#I WOULD DIE. FOR. PARK. JIMIN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ugh-yoongi · 10 months

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the retreat | jhs

(or, the one where namjoon just wants hoseok to take care of himself, but then there's a fake relationship, only one bed, a guy who doesn't talk, and maybe a weird cult.)

✤ pairing: hoseok x f. reader ✤ genre: childhood bf2l, fake dating-ish au; crack, fluff, smut ✤ rating: explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ warnings: there is a lot of talk about food and eating in here, so i would not suggest reading this if you are sensitive to those kinds of triggers. tropes galore! side taegi. 5th muster jimin from that one vcr. hobi is pansexual and i do not wanna hear from the weirdos during pride month, or ever. he is a millionaire tho so he's not off the hook. a slight astrological dragging. a strained mother-daughter relationship. the smut is not super explicit or detailed but warnings are as follows: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), biting, hair pulling, hobi may or may not rip a pair of underwear, fingering, protected vaginal sex. a brief but canonical breaking-the-fourth-wall appearance by park bogum. beta'd by me, so any mistakes are my own. ✤ wordcount: 19.6k ✤ thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, as always, for the encouragement and reading every draft of this. @hot-soop for both the astrological advice and advice in general. @effortandmore for reading this over recently and telling me it was worth finishing. i would get absolutely nothing done without the three of you. ✤ author's note: i was supposed to have this posted for jess's birthday two years ago. we're not gonna talk about that, because this just means i'm a month early for this year. happy early birthday, jess! anyway~ this is basically a 20k love letter to jung hoseok bc i miss him. i hope you enjoy it.

Jung Hoseok is overworked.

(He’s also filthy rich, the proud owner of not one but two Lamborghinis [that he doesn’t even drive], and smiling on the cover of Forbes. He has a top floor penthouse in the most expensive high-rise in the city and a vacation home along the Italian coast. When he needs to go on a business trip, his driver takes him straight to the tarmac where he boards a private plane. His tailor just sends him clothes now, the cost of dressing Jung Hoseok far outweighed by the dozens of other filthy rich men who flock to his store to buy whatever he’s wearing.)

Jung Hoseok is also going to have a stroke and die before the age of 30, because what’s a little money at the expense of his mental well-being and cardiac health?

“All things considered, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go out,” he argues, clammy palms flat on his expensive desk. Rosewood, because not only is he a millionaire, he’s a millionaire with taste. None of that monochromatic minimalist bullshit for him, thank you.

In front of him, Kim Namjoon also looks to be on the verge of a stroke. Not of the same variety. Namjoon is paid well because he works for Hoseok and Hoseok insists on it. None of that heartless, dickhead-to-everyone, impossible-to-work-for CEO reputation for him, either, thank you.

Namjoon is also a militant vegan and has twenty-six plants and one bonsai on his desk named Bonnie. He insists on spending his lunch breaks in Hoseok’s office, lecturing him on the benefits of plant-based diets and exercise and meditation. Despite his perpetual smile and sunny demeanor, no one else speaks to Hoseok this way, but Namjoon does. Absolutely doesn’t give a shit.

“It absolutely would be the worst way to go out. Have you even been listening to me?”

Hoseok sighs and closes the symptoms of a stroke tab in his browser. “I always listen to you, Namjoon, I just don’t always listen.” A smart choice, too, judging by the swamp-colored sludge Namjoon has in a glass container, because he doesn’t use plastics.

Following his boss’s line of sight, Namjoon frowns. “It’s a pitaya bowl. Don’t look at it like that.”

“It looks radioactive,” Hoseok says, face contorted in a wince. “Like it’s going to become sentient and sprout six arms.”

Namjoon scoffs. “If it does, I hope it uses all six of them to slap the shit out of you.”

“I could pay it to spare me,” Hoseok insists, chin jutting out indignantly.

One of the reasons Hoseok had all but demanded HR hire Namjoon—despite there being a plethora of other candidates who were just as qualified and nowhere near as hell-bent on him taking care of himself—was his grit and determination. He’d showed up two hours early to his interview and steamed his suit jacket in the employee bathroom. It was completely insane and even more neurotic, but Hoseok had been taken with him immediately.

Now, it seems that determination and hard-headed nature is coming back to bite Hoseok in the ass.

“Oh, yeah? You’re gonna pay your blood to not get cut off from your brain and your heart, too? Well, good for you, Hobi. I heard blood has even started taking American Express. You’re in luck—”

Unable to take anymore, Hoseok groans and waves his arms to cut him off. “Okay, I get it! God, why did I hire you? Your desk alone has to be violating at least fourteen different health codes. Your office is humid. Do you know how impossible that is to achieve outside of a greenhouse?”

“You hired me because I’m good at my job and I’m not afraid of you, so I have no issue slapping your fourth double bacon cheeseburger of the day out of your greasy, on-the-brink-of-dying hands. Christ, you act like it’d actually kill you to eat a vegetable for once.”

Hoseok squawks. “Hey! That definitely didn’t come up in the interview, and I have never eaten four cheeseburgers in a day. Stop being hyperbolic.”

“Speaking of things that start with hyper- and have a Bin them, hyperbaric therapy is great for people with infections from oxygen-starved tissue—”

“Is this what you do all day? You just sit on the internet and search for diseases I could potentially die from and then you come in here and harass me about them?”

Namjoon’s face, which had previously been scrunched up in righteous indignation, smooths over into something far more serious. (He doesn’t even have wrinkles. Namjoon’s skincare routine must be immaculate.)“Someone has a stroke every forty seconds in this country, Hoseok. I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Well, okay. Every forty seconds is far more often than Hoseok had been expecting. Not that he thinks about stroke statistics often, and definitely not outside of Namjoon’s overbearing presence—but, in his defense, it’s not like he’s had much of a reason. He gets a physical and routine blood work done every year and his doctor has never rung any alarm bells, so why would he?

But the resolution with which Namjoon is hammering away at this is definitely giving him pause.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, either. “See, you are concerned! Look, you’re far more likely to stick with something if you don’t overwhelm yourself, so let’s start small, okay? One salad per day. And a real salad, Hoseok—not one of those ones loaded with cheese and bacon and drenched in ranch dressing.”

Hoseok’s jaw snaps closed. “Then what’s the point of eating a salad?”

“To prevent you from dying before your thirtieth birthday. We’ve already established this.”

“Okay,” Hoseok drawls, “but it’s not the salad’s fault if that happens. You shouldn’t take it out on him.”

Namjoon gags. “Leave it to me to work for a man who thinks salads are male.” He casts his gaze skyward. “Please, Lord, if you’re listening, please put me out—”

“Please put me out of my misery first,” Hoseok interjects, also staring at the ceiling. Then, with a leveled glare, he says to Namjoon, “Fine. State your terms.”

“Really?” Namjoon asks, having the audacity to look shocked.

“Yeah, if it’ll get you off my back. I can’t spend one more lunch break in here with you.”

Namjoon smiles. Nothing friendly, either—it’s purely sinister and mocking. Then he says, “Great success!” in a horrible impersonation of Borat and the moment’s gone, lost to the stagnant air conditioning of Hoseok’s office.

Unsurprisingly, Namjoon’s terms include a lot of vegetables.

Hoseok has a private chef, of course, so it’s not like he has to really do much other than smile through the pain. But, really, would it actually kill him to be allowed a steak or some lamb skewers? What had started off as salads for lunch has turned into a full-blown war between the two of them. Hoseok had shown up with cheese and bacon on his salad one time and Namjoon nearly went off the rails, performing a very enthusiastic speech about how Hoseok cannot be trusted when left to his own devices, so here they are.

Namjoon’s trying his hardest to crack Hoseok, and Hoseok wouldn’t have become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company by the age of twenty-eight if he were so easily cracked.

So, yeah, here they are. Locked in a stalemate like two idiot deer with their antlers tangled together, except instead of feuding over territory or a mate, they’re ready to spear one another over vegetables.

Darwin would have a lot to say about this.

On Friday, at exactly one-o’clock on the dot, Namjoon barges into Hoseok’s office and slaps a stapled-together pile of papers onto his desk. “New terms.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Hoseok replies airily. “I’m not much of a Dua Lipa fan.”

“Wha—that’s ‘New Rules.’”

“Is it?” Hoseok’s smiling, eyebrows raised in that way that makes him look super charming and innocent.

Namjoon isn’t fooled, though. “Cut it out. I saw you eating ribs under your desk the other day. You owe me this.”

Not much shocks Hoseok, but being outed like this so brazenly sure does. “How did you know about that?”

“Uh, did you forget your office walls are made out of glass?” Namjoon twirls a finger in a circle, as if to say look at your four glass walls, you fucking idiot. Isn’t it great to be rich and have no privacy? “Not to mention you had a glob of barbeque sauce on your shirt that I could smell from a mile away.”

“I could’ve put it on my salad,” Hoseok reasons.

“Oh, please.” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Six ribs and a side of potato salad does not a salad make.”

“What do you mean? It’s literally called potato salad, isn’t it? God, you’re uptight.”

Namjoon sucks in a deep breath, most likely reciting meditation mantras in his head while he thinks about his plants. “I didn’t come in here for this,” he eventually says, and Hoseok is honestly impressed at how collected he sounds. “The point is you can’t be trusted, so there’s new terms.”

Grabbing the stack of papers, Hoseok flips through them casually. “And if I don’t agree? Don’t forget I’m your boss.”

“If you don’t agree, I’m posting the security footage of you eating those ribs on Twitter.” Hoseok’s looking positively scandalized now. He wouldn’t. Namjoon wouldn’t do that to him. “Honestly, Hoseok. You should be ashamed of yourself. You looked like that video of that oversized baby covered in peanut butter.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Hoseok asks, eyes narrowed. “Seriously, who are you? Because the man standing across from me is not my sweet baby Namjoon. Sweet, sweet Namjoon, who always checks the toilet bowl before he uses it because he saw one of those videos from Australia of a snake being in there and he’d feel too guilty to even piss on a snake—”

Namjoon plants his palms on Hoseok’s desk and puffs out his chest a little. It’s a great chest, Hoseok must admit. Namjoon had mentioned in passing he’d started going to the gym, so he’s not—“I’m not afraid of you,” Namjoon reminds him. “Try me.”

“I have thirty-two lawyers.”

All Namjoon does is quirk an eyebrow. “I have thirty-thousand Twitter followers.”

“I can fire you.”

“Please do. Capitalism is a scourge on this earth and I no longer wish to participate in it.”

“I can fire you and make sure you never find employment in this city ever again.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Fine by me. I’ve been thinking about moving out of the city, anyway. Too much air pollution and I have no space to garden.”

Two things become clear very quickly: 1. Namjoon is far more cut-throat than Hoseok ever anticipated him being; and 2. Hoseok is woefully underprepared for this particular battle. No matter. He’s business-savvy. There’s no shame in conceding an unwinnable battle if he can still win the war, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Fine,” he relents after an awkward staring contest that lasts two minutes too long. “What are your new terms, then?”

“You have to go to a wellness retreat.”

Hoseok can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of his mouth. “Sorry, did you say a retreat? How is that a punishment?”

“It isn’t,” Namjoon says. “It’s meant to reset your body and mind. No phones allowed. Just you and your partner in the refreshing, reinvigorating air of the rainfor—”

“What was that?” Hoseok interjects.

“What, the rainforest part? Don’t worry, it’s safe. You’re not, like, sleeping outside with tarantulas and shi—”

“No, not that. Me and my who?”

“Oh!” Namjoon grins. “Your partner. See, I did a lot of research and found the absolute best and most effective wellness retreat for people of your… uh, standard. And the man who runs this retreat is incredible. Like, world-renowned. But the catch is it’s a couple’s retreat, so you’ll have to find someone to play pretend with you for a month.”

Hoseok is a great businessman. He’s good at negotiations and managing relationships and making smart, anticipatory decisions. He has the bank account and name plate with accompanying title on his desk to prove it. But, as he takes in Namjoon’s words, the only thing his brain can come up with is the Windows shutdown sound and a glaring blue screen alerting him to danger.

Nevertheless, one of Hoseok’s rules for business is to never let the opposition see him frazzled. “Why don’t you just come with me?” he offers casually, his tone completely at odds with the pained, panicked expression on his face.

“Two reasons,” Namjoon says quickly and without hesitation, as if he expected this and had all the time in the world to prepare a rebuttal. “First, you couldn’t pay me enough to act like we’re a couple. No offense, but you’re kind of insufferable and I would never date a carnivore—”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Wow. Some offense taken.”

“—Second, someone has to stay behind and hold down the fort if you’re going to be gone for a month.”

“Why can’t Brad do it?” Hoseok asks. This time his strained tone completely gives him away.

“You don’t trust Brad.”

Hoseok’s brows furrow. “I never said that.”

“You absolutely did say that,” Namjoon responds immediately, pulling out his phone. “On April nineteenth at approximately ten-twenty in the morning, you said, and I quote, ‘Namjoon, why do you think I hired you? If I had to suffer through having one more Ivy League white guy who played lacrosse and got grandfathered into a fraternity as my assistant, I was going to throw myself down this elevator shaft.’ To which I replied, ‘Oh, you don’t like Brad?’ And you said, ‘Brad’s fine, I guess. I just don’t trust him.’ So, I asked you why, and you said, ‘I wouldn’t trust Brad to order a box of staples, let alone to know the difference between tteokbokki and hotteok—’”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d say at all,” Hoseok lies. It absolutely sounds like something he’d say at ten-twenty in the morning on the nineteenth of April. “Also, did you really make a note of that? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Namjoon fires back. “I obviously took a voice recording of it first and transcribed it later. Sometimes I listen to it on repeat when I really want to strangle you and it calms me, because it serves as a reminder that if I go to prison for attempted murder, Brad will take my job. And we can’t have that, because you might simply distrust Brad, but I fucking hate him.”

Hoseok gapes a little. “We sure can’t,” he agrees. Tense air settles between the two of them as they both wait for the other to make the first move. Namjoon’s patient, having already played his hand knowing Hoseok has nothing to trump him, but Hoseok’s stubborn. He’ll drag this out as long as humanly possible. He’ll be ninety years old, on his fourth heart transplant, and still waiting to go on this trip. He’ll—

He’ll have to step down as CEO, because he has, once again, severely underestimated Kim Namjoon.

“Stop thinking so hard. It’s already booked and paid for.”

“With whose money?”

“Company card.”

“Which has my name on it. I’ll just cancel it.”

“It’s non-refundable, but go ahead. You’re still out all that money, though, so you might as well go.”

“I can’t just take a month off,” Hoseok says. He’s grasping at straws now. No one would dare tell him no, even if he wanted to take the next six years off. Human Resources would simply say of course, sir, have a great vacation, sir, see you in six years, sir, and off he’d go.

“Sure you can.” Namjoon stands, wipes his hands on the dress pants stretched to their limit across his thighs, and looks entirely too smug. “Better start looking for a date. Maybe you’ll have some luck on Tinder.”

Bile rises in Hoseok’s throat. “Tinder? Are you joking? I’m too rich to go on there. What if I find a nice date, take them home, and wake up in a bathtub full of ice because they found out who I was and decided to sell my organs?”

“No one would want them,” Namjoon deadpans. “I see the absolute filth you funnel into that body of yours and I can say, with one-hundred percent certainty, that your organs are worthless. Mine, on the other hand. Pristine—”

“Get the hell out of my office. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Good thing, too, because Namjoon’s still wearing that stupid little smirk. The really smug one that infuriates Hoseok to no end because it brings out his dimples, makes him look innocent and cute even though he’s not. The one that gloats Namjoon’s victory, like he’d known all along it was going to end this way. He’d hid those cards so far up his sleeve, Hoseok’s surprised they hadn’t started sprouting from his ears. God, he’s really insufferable. Makes Hoseok’s blood pressure spike something fierce.

“Did you ever stop to consider you’re the problem?” Hoseok calls to Namjoon’s retreating frame. When had he gotten so broad? “That maybe, if my heart does give out, it’ll be because I have to deal with you, the most stressful person on earth?”

“Nah, it’ll definitely be because two of your desk drawers are full of those disgusting oatmeal creme pies.” Somehow, Namjoon looks even more smug as Hoseok tries to discreetly glance at the aforementioned drawers. How does he find out all these things? “Anyway, you leave in two weeks! Good luck in your search. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, sir.”

Just as he’d assumed would be the case, Hoseok has no luck on Tinder.

See, he’d fucked up from the beginning, deciding to be honest and truthful and explain his plight to any sympathetic pair of eyes that may have gazed upon it. He’d also decided to use his real name, and anyone familiar with those List of Billionaires We Should Eat listicles had snuffed him out immediately. Long gone were the days of genuine conversation and playful flirting. Now, Hoseok’s inbox is full of more genitalia than he’s ever seen in his life. He’s literally drowning in it and can’t even take time to appreciate the situation in which he’s accidentally found himself.

He’s absolutely going to kill Kim Namjoon once this is all over.

After getting over the embarrassment of the next day’s MULTIMILLIONAIRE CEO JUNG HOSEOK SPOTTED ON TINDERheadline, because he hadn’t even had the good sense to use Raya, Hoseok resigns himself to scrolling through the contacts list in his phone. He’s not desperate or stupid enough to invite his ex, or any of the myriad of names he can’t put to faces because, despite what Namjoon says, he’s still concerned about his organs, so he also resigns himself to calling you.

His best friend.

Who’s going to spend the rest of her life roasting him over this.

“What a pleasant surprise,” you greet him. “Haven’t heard from you in weeks. Let me guess, you need me to make another burner account and explain to Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter why they shouldn’t eat you?”

“No—”

You tsk. “That’s a shame. I think I missed my calling in life.”

“Being a Twitter troll?”

“Yeah, obviously,” you agree. “Do you remember that time I set up the fake Gofundme to pay for my conservative cousin’s cephalanalectomy surgery because the liberal snowflake surgeon refused to perform it and he was going to die if they literally did not remove his head from his ass? That was fucking gold, Hobi. I’m a natural.”

“You’re definitely something,” he acquiesces. Then he has an idea. “Hey, do you wanna help me troll Namjoon?”

Your silence is deafening. “Uh, that depends.” Oh, Hoseok does not like your hesitation at all. “He has, like, a lot of Twitter followers, so I’m not trying to beef with him publicly, even if it is on a burner account.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afr—what the fuck kind of Twitter following does this guy have?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” you say, voice laced with faux-concern. “I like Namjoon and I’d like him to remain employed by you simply so he can annoy the absolute fuck out of you until the day you either retire or die. So, yeah, let’s keep that between him and I.”

Hoseok feels dizzy. Probably because he’s been eating all these goddamn salads and now he’s nutritionally deficient. “Whatever. I do actually need your help with something, though.”

“You know my rates.”

“Why do I have to pay to hang out with you?” Hoseok whines. “Isn’t my life-long friendship enough?”

You snort. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why is everyone bullying me lately? Can’t you spare a crumb of empathy for your best friend?”

“Empathy machine broke,” you deadpan. “Come on, ask me what my terms are. I already know what I want this time.”

Hoseok sighs. He wouldn’t relent this quickly for anyone else. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. “Fine. What are your—”

“I want a Birkin bag and dinner from that new Brazilian place by your office.”

“That’s a definite no on the bag,” Hoseok says. “I’m not spending that much money on anyone who isn’t my future spouse. We can have dinner, though.”

“I think you misheard me, sunshine. I said I want to go to dinner there. I’m going to gorge myself on expensive all-you-can-eat meats and I do not want to taint my experience watching you shovel a miserable, wilted salad into that pretty little heart-shaped mouth of yours. I’ll get agita.”

“Agi—I can’t believe this,” Hoseok whines, feeling the apples of his cheeks tinge red. “Have you and Namjoon been getting together to conspire against me? Is that why the two of you are bullying me?”

Hoseok expects you to say no. He expects you to say that you and Namjoon don’t even speak, you’d only met him once at that Christmas party a year ago, during which Namjoon spent the entire time waxing poetic about conifers and that time he dropped acid at Yosemite and cried for a week straight. But no. No, you don’t say anything at all, and if Hoseok was feeling bullied and just a little scandalized before, he’s absolutely feeling tortured now.

Namjoon, on his own, is bad.

You, on your own, are worse.

The two of you, together? No. Hoseok simply can’t—and won’t—allow it.

You suck in a breath. “In my defense—”

“You absolute traitor,” Hoseok seethes. “You, of all people, have betrayed me?”

There’s a tiny gasp on the other end of the line. “Oh, come off it, Hobi!” you snap. “Have you ever seen yourself eat? It’s foul. Like something straight out of Animal Planet.”

“It is not!”

“It is, and you know it,” you fire back. “I once watched you eat an entire personal-sized pizza in forty-two seconds. I don’t even think you chewed it. You just detached your jaw like some kind of creepy snake and inhaled. Something needed to be done.”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to gasp. “And that something was going full Judas Iscariot and selling me out to the Romans for thirty pieces of silver?”

There’s a pause on your end. “Is Namjoon the Romans in this scenario? Because, if so, I’ve got to say—”

“Who cares!” Hoseok snaps. “Who fucking cares who the Romans are—”

“The Romans, probably,” you chime in unhelpfully.

“—because the two of you have officially given me agita. How’s that? Huh? First I have to sit through all of Namjoon’s lunch lectures—”

“He should trademark that. Has a nice ring to it. Namjoon’s Lunch Lectures.”

“—then, I had to start eating salads. Salads. Then he signs me up for some stupid wellness retreat in the goddamn rainforest and tells me I have to find a fucking date, so off I go to Tinder, but everyone on there only wanted me for my harvestable organs, so I was like, ‘You know what, Hoseok? You know who you can always count on? Your best friend of twenty years. She’s never let you down. She’ll go with you, and the two of you will have a good time, because she’s your best friend and you enjoy her company.’ But no, come to find out—”

There’s a very loud shriek of laughter. “Oh my god. Holy shit, Hobi, is that really why you called? Namjoon actually signed you up for that couple’s retreat?”

Now, there’s a very loud shriek of disbelief. “You fucking knew about that?” You try to contain your snort. Really, you do, but it’s no match for Hoseok’s palpable ire. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be good for you, sunshine. You’re clearly overworked. You had visible stress lines in the last selfie you posted on Instagram.”

“I did not, I use hyaluronic acid!” he insists, but if Hoseok swipes out of your call to pull up his Instagram account, no one has to know.

You groan. “Why do you keep arguing with me? I’m never wrong.”

“Yes you are.” There’s a very pointed pause during which Hoseok can very clearly, in his head, hear you say see?

“Listen,” you say, voice strong with all the conviction of a person who hadn’t spent the last five minutes being a menace to society—and Hoseok. “I’ll go with you. I have some time off from my program and there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend a whole month in the rainforest with you.”

“I feel like that was sarcastic.”

You tut. “Honestly, Hobi, it’s like you don’t even know me at all. You know number three on my bucket list is going to Costa Rica to hang out with sloths.”

His phone pings a second later with a text from you. An article about a sloth sanctuary greets him, and he swallows the immediate ew that’s on the tip of his tongue. Sloths are cute, sure, but they also have bugs. “Great,” he chokes out. “Are you gonna meet a sloth and turn into Kristen Bell? Because I’m not signing up for that. You look like Kim Kardashian when you cry.”

“Fuck you.” Hoseok is a millionaire, he doesn’t deserve this treatment. “Now, what are your plans for tomorrow night? Let’s do dinner. We need to take a bunch of selfies during sunsets so we look like a plausible couple.”

When he was eight and you were seven, Hoseok witnessed his first act of violence.

A kid on the school bus had been giving him a hard time. Nothing totally awful, just being a bit of a dick the way kids are wont to do, and Hoseok was a pushover back then. Just wanted everyone to like him so he never really stuck up for himself. Just smiled and laughed off the teasing and cried about it later.

Apparently this was unacceptable to you.

You tossed your bookbag in Hoseok’s lap, pushed up your sleeves, made your way to the back of the bus, and told that kid you’d slam his head into the window if he didn’t stop picking on Hoseok.

He’d gotten his head slammed into the window approximately fourteen seconds later.

(Never messed with Hoseok again, though.)

Since then, the two of you have been nearly inseparable. Sure, there had been petty arguments here and there, and Hoseok had gone to an Ivy League across the country, but it was rare for the two of you to go more than a few days without talking. Even now, when Hoseok works eighty hour weeks and is busy being a Very Important Person, he still makes time for you. Sometimes that time is just exchanging stupid memes over text, but he always makes the effort.

Which is why, even though you don’t see the point in crafting some elaborate backstory and had only said the thing about the sunset selfies to con him into coming over, he stays quiet and shows up to your apartment for dinner and worldbuilding anyway, because it’s been too long since he’s last been here and he misses you.

“Are you taking notes?” Hoseok asks, pointing at you with his fork. “This is important.”

You groan into your wine glass. “Fake dating is so hard,” you whine. “Why can’t we just tell the truth?”

He levels you with a stare. “Because! Don’t you think it’s a bit…”

“What, you think it’s totally unbelievable that I could be in love with you?”

Oh. Hoseok doesn’t like this at all, either. Doesn’t like the way the words sound in your mouth. Doesn’t like the way his stomach drops as he digests them. Doesn’t like how nice they sound, like you’d just waded through all the extracurricular bullshit to get straight to the point and arrive at the inevitable conclusion, which is the two of you riding off together into that sunset you’d mentioned before.

He doesn’t like feeling like he might want that.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it. You’re his best friend and he has 20/20 vision, so of course he has. It's always just been one of those things: didn’t want to ruin your friendship, moved across the country, got too busy, didn’t think you’d want him like that in return.

“I—no,” he says unconvincingly. “I just… it’d totally be weird, right? Us pretending to be a couple?” He throws in a chuckle for good measure, as if the thought of dating you is so preposterous it simply has to be a joke.

You just shrug. Where Hoseok is all nervous jitters, you’re solid and unshaken, always. “Not really. We’ve been friends forever. We’re obviously comfortable with each other. You showing up to my place in those disgusting crochet shoes is proof enough of that.”

Hoseok looks down at his feet and frowns. “They’re Valentino.”

“More like Valenti-no.”

He rolls his eyes. “See, that right there is why we can’t wing this. I can’t pretend to like your awful jokes. I’ll out myself immediately.”

You roll yours right back. “Nah, I think it works. You’re obviously the high-strung CEO who doesn’t appreciate good humor when he sees it and I’m the sad housewife who just wants you to laugh at my jokes.” You jut out your bottom lip and pretend to cry. “Why won’t you just laugh at my jokes, Hobi?”

He flicks a green bean at you. “How’d we go from fake dating to fake marriage? Stop trying to swindle me.”

Once again, you pout dramatically. “God, first you refuse to laugh at my jokes, now you refuse to marry me? You’re breaking my heart here.”

“I’m not buying you a ring,” Hoseok scoffs. “I know for a fact you’ll just turn around and sell it for triple the price to some poor, unsuspecting bastard.”

