i am indeed alive, arguably. i debated whether or not to post any writing here anymore but i'm determined to procrastinate studying for two finals i have tomorrow so here we gooooo.
this will be in two parts, but a brief elaboration or w/e: both excerpts are from a mammoth WIP fic i have been working on for over a year now i think? i don't work on anything resembling a consistent basis and found that posting my WIPs in their chronological order just ended up backfiring in terms of spurring motivation. as such, these are both excerpts from in the middle of the fic and designed to not make any bloody sense in terms of you all understanding fully wtf is going on. i just really like these scenes and i think they paint a good picture of the general feel of the first half of the fic's plot so indulge me, o grand internet, as i struggle for crumbs of serotonin.
i think i'm going to post them in replies to this post cuz my explanation here ended up being the total opposite of brief lol. i'll provide a general summary of the fic, even though once again the excerpts won't make a lick of sense since no context. i'd post the prologue too but i don't like it enough and want to rework the first few pages of the fic itself lol.
anyway! it's a Binsung fic from Stray Kids, a fandom i haven't posted anywhere on the internet before yet despite the fact that i'm a total fucking simp lol. enjoy :')
Summary: In a world charred by a war, there exists The After. Desolate landscapes are bordered by prospering cities where life is anything but simple for the denizens resilient enough to make it. Seo Changbin is such yet there is a dinstinct difference: he does not remember The Before, brought back as an immortal employed in a division of the government known as the Reapers. His duty remains to hunt down mortals who want to become like him, hunt down ones who succeeded, in a world where immortals are illegal. Enter Han Jisung--the elusive criminal who becomes Changbin's main target. Enter Han Jisung--the one Changbin refers to as J-One, the criminal's name on the streets.
Enter Han Jisung--the end of Changbin's immortal existence as he has known it for hundreds of years.
Seungminās words uselessly repeat in Changbinās head as he makes his first move against J-One. You mistake me, he had said, <to think that youāre the one Iām concerned for. His blood threatens to boil each time he repeats it, sometimes out loud. First there was Felix who clearly harbours some sort of attachment to J-One, but Changbin had not expected the same sentiment from anyone in the government, least of all someone like Seungmin.
A shot that barely misses Changbinās cheek brings him back to the present.
The figure is maybe twenty feet in front of him; an easy distance to close. The ether pulsating off what Changbin acutely realises is a drawn bow glows fervently and supplies ample light to cast on its owner. A brilliant azure shows before anything else, and Changbin realises this is hair. His gaze follows down along with the bow lowering to reveal a young man, no older than Changbin would have been in The Before, and his eyes equally as devoid of readable emotions. While Changbin canāt remember much of his mortal self, thereās something so invasive about the man before him.
The coalescence of ether paired with the thrumming glove on the manās arm tells Changbin this is his targetāthis is J-One. Felix had told him they attended school together, so Changbin is not sure why he tenses under the young gaze refusing to leave him. Like it can unravel him. Devour him.
No other Reapers can seem to catch him.
Changbin draws his scythe.
So difficult to catch.
Changbin digs his right foot into the ground.
These Reapers canāt win against their own methods.
He charges forward.
He can do this, he tells the pounding in his ears. J-One has never met him so he has no grip on his ether. He has to do this, he tells the noise in his conscience. J-One stumbles in shock when the scythe comes close to his chest, barely dodging backwards and releasing a yelp that Changbin had not expected. He also doesnāt expect the grin that forms, the edges of his mouth meeting his eyes and what looks like genuine delight. Does he want to kill Changbin that badly? How many of his brethren has he killed? Is that even possible?
Changbin swings with purpose again, his target messily dodging it once more. They have not exchanged any words and yet there is conviction in the young manās eyes that Changbin cannot decode. As his target pulls a sword from his glove, almost as if the ether runs through his veins for easy access, Changbin recognises the dull ache blooming in his joints. He recognises it and ignores itāhe does not have the luxury of possessing fear.
āYouāre different than the others,ā his target says between slashes. His voice is round, soft. Kind. Not one of a killer, part of Changbin muses.
J-Ones words eerily match Felixās from hours before. Something prickles underneath his skin, something like uncertainty, something just as useless as fear. He does not reply, not with words anyway. He adjusts his grip on his scythe, swinging it blade facing down behind his back, curling his free wrist to procure a concentrated sphere of his ether to occupy the space there. J-Oneās eyes flit down to it in surprise, and as Changbin swings both it and his scythe, he can tell this was an unexpected development on his targetās part. Smugness begs to envelop him, but he pushes it down. He has not won this yet.
Still, Changbin is perturbed and surprised at the resistance J-One is giving him. The rumours both do his target justice as much as they are a massive let down. Uselessly, his brain tells him no one mentioned how pretty his target was. This might annoy him the most.
āNot much of a talker, eh?ā his target laughs, sword clanging against Changbinās scythe and constant barrage of charged ether. His movements are both sure and steadfast, and yet there is a slight hesitance in the calculated moves as well. This is what Changbin focuses on, instead of his targetās insistence on idle chatter. Itās not as easy to drown out as he would like, though.
He gets a hit in that, while his target blocks it, does send him tumbling and skidding on the ground several feet in front of him. Changbin takes the pause in the fight to swing his scythe behind him like before, creates the concentrated ether as before, but instead of lurching forward with them both, he drags the hand with the ether across the blade of his scythe. It glows a brilliant purple, a violent coating of Changbinās resolve to end the fight and report back that the deed has been done. He closes the distance between him and his target, looming over his crumpled body still on the ground like all those before him, intent on removing the strain on his neck to keep his head firmly attached. Ether pulsates off Changbinās form, he can feel it leak from his eyes, a phenomenon that once scared him the first time he saw it. He sees the same expression reflected in his targetās eyes.
And then his scythe meets dirt.
It meets dirt, scatters the earth around, Changbin having to clear the space around him with a flick of his wrist and another expulsion of directed ether. He would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, that he was getting drained. Tired even, if he was capable of the mortal experience still.
Only a few steps in front of him stands his target. The ambient glow of the forest blankets his silhouette delicately to where even if Changbin wanted to look elsewhere, there was nothing he could see past the unfamiliar glow. His limbs ache, his scythe which usually is weightless in his grasp settles heavy in his grip, but he steps forwards all the same. The bits of earth crash around them as he controls his breathing, sifting through his well of ether to gather enough to trap his target and end itāend him.
Changbinās eyes are acutely attuned to his own ether, so it makes sense that he can see his targetās wildly dance around him. That same sickening kaleidoscope of past battles won, of Reapers disposed of in the same vein that he does his own targets. Beneath the fog of J-Oneās ether is the only part of him tethering his body to the mortal realmāa heartbeat. It races, he can see that clear enough, but thereās something about the cadence of the march that fills Changbinās mind with unease.
When Changbin gets close enough to see the whites of J-Oneās eyes, he is too focused on the displeasuring procedure of taking a life that he does not notice the shroud of his targetās ether surround them. He does not notice the darting fingers that dance across his targetās glove either. He does notice, though, the smile on his targetās lips.
Itās sad, but not in a selfish way. Not in the way past mortals and immortals alike have begged for their lives to be spared. Itās not sad in the pitiful way, like smiling down at a homeless man whose request of assistance has been rejected. Itās sad in a personal, intimate way. Itās sad like there is something his target has lost; is about to lose.
āSorry for this,ā J-One says, tone weighed down with genuine regret.
Everything that happens next only comes to Changbin after itās already transpired. Tendrils of J-Oneās ether wrap around Changbinās legs, arms, scythe. In the same instant that Changbin is crushed into incapacitation to the ground, reduced to a jumble of limbs, his targetās form begins to disintegrate in front of him. All the air in his lungs has been cut off to where he can feel unconsciousness tugging at him, gasping for enough breaths to circumvent and reverse whatever it is happening to him.
As his eyes roll back into his head, scythe sucked back into his ring and forgotten on his limp hand, he swears he hears J-Oneās voice. That canāt be right, though, he tries to rationalise with little success. That would mean he has failed. That would mean his target as gotten away. That would mean J-Oneāarguably one of the most wanted criminals of this epochāuttered to Changbināarguably one of the best Reapers since the conception of such beingsāsoftly said to Changbin:
Changbin quickly, for a lack of a better phrase, gets his shit together after the embarrassing conference he has with Seungmin.
The spellcaster had leveled him a look of unfiltered pity and Changbin hated it. Of all the people to look weak in front of, it had to be him. Changbinās own ability to read ether, perfected by instruction from the spellcaster, has almost seemed to backfire on Seungmin. Itās unclear if heās noticed yet, but thereās something slimy and slippery hiding under the viscous ether that covers the man. Seungmin has never treated Changbin with anything other than poise and respect, but he wonātācanātātrust the practiced smiles; the gentle touches laced with equally practiced concern. Until Changbin finds what exactly it is that lights his nerves aflame around Seungmin, he wonāt ever let his guard down.
Again, his own brain betrayingly muses. Changbin scowls all the same, not bothering to hide it as he sits cross legged, arms folded, on a pathetic stone that must have once served some residential purpose.
Ever the diligent solider, the moment sweat didnāt threaten to suffocate his skin, Changbin went back to tracking J-One. Either his target doesnāt bother to hide his machinations or he simply does not give a fuck ifāwhenāanyone finds him. Though at this point Changbin is almost sure the only person out for his blood is, well, Changbin. Something twists in his gut at the thought, an emotion he has no reference to deduce.
Regardless, J-Oneās current choice of residence leaves a lot to be desired. The only benefit, Changbin thinks, is that the current ruins are not charted on any map; there was no need to necessarily know where it was, not having any monetary or otherwise value attached to the land anymore. The moment he feels the air definitively shift around him, he makes the approaching figure privy to his useless ruminations.
āI love what youāve done with the place,ā Changbin greets, J-One stumbling into view now. A breeze tussles his unkempt hair, a look of surprise quickly replaced with something else Changbin will never be able to decode.
There was no point in it, anyway. A coroner will soon be the only one left to decode his lanky target. Changbin resolutely does dare to describe J-One as lithe nor nimble.
Infuriatingly, J-One absolutely beams at Changbin, taking the daring steps forward to dimmish the distance between them. āYour voice is almost as pretty as everything else about you,ā J-One says and Changbin flinches from pensive anticipation of a fightādefinitely not of anything else.
āDo you always flirt with death like this?ā Changbin says as a reply, ignoring theā¦strangely soft compliment.
āNah, just with you.ā
āPretentious,ā Changbin tsks.
J-Oneās hair is a faded pink colour, approaching a pastel peach hue. It hadnāt been long since they first met and that obnoxious blue taunted Changbin. He idly wonders why bother to change it so much but answers his own question with what he thinks is fair enough logic: to throw off would be pursuers. Too bad for J-One that Changbin doesnāt rely on such dynamic and fruitless things to track down his targets as style.
Unsurprisingly, J-One ignores Changbinās annoyed turmoil in favour of declaring, āIām so honoured you decided to finally talk to me.ā Andāthe way a genuine smile tugs at his lips, the way his ether pulsates with uncomfortable desire, Changbin believes him. He does not comment on it as he unsheathes his scythe from its ring instead, fearing if he keeps on the conversation his resolve will crumble pathetically into rubble not too dissimilar from the very terrain he finds himself on.
Because the thing wasāJ-One was interesting. He made Changbin curious. It made Changbin want to know more about his target for purely selfish reasons. Even as his scythe struggles to meet a conjured blade, he wonders where J-One learned to fight so effortlessly. Changbin has never relished in his ability and duty to act as executioner but this time he briefly dreads it.
For now, at least. In the coming year the trepidation he will carry like shackles on his ankles will feel more like torture.
Apparently his target has no qualms with conducting an interview as they dance their tango of inevitable death.
āHow old are you?ā he asks Changbin, his ether the only betraying clue that heās exerting any effort at all.
For reasons unknown to even Changbin himself, he replies, āFar too old for you to be concerned with the matter.ā He slashes at J-Oneās feet, but his target hops back just in time. Bastard.
In between the clanging of weapons and skidding of dirt beneath their feet Changbin hears his target hum thoughtfully. Itās all so infuriating; the way J-One moves so fluidly, almost better than Changbin (almost being the operative word, his ego reiterates); how he smiles as he does so but there is not a trace of malice in the curve of his lips. Changbin wants to cut his mouth from his damn face just so he doesnāt have to see the brightness therein.
āIāve read about you, Grim Reaper,ā J-One finally says, the smile replaced with a cocky smirk, āI hear youāre all the rage at the agency. I also heard some more interesting things.ā He barely dodges the next slash Changbin aims at his face; a small cut no bigger than a sliver begins to ooze blood. It rolls down his targetās cheek like a promise for more, but J-One either is ignoring it or just doesnāt notice all together. āWould you like to know what I heard?ā
āAbsolutely not,ā Changbin finds himself responding despite his desire to shut his own mouth. Heās never held conversation with one of his targets, let alone had one of his targets want to have a chat. The way J-One keeps dodging and Changbin keeps slashing makes him momentarily think the whole thing is distracting him, and the anger that surfaces underneath his skin at the thought has Changbin pressing his lips into a thin line. He ignores the way J-Oneās gaze flits down, fleeting, to them as he does so.
Heās almost sure J-One continues, just a monologue now, but Changbin focuses instead on the whole reason heās here: to kill. To eliminate. To report back of his success; restore order. The purpose he has in these convictions spurs him to concentrate his ether tightly where his heart uselessly occupies his thoracic cavity, pushing into it as if to will the organ to beat again. J-Oneās lips stop moving then, instead gaping open slightly like heās just put the pieces together that heās about to die and unceremoniously shuffle off this wretched mortal coil. Changbin does not take any satisfaction with the prospect; heās only bound to obey.
Twisting his fists tighter on the grip of his scythe he digs his feet in the dirt, legs spread, swinging the blade behind him with force. J-One makes the rookie mistake of not watching his own footwork, tripping over something in the dirtāa pebble maybe; a brick that was once known as some sodās chimneyāand rather poetically falls backwards as Changbin brings his scythe down, slicing right across J-Oneās chest, deep and purposeful. When J-Oneās back hits the ground he coughs, more sputters really, eyes momentarily rolling back into his skull.
And Changbin stands above him, legs on either side of his torso, scythe twirled into a position of the blade pointed down, intent clear and precise; motions practiced and sure. Only J-Oneās eyes find their composure and tumble back so he gazes up at Changbin. Thereās something dark swirling in his irises, something as resolute as Changbinās desire to end this dance, but it is not Changbin who makes the curtain call. He does not close out the act despite the tip of his scythe resting assuredly against J-Oneās neck; despite the blood already being drawn from the pressure heās placed there.
āI meant it, you know,ā J-One whispers like a confession to the wind alone, āyou truly are beautiful, Seo Changbin.ā
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i am indeed alive, arguably. i debated whether or not to post any writing here anymore but i'm determined to procrastinate studying for two finals i have tomorrow so here we gooooo.
this will be in two parts, but a brief elaboration or w/e: both excerpts are from a mammoth WIP fic i have been working on for over a year now i think? i don't work on anything resembling a consistent basis and found that posting my WIPs in their chronological order just ended up backfiring in terms of spurring motivation. as such, these are both excerpts from in the middle of the fic and designed to not make any bloody sense in terms of you all understanding fully wtf is going on. i just really like these scenes and i think they paint a good picture of the general feel of the first half of the fic's plot so indulge me, o grand internet, as i struggle for crumbs of serotonin.
i think i'm going to post them in replies to this post cuz my explanation here ended up being the total opposite of brief lol. i'll provide a general summary of the fic, even though once again the excerpts won't make a lick of sense since no context. i'd post the prologue too but i don't like it enough and want to rework the first few pages of the fic itself lol.
anyway! it's a Binsung fic from Stray Kids, a fandom i haven't posted anywhere on the internet before yet despite the fact that i'm a total fucking simp lol. enjoy :')
Summary: In a world charred by a war, there exists The After. Desolate landscapes are bordered by prospering cities where life is anything but simple for the denizens resilient enough to make it. Seo Changbin is such yet there is a dinstinct difference: he does not remember The Before, brought back as an immortal employed in a division of the government known as the Reapers. His duty remains to hunt down mortals who want to become like him, hunt down ones who succeeded, in a world where immortals are illegal. Enter Han Jisung--the elusive criminal who becomes Changbin's main target. Enter Han Jisung--the one Changbin refers to as J-One, the criminal's name on the streets.
Enter Han Jisung--the end of Changbin's immortal existence as he has known it for hundreds of years.
Seungminās words uselessly repeat in Changbinās head as he makes his first move against J-One. You mistake me, he had said, <to think that youāre the one Iām concerned for. His blood threatens to boil each time he repeats it, sometimes out loud. First there was Felix who clearly harbours some sort of attachment to J-One, but Changbin had not expected the same sentiment from anyone in the government, least of all someone like Seungmin.
A shot that barely misses Changbinās cheek brings him back to the present.
The figure is maybe twenty feet in front of him; an easy distance to close. The ether pulsating off what Changbin acutely realises is a drawn bow glows fervently and supplies ample light to cast on its owner. A brilliant azure shows before anything else, and Changbin realises this is hair. His gaze follows down along with the bow lowering to reveal a young man, no older than Changbin would have been in The Before, and his eyes equally as devoid of readable emotions. While Changbin canāt remember much of his mortal self, thereās something so invasive about the man before him.
The coalescence of ether paired with the thrumming glove on the manās arm tells Changbin this is his targetāthis is J-One. Felix had told him they attended school together, so Changbin is not sure why he tenses under the young gaze refusing to leave him. Like it can unravel him. Devour him.
No other Reapers can seem to catch him.
Changbin draws his scythe.
So difficult to catch.
Changbin digs his right foot into the ground.
These Reapers canāt win against their own methods.
He charges forward.
He can do this, he tells the pounding in his ears. J-One has never met him so he has no grip on his ether. He has to do this, he tells the noise in his conscience. J-One stumbles in shock when the scythe comes close to his chest, barely dodging backwards and releasing a yelp that Changbin had not expected. He also doesnāt expect the grin that forms, the edges of his mouth meeting his eyes and what looks like genuine delight. Does he want to kill Changbin that badly? How many of his brethren has he killed? Is that even possible?
Changbin swings with purpose again, his target messily dodging it once more. They have not exchanged any words and yet there is conviction in the young manās eyes that Changbin cannot decode. As his target pulls a sword from his glove, almost as if the ether runs through his veins for easy access, Changbin recognises the dull ache blooming in his joints. He recognises it and ignores itāhe does not have the luxury of possessing fear.
āYouāre different than the others,ā his target says between slashes. His voice is round, soft. Kind. Not one of a killer, part of Changbin muses.
