jairang

The world has four types of people: superheroes, sidekicks, villains, and everyone else. Everyone has their place in society, and all four types of people are necessary for the world to function properly. There must always be good to balance out evil, a commoner for the villains to terrorize and the heroes to save. 

Everyone has their rightful place, and no one place is better. 

Taehyung knows this. 

Still, he wants to be the best. And to accomplish that, he has to be a hero. 

From the moment Taehyung was born, he was destined to be a sidekick. The seed was planted into his brain early on -  pun intended. He has stupid superpowers, or so he’s been told. What kind of superhero saves people by conjuring flowers and befriending shrubbery? Why would anyone in trouble shout for a wiry boy with grass-stained knees and daisy chains braided into his golden hair when someone with superstrength or laser eyes could save them instead? 

Never mind the fact that Taehyung can poison others with a simple touch. No one finds that impressive until they’re covered in painful welts and itching up a storm like they’ve been tossed into a patch of poison ivy. 

For that reason, villainy always seemed appealing. This was particularly true during high school meetings where a teenaged Taehyung picked dirt from underneath his nails while his parents argued with his teacher about placing him on the hero curriculum track instead of the sidekick track. 

“Your son just isn’t the type,” one teacher insisted. 

It was Mrs. Gwan, with her thick-framed glasses and cardigan that was more cat hair than wool. Her coffee breath was rancid enough to incapacitate the strongest of hero trainees. 

Well, jokes on them. Taehyung is on the path to becoming valedictorian of his graduating class at Seoul National University. By the end of the academic year, he’ll stand in front of hundreds of other supers in the purple graduation robes of hero trainees to give his speech, and it will be a giant  fuck you to all the Mrs. Gwans in his life who thought his abilities were cute but not up to superhero standards. 

Taehyung put in the hard work, and by god, he’ll fucking reap the benefits - pun intended. 

🌼

It’s a Friday evening when Taehyung finds out his hard work might be in vain. 

He sits at the kitchen table in Namjoon and Jungkook’s dorm, a steaming bowl of instant ramen in front of him that Jungkook keeps slipping spoonfuls of gochujang into. 

“Jungkook-ah, that’s enough,” Namjoon insists as he rounds the corner. It’s a wonder he manages to carry two additional bowls of ramen to the table without spilling them. 

“Hyung.” Jungkook scrunches his eyebrows and presses his tongue against his lip piercing in what he probably hopes is a menacing way. “It’s gonna taste boring if I don’t add anything to it!” 

“Taehyung doesn’t like spicy food.” 

“It’s gochujang, hyung, seriously.” 

“It has spice.” 

“It’s not like I’m dumping a bottle of hot sauce in it!” 

“The broth is turning red!” 

Taehyung slurps a few noodles, keenly aware of his friends watching him expectantly. He hums as he chews, which is enough to ease Namjoon’s worries. 

“See. He’s fine.” Jungkook is smug when he snatches his bowl of ramen from Namjoon and gets settled into the chair next to Taehyung. “I knew you’d be fine,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. 

Taehyung would never admit it, but he loves when his friends dote on him like this. It makes him feel all gooey inside, like a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven. 

“Midterm evals are up!” Namjoon suddenly announces, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and bringing his phone closer to his face. 

To those who don’t know Namjoon, he likely looks like a total tool wearing sunglasses indoors. It’s for everyone’s safety, though. Namjoon hasn’t been feeling well, and Taehyung appreciates the superhero-proof sunglasses preventing him from accidentally getting zapped by his best friend’s laser eyes every time the guy sneezes. 

It has happened more than once in the four years they’ve known each other, and it is not fun. Taehyung’s got scars to prove it. 

“You guys are such nerds,” Jungkook teases around a mouthful of ramen. 

“Sorry we’re not all super-geniuses like you. We actually have to put in effort,” Taehyung teases back. 

“Hey!” Jungkook acts like he’s about to stab Taehyung with his chopsticks. “I put in effort!” 

With a noncommittal shrug, Taehyung turns his attention to his phone. It’s no surprise that Jungkook doesn’t bother checking his midterm evaluation. The younger hero trainee is a junior with plenty of time to get his grades up before graduation. Not that Jungkook needs to worry. He genuinely is a genius; superintelligence is one of his many abilities. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, doesn’t have any abilities that automatically make him a strong student. He has gotten through his education through hard work, with no special advantages. 

Not that he judges Jungkook or anything. No one can help what their abilities are. It’s all up to family genes and destiny. Or maybe a freak accident, but despite what superhero movies make it seem like, it’s rare that supers become what they are by accident. 

Hunching over where his phone is placed on the table beside his bowl of ramen, Taehyung uses his middle finger to scroll through the report uploaded to his academic portal. 

Birth Name:  Kim Taehyung Super Name:  TBA Place Of Origin:  Bisan-dong, Daegu, South Korea Status:  Trainee (Seoul National University’s School for Superhuman Abilities)  Abilities:  Chlorokinesis, Plant Empathy, Toxikinesis, Toxic Immunity    Combat:  100 Durability:  100 Intelligence:  100 Power:  90 Speed:  100 Strength:  100

Whatever Namjoon and Jungkook are talking about fizzles out until it’s merely the fuzzy static of background noise. Taehyung can only focus on the glaring mistake in his midterm performance evaluation. 

Power:  90

Taehyung scoffs, rereading his stats a second, third, and fourth time. Ninety?  Ninety?  Never in Taehyung’s life has he ever earned anything other than a perfect score at SNU.  Never. 

It has to be a mistake. 

Taehyung’s hands tremble as he scrolls through the rest of the report. He grazes over the stats one last time before skipping down to the second page of the document. Quantitative evaluations don’t provide a complete picture; numbers can mean anything and nothing at all. Taehyung needs to know why his professor docked him ten points for something ridiculous. 

… points deducted due to a failure to exhibit total control of kinetic abilities… Kim demonstrated an inability to focus on his direct target… proved unusual based on previous evaluations… Effective empathic skills were not impacted… Additional training in recall is recommended…

“Taehyung-ah?” 

“Hmm?” Taehyung raises his eyebrows to acknowledge Namjoon’s call, but his eyes remain glued to his phone, skimming the qualitative feedback. 

Unreliable recall? A lack of control? It isn’t Taehyung’s fault, though. He’d been distracted. During the four-hour-long evaluation, a particular senior had hovered in Taehyung’s peripheral vision. 

Min Yoongi served as one of the infirmary student interns due to his powers of biokinesis, advanced healing, and life-force manipulation - a medley of abilities so powerful it’s a bit scary. Not that that’s unusual; a bunch of young adults in their early twenties running around with life-altering superpowers, nearly uninhibited, is pretty terrifying when one thinks about it. 

Yoongi holds the power of life and death in the palm of his hand, but from personal experience, Taehyung knows that the fellow superhero trainee is nothing but kind. He moves through the world gently, as though he’s hyper-aware of his ability to end life with the press of a fingertip against the skin, and thus makes every movement with intentionality and care. It’s admirable; Taehyung knows. He, too, has the power to destroy life just as much as he can nurture it.

But what does any of that have to do with Taehyung’s evaluation? As an infirmary student intern, Yoongi must sit in on combat evaluations in case his healing powers are needed. 

Taehyung grimaces at the memory, fighting it back into the darkest corner of his brain in hopes of smothering it. He doesn’t want to admit why he couldn’t stop looking over at where Yoongi sat during his evaluation. 

While being observed by a team of instructors, Taehyung was supposed to concentrate on hitting moving targets with poison drawn from the toxins that run through his superhuman veins. It was one of many tests. 

Whenever a target approached Taehyung, it seemed that Yoongi would do something distracting. 

The first time, a light cough knocked Taehyung off his game. He’d looked out the corner of his eye to see the blue-haired man sitting with his legs crossed in the grass. Yoongi bit his lip as he scrolled through his phone, and the target smacked Taehyung square in the face before he had the chance to analyze the weird flip his stomach did when he zeroed in on the pink of Yoongi’s bottom lip. 

The second time was much worse. 

Another sensation grew in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach, but it wasn’t nerves or… whatever it had been before. No, it was bile bubbling up in his belly that he was, unfortunately, rather familiar with. 

It was the feeling Taehyung got when he sensed life draining from a nearby plant. 

“Wait–” 

That time, one of the targets punched Taehyung in the gut. The impact knocked the wind out of him and threw him to the ground. A sharp pain shot from his tailbone up the length of his spine.  

Taehyung had rolled onto his stomach and pressed his palms into the ground in an attempt to push himself up. Gasping, he’d turned to see Yoongi twirling, between long fingers, a yellow dandelion he’d plucked from the grass. The poor thing drooped forward, top-heavy once it didn’t have the strength of the earth secured around its roots. 

It was then that Yoongi’s eyes locked with Taehyung’s from across the field. The corner of his mouth drew upward in a slight smirk. 

And that was when Taehyung’s arms gave out.  

“It’s only ten points, hyung. That’s barely anything. Not even a full letter grade of a difference.” 

Jungkook’s gentle reassurance draws Taehyung out of his troubled thoughts. He’s peering over Taehyung’s shoulder to read his evaluation. 

Namjoon looks up from his phone with a confused expression. “What?” 

“Hyung is mad they gave him a ninety on his Powers eval.” His younger friend’s shoulders lift to his ears in a shrug far too casual for Taehyung’s liking

“Ten points is enough to set me back at least fifteen people in my class ranking, Jungkook!  At least !”  

Jungkook rolls his eyes. 

“Why does your class rank even matter? It’s not gonna have an impact on your superhero certification. They’ll still let you work for the CIA or whatever stupid Avengers initiative the government’s got going.”  

“Government special ops typically only employ heroes and sidekicks at the top of their class,” Namjoon points out rather unhelpfully. 

“So being fifteenth in line is somehow not the top of his class?” Jungkook glares at no one in particular as he slurps his ramen. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon sighs. “Taehyung has worked very hard to get to where he is.” 

“Maybe you could ask someone to train with you?” Jungkook offers because his superhuman brain won’t rest until he solves all the world’s problems. “What about Yoongi hyung? The healing component of his biokinesis can cancel out your toxikinesis, right?” 

Taehyung nervously chews on an odd hangnail. The anxiety he wears is unbecoming of him, but he can’t possibly give a shit about appearances right now. It isn’t just that Yoongi fucked up Taehyung’s midterm evaluation. It’s much more and much worse than just that. 

Yoongi is Taehyung’s roommate.   

And now, Taehyung must return to their shared apartment-style dormitory and pretend like he isn’t sick with shame and embarrassment. 

Namjoon perks up at Jungkook’s recommendation. “That’s a great idea!” 

It’s a terrible idea. 

“Yoongi hyung would definitely help.” 

Neither friend notices how pink in the face Taehyung is becoming. 

“Wait…” Jungkook’s smile falters, and Taehyung wonders if perhaps his younger friend will have mercy on him. “Are you and hyung in a fight or something? You’re always here. I just talked to him last week about how we never all hang out together anymore.”

“That’s so true,” Namjoon joins in with a frown that matches Jungkook’s. 

Something jolts inside Taehyung’s chest. It’s an electric spike substantial enough that he feels it zip through his veins. Looking down, he notices goosebumps pebble the skin on his forearms, and he shivers despite wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt. 

There’s no way he’s having this conversation. Not here, in his only safe space aside from the university greenhouse. Not with Namjoon and Jungkook, though he should feel comfortable talking to his best friends about what’s going on with him. All of that would take courage, though, and Taehyung would rather take a punch to the face by the strongest trainee at SNU than talk about his feelings. 

Scooting back his chair, Taehyung announces too loudly, “I need to water my plants!” 

The force with which he stands knocks his chair backward. It clatters against the floor, and Taehyung scrambles to pick it up, his cheeks flaming and his gangly limbs suddenly feeling out of sync with his body. 

Jungkook and Namjoon give each other a look that Taehyung chooses not to pay attention to. 

Nausea makes Taehyung’s insides curdle as he slowly shrugs on his blue jean jacket. Autumn hasn’t entirely descended on Seoul yet, but Taehyung prefers bundling up when the weather is windy like it is today. 

Although, there is something liberating about feeling warm air flutter through his fluffy hair, tossing his golden curls like a bird’s nest atop his head. It makes him feel weightless, as though somewhere deep inside, his body remembers what it was like for humans to be run by instincts and live freely rather than be confined to cities and jobs. 

“Text me when you get home?” Namjoon touches Taehyung’s arm. 

He nods, softly replying, “Of course, hyung.” 

Taehyung does his best to ignore the downturn of his friend’s mouth. If he lingers on it too long, it will mix his nausea with the oppressive weight of feeling like a disappointment. It isn’t a feeling Taehyung is familiar with, which likely makes it even more stifling. 

His feet drag against the pavement as he makes the short trek from Namjoon and Jungkook’s dorm to his own. His off-white hightop Converse, dirtied from attending one too many concerts with cigarettes and marijuana joints stuffed into their folds, kick small pebbles into the grass. 

The blades of grass sing to Taehyung as he walks. Kicking the pebbles doesn't hurt the blades; Taehyung would never intentionally hurt any plant. He sings to them and has found that the smooth baritone of his voice does wonders to nurture plants’ development when they’re young. He supposes they’re just like human babies listening to Mozart to stimulate their brains. 

Unfortunately, today, he isn’t in the mood to sing. 

Flowers lean toward the young man when he passes by, brushing their leaves and petals against the his calves. Plant hugs are something special; Taehyung does his best to appreciate them, even in his sulking. He stretches his fingers out, using his power to blanket the grass and patches of flowers along the sidewalk with comforting pheromones. The plants release them back, and Taehyung breathes in their scent deeply, letting the calming qualities permeate his soul. 

It doesn’t fix anything, but it feels good to be loved by nature around him.

🌼

Taehyung really does need to water his plants.

They complain a lot when he goes too many days without watering them, constantly chattering away in their flower language only plant empaths can hear and understand. The sounds are difficult to describe to someone who has never had the pleasure of hearing plants speak. The closest thing Taehyung can compare the sound to is the tinkering of wind chimes swaying in the wind - if it's flowers or succulents. Other plants are different. Cacti tend to sound crackly, like dead leaves scraping against the sidewalk as the wind blows them away.

Taehyung doesn't know how to respond to his plants in their language, but they seem to understand him just fine when he speaks to them in Korean. Though, spoken language is only sometimes needed. Pheromones and gentle fingers caressing soft petals are love languages all on their own. Still, when Taehyung enters his dorm, he's sure his plants will have strong words to throw at him for disappearing for so long. It's only been three days since the last time Taehyung was at his dorm, but plants don't perceive time the same way humans do.

The residence hall lobby is empty when Taehyung pushes open the front doors. It's too early for parties to start. Once the night hits, the building will be swarming with rowdy, intoxicated students ready to blow off steam and celebrate the end of midterm evaluations.

Like most kids planning to attend college, Taehyung had dreamed of the parties he saw in movies, full of bright lights and laughter around drinking games, maybe even a few drunken kisses stolen in a corner somewhere. Four years later and he can count the number of college parties he's been to on one hand. There are other more important things to do than drown himself in alcohol and grovel for the attention of people who don't deserve it.

The sound of the elevator reaching the lobby startles Taehyung, even though he was the one to press the button. He holds onto the straps of his backpack as he waits for the elevator door to open, pulling on them slightly to take some of the pressure off his back. His bag is typically heavy with textbooks, but it's weighed down even more by the clothes and toiletries he'd brought with him for his stay at Jungkook and Namjoon's dorm.

"Taehyung-ah! Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!"

Taehyung hardly has time to inhale before he's crushed into a rather violent hug. His arms are squished so tightly to his sides that he fears the pressure might break his collar bones.

Okay, maybe he's being slightly dramatic, but he's tired.

"Hey, Hobi," Taehyung manages to greet the yellow-haired boy without wheezing too terribly.

"I knew you were on your way," Hoseok grins. He finally lets go of Taehyung, who nearly collapses into his friend's arms as he struggles to find his footing. "I swear, I can hear that brain of yours from halfway across campus. Does your internal monologue ever shut up?"

A pinch of his tricep makes Taehyung yelp, even through his jacket, but it's Hoseok's way of reassuring his friend that he's only kidding around.

"Don't you have an internal monologue?" Taehyung inquires, rubbing his hand over the spot on his arm that Hoseok pinched.

"Yeah, mine and everyone else's."

Hoseok is such a whirlwind of activity; it's a wonder his powers don't involve superspeed. Even the enthusiasm of his hugs points toward superhuman strength, but his only powers are telepathy and telekinesis. Classic superpowers, typically the ones kids say they wish they could have if they ever grew up to be superheroes.

It's all somewhat overwhelming for Taehyung. He never feels like he knows how to interact with the senior. Despite Hoseok's friendliness, his ability to get inside Taehyung's head is off-putting. Every interaction with Hoseok makes Taehyung worry he might think of something embarrassing and never be able to look him in the face again.

"You're stressing him out, Hoseok," an amused voice scolds.

Taehyung hops on his tiptoes to snatch his backpack from the air, where Hoseok uses his powers to levitate it just out of his reach, so Taehyung doesn’t notice the second person exiting the elevator behind Hoseok.

“I don’t actually listen to his thoughts,” Hoseok pouts as arms snake around his waist and a chin rests on his shoulder. “I just hear them.”

The blonde attaching himself to Hoseok’s back like a koala giggles. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Park Jimin! Stop making me sound like a villain.”

A devilish grin twists Jimin’s previously sweet face. His grey eyes flicker toward Taehyung, and Taehyung shudders when Jimin winks at him.

“And is being a villain all that bad?”

If Hoseok’s powers are off-putting, Jimin’s entire demeanor is kind of terrifying. There’s something slippery about how he curls around Hoseok, his voice smoothing out until it’s a hypnotic lullaby. Taehyung thinks Jimin can probably see straight into his soul with such piercing eyes. They’re alluring in the way a flame is to a moth.

Taehyung had never met a villain before he met Jimin during his sophomore year, although technically, Jimin is still a trainee. He doesn’t attend SNU; Taehyung isn’t sure where villain trainees go to hone their craft. It’s not something they ever discuss, nor is Taehyung interested in doing so. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t even remember what Jimin’s powers are.

Honestly, Taehyung doesn’t spend much time with the two. They’re Yoongi’s friends, which makes them an odd group: a hero, a sidekick, and a villain. Hoseok and Yoongi used to be roommates, but Taehyung isn’t sure how Jimin fits into the equation. He suspects Hoseok and Jimin are a thing, but it’s never been officially confirmed.

Despite Taehyung’s reservations about the two, if they’re Yoongi’s friends, Taehyung trusts and accepts them.

“Yes, that is literally the definition of what a villain is,” Hoseok scoffs with a roll of his eyes. It might seem like a confrontational dig, but Jimin isn’t offended if his giggling means anything.

“It’s fun to be bad.”

Another roll of Hoseok’s eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Taehyung-ah, I haven’t seen you in ages. We were hanging out at your place.”

It goes without saying that the two had been with Yoongi. Guilt twists Taehyung’s gut at the thought of his roommate alone in their apartment, coming home from his job at the infirmary to an empty dorm. Taehyung wonders what Yoongi does when he’s not around. He wonders if he misses him.

Shaking his head as if he can dispel such thoughts (that, unfortunately, Hoseok might hear!), Taehyung rushes to excuse himself.

“I’ve been really busy, sorry! But I have to get going, have a lot of work to do, and have to prep for the end of the quarter.”

Hoseok’s forehead wrinkles when he furrows his eyebrows. “We just had midterms, and it’s the weekend. You should relax.”

Taehyung gives the pair a weak smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“There’s always something to do, right?”

“Heroes and sidekicks are weird,” Jimin muses with a low mumble. He presses a sneaky kiss against the side of Hoseok’s neck and skips away toward the lobby's front doors. “Hyung, let’s leave Taehyungie to his studies. I don’t want to find out all his evil plans to take me down in the future.”

Taehyung watches the pair playfully bicker just long enough to confirm they’re truly exiting the building before he jams his thumb against the elevator button again.

He hopes Hoseok and Jimin are far from the residence hall when he steps out of the elevator on the seventh floor. He’s unsure how Hoseok’s telepathy works, but he’s terrified that the sidekick might decipher the jumble of thoughts rolling around in his head like a tumbleweed. Taehyung can hardly understand them himself; it’s all a convoluted mess of  Yoongi. At least Taehyung knows his roommate is home now. If nothing else, Hoseok and Jimin prepared him to face his fears. 

The inside of the dorm is bright despite the darkness that blankets the night outside. Mood lighting casts a warm glow in each room. The entryway opens to the living room on the right of the door and the small kitchen to the left. Directly in front of Taehyung is the hallway leading to his and Yoongi’s bedrooms and their shared bathroom. It’s nothing extravagant; it’s a university apartment, after all. But Taehyung has grown to love their dorm in the few months they’ve lived here - despite his tendency to disappear for days. 

Kicking off his shoes, Taehyung first heads to the living room to drop his backpack on the floor beside the couch. He would have made a beeline for his bedroom, but a soft voice pulls him into the kitchen.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi greets with a small smile. He’s hunched over a pot on the stove, poking at whatever’s simmering in the pot with a pair of chopsticks. 

“Hi, hyung.” 

Despite being same-age friends, Taehyung has always shown Yoongi respect for being a few months older than him. There’s just something about the man’s demeanor that commands that type of respect, perhaps due to how confident and caring he is. The honorific still amuses Yoongi despite the two of them being friendly with each other for nearly two years now. He scrunches his cute little button nose, and Taehyung has to look away because his heart does something painful. 

Taehyung sits on the barstool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. With his elbows against the countertop, he holds his face in his hands and watches Yoongi. It’s easier to look at him like this since his roommate turns his back away from him as he returns his attention to the stove. 

“What’re you making?” 

“Jjapaguri. Have you eaten dinner?”

Taehyung can’t help but giggle. The sound makes Yoongi peer over his shoulder, and Taehyung quickly looks away. 

“What?” The blue-haired man inquires as he turns off the stove. 

“Just thinking about how all we ever eat is noodles.” 

“Broke college kid budget.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Answer my question.” 

Taehyung lowers his hands to rest on the countertop. His cuticles are picked red and raw. Unfortunately, it’s a nervous habit from childhood that he has brought with him into adulthood. 

“I ate at Jungkook and Namjoon’s.” 

It feels like admitting a dirty secret, made worse by the fact that Yoongi doesn’t respond. It’s silent as Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen in his slippers. Taehyung knows Yoongi wears them because he hates how cold the tile flooring is against his toes. He opens one of the cabinets to find a bowl and has to stand on his tiptoes to reach the second shelf, making him grumble.  

“Taehyung-ah,” he groans once his fingers hook around the edge of a bowl. “Quit putting everything up so high.” 

“Grow taller, maybe?” 

When all Taehyung gets is a middle finger in response, he laughs. 

Taehyung doesn’t mean to put things out of Yoongi’s reach - at least, not consciously. He would never want to inconvenience his friend. Still, perhaps an evil part of his subconscious makes the decision for him because he likes the little sounds Yoongi makes when he’s frustrated and the way his shorts ride up his thighs from brushing against the counter when he leans forward. 

Fuck, Taehyung shouldn’t be thinking about his roommate’s thighs. He tries to bring his focus back on the skin around his fingernails, but Yoongi is, as always, exceptionally distracting. 

“You can have some later if you get hungry,” Yoongi says with a tilt of his head toward the pot. He leans against the counter, bringing the bowl close to his face as he slurps large chunks of noodles into his mouth.

For someone as patient and respectful as Yoongi, he certainly eats like he has no manners, messy and loud. Sometimes he talks with his chopsticks, clicking them in the air like he’s punctuating his sentences with them. 

