#park jimin x reader

#euphoric endeavours #vampire bts #supernatural bts #non idol au #vampire bts fic #supernatural bts fic #kim namjoon x reader #kim taehyung x reader #park jimin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

Tue, 10 May 2022 11:10:47

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus’ most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It’s too bad that they can’t seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

(angst / smut / yandere / fluff / gore)

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 4.6k

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too)

tw: drug use (not by main characters), alcohol, vomiting, crude language, nudity, possessive language

Chapter 19 ‘Intoxication’

The rest of the week passes by quickly, and before you know it, it’s the afternoon of the mixer at the EXO frat house.

You’ve always liked going to parties, dancing the night away until sweat is damp at your temples and your legs ache the next day because of how energetic you were being. You liked dressing up nicely, getting your makeup done and feeling pampered, which is why you didn’t argue with Young-mi when she dragged you to a pedicure appointment, citing your recent class stress as a reason to get taken care of.

After getting your toenails and fingers painted the same opalescent white that shone prettily under the light, Young-mi grabs an outfit from the nearest department store, after scanning the aisles for nearly an hour. There’s a reason why you order clothes online, you can’t stand the lengthy experience of being in a store for nearly half the day.

“What do you think about this one?” It’s a black and yellow co-ord, strappy set. Wide leg pants and covered in sunflowers. It would suit her skin tone prettily, and her toned stomach peeks out, unwittingly seductive. She’s barefoot, but you assume she would wear a simple pair of heels with it to complete the whole look. She gives you a cursory spin, arms out, and her expression is somewhat shy as she asks, “Too much?”

“No, it looks lovely,” you reply. And you aren’t lying, but you’ve said the same thing about the last four outfits she has tried on in the same flat tone. She gives you a nasty look before drawing the curtain closed with a low huff and the sound of shuffling clothes tells you she’s in a bad mood. “Honestly, Young-mi, you’ll look amazing in anything.”

“I don’t want to look amazing, I need to look fuckable,” she grumbles.

“The pants do make your ass look good,” you compliment, with a giggle. “But, the dresses mean easy access.”

You had already grabbed an outfit from the sale rack (you were on a budget, damn it) but you were happy with the quality and the style of the clothes, so you couldn’t complain. It fit nicely, and you know with your hair done and after shaving your legs (finally) you would feel much more confident in it. A small part of you wonders if the boys might find you pretty in it, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought so you quickly stamp on.

“Fine, fine. I think I’ll get the first and last one,” she says, rolling the clothes over her arm and handing the discarded outfit to the attendee by the door. The two of you join the queue when she asks, “Are you going to let me do your makeup tonight?”

“You know I’m hopeless at that,” you laugh. “I can just about do my eyebrows, and that’s only after you taught me.”

“I promise I won’t do too much,” she tells you, with a secret smile. “You’ll look amazing.”

Famous last words, you suppose.

———

“You said you wouldn’t do too much,” you groan, staring at your reflection in surprise. You look stunning, you know that. Your eyes are smoked out with a brown and gold, lined with dark liner, and there are some wispy lashes glued to your lids that make your whole face light up. You admit, she’s talented with a brush and some pretty colors, but you worry that looking so… appealing with all this on your face might make you feel self-conscious without it. You gesture to your face with a wave of your fingers, and you mutter, “This is the definition of ‘too much’.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, spinning you back around to face her in the office chair. “Close your mouth.”

You do as you are told. “Good girl.”

She gives you a cute smile and slides some gloss onto your lips before opening and closing her own, looking decidedly like a fish out of water. A gorgeous fish in a white, lace strappy dress but a fish nonetheless. “Do this.”

You copy her gesture, feeling the slick, thick, vanilla-scented gloss stick to your lips. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” she tells you. “Go and get dressed.”

You had been a towel for the last hour, letting her do your makeup and hair to compliment your outfit. Young-mi’s face and hair is done already – a classic makeup look on her face, pinks and nudes and beiges on her eyes and peach gloss on her lips making her appear like the main character out of a romance novel from the 20^th century, with pin-straight dark hair trailing down her spine.

“We can leave in, like, ten minutes,” she calls from the bathroom, where she’s touching up.

“I’ll call the Uber,” you tell her, stepping into your heels, stumbling slightly. Thankfully, you are wearing booted heels rather than the peep-toes that Young-mi chose to wear. You couldn’t afford to break your ankle tonight. “Fifteen minutes.”

You sit down in the living room after tugging on your clothes and scan your social media. A few messages from the boys greet you and you smile at their tone.

Jimin apparently was volunteering at the local homeless woman’s shelter tonight until the early hours of the morning, something he does quite often apparently, serving food, buying clothes and distributing hygiene products at the local WalMart. Yoongi was deejaying for the night and had already set out, sending a picture of himself in his black mask and bucket hat combination that sent your heart into a mini-frenzy.

Jin had a Skype call with his Dad about business, and you sent him a few gentle words of encouragement, knowing for some reason he didn’t like talking to his Dad for too long. You haven’t pried, and he hasn’t told you yet, so you are waiting patiently for him to do so at his own pace. Taehyung had spent the last 48 hours in the art studio, working on his mid-term illustration project and had been unbelievably stressed out, so he didn’t even reply to any messages, making you think he had long since fallen asleep.

The others had been actively pestering you for the last two hours, peppering you with cute questions that went unanswered while you had spent quality time with your bestie.

You send them a picture of your face, requested by Hobi once you had told them you were going out. The ones who replied don’t seem all too concerned about you going out, thankfully. The idea of them trying to control your movement, regardless of how much you appreciate and care about their opinion, makes you feel stifled, so when you receive nothing but compliments upon compliments, you feel warm spread inside your tummy.

“Are you done?”

Young-mi’s voice takes you by surprise.

Nodding at her, you let her know that the cab it outside and the two of you leave, giggling the entire way.

“The boys like your work,” you tell Young-mi as you both slide into the cab. To the driver, you tell him the address, ignoring his lascivious glance at your chest and exposed skin. Even though you are wearing a jacket, you feel like his stare is burning through the material of your camel coat, and you tighten it closer to you as if to protect your privacy. Asshole.

“Of course, they do,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a smug wink. “I know what I’m doing, and my canvas was lovely already. It didn’t take much.”

Your phone buzzes and you glance down to see a message from your baby bun.

Joonie-hyung, Hobi-hyung and I decided to go to the party, so look out for us, noona! Your eyes are so beautiful tonight, I can’t wait to see them in person!

Feeling something akin to excitement bubble in your gut as you realize you will get to see the handsome gamer for the first time what feels like ages (you had seen him literally less than 24 hours ago, and yet it still feels like you are going out of your mind with missing his face).

Pulling up at the party, you already feel yourself getting into the mood. You had heard the music pumping from all the way down the street. The walk is quick, hurrying down the road, passing by the oddly parked cars that lined the campus street.

Instantly, you are enveloped by big, long hugs and have drinks thrust into your waiting palms. Young-mi’s classmate and close friend, Seoyeon, kisses your cheek, and you notice that her pupils are blown wide with something that can’t just be alcohol. Drugs haven’t ever been your thing, having dabbled with the odd joint or two in high school but never really pushing past that. She trips up a little in her excitement, and you find her behavior endearing, but you hope she has someone with her that will keep her safe during her come down. Worst-comes-to-worst, it will have to be the two of you.

“YN! You look so pretty!” She compliments, happily, slumping against you with trembling legs. “Have you lost some weight?”

No, you had actually gained some around your hips, but you were happy with the gain of meat on your thighs. Your mom had complained about you losing weight because you weren’t getting regular, home-cooked meals. You shift the blame to Yoongi and Jin for continually filling your tummy with their splendid kitchen concoctions, Hoseok’s consistent late-night treats of pizza and Jimin sneaking bags of spicy tteok into the library for you to snack on after a long day of studying.

Jungkook offered to help you out in the gym if you wanted to lose the weight (“You look perfect the way you are, noona. But if you want to, I’ll help you. I promise I’ll go easy on you. What’s that look for? You don’t believe me?”) but you had never taken him up on it, secretly happy with the wobble and soft skin at your hips.

You drain the mix of red wine and lemonade, humming contentedly at the taste, before going back for a second cup, handing one to Young-mi and another to Seoyeon, who had begun chatting animatedly with some strangers.

Mid-sip, Young-mi jabs you sharply in your ribs, forcing some wine to spurt from your lips in shock. She babbles, gripping your arm excitedly, “Oh! YN! She’s over there. Doesn’t she just look so sexy?”

You look over at the roguish-looking, short-haired, heavily tatted chemistry major who keeps scanning your friend’s with barely-concealed lust in her eyes.

Oh, yes.

She was very sexy, and if Young-mi hadn’t snagged her, you might have given her some attention.

You nudge Young-mi playfully. “She’s totally into you!”

The music is so loud that you need to shout into her ear, so she can hear you.

She looks at you, nervously before she replies, shooting the girl a quick peek, “Are you sure?”

You nod, emphatically, and she takes a deep breath, gathering courage. You nudge her slightly in her direction and say, giddily, the alcohol already getting to your head, “Go for it! Get your pussy wet! One of us has to!”

A heavy hand on your hip makes your back stiffen instantly. It’s only when you realize that the touch is more familiar than you had thought that you relax slightly.

“Who’s getting wet?”

You look over your shoulder to see Jungkook, flushed cheeks and eyes wide, glittering even in the low light of the room, looming over you. (He’s wearing a grey tight shirt underneath an oversized tartan black, grey and white shirt with a matching bucket hat and some simple silver hoops in both of his ears. His hair is a mess of curls, the cherry-red having been touched up and brighter than ever before. He looks edible, if that even makes sense.)

Snorting, you gesture to Young-mi, who is practically stomping across the room to her target. The two of you watch as she taps the girl on the shoulder and leans in, whispering something in her ear, before trailing her hand down her back and pulling her onto the dance-floor.

“I guess Young-mi isn’t coming home with me tonight,” you muse, absently. “Or, maybe she’ll bring her home.”

“She seems really into it,” Jungkook replies, his hand hasn’t moved from where it was resting on the swell of your hip. It feels like it burns through your coat and brands your skin. “Aren’t you hot in that coat, noona?”

He seems concerned and so, even though you weren’t particularly warm now, you nod, and he takes your hand, pulling you through the crowd and leading you into the room off to the left of the door.

“This is where everyone leaves their clothes,” he says, helping you out of your jacket carefully. He hangs the camel coat over the crook of his arm and goes quiet, eyes trailing down the lines of your body, in wonderment. “You look… so beautiful tonight.”

“Young-mi did her job well, I suppose,” you reply, giving him a little spin.

He feels the breath catch in his throat at the sight. The figure-hugging burgundy two-piece clings to every curve of your body, showing off a little bit of your pudgy centre. Jungkook wants to lathe his tongue along your ribs and take your skin into his mouth until bruises the same color as your wretched dress paint your flesh. He licks his lips, unconsciously, feeling the heat he carries for you roar to life, momentarily rendering him stupid.

And, clearly, not in control of his tongue.

“You always look this good, noona,” he asserts, gently. The music is still loud in the background, the bass pounding through the floor, sending vibrations through the soles of your heeled boots, but it’s as if he’s whispered the words directly into your ear canal – they are so clear. “You’re always so pretty to us.”

Shyly, you tuck some hair out of the way, not sure how to feel about the compliment. “T-Thank you.”

He shakes off his lust and he moves to hide your coat amongst the others. You don’t have anything of value in the pockets, so you don’t worry about anyone stealing your things. He turns to you and asks, “How about I get you a drink?”

“I’ve already had two,” you admit, blush creeping along your cheeks. He thinks he’s never seen anything lovelier. “But, I could do with another.”

“You’ve had a rough week,” he comments, nudging open the door and knitting his fingers with yours. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay, noona? I’ll keep you safe.”

The feeling of his large, cool palm caressing your warmer, smaller one makes your stomach flutter wildly. You get bumped by people who pass you by, but he keeps tossing you concerned glances as he storms through the hordes of bodies. When he notices that you are being nudged, he practically pulls you flush to him and uses his larger form to keep you protected. When you spot the other two vampires, they both freeze at the sight of you, and just like with the maknae, their brains seem to instantly turn to mush.

“Joonie! Hobi!” You cry. “You look so good!”

And you mean it.

Joon has on a paisley bandana, a large lavender puffer jacket draped over his broad shoulders, a plain white shirt underneath that, despite the warm temperature inside of the frat due to the gyrating, sweating bodies, and some ripped jeans with some expensive looking sneakers on his feet.

When his wits come back to him, Namjoon hooks his arm around your waist and tugs you off the floor, pressing a kiss to your temple lightly. You hook your arm around his neck tightly and inhale in his heady cologne. He smells just as divine as he looks.

“You look stunning, YN,” he mumbles against your skin, careful to not hold you too tight, despite his raging desire to ravage you right here and now – fuck everyone else. He feels heat lick at his gut and he had to let you go before you feel the press of his need against your stomach, taking a marked step back.

Your eyes shift to the sunshine of the group and you appraise him with wide eyes. Hobi looks like a whole meal in a red and white ‘Rolling Stone’ tartan shirt with a thin white vest damp with sweat from his own gyration and ardent dancing beneath it. Black jeans shredded at the knee and a chain leading from a belt-loop to his pocket. His inky black hair is plastered to his forehead and atop his head is a black cap.

“You’ve been hiding these legs from us,” Hoseok comments, with a lewd wink, practically sweeping you off your feet with how he hugs you. He spins you in his arms and squeezes your middle tightly. “You look gorgeous.”

Shoving his head away from your face, you snort, ears burning, “You’re a pig.”

“But, I’m your pig,” he teases, bumping you before squeezing your waist lightly once. He oinks once, playfully, before hooking his arm around your shoulder, holding you close and tossing a dirty look over your head at a final-year student who had been eyeing your ass too much for his liking.

The possessive part of him wants to reach out and grab it in his hands, just so the little fucker can see you aren’t free to be gawped at, but his good common sense tells him that you would probably gut punch him for even thinking about it, and he is aware that his thoughts alone are stepping over a thick, thick line.

“How about we get some drinks for our YN? She’s lagging behind,” Jungkook taunts, reaching for the shots behind Namjoon’s body. “Here’s one.”

“Give me two, please,” you reply, holding the small plastic coloured glass filled with clear liquid. They stare at you, awkwardly. “You said I’m lagging behind. I need to catch up, don’t I? I don’t plan on remembering tonight, honestly.”

Hoseok gives you a crude look before he clinks his drink with yours, making some spill out and stain the floor. He promises, with a crooked grin, “I’ll make this a night you won’t be able to forget.”

———

“I’m never drinking again,” you groan, wetly, from the toilet bowl, hours later. Hoseok regards you, impassively, rubbing your back in soothing circles, and he winces, slightly, as another wave of vomit spills from your lips and fills the bowl. He presses the cold compress a little harder against the back of your neck, worriedly.

You had been puking now for nearly twenty minutes.

Jungkook isn’t fairing much better, having passed out cold in the car after having thrown up on himself in the backyard of the EXO frat house. He’d gotten into a fight with a partygoer who grabbed you roughly and went full caveman, bumping chests and shedding his shirt as if he were about to wrestle the man into submission. After breaking a bench in their backyard, the boys and a still-babbling you had slid into a cab and arrived at their apartment – not that you remember much of the trip from where you were sat, straddling Hobi’s lap, snoring into his neck while he stroked your back.

Joon had to carry Jungkook, with a sleepy, moody Taehyung’s help (they had called him to come help, considering the younger body was the heaviest in terms of weight and muscle mass), while Hoseok had carried you bridal-style, considering you were no longer able to hold yourself up, holding your heels, that you had tossed off in a huff, in one of his hands.

“I did tell you to stop after the second shot of Ciroc,” Hoseok replies from the edge of the bathtub. He’s holding back your hair and your phone (having dropped and smashed into pieces when you and Kookie thought it would be a good idea to turn the photographer into a walking rollercoaster) in his back pocket. “But you didn’t listen to me.”

You groan and spit up a little more into the toilet bowl. He tuts, sympathetically, and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “It’ll be okay, baby. Let it all out.”

Once he thinks you’re done, he gets you to sloppily wash your mouth out and even brushes your teeth and tongue, admiring your tiny molars in amusement, before getting your makeup off and in some pyjamas (one of Yoongi’s clean jerseys) and into his bed. You wrap yourself around Namjoon’s largest Ryan toy that Hoseok had ‘left’ on his bed the other night when he was having trouble sleeping.

Unexpectedly, you reach out, eyes still closed and cling to the chain around his neck, forcing him to jerk forward, before he disentangles himself, reluctantly pulling away.

“Stob being mean, ‘seokkie,” you whine, eyes rolling open before fluttering closed, as if merely keeping your orbs open was too much work for your alcohol-addled brain. “I- hic- I wanna cuddle.”

He stares down at you, contemplatively, but doesn’t make any move to get into Joon’s bed (the literature major is begrudgingly spending the night in Jungkook’s room, so the younger doesn’t puke in his sleep). You seem to notice that you aren’t being cuddled, so you start frowning (eyes still closed, like the adorable fucking thing you are).

“Why aren’t you- Come cuddle, Hoseok,” you repeat, holding your hands out to him, making grabby hands at him. Steeling yourself, you blink, wetly, up at the dancer, you tug yourself up, head lolling slightly to the side, and slur, softly, “Hobi, don’cha wanna cuddle?”

He lets out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face and takes in your vulnerable appearance. “You’re going to hit me in the morning.”

Shaking your head animatedly, only to stop when you make yourself dizzier, you exclaim, “Won’t!”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he grumbles, sardonically, moving to stand.

He sheds his clothes quickly, facing away from you, but you are paying attention. The lines of his back are sharp and well-built from years of intense dance training. He always had enticing lines of his body, whenever he wore form-fitting clothes or a belt around his waist, but it’s only when he’s partially nude that you realize just how cinched his waist is.

You burn slightly with envy and, not for the first time, wish your Mom had kept you up with ice skating from a young age. Alas, you had turned to books instead of bladed boots and here you are. His biceps flexing lightly as he kicks into some sweats catches your attention once more and you watch, fascinated, as he throws on a clean sleep shirt. When he’s turning to you, you catch, with wide eyes, the tail end of his abdominal area and- whew.

He’s built.

He quirks his brow at you and asks, smugly, “Like what you see, sunshine?”

He’s grinning at you, bright and warm, despite the early morning hour, and you can’t help but sigh, contentedly, as he slides between the sheets with you.

“Yeah, I do,” you admit, eyes brazenly taking in his form. He smells good, like aftershave and Hoseok, calm and a little citrusy. You lean forward and take another sniff, the warmth from his skin making your head swim. “I like it so much that I d’nt know what to do sometimes.”

He freezes all over, staring down at you in shock. “You don’t mean that, sunshine. You’re drunk.”

“Just ‘cause ‘m drunk doesn’t mean I d’nt know what I want,” you slur, burrowing into his chest.

He sighs but says nothing else, silently observing you, listening, waiting, for a lie.

“I really like you,” you mumble, curling your arm around his mid-section and pulling yourself closer to him, strangely desperate. Slowly, he relaxes under the gentle ministrations of your thumb swirling in light circles on his back. “I really like all of you.”

He lets out a light chuckle at your drunken rambling, pushing some hair from your face to just- look at you. He lays down, resting on his fist, and observes the slope of your nose, the puffiness of your lip, the freckles and beauty marks dotted all over the expanse of your face. Once he realizes you are fully asleep, your pulse (his favorite sound in the world) calm, he begins to trace the marks with his fingers, too enamored with the glow beneath your skin to stop.

“Is she asleep?” Yoongi asks, brow puckered as he steps into the room. One step into the apartment told him all he needed to know about how the night had gone. The smell of vomit, alcohol and tears lingered in the air, like poison, even though Hoseok had long opened the window. “Is she doing okay?”

“She was pretty bad,” Hoseok replies, quietly. “We didn’t realize how much she had drank while we weren’t looking. It’s our fault, hyung.”

He had no problem with her drinking to excess, when she was in a safe space and they could protect her, but in the outside world, she was their responsibility and anything bad that happened to her was at their feet.

“Joon is with Kookie,” he tells the blond. He tries to sit up, but you whine in your sleep and hold him tighter, brow furrowing. In fear of waking you up, he settles back down, gently patting your back to pacify you. He addresses Yoongi with a soft look in his eyes, “You can sleep here tonight, if you don’t feel comfortable leaving her with me.”

“I trust you, Hobi,” Yoongi replies blandly, when he sees Hobi’s tight grimace, but he does shed his clothes and slide into Namjoon’s bed. “I just- I feel like I have to be in here.”

“Better you than Taehyung,” Hoseok teases, an impish grin on his face. “He almost bit my head off for letting her get like this. You should have seen how he was cursing up a storm, knowing she was going to be at a party without any of us. He convinced Kookie, Joonie and I to go, last minute, because he was so exhausted.”

“He’s overprotective,” Yoongi admits. “For good reason. You know how he is.”

Hoseok exhales, turning on his side, moving his knee between your thighs and resting his hand on your back. You relax even further, tucking your nose into the crook of his neck, snuffling slightly. The puffs of warm air against his skin tethers Hobi in the moment, and he brushes some of your hair out of your face to stare down at you, love shining in his orbs. “She told me she likes us.”

Yoongi perks up at that, before his eyes take on a guarded note. “She’s drunk.”

“But still,” Hoseok says, eyes glued to the panes of your face, in reverence. “Drunk words are sober thoughts, hyung. She said it, and she meant it. She wasn’t lying.”

Yoongi pauses. “Hobi…”

“Come over, hyung,” he says, pulling back the sheet and patting the space by your other side. “She won’t mind.”

The blond eagerly gets into bed with the two, careful to not overstep boundaries. He rests on his back, one arm crooked beneath his head and the other resting on his chest above his heart. The two boys fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the sound of your heartbeat, lulled into the throes of sleep, sharing warmth and a sense of comfort that only their bond can create.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19)

Schemer,Abstentious,Thievery,Melancholy,Writhing

Sun, 08 May 2022 12:38:11

Ego [5]

mafia bts x stripper yn; hybrid universe

Everyone had heard of the Dirty7s, even distantly. Nobody could put names or faces to the members, but the name was enough to strike fear in the hearts of civilians, criminals, and law enforcement alike. They’re known to be methodical, impenetrable, and most of all, merciless. Nobody wants to cross any of them. Lest of all you - a college student stripping to pay her debts.

What happens when you fall into their web of deceit and lies?

What happens when you find you don’t want to escape, even when you know you should?

Masterlist / i don’t have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 3.2k

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 5: ‘Writhing’

YN’s POV

Pre-heat hits you like a bag of bricks to the forehead.

You weren’t allowed on the club’s premises until your heat had completely passed, so it gives you one day before it starts and two days on the tail-end for scent regulation. According to legal regulations for both predators and prey working nightlife and entertainment. Even patrons existing on either side of the speciation spectrum had to abide by these rules as evidence of rut and heat was too obvious to hide.

Some used scent-blockers to try and wiggle around the rules but it never ended up well for anyone involved. Gang rapes, pheromone-induced premature rut or heat, neurotoxin-sickness brought on by rapid-exposure to uncontrolled semiochemicals. All of it, well-documented and heavily-regulated by employers and social-workers alike.

By purposefully triggering another person’s heat or rut, you could end up being imprisoned for up to two years or fined an exorbitant amount of money that would make you regret even bothering.

Technically, working at the library wasn’t dangerous despite your heat coming in tomorrow, so you tried to go in for a couple of hours to help re-arrange the new kid’s fiction section that you had created for the pre-schoolers that came in every other day for an hour in the mornings, but your cramps got so bad that your manager sent you some with some herbal tea and a gentle pat on the back.

Your manager, Areum, was a Beta owl-hybrid, with wide eyes and thick glasses that make her look far more innocent than she actually was. Her partner and wife, Mina, was an Omega owl-hybrid that liked to make sweet treats in her spare time. You had a number of her Tupperware containers in your cupboards that you were due to give back a long while ago.

You take the subway because you can’t afford another cab this month and it takes you about an hour before you can breach the safety of your own home, smelling your comfort scents.

A guy on the train makes a rude gesture at you, two fingers spread and his tongue working between the digits, and it makes you recoil in disgust. He doesn’t seem to like the fact that you aren’t into it, and he flips you off before he gets off at his station.

The whole ordeal makes you feel even more weary.

Blearily, you grab your blanket from the couch and undress yourself on the way to your bed, tripping a little over your pant leg and tossing your dirty clothes somewhere off to the side. Your sensitive nose can’t stand the scent of outsideon your clothes. It almost makes you want to burn them but you know how delusional that sounds.

You bang your hip on the bedside table and you curse, side throbbing and your head banging along with it.

Disorientated, you rifle through your drawers until you lay your hands on medicine for the headache and wrap yourself up in the sheets without a second’s thought.

It takes you a little while to drift off, the effects of the medication ebbing at the aches in your body slowly - it feels slower than usual - and seconds before you actually dissolve into the welcoming blanket of black that bleeds into your vision, you hear your phone ping from somewhere in your pile of clothes.

When you open your eyes, your room is pitch dark. The curtains are drawn open, but the only passing light you can see are the lights from the buildings across the way. You are too high up to be bothered by street lights, but you can hear the distant car driving across the highway your building was built near.

The reason you woke up wasn’t due to the arbitrary sounds of life outside of your window.

No, what woke you from your near-dead slumber was the incessant sound of your phone ringing that had bled into your dreams. In your dream-turned-nightmare, the talking beetle that had been your companion for your mythical journey spontaneously turned into a gigantic, human-eating cellphone and chased you down the street until you jolted out of bed, sweating.

Blinking away your bleariness, you roll out of bed and move to your feet, but, much to your shock, your legs turn to jelly. You have to drag yourself across the room to rifle through the pile of clothes, grimacing every time another smell hit your nose. Asphalt, grit, smog, cigarette smoke, human smell, other hybrids - it was all foul enough to make you feel distressed.

You grab the phone and push it to your ears. “Hello?”

“YN, are you okay?”

You pause for a moment, confusion taking over your features. “Jimin?”

He enquires, somewhat impatient, “Are you okay?”

You push your fingers into your eyes when a sudden burst of light makes your headache feel nauseous. “No, I feel shitty.”

“Why?”

You grumble, “Heat.”

A beat.

Then,“You’re in heat now?”

He sounds testy.

You clarify, “Not exactly.”

He grills, “Are you… Are you alone?”

Your frown deepens as you query, “Why?”

Jimin commands, amusement leaking into his tone, “Just answer the question, Pretty.”

You grumble, “Only Jungkook calls me that.”

He retorts, silkily, “Exactly why I’m doing the same.”

You decide to drop it. It didn’t matter what he called you, not right now. The blistering headache that had felt like it was burning through your body mere moments ago seems to be lessening gradually the longer you talk with the man. “I’m alone.”

Jimin replies, “Good. Keep it that way.”

“Why?”

He replies, simply, “You don’t need anybody. Not anymore.”

He’s lucky that pre-heat only gave you headaches and body shivers. You didn’t get horny until day two or three of your heat, especially considering you were without a heat-partner. But, something about his tone was testing that theory.

“I’ll bring whoever I want into my bed,” you respond, pressing the button for loud speaker. Your stomach pangs in hunger and now that your headache isn’t as over-bearing, you finally feel it. You move to your feet, kicking past the clothes you dropped on the way, and into your small kitchen. “That’s got nothing to do with you. Boss.”

You tack the end word on purpose, to remind him of his position in your life. “We might have shared a fun night of conversation, Jimin, but don’t get that confused with anything else.”

He lets out a gruff sounds, annoyed but not angry, before he answers, “And Jungkook? What about him? You think he’ll be happy with you spending your heat under somebody else?”

You barely hold back a sardonic laugh. “You were the one to remind me of my place in Jungkook’s life. Or did you suddenly forget that?”

He goes quiet on the phone, so silent that you have to look at the screen to check if he’s still on the line, before he grits out, “I’m sorry. For saying that.”

“No, you aren’t,” you return, cracking another egg into the bowl. A stuffed omelette sounds like just the right. Your heat was making your mouth loose, ignoring the risk to your job in that moment to get the truth off your chest. You continue, “Alphas like you never are. You just say whatever, do whatever and everyone else just listens. You’re never sorry because you don’t feel like you have to be.”

“I could be a different kind of Alpha,” he bargains, always the charmer. “You don’t know that.”

“Our first encounter says otherwise,” you answer. “Jungkook’s impression was much better.”

“He’s not as nice as you think,” Jimin grumbles like an admonished kid. “You wouldn’t like him more than you like me if you knew.”

“He’s already told me how bad of a guy he is,” you respond. “It’s kind of like a broken record at this point.”

He asks, noting your distracted tone of voice, “Are you doing something?”

You respond, shoveling the cooked mushrooms into the one half of the still-cooking omelette, “Cooking.”

Jimin remarks, “It’s eleven at night.”

You respond, absently, “I’ve been asleep all day.”

He asks, attentively, “Where does it hurt?”

You respond, honestly. You rummage through the refrigerator for some hot sauce to go over the top, “Headache, mostly. I feel better now though.”

Jimin prompts, “Since you slept?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you, and you return, honestly, “Since we started talking.”

He acknowledges, and you hear the pride in his voice so clearly, as if he were standing right next to you, “I’ve heard that just by hearing an Alpha’s voice, sometimes the effects of heat can relax.”

You riposte, almost amusedly, “Oh really?”

He hums. “How about we try something next time?”

You suggest, annoyance leaking into your tone, “A sex thing?”

Jimin laughs, the sound bright and buoyant, before he teases, “Your mind’s in the gutter.”

Unable to help yourself, you palliate, defensively, “I am in heat.”

Jimin tuts gently before he says, “I just meant we spend a little time together. See if we’re compatible.”

You respond, with an eye roll, “So this is about sex?”

He takes a moment to mull over your words before he clarifies, “That’s something we could work out later.”

You bite on your bottom lip, the suggestion of mind-numbing, deeply-satisfying sex making a coil of tension grow in your lower stomach.

You shove another mouthful of omelet into your mouth to stop yourself from letting out the breathy whine that threatens to escape your throat, and you grumble, “Talking about this with me is a little improper right now. I’m not in the right headspace to make these kinds of decisions.”

Jimin says, simply, “That’s why we’ll talk about it later.”

You clear your throat and reply,“Look, I’m eating and talking to you is making me jumpy.”

He counters, easily, and you can just imagine him, sprawling out on the couch, spreading his legs apart to just occupy space, “Okay. If Jungkook or I call you over the next couple of days, can I ask you to just pick up?”

“Why?”

“Not being able to see you is hard for him,” Jimin explains. He pauses for a moment before he carries on, “He’s scheduled for a couple fights over the next week or so and he gets into these funny head-spaces where he can’t talk in full sentences or empathize with anyone about anything. So, I told him I’d check on you.”

“Jungkook doesn’t care about me,” you grumble around a mouthful of cheese, egg and mushrooms. “He’s got a hard-on for me. There’s a difference.”

He makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and he mutters, “If only you knew how wrong you were about that, Pretty.”

Something in his voice almost sounded regretful, but you ignore it, chalking it up to your heat making you crave things that you need to lock up tight in your heart.

“I have to go,” you say, suddenly.

He demands, hurt, “What? Why?”

“I’m tired again,” you respond, quietly, looking down at the half-full plate of steaming food, and the lack of appetite that washes over you frustrates you deeply. “I just want to sleep.”

“O-Okay, Pretty. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises. “Pick up when I do… Please.”

Quickly, you end the call and toss the phone into the sofa. You toss the food into the refrigerator, knowing your body well enough to know that the urge to eat has disappeared for at least another three hours and in that time you know you can catch a bit of sleep before your body was thrown into over-drive.

Jimin’s POV

Letting YN put the phone down was harder than he thought it would be. His instincts were growling at him to go and see you in person - just to make sure you were okay with his own two eyes. He’s almost confused as to why he cares so much, considering he isn’t the one who wants to claim you.

Or, at least, he doesn’t think he does.

Not like Jungkook does.

Jungkook’s been on your ass like white on rice since the day you ran into his chest at the club, all teary-eyed with a rabbiting heartbeat. The wolf excitedly came home to tell the rest of the boys about this pretty little gazelle that he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of, and that made him curious.

The others too.

Namjoon even had someone follow her at one point without Jungkook’s permission to make sure she wasn’t on the take or working with the cops. When he showed her picture to the rest of us, Hoseok almost jumped out of his skin with how fast he snatched it out of Joonie’s hand, eagerly explaining about how he knew about her.

The whole story about her friend working the blade and getting caught selling ass to a cop, then getting feisty with him and get popped in the mouth a couple times. YN came into a den of predators, an alpha-beta medley of pheromones that would have any prey skittish and crawling out of their skin, nervous but determined, and helped her friend home.

Hoseok found her unbearably cute, and brave, and he couldn’t stop himself from following her home. Hobi was a great tracker, his nose was better than any cop in his graduating class, and he found your apartment easily. He couldn’t enter, of course, with it being a prey-only complex.

But, he did sporadically park his car in the lot outside of your place or follow you home once he figured out you were working at the library, and then later at the strip club. He didn’t like it, thinking that it wasn’t a good place for you, thinking that it was dangerous, but he knows that it was only because he couldn’t go inside. He couldn’t risk you remembering his face, not when he hadn’t figured out how he wanted to approach you.

Hoseok surveilled voluntarily, never telling any of us about his pet project, but he did enjoy recounting all the times he got to see you in your element, much to Jungkook’s displeasure.

Hobi spent a whole lot of time gloating about how pretty you were, how kind you were even when eyes weren’t on you, how special you were, how brave you were, how sweet you smelled even on rainy days.

It was enough to bolster Jimin’s interest in you.

Jungkook was picky about things like this. It was his first time actually having someone catch his eye like this, so he wouldn’t let anyone come near you. Every time Jimin even mentioned coming into the club for a peek, Jungkook would start his posturing, tail swishing and a growl growing in his chest until Jimin eventually reneged.

Jungkook was technically higher up on their pack’s hierarchy than he was, although they never needed to enforce their dynamics at home. The only time they ever had to was during negotiations with other gangs to prove that there was a clear line of deference that ended with Namjoon, their leader.

Even though their home life wasn’t the same way, they needed to have the respect of the usually-traditional syndicates that they dealt with, otherwise they would be considered weak and would attract problems from other sadistic Alpha packs who thrived on violence and domination.

To do so, they had to show other people in their line of work that they had an unshakeable foundation built on deference and inflexible respect.

Although, they had mouth-pieces to work in their stead so they didn’t have to risk having their names and faces circulating. Men and women who, using their connections and endless streams of income, they had hoisted out of the dumpster and turned back into working, living human beings.

Men and women who they didn’t have to ask twice to do anything.

Men and women who owed them their lives, the very breath in their lungs.

Men and women who would die for them if they asked, falling on their sword without a moment’s hesitation.

As far as they knew, no law enforcement had their faces or real names, but a few members had a more public role.

Jimin, as the silent owner of a series of discotheques and strip clubs.

Jungkook, who was an under-ground fighter and wan involved with a couple of the big players pushing drugs out of his and some other gyms in the state. He didn’t just push drugs out of the gyms, obviously, but that was where he liked to prowl around the most.

Even Namjoon, whose official job was that of an international trader of foreign and exotic hybrids, meaning that he had to work closely with customs and even sometimes cops.

They knew our faces but have no idea just how deep the rabbit-hole goes. Never would they actually guess that the seven ‘menial players’ werethe cruel and vengeful organization that left fear in the hearts of criminals and cops alike across the country.

Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin all made the rest of their substantial income and their illicit connections being knee-deep in the illegal.

So, when Jungkook ended up falling into a rut after taking one too many sniffs of your underwear in bed, Jimin took that opportunity to go around his order.

The tabby-cat walked into the strip club, smelling the sex and sin in the air, and immediately spotted you on the top of the pole, dressed in ostentatiously bright zebra-print with a charming, seductive smile on your face that was equal parts siren as it was endearing. He could see it - the pretty in you, the softness in you, the sexy in you.