J-Ones words eerily match Felixās from hours before. Something prickles underneath his skin, something like uncertainty, something just as useless as fear. He does not reply, not with words anyway. He adjusts his grip on his scythe, swinging it blade facing down behind his back, curling his free wrist to procure a concentrated sphere of his ether to occupy the space there. J-Oneās eyes flit down to it in surprise, and as Changbin swings both it and his scythe, he can tell this was an unexpected development on his targetās part. Smugness begs to envelop him, but he pushes it down. He has not won this yet.
Still, Changbin is perturbed and surprised at the resistance J-One is giving him. The rumours both do his target justice as much as they are a massive let down. Uselessly, his brain tells him no one mentioned how pretty his target was. This might annoy him the most.
āNot much of a talker, eh?ā his target laughs, sword clanging against Changbinās scythe and constant barrage of charged ether. His movements are both sure and steadfast, and yet there is a slight hesitance in the calculated moves as well. This is what Changbin focuses on, instead of his targetās insistence on idle chatter. Itās not as easy to drown out as he would like, though.
He gets a hit in that, while his target blocks it, does send him tumbling and skidding on the ground several feet in front of him. Changbin takes the pause in the fight to swing his scythe behind him like before, creates the concentrated ether as before, but instead of lurching forward with them both, he drags the hand with the ether across the blade of his scythe. It glows a brilliant purple, a violent coating of Changbinās resolve to end the fight and report back that the deed has been done. He closes the distance between him and his target, looming over his crumpled body still on the ground like all those before him, intent on removing the strain on his neck to keep his head firmly attached. Ether pulsates off Changbinās form, he can feel it leak from his eyes, a phenomenon that once scared him the first time he saw it. He sees the same expression reflected in his targetās eyes.
And then his scythe meets dirt.
It meets dirt, scatters the earth around, Changbin having to clear the space around him with a flick of his wrist and another expulsion of directed ether. He would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, that he was getting drained. Tired even, if he was capable of the mortal experience still.
Only a few steps in front of him stands his target. The ambient glow of the forest blankets his silhouette delicately to where even if Changbin wanted to look elsewhere, there was nothing he could see past the unfamiliar glow. His limbs ache, his scythe which usually is weightless in his grasp settles heavy in his grip, but he steps forwards all the same. The bits of earth crash around them as he controls his breathing, sifting through his well of ether to gather enough to trap his target and end itāend him.
Changbinās eyes are acutely attuned to his own ether, so it makes sense that he can see his targetās wildly dance around him. That same sickening kaleidoscope of past battles won, of Reapers disposed of in the same vein that he does his own targets. Beneath the fog of J-Oneās ether is the only part of him tethering his body to the mortal realmāa heartbeat. It races, he can see that clear enough, but thereās something about the cadence of the march that fills Changbinās mind with unease.
When Changbin gets close enough to see the whites of J-Oneās eyes, he is too focused on the displeasuring procedure of taking a life that he does not notice the shroud of his targetās ether surround them. He does not notice the darting fingers that dance across his targetās glove either. He does notice, though, the smile on his targetās lips.
Itās sad, but not in a selfish way. Not in the way past mortals and immortals alike have begged for their lives to be spared. Itās not sad in the pitiful way, like smiling down at a homeless man whose request of assistance has been rejected. Itās sad in a personal, intimate way. Itās sad like there is something his target has lost; is about to lose.
āSorry for this,ā J-One says, tone weighed down with genuine regret.
Everything that happens next only comes to Changbin after itās already transpired. Tendrils of J-Oneās ether wrap around Changbinās legs, arms, scythe. In the same instant that Changbin is crushed into incapacitation to the ground, reduced to a jumble of limbs, his targetās form begins to disintegrate in front of him. All the air in his lungs has been cut off to where he can feel unconsciousness tugging at him, gasping for enough breaths to circumvent and reverse whatever it is happening to him.
As his eyes roll back into his head, scythe sucked back into his ring and forgotten on his limp hand, he swears he hears J-Oneās voice. That canāt be right, though, he tries to rationalise with little success. That would mean he has failed. That would mean his target as gotten away. That would mean J-Oneāarguably one of the most wanted criminals of this epochāuttered to Changbināarguably one of the best Reapers since the conception of such beingsāsoftly said to Changbin:
i am indeed alive, arguably. i debated whether or not to post any writing here anymore but i'm determined to procrastinate studying for two finals i have tomorrow so here we gooooo.
this will be in two parts, but a brief elaboration or w/e: both excerpts are from a mammoth WIP fic i have been working on for over a year now i think? i don't work on anything resembling a consistent basis and found that posting my WIPs in their chronological order just ended up backfiring in terms of spurring motivation. as such, these are both excerpts from in the middle of the fic and designed to not make any bloody sense in terms of you all understanding fully wtf is going on. i just really like these scenes and i think they paint a good picture of the general feel of the first half of the fic's plot so indulge me, o grand internet, as i struggle for crumbs of serotonin.
i think i'm going to post them in replies to this post cuz my explanation here ended up being the total opposite of brief lol. i'll provide a general summary of the fic, even though once again the excerpts won't make a lick of sense since no context. i'd post the prologue too but i don't like it enough and want to rework the first few pages of the fic itself lol.
anyway! it's a Binsung fic from Stray Kids, a fandom i haven't posted anywhere on the internet before yet despite the fact that i'm a total fucking simp lol. enjoy :')
this is unedited, as a warning for any mistakes you come across. as usual, this is a draft somewhat and will be picked apart before i post it to either Wattpad/AO3.Ā
as for future ratings, i will either refer to it as safe for minors or unsafe for minors. eases some of the ambiguity.Ā
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Choi San/Park SeonghwaĀ
Rating: safe for minors
Word Count:Ā 1,331Ā
Sanās neck itches.
The only thing he hates more than having to stand stoically in such a pretentious suit is standing stoically in a pretentious suit whilst wearing some gaudy masquerade mask. He was a trained assassin, not some pretty pet to add to the ambience of this frankly shrewd ballroom. He knows he should be more concerned with all the possible targets that surely want his pretty face on a pike outside, but heās more vain than he wants to be soāhis appearance is hurt more.
Heās not sure why his fancy suitāwith all its sashes and belts, mostly to hide his knivesāhad to have a hooded mask, makes him stand out more he thinks. The gold snickering mask itself isnāt too bad, he admits, but heād still rather be not⦠Here.
āHereā being the kingdom to the southās castle (he has learned to not bother learning their names, they fall too soon anyway), where the king fancies himself some prophet or some such. San snickers at the thought: some ill-fitted king thinking heās the āpeace bringerā of lands so wrought with chaos they wouldnāt be able to recognise peace if it crawled into its bed. Heās fatter than San thought, thatās one of the things that struck him first. Unmarried as well, which is what this whole ball is about. Finding wives and all.
San sighs. How droll.
Still, he remains not as nonchalant as he wants, when someone catches his eye. He can tell who it is just by the manās flaunting gait, the way his hair never falls out of place no matter where his limbs are tangled. Maybe itās just the way San was trained, but he thinks the lace mask isnāt doing shit to cover the manās identity. Maybe heās not meant to, San concludes idly as the man comes into earshot.
āPark Seonghwa,ā someone whispers into the manās ear. San rolls his eyes; what a shit whisper. He leans farther in their direction anyway.
āI know,ā Seonghwaās soft voice answers. Damn mages and their poise, San grimaces even though no one can see his face. āI assure you, His Majesty will remain safe. You have my word.ā He bows gracefully, his hair still impeccably parted. Little shit probably uses magic to keep it that way.
The āCorvidā is what people call him, Seonghwa. Itās entirely uncreative if anyone were to ask San (which they donāt), considering it only stems from the deep black of his hair, paired with his dark eyes. People call them black tooāSan is skeptical of that. In order to have truly black eyes, the man would have to have made a bargain with the shadows. No one is foolish enough to do that. Heās thinking of a better name (Shit-For-Brains?) when Seonghwa approaches him.
āWhat a lovely mask,ā he says, smile still evident from the mask that only covers his eyes. Up close San sees why people fawn over himāthe tight fitted red suit gives off a tsunami of sex appeal. Typical.
āLovely suit,ā San comments back, voice even. Heās not sure if Seonghwa knows, knows that San is here to kill the crown prince. Bastard prince; good riddance, says most other kingdoms. He wonders if Seonghwa agrees.
He extends a slender hand, nails painted black, towards San. āCare to dance?ā He asks, cocking his head.
Not at fucking all, San thinks as he nods fluidly. Dancing with some cryptic court mage is not very high on his list of āwantsā right now, especially since he hasnāt seen the prince yet. Probably the reason for the masquerade, he thinks, as Seonghwa leads him to the dance floor.
Dancing, San has learned, is a lot like killing a difficult opponent. The two people must have concrete footing, taut posture. There is an intensity of the gazes shared as one relies on the movement of the other, twirls less menacing when thereās not a knife constantly trying meet your throat. Yet the way Seonghwa looks down at him, as if San isnāt wearing a mask at all, makes him think this is perhaps more menacing than an army of men.
Mages, San has alsoĀ learned, are lethal. They donāt need a weapon; they personify the looks could kill saying, and do so by just the flick of their wrist; the batting of their eyelashes. San has been contracted to kill them before, and he dreads it. Heās never been able to harness magic himselfāalways relied on his lithe body and sharp reflexes to save him. So maybe he thinks mages cheat. So maybe if he could, heād kill Seonghwa. He says ācouldā, because in all honesty heās not sure he can manage.
Seonghwa is shrouded in mysteryālegends this and curses that. Like some sort of veil covers his aura so that no one can look in. Most of the people he encounters say it adds to his charm, adds to how much they want him. To San, itās annoying. He hates unknowns. Hates even more when heās intrigued by them.
And, as much as he is loathe to admit, Seonghwa is intriguing.
āImpeccable form,ā Seonghwa says, dipping San. Heās pretty sure this dance is reserved for men and women, judging by the odd glances. Sanās traipsed enough lands to not give a shit.
He keeps his voice monotone when he answers, āAs is yours.ā This close, he can almost see Seonghwaās eyes. Almostāhe still canāt ascertain the colour. Frustrated he even wants to know.
Seonghwa chuckles, and itās the most intimidating thing heās done so far. āAre we just going to play idle comments all night?ā His eyes narrow as he adds, āI know why youāre here, assassin.ā
Sanās ankle falters as he twirls. Shit. āHere to stop me, then?ā He answers, thankful all Seonghwa has figured out is his profession. Somehow.
He shakes his head, bringing San flush to his chest. Thereās hardly a heartbeat, San notices. āNot at all. That pest of a son is nothing but an arrogant fool, bent on embarrassing the monarch heās fortunate enough to be a part of it.ā
āNot a fan, I take it?ā San returns a chuckle, noticing the tight grip Seonghwa is keeping him to his chest. Probably not good.
A sinister smile. āI donāt much care for any of these fools. Itās merely a job.ā
āHow noble,ā San chides.
āSpeak for yourself,ā Seonghwa whispers when he leans into Sanās neck. āKilling an unarmed prince? Seems not like your normal shtick.ā
San tries to will his heart to calm the fuck down, but itās hard with Seonghwaās warmth enveloping him, velvet voice cooing down his neck. āI donāt play fair,ā San replies, thankful his voice has yet to crack. His resolve isnāt doing so well, though. He kicks up his shoe, a knife protruding from the sole, and nuzzles it against Seonghwaās ankle.
Seonghwa hums contently. āClearly.ā
Thereās a loud crash, and the music stops. San whips his head away from Seonghwaās piercing gaze, fixating his own on the chandelier that has crashed just in front of the king. āYouād better go now, the prince should be bedding a whore as we speak,ā Seonghwa whispers against Sanās shoulder blade.
He turns apprehensively. āDid youā?ā
āCocky assassins arenāt the only ones who donāt play fair,ā he smiles.
San doesnāt buy the kindness. He narrows his eyes as he turns away from the commotion, although Seonghwa canāt see them. āWhy help?ā
Seonghwa answers simply: āBecause you intrigue me, assassin.ā His expression changes, and San can only really map the even line his mouth makes. āBe warned, thoughāthis contract might not be what you hope it is.ā
How ridiculous, San thinks as he scoffs. āI only hope for my blade to greet these people on their way to hell.ā
He moves swiftly past Seonghwa, though he still catches his voice when he says, āAnd what if you end up on the other side as well?ā
hereās a second part of the Woosan fic i started. itās basically a rough draft and i plan on changing some minor things in the one i post to AO3, but alas have some stuff.
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San
Rating: idk, T? itās safe for minors lol
Word Count: 3,261Ā
A blanket is handed to him, but he refuses it. Itās not as if heās shivering from the cold anyway. No, Wooyoung is sitting back on the wretched bed he woke up on, feeling the smallest and weakest he has in his entire life.Ā
The shivers wrack through him in waves, and he ends up choking a handful of times, though he really canāt pinpoint the cause of those either. The two beautiful strangers who somehow have to do with him being here sit on either side of him, the first with something akin to a sad expression, the other unreadable.
Wooyoung is tired of the silence. āWhere am I?ā He asks, but it comes out as a pathetic whisper rather than a strong demand.
The second man speaks up, āA mansion far away from where you call home.ā He lifts a finger in front of him thatās still somehow directed at Wooyoung to not speak, and continues: āYou were found by San dying in a slum alleyway somewhere, and for some reason instead of finishing the job he decided to save you.ā
Slowly turning his head to who he assumes is San (the still silent one), Wooyoung mutters, āOh.ā Only a few silent moments have to pass before the rest of the declaration weighs heavy on him. He whips his head back around. āFinished what job, exactly?ā
āYou were dying, dear,ā the second man flashes a smile and a flutter of eyelids. Wooyoung doesnāt miss the sarcastic undertone. āAnd our friend here should have just killed you.ā
Wooyoung knits his eyebrows. He elects to ignore the obvious insult to instead ask, āAnd how exactly was I saved? This certainly doesnāt look like a hospital.ā
āAh, there. Thatās the right question.ā The second man settles himself back onto the bed so heās no longer looking at Wooyoung. Heās not sure he could have stood those red eyes any longer anyway. āItās more fun to have you guess, though.ā
Wooyoung huffs indignantly. Heās tired, annoyed, and still so fucking confused. He doesnāt wantĀ to guess, he wants to be told. And right now he feels like telling this other stranger to sod off, because at least this āSanā was nicer. So far, anyway. Still, he wants confirmation enough to calm the boiling in his veins enough to spit out, āWell you all seem like a bunch of stereotypical fantasy book type vampires.ā
A laugh erupts out of the second man, one that seems fairly devoid of any true humour, and Wooyoung scoots closer to āSanā. The latter man flinches slightly and tenses, but it doesnāt feel like one of cautious anticipation. More like the clench of muscles of someone ready to fight. Wooyoung sure hopes heās not the one to be fought. āAh, I wonder what sort of things that sharp tongue of yours would say if my teeth were sunk into your pretty little neāā
āEnough.ā
Both Wooyoung and the man flinch at āSanās sudden forceful voice. Having been now hovering over Wooyoung, the second man scoffs under his breath and removes himself from the continuing quivering Wooyoung. His eyes, Wooyoung notices, have also morphed into that deep black and Wooyoung is idly wondering how close he was to death (again?) when the man rolls his eyes. āYouāre always so protective of your playthings, San.ā
āI said enough, Mingi.ā āSanā (Wooyoung should probably drop the quotation marks) practically growls.
Mingi glares down at Wooyoung, his lip upturned. He wordlessly exists, all swift movements and even a somewhat graceful slam of the door behind him. Wooyoung is thankful heās gone, he really is donāt get him wrong, but now heās alone with San. And he doesnāt know how to feel about San. It was easy with everyone elseāthey clearly wanted to kill him. But Wooyoung doesnāt know how to process the information that San precisely thought the opposite, that Mingi said he āsavedā him. Heās never been good with compliments or praise, and he somehow thinks that saving his lifeāhowever it actually happenedāitās just completely out of his realm of contemplating.
āSorry about him,ā San smiles, and itās genuinely sweet. His eyes remain brown, and so now Wooyoung is wondering if this colour madness is just thatāa product of his own madness.
āWhere am I,ā Wooyoung asks again, because Mingi wasnāt very helpful. Plus, he figures San will be more forthcoming, less of a sarcastic ass.
Turns out heās right. San heavily sighs, cards his fingers through his hair, and⦠Pouts. Wooyoung blinks dumbly at it. āThis is sort of a⦠Safe havenāāWooyoung scoffs, San ignores himāāfor people like me. Like⦠You. Itās hidden behind a sort of seal if you want to call it that, kind of like a spell.ā
āA spell,ā Wooyoung echos.
San nods enthusiastically, snapping his fingers because he seems to think Wooyoung is following along (heās absolutely not). His smile falters slightly, though. āMingi is slightly right, on one count. I had saved you, yes, but that was under the pretense you would become like me.ā
San nods again, albeit more slowly. Wooyoung is afraid of what sort of circumstance warrants such a change in demeanor. āI know itās⦠A lot, but I did it with the best intentions.ā He lopsidedly smiles at Wooyoung and the latterās heart positively melts. He supposes if some freak was going to āsaveā him in such a way, at least this one was pretty. āI truly thought youād just beĀ like me, like Mingi.ā Wooyoung hates the unsaid ābutā.
The roundabout is only slightly irking Wooyoung, but heās able to at least be patient with San. Now that he knows the sort of other heathens that run rampant in this little tree shop of horrors house, anyway. āSo Iām not a vampire then.ā
A shake of the head this time. āNo, no youāre not.ā
Wooyoung thinks. He thinks because San looks just as tired and confused as he is. Thinks because he really hasnāt clearly yet since waking up dead, and so he thoughtfully raps his index finger against his chin. He tries to remember the times he was a kid and poured through all sorts of fantasy novels and shows, and tries to recall what he knows about vampires. He remembers, though, what the one vampire had said about him: halfling.
Heās unaware heās muttered it aloud when San perks up next to him. āThat fits, actually. Thatās the best way to describe it at this point.ā
For the first time the whole night (as Wooyoung assumes it is, donāt vampires like, hibernate in the day?), Wooyoung really looks at San. He appearsĀ perhaps even the same exact age as Wooyoung, but if heās going off fantasy vampire lore, the guy is probably in his hundreds. And looking fantastic at that. His skin looks impossibly smooth, eyes deep with emotion and lips curled into a sincere smile, even if it seems to be one of pity rather than joy. Thereās a hint of a cherry red underneath Sanās hair, and it sort of hits Wooyoung rather belatedly that San is just his type. Way better than any Tinder fuck heās gotten recently, anyway.
And here he is, practically snuggled in bed with the guy.
But dammit Wooyoung, this is not the time to be horny, you need answers. And Wooyoung has plenty of questions to last (another) lifetime. So he picks one if not to just ignore the strange static thatās building between them. āSomeone called me an omega,ā he blurts, and it makes San softly laugh.
āGunna talk my head off with questions, eh?ā
āAbsolutely,ā Wooyoung blurts once more.
