources with people who may need them, and calling out racism in general.

His videos with disabled people are pretty ableist too, which is what really infuriated me, as a disabled woman who works with disabled people for a living. The video he made about Autism Spectrum Disorder especially was so insulting, filled with misinformation, and so ableist, that it felt like he was treating being autistic like it was a bad thing. It's not a bad thing to be autistic. I'm autistic. I was diagnosed when I was sixteen (when it was still referred to as A$p3rg3r'$ $yndr0m3), but never was open about it until this year. That kind of rhetoric was one of the factors that made me mask for seven years.

A lot of times, he doesn't cast a physically disabled actor for physically disabled characters. He just gives a couple of the child actors crutches. This is a reoccurring thing in the entertainment industry as a whole. Glee is another example of an able-bodied actor being cast as a physically disabled character. (I hate that show for a plethora of reasons. The fact they didn't bother to cast a physically disabled actor for the role of a physically disabled character is one of them.) I very rarely see physically disabled actors in media. Specifically, younger physically disabled actors. That needs to change. At least for live-action media. I'm sure the physically disabled kids would be happy to see actors who are like them. I've seen a lot of physically disabled characters in cartoons, which is great! I encourage them to make more physically disabled characters in cartoons. I don't see too many in anime either, so hopefully that'll change too.

The way Dhar Mann portrays BIPOC and AAPI in general makes me sick looking at it. He either paints black people as total damsels in distress or makes them big bullies. When Karen, the racist and ableist soccer mom™️ is being racist towards her son's friend and assuming the worst of him, it turns out that kid has rich parents! (Totally unrealistic too.) She goes on the whole, "I'm sorry for judging you before I got to know you!" shit instead of saying, "Hey, I'm sorry for being a racist bigot towards you and believing in gross stereotypes about black people."

Painting black people as "thugs" who all are in gangs and steal stuff is so incorrect. I'm sure that people who think like this get their pseudo education from watching movies with black people in them or rap music and get the impression that they're all like that. Like, no. Don't believe everything you see on the big screen. Not to mention how they targeted a black kid as a suspect for drugs in a video, when the real suspect turned out to be a white kid. They do that in real life A LOT. It's nauseating.

Selling drugs and stuff isn't an inherently bad thing. Not ideal, but some people don't exactly have any other choice except to sell drugs. Doing drugs doesn't mean you're a bad person. That kind of stuff hits home for me. Being brought up by parents who both did drugs, being around people who do drugs, and having friends who do drugs, I don't see people who do drugs as inherently bad people. They need to be treated with decency and like human beings, not like aggressive animals.

The whole "Asians are geniuses" stereotype is damaging. It's bad enough that Asians as a whole have all these ridiculous expectations put on them. Pretty gross and harmful stereotypes! Saying that all Asians are geniuses isn't a compliment to them. Yes, you can praise their work all you want, but don't treat them like they're attractions at a zoo. They're not robots. They're real human beings with their own thoughts, opinions, feelings, emotions, families, friends, jobs, issues, etc.

A YouTuber named Jarvis Johnson is an example of a person calling out Dhar Mann's racism in his videos. If you want to see them through a black person's perspective, definitely check Jarvis out. He's a great content creator and he definitely deserves more subscribers.

Oh my god, don't even get me started on the "sugar daddy" videos. There are so many of them, I don't know where to begin with tearing them apart. They're so BAD. Dhar Mann paints almost all of his so-called "morals" at the end of his videos with "Don't judge a book by its cover! uwu" instead of actually addressing the real issues in the video. He never bothers to address how people think money can buy you happiness. I mean, it can, to an extent, but only so much.

He recently made a video about a gay teenage boy in sports, his coach was being all homophobic, kicked him off the team, etc. First off, if that happened in real life, that school AND the coach would get sued for discrimination and the coach would most likely lose their job.

The fatphobia in some of his videos is fucking gross too, speaking as a bigger woman. One of the child actors was literally put in a fat suit in a "flashback". I mean, they do have fat actors. They have fat child actors too. Wouldn't it make sense to hire fat actors for fat characters? He's done that for another video he made about a girl getting bullied for her weight. (Fat suits are fatphobic.)

I feel bad for all the actors in those videos. I'm sure none of them vibe with the scripts. I hope they actually get roles in better things.

[styleiswild]

Interview with Beastie Boys for Onet Muzyka, 07/20/2004

By: Monika Dąbrowska

Translation: Anna Bak ( @styleiswild )

Source (in Polish):

——————

Beastie Boys: Hot dogs, pizza and bagels

Q: Having heard your new album [To The 5 Boroughs], I can’t shake the feeling that you’d combined the old, New York school of rap with synthetic computer sounds. Beastie Boys rocking the new style?