Jimin was techincally the boss’ boss’ boss so while Rocky knew him by name, the others staff didn’t.

Just the way he liked it.

He got his favorite drink sent up to their private VVIP lounge (somewhere that only he and the other six could even access) and spent the next hour silently lusting after you. He watched you, observed your behavior so closely that it was concerning, and he sent photos of you in all kinds of positions to Jungkook for spank-bank material.

Jimin felt the cravings before he started to notice the changes in his body. Alcohol stopped doing it for him a long time ago, which is when his habit started. He could control himself, most of the time, but when he got antsy and needed to ground himself in Joonie’s scent (and Namjoon had been out of the fucking country for half a month scouting for omega predators on behalf of some perverted oil tycoon in Dubai so he was already pissed off and uncomfortable), sometimes he had to rely on other means of calming himself down.

Jimin couldn’t help it. When he saw you walk in in the reflection of the glass, he let out some of that frustration on you - innocent and adorable you - and had you on your knees in seconds. He didn’t really expect you to be able to withstand how strong his compulsion was, but he was surprised by how queasy you looked.

It made him feel guilty.

Which is an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to feeling, not even towards omegas. He liked them, any alpha would, but he didn’t feel sorryfor the things he did to them, especially if it wasn’t his fault.

None of them felt feelings of guilt or regret. It had been long beaten out of them at the group home, or after many years of working knee-deep in murder, drugs and solicitation.

That should’ve been the first indication that you weren’t going to be a normal omega to him.

But, Jimin wasn’t always quick on the up-take.

- end -

#hybrid au #hybrid bts #bts fic #mafia bts #mafia bts fic #kim taehyung x reader #kim namjoon x reader #park jimin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #btswritersguild #btswriterscollective #btswritersclub #btswriterscafe #yandere bts #bts smut #jimin yandere

Wed, 04 May 2022 10:31:34

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It’s too bad that they can’t seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

(angst / smut / yandere / fluff / gore)

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 5.5k

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too)

TW: sex dream marked with ~~~, crude and possessive language

Chapter 18: ‘Admiration’

Namjoon leaves in the morning, without alerting you to his departure, but he does press a kiss to your forehead unable to ignore the urge to scent-mark you somehow. He steps over the bodies littering the living room and ignores the lustful stares he receives from the girls that had been awake for some time. He knows what it looks like, and a small, conceited part of him wants them to think something happened between YN and himself.

He wants them to know she’s taken, and that she’s his, that she’s theirs.

Namjoon arrives back at the apartment, with a dire need to empty his bladder and brush his teeth, only to find six pairs of eyes glaring at him as soon as he opens the door.

Jimin takes one sniff of his clothes and snarls, accusingly, “You were with YN all night, weren’t you?”

Namjoon can’t even sigh before they are piling on his head, pulling at his clothes and whining like babies.

“You said we’d take it slow with her.”

“We weren’t allowed to meet with her, but you can?”

“That’s low, hyung!”

“Joon, you better start explaining yourself, before I lose my cool.”

He sighs. “Can I, at least, wash my face before I’m being interrogated?”

The boys roll their eyes and let him pass, begrudgingly. They collect in the living room, all taking their respective spots, subconsciously leaving one on the couch and another in the middle of the room where Joon takes his spot.

“I picked her up from work,” he says, towelling off his wet strands of purple. “We went back to her apartment. I slept over. No big deal.”

Jungkook asks, brow puckering, "Nothing happened, hyung?”

“Something happened, it has to have,” Yoongi accuses, with a sharp glint in his eye. “Tell us, Joon.”

“I wouldn’t be able to lie to you guys,” Namjoon huffs. “We didn’t even sleep in the same bed. I slept on the floor. She’s probably still asleep now.”

They know he’s telling the truth, the steadiness of his pulse tells them that, but still, they still feel envious of the time he got to spend with her that they didn’t.

“Is- Is she doing okay?” Jimin asks, quietly. He’s picking at the sleeve of his striped sweater, looking ten times smaller than normal. He’s leaning against Yoongi, resting his weight on the composer, as if he couldn’t bear to stand. “Does she hate us?”

“She’s okay. Whatever happened while she was away must have helped her come to terms with her feelings towards us,” he says, contemplatively. The boys are all paying attention, focusing their eyes on their leader. “She isn’t mad at us anymore.”

Jungkook falls back, spreading out on the floor and he lets out a roar of happiness. “Thank fuck!”

Jimin laughs, dropping onto the maknae and burrowing into the dark material of his stomach.

Hoseok glances at them fondly, before he asks, “So, what’s the plan of action?”

“We play it by ear,” Jin suggests. “Take what she gives us and slowly build a relationship from there.”

Jimin asks, nervously, “Do you think it’s possible for her to really accept us as we are?”

“She’s getting over us being vampires,” Taehyung says, fairly. “If we explain to her our differences to humans, she may over time become open to our advances.”

“I don’t even really understand how it works,” Jimin admits. “But I do know that I don’t ever want to be without any of you, and especially not her.”

Yoongi nods in agreement, but he closes his eyes in minor frustration. “I really hate the whole convention around courting. It’s so stuffy and formal.”

“It’s long-winded but it’s a tradition,” Jin replies. “Our parents would kill us if we didn’t do this the right way.”

Taehyung perks up then and asks, “Speaking of our parents, have any of you actually told them about her?”

“I mentioned her briefly while we were on vacation,” Taehyung says. “They want to meet her once we’ve officially started courting her.”

“That’s going to be a shit show,” Jin mumbles, running a hand over his face. “My father is going to hit the roof.”

“He knows how soul-bonds work,” Namjoon comforts, pushing some of Jin’s dark hair from his face. He’s gotten tan over his two-week break in the Arab Emirates and he seems to glow from the inside out. “You had no choice in this, the same way none of us did.”

“Logic escapes him sometimes,” Jin spits out, face contorting in spite before he forces himself to calm down. “Anyway. Jiminie, how’s your mother’s health? I heard she was responding well to the change in medication.”

The pinkette nods happily, curling around Hoseok’s back and resting his head on his shoulder. The older man glances down at him, fondly, as he explains, “She video-called me yesterday, and she was outside. Just in the hospital garden, but still. I don’t think she’s been able to be outside since I was a kid. She looked so pretty next to the flowers.”

Jungkook sits up. Unconsciously, he curls around Jimin’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, and he asks, “Did you cry?”

The dancer nods, mood souring. “I felt overwhelmed, but I tried not to show it. When she went back inside, I cried a lot, thinking that she might be, you know, getting better. But, it’s happened before. She responds well for a while, before her blood disorder lashes back out at her and she’s back to square one.”

“You don’t want to get your hopes up,” Jin presumes, soberly.

Jimin nods, grimly. “My Dad’s been with her the whole time. He still loves and cares about her so much.”

“Your parents are literal soulmates,” Namjoon says. “Of course, he’s by her side.”

Jimin feels his lips pull up in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, hyung.”

Jin moves to his feet and says, “Breakfast’s on me tonight. I don’t feel like cooking and I’ve been itching to try the diner that just opened up.”

“YN might like it there,” Taehyung suggests, grin broadening until it’s boxy and wide. “Maybe we should take her there one day.”

“One day, Taehyung,” Jin agrees, ruffling his blue strands. “Let’s go.”

~~~

“How bad do you want it, Cutie?” His voice murmurs against your neck, puffs of hot breath tickling against your skin, making you squirm. His tone is dark with promise, tongue snaking out to trail along your skin. Fingers curl in your hair and pull, not tight but firm, and he whispers against your neck, just as breathless, just as needy as you are, “C’mon, jagiya. Tell me.”

“Taehyung,” you whine, grinding down against him, in an aborted hip thrust, searching for friction where you need him the most. A series of deep throbs at your core have you clenching around nothing and you let out a gasp of frustration. He grips you tighter, halting your motions with a light tut of chastisement. You beg, pathetically, “It hurts.”

“Listen to her, Taehyung,” Jin chastises from behind you, fingers gripping your hip in an unyielding, possessive grip. You are moved against his front, so you are chest-to-chest, and even though you can’t see any faces through the fog, you can smell his skin, you can feel his familiar warmth, and you melt into him.“You’re being too mean with our precious YN. Petal, where do you want us?”

“I-Inside me,” you gasp out, pressing harder against the hard, hot length you feel press against your lower back. Taehyung hisses and shifts you the way he wants it, grinding against his leaking length, and you whimper, “I need you inside of me.”

The fog behind your lids clears, slowly, and you can briefly see Taehyung’s grin, salaciously, from beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmurs, hands cradling your chin, his eyes glittering with so much affection that it makes your heart ache. He says, eyes full of reverence and gaze syrupy with sweetness, “She’s finally looking at us again.”

“I’m so happy,” Jin murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder-blade. The dry press of his mouth on your skin might as well have been a dribble of molten lava with how deep it burns. Fuck, it burns so good. He whispers against your skin, quietly, “Welcome back, petal.”

Taehyung’s grin turns heated as his eyes graze over your body and he moves to sit up, pressing his nude chest against your back, skin already sticky with sweat. He holds your eyes as he murmurs, lips teasing yours but never touching, “We’re going to make you feel so good that you’re going to forget your own name.”

“Please,” you beg, and that’s the last coherent thought you have before you feel as if your insides are being stirred up and you are being melted from the inside out.

~~~

Shooting up out of bed, you grip your sheets in between shaky fingers, glancing around your head wildly, as if chasing away the ghosts of your dreams.

“There’s no fucking way that actually happened,” you murmur, quietly. Glancing over the side of your bed, you see Namjoon’s spot is empty and his sheets have been rolled up and put to the side neatly. “Thank God.”

From past experiences, you know you’re on the louder side when it comes to trysts between the sheets and nothing would make you want to fake your own death and relocate to Jeju more than having Namjoon overhear you having a sex dream about his two cluster-mates.

Rubbing your thighs together, you feel the seat of your underwear stick to your core uncomfortably and you let out a long whine.

“I need some dick,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything else.

“Did I hear someone say dick?” Young-mi sing-songs as she steps into your room, fresh-faced and dressed in her yoga gear, mat tucked under her arm. “Does this have anything to do with Nayeon’s friends all creaming themselves this morning, talking about a certain Kim Namjoon spending the night?”

You toss your pillow in her direction, which she skillfully avoids. “Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” She teases, moving to sit on the end of your bed. “He is super handsome.”

“It takes more than being handsome to get in between these thighs,” you reply, gesturing to your legs, spread under the sheets.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. He doesn’t have the stinking attitude to match your past lovers,” she sasses. “C’mon, YN. He’s good-looking and he looks like he’s packing a whopper in his shorts. They all do. And they pay attention to you. A lot of attention. Enough attention that even I would be hard-pressed to say no. So, tell me again how you haven’t thought about it?”

“I haven’t,” you lie. You have dreamt it instead. “They’re just really good friends to me.”

“I’m your best friend and even we’ve made out before,” she tells you, disbelief written clear on her face.

“What about you, huh? Why don’t you go for one of them?” You ask, pouting.

“I’d fuck them all seven-ways to Sunday,” she replies, face free of all embarrassment. “But to them, I don’t exist. You do.”

Throwing your pillow over your head, you groan. You complain, “This is so confusing.”

“Why? Namjoon is a sweet guy,” she says, rubbing your thigh, comfortingly. “Of all the choices, he isn’t the worst. He doesn’t even rank top-50 worst guys to date.”

“It’s not just him,” you whimper, moving the pillow but still covering your face with your hands. “I think- I don’t know. They’re all so nice to me, and I’m not used to that.”

Her eyes slowly grow big at your words, as she begins to understand your dilemma. “Bitch, you really are living in a young adult novel.”

“Shut up!”

“How about this? There’s a party this coming Friday,” she says, a suggestive lilt to her voice. She’s playing with the fraying edges of your blanket as she speaks, and her behavior makes you more suspicious of her proposal. “How about… we stop by? Just for a little while.”

Sitting up to cross your arms over your chest, you ask, brow raising, “Who’s going to be there?”

She continues to avoid your eyes as she mumbles, “Oh, you know… just some people…”

“Like…?”

“Like that cute-ass first year that I’ve been trying to bone since November,” she gushes, eyes crinkling in amusement. “She’s so pretty and tall. She boxes, YN. She has a back tattoo. I need to eat her out! Don’t laugh – this is serious!”

“We can go,” you tell her, wanting to help your friend get some action, even if you aren’t reaping the benefits. “Anything to get your plasdick wet.”

She squeals, wrapping you up in a big, warm hug and she says, “I’m going to ignore your crassness and simply say this – thank you, thank you, thank you, YN! You won’t regret it, I promise.”

You already do, but you don’t tell her that. She seems too excited for you to piss on her parade like that.

—

Some days later

Jimin is outside of your first class of ancient communication, resting the back of his head on the wall, looking as cool as anything in his leather jacket and freshly dyed hair. You feel the initial flutter of butterflies in your stomach at the first sight of him, but you don’t feel a touch of fear. In fact, all you feel is guilt over the last time you were together.

You were sure you had made him cry.

“Where did the pink go?” You ask by way of greeting, glancing up at the tuft of vibrant orange.

“You like it?” He shakes out his hair, before habitually brushing it back in place. His nails have been painted too, black and shiny. “Jin-hyung thought it’d go well with the outfit. Do you think so?”

He gives you a cursory spin, and you see how professors and students alike stop to admire his absolute beauty. Hiding the blush on your cheeks with your folders, you nod. “It does.”

“As long as you like it, I’m happy,” he sing-songs, reaching for your bag and books. “What class do you have next?”

“Nothing until four,” you tell him. “I hate early classes.”

He grimaces for you. “Me too. How about we get some dessert?”

“It’s eleven am, Jimin,” you mumble. He shoulders through the exit doors leading to the parking lot, before turning back to stare at you, not understanding. “Fine,” you concede with a huff. “But if I get diabetes, it’ll be your fault.”

“Nothing like that will ever happen to you, YN,” he says, boldly grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingertips. The sensation of his mouth on your skin makes you tingle all over. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Do your vampiric powers cover cavities or something? I certainly missed that section in Twilight,” you tease, sliding into his car. He flicks on the heating and lets out a chuckle of his own, eyes crinkling up into half-moons, the skin creasing, showing off the slight chip in the front of his tooth.

“Twilight is a crock of shit,” he says. “They get nothing right.”

“What did they get wrong?”

“We don’t sparkle in the sunlight. We aren’t mortal enemies with other supernaturals, especially not werewolves. We can eat, drink, fart, pee and poop just like humans can. We can’t have kids with humans,” he says, listing off on his fingers. “There’s a bunch more but that’ll come with time.”

Giggling to yourself, you change the question, intrigue bubbling in your gut. “What can you do?”

“We’re able to control our development, so if I wanted to, I could be this age forever, but once I make that choice, I can’t undo it. And, being 20 for eternity doesn’t sound like the best time, so we usually wait until we’re in our early 30s before we consider stopping the aging process.”

“What else?”

“We’re stronger and faster than humans. Smarter, too. Sorry,” he gives you a haughty smirk. “We’re impervious to most diseases and heal at a faster rate.”

You enquire, “What about when you want to have kids?”

“I was born this way,” he tells you with a quick glance. “My parents are both like me. Born. Our families are pure-blooded.”

Surprise colors your tone as you ask, “All of you were born as vampires?”

He nods, before giving you a smile filled with pearly white teeth. “Crazy, right?”

“The way you say it implies that there’s something other than being pure-blooded.”

He nods. “Half-bloods. It’s an archaic system, but that’s how we classify vampires who have been bitten and turned, rather than born, like us.”

“Is that… a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” he replies, licking his lips. “Just different. A born vampire will be stronger and faster, and sometimes they have… special abilities.”

“Special abilities? You have got to be kidding me now.”

He shakes his head. “Hoseok is one.”

“What?”

“He can manipulate memory,” he explains. “He never uses it, because it tires him out. He’s KO’d for the whole day if he does, but he can do it. We all have varying degrees of compulsion, but it doesn’t compare to his mind magic.”

“That’s… insane.”

He seems to agree. “It can be overwhelming at first, which is why we didn’t want to throw it all at you at once. But… we care for you. A lot. And we don’t want you going into this situation blind.”

Silence descends over the two of you as you digest his words, and before long, you’re pulling into the parking lot of the dessert place, and you spot a familiar car in the corner, glinting sharply under the early afternoon sun. Grasping at Jimin’s elbow, stalling the confidently-striding dancer’s movement, you ask, suddenly nervous, “Is… Is Jin here?”

Jimin nods, shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told the group that we were going for dessert, just so they wouldn’t worry if they didn’t see you around, and Jin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung and Jungkook wanted to see you. Is that…” He trails off, suddenly worried. “Did I overstep?”

“No, it’s fine,” you pause, exhaling softly. He stares down at you, fingers itching to touch you but he holds back. He can’t ruin this, he can’t go too fast. He has to wait. It has to be perfect. He holds the door open for you and ushers you inside and out of the cold. You continue, “I wanted to see you guys anyway.”

“You did?” He stops you with a cool hand on your elbow, echoing your actions from mere minutes ago. “You really mean that?”

He’s staring deep into your eyes, so deep in fact that it’s making your skin break out in gooseflesh. Unable to speak, you simply nod, and he pulls you into a deep, long hug. His sweet natural smell is so intoxicating that you feel your eyes close without your permission, tucking yourself further into his chest to get closer to the source of the aroma.

“I missed you so much, jagi,” he mumbles into your hair, lovingly. “I really was going crazy not being able to see you.”

You wrap your arms around his trim waist, for sake of them just hanging uselessly by your sides and find that latching into him is exactly where you want to be.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whines, rocking you gently from side to side. “’m sorry for lying to you, for keeping it from you. I’ll never lie to you again, as God is my witness I’ll-”

“If you’re done,” Yoongi mumbles, dryly, voice cutting the private moment sharply. “You aren’t the only one who has missed her, Jimin.”

The orange-haired boy pulls away from you, mortified.

“Yah! You got to see her during the break! If anyone should be upset, it’s me,” Jin growls, nudging the shorter man out of the way to envelop you in just as deep of a hug as Jimin. He smells so good that your knees buckle slightly in his grasp. Chuckling softly at your behavior, he whispers in your ear, “Does it feel that good that you can’t stay standing, petal?”

The nickname takes you straight back to your dream, his sultry words sliding across the expanse of your back as he presses into you, deeper and deeper still.

Jin’s nostrils flare slightly, an action that goes unseen by you and he feels his fangs drop at the flood of arousal that he smells wafting from your body. Fuck, he’s missed your scent. But this, this smell collects on the back of his tongue, flooding his senses with your deepest and most desperate essence. His knees buckle slightly, and his mind instantly conjures up the image of you, nude, hovering above his face, his hot tongue mere inches from where he wants to be the most: your warm, slick pink p-

Yoongi steps on his foot sharply, more affected by the combined arousal than his blank expression conveys. Shaking off the wave of adrenaline that is pumping through his body, Jin ushers you to the seat and sets Yoongi with a firm stare, one that the younger knows all too well, before letting the seriousness wash off him and Jin melts back into his bubbly, cheeky persona.

Warmly, you hug Jungkook, who nervously places his hands on your shoulders, refusing to let himself linger, no matter how much he wants to bury his face in your innermost corners. You find his awkwardness quite endearing and you want to pinch his puffy cheeks. Embracing the quiet blond, you feel the composer press a quick kiss to your temple, before giving your hand a quick squeeze. He asks, before you can question his sudden desire for skin-ship, “How’ve you been?”

“Better than before,” you admit, sitting down between Jin and Jimin. You level Yoongi with a sober stare and say, “Thank you. For everything.”

The blond shrugs, awkwardly staring off to the side, shifting his weight as if he doesn’t know where to put himself.

You assert, reaching for his thin, long fingers across the table, catching Yoongi’s gaze and holding it, “No, really. My Dad really likes you.”

He can’t help but let his chest puff up at your words. Yoongi feels a sense of pride, something the other guys could feel rolling off his body in waves. “That’s to be expected.”

“I can’t wait to meet your parents, YN,” Jimin cuts in, excitedly. He reaches for you, wanting your attention too. He says, confidently, “They’ll love me more than hyung, don’t you think?”

“It’s obvious that it’ll be me that will be their favorite,” Jin declares, hotly.

Jungkook snorts. “Whatever, hyung. Who can say no to this face?”

He cups his chin with big hands and sends you a cheesy wink.

Nodding in agreement, you lean over to copy his gesture and repeat, “Who can say no to this face?”

The two of you simultaneously turn to the eldest and bat your eyelids, adorably. Jin’s cheeks pink slightly at the sight of the two of you and he grumbles, “You’re both going to be the death of me.”

“Is that even possible?” You sass, playfully.

Jin simply tugs at a wayward curl of yours in response.

“We can, technically, be killed,” Yoongi says, quietly. The table quietens with him, mode turning somber. “But, there’s a whole host of things that have to happen for it to be effective.”

“What? Like silver crafted into a perfectly symmetrical blade, forged under the light of a full moon, by the hands of the village virgin?” You tease with a roll of your eyes.

The four of them freeze, simultaneously shooting you shocked glances, mouths parted slightly in surprise.

Jungkook mumbles, “How… How did you know?”

Mouth nearly falling open, you gasp, “Are you kidding me?”

Yoongi breaks first, bursting into laughter, followed by Jimin and Jin. Jungkook hides his face in the dancer’s shoulder, unable to stop the jerking motion of his body as he laughs.

“You should’ve seen your face, noona!”

“Shut it!” You groan, cheeks burning, hotly. “I was thinking of the craziest thing I could think of.”

“You can tell you like to read fantasy books,” Jimin remarks, amusedly. He taps the tip of your nose, affectionately. “Namjoon has been spending too much time with you.”

“Not enough, honestly,” you grumble. “We haven’t had a library date for ages.”

“Date?” Jin repeats, a challenging quirk to his brow. "That’s new.”

You stutter, ears burning, “T-That’s what he calls them!”

“I’m sure he does, the sly dog,” Yoongi berates. “Why weren’t any of us invited to your little library dates?”

“Do you guys even like to read?”

Jimin and Jungkook’s cheeks puff up in upset. “We read!”

“Comics don’t count,” Jin ribs the pair.

“Technically, they do,” you correct. “Literature comes in all forms.”

“Ah, don’t you start,” Jin complains. “We get enough of that from Joonie.”

“Joonie’s right,” you assert, reaching for Jimin’s hand and giving it a cursory squeeze. “Next time, I’ll tell you when we’re going okay? You can show me the comics you like.”

“Really?” He perks up, happily, at the idea. “Thank you, YN.”

“Enough talking, I’m hungry,” Yoongi complains, picking up a menu and sliding it across in your direction. “Choose what you’re craving.”

“I’ll take the waffles with honey and some raspberries in a cup,” you reply after some moments to peruse the menu’s contents.

Yoongi snorts at your peculiar request.

Jungkook mumbles, “She doesn’t like the cold and the warm touching, like me.”

You beam at him, finally happy to have someone who shares your specific taste. “Can I have an orange juice, too, please, Jinnie?”

Yoongi nods and Jin leans down to murmurs into your ear, “You can get anything you like, petal.”

Your cheeks redden instantly, and you stammer, ducking your head to hide you’re the splotches of embarrassment on your face, “What’s with that nickname?”

He ducks closer, practically with his lips pressed against the curve of your ear, and he whispers, softly, “Is it not to your tastes?”

“I- It’s… It’s just different,” you mumble, quietly. You feel as if your lungs are going to climb out of your throat, and the sensation only decreases once the handsome businessman reclines out of your space.

Jin gives you a warm smile before calling over a nearby waitress. He tells her the orders of the group, seemingly not needing to confer with the other boys, and you wonder how it is they can know each other so well.

“We’ve known each other since birth. Some of us have lived together for nearly half our lives. If I can’t get their orders right, what kind of hyung would I be?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. You didn’t even ask the question aloud, but he seems to have interpreted the expression on their face well.

Once the food arrives, you all dive in, eating happily. You do notice, though, that none of the boys ate anything until you’d taken your first bite, watching you carefully as you chew and swallow the sweet mouthful of soft, warm waffle.

You say, curiously, “You guys never told me your back-story.”

They share uneasy stares, making you feel suspicious, before Jungkook takes the lead, surprising you at his forwardness. “There isn’t much to tell, honestly. We were born into a special family. Our parents are in a coven together and our families all go back generations. All of us belong to the same main family, but because creatures like us form clusters, we are spread out all over the world.”

“What does that mean?”

“To put it simply, there’s one main family to which we plead allegiance to. The head of the family – currently being Namjoon’s mom – communicates directly with the High Court, who organizes and carries out our legal system. There can be hundreds of clusters within a coven, so we’re just one of many.”

You think for a moment before you say, “Namjoon’s mom is like… an area manager, and Namjoon is like… the owner of a store?”

Jimin giggles at your layman explanation before he replies, “More like, Joonie-hyung’s mom is a COO. Namjoon is the owner of a store that the main branch owns. But like… a big one, you know?”

You snort. “Why is there only seven of you?”

Jin replies, simply, “We don’t want anyone else.”

“Really?”

“If we wanted to,” Yoongi says, coolly. “We could have a cluster of over twenty different bodies. There are plenty of vampires on campus who want to join us.”

Your eyes bug out of your head. “Wait, wait, wait. There are more of you?”

Jin lets out an explosive laugh, and you’re enamored with the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he does so. He says, bemusedly, “You thought we were the only supernatural people at our university? Petal, the campus is huge.”

“But still!”

They all laugh at your lack of forethought. Jungkook comments, putting his hand over yours and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, noona. Nobody would hurt you. You smell too much like us for you to be messed with by anyone with sense.”

You echo, brow puckering, “Smell?”

“We scent you,” Jimin explains. “Nothing weird or gross, so don’t feel that we’re invading your privacy. It’s just a natural exchange of scent so other supernaturals with sensitive noses can smell that we’ve laid claim.”

Rearing back to stare the orange-haired boy down, you ask, winding your neck back, “Claim?”

“It sounds offensive but in our community, it just means that you belong under our protection,” Jungkook hurries to explain, smiling apologetically. “Hyung didn’t mean to make it sound so caveman-like, I promise, noona.”

“When you wear our clothes or when we hug you, you are exchanging your smell with ours,” Yoongi moves to explain further. “It doesn’t just go one way either. We smell like you, too.”

That makes you feel minutely better, surprisingly, and they can tell.

You ask, quirking a brow in challenge, “So, after figuratively peeing on me to mark your territory, what does that mean for me?”

“You’ve been told about the fact that we consider you part of our cluster, right?” Jin asks. When you nod, he continues, “Well, to put it simply, we’ve begun a fledgling bond with you. Nothing will happen to you, but on a pheromonic and hormonal level, we’ve started to merge our scents, to bring you closer to our coven. We would… eventually want you to join us, but that doesn’t have to be now… Or, ever. There’s no compulsion with this.”

“There can’t be,” Yoongi says, slowly. He’s picking at the remnants of the banana split that Jimin was given, having long finished his own serving of tiramisu. “We can’t force you to Pledge. That has to come completely from your own free will.”

“What does it mean, to Pledge?”

“That’ll come later, princess,” Yoongi says, a soft uplift to his lips. He licks some cream from his lower lip, making your core thrum with heat at the sight, before he continues, “We don’t want to scare you off so early.”

“It’s best if that comes more naturally, noona,” Jungkook says, sucking on his thumb where some chocolate sauce had been smeared. A pink tongue works around the digit slowly, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks up the sweet sauce. You think you must be going crazy. You rub your thighs together at the sight, missing the way Jin digs his sharp nails into the meat of his thigh to keep his urges at bay. The other two aren’t fairing much better, Jimin having to pinch himself to keep his head in the game and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s turned half-mast so fast in his life. “Joonie-hyung will explain as the time is right, we promise.”

After shaking off the longing coiling around his spine, Jin grabs for your hand, with as much tenderness that he can manage and catches your eye as you gear up to argue. “Do you trust us?”

The other three wait in bated breath, stares practically searing into your flesh, waiting for your answer.

“Yes.”

Jin relaxes a touch. “Then, we can wait until the time is right. We wouldn’t do anything that would compromise your faith in us again. Honest.”

Exhaling, softly, you concede with a nod. “Fine. But, can I have some of that crepe? It looks good.”

“You can have whatever you like, petal.”

You completely missed the look of hunger that passed over his eyes as he watches you nibble on his food, fingers absently playing in some of your curls, imagining how perfect you would look with his fist twisted in your hair and contorting your body to fit his desires.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18)

Tue, 26 Apr 2022 22:57:21

mafia bts x stripper yn; hybrid universe

What happens when you fall into their web of deceit and lies?

What happens when you find you don’t want to escape, even when you know you should?

Masterlist / i don’t have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 2.9k

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 6 ‘Lusting’

Walking up the last day of your heat, your entire body ached. You crack open an eye and hear the carefree sounds of outsideand it all just felt hateful to you.

You wipe the dried tears from the side of your face and stretch out lazily on your bed, feeling the vertebrae in your spine crack and pop as you move.

As you stretch, your hand knocks into of of the overworked dildos that you had fallen asleep gripping with every fiber of strength you had in your body. Self-pity floods your system as you roll over into a fetal position and contemplate masturbating one last time before you start your day. You don’t feel the feral urge to orgasm around something thick and pulsing, but the tendrils of lust still lick at the base of your spine so you fall into your desires and let your wrist do the work.

The same images that carried you through the last three days flick before your eyes. Strong, tattooed hands working up and down your spine, gripping your hair at the root, twisting around your hair in an unyielding hold. Warmth blossoming along your neck as his mouth works against your flesh, teeth teasing lightly, as if he were letting you know how easy it would be to bite into you.

Another, smaller pair of hands wrap around your throat and force your hips up, bowing your spine in a lovely ‘c’ shape. Soft words whispered against the shells of your ears, puffs of hot breath make you shiver as waves from the vibrations pumping into your body force you to twitch and write and grind your ass into the sheets, half of you yearning for more and the other half drawing away from the overstimulation.

Pretty girl.

Good girl.

You can take it.

You want more?

Who do you belong to? You belong to me, right? Say it, Pretty.

Is it mine? Is it ours?

How about here? You want me here too? You’re so greedy, YN.

Spread your legs. More. More.

I’m gonna come in here, make you all sloppy and messy. You’d like that, right? How about Hyung? Can he come inside after me, too?

Don’t close your eyes, I want you to see how deep you can take us.

Open your mouth. Show me how much of a slut you are.

Wider, Pretty. I can’t fit. Do you need some help or something? Here, lift your chin, Pretty. Tongue out… Further. That’s good.

Take him deeper. Don’t choke. Breathe through it. You’re doing so good.

Are you gonna let him come in your throat?

Don’t cry. Or, maybe do. I kinda like it.

You don’t know how good you feel inside.

You’re so fucking sexy, I’m going crazy.

“Oh-Fuck,Jungkook- J-Jungkook. Ugh,” you groan, thrusting the vibrating dildo faster into your weeping hole, biting your pillow between your teeth. “Jimin- Oh my god…I want it. I w-want- Ah, ah! I’m c-c-cumming.”

You leak around the dildo, staining your sheets as a flood of liquid rushes out of your body, toes curling and your eyes crossing as you tremble and whine.

Heavily breathing, you toss the slick instrument off to the side and wipe your hand on the soiled sheets. You were going to do laundry later anyway. But, for now, you felt dizzy and thoroughly drained of energy, but you can’t sleep. You slept more than the average hibernating bear over the last three days. You don’t want to sleep any more than you already have.

You grab your phone from your bedside table to see if you had any more texts from Jimin, who had kept his promise to text you infrequently throughout your heat. He didn’t overbear you with a need for a response, but whenever you did reply, he always got back to you within an hour.

It felt nice.

Check your front door.

He had sent it twenty minutes ago.

It fills you with warmth, a happy little smile working its way onto your face.

The omega in you feels cared for, so happy that an alpha was providing for you during your heat. It wasn’t smart in the long-run - it often led to miscommunications between alpha-omega pairs who haven’t clarified their relationship. The omega gets the wrong impression and subconsciously begins to view the alpha as theirsand that isn’t good for anyone. It can lead to bond-rejection sickness and that could cause lasting emotional damage on either side, usually for the party that instigated the bond in the first place (i.e the omega). The last thing you wanted to do was presume anything about his behavior during your heat to be anything more than just him acting out of concern for the omega who had latched onto his pack-mate.

The thought makes you a little sad, but it was better than the embarrassing alternative.

You crack open the door and see the wrapped take-out on the floor, as it had been three times a day since you locked yourself up at home. You had made a passing comment about not feeling up to cooking for yourself, and an hour later, there was food at your door with a small note written in Jimin’s pretty scrawl. You expected sharper-looking handwriting to match his feisty personality, but his lettering was rounder, more personable, and there was even a small emoticon at the bottom. A smiling face.

A lapse in thought had you sticking the note onto your refrigerator after taking a deep, long sniff of his scent latched onto the card, as you did with each one that you found in the bags.

(You almost broke your fingers with how fast you ended up back in bed, hands in your underwear, rubbing at your bud, as his scent triggered a new wave of heat.)

(You could never say it aloud, though. That such a big-headed cocky alpha turned you into a throbbing mess in mere seconds.)

You weren’t sure where he got your address from, but when you confronted him about it in one of your rare bouts of lucidity, he said he had it from the employee files in the office.

While something tingled in the back of your mind, you ignore it, too exhausted, too drained from your heat to really pay it much mind. Instead, you mindlessly throw the food in the microwave, stomach growling as a hole opened in the bottom of your tummy as you realize just how ravenously hungry you are. After five minutes, you throw yourself onto the couch and flick on the TV, channel-searching for a little while before something catches your attention.

“Much of the research that has been done over the last 80 years into alpha-beta-omega hybrid dynamics have circled around the social and sexual behaviors of alpha-omega pairs. There has been significant scientific suggestion of a strong causal association between platonic ‘pack’ relationships amongst A/B/O persons and health and longevity. Some social scientists imply that alpha-centric collectives may be the new frontier for hybrid social relations.”

Instantly, you call to mind Jungkook and Jimin. They both have implied that their packs are bigger than just the two of them, and you never got any scent of Betas or Omegas - the thought of the last filling you with something dark and unhappy that you didn’t want to label.

“Historically, alphas have been said to have been the strongest, most powerful classification type, occupying the typical protector/provider title of the pack. They are the heads of the pack, the leaders and the ones who have most of the responsibility for the safety of their dependents. Betas, who make up the largest population group of the three classifications, are the gatherers of the pack. Omegas, who make up less than 4% of the general hybrid population, are the most emotionally dependent, the child-bearer/rearer and the leader of the domestic sphere.”

“Betas have no sensitivity to pheromones released by alphas and omegas, although there has been some suggestion that compulsion can be sensed by betas from alphas who have a very strong ‘compulsion’.”

“‘Compulsion’ is just as the word suggests. Alphas have an innate ability to force their ‘will’ upon weaker hybrids, especially ‘super-Alphas’ (a new term coined by lead hybrid dynamic social-scientist and Alpha, Dr Jennie Kim). Super-alphas are almost entirely apex-predators with an irresistible presence.”

Super-alphas. You almost laugh at the term. What could possibly separate a regular alpha from a ‘super-alpha’? You think back to the times where you were around Jungkook, the warm way he handled you, the softness in his eyes whenever he looks at you. Then, you think about Jimin, and that first interaction that you had with him - the pressure that weighed down on your shoulders, the way he swaggered around without a care in the world, the wave of nausea that crashed over your head.

You suppose that maybe there might be something there.

“As of the start of the year, there is said to be up to two hundred registered single-classification packs. Alpha who bond with Alphas. Betas who bond with Betas. Omegas who bond with only other Omegas. Although the dynamics are different to the traditional A/B/O pack collective, the feelings that are generated amongst the pack bonds are just as important and as influential. It has long been suggested that single-classification packs are unstable, however recent research implies that that assumption is baseless.”

