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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years

Text

Image is Sweet (M)

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

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

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

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

Word Count: 16,700

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

• JIMIN •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Password?” a stranger drawls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. Last year, I think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reply from Seokjin is instantaneous.

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

“CANNONBALL!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Park Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obligated,” you return, arching a brow. “Meaning, you don’t want to?”

Jimin just shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. “Is this part of the article you’re writing?”

“Oh. No, not really.”

Though Jimin waits, you don’t explain further, and he watches with interest as you push a hand through your hair. The color catches the light, strands shining where they fall and Jimin has the sudden, strange urge to touch. His hand is half-raised before he can stop himself, to which Jimin quickly changes into a fix of his own hair. Odd. Now that he looks though, he can’t help but admit you are attractive. You are dressed like an idiot, yes; a bit abrasive, sure, but pretty.

Swallowing, Jimin is uncertain why he finds the fact so unsettling.

“Well,” you hesitate and, for the first time, you seem awkward. Wrapping both arms around your notebook, you stare. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

When you tell him this, Jimin’s stomach sinks in response. Of course you do. In his many years of experience, people only tend to say this when they want one of two things. One, they want a favor from Jimin; or two, they want a favor from his family.

Expression darkening, Jimin moves to walk past. “Ah,” he exhales, draining the rest of his coffee. “I’m already late for practice, actually. Sorry.”

“It’s about the 7.”

Stopping suddenly, Jimin freezes. He doesn’t move, not when you walk around him to face him, nor when you appear several inches away from his nose. Now you’re the one squinting up at him, like you have a bug in your eye.

“I,” Jimin frowns in response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Inside though, he’s buzzing – even more than before because fuck, no one is supposed to know about the 7. What’s worse, no one should ever connect him to the 7 because Jimin isn’t even a part of the Society. Not yet, anyways.

Eyes darkening, you hold your pen like a sword. "I don’t believe you, rich boy.”

Keeping his expression carefully blank, Jimin swats your pen away. “Believe what you want,” he snorts. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, what matters is what the public believes. You have no proof, you’re just giving me reactionary statements.”

Somewhat confused by his response, you frown. “I think others will believe me, once I publish my account of the party.”

Something leaden sinks into Jimin’s stomach, realizing why you seem familiar. You were at the party, the one he spilled his drink on that night. Even half-drunk and having never seen your face, Jimin recognizes your shape. Mouth suddenly gone dry, Jimin lifts his cup to his mouth before he remembers it’s empty. On the inside he’s sweating, though he fights to remain calm.

“The party?” Jimin repeats, unconcerned. “The one on the boat? I remember you. What of it?”

Though you seem surprised by his admittance, you take a step closer. “This,” you insist, thrusting out your hand to give Jimin a paper. His hand closes around it, automatic. “I need to talk to you about this photo,” you inform, before pulling away.

Jimin tilts his head, taking the paper without opening it. The weight is heavy, creased down the middle and Jimin slips it into his pocket. “I don’t know who you are,” he responds to you, quiet. “And I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong guy.” When Jimin turns to leave, you snort and he looks back over his shoulder. “Something funny?”

You’re pissed. That much is obvious, from the set of your mouth walking towards him. “Don’t think you’re so mysterious,” you huff, poking him square in the chest. “I have copies of that photo and I will print it with my story if you don’t meet me to talk. Just because I’m a girl,” you blurt, voice rising at the end, “doesn’t mean I won’t take you down!”

Jimin arches a brow. “An intriguing proposition.”

“Oh, lord,” you wince, jaw clamping shut as you turn away from his gaze. “Think whatever you want. I’ll wait, Jimin, I have nothing but time.”

Lips pressed together to keep from laughing, Jimin watches you go. He assures himself that there’s nothing to worry about, he’s untouchable. Nothing really happened on that boat, nothing multiple witnesses wouldn’t support Jimin on, anyways. Then Jimin lifts the paper, opening the fold.

Before him, the world seems to tilt, his gaze wavering with nausea while Jimin takes in the image. It’s a photo, one of him at the party and he’s not alone. Jimin is leaning on a bar, talking to that girl and – oh, fuck. Jimin shoves a hand through his hair, realizing what’s on the counter between them.

Cocaine. Pure, white powder that’s blatantly obvious, and Jimin wonders how he missed it that night. Someone must have been there before them, left it out because the powder’s half-gone, white lines clear as day. Staring down at the image, it almost seems to blur and Jimin realizes he’s done for. If this photo got out, it would ruin him.

Jimin’s entire life is built around image, around being this perfect man whom everybody can trust. A scandal like this would ruin his credibility, which is the only thing of value he can give to his family. Crumpling the image in his fist, Jimin turns around towards the building. Barely aware of what he’s doing, he walks angrily inside and tears off his sweatshirt. Tossing this into a locker, he changes quickly because he’s already late and when he jogs out on the field, Jimin’s lips are set in a line.

He can’t get the photograph out of his mind, that damn photograph with one line of writing at the top.

Coffee Bean. Wednesday night, 7:00 PM.

It’s exactly seven, when Jimin enters the coffee shop. He spots you right away, seated at the table next to the kitchen – you’re fiddling with the straw in your drink, some iced coffee Jimin has no idea the name of. Whatever you’re drinking, you seem nervous as you sip, which gives Jimin a small amount of satisfaction shutting the door. Clearly, this isn’t your normal method of information gathering.

This is something he can use, later.

Walking inside, Jimin can’t help but think about what’s at stake – his reputation, for one; a potential membership with the 7, for another. The 7 Society. An infamous organization at the University which few, if any, can definitively speak on. Jimin isn’t a member, not yet but there’s always a very small pool of candidates and he’s definitely one of them. If this article runs though, he won’t be anymore.

Pulling out a chair to sit down at your table, Jimin says nothing when you jerk back in shock. It’s oddly endearing, how startled you look. Here you sit, blackmailing him with the nerve to look embarrassed. Dressed in another one of those cardigans, at least this one remains mostly unbuttoned and Jimin is about to comment on this fact when, he remembers why he’s here.

Lacing his hands on top of the table, Jimin cocks his head to one side. “Hi,” he greets.

Though you don’t respond, your eyes lower to his clothes. “Did you run here?” you query.

Jimin frowns. He knows what he’s wearing – a thin, black hoodie and sweatpants, straight from his locker. “Yeah,” he nods. “You didn’t give me much of a choice on the time. Not like I could text you or anything, so I literally ran from practice.”

“Oh,” you respond, somewhat embarrassed. “I see.”

Jimin lets the silence grow, not wanting to make things easier. You were the one who started this, are the one threatening him, which means you can speak first. On the table between you, your fingers trace over your notepad and Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, wondering if you ever leave it behind. It’s strange, to write free-handed, isn’t it? Jimin doesn’t really know, never having been a writer himself.

There’s something delicate in your motions, almost nervous and Jimin feels himself softening, despite himself. “So,” he exhales. “About the photo.”

You look up, relief clear on your face. “Right,” you nod, exhaling. “I’m sorry about that.”

That’s not what Jimin expected. “You’re sorry?” he repeats, somewhat incredulous.

“Yeah,” you agree, biting down on your lip. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this…”

“You didn’t mean to blackmail me.”

Gaze sharpening, you frown. “I’m not blackmailing you.”

“Oh?” Jimin leans in. “Then what do you call it? There’s a compromising photo of me that you’re going to release to the public unless I do what you want. Blackmail.”

Dipping into a scowl, you lean closer as well. “Like you’re so innocent. Park Jimin, handed the world on a silver platter, given every opportunity money can buy. Just because you fucked up,” you hiss, “and I have a photo of it, doesn’t give you a right to be upset. You did something wrong! You deserve to be called out.”

“Except you’re not,” Jimin points out. “You’re offering to push this under the rug if I help with your story. Blackmail.”

Staring for a moment, you let this quietly sink in. “Whatever, call it what you want. I actually,” you sigh, drumming your fingers on the table, “was trying to get an interview with Taehyung on the boat. With his family history, I figured he’s a shoe-in for the 7. Then that photo happened and, well,” you wave a hand, “here we are.”

“Gee,” Jimin drawls. “I’m flattered to be your second choice.”

Eyes narrowed, you seem about to respond when someone bumps into you from behind and nearly spills a drink on your head. Jimin’s head snaps up, narrowing in on the offender and he frowns, recognizing no signs of remorse.

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Jimin coughs. “Professor Nam,” he greets, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “What a surprise, seeing you outside of the classroom.”

The man stops. “Jimin,” he blinks, shaking hair from his gaze. “I didn’t see you there. How are things, how’s the grading coming?”

Though Jimin’s smile tightens, it doesn’t waver. “The grading is going fine, thank you,” he nods. “How’re Lucy and the kids?”

“Good, good,” the man drones, absent-minded. He glances at his Cartier watch, nearly spilling his coffee once more. “Same old, you know.”

The man has yet to acknowledge your presence, despite having nearly soaked you twice now with coffee. “I really don’t know,” Jimin responds blithely, causing you to snort in response.

Professor Nam looks down at you, brow creased in disapproval. “Well,” he exhales, switching his coffee to his other hand. “I’d better get going. See you in class, Jimin,” he nods, walking away.

Jimin watches him go, shop door opening and shutting. “Prick,” he mutters, gaze unmoving. “I TA for that guy, he’s a real piece of work. Anyways,” he states, returning to you, “we were discussing your blackmail.”

Before, you were feeling almost grateful – that guy was being a dick, and Jimin didn’t approve – but now you remember why you’re here. “I’m not blackma – ah, fuck it,” you sigh. “Call it whatever you want, Jimin.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jimin grins, lacing both hands behind his head. “Alright, spill. Tell me what you know about the 7 and what you want from me, in return.”

“What I want from you in return,” you repeat, mulling over the words.