Taehyung doesn’t care; no matter the flecks of food Yoongi might get on his chin or the greedy way he eats his fill once he’s offered food to everyone else, Taehyung always finds him gorgeous. It’s rather pathetic how he can’t keep his eyes off his roommate. There’s so much for Taehyung to admire, from Yoongi’s broad shoulders whose muscles ripple beneath his shirt to his growing biceps that are evidence of the time he’s been spending in the gym - much to Taehyung’s excitement. Despite his evolving body type, Yoongi maintains a softness that Taehyung rarely sees in male hero trainees aside from maybe Namjoon. There’s just something about Yoongi’s gummy smile that makes Taehyung’s insides melt into a puddle.

And don’t even get Taehyung started on how adorable Yoongi’s everchanging hair colors are or how his bangs fall into his eyes, fluffy and a bit too long now that he needs another haircut.   

And then there’s the kindness behind Yoongi’s eyes when he looks at Taehyung that leaves Taehyung breathless because sometimes it looks like the same adoration Taehyung is sure he looks at Yoongi with. He won’t get his hopes up, though. 

Taehyung isn’t sure how his crush became so debilitating. It started as a casual interest two years ago when Jungkook introduced them at a party as his peer mentor since Jungkook was merely a first-year trainee at the time. Yoongi was - is - the perfect mentor for young trainees.

But the true hopelessness came after Taehyung innocently agreed to live with Yoongi for their last school year. It was stupid, really. What was he thinking, assuming his crush wouldn’t grow exponentially once he was faced with Yoongi every single day, becoming privy to the most intimate aspects of his life?

“Thanks, hyung,” Taehyung finally speaks once he realizes he’s been staring too long at Yoongi without responding. He only notices his mistake when Yoongi raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffy with noodles. 

No one should fault Taehyung for looking, though. Yoongi wears an oversized graphic tee, the image printed on it so faded from wear that Taehyung can’t make out what it’s supposed to be. It falls about mid-thigh, just high enough to reveal a sliver of his blue pajama shorts. It’s hard not to stare at the creamy skin of his thighs and wonder if they’re just as soft as they look.

His blue hair is fluffy and wispy, freshly showered, and brushed forward to fall in his eyes. He smells like eucalyptus and peppermint when he walks around the kitchen island to stand beside Taehyung. 

Yoongi swallows before he speaks. “What’s going on? Hobah said you had a lot on your mind.” 

Taehyung grimaces at that, and Yoongi lets out a quiet laugh. It reveals his gummy smile, so naturally, Taehyung has to smile, too. 

“I hate that he knows what I’m thinking,” Taehyung whines with a pout.

“He tries not to pry,” Yoongi counters with a click of his chopsticks in the air. He opens his mouth to say more, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, his eyes roam Taehyung’s face long enough to make the younger man adjust uncomfortably in his seat under pressure. 

“What?” Taehyung finally croaks out and internally cringes at the high pitch of his voice. 

A light smirk plays at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth when he responds, “Though he said you were thinking about me.” 

“I-I, I  what?”  

Setting his bowl on the counter, Yoongi laughs from deep within his belly. He reaches out to press comforting fingers to Taehyung’s waist. “I’m just fucking with-” 

Yoongi’s teasing is cut off by a ceramic pot exploding. Dirt sprays in the air, coating nearly every surface in the kitchen, as one of Taehyung’s succulents sitting on the counter is thrown out of its pot. Taehyung lets out an embarrassing yelp as another explosion occurs immediately after the first. This time, Taehyung’s favorite boatlily, sitting on a stand in the corner of the room, launches into the air. 

“Jesus Christ, fuck!” Yoongi curses. He ducks his head down, raising his arms to shield his face. He may have healing powers, but that doesn’t mean getting cut open by shards of ceramic pots wouldn’t hurt. 

Taehyung hurries over to the corner of the room, where both plants are scattered on the floor. He sinks to his knees and scrambles to scoop the loose clumps of dirt into small piles, wracking his brain to remember if he has any spare pots in his bedroom or a closet somewhere.

All the plants in the dorm are panicking, releasing sour pheromones into the air that make Taehyung feel dizzy. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t get a grip on himself when fat tears slide hotly down his cheeks. Between the stress and sadness from the plants, and the frustration and fear growing in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach, he can barely keep his hands from trembling as he stands with the two plants in his hands. 

This can’t keep happening to him. 

“Taehyung…” 

Turning his head to the side, Taehyung tries to wipe the tears off his face with his shoulder. He doesn’t want Yoongi to see him so emotional, but when he turns around, he realizes Yoongi isn’t looking at him.

Following his roommate’s gaze, Taehyung gasps in horror. Thorny, flowering vines creep out of the kitchen sink, growing from the faucet and the drains. They crawl out of the plumbing like snakes, weaving and curling around each other on the kitchen counter. 

“I’m not, I-I d-d-don’t,” Taehyung stutters, wide eyes flitting between the vines and Yoongi’s shocked expression.

He tries to get a feel for the vines with his mind. The connection is there but distant, as though the vines hover at the edge of Taehyung’s consciousness. He can’t get a hold of them or stop them from stretching down the counter and reaching the floor as they slowly creep toward Yoongi. 

“Just breathe, Tae,” Yoongi instructs him softly. Taehyung can barely hear him over the chattering of the plants. “Take a deep breath and look at me.” 

“I can’t.” Taehyung shakes his head. Sweat wets his golden bangs and makes them curl. 

“Yes, you can. Just breathe.” 

Taehyung shakes his head but closes his eyes when he feels Yoongi’s fingers slide through his hair. With a firm but gentle hand, Yoongi holds the back of Taehyung’s head and pulls Taehyung against him, careful not to crush the plants he’s holding. Yoongi coaxes Taehyung to bring his face to Yoongi’s shoulder, and Taehyung lets himself nuzzle against him and breathes eucalyptus and peppermint. 

“That’s it,” Yoongi praises the steadying of Taehyung’s breathing once his hiccuping subsides. 

It’s an awkward position. Taehyung has to hunch his shoulders slightly because he’s taller than Yoongi, and Yoongi has a firm grip on his head, pulling him downward. But it’s comforting to feel the slow rise and fall of Yoongi’s shoulders as he breathes and to be enveloped by Yoongi’s comforting scent.

Taehyung has always been sensitive to smells; he supposes it comes with his powers, though it isn’t something he’s ever talked to anyone about. Every person has their own scent that Taehyung likes to think reflects their personality. Yoongi’s is just as comforting as he is as a person. 

Eventually, Yoongi lets go. He doesn’t allow Taehyung to go far, though. Almost timidly, he cradles Taehyung’s face in his large hands. When he rubs his thumbs across Taehyung’s cheeks to dry his tears, Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts too much to look at the kindness on Yoongi’s face when Taehyung knows he’ll never get the adoration he so desperately craves from him. 

“What’s going on with you, Tae?” It’s spoken gently, as though Yoongi is stepping into territory he’s uncomfortable with like perhaps Taehyung is a live wire wiggling out of control. “This is the third time…” 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung whispers. He turns his head to the side, and Yoongi’s hands fall from his face. “I’m going to clean this up.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. Hyung’s got it,” Yoongi insists despite Taehyung’s protests. “Let me help, okay?” 

There isn’t much Taehyung can do when Yoongi fetches a broom from their hallway closet. He stands there for a few seconds, watching Yoongi pick up shards of the ceramic pots to throw away the large pieces before he starts sweeping up dirt and smaller pieces of the pots. He stands with his plants cradled against his chest and struggles to breathe.

The plants’ pheromones are suffocating. His feelings for Yoongi are suffocating. The terrifying reality that Taehyung has been slowly losing control of his powers for months is suffocating. 

It’s been more than three times. Yoongi has only seen Taehyung lose control three times, but it’s happened more often when Yoongi hasn’t noticed. At first, it was little things, like his plants sprouting new shoots or stems, when Taehyung felt a spike of energy jolt him. Then the explosions started happening, which were the ones Yoongi noticed (how could he not?). Vines growing from the plumbing, though… Taehyung doesn’t even want to consider what that means. 

And yet Hoseok is right; his brain never turns off. The internal monologue of stress and uncertainty rambles on until Taehyung feels he can’t escape his own brain. 

Without another word, Taehyung spins around and walks briskly out of the kitchen, trying to suppress the childish desire to run. He ignores Yoongi’s call of his name and closes his bedroom door on the sound. 

He tells himself he’s not hiding away in his room. He tells himself he’s in here because he has spare pots and an unopened bag of potting soil stashed in his closet - items he recently bought and has yet to bring to the greenhouse. 

With his forearm, Taehyung shoves everything to the side of his desk to make room for his plants. He discards his plants on the desk and digs through his closet until he finds two pots buried beneath a pile of bags with various gardening supplies. With the pots in one arm, he drags the bag of potting soil to his desk. It’s quick work to repot the plants, especially for how often Taehyung has done this, but he takes his time. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the plants, and they forgive him even though they shouldn’t. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… Do I seem off? Can you tell?” 

He can’t help but feel hopeful as he brushes dirt from their leaves. The boatlily is named Bobby, and the succulent (a jade plant) is named Jisung. Taehyung went through a list of names when he first got the plants, trying to find ones they liked. Bobby and Jisung seemed good enough because the plants didn’t protest once he stuck with them. 

Unfortunately, Bobby the Boatlily and Jisung the Jade Plant don’t have answers for Taehyung. He feels a little silly asking his plants. It should be a real person he asks, like Yoongi or Seokjin - the greenhouse caretaker and another plant empath. But Taehyung is determined to figure this out on his own. It may just take time - time he doesn’t have, but he tries not to think about that as he pours water into the two pots from the water bottle he had sitting on his nightstand. 

He’ll be fine. 

🌼

Taehyung wakes to the unrelenting autumn sunlight pushing through the blinds he forgot to close the night before. He smacks his lips a few times, running his tongue along his teeth and cringing. He hadn’t brushed his teeth before bed, nor had he washed his face; he remembers when he touches his nose and his fingertips are oily.

He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes to block the sun. The warmth feels good on his skin even if he doesn’t want the sun in his eyes. Namjoon likes to joke that Taehyung photosynthesizes, and honestly, Taehyung doesn’t think he’s wrong. Sometimes, he feels like he’s more plant than human. He certainly gets along with plants better.

Then again, even the plants are no longer on his side.

With a sigh, Taehyung rolls over onto his stomach. His blankets are strewn around, mostly tangled between his legs. At least he had the mind to change into his pajamas in his distraught state. Even if his mouth tastes stale and he’s at risk of developing pimples, Taehyung would much rather stay in bed than venture out. It feels early enough that Yoongi is probably still home, not yet on his way to his internship. There’s no way Taehyung is embarrassing himself again in front of his crush.

(Because, yes, this is a crush. And, no, Taehyung won’t ever admit that out loud.)

Bemoaning that his backpack is still in the living room and he can’t work on his homework, Taehyung decides it’s best to force himself to go back to sleep. Just as he settles into his fluffy pillow, arms crossed around it beneath his head, his phone buzzes in the blankets.

With one eye open, Taehyung sorts through the blankets while still lying on his stomach, unwilling to get up if he can’t find it in this position. But he immediately sits up when he sees a certain blue-haired boy’s contact flash across his phone screen.

Taehyung’s face flushes at the reminder that he completely wrecked the kitchen last night. Bless Yoongi, sweet Yoongi, for treating him so kindly. Yoongi could have teased him or gotten angry, but he always treated Taehyung with gentleness.

Taehyung presses his fingers against his cheek, still feeling the brush of Yoongi’s thumbs as he’d dried his tears after the incident. He wants to tell Yoongi that he adores him, that Yoongi's approval is everything he’s ever wanted, and that Taehyung wishes he could be more than just some nerdy, socially awkward roommate. He wants to tell Yoongi that he wakes up every morning driven by the fact that he gets to walk outside his bedroom and see Yoongi lounging with a book in the living room or sliding around in his slippers in the kitchen.

He wants to tell Yoongi that he thinks maybe he loves him and has loved him since the moment he met him.

With a shaky breath, Taehyung fumbles with his phone as he quickly types a response that is nowhere near the truth he wishes he could share with Yoongi. But it’s all he’s willing to share, and he knows that Yoongi will be gentle with him no matter what he says.

Taehyung thinks he would promise Yoongi anything.

Taehyung thinks he would promise Yoongi anything but that.

The promise of a sweet snack instead of a real breakfast is enough to lure Taehyung out of bed. Embarrassment still riddles his stomach with twisted nerves, but Taehyung focuses on the memory of Yoongi’s hands cradling his face and reminds himself that this is Yoongi.

Taehyung drapes his blanket around his shoulders and shuffles out of his bedroom like a baby swaddled in a fabric cocoon. It’s warm and safe in his blanket cocoon. And, perhaps, Yoongi will think he’s cute as he rounds the corner, slipping and sliding into the kitchen on his socks.

Yoongi is already standing at the stove preparing the tasty street food.

“Morning, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi says with a small smile. Cinnamon wafts through the air, greeting Taehyung just as warmly as Yoongi had. He picked Taehyung’s favorite flavor.

“Hi, hyung.”

“How did you sleep?”

Taehyung shrugs, and the entire blanket lifts with his shoulders. “Could’ve been better.”

Yoongi hums in response. The two fall into a comfortable silence, with only the sound of the stove (and, for Taehyung, the chatter of plants) interrupting the quiet.

Taehyung hovers at Yoongi’s side to watch the process. They’ve established a perfect balance since living together: Yoongi cooks, and Taehyung cleans up afterward. Sometimes Yoongi offers to teach Taehyung, but the opportunities have dwindled since Taehyung cut himself trying to trim meat. Even though healing him had taken Yoongi little effort, Taehyung had been, admittedly, a giant baby about it.

The vines are still clogging the kitchen sink, but they aren’t as scary-looking as they had been last night. They’re rolled up and neatly placed inside the sink rather than thrown around the kitchen like before. Yoongi must have moved them out of the way while Taehyung was sleeping.

Dirt no longer blankets the off-white tile floor, and no shards of terracotta pots are tossed around the room. Knowing Yoongi had to clean up his mess makes Taehyung’s neck and face heat up, so he avoids looking at that side of the kitchen.

Yoongi nudges his elbow into Taehyung's ribs and points with his chin at a pair of tongs resting on the counter.

Taehyung snakes his arm from his blanket cape to pass the utensil to Yoongi, which he then uses to flip the two hotteok growing crispy on the oiled pan. Taehyung loves the sizzling sound the oil makes. It reminds him of summers in the city, wandering through street food vendors and snacking to his heart's content while enjoying nature's murmur.

"I was thinking we should do something to celebrate the end of midterms," Yoongi casually offers.

"Did Jimin and Hoseok put you up to this?" Taehyung questions with a pout. The two seemed up to no good the day before. Taehyung doesn’t know how much he’ll enjoy going out clubbing with them – which is what he's sure they’ve recommended doing.

"No, no." Yoongi shakes his head. His hair sways with the movement, the strands fluffy and sticking out in every direction. Bedhead looks exceptionally cute on him, Taehyung thinks. "I only meant me and you."

Taehyung's heart leaps in his chest, and he struggles to stamp down the excitement thrumming through him. Nothing has even happened. He shouldn't be buzzing with excitement, fuck. He pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's not sure if he looks nonchalant like this.

It's likely impossible to take him seriously with looking all wrapped up like a swaddled baby, but he does his best to hold a relaxed posture when he asks, "What would you want to do?"

Yoongi shrugs. He uses the tongs to flip the hotteok again. The cakes hiss like they're scolding Taehyung's overly eager heart.

"We haven't spent much time together in a while." The truth of Yoongi's words sparks guilt in the pit of Taehyung's stomach. It's a sobering feeling.

"Senior year has been busy..."

Yoongi clucks his tongue and shakes his head, interrupting Taehyung's weak excuses. When Taehyung peeks at Yoongi's face out of the corner of his eye, he's met with a small smile.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Taehyung-ah. I know how important school is to you." Yoongi speaks as though school isn't important to him, too.

Taehyung knows that Yoongi frequently pulls all-nighters because he decided to overload the number of classes he's taking. It's because he started school on the Sidekick program and, at the recommendation of his academic advisor, decided to switch to the Hero program.

Perhaps Yoongi thought his powers weren't impressive as a hero, like Taehyung. Taehyung doesn't know the true motive behind the switch. All he knows is that he admires Yoongi for daring to push himself despite the odds. There was always the possibility that he wouldn't graduate on time, that he would fail, or that being a hero just wasn't for him. Yet here he is, working harder than everyone Taehyung knows – all with a humble smile and kind eyes.

God, is there anything that isn't admirable about the man?

Taehyung blinks a few times, belatedly realizing he's been staring at Yoongi's side profile. The stove has been switched off, and the hotteok sits on a plate Yoongi holds out to Taehyung.

"Uh, yeah," Taehyung fumbles his words, too focused on trying to take the plate and keep the blanket around his shoulders. "I didn't... um, do so great. On the midterm examinations, I mean."

Yoongi pulls out a chair for Taehyung at the kitchen table. He watches with fond eyes, waiting for Taehyung to sit down before he does on the opposite side of the table.

"That was my fault, wasn't it?" Yoongi's words seem apologetic, but there's a playful spark dancing in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitch. Taehyung doesn’t quite know what to make of it, aside from the fact that the expression makes him incredibly embarrassed.

Taehyung inhales sharply and chokes on a piece of hotteok. It is Yoongi’s fault, but there’s no way Taehyung is telling him that.

"No!" He nearly shouts in between bouts of violent coughing. When Yoongi gets up to help, Taehyung frantically waves him away. "I'm fine," he sputters with a hand pressed to his chest. "It, I wasn't, you didn't do anything wrong."

“I picked that dandelion.”

Taehyung fervently shakes his head, but Yoongi’s mind has been made. He’s convinced that it was the dandelion. And it was, but again, Taehyung wouldn’t dream of admitting that out loud.

“I didn’t perform my best.” Taehyung takes a large bit out of his hotteok to give him time to stall as he figures out what to say. “That’s on me.”

Yoongi gives Taehyung a once-over, and he has never felt more self-conscious in his entire life.

“I didn’t realize you could feel the plant when I picked it. I’m really sorry.” Whatever mischief played at Yoongi’s expression is gone now. He returns to his seat across from Taehyung and folds his hands on the table. He looks solemn as he speaks, the seriousness dripping from his tone like bitter honey.

Taehyung has never told Yoongi that he can feel plants’ life forces, but Yoongi is astute – both a blessing and a curse for Taehyung. He shoves more food in his mouth and chews as slowly as possible without looking ridiculous. He must not, considering Yoongi watches him fondly, even if the soft look is tainted by guilt.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Taehyung mumbles around food that makes his cheeks puff out. He swears he turns into a baby around Yoongi. Perhaps it’s because he knows Yoongi will care for him, and Taehyung gets tired of being the responsible one in his friend group when Yoongi isn’t around.

Well, his only true friends besides Yoongi are Namjoon and Jungkook, but those two are plenty for him.

“Still, it was shitty of me,” Yoongi pushes without needing to. Nothing would make Taehyung upset with him, even when Taehyung’s heart breaks a little bit every time Yoongi acts sweet like this.

There isn’t a particular moment that triggered Taehyung’s heartache. He likes to view it as an inevitable fate that built up steadily over time, although living with Yoongi accelerated the ache in his chest. It’s like being thirsty in the desert with an oasis rippling on the horizon. Taehyung keeps crawling toward it, dragging his body through the sand, but the reprieve is always just out of reach.

One moment does stand out, though. It was the confirmation that Taehyung would be doomed for eternity.

It was only a few weeks after Taehyung and Yoongi moved in together. Their entire friend group lounged in the tiny living room. Namjoon, unfortunately, had to share the couch with Hoseok and Jimin, who, as usual, couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Jungkook snuggled into the beanbag in the corner, leaving Taehyung and Yoongi to sit on pillows beside the coffee table.

They were playing some type of questions game designed to help people get to know each other better. Hoseok had won it at a drag bingo event hosted by the LGBTQ+ student group on campus. His enthusiasm for playing significantly outweighed everyone else’s, and even though Yoongi isn’t particularly fond of games, he rounded everyone up to appease his best friend.

That was Yoongi’s way, always accommodating and thoughtful. How someone could know Yoongi and not fall in love with him was beyond Taehyung.

“Some of these questions are weird,” Namjoon noted. His glasses slipped to the bridge of his nose, but he’d long given up on pushing them back into place. The way he held out the card to read it made Jungkook giggle. He certainly looked like a disgruntled old man.

“Oh, just read the card, hyung,” Jungkook groaned in overplayed exasperation.

Namjoon shot the maknae a stern look before reading, “Hookup Do’s and Don’t’s: How many friends have you slept with?”

Jimin threw his head against the back of the couch and let out the evilest laugh Taehyung had ever heard – and he felt that way, not just because Jimin was a villain trainee.

“Wow, that’s gold. How did we get here from asking about our earliest childhood memories?” Jimin wiped away the tears that had collected on his eyelashes.

Honestly, Taehyung had been surprised by how many of them actually remembered things from a very early age. He felt he could barely remember what he had eaten for breakfast the previous day. Too many more important things were filed away in his brain.

“Well? Who’s gonna start?” Jungkook wiggled into a more comfortable position to stare down everyone in the room. Always the instigator.

Unease twisted Taehyung’s gut, and he hated that he automatically looked at Yoongi sitting beside him. What would it mean to learn the answer to this question? Taehyung never took the time to consider Yoongi’s love life. Since meeting him, Taehyung had never heard Yoongi talk about a significant other or even casual hookups. When their friends’ conversations strayed toward content more sexual in nature, Yoongi rarely participated. Neither did Taehyung, but that was just because Taehyung was the scary “v” word and had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

Yoongi didn’t look particularly affected by the bold question; he simply fiddled with the beer resting on the coffee table in front of him, running his index finger along the condensation on the glass.

“Hyung, you’re the oldest; you go first.” Taehyung was speaking before his brain even knew what was happening. It was forced out, exhaled like wind sweeping autumn leaves along the sidewalk.

Yoongi’s gaze shot up to lock with Taehyung’s. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but whatever his response was going to be was interrupted by Hoseok’s whining.

“Go on, Yoongi-ya. Tell us all your dirty secrets,” Hoseok giggled through his words as if he didn’t already know everything there was to know about his best friend.

“I don’t date friends.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Jimin pointed out. His eyes were sharp and a dangerous light blue from his contacts.

“I don’t hook up with friends, either. Never ends well,” Yoongi admitted with a shrug.

Groans filled the room as the rest of the group resented how boring Yoongi’s answer was. The attention shifted to Jungkook, who had plenty of disaster stories because the kid fell in love with everyone he met.

Well, everyone’s attention shifted except Taehyung’s. He sat frozen in place, staring at the side of Yoongi’s face as he listened to Jungkook’s stories. Yoongi doesn’t date his friends. Of course, he didn’t. Dating friends is messy; everyone knows that.

Taehyung liked to think Yoongi was his friend.

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Taehyung had forced himself to look away from Yoongi. The sick feeling churning in his gut distracted him, and he didn’t notice the sympathetic look Hoseok gave him when no one else was paying attention.

“Taehyung?”

Blinking rapidly, Taehyung straightens his posture. Yoongi is watching him with his forehead wrinkled with concern. It makes Taehyung inhale deeply to calm himself down. Since when has he lost his grip on things so severely? He feels like a mess and hates that, somehow, he has become a person who frets and trembles his way through life. Taehyung has always been so sure of himself, even if it was out of spite against those who doubt him.