“Yes, the sex dynamics are different. The pheromones that are released during ruts/heats respectively cannot be found naturally, so the creation of synthetic pheromone medication has become incredibly popular within the last two years.”

You shoot a glance at your bathroom where you had your untouched stock of synthetic cologne that you used to help you through your heat. It didn’t smell all the way real but it made the blistering heat in your head calm only slightly. There was a significant absence of a hot body on top of your own, weighing you down. There were no hands touching you as if they owned you. There were no lips at your ear, whispering filthy words to you as you crest and climax, helplessly.

So, in one way, it made heats a little easier, it made coming easier because your imagination could run a little wilder. But in another, it was unbearable. It made the experience entirely unsatisfying and left you with an empty feeling that lasted for days even after your heat had finished. Plus, you had read somewhere that there was a risk of becoming scent-blind if used counterfeit versions too heavily and that was enough to put you off it completely.

“Without the crutch of a dependent omega to pour their provident instincts into, and being surrounded by equally as self-reliant alphas, the innate desire to dominate would become too intense to control, leading to an extended feral episode.

This feral episode would only further be compounded by the presence of other alphas within the same pack. Emotionally close, due to their bonded nature, but too similar in classification to be able to depress the tension built over time, the other alphas within the pack could be exposed to the errant pheromones.”

You wonder, idly, if there had ever been conflict between Jungkook’s pack. The idea makes your heart ache.

“A multitude of issues surrounding concepts of tensions, in-fighting, feral episodes, rut/heat, hierarchal respect, instinct and sexual domination are very controversial aspects that lead to multi-faceted conversations. These potentially critical consequences have been used as justifications for the opposition to the establishment of omega-less packs across the country.”

“Seeing an alpha-alpha pair has become more normalized over time. Some social groups have protested and shown dissent towards alternative pack dynamics, labelling the deviation as unnatural, however social scientists simply ask for respect and tolerance for new orientations and platonic/romantic relationships amongst hybrid groups.”

The mini-documentary goes on to discuss the sex politics between alphas in graphic detail, enough to make your imagination spark up once more and you end up touching yourself one last time before the last of your heat leaves you. Honestly, the urges weren’t strong enough to justify it, but the continued mentioning of knots and rut and slick and dominating kept bringing Jungkook’s face to mind.

You wondered how big his knot might be. If it was thick. If it would leave you unable to move even an inch. The smell of him lasting on your for days. The feeling of his teeth piercing your neck to mark you as his own. Being unable to shift without his permission. To have his heavy weight on your back and holding you in place as he had his way with you.

It was irresistible.

The day finishes without much else happening and you finally get to leave to go back to work at the library the following day. You aren’t allowed at the club for another two days because your scent was tinged with heat-sweetness and might be enticing enough to trigger some of your creepier clientele or even provoke an early heat amongst staff.

You find yourself welcomed back with a loving hug and a small baggie of chocolate eclairs that your boss’ partner had made too much of over your week away.

Because you might have been a little weak, your boss let you spend your shift just relocating the appropriate books in the new children’s library - your pet project - and decorate the small area with any materials the library had in the back offices, also known as the tombs.

You were in the middle of hand-stitching some coral reefs made up of colorful felt material when your phone pings.

You aren’t at home?

Confused, you push your curls out of your face, having taken down your braids the last few hours of your quarantined heat at home. I’m at work.

Your phone pings a series of times, the sound relentless and drawing a frustrated sound out of your throat.

Are you crazy?

You’re in heat!

Go home.

You reply, a fluttering of something in your tummy at his apparent concern, I’m in the middle of something. Stop distracting me.

Jimin retorts, and even though there aren’t any caps lock letters, you feel like he’s angry, You shouldn’t be at the club.

Go the fuck home before I call Rocky and kick his fucking ass.

You respond, rolling your eyes at his attitude, I’m not at the club. I’m at the library.

A pause, as if he were catching himself, before he answers, Oh, I forgot you were a nerd’s walking wet-dream.

It wasn’t an apology. You feel like those are a dime-a-dozen to get out of the tabby-hybrid.

Then, another question: What time do you finish?

Your expression dims, instantly. No.

You can almost see the huff on his face. I didn’t even get to ask.

With a scoff, you retort, I don’t want to hear it.

Then, you continue, feeling the need to explain yourself somewhat, You helped me during my heat. Thank you for that. But we don’t need to keep texting.

He enquires, Why?

You counter, as if it’s the only answer in the world that makes sense: You’re my boss.

Technically I’m your boss’ boss’ boss.

With a scowl, you question, Do you ever… stop?

Never. Just ask my husband.

You aren’t even surprised by his lecherous response at this point. I don’t even know why we’re still talking.

You balance your phone on the top of a pile of Disney storybooks, peeking a glance every few minutes, annoyed at how eager you were for his response, which comes in quickly. Come on, Pretty. Let me drive you home. Jungkook won’t stop whining. And I haven’t seen your face in a while.

You take this opportunity to gloat a little, not really flirting as much as you were teasing. So, what? You miss me or something?

He acknowledges, simply: Or something.

You state, firmly, You can’t pick me up. I shouldn’t be around alphas.

Jimin recounts, simply, I’m bonded.

I’m not.

Jimin’s smirk flashes in your mind’s eye as you receive his answering message, You think you might fall for me, Pretty?

Go to hell.

Jimin answers,Ouch.

Then, some moments later, your phone pings. Fine. Take a cab home instead of the subway.

How do you know I take the subway?

Jimin asks, adding a sarcastic emoticon on the end, You have a car that I didn’t see?

Touche.

Your phone pings one last time, but it wasn’t a text message. instead, it was a deposit into your mobile payment app with a short message attached.

Take the fucking cab, YN.

You don’t reply, but you can’t stop yourself from grinning, brightly. There was no legal way to explain how Jimin has your information, but something is telling you that there were things that this man, that the men he was connected with, could do that would take your breath away.

Now, you were still trying to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

- end -

#bts fic #hybrid fic #mafia bts #bts hybrid fic #bts mafia fic #park jimin x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader

masterlist (I) |masterlist (II)

Sat, 04 Jun 2022 10:30:47

Fool’s Gold. | IV. | Park Jimin, 5.5k

Pairing:Reader x Jimin

Summary:Dawn comes and sheds new light. There’s nothing left but fool’s gold.

Warnings/Tags: RATED T - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; the reader isn’t having a very good time; it gets v angsty and v mean; curse money, curse everything; violence (yes, vmin dofight with their fists); blood/gore; crying with glitter on (yes, this is a deliberate input for the tags); Jimin really should have driven off earlier; notes on the fragility of friendship and of relationships in general; um, the ending? idk; angst- non-idol!AU.

=====

The soft pad of your feet on the marble is right behind him, “Min wait, it could still work, can’t it? You said you’ve planned enough, how about sourcing the money elsewhere?”

He shakes his head, bitter at how his dreams are dashed, “not enough to get me what I what.”

The kitchen is as you left it, he yanks a drawer open and pulls out the wine he hid from last night, “have a drink.”

Your eyes grow wide at the label, “is that my father’s 1921 Pétrus? Even Idon’t touch that.”

Ignoring you, the wine pools at the bottom of the glass in a deep waterfall, he pours just enough for the both of you. Grabbing the bottle, you inspect the label, squinting at the details. Jimin takes the first sip in a while, it goes down smooth, souring his mouth. You don’t touch yours yet.

“You could have asked father about this, you know. If you wanted it that badly, it’s not as if -”

Another sip makes it past his lips, the taste is bitter as he swallows, “don’t.”

You stop talking, taking your glass and tipping your head back, humming at the taste. Jimin breathes out, licking his lips.

“You know I won’t take something that people would notice to be missing,” he said.

“You don’t have to make excuses, it’s okay,” you said, infuriatingly so.

“Why say that?”

“I get it, Min, I -”

You don’t, not at all. He surges forward, taking the bottle from you, “no, you don’t get it.”

Annoyingly, you dodge his grip and walk backwards, “no but I doget it, Min. I get wanting do something that works like a pick me up, to make you feel more like yourself. I’m the poster child for it, don’t you know?” You almost chortle, but he sees you stop by your wallet, the leather face up with all your cards, then the slim slit that held a packet of snow. The whole image of you comes back to him now and it’s his turn to pry.

“How come you’re so unhappy?”

Immediately, your face changes, he guesses it’s shock.

“What?”

He takes a seat, pushes his own glass away from him, counting the dots on the pitted surface of the table.

“Why are you so sad?”

Maybe he just doesn’t get it - maybe he’ll never really get it, but the least he could do is hear from your point of view.

“You have such a way with words, don’t you?” You said, voice wavering a tad.

“I’m interested.”

That doesn’t seem to placate you because he watches as you wrap his jacket around your front tightly, posture so rigid that if touched you, you’d recoil.“No you’re not. You’re trying to find reasons to find me pathetic and thenyou can finally rid yourself of any responsibility -”

His skin prickles with goosebumps, “responsibility for what?”

You stare at him, features pinched, as if you were about to cry; he attempts to ask again but you explode. Your voice is loud and the kitchen still had high ceilings. The words echoed, bouncing off the marble:

“Responsibility for fucking me for my money!”

“Stop it - ”

“Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, Min? You fucked me for my money, tell me I’m wrong, go on, tell me.”

He doesn’t like hearing this, let alone seeing you like this: manic and on the edge of something he couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t. I never -”

“Stop lying, I hate it when people lie to me like I don’t deserve the truth,” you said, your voice too loud for this conversation. You rise up, growing as big as your anger, he waves for you to sit down, to calm yourself. “Why aren’t you admitting it?”

“Stop acting like that!” He pleaded, hand outstretched as he glanced at all the doors. It was dawn and the helpers would be on their way soon.

“Acting like what?”

“Like there’s something wrong with you,” he said, a sharp admission like a whip. It works and you retreat, quietening for a moment. He finds the silence and fills it with his thoughts.

“I know you act like that because you need something to justify your selfish behaviour. If there’s something wrong with you, there’s meaning to you how you act, because if there isn’t a reason why,then that scares you. If it’s pointless, you can’t stand it.”

You give him shaky laugh, tears collecting in your eyes and falling down, wetting your cheeks. The glitter drowns in salt, you look at him with contempt through your bloodshot eyes. You looked ravaged for the wrong reasons, someone with an inexplicable fury all directed at him.

“Did you ever stop and think that maybe I slept with you because,” you breathed, sniffing noisily, “because I wantedto?”

He doesn’t say anything, his fingertips cold all of the sudden.

“Are you scared of me, Min? Are you scared of all of this? Scared to be with someone that rattles?” You asked, gesturing wildly. Cringing, he exhaled a strong gust of air. He gets up.

“I’m not scared of you, I actually feel sorry for you.”

When you look at him, he regrets it a little.

“You’re lying.”

Your tears fall freely now, he takes in the rest of you, the wrinkles in your clothes, the glint of your jewellery, his jacket on your body. How did it get to this?

“Get up.”

He doesn’t do what he’s told. It’s humiliating enough to cower reflexively at the sound of your voice. Yet you let out a shaky breath, “I said get up. I’m speaking to you, get up.” He says your name, which sounds and feelsforeign to say.

“Calm down -”

“I am your employer, and when I say get up, you do as you’re told.”

It’s ugly, it’s not you. Jimin does get up and moves back, body hot for all the wrong reasons, he points a finger in your direction. “You don’t employ me, your father does. And I could leak everything I know about you to the press - especially about the drugs. The news would lovethat. And with a family like yours and your name, you’ll make everyheadline,Agassi.”

You laugh as your body animates like its built on a loose spring, moving along the length of the counter like a slinky, “you wouldn’t dare.” Your thumb is near your mouth again, teeth pulling the skin raw.

Jimin raised his eyebrows, gesturing wildly now, “oh, you don’t know what I can do, what I’m capable of. I’ve seen how you actually look at me in the years that I’ve worked here. Like I don’t understand anything, like I’m some animal that you can play with because somehow, you know what I want. Did you ever think that I can pull rank too?”

You’re too quiet so he takes that opportunity.

“You act so high mighty when I’ve never everseen anyone act like the way you did tonight, I’ve seen dogs act with more dignity than you -”

It’s a step too far because you clutch at the counter for support, he stops himself because he doesn’t recognise the sound of his own voice.

“Why didn’t you finish? Carry on,” you mumbled, pushing something on the floor with your foot. Jimin doesn’t think he’s abated the storm since his chest feels tighter then before he spoke.

“What else do you think of me, huh? What else does Mr. Park Jimin think of me?”

When you pry it riles him up. He doesn’t know what you want, not really. It’s crazy how different it was hours ago, he wonders if your father had texted him at all where he would be now. Probably at some tent bar with Namjoon, tossing his head back and wincing at a paper shot of soju, leg bouncing to ward off the cold.

“Stop talking.”

You come near him to provoke, bergamot floats back, the mirth is sickly sweet now.

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. Don’t be cruelto someone with less dignity than a dog.”

He winces at his own words thrown back at him, “stop that.”

You jab your finger at his chest, it hurts him more than he expected, he grabs your wrists preventing you from moving but you look at him with those eyes. They’re bloodshot without the dazzle. Don’t make me say it, he thinks.

“Say it, say the truth,” you whispered, crushed.

“I think that it was too easy. That it wasn’t much of a chase to give me the kind of pleasure that I wanted.”

You gasp, wrenching yourself from his hands. He walks away to the other side of the kitchen, dragging his nails across the back of his neck. The spark of pain doesn’t help. Nothing seems to help.

“Fuck you. I could have had anyone. You couldn’t have done anything if I didn’t want you.”

Jimin begins to tidy the overflowing counter, shuttling glasses into the sink. He doesn’t see you but he hears you pacing, “just admit that you hate me.”

He doesn’t respond, his hands on an abandoned plate. The cake he was eating is still there, the icing is messy though. Illegible. When he turns, you’re all the way across the room, smaller than you seem, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed quietly. If you had asked him again if he loved you, he’d say that he’s done so a thousand times. With you in his arms again, he attempts what his mother did when he was young, when she soothed him.

“Shh… I don’t hate you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, gentle hands on your back in a stroking motion. He cradles your face, lashes heaving with salty tears that drop on his palm. Then, while looking at you, while seeingyou, he realises that you’re the same as him. That’s more painful than anything he’s had to stomach while working here. He realises that the parts that you hide, the parts you don’t want anyone else to know is just as acrid, just as rancid.

“What are we going to do?” You asked after a while.

Trying again, he leans back and affectionately caresses the back of your head, “you’re tired, c’mon I’ll get you up to your room.”

“Min, let’s go to Busan, you said it takes only four hours, really, let’s go,” you said, renewed with a vigour that he can’t gather for himself.

You probably don’t even realise what you’re doing to him.

“We need money, money for gas, money for a place to stay, my parents can’t have us so we need a hotel for a couple of weeks while I sort out the deed to the plot of land, we need -”

Again, you recoil, creating distance, “it’s all about the money with you. Money this, money that.”

Jimin reaches for your wrist, the metal of your bracelets poke through the sleeve of his jacket, “why do you think that money is this corrupt thing? Like it’s dirty? You can do something with what you have, why don’t you get that?”

You weren’t having it, yanking your hand back. Apparently, his grip was too strong as you soothed your wrist with your other hand, “money, then more money, then death,” you mumbled. Jimin tilted his head, confused.

“I don’t want to die. That’s fucking scary.”

He could barely stand going to the doctors and face his own mortality in charts and graphs. The dentist is a private enemy, the plastic coated chair actually being a throne of torture.

“But it’s probably like before the part when you’re born. This blank slate of… nothing.”

“That’s probably not true, it’s probably worse, kind of like -”

Jimin gets distracted by you covering your mouth with your hands, “are you religious? Do you think death is like hell or something?”

His cheeks grow warm, “I never said that! You know what, it’s probably early in the morning, I’m going to the basement parking.”

“Don’t do that!” You said loudly, grabbing him in a way that caused him to stumble. He grunts and prises your hand away, “don’t brush me off Min. I’m not some whore you fucked on the street.”

And he starts to speak because if he didn’t he was afraid of what he’ll do.

“Do you know why your father isn’t here? He hates coming home and knowing that you’re on something, he hates seeing you act loopy or speak all slurred, sniffing up coke like its a meal. It reminds him of herand it kills him. You know it -”

Drawing back, you hug yourself, the tears falling on their own, “no, you’re right. I know that he hates seeing me like this.”

The pain in his temples comes back, what time was it? It feels like he’s been awake for longer than is safe to be driving out. The silence that comes between you is so stifling that he moves away, opening and closing his hand to will some normalcy.

“Love is a fucking joke, you know.”

Jimin wouldn’t know. In the years he’s been around you, he knew of your misery, he could see it on you like a cloud. But he doesn’t understand it, or doesn’t choose to. He didn’t have the luxury to be sad, there was no time, there isn’t even a fucking restaurant to show for himself. Love and torment is luxury to him like time is.

“You got engaged to that Jeon kid,” he said, rather unhelpfully.

You look at him, amused.

“What happened?”

Cruelly and to prove his point, you said, “got bored.”

Unconvinced, he closes the distance, you’re back on the chairs now, “that’s not what happened.”

“Yes, that is what happened. I was the one who broke it off.”

He remembers you crying. He only remembers that.

“I saw you, you were begging him to take you back.”

That stops you from talking, gulping whatever lie you wanted to paint for him. He sees you tug at the sleeves of his jacket, a gesture that made sweater paws.

“You’re so cruel.”

This, he takes in his stride, “I’m sorry.”

Then, his phone buzzes. The lock screen lights up, a message he’s been praying for all night long. Him and Taehyung’s previous messages jitter in his vision.

Staying away for the night was good because it prepared Taehyung for the clutter that awaited him en masse. Sure, there was a team of helpers after each event but he would have to retire to his room later on. And if that’s the case, he’d want a clear path, free from sticky patches of alcohol or miscellaneous stains of mysterious liquid.

The apartment has a main entrance which he uses if no one was home. It doesn’t take much to annoy him, a messy house being one of them. He side-steps away from a dying fern right into a puddle of what looked like neon piss.

But it’s not the scattered confetti nor the desiccated cake smeared on the shag rug in the living area that spikes his temperature.

It’s the lone shoe that belonged to Jimin, laying with its sole facing the ceiling. The laces were hastily removed. He knows because Jimin ties them into a stubborn knot. When he checked his phone, there were no new messages from either of you. Jimin hadn’t replied to his morning ones too. Taking a deep breath, he keeps on walking.

[7:20PM]: Yo. Tteokbokki?

Taehyung [7:33PM]: Setting up. Have it later.

————Today, 6:46AM ————

Taehyung [6:46AM]: All of the guests leave?

Taehyung [6:48AM]: I’m on my way up.

Jimin pales, his hands start tingling. It’s morning, the day has ended and nothing has changed. There was no restaurant, no dream to build. A car awaits him at the basement but he reeks of booze and sex and sweat. He can’t drive anyone in this state. There’s not enough time to shower either. Next to him you’re frantic, dawning on the same thing.

You’ve both run out of time.

“Is he coming back? Do you have to go?” You asked, shivering.

He sees your bare feet, the thin metal link of the anklet on your left ankle. You’re unsteady because you’ve overlapped your right over your left. You’re not sure whether to inch closer or further away so its end looking like you’re swaying.

“No, it’s Taehyung, he’ll be up soon but I have to go too. Your father might call me anytime.”

You nod, but your eyes are downcast.

“It’s okay. We’ll -”

He stops himself on the account of not knowing what to say, mouth full of cotton. And you’re so hopeful that it gets him all nervous again. He can’t even remember what exactly he promised. You wait, hands clasped, your tears drying over glitter. Finally, he admits that he’s tired. The sound of the door slamming open startles you both, Taehyung emerges into the kitchen in no time. There’s a plastic bag in his hand and a new mop in the other. Jimin’s stomach twists at the sight of the green bomber, the patches droop, its loose threads standing up stiffly.

Taehyung’s eyes flit to you and Jimin, putting the cobbled state of your clothes, the remnants of wine on the table and the fucked-out expression on your faces together. It doesn’t look redeemable to anyone walking in; Jimin’s grateful that it wasn’t your father. Deeply calm, Taehyung walks down the steps, the cool air he brings with him smells distinctively of the city. Of packed subway cars and smoke from the early morning vendors three blocks away from your building.

“Tae -” you said but are cut off.

“You should go up to you room and clean up. Your father won’t like to come home and see you like this.”

Jimin maniacally starts to clear more debris from the party, he tries to get the mop from Taehyung’s hand but it escapes him.

“Meet me in the rooftop in a minute, yeah?” Taehyung asked, placing the mop against the bucket by the trash.

You were out of earshot, ascending the steps to your room. Jimin nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to the opposite direction.

The rooftop garden wasn’t as well maintained as Jimin remembered. Usually the shrubs were manicured but he was met with overgrown catastrophes. The various concrete features spluttered water in a pathetic stream, wetting the stone in a dark grey. Your father had the biggest penthouse space in Gangnam, befitting of a business tycoon that started from the ground up. The spot where he saw you was hardly anything special, adding nothing to the space.

Dawn comes in orange streaks, easy on his bloodshot eyes. Smog waits to descend upon the city as the horizon is broken by the buildings that jut up from the ground. Below are the images of the street flicking their lights on during the day, driver’s like him stretching their legs, and vendors parking a little further so as to not tarnish the pristine sidewalks.

It strange for Taehyung to suggest meeting up here without any food or a pack of smokes. He should have had both portions of tteokbokki instead of leaving it at the mini fridge by the driver’s quarters. His stomach is caving in, intestines wrung tight from the night’s events. By now, you’re probably showering or in bed. Either way, what started off as a dream ended up as a lofty fantasy. You’re not exactly the kind of girl he expected and you might even say the same thing about him.

Perhaps this time, he’d accept his mother’s well-intentioned ‘I told you so.’ But it’s his father’s quiet disappointment that might kill him. Jimin never heard him say anything in support but he also never heard anything untoward either. It’s in the eyes though. And his father’s eyes said more than what he needed to hear.

He looks down. He doesn’t even have his damn shoes on.

The door flings open, banging against the exposed steel beam meant to complete the rugged aesthetic of the garden. Taehyung is strutting towards him, something brewing in his eyes, something that makes the colour in them dark and flat. The orange of the waking sun does little to conceal the fact that he’s a little pale, a telling sneer forming on his lips.

“You okay, Tae?”

If Jimin wasn’t mistaken, Taehyung looked like he was going to hit him.

He backs up towards the row of shrubs that have seen better days, slowly, step by step.

“Hey, the fuck’s going on? Listen - ”

“You just fucking had to, huh?” His friend snarled.

The pause is unbearable, Taehyung halted less than a meter away visibly shaking, balled up fists in anticipation. Jimin tries to piece things together, had to what? He backs up even more, the heel of his sock-covered feet dragging on the concrete. That wasn’t the right time to hold back, he should have pleaded his case because Taehyung is on him in a second, darting forward with a speed Jimin hasn’t seen since the time they’d brawl for release because being jobless was worse that having no girlfriend back then.

It’s scarier since Taehyung knows where to hit, he knows right where it hurts.Jimin chokes on air as a tanned fist lands on his ribs, a warning that enables him to dodge the next couple of jabs. But he doubles over, winded from the force of the first one. A knee-kick jerks up, hitting him clean on the sternum making him fold, his hands scrabbling to grab onto Taehyung’s shirt.

If he had gotten a wink of sleep instead of half-fighting with you for the night, he might have been able to catapult away or something but Taehyung manages to curl his arm around his neck. The headlock combined with the fact that the bastard was taller than him lifted him on his toes, scratching at Taehyung’s arms with his jagged, bitten nails. Lacking any real choice, he turns his head so that there isn’t much pressure on his airway, still he chokes. Quickly, his hands find purchase on the space between his neck and Taehyung’s bulging arm, once that was accomplished, he bends all the way forward, throwing Taehyung onto the floor.

He grunts at the fact that his shoulder seized at throwing excess weight around. Taehyung always did weigh like a sack of fucking rice.

Jimin was used to not communicating well with others, Taehyung being no exception. But this situation, this ambush,kind of warranted somewords. As he tried to speak, Taehyung grabs him, his long arm shooting forward, his large hand grabbing him by the front of his shirt. And they’re on the floor, barely getting any word in edgeways, Jimin trying his own hand at punching back, participating in this dumb display of violence. The concrete scrapes at the side of his face as Taehyung huffs, fist on Jimin’s cheek. HIs vision sparks, it hurts so fucking bad that he growls, making a cross with his arms to protect his skull from actually shattering. Taehyung hands close over his arms to pin him in place.

“Tae, what the fuck,” Jimin grunts, taking advantage of the fact that the younger one had longer hair. In a moment of strength, he fists the dark locks, bending Taehyung’s neck, the roots lifting from the scalp in a painful undulation. It doesn’t last long though as Taehyung shrugs him off easily, flinging his arms out.

Jimin doesn’t see it coming because he feelsit first.

The coppery taste explodes in his mouth, there’s the sound of a crack too, and his vision spots. He collides with the floor again, but he connects his fist to Taehyung’s jaw with an impact he’s surprised that comes from him.

It’s so idiotic.

Their punches are uncoordinated, blood running down his nose, Taehyung’s lip is split, red spots on his white shirt. His mother’s going to give him hell for that. They don’t even know what they’re doing, grunting at the blows, fists finding everything to land on, bruises waiting to bloom in the afternoon. Jimin hauls Taehyung up, screaming bloodied spit right into his face, his eyes are swollen, his teeth ache as if its nerves are exposed.

“Fucking talk to me! What the fuck are we doing?”

His throat is raw, sweat pools at his hairline. The taste in his mouth makes him spit at the ground, it aches so much more now that they’ve stopped. Taehyung seems content in catching his breath, his face still handsome after a scrape like this.

“D’you fuck her?”

What?

Jimin’s dumbstruck face probably didn’t cut it, and Taehyung prepares to launch another strike.

“Hey! Okay! Okay, fuck! We fucked.”

If Taehyung had told Jimin anything at all, this would have been avoided. He tilts his head at the pretty colours in the sky, it’s brighter. He winces at the raw skin peeling on his knuckles. Taehyung drags himself back, face pink from the exertion, chest expanding and contracting. He looks at Jimin like he’s… betrayed.

“You told her about your restaurant? About your plans?”

Jimin’s head throbs, he pushes his palm over his mouth. More blood, muscles spasming from the adrenaline.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taehyung turns his head, his hair sticking together at the tips.

“You just never know when to quit, do you even like her like that?”

For the first time in his entire life, Jimin had nothing to say. It wasn’t that he was holding back a reply, he was playing the reel of moments that he missed where it was palpable Taehyung’s feelings for you were real. You were all close in your own way, the kitchen was the hearth of the apartment. Being there didn’t make him feel like an employee.

Being there made him think you were all friends.

“You like her like that?” Jimin asked, cricking his neck.

You didn’t even know Taehyung’s name until he had to clean up your vomit. That was a year in.

Taehyung sighs, this melancholic release that tells Jimin they were thinking off the same thing.

“Whatever man, fuck this, I have the entire house to clean up,” Taehyung said. The moment lengthens to the point of being uncomfortable, the sun is fully lighting the city now. Jimin’s body is wooden from being beat up senseless.

“Feel better at least?” He asked, careful in clearing his throat as his larynx feels funny. It was more of an olive branch in the shape of an uncontested victory on Taehyung’s part. You’re none the wiser, there’s no restaurant, and his best friend can go on pining. For a chilling few seconds, Jimin actually thinks that Taehyung would go for another round. He stays ready to spring up and run this time. The Mercedes isn’t gonna like his punctured state and neither is your father.

And Taehyung gets up, his hand being the other olive branch that Jimin was so glad to see. They both groan as they find their feet, his toes preventing him from stumbling. Jimin isn’t sure what to say. Of course they fought, it was relentless when they were young and poorer. Their parents often questioned why they were fighting rather than talking but they never did that. It’s always the ‘reading between the lines’ bullshit that ended up being a hit and miss exercise. Emphasis on the latter.

“You sure you’re okay?”

His best friend stares at him, a mottled purple bruise forming under his eye. Dried blood crusts at the place where his lip split, Jimin thinks about how he probably looks as mangled. Even if all the emotions have left him over the things that occurred during the past day, he still wanted to check.

“‘M fine ‘Chim.”

It’s not the answer he wanted but it’s enough to give him the reassurance that he can check his phone. Nothing. Taehyung lopes back to the door, the image is so familiar to Jimin that he questions whether what he went through the past twenty-four hours was real.

Jimin thinks that there may not be a restaurant but there’s the country’s infallible gaming culture awaiting them at the end of the day.

“Hey, tteokbokki at the PC-bang later?”

Taehyung turns his head slightly, Jimin sees that tug of his smile.

“Yeah.”

In the following weeks, change doesn’t come. Jimin drives your father around, averts his eyes when the building he leads the car into isn’t your apartment building, then avoids going inside unless it’s a last resort. He doesn’t see you much since you’re off going everywhere and anywhere, as wild as ever. Luckily, your father is busy and he doesn’t have to be the one picking you up or dropping you off at the airport. You don’t interact with him beyond the customary ‘hello.’ He’s still deciding whether that bothers him or not.

There’s a day in a particular month where all staff are given the day off. Jimin saw various helpers bring stuff up to the apartment, things like food, wine, the kind he had with you that night. There was a variety of fruits too, rice cakes, other items that he wasn’t familiar with. That day, Taehyung invites him for some barbecue, the crate of beer is shuttled from the back of the fridge at your place. It’s going to waste anyway, Taehyung said.

The studio apartment is low-lying and the balcony is exposed, its furniture battered by the elements. Jimin would rather spend time indoors, his feet up, watching a rerun of some eighties drama but he bears it. Taehyung hadn’t invited him over like this for the past weeks, he was already prepared to spend his free time at the PC-bang after he paid for his lottery ticket.

They don’t speak for a while. Smoke and steam dwindle in the air, his jacket will smell of that stuff soon enough. Taehyung hands him the tongs and he gets to flipping the thin slices of pork belly, the oil splattering outwards.

“Bought extra chilli peppers for your ssam,” he blurts out, eyes on the grill after gulping down some beer. Jimin nods in thanks.

“She’s not even home for this,” Taehyung says, sprawling on the lawn chair, his leather jacket puffing up then creasing. “Happens every year and she’s in Aruba or some shit.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched at the fact that the topic floats over to you. Taehyung pines like he’s an Olympian at it. He bets that if Taehyung was someone in your eyes, he could change you, make you do things you just don’t want to do.

“Maybe she doesn’t like being around reminding herself, you know?” He flips the next strips, more oil spews out, speckling his sleeve.

“You know she was the one who found her a week into college? I heard that she screamed in her sleep for the next six months. Then she got into what she’s doing now.”

Jimin grimaces at the way Taehyung avoids the word drugs.

You said something to him that he remembered as he was cleaning up his wounds after his fight with Taehyung. Must have slipped his mind but when he remembered, it stuck like a nuisance. It was in response to him warning you about the drugs, how you were off the rails and it doesn’t look good.

No you’re right, Min. People might not think that I chose to do it.

He was stupid to believe that things could work, that he could have what he wanted. Taehyung shakes his head, immersed in his own thoughts. Jimin knows that they will never talk about what happened that night, Taehyung looks too hurt. He often does when he meets Jimin for a drink, his eyes losing that spark.

Satisfied, Jimin lays out the seared pork on a lettuce leaf, garnishes it to Taehyung’s liking and offers it wrapped tightly, “here.”

It gets devoured in that cavernous mouth of his, Jimin makes his own, drowns it in spice and chews with his cheeks bursting at the seams.

“Might look for another job,” he said, “go elsewhere, abroad maybe.”

He looks at Taehyung, who eyes him with a tender curiosity. These drawn out silences between them was wrong, it wasn’t reflective of the years spent in this big city. Taehyung nudges the bottom of his bottle against the edge of the table.

“Where?”

“Dunno, Japan maybe?”

There’s a nod, the purse of lips from Taehyung who considers his future. Jimin needed to get away, forget about restaurants and ending the day by the sea.

“Sounds courageous,” Taehyung smiled. Jimin feels a pang of guilt at seeing his friend the way he’s done so for the past couple of years. It’s bitter, the way this phantom acknowledgement weighs on him, like Taehyung’s known all this time.

“When you’re all settled with your chain of restaurants across Asia, don’t forget me, yeah?”

Jimin smiles, eyes shining from the sting of the cold. He remembers entering the border of Seoul with only the clothes on his back and Taehyung’s wide grin. He’s not sure if the rift he caused was repairable but this might be a start.

“Sure.”

end.

previous.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x you #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #bts park jimin

masterlist (I)|masterlist (II)

Wed, 16 Feb 2022 15:01:03

Fool’s Gold. (m) | III. | Park Jimin, 6.3k

Pairing:Reader x Jimin

Summary:You and Jimin are both through the looking glass now and is what you both desire too much?

Warnings/Tags: RATED M - for language; references to alcohol and drugs; references to loneliness in reader pov; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yup); the reader wasn’t having a very good time butnowit’s different; less of the references to shitty techno-pop music more references to the sappy stuff (maybe); light-hearted banter this time; the dreams relate to something real now; it’s really about wanting here; curse money, curse it all; okay, now for the more serious tags: smut (fem-reader; penetrative sex; unprotected sex; the use of ‘Ahjussi’ in the bedroom (only v briefly to tease, i’m sorry); he also has a piercing (guess where?); biting; praise kink; everything is messy, so so messy) - non-idol!AU.

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Birthdays were a travesty.

They became so the moment you realised that your father and mother cared more aboutwho came than how you felt. The house gets buried in a spool of streamers, the floor swallowed by odd-shaped confetti, the music gets loud.To compensate, you become garrulous, smiling so wide that your cheeks ached.

“Who are you again?”

Your voice comes out slurred, the vowels twisting in your mouth.

The person is familiar under the violet strobe lights, their features aren’t new to you, their touch either. Just as fast as you thought of the question, you think of another. They let your hand go, leaving you floating. The lights get irritating if you stand still for too long, techno-bubble-pop starts hiss through the fridge-sized speakers that are stuck in each corner of the room. Your brain swells from the pressure so you move, you jump and dance. It’s not very impressive, your birthdays.

Quite passé given the circumstances.

Another person shoves their way into the pulsing shoal of people, someone plants a wet kiss on your cheek. You also get sticky during these events, coated in other people’s attention.

“Babe, great party!”

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering close.

Being surrounded by people got old in the business of living. That’s why you kept moving, can’t be stuck in one place too long otherwise you become aware that they’re not actually here for you, they’re here for the idea of you. Everyone knows you could never compare. Or maybe that was just you.

Didn’t matter. It’s all a game anyway.

Someone says your name but you search for a drink. You didn’t want the hard stuff yet, it’s too early.

As you drank from a shot glass you think that the thing about being alone is that you miss it. You miss the company of others, the touch of a person specifically. But what’s blinding, what the real high for you is the touch of someone who cares.A guy catches your eye, they’re looking at you weird, they must be a friend of a friend. Or a friend of a friend of a friend. Who fucking knows anymore.

Days before your party, you went down to visit another friend. They were working in the financial district, their office at the highest floor of the tallest skyscraper. It took you more than ten minutes just to get to right floor and on the way, you saw this employee. Imposing, broad chested and burly. Reminded you of Jungkook when he was in one of those moods. It was like you were able to superimpose that image, overlay it until it was good enough to feast on.

Look at me.

That’s what you thought when you passed him, cutting it close. Not only did you want the touch of another but you wanted to commit that to memory, despite your fears. You never did come into contact, content with the distance. You wore fear like a security blanket nowadays, made to ward off the consequences of wanting something so much. The odd look from the guy across the room wavers, you realise that he’s not really here.

A shout startles you off-kilter: “Turn that up louder!” Accompanied by a roar of applause and the general clamour that came with parties like this. The music booms, the chandelier atop with its crystal drops quiver to the frequency.

You see Jimin in a matter of seconds, it makes you sling an arm over another person because it’s as if your lungs contracted, shrivelling suddenly. He looked dapper in the setting, all made up in a suit. Handsome in any light, so tempting.