Jimin just watches, staring at the dimple furrowed between your brow. Oh, fuck. Jerking himself backwards, Jimin pointedly looks away. You’re blackmailing him, for god’s sake. He shouldn’t be thinking about dimples anywhere on your body but then – oh shit, your body. Folding both arms across his chest like a shield, Jimin glares.

“So,” you exhale, pushing both hands through your hair. Strands fall around your face like weapon, a crazy pattern matching the one on your sweater. “There’s this secret 7 Society, made up of seven men, all varying ages but from the same incestuous families.”

Jimin nearly chokes. “Incestuous?” he coughs.

“Oh, you know,” you respond, rolling your eyes. “It’s all the same people in these things, the same well-to-do –”

“Well-to-do?”

“Well-to-do families,” you continue, as though uninterrupted. “The ones who came over on the Mayflower, or some shit and think that because of this, they can buy your ass – or, well, they can try.”

Despite himself, Jimin smiles. “That’s an interesting theory.”

“Right?” you respond, not seeming to catch onto the sarcasm. “Anyways, the 7 Society are a bunch of rich, elitist dicks who think they own the word and do terrible things because of it. I want to write this story,” you inform, sitting up straight. “I want to expose them. The Society has this reputation for corruption, scandal, blackmail –”

“Oh, the irony,” Jimin grins.

“Shut up,” you scowl, shaking a finger in his general direction. “This is different, I’m doing this for the betterment of society – you just fuck around with people because you can.”

“The betterment of society?” Jimin blurts, unable to contain his laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re getting nothing from this, right? No job offers, no magazines calling for you – no money, no fortune, no fame,” Jimin ticks each one off on his fingers. “Just face it, Y/N,” he shrugs. “You’re no better than I am.”

Your fingers still for the first time and Jimin sobers, seeing how his words have affected you. You’re not better than him, not in this, which you seem to have realized. Mouth snapping shut, you sink low in your seat and Jimin begins to worry you’ve lost all ability to speak.

“Let’s just say,” he starts, giving you a break. “Let’s just say that you’re right, for a second. Say I’m involved with this mysterious society – what then? This is all just gossip, hearsay. The University won’t print it, not without proof.”

“True,” you croak and, seeming to recover your resolve, you stare down at your notes. “That’s where you come in.”

Glancing sideways, Jimin looks out the door of the coffee shop. You think he’s one of the 7, he realizes – either that, or you just don’t understand how the Society works. There are only 7 members at any given time and only when you’re a member, do they let you in on their secrets. Jimin knows only rumors right now; rumored names, rumored happenings and rumored information. As far as the truth goes, Jimin won’t be much help.

Some people say being a part of the 7 grants access to wealth. Others say there’s women, there’s drugs, or there’s gold. Jimin thinks that the answer is simpler. It’s power, that’s all. It’s fear of the unknown, the men in the shadows and it’s the prestige of being exclusive and elite, that’s all.

Tilting his head, Jimin examines your face. “And how would I help? What, specifically, do you need from me?”

“A story,” you respond.

Jimin can’t help but admire the way you speak. There’s fire in your eyes, venom to your words and Jimin is certain he’s never felt so strongly about anything in his life. Certainly not about his work, nor his school, nor any one person. The closest he’s come to feeling this way is about lacrosse, but even that was before his father mandated he play for his image.

“A story,” Jimin repeats. “I could help you with that.”

Though you’re shocked by the agreement, you attempt to play it off as nonchalance. "Ah, okay,” you shrug, nearly missing when you lean one elbow on the table. “That’s great.”

Jimin looks away from you, smile fading. “After all, I don’t really have a choice – do I?”

Wincing, you look down. “I – well…”

“It’s just.” Jimin leans in, until his face is too closer. “You want to be a journalist, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” he continues, “do you really want this to be your start? A story you got through blackmail, filled with lies and halfway research. If you don’t go about things the right way, are the results really worth it?”

Something flickers in your gaze, flaring to life. “The right way,” you repeat, the words quiet. “My entire life, I’ve gone about things the right way and look where it’s gotten me. Look where it’s gotten my mother,” you exhale, “who works three jobs and never has time to do anything else. It’s easy to talk about the right way when all you have are options. It’s harder, when you work as hard as I do and still have nothing to lean on.”

Every word you say is a dagger, thrown with the precision of an assassin. Jimin’s stomach sinks because you are correct, he has every opportunity to do the right thing and he rarely does. You are also wrong though, because Jimin doesn’t have every opportunity, just certain ones. There are some parts of himself he’s sacrificed, some things he’s given up to maintain this image. Jimin has seen things, done things, hurt parts of himself which should never be touched. Yet still, he can’t say that you’re wrong.

“I didn’t say don’t write it,” Jimin exhales, placing his hands flat on the table. “I just think things are more complicated than you think they are.”

You hesitate at this response; just for a moment, but it’s there. Jimin sees your uncertainty and knows he can exploit it, but the funny thing is, he doesn’t want to. Your words leave him hollow because, even faced with the prospect of nothing, Jimin finds he doesn’t care. If he woke up tomorrow and everything – the cars, the boats, the booze and the 7 – even if it all disappeared, Jimin wouldn’t care.

His father would, though; which is why you should worry.

Jimin shakes his head. “Y/N. You said it yourself, these are some of the most powerful men in the world. If you expose them as part of the 7, do you truly not see the danger?”

Running your finger over the spine of your notepad you nod. “I see it,” you agree. “I see the danger. What kind of a journalist would I be, if I avoided things because I was scared?”

When you say this, Jimin stares because he’s never known such conviction in his life. “I suppose,” he murmurs, gaze flickering. “How do you want me to help, then? That photo can’t be seen by the public, I can’t allow it.”

Once more, you seem guilty. “Yeah,” you mutter, looking away. “I guess. Listen - can I ask you something?”

“Might as well,” Jimin shrugs. “I don’t see how this could get any worse.”

Shooting him a glare, you let your hands fall to the table. “Why do you do it?” you ask, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. You seem to have everything, everyone loves and admires you. Why would you throw it all away, on something like drugs?”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. “Y/N,” he responds, eyebrows raised. “The drugs in the photo aren’t mine; you know that, right?”

For a moment, you’re flummoxed. “I – what?”

Jimin nods. “I don’t do drugs, Y/N. Do I fuck around a lot? Sure. Am I a mild alcoholic? Maybe,” Jimin shrugs. “But the hard stuff, not for me. Like you said, I have a lot to lose and with my family, image is everything.”

His words are laced with meaning, so much so that you stare. “So,” you start to say, before stopping. “The photo…?”

“Isn’t true,” Jimin answers.

This seems to floor you, based on your expression and while you’re sitting there, silent, Jimin pushes himself to stand. “I have to go,” he explains, sliding his bag over his shoulder. “Homework and stuff.”

You nod, still dazed by his confession. “Right. That makes sense.”

Jimin waits, certain he could say just about anything right now and you’d agree. There’s this look on your face, the knowledge that you’re blackmailing for something he didn’t even do. It seems to have crossed a line for you, one which wasn’t there before.

Finally, you look up. “Alright. Thank you,” you respond, fingertips white while clutching your notebook.

Jimin softens, and he’s not sure why he does what he does next. “Y/N,” he states, waiting. “Just because something seems perfect, doesn’t mean that it is. Images can be deceiving, you know – I wouldn’t take too much stock in mine.”

You nod, wanting to respond to him but Jimin is already turning away. He slips headphones into his ears, ignoring the pounding rhythm of his own heart and it isn’t long before he’s gone, leaving you sitting alone at the table, wondering what the hell just happened.

• Y/N •

One week later, you’re still wondering.

Lying flat on your back, one arm is flung over your eyes while you attempt to sort through your thoughts. It’s been days, days since meeting Jimin and everything went to hell. You need this story, that much is certain. The time you’ve spent on this paper has taught you lessons in seniority, in tenure, in what it takes to get noticed.

You need the 7 Society, need the hook their name gives. It’s going to be your entryway, a story which will lead you to bigger and better things but in order to get there, you need a foot in the door. That, in addition to the teeny, tiny fact that you already told your editor. Groaning, you flop onto your stomach. Lip held between your teeth, you skim through your notes. It’s been days since you looked at them, really looked because each time you do, you get a little bit nauseous.

This isn’t how things were supposed to be. You and Jimin were supposed to meet, he was supposed to be a dick and you were supposed to force him to help you. Instead, he was nothing like you thought he’d be – maybe a touch arrogant, bit hard to read but overall, he was nice. Snorting out loud, you bury your face in the sheets. You’re lying, plain and simple because Jimin was interesting, intelligent and weirdly enough, seemed to get you. It’s enough that you can’t stop thinking about him, which is the other problem.

It’s all part of his appeal, to be honest and staring down at your notes, you try to make sense of it all. Park Jimin, twenty-two years old, heir to the Park family fortune. His father is the CEO of one of those giant corporations, the conglomerates you’re always surprised to find own both your favorite organic conditioner and the DEET bug spray you protested.

The pages of your notebook are crammed with information, alternating between photos and notes, pictures of the party and observations you made. Even that night, when Jimin bumped into you and spilled your drink, he was entirely apologetic. He said he was sorry, was trying to say more when you abruptly left. The moment replays in your mind, staring down at your notes.

Jimin is a bit of a contradiction. He didn’t seem upset by the photo, making it seem like he doesn’t care about your story. Or maybe he does, and he’s cocky enough to think you can’t touch him. There was the one comment he made, about the men in the 7 being the most powerful in the world. A chill goes down your spine at the thought, since although this might be a deterrent to some, if just spurs you on.

All your life, you’ve hated men like this. Men who can crush, who strangle the happiness out of others for the sake of their own. You know men like that on the paper, at your job, men who ran your after-school care programs and looked the other way while boys had their fun. Men who left your mother when you were little, who taught you to be self-sufficient at a very young age. It’s men like this who fuel your anger, which is part of the reason you want to write this story.