“Not my fault there’s a lot of poor, unsuspecting bastards in the world. All of this just proves, for the billionth time, that I’m the better businessperson between the two of us.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Hoseok sighs. “Just because your lemonade stand outsold mine once doesn’t mean—”

“I also outsold you during that candle fundraiser in the fifth grade. And the candybars during Little League. And that bullshit one in high school with the pineapple pizzas—”

“Fine!” Hoseok throws his hands up. Then, with as little of a grimace as he can muster, he says, “Let’s go to Costa Rica, Mrs. Jung.”

It doesn’t land.

Your jaw drops immediately, an exaggerated gag spilling from your lips. “I changed my mind,” you deadpan. “No marriage for us unless you take my last name.”

“What’s wrong with mine?”

“Feels bad in my mouth. What’s wrong with mine?”

Hoseok rolls his lips together. “Nothing, really. Just—”

“Is this some kind of male pride thing? You refuse to take your wife’s last name for fear of public ridicule and castration jokes?”

“No.” Hoseok glares at you. “It’s just—the reservation’s in my name. Besides, if someone made shitty jokes about you, I’d slam their head into a window, too.”

“Oh.” As soon as your jaw snaps shut, a brilliant smile splits your face. “That was unexpectedly wholesome, Seok. You’re getting soft in your old age.”

Only for you, he wants to say. Instead, he shoves another forkful of rice in his mouth and a copy of the itinerary in your direction.

(For all your bravado and willingness to slam the heads of elementary school bullies into windows, you hate flying. So, if you squeeze Hoseok’s hand too tight and he snaps a photo of it under the guise of how comically purple-red it’s turning, and not at all because it’s the first time you’re holding his hand and some weird, sentimental part of him wants to commemorate it, that’s his business.

If his heart is so full it nearly bursts out of his chest at the sight of you crying over a sloth, and if he memorizes the stars in your eyes as you hold one—not caring about the bugs or the giant claws or the fact that sloth fur kind of looks like a bird nest, algae included—that’s his business.

If he posts the photo of you crying to his Instagram, knowing damn well you’re going to yell at him for it later, and he cackles wildly over Namjoon’s comment:

[namjooning commented: why does she cry like that kim kardashian meme? junghoseok replied: Right? That’s what I said]

—that’s his business. It’s only because he’d said you look like Kim Kardashian when you cry and, if nothing else, Hoseok loves to be proven right. It has nothing to do with wanting to remember you that happy forever. Not at all.

If he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest when you hug him tightly, murmuring a quiet thank you in his ear on the last night of your stay at the sanctuary, it’s simply because you’re not very tactile. Hugs—and outward affection—from you are rare. That’s all. His skin absolutely does not break out in goosebumps. Doesn’t feel tingly all over. His breathing continues as normal.

If he finally comes to the startling realization that he’s in way too deep when you fall asleep on his shoulder during the drive to the resort, well…

Hoseok may be deadly smart, but he’s always been a complete fool when it comes to you.

If he sends a panicked text to Namjoon asking how he’s supposed to survive the next month, and if Namjoon misinterprets it as an ambitious, live-to-work type-A personality freaking out over not knowing how to unwind and tells him to just take it easy, and Hoseok misinterprets that as go for it, well…

The next four weeks sure are going to be interesting, aren’t they?)

See, the thing about Hoseok is he has all the money and prestige a man of his status could want.

He’s filthy rich, he’s well-respected, he’s kind. People love him. He loves people in return. He’s been called the living embodiment of actual sunshine more times than you or he could possibly count. There’s truly nothing he wants for in this world.

Hoseok is also the type of person who gets anxious at the thought of calling the Malaysian restaurant you two frequent to place a delivery order. Namjoon has to force him to make his own personal appointments under threat of death. He changed doctors because his new one lets him schedule appointments online. He won’t go to a fast food drive-thru unless they have mobile ordering.

It’s just the way Hoseok is. He’s been that way as long as you’ve known him—at least since that time in the fifth grade when his mother once gave him twenty bucks and told him to call the pizza place and order dinner for the two of you and he totally balked, resigning the two of you to toaster oven Ellio’s that tasted way too similar to skating rink pizza to be a coincidence.

Which is why he balks again as soon as the two of you reach the front desk of the resort, shoving you in front of him to talk to the man behind it.

Maybe it’s the raging pansexual inside Hobi rather than his uncharacteristic fear of talking to literally anyone, but you totally get it. You don’t really want to talk to this man, either. He’s ash blond and bathed in golden light, highlighting his already golden skin to look completely ethereal, and he’s got a smug look on his face that tells you he knows exactly how intimidatingly good-looking he is.

Still, you’re not easily shaken. Jung Hoseok is your best friend—and fake boyfriend, lest you’ve forgotten—for fuck’s sake. You’ve committed violence for him. Golden Desk Boy is going to have to try a whole lot harder than this. “Hiii,” you say, lips painted in a saccharine smile. God, you’re so fake. “We’re checking in under Jung.”

The man—whose name badge says Jimin—returns your fake smile. “Great! Thank you so much for joining us for your stay.”

You take a moment to look around while Jimin pulls up your reservation, purposefully skipping over Hoseok’s form. He’s not doing anything, just sitting in a plush armchair as he pretends to read the newspaper, but you feel the flames of annoyance licking at your heels nonetheless, because you wouldn’t be here to begin with if it weren’t for Hoseok and his subordinate micromanager, and what kind of weird place has he brought you to?

Everything is white. Not in the sterile kind of way, because the monotony is broken up with lush greenery and the occasional piece of teak furniture, but there’s enough white for you to wonder if it’s some sort of statement. The floors and walls are white. All the non-wooden furniture is white. Jimin’s silk uniform and teeth are both blindingly white. Not that you’d seen many people since you stepped into the lobby, but the ones you had seen had been wearing white, too.

Jimin looks up from the computer screen and you’re almost surprised to find his irises aren’t white, too. Maybe it’s rude, but he seriously gives you the creeps. “Everything is ready for your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Jung. I’ve requested someone come to retrieve your luggage.”

You gawk. “Oh, we’re not—we’re not married.”

“Oh?” Jimin asks, one perfect eyebrow arched as his eyes twinkle with intrigue.

“Yeah,” you insist. “Not that I need to explain my morals and ethics to a stranger, but I don’t believe in the patriarchy.”

“Really? That’s great,” Jimin lies. This man is overflowing with shithead energy. “Neither do I.”

You scoff. “Oh, sure. That’s why you just assumed my bes—my partner and I were married.”

“That’s what the reservation says.” He looks very amused now. Kim Namjoon is going to receive a very lengthy text message in approximately ten minutes. “I do apologize for this mistake. I’ll make sure to correct it right away.” Amusement slowly morphs into a challenge. “Is there a new last name I can put on the reservation for you instead?”

Call it a hunch, but you think it best to not give this person any of your identifying information. “No.”

“Shall I leave it as Jung, then?”

It physically pains you to say this, but you manage to choke out a very strained, “Yes.”

“Fantastic,” Jimin sing-songs. “I’m very glad we were able to sort out this issue for you, Mr. and Mrs. Jung.”

Choke on a dick and die is what you want to say (for no reason, really; it isn’t like Jimin’s been outright cruel to you), but as much as Hoseok avoids people—and avoids confrontation even more—he appears at your side, looking every bit the sunshine after a storm he always is. “Everything okay?” he asks, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back. “…Dear,” he tacks on as Jimin’s eyes study the two of you.

“Everything’s great!” you chirp, determined to cast away Jimin’s obvious suspicions. “Jimin here says someone’s coming to get our bags.” Another fake, saccharine smile. Like sweet’n low. “He’s been very helpful.”

Everything’s great, in you-speak, translates to I once, foolishly, thought Kim Namjoon was on my side. I now see the errors of my ways and I demand justice and revenge. Fool you once (getting roped into being Hoseok’s fake partner to come to a weird wellness retreat), shame on Namjoon. Fool you twice (allowing him to book the reservation and label you a married couple), shame on you. There won’t be a third time, because Kim Namjoon’s days are numbered once you’re both in the same country again.

“Will you be needing a tour?” Jimin asks, voice tinkling like expensive crystal.

You grasp Hoseok’s hand far too tight to be believable and wave off the receptionist. “No, thank you! Just a map will do. That’s how we met, you know—at a… map… class.”

“A map class?” Jimin parrots. “Riveting.” He smiles. Sweet’n low.

“It sure was!” You turn to Hobi. “Wasn’t it? …Babe,” you choke out. The word tastes so gross on your tongue.

When you look up at him, Hoseok’s wearing that trademark expression of his: the one where his eyes are too wide, tight-lipped smile stretched too thin. Hoseok’s convinced it’s convincing. It isn’t. It’s terrifying and makes your skin feel itchy from the inside. “Mmm, yep,” he agrees easily. “Love a good map. Some good… cartography.” He pinches three fingers together because he’d seen it on The Sopranos and it’s just a thing he does now.

Sometimes you forget Hoseok is rich-rich.

Of course Namjoon had mentioned booking the trip on the company card and of course you know what someone like him having access to a company card implies. It’d implied you were going on an all-expenses-paid trip on some massive company’s dime. But, perhaps naively, you’d just envisioned a fancy hotel room at some resort near a beach. Shoreline bonfires, tiny portions of food on massive plates when you order room service, colorful drinks with tiny umbrellas and a skewer of fruit stuck inside, three-digit price tag.

Instead, the two of you follow the map to a secluded, private house. There’s a balcony. The shower is made entirely of glass and surrounded by the lush greenery outside. The exterior wall in the bedroom is also made of glass and affords you panoramic views of the beach and forest and everything in between. The thread count of the Egyptian cotton sheets is disgustingly low.

(Which, speaking of Hoseok and all his money—he’d been the one to teach you about thread counts to begin with. You’d wrongfully assumed the higher the number the better, but Hoseok had gently grabbed the scratchy 1500 count sheets out of your hands with a pained grimace and handed you a set of Supima cotton sheets with a startlingly low thread count instead.

Rich people have everything backwards.)

Truth be told, it’s exactly the kind of place you’d see on some influencer’s Instagram account. The kind of place they’d delude you into thinking you could afford, too, because having your influencer boyfriend take a picture of you sinking into the lush white duvet and plastering a $10 filter on it is more important than affording your student loan payments.

But you digress.

Either way, you’ll have to send a thank you card to the board of directors.

Hoseok, on the other hand, balks for the second time. Takes one look at the singular bed and completely shuts down, Windows sound effects practically blaring over an invisible loudspeaker above his head once again. “Where’s the other bed?” he asks stupidly.

You snort. Stash your suitcase in the corner. You’ll unpack it later… or next week. Whenever you get around to it, really. “What other bed?”

“You know, like. The other one.”

“There’s only one, Seok. Why would there be two? This is a couple’s retreat.”

He pouts. “Not every couple sleeps together, you know. My grandparents have separate bedrooms.”

“No offense, bud, but your grandfather also wears diapers.”

“So?”

“So there might be a correlation, is what I’m saying.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as your husband of seventy years just because he might pee the bed sometimes?”

You level him with a look. Unpacking doesn’t sound like such a bad idea anymore. “I’m well past the age where I could conceivably be married to someone for seventy years, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not even thirty yet.”

You click your tongue. “Hoseok, you of all people know I never expected to live past the age of thirteen. There’s no way I’m making it to ninety-seven.”

“You only thought you were gonna die when you were thirteen because you had your appendix removed.” You give him another look. “And you got your tonsils removed that same year.” Another one. “What?” he huffs. “What’d I forget?”

“That time we were playing volleyball in gym class and you spiked the ball right in my face and broke my nose.”

“Not a life-threatening injury.”

“Thirteen was a really hard year for me,” you retort, overdramatic as always. “It’s a miracle I survived.”

“Oh my god—”

“A miracle, Hobi.”

With a disapproving shake of his head, he’s off to unpack his luggage, because Hoseok is filthy rich and has expensive clothes that, according to him, cannot, under any circumstances, go hours without being hung up properly. You’ve never seen a silk shirt with a wrinkle in it, let alone a wrinkle on any article of Hoseok’s clothing, but you learned a long time ago it’s much less stressful to just let him be neurotic about his wardrobe.

You, on the other hand, are going to do no such thing. You’ll live out of your suitcase for as long as you can get away with it, so you flop face-first onto the bed, careful to leave your shoes dangling off the edge. Hoseok’s already going to give you shit about—

“Yah!” he wails, his fifteenth white button-down shirt draped haphazardly off a hanger. “No street clothes in the bed!”

You roll your eyes. “Street clothes? Who says shit like that? Most people just have clothes.”

“You’ve been wearing them all day,” Hoseok argues, because there’s very little he loves more than an argument. “They’re dirty, and now they’ve made the bed dirty, too.”

However, to the detriment of Hoseok’s well-being, you love arguing, too. You look down at both your clothes and the pristine duvet and vaguely gesture at both. “Ah, yes. So filthy. The bed—which you’d nearly had an aneurysm over sharing with me not even ten minutes ago, might I add—is so dirty. How will we ever be able to sleep in it?”

Watching Hoseok mentally tabulate through the Seven Stages of Grief is the most entertainment you’ve had in hours. Jaw clenched, he simply stares at you for a few seconds before leveling his voice and repeating, “No street clothes in the bed.” Then he tacks on a please that’s clearly an afterthought. “Didn’t you bring loungewear? Can’t you just wear that instead?”

You did, in fact, bring loungewear. It would’ve been irresponsible not to, considering the length of your stay and proximity to paradise, but stubbornness seems to be the flavor of the day so you just shrug and toe your shoes off. “I’m not going to change. We don’t have long before we have that welcome dinner, anyway. I’m not going to put on loungewear only to change into dinner-wear and then come back, shower, and change again into pajamas.”

Hoseok’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What welcome dinner?”

“Do you not read?” you tease. “There was a whole itinerary attached to the map. We have a welcome dinner tonight with that guy Namjoon’s in love with.”

“Which one?”

You click your tongue. “The guy who runs this place.” Then you furrow your brow. “What do you mean ‘which one’?”

“Nothing. Just—you know how Namjoon is. He falls in love at least eight separate times whenever he goes to the gardening store.”

“Guess he doesn’t herb his enthusiasm.” Hoseok groans loudly as you point finger guns at him.

He lobs a mated pair of socks at your head that bounce off your ass instead. “Please just get ready for dinner. I can’t do this.”

To put it mildly, Kim Seokjin is fucking weird.

Hoseok hadn’t noticed. He’d taken one look at him and his mischievous eyes and welcoming smile and dove right in, engaging him in endless conversation about god-knows-what. That’s just how Hoseok is. Aside from his justifiable distrust of Tinder dates, he makes and keeps friends effortlessly. It’s the sunshine in him, your mother always used to say, because Hoseok was always the sun and everyone else were sunflowers, desperate to bask in him and reflect his light.

(Namjoon has always said it’s because he’s an Aquarius. You don’t know what that means, but you assume it’ll click once you buy a few crystals and start exclusively listening to Fleetwood Mac.)

And that has always been okay—good, even. He’s never lost that innate goodness, even when he’d been placed at the head of a billion-dollar corporation where ruthlessness is encouraged. Hoseok’s edges remain rounded and soft; he emphasizes a need for kindness, shows it has a place amongst the cold, calculated world of business. Really, it’s great. You can’t be more proud to call him your best friend.

However.

It doesn’t mean Hoseok isn’t a fucking idiot sometimes.

Because he’s good, his first assumption is always that others are good, too. No matter how many times you’ve grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him away from a fire, his first instinct is still to reach out and touch it.

His first serious girlfriend, back in high school? Yeah, you’d warned him about her. Told him she was messing around with a kid on the soccer team on the side, but Hoseok had insisted she’d never do that. “She’s into embroidery,” he’d said, as if that excused someone from being a two-timing cheat.

That guy he’d been partnered with for a serious project in business school? You’d listened to Hoseok talk about him over Skype once and suggested he find a new one. Kept silent as he unloaded on you a few weeks later after the guy had fucked him over.

You’d even advised him against hiring Namjoon. Couldn’t fathom why Hoseok would even be considering hiring someone who showed up to an interview hours early. Obviously he hadn’t listened, and look where it’s gotten the two of you.

It isn’t that you’ve got a sixth sense for assholes or anything. It’s just that Hoseok’s such a terrible judge of character that it makes you look like Sherlock Holmes in comparison.

So it comes as no surprise to you when Seokjin excuses himself for a moment and Hoseok turns to you with hearts in his eyes only to be greeted by your Hoseok you’re doing that thing again where you put people on a pedestal who are not to be trusted look.

“No,” he dismisses immediately. “Him? No way.”

Your nostrils flare. “Hoseok. Don’t be an idiot about this. He’s weird.”

“He’s just eccentric. Aren’t all these New Age hippie types like that? The guy runs a wellness retreat for fuck’s sake—of course he’s weird.”

“His vibes are off,” you retort, which admittedly sounds like a New Age hippie thing to say, but the longer Hoseok insists you’re wrong, the more you begin to wonder if you are. The two of you had been sent here by Namjoon, and he’s easily one of the weirdest people you’ve ever met. Maybe Hoseok’s right.

You allow yourself two minutes of self-doubt. Then you’re shaking your head and poking your tongue into the fat of your cheek because you know bad vibes when you feel them and Kim Seokjin has them in spades.

The man in question returns a few moments later, two new men in tow: a taller one with a boxy smile and a tan and a shorter one with a scowl that looks permanent but not on purpose, like it’d just shown up on his face one day and forgot to leave. The grumpy-looking one sits across from Hoseok, looking every bit as unsure as you, while the other one takes the empty seat to his left, right in front of you.

“I’m Taehyung,” he says, ass barely in the chair before he’s leaning over the table to shake your hand. His feels like a hand that’s shaken many others—firm, warm, soft. Feels a lot like shaking Hoseok’s hand might feel, an importance simmering beneath the surface, but you’ve never had a reason to do so. “This is Yoongi.” Taehyung gestures to the man beside him. “He doesn’t talk much but you get used to him, I think.”

“You think?” Hoseok laughs, an eyebrow quirked, fully in his element. Words soft, edges softer. Hoseok was born for these types of moments. Meeting strangers, knowing what to say.

Yoongi stays quiet. Barely looks around the room, which is a feat in itself. Seokjin had invited all of you to dinner in a grand dining hall, walls tall and floors gleaming, both stark white like the rest of the resort. Immediately sat at the head of the table like some sort of king, and you would’ve thought something of it, maybe looked at Hoseok and mouthed what’s this guy’s deal? But then he placed his napkin neatly across his lap, looked at the two of you, smiled dazzlingly, and said, “Is cereal soup?”

It had all gone downhill from there, really.

Now Taehyung and Yoongi are seated across from you and Hoseok and Yoongi still hasn’t said a word and you’re hoping maybe, just maybe, he’s also picking up on how weird all of this is. Taehyung has that exuberant optimism that reminds you a lot of Hoseok so you disregard him as a comrade immediately. Just the kind of guy to love any and everyone, oblivious to bad vibes. No, Yoongi’s the one you need on your side and it’s glaringly obvious.

One small hiccup, though: he really doesn’t talk.

Like, at all.

Taehyung talks enough for the both of them, endearing everyone with a smile and an endless supply of stories told in that deep baritone voice of his. Every now and then he’ll turn to Yoongi and say isn’t that right, dumpling? and Yoongi just hums an acknowledgment. Doesn’t seem put off by the pet name at all, despite looking like someone that’d be put off by pet names.

They’re cute. You mouth as much to Hoseok and he just smiles at you in return, a soft little thing. Yoongi and Taehyung are the kind of couple who give off we’ve been together for decades energy even though they don’t look much older than you. Just two people completely at ease with one another, and it does something to your stomach. All small, hidden touches and words communicated through looks alone. Best friends and lovers. Partners both in crime and in life.

It’s a sweet moment.

It’s a moment completely negated by Seokjin’s booming voice at the head of the table. “Well, this was fun, wasn’t it? Let’s move to the lounge.”

Yoongi doesn’t look to Taehyung. Yoongi looks to you, and it’s only because you’d looked at him instead of Hoseok that you notice the subtle downturn of the corners of his mouth, the slight pinch between his brows. He doesn’t outright ask it, but there’s a question in his body language: What’s this guy’s deal?

It’s one you’d also like an answer to.

Yoongi keeps his eyes on you the entire time the five of you talk in the lounge. Well, Taehyung’s once again speaking for both of them, hands and arms gesturing wildly all around him, and Yoongi seems more than content to sit in silence. Seokjin and Hoseok chime in where they should, asking questions and emphasizing words and generally being agreeable. You, on the other hand, sit next to Hoseok and try to exude the same energy Taehyung and Yoongi do. The we’re so in love and comfortable with each other we don’t even need to touch type. The we only post selfies together three times a year because we don’t need to flaunt our relationship variety.

But, as all inevitable things inevitably do, the conversation moves to relationships. Seokjin sneaks it in under the guise of getting to know everyone, and Taehyung takes the bait immediately, seemingly always looking for a reason to show off Yoongi and talk him up. You hate that it’s endearing. You hate that you want something like it—someone enamored with you without preamble. A just because kind of love. Something solid and bone-deep.

“It was totally by accident,” Taehyung’s saying as your attention drifts back to him. Not soon enough, because he’s clearly halfway through a story and you have no idea what the plot is. “We’d both been backpacking through Europe, and I was trying to check in at this tiny hostel in Thessaloniki but my Greek is terrible, understandably, so I was really struggling. Trying to tell the poor woman behind the desk my name and that I’d booked a private room, and she just kept shrugging and looking at me like I was crazy. It was, like, midnight, so I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, and then out of nowhere this guy”—He jerks his thumb at Yoongi, who remains silent and still—“just comes up behind me and starts speaking fluent Greek.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Fluent Greek? Wow,” he says, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe, “that’s really impressive.”

“You have no idea,” Taehyung continues to gush. “He speaks, like, fifteen languages fluently, I swear to god. Anyway, turns out the hostel never received my reservation, which makes sense because I’d tried booking it from the top of a mountain. Yoongi took pity on me and let me share his room since they were fully booked.”

Seokjin smiles and touches a hand to his heart. It’s completely performative but it works—Taehyung looks like he’s just passed some silent test and won the lottery. “Adorable. And so noble, Yoongi. Not many people would do that for a stranger.”

Yoongi shrugs.

Undeterred, Seokjin turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “How about the two of you? Set up by friends? Blind date?” His beady eyes are studying you both diligently, eyes raking over your face for the tiniest tell. “Childhood friends turned lovers?”

Hoseok coughs.

“We met at a cartography class,” you explain, voice even despite Seokjin’s prolonged eye contact making you want to lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Hoseok had nearly given the two of you away, and it was all you could do to recall whatever bullshit you had tried selling Jimin to cover your asses.

Yoongi’s fighting off a smile. Taehyung looks enthralled. “Cartography? Whoa, now that’s something you definitely don’t hear everyday.”

“A lost art, if you ask me,” Seokjin says. “Are either of you geographists, then?”

Hoseok tenses, fidgeting ceasing immediately. The two of you hadn’t talked about this—about how honest you wanted to be, how much would be fabricated—so while this is typically the kind of environment he’d thrive in, you pluck the reins from his hands and take over. “Double majored back in undergrad. Geography and psych.”

“Interesting combo.”

You nod. Not the first time you’d heard that. “Well, there are things you want to do and things you should do, so I did both.”

“And what was it you wanted to do?”

You wave your hand, gesturing vaguely. “Ah, you know. You go into university with all these aspirations, have all these starry-eyed ideas. You’re gonna be someone, you’re gonna help people, you’re gonna make an impact and travel all over and be super important. People are gonna pay to hear you speak and all that bullshit.” Hoseok’s looking at you—you can feel it, but you can also see the blurred outline of his profile. “What did I want to do? Something in human geography, maybe cultural or political geography.”

“The psych degree?” Seokjin continues prodding, and you find you don’t mind it. Hoseok certainly never had. Was always far too busy doing important business things on the opposite side of the country.

“Picked it up about halfway through. Figured I should have a back-up plan in case I wound up being the only geopolitician working at Starbucks.” Your fingers start picking at your pants even though there’s nothing to grab onto. You’d only packed your best, keenly aware of the standards required to be in Jung Hoseok’s inner circle. “A lot of the research and analysis courses overlapped, so I just… did it.”

“That’s very ambitious.” Seokjin’s compliment feels like some weird kind of approval, like another unspoken test Taehyung would grin over passing. “And now? You’d mentioned undergrad.”

“Started a post-bacc in GIS since I liked doing research. Hence the cartography class.”

Hence the cartography class, as if that’s the end of it and there’s nothing else to say. Like you hadn’t dropped out of that to pursue a Master’s in psychology and maybe med school or a PhD to follow, because your mother would be proud of someone with a doctorate, right? You could finally stop hearing—

Did you hear Hoseokie got an internship at Google? They pay $8,000 a month!

Did you hear Hoseokie graduated at the top of his class? His mother said he didn’t even have to apply to any MBA programs, they recruited him! He’s torn between Stanford and the University of Penn. Isn’t that a nice problem to have?

Did you hear that Hoseokie finished his program early? He’s so smart. His parents must be so proud of him.

Did you hear Hoseokie’s moving back? Just an associate vice president position for now, but his mother says there’s already talks of him being promoted to CEO within the next few years.

That’s not to say you weren’t proud of him or that you were resentful. You’ve always been Hoseok’s biggest fan, but Hoseok had moved across the country and still casted a shadow so large it was impossible to not be swallowed up by it, and it’s hard to have all the things you want to hear be said about someone else.

So, yeah, hence the cartography class.

“What about you, Hoseok? You’ve been quiet.”

Hoseok’s never quiet. When you turn to look at him, he’s already staring back. There’s no perpetual million-dollar smile, no wrinkles at the corner of his eyes from laughing too much, smiling too much, enjoying life too much. There’s just a concerned look that you don’t really know what to do with, because you’ve spent so much of your life worrying over Hoseok—over his concerning judge of character, his inability to cook, those kids on the schoolbus, his diet and now his organs—that things feel out of sorts now that the script is flipped.

It takes him a while to come back down to earth, realize someone has asked him a question. “Business,” is all he says.

He’s still staring.

Things are tense.

Weird-tense, because things are never tense between you and Hoseok. Not even back in high school when you’d threatened his then-girlfriend, the one who was cheating on him, and she ratted you out. Hoseok had shown up all red in the face, talked a lot about what would happen if you ruined things for him, but you’d just said alright, Hobi, whatever you say and things had gone back to normal.

But back in your overpriced rental house, things are definitely weird-tense.

“You never told me any of that.”

Ah. You shrug, toweling off your hair after your shower, and rifle through your suitcase for suitable pajamas. “You never asked.”

“I thought the map story was bullshit. You never—you double majored?”

