jiminsalad-ff

[jiminsalad-ff]

it's been quite a while hasn't it

[jiminsalad-ff]

i won't be posting much this week because i'm leaving for washington d.c. and won't be back until sunday

[jiminsalad-ff]

of masterpieces and a not-so-happy ending ; taekook

rated: pg (i mean it’s mostly pg but there’s implied homophobia and some swearing but then again i would blame this on my bad rating skills)

summary: in which taehyung can’t get enough of jungkook so he recreates him using art

i’m giving you an angst warning you’re welcome

taehyung likes art.

he really does—more than anything in the world. he likes to express his feelings and emotions through painting and photography and drawing and even sculpting.

he remembers the large mosaic that once hung on the wall of his living room. he’ll never forget. not even when he’s dead. because that painting took him too much time and effort for it to be ripped apart by its every fiber the very next day by his mother who was too drunk for her own good.

“stop wasting your life on this shit,” she said. “i didn’t raise you to be a faggot boy who doesn’t have money to but his own house, yet somehow salvages some for paintbrushes and that thousand-dollar camera.”

he also remembers the photos he took with that camera. they hung from a string that was positioned on the wall the back corner of his room. he cherished those photos. he really did.

jungkook had once given taehyung charcoal pencils. “it’s my birthday gift,” taehyung had told his questioning parents. “jungkook gave them to me.”

taehyung used those charcoal pencils to draw a picture—"the most beautiful picture,“ he’d explained to jungkook whilst holding the picture before him as his most prized possession, and jungkook felt as though the picture was a mirror with the way it looked so stunningly like him that he almost stumbled backwards at first glance.

there was a sculpture that taehyung once had, when jungkook had came over to his house and sat on his bed and just watched with those big eyes of his as taehyung sat in the floor with hands molding and compressing that stupid hunk of clay into something so beautiful, so wonderful, so favored. he remembers the sculpture that once had pressed into his fingers and left little bits of clay underneath his fingernails.

he remembers jungkook’s sparkling laugh when he broke the clay. the reassuring pat on his back. the ever-comforting “it’s okay” that was whispered in his ear. and that was all he needed to try again.

taehyung likes art, sure, but his favorite thing was always jungkook.

no painting or photo or drawing or even sculpture could compare to how he loved him.

he’d spend hours upon hours upon several more dreaded hours just mapping out every aspect of him that he didn’t leave any time to think about anything else.

they’d lay on taehyung’s bed and jungkook would be asleep, totally oblivious to how taehyung was right there next to him, silently wondering how he’d found a creature so beautiful and managed to have him sleeping on his own bed. often times taehyung would wake him up just to remind him once more of his beauty.

taehyung didn’t deserve him, but by no means did that imply that he didn’t want him. because he did—so much that he thought he might die if he didn’t have him.

but taehyung wouldn’t have him forever.

because jungkook was sick. deadly sick, as in he had cancer sick.

and he had two months to live. that’s only eight weeks—1460 hours—which was not and never would be enough time for taehyung’s satisfaction.

so taehyung painted. he took photos. he drew. and he even sculpted for god’s sake, but was it all for nothing? no, taehyung thought. it’s for him. every last painting and photo and drawing and even sculpture was for jungkook and taehyung would be damned if that wasn’t the case.

that is to say that jungkook would stay over weekends and lay sprawled out in the floor of taehyung’s bedroom and the latter would wet his paintbrush with the image of jungkook still burned into his brain. whatever taehyung created with these images was always flawless, as expected from him. taehyung was the best, jungkook had said so—and that’s all that taehyung needed for inspiration. that and jungkook’s smile.

taehyung was always fond of that smile. it was so wide and full—that stupid, toothy grin that had taehyung wobbly in the knees and his heart skipping every other beat. he could spend hours—days, even, just recreating the wonderful curl of his lips and the wrinkles that would form at his cheeks.

taehyung was so whipped. he didn’t know what he would do without jungkook.

which brings taehyung to the present—jungkook’s funeral.

the service was great. taehyung thanked anybody and everybody who willed themselves to show. he felt he couldn’t thank them enough. he thanked the people who gave a shit about jungkook, because not many people had the pleasure of meeting the boy, and that alone saddened taehyung because jungkook was that one person who everybody was friends with. nobody held a grudge against jungkook. taehyung was thankful for that as well.

but now taehyung stands alone in front of jungkook’s grave clad in all black with bloodshot eyes and dried tears streaking down his face.

taehyung can almost taste the bile creeping up his throat. the aching pit in his stomach that’s always been there, ever since that dreadful day when jungkook had returned from the hospital with his heart in his hands and the bitter words on his tongue that would make taehyung’s stomach jump into his throat and have him choking back tears for the next two months of his life—and then some.

taehyung must’ve cried a river right then. he recalled the little things which worried him that jungkook had dismissed as “it’s nothing, tae” and “it’s just a stomach bug.”

taehyung was scared out of his mind. not scared of the cancer, though—he was scared of losing jungkook and not getting to tell him how much he loved him. as if the paintings and pictures and drawings and even sculptures didn’t hint at it enough already.

jungkook loved taehyung, too. so much that he felt bad for not saying it enough. to say that jungkook felt that taehyung deserved better would be a massive understatement.

taehyung challenges the grave which holds his boyfriend. the one person, of all the people taehyung knew and associated himself with, who didn’t get the life he should’ve had. the flowers in his hand are past the point of no return and taehyung regrets spending so much money on those stupid flowers that were doomed to die the day before he needed them most.