MCA: We still make music in the same, old style. You know, old school is a part of us, because we grew up on it. But it’s not like we don’t care about new school.

Mike D: Besides, we got to work with the newest technologies on the album. Maybe that’s why you got that kind of impression.

Q: You’re one of the groups that helped shape and define hip hop culture. Is it difficult for you to fit in in 2004, when the scene seems to be flooded with shallow hip hop tracks about guns, bitches, champagne and drugs?

MCA: There’s always been lots of stupid, easy and uncomplicated content like that in music. Over the last 30 years at least. Just take a look at the charts and what’s topping them. Smooth pop songs that talk about nothing in particular. I wouldn’t make a drama out of it, though. Like, you know, that commercial music and albums recorded solely for money have got hold of the hip hop scene or whatever. What’s interesting, though, is this massive popularity of the genre. How it’s gone mainstream. We’re done with the underground, definitely.

Q: 6 years of silence seems like quite a long time. What have you been doing?

MCA: For the last few years we’ve been just... you know, living a regular life, I guess. Waking up in the morning, making breakfast. Taking my daughter to school every day, stuff like that.

Mike D: People think that our life... a musician’s life, that it’s unique or scandalous, or shit. Gotta disappoint you a bit, though. Most of the time, our life is rather boring (laughs).

MCA: Oh come on, that’s not true. Making music, working in the studio isn’t boring.

Mike D: Okay, that’s not boring. But it’s not as crazy or fun as everyone probably thinks it is.

Q: And when exactly did you start making the new album?

MCA: We began working on it about 2 years ago. That was also when we came up with the idea of our own studio. You know, where you can do everything and anything you want, for as many hours as you want, and you’re not concerned with time or money you’d have to pay for renting a studio. All of that influences the quality of your work, your material. With your own studio, you can drop by or get back anytime, if you want to redo a song or a fragment of a song, or change a verse. You can leave the equipment turned on, you don’t have to worry about other session musicians fucking it all up. That’s a comfortable situation.

Q: On your new album there’s a song titled “An Open Letter To NYC”, which is like a love letter, a tribute to your hometown. You also mention 9/11. Can you recall that day?

Mike D: We were in Lower Manhattan, as usual. That day, the tragedy... those are probably the most absurd memories in our lives. You look out the window every day, see the Twin Towers. And suddenly that symbol’s burning, gone, turned to dust. The towers are burning, you can’t believe that the two planes crashed into them, so many people died.

Q: And how did that affect New Yorkers?

MCA: It’s all getting back to normal now, but when it happened, we were all in fear, obviously. Everybody wondered what could happen next... People were looking for their loved ones. But when it all died down a little, people began to comfort and support each other. Paying attention to the other person. They’d show more love, warmth. You could see that on the street.

Q: For you, the essence of New York City is...

Ad-Rock: Hot dogs, pizza, bagels...

MCA: ...mixed culture, architecture, friendly people, music...

Ad-Rock: ...and food! (laughs)

Q: Last year in March you posted an anti-war protest song titled “In a World Gone Mad” on your website. Are you still against George W. Bush’s pro-war politics and the American invasion of Iraq?

Mike D: That’s how Bush and his administration tried to explain the situation: weapons of mass destruction and Saddam Hussein’s repressive dictatorship. America was supposed to free Iraqi people of the repressions, to try and stop Hussein from using nuclear or biological weapons. To this day we don’t know if they indeed have the weapons. And the U.S. army does nothing but torture and abuse the Iraqi prisoners.

MCA: Besides, the same country that fights for global security and preaches civil liberties has been the only country to ever use nuclear weapons. You know, bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. George W. Bush’s politics is getting nowhere.

Q: Do you freestyle sometimes, or do you just write your texts?

Ad-Rock: Our lines are so insane that we can’t really freestyle anymore (laughs).

Mike D: We’ve got too many important things to say to people to simply improvise on records, or gigs. We’ve got important messages to share...

[newobsessionweekly]

First time in love🌿

Arón piper x reader

a/n: I edited it and I like it. I’m not a writer, or at least I don’t think I am, and it’s my first attempt to write something like this. It felt good. It’s my first attempt to write something in English (English is not my native language) so I hope I didn’t messed up anything. Tell me what you think and tell me if I should do that again. I liked it though. 🌿

warnings: none, I am still not good at this

Word count: 3k

Y/n watches the first season of Élite with Miguel, her best friend and only friend here in Spain. They became friends in college in LA and the passion for ocean brings them closer and closer as the years flew by. Her biggest dream is to fly around the world and in their four years of friendship, they travelled together to the most unique places she never dreamed she would see, Indonesia, Himalaya, Ibiza. But the place she loved the most is Spain, Miguel’s native country; her obsession with the Latin country began at a very young age when her parents took her to Tenerife for her tenth birthday. She only dreamt of living there, because her parents were strict and planned a different life for her; they chose her high school classes over the years and even the college, wanted for her to become a successful actress, just like Miguel. But now she decided to take her life into her own hands after a big fight with the people that bring her into the world and raised her to be this amazing woman she is today. It didn’t take long for Miguel to convince her to come with him in Spain and to start a new life there, with him by her side. 