It’s all fake, though. The photo isn’t real, and you can’t help but feel torn by that fact. Jimin doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not when he’s done nothing wrong and, shutting your notebook, you lower your head to its cover. You can’t do this to him, you can’t. Though Jimin might be spoiled, smug and a little bit arrogant – he’s not a bad person and realizing this fact, you roll onto your back. This will make you very unpopular with your editor, might even get you kicked off the paper.

It’s a lesson in professionalism, you suppose. Vet your sources, always be certain there’s substance before you announce a story. It’s crappy to learn this through trial and error, and you close your eyes at the thought.

When there’s a knock on your door, you turn your head on the bed. It’s past 8:00 PM, you’re not expecting any company and as you stand from your mattress, they knock again.

“Coming,” you call, padding over to the frame and when you fling open the door, you freeze. “Jimin?”

He stares back, looking woefully out of place in your dormitory hall. “Can I come in?” he asks, peering over your shoulder.

You stand there for a moment, trying to reconcile the sight of him before you shake your head quickly and step aside. “I guess?” you respond, brow creased with confusion.

Jimin walks forward, shoulders brushing for you to fight back a shiver. Weak, you tell yourself, as you shut the door and turn, only to stare at the sight. It’s strange how not strange it is, seeing him there. Jimin fits in your room. When you talked to him before – in the coffee shop, outside the lacrosse stadium – you were very aware then, of who he was. He was Park Jimin, of the Park’s but here in your bedroom, he seems more like a guy.

Then he turns to look at you. Right, a fucking beautiful guy.

“So,” Jimin exhales, shifting his weight backwards. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, he’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans which both likely cost more than your computer. “You live on campus?”

“Yeah,” you nod, watching him sit on your mattress. Jimin bounces for a second, touching the squishable hedgehog resting on your pillow. “Why?” you ask. “Do you live off?”

Jimin nods, looking at you. “Yeah, since sophomore year. I uh, may have been asked to leave campus.”

“What?” Crossing your arms, you fight back a smile – Jimin’s gaze follows the motion, though you try not to notice. “What did you do?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Jimin grins, leaning onto his hands. “This senior RA thought I slept with his girlfriend, or something.”

“And?” you prompt. “Did you?”

“I thought they were broken up!” Jimin complains. “How was I supposed to know she was lying?”

Leaning your shoulder to the wall, you look up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, maybe you could have just not fucked your RA’s ex?”

“But where’s the fun in that,” Jimin whines. “She was hot, I was there. Your classic rom-com situation.”

“That’s not,” you stop, shaking your head because it’s not worth the effort. “Nevermind.”

Jimin looks around the room, shifting on top of your bed. Your gaze drops to his legs, which was a mistake, because fuck. He’s pure muscle, from the curved tops of his thighs to those slender hips and shoulders. When your gaze reaches his face, you realize he’s staring as well but rather than be embarrassed, it only makes you more curious.

“Why are you here, Jimin?” you ask.

His hair looks soft, curled against the nape of his neck, in contrast with his body. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” Jimin shrugs. “I said I’d help with your story and I can’t imagine you’re giving me much time. All good con artists have a timeline.”

“I’m not a con artist,” you scowl and Jimin grins, taking way too much pleasure in your annoyance. “I just want to tell people the truth.”

His smile lessens, somewhat. “Oh? Does one truth cancel out the other, then?”

You fall silent, because you don’t have an answer to this. Except that you do, and it doesn’t. You won’t write the story like this and you mean to tell him that – but then Jimin stands from your bed. Adjusting the bag on his back, he closes a zipper that’s come undone as he walks.

He comes to a stop before you. “I’ll help with your story, but I want something in return.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen a glimpse of the man people are afraid of. Park Jimin, the infamous Parks, who take what they want and don’t apologize for the action. There’s a hardness to his tone, certain ice in his gaze and you realize Jimin could be dangerous if he wanted to be.

“What do you want?” you ask, lifting your chin.

“My name left out.” Jimin’s jaw tightens. “Along with my family’s name. No one can ever know I was your source, no one can ever trace this back to me. Promise me this, it’s important.”

Slowly, you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Jimin repeats. He clearly thought he’d have to convince you, thought you’d put up a fight, because having an unnamed source is much harder to verify. “Just like that?”

You wonder if you should fight him more on this, but you simply uncross your arms. “Just like that. I’m a very reasonable person, Park Jimin.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Oh, I’m sure. You know,” he muses, walking closer, “it’s strange to hear my full name on your lips.”

“Oh?” He stops, much too near to your frame, but you find yourself unable to move away. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, gaze dropping. “It seems formal, and there are more... informal things I’d like to do to you.”

Your eyes fly open. “W-what?” you stammer.

Jimin smiles, absently. “I shouldn’t like you, should I?”

“I – what?” you repeat, dazed by the implication.

Jimin takes another step closer. His brow furrows. “By all accounts, I should hate you. You semi-stalked me,” he points out. “You took a photo of me in a compromising situation and are using said photo to blackmail me. Not to mention, you’re somewhat abrasive and strange,” he nods. “I should really dislike you.”

Staring back at him, something stirs in your stomach. “But,” you breathe, uncertain what you’re doing, “then... are you saying you don’t?”

Jimin’s eyes glint. “I should dislike you, since you’re threatening everything I have, but that’s the thing – I don’t really care.”

Head spinning, you realize you were right about one thing, when his hand encircles your wrist. Jimin doesn’t care about the life he has, he doesn’t care if your article takes it all away from him. The underlying reason for this intrigues you, but that question will have to wait until later.

“The only reason I care about what you write,” Jimin continues, “is because I know others will care. There are powerful members of the 7, powerful people in my family who want – no, who need – me to be a part of it. Those are the people you should be worried about, not me.”

His words leave you speechless, which is a rarity. Jimin wants you to stop writing because, what – he cares? The thought is foreign and yet, the gaze he’s giving you right now is sincere. It sends you reeling, tangles your thoughts because you keep reminding yourself this isn’t real. This is what Jimin is good at, manipulation, you’ve learned that from your research but still, you can’t help but believe him.

After all, you are still manipulating him, too. Despite your earlier convictions about the decision to pull the story, you haven’t told him.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I,” Jimin finishes, quiet.

He says this as a statement, but you see his hesitancy and it’s this, more than anything, which throws you. Jimin always seems so sure, like he knows who he is but now he’s staring with more than a little confusion. You two might attend the same school, but before this you existed in separate worlds. His world is one of parties, expectations and duty – before you met, you thought that you hated him. When you did meet, Jimin probably hated you.

Now, though – you suck in your breath, because Jimin’s fingers are tracing gentle patterns on your wrist. Lately, writing has been hard for you. It’s been more work than fun, it’s been about proving yourself to people who don’t matter and lately, you’ve started to wonder if it’s worth it. It’s been so long you’ve worked for the same dream, that sometimes you wonder if you’ve given up too much. Three relationships, all since college and each one failed, for the same reasons. You were never there, never available and each one said you loved your work more than them.

Looking up at Jimin, you see parts of yourself. He has this drive, this ambition to be the best but lacks conviction, something to believe in. As his fingers curl about your wrist, anchoring you closer, it’s alarming how easily his shape seems to fit.

This is when you should tell him, but you don’t. “You should hate me,” you agree. “If you just look at the facts, I’m not a very nice person.”

“Nice,” Jimin exhales, corner of his mouth lifted. “I haven’t heard that word used about me in a long time.”

“I guess we’re the same, then.”

Jimin doesn’t look away. He uses his gaze like a dagger, dragging up the length of your body, caressing your throat. “I guess so,” he acknowledges. The moment lingers, until Jimin shakes his head. “Saturday,” he affirms, letting go of your wrist. “Saturday night, 10:00 PM. Meet me at the side of Capital hall and I’ll hold up my end of the deal.”

“Saturday,” you agree, too distracted by the ghost of his hand on yours. “I – yes.”

Jimin nods, brushing past to open the door. He doesn’t wait for a response, glancing over his shoulder while leaving. “See you then,” he winks, slipping out in the hall.

It’s several minutes before you come back to your senses and when you do, you realize you never told him. Jimin still thinks you’re writing the story and you have no way of telling him otherwise. Aside from meeting him this Saturday night.

It’s unnerving, how much it excites you and when you fall asleep that night, it’s to dreams of strangers and darkness.

Saturday night is clear, if chilly. You stand shivering beneath the boughs of an elm tree, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you misread him, in your room and at the café – worse, maybe Jimin intended you to misread him and this is all a game. He could be setting you up, with no intention of helping and taking a deep breath, you force yourself to stay calm. There’s no reason to freak out.

You shouldn’t feel conviction for a man you don’t know but for some reason you do. Against all better judgement, you trust Park Jimin. Still, the hour is late, the weather is cold and you find yourself wishing you’d brought with you a jacket. Any sort of jacket would work, but you had nothing to match this dress that’s not yours.

It’s Nivea’s, a girl on the paper you get lunch with occasionally. Late last night you showed up at her door, realizing belatedly most people go out on a Friday. She answered the door though, flinging it open to seem somewhat surprised by your presence.

“Y/N!” Nivea smiled, gaze traveling past to the hall. “What’s going on? Did I leave something behind at the paper?”

Cheeks flushed, you realized you might have a problem. If the most logical explanation for your visit was Nivea leaving something behind at the paper, you clearly needed to leave the place more often. “No, no,” you shook your head. “Nothing like that. It’s just – ah, this is awkward, you see…”

When you trailed off, Nivea arched a brow. “Want to come in?”

“Yes, please,” you exhaled, stepping inside.

It only took a few minutes for the story to come out. You liked this guy, he was always well-dressed, and you had nothing to wear on your date. Of course, this wasn’t the real story, but you could hardly tell Nivea the truth. Her eyes lit up was you spoke though, and by the end of your sentence she was clapping her hands.