Isn’t this so typical, you think. You could write a biography on Hoseok, all his accomplishments and dreams and all those silly little subplots that connect at the end, and he didn’t even know your college major. Majors. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

In the bathroom, you go through your skincare routine on autopilot and floss and brush your teeth. Try to rid yourself of the taste of disappointment. Smear cold cream under your eyes and try to pretend the sting is from the scent and not welling tears, because this is not something to cry over. This is stupid and unimportant, and you now have two and a half degrees in psychology that tell you how to deal with it.

But Hoseok’s reluctant to let it go. Wants to talk it to death when you’re more than happy to never discuss it again. You’re twenty-seven, meaning you’ve had at least five years to accept the fact that your mother had given all her pride to Hoseok instead. You’re not really keen on spending another five years feeling inadequate. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He appears in the doorway of the bathroom looking positively distressed. “Mom had only told me about the psych degree and that you were trying to get into UCLA for your Master’s. She never said anything about the geography degree.”

You just shrug. “Things you want to do and things you should, right?”

Hoseok doesn’t buy it. “Was telling me what was going on in your life not something you wanted to do, then?” He looks stung.

You’re tired, still a little fucked up from the jet lag and sitting through a bizarre dinner and serving yourself up on a silver platter to an even more bizarre man that now knew something about you that not even Hoseok had known. “I’m going to sleep,” you say, because you’re even more loose-lipped than usual when tired and prone to irritability, and provoking an argument on the first night of a month-long vacation is not something you’re going to do.

And Hoseok—

Hoseok must get it, you think, because he seems to deflate. Just sighs, shoulders hunched, before he steps aside to let you out of the bathroom. No argument, no thinly-veiled threats, no guilt-trips. Resignation: the same kind Namjoon had spoken about when he’d relayed the story of how the wellness retreat came to be.

A resigned Hoseok is probably a dangerous Hoseok, but you’re too exhausted to give a shit. You’ll strategize in the morning, come up with a new plan.

Except the morning comes and Hoseok doesn’t mention it at all.

He doesn’t say anything about it for the next three days, actually, which are all the same and go like this:

On the morning of day two, Hoseok reluctantly wakes you up just after six. There’s a small offering of fruit and coffee waiting for you on a tray that you promptly ignore in lieu of going back to sleep, which lasts until approximately 6:06am when Hoseok wakes you again. The two of you are scheduled for a morning yoga session at seven-o’clock, which is supposedly mandatory and can’t be canceled.

Taehyung takes the mat next to you, leaning over to ask, “Have you ever done this before?” with a slightly panicked expression on this face.

“Every Saturday morning back home,” you answer. Taehyung chuckles nervously, and your experience becomes painfully clear when you’re nailing your Sugarcane pose and everyone else topples over sideways. Yoongi doesn’t make a sound as he hits the floor, and he’s so quiet that your instructor misses him completely when they fret around the room helping everyone else.

You’re so distracted by helping Yoongi yourself that you miss the deep furrow of Hoseok’s brow. And the crestfallen look on his face. Just another thing he hadn’t known.

After you survive yoga, the two of you sit through an awkward breakfast with Taehyung, Certified Chatterbox, and Yoongi, Not One. Taehyung doesn’t comment on Hoseok’s newfound quietude, which is a little surprising, but Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you that makes your coffee suddenly taste stale.

Between the hours of nine and one, Hoseok disappears to go to the spa or the gym or the gift shop, because he is literally incapable of not spending money. You’re waiting for him to realize how weird it is for a wellness retreat to sell souvenirs but he never brings it up, just strolls back into the room each time and dumps a concerning amount of magnets into his suitcase.

(You wonder if any of them are for your mother. You wonder what she’ll think about this—you and Hoseok going to a couple’s retreat together, playing pretend. You wonder if bagging someone like Hoseok would finally make her proud of you and how shallow that is.)

After lunch, which is barely less awkward than breakfast, the four of you are ushered into a so-called Meditation Clinic, hosted by a very muscular guy with a baby face and a lot of tattoos. His name is Jungkook, and he nearly sends Hoseok into Sexuality Crisis Episode No. 2. Hoseok doesn’t do a damn second of meditating for three days, just stares at the wall looking like a baby who’d just been tricked into sucking on a lemon. Taehyung chatters away at you the entire time, completely oblivious to Jungkook’s annoyed stare. You share an exasperated look with Yoongi on your way out.

Hoseok returns to your rental home on the evening of day three looking scandalized. Apparently, this is the result of him running into Jimin, who’d offered to read and analyze his birth chart for him. Apparently, this is Jimin’s second job when there’s no new check-ins to harass. Apparently, Hoseok has been “read for filth” by “the stars” and “doesn’t wish to discuss it further.”

(Interestingly, Jimin corners you not long after. There’s a dangerous twinkle in his eye as he says, “Curious?” and gestures to a small room just off the lounge.

“The curtain’s kind of corny, isn’t it?” you say, scoffing as one strand of beads smacks you in the side of the head. “Like, this all feels very mysterious carnival tent and not billion-dollar resort, y’know?”

Jimin takes a seat behind a large desk, completely void of decoration. You’re not sure what you expected—some tarot cards, maybe a crystal ball to sell the illusion—but it’s empty. “You must have Leo placements,” he mutters.

“Moon and Mars, actually. Lucky guess.”

He gestures for you to take the seat in front of him. “Mm, not really luck, they’re just really good at lying.”

“And what am I lying about?”

Jimin ignores your question. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and says, “When’s your birthday?”

“Aren’t you the astrologer? Take a guess.” Jimin just stares, looking endlessly amused. Eventually you huff and answer. “March 15th.”

Overdramatic as always, Jimin fake-gags. “A Pisces sun with a Leo moon? Horrendous, truly. How do you function?”

“Stunted, clearly.”

He actually laughs at this, rewarding you with a brilliant smile and an endearingly crooked front tooth. “No matter.” He shakes his head, blond locks falling elegantly around his face as if arranged by the gods themselves. “You may have a truly tragic sun-moon pairing, but it bodes well for you and that neurotic mess of a best friend you’re fake-dating.”

You choke so hard Jimin actually offers you a glass of water.)

Dinners are spent as a five-piece. Seokjin asks more idiotic questions, such as are eyebrows considered facial hair, which prompts a very deep exhale from Yoongi, and did Adam and Eve have bellybuttons, which sends Taehyung into an existential crisis he’s yet to recover from.

Sometimes there are bonfires on the beach at night during which Jungkook plays an acoustic guitar and sings like an angel. Hoseok is conspicuously absent during these.

He’s also absent during your nightly routine. You shower, smear your skincare all over your face, and brush your teeth alone. You change into your pajamas and crawl into your side of the bed alone. By night three, you’re so annoyed you build a pillow wall between the two of you that you instruct Hoseok, under threat of bodily harm, not to demolish.

On the morning of day five, you’re awake before the sun. You sit in the darkness for a while, listening to Hoseok’s soft breaths on the other side of the pillow wall. He hasn’t gone five days without talking to you in twenty years. Even when he’d threatened you over his high school girlfriend, you were back in his good graces within 48 hours, and all of this for what? Because your mother is kind of an asshole and you’re kind of jealous and Hoseok is kind of self-centered sometimes?

“Hobi,” you say, leaning over the wall to nudge his shoulder. “Hobi, wake up.”

He doesn’t budge, mouth hanging open as he continues snoring quietly, these little hiccups of breath every now and then. All you can do is sigh. “Hoseok.” Nothing. “Jung Hoseok,” you try again, voice hardened into a baseless threat. He keeps snoring.

You groan, run your hands over your face in exasperation. Stupidly, you’d assumed that Hoseok would be easier to wake up now that he’s a Very Important Person worth millions of dollars. Clearly he’s not. So you throw the duvet off your legs and stumble to the bathroom in the dark. Brush your teeth and wash your face and throw on a loose long-sleeved shirt and a pair of yoga pants. It’s the weekend, so you’re free to do as you please, no mandated schedule, and you know exactly who you’re going to see.

Unsurprisingly, Taehyung is on the beach, cross-legged in the center of a large blanket close to the water but far enough away that the tide isn’t a concern. His curls are blowing gently in the breeze and every now and then he lets out a huff as he tries to flick them out of his eyes. No wonder Yoongi took pity on him back in that hostel in Thessaloniki. You’ve barely known him a week and are already hopelessly endeared by him.

“Good morning,” he says, eyes closed. Even the sun is barely awake this early, but it spills across Taehyung’s cheeks in dusky, golden rays nonetheless. “The beach is beautiful at this hour, isn’t it?”

Ah, so Taehyung’s one of those. Chatty at all hours, just like Hoseok. You groan. “Yeah, sure.”

“I have a thermos of coffee if you want some.”

“You just carry around thermoses of coffee?”

Taehyung laughs. “No. I don’t drink it, but I always make some in the morning and put it in a thermos in case today’s the day Yoongi decides to wake up before noon and join me.”

You eye the empty space next to him. “I’m guessing today’s not the day.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “After forcing him to wake up at 6am to do yoga the last few days? I might never see him again.”

“It’d be deserved, in his defense.”

Taehyung seems to think on this. Has a laugh just as airy as the gentle ocean wind, one that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world. So much like Hoseok. You wonder if you’re like Yoongi. If you’re just as closed off but more talkative. You wonder if there’s a reason Yoongi holds his cards so close to his chest or if he simply sees no reason for anyone to know him. He’s got Taehyung and fifteen languages and a lifetime’s worth of stories, what more could he need? “You’re probably right. Where’s your other half?”

“Also asleep.”

“Wow,” Taehyung deadpans, “there are parallels everywhere.”

You don’t know him well enough to know how he means it. If it’s sardonic and taking the piss out of that sort of thing the way Yoongi would mean it, or if he’s genuine how Hoseok would be. So you just hum a maybe-agreement and stare out at the ocean.

Truth be told, you’re not sure why Taehyung was the one you wanted to find. He just seems like the type to know a lot about relationships, people. Seems like someone who’d meet and befriend more people in a day than you would in five years, so someone like that’s gotta have some sort of answers.

“How long have you and Yoongi been together?”

“Oh. A long time. I was nineteen when I went to Greece and Yoongi was twenty-one, but it was such bad timing, you know? Like, I was only two months into a year-long trip, and Yoongi has to be dragged into everything kicking and screaming, so we didn’t reconnect for over a year after we met.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

Taehyung smiles: small, tender, fond. “A little, yeah, but I think that sort of stuff is inconsequential in the long run. What’s a year’s worth of distance when you’ve got the rest of your lives?” He shifts on the blanket, a frown dragging down the corners of his mouth. “Although I went to Australia a month later and got bit by this huge fucking spider, so I guess the rest of my life was questionable for a while. In that case, yeah, it would’ve been really hard.”

You hum again, and in a need to fill the silence, Taehyung asks, “What about you and Hoseok?”

“What about us?”

“How long have you been together?”

We’re not, really, sits on the tip of your tongue. Jimin has already seen straight through the bullshit, so why not Taehyung, too? What’s the worst that can happen—they kick you out because you’re not a proper couple? What does that even mean? You’ve known Hoseok for twenty years. You watched him grow into a successful, kind, intelligent adult from a stupid-as-fuck eight-year-old. You’ve watched him fall in love and get his heart broken and piece it back together again. You know his takeout orders and his favorite color and the movies he still cries over but lies and says he doesn’t. You know the smell of his mother’s perfume when she squeals and hugs you like you’re her own. You’re one of two-hundred followers on Hoseok’s private Instagram account—the one you and Namjoon and Hoseok’s sister always join forces to bully him on when he tries posting a thirst trap.

You know what Hoseok looks like when he cries. You know what he’s like when he’s vulnerable and insecure and you know how to be a pillar for him when he’s like that, and he knows the same about you.

Some couples don’t have half of that, so what does it mean or even matter if your coupling is proper? Isn’t what you have enough?

You sigh. “We grew up together. I’ve known him for twenty years.”

“Oh.” Taehyung sucks in a breath. “I thought you’d said—”

“Yeah,” you interject. “We’re not, like, romantically involved.” Another sigh. “It’s a long story.”

Taehyung just smiles, looks at you with those butter-soft eyes, and you’re diving into twenty years of history and backstory. You tell him about punching the kid on the bus. You tell him about Hoseok’s first serious girlfriend in high school and how it made your stomach hurt—

(“Because you had a crush on him?”

“What? No.”

“Hm. Okay.”)

—and you tell him about your mother and all her misplaced pride. He laughs at every story you tell him about Namjoon and how you and Hoseok wound up at this weird wellness retreat. He stops laughing when you tell him that you and Hoseok haven’t spoken properly in days, and his eyebrows get very serious when you admit it’s the reason you came to find him.

“You just look like someone who might know how to help me fix it,” you finish.

Taehyung tries—and fails—to not look pleased as punch at this. “I’m generally very unhelpful. Well, Yoongi says I’m not-not helpful, but sometimes I try to help too much and wind up making things worse.” You shoot him a dubious look. “I won’t do that this time, though, I promise! Please consider me your official relationship fixer.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”

“It probably isn’t, if I’m being totally honest, but if I can manage to make Min Yoongi fall in love with me, I’m extremely overconfident I can do just about anything.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

He claps his hands together. “Great! We can start with you apologizing and telling him you’ve been acting out due to temporary insanity on the basis of being in love with him for years and never saying anything.”

“Excuse me—”

“It’s best to be extremely honest about these sorts of things as to leave no room for misinterpretation or misunderstandings,” Taehyung says, tone condescending like you’re a child though it’s working overtime to not sound that way. At your slack jaw, Taehyung’s eyes grow wide. “Have you seriously never thought about it?”

“Me and Hoseok?”

Of course you’ve thought about it, it was just dismissed immediately each time. You love Hoseok; he’s the most important person in your life, and that’s exactly why you shooed those intrusive thoughts away every time they crept up. You’re not generally one to overthink on consequences, but Hoseok is always an idea you’ve treated with kiddie gloves. Something delicate. Something placed in an enclosure with 21mm glass walls and eighteen security alarms. So, sure, you’ve thought about it in the same way you’ve thought about winning the lottery or telling your PhD advisor to fuck off and moving to some remote island paradise where there’s always someone to wait on you hand and foot.

Of course you’ve thought about you and Hoseok, in the same way you think about all inevitable things (like the heat death of the universe) and also impossibilities, both wistful and staunch.

“Yeah,” you eventually answer. “Of course I have.”

Taehyung blinks owlishly. “I thought for sure you were gonna deny it.” Then the smile is back and it makes his eyes glitter like tiny stars. “But that’s great! The first step is admitting you have a problem, or whatever. Anyway! Do you still have feelings? Yoongi thinks I’m bad at reading people”—Yoongi is right, you think—“but I’ve seen the way he looks at me a million times, and sometimes that’s the same way Hoseok looks at you. So I think you should tell him.”

Snorting, you turn your gaze to the ocean. Even the water seems to still be sleepy at this hour, the waves small and gentle as they lap against the shore. “Maybe later on. Getting rejected a few days into a month-long trip doesn’t really sound like my idea of fun.”

Face scrunched up in disgust, Taehyung whines, “You wouldn’t! You’re gonna waste all this time because you think you’d get rejected when in actuality all you’re doing is wasting some really great glass walls to fuck against.”

You blanch. You can say, with one hundred percent conviction, that you’ve never thought about sleeping with Hoseok. Okay, so that’s not entirely true. There was the one time you had to defend him from Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter when they threatened to eat him and one person suggested sparing him because, excessive wealth aside, he had big dick energy. That’d given you pause. Did Hoseok have a big dick?

“No way,” you retort, “Hoseok is like a Ken doll. Completely smooth from the waist down. Dickless.”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Another L for the gay community.”

Hoseok sleeps until noon.

You’ve already washed the sea salt from your hair and returned to the rental house with your own small haul of gift shop magnets by the time he stirs awake, groggy and looking worse for wear. “Wha’ time s’it?” he slurs, voice far too deep for you to remain unaffected.

“Just after twelve,” you answer. “I can make you some coffee if you want.”

All you get in response is a muffled groan, Hoseok’s dandelion bed-head disappearing under the fluffy duvet once again. You’ve known him long enough to know that means yes, to know he takes his coffee with far too much cream and sugar, the liquid something close to bone white by the time he’s done adding and mixing.

You set the mug on his nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over to peel down the duvet and scratch at his scalp. “Coffee’s ready, sunshine.” Eyes still sealed shut, you move your fingers lower to tickle at his neck. “C’mon, Hobi, you’re pissing away another beautiful day in paradise.” You don’t bother telling him it’s overcast and drizzling; not like it matters, because Hoseok groans again and swats your hand away before shoving his head under his pillow.

He says something you can’t catch, words unintelligible beneath layers of down. “What’d you say?” you ask. When his head pops up, expression frustrated and cheeks flushed red, you poke the dimple in his left cheek. He has to fight off a smile.

“I asked why you’re being so nice to me.”

You frown. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

Hoseok sighs. Adjusts until he’s sitting up, long, skinny legs tangled in the comforter. Something about his hands is so interesting he’s unable to focus on anything else. “Because I’ve been a dick to you.” When you move to protest, he tacks on, “And not just on this trip, either. For a while.” For a second, you think he might cry. Hoseok used to cry a lot as a kid—had too much empathy for such a small body to know what to do with so all the excess tended to leak out. “God, there was so much I didn’t know? Like your majors? And the yoga? I just…” He trails off, looks lost. Picks up the coffee mug just to do something with his hands. “It feels bad. It just feels really bad.”

You return his sigh, wishing Hoseok was a little less honest. Always the first to put himself out there, be vulnerable, and sometimes it’s nice and sometimes it makes you feel guilty. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” he argues.

You hold up a hand. “I know where you’re coming from, and I get it. I would probably feel bad, too, if I were in your position.” He whimpers, earning a soft laugh from you. “But I’m telling you it’s okay. I don’t blame you, all right? I never have. I don’t lay in bed at night agonizing over it. This isn’t like that for me.”

“Then what’s it like?”

You hum, knowing this is a moment to handle with care. You can’t be reckless here. So you think it over, and you say, “It’s… I don’t think this happened because you don’t care, because I know you do. I know I’m your best friend in every way someone can be your best friend, and you’re my best friend in all the ways someone can be mine. It’s just that those two things look different, is what I’m saying. And I think that’s okay.”

“It’s unbalanced.”

You nod. “Yeah, maybe it is, but sometimes that happens. It hasn’t always been unbalanced.”

This seems to calm him, and his smile is slow, reluctant, but it’s there nonetheless. “Okay.” He exhales the weight of the world. “Okay. I’d still like to be better, though.”

“We have all the time in the world, Seok.”

You normally eat most of your meals with Taehyung and Yoongi anyway, but since your conversation on the beach, Taehyung attaches to you like a limpet.

The first time had been unnerving. He’d cornered you outside the dining hall, stomach rumbling even as he demanded to know everything, please spare nothing, no detail is too small. There hadn’t been much to report, just that the two of you had talked and things were better.

“Did you tell him you’re in lo—” had earned him an elbow to the ribs.

He hasn’t asked again.

But he’s still hard to shake during mealtime, especially breakfast, because he wakes up ready to talk, conversation locked and loaded on his tongue. Yoongi, of course, doesn’t talk at all, so he offloads onto you and Hoseok, who’s too good-natured to ask for some peace and quiet.

“Seokjin asked me last night if water was wet,” he says, spearing a long piece of pineapple on his fork. “Like, obviously it’s wet? It’s water.”

“It isn’t, though,” you argue. “Water is just water. Wet is a state—”

Taehyung, cheeks bulging around the fruit like a hamster, frowns. “Huh? No. California is a state.”

Yoongi faceplants onto the table.

“No, Tae.” You shake your head. “Like, a state of being. Water makes other things wet, but it’s not wet itself.”

His frown deepens. Looks to Yoongi for help, clarification, but he’s still face-down, so he looks to Hoseok instead. He, very steadfastly, says, “She’s weirdly smart, man. I dunno. I’m not arguing with her.”

“Why? Because you’re also—” Another elbow to the ribs. He coughs, makes a very valiant attempt to look cool, calm, and collected. “You’re also very smart, Hoseok,” he amends. “I am very interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“In business, though. I’m not really smart in science stuff.”

“Interesting,” Taehyung muses. “Would you say you’re smart in love?”

Hoseok is good-natured enough to look genuinely confused. “Huh?”

Yoongi finally picks his head up. Sends Taehyung some kind of look that must mean something to only the two of them, because Taehyung just sighs, put-upon, and shoves a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. He doesn’t talk to Hoseok for the rest of the day.

Two weeks pass in a blur.

The schedule remains the same. Yoga, shared meals, weird quasi-therapy sessions which you have come to realize are just minor cult recruiting, bonfires on the beach. You and Hoseok stay up late talking and barely make it on time to whatever activity you have first thing in the morning. Jimin corners you at least once a week to talk about your “fucked up and frankly demonic” birth chart because he refuses to believe it’s real. Jungkook offers to teach the four of you how to surf but abandons that five minutes into the first session after Yoongi refuses to touch sand and Hoseok nearly passes out from seeing Jungkook shirtless.

…Which Taehyung catches, of course, because he just sidles up alongside you. Says, “Ooh, interesting,” again, in a really smug way, before intercepting Jungkook and leading him far, far away from the beach. You think he winks at you over his shoulder.

Bastard.

But it works, much to your surprise. Of course the two of you have talked it to death, but part of Hoseok’s bid to be better also seems to include being more tactile. Which… is nice, you’ll admit. Hoseok’s fingers are long and slender and perfectly manicured, his hands soft, so it feels nice when they play with your hair or scratch gently at your back or hold your hand, but it also fills you with an anxious kind of dread.

Uncertainty, maybe.

You know how these things work. Forced proximity, only one bed. You’re two-thirds of a psychologist, after all, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok is just caught up in the moment, at the relief of overcoming an obstacle and making it to the other side. (God knows the bender he’d gone on after graduating business school attests to that.)

Curiously, none of that stops you from leaning into it.

It doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t feel awkward or strange or anything besides natural. Hoseok’s bare face is the last thing you see before you fall asleep and the first thing you know you’ll see when you wake up, and just having that certainty, that security, makes the early mornings bearable. It makes them something worth looking forward to. It makes all the tension in your body unwind. Makes you pliable, has you laughing freely and leaning into Hoseok’s side during all those meals Taehyung spends talking. Except he’s not talking so much anymore—now, he’s studying. Smiling. Sending little glances only you and Yoongi catch.

Everything comes to a head at another of Seokjin’s weird dinners.

“A question for your discussion,” he begins, and you swear you hear Yoongi groan under his breath. When you look over at him, he’s nonchalantly chewing his food, no indication at all that he made a sound for the first time in two and a half weeks, so you convince yourself you’re hallucinating. “If no one ever sneezed again, how long do you think it’d take you to notice?”

Yoongi must feel you looking this time, because he offers up a dead stare in return. While Taehyung and Hoseok debate their answers—

(“Well, I work in an office, so probably not long.”

“Ah. I work from home, but I think it’d be pretty obvious? Especially during allergy season.”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s one of those things you’d definitely notice. It’s like—you know when you’re cooking and finally turn off the vent hood and the quiet is a little disorienting? It’d be like that, I think. Like, you definitely—”

“You notice something’s absence more than you notice its presence.”

“Yeah! Yes, exactly.”)

—that dead stare of Yoongi’s morphs into something more mischievous, slow like molasses. He catches your eye, winks, and fakes a yawn.

Taehyung startles, like he forgot Yoongi had been sitting next to him the entire time. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse him,” he says, cheeks dusting pink. “Someone told him once he’d been a rock in a past life and it catches up with him every now and then.”

Seokjin lets out a high-pitched giggle, looking absolutely delighted at this. “A rock, huh? Fascinating. Please tell me all about it.”

“Well, I think a lot of people would assume igneous, but that’s always seemed a little shallow to me, you know? I think he’s more metamorphic—”

As Taehyung rambles on, Seokjin turns his attention to you and Hoseok. “What about you two? What do you think you were like in a past life?”

“He had to have been a monk or something,” you declare, poking the crater of one of Hoseok’s dimples. “He’s been hoarding good karma for centuries and cashed it all in for this lifetime.”

“Aish,” Hoseok replies, cheeks matching Taehyung’s as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I don’t know about all that. It’s just luck, isn’t it?”

You look at Hoseok. Really look at him—at the way his lips curl around his teeth as he tries not to laugh at the way Taehyung’s still going on about rocks; at the way he pouts and gags a little whenever he takes a sip of champagne; at the way the stars in his eyes turn to glitter when Seokjin gives him an opening to talk about his dog. You look at Hoseok and you think yeah, it could be luck, but it feels more monumental.

It feels predestined.

And you’re not sure what that means. Of course friendships can feel predestined; you’re not one to discount the importance of platonic relationships. You’re not sure what it means in the context of yours and Hoseok’s friendship. You’re not sure if your stomach hurt back when Hoseok got a girlfriend back in high school because it was predestined to be platonic.

You frown as you swirl the wine around your glass.

Truth be told, you’re not sure about much of anything right now.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, patting your thigh to get your attention. You’re in a dress. A nice one: silk, a slit up the side, drapes perfectly over the lines of your body and clings where it should. Does absolutely nothing to spare you from the heat of Hoseok’s skin through the fabric. “You okay?”

You’re fucked, is what you are.

“Yeah,” you reply, offering what you can only hope is a convincing smile. “Think I drank this a little too fast.”

“Do you want to go back to the house? We don’t have to stay. Taehyung’s still talking about the difference between limestone and sandstone, so I don’t think we’ll miss anything.”

You nod, dropping your voice to a hushed whisper. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. They look like they’re about ten seconds away from mixing up geography and geology and being really offended when I don’t know anything about rocks.”

The two of you stand, and Hoseok’s hand immediately moves to the small of your back. Warm, warm, warm, and you can’t convince yourself it’s the wine that’s making you lightheaded.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Taehyung chimes, looking pleased as punch at the sight of Hoseok’s hand at your back. Throws an elbow into Yoongi’s ribs. He doesn’t even flinch. “And where are the two of you going?”

“Uh, home?” Hoseok answers at the same time you say, “Fuck off, Taehyung,” because your face feels like it’s on fire and you’ve had enough of his ribbing.

Except, as it turns out, some amalgamation of home and fuck off sounds a whole lot like home, to fuck, and Taehyung might’ve been serious about the matchmaking thing, but even this kind of misunderstood forwardness has him choking on his sip of wine. Yoongi slaps at his back in the most patronizing way you’ve ever seen someone try to save another person from choking.

“Is he okay?” Hoseok asks, completely oblivious.

You shrug. “No. In so many ways.”

Through his choking, Taehyung manages a glare. “Takes one to know one,” he childishly responds, and you roll your eyes at the exact moment Seokjin grins and does a little wiggle, starts up a very enthusiastic fight, fight, fight! chant.