Staying with legs crossed in front of the TV from Miguel’s living room, he is trying to explain for the third time already every actor´s real name but she wasn't really paying attention to his words. In high school, though she was so obsessed with Spain, she just couldn’t understand this language and learned properly only a few words. And now she was desperate to learn faster a few phrases and focusing on TV, hearing the actors talking and keeping up with the subtitles she thought was helping.   Tonight she is supposed to meet a few friends of Miguel’s, and she didn’t understand the importance of knowing every actor from the cast of Elite in order to know at least how to introduce herself to everyone. He promised her a million times they are going to love her while they were dressing and again a gazillion times while he was rushing her out of the flat because the cab was waiting for them for ten minutes already.

  She was so nervous that the whole ride to one of the most luxurious clubs in Madrid, her hands were caressing her dress over and over as her bottom and upper lip were switching turns between her teeth. She is very insecure and wants to make a proper first impression, hoping that maybe after this night she could call them her friends, not only Miguel’s.    

  What she didn’t knew, was that Miguel already spoke to his friends and told them that his date is a little shy and is worried about not making through the night. Well, maybe to be more convincing, he used the words “she is fucking freaking out right now” with some laughing emojis. He subtle asked them to try and talk to her first and give her a chance, because she became one of the most important people from his life, he could already call her his little sister. They love each other, but there are no romantic sentiments involved; Miguel is over heels in love with Aitana and Y/n is secretly crushing over his co-star, Arón Piper.  

  When they arrived, her hands started to shake and she was constantly telling herself that she wouldn’t survive the night. Miguel is different than Y/n, he is very dynamic, smiling maybe too much and he has a lovely personality so no one could resist to him, or this is what she thought. She didn’t believe him, she is convinced that his friends wouldn’t like her.  But Miguel rolled his eyes again at the sight of his dearest friend worrying so much; he finds her so funny and amazing, with a golden heart and the best in everything. Seriously thought, he couldn’t understand how she is can perfectly change a lighting bulb and also fix everything around the house, emanating so much seriousness and experience. And also he couldn’t understand how she is so smart, astonishing him with so many random facts about any subject he could made out, even the weirdest one and not so usual. He is so sure she would make friends easily that if he could give her all of his assurance, he would take her worries away without blinking.      

  Danna and Ester were waiting for them in front of the club, supposing about Y/n. Miguel had sent Danna some funny videos of Y/n and some cute photos since they live together and she could tell she’s as peppy as he is and there is no coincidence that Miguel calls her his sister, they are alike. Danna couldn’t wait to meet her and Ester is scrolling down on y/n’s Instagram and appreciates her beauty and let a few appreciative comments about her the talent for modelling to slip her mouth. They already like her.

  As they approaches the trio – Álvaro joined his girlfriend soon enough to hear a part of the conversation about y/n – that was waiting for them already for fifteen minutes, Miguel put a hand over her shoulders and smiled to her before turn to his friends and smile to them too. He shake hands with Álvaro and hugged him as he tells how much he missed him. Álvaro come to introduce himself and then followed two kisses on your cheeks – a very strange habit that those Spanish people have, but y/n finds it very sweet actually.

  “Well, Joder chica!” Danna exclaims as she approaches y/n and kiss her cheeks as greeting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Miguel talks about you nonstop!”

  She blushes at Danna’s words and accepts Ester hug. Y/n smiles bright that soon enough her mouth and cheeks will hurt her. She is happy, they all seem so nice and finally understood why Miguel tried to familiarise her with the names of Elite cast. She thought that he wants to introduce her to more surfing friends and when she asked, he refused to give her any details, fuelling her worries even more.     

  As the night flew by, her worries were found sinking in one of the many drinks, maybe in the fifth glass that once was filled with y/n’s Mojito. Danna is laughing at  one of y/n’s jokes and squeezes Jorge’s hand even harder. Everyone is laughing, starting with Miguel who is so proud of her for letting those worries away and continuing with Omar who couldn’t introduce himself properly and doesn’t even know the name of the funniest girl at the table. Even Arón is laughing while studying her face and the way she’s trying so hard not to burst into laughing while telling another funny story of hers.