San lightly shrugs. āThatās fair.ā Wooyoung swears his skin flushes when he stammers out, āB-But, the omega thing. There are some things that probably arenāt talked about in vampire school.ā
āThat absolutely doesnāt exist,ā Wooyoung breathes, and shares his first pure laugh with San. He still doesnāt know if he should be hating the guy, honestly. Itās becoming increasingly harder to even entertain the thought.
āWell whatever,ā San bats the air. āI just donāt think they reallyāer, anyone reallyātalks about how society for us really works.ā
Wooyoung scoots closer, knees brushing against Sanās. āEnlighten me.ā
A breath escapes Sanās nose that could definitely be a laugh, one so impossibly soft Wooyoung doesnāt want to think about it right now. āThe person was right when they called you an omega. Before you blather about that whole thing, itās not the sort of āomegaā youāre probably used to. You canāt get pregnant, go into heat, none of that. Itās simply a rank.ā
āThe lowest of them, then,ā Wooyoung softly laments, turning his gaze to the bed.
It shoots up instantly the moment San replies with: āThe opposite, actually.ā Apparently Wooyoungās awestruck expression is enough for him to continue without delay. āOmegas are thought to be the highest for us. Theyāre pure, untainted, and elegant. They think clearer than ravenous alpha or power seeking beta. They possess a certain poise and aptitude for the political, but even with all this they get treated like dirt.ā
Wooyoung expressively frowns. āBut you saidāā
āI know,ā San snaps. It makes Wooyoung shrink. āHundreds, thousands, of years of alphas trying to overcome what they think their weakness is has led omegas to be somewhat of an anomaly. We changed so theyāre rarer, less omegas lived to procreate, and as a result there are practically none left. It also just so happens omegas⦠Taste good.ā San looks off anywhere that definitely isnāt Wooyoung.
Right, the whole blood drinking thing. Right.
Wait, no, notĀ right, what the shit?
āSo what the hell do I do?ā Wooyoung asks, swallowing down his shivering panics. He figures itās the most practical question he could possibly ask.
San looks back at him, eyes soft and pleading when he says, āTrust me.ā
„„„„
Even though San assures him itās safe now, that heās ātaken careā of things, Wooyoung still refuses to leave his room. At least, he assumes itās his. In any case, no one has come to see him besides San, and certainly not that Mingi fellow. Wooyoung shivers at the memory, but also wonders why he was so willing to obey San as well. If he was going to admit it (which he isnāt presently), the sort of powerful aura San carries is⦠Well, unbelievably attractive.
Yet heās still confused about this whole omega business, not to mention he doesnāt really think heās come full to terms with his⦠Predicament. Is he dead? He doesnāt think the afterlife would be especially honest about where he was, but then again he has no frame of reference either. Just blind faithājust his trust in San, as feeble as it is. So he spends most hours (heās lost track of them) curled into himself, fumbling to locate his heartbeat every few hours when he canāt feel it anymore. Itās his only way of holding on.
He thinks of his friends, how they must be worried about him. Heās not realised heās shaking quite violently until San enters the room, and Wooyoung can finally breathe. It doesnāt even take him rising his head to know itās SanāhisĀ San, as his brain sometimes flutters toāhe can just feel his presence like a blanket wrapping securely around him. The thought makes Wooyoung shiver again, though this time heās not really sure what for. Heāll figure it out later.
A clatter of a plate being set down makes Wooyoung finally peek out from his blanket cocoon. Very recently being wrapped as tightly in linen as possible has brought him extreme relief. He blinks at the plate though, silver gilded and a rather hot looking cup of soup sitting innocently in the middle. āYou must be hungry,ā San says, though itās more of an exasperated breath.
Wooyoung blinks dumbly when he says, āIām not hungry.ā
San sighs. āYouāve been here nearly a weekāāWooyoung whimpersāāand youāve not eaten a thing. Itāll make me look bad if you starve to death.ā
Wooyoung thinks on this. If itās been nearly a week, how is that heās not ravenous? Because he isnāt lying to San, heās honestly not hungry. He hasnāt been, even though the soup looks tantalisingly good the longer he stares at it. āI thought vampires didnāt eat people food,ā he mumbles, not even really realising heās said it out loud. He yelps at his own bold proclamation, slinks back into his covers. San just laughs, and itās too light and airy for Wooyoung to think about right now.
āWe donāt, but youāre not fully like us.ā The last bit sounds sad almost, and the confusion that has plagued Wooyoung since being here is crawling rather speedily up his conscience again.
And he really shouldnāt care, to be honest. Not when heās not even sure if he should be thanking San yet, because heās not even sure he was saved. Does saving someone entail trapping them in a room like some sort of failed Disney princess? Wooyoung doesnāt know, and he also doesnāt know why he reaches out an apprehensive hand to curl around the bit of Sanās arms he can see from under his blankets. San tenses ever so slightly, but the overwhelming relief, like thisĀ is what Wooyoung has been starving over, when he can feel San go pliant under his touchāitās maddening. Itās maddening because Wooyoung doesnāt understand.
As if San is reading his thoughts (he really could be, Wooyoung never really paid attention to the little snippets of vampire lore), he says quietly, āYou should be careful.ā
Wooyoung knits his eyebrows together and pouts even though San can see neither. āMaybe I would be if you told me why.ā
Just from the way Sanās arm wiggles uselessly in the air, Wooyoung can tell heās rolled his eyes. āYouāre an omega,ā he explains like Wooyoung should already have this whole thing down.
āSo?ā He asks, withdrawing his hand to sit up fully, and sees San is staring holes into his soup. Wooyoung would gladly offer it up but⦠Vampires, and all that.
Without looking away San replies, āIām an alpha.ā
āAnd? You said none of that weird stuff existed.ā With the way San tightens his fists Wooyoung is fully aware heās treading on stormy waters. Itās a little exciting while also being downright terrifying, and itās really no wonder heās gotten himself caught up in something like this. The only difference is Wooyoung had imagined a lot more drugs and guns. āBesides,ā Wooyoung continues, because San has stayed silent, āYou were the one that didnāt kill me. You said omegas tasted good, right? So Iām thinking Iām in the clear with you.ā Heās come to sit with his legs crossed, hands neatly folded on his lap, utterly satisfied in what he thinks is a perfectly sound argument.
It is, apparently, not.
San finally looks over at him, the brown eyes he had been using for Wooyoung (heāll have to ask about that later, assuming he survives this) having turned to a deep red. Wooyoung doesnāt know what that could possibly mean, but for someone who is not really a vampire and therefore more like somewhat spoilt live stock, it canāt be good. āYou donāt know when to stop, do you?ā He finally asks, and Wooyoung would definitely have replied with something snarky if it werenāt for the fact that a slender finger runs down his cheek.
So Wooyoungās brain sort of short circuits, āpanicked gay styleā, as one of his friends once put it. āWh-What?ā He stammers out, having lost every ounce of cocky confidence he had going super well before.
His precious soup lays forgotten as San fully turns his body, a hand now caressing his cheek instead of just a finger. San looks at him through a thoughtful pout, eyes dashing all over before they rest neatly right in Wooyoungās gaze. The red is still there, still bright and confusing, but thereās something soft as well. Or maybe thatās just Wooyoungās wishful thinking. Yet the way San is holding his chin now is nothing but dripping with affection, and the way he walks closer to the bedside so he can breathe Wooyoung in is anything besides the feeling of a murderous monster. Perhaps murderous in a different way, Wooyoung belatedly thinks when their foreheads press together.
When he smiles, Wooyoung can see sharp fangs. Itās right then he thinks he has, in fact, probably gone too far, but the heat that coils inside of him just at the sight is betraying him rather efficiently. San says nothing as he leans his face into the dip of Wooyoungās neck, hovering right over the place where he was first bitten by that freak of a date. Wooyoung swallows thickly when he feels soft lips press just as softly over the wound, and he should probably stop this but something like his attraction to the vampire and blunt curiosity stops him. San says nothing as he drags his upper lip over it, resting teasing fangs as if to make a bite of his own. A tongue flattens down next, and Wooyoung canāt help the whimper that leaves him, nor the way he holds onto Sanās hips as if heāll crumble if he doesnāt.
The door swings open right as Wooyoung feels Sanās bottom lip skidding up to meet his top in what would have been a downright awful-but-wonderful kiss, and Wooyoungās eyes flash open to see a rather incredulous Mingi staring at them both with some measure of disgust (itās mostly directed at Wooyoung, though, he thinks). āThe council is waiting for you, San,ā he spits, and gives Wooyoung one more definitelyĀ Iām-going-to-end-your-life glare before he leaves, stomping down the hallway and certainly not closing the door.
A growl comes from the spot in Wooyoungās neck where San is still nuzzled, but when he pulls back there is no anger in his expression. Itās turned to unreadable, which is new. Wooyoung doesnāt really like it. āHe has an uncanny habit of entering at the worst of times,ā San says, a laugh ghosting on Wooyoungās face. His expression is still unreadable, but itās at least somewhat softer now.
They stay silent for a solid five incredibly awkward seconds before San clears his throat rather audibly, removes Wooyoungās hands from where they were still clutching Sanās sides, and sets them in Wooyoungās lap. He just as awkwardly pats down the sleeves of Wooyoungās sweater before clearing his throat once again. āI have to go,ā he says, āIāll come back as soon as I can, omega.ā
Wooyoung blinks, can only muster the strength to do that, as San turns to leave, but is able to blurt out, āWooyoung.ā Itās right before San has fully exited the room, one foot having frozen inside when he peers his head back in. āMy name,ā Wooyoung explains. āSo you⦠Donāt have to call me omega.ā
āWooyoung,ā San echoes with some thoughtfulness. Itās all he says before he leaves as well, albeit silently down the hall.
Twoāno, threeāthings enter Wooyoungās mind in rapid succession. One is that heās certainly in too deep with this San, and theyāve barely held a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes and didnāt involve Wooyoungās confusion. The second one is that heāll have to stand to close the door and heās not sure if his legs will even work after all that, and thirdā¦
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,,,idk what to say for myself at this point :^) a preview for a slow burn fic get ready again bois
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San
Rating:Ā blurb is G unless you donāt like cursing
Word Count: 2,040
Jung Wooyoung, in some peopleās eyes, has royally screwed up.
Now, there are levels to that statement, and you can really close your eyes and take a pick at this point. Is it when he flunked out of university? Ran away from home? Didnāt take his dog out when he was ten, and so when he beloved Coo shat on the carpet he was scolded for being a terrible dog? Or perhaps itās where he finds himself now, pinned to a wall in an alleyway while a stranger humps his leg. Well, heās hesitant to say āstrangerā. They met on Tinder (another screw up to pick from), talked a few days and when Wooyoung got sick of masturbating, agreed to dinner. The thing is, he should have been more careful. The thing is, Tinder doesnāt really have a āswipe left on serial killersā options. Not really, anyway.
He has his reservations about sneaking in an alleyway to make out, but desperation and loneliness made him forget reason. So now his Tinder dateās tongue is down his throat, the taste of wine smeared into his conscience at this point, and a reluctant erection growing in his pants. This is, of course, until his date speaks.
āYou humans are all so easy to rile up,ā his date whispers into his ear, and Wooyoung can actually feel the ferocity in which his dick deflates.
And Wooyoung tries to respond, push back, has the indignant āExcuse me?ā in the forefront of his mouth, but thatās before a sharp piercing is driven into his neck. Precisely two piercings. Followed by the feeling not unlike getting his blood drawn. So maybe he realises it a bit too late.
His Tinder is apparently some kind of vampire, and heās being murdered. And Wooyung being Wooyoung, his last thought as he crumples to the ground is at least he doesnāt have to pay off his student loans anymore.
There are a few things Wooyoung thought being dead entailed. For one, he was pretty sure it didnāt involve being carried away by a stranger (another one, he reminds himself), nor did it involve the distinct feeling of humanly and living sensation of waking up. Yet he blinks all the same, albeit slowly, staring at a ceiling that looks right out of an Italian romance novel. Itās got carved ivory on it in the shape of angels, so Wooyoung is fairly convinced himself at this point heās dead. Died, whatever.
āAh, youāre awake,ā a soft voice says, and Wooyoung tenses. He doesnāt look away from the ceiling, tries to figure out if itās too late to pretend heās still asleep (if dead people did that) when the voice continues, āI was worried you were too far gone.ā
And⦠What? Wooyoung tears his gaze away from the rather pretty ceiling, sitting up to see an even prettier man. He has soft eyes raven black hair. Pale skin, but thereās still a hint of bronze in the undertones. Yet the nagging feeling of being distinctly dead pries at his conscience, so of course the first thing he blurts is, āAre you an angel?ā
The man immediately erupts in a laugh that makes Wooyoung flush. He tells himself itās from embarrassment and not the way the man laughs, like itās from the back of his throat. Itās too endearing. Far too. āIām not sure thatās what mortals call me,ā he says, and Wooyoung can feel the precise feeling of the flush disappearing.Ā
He lowers his shoulders. Mortals, the pretty man had said. That seems to really prove everything Wooyoung needs to know, so he ends up saying out loud, āSo Iām really dead then.ā He flops back down on the bed, glares at the ivory angels and tries to will his heart to beat slower. But then it strikes him. His heart⦠Is beating? Do dead people do that? Man, he wishes he had paid more attention in church.Ā
āI suppose in a sense, yes you are.ā
Electing to ignore the hot angel-not-angel, Wooyoung rolls over. He buries his face in the silk of the pillow and pulls the covers up so his head pokes out of a hole like some form of undead burrito. He can hear the man sigh and feels the mattress adjust in the weight of him sitting down, but Wooyoung ignores that too. He feels tears prickling at his eyes and tries to blink them away, but all that serves is to make one fall. And then he feels a hand on his shoulder, which just sends the flood gates open wide. Thankfully Wooyoung has mastered the art of crying silently, but he can still feel the betraying sensation of himself shaking. He hadnāt quite mastered that bit yet.
āI had considered letting you die truly,ā the man says, rubbing small circles on Wooyoungās shoulders. āYour blood was impossibly sweet, itās hard to get blood like that. But⦠You had managed to open your eyes, and I just. I couldnāt let it go to waste.ā
Wooyoung blinks in confusion. For one, this man is talking rather nonchalantly about Wooyoungās blood, and in the same breath⦠Did he compliment him? Still, the man called him dead by all means and so heās only harbouring a little animosity, so he stays silent. The man sighs, removing his hand. Wooyoung wonāt admit heās a bit sad at it. āI suppose it was a bit selfish of me,ā the man explains, āBut itās not like I could have really asked if you wanted it.ā
Confusion gets the best of him, so Wooyoung shoots up. āIf I wanted what?ā
āTo be a vampire,ā the man replies instantly.Ā
And Wooyoung just stares. The man stares back. It gets a bit awkward, if heās honest. āA what,ā he finally says, presenting it more of a statement rather than a question.
The man (vampireā¦?) answers anyway, āYes.ā
It doesnāt help. In fact, none of this is really helping Wooyoung so he just nods silently, lifts a finger. āRight, well, your bed is very comfy and the ceiling is pretty, but Iāll just be⦠Leaving.ā
āI wouldnāt leave the room,ā the man says as Wooyoung ungracefully untangles himself and nearly falls on the floor. He ignores the warning anyway, stumbling as if heās hungover as he makes his way to the door.
He can hear the man let out an exasperated sigh behind him as Wooyoung swings the door open. He meant it to be not as dramatic as it turns out to be, what with the door practically cracking the wall with the force in which it slams against it. Under normal circumstances heād say sorry, but instead he feels like being a petulant child and stomps out into a barely lit hallway. The whole house seems to scream Victorian, he notices, and is apparently too distracted by a rather regal painting of his angel-vampire, slamming into a hard object. As it turns out, when he looks up, āobjectā really isnāt the right word, as he comes face to face with another stunningly gorgeous man, one with slightly curled silver hair this time (heās not sure when he started to categorise hot men by their hair colour, but it seems to fit so far). Gorgeous man number twoās eyes are a deep red as he peers down at Wooyoung.
āWell, it seems San wasnāt exaggerating when he spoke of you,ā number two says, flashing a smile and⦠Fangs. Wooyoung would call them sharp canines, only theyāre honestly not and he knows this. It doesnāt stop the undignified squeal of terror that erupts from him anyway. āMy, what a voice too,ā he continues as Wooyoung swings himself around, darting down the hallway.
More tears tug at his eyes and he hates it, hates how confused he is and how gorgeous men aside, heās not getting any answers. He eventually slips and falls as he now realises heās running barefoot, and comes crashing to the ground and through another door. Pain radiates through him, particularly on the side of his neck, and when he looks up he canāt help the, āOh fucking hellā that falls from his lips.
A whole congregation of people stare at him, dressed in everything from what he swears his grandmother wore in her casket to some God awful neon crop top and matching shorts. They all sort of share this awkward blink session before the neon wearing woman comes up to Wooyoung, who is definitely still sitting ass on the ground, and she leans down. Her eyes are a deep red as well, and at least heās somewhat prepared for when she exposes fangs as well.Ā
āYou smell awfully pretty, mortal,ā she coos, stroking a clawed finger along Wooyoungās cheeks.Ā
āI donāt really like girls,ā Wooyoung blurts, and the woman just laughs. Itās devoid of any true humour though, especially evident when she cuts into his cheek, drawing blood. Wooyoung is a little glad he still bleeds (he doesnāt think dead people would), but any good feeling is washed away when the woman licks his blood rather enthusiastically off her finger.
What were once red eyes now shift into pitch black, no whites visible, and her fangs protrude more than before when she looks back down. Wooyoung is pretty sure he should get the fuck up even before she snarls, āAnd to think San would hide such a delicious meal from us.ā
So Wooyoung does what he assumes any sane person would do at such a sentence as that, and punches her right in the nose. As she stumbles back and shrieks, Wooyoung springs to his feet with his hands balled up in fists in front of his face, gets ready to run, but someone grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks. He shrieks this time as heās raised several inches off the ground, and he flails trying to break free of the rather painful grip this person has when heās twirled around and comes back to face with someone else with black eyes.Ā
āSome beta bitch isnāt going to drink you, allow a nice alpha to take her place,ā this one growls and Wooyoung whimpers.Ā
Heās promptly dropped on the ground when another person roundhouse kicks this one in the side, but before Wooyoung hits the floor heās caught, but when he peers down at another clawed hand heās pretty sure heās not saved by any means. āHands off you filth,ā his catcher growls right back, āSomething as precious as this one needs to be drank by royalty.ā
āRoyalty!ā The woman from before barks, āIāve never heard such bullshit before! Unhand the omega and Iāll consider not killing you too.āĀ
Wooyoung doesnāt get much of a chance to ask why in the hell these people are talking about ranks of wolves before the whole room erupts in screams and arguments. He catches some rather unsettling words such as āhalflingā, another āomegaā, āvirginā, before they all just fall silent. Wooyoung, who was being passed around like some crude game of hot potato, is finally let go in earnest, although the only thing it gifts him is a hard drop on the ground again. His neck pulsates and he brings a hand to it as he swivels around to see why he was finally spared.
