#story:hellbound

[kingminie]

hellbound — 01.

genre: devil au, supernatural

pairing: kim taehyung, female reader

description: the devil has been walking the earth for so long and for the first time, he thinks maybe earth isn't so bad after all.

"Come on, who gets to say they're Satan's number one?"

one • ongoing

“So, your thoughts on the matter?”

There was a slight pause, a remote measure of stillness before Jimin situated his pen – a Visconti Rembrandt classic ballpoint that he has been incessantly pressing (much to the utter dismay you did not even bother voicing out), the rhythmic one-two click-click receding to nothing but a dull thud as the pricey black stylus found its rest on the table, a durable oak impeccably varnished that subdued the raps of your knuckles as you waited for an answer from your best friend, who was rather looking very much amused.

Said best friend leaned his weight on the wooden surface, exposing the poorly-hidden mirth that was clear-cut under the soft lights of the quaint shop, masked behind the narrowing of his eyes as he shoves his papers aside to make space for his frothing glass – a four-dollar Diabetes-in-a-mug, so you would say. “What’s gotten you so interested, anyway? It’s not even related to your paper, is it?”

“Well,not exactly, but I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to take into account others perspective on it ‘cause—you know what? You’re right. Forget I ever asked.”

At this, Jimin laughed. He shifted on his seat, the trace of prior laughter still apparent on the upward curve of his mouth, “Didn’t know it bothered you so much, so, let’s put it this way,” His index finger tapped on the oak twice, lower lip being nibbled on as he contemplated on his answer, “As you know, I was raised in a Catholic home—”

“I’m asking you, Jimin. Do you believe in it?”

The concept of heaven and hell had always been slightly bizarre to you and the thought of afterlife was just a little bit absurd. You were always one to assume that the inane phrases talking about the existence of those who have passed being in a “better place” or that the dead were now looking after those left behind were mere portrayals of what people can’t accept; sheer attempts in avoiding the reality of death. If one dies, then, you believed, that they simply cease to exist. Passed. Deceased. Gone. No more afters. The only afterlife will be in that of the memories of those left behind; no reincarnations nor rebirth; no redemption nor damnation.

It’s a tad bit selfish, you thought, the philosophy people tend to construct in hopes to alleviate grief.

Although, you weren’t one to criticize. To each their own.

Jimin’s answer was soft, fingers tracing the little cracks that littered the polished wood. The glow of the lights blanketed his lashes, casting a faint shadow on his cheeks, moving as he blinked. “I do. Maybe it’s because of the way I was raised, I don’t know, with my grandmother being the way she is and all.” There was a slight pause, a beat, before he slightly nodded, “But somehow, if I really think about it, I do. Although I’m not quite sure where we go after death, I do believe that there’s somewhere — wherever that may be. I’m really not too keen to find out about it so soon.”

“You know what they say, the good ones are harvested from the garden first. So, it’s quite fitting to say you’re safe, Minnie.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers in a rhythmic sequence before leaning back on his seat as he strained his neck from one side to another with a succession of sharp cracking noises, eliciting a strong grimace and a glare from you. A warm and hearty you’re a pain in the ass was thrown your way before Jimin resumed writing his notes — his version of it, anyway — with a soft hum of whatever song he last listened to.

Growing up, both you and Jimin were raised in a Catholic household, albeit a different domestic establishment but a similar strict Christian upbringing nonetheless. It was one Sunday, a humid summer Church day that you met Jimin when he was eight and you were seven — a pudgy 8-year-old Jimin who had an orange-flavored twin popsicle to share after church.

All your life, you both grew up in the practice of youth group scripture readings on Saturdays, serving in Eucharistic masses on Sundays, reciting the Holy Rosary on the eighteenth hour of each day, as well as attending religious youth camps and worship concerts on Friday nights instead of house parties — well, as far as your families knew, you were going to worship concerts.

However, you always weren’t one to conform. Adolescence brings forth you challenging the beliefs they were preaching, always asking questions that always end up in a moral homily from your mother about how little faith you had to doubt. It was a factor — one of many that had your family bringing you to church on Sundays and Saturdays in hopes to maybe nurture your faith, but of course, it was a bittersweet futile thing seeing as it drove you even further instead of closer; another thing you had in common with Jimin growing up.

It wasn’t as if you had not believed in God with a capital first letter, no, because you did. Actually, you do. You believed in a supreme being — a deity, a God, gods, whatever — in terms of creations. It was just the concept of life, death, and the supposed notion of life after death that you had your doubts about. It was a complex matter to explain, one you opt to just be silent about.