  Miguel smiles bright at the sight of his best friend integrating into his group. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about her, she is surrounded by his dearest friends and already being part of the family. That’s what made her felt a little bit overwhelmed; y/n found herself standing beside these amazing people, so talented and so fucking kind for allowing her to feel again that family vibe she’s been missing, due to the fact she is so far from home already for an entire month.      

  Her eyes couldn’t move away from where Arón was dancing and singing to the remix hearing through the speakers, with a drink in his hand and, sometimes she saw him with a cigarette in the other one. Arón is the life of the party, she knows that, every other girls knows, even he knows that. He is a very good-looking man, that screams all the looks that are destined to him, but y/n can see beyond that. She can see how good friend is with other members of Elite cast, she can see how much fun everyone has around him and all she could do is to stand there and watch him with her mouth opened in surprise as Arón started rapping to one of his favourite songs.

  This is far from her favourite music genre, she couldn’t help smiling and enjoying that moment so much that she even considers listening to that king of music more often. Why everything sounds so perfect in Spanish? Why is everything so perfect in this country?  

  Y/n didn’t speak to Arón much, only few phrases related to his drink and her wanted to sit next to Miguel, but that was all. A few drinks later, Omar initiated a Poker game and though it was y/n’s first time playing, she surprised everyone – even herself – by winning too many rounds and collecting too many useless cigarettes, a bunch of them coming from Arón. That was Arón’s idea, to play with usual cigarettes instead of money, it makes the game more interesting to him.       

There were far too few hours until the sun rise when the party was over, and y/n is barely keeping her eyes open. Standing outside the club, saying goodbye to everyone, made her heart heavy; she didn’t wanted to say goodbye to anyone, she didn’t wanted the party to end because she is so sure she’s never goona hangout with them again. But when y/n felt Danna’s hand patting her softely on the shoulder, asking for y/n’s phone number, talking about a future gathering, maybe a shopping session, just the girls, made y/n’s heart skip some beats.

Arón didn’t remain untouched to her charm, he saw something in her too, and all night was trying to somehow catch her attention. He hoped that she is maybe more brave than he is, he hoped all night she would come to his side and start a conversation. But when the party ended, he realised he has to do something – however little – and not just let her go. He wanted to hangout with her again, to have a chance to speak properly and know more about the girl that beated the shit out of him at – what he thought poker was – his game.

Y/n watches as Danna get into the cab and from the corner of her eyes, she saw Arón approaching. Her hands started shaking so hard, she had to hide them in the pockets of Miguel’s jacket. She admits it feels weird to wear his jacket, but it was all his fault that she forgot hers back at his place, because he was rushing her. She never worked well under pressure.

“Nice played! I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can beat my ass at Poker.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He has the most gorgeous smile y/n has ever seen and her legs almost yielded, but she put the blame on the beers and the high heels. Y/n hates wearing heels, but even she knows sneakers don’t really fit for clubs.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone with so many cigarettes. Like, the world is ending and you had to make your full?” she smiled as she watched him laugh. He has a beautiful laugh too and his face just lights up when he’s not putting on that bad ass face Y/n finds interesting and hot.

“Speaking of cigarettes, here, take them!” she handed him the packs she won at the game, excluding the ones that she owes Miguel because he shared his so that she would be able to play.

“I figured you’re not a smoker. Damn, that’s what I call a profit. I arrived here with like two packs and I’m leaving with three. And I smoked a lot too.” Both of them laughed, and Y/n just couldn’t believe he’s a funny one as well. Damn, this boy has the whole package.

When Miguel informed her about the cab’s arrival, Arón smiled and opened his arms. He likes hugs and likes hugging people, being affectionate to them. So doing this move to her, the fact that he was maybe into y/n couldn’t be recognised. She looked at him astonished, but accepted his invitation anyway. Since the first time she saw him, she wondered how it is to hug him, how does his body feels and how his cologne smells. It was neither a short hug nor a long one, just perfect for them to memorise each other’s shape of the body and to share their perfume on each other’s clothes.

—————

Y/n moved out from Miguel’s place a while ago, but she was around a lot so she’s not really missing many things. He often makes little comments about it, but he didn’t mind having her around; y/n and Aitana are very close friends now and them allying together to beat Miguel’s ass at some video game is going him nuts, they are sometimes successful.

Everything reminded her of Arón. Y/n even started at some point comparing the hugs Miguel gives to that one stupid drunk hug outside the club when she met Arón. Miguel is taller than Arón, but also much more imposing. Arón is tall too, much taller than she, but he’s body isn’t that worked out, she felt his biceps in that stupid hug and hurt pretty bad when she accidentally hit her head to his jawline. But despite that, she finds so hard to stop staring at his Instagram profile and not to be excited when he posts something new on his profile or he films something for his Instastory. She had to admit at some point, he’s a total snack, even though he doesn’t have a six-pack. Y/n didn’t like that kind of boys anyway, she finds Arón perfect as he is, with his beautiful brown eyes, those little tattoos that can be seen on his naked torso and his messy, curly hair. When Miguel told her that she had a type and that in the category fits Arón perfectly, y/n just ignored him and rolled her eyes. After that she couldn’t stop thinking about it; he did it to see how her face is changing and to strengthen his suspicion.