“Of course!” Nivea gushed, flinging open her closet. “I love to play fairy godmother, it gives me everything I love; fashion, plus an insane amount of control. Let’s see,” she tutted, pulling out a dress to examine. “Pink? No? I’ll admit,” Nivea laughed, rummaging in the back. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to overthink what to wear on a date.”

“I’m not, really,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, I kind of want to surprise him.”

“Hm.” Nivea stared, squinting. “Well, can’t argue with that. Turn around,” she motioned, and the night flowed from there. Two hours later, you were leaving her room with a dress, red lipstick and a promise to take pictures.

A promise you’ll unfortunately have to break but there’s also the lunch date you made for Monday, one you’re determined to keep. It’s been too long since you hung out like that, you’ve been so caught up in work and the paper that somewhere along the way, you forgot to have a life.

You’re wearing Nivea’s dress, standing beneath the giant elm tree and slowly freezing your ass off. Earlier you tamed your hair into submission, arranging it to flow in gentle curls down your back. You even managed to squeeze into this dress, the more modest of Nivea’s options – though even this shows more skin than you’re used to. The hemline is mid-thigh, with a scoop neck and low back which need constant adjusting.

You’re so concentrated, you don’t even notice when Jimin taps you on the shoulder. “Hey,” he greets and the moment you turn, his eyes widen with shock. The awe disappears quickly, smoothing out in a smile but his lingering look that he gives you sends sparks zipping over your skin.

“Hey,” Jimin blinks, repeating himself. “Hi.”

You smile, because in the entirety you’ve known him, Jimin has never fumbled for words. They’ve always come naturally to him, but right now appear to be absent.

“You look nice,” you say because he does, this is true. Jimin is wearing an all-black tuxedo, blonde hair pushed back from his face in devastating fashion.

He arches a brow. “What, this old thing?”

“Old,” you scoff, scanning his torso. “I will give you one hundred dollars, if you tell me you’ve worn that before.”

“To quote Kim Seokjin,” Jimin sighs, offering you his arm, “anything off the rack is already old.”

“Who’s Seokjin?”

Jimin laughs, pulling you close as he walks towards the hall. “Please, say that to him.”

Capital hall is a stately building, looming high while you reach the side door. Craning to look over your shoulder, you come to a stop beside Jimin. “Uh,” you blink, when he knocks on the door. “Jimin, I think this is a side entrance. I saw people going in over th –”

The door creaks open, only a crack. “Password?”

This silences your response, glancing wide-eyed at Jimin. It shouldn’t shock you, since there was a similar set-up on the boat but then, you doubt you’ll ever get used to this sort of thing.

“Luceo non uro,” Jimin answers.

The door closes before you, sounds of unlocking within.

Turning your head, you take in Jimin’s profile. “What does it mean?”

He remains facing forward. “I shine, not burn. My friends are going through a Latin phase,” Jimin grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“I shine, not burn,” you repeat, while the door swings open. “I like it.”

Jimin enters the doorway, leading you on. “Do you?” he muses. “You’re easy to please, once you get past the whole blackmail thing.”

“Jimin!” you hiss. Glancing sideways, it appears no one heard and you slowly relax into the crook of his arm.

Door thudding shut, Jimin leads you down the hall. “Kidding,” he grins, face half-hidden by shadow. “At least you have something you’re working towards, which is admirable. That’s more than can be said of me.”

He stops before the next set of doors, one hand resting on the handle and without stopping to think, you lay your hand over his. “Jimin,” you state, while he looks up in surprise. “You have more to offer than you think you do.”

Jimin just stares. “I didn’t think you saw me like that,” he murmurs, bending so that some hair falls into his gaze. “I thought I was ‘just another rich asshole, screwing my way to the top’?”

The hall around you seems to fade, heart thrumming much too loud in your ear. “You,” you exhale, licking your lips. “You read my notebook?”

For that’s what he just quoted, a private observation from the party when you saw Jimin disappear with those girls. You wrote that note quickly, didn’t tell anyone – and slowly, understanding dawns. That day in your room, when Jimin stood up from your bed, he was zippering his bag shut. He must have grabbed your notebook and though you kind of want to yell at him, you also kind of want to laugh. It was a ballsy move, that’s for sure.

Jimin’s eyes glimmer. “What a terrible invasion of privacy, I know,” he deadpans. “I suppose you’re not the only one with leverage now.”

Staring back at him, you fight your smile. "Huh,” you return, facing forward. “An interesting observation. Lead the way, Park.”

He grins, taking your elbow to push open the doors. You should be angry, should be furious but instead, you find yourself feeling somewhat relieved. There’s some embarrassment, sure, because your observations were less than kind but mostly, you feel relief. You may have been the bad guy before, but now you’re even.

Walking through the doors, all thoughts of the notebook fall quickly from mind. The room around you is beautiful and though you’ve been in Capital hall before, you’ve never seen this. “What is this place?” you ask, twisting around to look.

Jimin continues to walk, leading you through the shadowy bodies. “Cope and Stewardson,” he nods at the ceiling. It’s intricately carved, spiraling out to reach etchings on the walls. “A Philadelphia architecture firm known for classic, Gothic architecture style exemplified throughout many East coast collegiate campuses. The ceiling was a surprise, a gift from one of the architects to the Dean. Rumor has it,” Jimin continues, winding his way through the crowd, “he was in love with him.”

“I see,” you whisper, staring up in awe. “Why is this room kept a secret? I’ve been here many times, but never heard it discussed.”

Jimin’s answering smile is wicked. “It’s amazing what money will keep hidden, isn’t it?”

“Prick,” you mutter, much to Jimin’s amusement. The room is beautiful though, as is the crowd and not for the first time, you’re grateful for Nivea’s help. In a room full of strangers, at least you don’t stand out. Or, this is what you’re thinking until Jimin leans in.

“People are staring,” he murmurs, pulling you closer.

“Oh?” you blurt, looking up in alarm. “Why, because they don’t know me? How can I fix it?”

“Well,” Jimin sighs. “You could start by not having dressed like that.”

“Like what?” you hiss, glancing sideways.

Meeting Jimin’s gaze, he smiles. “Like the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s a pause, while his words sink in – you let yourself bask in his glow, allow yourself to fall headlong into his gaze, before forcing yourself away. “Do you find,” you comment, continuing to walk, “that pretty words tend to get you what you want?”

Jimin follows you, laughing. “Usually,” he admits. “Though admittedly, this doesn’t seem to be the case with you.” Coming to a stop at another door, he looks your way. “After you.”

The doors are heavy, solid oak which take a moment to open and once you do, you find yourself facing a library. You hear, rather than see when Jimin shuts the doors behind you; the sounds of the party are cut off abruptly, leaving you in silence and taking a step, you turn around in a circle.

“Lovely,” you breathe, because it is. The books are hidden, kept here to keep students from touching – which, naturally, makes you want to run your hands all over them. When you glance over your shoulder to look at him though, you find Jimin still hasn’t moved. “Where are we?” you ask.

“Rare books library.”

“I see,” you nod, returning your gaze to the tomes. “And why are we here?”

Jimin regards you thoughtfully, biting his lip. “Well,” he sighs, pushing himself off the door. “You said you wanted a story, I’m here to deliver.”

Your heart sinks at this, because it’s no longer what you want. Somewhere along the way, you stopped caring about how Jimin can help you and just wanted to be near him. That’s why you didn’t tell him about the story, you realize. You wanted to see him tonight, wanted to keep seeing him, no matter the cost.

Jimin stops before you. “I have something to show you,” he confesses.

A shiver goes down your spine. “What?”

Lifting a finger to his lips, Jimin indicates silence before grabbing your hand to tug you sideways. You would protest but frankly, you enjoy the feel of his hand on your skin. His warm fingers wrap in yours, sending a shock up your spine.

Winding his way through the stacks, Jimin leads until you find yourself wishing you’d brought a ball of twine. “Where are we going?” you groan, as Jimin turns to face you.

He arches a brow, unamused by your impatience. “Sh,” he repeats, before turning around. He continues, leading you forward until the two of you reach the end of a hall. There’s nowhere to continue, except for the door on your right.

Jimin stops, glancing down the hall to return to you. “Take out your phone,” he instructs, barely audible.

“Why?” you whisper, but obey all the same.

“Just look,” Jimin murmurs, placing his hand on the knob. He twists silently, pushing open the door to ensure ensuring nothing squeaks. When it’s open a rack and you can see what’s inside, it’s a difficult thing to stifle your gasp of surprise.

Professor Nam. You recognize him from your run-in at the coffee shop, but you would have known him before. Jimin might be his TA, but Professor Nam is well-known on his own. He’s the owner of several large publishing companies, an incredibly powerful man both at the University and outside it. Right now, though, the sight of him just makes you sick because kneeling before him is a girl. Not just any girl, one you recognize as a freshman on the paper. You can’t recall having spoken, just that she seemed kind of young and naïve. She doesn’t seem this way anymore, with her mouth wrapped around his dick.

Almost on auto-pilot, you press the capture button. Barely aware of what you’re doing, you document the scene and stumble away from the hall. Jimin is right, this is a story and – more than a little nauseous at the fact – you turn yourself away from the sight. Jimin closes the door behind you, following when you start to walk away. You keep on walking, completely silent until reaching the first room that you entered and then turn, shoving Jimin’s back to the wall.

“What the hell,” you hiss, inches away from his face. “Why bring me here, what was that?’

Jimin allows himself to be manhandled, though his eyes narrow in response. "It’s the story I promised,” he returns. “That’s it.”

Slowly, you release him, taking a step back. You understand now – Jimin promised you a story, not your story, not the 7 Society. He just promised you a story, and he delivered. Jimin is right, the 7 Society is a fluff piece at best, unless you can piece together the corruption and greed which surround it. You can’t right now, meaning it’s unsubstantial. This story though, there’s clear proof of misconduct.