The length of time he’s been working for your family escaped you but it was long enough for the small details of him to come together. Jimin was quiet yet cheerful, you heard his laugh and considered it contagious ever since. Dark hair swept to the side in an ideal arc, rounded eyes, don’t think it passed you how it lingers like it did now.

Once he was through the doorway, carted off by Taehyung, you revert back to a puppet with its strings cut. Inwardly, you wanted Jimin to come back because every time you saw him he was already looking at you. It was enough to sate this tremendous yearning you had, a different kind of addiction.

Maybe he sees you in the way you wanted - the way you needed.

In the red-blue shaft of light you stood under, you buzz from all that you took to keep you sane. Someone gropes your waist and you lean in, taste the bitter gin on their tongue. In exchange you dip your lips to their neck, tasting salt.

Yeah, birthday’s were a travesty.

Dancing leaves no room for talking, you liked it that way as it avoids you having to speak about trivial things. No one really wanted to know why you sulk so much or why you’re back here to rot. It helps you forget about the things you couldn’t control.

Thankfully Taehyung took those wretched flowers out of sight. They weren’t worth much if they reeked of your father’s guilt.

Finding success in dragging Jimin up the stairs to the main room, you note that he looked even better in the kitchen lighting. You could see his bright complexion and despite his tired eyes, he was agreeable. Soft hands in yours, you laughed as he stumbled poorly up the final step.

“Careful,” you warned, tugging him close, closer. He dips his head, giving you a strained smile.

It’s faint but it’s there, the scent of sweet shampoo and a hint of soap. Clean, sharp, things you’d expect from someone like him.

The chandelier trembles from the bass, you’re around people again, but this time, Jimin’s hands are on your waist. It’s a little fuzzy so you circle your arms around his neck, his touch is bewitching. You attempt to speak, which isn’t like you at all, frankly. And, as if your mind knows, you end up laughing instead.

What must you look like to him?

Desperate?

Sad?

The realisation makes you pull away, mind throbbing from the protests of Stop that, you’re being weird.You don’t wait long enough to see how he looks at you, blanking out. You laughed too before you separated, failing in being cool. You’re in some partygoers arms now, getting lifted.

“Three cheers for the birthday girl!”

Held above, squeezed at the ribs, you’re overwhelmed by a sea of faces, Jimin is nowhere to be seen.

The rest of the evening waxes and wanes, details escape you in your stupor. Taehyung has left, you and Jimin talked and talked and talked.The breaking of one of your cardinal rules wasn’t detrimental but it made you antsy.

He said something that dulled all worry, though.

Something that sounded like love.

Whatever you took or drank wasn’t nearly enough to help with the nerves, this jittery feeling that comes with being seen. You needed another high, one that took you to the edge. That prospect died that moment Jimin kicked your supply under the dishwasher. A part of you was grateful since in some way, he sensed that you didn’t want to be consumed in a numb state.

You didn’t remember that day he spoke of, that day on the rooftop where you were surrounded by papers. Likely from your time trying to make it as a writer. The ideas in your mind were left too long that they festered. The ink that coated your fingers were superficial, the prose coming empty. Insipid.

You keep watching him as he told that story, but your eyes wandered to the dangerous valley that his unbuttoned collar showed. His neck is slender, there’s a mole there too. Very enticing.

The want returns, as if that’s what you needed to survive, telling of the yearning is howling inside you now. Eager, you cling to him as he kicks the door to the spare room shut. Your back hits the bed, mouth wet and fingers searching for clasps, buttons, zips. The removal of clothes is mechanical if not awkward, but what comes after was worth it.

Skin, touch, and proximity.

Perhaps it’s the culmination of stares, touches, and longing. Perhaps you had already been together like this in some way and this was the natural way of things. As if being with Jimin like this switches the sensitivity of your body up a notch, reminding you of nights where you’re sore from being with someone during sweltering summers, sweating not just from being caught under the sun but from a body on yours, between your legs, the sea breeze from Biarritz on your tastebuds. To be transparent about it, you missed holding someone’s cock, a temporary delight that shoves the bitter things trapping you for the past weeks -months.

“Am I reading this -” you begin to ask, a smirk curving your lips. Jimin shakes his head prematurely.

“I want to… I want to touch you,” he said, hovering above as you panted beneath him, clothing already askew. It was just meant to be sunrise on the roof but this is so much better. His eyes are so dark, it’s like they’re soaked in black tar.

“Alright, whatever you need,” you replied, then you caught yourself, “whatever you want, Ahjussi.”

It’s so dumb, he’s not even thatmuch older than you, but old is gold. And you had a feeling that this term of endearment will stick come morning. In response, Jimin gathers your wrists, pinning them above your head, your body arches up, your breathing laboured. The room is spacious but the air is syrupy. It might be just be you though, you had a tendency to get worked up, then your head gets hot from all the racing thoughts.

You see it though, the way Jimin registers your words. Whatever you want. His eyes rove over your body communicating his wants, his needs.You want him to hold you, to feel cocooned, want that sticky slap of skin, sweat on the sheets. To have him quick and rocking inside you, first comes the pain then the pleasure.

“Can I…” He hesitates, hand skimming your side, “touch you?”

It’s too soft, why must he ask twice?

“You can,” you encouraged, twisting your arm back to drag the short zip of your top down. It falls away and his eyes, they go wide. Somewhat conscious of the imbalance, you unbutton his shirt. Under all of that drab, that pristine white cotton hides the ripple of tan muscles. Jimin doesn’t touch you yet, you don’t want to goad but it’s torturous.

“This really okay?”

“Yes - yes,” you whispered.

Glad not to have done the hard stuff, you didn’t have to worry about your libido tanking. The trade off was that the itch didn’t need scratching, it needed eradicating. So much waiting, it leaves ample time for thoughts to creep in. Like how this wasreally okay, that Jimin isn’t really employed by your household, he doesn’t drive your father around. These things don’t matter so much, not really

You’re in the spare room at the lower levels of your apartment, it’s your birthday. And he’s a handsome stranger at the eleventh hour.

He’s touching you so gently, careful hands on your neck, somehow cooling your scorched skin. His tongue flicks out, licking at the pulse of your throat, languid, sending shivers down, down.

“Fuck,” you moaned, his hand coming into contact with your clothed pussy under your skirt. It’s all too reverent at the moment, you can’t help but arch up, nipples brushing against his firm chest. He groans at your neck, open mouth followed by the graze of teeth. There’s too many clothes, not the right kind of friction. Impatient, you shove at his shirt, yank at his belt. He lets you, sounding amused.

Jimin was nice to look at, even in the low light. With the shirt off, your eyes adjust. He’s managed to get half-hard but that’s not the real kicker: there’s an unmistakable glint, are those nipple rings?

“What? Are you laughing?”

You squeeze at his bicep, fascinated at how the blood is displaced, a pale mark in the shape of your thumb on his skin. Lifting your touch, the trace of you fades.

“Nothing. it’s just like you to get something like this done,” you replied, thinking about the sensitivity of them. Your breath comes out in a shudder, so loud in your arousal that it screamed the filth of your thoughts.

“What’s the supposed to mean?” He asked, voice going down a timbre.

“What were you, a wayward?”

You couldn’t seem to reconcile that with the clean cut image of the Jimin you knew. Around your father, he didn’t set foot out of line. His hands settle on your naked skin, your heart beats erratically, hairs standing to attention. He answers as he slips your skirt off you.

“Lost a bet.”

Knuckles brush over your underwear, the slightest pressure, you’re already wet, clit pressing uncomfortably on the mesh. You need something soft, blunter. His fingers tease, a slow motion that temporarily soothes.

“And your nipples were the first thing at stake?” You asked, breath hitching because everything is so warm, the initial wave of arousal makes you lift your hands. It’s only a light touch over his nipples but he gives out a gasping breath, lips wet. It’s unfair that you’re not doing anything, so you rub them, and he weakens, forehead clammy against yours.

“Friends were assholes, got me so drunk that I agreed to -” he starts, briefly cut off because you crash your mouth against his, a messy connection of tongues and the snap of teeth, saliva on lips. The next words are lost, you’re hungry, fingers searching against, delving into his dark hair. So good, so nice.

“Up, c’mon.”

He was talking about moving further up the bed. You oblige, the rush hitting you altogether, head thudding against the tufted headboard. Jimin gets fully undressed then kneels between your legs. Clipped, short nails on your thighs, your nipples harden into pebbled peaks. He lifts your underwear up and off, cool air makes your bare pussy tender, the sensation jolting you.

The mattress is stiff, hardly used. It presses unhelpfully against your back, your thighs spreading, the coil in the pit of your stomach is contained, the need is so sudden, it’s heavy and overwhelmed.

“Hold me,” you whispered, pulling him down, saying it again in a kiss. Darkness heightens touch, your tongue licks into his mouth, teeth nipping at his upper lip, plush and soft.

Jimin’s weight is pleasant, depressing your breath, pushing out your thoughts. There’s no space, just touch. And so, so nice. Like falling and floating, one with air.

“Please, more,” you gasped, grinding your core against his crotch, hand curling on his hair, cock hard as he rolls his hips in a deliberate circle. It burns, this proximity. He groans in your mouth, the slick glide of his length along your slit emits little, wet noises, sparring with the rush of the sheets.

“Harder, Min,” you plead, sighing at the feel of his hands shackling your wrists down.

It shouldn’t be this easy, the surge for something good shouldn’t give way to you losing it this quickly. You hold your breath, canting your hips up, the head of his cock nudges your clit and you hiss. Jimin grunts, leaving you unrestrained. It’s a little premature, making you cling onto the feeling, hands massaging his shoulders, lacing fingers over his neck, sweaty at the nape.

You’re trembling, legs hitching up and thighs spreading wide. The pleasure broils under the arousal, he knows it too. He kisses you with fervour, more weight to it this time, hands busy kneading, squeezing, pinning.

“Jimin,” you gasped, coaxing, shameless in the way you open up to him, his fingers not staying long enough to sink in your heat. His lips find the shell of your ear, his accent faltering a tad, What is it that you need?

“Just hold me,” you said, voice unlike your own.

And he does, all silky smooth skin, heat and taut muscle. You accept it all, tingling everywhere, not sure how your breathing is all ragged from touching and grinding, but it’s there. He presses your legs towards you, taking a moment for you to loosen up till your knees crush your tits, it’s bawdy to be bent like this. Sex is like that.

“Shit,” he marvels. You knew what it must have looked like otherwise Jimin wouldn’t be in pieces right now. To help, you secure your hands at the back of your thighs, holding position. Exposed and trusting. Jimin circles a hand on your ankle, his other holding his cock. The stretch makes you gasp, his hips slowly inching forward.

“F-fuck,” you uttered, pussy clenching at the tip of his cock.

For a long, unbearable moment, nothing happens. Jimin looks pained,his chest heaves while you whimper, relaxing, eyes shutting as white dots spark in your vision.

“It’s okay, you can go like that,” you said, chewing on your lip. It’s a polite way of saying hurry up. Jimin dips his head, eyes turning darker but they shine. He must have heard the desperation in your voice.

“Shh, it’s okay. You can bite me if you want.”

Your legs part as he lowers, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, moaning as the new pressure, the slow ease of his cock spearing inside your pussy. The thrash of your hips is aimless, the grinding is jittered, seeking more of him. Your teeth sinks on the corner where his neck meets his shoulder, it’s salty as your tongue flicks across heated skin. His moans fan your hair, hips beginning to move.

“Fuck,” he groaned, bottoming out, your fingers claw at the sheets, Jimin fucks into you in slow strokes. It’s satisfying, so cathartic like this, exactly how it should be. You’re whimpering, words lost in the clumsy translation of your bodies, the drag of his cock sending you spiralling.

“Keep going - like that,” you gasped, it’s so thick, this feeling, bolstered by the warmth seeping everywhere. And he drives his hips forward, stilling just to grind and you shake. Your pussy clings around his cock as he pulls out and rams back in. You can’t even move, nails clawing at his back, spurring that grunt that dies on the space by your head. Your back arches, loving the harsh, physical contact, thrusts on the liminal edge of pain.

“Ah..ahn,” you moaned, shuddering, teeth locking onto his skin, using all your strength to grind hard and fast, losing it a little each time. Jimin lifts his head, lips sealing over yours, tongue forceful in the way it parts your mouth, everything is sticky, drying sweat makes things chafe but not where it mattered. The kiss is sloppy and wet, Jimin slams into you, the solid smackof hips meeting yours, the stretch of his cock, it’s delicious and you struggled to stay in place, jostled up the bed.

“Shit…ah,fuck,” he huffs, stopping to readjust you both.

“Ah, Min, I can’t,” you babbled, lax as you you bask in the feeling, this thing that’s evaded you for so long.

“You can,” he said, answering your muddled thoughts. He reaches down, thumbing your clit in lazily circles. “You’re really wet, so fucking good, taking me like this, hm?” He brings it up, resting it on your bottom lip, you lick at it, tasting yourself, suckling on the blunt pad until you drag your tongue down his palm, a slick stripe of saliva that makes him laugh. He goes back with the same hand, forking his fingers to expose your clit, simultaneously thrusting. It all goes to your head, bodies sliding in submission, his cock is thick and follows each pull and push of his hips.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” you choked out.

Jimin hauls you to sit up, and you cry out at the change in angle. He cups your ass, controlling the rhythm, “you’re so good, doing so good,” he said, stroking the small of your back as he assumes this easy grind up. You must have given it away in your face because the next thing he does is jar you, fingers kneading the nape of your neck, “you like that? Me telling you that you’re good?”

And his eyes are dark, his hips jutting up, his cock hitting you deeper, you collapse onto him, trying to wade through the fog of pleasure. He says your name, “want me to praise you?”

You nod, holding onto him, clenching unforgivably around his length, “tell me, tell me I’m good.”

Jimin lowers you back on the bed, kissing everything, your cheeks, your eyelids. “What else? Want me to tell you that you’re beautiful? That you’re good, so good?” He follows this with a forceful thrust, fucking into you steadily again. You moaned, head hitting the sheets, crying out at your clit getting the friction it needed, he keeps close, “want to hear that I’m struggling to hold myself out because you’re this tight?”

You almost cum, if not for him slowing down. He’s relentless with what he says, slipping even dirtier confessions in your ear, talking as if you’re his to own, to use.He knows what to do, as if attuned to every micro reaction you give, always finishing with tender words, never letting you comprehend, until -

“That’s a good girl.”

And then you let go, heat blasting through you in an acute wave, lightning striking from within, sizzling and searing through you, toes curling as Jimin swallows your moans. He holds you down as your stomach tenses, thighs rippling as he continues, chasing his own peak. You let him, yelping into his mouth, trying and failing to contain the pleasure that rips you into overstimulation.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, spilling inside you, fucking you in slower pumps, your eyes squeezed shut, fireworks everywhere, muting all senses, mind emptying into a nothingness. Your orgasm fizzles then ebbs, Jimin rocking into you, hair plastered to his forehead, careful not to jolt you as he pulls away. You blink at the mess between you, the heated, sticky pool of your arousal smearing your thighs, his cock coated in it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, not quite believing it.

For a while, it’s just you trying to catch your breaths. You don’t want it to come back, but it does. You’re hollowed out, you feel hot and in need of something clean. Jimin walks away and comes back swiftly, towel in hand from the adjoining bathroom. He moves with familiarity that it prompts you to question:

“Been here before?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. He grins, spreading your legs to smooth over the raw skin; the towel is rough but does the job.

“Sometimes I crash here if I stay late with Tae.”

That explains it.

The apartment is enormous and it’s just you and your father.

Aftershocks come in the form of static spreads where he last touched, “feel okay?” He asked. You nod, watching him massage your skin, tapping fingers, and handling you as if you were fragile. On a normal day, you’d protest, but it’s lovely. You stare at each other, a little bewildered as to how far to take this. He brushes against your tender core, knuckles on your core for a moment, sending you into a palpable shudder. “Sorry.”

“’S fine.”

More silence. More opportunity to think. You’re not even drunk anymore. Jimin is calm, shifting the sheets until you’re both under them. The weight isn’t as nice but his arm around you isn’t artificial. Sleep should come next but the air isn’t conducive to that, reality bites. You watch each other, accepting this vulnerability. When you think you want to say something or when he looks like he’s considering the same reality, you both keep it to yourselves.

Laying side by side on the huge mattress, enveloped under the sheets, Jimin finally speaks. His voice is croaky.

“You look sad.”

It was meant to upset, this concern, but it felt so good to have him say that out loud. Better than being stuck together, sweaty and panting into each other’s mouths. You could get that plenty, but this? It hits all the spots that physical touch can’t remedy.

And that’s bliss.

You could only smile, not giving it away because that would be weird. Who likes being told that they’re sad? You couldn’t tell him that what he said was fine, either. Nothing’s fine about what he said and the fact that you chose to accept it.

The room is sparsely decorated, one painting from an auction hangs by the door. A seascape reminding you of your mother. You search for other things to look at and your eyes wander back to Jimin. The first thing you think about is how he’s neat and clean cut. There’s a method to how he carries himself. His nails are cut short, his hair is trimmed, his skin is bright. In fact, it’s too bright and healthy for someone who barely has a fixed schedule, driving all over the city. For more physical matters, his jaw is cut sharp, unlike the rest of his features, worn soft, down to his puckered lips. He seems to notice this unabashed examination and mumbles, “what?”

“How’d you look like that?” You asked.

“Like what?”

“You’re all… sparkly, pouty, then you get pretty, like really pretty. You’re put together, know what you want, just get on with things. I admire that.”

Blame it on the drunkenness, blame it on feeling like you’re suspending in this haze.

“There’s hardly any light - ” he laughs, a tad nervous.

“No, you’re… strangely sensual, like a creature moulded from a dream. You’re so interesting, magical.”

You scold yourself inwardly, You’re being weird again, stop it. But Jimin hikes the sheets up to cover your shoulders.

“Alright alright, you really are a writer.”

That makes you smile.

“Was.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing now, it’s all a blur. All of your shit hasn’t really gotten together. The point when that happened, when progress just halted, you can’t remember either. You push his hair away, counting the moles on his forehead.

“Really, you look insane, Min.”

He laughs, “flattery again.” It ends in a subtle lisp, his accent lilting in this sing-song manner.

“It’s truth telling. Sounds weird coming from me,” you replied.

He’s quick to come to your rescue when you don’t ask.

“No it doesn’t. I’m just not used to it.”

You meet the inky pools of his eyes, they relax, his blinks are slow.

“To what?” You asked, finding his hand under the sheets. He squeezes his palm against yours.

“Seeing myself how you see me.”

The house is empty and Jimin lends you his jacket that he’s retrieved from the kitchen. Everything you both wore was loose, the fabric of your skirt is wrinkled, you’re laying, outstretched on the couch like a cat, comfortable in its surroundings. The main space is trashed, confetti everywhere, it looks robbed.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked, catching him by the back of his thigh. He’s been searching for his other shoe for ages but couldn’t seem to locate it. Walking around in socks on a sticky floor made him grimace, the black wool is soiled. His shirt is on the chair across, his belt tossed under the bed, his tie is somewhere. The metal strap of his watch breaks up the skin from his forearm and wrist.

“What do you mean?” He asked back, looking down at you and smoothing your hair. It’s subtle but he feels you press into his touch.

“If this was one of those movies or novels, we would run away as the next scene,” you said, tugging him down onto the couch. With no luck about his shoe, he lets you slot yourself onto him, your calves flanking his waist. You fit together like a puzzle, like that he could kiss the inside of your knee. The supple skin tastes like you and him, he pauses, his lips lightly pressing.

“Where would we go?”

“Just far, like really far,” you murmured, that glaze in your eyes are back.

Jimin hauls himself up, bare skin scraping on the rough linen of the couch. Your statement spurs a forgotten dream of his, one of many left at the wayside. One that he picks up occasionally when he’s idle, forefinger tapping on the steering wheel as he watches your father exit the elevator, heading to the back seat.

“Busan.”

You reach forward, he kisses you before you ask.

“What will we get up to?”

It’s silly how he’s opening up like this. Jimin harboured wishes: a house by the sea, a humble restaurant with you at the front, bringing in the customers. Some would claim it to be too romantic, tame. His mother chastised him for constructing such lofty ideals, to search for money in something rooted in the sand is recipe for disaster she said. She was warning him about the customers being as fickle as the seasons. Jimin smiled politely, burning on the inside to prove her wrong. Although, its been years since any development regarding that. He’s been on the road for longer than he’d like.

“We could buy a plot of land, then we could build a restaurant.”

So far, you were paying him your undivided attention. While you hold his gaze, you play with his fingers, your thumb on the clasp of his watch. You’re harder to read when there’s a simmering excitement in your demeanour. The silence is too long, prompting him to fill it, to sellhis dream to you.

“It could be good. We won’t see the same face twice, we’re always busy, we’ll sleep well fed, we’d never be bored by the sea -”

You give him a look that he could guess as skeptical. You flick your thumb upwards causing his watch strap to unfasten. It falls down his arm, then you slide it back, closing the mechanism.

“You know this from experience?”

Jimin waits until your lips break into a smile. Relief comes that you’re not actually amused athim, at least that’s what he tells himself.

“I’ve worked at a couple of places before getting here but owning my own hours, feeding people good food - I’ll always come back to that.”

You stand up, hopping on one foot, twirling and totally disinhibited.

“And what would I do there?”

Without hesitating, Jimin says, “you’d be the face of the restaurant.”

You hand him his shirt back, he shoves his arms through, “you have a lot of faith in me.”

Jimin shakes his head, buttoning to the lowest level of decency. That meant three buttons unattended to, making the upper parts of his shirt gape.

“You’d be the one people would come and see, you’d know which drinks paired with which meals, know what kind of music fit the mood. You’d be the most memorable thing there,” he said, enjoying the way you grew shy.

“Each morning, without fail, we’d head down to the local market and buy the freshest produce, I’d let you choose the fish we need because I know you’d choose something good. We’ll end the day with a glass of wine by the beach, stroll along the coast as the sun sets. Me and you, barefoot. It’ll be bliss.”

It’s so vivid to him, he can feel the weight of the bags from the market on his fingers, the sour drop of wine on his tongue. He wriggles his toes as if sand had settled in the web, he’s grinning now because it’s all real. Across the room, you’re biting the skin of your thumb as you lean on the enormous speaker.

“And you’ve planned this with me in mind too?”

It’s a happy accident that his dream has room for you, he could grasp it so clearly which was why it came out in an effortless paragraph.

“We could drive all night, we’d be there in four hours. In fact, we could be by the sea by midday.”

Your expression falters suddenly, you’re teeth bites on the skin more firmly. Jimin braces himself because your eyes sparkle with a distinct edge to them.

“Do you love me, Min?”

Does he?

He plays it by ear, “I could. I want to.”

It doesn’t go well. You remove your hand near your mouth and twist your body away slightly, “what’s that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted me, that you were sick of feeling broken from not being with me.”

Jimin clenches his jaw, springing up to sit straighter, the creases at the elbow of his shirt make it harder to gesture, “it means that I can’t do that in this house. I can’t love you in the way I want to here.”

“Why? You need to explain that to me.”

It’s not the whinging that gets him, it’s the fact that his dream disappeared in the gulf you created. The lack of foresight, of yourforesight is a reminder.

“Your father.”

What he really wanted to say was what he knew: you were both different. It’s not the kind of different that can easily be surmounted by compromise, it’s fated and runs across generations. He surrenders to the reality he’s ensnared in.

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” he said, hanging his head. Apparently, that concerned you so you come back to straddle him. The glitter on your skin has scattered, some shimmer on the tip of your nose.

“It could,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his, making his eyes close.

For a moment, he let’s himself be fooled that it’s all possible.

“We could build something together, make it real,” he replied, gaining some confidence in between hungry kisses. You giggled as his hands frame your face, the slip of your tongue is playful.

“You’re so serious about this,” you said, “you want to be like someone who employs others, earn your own keep. You’ll be like me then.”

Jimin knows it’s all in jest, that your words were meant to match your actions but that stings a little. His reply comes out before he could stop himself.

“It’s not possible for me to be like you.”

Another kiss, innocent.

“Why not?”

Pulling away, there’s a smile that edges your lips that he wanted to fade.

“Because I would have earned everything myself.”

A beat passes, you give out the softest of exhales, your brows pinching together.

“If that wasn’t so glaringly true I’d actually be offended.”

Jimin’s not sure if he’s crossed the line. Then again, what happened tonight crosses all of the thresholds. You laugh it off, getting up and wandering around again. The cerulean colour on your toenails appear like jelly.

“But seriously, how much have you planned about this restaurant by the sea?”

“I’ve planned enough,” he replied, moving towards you, cradling you in his arms. He feels you melt, going all limber.

“Well could you love me then?”

He doesn’t hesitate, “yes.”

You fall back on the couch together, giddy with dreams. He kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose, the apples of you cheeks. Then came the column of your neck, sweet skin that was his moments ago. He feels drunk on you, hands smoothing at your sides through the jacket that he lent you, sighing at your quiet moans.

“Have you got any?”

Bewildered, he asks, “any what?”

Nervousness is clear on your face, you toy with the collar of his shirt, “money?”

Quick on his feet, he lunges for an answer, “I have some saved. But I have other capital that’s worth more.”

“What other capital?”

Sensing another moot point, he keeps his distance, “you know, I have the skills I’ve picked up, I have the experience - ”

If you weren’t so close, he’d think that he saw you roll your eyes at him.

“Min, you can’t build a restaurant on experience,you can’t balance books on skill alone, where’s the money going to come from?”

Desperate for his dream not to sink so soon, he tucks your hair behind your ear, untangles what he could of your necklaces, “which is whyI need a partner who can provide the funds.”

“And where is this partner that you need at such short notice?”

Jimin bites his lip before speaking, “I mean, you must have something hidden away somewhere, maybe - ”

Abruptly, you untangle yourself from him, “hidden what? Have what? Do you mean cash at hand? People I know who will bend at my every whim?”

He’s silent and takes to buttoning the rest of his shirt up.

“Do you think it’s my choice to move back here? Do you think I’m back sleeping in my childhood bedroom voluntarily?” You complete this with a rough push of your fingers through your hair. “Min, I feel so… defective.If I had what you needed, do you think I’d still be living here?”

Staunch in his belief, he gets up and tries to wrangle you back in his arms, “you’re not really telling me that you have nothing at all, you must have something.”

You turn to him, scoffing, “what you’re looking for, and let’s call it what it is - my inheritance - is in a trust. I can’t just access it whenever I want.”

“But it’s yours, they can’t keep it from you -”

“Everything that I’ve inherited from -” you faltered for a moment, Jimin watches you blink back something he can’t read, “everything I’ve inherited from heris locked up in a trust. That’s the whole point of it, it’s to stop me from acting all reckless, like this,” you said, pointing generally to the room. “The process takes ago too, months even.”

Jimin deflates, “well, nothing happens then. We can’t do anything.” He makes for the door that leads to the kitchen, riled up for a reason he’d like to keep to himself.

Where’s the fucking techno-pop when you need it?

previous. / next.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x you #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #bts park jimin #bts smut

masterlist (I)|masterlist (II)

Tue, 15 Feb 2022 15:01:15

Fool’s Gold. | II. | Park Jimin, 6.5k

Pairing:Reader x Jimin

Summary:The party carries on but you and Jimin settle in the kitchen. Talking seems better than dancing anyway.

Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yesss); the reader still isn’t having a very good time at all; more references to shitty techno-pop music; blood (nothing major because it’s tended to through finger sucking, yes, you got that right); nothing like mean-spirted banter to get things going; and dreams!it gets a little introspective; also there’s pining (surprise!); risqué ending if you ask me (seriously); angst - non-idol!AU.

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To be alone with you is rare, Jimin thinks. Since he’s technically under your father’s orders, he doesn’t get moments like these often. It’s mostly a mere brush in the hallway, or the occasional drop off or pick up at the airport. Sometimes, he might have a conversation with you about the weather, your next appointment, even the state of the gardens on the rooftop. You liked to compliment him yet it’s never amounted to more than surface-level chatter. He was fine with that, fine with being the only one doing the perceiving.

“Nice shirt,” you said, laying on the table, gaze to the spotlights above.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin replied, finding a smile on his face.

“Doing what?”

“Flattering me.”

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Time crawls; he isn’t sure if he’s done anything wrong or gone too far.

“Flatter you?”

“It’s either you’re exaggerating or you want something from me. Either way, it’s flattery,” he explains, unlike what he would usually do, which was to shut up and go about his day.

“How old are you again? You’re so formal when you speak.”

You turn your head in time for Jimin to see you don a lazy smile. You get this tone in your voice, you get timid and he guesses that it’s to appear sanguine. Daftly, he ropes himself into believing it, comfortable that at least here,while the speakers are ran through upstairs and the nobodies wreck the space, he can get to know you.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Ah, I see, you’re close to thirty already,” you grinned, gathering your body up, spine reverting upright. Both straps fall, Jimin sees the way your skin glows under the artificial lighting. His insides buzz, alone in this tension.

“Not that old, and I’m not formal,” he muttered, assuming Taehyung’s role in making the kitchen his. There weren’t many things to do, he curses Taehyung for being so diligent. Why did he even like the idea of being alone with you?

“Beg to differ, Ahjussi.I can imagine you driving around father’s minions as they whisper in the back seat. I bet you know Russian! How about a couple of phrases in Chinese? Don’t tell me you’re not fluent by now,” you said, he sees the drink in your hand, the slice of lime floats pathetically near the top. Jimin doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how.It’s affronting to be met with your perception of him. Nonchalant, you take a long gulp of the clear liquid, the lime hitting your lips.

“How long have you been working here, Min?”

Again, there’s that damn banmalthat sends Jimin’s pulse quickening.

“You know this,” he replied, coming off a little hurt. The rim of the glass is pressed against your chin, your eyes seem genuinely lost as they blink at the floor. He sees your lashes, wet with dew.

“I do?”

Jimin remembers his first day, fumbling with the knot in his tie being too tight. You were with a few friends, young and laughing too loudly that the sound echoed in the high ceilings. He passed by but you didn’t take notice of him at all. The first car was a Mercedes, quietly luxurious and set low near the ground. Your father was gracious and forgave his early mistakes with a slight wave, It’s alright, the traffic is worse on the other side of the bridge anyway. Jimin recalls the shine of your father’s signet ring choking the pinky finger, a family crest engraved in gold. His own father wore shoes till the soles gave up to the sidewalk. Jimin was able to buy him a decent watch when he got his fifth pay check. After taxes, it’s actually the sixth.

“You were on a break from college -”

“Oh no! I leftcollege during that time, couldn’t stand it. Wait… that was three years ago.”

The recognition is stark on your face, Jimin nods.

“We’ve known each other for ages,” you said, swaying a little as you walked an unsure path in the kitchen. You weren’t wearing any shoes and your toenails were painted a cerulean blue. Jimin relaxes against the counter while you finished your drink. He sees the way your throat expands and contracts. It’s not meant to be erotic but it stirs something similar in him all the same.

More silence occurs so he treads towards you, the backs of his thighs cut by the blunt curve of the table as he rests. When you turn, it’s like you were on the verge of laughter but it leaves you, your features ironing out.

“Do you have someone?”

Jimin stares and stares. In the back of his mind is a sunlit garden, the flutter of the breeze and the feeling of peace at the fact that there was nowhere to go. You flick the straps of your top back up, he notes the details of you. The delicate layer of necklaces, the way your fingers are adorned by rings apart from where they should be. The diamond studs by your ears and the divot between your collarbones where the scent of your perfume would be the strongest.

“Almost,” he said.

Your eyebrows shoot up, the subtle tug of your mouth downwards he takes a victory. Taehyung’s laugh is loud, it breaks his trance, causing him to shove his hands into his pockets. There wasn’t much room since the trousers he wore were fitted.

“Was she good to you to at least?” You asked, holding him hostage with your gaze.

Jimin doesn’t know what to say.

“Was she?” You reiterate, hand clenching over the empty glass. The lime slides and knocks against its walls as your smile returns, though he deems it to be more robotic; the kind you give to guests. “good?”

The tension is shared but he waits. Then your features come alive, your hand shoots out to invite him.

“Sit down, Min. C’mere.”

Jimin wished he had consumed something to help alleviate this burning temperature inside. He stands still, sees you take up space on the tufted chair, one of the straps dropping again.

“You’re allowing me to sit?”

“Oh c’mon on, don’t be difficult,” you exclaimed, patting the backrest of the empty seat. Before he could settle however, you flick your hand.

“Actually, wait, get me another refill,” you said, tone clear and authoritative. The obedient part of Jimin’s brain lights up, his ass doesn’t even touch the seat before he’s springing into action.

“What do you want?”

Craning your head, you end up waving vigorously, “anything you can get your hands on.”

Jimin grabs the hefty bottle of champagne, swiftly pouring the golden fizz into a spare flute.

“Have one with me, please!” You exclaimed, stretching out, the skirt falling open to reveal your legs. Jimin ignores you and controls the portion to a level that he’s seen Taehyung serve. You snatch another flute and knocks the one he’s pouring into to the side.

“Can’t - driving later.”

You rolled your eyes, caressing the rim of the thin glass till it sang.

“It’sonedrink, Min. Go on, I bet father won’t even call you, he’s got a deal going on.”

At that, Jimin feels a certain calm go over him. Your eyes sparkle conspiratorially, raising the flute from the stem.

“Let’s toast!”

He laughs a little, weightless in his next action.

“To what?” He asked, lips tingling for that buzz, the prickle of the fruity bubbles bursting in his throat. You inhale deeply, raising the glass higher still.

“Who else? To me.”

Sprawling in his seat, Jimin cocks his head and arches his brow. You seem to take it the wrong way.

“Is that selfish?” You asked, unsure again, scratching a spot on your forehead that didn’t need attending to. “I mean, it is my birthday. Someoneshould at least toast me even if I have to be the one doing it.”

The air doesn’t crackle this time, instead it becomes listless, as if you were in the stratosphere. You press your lips together, humming as the flute in your hand is held in a weak grip. It comes in flashes, your sadness. Jimin spares you the indignity of begging so he too raised his glass.

“To you.”

Another smile, a grateful one, one that he decides to frame in his mind.

“Thanks.”

After a moment of reluctance, you drink together. Interestingly, the liquid doesn’t scald as he had hoped. What does is the way your stare holds him, irises blown out, skin dewy as your breath mists the inside of the glass. You think everything is easy, I want to know how that feels, his mind blares.

Conversations are louder now, which makes him spring up from his position, the bottom of the flute crashing on the surface of the table. He wipes his mouth with a rough drag of his hand, focusing on the matter at present. Unbothered, you finished your drink.

“Those people up there? They’re not who they claim to be, you know,” he said.

It’s a curse that he has, he can’t help himself. If his family had enough money orif he was smart enough to knock all out all the competitors for a scholarship, he would have been a prosecutor. An interlocutor telling people what’s right or wrong. But, like all dreams that come to pass, he keeps it and calls it part of his character.

The flute in your hand lowers to a muted clink.

“What are you talking about?”

Stopping himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of your inquiry, he gestures vaguely to the entryway.

“Did you not see how they look at you? Don’t you hear what they say when they think you aren’t listening?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear but he sees it, he sees the way your fingertips tremble.

“What were they saying?” You asked, your tone light, like you were merely asking for directions.

It’s easy to accept that the world is flawed but breaking that news to others is often the harder task, his father said once.

“C’mon, tell me,” you urged, blinking rapidly. The dew on your eyelashes might as well have been tears. Jimin bites his lip, scratching the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to…”

You cross your legs, tucking yourself inwards, “what? Think you’d hurt me?”

A beat passes, Jimin finds it difficult to counter that fact.

“If you didn’t want that to happen then why bring it up in the first place?”

There’s a certain boldness that Jimin could access here that would otherwise be unavailable to him in other circumstances. He walks towards you.

“Just tell me, Min! Why be such a tease about this,” you said, frustration edging your tone. You slip the strap of your top up brusquely.