Arón was thinking about Y/n a lot lately, and the short videos with her laughing or doing something stupid or funny that Miguel shares on their group chat isn’t helping. He couldn’t focus on set, in the last few hangouts with his friends, he hoped to see her and hear her laugh again, he hoped this time would be able to look her in the eye and made a proper conversation. But she didn’t show up at any of them. Everyone was asking about her, but Miguel just waved his hand at them and told everyone y/n has her own life and her own problems; she didn’t have to show up beside him at every gathering. Arón soon enough found out that Danna was keeping in touch with her and asked maybe too often about her. When he texted Miguel and asked what is y/n’s Instagram, Miguel understood soon enough that Arón got the hots for y/n.

Y/n was going back and forth through Miguel’s kitchen as she was trying to make a healthy smoothie for her and Miguel, with his dogs following her everywhere. Miguel’s dogs are her favourite and she always makes fun of him saying that she’s around this much because of the dogs.       

“Aye, chica” she turned her head towards Miguel who was standing on the couch in the living room watching some boring Tv show on Netflix.

Y/n was dwelling on these dreams of Arón. He was hanging out too much inside her mind, being there with his lovely eyes, his bright smile and the dazzling cologne coming after her. She was one day walking through Madrid and somehow recognised it. It’s like he was following her everywhere.

“Sí” y/n answered back when she figured he wanted to capture his attention.

“Check your phone” he wickedly smiled and that made her raise her eyebrow at him, with only bad things running through her head because that smile of his means only trouble.

“Instagram: @aron.piper started following you”

She froze. What the heck is going on? Y/n stalked him maybe too many days on Instagram because she never thought he might find her through his endless list of likes or followers.

“Joder!” she almost screamed when he responded to her story. Miguel was laughing his ass out at her reactions, he thought she is very funny.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who is more obsessed with this tv show than me”

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can make me listen to that rap music kind of thing and made me like it. But then I met you” she responded.

And then they talked over and over and almost every night. On some point they ended up where he just likes her message, not knowing what to say more. And those moments made Y/n think “That’s it, the conversation ends here and I might never talk to him again”. She fears every times that happens this way that that might be the end of the most beautiful moments she has had in the past couple of months. And while he’s looking for any proper response, she’s clenching every time her heart between her teeth and allows herself to be a pain in the ass and just write him one of the many random facts she knows.  

She has never felt this kind of emotion before, neither one of them. She has never felt the love from another person. Of course, Miguel loves her, he’s her best friend, she laugh at her phone too when he sends her funny messages, but she never felt like she could fly any moment and never thought her cheeks could hurt so much from smiling hours and hours at a phone talking to this amazing man. He is so beautiful inside and out and her stomach hurts when she thinks about him and that stupid hug.

Arón’s not less than Y/n. He’s also confused by the feelings from his chest and the thoughts that are containing Y/n in every single one. He also wonders why does he smiles like a sociopath at his phone and why he feels the need to talk to her any moment of the day. Y/n fascinates him in a way he never thought any woman would.

“You’re so in love, tonta!” Miguel smiled at her and rolled his eyes again. She has been neglecting him for the previous hours, and he is kinda pissed – he had to play alone their favourite game, for the countless night in a row – however he doesn’t make any comments. He has never seen her so happy; he is very proud,because two of his dearest friends managed to find someone right for each ohter.

For the first time, she’s in love. In love with the best person she could find, with a curly haired boy that smokes too many cigarettes but still manages to smell so good. Arón found out a few days later than Y/n that he’s heart had been stolen by the most brilliant woman he has ever met. But both of them are as scared of that.

[vin-taege]

low expectations | 3

summary: after disappearing for six years to pursue law, you come back to Seoul, only to be hired by Jeon Jungkook, tattoo artist on the rise, and your high school ex

genre: angst, eventual smut, l2e2l (lovers to enemies [kinda?] to lovers)

pairing: tattoo artist!jungkook x lawyer!reader

words: 3k+

note: i am back

"Mmm holy shit, I missed bread," You stared at Taehyung, who was shamelessly stuffing croissant after croissant in his face. Jimin sipped his latte awkwardly. Jungkook was back in his usual reserved state, silent, though visibly disturbed by Taehyung's lack of table etiquette. The whole table was captivated by the tattoo artist's seemingly never ending appetite, and at this point, Jungkook began to regret letting him borrow his credit card. Namjoon was first to break the silence. 