It seems two people have rather dramatically entered the room, and Wooyoung sort of hates that he recognises them. Itās Gorgeous Number One and Gorgeous Number Two, and the first looks only a little displeased. Wooyoung isnāt sure how he noticed before, but this man has brilliant red eyes as well. Only they flash to a piercing yellow when he peers down at Wooyoung, who suddenly feels just so small. The second one trails slowly behind, hands in his pockets as he nonchalantly looks around at the room of people who Wooyoung was sure were just arguing at who got to kill him. Nothing is making sense.
He barely notices when the first man kneels down at him, eyes back to a softer shade of red. They stay that way only a moment before they fade now into a more normal looking brown, and he smiles. āI told you it wasnāt a good idea to leave the room.ā
so i was originally going to wait to post this but! here is my massive-ish Jinkook fic, pls enjoy š swipe for lil previews šš¼ (one chapter left til itās done!) #jinkook #jinkookfic #btsfanfiction https://www.instagram.com/p/B4f7J31Fltj/?igshid=333gu7xpr3yy
i have too many WIPs haaa, but here have some Taegi. based off a little drawing @tantandrw did of Singularity!Tae and witch!Yoongs so here we are. enjoy~
(also itās a lil preview of a whole fic oops.png)
Fandom:Ā BTS
Pairing: Kim Taehyung/Min Yoongi
Rating: G for this bois (or T if you donāt like the wordĀ āshitā)
Word Count: 1,948
Summary: Yoongi likes being a witch without a familiar. That is, until Jimin convinces him to get one. Yoongi really just wanted a cat.
The thing about Yoongi is, he doesnāt like to mold into the stereotypical āwitchā.
Sure, he wears the hat but thatās because itās fashionable, and maybe he owns a cauldron but thatās because itās practical, but he does not and will not ride a broom. He wonāt paint himself green or let boils grow on his nose, does not eat frogs, and strictly does not own a familiar.Ā
āI work alone,ā he tells Jimin, watching with disdain as his friend curls with his bunny familiar. And it suits Jimin, really, itās pink and happy and fluffy, and everything Yoongi is not.
Yoongi is all dark and matte colors, pale skin and stoic demeanor. He doesnāt like to show his soft side, afraid itāll be taken as a weakness, and the only reason Jimin gets to see it is because Jimin once cast a spell on him āby accidentā so it wasnāt really Yoongiās fault he sobbed into Jiminās chest for hours. And heāll die by that declaration. Ā
Jimin frowns up at him, flopping his bunnyās ears from side to side. āEvery witch has a familiar, hyung. Thatās like, the first rule of witches.ā
Yoongi returns the frown, folding his arms across his chest. āAllow me to break the rules, then.ā
āItād make you less mopey,ā Jimin reasons, frown easily replaced with his infectious smile. Just so happens today Yoongi posses the vaccine.
āAbsolutely not,ā he replies, āI can barely take care of myself, let alone a familiar. You have to like, feed them, andā¦ā He waves his hand in the air.Ā
The smile is replaced with a disapproving frown once more. āThey choose you, Yoongi-hyung. Itās like a⦠Soulmate or something.ā
āIām content being alone, thanks.ā
āBullshit.ā
So the frowns continue. Another thing is Yoongi sort of hates how well Jimin knows him. Spell notwithstanding, theyāve been friends for years. Yoongi has helped Jimin just as Jimin has helped him, whether it be through little scoldings like this or just simply sitting beside each other in their time of respective needs. Thereās not some formula they have, they each take turns being the coy little bitch (as Yoongi likes to put it), but itās worked so far. Jimin knows a little more about some mischief spells too, as Yoongi decided to be practical and learn useful ones, but still.
Itās fun turning someone into a chicken, heāll admit that.
āListen, Iāll show you the shop I went to,ā Jimin starts, getting up and lazily reaching for his phone. His little bunny anxiously waits til it can touch Jimin again, and it already is too clingy for Yoongi. He likes his space. He likes his quiet. Familiars are neither of those things. āGo here,ā Jimin continues, oblivious or at least choosing not to notice Yoongiās inner thoughts, āThey have a really nice shop, the lady is very nice. She gives them you for free too, so you donāt have to spend millions of won like other places.ā
āJiminie, if you get something for free, something is wrong with it,ā Yoongi reasons, gently lowering the phone that was thrust in his face. āNo one gives valuable things away for free.ā
Jimin is clearly unbothered by this extremely logical reasoning, and just shrugs. āYouāll cave, just give it time. Once you see how Cooky and I are, youāll want one too.ā
Yoongiās frown deepens. āYou named itā¦ā Jimin emphatically nods, petting this Cooky lovingly. āPah, it doesnāt matter. I absolutely will never cave.ā
Yoongi caves.Ā
Frankly, he caves because Jimin wonāt leave him the shit alone about the whole thing. At the same time, the more Yoongi thought about it, he realised maybe he would actually like someone around, even if that someone ends up being a cat. He prefers to be a loner, both out of his general nature and heās afraid of getting close to people, but a familiar is different. Theyāre basically a pet, but a pet that also helps you strengthen your potions and spells, if what Yoongi was reading was true. And heās always interested in reaching his full potential, being powerful. It gives him and edge of control where he feels he never has.
He steps in warily, never trusting another witchās place of residence. You always find hexes or booby traps, and the last thing Yoongi wants to get it cursed. He made that mistake once, and it took him weeks to figure out how to get rid ofāall thingsāan itching curse. Heās not sure how he made it, really. But there appears to be none such thing here, just a glorified pet shop. Smells like one too.
All the animals seem to be well taken care of, which is nice, and they all seem to be of pleasant personality. Thatās good tooāYoongi doesnāt want a bitchy cat, despite he is one himself. With a cat in mind he gravitates towards them immediately, becoming fond with a solid black one who purrs quietly against his palm.Ā
āOh, that wonāt do,ā a voice says from behind him.Ā
He jolts in surprise, clasping his hand over where his heart is as he turns, readying an incredulous glare. To be honest, when Jimin said a lady owned the shop Yoongi definitely imagined a stereotypical witch, but this woman is definitely not. Her movements are languid and she sports the most brilliant purple hair heās seen, and most of all sheās soft. But still annoying, because Yoongi wants this cat.
āAnd why not?ā Yoongi asks, turning back to his lovable cat.
The woman sighs from behind him, and he can practically feel her eyes roll. Because he knows why not, he knows she knows that he knows why not, but Yoongi is nothing but stubborn. āYou need to let them choose you for themselves. That cat wonāt help you at all.ā
Yoongi sighs heavily through his nose, turning back to her. This time he folds his arms across his chest and raises a brow. He silently scans the shop before looking back to her as she taps her long-nailed forefinger against her chin. āWouldnāt one have come already?ā Yoongi asks honestly.
She shakes her head. āHave patience. Just as you take your time choosing the best fruit, a familiar takes their time assessing your worth.ā
Yoongi scoffs. āMy worth? You act as if they possess such a mind to do so.ā
She smiles. āPerhaps not your regular ones, no. But mine are special. Thatās whyāā
The smile fades. āYouād do best not to be so coy. Itāll cost you someday.ā
Heās sure he has a good comeback, but thereās a loud caw from the back of the shop. Yoongi assumes sheās done some magic to summon her own familiar to scare him or some such, but instead a red eyed raven perches itself on a close by bookshelf. It peers down at Yoongi like itās reading his mind, and he straightens his back ever so slightly.Ā
āThis yours?ā He asks, not breaking eye contact with it.
Through his peripherals he sees her shake her head, and he swears he sees a smirk. āIām sure he isnāt. He seems to have an interest in you, though.āĀ
āApparently,ā Yoongi mumbles, not really caring if she hears him or not.
Heās never really been āin tuneā with some instincts heās supposed to have as a witch, one being able to tell someoneās (or somethingās) aura. Itās highly inconvenient, and itās something Jimin takes no liberty in missing an opportunity to tease him about it. If Jimin were here heād most certainly be taunting him, making him guess all sorts of ridiculous things from what the ravenās favourite food is (which heās sure you canāt tell that from an aura, but then again he doesnāt know for sure either) or if it thinks Yoongi is a frog (heās not sure about that one either). Basically, itās very stressful and annoying that Yoongi doesnāt possess this, especially because the raven wonāt stop staring.
Itās not lost on him either that familiars are supposed to help with that sort of thing, so itās with much trepidation he swallows thickly. āHow much is this one?ā He asks as the raven ruffles its feathers.
āTheyāre free,ā the shop woman mocks Yoongiās voice, āRemember?ā And then she just leaves, Yoongi doesnāt know where and frankly he doesnāt really care either. Nothing is going to stop the little staring contest heās having with a bird.
And nothing is going to stop him from winning, either.
āYou have nice feathers,ā Yoongi decides to compliment it. Maybe that will earn him some favour of a kind. He raises one of his eyebrows as some sort of challenge almost, to see if the bird will like him better now.
It just cocks its head to the side, and squints. Yoongi huffs audibly, checks once for the shopkeep, and when sheās still no where to be found he turns, fully intending to leave, cursing himself for the waste of time. But the raven caws again, this time sharper like itās annoyed, and so Yoongi returns with a glare of annoyance right back at it. It erupts yet another staring contest, but at least the raven looks⦠Softer, somehow. Yoongi does not return the gesture.
āLook, I complimented your feathers, what do you want from me?ā He asks it, like it can respond. He feels foolish when it doesnāt, and Yoongiās losing some of his already nonexistent patience. The problem, though, is that this bird is also piquing his curiosity. Which never ends well. āFine. If youāre supposed to be my familiar⦠Give me a sign. Or something.ā He stands awkwardly after, peering at the bird who is scratching under its beak with a nonchalant foot.
Yoongi blankly remembers things he knew of birds in the past and asks, āAre you itching? I doubt anyone has preened you lately. You donāt seem like the type to, you know. Socialise.ā
If birds could laugh, Yoongi is sure the raven just has. It flutters its wings and glides easily down to the surprised Yoongi, plopping itself on his shoulder and leaning his beak down to grip the hem of his sweater with it. It blinks once before closing its eyes fully, and Yoongi slowly takes it as a cue that it wants to be preened. Heās too embarrassed to admit to a raven heās never really done this sort of thing before, so he takes an apprehensive hand to its head and starts rubbing on the pin feathers carefully. He can feel some sort of energy calm around the raven, and when it peaks one red open, Yoongi feels it.
Itās hard to explain, but then again so are all witchy things to Yoongi. Jimin explains them easily, so he usually waits for him to talk about an experience Yoongi can relate to, but he definitely forgot to ask what it was like to pair with a familiar. He thinks he will when he gets back, but heās also pretty sure thatās what heās feeling right now. A strange heat is boiling in his veins and pumping through his heart, a pressure not unlike a headache pulsating in his temples. He feels like heās falling, and upon opening his eyes he never realised he had closed in the first place he meets eyes with a very smug looking raven.
āI told you they choose you. Seems this one finds you worthy.ā Yoongi looks up to see the shopkeep smiling at him, but he certainly picks up on the deviousness behind it.
āTh-Thanks,ā he absently replies, wondering what in the hell heās just gotten himself into.Ā
psst itās another blurb that will be part of a bigger fic
Fandom: BTS
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung
Rating: T (full fic is gunna be E /sweats)
Word Count: 1,019
āWell hello again,ā a sinister voice says, and Taehyung doesnāt even have to look up to know who it is. āDid you miss me?ā It coos.
Yet Taehyung flinches all the same, slowly turning to see none other than Jungkook perched innocently on a boulder protruding from the sea. He has a lopsided smirk that exposes one of his canines, his wings fluttering slightly. Taehyung frowns at it all. āWhat do you want?ā He asks, trying his best to seem threatening.Ā
Jungkook shrugs. āAm I not allowed to visit my pretty little merman?ā
āNo,ā Taehyung replies instantly. Jungkook frowns down at him, and Taehyung refuses to acknowledge that it could be both cute and turns him on at the same time. He really hates demons.
āI just wanted to see how youāre doing,ā Jungkook says, and it sounds sincere enough, but at this point Taehyung has gathered the sense to not trust demons.
He scoffs at the remark, turning back around and crossing his arms across his chest even though Jungkook canāt see him. The tepid sea water splashes around him in soft waves, and he refuses to consider it relaxing. Falling for Jungkookās charm is how he got in this mess in the first place, and he wasnāt about to play games with such a cocky demon. Itās not his fault he got captivated by such a small waist, thick thighs, and intoxicating smile. It wasnāt his fault either that his drink got spiked, that he got consumed with the need to touch just by breathing in Jungkookās scent. It really wasnāt.
āYou canāt get mad at me,ā Jungkook pipes from behind Taehyung. āI gave you what you wanted, did I not?ā
Taehyung huffs but still doesnāt turn. āYou didnāt give me shit,ā he says to the sea. āI donāt know what youāre talking about.ā
In a flash Jungkook appears in front of him, flying in place as he sits criss crossed. He has his hands folded in his lap and is actually pouting, ridiculous tail curling around one of his legs. It was all so ridiculous, Taehyhung really just wants out of it. āTaehyung,ā Jungkook whines, āI thought you were supposed to be fun.ā
With narrowed eyes Taehyung replies easily, āAnd I thought you were just a normal dude, Jungkook.ā
Because he was a little shit, Jungkook smiles bright. āAh, thereās that spark.ā Taehyung hates that he blushes, and Jungkook must notice because he situates himself so heās laying down (still floating, which baffles Taehyung still, despite the fact that he has a fish tail), hands propped under his chin. He cocks his head to the side as he whispers, āYou canāt deny we had fun that night. Not with the way you were moaning underneath me. I still can smell you on myāā
Heās cut off by Taehyung splashing him, knocking off his balance and plunging him into the sea. It makes Taehyung grin, probably wider than Jungkookās had been. And yet he knows his face must be bright red, and he hates that Jungkook is rightāhe hasnāt forgotten about being tangled with Jungkook, rushed kisses at his neck and desperate thrusts rippling through him. Like fuck heās going to show it though. āThereās no one here, I donāt know why youāre bothering to whisper,ā he says quickly as Jungkook manages to fly back up, but heās absolutely soaked.Ā
Turns out plummeting Jungkook into water has done him no favours. His hair is slicked back, droplets of water ever so slowly running down his bare chest, because apparently demons have no common decency to wear shirts. Even his leatherāyes, leatherāpants grip him tighter, and Taehyung breathes in sharply, turning his head to the side. Jungkook catches on. āThis is not the time to be shy,ā he laughs, āAfter all, you were the one to point out that no one is here. In factāāhe leans down, clawed fingertip dragging over Taehyungās shoulderāāI think I like your little revelation.ā
Taehyung doesnāt get to question it before Jungkook wraps his arms around Taehyung, hand ever so softly wrapping around his neck. He presses his nose into Taehyungās neck, just lightly mouthing over a bit of skin there. The sensation makes Taehyung shiver, and would certainly do something to his dick if he still had it. āJust because you have a fish tail doesnāt mean we still canāt have fun,ā Jungkook says sweetly into Taehyungās neck. He opens his mouth to take just the smallest bit of skin in his teeth, biting down. Taehyung hates that for one, he doesnāt stop it, and two, he actually leans into it.
It invites Jungkook to continue, hand on Taehyungās neck gripping harder, kisses becoming rougher, and Taehyung bites down his lip to not make any noise. Heās not even sure why heās letting Jungkook do this, but he supposes itās because he now has some sort of tie to the idiotic demon, what with curses and the like. He still doesnāt even know how it works, but it matters little with the way Jungkook is holding him, the way heās biting his neck, the way he turns him to bite at his jaw and trail kisses until their lips meet, and shit. Taehyung canāt help but sigh into the sensation of Jungkookās perfect lips pressed on his own, canāt help the way he loves how Jungkook knows already what he likes, and itās only when he starts to kiss back that he comes to his senses.Ā
He pushes Jungkook away, choosing to stare down at the sea again than meet his eyes. āYouāre annoying,ā he says, but he knows it doesnāt sound threatening at all.Ā
āShut up,ā Taehyung retorts, finally looking up to meet Jungkookās eyes. And itās there, that glint of sincerity, that glow of softness that led Taehyung into this mess in the first place. Itās the same exact face that Taehyung had seen across the bar, and the same touch that Taehyung foolishly believed was only meant for him.
hi yeah i still write. this is an excerpt from a Yoonmin fic iām writing, though this is sort from the middle of it. enjoy anyway, itāll make more sense when i finally get around to posting the whole thing trollololol.
Fandom: BTS
Pairing: Min Yoongi/Park Jimin
Rating: T (full fic will be M, possibly E)
Word Count: 2,695
Heās never ventured this far into the Badlands before. Perhaps it was the fact he doesnāt want to see this far in, but more than likely itās because if he was going to admit it, heās scared. In all honesty heās not even sure what heās scared of, though it could be a myriad of things. For one, the farther he goes in the more of the Forgotten he sees; the other could be the farther he gets from home the more he feels like he canāt go back.Ā
But he has to know, has to see for himself these rumours. The āOracleā they call him, this mysterious man who can see into other worlds, if you were going to believe it. And Jimin is just naive enough, just curious enough, that he chooses to believe it. At the very least, there is no discernible evidence to refute these rumours seeing that no one but him seems to feel the need to find these out. Heās sure his parents and friends would scoff at the idea like they do most things, but thereās always that glint in their eyes Jimin constantly sees. Itās the glint of fear of the unknown, the seeds of doubt surely have been sown, these people just choosing to not tend to them. By contrast, Jimin wishes to see them grow, yearns to see what fruit they bestow or what flowers bloom.
Itās how he finds himself standing at the edge of the Badlands, so far out he can see the burned land beyond. Because there was no other way to describe it, this other landāit was completely barren of most life, looking like someone dragged a burning knife across it as if to make a macabre zen garden. Even more troubling somehow is the neatly made house that stands before Jimin. Well, to call it a house is a bit of a stretch reallyāitās more of a shack that has various tapestries hanging down and across it, the windows very obviously broken and wood rotted. It looks as if it was from the time before, when the world was as it had been before the world Jimin knows came into being.
His hand trembles as it reaches for the door handle, or at least whatās left of it. His fingers shake relentlessly when they finally curl around the knob, but heās not fast enough. Someone else comes bursting through the door, sending Jimin stumbling back and whacking him in the forehead. Hard. Heās not sure which emotion is over-encumbering him presently, whether itās paralysing inducing fear or raw anger. He finally regains his balance and glares at the person who bursted through, though heās not sure whoās more afraid to see whom.