“jungkook,” he speaks, voice raspy, “i brought you flowers.”

taehyung shouldn’t be surprised when he doesn’t get a reply. but he is. and he hates that.

“i miss you already, kookie, and it’s only been a week. i can barely breathe without you—i can barely sleep. i can’t go to school. i can’t work. i can’t meet any deadlines anymore and i feel so horrible.” taehyung sighs shakily and crouches down. his long fingers skim past the name engraved onto the stone before him and he does his best not to look at the dates carved below.

“my mom… she’s worried about me. she says that i’m weak. i know that i shouldn’t be happy about that, but it is at least a little refreshing to know that she cares about me being ‘weak.’ my friends—jimin doesn’t come by anymore. i miss having people to talk to, kookie. i miss you. i fucking miss the shit out of you and i don’t know how to function without you right next to me.”

the dried tears on taehyung’s face are wet again and he doesn’t feel like wiping them away.

“i love you,” taehyung whimpers after a moment of silence and contemplation. “i love you so much. i really, really do love you so fucking much and it hurts so bad that it’s a wonder i haven’t dumped your ass by now.”

“taehyung.”

he turns his head around and almost feels embarrassed to see jimin hovering over him with glassy eyes and hands in his pockets.

“jimin,” he chokes out, “what are you doing here?”

“i came to the funeral. stuck around for a bit,” jimin watches as the boy rises from the ground. “i came around to send him my regards.”

“oh,” taehyung casts his gaze away from the other. “i should be leaving anyways—”

“no, taehyung. god—no, i would never make you leave. stay. please—i can come back some other time, really. stay.”

the boy bites his nails and worriedly looks down at the stone before him and the flowers in his own hand and nods. “okay.”

“okay,” jimin agrees. “you know where to find me if you ever need me, right?”

“yes. thank you.”

“alright,” jimin sighs. he steps forward to ruffle taehyung’s hair and slowly retreats back to his car.

“jungkook—” taehyung starts, “jungkook, i should get going. i miss you. i wish you were here, alive. i’m scared out of my wits about living without you in this next chapter of my life but it’ll be okay as long as i never forget you.”

taehyung kisses two of his fingers and promptly presses them onto the name carved in the stone before him. he places the flowers tightly grasped in his hand onto the fresh dirt and wipes his face with his now free hand.

“so… i’ll see you later this week. goodbye.”

[jiminsalad-ff]

of hot idols and annoying ankle tattoos [ch. 1] ; taekook

i apologize, i didn’t proofread this very well so there may be mistakes

rated: teen and up (lotsa bad words)

summary: part one of which taehyung falls for his idol

this is a tattoo au, which means that when a person falls in love with another person, they get that other person’s “designated tattoo” somewhere on their own body. this designated tattoo is found on a person’s ankle and they are normally born with it. it’s supposed to symbolize something for the person who has it.

The screeching sound of Taehyung’s sneakers rings out through the silent hallway. His feet drag against the ground, heavy like weights, not because he’s tired or sad, but because it’s fun to watch the boy walking next to him cringe with each piercing shriek.

“Tae, I swear to god—”

“What?” Taehyung lifts his head to smile with that boxy mouth of his. “I’m not doing anything.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. He pushes Taehyung with such force that he nearly trips over his own two feet and into the wall directly next to him. Once Taehyung regains balance, he walks normally lest he gets pushed into the wall again.

“Fucking idiot,” Taehyung hisses while pushing past the double doors. The cold, autumn air bites at his nose first, then travels down to his fingers and toes as he continues walking despite not having a source of warmth (except for Jimin—but he’s not about to hang onto him like he did in middle school).

“Christ,” Jimin chitters. “It’s fucking cold out today. Where’s your jacket, slick?”

“I thought we agreed not to call me ‘slick’ ever again.” Taehyung’s jaw trembles at the cold. He turns his head downwards to get the wind out of his eyes. “My jacket’s in my car.”

“Oh,” Jimin exhales a puff of cold air, nodding his head in light bobs. “Oh, nice. Of course it is—when is anything not in your car? Why do you even have a jacket if it’s always in your fucking car?”

“Because the heater’s broken.”

“Right, and having a jacket in your car for no reason will magically make your heater spark back to life. How is that working out for you, by the way?” Jimin turns his head to look at Taehyung and gives him a disgruntled chuckle.

“Not too great.”

“That’s what I fucking thought. Get a new heater.” He pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket. “Light me?”

“Hell no, light yourself. Get your fucking cancer stick-ass away from me.”

Jimin’s smile falls from his face. “Fine.”

“Matter of fact—” Taehyung quickly reaches up and grabs a hold on the cigarette in Jimin’s mouth and tosses it to the ground. He steps on it for good measure. “There. Your lungs thank you.”

Jimin stops in his tracks like a deer in headlights. “Well, tell them that they’re not welcome. Fucking 'cancer sticks’, I don’t even have cancer.”

“Not yet, you don’t,” Taehyung flicks the shorter male. “That’s the beauty of nicotine. It comes back to haunt you when you’re old and wrinkly and can’t stop smoking because it’s become such a habit to you that you don’t even realize that it’s bad for you until you get those test results back from the hospital.”