"So," he cleared his throat. "We came up with a list of possible suspects. The cocaine packet we found was already sent to a facility for DNA testing.”

"It's not exactly a list. More like one person," you got the case file out your bag. What back then was a thin folder filled with a singular page was now filled with paperclips and slightly dishevelled pages - the fruit of your research with Namjoon. You took the picture you printed out of the Gwangju rapper and put it beside a recent picture of Jung. "Don't these two conveniently look alike?" 

Jungkook leaned in to get a closer look, eyes straining to grasp any familiar features he could pick up from the low quality print. Suddenly, Yoongi jolted up, snatching the picture from the table. "How did you get this?"

"You know him?"

"Yeah, it's Hoseok. He went under the name 'J-Hope' back then until he just disappeared."

Taehyung hacked back a cough, a huge chunk of bread lodging itself in his throat. Jimin thumped him worriedly on the back, waving the rest of you off to ignore them. You continued questioning Yoongi." Joon, write this down. Can you elaborate on that?"

"I went against him back then Gyeongsangnam."

"He sucked ass."

"No, I mean, what happened after? Did you notice anything interesting about him? Something out of place?"

"Oh, well... From what I recall, he does look awfully a lot like Minho. Almost the same person. It's weird because they have the same last name too."

Namjoon shared a wary look with you. "Changing identities is very common for people in the illegal drugs industry. I'll get someone from the firm to run a background check on him."

You nodded. "Anything else?"

"I remember the police coming to raid the place. You know how there are some underground rapping contests? Ours was really underground. No ads, only word of mouth. You have to know someone there to get in. So we knew someone must've fucked up real bad for the police to get involved."

That's why you couldn't find any musical records or history on him. Namjoon was typing away at his laptop, seemingly getting the same idea.

"To be fair, nothing we did was illegal. The competition, the prize money, all legal. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was they caught Hoseok possessing marijuana. They shut everything down and took him with them. Never seen him ever since."

Everyone went silent again - even Taehyung ceased his coughing. Namjoon finished typing, readjusting his glasses." What year did that happen?"

"Somewhere in 2013. I think it was in April?"

"You mean to say,"  Jimin spoke up. "This Hoseok guy coincidentally disappeared six months before Soliloqy opened?”

Your jaw dropped, Namjoon mirroring your shocked expression. The tattoo artists looked at you in confusion, not getting what the big fuss was about. You lightly backhanded Namjoon on the chest, “Our theory’s plausible.”

“What theory?” Jungkook cut in. He wasn’t too worried about the case at first, but now that there were mentions of underground drug deals, he felt a bigger threat lurking around in the shadows. He just wants to be left alone - doesn’t want to lose the shop he risked everything for. 

“Hoseok and Minho are the same guy. We don’t have enough evidence to prove this, but we’ll continue to dig into it. The drugs, the blurry photos, Minho rarely seen outside and when he is, he’s always wearing a mask - these all scream fishy to me,” you paused to slide the pictures back into the folder, returning it into your bag. 

Taehyung slurped noisily on his iced tea. “This is some Scoobydoo shit.” He tapped his fork on his plate, confused to be met with the clinking of silverware. Bread crumbs and smears of strawberry jam greeted him, making him pout. Tugging Jungkook’s sleeve, he pointed his fork at his empty plate. “I’m all out.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He dug his credit card out his wallet for the nth time and placed it on Taehyung’s side. The older boy looked expectantly at him. “Well?”

“Can’t you buy it for me?”

“Oh my god-”

“I’ll buy it for you,” you smiled endearingly at Taehyung. He grinned back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Jungkook stilled, an unreadable expression on his face. Without waiting for him to respond, you stood up, leaving the table and stood in line at the counter. 

To your surprise, Jungkook followed after you, taking his place behind you in line. “You don’t have to. He’s already spent over 30 000 won on pastries, and it’s only been two hours.”

“Oh come on, you’re acting as if we weren’t close back in high school,” you froze, realizing how wrong your words might have sounded. Back then, you could read him like an open book. Knew exactly what would set him up, where his boundaries were. But now, it was like walking on eggshells around him. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, cheeks pink. “Maybe I should cut you some slack,” he said more to himself than to you.

"Yeah," you mimicked him. "Maybe you should."

"Seriously. I appreciate it. I appreciate you taking the case even after what happened between us back then," But the thing is, you didn't know it was him in the first place. It was unfair for him to think so highly of you. You knew you didn't deserve his kind words. Jungkook didn't change a bit - he was still shit at holding grudges. 