A professor, sleeping with his student. Glancing down at your phone, you begin to realize the implications. “You lied,” you reiterate, unsure why this keeps sticking in your throat.

Jimin’s gaze softens. “I couldn’t let you run that story.”

All his reasons come back, the most striking of which was the story was dangerous. In his own, weird way, Jimin tried to protect you. He knows this world better than you, and he knows what would happen if you wrote that story.

“I wasn’t going to write it,” you shoot back, uncertain why you care. It hardly matters, but you need him to hear. “The article, I mean, I wasn’t going to write it. You were right, blackmail isn’t how I want to start my career.”

Refusing to look away from you, a muscle in Jimin’s jaw ticks. “Oh?” he responds, taking a step. “You expect me to believe that? Your words don’t really line up with your actions, Y/N.”

“I,” you hesitate, unsure what to say. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I meant to, when you came to my room but, I don’t know – I just didn’t.”

You realize how close he is now, how little space there is between you. The tips of Jimin’s shoes brush yours, lips within kissing distance of your own.

“Putting all that aside,” Jimin allows. “You have your story. Professor Nam has been fucking that student all semester, she currently has an A despite turning in zero homework assignments. It’s a great story, Y/N, you have to admit.”

“It is,” you admit, dropping to a whisper. “How did you know?”

“I TA for him,” Jimin reminds. “I noticed the discrepancy in her grade but when I tried to fix it, Professor Nam changed it back. I figured it out later, overheard them planning to get together tonight.”

“I see,” you respond, staring back. It’s true, it’s the perfect story to get your foot in the door; if Jimin can give you proof of missing grades, it’s undeniable evidence. “But… why?” you ask, your confusion growing. “Why are you helping me?”

Jimin shrugs. “A blackmailer is more likely to agree to a win-win scenario. This way, everyone goes home happy; you get your story, my name remains clear. Is there a problem with that?”

“I,” you pause, gaze flicking down the hall. “It’s not entirely win-win. Professor Nam will lose his job, it will hurt his wife and daughter.”

“Ah,” Jimin responds, words tight. “So now you’re concerned about his feelings.”

The implication being that you don’t care about his own and, chin jerking up, you take a step forward. “Listen,” you huff. “I already told you I wasn’t writing the article. Why do you think I didn’t notice my notes had gone missing? It’s because I haven’t been looking at them, I’ve been avoiding the story!”

Pausing, Jimin seems taken aback. “That’s true,” he muses. “You seem like the type of person to notice their notes are gone.”

“Believe what you want about me,“ you snap. “I know the truth and I wasn’t going to write it. If it makes you feel better, if it helps you sleep at night to imagine me the villain, then by all means –”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin interrupts, stopping your rant.

Stumbling to a halt, your chest rises and falls. “I – what?”

Sensing he’s hit upon something important, Jimin tilts his head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t writing the story, Y/N? Why keep up the charade?”

Unable to come up with a suitable response, you blink. “I – because, I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Jimin considers. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you why I helped you find another story. You know, instead of just threatening you.”

“There was another reason?” you respond, barely able to concentrate with him so close. He seems earnest, though and for some reason you think back to the moment in your room, when he said that he liked you.

“I should hate you, shouldn’t I?” you whisper, eyes dropping to his lips.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you exhale, startled when his hands find your arms. “You lied to me, stole from me, took the story I wanted to tell and replaced it with another. That’s just for starters.”

Jimin’s hand skim your arms, lifting into your hair. “Borrowed,” he corrects, smile flitting over his lips. “Borrowed your notebook, with every intention of returning. I just wanted to see what you wrote about me.”

“Oh?” you ask, hypnotized by his touch. “And what did you find?”

“I found out that you hated me. At first,” Jimin adds, a caveat.

“I should still,” you return, just as softly.

“And do you?”

“No.”

You don’t know who moves first, you or Jimin, but somehow his hands are fisting in your hair, while your lips bruise between his. His kiss is desperate, catastrophic and you feel yourself careening over an edge but can’t find it in yourself to care. Your hands clutch hard at his waist, just as consuming as he.

His words are muffled, pushed between teeth and tongue. “Y/N,” Jimin groans, “I want,” his thumb brushes your collarbone, “you,” he inhales, “so fucking badly.”

“Ah,” you moan, unable to think around the press of his lips, “same.”

“Good,” he grunts, hands sliding down to your hips. “Turn around. Face the wall.”

You obey, touching your hands to the panel while Jimin steps up to press himself from behind. His fingers trace your arms, sliding down to your front. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m not nice, Y/N, I never have been.”

“Oh?” you shiver, when his fingers dip lower. “You think I was lying?”

“No,” Jimin agrees, pushing the silk of your dress between your legs. His fingers brush over your sex, teasing in slow, gentle circles. “It makes me feel better, for all the awful things I want to do with you tonight.”

There’s not time to respond, before he flips you over and your back hits the wall. “What do you want me to do?” you breathe, staring up at him.

Jimin’s answering smile is angelic. “Where’s the fun in telling?” he murmurs, fingers sliding low to your wrists. “Come on,” he exhales, pushing open the door to the main room. “I want you naked in my bed, and I won’t be kept waiting.”

Rolling your eyes, you let yourself be pulled. “Won’t be kept waiting,” you repeat, while he leads through the party. “We’ll see about that.”

Jimin stops abruptly, pulling you to him. “You would do that?” he purrs, all silk and sweetness. “You wouldn’t be so cruel, would you, Y/N?” His fingers drift down to your sides. “You wouldn’t be so cold.”

All retorts die when Jimin spins you, hungry lips crushing to yours in a kiss. He coaxes you open before him, hands sliding lower to cup your ass. “Come on,” Jimin exhales, breaking away and re-grabbing your hand.

Though you scowl, you follow because fuck, is your heart racing. The other people in the room are barely visible, too focused on the sight of Jimin’s ass in those pants, his right hand in yours and the next thing you know, you’re standing out on the curb, Jimin beside you, squinting down at his phone while slipping one arm around your waist.

“Two minutes,” Jimin announces, looking up. “Greg is completing a ride nearby.”

“Greg?” you echo. “You ordered an Uber? Huh. I would’ve thought Park Jimin had his own, personal driver.”

Grinning, Jimin drops his phone into his pocket before removing his jacket. “It’s an Uber Black, if that helps.”

“Kind of.”

Shrugging his jacket onto his shoulder, Jimin just smiles when the black Mercedes S-560 rolls up to the curb. He steps forward first, opening to door to allow entrance and once you’re settled inside, Jimin follows. “Park place,” he announces, at the driver. “How are you doing tonight, Greg?”

The man – Greg, presumably – nods in hello. “Not too bad, yourself?”

As the car pulls away from the curb, Jimin gently lowers his jacket over your lap. “Not bad at all,” he answers, fingers drifting along the edge of your knee. “Busy night, tonight?”

When the driver responds, Jimin’s hand slips under his jacket. Your eyes widen, realizing what he’s doing; your dress is already half-bunched at your waist, lifted and scrunched from climbing into the car. Jimin’s fingers move gently, coaxing your legs apart on the seat and you squirm at the touch, biting down on your lip when his thumb brushes your panties. Hearing the noise you make in your throat, Jimin turns his head in disapproval.

Leaning in, his lips touch your ear. “No noise,” Jimin whispers, “or I’ll stop. So,” he announces, smiling at the front. “What’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened in your car?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen…”

Pulling your panties aside, Jimin slips a finger in between your legs – his jaw slackens, at the touch of your arousal. “That so?” Jimin manages to respond, though the sound is strangled. Turning to look at you, his gaze burns while his hand slides lower, ghosting over your slickness.

Trying not to whimper, you shift your hips on the seat. Up ahead, your driver is going on about the time some girl puked in his car, and Jimin takes as his opportunity to slip a finger inside. Clasping one hand over your mouth, you stifle a groan when he curls his digit upwards.

Arching his brow, Jimin continues to watch. “God, what a mess,” he sighs. “That must have been incredibly frustrating.”

The driver agrees and Jimin starts to rub gentle circles on your clit. Fuck, you mouth, head hitting the seat while your hips rock into his palm. Jimin smiles at the sight, sliding his finger in and out while continuing to make pleasant conversation with the driver. You grab onto his knee, squeezing tight for each stroke that he makes and Jimin slows himself marginally, languidly exploring your body. His fingers trail around your entrance, up your cunt, until your entire body is shaking and you can’t help but moan.

Jimin’s withdrawal is abrupt, sinking back on the seat. “Disappointing,” he remarks to the driver, though he’s looking at you. As you continue to watch, Jimin brings a glistening finger to his mouth and sucks. “You must have been close,” he comments, sliding the digit from his mouth to look forward.

“I was,” Greg laughs, continuing to drive. “Honestly, I nearly –”

Eyes narrowed, your gaze drifts from Jimin’s smug expression downwards. He’s half-hard, straining against his pants, a fact which makes you smile. At least he’s not entirely unaffected by the situation, judging from the state of his hard-on.

“Anyways,” the driver continues, car pulling to a stop. “Thanks for riding, you two. Your place is on the right.”

Jimin nods, tugging your skirt down with agile fingers. “Pleasure’s mine,” he allows, pushing open the door. “Y/N, are you ready?”

Still glaring, you tug your dress lower while scooting outside. “I’m fine,” you huff, stepping out on the curb. The air outside is chilly, enough that you’re shivering before Jimin places his arm around you again. He leads you into his building, waving to the doorman and walking you back past the mailroom.

Inside the elevator, Jimin stops beside you. “Did you enjoy that?” he murmurs, continuing to face forward. “Did you like being fingered in public like that, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you whisper, cheeks enflamed at the thought. “I liked it a lot.”

“Mm,” Jimin sighs, satisfied. “I thought you would. I think you’ll like a lot of things we do tonight, Y/N.”

“What,” you pause, licking your lips. “What sorts of things?”