The thing is—Taehyung is drunk. You know he’s drunk, so him overriding Seokjin’s chant with one of his own—kiss, kiss, kiss!—certainly excuses and explains his behavior, it does absolutely nothingto extinguish the wildfire that’s sparked in your belly.

It’s a bad idea.

You and Hoseok have kissed before, when you were twelve and he was thirteen and he landed on you during a game of Spin the Bottle. Everyone around you had erupted into excited jeering, but the two of you shared a mortified look before he shuffled over on his hands and knees looking less like he was about to have his first kiss and more like he was being dragged to his death.

Looking back, that had been offensive, but he’d still puckered his lips and kissed the pout off your face all the same.

So it’s a bad idea, and you should tell Taehyung that the two of you have already kissed and to knock it off, because the second time you kiss shouldn’t only be to shut him up, but you’re both a little drunk in general and a lot drunk on the thought of redemption. If you pursed your lips the way he had fifteen years ago, leaned in close enough for him to smell your perfume, would he wear another mortified look? Or would he—

Fuck it, you think.

Because, once he realizes you’re serious, that you’re actually considering kissing him, the look he wears is not mortified. He looks a little awestruck—slightly dumb, if you’re being honest; definitely dazed—and it takes all that wildfire raging in your gut and unleashes it. Inspires just enough confidence to step closer, lean in; close enough to feel the warmth emanating from Hoseok’s skin, but still far enough for him to pull away if he wanted to.

Hoseok doesn’t want to.

And his hands are already at the small of your back, so it’s so easy to pull you closer. So easy to move them to your hips, grip a little tighter just in case you start to drift away. So easy to press his lips to yours and kiss the absolute life out of you.

You've kissed a lot of people over the span of fifteen years. None of them had lips as soft as Hoseok’s.

He must’ve done a lot of kissing, too, because the way he moves his mouth is sinful. Precise and confident, just a tease of his tongue. You can feel his smile against your lips and it nearly makes your knees buckle. Reminds you, more than the taste and smell of him, that it’s Hoseok you’re kissing, and the thought alone has you gripping at his dress shirt.

Any other time he’d complain about the wrinkles.

Not this one, though.

“Are you nervous?”

The question finds you halfway out of your dress. “Not really,” you answer. “I think my strap is stuck.”

A nervous laugh is punched out of him, but he moves to help you nonetheless. Gently touches your arm and spins you around, fingers ghosting along your skin as he untangles the strap and pushes it off your shoulder. The fabric pools on the floor, emerald and glittering, as you step out of it, and you laugh. It’s been three days since you and Hoseok kissed. The two of you have done a lot of kissing since then, and he’s still so hesitant; eyes still widen every time you lean in close, like he can’t believe it.

Hoseok is still so shy.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask, because keeping him talking is the best way to keep him out of his head. “It’s you.”

He whimpers, like that’s the worst possible reasoning you could’ve given him. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay if you are,” you say, turning around to fully face him, and Hoseok looks struck. Torn between the way his nerves are eating him alive and the sight of you in just a pair of lacy panties. “We can do whatever you want, Seok.”

“I—no.” He swallows hard. “No, no, I think—we should definitely… you know.” You quirk an eyebrow. “My dick is fighting for its life right now.”

You dare a glimpse downward. Hoseok’s dick doesn’t look like it’s fighting for its life, outlined and half-hard in his expensive trousers, but what do you know? “Taehyung asked me about your dick once.”

“What.”

“Well, not exactly. He’d asked me if I ever thought about having sex with you—”

Hoseok whimpers again. “Please do not tell me what your answer was.”

“—and I told him you were like a Ken doll.” At his questioning look, you clarify, “You know. Dickless. Smooth from the waist down.”

“Wow. Why would you tell me that? Not gonna lie, it’s a little emasc—”

“I might need to see it. For science.”

Hoseok startles. “M-my dick?”

“Yeah. For science,” you repeat. “Taehyung is gonna be thrilled. He called your dicklessness, and I quote, an L for the gay community.”

Your best friend seems to ponder this. His hands hover uselessly in the air, and it’s ten seconds, twenty—you think he might call the whole thing off, but then he shrugs and undoes his belt, the metal clanky in his haste. “For the gays,” he explains as he pushes his pants down his thighs.

“Of course,” you agree, nodding seriously. “They deserve it.”

“What else did Taehyung say?”

“Nothing much. Just that we need to get our shit together because we’re wasting some really good windows to fuck against.”

Hoseok doesn’t fuck you against the windows the first time.

The first time is slow and unhurried. Because it’s Hoseok, he lights a candle and the two of you take your time touching, learning, shaking off the dregs of apprehension. He flushes crimson and nearly does a runner anytime something goes less than perfectly, and it’s so endearing you have to stop yourself from sinking through the mattress under the weight of all your affection.

The second time is all raw, desperate need. After a day of sly smiles reserved only for you, Hoseok meets you in the bathroom at the end of another night. There’s a spot of toothpaste on your sleep shirt that he disregards at the sight of your bare legs. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and then there’s only enough time for anticipation to start simmering beneath your skin before he’s moving.

(Technically, the third time is only a few hours later. Just like it has everyday since you arrived, your alarm goes off at six sharp, time for yoga, but instead of ushering you out of bed, Hoseok hits the snooze button and pulls you closer. Fits himself to your back and slides your panties to the side, speaks an is this okay? in his impossibly deep morning voice, and then you’re nodding your head and he’s pushing inside.)

Now, though—

Nerves have been shaken off. Another weird dinner has been sat through to which you’d worn a two-piece outfit, the top cropped just enough to show off a strip of skin—modest enough for the motley crew you share your evenings with, but apparently scandalous enough to drive Hoseok insane. He’s all barely-contained energy beside you, hand gripping your thigh, not paying a lick of attention to the conversation.

You lean over, speak the question just below his ear. “You okay?” Goosebumps erupt all over his skin.

“We need to leave right now.”

“Really? Why? You aren’t having a good time?”

Hoseok makes you pay for your smart mouth. Has you pressed against the expanse of windows in your bedroom, stripped down to just your underwear and the top he insisted you keep on, only your shoulders pressed against the glass. Presses wet, open-mouth kisses along your calves, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and then he’s canting your hips forward to nip at you over your underwear. More silk and lace—thin enough to feel the warmth of his breath, then nothing but warmth when he licks a stripe up your folds, spit seeping through the fabric.

“Fuck.”

He does it once, twice more before he leans back, refuses to meet your gaze. Your brows furrow because your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging as you try to get him to look up at you, wanting to see the evidence of your arousal on his face, but then he’s smirking out of the side of his mouth, hands reaching for your underwear.

You register the cold air of the room on your skin before the sound of fabric ripping.

Then you’re saying, “What the fuck, Hobi, did you just—” and he’s laughing as he nods, not a care in the world except getting his mouth back on you. He licks and sucks until you’re nearly trembling with the need to come, begging him to let you, and you think if you were anyone else he’d drag it out longer. Make you beg a little more. But regardless of whatever he’s told himself over the years in order to cope, Hoseok can’t deny you anything, so he presses two fingers inside, right on the spot that whites out your vision.

He touches himself to the sight of your orgasm.

Rolls the condom on. Runs his cock through your folds, tells you to slick him up. As he presses inside again, crowding close, breath fogging the glass behind you, he tells you to thank Taehyung for the idea.

You’re gonna have to thank him for a whole lot more than that.

In hindsight, you should’ve known Namjoon was nothing more than a dirty little schemer.

There’s three days left of your stay, and the question had been nagging at you ever since you cut through the reception area to get to the meditation class you were running late for. Jimin, of course, gave you shit for it: wordlessly, because he was busy checking in a man with far too much luggage. A man who was checking in alone, and that was not a thing, so far as you were aware, so your curiosity was to be expected.

“Can I just ask,” you say, once again in Jimin’s strange little room behind the beaded curtain. “Why a couple’s retreat?”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t it less effective for Seokjin’s weird cult? Like, statistically speaking, you’ve got to be more likely to recruit single people, right?”

“Huh?”

You blink. “What part is confusing you? And don’t say the cult, because I had that pegged on, like, day three.”

“No,” Jimin agrees quickly, “Seokjin is definitely officiating a cult. I just—why do you think this is a couple’s retreat?”

“Uh, because Namjoon said it was? That’s why me and Hoseok are faking being a couple—”

“Were. Were faking.”

“—and it just sort of made sense, considering the people who showed up after us were literally a couple.”

Jimin sighs, schools his expression to the one he always uses when he has to be condescending and speak to you as if you’re a woefully stupid child. “I don’t know who Namjoon is, but I’m assuming he lied in order to get you two to do… exactly what you’ve done.”

“What.”

“This isn’t a couple’s retreat, buttercup, just a regular ol’ wellness one.”

“That Seokjin also uses as his cult recruitment headquarters.”

“Yep.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“Pisces usually do.”

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused,” he dismisses, shooing you out of his closet.

Despite his innocent nature, Hoseok isn’t nearly as shocked as you to learn Namjoon deceived him.

That’s life, I guess, was all he’d said, the picture of comfort and nonchalance as he lounged in bed, wrapped in a fluffy robe, arm behind his head like a king. You had been shocked—no longer at the betrayal, but at Hoseok’s quick acceptance of it. Hoseok from a month ago would’ve been flustered and on the brink of a meltdown. Hoseok today just shrugs it off.

“I’m just saying.” He dangles a stem of grapes over his mouth like an asshole. “Jimin called it a wellness retreat, right? I didn’t get roped into Seokjin’s cult and we’re… well, whatever we are, so a win is a win. Seems like wellness to me.”

“Whatever we are,” you mimic, pitching Hoseok’s voice up a dozen octaves. “Wow, how romantic.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, pats the spot next to him on the bed. “If you’d like to come over here, we can have the highly-anticipated ‘what are we’ discussion that no one in the history of human relationships has ever once dreaded having.”

You wave him off. “No need. It’s you, and I trust you, so I don’t think we’re going to go back home and you’re going to write this off as a weird forced proximity thing and ghost me.” You finish the application of your facemask, laughing to yourself at Hoseok’s offended scoff. “Besides, constantly having to defend you from Rose Emoji and Hammer and Sickle Twitter is the pinnacle of devotion and love. That’s the kinda shit that forms a trauma bond.”

“For my peace of mind, then.”

“Fine. Hoseok, I love you dearly as my best friend and I’m probably halfway in love with you as a romantic partner, and even though this vacation has been incredible and rewarding and you are very good at sex, I am also very much looking forward to having my own space again because you are almost impossible to live with.” You roll your lips at the sour expression marring his face. “That said: you still owe me dinner at the Brazilian spot near your office, so I would like it very much if you took me there as a date. You can tell Namjoon I’m your girlfriend if you wish.”

“And are you?”

“Ugh. Of course I am, Hobi. What do you take me for? You think I’m the kind of woman who agrees to spend a month in the rainforest and almost get roped into some sketchy cult with anyone who asks?”

“Well, I don’t know! Maybe!”

“You’re impossible. Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?”

At this, Hoseok’s face lights up so bright it puts the sun to shame. Smiles so big you can hardly believe it. “I would love nothing more.”

During your last group meal, Seokjin invites the new guy to join you.

Taehyung is enthralled immediately, gesturing for him to take the empty seat to his left. “Hello, nice to meet you! I’m Kim Taehyung and this is Min Yoongi. Are you here for the wellness retreat part or the cult part?”

Seokjin chokes on a slice of mango.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kim Taehyung. I’m Park Bogum,” the man responds. “I’m here for the cult part.”

Seokjin promptly stops choking.

Saying goodbye to this place, these people, is bittersweet.

The last four weeks have undoubtedly been the weirdest of your life, but they’ve more than made up for it with what you’ve been given in return: a blossoming relationship with Hoseok, Taehyung and Yoongi’s friendship. Even Jimin and Jungkook come to see you off, and Jimin surprises you by wrapping you in a tight hug, assuring you that you’ll still be his second-favorite Pisces long after you’re gone.

“Wow, rude. Who’s the first?”

“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi? How is he your favorite? He doesn’t talk!”

Jimin smirks, smug and patronizing. “Exactly. Have a safe trip, buttercup.”

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t say much at all. You suspect he showed up only to look hot and catapult Hoseok into his final sexuality crisis, and that suspicion is confirmed when he leans against the wall and pushes his hair away from his forehead. The sound that comes out of Hoseok is part whimper, part pain and suffering, and truly catastrophic for his ego.

“Get it together,” you plead, but it falls on deaf ears. Hoseok is in a Jungkook-induced haze until you’re halfway to the airport, Taehyung chattering the entire way.

And then—

And then.

“Well, that was fucking weird, huh?” Yoongi asks.

Hoseok is running late.

He’s gotten better at equalizing his work-life balance since returning from your trip, but he still gets held up sometimes. A lot to catch up on, he’d said, and you can understand that. He’d spent his first week back doing nothing but haranguing Namjoon, so that surely ate up a lot of time.

Still, he’s never been quite this late.

The waitstaff are looking at you with concern. They used to look at you only to see if your water needed topping up, so this is an unfortunate development, especially for someone who looks as you currently do. Any person in this overpriced Brazilian steakhouse would be honored to even sit at the same table as you, let alone be able to call you their date, so Hoseok really has a lot of nerve.

You’re halfway to telling him as much over a very angry text message when he appears in front of you, face flushed, chest heaving, hairline dotted with sweat. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Got a little caught up.”

“No shit,” you whisper-yell, “that waiter over there looked like he was about ready to call the cops on me. I probably can’t even afford the water in this place.”

Hoseok grimaces. “In my defense, I have a very good reason.”

“Oh yeah?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. “And what is that?”

Wordlessly, Hoseok hands over a garishly orange shopping bag emblazoned with a very familiar logo and brand name. Suddenly, it feels impossible to breathe. “You didn’t. Hobi, tell me you didn’t—”

“You know how much bullshit you have to go through for one of those things? God, I had to put in a request. Not to mention it was like fourteenseparate credit checks…”

You tune him out. Instead, you peek inside the bag with what you can only describe as pure dread. Not at the implication, because that has you thrumming with joy and affection, but at the cost of—

“You got me a Birkin.”

Hoseok looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “Um. That’s what you said you wanted, right?”

“You said you weren’t spending that much money on anyone who isn’t your future spouse.”

The look doesn’t budge. “Yeah? I’m clearly not following.”

“When did you put in the request?” If your voice is audibly waterlogged, Hoseok doesn’t mention it, but you can feel the tears pooling at your lash line nonetheless.

The confusion finally clears and gives way to another brilliant smile. A little bashful, too, because he hides behind the menu and refuses to look at you. Says something you don’t catch, can’t hear over the dim chatter of this restaurant, and he groans in pleased faux-annoyance when you tell him to repeat himself.

“I said… I put it in the night you kissed me.”

It feels like you’ve been punched in the chest. “You’ve known that long?”

And Hoseok—Hoseok ducks behind the menu again, but this time you can hear him loud and clear: “I’ve known a lot longer than that.”

author's note pt. 2: if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, any reblogs are greatly appreciated and my inbox is always open for feedback. ♡

#hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x y/n #jhope x reader #hobi x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok smut #hoseok imagine #hoseok fanfic #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic

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blueberryarchive · 2 days

Text

𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧

more 80's slasher!jk

Dazed and Confused echoed on the walls of the garage, the heat slowly dissipated with the canned beer that you swallowed in long gulps, the air polluted with the smell of pot. You were wearing high-waisted pants and a colorful blouse, bare feet. Robert Plant moaned in your ears as you drank another beer and damn, how good the hippies had it before, you thought.

A greased hand snaked up to your waist, squeezing so hard that you felt the beer return to your esophagus, the calloused fingers decorated with thick silver rings that ruminated over your breasts until connecting his fingers and nose with your neck, an indecent exhale taking in all the air in the room and with it your coherence.

"No, wait."

“Shh, for once in your life, fuck. Shut your stupid mouth." Rings covered your lips, a wet tongue trailing your jugular and the boiling smell of weed in his mouth.

You wanted to say his name, over and over again in that guitar solo. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

And zaz! The garage was torn from your ears, the sun covered your body lying on the stands and you were no longer dressed like you were going to Woodstock, the backlight made your boyfriend's blonde hair and his red uniform shine.

“What the hell are you listening to? I have like fifteen minutes calling you.” His ethereal smile searched inside your backpack finding the small plastic box. “Led Zeppelin. That's new.” This time the laughter disappeared, putting on the headphones.

Your body sat up looking for a coherent explanation, Jimin laughed after listening for a few seconds.

“I didn't know you liked to hear men moan, you would have told me and I'd make you a whole album.” Your hand hit his chest and he laughed again.

"Shut up."

You both looked at each other when the laughter began to die with the summer wind, practice was over, the cheerleaders were leaving and the players were dissipating, going to look for their girlfriends or in groups to go to the bar near college. It was Friday and the vacations were approaching, you could see it in the smile of each student, in their quick walks, in the circles under your exhausted boyfriend's eyes.

"Hi, beautiful."

"Hi, handsome."

God was the only one who knew how you came to be with the Maroon Warriors' quarterback, with his sweaty hair stuck to his temple, his lips swollen from biting them, and the two small black spots on his cheek, singed against his laugh lines. Defined arms and thighs wide and hard like a horse's back.

"You like what you see?"

“If I could kneel in front of you right now, I would.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at you, where did his silent little girl and infinitely aware of every word that came from her beloved lips go? But he couldn't lie that your words made him hard under his white pants.

His hand rose to the back of your head and brought your mouth to his. There was something so inherently bestial and delicious about the smell of sweat emanating from Jimin's uniform that he made you exhale sharply and stick your tongue into the equation.

“Mm.” Jimin frowned, opening his eyes a little to confirm that he was still kissing his girlfriend. “Are you hungry, doll?”

“I haven't seen you in two weeks, Minnie. What you' think?”

“I left you with your friends so you wouldn't get bored.”

“That sleepover was so long ago, I'm bored with them.” You moaned softly, your neck burning, someone was watching you.

“Do you want to have a sleepover with your boyfriend?” Jimin scoffed and you nodded, ignoring the joke.

Your hand removed the headphones from his ears and you chained your arms around his neck, your body throbbing with a brute force that wanted to move fast and careless, that looked for a way to drag your boyfriend to the bathrooms and strip him naked, fog the walls of the bath with your promiscuity, yours of something more viscous and thick.

“Park!” a voice shouted for the third time and Jimin broke your grotesque beatitude again.

“Fuck, I'm sick of this old man.” Jimin mumbled looking at his coach. “Sir, practice is over. Let me enjoy my girlfriend for a second.” He yelled but old Grant didn't care how much you both wanted each other.

Jimin looked into your eyes with frustration and then looked at his pants, the silhouette marked thickly along the zipper to his thigh. You smiled and gave another small kiss to his neck.

“Up up, champion.” You cheered, fluttering his hair. Jimin took your coat and covered his erection, the look on his teammates' faces when they saw him stand up was indescribable, laughter while Jimin cursed them all while he went down the steps in a funny way. "Call me." You screamed. Please, you murmured.

You took your cassette player and your headphones to put it in your backpack, you watched your boyfriend listening attentively to Mr. Grant until a furry, red mass took your attention. You still didn't know what was the team mascot supposed to be with a metal sword and eyes big and open like two billiard balls, like a hunter.

One of the players patted the big red monster's back and the man inside him took off his heavy head, his dark sweaty hair, a silver hoop hanging from his right ear. Your heart was pounding, you told yourself that you were here to watch your boyfriend practice, to support him. Of course you looked at the other players from time to time trying to find Jungkook.

Things would be easier if you just asked your friends and they pointed with their manicured finger at the headless man in your fantasies. But you didn't want them to think you liked him, specially Bobby Joe who would tell Jimin in a heartbeat, the bitch. It was just curiosity, of course. You could find out yourself.

Besides, where's the fun in that?

Two weeks had passed since the sleepover and you could feel his gaze on the flesh of your thighs, the saliva of a predator with each man that passed by you, the fangs of a hyena cruelly tempting with its tips against your skull.

Two weeks searching through familiar faces and unfamiliar ones, like playing Guess Who.

Guess who listens to Led Zeppelin to sleep.

Guess who would dare to respond with such confidence to a stranger.

Guess who would smile while he promises to rape you if he finds you?

Guess who left you with his laugh tattooed on your stomach.

And your hands sweated as you felt his gaze again. There, yes. It was him again. The mascot. Between the dark strands of his hair, under his thick eyebrows and in the middle of his sly smile. It was only a second but that's enough for you. A quick, indiscreet look.

You tried to maintain your composure, to keep your balance as he walked away inside the costume lighting a cigarette with his gloved hands. You walked down the steps as normally as you could without them realizing that your heart was being strangled, you were so close.

You walked across the grass to the back of the stadium, you looked around but it was gone, like a hallucination, like the air in the garage of your dreams.

You bit your nails thinking, you only had to wait for the stadium to be alone. Enter the locker room, find that costume and... then what?. It sickened you to think that you were so desperate. You hadn't traveled from your small town to New York for this, you hadn't earned a reputation or your scholarship to chase a loser through college.

Your cheeks were burning, you could feel your mother's gaze upon seeing you in such a state. But this time you agreed with her judgment. You stood up with your head down, you don't know how long you had spent looking at the grass, but the sunset was already bathing the empty stadium in a dusty pink.

“Nice shorts.” The deep voice said from afar.

“Fuck off.” You said without thinking before turning around.

And there it was, with the cigarette dangling from his lips, a Slayer t-shirt pressed against his arms, so short that it showed the soft line of hair from his navel to hidden in his jeans. His elbows rested on his knees as he waited for you to insult him again.

You didn't even dare to do that. Could it be him?

You clear your throat and fix your hair. “Do you know where the archery club is?”

His eyebrows unravel in surprise.

“Do you like archers?”

“Why don't you assume I'm in the club?” You interrupted, stepping closer.

His smile spread across his face again, a puff before he stood, tall and careless in front of you. He looked down and you could feel the fangs salivating, just the tip entering the parietal part of your head.

“Because I’ve never seen you there.”

And Dazed and Confused started playing, the drums pounding fast in your chest. Your lips dried as you watched him walk away.

“Are you Jungkook Jeon?”

The stranger stopped in his footsteps, his head snapped up before turning to look at you. And there was the smile you have imagined so many times.

"Then it's you." He hummed, tilting his head. “Oh, the quarterback's sweet little thing, of course.” His eyes scanned your trembling body.

And now what? Everything was so quiet, there was no one around, if you screamed no one would hear you. If you moaned, no one would you. If you were dying, no one would heard you.

“This heat must be killing you, lil' thing. Let’s go to the Brew House, I’ll introduce you to the president of the club there.”

"Don't call me little thing." Your brain wasn't working, is this an option? He brushed off your anger with the rolling of his eyes.

"You said you wanted to go to the archery club, isn't it to sign up?" Mockingly he took some keys out of his jeans.

"Yes, of course." You stuttered walking behind him, his broad back and walk intimidating you.

“You can put your bike in the back of the truck” His brown eyes looked at you sideways. “In case you suddenly want to escape or something.” He laughed.

#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #jimin bts

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whyse7vn · 9 months

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SEVEN -

[ ot7 x reader ]

sevendaysafreak

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

tae: we are watching jungkook slowly become alpha

namjoon: can you be normal today

jk: do you really mean that bro…

tae: with all my heart..

oh my god i’m tearing up

this is what being a real man is about

jimin: begging for pussy??

jk: I DID NOT BEG??

hobi: you harassed that poor woman for a whole week

yoongi: all for a hand hold

y/n: crazy!

tae: okay??

but it was literally real as fuck so does it matter??

jimin: it was real fucking sad

jin: personally if i was her i would of called the police like sexual harassment hello???

yoongi: right

namjoon: it was a great song jungkook

jk: > //// <

i’m blushing

that was me blushing

and i giggled a little

smiling rn

hehehehehe

namjoon: a thank you would of done it

jk: thank u >.<

jimin: she should of punched him

jin: was there need for an explicit version like??

we got the point the first time

i didn’t need to hear how horny you were for a second time

hobi: he just wanted to swear

tae: no he’s just real as fuck you wouldn’t get it

jk: real as fuck

yoongi: ig it was real as fuck for jungkook

he begs for pussy on a daily

jk: proof?

hobi: by bts

y/n: i’ll leak our dms

jk: DON’T DON’T DON’T

i’m sowyy 😣

jimin: i’m gonna punch him

hobi: fucking seven days a week doesn’t seem right

is that not how you get an std?

jk: no?

yoongi: is that not when you fuck multiple people?

y/n: you fuck multiple people jk?

jk: NO?????

jimin: why is ur no a question

hobi: suspicious

jin: jungkook has crabs

tae: that’s a real man disease

y/n: that’s gross

jk: i’m real

jimin: real itchy

namjoon: can we not talk about stds pls

y/n: i bet jay park has a couple of those

jk: ???

jimin: REALLLL

jin: that’s why him and jk are friends bonded over the burn

jk: i’m not his friend anymore

y/n: character development okay!!!

yoongi: was that bcs he stole from you?

jk: stop talking to me rn

jimin: OMG GUYS

yk i had the worst dream ever yesterday tae was in it

tae: and?

jimin: wdym and

tae: i hope you die

namjoon: pls don’t wish death upon people tae

jimin: yeah tae

tae: all of you can fucking die idc!!!

not jungkook tho he real as fuck

y/n: say real as fuck one more time and i’ll snap ur neck

jin: hot asf

yoongi: ew?

tae: nobody wants to see us winning jk it’s sad 😞

jk: i’m sobbing 💔💔😞😞💔💔

tae: they literally told us to kill ourselves

namjoon: literally no one said that

jimin: in fact YOU said you hope i die

jk: he could of meant by natural causes

tae: right i would never tell you to kill ur self that’s sick and evil

yoongi: kys

tae: ur not going to heaven

yoongi: aw man 🙁

hobi: what if we put tae in the electric chair

jin: what if we put tae and jungkook in the electric chair

jk: wtf ☹️

tae: i could easily survive the electric chair it would feel good to me actually

y/n: i’ve been telling you guys for years we need to lock them up

do you actually read the bullshit they say on a daily it’s actually insane they need help

like professional help

jk: i didn’t even say anything

jimin: you don’t need to

we just know

namjoon: i agree

we could send them to a camp

or something

tae: why are you talking about us like we’re not RIGHT here

jungkook get them omg

jk: i can’t go to camp

too much raw air exposure is bad for my skin

and i have a dentist appointment soon

yoongi: raw air?

jin: how soon is ur appointment?

jk: so soon that i can’t go to camp

tae: JUNGKOOK STAND UR GROUND

WE WILL NOT BE PUSHED AROUND

REPEAT AFTER ME

WE WILL NOT BE PUSHED AROUND

namjoon: tae shut up

y/n: right

tae: i liked it better when you guys just ignored me in this gc

now all you do is be mean

jimin: maybe u deserve it

*you definitely deserve it

hobi: stop talking then idk

yoongi: i will gladly ignore you again

jk: i love you tae i’ll listen to you talk

jin: jungkook the biggest dick rider ever

tae: he’s my little dick rider 🥰😍❤️

hobi: yeah definitely stop talking

namjoon: okay!

y/n: oh my god

jimin: ???

yoongi: um

jin: this is what seven was really about

jk: bro..

tae: lol

jimin: you're really gorgeous i would deadass fight 3 mountain lions in a mcdonald's handicap bathroom stall with my hands tied behind my back and my only weapon is a shake weight glued to my forehead just to get a chance to get to know you and take u out tbh

jin: nurse he’s out again

jimin: wrong chat lol

tae: and you wanna put ME in the electric chair

ur all out of ur minds

namjoon: you were gonna send that to someone????

jimin: is it bad?

y/n: so unbelievably bad

jk: blushing

yoongi: wow

tae: yikes

hobi: bts never beating the rizzless allegations

y/n: who were you gonna send that too?

jk: was it me?

yoongi: that was flirting?

jin: probably the notes app

jimin: no one

jin: told you

notes app.

jk: it wasn’t me?

tae: i’ll be nice and give you some better lines jimin dw

jimin: the only lines you have are of coke

tae: nvm fuck you stay bitchless

namjoon: leave jimin alone

jimin: right leave me alone

namjoon: he’ll open up in his own time

jimin: i fucking won’t

you guys deserve to know NOTHING about me

yoongi: okay don’t care kys

jimin: i have a crush

jin: i’m hungry

hobi: is this the same crush you talked about like 4 weeks ago??

jk: on me?

sorry jimin i’m already in love with someone else

yoongi: didn’t ask

jk: i won’t tell you who it is it’s a secret

namjoon: a secret from who??

jk: what does that mean…

namjoon: don’t we all know…

jin: i SAID i’m hungry

jimin: all you do is eat like omg??

get a job or something??????

jin: i have a job

i serve face for a living i would suggest you look into it since you have so much free time to BULLY and HARASS others but with a face like urs idk if you’ll make the cut

y/n: wow

jimin: i’m not reading all that 💀

y/n: never use that emoji again ew

jimin: 💀💀💀💀💀

y/n: this is why whoever ur trying to rizz up probably thinks ur a loser

yoongi: is it taemin again?

tae: ew you run back to taemin every 4 months it’s kinda embarrassing

jimin: taehyung you actually need to shut ur mouth

breathing the same air as you is embarrassing

and at least i have someone to run back to you are actually genuinely bitchless

tae: u are taemin’s bitch

so technically ur as bitchless

yoongi: gay

jk: don’t be a homocrome

namjoon: stop talking

jimin: it’s not even taemin so shut the hell up

i’m not talking about this anymore

moving on

hobi: what is your mbti guys

jk: physical touch

namjoon: that wasn’t the question

y/n: just say ur horny and go omg

jin: don’t

seven was actually enough

i will hear NO more about jungkooks sex life

everything i have learnt has been without my consent

my lawyers will be in touch

jk: my lawyers are ur lawyers

jin: not anymore

jk: omg…

hobi: oh my oh my god

namjoon: jin stop facetiming me i’m not answering

jin: pls joon pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee

namjoon: i’m not sitting there for you to look at urself in the camera for an hour

i have things to do

jimin: that sounds like very jobless behaviour to me tbh

jin: you can’t be ugly and jealous pls pick a struggle

tae: and rizzless

hobi: i know ur not talking…

tae: ????

hobi: tae i need you to do some self reflection

tae: okay?

i’m hot as fuck

cool as fuck

and real as fuck

i feel well reflected ty for suggesting that hoseok

y/n: i told you i’m gonna snap ur neck if you said that again

start running

jin: coming to watch 🥰

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forthechubbies · 1 year

Text

Our little Wife

Being Korea's deadliest kingpins made seven men into untouchable demons, yet their little wife is made out of sugar and spice?