āEr, are you the Oracle?ā Jimin asks after they have stared at each longer in abject horror long enough. The person does something between a laugh and a cry, and itās shrill enough to send ripples down Jiminās spine. They donāt even answer, they just claw at their hair and cackle as they dart away, tripping over rubble and slamming into the various pieces of sheet metal that protrude from the ground. āGuess notā¦ā Jimin mumbles to himself. Itās at this point he realises the door has been opened, the truth just mere steps away from him, and all he has to do is cross it.
The outside of the shack does little to prepare Jimin for its interior. Itās as if everything is frozen in time, heās sure he sees droplets of what could be water or pearls being suspended in the air. It smells of something not entirely awful, but not exactly an aroma that pleases the senses either. The sleeves of Jiminās sweater do little to warm him as well, as if this place is suspended in a vacuum where no warmth can dare to heat the space it takes up. Itās all so mesmerising Jimin hardly registers when heās entered a room at the end of the hall, one lit with candles that offer a poor excuse for lighting.
Heās not keen to dwell on the circumstance of his vision, however, when he can only focus on the one thing he is able to see. A man sitsāno, is sprawledāacross an intricately designed velvet couch. He dons an equally sophisticated coat jacket, one of the most brilliant white and black Jimin has ever seen, a black choker sitting taut on his neck to compliment it. Even the manās hair is captivating, a raven black that sleeks over his head, lidded dark eyes underneath the bangs. Jimin draws in a breath when he realises heās been staring, suddenly at a loss for words.
Much like the silence that had befallen him and the stranger just moments ago, Jimin is eager to break it. āOracleā¦?ā He asks, his voice raspy and quiet, as if his question could shatter the world.
This time, this person does not cackle nor does he cry. Instead he slowly raises his head, eyebrow quirked slightly but not enough to be of a raise of concern. āYes?ā The man asks back, his voice deeper than Jimin imaged it would be.
More importantly, this man is the Oracle. More importantlyāJimin can finally have answers.
āSit,ā the Oracle beckons, waving his hand nonchalantly to a soft chair just a few feet from the couch. He swings his legs around to set his feet delicately on the ground, leaning back and folding his hands on his lap.
Jimin does as heās told, nearly tripping over his feet as he clambers onto the chair none too gracefully. He fidgets in his seat, gaze darting all over this surreal shack but always falling back onto this strange man. No one told him heād be drop dead gorgeous, no one prepared him for the sultry yet predatory gaze he so casually regards Jimin with. Itās rather ridiculous to think thoughts like these when the manāthe Oracleāwhom everyone from the safe zone seems to be endlessly terrified of is sitting so close to Jimin the static is palpable.Ā
The Oracle cocks his head to the side. āStrange,ā he begins, his words sounding so calculated, āMost people have rambled their tongues out by now.ā
Jimin flinches, unsure the intent behind his words. āI justā¦ā He begins himself, unsure more of what in the heavens heās even going to say. Everything? Tell me about all this nonsense people say about you? Tell me why the world ended? Why youāre so attractive, why it has to beā
āYou must be tired,ā the Oracle says sweetly, so much sincerity laden in his words. āYou obviously have come a long way.ā
āHowā? How did you know?ā Jimin squeaks, having lost every ounce of his resolve by now.
The Oracle laughs from the back of his throat, making Jimin swallow hard. āFor one, not many people around here have such wildly pink hair.ā Jimin winces but the Oracle continues just as easily. āThe other, you seem to be still blinded. There is not a cell on you that has seen the truth.ā He purses his lips momentarily. āYet perhaps you are here to rectify that?ā
Jimin swallows once more, but finds all he can offer for a reply is a curt nod. The Oracle smiles, exposing innocent gums to accompany his equally innocent affect. Suddenly Jimin is unsure of coming here, unsure if heās even safe seated here at all when the Oracle suggests to his no doubt conflicted gaze, āPerhaps youād like something to drink?ā
The Oracle moves to stand but finally Jimin has mustered enough courage to blurt out, āNo!ā The Oracle swiftly turns, a new expression on his face, one Jimin canāt decipher but leaves him terrified so he quickly adds, āI appreciate your hospitality, but I didnāt come here to have a leisurely chat. I donāt have enough time.ā
Mouthing a soft āAhā the Oracle takes his seat once more, leaning back to rest one of his arms on the back of the couch. āOf course,ā he says, soft once more. What a strange person this is, Jimin thinks. āThen what is it that has brought you all this way?ā
Jimin finally procures the empty vial he had found on the edge of the Badlands closest to the city. The Oracles eyebrows raise once more, but this time itās definitely out of curiosity, and something else Jimin doesnāt really want to admit to. āThis,ā Jimin begins quietly. āI found itāon the edge of my city.ā
āThe āsafe zoneā?ā The Oracle asks with a chuckle.
Ignoring the mocking connotation, Jimin just nods. āI suspect it has something to do with the gas the people speak of, the one that turns people insane.ā The Oracle scowls, though either at the bottle or Jiminās words heās not sure. āNo one knows about its origin, or at least they refuse to tell me. There are no books on it either, and Iāve searched them all. I know the leaders of my city are hiding something, I know they know what this is, or at least have some idea. And Iāve heardā¦ā He gnaws at the bottom of his lip, suddenly unsure of his words (not that he was ever one-hundred percent sure in the first place). āThey talk about you. A lot.ā
The Oracle laughs like there is actual humour behind Jiminās claim. Perhaps there is, he thinks, on the side of the Oracle. āOh?ā He inquires with a small grin that somehow manages to be endearing. āWhat wild things do they say about me?ā
Jiminās fist clenches on the vial. Heās worried on his lip enough that itās probably started to bleed now, but he doesnāt dare to think about such useless things when the truth is no doubt sitting in front of him wearing a mischievous grin. āThat you⦠You can see other worlds. That there are even other worlds out there, ones that arenāt so much different than this one. That not only that, but that you also know what this gas is. And you know it because⦠Because you were there at its creation.ā
Leaning forward the Oracleās smile never falters, not even when he asks, āAnd do you believe these accusations?ā
āYes,ā Jimin immediately blurts. āI meanāI mean, I donāt know,ā he hastily adds when the Oracle leans back, smile gone. āI have no reason to believe them, but at the same time I equally donāt have a reason not to.ā He lowers his fist, releasing the harsh grip he had on the vial. āThatās why I came all this way⦠To know.ā
The Oracle sits with minutely pursed lips in a far too long silence. He finally breaks it when he asks, āAnd you want me to tell you?ā
Jimin does not hesitate when he exclaims, āYes!ā
āAnd what makes you think I will?ā
And oh how far does Jiminās heart sink. Naive, his mother always scolded him for. So naive to think such wild things, to believe such wild things, and now naive for him to think he could have his answers. But heās come too far. Heās exhausted all other options and didnāt risk his life coming out here for some gorgeous prick, Oracle or not, to deny him the facts heās poured over his whole life. No, not after that woman from all those years ago struck such a fervent need for knowledge into his mind is he going to leave now without knowing what it was she had meant. He stands suddenly, both his hands tightening into fists fierce enough Jiminās sure the stinging he feels is the vial breaking, glass piercing into his palm. āYes,ā he sternly says, it coming out more of a command. āYes you will, because you have to. I have to know, I havenāt spent all these years trying to figure it out to have the one person who can tell me brush it off like Iām some petulant child.ā
Jiminās fierceness apparently having no effect on the Oracle, he just cocks his head lightly to the side. āDo you also think being so demanding is going to make want to divulge these secrets to you any sooner?ā The Oracle sighs, standing but his is more soft and precise where Jiminās was desperate and aggressive. He starts to stroll away from Jimin, into a room adjacent to his gaudy parlor.
Jimin is keen to follow, not easing his fists even slightly. Heās fairly certain he can feel blood trickling down the edge of his palm and seeping through his fingers, but his raw adrenaline is too severe for him to pay it any mind. āI donāt care what I have to do,ā he spits, āAll I care about is that Iām not leaving here without you telling me what sort of game youāre playing, or if you can prove this isnāt a game at all. That these people losing their minds isnāt your doing and that youāre just lying about everything. Thereās no way you can have known about this gasās creation anywayāāand heās aware heās ramblingāāthat would make you at least a hundred years old, and thereās definitely no way someone would look so hoāā
āTrue, I have reservations about merely telling you what I know,ā the Oracle says to Jiminās rant, spinning on his heels. Jimin nearly slams into him, leaving them standing in what looks like an office space when he realises how close their faces are to each other. āBut what good would me telling you do? What sort of wild theories would you concoct in my absence? No, itās far better for you if I just show you instead.ā
āShowā?ā Jimin tries to ask, but eyes are blown wide when the Oracle juts forward to press his lips against Jiminās.
Theyāre soft, is the first thing Jimin registers. Itās not his first kiss by any means, but it seems to be the most passionate even if the Oracle simply parts their lips once, twice. The second thing Jimin can think clearly is that this stranger, this man whom everyone pretends doesnāt exist, merely a name on the wind, is kissing him. Jimin canāt help but close his eyes, canāt help but kiss back and even sigh into it, the feeling so unfamiliar yet so intoxicating. He gets so lost in it, in this Oracle, in himself, that he barely hears the sound of breaking glass beside their feet.
At first he thinks itās just him finally unclenching his fist, but he realises belatedly that his own is still held tight despite this overwhelming want that has washed over him. He realises too late what exactly was broken, not until he has to break the kiss to let out a cough. When he opens his eyes, though, all bliss from the embrace is gone, replaced by his blood freezing in his veins.Ā
Thereās a billow of smoke, but in the back of Jiminās mind he knows there is no burning that has preceded it. No, what is quickly bursting to the very much front of his mind is that this is something entirely different. Itās a deep purple, it has no scent whatsoever, and itās⦠Gas. A sweat has already slicked the back of Jiminās neck when he shoots his gaze up to the Oracle, of whom is standing calmly, expression blank. He looks down at the wavering Jimin with a completely even gaze, though his dark eyes display an almost pitiful look.Ā
It all comes together so quickly that Jimin actually does fall completely down, skidding on the ground and quickly paddling himself backwards. āThisāā He chokes out, āYouāā He once more belatedly comes to the conclusion of what he has involuntarily inhaled, comes stumbling to his feet and finally releasing the grip he has maintained on the vial, its contents shattering to the floor; the grip he has maintained on reality. When the gas has dissipated almost entirely, when the Oracle still regards him with the same expression, soft kisses and assuring smiles gone, does Jimin run.
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i made a Jungkookie bun in Final Fantasy XIV! they will be going through Heavensward -> Shadowbringers and iām excited to post it all :) will post more stuff in the next few days~ (the name is Jungkookie Jeon on the Blamung server if anyone playsš) #ffxiv #mnkffxiv #bts #jungkookš° #jungkookiebts https://www.instagram.com/p/B048oqMlhFK/?igshid=x09q2v2kfdhb
hello yes i am alive iāve just been working on the Tangled AU fic thatās being updated on AO3. but because i am a Trashcan⢠i started writing a self indulgent Taegi fic so here is a lil preview of it. iāll post the full one on here and probably AO3 after the Tangled fic is done but until then here we go for another sinfest uwu
ENJOY
Fandom: BTS
Pairing: Kim Taehyung/Min Yoongi
Rating: M
Word Count: 881
If you asked Yoongi a month ago if he ever thought about fucking his classmate, he would have laughed in your face and probably tossed some formic acid in your face for added insult.
This is exactly how he doesnāt fucking know when he started watching his lab partnerās hands with sharp inhales when he does something as menial as grabbing a fucking graduated cylinder. In all honesty itās probably really incredibly dangerous considering theyāre working with chloric acid today and Yoongiās become quite fond of his skin, thank you. It doesnāt stop him, though, and heās definitely been staring too hard since he barely even hears his partner say his name.
āAre you even listening?ā Taehyung says, annoyance thinly hidden under his tone.Ā
Yup, thatās the assholeās name. Taehyung, or āTaetaeā as his friends call him, which Yoongi refuses to acknowledge as cute. Also, no, he really wasnāt listening. āSomething about acid?ā He coyly asks instead and prays his face isnāt red. It sure as shit feels red.
Taehyung rolls his eyes, āYouāre gunna get us killed, Min.ā Yoongi grits his teeth. The kid refuses to call him by his first name, says itās more formal if he just uses his family name and it pisses Yoongi off more than anything. Taehyung, the little shit, can probably sense that too. āJust stand there and look mysterious and brooding, yeah?ā
Itās Yoongi who rolls his eyes now. He grabs the lab instructions as he says, āThe professor will bitch at me if I do that, and you know it. At least let me hold something, make it look like Iām doing something.ā
Taehyung shrugs and slides over a barely full flask with his stupidly long, slender fingers. Yoongi absolutely ignores how soft they are when they barely brush by Yoongiās heavily calloused ones, and wills himself to remember skin looks a lot nicer when its cellular matrix is still intact.Ā
Yoongi is fully able to realise heās being gross. That itās probably not a good idea to try and jack off with his roommate just in the other room, but this is why he got an apartment. So he wasnāt in grad school quite yet, but Seokjin had just made up some small lie and they let Yoongi live here well enough. All Seokjin really needs to do is smile and bat his eyelashes and it always has the girls scrambling to do his every will. Guys too, actually.Ā
Except Yoongi is definitely not thinking about his roommate when he wraps his hand around his stupidly hard cock. In some absolutely ridiculous train of thought, looking at Taehyungās impeccably neat handwriting on their lab shit had started in Yoongiās mind a whole swath of erotic situations that just so happened to include his lab partner who always smelled like cinnamon somehow. And Yoongi hates cinnamon, canāt understand why Seokjin puts it in his porridge, in his coffee. It tastes like sugar thatās trying to be spicy, and Yoongi hates it.
He also hates how his breath shudders when he makes the smallest of pumps. In order to get this over with and not entirely hate himself tomorrow when he sees Taehyung in class, he didnāt even bother to grab any lube. He really didnāt need to anyway, what with the embarrassing amount of pre-come leaking out of him already. As he increases speed, he screws his eyes shut and tries to imagine softer hands around him, a long finger circling the head before it barely slips into his slit. It works, partially, when all he can do is buck into his own touch, but he moans both from pleasure and the fact that itās still his hand and not Taehyungās.Ā
He imagines those lips that are probably just as soft curling around Yoongiās cock, tan cheeks hollowing out and a deep hum filling the space. Because of course Taehyung would be good at giving head, thereās no way he couldnāt be. He always wears ridiculously tight jeans with what Yoongi swears are fucking Gucci loafers, always has them paired with a loose shirt that screams he doesnāt give a fuck. Maybe Yoongi could take it, maybe, but the soft silver hair and stupid fucking earrings that hang delicately from his ears just fucking makes Yoongi lose it. Heās always had it out for pretty boys, and Christ was Taehyung pretty. He wasnāt just pretty, he was gorgeous and hot and everything that Yoongi wants to tear apart right now.
The image of that tall and slender body underneath him as he fucks it thoroughly is what makes Yoongi come. It hits him hard, he actually probably breaks the skin on his lip to avoid making too much noise (even though he probably has already), and heās left being able to feel his heartbeat in his temples. He stares at the ceiling, unwilling to come to terms with the fact that heās just jerked off to the image of his fucking classmate, someone he barely knows outside of finding the molar mass of dihydrogen sulfide, begging for release. Yoongi tries to attribute it to the fact thatās itās been too long since heās had a good fuck, and thatās what still goes through his mind when he finally moves to clean up.
another snippet of the Tangled AU thing, iāll post a link for its AO3 page soon
Pairing: Kim Seokjin/Jeon Jungkook
Word Count: 2,291
Rating: T
Yoongiās pub had quickly become a safe haven for the less than endowed in society, and thatās exactly where Jungkook is sitting at present, grinning wildly at a not grinning Yoongi behind the counter.
āOne of these days youāll rot in a cell forever,ā Yoongi tells him, entirely fake intent behind the words.
Jungkook smiles against the rim of his mug and drinks down. āHasnāt happened yet,ā he counters.
āI wait with bated breath for when it does,ā Yoongi retorts, swiftly turning on his heel.
Swirling around on his stool, Jungkook watches the pub with a strong familiarity and comfort of home. In one corner someone is playing an aggressive game of chess, in another group of people (including Taehyung, of course) are playing a game of poker. Taehyung cheats, everyone knows, but everyone is also too afraid to say anything about lest they invoke the wrath of Jimin, who when Jungkook looks is sprawled across a chair, no doubt trying to sleep. A wasted effort to be sure.
The only two who were missing was Namjoon and Hoseok, who had been out running errands since their faces werenāt as hated as the Terrible Trio. The two of them had made a silent agreement to wear masks whenever they did business with the Trio, and it would have been a good idea all around if it wasnāt already miserably too late for the other three to even try. Besides, Hoseok took more enjoyment enacting acts of violence against the castle guard and having them not have any clue who was doing it.
Jungkook sits back, resting an elbow on the edge of the bar. Heās smiling, Yoongi makes some rude remark about keeping his bar clean thank you, but Jungkook just laughs under his breath.
He reads books on it every day, the same ones he has read hundreds of times, and can only conclude where he is trapped is the closest thing to āhomeā. And that was the reality, Seokjin was trapped in this tower and doesnāt even know what it is to feel the grass between his toes. He has no idea what a breath of fresh air is truly like, and can only imagine it through dreams and hopes of one day being free.
His keeper is Yi Jihu, a younger man but still older than him who had found him as an infant, helpless and alone. Jihu is a nice man, Seokjin thinks, but has told him the horrors of the word below and although he doesnāt want to believe them, he has no point of reference to counter otherwise. It was his hair, heās always told, people want his hair for intentions laced with malice. Seokjin tugs at his golden shoulder length hair, playing with it in between his fingers, and finds he resents it.Ā
One night he had tried to cut it, but Jihu had found him and ripped the scissors from his hair and bursting into an anger Seokjin had never seen before. His face turned red and the veins in his eyes popped as he shrieked and screamed at Seokjin, saying he would let him starve if he dared to cut his hair. He hasnāt questioned it since, hasnāt even bothered to try, knowing Jihu watches him constantly under the guise of concern, but Seokjin knows thereās something more sinister hidden underneath.Ā
Itās magic, Jihu had told him the first night he experienced it. Seokjin had been singing mindlessly, letting tunes flow off his tongue and not even knowing the words he sang. It was in the midst of this his brilliant golden hair had started to glow wildly, emitting flecks of what looked like stardust to him in abundance. Jihu had walked in then, holding it in his hands with the look of what Seokjin thought was like how mother looks at her child. He had brushed his cheek against it and sighed deeply, thanking Seokjin for finally giving him what he was hoping for all these years. Seokjin didnāt get it at the time, still doesnāt as much, but it made Jihu happy so it made Seokjin happy.