You have faith — albeit a slightly wobbly one at that.

With a groan, you pushed the laptop close, all initial hope of at least writing an introduction to your paper going down the gutter.

“I’m taking this to the library. I’m going to at least try and find some references to cement whichever take I have on this stupid paper. You know, some Lichtenberg and Nietzsche take.”

Jimin snorted, “That basically cements it. They’re atheists.”

With a huge bite from his onion bagel that had him scoffing and a quick kiss on Jimin’s cheek as a bid of farewell with a mouthful of bread, you laughed, “Don’t stay out too late, honey.”

“I hope you trip and lose a tooth,” was the last thing you heard from him before you went out the shop, laughing quite a bit too loud.

The winter air wasted no more than a second to harshly bite into your skin the moment the doors slid open, eliciting an involuntary shiver that had you tightening your coat. Technically, it was Jimin’s, a thick cream-coloured fleece that had been long forgotten by the initial owner. It was one of comfort and convenience and had it not been for your best friend forgetting he had bought it (not really a problem since he’s basically a one-and-done kind of person when it comes to his pieces of clothing), you would’ve been turned to a human icicle not even two steps away from the shop.

The city was blanketed in white, a heavy veil that masked the metro blurring the top of skyscrapers — imprints of different shoe sizes plastered on the thin layer of snow as people rushed by to get to their destination, a collective flurry of vapor as people talk in the middle of the cold, shops on the sidewalk with fogged-up windows harbouring the cloudy silhouettes of those inside in hopes to seek some warmth, tiny little crystals suspended in the branches of trees — it was in the minute triviality of things in which you find the beauty of winter.

Past you, people rushed; to seek shelter from the biting cold or just rushing for the sake of it, you didn’t know, but you took your time, relished in the little pellets that showered your face.

Winter was beautiful.

And despite the brutal cold it brings, it was your favorite season.

A series of short vibrations in your coat pocket had you moving to the side for a while to check on your phone, the numbness of your fingers making it quite tough to get a hold of the device, a slight chuckle pushing past your lips when you read the message.

It was from Jimin, a short but an all-too-knowing text sent with a scoff, no doubt.

[17:02] Jimin make it to the library without being turned into a popsicle, k?

[17:02] Jimin i’ll bring us some fried chicken for dinner so don’t cook

Pocketing the device with a satisfied smile, you hurried just a tad bit.

It was 9:32 in the evening, a bit past the operating hours of the public library, when you felt the slightest sense of satisfaction after a thousand repetition of backspace presses and emotional meltdowns. A good four hours had passed and by the miracles your brain has conjured, a couple thousand words had been created for your paper and you were sure you were done for the night, cemented by the low rumble of your stomach.

The table you were occupying was, in its lightest description, messy. Books were littered in all corners, decorated with colourful plastic packets of consumed cheap biscuits and bottles of water and a stash of mix coffee sticks in one corner. You were alone and yet you were occupying the entirety of a six-seater table.

Another ten minutes was spent in cleaning all the loiter as you had refused the sweet it’s my job to clean up, it’s okay of the community volunteer who was on closing duty. You were apologetic enough for holding them back a good thirty minutes of their time after work just so you could do your paper. Cleaning up after your mess was the least you could do.

Borrowed books in both hands, you gave a firm thank you — exhausting all possible feelings of gratitude — to Justin (too Western of a name for a person living in the city, you initially had thought), as stated in their nameplate, who held the door open for you. With a slight bow and a wide smile, he went to wish you a good night.

Washed with the realization that it was nearly ten in the evening and you had said to Jimin you’d be home by eight, your stomach did a minute somersault in panic, expressing it physically in form of a slight groan, carefully stacking the seven books in one arm. Another wave of horror surged from the bottom of your spine as your hands felt nothing but empty bags of sweets in both of your pockets. You never put your phone inside your bag as it’s often in your hand or coat pocket so there was no point in searching your bag.

Turning around, the library lights were now all but turned on. That was fast, you thought.

The streets were now quite empty, save for a couple of students who were passing by, given the proximity of a school in the near corner. The library was situated in the quieter side of the city, thus, the absence of cabs and cars passing by. With the lack of a better term for your situation, you were quite fucked. Not the I’m-stuck-somewhere-with-no-phone-nor-money-please-save-me kind of fucked, because you knew how to get home and you had money with you.

It was the fact that you probably had a hundred unopened messages and missed calls from Jimin, and that, in itself, is scarier than being stuck some place you had no idea about with no money.