Mafia! BTS! x Wife! Chubby Reader

Strong language; Jimin’s a drunk asshole, fat shaming, Intense name-calling, sexual assault, puking, violence, man-handling, and bondage. I did say spicy

Happy Halloween

Sex Sells

How else would the brothel remain untouched by the ever-growing society we live in today? Hiding in the dense shadows of Busan, The Brothel’s sign ominously blazed in a firey feisty crimson tint. Yes, for tonight, their god has returned as a return to bless their dreams once more.

Jimin.

Feeling numb through the high alcohol consumption, He smiled for the first time tonight. At what? Himself. He felt foolish for falling hard for a slut like you.

He snickered.

Jimin detests the persistent feeling of worrying about you. Unbelievable, Right? Not really, The sweetness of your warm squishy skin ghosted over his cold limbs due to the building's poor condition.

Autumn’s chill rattled the windows. You love autumn; He fell in love with you genuinely in the autumn-That day, the temperature played in his favor causing you to cuddle up to him as the orangish leaves crunch under their shoes. A plain walk through the park to the outsider but to Jimin, it was pure bliss.

Now, Look at him, Miserable, Heartbroken, ... Bitter.

May how far Jimin has fallen.

Bringing the pint glass to his puffy pink lips tilting his all the back to realize it's bonedry.

Jimin scoffed. “Tapped out.” sitting the glass bottoms up, He gently slides the glass to his collection on his table. “ Three.Four?....Eight! Come on, baby!... 13!-Damn..” His excitement died down at coming to realize a minor yet annoying error.

“That's an odd number...I wouldn't say I like odd numbers...I w-will have just one more.”

Jimin rushed to the stairs leaving in nothing short of pajama pants and its matching top open for the world to see...He forgot to button up after taking his shower.

Freezing mid-sip, Jimin focused solely on you- your shy and flushed expression made his eyebrow twitch-

“ You are by far the prettiest woman I have sight ever.” She leaned in. “You should work here. You would make a gold mine.” She laughed at your bewildered innocence. “ Yep, Korean men secretly worship chubby women like you. There's this young pervert who always comes in asking our chubby girls to sit on his face.”

Your mind is anywhere except on earth. How did your night end up like this? You should be at home in a hot bubble bath melting away the stress of today. Instead, your god knows where with women who have a one-track mind.

Fuck.

Jimin crept several steps over towards you. You looked healthy and as plump as a peach. He found it humorous how much you looked like an actual businesswoman. Slutty tight skirts and blouses ready to be ripped off, and those high heels that would look perfect in two places, and neither of them is walking, at least not straight.

Jimin clicked his tongue. Calm down. Calm down. It's probably what she fucking wants..She’s just an attention whore. Old habits die hard, they say.

The feeling of unknown eyes tracing your figure made you squirm in discomfort.

Ping

Whether it was your desperate need to excuse yourself or your phone pinging off the hook; had Jimin seeing red. Who the hell were you so eager to run off to? Sure as hell wasn't any of your husbands!?

Then who?! Who!

A face full of boiling rage fueled by a dangerously drunken state was a recipe for disaster. Jimin slammed his pint on the bar shattering the glass entirely; he followed you out front and was hot on your heels.

“Yah!” His voice boomed through the quiet red, lit streets.

Startled, You spun on your heels, and the shock of seeing Jimin made the blood in your veins run cold. “J-Jiminie?” You shuddered at his death glare.

Jimin scoffed, tucking any blonde stragglers behind his ears. “ You don't get to call me that after what you did to us!” His chest heaved with sorrow. “You threw away the only people willing to love you forever; what an ungrateful little whore you are. or Are you doing this for attention?” He truly got a kick out of that one.

You stood silent on the brink of tears; He wasn't worth your tears or your time. You turn on your heels only to take two steps before being manhandled by your arm.

“Yah! Don't walk away from me like I'm not fucking talking to you!” Jimin's anger took the physical form of tears. His throat burned so did his nose from the chilly early morning air.

Morning air? Is this correct? 5 am was rapidly approaching, and you had yet to close your eyes to start a new chapter the following day. You want to go home- Your real home; maybe you were stupid for creating this strike. Perhaps you should go back home.

“Your right, Jimin.” Your tears fall onto your ivory blouse. “I'm sorry for being selfish.”

Jimin froze. “No-No, your not getting off that easy. You don't get to get off that easy!” He yanked your skirt, bringing you closer into his arms. “ I want you to take responsibility...You hurt me bad, Chimmy.”

It wasn't until Jimin’s hands started to wander, You recognized the libidinous tone in his voice. He wouldn't dare ravish his own wife, Right?

“Now, Jimine, Let's talk this-”

Jimin shook his head. “There you go, Using that honey voice of yourself. Fuck. You know how to piss me off.” He stole your lips in an instant, biting and pulling at your swollen lips.

Your face pinged at his highly flammable breath. He's drunk. “Jimin-Wa-Wait a min.” You put up a good fight attempting to crease his assault, but even though you're around the same height, his strength trumps yours.

You hissed at the freezing brick wall; Jimin slammed you against- “Jimin! Stop it! This isn't funny!” One of your little hits landed on Jimin’s face.

He froze. You did the same, desperately catching your breath. Jimin’s sweaty blonde locks blocked his eyes; his tongue glazed his irritated lips.

“I can get rough too, Cow.” Jimin lowly chuckled, untying his pajama’s silk belt. “Be a good girl and face the fucking wall!” Jimin spat, gritting his teeth. He yanks you around to face the wall by the roots of your hair.

You gasped in pain.“Ow! Jimin! Please-”

“Please?! Did you just ‘Please’ me?! I hadn't done shit to you yet, and you're already begging.” He groans, taking big steps forward to sandwich you between him and the wall. "Since you're so eager - I guess I should at least tease you..but first- "

You squeaked in pain as his brutally bondage your hands behind your back; you could feel the silk cutting off your circulation. "You're a despicable little monster, Park Jimin!” You spat in his eye when he give you a window. " and you always have been."

Your word choice was an additional shot to his manhood and the end result was a harsh smack sending you to the ground. "Pretty bold words for tied-up cattle-” He flashed an eat shit-grin. “-In a woman's clothing.” The cheeky bondage method Jimin displayed is one of his favorites, a technique used for his clients who seek thrill and lore as much as insane pleasure.

Yn’s arms were kept tight behind your back with no wiggle room.

“You talk big but look at you...at my mercy” He looks at you in amusement as he squats beside you. “You're ours, Yn! When you met that demonic bunny, you sealed your fate. You don't even know what a real monster he can be-

Your heart stopped an ink-like figure crept out of the darkness, inching closer. “Jimin! Turn around!” Jimin failed to heed in time, costing him a stone punch to the jaw, followed by the figure’s heavy black boot to his abdomen.

You were expecting Jimin to be in somewhat pain; however, He chuckled, signaling for a timeout between the figure. Lacking, Your extra set of eyes, thanks to Jimin; you couldn't get a good look at him.

“Come on. I barely touch her yet. You can't be that mad.” Jimin swiped the blood caked up in the corners of his mouth. “ Aish, Don't you think you hit me a little too hard-”

The figure remained silent but waited no time to send Jimin to the ground again.

“Ah! Fuck!” He coughed up the dirt in his lungs before finally puking up the ungodly amount of poisonous liquid he had consumed.

Your sniffs and whimpers didn't go unnoticed. You squeeze your eyes shut as its heavy boots stop at your shuddering body. You've managed to set up and have knees to your chest.

The figure had a great view of standing above you like this. You heard his shoes glide on the gravel; Is he gone? Oh please, please, god, please, please. You swallowed your fear and opened your eyes; you quickly learned how much of a mistake you had made.

He rudely had no disregard for your personal space. The tip of his nose grazed yours, and his eyes bored into-

Those big eyes...Jungkook? But his build is different; he's larger than my Kookie...It hasn't been that long, right?

He leaned into your lips to have you reject him. “ What are you crazy?! I'm married!” You extended your leg to his chest to keep him a bay. It worked until the bastard started feeling up your leg; he kissed your ankle.

The touch-starved stranger dragged his gloved hand down your battered stockings and tarnished soft skin. He clicks his tongue, pushing your foot off his chest.

Did he just roll his eyes at me?

He stood up before snatching you up by your silky bonds. “ Eep!” You felt nausea after being treated like a ragdoll for the past hour.

The last thing you heard was Jimin’s voice before blacking out.

...

The warm sunlight overwhelmed your sleepy eyes. Once your eyes adjust to the sunlight, The horror settles in-

You were cleaned, dressed, patched up, and placed in your princess room.

#bts smut #bts x chubby reader #chubby reader #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x chubby reader #yandere jungkook #jungkook yandere #yandere bts #bts mafia series #bts mafia au #poly ot7 #ot7 x chubby #yandere bts x chubby reader

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darkjimxn · 1 month

Text

Chapter 3: Stalker [M]

Summary: “A manwhore and a junkie… it’s a match made in heaven.”

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: High School au, angst

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, substance use disorder/drug addiction, PTSD, child abuse, sexual content (not explicit), additional warnings might be added as story progresses.

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, my motivation has just been so bad because of uni. And now with exams coming up, I can't really promise anything, but after my exams are over I'll definitely be more active!

“God, I want you to absolutely wreck me.”

The bedroom suddenly quieted, its dim lighting beginning to wrap around the walls and furniture of the room to form an uncomfortably suffocating atmosphere. Or maybe Jimin was just projecting his own deteriorating feelings onto the innocent space. He was well aware that his mind shouldn’t have latched onto the words of the innocent woman he currently had pinned to his bed, shouldn’t have started picturing her wishes in his head, yet he couldn’t stop it. He’s never been able to stop it. But that didn’t stop him from trying every time.

The more he envisioned the actions, the more he could feel those familiar ghostly hands crawl up his spine. His mind grasped at something, anything else to focus on.

In his desperation, his unsteady gaze dropped to the girl beneath him. She was the epitome of conventionally attractive, with long, light brown hair sprawled around his mattress and dainty facial features. Modelling agencies would probably die for this girl if she gave them a chance.

But at the moment she was just a distraction. Or at least she had been, until she had opened her mouth.

The logical part of him tried to remind himself that her words were just that: words. She was just a horny girl expressing her preferences. It made sense, considering what they were about to do. And if anything, Jimin appreciated it when women told him what they wanted. It made his life a lot easier.

But those particular wishes churned uneasily in his stomach as he felt the hands continue to travel up his spine, finding a cosy spot on his neck. His heartbeat, which had been racing for an entirely different reason, now thumped painfully in his chest as it quickened in pace.

This can’t be happening right now, he thought with a mixture of frustration and desperation.

Jimin pushed the impending, but familiar, feeling aside, choosing instead to focus on Emily.

That had clearly been a mistake.

“Like, tie me down. Choke me. Use me like a freaking slut. I swear I haven’t been railed in weeks,” she continued while running her fingers through his hair, completely oblivious to Jimin’s deteriorating state.

The feelings he had shoved aside pounded against his poorly constructed dam, fueled by the implications of Emily’s words. He could feel the ghostly hands press harder against his neck, labouring his breathing in the process. It was a telltale sign of the panic that had become so familiar to him. He knew now that there was no escaping this episode, no matter how hard he tried to steady his breathing and calm his nerves.

What he needed to do was get out of here.

“Those are a lot of demands to cover in one morning,” he said with a forced chuckle, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he felt, “give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Before Emily could protest, Jimin slipped off the bed and half stumbled into his bathroom, just barely managing to lock the door.

And just like that, the dam broke.

Jimin collapsed onto the tiled floor, desperately trying to get some air into his lungs as memories started to flood his mind. They flashed before him like a montage, nightmare after nightmare stealing his ability to breath. At first, he was back in his childhood home, watching his father push his mother down a flight of stairs while screaming at her like a madman. Jimin could feel his heart racing in his chest as he wondered if she was dead.

But before he could run to her, his memories moved onto the day his father found out his wife had left. Jimin hadn’t even registered the fact that he’d never see his mother again before his father was on him, shouting at him while his hands enclosed around his neck harder.

Then he was in his old bedroom, watching the bat in his hands crash into his father’s head as he heard a feminine scream. There was blood everywhere, in the room, on his hands. He tried to wipe it off frantically as it burned his skin, but it didn’t matter. The more he wiped off, the more it spread up his arms.

All he could do was sit helplessly on the floor of the bathroom, head between his knees, as he shook uncontrollably and gasped for air. But the air wouldn’t come. It was like the ghostly hands had finally succeeded in crushing his windpipe and he could no longer fill his lungs.

Jimin lurched forward suddenly, feeling his heart hammer painfully in his chest. He swore this time was different.

He swore this time he was going to die.

His hand slapped desperately against the counter before it made contact with smooth metal. Relieved, his fingers wrapped around it, pulling it upwards until he could hear the faint sounds of water rushing out of the faucet. He tried to aim his attention to the sound of the water spewing out of the tap, listening intently to the way it sputtered out of the circular piece of metal. Then he focused on the water splashing against the smooth marble sink, running against it momentarily before it was swallowed up by the drain. He could hear the water crash against the pipes under his sink as they whisked the water away.

It took him what felt like hours to really focus on the sound, letting it sooth him as much as it could. Jimin imagined his memories and panic seeping down the drain alongside it, the black plastic pipes guiding them far away from himself and his house. His breathing started getting a little easier with every passing moment as the memories of his father began to seep back into the locked portion of his mind.

With small pockets of air now able to enter his lungs, Jimin managed to bring his hand down to the floor. He dragged two of his fingers against it in circles, focusing on the cold of the tile seeping into his fingertips and the rough line of grout between them. He inhaled as his finger met one half of the circle, stalling there for a moment, before exhaling as he completed the round.

When Jimin finally felt himself calm, only the remnants of a few mild tremors left, he let his back drop against the glass side of his walk-in shower with a sigh. A lingering soreness was spreading throughout his chest as he felt his sweat-soaked shirt stick to his back. Although he was more than familiar with episodes like these, he couldn’t help but wonder why this one had been so particularly bad.

Either way, the “attack” had left him exhausted, to the point that Jimin almost considered skipping school today. It was especially tempting, considering how much Taehyung had been bothering him recently about the therapy and whether it was working. Jimin had to remind him that he had only gone to one session, though he didn’t mention just how much he had hated it.

But Jimin knew that there were a few concepts he needed to clarify in his first class, so ditching school was out of the question.

Not to mention, Jimin’s second period had gotten a lot more interesting when the school had decided to transfer him to a different class because of a few scheduling issues. Particularly your presence had intrigued him, because he was so confused as to how he’d never noticed you before. Sure, Jimin had only been attending this school for the past two years, but he still found it hard to believe that the two of you had never crossed paths. He’d have definitely remembered if that were the case. You were, without a doubt, the most attractive woman he’d ever met, there was no way he would have overlooked a face like that.

Jimin stretched forward, just barely managing to close the faucet without having to get up from his position on the floor. You were fun to tease, and definitely something during sex. Jimin didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed sex as much as he had with you.

His gaze dropped as he remembered the bottle that had been clutched in your hand that night at Taehyung’s house. It had been a shock to him that you were using, even though technically he was well aware he didn’t know you at all. He wondered if your addiction stopped at Adderall, or did you do more than just that? He hoped you didn’t, for your sake.

Jimin had wanted to say something about it when he had dropped you off, encourage you to choose a different path for yourself. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words. He had used them all up when his father was still alive, none of which were successful of course. So instead he had walked away, guilt nibbling away at him with every step.

“Jimin?”

Jimin’s head snapped towards the door as Emily’s muffled voice passed through it. He had practically forgotten that she was still there, too wrapped up in his panic and then his thoughts to remember that she’d probably been waiting for him to come back to his bed. He knew he couldn’t do it. She clearly wanted things that he just couldn’t give her. The prospect of having to explain some lousy excuse to her suddenly made him exhausted all over again.

But thankfully Emily spoke up again before he could reply, “look, my first class starts soon and I can’t miss it. I guess we’ll have to do this another time.”

He could hear the disappointment in her tone before he listened to the sound of her footsteps as she walked out of his bedroom, followed by the sound of his front door shutting quickly. When he was sure she was gone, he stood from his spot and made his way to his bedroom, picking up his phone to confirm the time. Emily wasn’t wrong, his first class was starting soon. He would have to get going as well.

Jimin walked back to his bathroom, standing in front of the mirror above the sink. His gaze scanned the damp, rust-coloured hair sticking to his forehead, and then the beads of sweat travelling down his neck. He grimaced. First, he needed a shower.

Jiwoo was in a mood.

You had begun to suspect as much at the end of your first class, when she had kicked your bag while stomping out of the classroom. Although Jiwoo was always pulling stunts like that, she’d usually accompany it with an irritating taunt or mocking expression. But it wasn’t until right before second period, when she had purposely bumped into the open pencil case on your desk to scatter it all over the floor, when you became certain.

Jiwoo was in a mood.

You watched her drop into her seat near the front of the class with an angry huff, uncharacteristically not even bothering to spare you a fake “oops.” Normal Jiwoo was far from a saint, but god did annoyed Jiwoo unlock a different type of rage in you. Her irritation made you wonder how her parents’ divorce was going. Probably not great, if her mood today was anything to go on.

With an annoyed sigh, you slipped off your chair and lowered yourself to the floor to focus on collecting your things, trying to calm your raging heartbeat and shaking hands in the process. You weren’t sure whether it was because of Jiwoo or the Ritalin. This was your third day on Ritalin even though you had vowed to never take the stuff again. You didn’t really have much of a choice. There was still no news on Yoongi, which meant you were still out of Adderall. And although Ritalin made you crazy with nerves, it still somehow managed to help you focus on your schoolwork. Not to mention you’d much rather be a jittery mess than the dead zombie that your Adderall crash had reduced you to.

Unfortunately, until you could get your hands on some Adderall, Ritalin was your only option.

You shoved the last of your supplies into your pencil case, brows furrowing when you noticed that you were missing your eraser. But one scan of the floor showed no sign of the white rubber.

You checked under your desk and then your chair, wondering where it could have disappeared to.

It wasn’t until a pair of black dress shoes and grey dress pants appeared in your line of sight when you realised where your eraser had gone.

“Looking for something?” Jimin asked in a teasing tone, holding out your white eraser between the tips of his index and middle fingers.

Your gaze reluctantly travelled up to his smug face, the feeling of annoyance a natural response to his presence at this point.

“Stealing my car wasn’t enough? Now you want my eraser too?”

Jimin’s head tilted for a moment before he rested a hand on your desk and leaned forward so that his next words could only be heard by you.

“Why would I want anything more when I’ve already got you on your knees for me, kitten?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the tempting view of his sharp jawline, before grabbing your pencil case and pushing yourself off of the ground. Leave it to Jimin to turn every instance into an opportunity to flirt.

“Weren’t you the one that said I had to ask for sex the next time I wanted it? What happened to that?” You asked with a low voice before taking back your eraser.

“I never said I couldn’t be tempting.”

Then, to your surprise, Jimin dropped into the empty desk beside yours instead of his usual seat behind you. It took you a second to register the sudden change, and then another to eye him weirdly.

But before you could ask him what he was doing, Mr. Kim walked into the classroom just as the bell rang. The students rushed to their seats to bring out their textbooks, some of the girls swooning over the alleged new shirt he was wearing. You took your seat quickly, sending Jimin a glare in the process.

Taehyung hurried into the room just after Mr. Kim, slipping unnoticeably past him before dropping into his usual seat. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment when he noticed Jimin wasn’t sitting next to him, and then they furrowed even further when he realised where he was actually sitting.

“Come on man, what happened to bros before hoes?” He muttered under his breath. You almost laughed at his sulky expression.

Mr. Kim began writing the lesson on the whiteboard, “please turn to page 245.”

You turned to the page alongside the rest of the class as Jimin did the same, distantly noticing your leg bouncing up and down unconsciously.

Mr. Kim turned back to the class, beginning the lesson by explaining the concepts on the page he had instructed everyone to turn to. He was one of the better teachers, so you were easily able to understand the seemingly complex concepts.

That was until Jimin started annoying you, just like he had been doing in class for the past few days. It was always small things, like sneakily drawing random doodles in your notebook when you weren’t looking or stealing your pencil every so often. It took everything in you not to throw your eraser at his face. Instead, you dragged your notebook and supplies to the other side of your desk with a huff.

That just made him laugh, one he had to muffle with his hands so Mr. Kim didn’t call him out.

The class went on like this, a mixture of evading Jimin’s antics while simultaneously trying to understand the lesson being taught by Mr. Kim. You honestly had to applaud the guy for being able to escape Mr. Kim’s gaze for so long. He was notoriously known for being an observant teacher, and because of that you were sure he knew a lot more student secrets than he let on.

However, Jimin’s antics had to come to an abrupt end when Mr. Kim placed his whiteboard marker down and faced the class, seemingly finished with teaching the lesson. He called up two students, handing them both stacks of papers to hand out to the rest of the class.

“Your next assignment will consist of a presentation closely resembling a seminar, where each group will be expected to accurately teach the class on an assigned topic,” he explained, characteristically professional and thoughtful with his words, “since the goal of this assignment will be to facilitate understanding, I will be expecting the incorporation of some creative elements in order to keep the presentation engaging in addition to being informative.”

One of the students that had been handing out the mini booklets finally reached you and Jimin, handing the two of you one each before moving onto Taehyung.

“The booklets in front of you go over the details pertaining to this assignment. Therefore, I expect you all to read through them thoroughly to avoid losing marks over small mistakes.”

Mr. Kim suddenly smiled, “although, with this being your senior year I doubt you all require such a reminder anyway.”

You watched Jiwoo’s hand shoot into the air as you tried to keep Jimin’s hands off your booklet. Mr. Kim nodded towards her before she spoke, “will we get to choose our own groups?”

“No, I will be assigning the groups, as well as the topics,” he replied, earning him a number of whines and groans. But Mr. Kim merely chuckled, amused, but not willing to change his mind.

He then turned to the first row of students, grouping them in pairs based on their seating. You groaned inwardly when you realised the pattern he was going by and who, in that case, would end up being your partner.

“Jimin and Y/N,” Mr. Kim grouped, but then paused when he noticed Taehyung sitting without the deskmate, “and Taehyung.”

“Mr. Kim,” Jiwoo said once again, but this time you rolled your eyes knowing what she was going to bring up, “isn’t it unfair that one group has three students? That will lessen their workload compared to everyone else!”

You noticed Jiwoo send you a mocking smile for a moment, clearly trying to incite you.

Witch.

“You may rest assured, Ms. Kim. I will ensure everything is as fair as possible,” he reassured with a small smile. But Jiwoo just slid down in her seat, annoyed that her plan to make your life harder had pretty much failed.

You wished she turned around so you could send her your fakest smile. On one hand was Jiwoo, the most annoying witch in existence, and then on another hand was Jimin, the most annoying jerk in existence.

What has your life come to?

When the bell finally rang and Mr. Kim dismissed the class, you crumpled one of your rough pieces of paper and threw it at Jimin’s face with a glare.

It wasn’t much, but boy did it make you feel better.

“What was that for?” He asked, failing miserably at stifling a laugh.