But now? He’s all clammy hands and nibbled lips.

“Sorry,” Taehyung rushes to reply.

Yoongi leans forward on his elbows and examines Taehyung. His hotteok is finished, so he has nothing to do as Yoongi looks him over. Taehyung knows Yoongi doesn’t buy his lies, even the unspoken ones. Taehyung said sorry, but it meant, “I’m fine.” And Yoongi doesn’t believe him one bit.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi starts again, this time with a much softer tone. He interlaces his fingers beneath his chin and cocks his head to the side while watching Taehyung. He licks his lips, and Taehyung’s gaze drops, following the motion with a fixed gaze he can’t seem to shake. “Taehyung-ah, I–”

Whatever Yoongi is about to say gets cut off by the sound of wind chimes. The alarm on his phone startles them; Taehyung can practically feel the soundwaves bouncing around in his head.

Yoongi digs into his pockets to turn off the alarm, using his pinky to quickly swipe through what Taehyung assumes are new notifications. Sighing, he slips his phone back into his pocket and leans back in his chair.

“Need to leave for work?” Taehyung asks in a small voice that dances along the line of disappointed and desperate.

“Unfortunately.” Yoongi pushes himself up. He runs a hand down his chest, smoothing out his white button-up shirt. He looks cute in his professional clothing, the dress shirt and tan slacks with loafers so different from the baggy t-shirts, basketball shorts, and sneakers he usually wears.

Taehyung loves him in anything. He would probably love him in nothing, too.

The inappropriate thought makes his chest hot, and he quickly pushes it out of his mind.

“I’ll be back later. I can text you if you want to eat dinner together?” Taehyung thinks there’s a hopefulness in Yoongi’s tone, but he tries not to read into what that might mean – or if it’s even really there. “We can talk about how we want to celebrate.”

“Sounds good!”

Yoongi slips on his crossbody leather bag and puts on his shoes before giving Taehyung a wave goodbye.

It’s only once the door closes that Taehyung gets up. He takes his time washing the dishes and hums a little song to the plants as he suds up the sink, grateful that it’s a double sink so he can ignore the coiled vines gathered on the left side. He tries not to overthink how Yoongi might want to celebrate the end of their midterms with him, especially when his insecurity peeks through the happiness he feels at the prospect of spending one-on-one time with him.

What if Yoongi offers quality time with Taehyung because he pities Taehyung? What if he simply feels sorry for him for being so weak during his evaluations?

Taehyung lets out a long sigh as he drags his feet to his bedroom. The desire to flop back into bed is strong, but he shoulders off his blanket and forces himself to get ready for the day now that he has a full belly.

Bobby the Boatlily chitters from his place on Taehyung’s desk; he’d forgotten to return his plants to the kitchen.

“Bobby,” Taehyung groans, covering his face with both hands. The little shit of a plant teases Taehyung for how awkward he’s behaving, and Taehyung knows it’s the pheromones he’s giving off. It's ridiculous, honestly, that his own plants are making fun of him.

“Don’t make me take you to the greenhouse!” Taehyung’s threats are empty and hardly believable with the boxy grin he wears. He reaches out to flick some stray dirt from Bobby’s leaves.

Having his plant friends is nice, but sometimes Taehyung wonders if it’s all worth it.

🌼

The greenhouse for the School for Superhuman Abilities isn’t very big. Not many students use it, as far as Taehyung can tell, since he rarely encounters another person besides Seokjin during his visits. It’s attached to the academic building for the Natural Sciences, where most of Taehyung’s classes and training take place. There is a small storage room for gardening supplies and a little cubby where Taehyung typically stashes his backpack and jacket for safekeeping. He replaces them with an apron he keeps hooked to a rusty rung nailed into the wall behind the storage room door. The apron is mossy green and caked with dried mud, but it has pockets for Taehyung’s shovels, spray bottle, and other small supplies. A little dirt never killed anybody.

Well, maybe, but not like this.

Taehyung weaves his way through the rows of plants – everything from standard flowers and houseplants to edible plants grown for use by the University kitchens and experimental splicing and propagation Seokjin has been dabbling in lately. He always thought if a heroic life didn’t pan out for him, he’d find a job working at a greenhouse or nursery. The older he gets, the more a simple life with his plants sounds appealing compared to heroism – or even villainy, for that matter.

Seokjin is in the back of the greenhouse. Taehyung hears him hum a song, something off today’s top radio hits, and it makes him smile. No matter what mood Taehyung is in, Seokjin manages to lift his spirits, even if it’s just by a little.

“Taehyung-ah, you’re here earlier than usual.”

“Hi, hyung. How did you know it was me?” Taehyung asks with a wrinkle of his nose as he stands across the aisle from where Seokjin tends to his row of specialty plants.

“The plants told me, of course.” Seokjin boops Taehyung on the nose as he walks past to retrieve a few supplies he’s left scattered around. This behavior is nothing Taehyung isn’t accustomed to.

“They’re so intrusive.”

The plants’ chattering increases as they reject Taehyung’s criticism. It’s cute, and Taehyung tells them as much. The compliment pacifies them, but only slightly.

“How are you doing? You smell stressed.”

Right, pheromones. Sometimes, Taehyung forgets that Seokjin can pick up on his; it’s hard to remember when no one else Taehyung knows has that ability.

“I have a question, actually…” Taehyung wiggles his bottom lip between his teeth. The wind chapped them on his walk over, and the left corner of his mouth stings like the skin might have split. Taehyung hopes it doesn’t bleed.

“Hmm?” Seokjin raises his eyebrows in question.

“Is there a way to, like, stop your powers?”

“Stop them?”

“Yeah…” Taehyung gradually trails off as his confidence wanes. “Like, say someone didn’t want to always affect plants. Is there a way to turn that off? So that they’re not always connected to the nature around them?”

Seokjin turns to face Taehyung. He leans against the potting table, wrapping his fingers around the table's edge on either side of his hips.

“And why would someone want to do that?”

Taehyung shrugs because, as intelligent as he is, he hasn’t thought this through. It had been wishful thinking to assume Seokjin would answer Taehyung’s questions about having a few of his own. No matter how badly Taehyung wants to keep his motives to himself, he understands this is an odd topic to discuss. What superhuman wants to get rid of their powers? It’s unheard of, likely enough to warrant his parents insisting he see a therapist if they knew.

That would be completely unnecessary, of course. Taehyung simply wants to live a normal life. Nothing has been normal since he met Yoongi. If his feelings for Yoongi won’t disappear, he needs his powers to.

Because there’s no way Yoongi is going to love him back.

With a long sigh, Seokjin turns his back to Taehyung and resumes his work.

“Control is an important part of ability development. I wouldn’t suggest turning off an ability, nor am I sure if that’s even possible, but exercising control should eventually come easily to you as you master your skills.”

Seokjin’s words make sense but aren’t what Taehyung wants to hear. He wants an easy way out, something quick and effortless. He’s tired of dealing with exploding plants and the pathetic feeling of being a disappointment. Not to mention that his status in school will be jeopardized if he keeps losing his grip on his powers.

“Right,” Taehyung mumbles in acknowledgment of Seokjin’s explanation. He picks at some dried mud on his apron and watches the dirt crumble and fall to the ground.

“Everything okay?” Seokjin eyes Taehyung but doesn’t stop working.

“Of course!” Taehyung tries not to react to how high-pitched his voice comes out. He gives Seokjin a slight smile that’s only half believable. “I was just curious since I’ve heard stories about people wishing they weren’t born like… this.” Taehyung gestures to the space between them.

“Ah, yes, well,” Seokjin twists to the side to look at Taehyung, leaning with his hip against his workbench. “No point in wallowing in that when there isn’t anything we can do about it. I prefer to look at the bright side of things.”

“Like?” It isn’t that Taehyung doesn’t believe him, but he’s always been curious about Seokjin. He’s never been brave enough to question why the man is a greenhouse keeper, of all things.

Seokjin quirks an eyebrow at him. His hands are covered in dirt past his wrists, and he smells like grass after a cool spring rain. It’s comforting.

“Have you ever asked your plants how having someone who cares for and understands them feels? How important it is to have that in a world where so few people know how to speak to them?”

No, Taehyung hasn’t. The thought has never occurred to him. It must be apparent because Seokjin points his hand shovel at Taehyung as if to say, “See?”

“Ask them, and then tell me having this power is a curse.”

With that, Seokjin wipes his hands on his apron and gathers his supplies. He gives Taehyung a slight bow of his head before disappearing between the aisles of plants, likely toward his office in the back of the building.

Taehyung lets out a long sigh and leans against the table behind him. He knows what it feels like to be cared for and understood; it’s how Yoongi makes him feel. Taehyung is merely surprised that Seokjin focused on their powers' social and emotional aspects rather than the more action-oriented parts.

What about the dangers? Or the qualities that make them suitable (or bad) superheroes? Seokjin seemed not to care.

Still confused, Taehyung tends to his plants and tries to keep his mind empty.

🌼

The celebration with Yoongi never happens. 

That night, Yoongi came home later than expected, something to do with a combat training session gone wrong that required all the infirmary staff. He looked dead on his feet with dark bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks. Taehyung had shoved the container of leftover noodles into Yoongi’s hands and hurried off to his bedroom, afraid that Yoongi might ask to eat or watch TV together. The conversation with Seokjin had left him on edge despite how confident Seokjin seemed that Taehyung would figure everything out with time. 

Then Sunday came around, and Yoongi spent the day with Hoseok because Sundays are Hoseok days. Such days typically consist of Yoongi listening to Hoseok talk about his weekend sexcapades. Awkwardly, they’ve all been about Jimin lately, though Yoongi seemed supportive, which surprised Taehyung. He assumed Yoongi would advise against involvement with Jimin since Hoseok and Jimin are friends. Instead, Yoongi curled up with a blanket on the couch and told Hoseok that he and Jimin looked cute together. 

Taehyung didn’t know what to do with that information but didn’t participate in the conversation anyway. Sundays are for studying. 

Monday was their last day off before classes resumed. It would have been the perfect day to spend time with Yoongi, but Taehyung found himself knocking on Namjoon and Jungkook’s dorm early enough that Namjoon was still in his pajamas. All it took was one puppy-eyed look from Taehyung, and his friend let him in with an endeared shake of his head. 

Needless to say, the long weekend was unsuccessful. 

Taehyung is equally relieved and disappointed, though he expresses neither to Yoongi – or anyone else for that matter. As much as he wants to spend time with Yoongi, Taehyung doesn’t want anything weird to happen. If Seokjin is correct, Taehyung needs more time to develop his powers before reasonably hanging out with Yoongi. 

Besides, it isn’t just his relationship with Yoongi that’s on the line. Taehyung is growing increasingly nervous about his class ranking. If he doesn’t graduate at the top of his class… everything he has done leading up to now will have been for naught! 

Jungkook disagrees, but what does Jungkook know? 

(Quite literally everything, but Taehyung thinks that is neither here nor there.)

The thing is, Taehyung’s difficulty controlling his powers isn’t always scary and dangerous. Usually, it’s simply embarrassing. 

It’s been a week since The Vines, as Taehyung has come to call the incident. Not aloud, no way. He hasn’t spoken about it with anyone other than Yoongi, and even Yoongi seems to know not to bring it up since the apartment maintenance workers removed the vines from the plumbing. 

A week since The Vines, Taehyung has successfully avoided using his powers. It’s easier than anticipated – for the most part. It’s impossible not to listen to the chitchat of the plants around him or feel their presence, but Taehyung at least stops himself from engaging with them. No communicating, no helping them grow, nothing of the sort. He lets Mother Nature handle it all as it is meant to be. On top of that, he doesn’t have any combat-based classes right now, so his ability to weaponize the toxins in his body is easily avoidable, too. 

All in all, Taehyung is rather pleased with himself. Pleased as a peach on a warm summer day. 

He turns his face toward the sun and photosynthesizes, as his friends say, to appreciate the rays on his honey skin. The low clouds and cool autumn breeze mute the warmth, but it’s better than being cooped up inside. Taehyung is often found in the park that borders the grounds of his apartment complex. It isn’t huge, just a swath of grass, a children’s playground in one corner, and a smattering of trees to provide shade. 

Taehyung likes to sit out in the middle of the field when there aren’t children playing soccer who might accidentally step on him. Sometimes, he brings a blanket to sprawl on, though today, he lies directly on the yellowing grass. He looks like he’s sprouted from the ground from the way his yellow hair blends in with the grass, along with his yellow long-sleeve t-shirt and brown pants. Something sharp pokes at his shoulder blades, likely a twig, but he’s too content to move. 

The smell of freshly mowed grass and the tang of damp dirt will cling to his hair and clothes, just as Taehyung likes it. He can let the sun bake away his worries when he lies out here until they’ve evaporated into the afternoon air. He likes to imagine his stress leaving his body and getting swept away in the wind like dandelion fuzz. 

Sometimes, Taehyung wishes he could become a flower. He isn’t sure what type he’d be. Perhaps a tiger lily. Yoongi once pointed out that tiger lilies have little freckles scattered on their petals, just like Taehyung has them scattered on his face. 

Yeah, he thinks he’d like to be a tiger lily.

He ponders what it would be like to be a tiger lily (Who would water him? Would he be wild? Picked to be made into a bouquet?) until the sun is suddenly obstructed by a person looming over him. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” Yoongi says triumphantly as if he’s just proven someone wrong or won on a bet. 

“Oh!” 

Flustered by the image of Yoongi hovering over him, Taehyung immediately sits up. The abrupt action makes his forehead collide with Yoongi’s. The two men groan, hands flying up to cover their faces.

“Fuck, Tae, you could’ve just told me you didn’t want me to hang out with you. No need to try to kill me.” Yoongi sits back on his heels and massages his forehead. His backpack rests beside Taehyung’s in the grass beside them. 

“I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t… paying attention.” 

“Clearly,” Yoongi snorts. “Here.” 

Yoongi reaches out to slide his fingers under Taehyung’s bangs, brushing them out of the way to make contact with his irritated skin. Before a bump can form, Yoongi massages Taehyung’s forehead. His healing powers seep deep into his skin; Taehyung would swear he could feel it even in his bones. It’s a liquid heat like lava trickling down his spine and pooling in his gut. 

Or maybe that’s just how it feels to have Yoongi touch him; Taehyung isn’t sure. 

Taehyung’s eyes flutter close, and his lips part. A quiet sigh escapes his mouth, and he doesn’t even feel ashamed to enjoy the pleasure of having Yoongi so close. Eucalyptus and peppermint wrap Taehyung in a hug warmer than the sun’s rays. He’s sure that there is nothing more calming than being in Yoongi’s presence. It’s where Taehyung feels safest, he realizes as Yoongi’s breath fans across his cheeks. As heroes, they’re taught to be cautious and skeptical of everything, but Taehyung would trust Yoongi with his life. 

That fact will be Taehyung’s downfall one day, he’s sure, but he doesn’t care. He leans into Yoongi’s touch as he runs his finger down the bridge of Taehyung’s nose. 

“Cute,” Yoongi murmurs. The comment is so quiet that Taehyung almost doesn’t hear it. 

“What?” 

“This.” Taehyung feels Yoongi tap the tip of his nose, right where his freckle is.  

“T-thank you,” Taehyung stutters and wills himself to open his eyes despite the heat he feels on his cheeks. 

Yoongi is so, so close. His knees press against Taehyung’s thigh, and he has one hand in the grass, the other still hovering over Taehyung’s face. He looks ethereal, an angel sent to torment Taehyung’s mortal soul. The sunlight shines through gold flecks in his brown irises. The bright smile he gives Taehyung is enough to make his stomach feel queasy over how much he yearns. 

What he would give to pull Yoongi into his arms, roll him over until his pretty hair is fanned out in the grass, the sun warm and golden on his pale skin. Taehyung would kiss him right now if he could. He can barely stop himself from staring down at Yoongi’s lips, so pink and with a cute little cupid’s bow. Yoongi’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Taehyung follows the movement like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

Yoongi startles suddenly, eyes flitting over to look at his raised hand as if he’d only just realized it’s still suspended in the air. He brings it to his lap to accompany his other hand, no longer caressing the yellowing blades of grass. 

“You’ve been gone a lot again.” It’s a statement, but Taehyung hears the question behind it. Why? 

Taehyung doesn’t have an answer he can give, not out loud. Not one he’d be okay with Yoongi knowing. Sometimes, it’s in moments like this that Taehyung considers confessing. It will eat him alive if he doesn’t, right? Would confessing and being rejected be better than dying inside every single day he has to look at Yoongi and can’t express the love he wants? A part of him knows Yoongi might reject him, but he would never give up on him. They could still be friends; their relationship wouldn’t be ruined. Yoongi is too nice for that. 

But could Taehyung still be friends after his love is rejected? That’s too hard to tell. It seems he’s fucked no matter which path he chooses. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he says instead of confessing. It feels like he’s always apologizing these days. 

Yoongi reaches up to pick at Taehyung’s hair, eventually wrestling a twig from his curls. Yoongi keeps the twig in his hands, snapping it in half, then quarters, and so on, until it’s reduced to a tiny pile. He’s silent, and Taehyung can’t see his face because his bangs fall forward when he looks toward the ground. 

Taehyung watches Yoongi with his own hands occupied, though he’s focused on twisting the hem of his yellow shirt. Is it bad that Yoongi hasn’t responded? Taehyung can’t imagine what Yoongi’s thinking, and he’s never envied Hoseok before today. 

“It’s alright,” Yoongi finally speaks up. He lifts his eyes to look at Taehyung, bangs still forward enough that the ends reach his eyelashes. “I just, um,” Yoongi clears his throat and averts his eyes, returning his gaze to the little twig pile. “I miss… spending time with you. I miss you. And I was wondering if–”

Despite his best efforts to hold it in, Taehyung erupts into a fit of coughing. A thick, itchy feeling crept up his chest while Yoongi was talking, but Taehyung managed to swallow down the tickling sensation in his throat. That is until Yoongi – as usual – caught Taehyung off guard. 

“Can you pass me my water bottle?” Taehyung croaks out once his breathing becomes a bit more regulated. He holds his hand out, fingers with dirt under the nails wiggling in the air as Yoongi reaches for his backpack. The tickling in his throat was uncomfortable but likely nothing some water can’t wash down. 

Unfortunately, Taehyung doesn’t get the chance to find out. 

A surge of energy zips up the length of Taehyung’s spine. He can practically feel it leaving him feeling electric when it shoots through him. He gasps, clenching at his chest as he pants through the thickness in his chest. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung wheezes and the curse word sounds funny coming from such a usually proper mouth. Shaking his head to rid himself of that strange sensation, Taehyung turns toward Yoongi to apologize again for his behavior and hear what Yoongi has to say. 

“Hyung? What?” 

“Taehyung-ah, are you…?” Yoongi’s eyes are wide as he gestures around them. 

The entire park seems to have fallen silent, though Taehyung feels like it’s even louder than it was when he first arrived. Except this time, none of the sounds are coming from the people surrounding them. In fact, it seems as though every person in the park is staring at Taehyung, even the children who have stopped playing on the playground. They all stare at him with confusion and curiosity swirling in their eyes like Yoongi’s. 

“Wha–” 

“Tae, will you please tell me what’s going on?” 

Taehyung’s eyes lock with Yoongi’s. He’s so focused on the look of concern on his face that he overlooks the sea of yellow manifesting around him. 

Yoongi reaches out to touch Taehyung, his index and middle fingers resting on Taehyung’s pulse in his wrist. “Why are you making the flowers grow?” Yoongi whispers. 

Thousands of dandelions poke through the grass across the entirety of the park, even past the trees along the border and bleeding into the yards of other buildings nearby. Some are puffy fluff balls that begin breaking into little fuzzies when the wind blows through the park. The rest of them are yellow and stand tall among the short grass. They chatter to Taehyung, but he doesn’t understand what they’re saying; there are too many. He can’t even reach them with his mind. He’s completely overwhelmed, like someone flipped on the switch to every one of his nerves. His nerves are lit up like a Christmas tree inside of his body. 

Following the strange path a few of the dandelions make, Taehyung notices that they form a perfect circle around Yoongi, outlining him in alternating yellow and white fuzz patterns. It’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to Taehyung in his entire life. 

“Oh my god!” Taehyung screeches, pulling out of Yoongi’s reach like his fingers were hot irons. Taehyung hops on his feet and snatches his backpack, flinging his arms through the straps as fast as possible. One of the pockets is unzipped, but he doesn’t bother doing anything about it. “Hyung, I’ve gotta go.” 

Yoongi startles, raising his knees like he’s also about to gather his belongings. “Go where?”

“Sorry, hyung!” Taehyung calls over his shoulder. “I’ll text you!” 

“Taehyung-ah!”  

Yoongi shouts after him, but Taehyung is quite literally sprinting at this point. Today was the wrong day to wear his brown loafers with the backs smashed in from Taehyung, not bothering to fix the heel, preferring to slip into his shoes than put them on all the way. His steps are loud, and his heavy bag smacks against his lower back as he runs down the now-overgrown sidewalk to the park entrance. 

Barely taking the time to look both ways, Taehyung sprints across the street. His feet take him in the direction of the greenhouse without him putting any thought into the decision. Taehyung can’t get his head together long enough to consider whether spending more time with plants will benefit him. 

He just needs to get away. 

🌼

“You alright, Taehyung?” 

Taehyung nods and raises his hand in Namjoon’s direction, holding out his palm to indicate that Namjoon should stop worrying. Namjoon’s concern is understandable, though. Taehyung is doubled over and coughing into the crook of his arm. The coughing fit lasts a few minutes, and each cough is violent enough that it shudders through Taehyung’s body. He keeps his eyes closed until it eventually subsides, thickly swallowing down a now raw feeling throat. 

“Shit, hyung, are you sure you aren’t sick?” Jungkook rubs a hand between Taehyung’s shoulder blades a little too enthusiastically. It makes Taehyung trip forward slightly, but Jungkook wraps an arm around his torso to keep him upright. 

“Yes, I’m sure I’m not sick,” Taehyung rushes to dismiss Jungkook’s question. It’s ridiculous, honestly. Taehyung is fine. “It’s just a little cough. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Little?” Jungkook snorts, finally letting go of Taehyung. He leans against the brick wall of the university dining hall and crosses his arms against his chest. He tries to look menacing, but he’s wearing giant, circular, wire-framed glasses. Taehyung could laugh. 

“Yes, little. That time was just a kinda rough because I had food in my mouth.” 

Taehyung takes a sip of water from his water bottle and avoids looking at his friends. The cold water feels rejuvenating, like it’s seeping through his veins, cooling him down from the inside out. Sometimes, it feels like Taehyung has something growing inside of his chest, twisting around his organs and expanding inside of him. It’s rather unsettling, but it must get much worse before Taehyung willingly tells Namjoon and Jungkook what’s happening. 

Jungkook is difficult to fool; he’s too smart for his own good. He watches Taehyung try to hold in another cough, cheeks puffing up while his lips stay glued shut. 

“Maybe you caught whatever I had?” Namjoon offers, though he doesn’t sound sure of himself. Honestly, it sounds like he’s suggesting something he doesn’t believe in at all but is perhaps throwing it out there for Taehyung to take the bait and confess. 

As if. 

Jungkook makes a noise of dissent. “No way. You were sick so long ago. You’re not contagious anymore, and Taehyung would have gotten sick much sooner.” 

With a sigh, Namjoon pushes off the wall and leads the three of them toward the campus quad. It’s getting cold outside, so very few students hang out on the grassy field between the academic buildings. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon mutters as he kicks at a loose pebble. “Superviruses are weird.”  