°°°

6 years ago

"Where are you?" Jungkook sobbed into the phone. Taehyung peered at him worriedly from the living room. The walls of his small dorm were thin, and Jungkook's side of the conversation was enough for him to piece together what you two were arguing about. "You promised."

"Tell her I'll come with you," he said, after a minute of silence. "I'll even work for her. I'll take the job offer she gave me. Please don't leave me."

He was so close to tearing his hair out. It's been a week since he last talked to you - you've been ignoring his calls and texts, Taehyung didn't know where you were, or if he did, he wasn't telling, and even your father hadn't been responding to him. And now you finally emerge from wherever the hell you've hidden in, telling him you were set to go to college in the States. 

"The job offer's gone, Kook. You're too late. My mom already booked the ticket, paid for my tuition. I can't turn back now," You were packing your bags back in Daegu. Taehyung's family was nice enough to let you stay for a few days until you were ready to go. Taehyung, along with your father, had explained your situation to them, and they were more than willing to help - though hesitant at first since they were also close to Jungkook. 

"Why are you hiding from me? Just tell me where you are. At least talk to me properly, please  ___," He kept walking in circles around the room, thinking of anything he could do. He felt so utterly helpless, sick to his stomach. "Please."

"At least tell me where you are!" He shouted into the phone. His mind was in a frenzy. Taking his wallet, he paid Taehyung no attention and ran out of the apartment, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans to protect him from the cold.

Taehyung ran after him, stopping him just before he could get into the subway. His phone was still in his hands, though you had already stopped talking on the other line. You brought the phone speaker away from your mouth, trying your best to muffle your sobs. He was still on the other and, yelling, pleading, begging to know where you were. At the back of your mind, your mother's words still echoed.

"You have no future with him, ___. He has nothing. No proper ambitions, no practicality, no sense of reality. He is weighing you down. If he wants to waste his potential, then that's on him. But he is not going to do the same to my daughter."

Taehyung was holding him back, trying to convince him to go back to his dorm. In the end, he dragged Jungkook back into the warmth of his room. The call was still ongoing, both ends of the line going silent until you finally ended it - along with your two-year relationship.

°°°

"So we're friends again?" you gave him a lopsided grin, offering your hand out to him. Guilt squeezed your heart. 

"Yeah," he looked away for a moment, pretending to be interested in the menu. He brought his hands together, twiddling his thumbs, before murmuring. "I missed you, ___."

When you came back, Taehyung kept staring at you, a suggestive smile on his face. You brushed him off, praying Jungkook didn't notice it too. The older boy traded - rather, forced to trade - seats with Namjoon, in favor of sitting next to you. A fresh plate of pastries sat in front of him, though his interest was on you alone. 

"I see you and Jungkookie are finally getting along," he whispered the moment Jungkook was distracted by Namjoon's relentless questioning. 

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him. "We're back to being friends. I'm just glad things aren't that awkward anymore."

"Took you a while to get off your high horse," he muttered, though his tone was playful. You still didn't get how he seemingly manages to brush everything under the rug. 

°°°

6 years ago

"___, you're hurting him," Taehyung hissed, keeping his voice low to not wake Jungkook up. He took a cautious glance around the place, sensing the younger boy was still asleep. "I didn't sign up for this. You told me you were only going away for four years. Why the fuck aren't you coming back?"

"I will come back," It was midnight. You were supposed to be sleeping. Instead, you were standing in the middle of the Kims' strawberry farm. Everything reminded you of Jungkook - his love for strawberries, his fascination with nature. Above you, the moon gazed upon the earth, accompanied by millions of blinking stars. And somewhere under that same moon, was the boyfriend you neglected.

"I just need a few years. Law school is not that easy, Tae. And I just can't go straight back there after I graduate. I need to work, I need to at least make a name for myself."

"I understand you don't want to disappoint your parents. I really do. What did you think I felt knowing my brother and my sister were aiming to be an engineer and a doctor, while I was going to take on a fucking arts course?" he took a deep breathe, forcing himself to calm down. "I know Jungkook doesn't have the most conventional dream out there, but at least explain everything to him. I can't see him hurting anymore."

"I did explain everything. "

"Telling him you were going abroad after ignoring him for one whole week isn't explaining, ___!"

"He won't understand! I'm only going to hurt him more," you ran a hand through your hair, the knotted mess getting pushed back. "I'll call him again by the time I'm in America."

"You better. I know I helped you because you were my friend, but he's my friend too. He's my best friend. And let me tell you, he is feeling depressed, ___. Your boyfriend is hurting because of you. At least be aware of that," Without another word, Taehyung ended the call.

You stared at the endless fields of strawberries and trees in front of you. Some of the leaves were already starting to brown in preparation for autumn. Not that you'll still be in Korea by the time it comes.