“You know what.”

Ignoring Jimin’s amused glance, you packed your bag as your classmates began to chat with each other and started making their way to the cafeteria. You wouldn’t be heading there, though, since you usually spent your breaks in the library studying. It just felt better to get all your work out of the way so you could go home and just sleep for hours.

You walked out of the classroom, thankful that you could finally get away from the annoying thing known as Park Jimin, and then began walking to the library. The hallways were full of students relaxing and playing around with each other, making you think of Namjoon. He was away on some trip for a maths competition. Or maybe it was for a science competition? Either way, he was off doing his nerd stuff, so you couldn’t invite him to hang out after you finished studying.

You made it to the library’s front desk, sending a smile to the main librarian who returned it sweetly.

“Hello, have the study room schedules been made yet?” You asked.

She answered your question with a nod and, after giving her your name, she began searching the computer for your schedule.

Since the demand for the very limited number of study rooms in the library was so high, the school had decided to come up with a schedule system for the students that wished to use them, because a first come, first serve approach would be much too “barbaric” for a private school of course. Each student was given a schedule for which study room they were assigned to and when they could use it.

“Hi, can I get my study schedule please?” A voice asked, “my name is Park Jimin.”

Your gaze snapped to your side, finding Jimin standing right next to you.

Seriously?

“So you’ve resorted to stalking me now?” You asked, causing Jimin to turn to you with a surprised expression.

When his gaze fell on you, he grinned.

“How come I’m the stalker? You could very well be the one stalking me,” he said.

Before you could reply, the librarian walked back to her desk and handed you and Jimin your printed schedules. The two of you thanked her before walking over to the library’s elevator while looking them over.

Thankfully, you were scheduled for a study room on Wednesdays during break, so you didn’t have to find somewhere else to study at the moment.

You eyed Jimin when he followed you into the elevator, watching as he pressed the button to the floor you were also going to. The two of you seemed to be finding yourselves in each other’s presence a lot lately. It made you groan inwardly, knowing that the semester had only just begun.

It was like having a second Jiwoo since you and her were usually thrown together a lot due to your familial ties, but at least Jimin didn’t kick your bag or slap your pencil case to the ground. That earned him at least a few more points in your book.

The book’s name? “The Most Annoying People in Kim Y/N’s Life,” of course.

The elevator door dinged as it revealed the hallway of the second floor. Jimin walked out of it first, unfortunately taking a right into the hallway, which was the same way you were going.

You followed him reluctantly.

“Who’s following who now, kitten?” He said with a smirk, an eyebrow raised at you.

You simply huffed, “shut up.”

You didn’t bother to come up with a better comeback. All you had to do was make it to your study room, then you could finally get rid of him. This day had been filled with way too much Jimin, and you were actually looking forward to doing homework in a nice and quiet room over having to deal with his annoying butt.

Jimin continued through the hallway until he stopped in front of the door to the farthest study room from the elevator. The action made your eyes widen.

“No,” you denied immediately, stomping over to him before grabbing his schedule from his hand, “no way. There’s no way.”

Your mouth fell open as you took in his schedule, almost exactly identical to your own. The only day in which your and Jimin’s schedules didn’t align was Monday. Only one out of the five days of school in a week would you be free of him. No way. There was no way this was possible. Of all the insane things…

While you were distracted, a confused Jimin took your own schedule from your hands, looking over it curiously. It only took him a second to figure out what your issue was, but when he did, he couldn’t help himself.

Jimin burst into a fit of laughter.

“Stop laughing, this isn’t funny,” you whined, smacking the paper against his head. That only made him laugh harder as he fell to the floor with a hand clutching his stomach.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” Jimin managed through his laughter.

You rolled your eyes, choosing instead to walk past him into the room. Fine, if you were going to be stuck with him, then you were just going to have to ignore his presence completely. It was the only ray of hope in your seemingly continuous misery.

You dropped into a seat at the large table, spreading your work out as you opened your laptop and began typing furiously against the innocent keys.

After a few minutes Jimin walked into the room, closing it behind him before he thankfully dropped into a chair away from yours and brought out his own work. You risked a glance upwards, catching a smirk on his lips that made your blood boil.

Your eyes stayed glued to your screen after that.

You expected him to annoy you the same way he had during your second period class by stealing your pencils or throwing a paper plane at you, but instead he remained focused on his work for a full half an hour straight. That came as a surprise to you because you honestly hadn’t been expecting him to be very studious. Maybe it was because he had annoyed you during class. Or maybe it was because you had unintentionally believed in the stereotype against guys that slept around. Either way, it was surprising when you managed to get through half an hour worth of work without any disturbances.

After half an hour, though, Jimin sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stretched his arms behind him. He’d taken off his blazer, so you could see the defined lines of his muscles stretch under his dress shirt. Your straying gaze quickly shot back to your screen, but not before Jimin had noticed your curious eyes. He smirked.

You were able to work for a few more minutes before Jimin suddenly leaned forward, eyeing you curiously.

“So,” he said, causing you to turn your head towards him questionably, “how did your dad end up reacting?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what?”

“After the party, when you came home after midnight. I’m surprised he wasn’t already standing on the porch with a shotgun ready.”

You snorted, unable to imagine your dad doing that, “my dad’s not like that.”

“Oh, so he was cool with it and everything?” He asked.

You shifted in your seat, “no… I mean, I don’t know. He wasn’t home that night.”

Jimin nodded, “business trip?”

“Kind of. He’s a truck driver,” you explained, a little weirded out by the suddenly normal conversation but still appreciating the unexpected break from your work, “he’s usually only home on weekends. Otherwise he’s out driving across the country.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, “so he leaves you alone during the entire week? And sometimes he doesn’t even come back on the weekends?”

You shrugged, finding it odd how surprised Jimin looked, “yeah? I’m not a kid, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Jimin’s gaze dropped to the table in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. But you noticed a slight scowl in his features.

Weird.

You shifted to face Jimin, a question coming to mind, “but why are you only asking about my dad?”

Jimin didn’t look up from the table, “I heard what that girl said about your mom last Friday… I just kind of assumed…”

The room quieted into what felt like an awkward silence. You had the feeling that something you said had cut the surprisingly normal conversation short, but there was nothing you said that could have offended him so you didn’t really understand why that was.

You turned back to your work, brushing against the touchpad to light up your laptop’s screen once again. After sending one final curious glance at Jimin, you went back to your work.

But Jimin was clearly lost in thought.

The first thing Jimin noticed when he walked into the room was Lauren, who was sitting on one of the beige sofas situated next to the glass coffee table. She had been looking down at the binder she had shown him in their last session, reading over something intently before the sound of the door opening had her looking upwards and then smiling.

“Hello Jimin,” she greeted, to which he gave her a curt nod.

Thankfully, Lauren had already situated herself on the sofa facing away from the door, allowing Jimin to sit on the one that gave him a view of both the entrance and the window at the same time. Even in his sour mood, he was able to appreciate the gesture.

He knew Lauren was studying him, taking in his sudden attitude, but to his surprise she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she closed the binder and placed it beside her on the sofa, bringing a much thinner notebook onto her lap in its place.

“Did you complete the Impact Statement worksheet I assigned in the last session?” She asked, to which Jimin nodded.

He had avoided starting it until the last minute, something he knew Lauren wouldn’t approve of considering she had given him that big speech about avoidance and how it wasn’t helping him. He just couldn’t help it, he’d spent years trying to rid his mind of that night’s memories. Anything that reminded him of it was discarded, any person that reminded him of it was avoided. Even the house had been sold the second it was passed down to him. So doing this Impact Statement? Something that would not only remind him about it, but make him think about it to a deeper extent… it had been hard.

“Could you read your Impact Statement out loud?”

Jimin’s eyebrows pulled together at the random request, confused as to why that was necessary. He wasn’t in kindergarten anymore, where they would make his class take turns reading various children’s books to each other.

He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But he couldn’t make a fuss about it. He needed to give this therapy thing a genuine try, especially considering the enormous attack he had this morning.

Jimin brought out the statement from his school bag, unfolding it slowly. He cleared his throat before finally following along the hastily written words.

“This traumatic experience happened because I was stupid and did something horrible. I knew that my father wasn’t himself, I knew that he was under the influence, and yet I still ended up murdering him, my own father, like some kind of psychopath. Saying that that makes me a horrible person feels like an understatement, because being a killer is one thing, but being able to kill your family? That must make me even worse than a murderer. I feel like I don’t deserve anything good because of it. If anything, the world should bring me my karma and just end it already. I think that sometimes… that because of what I did, someone is just silently watching me and waiting for the right moment to get back at me. I feel like I’m never safe, like I constantly have to be on guard whenever I’m out. I feel like people should think the same about me too, they shouldn’t trust me either. My past is evidence enough that I might just lose it and hurt someone. I would hate to do that to Taehyung especially, the only person that’s genuinely been there for me. But anyways, the gist of it is that I’m not a good person. I make bad decisions. I feel unsafe all the time, especially when I’m around other men. Sometimes when I’m out I can imagine every grown man that looks my way hates me the same way my dad did, and that they’d go after me the first chance they got. I don’t want to get close to people because I feel like if I build any kind of genuine relationship, I’ll end up hurting them. That’s why I don’t think Taehyung should have a friend like me, that he deserves better. I don’t know how to make things better. I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again.”

The room fell quiet as Jimin set the paper down on the coffee table, wanting it away from him immediately. He was relieved that he was finally done with this assignment, though he hadn’t noticed how much he had ended up writing despite the limited amount of time he had to complete the worksheet.

“What did it feel like to write and then read the Impact Statement aloud?” Lauren asked, an expression of complete neutrality. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that she wasn’t disgusted by him.

Or at least she wasn’t showing it.

“It was hard,” Jimin admitted, gaze travelling everywhere but her, “honestly I didn’t start the worksheet until just an hour before I came here.”

Lauren surprisingly nodded, “the good thing is that you completed it nonetheless. It is difficult work, Jimin, and you were able to get through it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“But I should remind you that avoidance only helps in maintaining PTSD symptoms, right?”

Jimin nodded.

“How do you feel after reading the Impact Statement?” She asked.

“A little less anxious,” Jimin replied, though it was more the fact that he was relieved it was over than anything else. Whether his improved feelings were because the Impact Statement had actually helped or because of the relief he felt from it being over, there was no doubt that he felt better now compared to the anxiety he had been feeling when walking into this room.

“If doing the assignment in this way made you a little less anxious, then I wonder what it would have been like to have completed the assignment earlier in the week?” Lauren wondered out loud, but she didn’t dwell on it for long. She was clearly keen on changing the topic.

“Now, earlier it seemed that you might have been upset about something. Could you explain to me why that was?”

“It’s nothing,” Jimin said, shaking his head as he leaned back against the sofa. But he could feel his blood begin to boil once again, his thoughts from earlier apparently the flame. His anger simmered to the surface and, before he knew it, he was blurting everything out.

“It’s just… I was talking to this classmate of mine earlier today, just a normal conversation, and she told me something about her dad that kind of pissed me off.”

Lauren tilted her head, “can you tell me what she told you that made you so angry?”

Your words from earlier filled his mind once again, bringing the anger along with them. He had been furious throughout the rest of the school day, and all throughout the ride here, with your words and their implications repeating over and over in his head.

Jimin suddenly stood up and walked over to the window, his anger making him want to move around.

“The thing is, she’s actually this girl I hooked up with at a party last Friday,” he started to explain, not realising that he had begun pacing around, “I’d ended up taking her home that night because she didn’t really seem like she could get there on her own, so I just casually asked her about how her dad had reacted to her getting home so late. She started telling me about how her dad hadn’t been home that night because he’s a truck driver. In fact, she said that he usually wasn’t home at all throughout the week, and sometimes he didn’t even come back on the weekends that he’s supposed to.”

Jimin spun around towards Lauren, who had shifted so that she was still facing him, “can you believe that? What kind of father would leave their kid alone for weeks at a time? And does he even know what his own daughter has been doing in his absence? She uses, you know. I bet he has no clue.”

“But of course he doesn’t,” Jimin scoffed, “just one of the millions of examples of a grown man being absolutely useless and incompetent as a father.”

He turned to look outside once again, trying to focus on anything that could calm down his racing heart.

“Do you feel that way about your own father?” He heard Lauren ask from behind him.

“Obviously. He beat my mom, and then he beat me. That didn’t exactly make him father slash husband of the year. Nothing could justify his actions,” Jimin reasoned.

“Do you feel that your actions that night also can’t be justified?”

He paused, the question catching him off guard. Slowly, Jimin faced Lauren once again, “well yes, I’m not different from him. If anything I’m worse. He beat people. I murdered him.”

Lauren’s gaze bored into him in an almost unnerving way before she spoke, “‘murder.’ That’s a strong word.”

“It’s appropriate in this context.”

“From what you’ve told me, it seems like you killed your father after he had begun to hurt your girlfriend-”

“Ex,” Jimin said, his gaze not meeting hers, “ex girlfriend.”

“Ex girlfriend,” Lauren corrected, “your actions occurred in a very specific place and time, and under certain circumstances.”

“Yeah, but he still died. And I’m the one that killed him.”

“Yes, he died, and it seems, at least in part, because of your actions. Does that make you a murderer?”

“Yes,” Jimin answered straight away, not comprehending what was so hard to understand, “I took a bat to his head, and then he died. That’s murder. And that’s worse than anything he had ever done to me.”

“Really? You think it’s worse?” Lauren asked, her voice suddenly quieter. For the first time since these sessions started, Jimin thought he might have caught a little sadness in her expression. But the moment he caught it the expression disappeared, tucked back under that blanket of neutrality that he had become so used to. Distantly, he wondered if he had imagined it or not.

“On one hand, people were hurt. On the other hand, someone was killed. Obviously both situations aren’t good since people were hurt either way. But I killed him, he didn’t kill anyone.”

“It is true that the outcomes are different,” Lauren agreed, “but it’s the context that I wonder about.”

Jimin’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”

“Do you think what the intention was in those situations matters, regardless of the outcome?”

“No,” Jimin replied firmly, pulling back on the frustration in his tone,“in one case someone was killed. In another, no one was killed.”

Lauren paused for a moment, seemingly studying him with her characteristically neutral expression. When nothing was said for a few seconds, she clasped her fingers together before resting them over her lap professionally, “while it is true that your father died, and that your actions played a role in it, I think we might slightly disagree on the definition of the term ‘murder.’ It is apparent that his death has been a very difficult thing for you to accept, and that you are trying to make sense of that. From what you’ve told me, the sense that you appear to have made of his death is that you are a ‘murderer.’ I believe this is a good example of one of the stuck points that seem to have prevented you from recovering from this traumatic event. We’ll definitely be spending more time together on understanding your part in his death.”

Lauren then began to explain something about how important it was to be able to identify and label his emotions and thoughts, but Jimin’s thoughts were too stuck on her earlier words to pay any attention. He wondered about how intentions might or might not matter in the context of whether a death is considered a murder or not. When a person participates in an action that ends up with another person dead, he was pretty sure that classified the situation as a murder. He couldn’t really understand where the nuances existed in a situation like this.

But then again, Lauren’s suggestion hadn’t been too crazy of a thought either. If a person didn’t intend to kill the other, then would it still be considered a murder?

Had he intended to kill his father that night? Jimin wanted to say no and deny such a thing, because he really hadn’t wanted to do that. But he had taken a wooden baseball bat straight to his father’s skull, what other outcome had Jimin been expecting? Maybe intention did matter in general, but in Jimin’s case he concluded it made no difference.

“How do you feel about the death of your father?” Lauren asked randomly, catching Jimin’s straying attention. He had no clue what the context behind the question was since his thoughts had been elsewhere while she had been explaining it, which had caught him off guard.

“Um,” Jimin paused, having to think about it for a moment, “I know he did horrible things to me, like I’m aware his actions were wrong, but… a part of me felt a little saddened by his death. Maybe not because of losing him as a person, but losing him meant that I had lost the last of my family. It does make me feel sad when I think about it.”

Lauren nodded encouragingly, “and that is a completely natural reaction to have when you feel that you’ve lost something. It’s good to feel that sadness and let it run its course.”

Jimin let a breathy chuckle escape his lips, though there was no humour behind it, “feeling sad isn’t exactly something I enjoy- actually I prefer to avoid feeling anything at all. It’s just easier that way.”

Lauren crossed her leg over the other, continuing to focus on Jimin as she brought her clasped hand over her lap once again, “have you ever allowed yourself to feel sad?”

He shook his head, explaining that he’s always preferred avoiding anything and everything that had to do with intense feelings like that. Even the frustration he had shown earlier was a generally rare occurrence.

“Then if you’ve never allowed yourself to feel your emotions, how do you know that it would be easier not to feel them?”

Jimin was silent, processing the logic behind her words once again. He was starting to realise that therapy was a lot more logical than what he had initially thought.

“From what you’ve told me, avoiding your feelings hasn’t helped you very much so far. Maybe allowing yourself to feel the natural feelings associated with the traumatic event may help you recover from what happened?”

“Maybe…” He relented, knowing that her reasoning made sense to him.

But Jimin still couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of feeling his emotions. He didn’t even know if he’d ever truly felt them before. With a father that had been beating him for as long as he could remember, it really had just become easier to numb himself to the pain. He was scared of revisiting that pain, he realised. The pain that he’d been trying to run away from his whole life.

Lauren opened her binder to bring out a few sheets that were similar to the Impact Statement worksheet she had given him in their last session, except they clearly had a different purpose. She called them “A-B-C” Sheets, which again reminded Jimin of kindergarten, and explained how to go about completing them properly. She also explained how they were meant to help him begin to identify the things he was telling himself and his subsequent emotions before they had exchanged pleasantries and Jimin had walked out of the room.

Unlike the last session, where he had rushed through the door at light speed, Jimin took his time walking through the hallways and out of the building. This time his mind was filled with questions of murder and intention. He thought about feeling his feelings, and how long it had been since he had lost the ability to do so. He thought about you and your dad. He thought about everything.

There was just so much to think about.

So much to think about indeed.

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not-goldy · 6 months

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I try not to get into certain discussions lately because I'm at a point in life I'm set on my delusions and no theory or insecure rants can shake me off.

Clinging on to the jikook branch for dear life over here.

Do I wish for more jikook moments scoop and tea??? YESSSS. WHO WOULDN'T. WE ARE ALL INSATIABLE

But I would be very worried if all Jimin did was wait around all day for Jungkook to call or if all Jk did was sit around and mop cos he had nothing to do but hang out with Park Jimin. Way to kill the attraction.

Some of us are so dysfunctionally codependent we ache at healthy dynamics when it's infront of us.

They are both in their prime and should be booked busy. And if they aren't then are they even top tier icons???

I said this before their Solo that I don't expect them to interact at all in this phase of their careers and any interaction we get from them will be because of a conscious deliberate intentional decision to spend time together and nurture their bond.

And this goes to all BTS members.

Their bond will die if they aren't proactively making time to bond with eachother and hang out or reconnect.

And Tae, Jungkook and Jin were the members I worried about the most about disconnecting from the members. For Jimin, he is Jimin and so I have nothing to worry about.

It's Tae branching off to make his own in the Sope with his double U squad and fostering new relationships and friendships I worried about.

Jin and Jk are also the most introverted lot who I thought enjoyed their own company and the video games to want to put in the effort to consciously connect with the others.

But even that, JK has really surprised me. Not only is he making the effort he is open to cooperating with the others as and when they reach out.

I don't want to hear any insecure delulu shipper going off about them having few moments- they don't live to feed ships. Take the crumbs and go. And if it's not enough for you take your left to the exit

Don't let the door hit you on your way out.

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 10 months

Text

A BREATH OF FIRE ox Min Yoongi

[Hybrid Gods AU]

PART THREE

A taste of honey and dreams

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid, Kim teahyung/Human King.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

………………………………………………………………………………….

The sun rays bathed my skin as i sat beside the river, my feet getting wet as sank them in the water warmed by the hot summer sun.

Fragments of images blurrier my vision, happening so fast. At first I was walking beside the river with the sun shining bright and the birds singing while the trees danced with the wind. Then the night fell, i laid in bed while a lady was beside me, blood all around me and I felt cold. So cold. The lady cried while holding my hand. I couldn’t move, no words came from my lips all a saw before everything changed was a shadow of a man dressed in black behind the lady.

The images changed fast, a man was in front of me. Goosebumps run all over my skin as he walked towards me but i didn’t felt frightened, I felt happy. Relived. I run to him. Arms closing around his waist tightly.

- teahyung…

My voice was a whisper under water, but my heart burned with feelings I didn’t understand. Who was this men? What where my feelings for him?

- my dear yn…. - his deep voice made me look up at him, he was beautiful but looked so sad - i missed you so much I thought i was going to die.

- Don’t said that. I’m right here my king…

Anguished i felt, so suddenly the images change but i couldn’t make out what it was. I saw fire and people running around, then a stabbing pain on my stomach. An arrow.

You know that feeling of when you swim deep in the water and come back to the surface. That was what i felt when I finally woke up from that dream.

Relief flowing through every part of my body as i took in my surroundings. The ceiling of Yoongis room, the smell of wood and cinnamon and in the background of everything else thundering.

Heavy rain fell outside, the sound of it helped in calming my fast beating heart. It felt real.

A warm weight laying over me and i knew i was safe, once my eyes fell on his face to the sight of his massy hair all over his face, one arm over my waist holding me tight. I moved his hair out of his face smiling as I look at his soft features while he sleep. Although the scar gives him a different demeanor, he just looked endearing to me.

I run my hands through his hair, softly touching the base of his long black ears that laid flat against his head, hiding on his hair you could bearly tell he had them.

A soft moan left his lips, his brows furrowed as he stoped my hand from moving. Holding it softly in his, eyes still closed he left a small kiss on the palm of my hand. For a moment i thought I had crossed the line he draw, but his reaction told me otherwise. Was he still sleeping?

My question was soon answered as golden eyes stared tiredly at me, he had a lazy look on his face and he smelled like flowers and honey. Such a different contrast as to what he usually smelled like, but still heavenly.

- are you okay? - he asked, voice raspy and deep.

- Yes… why?

- I heard your heartbeat… was it a bad dream? - his thumb moved slowly against my hand, massaging the palm as he looked at me.

- Kind of… but it was just a dream - I assured him.

He gave me a “okay” while putting my arm around his neck laying completely over me, his head over my chest. I went back at caressing his head, running my fingers against his hair.

The sound of rain and thunder in the background was so calming and peaceful i was almost drifting back to sleep again, but my mind woke up quickly at the reminder of Jimins arrival with sweet bread for breakfast, he would be delivering the bread at any time. I had to get things ready for breakfast.

- I need to get up - i said, hands sliding to his shoulders trying to move him off of me.

- No… - he only murmured. Not moving an inch.

- Yoongi… I have to make breakfast and Jimin - i tried to convince him.

- Jimin won’t be coming today… - he interrupted me.

- He won’t? - i asked, he always did - why not?

- He don’t like rain and getting wet - he said lifting his head from my chest to look at me.

- Oh… but still - i said, his golden eyes staring into mine. - if you want to stay in bed is okay, I can work by myself i just…

He didn’t let me end my sentence and was already getting up in a second.

Fixing his clothes before making his way to the door he gave me one last look.

- let’s make breakfast - he said before leaving.

I sat there stil not understanding anything. What has gotten into him?

This moody fox.

…

We eat breakfast quietly enjoying the sounds of the rainy falling outside, it had lessen from now. No thundering sounds anymore just a quite rain. It felt so peaceful as some birds where singing, happy for the rain after so many days of hot sun.

The sweet smell of coffee and honey bread brought a comfort to me, Yoongi sat in front of me this time eyes on his coffee as he drank and a book on his other hand.

I watched him as he read. His eyebrows would furrow here and there when he read something intriguing. He would lick his lips after taking a sip of his coffee then would go back his full attention towards the book in his hand.

I watched as he turned the pages, fingers sliding over the page every time he read one and went for the next one, his golden eyes looked darker this time.

I felt my cheeks getting warmer as i stared at his neck, his Adam apple moving down once he took a sip of his coffee. His colar bones showing as the hanbook was slightly opened and still messy, half of his chest exposed moving up and down slowly as he breathed, his soft skin seemed to shine over the grey light coming from the window.

I was lost in every inch of him, not even realizing he noticed me staring at him. Cup of coffee still on my hands in front my lips, to busy looking at the fox that sat in front of me to drink my coffee.

- you’re staring - he said, not looking at me. Eyes looked on the book in his hand.

- You look good… - I confess, almost inaudible checks hot and red.

He didn’t say anything but I noticed the small smile he had on his lips.

After we have breakfast i went outside, watching the rain fall in the garden. Some people don’t like the rain because it makes them sad. But i always loved the rain, it brought me serenity and calmness.

The roses seemed to bloom even more in the rain their perfume was everywhere, the garden was so beautiful it looked like a painting.

I hugged myself as a cold wind flowed through, the leaves on the floor danced around as the wind moved them.

I couldn’t help but let the flashbacks from my dream run through my mind, my heart felt heavy at the thought of the man. Just who was him?

Up until the point I touched him the dream felt like… a dream. Then it was as if i was right there. Every bit of feelings i had at that time hit me with so much pain, I loved him. And it pained me. Why?

- what’s going on the head of yours? - Yoongi said behind me. I turned to him noticing he changed his clothes. Now wearing a black hanbook.

- Nothing. - i said, for some reason telling him about another man didn’t felt right to me.

- Don’t lie to me… - he walked in my direction, out of instinct I walked back making him stop then he walked towards me with absurd speed, holding me against the wall. Golden eyes burning into mine.

- Yoongi…

- You promised me… - he said, as if not believing in it - you promised you wouldn’t… - before he could finished I stoped him, I knew what he was thinking. I knew he thought that mark on my hand was still reason to make me uncomfortable.

- And I’m keeping my promise, it’s not that… - i assured him, the worry in his eyes subsiding - the dream… i think I saw my past life.

I finally take it out of my chest what has been ghosting around my mind, a sight of relief coming from his lips worry slowly leaving his features, his glare on me wasn’t angry anymore but gentle and understanding.

I knew he just worries about me, somewhere in his heart he cares for me and just want to protect me. It felt hard on me keeping things from him knowing that. But at the same time, those were things I wasn’t even sure of yet.

- sorry… - i said, guilt weighting on me for making him worried about me - i should’ve told before.

I know I could tell him about everything but it still confused me, i didn’t know anything i saw in that dream.

- No… it’s okay - he told me, pausing for a moment.

He looked to the side before looking back me, his hand leaving my sides as one he held my chin slowly caressing it, the other rested on my waist. He pressed his forehead against mine as he closed his eyes taking a deep breath before looking back into mine.

- what did you saw? - he was more gentle now, still caressing my chin.

- I can’t really tell… - I tried hard to picture the images I saw in my dream - i only saw fragments of images…

I wondered what i could tell him about the dream and from some reason telling him about the men i supposed I was in love with seemed to bother me, it felt wrong as I was in his arms.