The three friends were supposed to head to the library to study after lunch. They still can if they’d just let the topic go. Yes, his coughing has become more frequent since that dreadful day at the park, but it’s only a cough. Everything else about him is fine. 

Well, aside from the fact that his heart is broken because he’s going back to avoiding Yoongi again, spending all his time with Jungkook and Namjoon, and only being in his apartment whenever he absolutely has to. Yeah, aside from the pain of pretending he’s okay with ignoring the love of his life, Taehyung is doing great. 

“Taehyung,” Namjoon begins sternly. “You need to go to the infirmary. Today.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look like shit, hyung. I’m being so serious right now. You’re pale, and all the coughing sounds kind of disgusting.” 

Taehyung glares at Jungkook because he’s rude, but he’s right. 

“It’s been over a week, Taehyung-ah, and it’s getting worse.” Namjoon runs his hands through his hair. He only does that when stressed, and Taehyung feels awful for knowing it’s his fault. “Go on, let’s go.” 

Namjoon firmly grabs Taehyung's shoulders and steers him toward the infirmary. The building is close to the dining hall, just a five-minute walk from where they are in the quad. In all honesty, Taehyung would have lied and gone somewhere else, perhaps to his apartment or the greenhouse, the moment Jungkook and Namjoon left him alone. So it’s a shame when the two accompany Taehyung to the infirmary lobby. 

“All they’re going to do is tell me to drink more water and suck on cough drops or something,” Taehyung groans when Jungkook gives him a final shove toward the front desk. “I don’t want to be in here with all these… actually sick people,” he whispers the end of the sentence when a woman sitting in the lobby gives the three men a dirty look. 

“Can you please just do this for us? For our peace of mind?” Namjoon never pleads, but he does now, his eyes bright and earnest. 

Defeated, Taehyung nods. He tries not to look too dramatic as Namjoon and Jungkook bid him good luck and farewell. The two men bow a few too many times at the other patients waiting for their turn to see a doctor as an apology for being loud. They’re a bunch of goofballs, and Taehyung can’t help but smile slightly as he watches them disappear through the front doors. It’s nice to have friends who care about him, even if they’re annoying as fuck. 

“Hi dear, can you do me a favor and wait in one of these seats?” The woman at the front desk motions for Taehyung to sit down. She has the office phone pressed against her shoulder. “I’ve got someone on the phone. I can check you in once I’m done.” 

With a slight bow of his head, Taehyung slumps into a seat in the corner of the room, away from the other patients. He knows whatever’s wrong with him is a minor thing, maybe the tiniest of colds, and he’s not interested in getting sick with whatever other illnesses are spreading through the university now that the cool weather has hit. Taehyung is always in good health and prides himself in it, actually. Which is likely why his friends are so concerned. 

Adjusting his jean jacket tighter around his torso, Taehyung does his best to get comfortable in his chair. The itchy feeling in his chest and throat is slowly returning, only somewhat bothersome now, but Taehyung knows it can get much worse. He tries holding his breath to stop himself from feeling the need to cough, too embarrassed to let it out in front of all these people. He’s not sick! It’s just a weird little thing he’s sure he’ll get over soon enough. Maybe he has fall allergies? It wouldn’t make much sense since Taehyung is immune to plant toxins; he’d assume pollen and the like should also be useless against him, but hey, who the fuck knows? 

Perhaps Seokjin. Taehyung makes a mental note to ask him about it later. 

With a sigh, he falls back against the chair and shifts his gaze to look through the window in the door leading to the rest of the infirmary, where patients are examined. Occasionally, a nurse will pop through the door to call on a patient to enter the infirmary for their initial check-up. 

At this rate, Taehyung feels like his name will never be called. 

It’s been less than ten minutes, but Taehyung is already becoming impatient. He sits with his chin in his hand and stares at the front desk woman whenever she isn’t looking at him. Whoever is on the other end of the line is causing her stress; Taehyung can tell. Still, he’s seconds away from leaving and maybe returning later. 

“Kim Hyungseo?”

A girl to the left of Taehyung gets up and turns to gather her bag and giant fluffy coat from the chair next to her. She’s making a bit of a fuss, sniffling like her nose might fall off, but Taehyung is focused on the nurse who called her name. 

Yoongi is cute in scrubs. His are a soft lilac in color and fit his body proportions nicely, not baggy or flimsy. The short sleeves are tight around his biceps, making his arms look full and strong. Clipped to the waistband of his pants is his employee ID. Taehyung can’t see it from here, but he knows that in the photo, Yoongi has his natural dark hair and isn’t smiling, which gives him a somewhat intimidating appearance. 

Taehyung sinks further down in his seat and drops his gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor to watch the girl walk away from their corner of the room. He sincerely hopes Yoongi hasn’t seen him, though it’s impossible to know. Taehyung thinks he doesn’t because Yoongi is busy reviewing files on a clipboard as he waits for the next patient. 

By the time Yoongi looks up again, Taehyung is already halfway down the hallway. 

🌼

Taehyung looks down at the yellow flower petals scattered across his wooden tabletop. They’re damp with phlegm and speckled with dirt that alarms Taehyung, though not as much as the petals' existence. Black-eyed Susans are annual flowers native to North America that appear during the late summer and early autumn. They’re one of Taehyung’s favorite flowers. He enjoys how simple they are. Daisy-like in appearance, Black-eyed Susans typically have upright green stems with thin, pointy yellow petals circling a black or brown center. However, Taehyung appreciates the variations they can come in. They grow well in the greenhouse’s warm environment, and Taehyung has a small pot on one of the shelving units near the back of the greenhouse.

Although Taehyung doesn’t dabble in flower symbolism like some plant lovers do (mostly because he can speak to plants and get to know their personalities rather than rely on almanacs to tell him made-up theories), he will admit that he likes the symbolism of Black-eyed Susans. Humans have attributed the flowers to feelings of motivation, resilience, and encouragement. They’re optimistic flowers by nature, so Taehyung is inclined to believe in the symbolism.

The appearance of Black-eyed Susans on this rainy Sunday afternoon isn’t a good omen, however.

Rain patters against the greenhouse, making the glass roof and walls fog from the difference in temperatures between the inside of the greenhouse and the gloomy weather outside. It may come as a surprise to some, but Taehyung loves the rain. Not only is the sound of rain hitting the roof comforting, but it’s the driving force of all nature. Without rain, life wouldn’t exist. Therefore, he is thankful for its calming and life-giving qualities.

Today, however, the rain depresses Taehyung. Perhaps because he’s dying. Maybe. Probably.

Looking down at his phone, Taehyung lets out a small sound of frustration. Jungkook is a supergenius; why is he giving Taehyung information about a made-up disease? Jungkook needs to stop reading so much BL manhwa. Taehyung is experiencing a genuine medical emergency!

The sound of the heavy wooden backdoor creaking open startles Taehyung into action. Seokjin is weaving through the aisles of floor-level flowerbeds, large pots, and shelving units. In a panic, Taehyung starts scooping the damp petals into the pockets of his mud-smeared apron. He attempts to hide whatever is left within the clumps of dirt on the workbench.

“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin greets him with a smile. “Why is it that you’re always so stressed these days?”

“I’m not stressed,” Taehyung lies through his teeth, knowing that the pheromones he’s giving off will betray his true feelings to Seokjin and the greenhouse plants. It’s so unfair that he has no control over the aura he puts off.

With a playful roll of his eyes, Seokjin hauls a basket of strawberries onto the workbench beside the pot of orange and white lilies Taehyung has been prepping. He thought the apartment would look nice with fresh flowers, which is the humane way of having a bouquet without killing the plants. Taehyung doesn’t understand the point of a bouquet. Why wouldn’t someone want to plant the flowers and care for them long-term?

“So,” Seokjin tries again. “Are you still not feeling well?”

Taehyung watches him use the sink at the end of the workbench to wash the dirty strawberries and put them into clean jars. “I feel fine.”

Seokjin cocks his eyebrow when Taehyung quickly buries his face into the crook of his elbow and coughs rather violently. “Fine?”

“Mhm,” Taehyung mumbles weakly and silently prays that there won’t be petals left behind when he lifts his head.

Of course, the universe is out to get him.

He quickly turns his body away from Seokjin to brush off the sleeve of his sweater. When the petals fall to the ground, Taehyung kicks them under the table. Seokjin gives him a small smile once Taehyung turns back around.

“Would you like to talk about why you’re coughing so much? Or do I need to let you figure it out on your own?” he asks quietly, dark eyes roaming Taehyung’s confused expression.

“It’s just a cold. I’ll go to the infirmary on Monday,” Taehyung promises as he brushes dirt off the pot. If Seokjin is implying that he knows why Taehyung is coughing, he’s unfortunately confused. There’s no way for Seokjin to know the truth. Jungkook doesn’t even know. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung. I need to go before the rain gets worse.”

Taehyung doesn’t wait for Seokjin’s reply. He quickly bows his head a few times, a slight bob that flops his wavy golden bangs on his forehead, and then dashes out of the greenhouse with his plant cradled in his arms.

The rain is unforgiving as he hurries to his apartment, plastering his hair to his face and making his clothes hang heavily on his lanky limbs by the time he enters the apartment lobby. He did his best to protect the lilies by shielding them with his body, even if that meant the uncomfortable bend in his back caused him to cough up more flower petals at least three times before he finally made it home.

Taehyung doesn’t consider himself an angry person. If anything, he tries to maintain a relatively neutral emotional state. Today, though… Today, he’s ready to chuck his phone at his bedroom wall because Jungkook is being the exact opposite of helpful right now. At least Yoongi isn’t home to hear Taehyung hacking up flower petals and phlegm and screaming into his pillow because not only is he potentially dying, but now his room is a disaster from how disgusting this supposed disease is, and he has an essay due at midnight!

It’s going to take forever to vacuum up all these nasty petals. Taehyung is pretty sure the last cough had a little blood in it, but he forces himself not to think about that. He’s so bent out of shape that even Jisung the Jade Plant and Bobby the Boatlily are silent as Taehyung paces the room.

What is he going to do? In all seriousness, this truly is an emergency. If Taehyung had thought he was broken before, he certainly is now. Perhaps he should have asked Seokjin to explain himself; he’s the only person Taehyung knows who would understand. In all of Taehyung’s extensive research of people with powers like his – or at least something similar – he has never encountered a situation like this.

The shooting sensation that comes right before Taehyung accidentally blows something up slices down his spine. Doubling over from the sharp pain, Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut and grasps at his chest, willing the energy coursing through his nervous system to subside.

Sweat beads along his hairline and dampens his bangs as he focuses on the tightness in his chest. It’s disgusting, the sensation of something twisting inside him, like vines squeezing his lungs.

But it works.

Taehyung collapses onto the floor and immediately coughs up more flower petals. The force of the coughs makes his back arch like a cat. It’s painful now, but he gets the result he wanted. None of his plants explode.

His hands are shaking too much to send another text to Jungkook, so Taehyung calls him instead. He sits on the edge of his bed, gently rocking back and forth to calm himself as the phone rings - lasting only three chimes before Jungkook picks up because Taehyung is sure he’s been waiting. Once Jungkook answers, Taehyung puts him on speaker and sets the phone next to him on part of the bed not covered in flower petals.

“Why aren’t you using your powers?” Jungkook immediately dives into the interrogation that Taehyung was anticipating. It’s still annoying, even if Taehyung knew it was coming.

With a huff, Taehyung presses his palms against his eyes and tries not to cry.

“They’re getting out of control, okay? For months, I haven’t been able to control them! So now I’m just not going to use them, and everything is fine!” Deep down, the rational part of Taehyung knows his reasoning doesn’t make sense, but that part of him is overruled by the part that’s stressed out.

Jungkook’s voice is softer when he asks, “Why can’t you control them, hyung?”

Dropping his hands into his lap, Taehyung stares at the wall across from him where his desk sits. There’s a little picture frame on the corner of his desk. The frame is shaped like a sunflower, with a circular photo in the middle, surrounded by big yellow petals. The photo is of Taehyung and Yoongi on the day that they met. It was at a Pride event that Hoseok’s LGBTQ+ student organization hosted. Taehyung and Yoongi are beaming at the camera with their fingers raised in peace signs pressed against their cheeks. Yoongi is wearing a giant, fuzzy rainbow boa across his shoulders, and Taehyung is in an embarrassing, too-small ladybug dress Jungkook had forced him to wear.

“Taehyung, right? You look cute,” Yoongi laughed as he leaned into Taehyung’s side, off-centered from being a bit drunk. “We should take a picture.”

With a sigh and fresh tears trickling down his cheeks, Taehyung looks down at the phone as if he can see Jungkook sitting there patiently waiting for him to crack finally.

“It’s Yoongi hyung,” Taehyung confesses. “Every time I’m around him, or even if I think about him, I make my plants explode. It hurts them, Jungkook.”

“And it hurts you, too,” Jungkook points out. It makes Taehyung’s heart ache.

“I don’t understand…”

The two men are momentarily silent, letting Taehyung’s situation sink in. Taehyung hears Jungkook sigh through the phone and then some rustling.

“Do you love him?”

The question makes the creepy crawlies in Taehyung’s chest wiggle. He grits his teeth when he responds, “Yeah. But… please don’t tell him. He won’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“What?!” Jungkook’s voice screeches through the phone. The loudness startles Taehyung, and he nearly knocks his phone onto the floor. “Hyung, are you kidding me? Yoongi hyung adores you, what the fuck?”

“Stop yelling at me. I don’t feel good,” Taehyung whines.

“Right. Sorry.” Jungkook pauses. “This is literally just like Hanahaki Disease.”

“Can you quit it with that!” The audacity.

“I’m so serious.” Taehyung can imagine Jungkook rolling his eyes at him. “You’re getting so emotional about liking Yoongi that you’re keeping your powers inside of you. You aren’t letting your feelings out, and your powers don’t have anywhere to go. You literally made flowers grow inside of you, hyung, because you won’t just let yourself be free to express yourself.”

The realization that by suppressing his powers, Taehyung is making his body malfunction is so blatantly obvious when Jungkook explains it that Taehyung feels stupid. He presses his hand to his chest and tries to channel his energy into feeling beyond the tightness– to what’s inside.

Flowers. Beautiful flowers sing to Taehyung, a song so full of sorrow that it makes him crack even more.

“I trapped them,” Taehyung mutters, his voice quiet and far off.

“Yes, you did.”

“Well…” Taehyung messes with the hem of his shirt, realizing a few petals are sticking to it. He really shouldn't be sitting on his bed right now; his clothes are still wet. In this current mindset, though, Taehyung isn't sure if he can care about much else aside from the situation at hand. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Jungkook gives Taehyung the answer he doesn’t want: “Tell him.”

🌼

Taehyung can’t do this. He can’t. Jungkook has too much faith in him. It’s not even pessimism making Taehyung doubt himself; he’s coming to this conclusion based on pure evidence.

Exhibit A: Yoongi is home, and Taehyung is hiding in his bedroom.

Exhibit B: Yoongi knocked on Taehyung’s door, knowing Taehyung was home because Hoseok heard Taehyung stressing out inside his head when he walked Yoongi to the apartment, and Taehyung pretended he was asleep.

Exhibit C: Yoongi texted Taehyung, asking if he was okay, and Taehyung turned off his phone.

The problem with roommates is that they live with you. The problem with life is that it doesn’t stop even when you want to hide away in your corner of the world and pray for it to slow down.

For nearly twenty minutes, Taehyung tries to hold in a cough. He knows Yoongi is sitting in the living room because he can hear the record player going. It’s one of Yoongi’s favorite albums: All Eyez on Me. Taehyung isn’t sure what that means for the mood Yoongi is in right now, but he can’t think about it too much because he focuses on keeping himself under control. When the cough finally bursts through Taehyung’s tight-lipped grimace, he hopes Yoongi can’t hear it over 2Pac’s "Shorty Wanna Be a Thug."

“Taehyung-ah?” Yoongi calls out, and Taehyung curses under his breath. The music stops, and the floor creaks as Yoongi nears Taehyung’s bedroom. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Taehyung croaks.

“You don’t sound fine…” Yoongi drums his knuckles against the door. “Can I come in? I can help you.”

Of course, Yoongi can help Taehyung; he has the power of healing. Not only that, but Jungkook is convinced that if Taehyung admits his feelings, he’ll be cured. All Taehyung has to do is ask Yoongi to come in…

“Uhhh…” Heart pounding and hands shaking, Taehyung quickly brushes petals off his bed and tries to toss as many as possible into an empty flower pot sitting on the floor by his desk. It’s impossible to hide them all; there are too many.

“Tae?” The door creaks, and Taehyung imagines Yoongi is leaning his shoulder against it as he waits.

“Um, uh,” Taehyung takes a deep breath. “You can come in.”

The moment Yoongi enters Taehyung’s bedroom, his face falls. The dusting of pink on his cheeks drains, making his face look ashen and solemn. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it as his eyes scan Taehyung’s bedroom, taking in the flower petals. When those troubled eyes finally land on Taehyung’s face, Yoongi’s face crumbles.

“Oh, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi calls out softly. “What happened?”

It’s instinctual the way Taehyung falls into Yoongi’s outstretched arms. He lets Yoongi hold him close, even allowing himself to nuzzle his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck without shame. Eucalyptus and peppermint evade his senses, automatically calming him. His tears cease to fall, and his hands no longer shake because he bunches the hem of Yoongi’s oversized t-shirt into his fists.

“I have flowers inside me,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s shoulder. His body hurts from coughing, and he leans most of his weight onto Yoongi. Yoongi can handle it, though. He’s strong, as always, keeping Taehyung upright. His large hands caress Taehyung’s back, gently rubbing along his spine as Taehyung takes deep breaths.

“You’re sick?” Yoongi asks. Taehyung can’t expect him to understand, but he can’t find the energy to explain what’s happening. There’s only one thing that will make this better.

“Mhm,” Taehyung hums an affirmation. He feels warm and gooey, a chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven, broken apart by Yoongi’s strong hands. “You’re healing me.” It isn’t a question.

Yoongi’s hands on Taehyung’s back pause. “I’m sorry. I should have asked permission.”

“It feels good. I hurt all over, hyung. It hurts.”

Nodding his head, Yoongi resumes rubbing Taehyung’s back. They stay like that for a long time, content to be in each other’s arms while Yoongi patiently waits for Taehyung to explain the situation further.

“Hyung…” Taehyung slowly pulls back, far enough to look at Yoongi’s face. There’s that adoration again, a look so gentle and kind that Taehyung feels the tightness in his chest break apart. The longer Yoongi holds him, the easier it becomes to breathe. “I…”

Yoongi nods his head in encouragement.

“I think – no, no, I know I love you,” Taehyung chokes out.

It’s a shame he doesn’t know what Yoongi’s reaction is. The moment the confession leaves his lips, Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut as his whole body shudders. He bends over and coughs what he somehow knows is the remaining bout of petals deep inside his lungs. They’re frail and lackluster in color.

Falling to his knees, Taehyung gasps for air as the strange feeling in his chest slowly disappears, like vines receding into the dirt. His eyes fly open when strong arms come around his waist and hoist him up. When Yoongi settles him into his lap, Taehyung turns toward his body to rest his head on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“That was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Yoongi muses. When Taehyung attempts a weak laugh, Yoongi pulls him tighter against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?”

“You said dating friends is bad,” Taehyung reminds him. He stares down at his lap and wishes he wasn’t so upset that he can’t appreciate that he’s sitting in Yoongi’s lap.

“When did I say that?” Yoongi leans back slightly to look Taehyung in the eyes.

“That one time we played Hobi hyung’s questions game.”

Yoongi huffs at that, but Taehyung doesn’t know what it means. “That was ages ago, Taehyung. Besides… I, um…” Yoongi clears his throat. Taehyung realizes the color has returned to his cheeks. “It was my way of telling Hobah not to tease me.”

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows. “Tease you about what?”

Yoongi’s eyes drop to Taehyung’s lips. He suddenly feels self-conscious about having his crush look at him so closely, even though Yoongi has seen every side of Taehyung – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Especially the ugly. It comes with the territory of living with someone, Taehyung supposes. It’s hard to hide the undesirable parts of yourself from your roommate.

“I didn’t want him to tease me about how much I like you,” Yoongi whispers. “Love you, actually. I love you, too.”

“Oh…” Taehyung blinks and is very aware of how close his face is to Yoongi’s. It doesn’t help that Yoongi’s eyes keep flitting between locking with Taehyung’s and looking at his lips. “Oh.”

“Ahh, yeah,” Yoongi admits sheepishly. He ruffles the back of his hair and gives Taehyung a small smile. “I’ve been trying to tell you for a while but kept getting too nervous. I, mean, I’m still kind of nerv–”

Taehyung should ask to kiss Yoongi, but he doesn’t. He dives in before he can talk himself out of it. He’s glad he does, of course. Kissing Yoongi frees the last bit of discomfort that had seeped into Taehyung’s bones. The comfort of his pillowy lips on Taehyung’s calms the anxious knot inside his chest. His stress unfurls as Yoongi begins kissing him back, his hands sliding up Taehyung’s back to hold him close as he applies more pressure to their kiss.

Their lips move together in a slow dance like autumn leaves swirling around each other when kicked up in the wind. When they finally pull away, the tip of Taehyung’s tongue brushes against Yoongi’s bottom lip, and Taehyung thinks he tastes the way lilacs smell.

“I think I’m better now,” Taehyung blurts. The laugh that erupts from Yoongi’s chest endears Taehyung and makes him want to hide under his blankets in embarrassment for saying something stupid.

“Good,” Yoongi says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Though I’m very disappointed in you.” Taehyung hides in the crook of Yoongi’s neck because he knows what’s coming next. “I explicitly asked you to tell me when something’s wrong, and you lied to me.”

“I did not lie!” Taehyung groans, but he smiles against Yoongi’s skin. “Maybe I lied a little.”

“You can’t only lie a little. You either did or you didn’t. And you did,” Yoongi teases, and Taehyung decides that there’s nothing else he wants more in life than to be on the receiving end of Yoongi’s teasing.

The pair remain sitting on the floor for the rest of the night as Yoongi asks Taehyung to finally share his struggles with him. Now that they know this can happen to Taehyung, Yoongi wants to make sure Taehyung knows what to do when he feels like he might be repressing his powers again. It’s sweet how concerned Yoongi is for Taehyung’s well-being. He always has been, but it feels different now that Taehyung knows Yoongi loves him, too.

It’s also sweet to receive little kisses in between stories. Taehyung knew being kissed by Yoongi would be life-changing if it ever happened to him. And not just kisses on the lips, but kisses on his eyelids, cheeks, and forehead – god, the forehead kisses! They’re the best, Taehyung decides. They make him feel so, so soft.

What a beautiful thing it is to be loved by Yoongi.

Taehyung feels it in his chest, this flourishing feeling. It’s nothing like the tightness from before. This time, love seeps into his bones rather than stress and fear. This sensation brings him tranquility and light. So much so that Taehyung eventually drifts off to sleep, still in Yoongi’s embrace.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi attempts to rouse Taehyung. “Let's get you to bed, okay?”

With his eyes still closed, Taehyung shakes his head. Physical and emotional exhaustion has caught up with him, but he can’t extricate himself from Yoongi. It sounds like the worst idea in the history of the world.

“I change my mind. I’m not better yet,” Taehyung slurs with drowsiness. Taehyung’s head bobs up and down with the force of Yoongi’s laughter.

“Want me to lie with you?” Yoongi asks. He runs his fingers through Taehyung’s bangs, gently pushing them away from his face as Taehyung lifts his head. It feels good, but everything feels good with Yoongi.