“Man, fuck you and your cancer bullshit,” Jimin says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Cancer says, 'fuck you, too.’” Taehyung’s hand trembles as he raises it in the air to slap Jimin’s nape, almost mockingly says, “That’s a neck, son.”

Jimin lets out a strangled grunt and jerks his hand up to cover the afflicted area. “You immature piece of shit, I can’t believe you made it to college.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

Jimin turns his head to look at Taehyung and cracks a smile. “You’re right. We’re both pretty immature.”

“Yeah, well,” Taehyung snaps, turning his head towards Jimin as well, “at least I don’t have wet dreams about my history teacher.”

“Wha—dude, no,” Jimin flushes red, hiding his face by casting his gaze downwards. “No.”

“Yes,” Taehyung chuckles, “you do. I can hear you moaning his name from the living room. You’re so loud, man, it’s not even funny.”

“That was one time.”

“Three.”

“Whatever.”

Taehyung stops in front of his car. He glances at Jimin before swinging the door open. “See you when you get home.”

“If I get home.”

“You better get home. I don’t wanna see another tattoo on that body of yours when you get out of the shower.”

“Tae,” Jimin sighs, “I’ll try to get home before that happens.”

“I’m sick and tired of having to take care of your ass. Get home before you get attached, remember?”

“It’s just sex.”

“Somehow, your heart disagrees with you on that one,” Taehyung says. “See you tonight, Chim.”

“Tonight.”

Taehyung tosses his keys onto the couch and kicks off his shoes as he makes a beeline for the fridge. His fingertips skim over the granite counter top briefly before they switch to the door handle. He tugs the door until it opens and he pouts in disappointment when he finds that the fridge is damn near empty. He grabs a box of juice (because he’s a child, he knows) and shrugs his phone out of his pocket to text Jimin.

we need more shit to eat

He sits down at his desk and opens his laptop. The monitor beeps twice, offering light to the dark room. Taehyung types in his password and makes a noise of approval at the sound the keys make in the room, only ambient by the quiet whir of the tower fan. Taehyung turns on music.

Seagull - Flying Kites

So aesthetic, Taehyung stops to consider as the music starts to fill the quiet space around him. He looks at the artist. Seagull. Truthfully, Taehyung is one of those people who can listen to someone all day long and never even give a thought to what that person might look like. Seagull is one of those people. Taehyung knows that he’s a good singer as well as anyone, but he has no earthly idea what this man looks like. Hell—he doesn’t even know his real name.

Taehyung types in his computer 'seagull’ and waits patiently for the screen to load. Fucking Sprint, he thinks.

When it does load, the first thing he sees is pictures of seagulls. He scrolls down. Articles on seagulls. Taehyung scoffs. He returns to the search bar to type 'seagull kpop’ in hopes of finding something other than pictures of large birds. The screen loads for what seems like forever and just when Taehyung is about to shut off the computer for good, the screen flickers back to life and displays numerous pictures of a very handsome man with the prettiest eyes and the best smile, not to mention the sexiest complexion—

Taehyung has to pause for a minute to catch his breath before he takes it upon himself to scroll down. He clicks on the Wikipedia page. Under the Background Information tab, he finds the name of this man.

Jeon Jungkook.

The discovery sends chills to Taehyung’s spine. He sighs and continues down the page. He was born on September 1, 1992, which makes him 24 years old. He was born in Buk District, Busan, South Korea. He’s 5’ 10". Taehyung leans back in his chair. He’s exactly my height, he acknowledges, cue the heart attack because he can practically already see him standing right in front of him.

He scrolls down further to see more pictures. And then he slams the lid of his laptop shut. His breath wavers for a minute and his heart skips a beat or so. It’s time to stop looking at pictures so my heart and soul can adjust to the discovery of the most beautiful human being on the Earth and possibly in the universe, Taehyung thinks. I need to recover from this.

Taehyung’s phone buzzes. He looks at it from his peripheral vision and sees that it’s from Jimin.

i gor u

Taehyung’s brow curves upwards out of something similar to confusion.

*got

He sighs into the air and replies back.

remember to get mac n cheese because well starve to death otherwise

also peanut butter please ty

He chucks his phone back onto the desk and gets up only to fall face-first onto his bed. He shuts his eyes. The music starts to fade away and his fingers and toes go numb. The whirring of the fan lingers as he falls sound asleep.

Jimin sneezes. A few people turn around, eyeing him strangely with that “get your shit together” vibe and they turn back around. Jimin sneezes again—an aftershock of a sneeze, really. He wipes his nose and continues on through the crowd with a drink in his hand and his phone in the other.

“Excuse me,” he starts, managing a tap on someone’s shoulder, “do you know Park Jihyun? The owner of this place? Looks like a smaller version of me?”

“Sorry, no,” they say. Jimin nods, admittedly disappointed, and shuffles over to the next person to ask them the same thing he’s asked everyone else in the bar.

After several discouraging answers and a few fucking assholes, Jimin catches the gaze of a short male in the far corner of the bar. His hair is a dark shade of brown, a red beanie situated on his head. He’s clad in a loose, white t-shirt and black joggers with red converse (to match his hat, Jimin assumes). He has a group of friends around him and they’re all sharing the same blunt of some mysterious and foreign drug that Jimin wouldn’t try in a million years.