Funny how the world works though, because as you leaned your body on the crystal surface of the library doors, eyes closing in frustration, you feel a cold sensation on the tip of your nose, causing you to scrunch your nose; a stray snow, most probably. But it wasn’t, because you felt it once more and you thought of all the time there is to snow, must it really be now?

“What—”

“Rare to see you around without Park in sight.”

Kim Taehyung had always been a man of extravagance — realized in his penchant for luxurious things; in brands or in theatrical physical states of his belongings. However, now, he was a bit dressed down in comparison to his usual clothing when you see him around the grounds of the university — a simple matching champagne hoodie and sweatpants and white shoes.

Now, you weren’t close to him in a sense that you’d call him a friend, it was more in the lines of an acquaintance, slightly more than one, given that you have a class together and he sits beside you in it. Coming to think of it, his ragtag circle was a tight-knit one albeit small; not that you always look for them, but you’ve always seen in passing on campus, it’s always Kim Taehyung and two upperclassmen, graduate students of the university.

“Might be a little hard to believe but we have separate lives, yeah.”

“What are you doing out here so late? Lib’s closed already.”

Pushing against the glass door, you stood a bit straighter, “I’m on my way home, actually.”

“Oh, yeah,” His eyes widened, hand digging into his right pocket, “Here.”

On his hand was your phone, unmistakably yours, by the custom case wrapped around it.

“How—I mean, thank you. This is mostly the reason why I’m out here.”

“I was the last one out the library, some business here after you,” he motioned towards the door of the establishment, “Thought it was the volunteer’s since it was on the floor but he said it wasn’t his. So, logically, I concluded it was yours. And you know, with the lock screen and all.” He smiled, a movement that formed his lips in a rectangular shape.

Your lock screen had been one of that photo booth strip picture with Jimin and Hoseok from the summer festival the previous year. Clicking the device to life, you heaved a sigh at the number of texts and missed calls from Jimin and Hoseok, the last one being Jimin’s ten minutes ago.

Taehyung moved to grab the all the books in your hold in one fluid motion, effortlessly carrying it in one hand. Surprised, you looked at him, “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

He chuckled, a low and warm sound, “I know you can.” He then nodded his head towards the phone in your hand, “You can text Park as we walk, it’s getting quite late.”

Muttering a quiet thanks, you moved to walk alongside Taehyung who started to hum a song to himself, vapor forming as his hot breath moved to mix with the cold air, eyes crossing as he looked at it himself. It was a second later you realized that there was something peeking out from the edges of the neck of his hoodie, eyes widening as it occurred to you that it was a tattoo. Well, a part of one.

You never pictured Kim Taehyung, of all people, to have a tattoo.

Eyes still trained on the vapor in front of him, one corner of his lips curved upwards, “Just saying, some people find it uncomfortable when others stare at them.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“M’not one of those people though, so stare away.”

Rolling your eyes, you unlocked your phone to send a quick text to Jimin and Hoseok, long enough to reassure them that you were fine, and that you were on your way home — adding enough emojis to alleviate the frustration they were both for sure harbouring.

It was silent as you walked towards the bus stop, save for the sound of soles hitting the icy pavement, before Taehyung spoke once again, “What were you writing about? You looked so out of it back in the library.”

“So much for uncomfortable staring, yeah?”

Taehyung laughed, a loud hearty sound that had the hairs in the back of your head raise for a reason you didn’t know.

“Just a paper. But now that we’re talking about it,” you started, “Can I ask you one question? Like in relation to it.”

He nodded with a short sure, arms tighter around the books he was carrying.

“Do you believe in the existence of heaven and hell?”

Coincidentally, the street lights flickered just as Taehyung halted his steps.

His gaze was piercing, and if it weren’t for the fact that you knew Taehyung, you’d say he was frightening — his eyes held something you can’t quiet pinpoint, his face holding an expression that toes the line between scrutinizing and questioning. Cold crept its way up your skin, and you attributed the seemingly subtle drop of temperature of the already-freezing air to your imagination. Swallowing, you then cleared your throat, “It’s what my paper’s all about.”

“What about you?”

You really weren’t expecting the question to be returned so suddenly so you shrugged, “Won’t believe it ‘til I see it.”

There a beat of silence then.

It was at that moment he moved, a fraction of an inch closer but you were hyperaware of the movement. His shoulder was now trailing behind yours.

“What are you doing, Kim?”

His lips curled into a grin, “It’s cold.”

Rolling your eyes, you moved your shoulder back a bit to hit his before moving forward. The bus stop was a closer walk now, the unmistakeable familiar structure of the shade coming into view.