Jimin just smiles. “Tell me a fantasy you have.”

Heat spirals through your core, wicked and wanton. “I don’t know,” you whisper, eyes wide. Truthfully, you have a lot of fantasies but haven’t ever voiced them out loud. No one’s ever asked before.

Seeing your expression, Jimin turns. “Hey,” he murmurs, coming to stand before you. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to.”

Staring back, his gaze is calming enough that you blurt, “Sensory deprivation.”

Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Oh?”

Rather shakily, you nod. “I – blindfolds and uh, other things.”

“Hm,” Jimin muses, his smile delicate. “I know.”

Then the elevator chimes, doors opening as Jimin takes your hand and pulls you out in the hall. His apartment is at the end and as he opens the door, you can’t help but stare. It’s a surreal moment, watching Jimin flick on the lights, dump his jacket on a chair, toss his keys on the counter.

The apartment is spacious, full of dark wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. It lets in the night, lighting the place with cityscape and moonbeams. The apartment itself is sparse, elegantly designed in shades of charcoal and blue – it fits Jimin, somehow and when he notices you staring, he comes to a stop in the kitchen.

“Something wrong?” he asks, rolling up a sleeve.

“I was just thinking,” you hesitate. “It’s strange that I’m here.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment, leaning both hands on the counter. “Why, because of how we met?”

“Well,” you pause, then nod. “Yeah, kind of.”

Without removing his gaze, Jimin walks around the counter. “I guess,” he admits, stopping before you. “Everyone’s story has a beginning – but that’s hardly the most important part.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, since it sounds like something a writer would say. “I suppose.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Jimin admits, “but that goes without saying. I find you interesting,” he amends, cocking his head. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Wow,” you respond dryly. “Thanks.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jimin laughs. “You were right when you said I’m surrounded by opportunity. I’ve never gone hungry, never had to wonder where the rent money was coming from. Even with that though, I’ve only ever had certain kinds of opportunities – not particularly moral ones, at that.” Falling silent, Jimin seems to remember. “I did a lot of things which left me hollow. But,” he continues, “this was before I met you.”

You have nothing to say to this, since it’s too strange to consider yourself an influence. You, an influence on him. Jimin reaches out for your hands, seeming unable to keep from touching you, his fingertips sliding up the expanse of your skin.

“You care about your writing, your stories,” Jimin continues. “I’m not sure I’ve ever cared about anything the way that you do. I want to,“ he hesitates, glancing up. "I care about you. And I don’t want to analyze that fact.”

The air between you thickens, silent but for the sound of your breath and the tick of his clock. “Kiss me,” you whisper, tilting up your chin.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate, lips descending as his arms wrap greedily around you. He pushes you back against his counter, hips digging to yours while his hands slide into your hair. Jimin isn’t gentle with his kiss; he demands what he gives, and what he gives you is fierce. The moment he pulls back for air, you undo the straps of your dress.

Gaze heated, Jimin’s pupils dilate at your exposure. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his gaze back to yours. “My room, now.”

When you nod, he grabs for your hand and tugs you off down the hall. “This way,” Jimin murmurs, leading you inside a room on the right and shutting the door behind you.

His bedroom is the same as the rest, decorated in shades of smooth wood and glass. When you turn to look at him, Jimin is already removing his tie and, while you continue to watch, he unbuttons buttons of his shirt until it falls to the floor.

Walking towards you, Jimin keeps his pants on. “Do you still want this?” he asks, sliding his tie between his palms.

“Yes,” you exhale.

“Good.” Jimin looks at the foot of his bed. “Sit.”

Heart racing, you move to lower yourself to the mattress – palms lying flat on the bedspread until Jimin follows to lower one knee on the sheets. His first kiss is gentle, a molding of mouths until you grow hungry and a soft moan escapes. Jimin breaks away at the sound, descending your neck to tug at your bra.

“Ah,” you gasp, when Jimin undoes the clasp. “Jimin.”

He continues, mouth closing around your nipple while you reach for his pants. He slaps your hand, pushing you back on the bed and straddling you fully. Continuing to kiss, his fingers trace over your nipples until you’re arching against him and then he pulls himself away.

Jimin reveals the silk tie in his hands. “Yes?” he affirms.

You nod. "Please.”

Inhaling, Jimin lifts your head to gently tie the fabric over your eyes. It shuts out the room and when you can’t see a thing, his lips slowly descend your body. Mouth trailing your chest, his thumbs brush over your skin while his lips find your legs. At your panties, he stops and you feel Jimin’s weight lift from the bed.

He must kneel because his hands return at your knees, pushing your legs apart on the floor. “Fuck, Y/N,” Jimin moans, bending until his lips touch your thighs. His mouth ghosts over your panties, not pulling them aside. “You look so beautiful.”

“Jimin,” you whimper, arching your back. “I need more.”

Chuckling, he pulls your panties sideways. “Too bad you’re not the one in charge, hm?”

It’s unexpected, the suddenness with which he yanks your panties down. Cold air touches your legs, until his mouth closes hot on your sex. You gasp, arching upwards while Jimin’s hands pin you flat to the bed. “Fuck,” you choke, when he slips in two fingers – the sensation is unbearable, after so much denial.

Jimin softens, giving slow licks to your clit while his fingers curl upwards. He pushes your hips down, spreading your legs to draw noise from your throat. “Jimin,” you gasp, grinding your hips into him, “don’t stop.”

Lips curving into a smile, Jimin nods. His nose brushes your clit and then he’s sucking, fingers plunging back inside you.

“Jimin,” you gasp. You attempt to ride out the rhythm but it’s hard, without seeing what he’s doing. He keeps changing the tempo, alternating in a way that’s driving you crazy. He brings you to the edge, over and over until your entire body is shaking with need.

“Not yet,” Jimin muses, at your expression. He slides his fingers out, using them to circle your already wet clit. “You don’t get to come, not yet.”

Still unable to see him, you feel his lips brush your hip, drifting higher until he comes to a stop at your mouth. “Will you be a good girl,” Jimin purrs, “and help me, Y/N? Will you take my dick in your mouth?”

Mouth watering, you nod; Jimin exhales in approval before unbuckling his belt to drop this onto the floor. The bed dips when he rejoins, kneeling on either side of your chest. His cock first touches your cheek, smearing pre-cum to your lips before you open your mouth to take him inside.

Jimin hisses, seeing your lips wrapped around his cock. “Shit,” he moans, jerking up when you suck.

It’s different like this, both your arms pinned by his thighs and unable to move. Hollowing your cheeks, you take him further and when Jimin thrusts into your mouth, he makes a groan of approval.

“Shit, baby,” he pants, hands dropping to your hair. He must be curved over your body, hips thrusting into your mouth while his hands grip the sheets. His cock is so deep, hitting the back of your throat for your eyes to mist with tears. When one slides down your cheek, Jimin catches it with his thumb. “Too much?” he murmurs, forcing himself still.

Though you shake your head no, Jimin slides himself out with a pop. “No,” you gasp, able to speak but Jimin just tuts.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, bringing his hands down your front to open your legs with one hand. “You’re already so swollen, baby, I just want to fuck you.”

“Oh,” you exhale, squirming beneath him. “Yes, please.”

Jimin chuckles at your response. “That’s it, baby,” he muses, lifting you higher on his bed. “Why don’t we remove this blindfold, hm? I want to see you,” he confesses, hands gently working the knot.

When the room comes into view, silk dropped from your eyes, it’s hard to concentrate because Jimin is kneeling, cock hard and glistening with your saliva. It makes you want him in your mouth, but you forget this entirely when you look over the rest of him. Every inch of perfection, from Jimin’s long, lean muscles to that blonde hair falling into his gaze.

Catching you staring, Jimin smiles. “Believe me,” he murmurs, dragging a finger up your sex, “the feeling is mutual.”

Bending to his end table, Jimin grabs a condom from a drawer to tear open the foil. He rolls this onto himself, hand stroking swiftly down the hard length of his cock. Watching him do this, you find you can’t look away.

Jimin sees where you’re staring. “Masturbation?” he asks, reaching our for your hand. Bringing your fingers to your clit, he rubs slow, gentle circles. “Mm,” he notes, seeing your eyes darken with pleasure. “Maybe next time, baby. Right now, I’m impatient and want you to lie on your front.”

Nodding, you roll over and once you’re in place, Jimin straddles you from behind. With your legs pushed between him, it’s nearly impossible to move and Jimin brings his hand to your ass. “Ah,” he exhales, grabbing hold of his dick to slide up and down your opening. “Such a tight pussy, Y/N. Do you want me? Tell me how much.”

“So much, Jimin,” you groan, pushing your ass into his hands. “Please, fuck me.”

“Good,” Jimin agrees before entering you in one, smooth motion.

He fills you entirely, making you gasp – your back arches, at the sudden feeling of fullness. Grabbing onto your hips, Jimin stills and you realize he’s thrown off as well when you hear his breathing. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, grip near-bruising. “You’re so tight. Fucking amazing, the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you retort, though you’re unable to keep still when he slides back inside you.

“I do,” Jimin grunts, thrusting again, to make both of you groan. “This time I mean it, though.”

“Ah,” you gasp, when he slams into you once more. “Excuse me, if I don’t believe you.”

“Oh,” Jimin chuckles, bending forward. “Believe it, baby. I’m about to fucking come, that’s how tight you are – tell me something unsexy. I need it, I swear.”

Squeezing your ass, he slowly withdraws, only to slam back again in a now-punishing rhythm. “Ah,” you moan, closing your eyes. “My closet is full of cardigans.”

“Not helping,” Jimin groans, “all I want to do is tie you up with one. Fuck you senseless, and leave bite marks on your inner thighs.”

His words leave you gasping, hands fisting in the sheets. “This is my only thong, everything else is high-waisted!”

“But,” Jimin murmurs, spanking you roughly, “what an ass beneath them. Not working, Y/N.”