“You have to pay more attention when you’re around people or when you’re in a room,” he said, palm up, forearm articulating outwards. You press your knees together, brows pinching in a way that forces a part in your lips too.

“I don’t -” he stops himself for the moment, “youdon’t want people to take advantage of you.”

The movement in your face is incremental as you drink his caution in, it’s like a reluctant administration of medicine. But what happens next makes his hands go all clammy. You lean away from him, fingers loosely webbed on the table.

“What if I don’t mind people… taking advantage of me?”

Jimin casts a look at the gyrating shadows cast on the exposed hallway behind you. Technicolour warnings flash in his mind: where the fuck is Taehyung? Why isn’t his phone lighting up with orders to go to the business district and pick your father up, stat?

“We shouldn’t be alone like this,” he said, fumbling for something to centre himself. The party has gone on for way too long, he wants the shitty techno-pop to make a mess of his eardrums, he wants the smooth texture of a steering wheel in his hands.

“Why?” You asked, leg come out suddenly, the cerulean tips of your toenails touch the back of his hand. You flick your foot at him and he doesn’t resist.

“We shouldn’t be alone,” he emphasises, making a grab for your arm. Your wallet flies out and you give a shrill shriek. The small plastic sleeve of snow slides out and he kicks at it until it slips where it’s unreachable. He’s strong enough to hold you while you thrash in his arms, cursing him loudly.

“Don’t dothat,” he said through gritted teeth, biceps bulging through his shirt as he restrains you.

“Why? Are you worried? Worried that you’d lose your precious gig of driving my father - fuck,just let me go,” you gasped, but your act wanes and you wilt while whinging about things that didn’t matter. Confident that you weren’t going to try anything funny, he does let you go and you stand up, hugging your arms close to yourself. His phone flashes but it’s just another notification from Naver.

“Waiting to be summoned?” You asked, petulant.

Liberal with his silences, Jimin scrolls and scrolls.

“Can’t he order a taxi-service? It’s soboring for you to be at his beck-and-call all the time, he’s so fucking lazy,” you said, vulgar in the image you portray. Jimin smiles, eyes on the surface of his palm. Lines are cut deep on pale-pink skin, some patches are rough and dry though. When he rubs his fingertips together, they sound like fine grains rushing against each other.

“Why are you smiling?” You asked, grinning yourself.

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes,” you said, perching on the table, bare feet on the sticky leather seat.

“Because you’re gullible - naive.”

You don’t even let that simmer, pressing your hand on your forehead, disturbing your smooth skin into corrugated folds.

“Don’t you think I know that already? But I don’t think you’ve used the right words…”

“What’s the right one then?” Jimin asked, looking up at you as you rub your fingers over your collarbone, your free hand whipping your skirt for more access underneath. Jimin follows each tic, each change in movement till it takes root in him. He becomes hyperaware of his pulse, the sweat trickling from the nape of his neck down the inside of his collar. He’s warm in a drunk kind of way, cheeks likely hot to the touch.

“Weird,” you said, wistful. “I feel really weird,” you said, waving your hand in a tight circle rather dramatically. “That’s what I actually am: weird.”

One summer, Jimin remembers seeing you come home in a strop, throwing your belongings against the wall. An hour later, you were laughing over the phone, kicking your feet up in delight, the phone close to your ear as you ate chips. Back then, Taehyung wasn’t there to fill him in but he saw your sport’s equipment going all mouldy at the entrance on his way to the parking lot. That and a dented trophy, its plaque streaked with mud. As he drove out into the roads choking with sleepers behind the wheel, he put two and two together. Your father completed a deal that day.

“What do you mean?” He pries, you turn your attention to a spot in the kitchen, golden accessories glinting as you settled.

“I have this dream. I have it often - like I’m swallowed by something warm. And it’s dark and I can’t move much, but the thing is, it feels really nice? Like it starts off as something comforting… but then I hearsomething, I hear this tiny scratching that escalates…”

Jimin watches you scratch the skin of your thigh, your eyes closed to recall that alcove in your dream. Your lashes spill dew genuine in your terror, your body giving away a rumble of fear that you couldn’t contain.

“And it gets to the point where it’s unbearable, like nails on a chalk board or people banging cutlery on plates, and it gets so bad that I try to scream but the noise overpowers me. It alwaysdoes.”

Enraptured, Jimin clasps his hands together out of concern. Your eyes are still closed, your tone is pained now.

“Then, as if by some miracle, this light arrives, it’s so bright that I try and cover my eyes with my arms, but they’re so so heavy, like I have weights around my wrist, so I haven’t got any choice. And when I scream for help, nothing comes back, and there’s nothing warm on me anymore, all I can feel is this hot flash of heat, this clash of sound and - ”

There was a pause in which the music from the upper floors inject the silence. Jimin knuckles strain due to how hard he was clenching his fists.

“And when I woke up once, I found a feather in my mouth,” you said, laughing. “Must have come from those boa scarves I had hanging off my headboard. Told Tae to throw it away but I guess he forgot.”

You open your eyes, Jimin finally sees that they appear bloodshot and tired. He didn’t realise that he was holding his breath until you muster a wry smile, the cracked fissures in your lips shine wetly from your saliva.

“Have you ever had dreams like that?”

Immediately, he shakes his head, “not like that but I mostly dream that I’m moving.”

Supposing that you were grateful for the break, you lean close and observe him with your shimmering complexion, “how do you mean?”

Sleeping isn’t insurmountable for Jimin; he could do it anywhere. Once, during the days when he used to halve his time between the southern regions, he slept fetal position in a ferry station till the morning because he was late for the last boat. It’s not often that he dreams but when he does, it’s in motion. Running or walking. Like he knows he’s going somewhere but he wakes before knowing wherehe should end up. A fucking nightmare if you asked him to label it. Rubbing his hands together, he swelters under your gaze. The dry sting he feels after every blink signals that he’s more tired than he thinks.

“It’s always like this: I’m either running or walking,going in one direction but it never ends. Like this treadmill, the path disappears under my feet but it’s infinite. I reach out my hands, I try and grab something real - in fact,” he said, getting lost in the narration, gesticulating as if he was building a diorama for you. “Every single time I thinkI have it, like I can taste, smell, and feelit, there’s…nothing.”

Even awake, he couldn’t hold on to it.

“But what is it? What are you trying to get at?” You asked, eyes wide in your search for him. You run your finger along your lip, pushing the pliant skin till your bottom teeth and gum peeked through.

Jimin shrugs, lightly punching his knuckles together, “dunno.”

Jolted, you set your glass down, shaking your limbs, fingers waggling to spur some life in them, “we shouldn’t be talking about this, we’re not even asleep!” Hopping off the table, you clear the space between the table and the small entryway meant to lead up to the roof. “C’mon and watch the sun come up with me.”

There’s a small glass meant for port wine nearby and Jimin tries to stop you from leaping towards it. In his haste, his hand knocks a flute outwards flat on the table till it shatters. Blood drips from his forefinger, vermillion at first, then a deep wine-dark that trickle on the shard. Turns out that you missed the small glass and patter back to him, your gentle hands guiding his arm up, his finger draining a red vein down into the wrist of his shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured, the heady scent of bergamot descends on him in a mist.

Jimin’s head goes all fuzzy, he’s never been this close to you that he could see finer details on your face, the way your make up kind of looks like second skin, your necklaces are tangled, one pendant is actually a pair of wings. He lets you guide him so that he’s sitting down again, his finger throbs as more blood leaks; he doesn’t dare look.

Then, you lift his hand and it hovers near your lips, his eyes widen as you slip it in your mouth. It feels strange,the slow suck of your lips, your tongue shaping itself so that it forms a ditch in which his finger rests upon. He feels every bump of your tastebuds whereas you’re probably tasting copper. The blood drains and drains and you hold his gaze, the hollows of your cheeks are prominent. You’re not gripping his hand particularly hard yet he shivers as you push his finger out, the digit coated in your spit, your breath fans his palm and he feels something stir between his thighs, he hears a snag of breath that’s actually his.

Your name comes out in a tortured whisper, he watches you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, the barest pressure on it seems so enticing to admire.

“Stop fucking with me,” he said, his voice hoarse. You narrow your eyes, fickle in your plans.

“I’m not fucking with you.”

A heavy feeling constricts Jimin’s chest, like his heart is too big for his ribcage. He says your name again, stern,“I mean it.”

You were waiting, doe-eyed and jacked-up, it didn’t matter to him the he may have looked like your next high. He almost does it in a lunge, a split second decision to plant his lips on yours in an open-mouthed admission.

The door slams open because Taehyung bounds in, Jimin prises himself away from you, frantically searching for that goddamn dust pan and brush. The handle juts out near the trash can and he makes a grab for it while you nervously pace around.

“Tae!”

“Everything good?” Taehyung asked, elongated eyes flitting between you and Jimin.

“Yeah,” you replied, another flute in your hand. “I’m sorry that the party’s not over yet,” you add belatedly.

“It’s okay, as long as you’re having a good time,” Taehyung said.

“Mhm, I had fun - am having fun.”

Jimin swipes the crumbs onto the odd angle of the dust pan, tapping it into the designated trash.

“Well, if I’m not needed here, I’m heading home for tonight, that okay?”

It’s not apparent to Jimin straightaway that his hands hand had stopped brushing unnecessary debris into the trash. In his peripheries, he sees Taehyung unhook his jacket, a green bomber that Jimin got him during a trip together in Ulsan. The patches were basically ripped off owing to its cheap manufacturing but Taehyung loves it. Jimin constantly said, It looks vintage, right out of some over-priced thrift store. You’ll fit right in if you ever decide to walk along Garosu-gil.

“Yeah, sure! Thanks so much for staying and helping out Tae,” you said, your voice farther away. Taehyung leaves, waving at Jimin at the same time, “drive safe, kay?”

Jimin nods. The music makes its way back into the kitchen again, he clenches his jaw at the sound of another mashup ruining his sacred memories of eighties synth-pop. The lights dim because you pressed something on your phone, you hum inordinately, twirling in a way that balloons your skirt once more.

“I’m gonna tell the rest hanging around to leave,” he announced.

“You’re gonna tell my friends to leave? Why?”

Getting up and running his hands under the faucet, Jimin finds that the chill helps ground him a little, his wound gradually closing up. Music comes through the speakers in the kitchen, the honey vocals of some current ballad singer acts a salve for his nerves. The lyrics are familiar, aided by the timber in the singer’s voice.

“I can’t leave you with them around, you should head to bed.”

Flicking off the faucet, the trail of blood stained water drains into the metal holes. Warmth follows you wherever you go and he feels it near, even through his shirt.

“You’re not here to look after me.”

Water dulls the shine of stainless steel.

“Then don’t act like you need looking after.”

Bloodshot eyes and a wry smile, they’re the same even in the muted light. Jimin doesn’t like this but he’d rather be the one seeing it that those nobodies. He thinks largely about absence, the immensity of it all.

“Do you want him to come home and see you like this? I don’t think you should keep -”

Lambasted, you pull away with a scowl, “don’t you think that his ‘deal’ has turned into something a little more informal? I know my father, he’s a closer. He should have been here hours ago. Maybe he’s holed up in that studio apartment in Hannam right now.”

You watch him with a kind of strength befitting someone unlike what he expects of you. The apartment was newly refurbished, he went there a couple of days ago because he was instructed to drive someone other than you or your father. She was lovely, demure, and young. Still, he doesn’t entertain your suspicion, he decides that it’s not in his place to do so. But you pry and when you do, it’s an ache poorly disguised as venom.

“What? You think I’m clueless about that place?”

This was a time when Jimin would pray for a notification from Naver, he’ll take anything. A dating scandal centring on some poor idol and a model, a secret affair between co-stars, the discovery of a slush-fund from an esteemed politician. But it’s a miracle distraction that isn’t so easily granted, so he fishes his phone out to scroll and scroll.

“He’s not a bad person,” he murmurs, balking from the weight of your stare.

“Sorry?”

“I said that he’s not a bad person,” he said, pocketing his phone. There was nothing interesting apart from an upcoming holiday involving Peppero’s. You cross your arms, making the glittery top contract from the tightness.

“Doesn’t that depend on what you define as ‘bad’? Sounds like your definition is a little… wide.”

Sure, Jimin has seen things and then some in the years that he’s worked for your father. Everyone is looking for a type of love that fits them. Until that happens, you’re reaching for people that feel like home but really aren’t worth a dime. He gets it because it happens. Instead, he says:

“He works a lot. He works hard all the time.”

You snort, ramping up the music as an obnoxious display, “at least he’s getting some. If he’s gonna bail on me on my birthday, he might as well be having his cake and eat it. The poor girl must be suffering though: two-hundred thread count isn’t really Egyptian cotton, is it? I saw the receipt from Lotte World. He’s so fucking stingy.”

Steps interrupt the flow of the ballad, Jimin cocks his head to hear swearing and merriment.

“There must be another party happening,” you said, lowering the volume to a hush.

“What? Right now?”

“Yeah. The others were talking about another one near Itaewon, a friend of a friend is hosting it.”

Jimin hadn’t heard a single name uttered to address those nobodies. Guess he was right.

“Some friends they are,” he said bitterly.

“Look - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about them that way. You’re not supposed to be here anyway, you don’t work for me tonight. You should be waiting in a car, waiting for my father to ask you to drive him back here so he could see how much of a good time I’m having.”

He says nothing because that’s implicit in the words you said. Then, as if you weren’t used to it, as if you weren’tborn looking down on people as you speak, you retreat, trying to bury your sentences in makeshift quicksand.

“Min, I’m sorry - I didn’t - I didn’t mean what I said just now.”

The thing is, there was a lot that you said just now. Having had enough for the night, he turns on his heel, a headache simmering beneath the skin of his temples. To acknowledge your apology was to bring light to the truth.

“Min - wait.”

It’s not about you being superior that he considers it. More of the fact that there’s a part of you lodged in his rib, there from the moment he saw you, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun that day. He stops.

“Have you ever had your heart broken?”

Jimin thinks he has.

He thinks that he’s been walking around with his heart cleaved in two all this time.

“Ever had someone leave you like doing that was nothing to them? Ever lose someone you loved so desperately that it knocks the wind out of your lungs?”

You sound wounded. He thinks back to the parking lot, to images of smeared mascara and a runny nose. The unifying and shameful gaze of the downtrodden in the face of rejection. You’re getting too personal and he doesn’t know where to place himself. He wishes Taehyung was here to diffuse the situation. He hears you scoff.

“Didn’t think so.”

“Why would you ask me that?”

Allowing himself to look, he is met with the sight of you wringing your hands together.

“‘Cause you come off as a happy person.”

Another perception of himself that he fails to register. Jimin feels restless not happy. If there was an hourglass meant to represent his time on earth, the grains are falling at a faster speed than normal. He wonders what kind of person you see in him, what his touch means to you altogether.

“Yeah… well, you know, as happy as one can get nowadays,” you said in the face of his silence.

The buzz of his phone breaks his thoughts, if any. He brings it up to his face, Naver shoots out a frosted rectangle that states gas prices are to hike up starting next month.

“I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with anything.”

Just as he pockets his phone, you draw closer, there’s more mirth in your scent than anything. Your hand finds his arm, fingers tightening over fabric, over muscle, over his pulse.

“Tell me it’ll be okay. Tell me that I’ll feel better.”

As if in a trance, he parrots your plea, “you’ll be okay. You’ll feel better.”

Perhaps he needed to hear it too.

Then there’s that distance again, as wide as a gulf. You worry the waistband of your skirt, twisting it inwards. Frantic, you speed to the counter, pour another drink into a spare glass, there are no limes this time. Jimin presses his palms of the hard table, no matter how much force he puts, it barely shudders.

“It’ll pass.”

And when you look at him there’s a sense of finality in your fear, he couldn’t quite place it. An emotion that looked like a nobody; a faceless being in the ether. He thinks he’s known it before, that fleeting kiss of loneliness, as striking and black ice on a clear, November day.

“How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that, you can’t -”

You’re cradling the glass close as if it’s something precious. Jimin takes a step forward, waits for a beat before letting it out.

“I know what you felt, I’ve experienced it before.”

You don’t drink anything, setting the glass down in a loud clink.

“What have you felt?”

Jimin doesn’t hesitate this time, meeting you in the eye.

“Love.”

You wipe your nose roughly, the dew in your lashes touches the skin under your eyes as you blink.

“You?”

He crosses his arms, “is that something that surprises you?”

You shake your head, “it’s not that. It’s just… you don’t seem like the type of person who gives anything away.”

He retreats.

“It’s not like you know me.”

Sensing something wrong afoot, you approach him in slow steps, “that’s why I said ‘seem’.” You sit back down on a chair, luxuriating on the tough leather, the strap slinking down again. The curve on your shoulder where your bones connect under skin reflect fragments of glitter brushed over it. “Who was she?”

Jimin turns and observes his shadow along the wall, he sees the sunlit garden, remembers being cocooned in the pocket of a second where he could stop doing anything and there were no consequences awaiting him. In his rumination, nothing had changed in his surroundings, the kitchen is still the same, your disposition is buttery and he feels like mush. Being sapped from energy makes him like that: docile. He looks at you knowing that his face is impassive, if not irritated. It’s a fine line to balance.

“Well fine, if you don’t want to -”

“You.”

As if scalded, you rise from your seat and step back. The glass makes its way into the cradle of your hand, the liquid is clear but potent. He knows because his temple throbs on reflex. Restless, you float back to the seat, the gulf between you constricts, holding tension.

“When?”

Jimin digs his hands in his pockets, the left grasping the cool metal of his phone, the right clenching into a fist. You’ve done it now, he thinks.

“Min, when did you feel like that?”

There’s only time now, in this kitchen. Time he doesn’t want to waste.

“I had been working for your father for a couple of weeks and I’d never been invited up before, but he said it’ll be a while till he had to leave again. That wasn’t normal, I usually hang around the driver’s quarters but I found myself at the foot of the spiral steps that led to the roof.”

Sunlit garden.

Fractals of light bouncing off you, the light breeze animating the leaves. It was so bright that he had to shield his eyes.

You in the middle, divine like it was your birthright.

“And I knew your father could see me staring and I expected him to tell me to go back downstairs but he waved me away right as he answered the phone. I walked up and… it was so bright that afternoon, the garden was paradise. I’d never seen anything like it in my life.”

You wear a fond smile in front of him and he joins in, held together by a shared memory. He doesn’t tell you that before the calm that settled over him there was the feeling of strangeness, like he walked in on something private. It was the fact that you were so still, like a mannequin, back turned away from him, staring at a point in the horizon that only you could see. Your face was titled upwards, kissed softly by the rays of sun.

“The garden is pretty in the summer,” you said. Jimin bites his lip to gather himself.

“I saw you before anything else actually. The sunlight touching your face, you were…”

“What? I was what?” You asked, blinking slowly, the glass far away from your lips. It’s followed by that half smile that Jimin mirrors.

“I’d never seen anyone appear so… right. Like nothing was out of place, like nothing could touch you in that moment.”

He sees a slight shiver course through you as you inhaled through your mouth. More rapidly this time, you blink and your eyelashes come away wet, there’s a tremor in your chin that he picks up even though you tried to conceal it in a watery smile.

“When did you say this was again, Min?”

“I told you - a couple of weeks after I was employed.”

Your hand clasps your chin, brows scrunching in an effort to see what he saw, “I can’t remember what I was doing up there, maybe I was -”

Jimin recalls paper scattered in a semi-circle decorated by the fluorescent green squares of Post-it notes.

“There was a lot of paper with you.”

“Ah, I was writing…” you said, filling up the puzzle pieces he’d been missing all this time. “At least I was tryingto write. Why didn’t you come to me and say hi? You could have introduced yourself.”

Jimin shakes his head, fidgeting again, “I felt like I was intruding. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb whatever you were doing.”

You were writing amidst the stillness of the moment.

“Intruding? I wouldn’t have thought so, especially not during that time.”

He wanted to say something but stops himself. He stays in the silence again since he knows that there was a rapid changeover in staff of which he was a part of during that time. Your father said something about needing a fresh start; he understands that there’s more to it, heard snippets of conversations while he drove along the length of the Han. He stops there though, too afraid to ask or know.

Laughter crashes through the space, there was no longer any techno-pop music. Footsteps grow close, your name becomes interlaced in the eruption of noise, they must be coming from the pool, Jimin guessed. They call for you in synchronised squawks.

“Shit, hide!”

Jimin recoils,“why? I’ll just tell them to leave. Wait here.”

“No, I don’t want them to find me, just come and hide with me.”

Whenever he looks at you, he doesn’t feel fastened to reality. And when you touch him, it gets infinitesimally more intense. You grab at him, your grip firm on his bicep. Bergamot and mirth is what he wears tonight along with his wrinkled suit.

“Please -”

It happens when you pull and he pushes.

The kiss is warm, wet, and everything he’s ever allowed himself to dream of.

He tastes the tang of limes and the sweet, glacé cherries from the cocktails you’ve drunk. Then he comes to know something else. Something that ignites heat in his body, maybe it was the small sounds that you made, the tiny gasps and whimpers as he presses himself, crushing the space, your back meeting the wall in a muffled thump.

Whatever it was, it’s full of ardour spurred by his own greed.

His hands come down, feeling the different textures: skin, fabric, then skin.

You moaned in his mouth and sounded so right,his heart leaps, scrabbling fingertips finding your heat. The narrow entryway is dark and you bump along it like a pinball without force. The way his name sounds, full and long in a breathy gasp: Jimin.

Maybe it’s because he may have blurred fascination with love that it feels good.

The faceless nobody that encroaches on you both disappears into its ether for the moment.

You reach a spare room, the decoration matching the modern interior of the rest of the house. It’s quiet and private, an island off the vast continent that is your home.

There’s a moment before it all sets off. The kind that people coined as the point beforethe point of no return. Jimin looks down at you, panting, straps pooling down your arms, heavy golden skirt splayed on the sheets. So much skin is still covered, waiting for him to explore, to taste.The distance was the final gulf that begged to be surmounted. He asks but it’s gentle, he didn’t want to crowd you.

You speak so softly that it almost gets lost in the roar of his heartbeat.

“Yes.”

previous. / next.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x you #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #bts park jimin

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Mon, 14 Feb 2022 15:01:48

Fool’s Gold. | I. | Park Jimin, 4.2k

Pairing:Reader x Jimin

Summary:There’s a party that roars in Gangnam. It’s your birthday and Jimin looks on, wondering why things are the way they are.

Warnings/Tags: RATED T for language; references to alcohol; a badbreakup; vmin being best friends; Taehyung is v soft here; Jimin’s a chauffeur (yes, I know lmao); the reader isn’t having a very good time at all; starts off a little bleak, then carries on in the same tune; it’s all about those simmering feelings imho; references to shitty techno-pop music; there’s cake though!; angst; non-idol!AU.

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The penthouse in Gangnam pulses with strobe lights on its uppermost floor. Jimin thinks that the bright shock of colours in the several row of windows would make an unusually artificial break in the inky sky. He watches the party from a secluded corner, mostly in the shadows. The glass in his hand was already sweating, the surface of the drink vibrating along with the jarring techno-pop flooding from the speakers.

In the centre, you’re dancing with a bunch of nobodies, writhing under the host of colours that flashed on the planes of your face. You had his stupid smile on to compliment that hazy look in your eye while you draped yourself onto the next available person. Together, you whirl in this dance that he likens to chaos. The skirt you wore was long and gold, the slit at the side allowing for generous access to the bare skin of your leg. Your top was really just a strip of glittery fabric across your chest, secured by equally flimsy straps.

Jimin frowns.

Another person - likely a stranger from the long list of nobodies on your contact list - decides to make you drink something. You come away with an even stupider smile, lurid in the way the corners of your mouth flick up.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t at least move ‘Chim,” Taehyung said, near enough to register.

Setting his drink on a space, Jimin cards his hand through his hair. The suit he wore despite being cotton was rough on his skin, his collar a little too tight.

“I have to leave in a while anyway,” he replied, low enough to make it seem like he was talking to himself. Taehyung sighs, moving along with the crowd, picking up more drinks than what he was setting down. Jimin looks on till he disappears, entering another door.

The music changes, a mash-up of a track from the nineties and something abhorrent. But you were enjoying it, jumping on your feet, arms to the sky, head lolling in a slow roll. The smile stays plastered on your face, and while he was too far away to know for sure, your pupils are blown wide, afflicted by a self-administered elixir meant to last the beyond this night. A glance at his watch showed that he had time to spare before heading down the basement. There was no use in drinking if his job involved him being behind the wheel.

Taehyung appears again, this time hooking his arm through his and he lets himself get dragged along backwards, his attention on you never wavering. The last thing he sees before the wall divides the scene was your arm slinging over someones neck, the sliver of your tongue on their skin. You’ve always sought pleasure but tonight he thinks there’s a harder edge to it. Heat coils in the pit of his stomach, he gets a hold of himself and shrugs off Taehyung, who only rolls his eyes.

“There’s some cake downstairs.”

On the way out, your eyes meet but he isn’t so sure if you recognised him through the haze.

As always, Jimin sees Taehyung being busy. The party rages throughout the floors, shaking the foundations of the apartment. Jimin observes him slide numerous cakes out from their flimsy boxes. Aligned neatly, he reads the usual birthday greetings in careful cursive, the icing is consistent, lacking any bubbles. Most of the ones laid out were framed with decorative additions, some having a red border or edible wreathes. Jimin thinks it all looks florid against the obsidian surface of the kitchen counter.

“She’s acting so wild tonight,” he said, grabbing a few abandoned glasses and lowering them into the sink.

Taehyung yanks the door of the dishwasher, grimacing at the moist steam that breathes onto his face. Jimin hands him a couple of plates waiting nearby. Taehyung takes them wordlessly, stacking them on the meshed tray, the sleeves of his white shirt are wrinkled as they nestle on the crook of his elbow. Jimin checks his watch and takes out his phone.

“Still nothing yet?” Taehyung asked, resurfacing with his cheeks a little rosy from the effort.

Jimin shakes his head, dragging a smaller cake towards him. In mint green lettering, it read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING, HAVE A GOOD ONE.’ He dips his finger right in the middle, scooping a sizeable dollop and licking it right after. Taehyung shakes his head but makes no move to stop him.

“He should really have been here, it’s been hours,” Taehyung said.

“He’s busy, it’s not like he can leave at the drop of the hat,” Jimin muttered, his temples ringing suddenly.

The kitchen was all black marble and grey accents but he sought the plush interior of a car, the muted lights embedded on the dashboard. Taehyung scrapes his nail at the border of the cake, taking the mint green frosting with it. He sucks on his finger, his brows creasing subtly.

“He could have at least been here for the toast thenleft, she would have appreciated that -”

Jimin takes another dip with his finger, sullying the letters until it read ‘PPY BIRTHD DAR.’ The frosting melts on his tongue, the mint is barely noticeable. It was like eating mild fluoride meant for kids.

“The deals take a while. Besides, he’s working with unfamiliar clients - that doubles the time needed to complete everything,” Jimin replied, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with for him?” Taehyung challenged, his tone dry. Jimin remains unfairly level-headed and practical, he gives a dismissive shrug and wanders around the space, fingers trailing over the chrome handles of the drawers.

“She doesn’t need her father to breathe down her shoulder all the time and she seems like she’s having a good time anyway.”

Not too far off, there was a clear sound of door slamming and unapologetic laughter. Jimin’s frown returns as he hears a few ‘hoots’ and clapping. He assumes that the door stays propped open as more of that fucking techno-pop drivel intrudes the kitchen.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Taehyung argues. Jimin’s jaw clenches, he’s in half a mind to stride over to the upper floors and seal the clamour shut.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think she’s having a good time at all,” Taehyung supplied, busy again with unloading a separate dishwasher. The steam doesn’t bother him this time, his hands are efficient and deploys several plates and glasses in quick succession. Jimin disagrees.

“She was dancing all over the place, with that - that man, the one who’s always around her.”

Taehyung’s brows shoot up so much that they disappear under his bangs.

“You mean the DJ? They’re friends, he offered to do this gig for free.”

Ignoring the rational explanation, Jimin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, “the music isn’t worth a single won anyway.”

At that, Taehyung laughed.

“She was dragging him around and he was pushing her off at some point,” Jimin started again, blinking at the memory of you being passed around because you couldn’t stand by yourself for a couple of minutes while disinhibited. He lets his gaze travel down to his shoes, pristine with barely any creases. “It’s embarrassing to watch,” he finished. When he looks up, Taehyung scoffed, slamming the dishwasher shut. But Jimin wasn’t done, tailing his friend to drive his point home.

“You know earlier, when she saw me, she tried to get me to dance with her, then…” he paused, gathering the fragments of the moment in his mind. Your unnaturally strong grip on his wrist as you dragged him into the belly of the crowd, eyes bright and smile wide. Your touch was clammy over his, nails cutting an impression for the few seconds he couldn’t control himself. “I’ve never seen her get thisbad.”

It was Taehyung’s turn to ignore him, getting up to swipe more kitchenware into the sink.

“How many guests are left?”

Jimin shrugs but he had taken a mental note of the people hanging around, “dunno, like fifteen or twenty?”

The sound of your voice pierces the silence in the conversation. It was a loud cheer, a vague plea to keep the music on. And so, the bass thumps the speakers and trickles into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jimin sighed deeply.

“She’s always been… vibrant, you know? But this year… it’s been tough for her,” Taehyung said, relentless in the way he was wiping down the countertop.

Jimin thinks that Taehyung should have gone to college, been somebody.Not someone who lives with his tail between his legs, picking up after you and bending over backwards to tend to your every whim. Jimin knew he was stuck, caught between the world and an even harder place. He doesn’t like thinking it but it’s there: Taehyung’s too soft for reality.

“Tough?” He inquired, curious as to what could possibly lead you this much astray.

“Yeah - the whole thing hit her harder than what she’s showing us - them,” Taehyung replied.

Jimin puffed out a big breath, turning so that he could have another morsel of cake. He messes with the surface so much that what’s left after his conquest was ‘AVE A GOOD O.’ His fingers come away from his mouth shiny and dries tackily.

“I thought that Jeon kid proposed to her last month.”

Taehyung shrugs, tilting his head so that his hair didn’t get in the way, “no idea.”

A crash resounds in the space, more laughter, the music pounds, pounds, and pounds.Neither make a move to check, that was beyond the scope of what they’re asked for within these walls.

“She doesn’t seem sad, not to me,” Jimin countered, flashes of your stupid smile wrecks through his mind. You almost seemed insultingly happy these days.

“I think that she’s ashamed, ‘Chim.”

Jimin sighed forcefully, laughing to himself.

“That’s a bullshit if I ever heard any.”

Taehyung shoves a couple of cakes so that they’re crowded together, the base cardboards in scalloped trim touch at the sides.

“Of course you don’t believe it.”

Jimin’s mouth twists a little, unsure if Taehyung is privy to what he knows. Thinking about his wording, he throws caution to the wind anyway. Gossiping about employers was nothing new and gossiping about theiremployers has always resulted in more intrigue than answers. It’s like being trapped in a permeant illusion: he thinks that he knows you but you’re just an apparition in the end.

“I saw it. I saw what happened between them,” he said. Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly then narrowed.

“Why play around it then? And why not believe that she’s ashamed after what you saw?”

“How do you know that it went badly?” Jimin asked, “‘sides, I don’t think I was meant to see any of it.”

Taehyung sighed, parting his lips so that Jimin saw him rest the tip of his tongue on the smooth interior of his mouth.

“I pick up after her, I clean where she works, sleeps, and hangs out. She cries when she thinks that no one else is looking. C’mon, tell me ‘Chim.”

It was an ordinary evening, Jimin was meant to pick up your father but got shuttled off to drive you instead. Everything was fine up until you reached the basement parking lot. He had parked the car at a safe enough distance. What he saw was a kind of bloated anger that serrated through you. It was memorable only because it ended unexpectedly. He couldn’t forget the sight of you on your knees, a snivelling heap, fingers clutching at the sleeve of the heir to the Jeon Group. He had to look away, counting the threads on the leather interior until it reached thirty before you were impatiently yanking at the door handle to the passenger seat. Mascara streaked down your cheeks, you sniffed more times than you spoke.

The fucking bastard didn’t even spare a single glance, shooting off in his expensive white Lamborghini before you could even buckle your seatbelt.

“That Jeon kid broke it off. Was an asshole about it too, to the point where she was begging for him to take her back.”

Jimin edited the scene into a couple of sparse words as Taehyung couldn’t wait for him to begin, arranging a couple of the bouquets delivered earlier in a presentable row. Though Jimin preferred if people were doing something while he was speaking, takes the pressure of getting his words right.

“Fuck - really?” Taehyung asked, stopping his fidgety fingers from doing anymore, “I feel sorry her. Where was it?”

Jimin thinks that it doesn’t matter. The emotions were the same. He remembers you being unable to look at him in the eye on the drive back, you were so flustered that you sat in the front rather than the back. He wished that the tremor in your hands were from his imagination but everything was so clear that night, shame dripping over you like a heavy oil spill, coating your wings stiff.

“Seoul Tower. In the parking lot.”

“And you still think that she’s not ashamed?” Taehyung asked, leaning on the counter and resting his pruned fingers on the cool marble. Jimin noticed that the most of the dishes by the sink were now drying.

“I only said that because if she wasashamed, she wouldn’t have gotten on her knees and begged. That’s the whole point of it: shame doesn’t let you do things like that.”

Silence settles like a heavy force over them. Jimin wished he hadn’t said it but it’s out there now. He makes his way to the discrete wine rack, tugging the door open and taking out a bottle of Pétrus. The year is printed at 1921. Taehyung tried to lunge forward but Jimin is agile and spins away, smiling for what he thinks is the first time tonight.

“No! ‘Chim, stop -”

Fortunately, the kitchen is large enough for them to start this sparring. Jimin cradles the bottle close, fingers blindly searching for an opener and Taehyung creeps forward, not a real threat.

“Her father would notice, give.”

The tanned hand that beckons him shows long, well-kept nails. Jimin snatches the opener and begins to slice the sealed foil open, “he won’t, c’mon Tae. Just a sip.”

“He’llnotice,” Taehyung echoes, eyes zeroing on how the coiled spring pierces the spongy cork. “Do you know how much that bottle costs? Of course he’ll notice, you ass.”

Jimin works to ease it up and high until it emit a muted pop.A deep maroon waterfall trickles straight into a wine glass, the delicate stem slotting so easily in his hand. He tastes it in a brief sip, sour at first then it morphs into a richer aftertaste. Hm, so this is what money tastes like nowadays.

“If I do end up driving tonight, I’m allowed one drink. And if I’m having a drink, I want it to be good, carpe diem you know?”

Vehemently unconvinced, and it shows in the way Taehyung handles the dishwasher with a little more deliberation, he walks away muttering, “you’re fucking crazy. That’s not coming out of mypay.”

As Jimin was about to pipe in, he hears you louder and nearer.

“I’ll be back, oh no, don’t worry, yeah… Just stay there!”

Meek, he hides the bottle and glass in a deep drawer and stands up, smoothing down his front. Taehyung ducks away, pretending to arrange the stacked plates, wiping down the counter in frantic motions using a frayed towel.

Then, you enter the kitchen, bounding down the steps, the hem of your skirt fluttering behind. Jimin sees the crown of flowers on your head immediately, but you take it off, passing him by. Cool air laced with bergamot mixed with mirth greets him. The canary coloured petals are wilted but are vibrant all the same. You stop by a box of ornate flowers springing from a box. Jimin had to bring that up earlier, it was heavier than it looked.

“Let me guess,” you said, “straight from the office?”

Finally, you notice him. Your eyes met and yours shine like glass, the smile he saw earlier is there but more contrived, like you walked into their space without permission. Taehyung makes a sound meant to signify a ‘yes.’ Whirling till your skirt expands like a golden umbrella, you pluck a rose from the collection. Jimin doesn’t miss the way your animated movement reveals your legs altogether. He shamelessly drinks that sight in, aching for smooth skin beneath his touch. He sees you sniff the centre, eyes concealed as your head tilts up.