“Jihyun!” Jimin calls out, shoving past a few particularly horny and desperate people grinding on each other in a public joint. Jihyun turns his head and his eyes light up and crinkle at the corners. He exhales a cloud of smoke.

“Jimin,” he smiles, obviously high due to the bloodshot eyes and the tears collecting at the corners of them, not to mention the roll of paper in his mouth, “I missed you.” Jimin’s eyes follow as he passes the drug to the person directly next to him. She immediately takes it between her thin lips and inhales deeply, exhaling white wisps into the air around her. Jimin looks away.

“We need to talk about something,” he explains, finally. His brother looks at his group, scoring simultaneous nods and 'go on’s. He jumps off the wall and leads Jimin out the back door.

“What’s up, big bro?” Jihyun nudges his bicep, making a small comment along the lines of how he must be working out more.

“I need money,” Jimin states bluntly.

Jihyun frowns. “What makes you think I have money?”

“Don’t you sell drugs?”

“I use the money I get from selling drugs to buy drugs for myself,” Jihyun focuses his gaze on the ground.

“Fine,” he says. “Forget it. I’ll go.” He turns back and twists the door handle in his hand. He looks at his brother over his shoulder.

“Remember what we talked about last time.”

Jihyun pauses, looks up at Jimin. “Of course, how could I forget?”

“Welcome home,” Taehyung yells from the living room. “Did you get the stuff?”

“Yes,” Jimin calls back, “I got the stuff.” He sets the bag on the kitchen counter. Taehyung jumps off of his spot on the couch to inspect the goods.

“Hell no.” Taehyung holds up a bag. “Fudge? Brownies? What the fuck, we’re damn near unable to pay our fucking bills, yet you spend the last of our money on fucking diabetes?”

“That’s the cost of asking me to go grocery shopping.”

“Those are expensive-ass brownies, Chim, how can you even afford those?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow and slaps his friend’s arm as he walks past him to put the brownies in the pantry. “At least you got what I asked for, even if you stepped over the imaginary financial line and bought straight sugar.”

“One of these days, you’ll be thanking me for buying 'straight sugar,’” he says, leaning against the counter and unlocking his phone.

“Music recommendations? What’s Tae listening to these days?”

“Ooh, type in 'flying kites’ by this guy named seagull, like the bird. He’s really attractive, did you know that? I searched him while you were out and he is literally a walking wet dream—”

“Okay, I found it, shut the fuck up.”

The music starts and Taehyung’s smile only widens.

“Dance with me,” he says. Jimin shakes his head. Taehyung retaliates by tugging at his arm and dragging him into the living room. He starts to dance by himself.

“C'mon, you know you wanna dance with me.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.” Taehyung grabs him by the hands. “And you will.”

Jimin gives in, swaying his hips smoothly and shimmying his shoulders gracefully, despite the sour expression set on his face. “Hey, fuck you, by the way.”

“You’re enjoying this. This is really so much fun, I’m having the time of my life. I love this song. Don’t you love this song?”

“Did you know,” Jimin cuts in, completely ignoring whatever it is he thinks Taehyung said, “that this 'seagull like the bird’ guy is having a fan meet this weekend? I heard it from a group of nerds at school.” Taehyung shoots him a glare. “Do you want to go?”

“I’d love to, if we hadn’t spend every last dollar on those brownies.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m asking if you want to go, not if you want to pay for it.”

“Then, yes. I want to go. It’s in Seoul, I’m guessing?”

“Yes,” Jimin says slowly, his eyes closing, getting lost in the music. “This is so peaceful.”

“Right?” Taehyung absentmindedly leans into Jimin’s warmth, hands still connected. He looks down at him, and Jimin looks back with those small, crescent-shaped eyes and those plush, rosy cheeks of his. His eyes skim vaguely over the plump lips situated so perfectly on his face that has Taehyung wobbly in the knees (maybe it was the wine he drank a couple weeks ago, you really never can tell these days with Taehyung). Not because he’s ever had feelings for him other than extremely gay friendship where kissing his best friend is almost an everyday thing, he’s just tired and his mind is fuzzy with exhaustion.

He leans in and presses his lips against Jimin’s briefly before pulling away. The man’s face crinkles into a smile and he shoves Taehyung away with balled fists.

“Dude, you’re so gay. You need a boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“Seriously,” Jimin reiterates. “You’re a great kisser, and I thank you for sharing that with me, but stop wasting your smooching skills on someone that doesn’t give less than a shit about you.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung waves his hands in the air. “Just—you remember what happened last time I tried to date someone.”

“That won’t happen again, Tae,” Jimin’s eyes trail hurriedly over the tattoo peeking out from behind the collar of his shirt before his eyes meet the other’s again.

“You don’t know that.”

“Well,” Jimin grimaces, “I guess I don’t. But the chances of anybody doing that to you again are so slim, Tae. Please stop worrying about it. Get out there and get some ass,” he says with a smack to the other’s arm.

Taehyung’s mind wanders for a few minutes. His eyes sparkle and a smile creeps onto his lips. “I’d like to get a piece of Seagull’s ass. Do you think he has a nice ass?”

“He’s an idol, of course he does. Idols have nice asses.”

“You have a nice ass, but you’re not an idol,” Taehyung snorts.

“Maybe I should be. At least then we’d have more money to buy brownies with.”