“I,” you moan, when he tugs on your hair and starts fucking you – hard. “I masturbated to you, that night on the boat.”

Jimin’s hips stutter, resuming their motion. “Y/N,” he hisses, “that’s so fucking hot – that’s the opposite of what I asked.”

Turning around to look at him, you meet his gaze and smile. “I mean it,” you respond sweetly. “I didn’t even wait until I got home, I just found a bathroom stall.”

Jimin’s hair falls damply into his gaze. “Fuck, Y/N,” he grunts, grabbing hold of your ass. “That’s so hot – I’m,” he breaks off, cock hitting your walls in thrust after thrust. His hips leave you trembling, shaking beneath him while your clit slides over the sheets.

The sensation is too much, you’re already half-gone and when Jimin chokes out your name, you come apart in response. It seems like ages before you come down, before he pulls out of your body and rolls off the bed. Jimin exhales, gently sliding a hand up your leg before retreating to the bathroom. Falling onto your side, you curl up in his sheets and wait for him to return.

Jimin reenters quickly, pausing in the door. “Do you,” he hesitates, almost unsure. “Do you have anywhere to be tonight?”

Staring back, your heart starts to sink. “I,” you swallow, trying not to show your uncertainty. “If this was just sex, that’s fine, Jimin. I can leave if you want, don’t dance around the question.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “No,” he responds, oddly insistent.

“No?” you repeat.

Jimin shakes his head, crossing the room to stop at the side of his bed. He’s naked, a fact which should be awkward, but somehow isn’t. “I don’t,” Jimin hesitates, squinting down. “I’m not the type of guy who has girls stay the night.”

Heart sinking, you begin to feel naked – of course, you misunderstood him. That wasn’t a no, stay; it was a no, don’t get the wrong idea. This was just sex, and of course you should leave. Glancing around for your clothes, you remember they fell in his kitchen but when you try to get up, Jimin grabs for your hand.

Staring at his fingers wrapped in yours, your brow furrows in response.

“Sorry,” Jimin winces. “That came out wrong again. The last time a girl stayed at my place, I was probably wasted. I’m not drunk now though, and I want you to stay.”

His expression looks pained, but you imagine this is because this is the least eloquent Jimin has ever sounded. “Are you... sure?” you ask, fear uncurling in your stomach.

Jimin nods. “I’m sure.”

Warmth settles over your body, as you nod. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Jimin smiles. “Okay,” he grins, turning away from the bed. Walking over to his dresser, his dick swings and you snort into your hand, stifling a laugh. “I wouldn’t laugh, Y/N,” Jimin calls back. “That dick was making you see stars a few minutes ago, it can do it again.”

Grinning, you scoot back on his bed. “I’m counting on it,” you inform, catching the t-shirt he throws at you. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Jimin grunts, shimmying boxers up his thighs to return to the mattress. “Scoot over,” he whines, pushing your hip. “That’s my spot.”

“Your spot?” you laugh, though you move. “Your spot is in the middle of the bed?”

“Yeah,” Jimin grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “So’s yours.”

“Oh, the cheese,” you complain, though you’re smiling.

Jimin’s arms tighten, pulling you closer and it isn’t long before you’re both fast asleep.

• JIMIN •

Waking the next morning, Jimin sees his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It’s too early to be up and, cracking open one eye, Jimin’s plan is to ignore it until he sees the name of who’s calling. Taehyung. Knowing Jimin’s best friend, he could be calling from jail, so Jimin rolls reluctantly from bed to grab for his phone. By some miracle, you continue to sleep – Jimin smiles at your shape before disappearing into the hall.

“Hello?” he whispers, not wanting to wake you. Last night was the best night of his life and fuck, if Jimin is going to screw that up now.

Taehyung snorts. “Why’re you whispering, man? Sneaking out of someone’s apartment?”

“Uh,” Jimin mumbles around his yawn. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up?”

“You hear about Professor Nam?”

At the name, Jimin glances over his shoulder. “No. What about him?”

“Well,” Taehyung drawls, clearly enjoying the drama. “Rumor has it, the editor of the school paper has a scoop from a writer. Nam was boning some freshman, got caught on camera and it seems clear he’ll be fired. Terrible situation, just awful.”

Jimin stands frozen; he nearly laughs out loud, once he realizes what’s happened because fuck, when did you even have time to send an email? Smile growing, Jimin realizes dating you won’t ever be boring. “Huh,” he shrugs, aiming for nonchalant. “What a bummer.”

“A bummer,” Taehyung repeats, stifling his chuckle. “You know who Nam is, don’t play dumb, Jimin. He’s one of the 7 and if the scandal breaks the way I think it will, he’ll be kicked out. Which means a new member of the 7 will be inducted.”

Jimin’s jaw tightens, in response. “I guess,” he responds, stomach twisting with guilt. “Didn’t think about that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Taehyung scoffs. “If Nam is out, we all know who’s next on the list.”

Jimin doesn’t respond – he doesn’t need to, they both know it’s him.

“Anyways,” Taehyung coughs, as horns honk in the background. “Just wanted to call and congratulate before the Society gets off their fat asses and tells you themselves. Cheers mate – hope someone sucks your dick good today.”

Before Jimin can even respond, Taehyung hangs up the phone. Setting the device on the counter, Jimin lowers his face to his hands. It seems his calculation is true, Nam was a part of the 7. Jimin had his suspicions before but he was not certain. This was a large part of the reason he pointed you in Nam’s direction. His father will be pleased, to have Nam kicked out and a spot open up. Now, though – Jimin’s stomach sinks, as he realizes the coming implication.

Nam is out. Jimin is in.

As though on cue, Jimin’s phone rings on the counter.

“Hello?” Jimin answers, staring out the window.

“Park Jimin, welcome to The 7 Society.”

[ Master List ]

#jimin smut #bts smut #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin au #bts au

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sylverstorms · 6 years

Text

Temptation’s call

Pairing: Priya x MC (Rose)

Rating: Mature, (NSFW, but nothing tooo explicit)

Words: ~2600

Warnings: Mentions of blood, sexual themes, Priya’s innate hotness– ahem, I mean Priya’s attitude in general. Delicious sin? Absolutely. You have been warned, people.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Bloodbound, because if I did Priya would be a LI and already showing signs of redemption. Not to mention Kamilah’s screen time…

A/N: This has been sitting in my drabbles for sooo long holy shit. I needed to get it out of my system but work wouldn’t let me. So, finally, here it is! Comments, on tags or otherwise, greatly appreciated!

“In exchange for my vote… I want this one.“ Priya smirked, slow and devious. Crimson nails manicured to perfection dug into Rose’s shoulders, keeping her tight to her chest. The human didn’t dare breathe in her hold.

Adrian denied her term with his whole body, brows furrowed, his voice grave. “No.“

“Absolutely not!“ Lily protested with a cutting motion of her hand. “I won’t let you do this for me. I won’t let you stay here, not with her!“ The words came accented by a low growl, born out of instinct rather than rational thought. Although sweet and brave, it wasn’t the smartest way to act, Rose thought, before the woman whose singular vote would decide her life.

“You will if you want to live~“ Priya sing-songed, her chuckle deep and reverberating as she lowered her chin onto Rose’s shoulder with the confidence of someone who unquestionably had the upper hand. Her cold fingers began to knead away at the tension in her muscles, just so. Rose resisted the immediate urge to lean back into the best massage she ever had. Focus, she scolded herself.

“This is my choice to make.“ Rose replied, watching the hurt her words painted across her companions’ features.

“Rose, no. Listen to me –I know how humans Priya takes a liking to end up.“ Adrian’s jaw clenched tightly, eyes soft and pleading. But he could see it, too, that he was fighting a lost battle.

Rose had already made up her mind.

She was responsible for her best friend’s Turning. And she would ensure her safety no matter the cost. Priya wouldn’t kill her, she believed, perhaps naively, despite all she heard and saw about the woman. A bit of rough play was a small price to pay for Lily’s life. She would bear it. She could.

Meanwhile, the fashion designer observed the scene with quiet amusement. Rose’s heartbeat must have given away her decision, because she could feel Priya’s devilish smirk widen on her exposed shoulder.

“I’ll do it.“ Rose made her consent official.

Priya had the green light to do whatever she wished; and certainly seemed to revel in that power, if the smug, challenging look she threw Adrian was anything to go by. She began by running her hands down the human’s arms suggestively, stalking around her like a lioness, taking her by the wrist. The touch danced on the border between firm and painful. Hungry eyes unabashedly roamed over her form, indecent fantasies swirling in their depths. Promising heaven …and hell.

Not wasting another moment, the fashion designer made to pull her towards a different room, but Rose surprised her –surprised even herself– by closing her free hand over hers, hot to cold. Priya raised an elegant eyebrow in warning.

“One bite.“ Rose stated, looking straight into wild eyes. It took all her willpower to keep her voice firm, steady. “One bite, and you’ll let me go back to them. And you’ll vote in favor of Lily.”

Priya’s eyes flashed blood red.

Faster than Rose could blink, her chin was snatched in a chilly vice grip, head forced up, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. The joints of her neck strained uncomfortably. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see Adrian coil, fangs bared, ready to pounce.

“You dare bargain with me, human?” Priya asked, the very tips of her sharp incisors showing in clear threat. However…

…as quickly as it came, the storm passed.