“Aren’t you living at the other side of the city?”

He nodded. A swift single upward motion.

“The East, yes.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Kim, I really appreciate you being here at this time of night, but you’re literally going to the wrong bus stop for that.”

Was there even a bus to the East? It’s the richest part of the city. Exclusive.

Surely, those living there don’t ride the city buses?

“I… have never ridden a bus.” Point made. “But, ah, what would that make me as a person if I don’t make sure you get home safe?” There was his smile again, one that stretched his mouth into a near rectangle.

Snorting, you get half of the books from him, “We got ourselves a little angel here, don’t we?”

You halted your steps, mimicking Taehyung who had stopped walking behind you. Looking back, you laughed at the sincerely disgusted face he was making.

“You know, you’re not so bad to be with.”

Taehyung clicked his tongue, “Now, what has been Park saying about me?”

“His name’s Jimin.” You emphasized, “And it’s not just him, you know. You have this, I don’t know, reputation, you could say? You have eyes and ears, Kim, I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

Shrugging, he then adjusted the books, your books, in his arms. “Do tell me this, do they precede me?”

You paused to look at him, head tilted, “I haven’t been in your presence enough to concede or dispute it.”

Smirking, he took a step forward, “Are you saying you want to spend more time with me?”

You laughed, patting him on the shoulder with your free hand, noticing him flinch.

“You know, I think I never got to answer your question earlier,” You were a few steps in front of him when he spoke and you turned around with an eyebrow raised, a gesture for him to continue, “It’s a yes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, is that so hard to believe?” He laughed, “I have quite a complex belief on it, though, but I mean, right now? This?” He gestured between himself and you, “Isn’t this heaven enough for you?”

With a groan you turned back around, hearing his laugh echo in the empty streets, and you didn’t know if you were imagining it once more but it got a bit warmer. Whether you felt in inside or outside, you had no idea.

Now, you weren’t one to believe in heaven, that’s for sure.

But Kim Taehyung’s laugh made you rethink that notion for a quick fraction of a second.

“I’m still ignoring you.”

Seven in the morning of the following day finds you clinging onto Jimin, arms encircled around his waist and chin hooked on his shoulders as he sat on one of the white island bar stools, laid before his eyes the feast of a breakfast you woke up early for, all in an arranged array atop the marble kitchen island; from hash browns and eggs to strips of bacon with a plate of fresh-baked bagels on one corner.

You remained attached to your best friend, a slight pout on your lips as you watch him eat.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was small and quiet, slightly muffled against his shirt, “I apologize for making you and Seokie worry over me, I really understand your frustration ‘cause frankly, I would be too if it were to be you.”

You felt his breathing as it moved your head as well seeing as you were leaning on his shoulder. “However, I’m not apologizing for my perception towards Taehyung. I really do not get your deal with each other, since you refuse to tell me since the first day, but at the very least invest a little trust in me, Jimin.”

You felt him sigh, moving so that his arm, the one in which you were leaning on, was wrapped around your shoulder, fingers softly stroking your head, “It’s just—I know him enough to say that he’s trouble. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“And I love you for it, Minnie,” you faced him, “but I can handle myself just fine.”

The kitchen was silent, save for the background noise of the city waking up below filtering through the opened glass door of the balcony of the kitchen.

“I—okay. I’ll trust you.” Jimin sighed, lips pressing against your hair, “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, squeezing him just a tad bit tighter. “Can’t you at least tell me what happened between the two of you? For you to hate him so much.”

“I don’t hate him, it’s just he and I are—shit!” Jimin had his fist balled up, violently coughing not long after, “—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You understood, and it was really fine as it was not your place to pry. It was their business anyway. Whatever happened was between them and you understood that. You nodded and waved it off, “So, are we good? I can’t stand having my best friend angry at me.”

“You’re an idiot, and yes, we’re good.”

He gave you a look.

“What?”

“I could be all things in the world but I’ll never be angry at you. I was just worried,” he smiled, a sheepish one at that, “and maybe a bit overprotective?”

“A bit, yeah right.” You opened your mouth as he popped a strawberry in your mouth, “Thank you. For always looking after me. Maybe you’re my guardian angel?”

Jimin just smiled, little moon crescents appearing.

See, always an angel.

hi! i was supposed to upload the jimin fic first but i wasn't really satisfied with what i had :( so yeah, here goes the first part of my first tae fic here yay! it's more of an introductory chapter and the next one's going to be a lot longer sooo ♡