“Or you could be a stripper.”

“No thanks,” Jimin shakes his head with droopy eyes, “I enjoy working at Relish just fine.”

“Odd name for a restaurant, though, don’t you think?” Taehyung’s gaze drifts off into the kitchen someplace.

“I guess, but it pays well enough for us to function in a half-decent apartment.”

A scoff rolls out of Taehyung’s mouth, though it was more like a breathy exhale than anything. “Yeah, right. You can barely go shopping without going over our budget. Your job sucks ass.”

“Maybe I should work as a tattoo artist. Cover up tattoos that people don’t like with better tattoos. People would pay big bucks for that.”

“You suck at drawing, though. You want to permanently scar people with your horrendous artwork? Hell no, I’d never let you do that. I’d almost rather you be a stripper than a tattoo artist.”

“I wish I could cover up my tattoo. Can we switch? Do you want an apple?” Jimin retreats into the couch to lift his ankle into the air. On his ankle is a small picture—almost invisible, if you’re far enough away—of an apple.

“Do you even know what that means? Is it supposed to symbolize something?” Taehyung squats down for inspection.

“I don’t know, man, try living with an apple on your leg and figure out what it symbolizes. An apple can mean a lot of things.”

“I think it’s supposed to make up for the loss of an apple right there,” Taehyung points to Jimin’s throat without hesitation. Jimin widens his eyes (as if that could actually happen) and emits a strangled whine.

“I do have an adam’s apple, you jackass son of a bitch.”

“No way. Show me.”

Jimin smirks, tilting his head back, and sure enough, the lump in his throat is prominent. Taehyung almost has to force himself to look away; he’d never given a thought to anybody’s adam’s apple other than his own.

“Impressive,” he says, finally tearing his eyes away when Jimin adjusts his head to a somewhat normal position.

“Think first before you speak.”

“You’re telling me this?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jimin shoves Taehyung out of the way and treads to his room. “Goodnight.”

“Hey, you should eat dinner before you—”

“Goodnight.”

“Remind me again why you’re doing this for me?” Taehyung’s teeth chatter and his fingers tremble at the bustling crowd around him. Jimin had dragged him all the way to Seoul for a fan meet held by his favorite idol as of a few days ago, who is standing in front of him (but not directly in front of him, this is his ego talking) as if it were his imagination and he was scared to move or breathe in fear of waking up and losing everything he’s ever dreamed of having.

“You’re welcome,” Jimin replies, haughty in the way he squints his eyes with cocked eyebrows and pursed lips as if to say, “Why yes, I paid for this with my very own earnings and now is quite the appropriate time to shower upon me 'thank you’s and rose petals to express your indebted gratitude towards me, for I am the ruler of the world as you know it.”

“Yes, thank you.” His eyes darted around, never straying on a single object for too long. They looked at the idol before him, then over to a group of children, at the ground, only to come right back to where they’d started. He is nervous, understandably, and he’s almost wishing he was at home watching Grey’s Anatomy and basking in the graces of McDreamy instead of being here, standing awkwardly as if he’d just been tossed by his ankles into a crowd of lions and tigers and bears (oh my!).

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse (or better, rather), the idol’s gaze skims past the line of people quickly and stops when it catches sight of Taehyung. He could’ve sworn—though he wasn’t sure—that what he saw was the idol, Kim Taehyung’s literal idol and possibly role model, struggling to catch his breath and to stand up straight and even to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head at the sight of the boy. But, again, this is his ego talking. Probably.

Taehyung looks behind him the way that people do when someone way out of their league is looking anywhere close to their general direction. Then he stares back at the idol and maintains brief eye contact before the latter shies away and directs his attention back to the fan gawking in front of him. He smiles at her and waves her off before catching sight of Taehyung once more, only this time Taehyung isn’t looking, which gives Jungkook every bleeding right to stare for longer than he should’ve been allowed to in the first place.

Taehyung absentmindedly tugs at the collar of his white shirt—because who turned up the temperature? why does my favorite person ever as of a few days ago keep staring at me like i’m some sort of delicacy? is this actually just a dream where i wake up before i even take another step closer?

But Taehyung takes a step closer. Two steps, if he dares to get technical. Maybe even three—but he is still lucid, standing there, not-so-oblivious to the man just before him, practically eye-fucking him with those big, blue eyes of his—contacts, no doubt—and that exasperatingly beautiful smile of his that he can’t help but envy because his own boxy grin was a lame excuse for a smile. At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself.

Obviously, the brunette does not agree with him on that statement. His glassy eyes graze over the boy’s lips whenever he manages even a ghost of a smile and they linger for just a second too long. Then their gazes meet, to which Jungkook forces away from quickly.

When Taehyung finally steps up to Jungkook, he gives his biggest smile yet and, for the first time in his entire life, gets the pleasure of speaking to him face-to-face, in person, and to fully experience just how tall he is (because the Wikipedia page he visited was definitely outdated; Jungkook was generally the same height as him, if you add a few centimeters or inches or possibly even feet over Taehyung’s).