Seokjin isnāt happy though. At first he was, always happy to be around his books and his small sugar glider (who he named Cane as a pun to himself), and thought he never needed anything else. Anyone else. He had Jihu, he had food and a home, and there was nothing else he was missing. It was only when he first noticed the stars that he had seen the error in his ways.Ā
Up in the sky where Seokjin canāt reach, where he canāt even begin to understand the complexity of, sat balls of super heated light that looked down on him. He watches them every night until he falls asleep at the window, watches them while he sings tunes to no one, and watches them like theyāre his salvation.
Kim Seokjin doesnāt know what home is, but when he looks at the stars he thinks heās getting somewhat closer.
āThis is the most idiotic thing youāve ever proposed,ā Namjoon says, āAnd thatās including robbing the brothel that was, if I need to remind you, full of palace soldiers.āĀ
Jungkook shrugs and grins. āIt was funny seeing them realise we had the blackmail power to use against them.ā
āThatās true,ā Taehyung pipes from the chair.
Sighing, Namjoon runs a hand down his face. The pub had recently closed, and it was just the six of them sitting around trying to figure out how to make some quick cash. Boring breaking and entering had lost its luster, and it never made much money. You always had to do multiple robberies, and that made it easier to be caught and it just wasnāt fun anymore. Jungkook liked to raid, and come back with more than a leather cap and a few gold coins. He wanted bigger, badder, and harder to get.Ā
Enter his master plan to steal the crown that belonged to the ālong lostā prince, if you believed the stories.
āWe have Hoseok to lead us around and find the best way in,ā Jungkook reasons when Namjoon continues to stare at him.
Hoseok squeaks, āThatās not a lot of pressure though.ā
Jungkook shrugs again. āIām just saying, imagine how rich we would be if we had that thing.ā He smirks, showing a toothy smile, āWeād have the kingdom wrapped around our fingers.ā
āYou seem to be forgetting the part where you could get executed,ā Namjoon grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose.Ā
āIām not, I swear,ā Jungkook pouts, āBesides it wouldnāt even be on you if I died, it would totally be on Taehyung,ā he finishes just as Taehying yells an indignant, āHey!ā And Jungkook is being hit in the shoulder by a blunt butter knife.Ā
The thing was, Jungkook harbours more than a little animosity towards the king and queen. Ever since he could wrap his head around thoughts beyond he was hungry and pillows were comfy, he had seen his fair share of turmoil surrounding the monarchy. It didnāt care about its citizens really, it only cared about the rich ones. They would try to guilt the citizens by saying the king and queen still mourn their lost son, but if Jungkook can get over his dead parents he thinks the goddamn leaders of a nation can get over their son.
Itās because of this that he wants to steal the crown. He wants to covet it and dangle it above the kingdomās head, taunting and bribing for them to get it back. He wants to see them suffer like the poor and ill, wants them to know what itās like to not be born into royalty or the aristocracy. Perhaps itās a bit childish, perhaps he was just being petty, but it doesnāt change how he feels.
It turns out the best way to get into the castle is through the roof. Jungkook doesnāt pretend to understand, just scales the sides of the castle with a foolish grin and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Heās always loved climbing, always climbed trees and hills when he was younger, much to his caretakerās dismay.Ā
Jungkook reaches the place where they will quite literally drop in before everyone else, because of course he does. Heās bouncing foot to foot, squeezing his hands into fists only to let them go in rapid succession. The whole gang decided to come this time, even Yoongi. He mentioned something about being bored out of his ever loving mind in the pub and was keen to see them all fuck up. It was an empty insult, because everyone knows he came because he was worried about Hoseok getting hurt again. Jungkook wishes they would just fuck already and get rid of the sexual tension he can practically smell every time theyāre near each other. It literally makes him nauseated, and even more so when he sees them eye fucking each other. Absolutely ridiculous.
āI donāt like heights,ā Taehyung idly comments, staring down into the throne room. Itās where the king and queen keep the crown, moping about it every time they held council.Ā
āIāll go in then,ā Jungkook says, already reaching for the rope Jimin is holding.Ā
Jimin keeps it taut against his hip, resisting Jungkookās grip. āShouldnāt I be the one to go? Iām the smallest,ā he says, gnawing at the bottom of his lip.
The thing is, everyone else is always slightly wary about doing big heists. Theyāre always quiet as they prepare, quiet as they start, always hesitant. Jungkook, by contrast, welcomes the chaos that no doubt descends upon them. He relishes the fact that heās in danger, that he could be thrown in prison forever, or even worse he could die. It was exhilarating, knowing he had control over what he could do. And that was the thing, it was all about control. All about the thrill.
So Jungkook forcefully yanks the rope from Jimin saying, āWe canāt have anyone be scared or unsure about this, or weāre all fucked.ā To that, everyone slowly nods. Heās right, he knows, and he knows everyone else sees it as well. Itās why, despite being the youngest, Jungkook is the leader.Ā
āAh, bravery,ā Yoongi muses with a chuckle, āA far better term for stupidity, is it not?ā
Jungkook shoots him a look, lips thinning. āNo one needs your poetry bullshit right now,ā he retorts, but thereās no venom in it, not when he grins wildly right after. Yoongi grins right back, raising his hands in mock defeat.
āDonāt die,ā is what he says next, and itās the best evidence of concern Jungkook is going to get out of him.
Jungkook is let down slowly, needing both Namjoon and Taehyung to hold him steady. āYouāre all muscle what the fuck,ā is what Taehyung had muttered as they first dropped him through the glass ceiling. He dangles more or less stably as heās brought closer to the crown perfectly sitting on a silk pillow, atop a pedestal adorned with so many jewels it makes Jungkookās mouth water. If he could, heād rip the damn thing out and keep it for himself it was so pretty. Itād be like a trophy, since he really has no plan on what to actually do with the crown once he gets it. Heāll figure it out.
A sweat has built up on the nape of his neck when he first grabs the rim of the crown in front of him. He holds it close to his chest, looking up at where Jimin is peering down at him and grins. He motions to be let up when one of the guards sneezes, turning his attention back down.
āHay fever?ā He casually asks, and can feel the grip on the rope stiffening.Ā
āLike a bitch,ā the guard says, and Jungkook can tell heās wiping his nose from where he stares at his back. It takes a moment for the guard to realise where the comment came from, and turns to Jungkook with eyes blown wide. āWhat the fuāā
āSorry, got to go,ā Jungkook interrupts with the most shit eating grin. He can feel himself be pulled up only slightly, and heās pretty sure the assholes are considering letting him go altogether.Ā
As heās being hoisted up there is nothing short of chaos that erupts. He canāt tell if heās hearing his friends curse or the plethora of guards below him, but it doesnāt matter when he feels an arrows slice his cheek. Still clutching the crown with one arm, he instinctively jolts a hand to where heās no doubt bleeding, sending an incredulous glare at the trembling guard who no doubt tried to kill him. So rude.
āYouāre a fucking idiot,ā is what Jungkook is greeted with when he finally clambers onto the roof. āCan you not be a cocky bastard for one minute of your life?ā Itās Yoongi snarling at him, but itās clear heās afraid. Poor bugger shouldnāt have come along.
āI have to agree,ā Taehyung adds, dropping the rope right as Jungkook stands. He points an accusatory finger at him, āIf we all die I am so haunting you in the afterlife.ā
Wriggling out of the rope tied around his waist, Jungkook grins. āFair enough.ā
He finishes singing for Jihu as the sun starts to set.Ā
āBeautiful, as always,ā Jihu says to Seokjin, sliding an affectionate thumb across his cheek.
Seokjin smiles, though it doesnāt quite meet his eyes. Cane wriggles in his lap, and he softly pets his head. āThank you,ā he says quietly.Ā
Jihu kisses the top of his head as he stands, brushing off his knees. He had been kneeling in front of Seokjin as he sang atop of a terribly worn down wooden stool. It had been like this ever since Seokjin can remember, singing for Jihu before bed. Heās always thought the dynamic was supposed to be the other way around, but it always made Jihu happy so he never questioned it. It got old after maybe twenty years when Seokjin realised he doesnāt get much in return. Sometimes a nice muffin, but he hardly considers it compensation.
It started to get old when Seokjinās back hurt from sitting too long, his hair sometimes not wanting to glow how Jihu wanted it to.Ā
It started to get old when Jihu would strike him for not wanting to do it, and then immediately cradle him and telling him he was sorry.
It started to get old when Seokjin realised he was alone.
He always has Cane, who scurries up his arm to rest in the crook of his neck, but sometimes he wasnāt enough. It wasnāt Caneās fault of course, and he usually was enough to keep Seokjin sane. But the thing was, Jihu would be gone sometimes for weeks at a time, and instead of welcoming Seokjin into his arms when he returned, he would always drag him to the wooden stool and practically beg Seokjin to sing for him, bags latent and obvious under his eyes.
Seokjin has never denied him in those times either. The pain on Jihuās face made his heart hurt, and he would stop whatever he was doing to help. Perhaps he was chasing a feeling that maybe Jihu would show him true love, and not just something he has to covet. Seokjin frowns at the familiar sentiment that crawls upon behind him. Itās been getting harder to ignore as of late, and when he tries to be more affectionate with Jihu, heās pushed away. Seokjin only matters when he sings.
Sometimes he wishes he would fall ill and lose his voice forever. What was the point of being able to sing if he could never share it with the world? Heās always told how cold and unforgiving the outside world is, but when he looks out his window into the endless woods with its singing birds and beautiful elk, he thinks maybe Jihu is wrong. He thinks maybe if he was just given the chance he would be able to think for his own.
He thinks many things, but never voices them.
He belatedly realises Jihu is trying to talk to him when he blinks up to an impatient face. āSorry?ā He asks.
āI said,ā Jihu says, āItās time for you to sleep now. I have to leave early tomorrow and I need to know youāre safe in your bed before I sleep.ā
Seokjin rubs his lips together. He has grown accustomed to Jihu treating him like a child despite his age, but there are moments where it infuriates him. Surely they should be equals now. Surely Seokjin isnāt the stumbling infant he once was. In any case, he nods. āOf course,ā he replies, standing delicately.Ā
Jihu watches him, a shadowed figure as Seokjin crawls into bed and holds his blankets close to his face. He hides it enough to know when Jihu leaves, obviously convinced heās asleep already. The sigh that Jihu always lets out as he leaves has not made Seokjin find comfort since he was a small child, and so when he hears Jihuās bedroom door close, he promptly sits up. Cane comes over to sit atop his head as he does what heās done as a ritual for years now.Ā
He props himself up, crawls into the expansive window sill he has, and stares at the stars. He stares at the stars and definitely doesnāt cry.Ā
here is a little preview to a new fic iām working on, AKA The Tangled AU No One Asked For
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Kim SeokjinĀ
Rating: T for language in this preview, unsure of final rating
Word Count: 1,744
The stars have always fasciated him.Ā
Heās mapped them in his room, sprawled endlessly across his ceiling and trailing down the walls. On most days he can admire them, both out his window and within in his room, but other days he resents them; wants to throw paint at the delicately painted scenes and scream into his pillow. They were outside and he was in. They had freedom, he did not.
Kim Seokjin doesnāt know the meaning behind freedom, can only watch it with glistening eyes as it streaks across the skies.
So in reality Jeon Jungkookās track record sucks. Itās really awful, to be honest. In fact, it might be the worst. He was probably on par with serial murderers, he just doesnāt like to get his hands dirty. Well, he doesnāt like to get blood on them, letās put it that way. In terms of the symbolic meaning of dirty Jungkookās hands should probably be black with filth.Ā
Heās humming this to himself as he sits in a prison cell, again. In his defense he was sort of in the wrong place at the wrong time, so it wasnāt entirely on him, just mostly. So yes he orchestrated the whole thing, but he didnāt actually do anything but stand watch and utterly fail at that. Itās not his fault Jimin and Taehyung bailed out on him, and itās also not his fault that his previous record eliminated any chance of the guards hearing him out.
Okay, so maybe not so much the last bit but still.
āHereās your food, scum,ā comes the straggled voice of one of the castle guards. He kicks in a tray of what Jungkook probably thinks is stale bread and moldy cheese, and it bumps unceremoniously into his scuffed brown leather boot.
Jungkook flashes a toothy smile. āCheers, mate,ā he sings happily, but makes no move to get the food. Heās starving, but he wonāt give them the satisfaction of giving himself food poisoning because that was the only option. It wasnāt like he was going to be in here much longer anyway.
The guard stiffly laughs at him and trudges away, flashy armour clinking with him as he walks. Jungkook straightens himself from where he was leaning against the wall and tilts his head side to side to try and crack his neck. Heās still humming under his breath and starts to rap his fingers against his knee to match the nameless song he has going. When he hears the first sound, a sly smirk splays across his face and he has to suppress his outright laughter.
Thereās confused yelling and a string of obscenities before a loud clunk of what was no doubt the self same guard from earlier crashing to the ground. He hears a distinctive cackle followed by a stern scolding, although he canāt make out the words. He already knows who it is anyway, and stands to walk over the bars of his cell to drape himself dramatically against them.
āOh woe is me,ā he laments to the approaching footsteps, āHow I have wasted away in this cell, my only thoughts being of my beloved who waits with bated breath to see me safely returned!ā
āYouāre an idiot,ā Jimin says as he rounds the corner. He blows up a puff his ridiculous orange hair in something that was probably defiance but the effect is lost under his grin heās unable to hide. Terrible actor.
āA beautiful idiot,ā Taehyung supplies as he stumbles and skids to stand in front of the cell. He triumphantly jingles a ring of keys with his rectangle grin, waggling his eyebrows. āOne who does not belong in the confines of a filthy castle dungeon,ā he says, pouting at the end.Ā
āJust open the damn cell before I leave both of you here,ā Jimin sighs, running a hand through his hair, āThe palace is bound to notice something is amiss if we donāt hurry the hells up.ā
Jungkook shrugs, he canāt argue with that logic. āThen let this damsel in distress out,ā he returns a pout, like a child who doesnāt get what they want.
āJesus Christ,ā Jimin says while Taehyung laughs and opens the cell.
If Jungkook was going to be a crybaby, he hasnāt had the best life. He lost his parents before he can even really remember them, and was stuck in an orphanage that was, if he was being nice, not that great. A fucking hell if he isnāt. It was there he grew up with the grand wish of becoming a swash buckling adventurer, always envying the stories that were read to him. It was when he was struggling to reach one of them as a small child that he had met Taehyung and Jimin, also orphans like him. That was the start of their friendship, and the beginnings of an entourage of misfits that probably belonged in a dungeon.
The misfits in question would be those the Terrible Trio (as he called them, and it just stuck) came across when they kept getting in trouble with the law in the beginning. One of them always ended up in some dungeon, jail, thing that was probably supposed to keep them there for a very long time. The thing was, that during their time at the orphanage Jimin discovered he had a strange talent for picking locks so it never lasted long. It was either the times changing or the region getting sick of their acts of debauchery, but dungeons etcetera had started to use more sophisticated locks, ones Jimin had more of an issue with if his relentless cursing was anything to go by.
Enter Kim Namjoon, some poor sod they had met when āaccidentallyā robbing a shop in a local town. He stared them down from behind the counter, only having been noticed when he cleared his throat. Jimin had bowed and pled for forgiveness, Taehyung had wondered out loud if a blacksmith really needed so many tools, and Jungkook had just offered a weak shrug. It was a wonder they werenāt thrown out, but Namjoon had felt bad for them (or something) and even though he didnāt let them walk of scot free, he did agree to help them not be criminals.
Only that lasted for about five seconds when he realised the Terrible Trio were very cemented in their ways so he gave up a life of peace to drag himself along with them. Jungkook finds him rather relaxing to be around, always a voice of reason and comfort when he doubts himself. Namjoon was also rather genius, and stopped having issues being a criminal when he would design heists and the Terrible Trio would return with enough riches to probably last them until their graves.
Their graves almost came too soon one night that Taehyung had gotten himself stuck in a dungeon. He was whining endlessly at Jimin who was insisting he was going as fast as he could to get the damn lock to give way, and Jungkook had to keep slapping Taehyungās hands away. Namjoon had been standing behind them, not wanting to wait outside in the cold, and somehow between the four of them they didnāt notice when a guard came up.
The bastard had been watching for a while, and only became known when he laughed particularly hard at Taehyung physically gnawing on Jiminās knuckles as he tried to work the lock open. When they all turned in unison the guard had lifted his hands in mock defense and swore he wasnāt trying to start anything, just honestly wanted to see if Jimin could get it. And he did, about twenty minutes later and with enough curses to condemn the worst witch to hell. The worst part was the guard had produced the ring of keys that went to the cell right after, laughing brightly with his mouth in the shape of a heart, wiping at his eyes at the look on Jiminās face.
Jung Hoseok he had introduced himself as, and actually begged to join them because guard duty was, as he put it, āworse than watching after a dying pigāone that was dying from a serious case of cholera.ā Namjoon had piped in cholera wasnāt commonly present in animals other than humans, which earned him a whack on the head from Hoseok and a threat that he still could technically throw them all in jail. That had shut Namjoon up and cemented Hoseokās place in their grand band of horrible mistakes.Ā
The five of them had stayed like that, knit together and never straying too far from one and other, only when one or two of them fucked up and ended up in jail, but that was normal. Jungkook was probably the worst at that, but they still followed the small boy from the orphanage proudly, never shying away from anything he proposed to do. Jimin and Taehyung were practically tied at the waist so they followed Jungkook blindly, Namjoon always wanted money and took a sick pleasure in devising heists, and Hoseok was just content in screwing over the justice system. They made it work.
Only one night it hadnāt worked, one night they messed up badly, and Hoseok ended up wounded beyond what was thought repair and the whole royal city after them. They had no choice but to bail, not even having a way to stay hidden in time to get Hoseok to something akin to a doctor. Taehyung had been sobbing while Jimin cursed, Namjoon being the one to carry him bridal style through the woods, nearly tripping over the trembling Jungkook that was leading them.Ā
By some act of God, the five of them had come across a somewhat unimpressive pub in the middle of the woods. It was far away enough that the likelihood of the proprietor knowing who the hell they were was low enough, so Jungkook had jumped on the opportunity and blasted through the door, ready to come up with some excuse for the break in, or at least hold the person down until they could tend to Hoseokās wounds.
And Jungkook had certainly blown the door wide open, off its hinges, and it slammed down in front of a man looking at them not with fear, but perhaps annoyance more than anything.Ā
āThat was mahogany,ā he had said, and thus they had met Min Yoongi, Hoseokās saviour and the final member of their gang.
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sorry for lack of updates i have no excuse except for the fact that i probably have 5 or 6 WIP BTS related fics rn pls help
anyway, thanks for sticking by and reading, it makes my kokoro go boom boom.
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin
Rating: from now on iām just going to tag M, though thereās isnāt much explicit stuff in this part
Word Count: 3,874
as a side note: iām going to try and stay to a weekly update schedule, probably every Thurs? i donāt even know how long this will be someone save me from myself
āTook you long enough,ā Namjoon says once Jungkook and Jimin exit the club.