“Okay,” he concedes with eyes still closed. He lets Yoongi maneuver him off his lap and forces himself to stand up because superstrength isn’t one of Yoongi’s powers, and Taehyung is much bigger than him.

He and Yoongi have never cuddled but fall naturally into place once their backs hit the mattress. Much to Taehyung’s surprise, Yoongi rests his head on Taehyung’s chest and wraps his arm around his waist. It’s silly, but the position makes Taehyung feel special, like he’s somehow in charge of ensuring Yoongi has a good cuddling experience. He worries his chest is too bony and his body too thin to feel comfortable.

Yoongi must pick up on Taehyung’s struggle from his stiff body language because he lets out a quiet huff of a laugh and says, “Relax, Tae. I’m happy.”

“I’m happy, too,” Taehyung whispers.

Throughout the apartment, Taehyung’s plants coo.

🌼

In the morning, Taehyung wakes up alone, the night's events hovering at the edge of his mind like a dream easily blinked away. He presses his palm against his chest and inhales deeply. Nothing constricts in his chest or stabs at the inside of his lungs. When he exhales, nothing but air passes through his parted lips. A few stray petals lost in his bed sheets are the only reminder of the debilitating fear that had consumed him less than twelve hours ago.

Taehyung is alive and well, but he is alone.

Panic, rather than flowers and vines, tightens his chest. Had Yoongi regretted sleeping with him? Had he only stayed in bed until Taehyung fell asleep? Was it awkward? Was Taehyung uncomfortable? Oh god, had Taehyung done something weird in his sleep?

Flinging his blankets and sheets off his body, Taehyung scrambles to find his slippers and rushes out of his bedroom. He uses his walk down the short hallway to calm himself the best he can. The last thing he needs is to embarrass himself any further. Yoongi probably thinks he’s a freak.

A little voice inside Taehyung’s head reminds him that Yoongi said he loves him, but his insecurities shoo that bit of information off into a corner somewhere.

Without his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Taehyung feels naked as he pokes his head around the corner. He knew Yoongi would be in the kitchen; he could hear the bubbling of the coffee maker once he stepped out of his bedroom. Despite being fully prepared to see him, Taehyung feels his throat close up when Yoongi looks over his shoulder.

“Good morning, Taehyung-ah.” Yoongi’s gummy smile will be what kills Taehyung one day. He has long decided that he’s perfectly fine with that.

“Hi, hyung,” Taehyung greets softly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Uhh… I’m, um, okay.” Taehyung stands beside Yoongi at the counter briefly before quickly spinning around to sit on the barstool at the kitchen island.

“That’s good; I’m glad.” The sound of Yoongi’s quiet laughter makes Taehyung’s cheeks burn.

Taehyung knows he’s being awkward, but he isn’t sure what to do now. He’s never been with anyone before. Yoongi wasn’t his first kiss, but Taehyung hasn’t dated anyone. Not that they’re dating now! Or… are they? Does a love confession automatically come with a relationship proposal? Does telling someone you love them mean you’re their boyfriend now?

They don’t teach this stuff in school!

Taehyung clasps his hands in his lap and leans his chest against the edge of the counter. If he tenses his entire body like a squeezed fist, perhaps the jittery energy inside of him will subside. It’s not what he’s supposed to do, though. Yoongi told him not to keep his energy stored inside. Repressed feelings will turn into flowers in his lungs again, and no one wants that.

Momentarily distracted, Taehyung’s attention flits to Yoongi, who groans quietly. A small smile curves Taehyung’s lips upward when Yoongi rises onto his tiptoes to reach a coffee mug on the cabinet's top shelf.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi whines like he always does, “This is my favorite mug; why do you always put it all the way up there?”

“Your shirt rides up when you reach like that and your shorts too, and I just like looking at you, and I like when you ask me to help you, and I realize that makes me sound kind of like a pervert, so I’m going to stop talking now,” Taehyung nearly shouts, rushing the entire sentence in one breath.

Yoongi slowly lowers his arm, leaving his mug on the top shelf, and turns around to face Taehyung. His eyes are wide and bright, nowhere near as sleepy as they’d looked when Taehyung entered the kitchen only a few minutes ago.

“Really?” Yoongi asks with an expression unreadable to Taehyung. “You’ve been doing it intentionally because you think it’s hot?”

“Well, I didn’t, I didn’t say that,” Taehyung sputters. His face burns, the heat like a fire licking down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. “I just meant–”

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung licks his lips. “What?”

Yoongi leans back against the kitchen counter, holding the edge on either side of his hips. There’s something about the way he looks at Taehyung that makes Taehyung’s stomach flutter. Perhaps it’s the gentle intensity of his stare or how he adjusts the angle of his hips just enough to show a sliver of skin between where the hem of his shirt ends and the start of his pajama shorts’ waistband.

“Will you help me get my coffee mug?” Yoongi asks with a tilt of his chin.

“O-okay.” Taehyung nearly knocks the barstool over when he stands. He shouldn’t be nervous. All he’s doing is retrieving his roommate’s favorite coffee mug, but as he draws closer to where Yoongi stands at the counter, Taehyung’s heart leaps up his throat because Yoongi doesn’t get out of the way.

Yoongi follows Taehyung with his eyes, but he stays planted with his back against the counter, directly in front of the cabinet with his mug.

Taehyung swallows and stares down at Yoongi, violently reminded that he’s so much taller and broader than him, even if Yoongi is stockier.

“Hyung?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side and asks in a somewhat mocking tone, “What? Can’t you reach it?”

Embarrassed for some reason, Taehyung nods and leans forward. He has to reach over and above Yoongi’s shoulder to grab the mug. They’re close enough that their chests brush against each other when Taehyung moves. He shivers at the contact despite growing hot from Yoongi’s body heat.

“Sorry,” Taehyung says in a low voice because he can’t find the strength to speak at a normal level.

With his fingers gripping the handle, Taehyung is about to hand Yoongi the mug when Yoongi hooks his arm around Taehyung’s neck and pulls him downward. The force makes Taehyung hold onto the edge of the counter with his free hand, his fingers grazing Yoongi’s hip.

Taehyung can feel Yoongi’s whole body pressed against his, from the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest in rhythm with his own down to how Yoongi’s thighs part around Taehyung’s legs. His gaze drops to Yoongi’s lips, which are now mere inches away from his, shiny from the tip of his tongue swiping across them. For a moment, Taehyung is distracted by Yoongi’s fingertips tickling his earlobe, his fingers slipping through the gold hoops of his earrings to tug them lightly. It’s a light, fairly innocent touch, but something about it makes Taehyung’s stomach flutter. Although they cuddled through the night, having Yoongi this close feels different.

“Can I kiss you?” Yoongi’s fingers dance along Taehyung’s neck, a slow smile building on his face.

With a dry mouth, Taehyung mumbles something, but he isn’t sure what. His brain is foggy with a fever he can’t cure but sweat it out under the heat of Yoongi’s stare.

“You’re so cute, Tae.” The compliment is whispered against his lips before Yoongi kisses him.

Yoongi’s pretty lips bite and suck Taehyung’s with a desperation that hadn’t existed the day before. It’s bruising, but Taehyung takes it. He’ll take anything Yoongi gives him, pleasure and love gift-wrapped and topped with the pretty bow of Yoongi’s lip.

Setting the mug down, Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s waist and pulls him against his body, nearly bending him backward with how tightly he holds Yoongi against his chest and how deeply he kisses Yoongi back.

Taehyung whimpers, relishing the feeling of Yoongi’s fingers running through his messy blonde hair. Every tug and twist of the wavy strands makes his body zap with the same jittery energy he’d held in earlier. Except this time, the energy zaps a straight line to his groin rather than frazzle him throughout his body.

Tightening his hold on Yoongi’s waist, Taehyung lifts him onto the counter. Yoongi immediately wraps his legs around Taehyung’s waist, forcing their erections against each other now that Taehyung is fully turned on, and, holy fuck.

“Hyung,” he moans against Yoongi’s mouth. His hands itch to do something, but he doesn’t know what. He keeps them on Yoongi’s hips, digging his fingers into his soft skin just under the hem of his t-shirt.

“God, Taehyung.” Yoongi buries his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck. “I want you.”

A violent tremble ripples through Taehyung’s body. Never has he heard Yoongi sound like this, his voice low and thick with desire – all because of Taehyung. It’s impossible to wrap his mind around. He can barely breathe as Yoongi’s fingers skirt the hem of his sweatpants, dipping in shallowly at his hip bones.

“You want me?” Insecurity drips from the question, pooling in the distance Taehyung creates between them when he leans away to look Yoongi in the eyes.

Yoongi bites his bottom lip and assesses Taehyung with catlike eyes sharp enough to slice through the armor Taehyung has already begun building around him.

“Yeah, Tae. I’ve always wanted you,” Yoongi admits and shocks Taehyung by squeezing his ass to pull him back against Yoongi’s chest.

The confession coaxes out desire from deep inside Taehyung’s core. He feels a flood of warmth that spreads up his body and makes him throb with what he eventually realizes is impatience. Moaning again for Yoongi to swallow the sound, Taehyung hooks his arms around Yoongi’s thighs and hoists him up.

“Fuck, god, why is this so hot.” Yoongi squeezes his legs around Taehyung’s waist and slips his hands inside his t-shirt from the back to hold Taehyung’s sides. It’s the most adventurous Taehyung has ever been, carrying Yoongi into his bedroom and delicately placing him onto the bed.

They’re a flurry of hands fumbling with buttons and zippers and teeth biting lips. They move in a dance of desperation, a feverish push and pull between the two of them. Taehyung gets lost in the expanse of Yoongi’s perfect skin, from his broad shoulders to his soft stomach.

Not surprisingly, when Taehyung discards the rest of his clothes and eases onto the bed to lie on his back, he doesn’t feel the debilitating anxiety he always assumed he’d feel when he finally got fully naked in front of another person. Yoongi is far too gentle to bring about shame or embarrassment in Taehyung. He cradles Taehyung’s face as he kneels between his legs and kisses him with so much care that Taehyung worries he might cry.

“I don’t mean to be vulgar, I love you, but, god, I’ve driven myself crazy thinking about how you’d feel around me.”

Yoongi’s teeth drag against Taehyung’s bottom lip as he slowly pulls away, though he keeps his fingers curled in Taehyung’s hair. But when Taehyung doesn't respond, Yoong sits back to look at him with worry lines creasing between his eyebrows. 

Taehyung’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. He’s seeing a side of Yoongi he never has before, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and nerve-wracking. At this moment, Taehyung’s inexperience weighs on his conscience so crushingly that he trembles from anxiety. Will Yoongi hate him for being nervous? What if Taehyung isn’t ready to do the things Yoongi so clearly wants?

"Do you... not feel the same?"

It's ridiculous because Taehyung is lying naked in Yoongi's bed; of course, he wants Yoongi, too. Unfortunately, Taehyung lacks the confidence that Yoongi has. There are too many worries that have weighed down what was otherwise an enthusiastic desire to get into Yoongi's bed. It feels as though Taehyung went too hard too fast, and now he's coming down as he realizes what he has gotten himself into. 

“I’ve never done that before…” Taehyung confesses, too nervous to say what, but the softness of Yoongi’s expression tells him that he knows.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi soothes him. “We don’t have to–”

Taehyung sits up quickly, and Yoongi moves out of the way to let them kneel on the bed facing each other. It’s an intimate experience to sit like that and gaze into each other’s eyes, searching for understanding – even more so than having their naked bodies pressed together.

“No! I want to.”

“Okay. But we don’t even need to go all the way. I know you haven’t.”

“I swear I want to. I’m just… I don’t know if I can, um, I’m scared to let someone, uh…” Taehyung cuts himself off and turns his head to the side, looking away from Yoongi. It’s suddenly too warm in Yoongi’s bedroom.

“Hyung, you get what I’m trying to say.”

Taehyung isn’t sure if Yoongi’s powers are limited to physical pain or if he can heal emotional distress, but he swears that his tension melts away as Yoongi rubs his palms up the tops of his thighs in gentle caresses.

“You’re nervous about bottoming?”

Taehyung nods. He figures he should be an adult about this and stop avoiding Yoongi’s gaze. He’s not entirely innocent about sex; he’s had a few experiences in the past, mostly with people he went on dates with and who expected something out of it. A few sporadic handjobs and blowjobs are nothing compared to this.

Yoongi’s hands leave Taehyung’s thighs to rest on his biceps with a comforting touch. “You can be on top; I don’t care. I just want you in any way you want me to have you. If you want to try that later, we can.”

“I do.”

“Okay, Taehyung-ah, later. I’ll help you.”

Taehyung watches Yoongi shuffle a bit until he can reach his nightstand drawer. His heart beats faster at seeing the condom and bottle of lube that Yoongi drops onto the bed beside him. This is actually happening, and Taehyung has no idea how to regulate the breath that rushes through him so quickly that he feels lightheaded.

“Do you want to try prepping me?” Yoongi holds the bottle of lube over Taehyung’s outstretched fingers. “Rub it a little first since it’s cold.” Taehyung does as he’s told, his body trembling in anticipation. Yoongi uses the free moment to get into position on his forearms and knees in front of where Taehyung kneels.

“Yoongi,” Taehyung squeaks, “What are you–”

“Oh, come on, Taehyung-ah. Don’t be such a prude,” Yoongi teases.

Sufficiently chastised in the kindest way, Taehyung swallows his enthusiasm and takes a deep breath as he tentatively rubs his fingers around Yoongi’s rim. He'd be a liar if he said he hadn't thought about being with Yoongi. He never let the thoughts turn too sexual out of respect for his friend, so Taehyung never imagined the logistics of it all. It doesn't help that Taehyung doesn't have the experience to know what he likes. Luckily, he likes Yoongi, and that's all that matters. Anything with Yoongi will be perfect. 

“Will you tell me if I hurt you?”

Yoongi hums. “Of course, babe, but don’t worry. You’ll do a good job.”

Babe.

Taehyung stutters when he hears the new term of endearment and nearly slips out of place when he slides one of his lubed fingers inside Yoongi. No one has ever called him babe or any variation of the word before. He so desperately wants Yoongi to call him that again.

“Yoongi?”

It’s hard to talk to Yoongi through all his moaning as Taehyung gently but efficiently fingers him open, following every suggestion Yoongi gives him as he explores the spot that makes Yoongi’s legs tremble. It’s hard for Taehyung to even think with his pounding heartbeat and throbbing, neglected cock, but he reminds himself that what he has to ask Yoongi is important.

“W-what, Taehyung?” Yoongi groans, rocking back against Taehyung’s fingers. “I’m good now. Just, just put the condom on, okay? Do you need help?”

Determined to figure everything out on his own, Taehyung fumbles with the package with slippery fingers, eventually ripping it open with his teeth. Why Yoongi moans when Taehyung does that, he’s not sure, but the sound goes straight to his cock.

“I, um.”

“Come on, Tae,” Yoongi whines just like he does when he can’t reach the mug on the top shelf, but this time, it’s so much hotter and demanding.

With a shaky breath, Taehyung presses his cock against Yoongi’s rim. He stays still, resting back on his heels as he kneels behind Yoongi to let him ease onto his cock at his own pace. The slow pace is both not enough and too much for Taehyung to handle. Yoongi’s heat, the slickness of the lube Yoongi told him to add before he put on the condom, the pretty sounds Yoongi makes as he begins fucking himself on Taehyung’s cock – it’s all too much.

Sweat beads along Taehyung’s hairline, wetting his dirty-blonde bangs to his forehead. His jaw aches from how hard he’s biting down on his molars to keep himself from coming as Yoongi picks up the pace. There’s no way he’s going to be the type of virgin to immediately orgasm; the embarrassment would eat him alive.

Squeezing Yoongi’s hips to guide him onto his cock despite knowing Yoongi is clearly capable of handling this himself, Taehyung tries to ground himself in the feeling of Yoongi’s soft skin under the press of his fingertips. He's beautiful, stretched out in front of Taehyung, so gentle and pliant but still in control as he guides Taehyung with his hips, ensnaring him. 

“Hyung,” Taehyung chokes out.

“F-fuck, yeah? Taehyung-ah? Feel good, baby?”

Baby.

Taehyung is fucked. He closes his eyes and lets his head hang back as the sound of skin against skin and their moans fill the room. Despite his determination to be a good partner, Taehyung knows he won’t last. He only hopes he can make Yoongi feel good. After all Yoongi has done for him, he deserves to feel good.

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion beyond the shiver of pleasure Yoongi brings him with every slap of his ass against Taehyung’s hips, Taehyung digs his fingers into Yoongi’s skin. He begins to thrust against Yoongi, meeting him with a snap of his hips every time Yoongi fucks himself onto Taehyung's cock. 

“Are you,” Taehyung gasps when Yoongi swivels his hips.

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” Taehyung is confused because Yoongi answers his question without knowing what he’s asking. “Don’t, ahh, fuck, judge me, okay? Been awhile. Just touch me.”

Reaching back, Yoongi gestures for Taehyung’s hand to bring Taehyung’s arm around his waist. Already slick with leftover lube, Taehyung’s hand glides smoothly along Yoongi’s cock. He pumps and twists his wrist hard and fast, which prompts Yoongi to thrust backward faster, too.

The tightness of arousal coiling in Taehyung’s body makes his muscles ache, his movements growing uncoordinated and sloppy. Taehyung groans and slumps forward. With his body draped over Yoongi’s, he presses a hot kiss at the edge of his jaw and asks the question that has been burning on his tongue ever since Yoongi uttered those three words to him: 

“Hyung… Are, are you my boyfriend?”

“W-what–”

Yoongi’s question is interrupted by his orgasm, the force of which causes his limbs to collapse. He shakily tries to stay up on his hands to keep up the rhythm, but Taehyung takes over with a burning desire to chase his own high.

Taehyung fucks Yoongi through his orgasm, luckily already on the edge of finding his own release before he pushes Yoongi into overstimulation. With one hand pressed to Yoongi’s stomach and the other squeezing his hip to hold him up, Taehyung finishes into the condom with gasp that verges on a sob.

Arms trembling, Taehyung holds himself up with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Yoongi’s head, where he lies on his stomach, his own arms having completely given out. Taehyung lets his head hang forward to lightly press into the middle of Yoongi’s back as he catches his breath.

Now, he understands why everyone goes on about sex so much, but even more than that, he’s got those warm, fuzzy feelings because it was with Yoongi. He got to fall apart because of Yoongi, got to see Yoongi shake and moan his name. Taehyung will have that sweet sound imprinted into his mind for the rest of his life.

“Are you okay, hyung?”

When Yoongi nods, Taehyung slowly eases out of him and removes the condom with twitching fingers. He feels like the blood has left his limbs, leaving tingling needles in its place.

“I don’t know if I can walk,” Taehyung admits weakly, though he stands up anyway.

Yoongi lets out a huff that Taehyung thinks is a laugh, but his face is smushed into the bed.

“Don’t make fun of me, hyung,” Taehyung complains.

Magically, he finds the willpower to rush out of the bedroom. It would be gross to leave the condom out anyway, right? He has to throw it away. By the time he returns to Yoongi’s bedroom from the bathroom, Yoongi is lying on his back with the blankets kicked onto the floor.

“Come here,” Yoongi beckons, and Taehyung is charmed by the gravelly edge to his voice.

“I’m not making fun of you, Taehyung-ah. You’re just so cute.” 

Taehyung snuggles his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and breathes in his familiar scent of eucalyptus and peppermint. Even with their bodies sweaty and warm, having Yoongi so close brings Taehyung comfort. It has always been like this, ever since the moment Taehyung met Yoongi. It’s fitting, he supposes, for a man who can heal with the press of a single fingertip. Despite the darker side of Yoongi’s powers that comes with the lighter side, Taehyung finds that there’s no one else he feels safer with.

With a playfully irritated groan, Taehyung lets his body completely flop on top of Yoongi’s. He’s deadweight, but Yoongi is strong enough not to crumble under the pressure. 

“Areyoumyboyfriendhyung?”

Yoongi stretches his neck in an attempt to pull away to hear Taehyung better. “What was that?”

“I asked if you’re my boyfriend. Please don’t make me say it again.” Taehyung’s cheeks are on fire. Why is this part more embarrassing than having sex for the first time?

“I would like to be, yeah.”

“Me too,” Taehyung whispers. “That would be really nice.”

Yoongi digs his fingers into Taehyung’s yellow curls and massages his scalp gently. “I love you, Taehyung-ah. Thank you for letting me in.” 

In the room, in his heart, in his life. Yoongi says everything in such few words, making Taehyung love him so much more. He manages to mumble his reply into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, speaking about his love for his friend – boyfriend! – into his skin, for his body to know just as well as his mind and heart do. 

In a way, Taehyung can imagine his heart as a flower, budding with slow intentionality and coaxed to bloom by Yoongi’s tender love. Rather than suffocate, Taehyung allows happiness to take root inside of him. 

“Two superheroes, a sidekick, and a villain walk into a bar–”

“–and the superheroes pay for the drinks because they’ll be the ones with all the fame and glory,” Jimin finishes Yoongi’s sentence with a sharp grin. 

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi huffs as he holds the door open for his friends. 

Jimin lets Hoseok and Taehyung enter first. Jimin knows that if he and Hoseok go first, then Taehyung will awkwardly try to get Yoongi to enter the bar before he does, even though Yoongi is the one holding the door, and then Taehyung will trip on his way inside and embarrass himself. As funny as Taehyung’s crush on Yoongi is, it can be painful to sit through – even now, when Yoongi and Taehyung are officially dating. 

Jimin may be a villain, but he isn’t a sadist. 

Besides, one highly possible outcome is that Taehyung gets all flustered and makes plants start shooting out of the ground, completely ruining the friends’ night out celebrating the end of finals. Boo.  

Jimin turns around to stick his tongue out at Yoongi, ignoring the wide-eyed look on Taehyung’s face. The poor kid is so terrified of him that he’d buy the whole bar a round of shots if Jimin asked him to. It’s funny. Jimin is virtually harmless. 

“Don’t Jimin-ah me, Min Yoongi. You can’t argue against this; I am all-knowing.” 

In front of him, Hoseok snorts. It’s difficult to know what he has found amusing since Hoseok is always, intentionally or not, swimming in the inner thoughts of everyone around him. Jimin has long since gotten over the unnerving reality that his best friend can hear his thoughts. If anything, Hoseok should be thankful to Jimin. Having access to Jimin’s thoughts means having access to all the little glimpses of the future that flit through his head. Hoseok has said it’s challenging to sort through the mess of scenes, understandably so. It has taken Jimin years to gain control over his power of precognition. 

“You are not all-knowing. You’re a glorified fortune teller,” Hoseok teases, confirming that his earlier snort was in response to Jimin’s cocky comment. 

“Hyung, how dare you?” Jimin gasps as the four men find a booth near the back of the bar. 

It’s a classic dive bar, dimly lit and vaguely smokey. The wooden table isn’t sticky when Jimin presses his palm against the surface as he slides into the booth, so that’s a win – not that he didn’t already know it wouldn’t be. Rare is it that anything surprises Jimin. He tries not to focus his energy on decoding the scenes that flit through his mind like specks of dust sparkling in the sunlight. Learning to shoo them away has taken time and diligent practice as a villain trainee.

Hoseok sits opposite Jimin, also sliding into the booth first. Taehyung quickly follows Hoseok without sparing Jimin a glance, leaving Yoongi to sit beside Jimin. They all already know that Yoongi will be the one to get their drinks from the bar once everyone decides on what they want. Though healing is Yoongi’s superpower, his entire personality is thoughtful and gentle.

The kindness of it all disgusts Jimin just as much as it fascinates him.