Taehyung nearly has to tip his head back to look Jungkook in the eyes. And boy, those pictures and videos sure don’t do him any justice. It’s one thing to say yeah, he’s handsome and he’s so beautiful and i love him so much, blah blah blah, but once Taehyung’s taken the time and (Jimin’s) money to see him in the flesh and fully understand the true nature of his beauty, he begins to see the incandescent twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes, a soft, shimmering glow that can only really be seen by the naked eye. He starts to see the way his pupils dilate into something that Taehyung can’t quite place. The way his lips curl into that goddamn picture perfect fucking smile of his makes Taehyung weak in the knees—especially considering that this beauty was just a few feet from himself. So close, he could touch it if he wanted to. Maybe one day he’d have the pleasure of being able to feel the way those lips would curl into his, on a warm, Sunday afternoon with blankets and coffee and sweet treats from the cafe just a few blocks down. Taehyung can almost smell the coffee, now, and taste the treats, even better if he could taste it from the man’s mouth—

“Hi,” says he, ultimately ruining Taehyung’s almost-wet dream.

Taehyung jolts. “Hello,” he whispers.

Jimin snickers at the awkwardness of it all and swoops in with his enthusiastic self to save the day.

Sort of.

“Hi! Nice to meet you. This is Taehyung, he’s a bit nervous because you’re, like, his whole universe and you’re basically all he ever talks about, ever. I’m Jimin. We’re roommates. He talks about you a lot—”

“Jimin!” Taehyung shrieks, apologizing to the dozens of heads that turn around and especially to Jungkook. He hates to admit it to himself, but he takes pride in the way Jungkook’s eyes skim the expanse of his body, mapping out every little detail. Their eyes meet again. It’s awkward.

“I have an album for you. To sign,” Taehyung finally says. Jungkook is almost shocked at the sound of his voice when it manages to form a full sentence with no mishaps.

“Oh, sure,” Jungkook takes the album, signs the inside of it with the thought of Taehyung’s voice in his head, and returns it with a smile. “Don’t open it yet. Save it for when you get home.”

“Yes—okay. Thank you so much! I love your music—so, so much, your voice is so soothing. It helps me deal with stress so I’ve been listening to you since high school.”

“Wow, that’s a long time,” Jungkook says, words sounding more scripted than anything as his eyes linger on the necklace situated right on Taehyung’s collarbones. “I’m glad you enjoy the album.”

“Me too,” Taehyung says without thought, and immediately regrets it when he notices the way Jungkook’s eyebrow raises in confusion.

“We should get going now,” Jimin insists hurriedly, tugging the male’s arm with such immense force that he nearly trips.

“Right. Goodbye,” Taehyung waves at Jungkook with a forced smile. Jungkook waves back, however, his lips decide to twitch into a smirk instead.

[jiminsalad-ff]

of coffee beans and love at first sight ; jikook

Rated: Teen and Up (just bad words man idk how to rate this shit)

Summary: in which jungkook comes across jimin in the coffee shop he works at (and taehyung is jungkook's best friend)

if jungkook was mad earlier, then now he's fucking pissed. fuming. he wants to rip out his hair and shove it down his own throat and hope and pray that it suffocates him quickly and effectively. who knew working at a coffee shop was so stressful? jungkook, apparently. taehyung, too. he was also red-hot with anger. he kept mumbling curse words under his breath and slamming his head onto the counter below him. he was angry. jungkook was angrier, though, so understandably, he expressed himself in many more "inappropriate ways," according to kim namjoon.

all because min fucking yoongi spilled the whole bag of coffee beans on the floor of the coffee shop, which meant that the shop would be opening later than usual, which also meant that there would be less customers, and less customers meant less dollars in his pocket, and jungkook would be having none of that. not to mention that it was the last order of beans until october, and it was two weeks till.

so naturally, they cut rations short and removed venti sized cups from the menu until they received more beans to mash and fill the cups with (sort of).

taehyung throws down his hands. "i will not stand for this," he announces. "namjoon, fire him please." taehyung's index finger stabs towards yoongi in accusation.

"we're short on staff, tae. i can't do that right now. i'll fire him when i hire someone to take his place."

"that's bullshit and you know it. we have enough staff. sort of. if you include hoseok and seokjin—"

"—who don't even really work here and probably don't know how to use whipped cream correctly," jungkook adds, untying his apron to lay it on the counter. namjoon glares at him, and jungkook glares back. namjoon looks away. jungkook says nothing.

"you know, we could always sell lemonade instead. renovate the place, rename it, and voila," yoongi offers with a slight grin. "i bet that'd sell faster than this shit excuse of a coffee shop."

"we don't have the money for that," namjoon sighs. he scratches his neck and perks up when the door chimes to signal the entrance of a customer.

"i got it," yoongi jumps up from his seat by the door, but namjoon holds out his hand to stop him.

"jungkook, take over yoongi's place at the counter for today. he's on probation until we get our new order of coffee beans."

"what the—"

"got it, boss," jungkook winks at yoongi before stepping behind the counter. "hello, welcome to our humble coffee shop, what can i get you today?"

there's no reply as jungkook begins setting up the register when it really should've been set up twenty minutes ago. he glances up—and holy mother of all fuck, this is the most adorable, small man-child that jungkook has ever seen, ever. he nearly chokes on his beauty.

"just a, uh—actually, you wouldn't happen to sell those little glass bottles of coffee here—like at starbucks, you know those glass bottles? do you have any of those?"

now jungkook is the speechless one. he hears taehyung snickering as he walks into the "staff only" room and makes a mental note to punch the living shit out of the guy afterwards.