“Smells like…”

You slide up on the counter, sitting with your legs crossing over the other. The skirt falls away, bare leg entering his view as the glittery strap of your top slides down past your shoulder. You appeared ravaged, then. He hates that others could see you like this.

“It smells like my father’s guilt,” you said, abruptly thrusting it to Taehyung’s direction.

“Have them Tae!” You said, grinning once more, swinging your legs. Jimin clears his throat, pacing up the length of the kitchen, praying that by the time he reached the end, you’d gone.

“It’s really okay,” Taehyung said, that voice of submission was back. Jimin doesn’t think that Taehyung could tell you to keep your hands off anything or to not open that bottle of wine now in a random drawer, aerating.

“Have them, please!” You replied, not missing a beat. Jimin hears Taehyung’s nervous chuckle, he glances back and you’re shuffling the box, possibly ruining the arrangement. “Don’t you have a sister? Or these could be for your mother! I’m sure she’ll love these, please Tae.”

The music encroaches into the kitchen. It’s even worse than before and Jimin wants to strangle the DJ for perpetuating such garish entertainment. Prior to any reaction, he hears you plant your feet on the floor. He turns and is met with your stern expression, hands resting on your hips as Taehyung carts off the box of flowers, out of sight.

“Come with me upstairs,” you said, gesturing with your hands to the said direction. Jimin shakes his head. Fuck techno-pop, fuck these nobodies, and fuck this stupid party.

“Should stay here. Might get called anytime soon,” he replied.

“C’mon Min,” you said, urgency in your tone. Whiny even. Jimin never really consented to that nickname but he’s been around long enough that it stuck.

“How come?” You challenged, arching your brow.

Because I fucking hate the music, I hate the way you’re like this right now, and I hate -

“I want you up there with me, please don’t make me beg. It sounds vain but I want to look…” you trailed off, rubbing your arm with your hand. Under the spotlight, you were awfully forlorn. “I need to look…”

Jimin knits his brows together, his suit alarmingly fitted all of the sudden.

“Look like what?”

Taehyung will be back soon since the walk from his room to the kitchen is a couple of meters, but he’s taking longer than what Jimin is used to. The air crackles as he sees you retreat till you meet the counter with nowhere to go. Your fingers inch towards the abandoned flower crown, your pretty nails carving crescents onto the velvet petal.

“To look like I’m wanted.”

Jimin inhales deeply, unable to conceal his discomfort. He tugs at his tie and threads the top button of his shirt through, breathing shakily. Taehyung comes in and you stand up, your shoulders squaring. That stupid smile returns accompanied by outstretched arms. Jimin finds himself drawn to you, his private guise for protection making his wooden limbs move.

“Don’t look so serious Min. I just want to dance more, it’s my birthday,” you said, slurring at the end. Your touch finds him as you lead him upwards. Jimin doesn’t look back but Taehyung’s stare burned nonetheless.

Upstairs, the music rattles Jimin’s frame. You weave through the throngs of people - of nobodies - and find an adequate space, right under the brilliant strobe of red, purple, and blue. He lets himself hold your waist, his own hands at the hem of your skirt, barely touching where it counted. Your arms settle on his neck, comfortable.

He supposed that he was out of place wearing a suit amongst party-goers decked out in the latest styles or fashionable garments. Yet, if people thought him odd, they didn’t show it. He even lets himself move to the beat, no matter how irksome it was.

Besides, he liked your warmth near his. The smell of bergamot and mirth is balmy and woodsy: it suited you.

Always have, he thinks.

There was a moment when he felt like time was suspended, when the strobe light, a luminous violet that made all the other bodies melt into a whorl, fell over you both. No one else was in the room and the music wasn’t as shit as he decided. The highlight on your cheeks made it look like there was glitter embedded in your skin and that smile, it wasn’t stupid anymore, it was radiant.

Warm.

You say something to him but it’s lost in the thump of bass, he laughs anyway, his body loosening up a little more. Again, you start speaking so he leans in, too close for justification. He hears you laugh, it’s a wonderful sound, light and airy, like you had never experienced anything that could possibly weigh you down. Then, you raise your arms up, closing your eyes, a strand of your hair caught at your brow due to the tacky surface of your skin. You move to the rhythm with this glow about you. He blinks, awestruck.

A cord snaps.

The music thumps, corroding everything in its wake and you are engulfed with people, the laughter turns menacing then mean.

The spell breaks and he strides towards a doorway, perturbed.

As if he was spat out, Jimin stumbles back into the kitchen alone to find Taehyung unloading the dishwasher again.

“She’s gone crazy,” he announced, skin damp from being trapped between people. He doesn’t know how you stand it, being touched unwarrantedly like that. Taehyung shakes his head, laughing through his nose.

“She’s having fun -”

Jimin grabs the forgotten wine and pours more than he was probably allowed.

“You know that people out there are laughingat her?”

“What?” Taehyung asked, standing and shoving his sleeves up further. Jimin blinks back the memories of you dancing theatrically, garnerning smiles and guffaws that were lost due to the blare of EDM. Jimin caught them though, so he stalked off in a huff.

“Most of those people in there aren’t even her friends. And those who stayed don’t even know her middle name.”

Taehyung leans on the corner of the table, the tilt of his head is pensive, “do youknow her middle name?”

“Of course I do. It’s -”

“You’ve got the balls to abandon me in the middle of the dance floor like that,” you said, entering the kitchen with a champagne flute in hand, “and why are you still dressed like that? What are you, a lawyer? Take off your jacket,” you commanded. Jimin forgets about the wine glass in his hand and promptly brings it down. The dark liquid sloshes before it settles.

“Why?”

In the background, Taehyung slinks away, pretending to clean something.

“It’s my birthday, you’re the spoiling the theme,” you replied, gesturing to your glittery gold outfit. Jimin clenches his jaw, cursing the party inwardly.

“Take it off Min,” you said, hauling yourself up to sit on the counter. His ear pricks up at your use of banmaland stares at you, like blinking would be enough to reverse this implicit imbalance. He tries that thing that Taehyung does, running his tongue first on top of his molars till it encounters the smooth interior of his mouth. Doesn’t work. The air crackles again, along with the goosebumps on his skin. Taehyung catches his eye and he could tell that it meant ‘Just do it for fuck sake.’

Times like these, Jimin gets reminded of things he’d rather leave buried far beneath the surface.

In seconds, he turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen. He hears you ask where he was going but he doesn’t catch Taehyung’s reply.

Past Taehyung’s living quarters was a narrow hallway to the elevator that goes straight to the parking lot. Jimin stops in front of the steel doors, fingers itching to punch the downward arrow. The lack of notifications from his phone was becoming an issue. He slips off his jacket, hanging it on a spare wooden peg and heads back in.

On the kitchen island, he finds you and Taehyung conversing in hushed voices. Your hand curves over his shoulders, your body leaning over his back, the wisps off your hair brushing against his. Taehyung has that goofy expression on his face, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink. Jimin lets his eyes linger.

“See! You look way better without your jacket,” you beamed, leaving Taehyung’s side and sitting on the table this time. The skirt gapes and shows more skin, Jimin’s gotten better at directing his eyes elsewhere. There’s more movement, Taehyung gets up and waves his phone, the screen is lit up and buzzing.

“Gotta answer this,” he announced, and you turn, chin resting on your shoulder mouthing Come back soon.

Taehyung gives you a tight-lipped smile, sauntering into another doorway, his voice soothing as he greets the caller on the other side of the line.

next.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x you #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #bts park jimin

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Sun, 13 Feb 2022 18:49:12

Late. (m) | ONE SHOT | PARK JIMIN, JEON JUNGKOOK, 6.7k

Pairing(s): Reader x Jimin, Reader x Jungkook, Jungkook x Reader x Jimin

Summary:Sometimes, it can’t be helped that Jimin and Jungkook are late. It’s no one’s fault, really, since that’s what usually happens when all three of you are together anyway.

Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language, smut (fem-reader; oral (m-receiving) + feeble attempt at masturbation; hair-pulling; nipple play; slight exhibitionism; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; threesome); this is one of the ‘morning after’s’ I envisioned that follows up from ‘Hotel’;or it’s just another excuse for me to write a jikook x reader fic lol; fluff;idol!AU - established relationship.

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Sleep ladened eyes open to a room that is cloaked in artificial darkness due to the heavy, velvet curtains that border its walls. Realisation of your surroundings sneak up in jumbled puzzle pieces, wading through the fog of your thoughts.

A hotel room. Big, warm bed. Los Angeles.

Then comes your initial, proper examination: sore muscles, sticky skin, another person nearby.

You know it’s Jungkook beside you because he’s swung his leg over you, careless as to its weight on your own body. After you overcame the initial drag of sleep, you register the glaring asymmetry to your bed. Jungkook’s tattooed arm is over his face, his pinked chapped lips in your view with the silver ring that lay at an angle.

“Has hell frozen over? Where did he go?” You asked, sweeping your arm over the space where Jimin slept. Getting up early was a habit of the past and it surprised you more than anything that his side of the bed was cold.

“Morning run,” Jungkook mumbled, clattering his phone on the night stand.

“He goes on morning runs even here?”

The detail might have been lost on you if it was said last night.

Jungkook removes his leg, gently guiding you onto your side so that he could embrace you better. To compensate for the surge in heat, you kick off the comforter, backing up a bit till your ass brushes his half-hard cock.

“Didn’t get to go last night,” he replied, his voice gravelly and in dire need for him to clear his throat. Last night’s memory flares in your mind, their hands on your body, the groans and sighs, the particular satiation that you could only get by being with them.

“What time are you meant to be going for your schedule?”

Jungkook only sighs, broad palms and curious fingers traversing your body. It seems that, like you, he didn’t want to pierce through the comfortable haze that greeted you soon after you woke up. After all, their schedule is steadfast. Obligations were going nowhere but these moments behind close doors were few and far between.

“Dunno,” he muttered, his hands wandering over your body.

“Kook…”

His forthcoming response was the nudge of his hips as he says your name in a soft whisper.

“Wanna shower together?”

Jungkook’s careful fingers tangle in your still wet hair, his inked knuckles brushing past your peripheries. Your skin is soft yet pebbled with goosebumps as the ventilation fans through the room. Sat at the edge of the bed, you nudge his thighs apart. As you placed your cold hands over them, he hisses, a quick and discrete sound accompanied by his bared teeth.

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head as you looked up. The angle allows a generous view of his abdominal muscles which, when relaxed, are still defined in grooves and ridges. The difference now, albeit subtle, was that they were tense and rigid from anticipation. You shift because you remember them under your grip, contracting every time he moved.

“Jimin-sshi should be doing his final lap right now,” he muttered, his hand going lower to cup your chin.

“Nice of you think of that before you get your dick sucked,” you replied, blowing gently on his length. He twitches at the contact, the first brush of your lips on the tip earning another audible hiss that he pushed through his teeth.

“He’s missing out is all I’m saying,” he said, nonchalant.

Any prospect of his running commentary is promptly silenced by you taking his cock in your mouth. Soft, smooth, silken hardness is quickly coated in your saliva. You hum at the taste, slackening your jaw in preparation for that delicious ache you’ll feel when he finally moves. Securing your hands on his narrow hips, you squeeze your thighs as his muscles flexed, lifting your head so that his cock bobs against his lower abdomen.

“Ah shit,” he sighed, followed by a shaky moan while you licked a fat stripe from the base of his cock, taking care to tentatively sweep the tip of your tongue over his balls before coming up to rub your lip at the weeping head. The grip on your hair increases, measured tugs at the root. You continue to lap at the head, rewarded by soft puff of breath from above. Making a tight circle with your fingers, you angle his cock, glancing up at his flushed face as you swirled your tongue over the head in languid circles, dipping it on the slit while pearls of pre-cum pool at your tastebuds.

“Fuck, ah - you want me to last or not?”

Batting your eyelashes at him, you sensed that he was less eager to abstain as all he wanted was to fuck your mouth senseless. Jungkook was never one to admit his shortcomings, that much you knew, but his vie for self-control didn’t stop you from placing your hands flat on his thighs for purchase, widening your mouth so you could dip down, saliva running from your lips onto his length. The first thrust of his hips was accompanied by his hand closing over the nape of your neck, you moaned as the even pressure allowed your lips to hit the base, the air momentarily depleting as you hollowed out your cheeks. It’s a tight hold that you constructed and it’s effect was a delightful chorus of moans that made you wiggle your hips, pussy dripping and clenching around nothing.

“Ah,ssss… shit,” he hissed, and you push up, letting his cock leave your mouth in a wet pop, lips skating along the glistening length, your cheek and chin getting most of it.

You’re panting but it doesn’t stop you from taking him again, beginning a quick pace now that your jaw is looser, bobbing your head as you concentrated on sucking the tip before diving all the way down again. Nails impress on your skin, you do the same in places where it can’t be seen. Jungkook bucks his hips again as you brace yourself against him.

You arched your back, thinking that you could feel Jimin’s hands on your skin, then his voice telling you to go down deeper, throat tightening over his throbbing cock. Jungkook’s hand presses down on your neck and you moaned at the encouragement, the hot and flithy drag of your tongue unrelenting. Jerky thrusts of his hips were becoming frequent and you come up for air, lungs just about burning but you keep the contact, rubbing the weeping tip on your lips, slick with cum and saliva. Through hazy eyes, you see the heavy contracting of his chest, the tip of his tongue resting on the side of his mouth, blown pupils only on you.

“I fucking love your mouth,” he babbled, and you press a soft kiss over the head. He hisses again, baring teeth, the small mole below his lip stretching slightly.

“Mm,” you hummed, smiling in spite of being in serious need of the rough strokes that had your throat constricting.

Jungkook curled his bottom lip, the slim silver ring springing to a different direction. In his eyes was a split second decision aided by you sucking on the tip for emphasis. You’re rewarded with a sensitive twitch of his muscles and the tick of his hips upwards. He pushes and you adjust yourself, body straightening immediately. But it’s too careful, so you tap at his thigh prompting him.

It works.

His fingers twist themselves in your hair and his thrusts go from jerky to to full on strokes. The change had you moaning over his length, thoroughly coated in spit. The angle of his hips had you grabbing at the sheets while your lips stretched to accommodate. It’s heaven to hear Jungkook moan, it’s such a distinct sound, a contradiction of sorts when paired with a strained grunt while you snuck a hand between your legs, fingers spreading your wetness along your slit. At the first contact, you almost lose rhythm, caught up in the throb of your pussy, your clit stiff and in need of attention.

Jungkook senses the slight break and amps up his thrusting, the struggle for air is apparent as more saliva and cum mix together from the obscene slide of your mouth over his cock. Abandoning on pleasuring yourself, you signal for him to go faster and he does, almost making you choke on the deep and rough strokes. The flare on your scalp is evident as he grips your hair to aid him, your eyes are closed, legs quivering at the growing wetness between, moaning softly as he grunts, the snap of his hips causing you to drool. The scent of him, fresh from the shower, mixes with this addictive taste, his speed taking on an inconsistent rhythm.

“Ah, fuck… fuck” he groans, you hold it, forgoing air as he chases that peak, the staggered upward thrust had the head scraping against the back of your throat and he keeps you there. Eyes screwing shut, tears pricking suddenly, you feel the ropes of cum spurt, his cock pulsing while spit slick. Pulling back, you hold his cock steady, licking the tip, watching as Jungkook’s head is thrown back, abdomen rigid as you lap up his cum, high off his display of ecstasy. After drawing ragged breaths to recover, he soothes the harshness of his grip on you by rubbing the sore places with gentle fingers.

The latch to the door unlocks.

You hold Jungkook’s cock at the base, sliding your parted lips over it, tongue snaking out in elaborate laps. Above, he groaned, twining his fingers in your hair, a tug that signalled for you to slow but you were too busy making a mess. Jimin strides in, face mostly concealed by a cap and mask. Buzzed, you kiss along Jungkook’s stomach, bringing out soft hisses as your skin brushes his cock.

“Morning to you too,” Jimin said, quickly disappearing into the bathroom.

Water runs and echoes past the open door, a flash of black comes through and settles behind you. Jimin’s hand comes over where Jungkook’s own was placed on your head. It’s subtle but the force of his both hands on you had you diving your lips down, deeper until Jungkook’s cock is firmly enclosed in the wet cavern of your mouth. Your nails dig crescents into the skin this hips, hard enough to press on bone.

“Agh, fuck,” he gasped, his hips shooting up while your throat tightened automatically. You moaned around him as Jimin ran his fingers along your slit, the cold contact made your hips jerk, the blunt intrusion finding home in your wet folds. He comes closer, closer till you feel the brush of his jacket on the skin of your back.

“So wet already, hm? How many times did you cum?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper as his lips caught your earlobe.

“Not yet”, you breathed, releasing Jungkook’s cock from your mouth. You rubbed your open palm over his length. It’s so sticky that each kiss you gave sounded wet, coming away with saliva mixed with cum.

“Jungkookie, you’re slacking.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly as Jungkook’s muscles twitched from your lips settling over the sensitive head.

“Y-you didn’t go for a longer run this morning, hyung.”

Jimin’s fingers unfurl, catching the swollen nub of your clit. He gives it a slight nudge and you push your hips back, inviting his fingers to go in deeper only from him to withdraw them.

“Jimin,” you whined, knees scraping on the carpet floor as you widened your legs, pussy dripping past your folds and staining it to a darker shade. He kisses your shoulder, then the space on your neck to placate you.

“You guys used all of the shampoo.”

Jungkook helps you up so you could settle on his lap. You sigh as his cock rests on your lower stomach, still rock hard and heavy.

“I’ve got to wash up too,” Jimin said, swiping your hair away so he could kiss the nape of your neck. The soft contact had you wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s shoulders, which rippled and flexed as he held your hips. You were pliant in their hands, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed Jungkook’s neck, hungry for more contact. Smooth, warm skin along the surface of your tongue, the mole on the side the shade of chocolate chips in the muted light.

“Ah they were meant to replace them,” Jungkook said.

“Not with the Do Not Disturb sign at the door,” Jimin murmured, using the finger that was in your pussy to trail up your spine. It leaves a slick trail, wet and smooth along your back. You moaned against Jungkook’s lips, kissing the mole beneath, grinding at anything to relieve the ache.

“Can’t have anyone walking in while we’re in the middle of this,” you said, craning your head, implicitly asking for a kiss.

Jimin grinned, slotting his mouth over yours as he gently bracketed your throat with his hand. Jungkook mouth suckles on the base of your neck, the wet slide of his tongue compensating for how his teeth was set on your skin previously. It’s a never-ending cycle of touch, kisses, and warmth. All of which culminated between your legs, positively wet, the lewd sopping kind that renders attempts to contain it in vain.

“Let me wash up,” Jimin adds, pulling away, his touch lingering at the small of your back.

Jungkook suddenly stands up, carrying you and walking over to the console. Occupied by hotel stationery and half drunk bottles of water, you sit with your legs spread and raised, cool air comes over your exposed pussy as Jimin enters the bathroom to shower. This time, he leaves the door open too.

“Wish I could stay here for longer,” Jungkook muttered, kissing you again as he tore a foiled packet. Nearby, the water runs in full pelt, it fills your ears as you edged yourself closer, hands curling over the wood, shoulder blades resting against the wall.

“Stay where longer?” You asked, grinning at the instant arch of his brow.

He wets his lips, tugging the condom down,

“Here.”

The air is filled by your mutual sigh as he sinks his cock in your pussy, bottoming out to an audible, wet squelch.

“Fuck,” you gasped, right into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip and rewarded by a soft grunt, his arms hooking under your legs, hiking them up and spreading you wide. A hot wave washed over you, strained in this position, the console angling back from the way his thighs smacked against the hard surface.

“Agh, shit,” he grunted, searching for your mouth against since you had dipped your head down, bewildered at how good it felt even from the outset.

“Jungkook… ah fuck,” you moaned, arms winding over his neck into a stringent chokehold, teeth clashing against his as you angled your hips, tightening around his length in pulses. Words escape you both as he began to move, easy thrusts, the kind that glosses the burn of the stretch, his scent wrapping around you in a shroud, the scent of soap and something else, exacerbated by the heat of his body.

“Fucking hell - shit,” he gasped, your hands fly down to steady yourself, fingers grasping at the edge of the console, bothered by the lack of available surface.

They were always editing themselves to appear amiable, clean cut. But there was much to be desired with the way Jungkook swears - the way the vowels form into its vulgar ends. His incidental lisp melts away, bolstered by the baring of his teeth and hardening of his muscles, each movement deliberate and impactful. With Jimin, his voice becomes authoritative despite softening, evolving into a deeper timbre, an air of smugness accompanying them. They get spoken to your ear, your skin, whispered, grunted or sighed, So fucking tight… ah fuck, so good. The effect is the same, you get light-headed from the praise presented in a filthy delivery.

Your thighs shudder, a futile attempt to shut not out of discomfort but shock at how sensitised your were. Jungkook supports your lower back, curling his inked arm, somehow managing to keep you bolted in place, driving his hips down, his cock hitting at his desired angle. It prompts more wetness to coat your folds, enough for the new wave to be driven out as he draws back, sticky strands at the base of his cock in a lewd tether. When you look up, you take in the freshly trimmed hair, fanning evenly over his brow, the silver bar glinting between darkened strands, a concentrated face, focused entirely on pleasure.

“Miss it,” you said, thinking out loud.

The pace at which they changed their hair was frantic at most, the usual method being bleaching it to the lightest possible colour and darkening as the hair stylists saw fit. Recently, their preference for natural hair colour took precedent and has since remained that way. But while Jimin has opted for lengthier locks, Jungkook has cropped his hair to a more boyish style, abandoning the shoulder-length affair. It robbed you of any morsel of surface area to tug, unfair given that you couldn’t even leave bite marks anywhere on exposed skin.

And given that they wore next to nothing for the concert (a moot point according to them), this was a severecurtailment.

“Hm?”

“Your hair - when it was long.”

There’s a flicker of smirk there, the lip ring shines from your shared spit, his rosy lips a deeper shade from how he was gnawing it earlier.

“Thought it was too long for you, mn?”

“No. I miss it… ah,” you gasped, accepting the thrust of his cock and massaging the nape of his neck for emphasis.

“Was a nightmare to have,” he murmured, skating the tip of his nose along your jaw, the brush of his lips on your cheek inciting shivers.

Jungkook’s admission hardly makes a dent on your personal views: the pony tail would forever be superior in aesthetic. Tied up or left alone, those long tresses paired with the baby hairs on his hairline had you confused on whether to coo or pay attention to the lust that took hold in the pit of your belly. Deciding on a diplomatic means of resolving the tension, you would make it a point to compliment him, saying it softly in bed while tangled up in Jimin’s embrace (who would take to the shower first before all else, lest his motivations leave him entirely).

You look so cute, Kook.

It’s followed by a soft kiss, the experimental tug at the nape where you would tug the hairs at the root. He would groan, a half-hearted attempt to conceal the elation he felt at the compliment.

Ah, stop.

And you and Jimin would laugh, seeing right through it.

“You looked cute,” you replied, breath stuttering as he slowed his thrusts, going for longer, deeper strokes. He makes a noise of complaint, a subtle huff so you lean your head back, surveying his face. Silver accents on tan skin, deep flush under the gloss of his lips. Jungkook’s large eyes blink slowly, an unfocused glaze zeroing on your lips.

“You wanted it more than I did,” he smiled, bursts of exhales signalling a runaway laugh. Your fingers reach up, unfurl on his shoulders, easing the tension of being cramped and folded in half, raking them on the shorn parts at the back of his head.

“’Sides, I think I look better now,” he mused, adjusting and leaning back, his tense abdomen in show. You bite your lip as the full picture of him comes to view, flushed everywhere on his skin, rose ascending along the column of his neck, the jut of his jaw is prominent.

“You always look better - good,” you sighed, hips raising as his hands took your waist. It doesn’t escape you how his gaze is affixed to where you’re connected.

“Do I?”

You grinned, liking this side of him. It’s not often that Jungkook returns the compliment, opting to brushing it off like it’s no big deal. Appreciating him, you see the dark ink on his arm, more cohesive now that the designs are mostly filled and the sculpture of his muscles somehow managing to animate them with each flex.

The TV judders against its mount, Jungkook keeps snapping his hips, pressing you against his chest, sweat making skin slippery, mouths hungry and gasping for each other.

“Ten fucking days, we have to quarantine,” he said, out of the blue.

Ah.

It was nearing the end the LA trip and while all three of you had a harder time being apart from each other, Jungkook was the most vocal about it.

“Uhn…fuck,” you gasped, bare skin chafing on the lacquered surface of the table. It shudders with each thrust, the swell of his cock pushing more slick out your folds.

“Can’t wait that long,” he grunted, his grip on your thighs so forceful that you were sure that he was denting flesh. Your fingers grabbed onto the sides, knuckles stiff as you tried to move your hips incrementally.

“How do you think I’d feel? I won’t get either of y-you - ahn, fuck,” you moaned, shuddering at a particularly hard thrust.

The bottles of water around you trembled and the drawers rattle below. Jungkook leaned down and kissed you fiercely, groaning as you clenched around him, your pussy so slippery and wet that all you hear is the obscene schlick-schlick-schlick as his cock pistons inside you at shallow strokes. It was enough to drive you crazy.

“Too much, ahn,f-fuck,” you gasped, wet drag of his cock entering you in a smooth slide.

“Too much?”

He grips your hair, twists it in his fist as his hips slammed down, the stretch burns but it was euphoric.

“You guys act like we have all the time in the world, yeah?”

Jimin waltzes in, and from what you could make out past Jungkook’s shoulders, he was wearing a white robe, his skin was glimmering from the water, dark hair plastered to his temples. His tone is amused, you could hear his smile curling over the words.

“No comment,” you stuttered, nails digging harshly onto the wooden surface.

Knock knock knock!

Jungkook groans, halting out of respect, but you have to fight yourself from crying out as his cock fills you up to the hilt. Seconds pass, your heart thudding heavily in your ribcage while Jimin’s voice cuts through the daze of your mind.

“Yes, hi…”

“Shit,” you whispered, voice notably thinning into a high-pitched whine. It must be one of the staff members appearing as a physical reminder of their schedule.

“Yes… ah, we were meant to go first? Okay, sure… is Yoongi-hyung nearly done?”

Jungkook skates a broad palm behind your knee, and your eyes widen. The distance between you and the door isn’t vast. Jimin has taken to stick half of his body out, barely widening the door. Below, the console remains at an angle, raised slightly while he breathes out, fanning the hair on your head as your legs quiver, your clit getting the brunt of his thrusts, the swollen nub totally exposed and slick with need.

“… ah okay… Jungkookie and I are just getting ready right now… Fifteen minutes? Okay…” Jimin said, his voice diplomatic yet loud enough to shield the sharp gasp that eventually died against Jungkook’s collarbone as he rammed his hips forward.

“Yes - yes, I’ll make sure to tell him - actually, let me tell him now since he’s with me - Jungkook-ah?”

“Fucking shit…” he groaned lowly, the words barely escaping through gritted teeth as you kissed him fiercely, sliding your tongue against his, sucking the area were his lip ring was, drawing out another grunt. Jimin loved to tease, and it was evident in the rising inflection in his tone. Your head thuds against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, sensation taking over in a stifling wave as sweat coats your skin, condensing on the pitted surface of the console.

“Jungkook-ah, we have rehearsals for the Jingle Bell Ball, and you have to record a Happy New Year message later in the evening, you okay with that?”

Jungkook snapped his head up, still thrusting inside you, his cock throbbing inside your walls. You could only watch as the vein on his neck pulsed strongly, reaching forward as much as you can to lick the mole on the side, suckling and spreading spit as he slowed for his own posterity.

“Yes, I’m okay with all of that, hyung,” he answered, surprisingly calm in his delivery. If not for Jungkook shoving you between him and wall, you could envision Jimin’s knowing grin as he watched the pair of you stagger towards orgasm.

“You sure, Jungkook-ah?”

Before articulating his response, Jungkook’s hips surged forward, grinding at the hilt, your pussy providing this wet pressure, hot waves of arousal over his length as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, mouth setting against his fiery skin to muffle your uncontrollable moans.

“Yes hyung,” he replied, pounding into you, the subtle smackof skin against skin competing with the quiet rattle of the furniture beneath. He grips your jaw suddenly to kiss you deeply, sucking your tongue and drinking in your gasps.

“Yes… yes, thank you…”

Upon hearing the door shut, Jungkook resumed a blinding pace, hitting all the right spots that caused a flood between your thighs.

“Fuck… ahn… ah,” you moaned, wanton and thoroughly shameless as the constant push and pull finally piled together, toes curling as the wood chafed against your skin, the spear of his cock unforgiving for your pussy.

“Shit, this is what you could hear through the door the other night?” Jimin quipped, close enough to kiss your jaw, distracting you only to help you along by sliding his hand down your front, the stacks of rings on his fingers cold on your skin. He circles his finger on your nipple, your body responding in a jittery arch as Jungkook leans back, hands steady on your thighs as your voice transforms into staccato moans of ah…ah…ahn.

“Heard more than that,” Jungkook said, you see his teeth bared through your foggy gaze. You shudder as he stills, Jimin managing to assert himself, softly kissing your jaw. And you’re so far gone, mind empty of anything as electricity surges throughout your body remedying the apparent discomfort of being wedged against the wall.

“‘Cause you really had your ear pressed to the door,” Jimin laughed as he lazily thumbs your clit.

“Tsk,” Jungkook replied, not denying anything either.

“Fuck…ahn…p-please,” you gasped, arching your back, legs dangling in Jungkook’s hold. It seemed to do something to him, and while Jimin turns his attention to kissing along your neck, Jungkook snaps his hips forward, making you cry out, arms shaking in an attempt to anchor yourself.

“Ah, Jungkook-ah’s making you beg, hm?” Jimin whispers, his voice echoing in your ear as you mewled, “good.”

“Fuck… I can feel you tightening around me, you gonna cum, mn?” Jungkook panted, sliding out his cock and fucking back in using the same, controlled force that tears another moan from you.

“Shit… yeah, ah,” you babbled, turning your head to kiss Jimin, in a sloppy meeting of your mouths, his grin so evident as he holds your jaw, the metal of his rings on your hot skin.

“Ah…ssss… ah,” Jungkook groaned, thrusting again and again and again. Jimin licks into your mouth, the pointed tip of his tongue tracing leisurely, ending in a slow suck on your bottom lip. Spit and warmth everywhere as Jungkook hisses through his teeth, the deep thrusts making your toes curl.

“Good, hm?” Jimin asked, ghosting the tips of his nail around your nipple.

“Y-yeah - ah fuck!” You yelped, coming undone at Jungkook’s shallow thrusts, shaking so hard that your eyes screw shut as Jimin muffles your incoherent babbling by kissing you, dragging his tongue to gather the drool the spills from your lips. He forces your mouth open as you cried out, irretrievably wet between your thighs, sweat making the surface harder to keep steady on. Heat rushes down as Jimin holds you while Jungkook chases his own orgasm, his large, bruising hands on your thighs, fucking into you with the quick strokes of his cock.

“S-so good,” you gasped, taking it all.

“One more? Be good for us, hm?” Jimin murmured. It’s a softly-spoken order since he was rubbing your clit with the kind of pressure that you made you keen. Furiously, you nod, capitulating despite feeling so sensitised, and it gives Jungkook the signal to go harder, almost shoving Jimin out of the way.

“‘M good,” you confirmed, “fuck,” you cried out, orgasming again, the violent tremors in your body hardly able to be contained as Jungkook lets out a loud ah, your name punctuating the air, shaking as he came, sweat-slicked shoulders under your grip while he presses forward, the strength of his hold lifting you from the console for a bit. You blink up, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs; Jungkook’s face is shiny, the rose on his cheeks seeping everywhere.

“Shit…” he gasped, letting you down gently, pulling his cock out as you continue to shudder. Jimin fusses over your hair, kissing a path along your neck, suckling your earlobe as Jungkook hums, kneading your flesh at the comedown, raising your leg so he could lave a spot on your calf, escalating your breathing.

“You okay?” Jimin asked continuing the chaste press of his lips on your neck.

“Mhm,” you nod, almost mechanically, boneless in thrum of pleasure you were in. With Jungkook stepping back, he stumbles on the bed, back landing on the messy sheets, half laughing. You realise that you were as sapped as each other. Jimin takes his place between your legs, content with kissing you, hands atop your thighs, careful touches with the hint of his nails scratching lightly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, the fuzzy fabric of the robe a new texture on your skin.

Somewhere, in the realm of your short-term memory, you recalled the time constraint as you push him so that he was leaning against the console instead. He smiles, relaxed as you adjusted yourself on your knees, limbs feeling a little wooden, shivering at the rough fibres of the carpet on your knees.

“Fifteen minutes, you said?”

“About eight now,” Jungkook added from behind.

Meticulously, you worked to untie Jimin’s robe. It falls apart easily and he places his hand on your head, a fond touch.

“Can I?” You asked, biting your lip at the sight of Jimin’s cock, the answer was in the way his smile fades once you lick along your palm, curling it over his length. His stomach tenses, the lines of his abdomen raising into definition, his upper lip twitching as you fisted his cock, a languid pump, tightening over the tip, tongue flicking over the slit.

“Seven minutes…” Jungkook said, while you pulled back, unfurling your tongue, letting the heavy weight of Jimin’s cock rest, unattended in your mouth.

Time didn’t matter, in fact, it gets suspended when Jimin twists a finger in your hair, his eyes taking on a soft, unfocused glow.

“Sss…ah,” he breathed while you sucked on the tip, the taste of him making you hum.

There are things that makes Jimin moan but there are things that make him whimper. Like Jungkook, he had numerous moles that found home on his body, a particular one was by his left hip, like punctuation on the blank page of skin. Before you take his cock back in your mouth again, you kiss the small mole, triggering memories of long nights where no matter how hard you tried, it always ended up with you being pleasured - a thorough mess by being attended to by two pairs of hands.

“Ah fuck, there’s no time…” he rasps. You nuzzle his cock, licking along his balls, wetting the surface, sucking with enough pressure and loving every moan and whimper that escaped him.

“I’ll be good,” you promised, aware of his fingers in your hair, the first sign of roughened touch that caused your thighs to press together. The sticky residue smeared between eases the slide of your skin, the cool air making it tacky.

“Six minutes,” Jungkook supplied, smugness colouring his tone.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasped as you dive back in, jaw slackening as his entire length goes into your mouth, the weight of its is pleasant, heady even. He smells good, like soap with a little bit of sweat, and you couldn’t help but bracket his hips with your hands, bobbing your head, spit and pre-cum pooling in your mouth.

“Five -”

“Don’t be a brat, Jungkook-ah,” Jimin said, his hips taking on a gentle sway, cock pushing deeper in your mouth. The action is so unlike his bossy command that you moaned around him, leaning back so your hand tugs at his shaft, the slide of your palm along his velvety length growing audible. A wet suction sound, making its way straight to your throbbing core.

“I’ll be quick,” you said, your head arching to his touch, opening your mouth again. It was a veiled attempt at shifting the responsibility to you, but Jimin looks down, cocking his head. He can do quick but it didn’t mean that he liked doing it that way.

“Remember that time you were late?” You asked, tapping the tip of his cock on your lower lip, “don’t want you to be late anymore.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Jimin nods, pushing some of the hair that got in your eyes, “and I wasn’t thatlate.”

“Everyone was waiting for twenty minutes, hyung.”

“Jungkook… shut up,” Jimin warned, ending in a choked moan, thrusting into your mouth a little more carelessly.

“Wish we had more time,” you muttered, suckling on the head, humming so that the vibrations he could feel all over. It’s so messy now, pre-cum and drool in your desire to make quick work, hasty in your rhythm.

“Ah shit… me too,” Jimin moaned, head thrown back, the sinewy column of his neck is coloured pink, his pulse throbbing visibly under his skin. You hummed around him, hot all over, pre-cum dribbling down your chin, knees rubbed raw.