- there was a man his name was Taehyung, i think he was the king…i called him that… - I tell him.

- Just that? - he asked. Curiosity shining in his golden eyes. He was giving me all of his attention.

- I saw how I died… - I could still feel the way the arrow went into me, a chill running down my spine as i remember it - the rest was only in fragments nothing clear…

He sighted, hand falling on my waist as he pulled me closer for a hug. Burying his face on my neck as he moved his hands up and down my sides in a gentle caress, i closed my arms around his neck embracing him back. His delicious smell of wood and cinnamon surrounding me.

He began to slowly leave small kisses on my skin, starting from the back of my ear down my neck and colar bone. Stopping to look me in the eyes again, our foreheads touching and the tip of his nose slightly brushing against mine.

He moved us forward, pushing me completely against the wall, a gasp of surprise falling from my lips. His hands holding me tightly against him, body fully against mine as his golden eyes burned with so much fire over every inch of me. I felt like melting as one of his hands held my chin up, his face nearly inches away from mine lips brushing over mine. I closed my eyes waiting for him.

- am i interrupting something?

Yoongi pulled out from me so fast at the source of voice I almost lost my balance. It was Jimin. He wore a baby pink hanbook that shined on the silver light of the sky, it gave him a look at cuteness and innocence.

- don’t you hate rain? - Yoongi said, i notice the slight impatience on his tone. Angry from being interrupted.

- Yes - Jimin walked to us then pointed to the sky - but it stopped… - he looked at us both up and down eyes stopping at Yoongis hand still on my waist.

I quickly brushed Yoongis hand off and made my way towards Jimin, taking his hand in mine quickly running away from there with him. Yoongi looked like he could punch him at any moment. I didn’t want that to happen.

- so good to see you made it today - i said, rushing inside the house - did you brought that delicious bread?

- You bet! - he answered excited.

Once inside he went straight towards the small table in the middle of the kitchen, putting the basket with all the bread and sweets on it. I was immediately hit by the delicious smell of it. He opened the basket and my mouth watered at the sight of so many different kinds of sweet. Straight out of the oven, I could tell from the small mist coming from them. There was a small bread full of sugar and strawberry jam, a bread bathed on honey, small and round shining with honey all over it.

- oh my, Jimin! - I exclaimed eyeing the sweets - they look so good!

- Try this - he gave me the strawberry one, i took it from his hand and it was impossible not to get sugar all over my fingers. And the taste? Simply delicious and so juice. The strawberry jam was sweet and perfect.

- It’s so good oh! - I complement him. Mouth full and lips covered on sugar.

He smiled shyly a bit of red on his checks, he turned to take the breads out of the basket putting them over the table.

- Is it that good? - Yoongi suddenly said coming towards me and Jimin, I watched as he slowly made his way towards me.

He had that look on his face. The one he had on the bath last night, golden and fierce. Long ears standing proud on his head as he walked towards me as if i was his pray, before I could try to escape he was right there in front of me.

- let me try it - he said once he stood in front of me. Golden eyes never leaving mine.

I swallow hard, not once did it crossed my mind he would hold my hand with the bread and bring it towards his mouth taking a bite of the bread so slowly. Torturing me with his golden eyes staring straight into mine as he licked the sugar off his lips. Same lips that were on my skin not long ago. It was turture.

His hand slided down my arm slowly, he made sure to touch every centimeter of it after he’s done.

- delicious indeed - he said, never once did those golden eyes left mine - oh… you got some sugar here.

He moved his hand to my face, thumb sliding over my lips taking all the sugar from it. Golden eyes fallowing his touch over my lower lip, looking up into mine only to lick off the sugar from lips on his thumb, so damn slowly.

My mind was going places. Racing with thoughts and my body burned everywhere he touched.

- Should I… should i make some tea to drink with the bread? - I try to run away from that awkwardness. Jimin only looked at us confused before saying a small yes, he didn’t understand what was happening and it showed in his eyes.

To be honest neither did i. Yoongi has been acting different towards me ever since he came covered in blood, more touchy and protective over me. It made me nervous. So nervous at how much i desired him. Did he felt that too?

As i make the tea Jimin tells me he’d get the table ready and i decide to make a Chamomile and peach tea, I fill the kettle with water and turn the stove on. Watching as the fire starts to heat up the kettle and i put the tea inside the teapot. Since i had my back towards them the whole time i didn’t notice Yoongi coming behind me until he corners me against the sink, both his hands on each sides of my body. His soft breath hitting the back of my neck sending chills down my spine.

- did i made you uncomfortable? - he asked, worry in his voice.

- No… - i whisper, wondering if this was about the strawberry bread or the incident outside before. - not uncomfortable, just…

- Nervous? - he didn’t let me finish not single drop of worry in his voice this time, his lips slightly brushing on my neck. I could only nod. - good.

Good.

A ghost of a whisper as he then left to sit in front of Jimin on the table. I swallowed hard, checks burning red.

What does that mean? Does he know how he makes me feel? Does he know i want him… is he doing it on purpose?

I didn’t thought much of it as the kettle was starting to make an annoying sound, i pored the hot water in the teapot breathing the smell of peaches and chamomile.

We can deal with it later.

….

Jimin and Yoongi were talking a lot more today, and i quietly watched them as they proceeded to make a comfortable conversation. Yoongi seemed to be in a better mood today, they talked about different topics and things i didn’t understand about their world. Jimin would explain to me excited at my curiosity and Yoongi would listen and watch us, a found smile on his face.

Time passed so fast i didn’t realized we’ve been talking for hours till Jimin says he has to go now, Yoongi fallows him outside turning back to me only to say he has some fox duties today.

I only nodd and smile to him, assuring him it’s fine. He gives me one last smile before going for real.

Once it was just me in the house i took my time to clean up the table and put the food in their place. After that i decided to read something till Yoongi comes back, so i went to our room stopping in front of his bookshelf. I picked a book of poetry which had a red cover with the name written in gold.

Sitting on the bed i got comfortable before i began to read, line after line the book getting me completely into it. The soft sounds of rain falling outside was music to my ears as i continued to read, looking outside of the window from time to time admiring the rain.

One thing added to the other, the smell of honey and the sounds of rain falling down. My mind was being serenaded by the words in the book and everything seemed to be so peaceful and comfortable.

Eyes staring to get heavy and slowly i fell asleep, face over the book but still so comfortable. How?

I didn’t worry about that in the moment, my only thought being how comfy I felt in that moment. Falling into a deep sleep.

More and more deep.

Yn.

The sound of rain further away from my mind.

Yn.

Deeper into the darkness of my dreams.

- yn… - a deep calm voice whisper in my ear. - my darling please wake up for me?

Hands moved up on my back, it didn’t scared me far from it. His touch felt nice. So deliciously nice.

- humm… Teahyung? - still sleepy I said.

- yes my darling…

My eyes opened slowly and I took in his face. He was over me, his hands caressing my face so delicately. A found smile on his lips.

- I’ve missed you my queen… - he said, before lowering down to kiss me and I closed my eyes waiting.

Everything changed in a second after that, I opened my eyes at the sudden feeling of cold only to see the full moon shined bright in the sky as i looked at it. It didn’t bring me comfort as it usually did, no.

This time I felt pain. The more I looked at it the more it pained me.

- yn…?

I turned to him immediately as I hear his voice asking for me, a hopeless sight escaping my lips at the sight of him. Covered in blood again, the sword on his right hand.

- no, Yoongi… - my voice was bearly a whisper.

- yn?… - the sound of his voice cracking as he walked towards me, eyes shining but this time it was from tears.

I walked towards him as he came to me, tears falling over his face. He looked so terribly sad and lost, I just wanted to hold him in my arms.

But he walked right through me.

I stoped in my tracks. It took me a second to realized. I didn’t wanted to turn around, deep down I kinda knew what was waiting for me. Even so I turned back, only to see the the flames growing more and more on the house, his house was on fire. Falling apart.

Yoongi fell down on his knees in front of what i now realized was… my dead body, he held me against him crying out loud. His cries where a punch to my stomach. Each time another painful cry left his lips was a painful stab into my heart. Tears falling on my face and i kept screaming to him. “I’m here” “I’m alive” “please… look at me”.

But he never did.

That felling of almost drowning but then coming back to the surface, waking up from that dream felt like dying and then being forced to come back. My chest was hurting painfully, my body still recovering from the dream, that pain felt so real and heavy on my chest.

If I closed my eyes again i could still hear his cries, wiping a single tear off my face as i remember it. How was that so clear? It felt so real i couldn’t make it up.

The sound of rain was heavy now, i looked up the window to see the sky has darkened. I must’ve been asleep for a long time, taking a deep breath i made my way out of the bed. Wondering if Yoongi had come back already or if he’ll come back only tomorrow morning like usual.

A sudden need to see him filling my chest, i just wanted to make sure he was okay. I didn’t think i would be able to wait until the morning to see him, not after that nightmare. In such short period of time he became so dear to me.

I didn’t spear any seconds as i quickly got out of the room, not seeing any sign of him in the house i make my outside.

That weight of worry melted out off of me as soon as my eyes landed on his figure, he was sitting on the porch a serene look on his features as he watched the heavy rain falling. For a moment i just watched him, taking in his presence. I felt like crying for some reason but held back.

He noticed my presence as he looked over at me and a small smile made its way to his lips, i felt so relieved walking towards him. Yoongi seemed to notice something wasn’t right as he took me by the waist as soon as i was in front of him. My arms closing around his neck as i hugged him tight.

- is something wrong? - he whispered in my ear.

- i thought you wouldn’t come back today - i reply, burying my face in his neck.

- sorry.

It wasn’t just any apology, he understood exactly what I meant and i know deep down he meant it for last time and for now. When he wouldn’t come back from his duties, and when he came covered… i just held him tighter as the image of him like that crossed my mind. We held each other for so long the sky began to clear, I looked up to find the moon shining over us.

For the first time i didn’t want to look at it, it made me nauseous. Something about it didn’t felt right with me, a sudden need to challenge it.

Sliding my arms over Yoongis i looked over his face, beautiful golden eyes staring into mine. We were so close yet i needed more.

- we should go inside… - he murmured - it’s getting colder.

I simply nodded letting him guide me back inside the house, his hand in mine the whole time.

Once in his room he turned to me, one hand gently caressing my face. The other one on my waist as he walked making me walk backwards slowly till the back of my knees touch the bed, I sat down looking up at him as he continues to caress my chin.

- you look tense… - his voice dark and velvet - allow me to… help you relax? - I feel a chill on my skin as he leans down, his face mere centimeters close to mine.

I swallow hard as he then draws his finger down from my chin to my neck and along my colar bone. Leaving a ghost of a kiss on my check he stands upwards walking to my right he sit beside me before sliding to sit behind me, both his thighs on each side of my body. I could still feel the tip of his finger dancing along my skin.

I almost lost my breath as he moves my hair gently to the side fingertips brushing slightly against my skin, just a simple movement but the way he does it makes into so much more. One arm circling around my waist as he than opened the not i made on the clothe i wore. He pushed slightly down making me hold it against my chest, turning to look at him from the side.

- don’t worry… - he murmured against the back of my hair - I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.

He began to push it down again just enough to expose my colar bones and shoulders . His hands sliding up my arms so slowly it felt like torture, he always loved to tease me I knew that. But this time it felt so nice I simply closed my eyes allowing him to do as he pleases, enjoying every second of it.

His warm fingers finally coming in touch with my shoulders as he slowly added some pressure with the tip of his fingers, massaging my neck in slow movements of up and down.

I had to bite my lips to hold a moan as he focused on my neck, aplaying pressure with his thumb in the back of my neck and slowly sliding down his fingers on my colar bones.

A long sight escaped me as i leaned my head back against his touch, feeling his breath hit the back of my neck as he came closer to me. He held me against him making sure i lean on him, completely rested over his body. He left small kisses along my neck, my hands resting on his thighs as he began to use his teeth on my skin. So slightly i could bearly feel yet enough to make his canines known.

- is this okay? - he suddenly asked.

- yes… - i could bearly say anything, completely lost on his touch.

I felt his smile over my skin, he was enjoying the effects he had on me. Yoongi continued the assault on my neck, this time leaving long wet kisses over it taking long licks on my skin from my shoulder up to my ear leaving a long kiss behind it. Sucking on it more harshly, his teeth clearly scratching my skin this time he was leaving marks all over it i could feel it.

His hands holding my waist tighter and tighter each time, i could feel his breathing turning faster as he held me against him. One final kiss over the curve of my neck, his hands sliding up almost too close to my chest but never trespassing it. He groaned against my skin slightly moving his hips up.

- Yoongi… - i moaned, grabbing his thighs sticking my nails on him.

Turning my face towards him i searched for what i needed the most now, his lips. One hand grabbing the back of his neck towards me to finally kiss him. We both moaned at the touch, wet lips finally meeting each other.

I wish I could say it was a romantic kiss but, it wasn’t. It was sexual and full of desire, tongues fighting for space savoring each other’s taste. We been teasing each other for so long, waiting for one to finally give in. Not leaving space for curtesy, he bit into my bottom lip just to lick over again.

One arm around my waist he held me tight before turning me over as he stayed above me, golden eyes shining under the dim light of his room. Lips red and plump from the kiss, his pointy fangs showing a bit as he smirked coming down to leave a small kiss on my lips.

Then my neck leaving a tray of kisses all over my chest and between my boobs, opened the hanbook completely now my body on display for him as he kept leaving kisses over my skin down towards my bellybutton. Hands over my hips as he slides them up over my ribs then down using the tips of his finger nails carving my skin, goosebumps flowing up my body at his touch making my arch my back.

Eyes closed as I felt him leave more kisses all over my hips, fingers sliding under the sides of my underwear over my hips to push them down. Taking them off completely from me, he stayed there on his knees just looking at me, cold wind coming from the window hitting my body making my nipples harden immediately.

He brought his hands over my knees, brushing his thumb over them slightly before opening my legs for him. His eyes savory every centimeter of my body, once he was satisfied he began to lower down towards my belly.

Leaving mouthed kisses and bites over my skin making a tray down where I needed him the most, his hands held my thighs in place as he gave my pussy a long lick.

I couldn’t stop my body from reacting to his touch, my back arching immediately seeking more of him. Hips rocking against his face.

- Yoongi… - i moan. His name falling from my lips like sugar, I feel him crave his nails deeper into my flash.

He started with long licks over my clit, his eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he began to suck on it moaning against my pussy. The wet sounds from his mouth on me driving me completely insane, every movement of his tongue against me sending a burning desire over my body, I couldn’t stop my body from moving against him.

It made him hold my thighs harder as he stared to move his tongue faster against me, one of my hands grabbing his hair as he sucked on my clit harder. He moaned against me, the vibrations of his voice making me go more and more wilder.

I was getting closer, he could fell it as he continued to move his tongue faster not stop in even fora second.

- Yoongi… - i moaned out his name, grabbing his hair harder as he groaned against my pussy.

I was so close I could feel my heart beating faster against my chest, blood burning through my veins. My hips moving against his face uncontrollably as I held his hair between my fingers, his nails leaving red marks over my thighs.

He continued to suck on my clit his voice vibrating against me, I could feel the heavy burning sensation of my high coming. I was head in the clouds so close to it. But then he stopped. I groaned inpatient. He lifted his head up from my pussy, smirk on his wet lips as he stared into my eyes with his golden ones.

His right hand sliding down my thigh.

- you taste so good… - he said over his lashes, I looked at him still coming from my high. - i taste you all night….

I could say anything. He didn’t gave me much time, pushing my hips against his face again. His tongue inside me as he used his finger to touch my swollen clit. My whole body was burning with his touches. Moving his tongue in and out of me so slowly in the most delicious way.

Hand instinctively gabbing his hair again as I rocked my hips up and down against his face, fallowing his peace. I felt my high coming again, so close but he never stopped his peace. I felt like a could met every time he moved his tongue inside me. Legs shaking around him, I couldn’t control my body anymore.

Begging him for more.

My feet sliding down over his back stopping at his bottom, he groaned against me. Sucking on my clit he inserted his finger inside my pussy, finally giving me what I wanted.

Meet sounds coming from his fingers fucking me as he continued to lick and suck on my clit, I was a complete mess. Legs shaking beside his head getting closer and closer to my orgasm, he kept going faster groaning against me.

- Yoongi… so close… - i moaned his name, grabbing his hair harder.

A wave of relief filled me, my heart was racing and my whole body felt so light. Everything felt so deliciously good I couldn’t explain. Looking down between my legs Yoongi now moved slower as I came into his fingers, he rode out my orgasm with his tongue, licking all traces of it from my pussy.

I caressed his hair as he began to trace the skin of my thigh with his finger, licking his wet lips he stared at me. Golden eyes shining brighter than I have ever seen, the sweet smell of cinnamon in the air coming from him more noticeable than ever.

His finger slides down, stoping at my hip and than sliding over my pussy so slowly a ghost of a touch, he moved his finger deeper against my clit deliciously finally sliding inside me again.

- Yoongi, no… - i manege to whisper to him. He chuckled not stoping his movements. - no I can’t again…

- Yes you can… - he murmured, low voice full of desire dripping from his mouth.

With that he slides another finger inside me making me arch my back, my hands closing into fists as I grabbed the sheets. He lowered his head down on me again, this time sucking over my clit as he moved his fingers in and out of me painfully slow.

- no… - i moaned again, but he didn’t stop. At this point I didn’t wanted him to.

- Come for me again y/n… - he growled over me, coming back for my mouth as he kissed me harshly.

I moaned against his mouth as he began to move his fingers faster, using his thumb to move over my clit as he went faster. The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me sinfully, his groans against my lips all driving me towards the edge again. Tasting myself on his lips, he slides his tongue against mine making me moan in his mouth.

My hands holding his shoulders tighter the closer I got, scratching his skin deeper his moans driving me completely insane.

- more, Yoongi…

- that’s my girl… - he said over my ear, leaving a kiss over it - com for me again…

- Yoongi…

I held on into him harder the closer I got, his finger moving in and out of me faster. He continued his assault on my neck as I held into his shoulders, nails marking his skin hiding my face on the curve of his neck.

I could feel that wave filling me up again, painfully slow and so good. My hips moving against his finger as he drove me to my second orgasm, I moaned out his name sinking my teeth over his neck.

I felt his voice vibrate through his skin as he groaned in pleasure, my nails sliding down his back leaving marks. He moved his finger slower driving the last bit of my orgasm.

My head was in the clouds again, my whole body felt so heavy and tired.

I moaned once he took his finger out of me, leaving a kiss over my check he stared into my eyes.

- that’s my girl… - he said, caressing my bottom lip with his wet thumb - taste yourself for me hum?

Slowly I opened my mouth for him, taking in his two fingers that were inside my pussy. Tasting my own juice as he looked at me with such pleasure, bitting into his own lips as I suck on his fingers. Feeling the soft tips slide against my tongue, wet with my cum. Holding his wrist as i suck on them, eyes locked with his golden ones.

- fuck.. - he cursed, closing his eyes - you’re driving me crazy y/n…

He slides them off my mouth licking them before coming back for a kiss, lips moving slightly against mine. Leaving one last kiss over my check, he caressed my face golden eyes staring into mine with adoration.

- you should rest now - he whispered against my neck.

- but you… - i moved my hands up his shoulders which he takes them into his to put them by my sides on the bed.

- i can wait for you tomorrow… - he pressed a kiss over my ear - I’ll need you full rested.

- oh… - i simple said, realization hitting me. He chuckled.

One hand he bald my thigh over his hip the other around my neck as he pushed me up to lay over him, my head resting against his chest as he still held my leg over his hips.

His hand caressed my head softly as the sound of his heart beat slowly draw me to sleep, my eyes feeling heavier each time.

The rain outside still falling heavy, thunder lightning above in the sky. The smell of rain misture with his heavenly perfume of wood and cinnamon, I held him tighter as i finally embraced my sleep.

That night I had no dreams of my past life.

Next?

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#bts drabble #bts smut #bts x you #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #bts smut reactions #bts yoongi #bts suga #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts jimin #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi #a breath of fire x min yoongi #bts teahyung #kim teahyung

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jihopesjoint · 1 year

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I’m sorry if someone has already asked you this but I just discovered your blog and I have to know what your headcannons are of BTS while high

anon… NO ONE has asked me this yet!!!! and you have my whole entire heart for taking one for the team and doing god’s work. i have treated this ask with the utmost importance and i only hope that i don’t disappoint you. also i'm sorry this took me literally all day LMFAO let me just open this with a blanket statement: the sheer number of bangtan giggles that there would be. i think i would die. anyway. onwards and upwards

namjoon

tbh my boy namjoon already speaks like he is stoned. he is ALWAYS waxing poetic and having an existential crisis, and that would increase tenfold if found holding a blunt. he’s making connections, he’s drawing conclusions. the empty chip bag that he has just devoured is definitely a metaphor for fame and how people take everything they love from you and then there’s nothing left for yourself. he’d sit on that for about five minutes before feeling guilty for thinking such thoughts about HIS army, who always refills his metaphorical chip bag.

seokjin

think of the windshield wiper laughs. OH he would be making the stupidest jokes (yes more than he already does). he gets great pleasure from jokes that make people groan. in seeming direct contrast, our gamer guy would be absolutely COUCHLOCKED. but he’d find that for some reason he just isn’t as angry at failures/deaths as he would be sober. and he thinks, “is THIS peace? have i never known it before this moment?” he didn't think he could get any more go with the flow than he already was. but if you think he’s not paying attention to the room around him, think again. he's making fun of everyone else losing their minds, all with eyes glued to the screen.

yoongi

oh bro. yoongi? he’s already an encyclopedia of useless knowledge, sprinkled with existential dread and hatred of the system. my man is ranting and RAVING about the capitalist machine. he doesn't understand why people have to work themselves to death to survive with no opportunity to enjoy life. he's pissed about the fact that he now benefits so greatly from a system he initially set out to be publicly against. and then he'll go on for 15 minutes about stucco, no transition. he's also hearing the most mundane sounds and recording them on his phone because they'll be perfect samples for a track. and then when he listens back to them the next day, he'll be like "what the absolute fuck was this?"

hobi

hobi for the first 20 minutes of the high is a silent observer. it's a little overwhelming right at the beginning, so he's probably a little in his head. he's just taking everything in. but after he crests the peak, he is loosey goosey. music has never made him want to dance more, and he didn't know that was possible. our boy's taste in music is made for getting stoned to. he's wiggling over to the snacks, wiggling with the snacks in his hand. falling to the floor, shouting with laughter when he sees how absolutely ZOOTED his members are. after he wipes the tears from his eyes, he sees yoongi sampling the sound of the ice maker and immediately goes over to be his ultimate hype man.

jimin

park jimin. my sweet baby. he knows that mama didn’t raise no bitch, so he’s taken extra hits after everyone’s tapped out. his eyes are basically permanently shut. for the life of him he cannot stop giggling. he’s in that every single thing that happens is funny mode. can’t hold himself upright. we’re talking hands on shoulders, we’re talking heads in laps, we’re talking falling to the floor. kim taehyung is the funniest person to exist in his eyes (yes more than normal). usually he cringes at himself speaking affectionately about his members, but all inhibitions are gone. he loves them SO MUCH, and he’s absolutely not going to shut up about it. he’s making grandiose plans for them to never get around to doing together because they’re not actually reasonable.

taehyung

taehyung is also thinking thoughts, putting things together. we're talking about the brain that brought us borahae. of course, for one good realization, you have to have about one hundred terrible ones. think of the highest thought you've ever had, or have ever heard someone else have, and you might have stepped inside the anomaly that is kim taehyung's head. some shit like, "what if birds aren't singing and they're actually screaming because they're afraid of heights?" and of course, jimin is fully ready to take this thought that he accidentally vocalized, turn it into a bit, and beat it into the ground. legend has it they're still figuring this out.

jungkook

on his most productive day, our maknae is operating as head empty, no thoughts. so there's no doubt in my mind that he's staring at the wall. not a damn thing is happening up there, i promise you. he's just realized AGAIN that he has hands, but he has no idea what to do with them. because he's completely unaware of what's going on in the room around him, he's interrupted taehyung and jimin's bit to ask them what he should do about his hand predicament. but while he was trying to get their attention, his hand brushed over one of the blankets on the couch and goddamn is it not the softest thing he's ever felt. so his focus has shifted entirely to feeling this blanket. rinse and repeat.

#that taehyung thought was from a meme i saw ngl #anon thank you so much for trusting me with this question #bts #bts headcanons #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #rm #jin #suga #j hope #jimin #v #jungkook

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minisugakoobies · 2 years

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Headrush (It's Too Sweet) | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, Idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, kissing, fingering, hand job, love bites/marking, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of oral sex - m receiving, allusions to fucking, slight exhibitionist streak (no locked doors here!), Jimin's tongue, yes that needs its own warning, Kitty Gang Jimin is the look, yes that also needs its own warning, Jimin is in full demon mode here - all temptation and teasing

Word Count: 1.6K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they simply inspire me

Summary: Your job is perfect. Or it would be, were it not for one Park Jimin.

A/N: Happy birthday Jimin! You'll always be my favorite demon. 💜

This comes from a request from @reliablemitten. Yep, I'm still working my way slowly through those. 😆 It's my first time writing an Idol AU, so I hope I did it well! Please don't be a silent reader 🥺 I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

You love your job.

As a stylist for Big Hit, you get to travel the world with one of the hottest acts in history, BTS. The team you work with is amazing, the looks you create are eye-catching and inspired, and, well, the money’s not bad, either. Yeah, all in all, your job is perfect.

Or it would be, were it not for one Park Jimin.

To his adoring fans, Jimin is a sweet lil’ mochi, a round-cheeked beacon of light and laughter who dances like he’s made of water and sings like an angel. You know better.

The man is a demon. Temptation is his calling card, and teasing is his passion.

And there’s no finer example of this than the way he’s pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs right now and pointedly not touching you exactly where you need him.

“Come on, Jimin,” you whine, leaning back on your palms to tip your cunt closer to his devilish mouth. The makeup table you’re sitting on is uncomfortable, hard plastic pressing into your ass, but you have to make do when you’re sneaking in a quickie between rehearsals. “We don’t have all day.”

“So impatient, Noona,” he simply sighs, shaking his head, pushing your skirt further up your stomach. “You know that just makes me want to go even slower. Really take my time.”

You do know, from experience, and so you fall silent, fingers curling around the edge of the table as his warm breath sends goosebumps racing down your thighs.

This all started with that damned outfit. The leather ensemble, a glittery gem-covered jacket over a fitted white shirt and tight tight tight pants. Your team really killed it, you couldn’t help but think, admiring him as he showed off for the other members during the fitting. With a cheeky grin, he rolled his body, running his fingers through his soft pink hair.