Sometimes, Jimin wonders if Yoongi can heal whatever part of Jimin made him a villain. It isn’t that Jimin minds that this is the path he has chosen for himself; after all, he knows what would’ve happened if he had chosen the path of a hero or sidekick. The thought of becoming something else makes Jimin’s brain itch.

A kick to the shin forces Jimin to blink, ripping his eyes from Yoongi’s profile to stare at Hoseok’s frown from across the table. Hoseok knows what Jimin is thinking, and Jimin doesn’t need words to understand him.

Hoseok believes Jimin is perfect the way he is. The narcissist inside Jimin agrees.

“Can someone pass me the specialty drink menu?” Taehyung chirps from the other end of the table. He speaks cutely, like he always does, each note sounding as sweet as he smells, floral yet a bit earthy, dirt beneath half-bitten nails.

Looking up from his phone, Hoseok eyes the menu where it’s propped up against the wall by a napkin holder. The laminated sheet is definitely sticky; Jimin doesn’t need supernatural qualities to tell him that. Luckily, with Hoseok around, there’s no need to touch the grimey thing. It takes little effort for him to use his telekinesis to lift the menu from one end of the table and gently drop it with his mind in front of Taehyung.  

“How did your examinations go, Hobah?” Yoongi asks while he leans on his forearms to get closer to Taehyung so they can both review the menu.

“Ah, the usual,” Hoseok shrugs with a slight pout, “Combat still fucks me over, but Jimin has been helping me, so my scores should be much higher this semester.”

“Is that allowed?” Taehyung’s bright eyes slide from Hoseok to Jimin.

Wiggling a little in his seat, Jimin bites back a cocky grin.

“It isn’t not allowed,” Jimin settles on saying, punctuating his statement with an airy laugh.

He isn’t lying. As far as he knows, no rules at the various universities in Seoul prohibit superhero and sidekick trainees from fraternizing with villain trainees. Of course, it isn’t the smartest thing to do. Secret sharing across enemy lines can only come back to bite someone in the ass. Is Jimin disadvantaged because Hoseok has an intimate understanding of his combat style? Will Hoseok come to regret letting Jimin know his weaknesses?

Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Jimin watches Hoseok with his pretty lips parted in a slight smirk. Hoseok has more weaknesses than just poor combat skills.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Yoongi offers.

“Do you think I would hurt him?” Jimin plays affronted, and Yoongi sees right through it.

Yoongi sighs, but his lips quirk with a smile when he and Taehyung share a small look.

“Just figure out what you want to order, yeah?”

After the three tell Yoongi their drink orders, he leaves the table to relay the information to the bartender at the counter. It only takes about three seconds before Taehyung shoots out of his seat, muttering something about helping Yoongi carry their drinks before the kid scrambles toward the bar counter.

“You freak him out,” Hoseok observes with a chuckle that Jimin mimics.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“It’s how sneaky you act.” Hoseok props his elbow on the table and holds his chin in his hand. “Like you know something he doesn’t.”

Jimin grins, teeth bright and sharp.

“But I do.”

“Mmm…” Hoseok’s dark eyes start straight into Jimin’s gray ones.

Looking for something? Jimin thinks, his grin spreading when Hoseok’s cheeks flush pink.

“Nothing in particular.”

You’re cute when you’re nosy.

“I hear; I don’t listen.”

Jimin scoffs, eyes rolling despite his playful expression.

Liar.

A blunt laugh punches out of Hoseok’s chest. He looks across the bar to see Yoongi and Taehyung hold hands while they wait for their drinks.

“You could be a villain if you wanted,” Jimin murmurs, careful not to talk too loudly in case other bar patrons are as nosy as his telepathic friend. “Your powers are perfect for it, and you have a certain… flair.”

“I would never.”

“Too good for it?” Jimin’s grin is impossibly bright.

Hoseok chews his bottom lip for a moment. It's shiny with spit when he releases it from between his teeth.

“Something like that,” he admits, leaning back against his seat.

Ignoring Hoseok’s non-answer, Jimin rests both forearms on the table and leans forward, making up for the distance Hoseok put between them when he rested against the back of the booth.

“Would you like to know what I see in your future, Hobi hyung?” Jimin purrs. 

“You already know the answer.” 

“I want you to say it anyway.” 

“Fine,” Hoseok concedes with a cheery smile, “I would love to know what you see in my future, JimJam.”

“I see you pressed against the bathroom door of this shitty bar while I suck you off so good you start crying.”

Evil satisfaction bubbles in Jimin’s hot veins when Hoseok closes his eyes and slowly inhales, pulling his upper body up and inward. It takes time to recover from Jimin’s bluntness, though Hoseok should be accustomed to his behavior. Never one to run out of confidence, Jimin has thousands of possibilities flipping through his brain like a Rolodex, each categorized by the probability of Jimin getting the best outcome for his personal gain.

Seducing Hoseok was one of Jimin’s personal bests.

“There is no future in which you can resist me,” Jimin had cooed in Hoseok’s ear the first time they fucked.

It was quick and hardly memorable, both of them young college kids heavily intoxicated, too worried about shoving each other in the bathroom of some random house party and getting their skinny jeans around their thighs to care about much else. Heroes, villains — none of it mattered.

Still, none of it does.

“Yoongi hyung is thinking about the face masks he bought to use later tonight with Taehyung,” Hoseok says carefully, finally opening his eyes. He watches their friends at the bar. “Tae wants to go home because he’s tired. And because you freak him out. He’s giving himself a two-drink max.”

When Hoseok turns back around, Jimin is already getting up.

“It’s going to take them a while to get our drinks. That bitch in the pink will cut Yoongi in line, and he’ll be too nice to say anything,” Jimin gestures with a jerk of his head in the direction of a girl inching toward the bar.

As the two men pass the bar counter on their way to the bathroom, Jimin lightly touches the elbow of the girl in the pink halter top.

“God, it’s taking a while, isn’t it?” he whines with a pout. The girl’s frown deepens.

“Yes! Like, what the fuck! I don’t understand why they only have one bartender when it’s getting so busy.”

Meddling with the future isn’t something Jimin believes in. No, he prefers to… leave suggestions sprinkled about, nothing major. Planting seeds is better than bulldozing trees. Miss Pink Halter Top was going to be a bitch about the service anyway; Jimin only gave her a little push in the right direction. 

Smug and satisfied with himself, Jimin laces his fingers with Hoseok’s. They’re far more graceful slipping into the single-person bathroom in the back of the bar than they had been at that college party nearly four years ago. Experience has allowed Jimin to know how Hoseok likes being touched, kissed, and cared for.

Comfortable with the veil of protective mystery that comes with an on-and-off relationship, Jimin doesn’t worry about what Hoseok does when they aren’t together; he knows he’s the only one who can treat Hoseok right.

Besides, Jimin knows every possible end to their relationship; all he ever sees is the two of them, hand-in-hand.

The moment Hoseok locks the bathroom door behind them, Jimin falls to his knees in front of him. Hoseok looks good from this angle, jaw sharp and eyes narrowed when he peers down at Jimin’s expecting mouth.

“Stop thinking about how pretty I am,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush bright pink, and a heart-shaped smile brightens his face. “It’s embarrassing when you have your face against my…” He waves at his crotch.

“Relax, hyung,” Jimin purrs, biting the zipper of Hoseok’s pants and tugging while he opens the button with his fingers.

Toned and impossibly smooth, Hoseok’s thighs quiver as Jimin tugs his jeans and briefs halfway down, far enough to free his cock. It hangs limp, not yet hard, but Jimin knows in more ways than one that it won’t take long to get Hoseok worked up.

All Jimin has to think about is them fucking, and Hoseok is already whimpering.

“You have to tell me if someone’s coming,” Hoseok whispers. The back of his head stutters and thuds against the bathroom door when he lets his head fall back.

“Won’t you hear them?”

“I can’t—” Hoseok inhales sharply when Jimin flicks his wet tongue across the tip of his cock. “I can’t concentrate.”

Suckling the head of Hoseok’s cock, Jimin hums lightly in understanding, though he doesn’t care if someone comes. The door is locked. Even if Hoseok is loud, Jimin won’t find it in him to feel bad. There’s a second bathroom people can use; they aren’t doing anything bad.

This behavior is elementary, vanilla, and amateur. Jimin would love to do worse.

Jimin opens his mouth wider to take more of Hoseok’s cock down his throat, sucking with hollowed cheeks and letting spit bubble at the corners of his mouth. Messy head is neither good nor bad for Jimin, but he loves how vocal Hoseok becomes when he wets his cock, all slick and warm.

“Fuck,” Hoseok moans through a shuddery breath. 

Hoseok’s eyes squeeze shut, and he quickly lifts the hem of his hoodie to keep it out of the way when Jimin begins bobbing his head.

Fully hard, Hoseok’s cock twitches in Jimin’s hand when he pumps the base where he doesn’t reach with his mouth. He could swallow Hoseok whole, but the little golden speckles of future flickering in Jimin’s mind tell him that a little twist of his wrist is going to make Hoseok cum faster. Not that Jimin wants to keep this short, but he’s in a generous mood and doesn’t want to leave Taehyung and Yoongi waiting too long.

“Just, just like that.” Hoseok digs his fingers in Jimin’s silky pink hair using his free hand. He doesn’t push; he just scratches his nails against Jimin’s scalp as tingling encouragement.

Taking more of Hoseok into his mouth, Jimin maintains a consistent pace. His lips redden and swell, getting hot and spit-slicked as they stretch around Hoseok’s cock. He licks the underside and hums in satisfaction when Hoseok’s hips stutter.

It’s hard and fast how Jimin works his cock while Hoseok does his best to keep his back plastered to the bathroom door and his heart-shaped mouth shut. Little whimpers escape his pretty lips, but he’s always been vocal. It’s one of Jimin’s favorite things about him.

“Jimin,” Hoseok whispers, a warning Jimin doesn’t need.

Putting a bit of pressure on Hoseok’s balls as he holds his cock, Jimin lightly squeezes them, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin. That, combined with the ruthless pace of Jimin swallowing Hoseok’s cock, finally has Hoseok shaking under him.

“Shit shit shit.”

It hurts how hard Hoseok pulls his hair, but Jimin doesn’t care. Jimin keeps his gray eyes locked on Hoseok as he cums, pulling back far enough to let his cum spurt on his tongue. If it were another day and another place, Hoseok would lean back a bit further.

“Good?” Jimin asks sweetly after showing Hoseok that he has swallowed.

Hoseok nods weakly and finally uncurls his fingers from Jimin’s hair. It’s mechanical, as though his body isn’t yet his own, his orgasm temporarily stealing his autonomy from him.

With Hoseok’s help, Jimin rises to his feet. His knees ache from kneeling on the hard concrete floor, and the denim is dusty. Jimin would like to think he has a little more class than getting on his knees in a dingy bar bathroom, but when it comes to Hoseok, he’s willing to make compromises.

Jimin is hard, too. Hoseok’s eyes drop to the bulge in his jeans, but Jimin presses his fingers against the underside of his chin to lift his head.

I’m fine.

Sometimes, it’s nice not to have to say things out loud.

Sweat makes Hoseok’s blonde bangs stick to his forehead. Jimin brushes the hair from his face and admires the pink glow highlighting his features. For a long time, he thought he’d never find someone to pull those vulnerable, uncomfortable emotions out of him: affection and love.

Hoseok, though? There’s something about him that’s different.

“You know I love you too, right?” Hoseok asks with creeping hands wrapping around Jimin’s waist.

His turn to be shy, Jimin scoffs and turns his cheek to Hoseok when he leans in for a kiss.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm,” Hoseok’s smile is there in the sounds he makes; Jimin doesn’t need to see it. “What are the odds Taehyung and Yoongi will ditch us?”

Sometimes, Jimin wonders if the illness Taehyung had might happen to him, too, though he knows it’s unlikely. Taehyung’s powers are nothing like Jimin’s. Still, Jimin feels something tighten and twist in his chest when he thinks about how good it is to be loved by Hoseok.

“We could go out there and be honest about what we were doing, and they’ll complain but eventually get over it,” Jimin explains, his fingers finding Hoseok’s to intertwine with them at his hips, “Or we pretend like nothing happened, and they’ll be uncomfortable the rest of the night, wondering.”

The smirk that blossoms across Hoseok’s face is prettier than any flower Jimin has ever seen.

“Let’s make them suffer,” Hoseok laughs when Jimin’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh? Is someone playing the villain today?”

Pulling Jimin into a hug, Hoseok nuzzles the side of his neck.

“You’re a bad influence on me, JimJam. But I like it.”

Triumphant, Jimin grabs the back of Hoseok’s head and pulls him into a kiss. Despite the taste of Hoseok on Jimin’s tongue, the kiss is innocent and slow. What Jimin can’t verbalize, he can give Hoseok through his thoughts and actions. For now, that’s all they need.

The bed Jimin is sitting on has sheets silkier than anything he has ever felt. The smooth, white fabric shimmers when Jimin runs his palm against it back and forth.

He’s nervous.

His knees sink into the mattress, feet tucked under his butt to make himself smaller. All he’s wearing is a pair of tight, black boxer briefs — Calvin Klein, a pair he was gifted by the Euphoria Studios producer who hired him.

When the bedroom door opens, Jimin quickly brings his hands to rest on the tops of his thighs and holds his breath as a man crosses the room. The man’s name is Yoongi, if Jimin remembers correctly. He seems nice, with a gummy smile, nothing like the type of person Jimin would assume is a cinematographer for a pornography studio. Then again, Jimin supposes people wouldn't necessarily assume that he is the type of person to work at a pornography studio. His day job is data analysis for a tech company, the least sexy occupation.

“Hi again!” Yoongi smiles at Jimin before turning to set the camera up on a tripod near the bed. “Sorry, it’s taking longer than expected. Taehyung is running a bit late.”

Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He’s merely a rookie and in no position to judge the star of the show. He doesn’t even know why the producers paired him with their highest-ranking pornstar.

“Would you like water or anything?” Yoongi leans against the foot of the bed once the camera is in place. Multiple cameras surround the bed, but their primary focus will be the one Yoongi sets up near the foot of the bed.

“No, thank you,” Jimin says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks, “I’m alright.”

“Nervous?”

Yoongi seems genuine when he asks. Something about his warm demeanor makes Jimin comfortable enough to admit, “A little bit.”

With a hum and a nod of understanding, Yoongi perches on the edge of the bed and smiles softly.

“Did they explain the moderating process?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin shakes his head. “I’m going to be in another room to monitor the livestream with two other employees. We’ll make sure there’s nothing inappropriate in the chat and that the camera angles look good, or I’ll come in to adjust them. I’ll do my best not to interrupt the scene.”

Yoongi's smile turns a little teasing, just enough to make Jimin smile, too.

“Is there usually anything bad?”

“Not really,” Yoongi shrugs, “These sessions are typically well-received. People love the authenticity of a ‘regular person’ doing a scene with a professional, especially when it’s live and unedited. We’re expecting a massive turnout since this is the first livestream Taehyung has ever done.”

Jimin ponders this new information once Yoongi excuses himself, exiting through the bedroom door and into the office where the computers are set up. The house the company rented for the shoot is cute, sleek, and minimalistic, with white walls, leather furniture, and a pool in the back. Although Jimin is definitely out of his element, having never done real porn or worked with another person on adult content before, at least he has camming experience in his back pocket — an experience that Taehyung doesn’t have.

It’s barely any advantage, but it’s all Jimin has, so he’ll take it.

After about fifteen minutes, Jimin is startled once again by Yoongi entering the bedroom, this time with another man behind him.

“Alright, let’s get introductions out of the way?” Yoongi motions for Jimin to stand.

Jimin does so slowly, crawling off the bed and hating how ridiculous he probably looks in front of who is honestly the most attractive person he has ever seen in his life.

“Park Jimin, this is your co-star for the day, Kim Taehyung.”

There are a few reasons why Jimin has never done porn, but the most significant is because he’s picky. Far too many men in the porn industry are so… mid at best. Of course, everyone has their own preferences, and everyone is the ideal type for someone, but Jimin rarely watches porn and thinks, ah, yes, let me get pummeled into by a sweaty, fifty-year-old man with more hair on his tits than on his head, and a stick dick.

(Is Jimin shallow? Perhaps. Sue him.)

Kim Taehyung, though… There’s a reason why he’s one of the highest-ranking pornstars globally. Not only is Taehyung physically attractive, with an athletic build and massive cock, and piercing eyes that could make anyone’s dick twitch from watching one of his many facial cumshot POVs, but he seems really nice from what Jimin has read of him online. Even Taehyung’s social media accounts, other than porn websites, are wholesome, with not a suggestive photo in sight on either his Instagram or Twitter. His Instagram may as well be a gallery of puppy photos.

As a versatile switch, Taehyung is a unicorn of sorts in an industry full of the stereotypical binary: submissive bottoms and dominant tops. After Euphoria Studios contacted Jimin about their livestream series and mentioned that he would likely do a session with Taehyung, known as “V” in the industry, Jimin may have spent some time studying up on his future co-star. Jimin had watched Taehyung's videos before receiving an offer from Euphoria Studios. Everyone has watched Taehyung's videos.

If Jimin had actually watched Taehyung’s videos as research, he would’ve appreciated how secure Taehyung seems to be in himself and how effortless he is at making his partners comfortable and satiated. Of course, watching a video of Taehyung without getting distracted is difficult. Jimin would never admit it, but all his time “researching” usually ended with hot, shaky orgasms.

“Thank you for letting me be here, Taehyung-ssi.” Jimin dips his head in a rushed bow and holds it long enough for Taehyung to make a tutting sound.

“Ah, none of that,” Taehyung says with a smile. He curls his fingers against the underside of Jimin’s chin to gently lift his face. “We were both invited to be here on equal footing. And don’t bother being formal with me, Jimin-ah. I’d rather you not speak to me like I'm an ahjussi while I fuck you."

Taehyung’s words are a stark reminder that Jimin is standing in his underwear in the bedroom of a posh rental house while a literal pornstar eyes him up and down. Taehyung has won awards for how well he fucks.

What is Jimin doing here??

“He’s right,” Yoongi nods as he readjusts the side camera, “You were picked based on compatibility.”

In addition to submitting his STI testing results and employment paperwork to the studio, Jimin also had to submit a short introduction video to help the producers pair him with one of their pornstars. Jimin had been so nervous that he’d had to redo it six times before he was comfortable with his final submission. It’s both reassuring and terrifying that Taehyung watched it and specifically picked him.

“Anyway, are you both ready? I’ll let Hob-ah know to start the live, and we can do a little intro before I duck out,” Yoongi explains while he taps away at his phone, presumably to text his coworker.

Taehyung looks to Jimin, and Jimin does his best to look into his eyes. Even though Taehyung’s eyes are dark and intimidating, Jimin is less scared to stare into them than he is to look at the rest of Taehyung’s body. Taehyung is in a simple black t-shirt and white Calvin Klein briefs that match Jimin’s, though the white fabric does nothing to disguise the bulge in them. The bulge is what Jimin is forcing himself not to look at. He absolutely cannot look.

Biting at the silver hoop pierced in the middle of his bottom lip, Jimin lets his eyes fall south, just for a second. It’s so quick, a little blip in time. Fast enough to get confirmation that Taehyung may still be soft, but he’s big, not that Jimin didn’t already know that. It’s different in real life, though.

When Jimin locks eyes with Taehyung again, he notices the slight smirk that makes the corners of his mouth quirk.

Fuck.

“That piercing suits you,” Taehyung muses. It’s almost absent-minded how he presses his thumb to Jimin’s bottom lip and lightly wiggles the piercing from side to side.

Jimin is pretty sure Satan himself possesses him when he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Taehyung’s thumb.

"Guys, didn't you hear what I said? Intros first, fucking second," Yoongi huffs.

"Sorry, hyung." Taehyung's smile is easy, too easy, as if pulling his thumb out of Jimin's mouth is nothing out of the ordinary.

It isn't out of the ordinary for Taehyung, Jimin supposes. While Jimin is internally starstruck and maybe a bit of a wreck the longer he stands here and stares at Taehyung's beauty, Taehyung is… at work. This is merely another day for Taehyung, nothing special. If it wasn't Jimin, then it would have been some other random guy who just so happened to post thirty-second videos of himself bouncing on a dildo on Twitter.

"You have camming experience, don't you?" Taehyung asks as he kneels on the bed.

"I've done a few live shows, but never with anyone else." Jimin follows Taehyung's lead, his heart stuttering in his chest with each sliver of distance closed between them. "I mostly upload content, solo stuff."

Taehyung's boxy smile wrinkles his eyes at the corners, and Jimin feels lightheaded.

"Well, Jimin, I'm honored to share this experience with you."

By the time they're settled in the middle of the bed, Jimin's hands are sticking to the silky sheets from how sweaty his palms are. He shifts slightly, and his knee presses against Taehyung's thigh, scattering goosebumps up his legs and across his forearms.

"Hi everyone, it's V." 

Taehyung begins the livestream with a smile so sweet that Jimin can't imagine this is the same man who has starred in pornos where he eats cum out of other people's assholes. 

"Welcome to my camming debut! I was somewhat nervous about this session, but my lovely co-star, Kitty, will make it worthwhile."

At Taehyung's use of the nickname, Jimin turns his head to duck his face into his shoulder for a split second, just enough to let out a shaky exhale and try to recover from the butterflies Taehyung has stirred up in his stomach. He's not shy about sex; he never has been. Unfortunately, Taehyung holds the dangerous power to turn Jimin into a blushing virgin. 

When Jimin agreed to do the livestream, the producers asked him if he had a stage name he'd like to use. Using his real name seemed like a bad idea, but he'd never put any thought into posting his erotic content under an official alias. None of this was supposed to become more than a casual hobby used to make money on the side. Even if he'd wanted a fake name, the creativity needed to come up with something cute and original is too much for Jimin. Half the time, he doesn't even bother crafting clever captions for his posts. Emojis will do.

So when Jimin told the producers they could call him whatever they wanted, they let Taehyung choose his alias. Jimin would have never imagined that Taehyung would choose Kitty. It's both adorable and unbelievably dirty, and Jimin doesn't really know why.

"Hi," Jimin waves to the camera and feels like an idiot when Taehyung laughs softly.

Taehyung is so relaxed, with his thighs spread and his hand pressed into the mattress behind him so he can lean back slightly. Meanwhile, Jimin is on his knees again, feet tucked under his butt, trying not to touch Taehyung's warm, tan skin. He feels like he's being burned alive.

"How are you two feeling now that we're live?" Yoongi asks, checking between the two main tripods near the foot and side of the bed.

"Great—"

"Nervous—"

Jimin brushes his lips with the back of his head to suppress the mortification he feels for cutting Taehyung off. Why is he admitting that he's scared in 4k?

Yoongi fires off more questions, not only to help everyone relax and welcome their viewers but to give his coworkers the opportunity to check the sound and quality of the other cameras in the room. There are so many angles that Jimin feels like he's being monitored like a science experiment.

Most of the questions are about getting to know Jimin, how he ended up here, and why Taehyung chose Jimin as his co-star ("He's gorgeous, obviously, but he also seemed sweet, like he would be easy to connect with."). Jimin wouldn't call himself sweet, but he tries hard to make people happy. The look Taehyung gives him when he answers is too soft for someone who doesn't even know him, too soft for porn. 

"Have you watched V's films before, Kitty?" Yoongi asks, indicating with hand motions the cameras don't pick up that he'll be leaving soon.

"Um," Jimin catches Taehyung's smirk from the side and feels his face heat up, "I have…"

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Taehyung asks. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, but Jimin is saved by Yoongi's follow-up comment.