Cool air falls over Jungkook and makes him shiver. If Namjoon looked at Jiminās neck he certainly didnāt say anything about the obvious hickeys, so Jungkook just straightens his back and pretends that is definitely the case.
Taehyung, who is leaning on Jin for support, giggles. āHave you gone off kissing other men?ā He grins but Jungkook doesnāt return it. Instead, he stupidly stays silent, and Taehyung pouts. āThatās so rude,ā he continues, āI thought what we shared was special.ā
Jin looks down at his friend with furrowed brows. āWhat?ā He starts to ask, but Jungkook just clears his throat.
āHeās drunk, heās just talking aboutāā But Jungkook doesnāt finish.
Beside him, Jimin collapses to the ground, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Thankfully Jungkook catches him just before his skull gets too familiar with the pavement, but heās dead weight in Jungkookās grip. His chest is rising and falling irregularly, as if itās a struggle to breathe. Jungkook recognises the clammy sweat thatās building on Jiminās skin, and panic is settling in the back of his throat.
āSheesh, and I thought Taehyung drank too much,ā Jin laughs, blissfully unaware of what was really happening to Jimin.
āHe needs water,ā Taehyung slurs, ignoring Jinās comment, and Jungkook has to physically hold back telling him he has no idea.
In the end, Yoongi is the one who discreetly helps Jungkook. He sobered up quickly (unlike Hoseok) and could see in Jungkookās eyes that something siren-y was happening to Jimin. They took a separate cab home, and Yoongi presses a napkin with cool water soaked up on Jiminās forehead. He sputters out a breath, but doesnāt regain full consciousness yet. Jungkook swallows hard.
āWhatās happening?ā Yoongi whispers so the cabbie canāt hear them.
Jungkook shakes his head. āI mean, itās possible because he hasnāt had alcohol in years, but something tells me thereās more.ā
Lips pressed into a thing line Yoongi asks, āWhat do you mean?ā
āThis happens sometimes, where Jimin gets his tail back without warning,ā Jungkook explains, āIt doesnāt happen very often, but when it does he looks like⦠This. Like heās a fish out of water.ā
Yoongi chuckles, wiping at Jiminās brow. āI mean, isnāt that the case?ā Jungkook doesnāt answer.
Despite Jungkook insisting that he could take care of Jimin fine on his own, Yoongi had stubbornly stayed at his side. He had kept a watch on Jimin as Jungkook started the water for the tub, and while it was filling he saunters back into the living room where Jimin is laid on the couch. His breathing has become slightly more even since Yoongi had given him a sip of water, but Jimin still didnāt stir beyond shuddering breaths and tiny gasps. When the tub is sufficiently full, Jungkook cradles Jimin princess style to the bathroom.Ā
He stops just before putting Jimin in when he realises heās still fully dressed. The jeans heās wearing are too nice to let a tail rip through them, so Jungkook sets Jimin softly on the toilet, confidently meaning to take Jiminās jeans off. Only he wasnāt confident, and kneels down, staring at Jiminās abdomen with bated breath. Sure, he had almost fucked the man in a club of all places, but he was overrun with whatever āspellā he was under, and now he was just sitting in front of an unconscious Jimin, completely vulnerable. What would he think if he woke up to Jungkook pulling down his pants? He shudders at the thought.
āYou know, leaving him slumped on the shitter isnāt going to do him any favours.ā Jungkook whips his head so hard it cracks slightly, and sees Yoongi standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He gives a curt nod towards Jimin. āGo ahead and toss him in, yeah?ā Yoongi actually sounds concerned, and itās a bit endearing.
What wasnāt endearing, though, was the prospect of peeling off clothes from an unconscious man. āItās uh, itās his jeans,ā Jungkook mumbles.
Yoongi squints his eyes. āSo?ā
āSo,ā Jungkook swallows, āHe really likes these ones, I donāt want them to get ruined by his uh⦠Tail.ā
When Yoongi laughs, Jungkook tries not to be offended. āAlright? So take them off, then.ā A flush no doubt creeps up Jungkookās neck, one obvious enough that Yoongi sees it because heās sighing and walking towards Jimin saying, āMove aside lover boy, Iāll do it.āĀ
For some reason the thought of someone else touching Jimin gives way to anger building in his throat. He bites down lightly on his lower lip and tries his best to quell the shakes heās getting from it. He knows heās being ridiculous, especially when Yoongi nudges him with his foot, probably saying something vaguely threatening and offensive, but Jungkook canāt hear it behind the thundering in his head. āRight, okay,ā he forces himself to say, forces himself to stand, letting Yoongi lean over Jimin as he goes to fiddle with Jiminās pant line. Jungkook tries his best to keep his breathing even, but it probably isnāt working as well as he hopes.
Yoongi talks while he works, āI really hope this is just because the idiot drank too much.ā He makes a clicking noise with his tongue when he finally gets the jeans unbuttoned and fly undone. āIāve been trying to look up information on this whole shit, but everything seems like conspiracy nonsense.ā He grunts as he lifts Jiminās hips so he can pull the jeans down the rest of the way. Jungkookās breath hitches and he curls his hands into tight fists. Yoongi continues, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil Jungkook is drowning in. āI did find some shop though, just a little bit outside the city.ā
This piques Jungkookās interest, and serves as a distraction. āO-Oh?ā He asks, cursing his quivering voice.
Yoongi just nods, sliding Jiminās jeans down so theyāre at his ankles. He delicately starts to slip Jiminās feet out, one by one. āYeah, some shop thatās been around for a Jesus. Like, it was passed between generations or some shit I dunno, could be a fib.ā When he finally gets Jiminās jeans all the way off Jungkook is about to pass out from the strange anger (jealousy?) heās been harbouring. āIt was the only thing that looked even slightly credible, as pathetic as that sounds. They didnāt spout shit like sirens had three tongues and eleven fingers, though, so I thought that was probably our best bet right now.ā He nods again towards Jimin, āHe hasnāt told you much, right?ā
āNo,ā Jungkooks replies, voice slightly more stable. āHe doesnāt tell me anything really.ā
āHmm,ā Yoongi hums, āStrange.ā He folds Jiminās jeans and starts to walk out of the bathroom, squeezing Jungkookās shoulder saying, āAll yours, lover boy.ā Jungkook ignores the slight sexual innuendo laced in Yoongiās words.
After he places Jimin delicately in the water, he just stares again. He takes in Jiminās astounding beauty, his soft features and pink hair falling peacefully over his eyes. That jeweled and shining earring still hangs from his right ear, and Jungkook absently wonders why he never takes the thing off. Jungkook takes a seat on the toilet, rests his elbows on either knee and breathes in sharply. Yoongiās silent proposition rang in his head, the feeling that he could get some answers finally. It was almost like going behind Jiminās back, but Jungkook feels like he has the right to know. Perhaps there are things Jimin doesnāt know either, he thinks. Maybe this could satisfy them both.
A groan brings Jungkook back, hid whipping up from where he was staring at his lap. Jiminās nose is crinkling and thereās movement behind his closed eyes, but he still doesnāt open them. He shifts uncomfortably in the tub, and when Jungkook looks down his tail has in fact returned. When he trails his gaze back to Jiminās face, he looks almost peaceful. Content. Jungkook is about to leave him there when he sees his eyes open slowly.
āJungkook?ā He whispers, voice low from what was no doubt exhaustion. He scoots himself up so heās sitting more properly, and as he runs his hand through his hair he looks around blankly. āWhereā¦?ā
āYou collapsed in front of the club,ā Jungkook says, voice not as even as he would have preferred. āYoongi and I brought you here,ā he adds quickly, which warrants a sharp intake of breath from Jimin.
āI see,ā he says quietly, looking down at himself. His tail swishes in the water, overflowing the tub just a little, and when Jimin frowns Jungkook doesnāt think it was because he was drowning his bathroom again.Ā
āWas it because you drank too much?ā Jungkook offers when he realises Jimin is glaring almost resentfully at his tail.
Jimin shrugs. āI donāt know,ā he replies, but it sounds fake. When he glances over at Jungkook and their eyes meet, the latter notices how exhausted he really looks. It causes Jungook to worry on his bottom lip.
āDo you, er, want your legs back?ā Jungkook asks, unsure why heās so hesitant.
Jimin says nothing, but rather hums. āWhen was the last time you went swimming?ā He asks instead, and the question takes Jungkook a bit off guard.
āWh-What?ā He replies, having started to stand in anticipation of Jimin wholeheartedly begging for his elusive limbs back.
āSwimming?ā Jimin repeats, cocking his head to the side as he says so.Ā
For some reason, Jungkook is struck dead at the question. He opens his mouth a few times just to close it before finally deciding to say, āDoes when I dove after you count?ā
The small smile that graces Jiminās lips makes Jungkookās heart ache. āI suppose it could,ā he muses, then eyebrows shoot up in awe of something heās just remembered. āWhat happened when you did?ā
Ignoring the fact that this was something Jimin should have probably asked the night it all happened Jungkook says, āI nearly drowned.ā
Jimin grips the side of the tub with both of his small hands, turning his body to better face Jungkook. He leans over with what seems like curious anticipation. It must be what the gesture was conveying because he hardly says, āYes, yes, but before that.ā
So Jungkook thinks. He takes an awkward seat back on the toilet and rubs what he now realises are sweaty palms atop his jeans. He shrugs. āI held my breath for a long while, longer than I thought I could,ā he elaborates, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He watches Jiminās eyes dart all across the room, resting on one thing and then moving to the next, but never resting back on him. āWhy, exactly?ā He slowly asks, not sure if he even wants to know the answer.
āI justā¦ā Jimin begins, but stares down at his hands. When Jungkook looks down at them he sees Jiminās knuckles going white with the severity of his grip. And Jungkook wants to know, is really tired of being in the dark, but he doesnāt like to see Jimin like this, so he surges forward, taking Jiminās hands into his own.
āHey,ā he says softly, free one hand so he can tilt Jiminās chin up. His expression is unreadable like itās been many times before, but he just ignores it and just brings their faces closer together so his forehead rests on Jiminās. āWeāll worry about it later,ā he continues, āFor now Iāll do what I know I can do.ā
Jungkook presses his lips softly against Jiminās, and finds himself sighing contently into the kiss. Despite the fact that heās done this many times before, despite that he was grinding on Jimin not even four hours ago, this kiss feels different. Perhaps itās because Jungkook is sobering up rather nicely (he had chugged about three bottles of water worth so he could watch Jimin more closely), or maybe heās letting himself feel the things he keeps trying to push away.Ā
Jimin grips Jungkookās hands tighter, tilts his head so heās at a better angle, and kisses back. He presses himself farther up into Jungkook, parting his lips as an invention for Jungkook to deepen the kiss, but he doesnāt. He swipes his tongue along Jiminās bottom lip and gingerly takes it in his teeth, but itās only a soft bite before he releases it, more wanting to feel Jiminās warmth against him rather than anything else. Jimin whimpers underneath him, squirming slightly in his grip, like he too is feeling something other than the friction theyāve been sharing. The moment Jungkook thinks of this, his eyes flash open in midst of the kiss, sees how Jiminās eyebrows are laced in a purely blissful expression, and pulls back.Ā
Itās rather sudden, he realises, but the thought that something was blossoming between them terrifies Jungkook, and heās not even sure why. āYou⦠You got your legs back,ā he says quickly, not even sure if heās right. A quick glance into the tub tells him he is, and he sighs inwardly of relief. He doesnāt know how else he could have explained himself snapping away from Jiminās face like it was on fire.
Jimin blinks at him, but before he can say anything Jungkook hears a soft chuckle behind him. He already knows who it is, but the look on Jiminās face is just the cementing the fact. His eyes have blown wide and a new flush attacks his cheeks, and Jungkook would laugh right back if he didnāt feel the betraying colour reach his cheeks as well.
āI always wondered how that whole dynamic worked,ā Yoongi says from behind Jungkook. Jimin has looked down at his hands still gripping the side of the tub. For all his prowess and claims of badassery, it was amusing to see him so flustered. āCan anyone do it, or does it have to be Jungkook?ā Yoongi asks and the question boils Jungkookās blood like before.
He stays watching Jimin instead, who shakes his head from where heās staring down at his small hands. āIt can only be Jungkook,ā he says softly. Jungkookās heart flutters at the knowledge, however, and he hates himself for it.
Yoongi makes a humming noise that was no doubt trying to be condescending. āWell damn,ā he says and Jungkook finally turns. Yoongi looks absolutely exhausted beyond words, and Jungkook feels only a little bad that he keeps getting mad at him. For stupid reasons too, ones he doesnāt even fully understand. āListen, Iām going to go, Iāll text you tomorrow,ā he says and adds, āIām fucking exhausted.ā
Jungkook nods but doesnāt say much, telling Jimin under his breath that heās going to see Yoongi out. When the two of them get to the door of Jungkookās apartment, he worries on his lower lip before saying, āAre we bringing Jimin with us tomorrow?ā
Yoongi breathes out, the sound of air whistling past his teeth. He bops his head back and forth as if heās lost in thought, and maybe he is, before he just shrugs. āI mean donāt you collapse without him around?ā
For some reason that comment makes Jungkook flush ever so slightly. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. āYeah, I suppose...ā
āItāll be fine,ā Yoongi assures him, slapping an affectionate hand on his shoulder. He tries his best to genuinely smile but Jungkook doesnāt think it really reaches that. āJimin probably has some questions himself.ā
At that Jungkook nods in agreement, forgoing telling Yoongi that the night he found out about Jimin he was doing just that, only asking some entity Jungkook has no idea what it could be. āYeah,ā he says quietly instead, and gives Yoongi a quick hug goodbye.
When the door shuts he finally feels like he can breathe a little easier, and rubs a tired hand down his face. He doesnāt even know what time it is, but it feels late. Like, really late. Like maybe itās even already five in the morning. He chances a quick glance at his clock as he walks back towards the bathroom and it reads three a.m. Not as bad as Jungkook thought, but still probably not that great. He approaches the bathroom and upon seeing it empty, figures Jimin probably went to go get dressed. When he walks in his room, he sees just thatāa Jimin sitting cross legged on his bed and staring intently at the drawstring on his sweatpants.
āThose are huge on you,ā Jungkook finds himself saying, laughing under his breath at how tight Jimin has the drawstring pulled.
Jimin looks up and smiles, but it doesnāt quite reach his eyes. āNot my fault youāre a giant,ā he counters and smirks. It fades quickly thought as Jimin struggles to say, āCan I⦠Sleep with you tonight?ā
Because Jungkook has the mind of a fifteen year old his first thought is Jimin wants to have sex with him. And in all honesty, of course Jungkook would. He would fuck Jimin until he couldnāt speak, voice too hoarse from moaning in both pain and pleasure. He would bite at his neck, mark him as his, and my goodness how pretty Jimin would look under him. Not realising he started to breathe a little heavily and stare at the floor, he jolts his head back up to meet Jiminās gaze, of which is one of confusion and what looks like regret. The regret is probably from asking Jungkook if he could sleep with him, which he now belatedly realises probably means actual sleep. Jungkook swallows.
āSure,ā he manages to say. He doesnāt bother to ask Jimin why, just quietly goes to remove his clothes. He makes a point to face away from Jimin as he does so, despite the fact that the guy has literally sucked his dick. He shivers at the thought and tries to tell himself itās because heās removed his shirt, but he knows heās lying to himself. He wonders when heāll stop with that.
After Jungkook crawls into bed, Jimin literally dashes at him, immediately pressing himself against Jungkookās side and nuzzling his face into the crook of Jungkookās neck. Heās not sure why heās surprised at the action, but carefully pulls the blanket to cover them nonetheless, pressing a wordless kiss to the crown of Jiminās head. Jimin trembles on top of him, so Jungkook holds him close, humming under his breath until the steady rhythm of Jiminās breathing tells him heās asleep. Jungkook is quick to follow.
Itās been a while since Jungkook has dreamed. Of course people tell you that you dream every night regardless of whether or not you remember it, so maybe itās just been a while since Jungkook has remembered. He finds himself floating in what just seems like the air or maybe the clouds, staring at a scenery of white threatening to consume him. He feels cold, and when he looks down heās not wearing a shred of clothing. He yelps, but it doesnāt come out quite right, like heās underwater.Ā
He turns his head wildly, trying to figure out where he is but thereās nothing to tell him. He starts to feel panic boil up his throat but he tries to suppress it as best he can. He wiggles his legs to get a feel of what sort of suspension heās trapped in, and finds they move easily. So thereās no resistance, Jungkook thinks, and tries to wiggle his fingers just to be sure. They are the same, and it just further deepens his confusion.
āHow long do you think you can hold out?ā A voice asks, but Jungkook canāt see where itās coming from, nor can he ascertain who it is. āItās pointless, you know, to resist it,ā it booms, and it sounds angry this time. Jungkook is finding it harder to dampen his panic.Ā
He swirls himself around, now feeling like heās treading water, and sees a shadowy figure far ahead of him. Heās not sure how far, but heās content to keep the distance as best he can. He breathes in sharply, trying to make a shape out of the dark abyss.Ā
āDo you still not get it?ā The voice coos, and it gives Jungkook goosebumps. āOh,ā the voice says, drawing out the sound, āHe hasnāt told you.ā The figure slowly approaches Jungkook, of which he canāt seem to move away from. Itās like heās trapped in a cage, and when he tries to speak nothing comes out but choked bubbles. He doesnāt understand; heās scared.
āPerhaps I should show you,ā the voice says, becoming louder. The shroud covering it fades, and Jungkook sees what he thinks is a siren, but itās not right. Thereās what looks like a distinctive shark tail instead of the beautifully scaled one that Jimin has, and itās covered in scars. When Jungkook looks up he sees the personāthingāhas hollow eyes, devoid of any colour and any discernible pupils. Scars cover their face as well, and as Jungkookās gaze trails down their torso, he breathes in sharply. The figure is wearing a shawl that covers most of them, but Jungkook can clearly see deep gashes and what might be burns on the exposed part of their arms. When he looks back at their face, theyāre grinning widely and it shows off razor sharp teeth.
āHow sad,ā the thing taunts, āThe poor lamb doesnāt even know.ā It nods to Jungkook, the grin not fading even slightly. āWell go on then, look down and see for yourself.ā
Jungkook doesnāt want to. He really, really doesnāt, but thereās a betraying part of him that looks down. He looks down and feels like his pulse might shoot right out of him: he has a tail. Itās a tail just like Jiminās, and itās on him. He has a tail. Belatedly he thinks, heās a siren. The realisation chokes him and he frantically claws at his tail as if it will make it go away; it only serves to cut his hand slightly.
The shark-siren hybrid thing (thatās starting to get on Jungkookās nerves) laughs at him, and it rings off his eardrums. Makes his blood turn cold. āAt least you finally see now,ā it says, and when Jungkook slowly lifts his head it isnāt smiling so much anymore, but something coy still tugs at the edge of their lips. āCongratulations, youāre a siren now.ā It reaches out a hand and rubs a thumb across Jungkookās lower lip as it says low and ferocious, āForever.ā
Jungkook wakes up with a shriek and a cold sweat.