“Ah fuck… fuck,” Jimin grunts. Drawing back, you gently suckle on the tip, holding his length as you give a few more sucks to his balls, bringing out that soft sigh, so pretty, almost a whimper. You tease him, relishing in the aching throb that you felt all the way down, nosing his cock, face gleaming from spit and cum. Jimin gasped as you dip lower, then you are suddenly aided by Jungkook’s hand on your head, an all encompassing force that had you flattening your tongue, swiping it sloppily.

“Two mi -” Jungkook began, almost making you laugh as you forced your head down, nose pressing against base of Jimin’s cock. You look up, eyes pleasing, throat tightening.

“Fucking hell,” Jimin grunts, spilling suddenly, wet gurgling noises, obscene in the room as those pair of hands hold you down, Jungkook from behind and Jimin cupping your chin. It’s mildly oppressive, the air depleting from your lungs at the force but it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, moaning with them. Your eyes water, released abruptly from their hold, strings of saliva and cum snapping at your chin.

“Ah, fuck,” you gasped, voice hoarse and throat raw.

Jimin slumps back, breathing in lungfuls of air harshly, his cock still leaking so you surge forward, batting your eyelashes at him as he spurts the last of it in your mouth. He sighs, bottom lip tucked under this teeth, the crooked one, the one you’ve always found cute, appearing on show.

Knock knock!

It’s a quiet threat. Behind the door is a ticked off staff, probably tired of being human alarms.

“We’re so fucking late,” Jungkook observes, helping you up, supporting you as your legs were still shaky. Jimin cards his hand through his hair, now damp with sweat, his fingers shone from the silver rings as Jungkook picks you up in his arms, kissing you everywhere. Always the responsible one over the three of you, Jimin quickly fixes himself, flicking the robe to cover his front as he saunters to the door, straightening out his stumble.

You cling onto Jungkook’s body as he lowered you onto the bed. There was a tired glaze over you both, hands twining together as he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck. Distantly, you hear Jimin’s voice return to its diplomatic tone, smooth and concealing his state of unravel mere seconds ago.

“Ah yes, sorry, we’ll be out soon… yes.”

“Liar,” you muttered, grinning as Jungkook ran his hand along your side, scrunching his nose. He kisses you again, saying everything that screamed of no intention of leaving the bed if he could help it. The door shuts and Jimin reappears, you glanced at his flushed face over your shoulder.

“We have ten minutes to get our asses out the room,” he announced, raising his eyebrows at you and Jungkook given that you were draped over him, legs kicking upwards coyly. It wasn’t much of a grace period at all.

“Did you bargain?” You asked, propping yourself up so you could rest your head on your hand. Jungkook trails his finger along your back, in no hurry at all.

“No but the moment they saw me, they stopped themselves from saying ‘five’ and gave me ‘ten’ instead.”

You all laughed, you relenting first and rolling off Jungkook, who clasped your wrist before letting you go. Jimin comes over to kiss your temple.

“Be back soon, then we can carry on later,” he said, unable to resist kissing you again.

“Ten minutes can be enough time,” you said, tugging at the string of his robe. He flashes you a warning with his eyes, but the glint was unmistakable.

“Later,” Jimin insists, tipping your chin up, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. Jungkook kisses along your back, holding onto the final moments before they have to head out. In a light-hearted response, you roll your eyes, teasing them by shrugging them off.

“Hey, we’ll be done soon,” Jungkook said, taking it seriously since he couldn’t see your face.

“I know,” you said, twisting so you could straddle him, much to Jimin’s chagrin.

“Guys, c’mon,” he said, laughter edging his tone. Jungkook nudges his nose against yours, sighing deeply but his hands cling onto your body, inciting an even pressure of his fingers on your skin.

“Fine,” Jungkook sighed, but not before kissing you again.

“I saw the cute headbands for your New Year message,” you said, feeling Jimin’s hands on your waist, plush lips between your shoulder blades. A small win given that he was back on the bed with you both.

“It would look cute as we deliver our New Year’s wishes,” Jimin mused, splaying his hand on your lower back so you could grind over Jungkook harder. You gasped into the kiss, the direct contact of your pussy over Jungkook’s cock making you shudder, who groaned lowly.

“What’s your wish?” You asked Jungkook, leaning back as Jimin supported you with your back on his chest. Jungkook’s eyes darted to the side, a blush colouring his cheeks suddenly. Jimin laughs by exhaling sharply through his nose, going back to kissing your neck, humming slightly.

“Well -”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The moment dissolves as you cover your mouth with your hands to contain your laughter, alert as to the impatience of the person behind the insistent knocking. Jungkook inhales deeply before giving you a final, chaste kiss and carefully disengages himself from you so he could clean up what he could before being corralled out.

“Later,” he said.

“Why? Tell me!” You grumbled, but it doesn’t last long as Jimin tackles you underneath him, giving quick kisses along your neck. Changing tactic, you look up at him, eyes on his full lips, glossy from all the kisses.

“What’syourwish?”

“Later,” Jimin echoed, his tone light. You rolled your eyes.

“Later,” you mocked, sticking your tongue out.

And they both laughed, Jungkook’s one reverberating from somewhere in the bathroom, Jimin’s right by your ear.

#jimin x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts smut #park jimin x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #bts one shot #jikook x reader #jimin x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #park jimin x you

Wed, 26 Jan 2022 15:12:10

Strangers (V) | Park Jimin, 4.9k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary: Months have passed. Jimin tries to take charge of his life, it’s not easy and he doesn’t feel like himself but you’re there. In a way, you always have been. You were strangers for a time, then friends, then mere strangers again, but is going forward and being more what you both want?

Warnings/Tags: Rated G-angst; but there are good parents out there (specifically in this chapter lmao); there are tears too, ooof; Jimin is going throughit rn, but it’ll be okay; if the word ‘maybe’ was a fic (oops); - non-idol!AU (University —> Young adults).

Jimin never knew what to do with himself during family dinners. He never knew when to interject or stay silent, which made him an easy target.

“What are your plans, Jimin-sshi?”

Ji-Eun’s father says this as he drinks himself into a violent shade of red. Jimin fidgets, trying to scramble for a diplomatic yet adequate answer. The question was too vague, too open-ended. Did he mean his current plans or plans into the future? Because Jimin didn’t know if he had either. Next to him, Ji-Eun remains silent, a thing that became pressingly irritating in the given circumstances.

“Not sure, Abeoji. I’m happy where I am,” Jimin replies, eating to give himself a break. He doesn’t miss Ji-Eun’s soft sigh as she rises from her seat. Her mother gives Jimin as a small smile.

“I’m sure Jimin’s plans are well and good,” she adds, patting him on the shoulder.

To this, Jimin can’t seem to understand why he felt a dreaded sense of suffocation. The weight of his inadequacies far too oppressive for his liking. He wishes to be apart or elsewhere, perhaps to detach himself from who he was as a person. He tries to pivot, to prepare himself for an onslaught.

Ji-Eun returns with a glass of water for him, “here, drink this.”

Jimin obliges, melting any possibility of being drunk. He guesses that he won’t be escorted to the bus stop tonight.

“How is the job though?” Ji-Eun mother says after a while. Jimin’s nerves don’t settle.

“It’s fine, Eomma.”

The feeling of calling other people’s parents is foreign to him, especially since he doesn’t feel in any way at home under their scrutiny. But he smiles and nods.

That’s all he ever did nowadays.

The gate to Jimin’s home is left open.

He walks across the tiny path, his hair ruffled by the breeze. When he finally enters his childhood home, he is startled by his mother’s presence in the kitchen. Illuminated by a single light, she works to wash a couple of vegetables in the sink, shaking them before laying them down. Jimin makes his presence known quickly to avoid being scolded at the late hour. He scrapes the chair back and fills a small glass with water for himself.

“Did my son have a good day?”

Jimin gulps down the drink, unable to feel nothing but shame in holding that title. It wells up and pokes through his eyes, as if he was a sieve for his emotions. In the past months, while getting more serious with Ji-Eun, it’s been a never ending barrage of humiliation; he has never felt good enough, even in his home town. But because it’s his mother, a person who has seen him in every hue, he surrenders and becomes small. She approaches him, placing a tender hand on his shoulders as he dips his head, the tears coming suddenly.

“You can tell Eomma what’s bothering you. It’s okay.”

Jimin inhales a shuddering breath, his chest tight.

Should he even risk baring himself when his problems are so hollow?

It’s been three months of stagnation, of being a convenience store manager, of being in a relationship that he neither feels happy or fulfilled in.

“Eomma,”he whispers, curling his hands into fists since they couldn’t stop shaking, “I’m just having a hard time.”

And it’s this silence that’s most comforting, the gentle embrace of his mother, the scent of her clothes and her warmth. Jimin can’t even look at her in the eye.

“I’m very proud of you,” she murmurs into his hair.

Then, she did what she would do when he was younger, a slight push of her fingers in his hair, a gentle scratch on his scalp. It’s a small comfort that sent a tremendous sense of nostalgia through him. Jimin was back to being a child, he was years younger, and someone else more capable is bearing the burden for now. He snivelled, braving the torrent of emotions. He couldn’t say much as he was crying too hard, the pain of being acknowledged right in the moment being too much.

“Eomma,” he says, his breath coming out like a tremor, “I need to leave.”

She takes his face in her hands, the surface of her palms are soft and warm. She’s always looked at him kindly, in way that he doesn’t understand. Jimin looked like his father but he was raised by his mother, a kind and gentle soul who was selfless to a fault.

“I’ll support you. Eommawill support you.”

And for the first time in a long while, Jimin finds a certain serenity overcome him.

You wedge your phone between your ear and your shoulder, shoving past the door as you heft another box.

“You better get here soon, Tae. They think it’s myplace that I’m moving into.”

The line is static for a bit before clearing, “yeah. I’m just stuck at work for another twenty minutes. My roommate’ll be there in a two minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the box in a vacant room. The apartment, under Seoul standards, is decent. It’s not uncommon for people to shoulder the rent by adopting a roommate or two. The times are harder now more than ever, so you understood Taehyung’s compromise.

“Fine,” you huffed, sitting down on the mattress, looking down on the miniature setting of downtown Mapo. Students tour the streets as afternoon wanes into evening; Taehyung shouldn’t have been running this late but it couldn’t be helped.

“Ah, thanks Ahjussi, just there. Okay…”

The voice renders you to a state of alert. It’s familiar in its tone: how it sounds like a song most times, gentle in the delivery of vowels, conjuring up images of a handsome thief. A once a good friend turned temporary foe after a misdirected kiss. Months have elapsed, the time riddled in silence and half-hearted interactions online.

Jimin appears suddenly through the door, as surprised as you were.

“Oh,” he mutters, opening the door widely and letting himself in.

“Jimin.”

His smile is strained and all you could think of was how naive you were. Of course Taehyung and Jimin kept in touch, of course Taehyung trusted Jimin to be his roommate. You examine Jimin subtly; it’s been months and he’s drifted, as he does, further than you liked. You make room, dragging yourself along the bed. The excitement is different, tentative. As if Jimin materialising in front of you suddenly makes him realagain.

“When Taehyung told me that his ‘friend’ will be here, I never expected it to be you.”

That stings a little.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he cautions, seeing your face. He gestures with his hands in front of him slightly, “I just meant that, I guess I didn’t expect you and Taehyung to keep in touch.”

The air is suffused with a kind of easy acknowledgment between you, the bygones solidifying at the sight of each other being well and healthy. He came without Ji-Eun after all and a kiss was just a kiss. You worried about Jimin, despite it all.

“He moved back here from Daegu a while back and we hung out a lot since ‘cause I ran into him in a café,” you explained.

Taehyung, boisterous in his embrace, never quite let you go from that day forward. But you can’t help but admit that it was nice to have someone from university who knew you then, before life took over. Taehyung kept his easy-going outlook in life, weathering the dreaded consequences of growing up with a can-do attitude.

Jimin nods, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. You wait for him to speak, to lend part of himself out in the open. He gives you a strained smile instead, hesitating to meet you in the eye.

“I’m glad though, cause I don’t think we’d see each other.”

You shake your head, “we’re not very good at being strangers, are we?”

His smile grows and your mirror it too.

“No. But I’m kind of glad that’s the case.”

And you think that deep down, past the uncomfortable territory of mishaps that you shared, you really were.

Taehyung begins to rise from where he was sat, much to you and Jimin’s protest.

“Where are you going?” You asked, failing to grasp at the hem of his pants.

Jimin hides his face in his hands to laugh, chasing that joke you hauled out from years back. Strange how nostalgia can shape a conversation, varnishing your earlier years in technicolour. It was all so simple; the one thing plaguing your minds were reserving a booth at a student pub or when the next exam was.

“I’m tired guys, and I have work tomorrow,” Taehyung announced, not bothering to wait for a reply. The door slams behind him, leaving you and Jimin alone. You didn’t take it as anything mean, Taehyung had an especially long day and sleep is a currency that was hard to come by these days.

“Must be stressful for him,” Jimin said, his voice a little hoarse.

You nod. Taehyung was spinning plates with all of what he was trying to achieve. There was work, then moving back to the city, then more work. He would often complain that there aren’t enough hours in the day to do anything. Though you all knew that what he really meant was rest.

Seoul wears down even the most resilient eventually.

“Are you still working in that office?”

You swallow the shot of soju and suppress a cough, “yeah. I wanted to leave but they promoted me.”

Jimin chuckled, adjusting his posture, “show off.”

“I’m not showing off! I really wanted to leave,” you exclaimed, thinking about the long hours chained to your desk, as well as the same, banal routine eroding your sense of self. You didn’t understand why living would take such a toll despite being rewarded in spades. You had a place to yourself, enough food, a somewhat independent state of living. Your parents were prouder than most. It’s picture perfect, a future you strive for now a reality. In fact, all that’s left is the company of a small pet, barred solely by the standards of your apartment.

Jimin purses his lips, considering the murky surface of his shot glass. These were the times that you think he was the hardest to read, as if he was caving in himself, retreating away from you.

“Wish I had the option to leave,” he sighed. You remembered that he was in between jobs again, back to tempting and such.

“We can trade places if you like, I’m sure my boss would love to have you.”

Jimin grinned, shoving your shoulder weakly, “I hate office jobs, you know that.”

“Doesn’t mean that you won’t be suited for it.”

Jimin sighs deeply again, craning his head back against the curve of the couch. His hair was back to its dark locks, and it was longer this time. They fanned out in graceful strands onto the fabric, his profile is sharp and his jaw angular.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I just want time to stop, you know?”

You nod because you do get it. You don’t understand why it all goes so fast, how much older you both were now. Life seemed doable back in university, a steep challenge. You suppose that it still is now, but with the added notion of pressure, of the need to be somewhere already even if you didn’t know where that place or state of being was. An idea comes to mind suddenly, so you face him just as he turns his head. Jimin’s cheeks were flushed pink, his lips equally rosy. Here, he was less hard to read and was back to the handsome thief in your eyes.

“How about we go have that day out, you know, watching performances.”

It’s a suggestion borne out of a hazy memory, of conversations in diners, the kind of wishful thinking that was harmless but held the weight of a promise. Jimin blinks, registering your words.

“You remembered that?”

And you smiled, wistful.

“Of course I did.”

Jimin hasn’t been thishappy in a while.

The National Theatre of Korea was magnificent on an ordinary Saturday evening, it’s halls brimming with regulars or newcomers. Dressed closer to the nines that your usual style, you both made it out of the theatre, grinning from ear to ear.

Hoseok waved at you and him. To Jimin’s knowledge, he had been working there for the past two years as the resident set designer. The backdrop for the evening’s performance was his vision coming to life, Jimin had never been prouder. You looped your arm through his, tugging him eagerly. He laughed at your enthusiasm, allowing himself to be guided.

“Did you guys enjoy it?”

Jimin leaps to answer, “of course, Hyung.”

You smiled, “it was wonderful. Thanks for getting us tickets last minute.”

Jimin glances at you then, noticing every detail. Absorbing your features, your happiness, as if that was the very force keeping him upright. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but it was something other than guilt this time, and for that he was grateful.

Hoseok blushes at the warm greeting, “I haven’t seen you guys for ages, so I’m happy to do this.”

“Do you still have access to the stage, Hyung?” Jimin asked, trying his luck. Hoseok arches his brow but is congenial. You giggled next to him, a conspirator in his scheme. Eventually though, Hoseok leads the way, all three of you going against the current of the crowd.

Things looked different on stage.

You and Jimin were sat right where the actors were minutes ago. Shredded confetti littered the corners, the floor is scratched up, the furious swipes of various footwear marking it beyond repair. Jimin liked seeing that because it meant that it was used, that people came to see these performances. You whistled at the overhead lights, the complicated rigging that, from afar, the audience wouldn’t see. Jimin found himself observing you again as the silence conveyed the enormity of the place. Here, the dreams of the performers echoed in the hearts of the audience and he felt a sort of kinship to that.

He hadn’t properly thought about it since leaving but it felt so good to be around others, to be invisible, and to have no responsibilities or any kind of pressure around him. Leaving Busan for Seoul again, that re-centred him. Leaving Ji-Eun, no matter how painful it was to instigate, was a mindful change for the better. He didn’t like seeing anyone unhappy and that was Ji-Eun in the latter part of their relationship. That’s why seeing his mother and father wave him off from the train station was less intimidating and more cathartic.

Now, he was reaping the benefits of trying. He liked your company, he felt at ease.

“I would have been happy as part of the theatre ensemble, anyensemble. I’ve always loved the stage…”

Jimin lets the seemingly endless space of the theatre hold the things unsaid. They lurk in certain spaces, in the curtains, the levelled tiers where seats are found. You wait, comfortable in his musings, his half-baked dreams.

“How are you?”

You ask this while Jimin fidgets then fixates on a faraway point near the back of the theatre. The question isn’t difficult, he’s heard it before, too often these days.

“Well, work’s been the same and -”

You cut him off immediately, “no, I meant - what’s been happening with you? I don’t care about work or what you’re doing.”

Jimin looks at you again as you finish your point.

“Howare you, Jimin?”

He should be relieved really, which makes it silly that all he wants to do is cry. In front of him, you’re oblivious, as your concern is genuine. To add, your eyes are attentive. He finds himself welcoming this spate of emotions that encourages honesty. The space between, where your hands are splayed, the tips of them just touching. He wonders how you knew what to say, to have that ability to reach into his mind.

He holds your attention, his eyes seeking yours, unafraid for once. The first graze of your fingers together makes both of you smile.

“Better.”

It’s not meant to sound like a confession but it feels like it because it’s you. Here, in a venue that holds thousands that it might have been the world’s stage, it’s the most sincere he’s been. He holds onto your smile as the lights flicker above, he cleared his throat to expel any dredge of emotion making him choke up.

“I loved the pansori,” you mused, shifting your legs as if you were making snow angels. Jimin leans on his hands.

“Does it have to be about love, though?” He thought aloud.

You scoffed, “it wasn’t allabout love. There were themes of social class, too.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “would it kill them to support productions that have less conflict?”

You laughed, “careful, Hoseok might hear you.”

“Good!” He bellowed, his voice reverberating on every surface. You stifled your laugh between your fingers and a part of him wanted to hear it loudly since he missed it so much.

“Besides,” you said, gathering your breath, “that’s what it’s about.”

Jimin cocks his head to the side, confused.

“What’s what all about?” He asked.

You met him in the eye and he registers something flash in them. Maybe it’s in the way your brows scrunched for a second, or how swift you were in blinking it away.

“Love,” you concluded, staring up at the ceiling again, “love’s about conflict.”

“Remind me to wear more comfortable shoes,” you complained, grasping onto Jimin’s hand so tightly that his knuckles were ashen.

Namsan Seoul Tower is a distinct spindle that glowed in brilliant blue tonight. Jimin had spontaneously booked tickets prior to the performance and told you whilst changing lines at the subway. The night hadn’t ended yet and you were glad, given that he had been so sullen. It was nice that he took initiative.

“Let’s swap then,” he says, slowing down a little to allow you to adjust. Heat creeped up your neck and spilled over to your cheeks.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied, scurrying forward to join the line of people waiting to be shuffled into the elevators. Jimin rubs your lower back, affectionate and serious.

“You sure?”

You nod, avoiding him in the eye. He brushes this off by grasping your waist so that you weren’t pushing all of your weight into the heels you wore. The warmth of him was distracting, to say the least. You remind yourself that Jimin’s always been like this. Soon, you were directed into one of the elevators, leading to the observatory deck.

Seoul from above is a maze of highways and blacked out shapes. The deck was circular in structure and there weren’t too many people around as it was late. Jimin stayed near, at times, strolling with you to point at vague areas of interest. He even took to pointing out where he used to get the bus to work. Then, in a quieter section, past the watchful eyes of the stewards, you leaned onto the fortified glass, the silence between you oddly comforting.

It makes you braver in ways that alcohol could and it seems that Jimin is anticipating it too, this question at the tip of your tongue.

“We never talked about it,” you muttered.

Jimin blinks, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. The blood spreads and it becomes redder. You didn’t meant to sully the atmosphere, you didn’t even know where you were headed with your words. All that you remembered was a kiss, the uncomfortable train ride back, and the months of walking around in eggshells and barely interacting.

This confrontation was bound to happen anyway.

“I’m sorry for that,” he began, looking down at the floor, at your feet.

Apologies were overdue but that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Something aches in your chest, a definite sting as your heart struggles to beat regularly. You don’t say anything, admiring the neon dots that decorate the landscape. From this high, you seemed invincible, ready to tackle any problem. It’s only when you looked at Jimin did you realise the error of your ways.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand. You’ve always been someone I could talk to about anything, I never had to hide myself from you, we’re like that.”

Funny how the words stemming from empathy served the opposite effect. You let out a shaky breath.

The kiss meant nothing to him.

“Right. So, I guess I’ll just be the person, who you go to if you’re feeling like you need a pick me up.”

Jimin’s features flicker to something akin to hurt, but you had to push through. It wasn’t ideal to talk about it in public like this, tainting the beautiful view below. Seoul has always been kind to you at any hour and the nights were yours to dream up infinite possibilities. Now, it seemed too saturated because of this inexplicable hurt.

“It’s not like that,” Jimin replied, reaching for you again. This time, you don’t bother shrugging him off.

“Then what is it? What am I to you?”

And the silence that follows was even harder to bear. He lets go of your sleeve, regretful in every action but at a loss for words. You cast your mind back to all of the points in your life where Jimin was in it, each one coloured in joy despite it all. He says your name, soft and careful.

“Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t want us to be apart or not talk again.”

You remembered the numerous texts he sent, the phone calls you ignored. You weren’t blocking him out of your life out of spite, it just hurt too much to be rejected like that. You had kept it together in the past week as he was undergoing this period of change, but you didn’t want to drag it out for longer. It was hard to pretend that things were alright but it was harder to gloss over the previous events as if they were insignificant.

“I’m really tired of this,” you mumbled, rubbing the heel of your palms over your eyes until you saw white dots. You feel him grasp at your wrist, and you exhale forcefully to keep yourself from acting irrationally.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I never -”

You wrench away from him, narrowly avoiding a passerby.

“You don’t want to hurtme?”

It was crass and accusatory. You didn’t bother to rectify it as Jimin shuts down, appearing awash with guilt. He pressed himself against the window pane, no sure where to look. Then, he makes a move to say something but a steward enters your space, cautious as to the nature of your conversation but nevertheless dutiful.

“We’ll be closing in 10 minutes,” she said, her voice low. You nod, turning away. Jimin grasps at your wrist, saying your name in a plea.

“Let’s talk,” he said, sounding desperate, “please.”

“What is there to talk about?” You snap, ducking into the elevator. Other people filtered in, crowding you into a corner. Jimin shields you despite having enough room, but it’s really because something hot streams down your cheek, blurring your vision.

It’s embarrassing to be crying in an elevator.

It’s embarrassing that the one person you didn’t want as witness is the one protecting you from other, prying eyes.

And it’s even more embarrassing that you can’t run away.

Jimin tries to salvage the situation. The ground floor couldn’t come any faster, the people around you are animated in their conversations, oblivious to your tears. Jimin cradles your head, pushing your face onto his chest. He still smells like he does years ago, it’s a sweet scent you worked hard to forget. It’s ridiculous that the thud of his heart through his clothes made you weak, how his embrace, steady and unwavering, made you want to scream about the unfairness of it all.

Instead, the tears came, staining his chest. Your shoulders shook from holding back, but Jimin cradles your head, this gentle manner startling you into a stupor.

The ring of the elevator disrupts everything, the hurried footsteps around you signalling the time for exit. Jimin doesn’t press you though, holding onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair.

You shake your head, unspeakably tired, pushing him off. You wipe your face roughly, sniffing as the biting air cools your skin. Jimin firmly holds your elbow as you try and rush out. You turn back to him, suddenly furious.

“Was it not clear to you that that kiss meant something to me?”

He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded in a way that conveyed just how clueless he was. That makes your heart ache in its hollow thud. The night air skims your skin, the tips of your finger grows cold. Jimin halts his attempts to draw you closer to him and stands his ground.

“What do you mean?”

You gathered yourself, “it may be a mistake to you but it wasn’t for me.”

Jimin swallows down your words, his face slightly pale under the artificial streetlights. The rustle of leaves from the overhead canopies are intrusive, competing with your shallow breaths. He steps closer.

“You mean that -”

“When you kissed me, I thought that you -” you said, struggling to get the words out, “I thought that you wanted me.”

Jimin pushes his hand along his hair, unravelling it from its style, the dark locks fall and is gently jostled by the wind. He doesn’t say anything, which makes you laugh.

“Yeah. I know,” you said, too far into the other side of things to back out. The humiliation wasn’t ideal but it was out there. Jimin shakes his head suddenly.

“How could you like someone like me?”

What?

His response was unexpected, and you both find yourselves on a bench. You hissed at the cold wood that penetrated your clothes.

“I have a hard time forming a reply,” you said, trying your best to calm down.

Jimin places his jacket over your shoulders suddenly. The warmth abates the chatter in your teeth, he seems to withstand the cold for the moment. He lets out a shaky breath, clasping his hands together.

“I didn’t think you could like me because I’m so…”

You wait, somewhat nervous.

Jimin takes to looking at you in the eye, “because I’m this nobody.”

“What?”

It wasn’t clear to you. Sure, Jimin had trouble adjusting but that wasn’t something you considered as a bad thing. Everyone had their own pace, their own way in life. For a moment, he’s too pained to carry on.

“I mean that I’m stuck. I don’t have anything for myself, I don’t even have my own place, I hate my job. I don’t have any sense of responsibility.”

For the first time it felt like Jimin was the most transparent he’s ever been. You knew that what he was saying was something he preferred to keep to himself. You draw his jacket tightly around yourself, shivering.

“I don’t care about any of that,” you muttered.

It was true. That had no bearing on the kind of person Jimin was to you.

“You will, eventually.”

Jimin says this in a softer tone, a certain kind of sadness that echoes in your chest. He really felt like those things he described and there was nothing you could say to better it.

“I know you, I know that you just need time and -”

“I’vehad time, I’ve had enough of it and I still haven’t done anything,” he said, interrupting you. “And I just can’t see why someone like you would go for someone like me.”

“Jimin, you’re more capable that anyone I know,” you began, “it’s not easy to uproot yourself and move back home, or start over again, here.”

Jimin’s mouth twists into a grimace. You feel like you’ve said the wrong words and given the wrong meaning.

“I just feel like I’ll weigh you down. That you’ll be embarrassed of me.”

You place your hand over his, feeling the raised veins, “you could never be those things to me.”

To this, he inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“It’s been years since I felt like I had any control over my life. I just don’t want to drag you into this mess.

“That’s not true, Jimin.”

He shakes his head, “I feel like I’m not the kind of person anyone can be proud of.”

You realise then that you and Jimin were operating on a different understanding. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or not. It comes from a recessed well of feelings he probably had since graduation. An uncertainty that stayed hooked on his back, feeding off his energy. The harrowing part was that he was carrying this privately, in silence.

“Not to me.”

That was the truth of it. But it snags at your chest, this moment of honesty between you. It’s almost too abrupt, for the first time, you were wary of just how transparent you were being. Jimin squeezes his hand over yours. His gaze is sorrowful, laced in a sort of helplessness that you wished you never saw in anyone, let alone him.

Seoul shines from afar. This was how you ended your day, the performances that made you happy a mere vignette in your mind and the observatory deck is far off. Jimin is dejected while your tears made your cheeks tacky.

It leads you one resounding thought: that it’s harder to be like this with Jimin than strangers these days.

“I’m sorry.”

This time, you accept his apology.

Previous chapters:I. | II. | III. | IV.

masterlist (I) | masterlist (II)

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x you #bts jimin #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #park jimin fanfic #bts park jimin

Tue, 03 May 2022 00:58:03

Types Of Lipglosses They Like

genre: fluff, sorta suggestive?

pairing(s): bts ot7 x reader (separately)

warnings: kisses, slightly suggestive in Namjoons? and Jungkooks?

word count: 497

{Kim Seokjin}

I feel like he would adore a nice clear gloss
Or a slightly red tinted one
I think he would also buy them for you
He would sit you in his lap and help you apply it
While also sneaking a few kisses here and there
Then would have you put some on him
Because hello
Those lips??
Would look gorgeous in some gloss

{Min Yoongi}

Maybe a more subtle one
Like a clear or pinky tone one
You know the ones with flowers in them?
I think he would get the for you
Just for decorating your desk
Or you can wear them
I think he would watch you apply it
But not really help you know?
I think if you offered some he might use it
And then tease you about how the indirect kiss should become a real one

{Jung Hoseok}

He gives me gold/yellow and a metallic gloss vibe
Though he would get disappointed when he realizes that he can’t kiss you without messing it up
I think he would enthusiastically let you put some on his lips
Just because he likes having you close to him
And seeing your face up close
It’s a win-win for everyone

{Kim Namjoon}

I don’t think he has a certain preference
He just likes anything because it’s you ‍♀️
Though if he did have a preference
It would be a non scented gloss with a cooler tone
He would watch you put it on and then proceed to line your lips with his fingers
He doesn’t care if he gets it on him
Just wants to see flustered and putting it on again

{Park Jimin}

I think he’s more of a lip oil type guy
Lipgloss is just too sticky
And he can not go more than 3 hours without kisses
Plus the lip oils I’ve used have had moisturizer in it
So you get a nice sheen and non chapped lips
While he gets to kiss you with it sticking everywhere and some moisturizer as well
Another Win-Win

{Kim Taehyung}

I honestly don’t think he cares
Like Namjoon has a preference at least
But he genuinely doesn’t care what color, type or if there’s a design
He might say it’s cute but that’s it
I also think he would buy any and every lip product he comes across
He might have a preference towards ones with ‘lighter’ scents instead of the ‘heavier’ ones
Like a not noticeable vanilla to a strong lemon
He would carry some around with him just in case you need it

{Jeon Jungkook}

Doesn’t like it
He might like to see you apply it but that’s it
When your at home he needs to be kissing you every 30 or so minutes
Lip gloss is just to sticky
He might compromise on a lip oil
But be warned
His kisses will end up taking it off
Especially if it’s those ones that have a slight flavor to them

@dreamyteam

Wed, 01 Jun 2022 12:41:06

Anomalous Fate: “Now what?”

Author’s Note: Finally another chapter for this series, I’m sorry it’s taking so long omg, but we’re finally passed all the technical stuff so hopefully we start moving more into the main plot. It’s still minor bad writing but I’m hoping to get better lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did, xx

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, BTS not thinking situations through, Jimin being kinda creepy

“So, four of us share a soulmate?” Yoongi asked, and as the other four boys nodded, he sighed and sat back on the couch in their dressing room.

The concert was long over, giving the boys thirty minutes to get ready for the little meet and greet they have in just a few minutes now.

Namjoon is stuck in his thoughts, wracking his brain for a solution to the problem, and wondering if any solution he comes up with is the appropriate one, until he gives up.

“It’s nearly impossible to even think about what comes after this. We go back to Korea in a week, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Hyung, you’re not serious?” Jimin’s shoulders deflate slightly at the possible outcome of this situation.

“Yes, I’m serious, it’s a curse that this is how our fate is tied but We. Can’t. do. Anything.” Namjoon is stern while looking at Jimin and sits, but as each member processes his words, Jimin’s eyes brighten up and he opens his mouth to speak, but Jin beats him to it.

“Nope, no, I know what you’re all gonna say and nope, don’t even think about it.” Seokjin dismisses

He glances around the room and shakes his head at his younger members, “You can’t just kidnap someone!”

Yoongi tilts his head, “It’s not kidnapping if she’s our soulmate…”

Hoseok butts in, “…and if we already know she likes us…”

Seokjin pinches his forehead, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Jimin stands and walks to the other end of the room, “Hyung, we can’t just let her go. Not when we finally know who it is, not when we’re so close!”

“Jimin look, I get it. If that was my soulmate I would be feeling just as conflicted, but we need to think rationally here. Her life is here, her friends, family, school, job, everything she has, is here. Our life is in Korea, we can’t just take her and expect her to adapt to that. And what if word gets out that we kidnapped a girl? What would that do for us, our career. Shit, what would that do for her?” Jin rants, looking at the four boys in shame.

“Hyung said no, and I mean it.” Jin finishes with a strict tone so his younger members know not to ask again, diminishing any last hope his brothers had.

Jungkook and Taehyung are sitting on the couch, staying quiet. Taehyung couldn’t really believe the chaos that unfolded in just a matter of a couple hours. His hyungs finding their soulmate, finding out they share said soulmate, and now asking if they can just take her with them back to Seoul. He could almost relate to his hyungs though, knowing that if he found his soulmate here, he would everything in his power to have her move with him.

Jungkook was much the same, he was trying to process everything, but more than that, he found himself hoping that his hyungs would go through with the idea, because deep inside, he hoped she was his soulmate too. They were brothers, they shared everything, why not this?

“NO! You can’t make me!” Y/N struggles against her friend’s arms, dragging her toward the room where they’ll be meeting the boys.

Kristie groans, “Y/N, that’s enough, you’re meeting them because Jasmine’s dad didn’t spend all this money just for you to stand outside the door.”

Y/N slumps down the wall and looks at her friends guilty, feeling sorry for ruining what was supposed to be a good night.

“I’m sorry I’m roping you guys into this.”

Kristie and Jasmine sit beside their friend and grab her hands, “Hey, it’s fine, this is actually a lot more amusing than you think.”

Jasmine nods, “It might be scary now, but hey, you finally found your soulmates, you should be ecstatic. Sure, it might be a few of the BTS members, but they’re still normal guys. You’re a dime and a half Y/N, I’d be more surprised if they didn’t accept it. I know they will.”

After calming a little, Y/N smiles at her friends’ words, “I guess maybe I am overthinking it all, but it’s very overwhelming,” she slowly stands and helps her friends up as well, “It’ll be nerve-wracking as hell but, I do want to meet them.”

Kristie and Jasmine cheer and they all file into the room, one after the other, and are met with a shorter line than expected, moving to the back, and smiling politely at the fellow army.

Jimin is lost in thought as he follows his members down the hall, he was hoping to see his soulmate waiting for him in the meeting room after he saw her run out of the theatre.

He understood that it may have been overwhelming for you, but he didn’t expect you to just leave like that.

He hears excited murmuring and squeals as they approach the meeting room, and when he enters, his eyes are immediately glancing at the fans, waving, and smiling politely.

As his eyes reach the end of the line, he has to contain his excitement when he notices his string ends just on the other side of two girls, his mood lifting.

It’s another hour before he notices there’s only two more girls before he gets to properly meet you and what looks like your friends.

He looks at Namjoon, who gives him a slight thumbs up.

“Look who’s excited.” Hoseok teases his friend. Namjoon huffs a laugh and looks down, “Aren’t you?” Hoseok nods, “Of course, it’s about time we get to meet them.”

Namjoon nods knowingly, and the boys all smile for the photos, making sure to give the fans in front of them their complete attention.

As the two girls walk out of the room, the staff mention, “Last three, you can come up now girls.”