"Taehyung is great with the rookies." Yoongi gives Jimin a small smile, like he's saying this for him, not for the sake of the livestream. "He'll take care of you."

"I will, if you'll let me," Taehyung adds. He reaches for Jimin's chin again, curling his fingers around it to turn Jimin's head, forcing him to look into his dark eyes. "Will you let me, Kitty? I'll guide you through the pleasure, make you feel good."

Jimin nods, breathless. He has never considered himself to have a voice kink, but he could swear he's getting hard just from the way Taehyung murmurs, Kitty. How is it possible that Taehyung would want him? Jimin is just a regular guy. He doesn't even make that much money off of his nudes. 

"Good," Taehyung skirts his fingertips along Jimin's jaw, "Because I've been looking forward to fucking you raw since the moment I watched your casting video."

"Yeah?" Jimin breathes, desperately following the path Taehyung's hand makes as it slides from his jaw to his neck and down his chest.

"Mhm, split you open on my cock and give you whatever you want. You're a good boy, aren't you, Kitty? But I'll be honest, you don't look like one. You look like you'd give me trouble." 

"Only sometimes," Jimin whimpers as Taehyung cradles the back of his neck, eyes fluttering closed and head tilted backward. 

"So cute," Taehyung chuckles before he captures Jimin's lips with his. 

Taehyung's kiss is languid, like he has all the time in the world to explore Jimin's mouth with his own. It surprises Jimin, who had expected to be greedily devoured, fearing that he wouldn't be able to keep up. The pace isn't unwanted, though. Jimin finds himself giving into the warmth of Taehyung's body when Taehyung curls one arm around Jimin's waist to pull him against his chest while he digs his fingers into Jimin's hair, holding him in place. Jimin isn't fragile; he's just as athletically built as Taehyung, though Taehyung is stockier in his upper body. Still, he feels consumed by Taehyung as he lifts them onto their knees and nearly bends Jimin backward when his mouth grows hungrier. 

With a pleasant hum, Jimin wraps his arms around Taehyung's neck. His cologne smells earthy, with a slight spice that makes Jimin dizzy. 

A giggle bubbles inside Jimin when Taehyung dips his head to suck kisses on his throat. The slight stubble on Taehyung's chin and cheeks pricks Jimin's sensitive skin. He can feel Taehyung's teeth pressing against his throat when Taehyung laughs soft and muffled. 

"What?" Taehyung lifts his eyes to look at Jimin through his long, curled eyelashes. It's an innocent gaze that makes Jimin's cock throb because Taehyung uses the opportunity to flick his tongue over one of Jimin's nipples. 

"Tickles," Jimin barely manages to speak before he moans, hands dropping to lace his fingers through Taehyung's silky hair. 

Taehyung wraps his lips around Jimin's nipple and sucks on it, still flicking his tongue against it until it grows perky and hot. It's nothing special, just nipples, but when Taehyung reaches up to tweak the other one, Jimin moans so loudly that his cheeks burn with embarrassment. His entire body is buzzing with heat that burns deeper the longer Taehyung tastes him, their lips finding each other again so Taehyung can slip his hot tongue inside Jimin's mouth. 

"Do you like having a cock in your mouth, Kitty?" Taehyung asks in between fiery kisses. 

"I do," Jimin admits dumbly because Taehyung didn't need an answer. 

"Can you show everyone how much you like having cock in your mouth?" 

Jimin notices the smug look on Taehyung's face when they pull away from each other so Taehyung can take off his t-shirt and underwear. Jimin has been so consumed by Taehyung's kisses that he forgets he hasn't gotten entirely naked either. 

There's no reason why Taehyung grabbing the back of his shirt to pull it over his head is attractive, but he looks fantastic, uncovering smooth, tan skin that Jimin presses his palms against. 

Following Taehyung's lead, Jimin removes his briefs and settles on his stomach in between Taehyung's legs, where he spreads them open with his back leaned against the bed's soft headboard. Taehyung's cock is half-hard and shiny at the tip. 

Jimin shouldn't think about how many people have sucked Taehyung off, but he does anyway, imagining a leaderboard with his name ranked hundreds of points below everyone else. The camera has a perfect shot of Taehyung's cock in Jimin's face. It's also a perfect shot for their viewers to watch Jimin give the lamest head Taehyung has probably ever received. He's not a pornstar; he can't gag on cock without needing to breathe or let Taehyung pummel his throat without giving up from the pain.  

"Are you alright?" Taehyung runs his fingers through Jimin's bangs, pushing them off his forehead to better get a look at his face. "If you don't want–" 

Gag reflex or not, Jimin swallows Taehyung's cock in one swift, fearless motion. His cock is longer and thicker than any of the guys Jimin has been with, but he'd expected that – it's part of the reason why he's such a successful pornstar. 

Some people are God's favorites. 

"Fuck," Taehyung moans and tightens his grip on Jimin's hair. 

Jimin lifts up until only the head of Taehyung's cock is in his mouth. He sucks on it for a few seconds, tonguing the sensitive underside and collecting more spit in his mouth so he can let it dribble as he eases Taehyung's cock back into his mouth. 

It takes a few bobs of his head to figure out how to breathe properly and establish a steady rhythm. Each motion makes his lip piercing drag along the underside of Taehyung's cock, following a thick vein and teasing the head. At first, Jimin worries his piercing is hurting Taehyung, but Taehyung keeps light pressure on the back of Jimin's head when he hesitantly pulls away. 

"That's it," Taehyung tilts his head back, and Jimin watches his stomach flutter as he breathes, "You're so gorgeous. I knew you'd be, with your lips stretched around my cock. Such pretty fucking lips." Taehyung tries sliding his index finger into the corner of Jimin's mouth alongside his cock. "Your ass is going to look even better sucking me in." 

Jimin can only hum and moan his appreciation, creating vibrations that pulse through Taehyung's cock. 

Sitting up and leaning forward, Taehyung reaches down Jimin's back to slip his fingers between his asscheeks. The new angle forces his cock further down Jimin's throat. In a panic, he digs his fingers into the meaty flesh of Taehyung's thighs as he gags around his cock. His palms are sweaty against his smooth skin. He's overwhelmed on both ends when Taehyung presses his fingers against the pretty jewel nestled between his cheeks. 

"Oh, Kitty," Taehyung guides Jimin off his cock with a smile, "Did you wear this for me?" 

Taehyung wipes away spit at the corners of Jimin's mouth with his thumb, just for Jimin to suck his thumb back into his mouth. 

"I wanted to be ready for you," Jimin's voice comes out ragged, "Oh, god." 

Taehyung slowly pulls the butt plug from Jimin's hole – only to shove it in again. "How thoughtful of you." 

Jimin lets Taehyung guide him onto his back and watches with heavy eyes as Taehyung reaches for the bottle of lube Yoongi placed on the nightstand beside the bed. He gives himself a moment to catch his breath, only then realizing they're alone. He'd been so distracted by Taehyung that he hadn't noticed Yoongi slip out of the room. 

"When the producers told you we would be co-starring together, what did you think?" Taehyung asks as he settles between Jimin's legs. The question is simple, but Jimin is sweaty and quivering. 

Taehyung pushes Jimin's legs to his chest by the backs of his thighs, motioning for Jimin to hold them in place. "Keep yourself spread apart so you can open up for me. Think you can do that?" 

Each of Taehyung's movements is slow and intentional and comes with little murmured questions and commands that coach Jimin through them rather than demand anything from him. It's nice, easing the anxiety building like bile in his throat about performing well for Taehyung.

"I was intimidated," Jimin finally hisses an answer to Taehyung's first question through gritted teeth when Taehyung pulls out the rather large butt plug. It squelches and pops, sticky with the copious amount of lube Jimin prepped himself with in anticipation of Taehyung's cock. 

"Really?" 

Jimin is silent when he nods, too focused on Taehyung's fingers playing with his stretched rim to formulate words. 

"Did you imagine what it would be like? For me to fuck you?" Taehyung presses his palm to Jimin's waist to keep him still when he begins trembling. 

"Mhmm." 

Taehyung squirts lube into his hand and grabs Jimin's cock where it lies neglected against his stomach. He starts off pumping it hard and fast, just focusing on the tip, while he searches for Jimin's prostate with three long fingers. 

"How did you imagine it?" 

Jimin's breathing becomes more strained with each jerk. His muscles tense and contract as Taehyung massages his walls, quickly working him up to the cusp of an orgasm. 

"I, uh, I, ahhh, I–" Jimin squeezes his thighs so hard that his fingernails leave deep imprints on his skin. 

"Come on, use your words, Kitty," Taehyung grabs the base of Jimin's cock right before he has the chance to cum, eliciting a desperate whimper in protest. 

"V–" 

"How did you imagine it?" Taehyung repeats, dark eyes locked on Jimin's. "Did I make you beg for me to fuck you? Was it gentle, or did I break you?"

"You were a lot kinder than you are now!" 

Jimin pouts, but he doesn't dare tell Taehyung the truth. He can't admit to who knows how many viewers of their livestream that he has been so nervous about working with Taehyung that he could barely think about it without his knees trembling. In his ideal fantasy, he would be confident, maybe even a little bit shameless. Fantasy Jimin would push Taehyung onto the bed and ride him for all he's worth. Real Life Jimin is so aimlessly desperate.

The piercing look Taehyung gives Jimin softens, growing sweeter once a small smile curves his mouth. He lets go of Jimin's cock at the same time, he slowly pulls his fingers out of him, giving Jimin's body a reprieve as he adjusts between his legs. 

"Sit up for me, baby," Taehyung murmurs only loud enough for Jimin to hear. He gently eases Jimin's legs down and lets Jimin's arms flop to his sides.

With such a soft, deep voice, Taehyung could convince Jimin to do anything. Jimin reminds himself that scrambling like a desperate virgin isn't cute, and many people are watching him get almost-fucked right now, so he slowly moves out of the way. 

"Not to be conceited," Taehyung snickers, loud enough for the recording to pick up, as he sits back against the bed's headboard, "But everyone already knows who I am. I want them to understand why I fell in love with you."

Taehyung isn't talking about love love. It's just a common saying, nothing to get Jimin's heart twisted into a bleeding, thunderous mess. Jimin reminds himself of this as he crawls on his hands and knees to straddle Taehyung's thighs. 

"Mm, not like this, Kitty. The other way. I want them to see your pretty face." 

Jimin knows he's blushing profusely when he realizes what Taehyung is asking. He's slow as he turns, guided by Taehyung's large hands on his hips until he's sitting in Taehyung's lap and staring directly at the camera at the foot of the bed. 

"Like this?" Jimin asks softly, the question punctuated by his teeth gently biting at the piercing in his bottom lip. 

Taehyung wraps his arm around to press his palm to the middle of Jimin's chest, pulling him backward. Sweat makes Jimin's back stick to Taehyung's broad chest. 

"Perfect, everyone can see how perfect you are," Taehyung's hot breath tickles Jimin's ear. "You deserve every bit of recognition. The prettiest little cocksleeve." 

Jimin lets out a needy moan when Taehyung grabs his cock again, this time thumbing the slit. He tries to buck into the feeling, but Taehyung keeps one arm around his chest to hold him back. 

"Please," Jimin whimpers, his head turned and his face pressed into the side of Taehyung's neck. "Don't tease me." 

"No?" The high-pitched lilt in Taehyung's voice tells Jimin exactly how he feels about wanting to tease him.

"I'll cum."

Taehyung makes a disapproving tutting sound, but he doesn't stop playing with Jimin's cock. If anything, he speeds up his fist. 

"Be a good kitty and only cum when I say you can."

"I can't, I don't know how to stop." Jimin grabs the bed sheets on either side of their bodies to have something to hold onto. He can feel Taehyung's cock twitch where it presses against his lower back like he's enjoying Jimin's struggle. 

Turning his head, Taehyung slots his lips with Jimin's, nipping and sucking them despite how swollen they are. Jimin's head falls back slightly, and he tries to loosen his body when Taehyung lifts him so he can adjust his cock, lining it up at Jimin's hole once he has added more lube. 

"You're going to look into the camera while I fuck you," Taehyung says as Jimin eases down on his cock. "I want them to watch you fall apart." 

The stretch is worse than Jimin thought. It burns, but it's the feeling of being too full that really makes Jimin squirm, like his body has a limit he didn't know about, and Taehyung is here to show him that he has pushed himself too far. He doesn't have the chance to linger on the feeling when Taehyung plants his feet and begins fucking Jimin hard and fast. 

With his legs spread open and draped over Taehyung's, Jimin is on full display as Taehyung fucks him. His whole body jiggles in Taehyung's lap, which worsens when he tosses his head back to fall over Taehyung's shoulder. 

"Oh my god, oh my god," Jimin's moans are sweet little cries that will sound heavenly to their viewers. 

"Kitty," Taehyung grunts, twisting his arm up to grab Jimin's chin and force him to look forward again. "Look."

Jimin knows what to do, but it's all too much. Taehyung feels unbelievable, the discomfort quickly melting into pleasure once they've established a steady pace. Each thrust is smoother than the next, jostling Jimin until his head lulls and his eyesight loses focus. The intimidating camera lens is a blur of darkness, an unfocused black hole reflecting another version of Jimin. He wishes he could see what he looks like being held. 

Taehyung holds him like he matters, like he genuinely does love Jimin, like Jimin's pleasure is the only thing that matters. His grip is tight but still gentle, even easing up once he knows Jimin is at least somewhat stable. His hands slide down to rest on Jimin's pecs. He flicks and tweaks both nipples, pinching them and twisting them, the excess lube on his fingers heightening the sensations. 

"Don't stop," Jimin gasps and tries not to writhe. He doesn't think he can cum like this, but the hot coil looping around in his stomach is melting into lava that seeps through his veins. The need to move with Taehyung somewhat throws off his thrusts, but Taehyung merely shifts on the bed and keeps going. 

Jimin has heard of brat tamers, but he never considered the way someone could tame the wildness of his body. Taehyung manages to take each instinctual movement in stride, mirroring Jimin and leading him back to where he needs to be. It's enough to make Jimin want to cry. 

"Do you want to cum?" Taehyung pants sound nearly as broken as Jimin's. He wonders if it's all an act or if Taehyung really is enjoying himself. 

"Yes, fuck, yes." 

Taehyung reaches around to grab Jimin's cock. He jerks it even quicker than he fucks Jimin, not bothering to play with him any longer. 

"You're just. So. Fucking. Tight," Taehyung sounds so pretty when he moans. It's better than Jimin's countless times watching his videos, even wearing the best noise-canceling headphones, with surround sound, to hear every last gasp. 

When Jimin cums, he rakes his nails down Taehyung's forearms. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembers the contract he signed stating that marks weren't allowed, but it doesn't matter. 

"God, look at you." Taehyung angles Jimin's cock toward them, catching his cum against his chest. Taehyung has to stop moving beneath him because Jimin grips him so tightly that he can't thrust anymore.

"V–" It feels wrong to moan a fake name, even worse that Jimin's chest aches when he does it. 

He can't worry about it for long. Taehyung pushes him forward, pulling out just to thrust back in once he has Jimin flat on his stomach. 

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," Taehyung squeezes Jimin's shoulders and presses him into the mattress to give himself leverage as he chases his high. 

It's hard to breathe, and Jimin's nearing overstimulation. At this point, most of the cameras don't have a good view of Jimin anymore, but he doesn't care. All he can think about is how tightly Taehyung grabs him and how real his moans sound. 

By the time Taehyung cums, right at the edge of Jimin's rim to let it more easily seep out, Jimin is dazed and foggy-headed. He's wobbly as he gets on his hands and knees, cum making his chest need to unstick from the soiled bed sheets. He smiles at the camera, for a moment so lost in the bliss of an orgasm that he forgets how nervous he is. Taehyung murmurs something as he thumbs at Jimin's rim, but Jimin doesn't hear. 

It isn't until he feels the wet heat of Taehyung's tongue licking from his balls to his rim. 

"Oh my god, what are you–" Jimin squeaks and instinctually jerks away, but Taehyung wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him back. 

"Shh, I told you I'd take care of you." Taehyung kisses Jimin's cheek before giving it a light slap. He uses his other hand to hold Jimin open, hooking his fingers in his hole so he can suck what's left of the cum. 

Jimin can't cum again; he isn't a pornstar, remember? But he feels like maybe he could with how good Taehyung feels, and a little voice in the back of his mind tells him that he's ruined for anyone else. 

"So, how did it go?" Jungkook wiggles in his chair and doesn't try to hide his eager curiosity. It's the same reaction all of Jimin's other friends had when he told them about his once-in-a-lifetime experience with Kim Taehyung. 

At first, Jimin matched his friends' excitement because it was exciting. Who gets to fuck their favorite pornstar? No one! No normal people, at least! Jimin got lucky.

But then the weeks went by, and Jimin stopped getting the same thrilling spark he used to get when he uploaded an ass pic on Twitter or made out with a stranger at the bar. He started dreaming about dark, piercing eyes and the feeling of being held. 

With a sigh, Jimin stabs at the salad on the table in front of him and decides he'd rather throw up than talk about this with Jungkook. 

"It was alright," he says slowly, pushing around a cherry tomato. Why do people put whole cherry tomatoes in salads? Jimin doesn't want to physically experience the popping of a cherry in his mouth. 

Jungkook swings his foot under the table and kicks Jimin in the shin.

"Ow, what the fuck?"

"What happened?" Jungkook demands, both of them loud and neither of them caring that the cafe's other customers attempting to enjoy their lunches are getting annoyed. "Did he hurt you or something? Don't make me have to go watch it myself." 

Mortified, Jimin shrinks back in his seat. 

"Please don't," he scrunches his nose. 

"I will if you don't start talking." 

There's a reason Jimin only told a few friends about the livestream. Euphoria Studios uploads all its livestreams and keeps them permanently behind a paywall, but the subscription isn't too expensive for someone who plans to cancel once they've seen Jimin's video—which is exactly what Jungkook will do. 

"It was amazing, okay? It was the best sex I've ever had, and it didn't even last that long because I came so fast," Jimin huffs. "I learned that I'm definitely not cut out to be a pornstar, and V's dick stretched me out so much that I tried sleeping with someone a few days later and didn't even feel anything since the guy's dick wasn't big enough." 

Jungkook stares at Jimin with wide, round eyes, but Jimin keeps going. 

"He was really nice, and he helped clean me up afterward, and then he invited me to hang out at the pool with his friends until I had to go home," Jimin pauses to take a deep breath that lifts his shoulders. "And now I'm depressed."

"Dick withdrawals," Jungkook says with a solemn nod. "Very sad."

"Shut up!" 

Jimin pulls back in preparation to kick the living shit out of Jungkook, but his phone rings with a number he doesn't recognize. 

"Hello?" he answers, ignoring Jungkook's question about who it is.

"Is this Park Jimin?" 

"Yes…" 

“Hi, this is Taehyung, Kim Taehyung. I apologize; it isn't actually legal for me to have gotten your phone number from your contract, but I wanted–"

Jimin misses the end of Taehyung's sentence, his phone slipping out of his now clammy hand and dropping loudly onto the table. 

"It's him," Jimin snatches his phone and points to it excitedly.

Jungkook grabs the edge of the table and shakes it. "V? What is he saying? Is he still on? Talk to him, oh my god, hyung, say something!" 

"–it's weird, but I was hoping you felt the same. So, yeah, that's all." 

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" Jimin cringes at how breathy his voice sounds. Desperate, desperate. 

"I thought, perhaps, you would like to get coffee? I don't drink coffee, but most people do, and I thought, well. You seemed…" Taehyung interrupts himself to laugh, a sound that's soft and weak. "I'm sorry, I'm actually terrible at this. People assume I'm not because of the whole porn thing, but, ah, I just, I would like to see you again, Jimin-ah."

Jimin bites at his lip piercing and tries not to embarrass himself by making more assumptions than he already has. 

"Do you mean, like normal people?" 

So much for not embarrassing himself.

Luckily, Taehyung is just as nervous, it seems. He laughs again, this time with more confidence. 

"Yes, like normal people." 

Smiling into his lap, Jimin feels giddy as he responds, "I'd like to see you like normal people, too."

The bouncer looks over Jungkook’s ID for too long. He shines his mini flashlight at the plastic and watches how the shimmery symbols reflect in the light as if to say, I’m real, please believe me, and Jungkook watches with clammy palms splayed against the sides of his thighs. The denim of his jeans soaks up the moisture as he subtly rubs his hands along the seams like it matters if he’s sweaty. No one will be shaking hands with him tonight, and if everything goes according to plan, he’ll be sweaty for another reason. 

That is, if he actually makes it inside the club before it closes. 

His ID is real, but Jungkook has an “angel-baby face,” as Hoseok calls it. It doesn’t matter that he has hole-punched his face to slip silver rings wherever he can. According to his roommate, round cheeks and eyes pulled straight from a Disney movie are enough to slam Jungkook face-first into the land of perpetual childhood. 

“Alright,” the bouncer reluctantly shoves Jungkook’s ID back into his hands and motions toward the door with his flashlight. 

Jungkook hears one of the clubbers behind him groan, “Fucking finally,” but he’s too giddy to pay them any mind. He tries to keep calm as he slips through the doors, focusing on walking purposefully rather than skipping with anticipation. 

He’s getting way too ahead of himself. A plan is in place, and Jungkook is determined to follow it. Straying from the plan, well, he doesn’t want to think about what that might mean for him. 

For a strip club, Ego is far less seedy than Jungkook anticipated. The club is dark enough to give patrons a false sense of anonymity necessary for men to comfortably sit back in black satin chairs and let their tongues hang out of their mouths as male dancers gyrate in front of their faces. There are patrons of other genders, as well, but Jungkook thinks the men are the most afraid. They take their pleasure in the dark because it’s safe. Only the occasional strobe light of pink and gold casting a sugary glow across everyone’s faces breaks the facade, and even then, the effects are minute.  

Jungkook thinks he has gathered this much about the club and its patrons by the time he eases into a barstool and sips on his overly-priced cosmopolitan. It’s the only fancy alcoholic beverage he knows of that isn’t dark liquor. 

If this were a regular night out with Hoseok and his other friends, Jungkook would be throwing back tequila shots or sipping on a vodka cran. Rather than wear a nice black buttoned shirt and slacks, Jungkook would be sporting baggy cargo pants and an oversized t-shirt.  

The thought that this isn’t just one of his regular Saturday nights reminds Jungkook that he should be nervous. And, fuck, he is. The back of his neck is hot, and a sweaty imprint is left behind when he lifts his hand from the black marble bar counter. It fades eventually, but it’s there. 

He tells himself as he flags down the bartender that after one more drink, he’ll be ready. He can’t get too drunk; he needs his wits about him. 

In the end, Jungkook is lucky that he’s only on his second drink, or else he wouldn’t have noticed the very thing he came to the bar to find. 

Behind the bartender’s ear, half obscured by his mint green hair, is a small tattoo of an inverted pentagram with a dagger running through the middle. Jungkook’s heart kicks up in his chest, practically launching him over the counter. Three words are all he needs to speak. Three words. Three words. Three words. 

“Um,” Jungkook begins, hearing the insecurity bleeding through his tone.

Shit. 

“Would you like another drink, sir?” the bartender asks with a raised eyebrow and an airiness to his voice that catches Jungkook off guard. 

Three words, three words, three words, it’s only three words. 

Swallowing thickly, Jungkook straightens his posture and looks the incubus dead in the eyes as he says, “I summon Thirteen.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know why he does it. There are so many reasons why he shouldn’t. Hoseok laid them all out for him before Jungkook ran off to Ego with his phone on Do Not Disturb and his heart in his throat. 