And look. You’ve never been immune to how attractive the band is. You’re a professional, of course, but you have eyes. Not to mention a healthy libido, which unfortunately revved up as Jimin undulated his body. You couldn’t help but follow the wave all the way down to his toes, before you dragged your gaze back to his face.

You thought you’d gotten away with your gawking. Until your eyes met. And he winked.

And now, he won’t let you live.

Just when you think you’re about to die from desire, Jimin traces his long pink tongue along your slit, lapping at the arousal seeping out of you. With a relieved groan, you drop your head to watch the gorgeous man kneeling between your legs suckle at your cunt. He always tells you that you taste like candy, but you’re the one who gets the sugar high, head swimming, heart racing.

It began slowly, this thing between you, with small gestures. A flirtatious smile here, a knowing glance there. Any time you let your gaze linger, lost in reverie, Jimin was quick to pounce, warm brown eyes suddenly darkening, smile sharpening into a smirk. You lost track of the number of times his tongue would suddenly flick out, licking his plush lips brazenly. Wantonly.

Then the comments started.

The two of you had a friendly working relationship - Jimin was easy to talk to, always quick with a joke or comment to make you giggle, and you knew you were his favorite stylist by the way he sought you out every time.

But after the day he caught you staring, his comments became less silly and more… suggestive.

“Is that what you wanted, Noona?” he asks, reclining on his knees while his ring-clad fingers plunge into your throbbing folds. His saccharine smile doesn’t fool you. He knows exactly how his touch drives you insane. Leaves you yearning for more every time. It’s never enough.

So you tell him. “You know it is. Ah, fuck.” He grins into the bite he’s just left in your soft skin. Your hips are littered with them, tiny marks of his own lusty language that can only be interpreted as ‘mine.’ “Why do you always make me beg for it?”

Because he can. Because he knows that you’ll always come back for more. His kisses, his tongue, his cock - you’ll take it all to feed the rush. That’s what addicts do.

He doesn’t answer, mouth too busy on your clit. Wisps of cotton candy strands float through your fingers as you clutch at his hair. Jimin hums with every tug, every pull, the vibrations making you join him in delicious harmony. It suddenly occurs to you that you didn’t lock the door, but the worry is fleeting, quickly licked aside by Jimin’s roving tongue.

The door was unlocked the first time, too. The memory of that day replays itself in your neediest moments, when you’re craving a fix.

It had been weeks of salacious comments and heated looks. Recently Jimin had added little touches into the mix - a hand pressing on your back just a few seconds too long, fingers brushing your cheek as he removed a hair that you both knew wasn’t there.

He’d found you in the hallway backstage, kneeling on the ground with your back to the wall, working on mending a torn sleeve. He came to a stop, asking you to help him with a tear in his pants, claiming he’d meant to ask before but had forgotten. But as you examined the fabric, you found no tears, no rips, nothing but smooth material stretching over thick thighs.

From your knees, you peered up at him in confusion, only to find him gazing down at you with a smoldering expression. Knowing that anyone could walk by at any moment, you’d cleared your throat, and his face relaxed.

He feigned ignorance, said another stylist must have already gotten to it, but when his muscles flexed under your touch, drawing your attention to the growing bulge in his pants, you knew the truth.

Fighting to keep your breathing normal, you’d sighed. “I swear to god, Jimin, you were put on this earth to give me a headache,” you informed him with naked exasperation as you’d straightened up, trying your best to act like you weren’t soaking through your underwear at the thought of his dick in your mouth.

“Oh, Noona, I was put here to do a lot more than that to you, I promise,” Jimin replied with that wicked smile of his, and that was it, the last straw. You snapped.

“Okay, that’s it!” you’d hissed, latching onto his arm, tugging him into the dressing room behind you. The door slammed shut as you rounded on him. “Enough already! I’m sick to death of you tormenting me like this! It’s all just empty words meant to get a rise out of me - and I’m not going to give you that satisfaction anymore!”

“Empty words?” Jimin’s eyebrows had hit the ceiling. His voice jumped an octave. “Empty words?” He’d stepped forward, crowding your space, pushing you back until your ass hit the makeup table behind you. Stumbling, you ended up on the table, gasping as he framed you in with his arms to lean over you. “Noona, you have no idea how wrong you are right now.”

There was a loud roaring in your ears as you sunk your fingers into the velvety-soft collar of his jacket, bringing him dangerously close to your face. “Then fucking show me, Jimin.”

His arms pulled you into his embrace as Jimin surged forward, finally planting his plump lips on yours. The heat of his kiss engulfed you, roaring flames burning everything in its path, like caution and reason. When he came in your mouth that day, you knew there was no going back.

And now you find yourself here, hiding in this dressing room, seeking another hit. Jimin fidgets on the ground, rubbing one hand over his crotch while he fucks you with the other.

“Do you need help with that?” He can’t see what you’re looking at, as his face is currently buried, but his muffled whimpers let you know that he understood your question, and he pulls away, rising to his feet while his pants fall to his ankles.

“Fuck, Noona, so good, always so good.” He’s hot and slick in your hand, tip already coated in precum, and the two of you pant in tandem as you bring each other to the edge with your hands. It’s always fast and messy with him in the end, no matter how much he builds you up with his taunting.

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to find reasons to slip away and meet like this. You’ve become intimately familiar with so many stadium dressing rooms, restaurant bathrooms, even the occasional hotel gym or sauna. Within seconds, he has you on your knees, on your back, bent over and moaning.

Despite the way you rush headlong into these rendezvous, you’re not naive. At some point, there will be a reckoning. This can’t go on forever. But right now, as he coaxes an orgasm from you with his thrusting fingers and hungry kisses, you let your mind go clear, giving in to the sensations.

Park Jimin might be a demon, but you’re the one who can’t resist the sin. It’s too sweet.

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#jimin smut #park jimin smut #jimin x you #jimin x reader #btswritingcafe #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you #park jimin fanfic #jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #fic: headrush (it's too sweet)#possumswrite #park jimin

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blueberryarchive · 3 months

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 & 𝒍𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒓

♰pairing; preacher!jk x reader x cowboy!jm

♰word count; 4.6k

♰genre; smut, horror, angst

♰tw; dead dove do not eat, drowning, heavy non-con, dacryphilia, oral, penetration, mentions of blood, depiction of religion, gruesome details of death, physical and verbal violence (jk has a serious rage problem), alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of jk wanting to have sex as a teen.

prev//next

"Love. Sweetheart, stay with me a lil' longer, please. Fuck, Jeon, she's dying on me." Jimin bellowed, a halo of violet light outlining his silhouette as dry cornfields passed by the sides of the truck, your body bouncing with the truck's turmoil from side to side.

You looked down and saw your numb leg, the dark hole of burnt skin that Park soaked with a misty liquor. His awake and worried eyes, the dried blood of your lusts on his lips, the new blood that the wound vomited out, covering his hands, becoming thicker and purer.

Your shoulders slumped, your head resting on the back window of the truck. The two men were fighting, but that was just as the murmur of crickets and moths.

The sky was infinite, domed with stars, all subtly arranged in the perfect position. You saw among the sequins of God, all your dresses and the damn heels in which you had to squeeze your growing body. How Miss Texas' adorable smile became a pathetic white plate without emotion.

And oh, you knew that the fall of a star was inevitable, but not even the flame began to die when you were already sunken between the rocks and the soft grass caressing the last spark, your first tears of acceptance. And in the grass, you dozed, feeling sorry for your own useless body, the plastic crowns, the gold, and the memories of the applause.

"No! Stay." A slap brought you back to the hard floor of a barn. The unknown man grabbed your cheeks and choked you with a long, bitter drink of homemade liquor.

The little light came in from a window in the wooden ceiling, the heat emanating from the hay and wool piled in the corner, leaving a strong smell, you groaned before vomiting to the side.

"Fuck, Jungkook. She's not a fucking animal, you're going to make her faint." Jimin pushed his partner. Jungkook swallowed hard. His pale, neat face was dirty with crimson droplets.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Park?" Jungkook pushed him back, and neither of them could believe it, neither the action nor the power in the voice.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Letting in a bunch of rapist shit-smoking hippies without a fucking cent to pay for their stay."

And then you thought about the rifle the father was carrying, about Sage and the others. A gasp from deep in your chest, the sob reminding you of your pain.

The rifle was pointed at you with anger pooling in his neck that didn't let him breathe. You screamed as you tried to stand up but it was useless, your wounded leg was your cross. Jimin moved as quickly as possible to cover your mouth, squeezing until it hurt.

"What did you do with the others?" Park's voice trembled, and his partner's eyes showed an open, bloody wound that would not close until a couple of demons ran away.

"I shot the boy in the shoulder, the two girls took the car and drove to California. I made them promise not to come back."

"You're a fucking psychopath." Your scream is muffled by the cowboy's fingers.

The rifle flew away in the hay, and the impatient sheep threw themselves to one side when they knew that it was not food they brought but danger.

"Jeon, stop!"

Jungkook was taller and heavier than his partner, so it wasn't difficult to lunge at you, grab your hair, and compress your chin until he felt every tooth. He was sweating with the smell of incense and wine, his thin lips spit in your face.

"It's because of people like you that I want to leave the church and buy a damn truck, pick up every son of a bitch on Route 66 who raises his dirty thumb on the side of the road, and bathe them in acid until they dissolve alive."

You didn't say anything, because you were pure meat in front of him, a mere animal for slaughter if you moved too close…

Two hot tears fell to Jungkook's fingers, and it was as if a flower had opened in his hand. A strange tickling in his throat left him passive, mute. He removed his hat with the respect the pained lady deserved.

"You're the Bell Ranch kid."

"Please tell me you didn't start shooting people in my house." Jimin interrupted, pacing back and forth impatiently.

"Jimin, she's the Bell Ranch kid-"

"I know, it doesn't matter now. You shot her and she's bleeding herself to death, Christ."

"I told you it was just a shot, they'll probably think it was to scare a coyote."

The cowboy crouched down and tucked his head between his legs, the alcohol rising into his veins.

"You're such an idiot, you know?" The father continued, filling the silence.

"What did you just say?"

"You really believe that these people come to enjoy rural life, to feed your chickens and fuck in the mountains."

"I needed the money," Jimin muttered stressed.

"The fuck you needed that money for?"

"To get the hell out of this place." He roared, standing again in front of Jungkook. "I'm sick and tired of Rivermouth and its moribund, corrupt town. It makes me want to throw up just thinking about having to see the fucking faces of the same people at Bee's diner again."

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows at him, seeing him as if he were a child throwing a tantrum.

"But everyone loves you, you're like a star here."

Jimin laughed, glassy eyes threatening to ooze saline waters.

"Do you know who else was a star in this town? Your dad, little church boy."

"Jimin." He warned you saw how his fists showed through his knuckles.

"And the star decided to have a summer camp for all the children, ended up in a human grill, and everyone thought that your dad fucked children."

It was so fast that you couldn't see Jimin's body fall to the ground, the dust hiding the blows that reverberated from Jimin's skull. The cowboy didn't lift his arms, instead, he let his friend vent until he saw Jimin's silver fang painted red.

Jungkook gasped like a barbarian, his arms trembled before he delivered the next punch and fell next to Jimin, overwhelming moans coming from his chest, stale tears, and babbling that only Jimin understood, but he didn't move.

Jimin closed his eyes, thinking about teenage Jungkook who was trying to get close to the burned body of his father, which Jimin never let him talk about or touch, for the funeral he locked him in his room even after protests and threats. He didn't know if he wanted to protect him, if because he was older than him, he thought about taking the role that that monument of a man had left behind.

He was as attractive as his son, charismatic, and an all-around good man. But his statue began to crack when some young people arrived at the church, a couple who convinced him that he did not need the God for whom he so praised and knelt down. But he was the deity, who with his wings would go far.

He had this idea of encouraging the little ones next to him, elevating them. He closed the doors of the old church, while singing with the children and bathed the edges of the windows in kerosene.

The screams were hellish, no one heard them. No one cried more than the little boy who saw his sister burning on the ground, no one screamed more than the girl whose dress melted into her skin, and no one trusted her father more than the youngest son of Father John I.

Jungkook's younger brother hung from his father's clothes, watching his friends burn with a sense of purpose, that this had to happen for his own good.

And like Icarus, the sun kissed his father's body without Jungkook realizing the changes until very late: the sarcastic laughter in the middle of reading, his constant absence, the misplaced and ambitious gaze.

His mother fell into the abyss. Died sitting in a rocking chair when her body seemed to disintegrate more and more every day. A rosary in hand, a tiresome prayer that licked away her sorrows.

"Come on, we have to think about what we're going to do with her," Jimin murmured, wiping away the trickle that ran down his nose. Jungkook gave him his hand and stood up. Both men hugged each other until the minor stopped sobbing.

The father looked in your direction, determined. You could feel the black socket of his eyes fire just once and not miss.

"We have to chain her before she runs away."

Jimin nodded. There was no time to lose.

A latent pain spread through Jungkook's head until a crown of pure anguish decorated his hair. Two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the phone rang incessantly on the other line.

One of the things that bothered him about Billie, was the way time seemed to run smoothly and leisurely through her fingers. It took her forever to analyze things, to choose what she was going to eat, even if it would always be chicken pot pie; and in this case, answer the phone.

The telephone booth where he was was dirty, it smelled of urine, and the windows were clouded with dust. He was still wearing his black shirt and pants, his collar pristine white, his old man's ring on his right hand being moved anxiously.

He couldn't believe what he would do in his free time instead of being with the girl he had decided to marry. But a letter arrived at his office at the church that afternoon, one of the children playing in the park had been sent with it. The letter was a simple piece of paper wrapped and tied with an improvised wildflower as a cord.

I'll be busy tonight. The sheep must be tamed and sheared. J.

When he read the words, he almost dropped the paper on the floor and sent the boy out with a dollar in his hand so that he would promise not to tell anyone.

He spent the entire mass having trouble speaking, gave averted glances, and cleared his throat like a sick man. The drops of sweat clinging to his chest, it was hell.

"Hello?"

"Billie, it's John, sweetheart."

"Why are you not here?" His chest sank as he heard the sweet voice of his girl. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"I must..." his voice trailed off. The last time he lied was so long ago.

It's not that religion made him feel guilty for telling a lie, sometimes a father must lie to people's faces with such solemnity that the devotee can only let themselves fall into the invisible hands of God and lie down on hope for a miracle.

"I have to take care of one Park's ewe. Poor little one it's havin' some trouble, and he doesn't want her to be alone until his show ends." Terrible, one of the worst lies he's ever made.

Silence.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Billie purred, almost in a plea. He sighed, he could see her pink varnished nail tangled in the phone cord eagerly. Trying not to wake her dad's ears with such questions.

Jungkook had her on the edge because he hadn't even kissed her. He knew he was cruel for that. It's not that he has officially offered either, but sometimes a man doesn't lie through words, but by taking her home, by looking into her eyes for a longer time when he gives her the host, by helping her learn to touch herself inside the confessional.

"It's better not to, pet. I'm sure it'll be an allnighter, the thing'll be crying for hours and I know how sensitive you are with animals."

"It's true, you know me so well, Jungkook."

He smiled. "I know, darling." He clears his throat before continuing. "But tomorrow you can come to the parish, and we will feed the pigeons in the morning. How 'bout that?"

One more lie, this time it was not the hands of God but the calloused and bloody hands of the young father. But she just giggled.

"Goodnight, Billie. Say hi to your mother for me."

"'Night, Johnnie. I love you."

A lump in his throat, and he thanked God because after saying that, she closed the call. His tongue turned to lead to say those three words back. He knew he did, he wanted to protect Billie more than anything and make her happy, but there was no need to say it, right?

Jungkook's shirt was unbuttoned, the shaking in his breathing causing an unusual tremor in the sound of the farm. It was a windy night, there wasn't much moonlight, so Jungkook lit several kerosene lamps on the banks.

The wooden tub was arranged in the center, the horses and chickens raising their heads every time Jungkook grunted, bringing more hot water. The sweat falling down his temples and over his broad chest, the steam had him suffocated in that silence, and you showed no signs of waking up at any time.

He approached the hay in the corner where the sheep surrounded your body curled up like a fetus, you slept with bloody clothes and matted hair. Your breathing is as soft as the wool around you, both hands and feet tied with rope.

You looked like a lost princess. A princess who devoured every man in her land, and now she rests peacefully to reduce her satiety. Your dry mouth and the remains of Jimin's blood fell to your neckline, making Jungkook's face boil, because he couldn't believe that his friend had fallen for such banalities. It made him want to take the same lamp in his fingers and drop it on top of your delicate body.

His boot touched your low heels, but nothing. He crouched down until he had his hand close to your shoulder, your skin tender under the shaking flames, curved and soft under the dress you were wearing.

You were disgusting, angelic, so terribly at peace in your state.

Of course, upon his arrival at Jimin's house, the first thing he did was open your suitcase and touch all your belongings. Because, in the end, a woman is her belongings: she is the compact blush that she has worn since she was 19, she is the old leather necklace with the worn-out heart pendant and the empty perfume bottle.

Women feel this need to keep things that don't work or lose their value over time. Something that may have to do with how Jungkook sees them, how it's the opposite for him. How his father and his uncles also saw the women in his life. The brighter, the better.

Women, instead, have their daughters' teeth in their jewelry like yellowish nacre and love the same man from their fifteenth until the memories fade with their bodies.

Jungkook knew you would like something to remind you of home, where you truly belong. Not California, not New York, not even Austin; but Rivermouth, with its disproportionate mountains, the storm clouds filling the sky at all hours, and the same faces transferring from parents to children to grandchildren.

A place where nothing changed and that was the good thing. Even though things might end up bad.

He was sure your body was not leaving that barn, he had come to that decision the same day he saw you.

To recompensate, he decided to find you the most beautiful dress among your belongings, a delicate bow with which he would decorate your neck and a vermilion lipstick.

His hand squeezed your shoulder until you stood up screaming, his hand went straight to your mouth.

"Don't fucking do that, please." The way you looked around made Jungkook understand that you didn't remember anything, it was sad to see the weight lift your pupils towards his and still try to find an explanation. "You need to shower, your stench is making me sick."

He grabbed your bound wrists and dragged you to the edge of the hot water, a round, yellowish sponge and sulfur soap placed on a stool.

"Don't make a noise, you'll wake up Sweet Pea," Jungkook murmured behind you, the heat of his breath on your back.

Sweet Pea was a sheep separated from the others, sleeping between a bed made of hay and old coats. Her bloated stomach writhed with each ragged breath. She suffered with her mouth open and her woolly paws shivering with every squirm of the babies in her belly, she slept painfully.

"Raise your arms." The man behind you whispered, a sharp Swiss army knife cutting through the fabric of your dress like butter. The cold of his hands removing your dress let a gasp leave your lips. "Easy, there."

His tall, sweaty body leaned into your hands, his eyes evading yours, swallowing hard. Your breasts fell light and exquisite, your exposed stomach curved until it reached the plain of your pussy and Jungkook felt like the edge of his knife would slip from his hands as he finished tearing your clothes.

"Let's see the wound." He cleared his throat, sitting on the bench where he had a clean pair of gauze. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" You interrupted, raising your foot to the top of his knee.

"Have some respect. I'm not one of your little friends."

You rolled your eyes as the slender fingers removed the knot from the dirty yellowed gauze. You hissed, leaning your body forward. As a result, you placed your hands on top of Jungkook's jet-black hair, tightening the strands under your fingers in the last turn of the gauze. Jungkook took a deep breath, his fingers trembling gently as he examined the bruised hole.

"At least the blood stopped."

"Do you plan to heal my wound until I starve to death here?"

Jungkook was already getting tired of your words, of that shrill accent, and your lips always a little parted as if waiting for them to fill your mouth with-

"I plan to heal your wounds until I find a grave big enough to put you and all your things in." Your alert eyes made him laugh. He loved seeing the terror in them. Made you look more adorable.

He grabbed the clear liquor from among the hay and wet a piece of cotton. Your left leg was shaking from the effort, and you were weak, surely Jimin was stupid enough to not leave you something to eat before going to enjoy his fame.

"You're crying." Jungkook saw the tears falling to your breasts, you were quick to remove the ones that were flowing with your tied hands. Inhaling and sobbing like a little girl trying to be brave. You were terrified.

God and men knew why the statues of virgins were always portrayed as suffering. He wanted to run his fingers over your face, lick every salty tear, and say more chilling things to you to make you cry even more.

His hand rested on his lap and patted a couple of times.

"I know it hurts, stop being so stubborn."

You left your buttocks on his lap and placed both arms on your chest, covering your breasts. You were a mess, and you hated that you were crying, rivulets falling to the sockets of your collarbones. Jungkook focused on it, feeling thirsty as he cleaned the wound.

A hand rested on your bare waist to keep you from falling, calloused fingers unconsciously caressing the soft skin. Your back rose and fell with each whimper.

"I was kiddin', kid. For God's sake." He frowned, yet you continued. He grabbed the bottle again and grabbed your chin with his thumbs, long gulps of sheer force passing down your throat. "There ya' go. Stop the whining, now."

You coughed as you felt the alcohol melt your stomach with its heat.

"I hate you both. I wish I was dead."

"Me too, pumpkin."

The next step was to get into the bathtub. You closed your eyes as the heat engulfed your body, the steam cleaning your pits after crying your fill. You moaned softly as you snuggled into the soggy sheet.

On the other side was the father, sitting with both legs open while he slowly scrubbed the sponge with the soap. His hungry eyes were behind the whitish walls of hot steam.

"You're a virgin. Right, Father John?" Your light, sharp tongue asked, moving you closer to the edge of the tub.

His gaze went to yours, bold, fed up. He dropped the soap and poured water on your face and hair with an empty can of chickpeas. The slippery hair was easy to clench in his fist, the sponge in his hand rubbing circles on your back.

You pursed your lips as you felt the pressure you caused on him. Well, it looks like it was true.

"Don't you have a little girlfriend? It must be so lonely in this fucking town."

"I'll make you cry harder if you keep talking bullshit."

The foam was sliding down to your breasts, Jungkook tried to be as stoic as possible cleaning the area.

There was something quite submissive about him that brought out your worst thoughts. The worst part was that the alcohol made you dangerously flirtatious and you couldn't keep yourself in check. Not even when your life hung on it.

Between his long, slender fingers, over his broad back, and his soft, deadly voice.

You couldn't take it any longer as you moved closer to his body, the exact curve between his ear and his neck, and inhaled deeply. His hand under the water cleaning between your legs. You could feel his breathing become sharper.

"She gave it to you, right?" You sniffed closer. "You wear it to go see her, but now you have to bathe some shitty hippie you humiliated once in your teens."

"Shut up."

"Unlike your cowboy friend, you are a gentleman. You don't fuck 'em, then leave with your dick wet."

Jungkook chuckled. Silence.

He put the sponge on the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows.

"I think we're done." He smiled.

Your eyebrows furrowed as he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the tub next to you. A heavy hand rested on your face and you could only feel the water entering your lungs, the beat of your screams turning into bubbles among the grayish water.

Out. A gasp, your heart beating a mile an hour searching for air between the hardness of Jungkook's palm.

In. Your body arched, bound hands clawing at Jungkook's arm. The impenetrable darkness consumed you, the sound pressure of the water, the metallic taste in your throat.

Out.

Your purple face, swollen eyes, crimson lips.

"Breathe, breathe." His voice was soft, and his fingers went to your hair to support your weak body. You heard a metallic clinking sound, your eyes burning from the soap in the water. "Open your mouth."

His fingers separated your teeth to make way for his cock, the pulse of his veins massaging your lips. Jungkook hissed loudly, throwing his head back.

"Atta, girl. Open more, I know bitches like you can dislocate their fuckin' jaws."

Your eyelashes fluttered, looking for a way to look into his eyes and ask for mercy. But your eyes burned terribly and the saliva fell in streams from your mouth every time his cock came out and came back in with more force. You could only squeeze his wet pants and clumsily try to shake his thigh to make him realize you were choking.

"Mm."

"Don't trytta "mm" me. This is what you wanted."

For the first time, his cock came completely out of your mouth, drool falling into the water.

His arm supported your body and lifted your top out of the water, revealing how shiny and smooth your ass looked presented to him. The bottle of liquor was right next to you. You heard Jungkook take a gulp and how his forearm chained your neck so you could drink with him. For a few seconds, you resisted until you could do nothing but open your mouth or choke on alcohol.

"Shh, don't cry again." His fingers massaged your wet hair, his face pressed to yours as he slid his cock between your ass cheeks. "Such a crybaby. You're the one popping my cherry tonight, little buckle bunny. Ain't ya' happy?"

"I'm scared, please let me go." Your voice tore through your throat with torture, phlegm building up in your nose.

"No, can't." His cock found your entrance, the sting of the soap lubricating you, and the growl that came from Jungkook's chest made your body tense. "You need me, remember? If it was because of Park, you would have been dead a long time ago."

"I'm scared, please-"

"Shhh."

The lamps were going out little by little, leaving the shadows of Jungkook's body to engulf yours.

When your pussy began to make way and pulse around his cock, he felt sorry for not having done it sooner, for not having taken the first five dollars he stole from his father when he was fifteen and find a whore to fuck, for not having let Mandy, the daughter of his math teacher, suck him last year of school; of not having taken all the divine women in his church and instead of giving them the host, putting his cock in their mouth.

He thought about each and every one of them. He thought about Billie and the confessional, and fuck! How delicious it felt to have all your blood go to one place, leaving you dizzy and stupid like a farm animal in heat.

"Why don't we-" he moaned with tight lips, wetting his face to concentrate. "Why don't we pray, it'll make you feel better, make you less tight."

The lamps went out, leaving only one in the corner outlining Jungkook's profile. From his long oval nose, and swollen lips, from the dying steam.

So what if you said yes? If you intertwined your fingers while that monster attacked you. So what if you closed your eyes and tilted your head to Jungkook's lips to hear his spasmodic voice tell you to repeat after him.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," he whispered, and you repeated, drowning in tears.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." You continued.

"Keep going."

The water began to splash out of the tub with each crash against your ass, his arm hugged your waist and your chest. Soft, wet kisses from your ear to your back.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” You squealed as Jungkook trembled, his moans creating an ethereal song in the barn.

Between his babbling, he mentioned God, you, and all the curses he could think of. It was the birth of a Mephistopheles among the hay and the horses.

"Now and at the hour of our death. Amen." You sighed as you felt your body fall into the water on top of Jungkook's. Your head on his heaving chest, the pulsing pain inside you withering.

Jungkook's heart sounded like the pastures where your memories lie. The warmth of his hand holding you closer to him.

You were angry with yourself because your chest began to hurt and oh, how stupid you were, how stupid your mother had been for having raised you among pretty things and so many compliments.

"I brought you strawberry jam and milk for the night. Tomorrow I'll bring better things." He muttered, hot and his voice raspy.

And oh, how dumb you were for wanting him to wear the same perfume again when he came back.

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