As each boy glances at them, the seven boys feel a sudden pull in their chest to the girl with blue hair, and Seokjin furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the feeling. Shaking it off as him being tired, as he pulls the tallest girl in for a slight hug.

Taehyung smiles politely and makes out a quick, “Hello, nice meeting you.”

As Taehyung is smiling at the shortest girl, he glances at her shoes, nodding along to make sure she knows he’s listening, and his eyes wander from her shoes to her friend’s shoes, and as his eyes go to flicker back to the girl in front of him, they land on her friend’s wrist, pausing at the time written on it.

He flickers to his own wrist and tenses at the fact that they’re the exact same.

He shakes his head slightly and focuses back on the conversation, he feels bad that he’s missed a bit of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice, which he’s grateful for.

As the girls move around and make conversation, Jungkook finds himself standing in front of Y/N and he bows his head slightly, “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Jungguk.” He holds his hand out to shake and as the girl takes it, she smiles nervously, “Hello, uh my name is Y/N, it’s really nice to meet y-ow!”

Jungkook and the girl both pull back when they’re hands meet, Jungkook hissing at the pain and Y/N rubbing her palm.

“Yah, Jungguk-ah, you okay?” Hoseok asks in Korean, and the youngest nods, turning his attention to you, “You okay?”

He sees the girl nod, but she continues rubbing her palm, “I’m fine.”

Namjoon clears his throat at the weird encounter and stands beside the two, “Shall we take a picture?”

Everyone nods and Jimin immediately pulls Y/N toward him, standing her right in the middle of the group, Y/N laughs nervously and smiles for the picture, not noticing Jimin or Yoongi’s tight grip on her waist.

She’s still very nervous, not talking much at all, but the members are being sweet to her, maybe a little too sweet but none of them bring up the soulmate thing and Y/N isn’t sure anymore whether the pull in her chest is because of their ties, or her heart breaking at the thought of them not wanting her after seeing her up close.

Jimin ignored the string, Hoseok didn’t mention the hair, hiding his beneath his beanie, Yoongi didn’t say anything about his itchy wrist, and she saw that Namjoon had washed off the writing on his forearm.

Her eyes burn with tears, but she blinks them away as soon as they come, putting a smile on her face as to not bring any concern.

She notices Taehyung staring from time to time, but she ignores it as much as she can, she saw his time when she first hugged him but decided against saying anything, she couldn’t handle having yet another member as her soulmate, or more so, she couldn’t handle another member rejecting their tie.

She found she was most comfortable around Jin because there was no correlation as to them being tied together, naturally gravitating at the fact she didn’t have to worry about looking or acting a certain way.

He was making her laugh with his jokes, wanting nothing more than for her to be comfortable around him and his brothers, it was working, but either of them failed to notice the death glares shot at the pair.

“It was very nice meeting you all today, we hope to see you very soon again.” Namjoon spoke for him and his members, smiling at the three girls, who all slightly bow and return the smile, “Thank you for the great show, we hope to see you again as well.”

Y/N waves as she walks out with her friends, her hopes diminishing at the fact that none of them wanted her, or even brought it up. She can feel her eyes burn and before she leaves, she glances at Jimin once more who smirks, “We’ll see you very soon, love.”

She nods and smiles as best she can, walking out of the door and into her friend’s arms, Kristie rubbing her back and comforting her as they walk out of the theatre, Y/N sniffing quietly.

“You’ll find someone eventually Y/N, there’s a lot of people out there who don’t have a soulmate or who were, uhm…left alone…but don’t worry too much about that.” Jasmine consoled her friend as much as she could, but truthfully, she didn’t know what to do. It was rare to have a soulmate that didn’t want you, and what made this situation a little worse, Y/N already had so much love and care for hers.

“I just don’t understand why they totally ignored it, they could have at least told me they didn’t want me, instead of completely disregarding the elephant in the room.”

“They were jerks for that, but at least Jin was nice.” Kristie tried and Y/N nodded, “He really was, maybe if I had him as a soulmate, he would have been nicer. Instead of being ignored by all five of mine.”

Jasmine frowned at Y/N’s words, “Five?” Y/N nodded and looked down at her clock, “Taehyung’s clock is the other half to this one, making him my fifth soulmate.”

“…then I guess that means Jungkook is your sixth?” Y/N looked at Kristie with confusion, but her eyes followed where she was pointing, and on the inside of her right palm, written in lovely cursive, ‘Jeon Jungkook.’

Groaning loudly, she threw her head back and rubbed at her puffy eyes, “Fuck.”

“Listen, I’m fine, that was a few days ago now and I have to move on, it’s whatever.” Y/N explained to her friends, finishing up her late lunch and moving to put her plate in the sink.

“I know, but we’re just making sure everything is okay with you, but if you say everything is fine then we’ll take your word for it.” Jasmine shrugged, Y/N smiles at her friends and thanks them and all three girls startle at her phone that suddenly blares.

“Hello?” Y/N answers, hearing her boss on the other line,

‘hey y/n, I was wondering if you can make it in for an evening shift in like two hours? I know it’s last minute, but Hailey needed to leave, her babysitter bailed’

Y/N thought about it and decided it could take her mind off everything, so she agreed, telling the girls, and going off to get ready.

It’s been six days since the meet and greet, and Y/N was doing better honestly, she accepted her fate and didn’t want to dwell on it too much. But even she had to admit, in those times of quietness or in times of loneliness, it still hurt to know.

What made it easier for her was the call back she had gotten the day after the concert about an opening they were having at a clothing store she applied to at the mall. She stumbled upon the website when she was shopping and since summer was around the corner, she thought she’d apply. It’s where she’s been training for the past four days and although she wasn’t supposed to officially start until next week, her boss gave her an opportunity and of course, Y/N jumped at it.

Not wanting to be distracted by her thoughts anymore, Y/N took a quick shower, changing into semi comfortable clothes and brushed through her hair.

She took her time in doing some makeup and thinking about which bag she was going to take, making sure all the necessities were included, grabbing her keychain with her Mall ID and walking out of her room.

“Ready? Did you need a ride there?” Kristie asked

Y/N nodded, “Yeah that’d be great.”

“Let’s go.”

“Will you need a ride home afterwards?” Kristie asks her friend, watching her gather her things and put her hand on the door handle, “I could order an Uber, I know you have that dinner with Darren tonight.” Y/N reminds and Kristie nods

“Yeah, but if you end up needing one, just hit me up, I gotchu.” Y/N nods at her friends and words and opens the door, stepping out and turning back around to smile and wave, “See ya.” She shuts the door and walks to the side of the mall, going through the little alley and into the side door.

The hallway is quite hectic, she’s passing other workers of the mall and smiling politely, memorizing the way to the clothing store.

As she comes to the back entrance, right into the stocking room, she’s greeted by her manager, who smiles in relief upon seeing her.

“Thank god you came, we’re understaffed right now and need someone else on the till, as it starts slowing down you and Ali can slowly restock the racks and counters in front, we have a new line of clothes that are just waiting to be viewed.” Y/N nods at her words, walking at a faster pace to keep up, before coming up to the till.

Ali smiles at her to which she returns, glancing at the hands of her boss, “Here’s your password and user for the system, you’re trained on the POS already but if you have any trouble do not hesitate to walk away for some help, it’s always best to have customers wait a few seconds while you get help than to have customers wait a few minutes for you to figure it out on your own.” Once again Y/N nods and her boss leaves her to it.

She lets out a sigh at the longer than usual line and calls up her first customer.

‘here’s to my first day…’

“I can help who’s next!”

“So, where do you go to school?” Ali asks, scooping a little bit of her fro-yo and glancing at y/n

“I go to U of C; do you attend school?”

Ali nods, “I go to California State, I’m in my first year actually.” Y/N hums, “Oh okay, I remember my first year really well, I couldn’t imagine having to balance work and school though, but now this year I decided to try it out.”

“It gets hard sometimes, but it’s worth it I guess.” Both girls nod knowingly and continue to eat in silence.

“Do you guys close early if there’s no customers, or do you stay for the full shift?” y/n asked

“Sometimes we do that, but most times we like to stay for the whole shift, depends on if we have stocking to do.”

She hums and stretches her neck to see around the store, after that chaos of a line, both girls managed to get everyone satisfied with their purchases and out the store. It took about two hours to get it all sorted and as soon as the last customer left, they both collapsed on the floor, their other co-worker Gina bringing them fro-yo as a little treat.

“I think Gina is sorting through the back, I guess we could start bringing the new collection out. But first, we need to take those-” Ali points to a section of winter jackets, “-to the back, and bring out whatever she has for us.”

y/n nods and stands up, throwing her cup in the trash and making her way to the back of the store, taking out a cart and wheeling it over to the front of the store, carefully grabbing each jacket and taking it off the hanger and throwing it in the cart.

Her ears perk when she hears a couple boys laugh, glancing over and noticing three guys with masks on and some beanies. Paying them no mind, she goes back to sorting the jackets but when she looks and make eye contact with one of them, she notices him smile and slightly bow his head but before she can return it, her palm gets itchy.

Scratching it a little, y/n sees Ali walk up to the rack, “I brought this for the hangers.” She gestures at a basket and sets it down, picking up the hangers that y/n left and putting them inside.

y/n takes a chance and glances toward the man again, when she notices he’s gone, her eyes scan the stores that she can see and furrows her brows when she notices he’s completely disappeared. Shrugging it off, she goes back to her work.

It’s several hours later when the girls are double checking the store, making sure everything is in its place and nothing is out of the ordinary.

In the past few hours all three girls have put away the winter clothes, sorted through the spring and summer collections and placed them out for everyone to browse through. Shoes were placed on the rack and bikinis were folded neatly on the display tables, right down to the jewelry in front of the tills.

A few customers came in but after a while, as the mall was slowly closing, less and less of a crowd made it through, but each girl didn’t mind much.

“30 minutes until closing time, I’m going to run over to the food court for a quick bite, did you guys want anything?” Ali asked to which y/n and Gina shook their heads.

As she walked out, Gina’s phone rang, and she went to the back to open it.

y/n shrugged as she was left on her own, but her ears perked up when she heard someone come in, she gently smiled at the younger male, although you can’t really see it under her mask, and she waited at the till for them to browse.

y/n enjoyed her first day at work, which she didn’t expect, it was hectic at first but once she got used to the busy atmosphere, she found herself feeling happy that she was given this opportunity.

She rang up the customer as his eyes looked around the store, his gaze flitting to the back and to the front, and he grabs some hairpins that were displayed on the counter, “for my young niece, she’s only five but she’s learning to do her own hair already.” He explains, earning a gentle nod from y/n.

y/n tried her best to converse with her customer, wanting to waste these last few minutes of her shift, and once she bagged the man’s items, she sent him on his way, walking behind him to the front and pulling out the storefront gate and sliding it shut, making sure to leave a little space for Ali to walk in.

Gina comes back in from the back, already dressed and texting on her phone, “You were given keys, right?” y/n nods and pulls them out of her pocket.

“Okay good, Ali usually exits out the front and I lock up in the back, but my mom just called and she needs me to watch my younger brother, I have to be there in like ten minutes, you don’t mind locking up through the back today, would you?”

Y/N shakes her head, “No, no, that’s totally fine.”

Gina sighs in relief, “Thank you so much, I’ll see you on your next shift, good night!” y/n returns her words with a smile and wave before once again, making sure all the clothes are in place and her till is turned off, taking the money out, and walking to the back room.

She’s in the process of counting when she sees through the cameras that Ali is back, seeing her setting her food down and grabbing her till as well before walking in the back, her figure appearing in the room just a moment later.

“Gina had to leave early, so I’ll be locking through the back.” She explains, Ali nods, “Sounds good.”

They made small talk and put their till and the extra money in the safe, grabbing their things and going back out to the front.

“Well, I’ll see you on your next shift, hopefully that’s soon.” Ali speaks, she turns to see y/n nod, “I hope so, today wasn’t bad, I enjoyed it.” Ali quickly agrees, “It’s one of the best, although on bad days, that could seem like a lie,” she giggles, “but I’ll see you, have a good night.”

“Night.”

Ali shrugs out of the store, shutting and locking the gate, and marches toward the exit.

y/n pulls out her phone and orders an Uber, signalling that it will be here in the next 5 minutes, before grabbing her bag and closing the store lights.

She shuts the door behind her and locks it before making her way down the hallway, seeming much quieter now that most of the other employees are gone, and steps outside, seeing a black suv parked outside.

She makes sure to see the Uber sign before opening the door, “Is this for y/n?” the driver nods and she gets in, shutting the door and leaning into the soft seat.

As the driver pulls away, y/n turns her head to the side and out of the corner of her eye she notices movement in the backseat.

Startled, she goes to look behind her but the figure leans forward and places his hands arms, pulling her into the seat.

Y/N shrieks and leans forward, “No, stop!”

Another set of hands place themselves on her eyes, and she doesn’t see the figure grab the cloth in his lap, just feels the fabric over her mouth and taking a deep breathe in.

She fights for a bit before going completely limp, falling into the seat.

Both figures take off their beanies and masks, the first one flicking her head, “Did it work?”

“Of course, it worked, dummy.” Namjoon pushes his younger member’s shoulders

“Well, I don’t know, we haven’t exactly done this before hyung” Jungkook argues

“He’s got a point.” Yoongi speaks from the driver’s seat, he glances at the girl on the seat before looking at his members, “Now what?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, and Yoongi furrows his brows, “Don’t tell me you didn’t NOT think about what happens after this?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I came up with the first part, I thought you guys would have contributed a little.”

“Contributed?! Why would we-” Namjoon stops himself from shouting and sighs, pinching his nose bridge

____________________________________________________________

“You did WHAT? After I specifically told you NOT to?!” Jin shouts as he paces the room, all three of his friends sitting on the floor, and an unconscious girl laying sprawled on the couch

“We leave in one hour; how do you expect us to-I mean how did you even-oh my gosh.” Jin is almost panicking, having no clue at all how to fix this.

“Even if we did send her home, she’d wake up confused and scared as hell that something happened to her, but we just can’t take her either, and we sure as hell can’t exactly wait until she wakes up!” He explains to his members

“What’s with all the shouting?” Their heads snap at the door being opened and the other three members walking in, Jimin immediately perking up, “You actually, did it??” Jin glares at him and he clears his throat, “I-I mean, shame on you guys, this is…bad.”

Jungkook huffs, “It was your idea too Jimin!”

Jin crosses his arms and looks pointedly at Jimin, who throws his arms up exasperatedly, “Okay, and?? So, I helped a little, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s here…with us…with me.” He walks over to y/n’s sleeping form and smiles to himself

“C’mon hyung, she’s our soulmate, you can’t just expect us to leave her!” Hobi whines and Jin feels like screaming into a pillow.

Taehyung pipes in, staring at his clock, “If she’s tied with all of us, who’s to say she isn’t tied to you too?”

Jin pauses and glances at the girl, there’s a chance, but a slim one.

He sighs heavily, “Okay, fine, here’s the plan…”

Wed, 04 May 2022 11:36:27

Anomalous Fate - The Concert

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for waiting, I find that longer chapter’s take me longer to finish bc I get writer’s block a lot, soooo to fix that, I will be making each chapter shorter so hopefully that will mean more updates. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am still learning to write stories so in the future I hope the writing will get better as well !

I changed their setlist because this takes place in PTD on Stage era, so I’m sorry if I don’t bring up anything about the pandemic, however, the reason I bring it up is because I need to change the setlist a little bit, that’s all.

Let me know if you liked this style of writing and I’ll continue to write my chapters like this if you’d like :)

“It’s on my shirt!” Y/N yells and playfully whacks her friend, Jasmine giggles from the doorway, “We told you to wear an ugly shirt, not one you bought a week ago.”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at her in the mirror, scooping the glob of hair dye off with a paper towel.

Kristie rolls her eyes and laughs, “We’re almost done you big baby, then you can just let it process for 20 minutes.”

“Should we make tiktoks while we wait?” Jasmine pipes up and Y/N shrieks, “Not like this!”

“Listen, if J-Hope isn’t your soulmate, can I be?” Kristie states, looking at your now dry and styled hair.

“Girl seriously, you look amazing, even if you aren’t his soulmate, I’m sure they’d be staring anyways.” Jasmine smiles.

Y/N brushed her fingers through her hair and smiled at herself, she found herself quite excited for tomorrow.

“Y/N, let’s go!” Jasmine yelled excitedly, practically jumping at the door.

“I’m coming!!” Y/N squealed, patting her new hair down before placing the hat on top, “Hurry Y/N, Kris is already in the Uber.” Jasmine pulls Y/N by her wrist and both girls run out with huge smiles

As each girl got comfortable in the car, Jasmine squealed once again, unable to contain her excitement, “I can’t believe we’re actually going to see BTS!” Her older friends nodded, “Finally!”

“I can’t wait, I’m so excited!” Kristie clapped, “Okay, you know the fan chants, right?”

“Here, our seats are right here.” Y/N guides her friends toward their respective seats and they each put the merch they bought on the floor, making sure everything was okay.

As they waited for the concert to start, they chatted with other ARMY, making new friends, and seeing a few familiar faces.

“Okay, okay, it starts in like five minutes, ah, I’m nervous but excited, I can’t believe we’re here!” Kristie shouts, turning back around to face the front.

“I know, we’re so close too!” Y/N jumps a little, moving to her hat off, and just as they take out their phones, the lights in the theatre lower a bit, and each fan in the audience screams when the melody of ON plays, and a few seconds later, Jimin comes on stage and begins his part, and as Y/N looks through the lens of her camera, her eyes widen, and she tightens the grip around her phone, a quiet gasp leaving her mouth.

Her army bomb drops to the floor as her eyes land on the string that slowly appears straight across, up on stage, and connected right to Jimin’s pinky.

She’s frozen as she looks at him, unmoving and breathing shaky, even as he runs to the left of the stage, making way for Taehyung and RM.

Jasmine looks toward her friends but frowns at Y/N’s state, she nudges Kristie and they both lean in, “Y/N, you okay?”

Y/N points to the stage, “He’s my…our string…Jimin.” She looks at her friends with panic and as the two girls look at the stage, Jimin and Jungkook are coming back on, and Kristie furrows her brows, “Your string?” Y/N nods, “Jimin has the same one, like, we’re, he’s, our string is connected.”

“But his hair, it’s not the same…” Kristie reminds, and all three girls stare at the boys, until all of them come on, and Hobi appears, with the same exact hair as Y/N.

Jasmine’s jaw drops, “No fucking way, so you have two?!”

Y/N shakes her head in disbelief, “There’s no fucking way.”

As they continue to watch the boys dance with anxious hearts, ON comes to an end and just as Y/N was slightly calmed, Fire plays and she immediately brings her gaze down to her wrist.

She hears Yoongi sing the first line and he quickly makes eye contact with her as he moves to his next position, and she feels a pulling in her chest, her wrist suddenly very itchy.

“Oh shit…”

Yoongi stumbles before staring straight ahead, his wrist unbelievably itchy, and as he scratches it, Namjoon looks over and raises a brow, as if to ask if all was good.

Yoongi nods, trying to get through the rest of the song, but he knows it’s obvious how much he’s scratching at his wrist. ‘Fuck’

Each boy runs off stage to quickly change for the next song, and Yoongi barges into the dressing room, pacing back and forth, his members look up at him in confusion, asking if he’s alright.

“My soulmate, she’s here.” He speaks and everyone in the room pauses, waiting for someone to say something.

“That’s great news, but right now there’s nothing we can do, we have a concert to pull off.” Namjoon reminds, slowly standing and patting Yoongi on the back, “I can’t just not do anything, what am I to do after the concert? Let her go?” Yoongi says sternly.

They rack their brains to figure something out until Namjoon nods at the security, turning to ask Yoongi, “Which row was she in?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath, “It looks like she was in the third row, to our left of the stage, wearing a white shirt, I think she’s with two friends, but I didn’t really pay attention.”

Their security was out the door after, making sure to stand near that row to hopefully catch her on her way out.

“Third row to the left of us?” Hoseok inputs, cockily buttoning up his shirt, “You mean the one with black and blue hair?”

“Y/N oh my gosh, you have three soulmates, and they’re BTS members.” Jasmine spoke in a hushed tone.

“I can’t believe it, maybe you have more than three in BTS!” Kristie says excitedly and Y/N shushes her, “I’m not about to be called crazy here, shhh! And how would we even know?”

“What are your other ties?”

“Not on my forehead!” Y/N shouts and Kristie huffs, “It needs to be somewhere obvious.”

“On my forearm dude, on the outside!” Kristie settles for it and writes down, “Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

Y/N glances at it and gives her a look, and Kristie throws her arms up, “What? You want yourname written down?” Y/N’s eyes widen, and she quickly shakes her head.

“Let’s hope none of them are wearing long sleeves…”

The seven members of BTS begin their trek on stage as the beginning of Idol plays, and Namjoon quickly jumps in front to sing his line, each girl quickly taking notice that he’s the only one with a short sleeve shirt.

“Okay wait, I can’t do this, we’re supposed to be meeting them after the concert, and if three of seven BTS members are my soulmate, what happens then? They’ll probably turn me down anyway and I’ll be on my way home.” Y/N explains, but her friends shake their heads.

“There’s no way we’re going home after this Y/N, you’re meeting them either way, it’s BTS! We’re meeting them, period.” Kristie argues, but Y/N shakes her head, “You guys are meeting them, I’ll wait outside the room.”

As both girls are arguing, Jasmine is watching her favourite men on the planet, jumping around, and screaming the lyrics, screaming excitedly when Namjoon comes to their end of the stage and looks toward their row, but freezes when she sees his arm.

‘Bangtan Sonyeondan’

“Oh, my fucking god…GUYS???” She pushes Kristie and Y/N, who momentarily stop bickering to look at their youngest friend, following her line of vision to the stage, seeing Namjoon staring right back, holding his mic in his right arm, the same arm that Y/N wrote on.

Jungkook sees his hyung standing, and notices it might look a bit odd, so he jogs over and smoothly guides him to where he needs to be, “You alright hyung?”

Namjoon nods but hastily switches positions with Kook so he’s next to Yoongi, “Yoongi-hyung, you said white shirt, third row?”

Yoongi is confused but nods nonetheless, “Yea, why?”

Joon shakes his head and huffs a laugh, “She’s mine too.”

“We’re done here, let’s go.” Y/N panics, beginning to pick up her stuff. Her friends snatch her things, “Nu-uh, we’re staying Y/N, you wanted this remember?”

She groans, “I wanted to see if Hobi was, not the whole fucking band!!”

“Let’s go to the bathroom quickly, you need to calm down Y/N.” Kristie helps her friend, telling Jasmine she’s free to stay if she likes.

As Kristie and Y/N walk up the aisle, they failed to see a certain member stealing glances with a look of worry in his eyes, his vison following the string that tugs at his pinky.

“Look, this is fine Y/N, it’s just BTS.” Kristie leans against the wall while Y/N stares at herself in the mirror, “Oh yeah, just BTS, the world’s biggest group who has millions of fans that love them and I just so happen to have four members as my soulmates, it’s not like that’s not borderline greedy of me, one wasn’t enough, so I had to have four of seven.”

“Oh shit…” Kristie mumbles, suddenly remembering a very important detail that they didn’t take notice of, “You have five ties so far…”

“And?” Y/N huffs, Kristie shakes her head, “No Y/N, you have five ties, there’s seven members…four ties correlate to four members already…you don’t think…” The girls stare at each other, now both panicking.

Y/N could jump off a bridge.

#bts x reader #bts imagines #bangtan sonyeondan #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim namjoon x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #my writings #bts aus #soulmate au

Thu, 03 Mar 2022 09:56:22

Anomalous Fate: The Beginning

Hello ! :) First part of Anomalous Fate is here, and i really hope you enjoy this chapter. If you have any questions regarding the series or any of my others, feel free to ask away :)

Warnings: None

From the moment we are born, our fate is decided, and we are given ties that connect us to our soulmate. There are many different types of ties, and sometimes a single person will be given multiple, which is the case for Y/N.

When she was born, Y/N had the tie where a song title was written on her right wrist that would be playing when she meets her soulmate, and the red string tie that only she was able to see, tied right on her left pinky, she was also given a necklace, which by the looks of it, was a half of a compass, when she turned it around, it read, ‘no matter where-‘ and then it cut off, and finally, on her left wrist, the soulmate clock that tells you what time it is where your soulmate is, and her parents didn’t know what to think when her time read out, ‘9:46:31 PM KST,’

Unbeknownst to her, she had three more ties that determined her fate.

During her childhood, she had a couple friends who had multiple ties as well, she was happy that she wasn’t the only one who had multiple, and she bonded significantly with them as they could relate on more levels than with her other friends who only had one.

As she grew older, she was beginning to understand what her ties meant, and she caught herself staring at the clock on her left wrist, after learning the clock was in Korean Standard Time. She had never been to Korea before, and she was yet to find out if they came from North or South Korea. She also discovered another tie, and it was whatever hair colour her soulmate dyed theirs, she would have. And gosh do they ever change it up. Her hair is naturally brown, but one day she woke up with black hair, she panicked and did a quick google, calming once she learned its origin.

When she turned 15, she would start to wake with a new hair colour as the year progressed, nothing too crazy, just brown, black, red, back to black, and then back to brown. She thought maybe her soulmate was a bit indecisive.

When Y/N turned eighteen, and was soon to be graduating high school, her parents had gotten her a laptop as a gift, and she found herself in the classroom at school when her friends were out for lunch break, researching about the countries, and how they’re ties worked as well. She learned that she wouldn’t be able to see her soulmate’s red string until they meet in person, and that made her huff at how much ties she was given when she knew about her soulmate already.

She also woke up with newer hair colours, on the day of her birthday, it was orange, and after demanding her mom go to the store for her and coming back with the only colour left in the store, she dyed it purple the same day, however, she wasn’t really an expert so it turned out looking more pink, after that day, her hair was back to the usual three; brown, red, black.

While researching she noticed that the first thing to pop up when searching for Korea was KPOP, or more specifically, a group called BTS, and she felt a certain pull toward them that she couldn’t pinpoint. Now, like most ARMY, she only wanted to learn their names, but quickly became a little more obsessed as time went on, and soon she was always streaming their music, watching their interviews, and learning their choreo.

Y/N was 22 now, living in her apartment with her two childhood best friends who were also ARMY, attending school, and still without her soulmate. Her two best friends had met theirs, one of them, Kristie, had met hers 2 years ago while in a class, they’ve been together ever since. Her other best friend, Jasmine, had just recently met her soulmate in a coffee shop, talk about a meet cute, so Y/N was the only one left, yet she was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to meet her soulmate at all, seeing as they lived all the way across the world.

Although she didn’t glance at the clock on her wrist as much now, she did find it pretty cool that her soulmate was from Korea, and seemed to like BTS as well, considering the song that was written on her right wrist was the song, ‘Fire,’ she didn’t know why the universe chose that song and not a romantic song, it would have been so cute if her soulmate and her had met while listening to ‘Euphoria,’ but I mean, who was she to complain? Her soulmate was an ARMY, so at least they would have something to talk about when they finally meet, if they ever meet.

With all the ties she had been given, it never once crossed her mind that it could have been with different people, because while it’s common to have more than one tie, it’s considered very rare to have more than one romantic soulmate, and although she was a fan of BTS, she never compared the ties with them at all, because c’mon, they’re the biggest boyband in the world, there’s no way she was any of their soulmates.

Bangtan on the other hand, managed to hide their ties. They kind of had to, being in the limelight. Each member had two ties, one that connected them to each other, and the other who connected them to their lover.

Kim Seokjin was given the necklace tie, he used to wear it a lot before he was an idol, but after debuting, he began to keep it hidden in his bag, not wanting anyone to falsely replicate it and ruin his chances of finding his soulmate.

Min Yoongi was given the song tie, and he let out a deep sigh when he realized it was the same title as their very own song. He has the makeup artists cover it with makeup before they do press or performance. Over time, he finds himself tracing it, wondering if his soulmate is a fan or not, or if they even heard of the song before.

Jung Hoseok didn’t know of his tie until much later in his life. For a new concept, he decided to go orange, which in a way, matched the music video a lot, but after a few hours, he noticed it changed to a washed-out purple colour, to which he learned he had the hair colour tie. He was just glad the music video was already done shooting.

Kim Namjoon didn’t know at all what tie he had, he tried to figure it out, but nothing really happened. He was confused and often thought maybe he wasn’t given another soulmate, but with time he came to accept that the boys were all he needed, and it was best if he stays focussed on his career anyway, still, he couldn’t help but to wish upon every shooting star, that it grants him his wish of having a soulmate. Perhaps he should try drawing on his skin sometime…

Park Jimin was given the red string tie and he liked that he was the only one who could see it. Once he debuted, he found himself glancing at a lot of people’s pinkies, hoping to see one day his connected.

Kim Taehyung on the other hand, had the clock tie. He stared at it fondly while thinking about what his soulmate might have been doing at that exact time, maybe she was in school, or at home, maybe she worked? He looked down at it and it read 6:34 PM PST. He wore a lot of long sleeves to help hide his clock, but even if he didn’t, there’s no way someone would be able to replicate it in anyway, so he considered himself lucky.

Jeon Jungkook was more of the same as Namjoon, he didn’t know what his tie was, and he left it at that. He wanted one, but he had his hyungs with him, and they filled the hole that his lack of soulmate left him.

BTS had a lot of conversation regarding their soulmates, and they admitted a few times that they weren’t sure what to do if they ever met their soulmate, or if their soulmate would even like them. They had a lot of fears, scared to find someone who wasn’t their soulmate, to pretend they were. Or maybe never finding them because of what they do for a living. The other boys would reassure Namjoon and Jungkook, telling them that they had to have a mark, they just need to wait for it to develop.

As the years went on, and once their new hit Dynamite took off, they became too busy to think or talk about it, and soon the year went by fast and they released a new hit, Butter. It was Kristie and Jasmine who tried to convince Y/N that her soulmate could have been one of the BTS members, preferably J-Hope, as they always had the same hair colour, especially when the Butter video released, and Y/N’s hair was blonde during the same time they would have been working on it.

That was pretty much the only proof they had, and when the tannies released another hit, Permission to Dance, Y/N decided to dye her hair platinum blonde, and the girls were shocked when J-Hope came up in the Permission to Dance video, sporting the exact same hair colour.

Y/N had never really given it much thought before, and she felt silly sitting in front of the mirror, watching as Kristie put pink hair dye in her hair. A part of her liked the idea of J-Hope potentially being her soulmate, but another part of her felt indifferent. If he was, what did that mean for them? Would he even like her? Would he risk his career just to be with her? What if he didn’t even like the idea of a soulmate?

As the UN rolled around the next few days, Y/N’s hair was still pink, and it still came as a surprise when J-Hope’s hair matched hers, Jasmine also noticed Y/N’s clock changed as well, switching over to 11:23 AM EST, which just so happened to be New York’s exact time.

She tried to her best to shake the thoughts, not wanting to seem delulu, but to was hard not to confirm her suspicions with the amount of proof she had. Especially after it was announced that BTS would be doing the Permission to Dance: On Stage, in Los Angeles, she felt a certain pull toward the concert, and after finding out each tickets price, she immediately bought three online, texting her friends the great news.

All three girls jumped around in excitement, blasting Permission to Dance, and making plans for their concert. They would wake up early and take the day to make sure everything was perfect including their outfits, army bombs, money, gas, and food. The concert was at the YouTube theatre, three weeks from then, and the girls already couldn’t wait.

After much deliberation, it was settled that the day before the concert, Y/N would dye her hair black with two blue streaks on the underside of both her ears, it was a unique style, and that way they would see if J-Hope really is the one. She admitted that while she was curious to find out, she was still super excited to see her favourite band in person for the first time, from being twitter she has heard how great of an experience it is and just the thought alone made her squeal.

Y/N lived away from home, and has a younger sister, who lives with her parents in Florida. She met Kristie and Jasmine when they were all eight years old, and they had promised each other that they would always be in each other’s lives, even attending the same university. Each of the girls had many different aspirations, as well as different hobbies, something they did agree on however, was their love for the bangtan boys.

And most times, it was easy to forget about her ties, as she diverted her attention to her studies most of the time, she had two years to go before graduation, however Y/N considered continuing her education and getting her masters, but that was a decision she would make in time, and she often feels optimistic about her future. Although, no matter how bright the future looked for Y/N and her two friends, she was still upset about having to possibly one day live without them. After graduation, Kristie is moving to Chicago, and Jasmine hopes she will be taking internships back in her hometown of Washington. It would be a challenge for all three, having never lived alone before, now without each other in the picture, but again, it was something they should chat about in the future.

As Y/N lays in bed, she watches the clock on her wrist, it reads 4:56 PM KST, and she finds herself wondering if he’s at practice, or in his studio. Her phone dings, and she picks it up, nearly giving herself whiplash from how fast she sits up.

J-hope⭐ created a new post!

She’s never clicked faster in her life and when the photo loaded, she smiled to herself, seeing his hair was still pink but it slowly disappeared when she read the rough translations, ‘hm, concert hair? Blondie? Red? Surprises! :),’ It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put together that he was going to dye his hair for the concert, and she debated on actually dyeing her hair and possibly upsetting him, but after thinking about it, she smiled.

He did say it was going to be a surprise for ARMY, maybe now it will even be a surprise for him.

#bts fantasy au #bts x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim namjoon x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #kpop fantasy au #soulmate au #fantasy au

#bts x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim namjoon x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #kpop fantasy au #bts fantasy au #soulmate au

Wed, 17 Nov 2021 10:53:56

Types of Ties - anomalous fate

Hey everyone ! I’m glad to see the teaser has quite a few notes already, here is where i leave a little information about the different ties that are used in the story. Reader has seven ties, and all members of bangtan have 2 each.

i want to mention that this is sort of a yandere!bts fic..but again, it’s also like a crack fic, so it’s not that serious with like violence but it definitely shows bts as kidnappers..so yeah, it’s literally just a random fic i thought of on the spot so we’ll be seeing as it goes on.

But anyways, here are the ties:

ALL OF BTS: where the character’s world is grey, but each time you meet one of your platonic soulmates, a new colour is added into your life, until you see all colours.

KSJ – You are given one half of a necklace at birth, and your soulmate has the other half, when connected, they make a whole.

MYG - where you have a tattoo on your right wrist of the song you’ll hear when you meet your soulmate for the first time. It’s the same song tattooed on both soulmates.

JHS – When your soulmate dyes their hair, you get the same hair colour.

KNJ - When you write on your skin the same mark appears on the same place as your soulmates. Such as if you doodle on your skin your soulmates get those doodles on their skin.

PJM – Red string tie, a red strong tied on both soulmates” pinkies, only they can see but will only tell if it’s connected when meeting in person.

KTH- Your soulmate clock is telling you what time it is where your soulmate is currently at (could include AM/PM/time zones or not, for example 3:46:31 MDT).

JJK- The name of your soulmate appears on your skin after you meet them.

Tue, 16 Nov 2021 08:50:16

Anomalous Fate - Bangtan Sonyeondan COMING SOON

A Soulmate AU where everyone has different soulmate ties, and it’s possible to have more than one tie regarding your soulmate. Reader has seven ties thinking it’s tied to only one soulmate; soon comes to realize she has seven. BTS on the other hand, found out they were platonic soulmates when they debuted due to the fact they had the colour tie, which meant ‘each time you meet one of your platonic soulmates, a new colour is added into your life until you meet all of them and see all colours.’ And they found out they were given another tie that connects them to their romantic soulmate. It doesn’t cross their minds that they would be given the same soulmate to share, nor did they think she lived on the other side of the world. When reader attends her favourite bands concert for the first time, what happens when these eight souls meet? Well, a lot of chaos ensues.

Warnings: kidnapping? (if you really think about it), BTS aren’t the best at thinking situations through, confused and overwhelmed reader, shy reader but not the cringe mafia au kind, she just doesn’t talk at first bc hello?? she just got sorta kidnapped by her fave band ?? it’s not exactly what she wanted, kind of a crack!fic?