For starters, it’s illegal. 

Jungkook gets nervous about simply returning his past-due library books. How would he survive jail? Or even if he doesn’t go to jail, he’ll at least get a hefty fine thrown at him and a mark on his record. That’s enough to make him want to start crying just thinking about it.

Then there are the dangers, which explains why this is so illegal. 

Jungkook doesn’t believe in it– he thinks it’s all discriminatory rumors and exaggerations. Incubus or not, they’re just a person. How could sex with a person be dangerous? Sure, there’s the supposed high, but Jungkook just can’t see how it’s possible to become addicted to a person. 

Take the vampire blood epidemic currently sweeping the nation. Jungkook understands that. Humans ingesting vampire blood for the hallucinatory high that comes with it, that type of addiction makes sense; it’s consumable, tangible. 

To be addicted to a person sounds fake. 

For a brief moment, as the mint-haired bartender leads Jungkook through a series of backdoors marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY,” Jungkook thinks perhaps Thirteen is fake, too. Maybe this mint-haired bartender is going to kill him for being fool enough to believe in Thirteen. 

All the horror stories Hoseok fed him earlier come bubbling up his throat like acid, images of people with sunken faces and cracked lips hovering around clubs, not unlike Ego, fingers shaking for a fix they can’t get anywhere else. 

It’s illegal for incubi to feed off of humans. Incubi can only feed from other immortals; humans’ souls are far too fragile. Jungkook is a human, but he’d never consider himself fragile. He has grit despite how his hands shake.  

“What’s your name, kid?” 

The bartender’s question jerks Jungkook out of his spiraling thoughts. It takes Jungkook a deep inhale before he finds the ability to speak, and by that point, the two men have stopped in front of a plain black door with the number 13 embossed in gold in Jungkook’s sightline. 

“J-Jungkook,” he answers, belatedly realizing he should have given a fake name.

With a curt nod, the bartender turns to the black door and knocks on it three times in quick succession. 

From the other side of the door comes a low voice speaking a language Jungkook doesn’t understand. The lock clicks and the sound makes Jungkook realize he can’t hear the loud music from the front of the club. Just how far back is he? 

“Come on,” the bartender orders gruffly. 

Stumbling forward, Jungkook tries to recover, but his confidence wavers once he peers through the cigar smoke weighing heavily in the air. 

It’s a private lounge, perhaps one of those VIP rooms where more than just a routine lapdance occurs behind closed doors. Jungkook wouldn’t know; he doesn’t have the money for that type of thing. 

Through the smoke, a man reclines on a red velvet couch with one arm draped over the back and his muscular thighs spread open. Dressed in a slate grey suit with a tastefully patterned tie snug at the base of a throat covered in thorny tattoos, he looks nothing like Jungkook had pictured. 

Pleasure dealers are said to be dirty and seductive villains who lurk in the shadows and lure you in with a promise of a good time. Thirteen is sophisticated and intimidating, with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes, black and ringed an ethereal blue, pierce into Jungkook. Something about him is suffocating, with one look capable of stealing the air out of Jungkook’s lungs like a violent intrusion. 

The hand not gripping the back of the couch rests on his left thigh, palm facing upward. At the subtle flick of Thirteen’s middle finger, the bartender shoves Jungkook roughly into the room. The room, he hadn’t noticed, his entire body drawn toward Thirteen. 

“Sir,” the bartender bows at the waist. “Jungkook has summoned you.” 

Thirteen’s thick lips curl into a smirk that sends a rush of trepidation through Jungkook’s bones. Stony, yet with the slightest glint of amusement, Thirteen’s eyes shift from the bartender to Jungkook. 

“Is that so?”

Jungkook’s next swallow is slimy, like a slug inching down his throat. It reminds him of the time Hoseok hexed him with a case of vomiting slugs after seeing the spell in a movie. 

Unable to speak, Jungkook simply nods. 

Thirteen leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs with his hands loosely clasped between his spread knees. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Jungkook-ssi?” 

Thirteen hisses Jungkook’s name, and Jungkook feels as though he’s being squeezed, Thirteen somehow wrapping around his body like a serpent despite sitting across the room. Warmth spreads across Jungkook’s cheeks and down the back of his neck. The room is stifling, but Thirteen’s gaze makes his chest feel cold. 

“Pleasure,” Jungkook finds his voice enough to whisper the word right back. “I seek pleasure.” 

Thirteen has a piercing just below his plush bottom lip, a tiny silver ball that matches the location of the little chocolate mole beneath Jungkook’s bottom lip. Jungkook wonders what the silver ball would feel like if he licked it. He’s horrified by the thought. 

“Did you not come to beg me for pleasure, Jungkook?” Thirteen’s breath is hot against Jungkook’s neck. 

If Jungkook turns his head to the side, he can line his lips with Thirteen’s, make them overlap, and pry them open with the tip of his tongue. The thought assaults his mind.

Thirteen digs his fingers into Jungkook’s hair and yanks his head back to force their eyes to meet. 

“Stop fighting me and fucking beg for it,” Thirteen growls. 

“Please,” Jungkook whispers. He squeezes Thirteen’s shoulders, straight and thick with muscle Jungkook wouldn’t expect from such a polished appearance. Even the thickness of Thirteen’s thighs beneath Jungkook is surprising. 

Sitting in Thirteen’s lap, Jungkook feels small. 

“Are you sure you want this, human?” Thirteen spits the question, “Because it doesn’t sound like it.”

Thirteen is cruel. His lips curl into a smirk that’s just as attractive as it is mean. His grip on Jungkook’s waist is bruising and nearly painful, but Jungkook likes it. Usually, he doesn’t. Usually, Jungkook wants to be taken care of gently. He likes soft love, soft touches, soft fucking. Whatever this strange desire to be ruined is, it’s not normal. He yearns for it. His body aches as his mind reels. 

Own me, take me, ruin me. 

A sick mantra clouds Jungkook’s brain. He tries to blink it away, but the more he struggles against this strange pull, the foggier his head becomes. 

“I-I want it,” Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut as a sudden wave of pleasure strikes him in the gut. It’s hot and wet, like lava rolling under his skin, from his chest down between his legs, where his cock is painfully hard in his slacks. 

“Want what?” Thirteen mocks Jungkook’s inability to speak. 

Jungkook can’t stop himself. He ruts against Thirteen’s body, rocking into him to get as much friction as possible. It shouldn’t be so hot, shouldn’t be hurling Jungkook toward an orgasm so quickly, but he feels like his entire body is pulsing. 

“Y-Your cock.”

“No.”

Never in his life has Jungkook ever wailed, but he does now. He sobs with his entire body, back concaving and face buried into the crook of Thirteen’s neck when he cums. 

It shouldn’t have been so easy. Aside from pulling Jungkook’s hair and letting him sit in his lap, Thirteen never even touched Jungkook. Yet he came, the force of his orgasm making him tremble like an addict going through withdrawal. 

“Good things come to those who wait, little Jungkookie,” Thirteen murmurs in his ear. 

A sharp contrast to his earlier behavior, Thirteen runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, smoothing out the strands he’d disturbed when he tugged on them so harshly. The action is confusing, though Jungkook’s brain is mush inside his head. 

Jungkook tilts his head back to look Thirteen in the eyes. His eyes cross and waver, unable to focus on Thirteen’s face despite being right in front of him. Sleep, or something like it, tugs at Jungkook’s eyelids. His eyes flutter rapidly as the room spins. 

“You taste exquisite,” Thirteen sounds pleased when he speaks. Jungkook doesn’t understand. 

“I-” 

Jungkook is falling. His eyes are closed, and his fingers stretch into the empty air, searching, no longer holding onto Thirteen’s muscular body. The darkness that sucks him up is cold, like the feeling in his chest when Thirteen looked at him for the first time. It seeps into his bones until Jungkook’s entire body trembles. 

Jungkook is falling, and there is no one down below to catch him.

Jungkook wakes up in his bedroom to the sound of Hoseok singing. His heart beats painfully in his chest. The rhythm is irregular, skipping a few beats or pumping so slowly that Jungkook panics, wondering if it may stop altogether. By now, the sensation shouldn’t be alarming; he’s been having these nightmares for weeks.

Every morning, he wakes like the living dead, sitting up abruptly with his fingers clawing at his chest and his mouth hanging open as he gasps for air that somehow chokes him when it goes down. 

Falling, always falling. 

It takes many minutes before Jungkook is calm enough to get out of bed. His knees are weak as he slowly creeps around his bedroom, searching for clothes that aren’t soaked with sweat. Laundry piles up wherever it can; Jungkook can’t remember the last time he cleaned anything in his apartment. He sifts through the piles as he flips through the catalog of dreams in his head. 

Hoseok keeps telling him to go to the doctor. Insomnia isn’t anything to be ashamed of, his roommate insists. Plenty of people suffer from nightmares – or worse. 

Jungkook knows all this. 

The thing is, the cause of Jungkook’s insomnia isn’t the mystery Hoseok thinks it is. 

Dark eyes stare at Jungkook from the bathroom mirror. The skin beneath them is puffy and purpling, so swollen that the bags wrinkle the tops of his cheeks. He tries smiling at himself in the mirror, and the black in his eyes remains empty, still murky waters. 

Turning on the shower gets more difficult every day. Jungkook's hands shake so hard that he struggles to grip the knob tightly enough to twist it. He can’t ask Hoseok for help. Sleep deprivation can only explain away so much. 

Jungkook keeps the water cold. He shivers beneath the stream pelting his skin, and clenches his teeth to stop them from chattering. The temperature never chases away the need that eats at his insides. His body burns with it. The cold water and the heat of his need create a tornado inside Jungkook’s mind, uprooting every sane thought until all he can focus on is the arousal stirring in his stomach. 

For an hour, Jungkook jerks off under cold water and can’t reach an orgasm. He rubs his skin raw until tears and snot mix with shower water. It hurts his body, and the aching thing inside his chest that he thinks is his soul. 

Why can’t he get rid of this need? 

“Jeon.” 

A rough hand shakes Jungkook’s shoulder. His head slips from where it rests on his forearm and smacks the surface of his desk. 

“What! What?” Jungkook flings his head back, reeling from the sharp pain stabbing his forehead. “What’s happening?” 

Taehyung gives him a sad smile as he crosses his arms against his chest. “It’s after five.” 

Jungkook blinks and looks around at the empty desks surrounding them. “Oh.” 

“Come on, get up.” Taehyung cups his hand under Jungkook’s armpit and hoists him to his feet. “A couple of the guys are going to that new club, Id?” 

Jungkook’s heart is thunderous, like a feral animal locked in a cage. He clears his throat before correcting his coworker, “Ego.” 

Taehyung snaps his fingers. “That’s it. I was close enough. Weird Freudian shit.” 

Jungkook is mostly silent on the subway while Taehyung babbles about the newest office gossip Jungkook has managed to sleep through – again. Hoseok says it’s insomnia; Taehyung thinks it’s narcolepsy. 

Jungkook knows it’s Thirteen. 

The headache that has made a permanent home nestled in the folds of Jungkook’s brain spikes as the two men wait patiently for the bouncer to check their IDs. Well, Taehyung is patient. Jungkook is sweating through the armpits of his work shirt. 

“Hyunwoo said this place is a strip club at night but a pretty standard bar during happy hour,” Taehyung explains because he thinks Jungkook has never been here before. “The duality of it all, right?” 

The mint-haired bartender looks at Jungkook with a blank expression, void of any hint of recognition. Jungkook isn’t sure if he should be grateful or offended as he sits with the rest of his coworkers at the bar. They all sip dark liquor that burns the back of Jungkook’s throat, reminding him that this was never really his scene. 

He pretends to care about their idle conversation, laughs at all the right moments, and sucks on ice cubes to keep his mouth busy. The bartender doesn’t look him in the eyes when he gets Jungkook a second round, but all Jungkook looks at is the pentagram etched into his skin. 

Taehyung’s fingers tickle Jungkook’s elbow, forcing him to look away from the bar. 

“I’m gonna take a piss and then probably get outta here,” Taehyung announces. Two hours have passed, but Jungkook wouldn’t know. 

The moment Taehyung leaves, Jungkook turns to the mint-haired bartender. The bartender stands off to the side to wipe down glasses and organize the alcohol bottles. His eyebrows furrow when Jungkook clears his throat to get his attention. 

“I summon Thirteen,” Jungkook speaks confidently this time, even though he has to sit with his hands clasped between his thighs to keep them from shaking. 

“He’s busy.” 

Jungkook swallows thickly. “What?”

“Thirteen is busy. He cannot be summoned tonight.” 

Anger flares in Jungkook’s chest, heating his face and neck. “What the fuck do you mean he’s busy?” 

The mint-haired bartender rests his forearm on the counter and leans close enough for Jungkook to see the flecks of red in his irises. When he speaks, he shows the unnatural points of his canines. 

“You better watch your tone with me, kid. Wouldn’t want to get blacklisted, would you? ‘Cause I can make it where no dealer in Seoul will do so much as look in your direction. Got it?”

Shame makes Jungkook want to be stubborn and refuse, but his desperation wins. He ducks his head and nods, aware of the fear rolling off him and realizing he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want just any dealer; he wants Thirteen. But he just wants to experience it once to have him fully. That’s all. Only once. Then his curiosity will be satisfied, and he can stop having dreams about the moment Thirteen takes him, finally takes him all the way, touches him, kisses him, tastes–

“You coming?” 

Jungkook startles when Taehyung appears at his side once again. 

“Uh,” Jungkook eyes the mint-haired bartender, but he’s no longer looking at him, “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

Jungkook returns the following day. 

No Thirteen. 

Jungkook returns the day after that. 

No Thirteen. 

Jungkook shivers and shakes through a week. 

No Thirteen. 

More weeks pass, more tremors and nightmares stack up against Jungkook’s withering sanity. 

No Thirteen.

“Please,” Jungkook begs with a sob muffled by the carpet. 

He presses his face into the floor, cheek squished in a way that will leave marks on his skin. Jungkook took up the position as a sign of submission that his body naturally fell into without any thought. It should be embarrassing how quickly he sank to his knees in front of Thirteen. 

For months, he’s been plagued by the creature in his dreams. For months, all he has thought about is being taken, owned, ruined. He wants to feel full, to be desired. He wants to know, for the curiosity to be satisfied, the way he knows Thirteen could satisfy him. 

Only Thirteen. 

“Please, what?” 

Claws dig into the back of Jungkook’s neck, piercing the muscle and hooking into it so deeply that Jungkook can’t move. He feels blood trickle down his shoulders and pool in his collarbones, but the pain never comes. 

All he feels is need. 

“Please fuck me,” Jungkook whimpers. “I’ve waited. I’ve been good; I came back. I waited for you.” 

Thirteen scoffs as he releases Jungkook’s neck, only to dig his claws into the mess of his hair and yank him backward. Jungkook is pulled onto his knees with his head tilted backward to stare at Thirteen, who hovers above him with a biting, upside-down grin. 

“Is that supposed to flatter me, Jungkook-ah? Am I supposed to care that you came sniveling at my door every day for months?” Thirteen twists Jungkook’s hair so tightly in his fist that Jungkook feels strands pull from his head. “Begging for me like a bitch in heat, weren’t you? Desperate for cock and to be praised?” 

Each harsh word feels like another claw stabbed into soft flesh. Thirteen’s jeering hurts more than the wounds he digs into Jungkook’s skin, but he can’t stop himself from groveling. His mind is no longer his own. He is desperate. So, so desperate. 

“I’m going to die,” Jungkook gasps when Thirteen roughly pushes him to the floor. Hot tears flow like lava down his plump cheeks. “I’ll die.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“I will,” Jungkook sobs. “I will. I feel it, I will.” 

Thirteen’s claws rip into Jungkook’s jeans, shredding the denim until there’s nothing left but tattered scraps of fabric wrapped around his waist. The air is cold against his bare skin, and he realizes belatedly that his briefs are mutilated, too. 

“I decide whether you live or die, Jungkook-ah,” Thirteen whispers against the curve of Jungkook’s ear. Jungkook feels the tip of Thirteen’s cock press against his hole while Thirteen’s clawed hand grabs the meat of his cheek to spread him open. “Now shut up and have your reward for being so patient.” 

Pain speers Jungkook’s body, sinking so far deep that he swears it creates fissures in his soul. Something horrible rips through Jungkook’s eardrums; it’s animalistic and wild. It’s his own scream, he realizes with a raw throat, that fizzles into whimpers with every rock of Thirteen’s hips. 

It hurts getting fucked by an incubus, but Jungkook should have known that. It’s the pain that makes the pleasure so addicting, the feeling of having one’s soul devoured at the same time one's body is satisfied beyond their wildest fantasies. Thirteen fucks into Jungkook with his body, but he tears into his soul with his mind. 

Drained, Jungkook wonders if this is how he’ll die. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Thirteen hisses. His voice takes on a slurred, gravelly sound that makes Jungkook’s skin prickle. It’s demonic, otherworldly. 

“Y-Yes,” Jungkook hiccups, and it’s true. 

The skin of his cheek and knees is rubbed raw from being thrust against the carpet, and snot clogs his nostrils from how much he’s crying. When Thirteen twists his hair between his claws and tugs, Jungkook’s orgasm punches him in the chest, leaving him heaving as Thirteen fucks him into overstimulation to the point that he can’t breathe. 

This is exactly what he wanted.

Would Taehyung fire his employees over a Secret Santa gift? Jimin guesses the probability isn’t zero, and that’s terrifying enough. Taehyung is intimidating at best, a ruthless son of a bitch at worst, and, unfortunately, unpredictable most of the time.

Luckily, Jimin didn’t draw Taehyung’s name for his Secret Santa gift—but that’s only half the relief Jimin needs.

Most years, the holiday party conveniently overlaps with Taehyung’s sporadic work trips. But this year, the office Grinch gathers around a circular table in the corporate events ballroom with the rest of the staff. He may not be festive, but he’s at least a little less stiff than usual—dressed with his sleeves rolled up and his tie just slightly loosened at the base of his neck. He crosses his arms against his chest and eyes Jimin as he leans against the table stacked with gifts.

There’s no way of knowing whose name Taehyung drew for his Secret Santa giftee. And that’s what makes Jimin and his coworkers pick up their gifts from the table as delicately as they’d cradle a newborn. Or handle a live bomb.

Jimin’s name is written in large, wispy characters on a tag attached to a plain, matte red gift bag. It’s small enough to fit in two hands, and its contents are hidden beneath sparkly white tissue paper. Peering inside, he’s all too aware of everyone’s eyes on him. He tries to focus on pulling out the decorative tissue paper, careful not to disturb the gift.

Nestled at the bottom of the gift bag is a black leather Dior clutch, wrapped neatly with its own gold chain-link shoulder strap around the middle.

“Oh my god?” Jimin says, voice hushed. His head snaps up, eyes widening, as he scans the faces of his office for a hint. But everyone stares back at him with equal shock. Some are in awe. Others stare with what might be lips curled in envy. So far, the other gifts have been simple—gift cards, wine, silly gifts referencing inside jokes between coworkers. But a Dior bag? Jimin can only imagine how expensive it must have been.

“This is—this is too much,” Jimin says as he lifts the Dior clutch from the gift bag. He wants to tell whoever has given him this gift that he can’t possibly accept it, but he’s distracted by something small and white fluttering to the floor.

Jimin’s heart lurches in his chest as he picks up what turns out to be a folded piece of paper, again, with his name elegantly scrawled across one side. Some of his coworkers found cute Christmas cards accompanying their gifts, but it’s an ordinary paper Jimin unfolds. And the handwritten message inside is far from Christmas-y.

meet me in my office in 10

Standing across the table, Taehyung sips a holiday-themed cocktail, something punchy and pink like the color blooming on Jimin’s cheeks.

“Merry Christmas, Jimin,” Taehyung says with a lopsided grin Jimin is sure no one in the office has seen before. “Believe me, it isn’t too much.”

There may be snickers or hushed whispers to follow Jimin and Taehyung’s exchange, but none of it catches Jimin’s attention. He loops the Dior clutch’s gold chain strap over his shoulder and stares at the piece of paper he keeps folded so none of his coworkers can read it. He looks up only for a moment, just long enough to see Taehyung slip away from the group.

Taehyung runs his long, gold ring-adorned fingers through his hair, flicking the strands out of his eyes. He looks back only once. The intensity of his gaze melts through Jimin like a fiery brand. With another uncharacteristic grin, he disappears through the ballroom’s double doors.

Jimin has roughly two more Secret Santa exchanges to get through before he has to take the elevator up fifteen floors so Taehyung can fire him. That has to be what’s happening here. Taehyung has given him an expensive last parting gift to lessen the blow of his impending unemployment. This is the end. Jimin is definitely getting fired.

Jimin isn’t getting fired.

Well, maybe he’ll get fired if anyone finds out about the extra special Secret Santa gift he finds waiting for him in his boss’s office.

But if Taehyung doesn’t fire Jimin, he may quit. There’s nothing that could save him from the embarrassment of returning to work after tonight. He can’t possibly show up on Monday morning like normal, with his worn leather satchel slung across his body, a coffee in hand, and the hope for a less stressful week than the one before in his heart.

He’ll never survive another staff meeting if he has to look Taehyung in the face and pretend he has no idea how deliciously thick and velvety smooth his cock is.

“I’ve always wondered what you’d look like on your knees for me,” Taehyung murmurs, voice so low it rumbles and hums. “You’re the perfect little Christmas gift, aren’t you?”

Leaning against his desk, Taehyung gets settled in while Jimin licks and kisses his cock, swirling his tongue around the tip to eat the leaking precum, before swallowing his cock as far as he can. Languid and gentle, Taehyung’s fingers weave through Jimin’s hair, flipping the strands. Occasionally, he curls his fingers. Pulls. Yanks.

Jimin is sure everyone in the office has wondered what it would feel like to be on their knees for Mr. Kim—himself included. There’s no denying the allure of their boss.

But unemployment feels even more inevitable when Jimin discovers his boss is a head pusher.

The teeth of Taehyung’s pants’ open zipper bite into Jimin’s skin. He considers whether they’ll leave red marks behind, and if those marks will give away what he’s been doing once he returns to the holiday party. Perhaps the tears and mascara streaking his cheeks will paint a clearer story. Or maybe it will be the hoarseness of his voice when he bids his coworkers goodbye after having Taehyung’s cock crammed down his throat.

The increased pressure on the back of Jimin’s head coaxes out more tears. He makes the mistake of breathing in too sharply and gags when Taehyung doesn’t let him pull back.

“Fuuuck.” Tilting his head back, Taehyung lets out a long groan that leaves his punch-pink lips parted and makes his eyes flutter closed. “Just like that, yeah. Fucking choke on it.”

A tremor runs through Jimin, starting at his spine and ending in an explosion of heat, making his cock throb against the tight fit of his pants. Desire courses through him so strongly his body locks up. The only parts of him that move are his fingers digging into the sides of Taehyung’s thighs through his slacks.

“Gonna come.” Taehyung moans with a jerk of his hips. He gives Jimin a little slack so he can thrust into his throat. It’s sloppy from Jimin’s drool, stringy and gushing while he gags and gasps. Wet and obscene. Echoing through the empty office.

Jimin can’t help but wonder if Taehyung’s hoarse, debauched moans while coming down Jimin’s throat mirror the sounds he makes when he fucks his wife.

Like the good boy Taehyung knew he would be, Jimin holds his tongue out to show off how well he swallows. And when Taehyung runs his thumb along the apple of his cheek, smearing the wet streaks there, Jimin's world narrows in on Taehyung’s satisfied grin, the image blurry through tears.