°°°

"So, what made you change your mind about her?” Taehyung was hunched over the arcade game, eyes stuck on whichever character he was beating to a pulp. The three of them were closing up shop. Jimin was still tidying up the customer lounge, while Jungkook and Taehyung waited for him in the employee room. Jungkook was on the other side, concentrating on designing a tattoo commission. 

“What do you mean?” he didn’t spare the older boy a glance. He was getting frustrated with this particular design. He had already gone through half a stack of paper just trying to get it right, and none of the sketches he has done so far looked right. 

“I mean-” he paused, letting out a grunt when he lost a round. “The first time you saw her again, you wouldn’t even talk to her. And before that, you wouldn’t even talk about her.”

“She’s our lawyer now. Of course I have to talk to her.”

“No, what I’m saying is- ah shit!” he slammed his hand onto the side of the machine. “Why the fuck won’t I jump? What the fuck?!”

“As I was saying,” he continued after putting in another token. “Yeah, she’s our lawyer and we have to be cooperative for obvious reasons. But I don’t know, you were different at the cafe. First of all, you bought me some food - which you never do.”

“Rarely do,” Jungkook corrected, pencil continuing to scrape on the paper. 

“Same thing. And you were giving her all these soft looks. Like a puppy or something.”

“I was?” Jungkook’s eyes widened, abruptly halting his sketching process. Taehyung had his full attention now. “Was I really, Tae? Honestly? If I was, do you think she noticed?”

“Maybe. I dunno. She looked really focused on the evidence folder and shit. But yeah, anyone could tell you missed her just by seeing the way you look at her. It’s kinda like the way you used to look at her back when you two were...” Taehyung never finished the sentence. Instead, the sound effects from the arcade game filled the room. Taehyung knew just how far he could touch that area, and not once did he cross the line; he still didn’t know if it was safe or not.

“You can’t keep hating her forever.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Well then, you can’t keep holding a grudge against her. I know what she did to you was utterly hurtful. I was there to witness shit hitting the fan. But you know, you’re bad at holding grudges. Especially against someone who was a big part of your life. I’m not saying you still love her. I’m just saying, you can’t...” After what felt like an eternity, Taehyng pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “You can’t pretend like you’re not getting affected by any of this. You get me?”

The older boy sighed, grabbing Jungkook by the wrist to stop him from sketching. “If you stopped living in total denial, you would realize that you’ve stopped designing the tattoo, and instead, have been sketching her for the past 15 minutes.”

Jungkook straightened up in his chair, getting a better look at the paper. There, in fact, was a messy, but distinguishable sketch of your face. Before he could react, a brown paper bag was plopped onto the papers. 

“I re-heated some grilled cheese and double-locked the back door. We’re good to go,” Jimin leaned one of the chairs next to Jungkook. He bunched up the papers and shoved them into his bag before Jimin could see. 

“We’re good to go,” he repeated.

The night was cold. There were only a few people in the streets, illuminated by the scattered lamp lights. The streets were damp - they didn’t even notice it rained. They walked in silence, both boys sensing the younger one’s dread. Not because he hated you, but because he didn’t know what to feel anymore. 

“It’s gonna be okay kid,” Jimin wrapped an inked arm around him. “You just need some closure, that’s all. Talk to her and see how it goes. If it turns out good, then it’s good. If it turns out bad, I have a friend over at the Naughty Bunny who can get us inside without having to wait in line.”

Jungkook chuckled, thinking about all the times Jimin came to work with a pounding headache and love bites all over his neck. He shook his head, “Thanks for the offer hyung, but I have to pass. ___ might call for an emergency meeting and-”

He stopped abruptly, making the boys halt. Taehyung made a move to speak, but Jungkook waved him off, signalling for him to keep quiet. The older boys looked at each other in confusion. In the distance, just beneath the shadows of an alley next to Soliloquy, a tall figure hunched in front of the brick wall, fumbling with something in his hands. It was too dark to see, but Jungkook was sure it was him.

Without warning, he bolted towards the man, Jimin and Taehyung running after him. The figure took a second before noticing him, but by the time he went to run, he was already cornered. Jungkook grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. 

“Yah! Don’t run off like that you brat!” Jimin started scolding him. He didn’t even notice Taehyung tugging on his sleeve, muttering his name.

“Hyung. Hyung. Jimin. Jimin hyung. Jiminie.”

“What?” he asked, annoyed. Taehyung pointed at the boy in Jungkook’s hands, his eyes terrified, pupils blown out in such a way he knew he wasn’t sober. His hand hung limply, sluggishly trying to get Jungkook off him. There was the man himself - their greatest rival. “Son of a bitch-”

“Yah, Jung Minho, ” Jungkook said. “We have to talk.”