"i—we—no. sorry."

a look of pure disappointment ventures it's way onto the boy's face and jungkook pales, heart palpitating wildly. "b-but, we do have the coffee that comes in the little glass bottles from starbucks, except not from starbucks because, well, this isn't exactly starbucks is it—"

"what kind of coffee?"

"well," jungkook inhales, "we have a menu right here, sorry, we just opened a couple minutes ago and—taehyung! you were supposed to set out the menus, what the—"

"actually, i'll just have a skinny peppermint mocha."

"right. sorry. tall or grande? we aren't selling venti cups until october because we don't have enough coffee beans and you can't have coffee without the beans—"

"tall," the boy whispers. jungkook nods, takes a cup and nearly forgets to ask for his name god dammit.

"order for who?"

"jimin," he says. jungkook can't help but smile creepily at the cute name, perfect for such a cute guy.

"one tall skinny peppermint mocha for jimin coming right up—taehyung! you're supposed to be making the coffee!—one second please," jungkook disappears into the room and drags taehyung out by his ear and into the shop. he throws him on the ground.

"do your job, fucking hell."

taehyung rises to his feet and begins to do so.

"fucking namjoon," he mumbles, wiping the dust off his apron, "why do i have to make the coffee, can't this dork do it instead? i'd be so much better at taking the orders than that little shit."

jungkook scoffs. he leans against the counter and spares a glance towards the man at the other end of the shop who stands patiently waiting for his drink.

"you're so whipped," taehyung nudges jungkook in the side with his elbow, ultimately drawing a string of curses from the other's mouth.

"shut your damn mouth, kim, before i shut it for you."

"you wouldn't do that."

"i would. watch me."

"okay, jeonny boy," taehyung snorts, afterwards giving jimin his coffee and bidding him farewell.

jungkook waves his hand at jimin when he thinks they made eye contact. jimin doesn't wave back. he probably didn't see him.

jungkook is salty when taehyung cackles and points his fingers at jungkook. salty, and so, so whipped for jimin.

he can't wait to see him again.

[jiminsalad-ff]

get ready for more oneshots in the next week or so

[jiminsalad-ff]

of hierarchies and awkward encounters ; jikook

Rated: M

Summary: in which jungkook uses the bathroom at the worst possible time

if somebody were to ask who park jimin is, the answer they would get would be that park jimin is the school nerd. got a bad grade on that science test from last week? well, maybe you should consider tutoring from mr. park, who just happens to be holding another tutoring session right now! go on, go on…

jimin is the model student of any and all other model students. thick, square-rimmed glasses of his and pressed button-up dress shirts with his "casual" black slacks. and dress shoes. polished.

okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. jimin just wears t-shirts, jeans, and converse that he's had since his feet stopped growing. with square-rimmed glasses, because he wouldn't be a nerd without them.

jimin is also very quiet. that's not to say that he is exactly shy, he actually quite enjoys talking to his peers, it's just that he's not normally one to voice his opinion or raise his hand during class like most other nerds in the school. nobody really knows anything about him except for the fact that his parents are filthy stinkin' rich and that he's "smarter than albert einstein."

but there's another, more mysterious side to jimin that only shows itself once in a lifetime: he's gay. really, really, full-blown, i'd-wear-a-rainbow-on-my-head-if-i-could, gay. only the most observant of people could pick up on this, but based on the results, nobody in his school is even a little bit observant. nobody cares enough about him to want to know anything other than the answers to the homework that they didn't do. not that he's complaining, needless to say he's relieved that nobody has the slightest clue.

at least, that's what he thought, until jeon jungkook—a jock, and a total bastard—happens to use the bathroom at the worst possible time.

because jimin has two fingers up his ass, in the stall directly adjacent to jungkook's—his undeniable crush of a year and three quarters—jimin is fingering himself, and the thought that maybe jungkook isn't deaf didn't even occur to him until he let out the most strangled, high-pitched moan of the session. time suddenly freezes and jimin wants to die.

"is this some sort of joke?" jungkook calls out, and jimin is still shamelessly pumping his fingers. his feet are situated on the lid of the toilet seat and his knees are hugged tight against his chest. his pants are dangling from the coat hook on the door. he's admittedly done this enough times to know that if he's gonna risk doing this at school, he has to take precautions.

he gasps quietly. holds his breath, pauses his movements. continues after a reassuring silence.

"who the fuck—" jungkook taps on the stall and jimin has the audacity to make even the smallest sound, so he quickly shoves the sleeve of his sweater in his mouth to muffle anything else bound to escape—but now jungkook is standing on the toilet and peering over the edge of the stall, stalker-like as he is.

they make eye contact. jimin flushes red. he's still pushing inside of himself, searching for the spot, but jeon jungkook is watching, and jimin can barely breathe. jungkook's eyes go wider than jimin's ever seen eyes go, and his face pales at the sight.

jimin loses his balance on the seat. his foot falls into the toilet, his head bangs against the opposite of the stall, and the sudden movement makes his fingers go deep enough to press ever so sweetly against his prostate, which makes him unwind all over his face and the ground and his pants that hang from the door of the stall and jungkook is just watching it all happen like he gets a kick out of watching gay nerds orgasm.