Priya’s grip eased. A curious, interested grin graced her lips. “Oh, I do so like you.“ This time, when she took Rose’s hand, she laced their fingers together with newfound respect. ”Sergio, you may escort our guests outside.“ She ordered over her shoulder at the disregarded houseboy, still recovering from being tossed into the far wall. “Some air will be good for them.“

Adrian and Lily’s worried faces faded along with the background, as Rose was led past billowing red curtains to a private back room. She wasn’t certain what kind of playroom she’d expected to see -or what reading Fifty Shades of Grey had done to her imagination- but it wasn’t anything like it. Not a torture chamber, and not even remotely kinky, if a little eccentric. Just how Priya liked it; with grand, floor-to-ceiling windows and an amazing view of the city lights, gleaming like a sea of stars in the canvas of the night sky. There were crimson-themed paintings of half-naked women adorning the walls, a fireplace on one side. A modern bar stocked with all sorts of mindbogglingly expensive bottles stood tucked off to the corner, where Priya gracefully walked, high heels clicking with each step. Half a second later she was next to Rose again, offering a fancy drink in a fancier glass. The human carefully accepted the cocktail. Its subtle, fruity aroma tickled her nose.

“Come, sit with me.“ Priya motioned to the luxurious red couch in front of the fireplace, sitting first, with all the grace of a true queen. How she could make every seat look like a throne was beyond Rose, who felt so, so graceless in comparison. She had about two seconds to calculate the distance she’d keep from the vampire- not that it mattered, when Priya’s arm shot out, grabbing hers, tugging.

Rose fell sideways, practically into her lap. The drink in her hand wobbled, but thankfully didn’t spill. In no universe would dropping a cocktail on the designer ever end well. She gathered her bearings to the best of her ability; the second she lost her nerve would be the second she lost the dangerous little game she started with Priya. And she had no doubts the consequences would be pretty severe then.

Needing the liquid courage to make it through the ordeal, Rose decided she didn’t care to ask what was in the drink, and took a generous sip. Sweet cherry erupted on her tongue. Priya grinned at her expression. Wow, she thought. Priya definitely knows how to treat a girl when she wants to. Too bad she usually doesn’t want to. But she quickly halted herself from going down that path. I…did not just think that.

She did think it, though. And that would have been so much easier to deny if Priya didn’t smell so heavenly, like body oils and expensive hair conditioner, if her lips weren’t so curved and darkly inviting, if she wasn’t so damn attractive on the outside. If Rose didn’t have a crush on the celebrity for years. At least until she found out what she really was like. Cruel. Hedonistic. Selfish. Sadly, her stupid body wouldn’t get the message, far from dissuaded. Growing so, so hot under her attention.

The contrast of a cold touch at her neck broke Rose out of her thoughts. Priya’s fingers gently guided her hair out of the way, smoothing it over her back. Despite the situation, the sensation drew a soft sigh out of her.

“Turn around.“ Priya said, half order and half request. Rose felt blood rushing to her face -to other places, far lower- as she complied. It made her nervous not being able to look at Priya -she’d always looked at needles before they pierced her skin, ever since she was a child.

Priya guided her head onto the comfy back of the couch, angling her neck how she wanted it. Rose’s stomach twisted into knots. She hoped it was just from anxiety, but part of her said otherwise. Sinful excitement trailed down her spine at the fingertips drawing her blouse further down her shoulder, exposing the line of her collarbone completely. She could feel Priya’s nose in her hair and her breath across her vulnerable neck. It…did things to her. Things it shouldn’t do. Her heart thundered heavily. Rose pressed her thighs together, trying to quench the ache building there.

Her efforts were thrown out the window when Priya’s arms came around her torso and waist, long fingers splaying on her stomach, pulling her in further, if that was possible. Adding to the sweet torture, lips joined in the mix, pressing to the junction of her neck. Rose shivered, torn between wanting more and wanting out, yet Priya wouldn’t let her move an inch, feathering kisses along her racing pulse. Then those succulent lips parted and there was a tongue tracing an electric path up to her ear, teeth closing at its shell. Rose bit her lip, hard enough to hurt, wishing for anything to distract her from the onslaught of arousal pooling between her legs.

“What’s wrong, pretty thing?” Priya cooed into her ear, the timbre of her voice making Rose gasp.

“I… thought we agreed on a –oh fuck-” Priya sucked a bruise underneath her ear, “-on one bite.” Rose got the words out breathlessly, and it was a miracle they made sense at all, when she could barely think.

“Did we, now?” Priya smirked, licking her again. “But, baby, you’ll taste so good aroused…” And ‘aroused’ was an understatement, when Priya sounded like that so close to her ear, raw and throaty like they were having sex. Rose was burning, wet, out of her damn mind.

And then-

Then came pain.

Sudden. Blinding. Rose cried out at the feeling of harsh needles sinking into her flesh, sucking her blood in greedy gulps. It was nothing like when Jax had bitten her. It hurt, it hurt so terribly tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and the pain drew on and on, refusing to cease. Rose gripped Priya’s wrist for support, and it was ironic that the person she sought to ground her was the same person causing her to suffer in the first place.

What felt like hours -when it was only seconds- later, Priya’s fangs retracted. Her arms fell from around Rose, who fell forward with nothing to hold her upright. Her hand immediately flew to her neck, feeling the abused skin, fingertips coming back stained red. She whipped around to throw Priya a well-deserved glare… but found herself getting pinned on the couch, instead, the blood-drunk vampire straddling her thighs. Rose defiantly met her eyes, a swear at the tip of her tongue.

“Why the frown, darling?” Priya smiled sexily, on the high of feeding, a thin trail of blood at the corner of her mouth. Rose couldn’t believe she found even that attractive about her. What the hell is wrong with me? She wondered. “Were you expecting something else?” Priya teased, drawing a fingernail over her collarbone. Rose’s traitorous skin sang. “Oh, but we can’t have the others thinking I’ve grown soft over a pair of pretty eyes, can we?” The compliment didn’t make Rose blush. No. Not at all. “Or allow some clanless worm’s mark to linger on you…”

Rose’s head snapped up. “What…how do you…“

“Vampire senses are an amazing thing.“ Priya explained. “The dirt clinging to you was bothering me. And unlike Adrian, I had the guts to do something about it.“ Her gaze swept over the fresh marks at Rose’s neck appreciatively. The clan leader leaned in, close, holding her the same way she would a lover, not a meal. “But you didn’t struggle, and you were so tasty for me…“ Priya whispered, barely an inch left between their mouths. “Such a good girl.“ The chaste kiss pressed to her lips was a small consolation prize. Rose’s mind fogged at the praise. Her breathing turned shallow, as she became increasingly aware of the thigh tucked between her legs. “And good girls I take a liking to get rewarded.“ Priya smirked into the following kiss, slipping her tongue into the awaiting velvet of her mouth, shifting ever so slightly on top of her. Rose’s hips rocked forward subconsciously, the need clawing at her insides overpowering her common sense.

Liplock never breaking for long, Priya’s hands roamed, down her blouse and underneath, setting her skin on fire. Every caress was multidimensional, its echo reaching the last cell in her body. Cool fingertips dragged even lower, past the waistband of her pants and underwear, until Rose could feel a nail scrape over her aching center. She moaned into Priya’s mouth, driving her hips into the contact in reckless abandon. The vampire had been building her up all evening; Rose needed to come undone more than she needed oxygen, in that moment.

Priya’s lips trailed off to the corner of her mouth, then to her jaw, then to the unharmed side of her neck. Rose’s fingers threaded in her silken wavy hair, trying to either pull her close or push her away from her veins, yet succeeding in neither. The expectation of pain somehow only added to the slickness staining Priya’s hand.

“Shhh.“ The clan leader hushed, kissing her skin. “Be good for me…“ And her fangs sank into Rose for the second time. But it wasn’t at all like minutes ago, when she’d wanted to cry. Well, maybe she did, though not from pain. The euphoria that came from this bite was all-encompassing, numbing her mind and her senses like the most potent, most addictive aphrodisiac. Rose felt warm and tingly all over, the pressure low in her belly rising and rising to the point she felt like she was breaking in half. Her body locked up and shuddered around Priya’s fingers, the crest of her pleasure seemingly never-ending.

Finally, some semblance of self returned to her, long after Priya had removed her fangs and sealed the wound with her own blood. A final kiss was pressed to her parted lips. The fashion designer rose, adjusting her crumpled dress. Rose tried not to miss the weight of her lean body over her own. She took a few more quiet moments to compose herself.

Once her heartbeat calmed completely, Priya pulled her up, and Rose fought to stand straight on shaky legs. She began tiredly setting her clothes right, buttoning up her pants, wiping the lipstick marks from her mouth. Priya watched her with an amused glint in her eyes. Rose got herself to a presentable state exactly on time, too, because Sergio hesitantly peeked through the red drapes cutting the room off the rest of the house, then, requesting permission to enter.

“Come.“ Priya motioned with her hand distractedly. “Dress her wound and help her down the stairs, she’s lost a lot of blood.“ She ordered. The young man couldn’t meet her gaze as he nodded, placing Rose’s hand on his forearm for support. Priya watched his every move with narrowed eyes. Rose, on her part, was thankful for his support… but it was not his warmth her body longed for. What she secretly craved was ice-cold to the touch.

“Don’t have too much fun without me, darling.“ Priya called over her shoulder as she turned to walk away. “I’ll see you at the Council.“

The rest of the night, from the point Rose stepped past the threshold of Priya’s mansion and onward, was a blur. Adrian’s pain-filled, guilty expression and Lily’s anger and worry were the only things that really stood out, that she could clearly remember by the time she got home. Her head spun -and yeah, she’d definitely lost a lot of blood. Rose could barely stand in front of her bathroom mirror to prepare for bed.

When she did slip under her covers, dead exhausted, she spared one last look at her phone. There were a dozen text messages from Adrian, apologizing for what he’d let happen to her. For not protecting her. For allowing Priya to brutalize her neck.

But that wasn’t the only thing the vampire queen did.

And no matter how Rose may have hated herself for it, despite the pain and the tension and the fear of being eaten alive… she did not regret letting Priya have her wicked way with her. To make matters worse,

She would do it again.

#priya lacroix #priya x mc #bloodbound #my fic #my writing #because in this house we stan one (1) queen #and we would let her raw us to death #long post #playchoices #mc thirsty af #you bet

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