Beside him Jimin stirs slightly, crinkling his nose, but doesnāt wake. Jungkook looks down at him sharply as he tries to remember how to breathe, tries to remember anything and everything Jimin has told him about this siren business up until now. He remembers him saying this spell was more a virus, and Jungkookās immune system was failing. In his head heās trying to desperately recall anything Jimin has hinted at, but nothing makes a connection to his dream.Ā
But thatās all it was, right? Just a dream. Jungkook lays back down, feels his breathing evening out more, and stays wide awake until he hears birds chirping on the horizon.Ā
yeehaw here comes some good ol smut, prepare ur eyes. look at me, writing so much. sniff really brings a tear to my eyes
Rating: M so hard just like itās M my lord
Word Count: 3,536
Because Jungkookās life can never stay simple, the boys all invite him (and Jimin) out to a bar one weekend night.Ā
Jimin is thrilled to finally go somewhere interesting, and Jungkook chokes on the water heās drinking when Jimin rounds the corner. Heās dressed in a low-cut silk shirt Jungkook forgot he even had, with tight back jeans Jungkook had picked up. Jungkook had frowned while holding them, felt a bit like a pervert when he bought them because he most definitely had a voice telling him Jiminās ass would like rather lovely in them.
Well, he wasnāt wrong.
In contrast, Jungkook is wearing just a plain red and black striped sweater with his usual beat to shit jeans. Even Jiminās shoes are better than hisāChelsea boots he had seen when Jungkook and him were at the mall, and his face was too much for Jungkook not to get them. And Jungkook⦠Jungkook was wearing the same pair of black Converse he has had since he was in middle school.
Jimin frowns at him. āDoes this not look good?āĀ
Jungkook shakes his head so violently it whips some water from the corner of his lips. āN-No, you look good,ā he says too quickly before gulping more water, turning around. Even with his back turned he can sense Jimin grinning wildly behind him.
When they get to the ābarā that Taehyung had suggested, Jungkookās first thought is that itās more of a club in reality. Itās dark with a heavy bass rippling throughout, and sure there is an expanse where itās bars and bars and wow how could one place have so many bars? But in the middle there was also a grand dance floor, and it was packed. Thatās his second thought: wasnāt this many people in one building a fire hazard?
Jimin stays cramped behind him, pressed tautly against his back as they weave through the crowds. Itās incredibly distracting, Jungkook soon figures out, but he canāt find it in himself to tell Jimin to back off or stop. He is, however, able to breathe easier when they find a space in the cocktail section where they can all sit at a hightop. Jimin, unsurprisingly, sits right next to Jungkook, and Taehyung sits in front of them. Jungkook swallows when he realises this is the first time heās seen Taehyung since they kissed. Taehyung is eyeing him, no doubt still curious about the whole thing, but Jungkook tears his gaze away.
āHow about a round of shots to get things going?ā He hears Hoseok cheerfully suggest.
When he looks at Namjoon, his eyes are in the midst of rolling. āShots and you donāt get along well, Hoseok.ā
Hoseok lifts a finger. āOn the contrary,ā he argues, āThey and I get along beautifully.ā
āA match made in heaven,ā Taehyung leans towards him and says, grin splattered on his face.
Namjoon sighs when he knows he isnāt going to be able to fight them on this, but still opts to get a beer while everyone else has a shot of tequila. Jungkook is all smiles when they are about to take the shot, but he notices Jimin staring at his, like they were caught in the worldās most intense staring contest.
Leaning down where his lips are almost right on Jiminās ear Jungkook whispers, āAre you okay?ā
Jimin, visibly startled, jolts slightly and looks at Jungkook. He looks almost stark terrified and itās fairly amusing. āIāI havenāt had any alcohol inā¦ā He stammers, making a frustrated clicking noise with his tongue.
āSince before you were a siren?ā Jungkook says, voice uncharacteristically low. Jimin nods, so Jungkook takes his hand to rub affectionate circles on the small of Jiminās back. āRelax,ā he assures, āYouāll be fine.ā
Jimin was fine. Was very, very fine, in fact. Jungkook thinks theyāre all on the fifth or sixth shot, but Jiminās cheeks are a burning red and heās constantly caught in fits of laughter. Hoseok has him engaged in a very serious topic revolving around the proper ways to transport peaches and it really seems like Jimin is all ears. Jungkook is glad neither he nor Yoongi have said anything even hinting at Jimin being a siren, despite how absolutely far gone they all areāHoseok especially. Jungkook has always been a heavy weight, but no one else is in their group, certainly not Jimin as well. Namjoon is the only other one not completely out of his wits (heās stayed with beer) and he keeps sending Jungkook pleading glances. Jungkook responds by taking another shot.
āI didnāt think there was so much involved,ā Jimin gasps, grabbing at Jungkookās arm without looking at him. Heās no doubt referring to Hoseokās utter bullshit properties of fresh fruit.Ā
āThatās how they get you,ā Hoseok says, poking Jimin on the nose, resulting with a fit of giggles from both of them.
Yoongi laughs, but tries to play it off by rolling his eyes. āAll it means is Hoseok has too much free time on his job.ā
Hoseok pouts. āNot true,ā he defends, āI never have time to take a piss.ā
āOkay, too much,ā Yoongi breathes out through his teeth, groaning.Ā
Jinās infectious squeaking laugh erupts then, and when Jungkook looks at him itās quite the sight. Despite being the oldest, Jin was easy to let his adult-facade fall and give way to a literal five year old. It was fine, because both Jungkook and Taehyung relished in it, much to Namjoonās constant sighs of disbelief.Ā
A particularly upbeat song comes on and Jungkook feels a tug at his sleeve. When he looks down, itās Jimin, who has the most pathetic pleading face on. āJungkook,ā he whines, āCan we go dance? Itās beenāhicāso long since Iāve danced.ā
Jungkookās head is spinning but he can do little to say no to a face like that. He can feel the most ridiculous smile being etched onto his face when he agrees, sliding off the stool. Jimin follows suit, only he stumbles wildly and falls into Jungkook, laughing loudly.Ā
āAre you going to make it over there?ā Jungkook laughs, stabilising Jimin the best he can.
Jimin absently waves his hand, smiling brightly. āOf course, of course, now come on,ā he says, grabbing Jungkook by the wrist and leading the way out to the dance floor. When Jungkookās gaze immediately falls on the sway of Jiminās hips as he walks and just how nice he looks in those damn jeans, he thinks perhaps heās too drunk for this to end well.
If it had been decades since Jimin had last danced, Jungkook sure as shit canāt tell. Jiminās body moves like a river with the song, his hips dipping and swaying like his body was made specifically to dance to the song. Jungkook doesnāt even dance back, just stares dumbly, his mouth wide open. Jimin seems to take notice and saunters over, wrapping his arms around Jungkookās neck and standing on his tip toes to reach his collar bone, nuzzling in the space there.
āCāmon,ā Jimin says into Jungkookās neck, hot breath ghosting on his skin. āCome dance with me.ā Jimin pulls back then, the most sultry of grins on his face as he delicately spins, taking Jungkookās hands and resting them on either sides of his hips as he begins to dance again.
And shit. Jungkook is only human. Jimin grinds up onto him, swirling his hips and tilting his head so Jungkook can see just how much heās enjoying it. Jungkook starts almost moving on his own accord, and as he follows Jiminās movements he wonders if this is somehow related to the whole āsirenā dynamic, but he doesnāt care in this moment. The song changes but it does little to deter Jiminās dancing, and when he pushes up against Jungkook the friction goes straight to his dick and breathes in sharply, biting down on his lower lip.
Jimin, the absolute shit, seems to have noticed this as well and keeps doing the same movement, even dipping down so he slides back up and right over where Jungkook is getting hard. Perhaps it was all the drinks, perhaps it was the same affect Jungkook has had before, but heās starting to lose sight of everyone and everything around him, and can only see the pink haired beauty in front of him. Heās almost sure heās fully hard when Jimin turns to face him again, canines showing in is smile.
Jungkook is definitely too drunk for this.
He tightens his grip on Jiminās hips to the point that heās started to untuck Jiminās shirt. He leans down into Jiminās face, foreheads touching, and despite all the alarms going off in his head, kisses him. Jimin jolts in a small surprise, but quickly relaxes and sighs into the kiss. Jungkook grips even harder onto Jimin, pushing his erection as far as he can into the smaller man, desperate to show him his need. Jimin gasps into the kiss, brings his hands up to grab hold of Jungkookās face, and opens his mouth willingly. Jungkook slides his tongue in and licks at Jiminās, feeling the heat that has begun to radiate off them both.
Jimin has started to grind against Jungkook directly, and Jungkook canāt help but break the kiss to utter a string of obscenities under his breath. Jimin just grabs at the nape of his neck and pulls him back down, eyes blown wide and full of want when he crashes their lips back together. Jungkook pushes right back, grabs at Jiminās hair as he ruts against Jimin, completely forgetting there are people watching. His friends could be watching, even. He doesnāt care. Not at all.
Jungkook finally breaks the kiss, sees how swollen Jiminās lips are, and despite himself blurts out, āBathroom.ā
Immediately Jimin seems to understand, and grabs at his wrist again, dragging him across the dance floor. They make their way towards the bathrooms when Jungkooks sees a door slightly ajar, and without thinking yanks on Jimin and swings them in. Itās actually a nice room, walls literally made of full velvet with a lonely leather couch at the end of it. He ignores the implications of it all when he shuts the door, frantically kissing at Jimin again.
āJungkook,ā Jimin breathes in between kisses.Ā
Hearing his name makes Jungkookās skin crawl. āPlease,ā he says to Jimin, not even sure what heās asking for.
Jimin seems to know, seems to have been waiting for Jungkook to beg, and breaks away from his lips to suck at Jungkookās neck. Jungkook slams himself so his back is pressed against the door, and tries his best to hide the sharp inhale of breath that would give away his evident pleasure. Jimin releases the skin he had trapped in his lips to lick at the no doubt purple mark blossoming in its wake. Beneath him Jungkook squirms, hand going to grab Jimin at the waist as he tries to contain the little gasps threatening to break from his lips.
With one free hand Jimin reaches down to loop his fingers into Jungkookās pant line, knuckles brushing against his bare skin. Jungkook shivers, knows what Jimin is getting at, and nods. He can feel Jiminās lips curl into a smile on his neck when he releases himself, kneeling down to undo the first button of Jungkookās jeans. Jungkookās head is throbbing with an intense heat that he almost feels dizzy, watching Jimin unzip his jeans now. He does it without breaking eye contact, and that same golden glow has started to fill his irises. It makes Jungkook feel hotter, more desperate, and doesnāt even realise how hard he was until Jimin slides his jeans down past his hips.
āJesus,ā Jungkook manages to say, hands pressed firmly against the door.Ā
Jiminās response is to hum against his erection, still looking directly at Jungkook. He presses his soft lips onto its silhouette and kisses it while Jungkook can barely keep his hips still. Without thinking Jungkook reaches out an unsteady hand and thumbs across Jiminās cheek, lost in his want. He can barely tell thereās anything past where Jimin is knelt before him, lips on his cock, a look in his eyes that says heāll do anything Jungkook asks of him.
āYouāre beautiful,ā he murmurs, surprising himself. Jimin seems taken aback by the statement as well, golden hue in his eyes suddenly gone. Itās quick to return though when he tugs at Jungkookās underwear line, to which Jungkook helps slip down, sending a small shiver over him when his cock springs free.
Jimin says nothing, just takes his tongue and licks up Jungkookās length, a sultry hum emitting from him as he goes. Jungkook pulls his hand back, cursing under his breath, and once again uses it to brace him against the door. He canāt take his eyes off Jimin, not when his eyes flutter close as he licks a circle around the head before he sucks fully down.Ā
In an instant, Jungkook lets out what is no doubt the loudest gasp heās ever had. It comes out more as a groan really, as he feels Jiminās nose brush against his skin. His knees slightly buckle underneath him when Jimin slides back up, sucking in his cheeks as he goes, sucking hard on the head before sliding back down. Itās already too much, Jungkook is embarrassingly close already, but he tries his best to contain himselfāit feels too good to let go now.
In this effort he squeezes his eyes shut as Jimin steadily goes up and down. Heās sure his knuckles have gone white against his grip on the door, and heās biting down on his lip to not make noise. Even if he made noise heās fairly certain no one would be able to hear him anyway, but there was something exhilarating about doing this all in public, and so the idea itself makes Jungkook want to be quiet. Itās certainly getting more difficult to, he thinks, with Jimin sucking on his cock like this, like his mouth was meant to be pulled against him all his life.Ā
When Jimin makes the most obscene sound as he pops off of Jungkookās cock, the latterās knees buckle. When he finally dares to open his eyes, he sees Jimin grinning madly as he uses his hand to continue what his mouth was doing mere moments ago. Sweat beads have made an appearance on Jungkookās forehead and the back of his neck, and he hadnāt realised he was panting until this moment. He just stares into Jiminās eyes, the brilliant gold swirling around them, and unconsciously reaches down to swipe his thumb delicately over Jiminās bottom lip.
āWhere do you want it?ā Jimin asks, voice hoarse.
Jungkook blinks dumbly. āWh-what?āĀ
Shaking his head Jimin sighs. āWhere do you want to come?ā Jimin explains, voice taking on a sultry tone.
For some reason, Jungkook has the sudden urge to choke. He suppresses it while his cheeks become hot with a new flush that blooms over them. It takes him a few solid seconds to finally speak again, and when he does, his voice is shaking. āIā¦ā He sputters, letting lose a small cough. Beneath him Jimin drums his fingers on Jungkookās cock impatiently. āYouā¦Yourā¦ā Heās getting dizzy when he realises he canāt remember the last time someone gave him head. Under Jiminās firm gaze he canāt think straight, so he closes his eyes again and says all too quickly, āIn your mouth.ā
Thereās a satisfied and slightly smug hum before Jimin licks up Jungkookās length again and sucks hard on his head. Jungkook hisses, the pleasure becoming too much, and without even thinking as he flashes his eyes open, he grabs a handful of Jiminās pink hair and clenches his fist. Jimin glances up as his tongue circles around Jungkookās cock, making the latter almost whine the need to release.
He tightens his fist in a silent plea for Jimin to continue, and it seems to go over well enough. Jimin complies, picking up speed as he bops up and down with Jungkook forgetting he was trying to be quiet and letting out what are probably the most ridiculous whines and moans. He can feel the familiar tingle building up inside him and knows heās dangerously close. He watches Jimin intently, his breathing becoming hard and heavy, and when Jimin gags ever so slightly itās enough to send Jungkook over the edge.
He cries out what he thinks is probably Jiminās name as he comes, but everything around him becomes muffled out. White sparks cloud his vision as he releases into Jiminās mouth, and he thinks he might pass out when he feels Jimin swallowing it all down. The moment seems to last forever but not forever enough, and when Jungkook comes back to reality, comes back and sees Jimin slowly pull off, he simply collapses onto the floor.
He doesnāt even bother to fix himself, just watches in infatuated awe as Jimin licks at the corner of his lips, catching a droplet of come that never made it down his throat. They stare at each other, the only sounds that fill the silence are their harsh breathing and the ever present thump of the bass from the dance floor. The golden hue surrounding Jiminās eyes has faded only slightly, and without a second thought Jungkook lurches forward, pins Jimin to the ground, and takes his lips into a desperate kiss.
He can taste himself on Jiminās tongue when he wraps his around it, and canāt help but moan at the sensation. In hindsight he probably should be disgusted, but to know that Jimin was that close to him, that this really happened, makes Jungkook not give a shit. His whole body is still hot, he feels like heās holding embers in his hands when he grabs at Jiminās wrists, but itās nothing compared to the pure ecstasy that is pumping through his veins.Ā
He ignores the thought that tells him this is how he felt when he first met Jimin in the ocean.
āI,ā Jungkook breathes between kisses, āWant,ā he sucks at Jiminās bottom lip, āTo take you.ā He goes to bite harshly on Jiminās neck, which warrants a yelp in response, one heās not sure is from pleasure or pain. Maybe both. āRight here.ā
Jimin visibly shudders underneath him. āI didnāt think youāahācould be so bold,ā Jimin says as Jungkook kisses and sucks at his neck.
Jungkook growls against Jiminās skin. āIād do anything for you,ā he hisses.
If Jimin wanted to respond, he never got to. A shrill sound of what was no doubt a ringtone shatters Jungkookās concentration and pulls back, cursing under his breath. Jungkook clumsily grabs at his back pocket, his pants still pulled down and making it difficult, and catches the call just before it rings out.
āHello?ā Jungkook says, voice low. He runs his fingers through his damp hair impatiently.
āKookie?ā Squeaks Taehyung on the other end. He sounds absolutely wrecked.
āTae,ā Jungkook breathes, willing his heart to stop beating so loudly against his chest. āWhatās up?ā
He hears the shuffle of fabric and the loud music in the background as Taehyung replies, āWhere are you? Weāve been looking everywhere for you. Is everything okay?ā
Jungkook sighs. āYeah, yes, Iām okay. Iāll uh⦠Meet you by the entrance. You sound like you should go home.ā
Taehyung giggles, ignoring what Jungkook thinks are his other friends demanding to hear what has happened. āOkay,ā he coos, āSee you then.ā
When the line goes dead and Jungkook slowly lowers his phone, he finally looks down at Jimin. His face is absolutely red, there are no doubt marks on his neck where Jungkook ravaged him, and Jungkook notices he is completely straddling Jimin. His dick hangs, half hard again, and he doesnāt even think to see if Jimin is hard underneath him before a panic boils up his throat.
He lost himself again, like he did in the fitting room, and flies off Jimin and skids back until his back thumps against the door. He frantically fixes himself as Jimin slowly sits up, pushing himself up by his elbows. Heās regarding Jungkook with an even expression, one Jungkook canāt read, and he can feel bile crawling up his esophagus.
āIāā
āDonāt,ā Jimin interrupts, crawling over to Jungkook. āStop thinking youāve done something wrong,ā he whispers when heās close enough, cupping Jungkookās face softly. He rubs his thumb under Jungkookās eye and smiles.Ā
Jungkook doesnāt know what to say, just leans into Jiminās hand and sighs. Heās fully covered again, pants pulled up and zipped, but Jimin still looks slightly a mess. He reaches out to tuck Jiminās shirt back in, fighting off the sinking feeling in the back of his head. The feeling that none of this was real, that it was just all a spell, and the worst feeling was Jungkook wishing it wasnāt.
āWe better get back before they call the cops on us or something,ā Jungkook says quietly, trying to laugh. As they both stand, Jungkook swallows emotions he doesnāt even know the name for, opening the door that leads out.