it goes without saying that jungkook is confused, if not a little turned on by this new discovery. everybody knows good and well that the worst thing jimin has ever said and probably will ever say is "crap," so sue jungkook when he's trying so desperately to put the pieces together and figure out why he just saw the most innocent human being in the world anally fucking himself in the bathroom. it's not something he gets to see everyday, for sure (at least, not from a nerd). he decides he doesn't want to stress the idea of those same fingers doing other types of dirty work that would be beneficial to jungkook and specifically his dick (because he's learned from past experiences that it has a mind of its own and the last thing he needs right now is a boner when he gets back to class).

jungkook steps off of the toilet and takes a moment to regain himself. everybody masturbates, he thinks. i masturbate. my brother masturbates. park jimin masturbates. jungkook feels a churn in his stomach but ignores it because now he's pushing past the door of the bathroom and heading back to class.

jimin follows suit with a sopping wet foot and mysterious liquid coating his eyelashes and cheekbones. his tie is crooked, and his fly is unzipped. he's a mess—a walking disaster. a walking disaster that needs to explain himself.

apparently jimin does that by grabbing people by the back of the collar and shoving them against lockers threateningly.

"i can explain," he chokes out in a small voice.

"and how are you gonna do that? i saw what i saw, we both know that you can't possibly turn whatever that business was into an accident," jungkook insists with a smirk.

jimin reddens. with hesitation, he tacks on, "can't blame a guy for trying."

"of course." the taller man's eyes darken and the whole atmosphere gets uncomfortable for jimin and he can't quite breathe, maybe he should take off his sweater—

"can you let go of me now?"

jimin's small eyes flounder helplessly as he quickly realizes that he's just cornered jeon fucking jungkook against a locker. he let's go of the boy. the number on the locker reads 176; kim taehyung's locker. jimin would know. taehyung is his ex-best friend.

and taehyung is jungkook's current and relatively new fling. not that jimin gives a shit. jimin doesn't care. not at all.

"thanks," jungkook abruptly spits. he holds his hand in the air and curled at the side of his head like you've probably seen most drunkards in movies do with his other hand tucked away into the pocket of his black ripped jeans. the fingers of his free hand dangle around and eventually flick the end of jimin stubby excuse of a nose. jungkook walks away with a shimmering smirk. jimin says nothing and instead turns around and walks back to class.

[jiminsalad-ff]

would you write anything with sesoo? btw, really enjoyed your chanbaek fics :)

sorry, i dont think i would. but thank you so much omg!

[jiminsalad-ff]

im so productive all of the sudden whoops

[jiminsalad-ff]

of beaches and porta-potties ; hoseok

Rated: PG (bad words)

Summary: oneshot in which you get stuck in a porta-potty and get rescued by a hot stranger

Apparently, the beach was a real stress-reliever. Or so you'd been told. Really, who said that? The beach was the opposite of "stress-relieving". The beach was sand stuck in your toes and saltwater in your eyes. The beach was volleyballs hitting you in the back of your head and your hair getting tangled as fuck because what is up with the wind at the beach?

Yet, there you were. At the beach. With your friends, Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi. You sighed, because there were so many things you could've been doing rather than collecting seashells with your inner seven-year-old and your idiot friends.

"Hey, hey, hey, is that a flip flop in the sand?" Jimin stuttered, dropping his jar of seashells to dig around. "Oh my god, Tae! Come help me dig this out. It's stuck."

"It's pink! Maybe it's a girl's? Oh my god, this is really stuck." Taehyung squealed, immediately joining Jimin in the sand. You turned towards Yoongi, shaking your head because why are they so childish.

"I can't stand this," Yoongi moaned, turning away to sit back down on his fold-up chair.

Before going to the beach, you'd gone out with the boys for lunch because that was the original plan, but Taehyung suggested that "Since you're new to the neighborhood," (you'd just moved recently), "you should come to the beach and watch the sunset!" Of course you'd be there for hours because it was lunch time and he was talking about the sunset.

It had only been twenty minutes and you couldn't stand another minute of the beach.

"I'm going to the bathroom," You called out, in hopes that you could at least get a five minute break.

"Serves you right for drinking three Cokes," Yoongi snorted, turning back to his phone to text Jin. You rolled your eyes and began to walk towards the only available restrooms: porta-potties. Porta-fucking-potties. As if the beach couldn't get any worse.

Of course, there was a line. There were four porta-potties, but one of them looked too dangerously brown, and the other was "out of order". They looked just like any old porta-potties, except they were probably a little bit farther down the oldness scale.

When it finally became your turn to use the porta potty, you went inside, locked the door, and got your phone out to text your other idiot friend, Jungkook.

help im at the bitch

You sent it and immediately realized the typo, but you were too busy laughing at the fact your phone assumed you meant "bitch" to realize that he texted back.

Haha. Is she nice, this "bitch"?

Your face flushed red. You were just about to correct yourself. How could he not realize you meant "beach"? How could he have possibly interpreted your message that way? Did he think you were in the middle of screwing someone? Is that what Jungkook thinks about in his free time?

im at the bEACH

I know what you meant, I was making a joke.

sure you were i have sand in my clothes

You know, some things just don't need to be said. This is one of those things.

hahaha. dumbass how is namjoon doing?

Good, I guess. We're at Taco Bell right now.

but i thought he never eats taco bell? he said it makes him look fat but i don't believe that bc if i was a guy he would be #bodygoals

Right. But he seems really out of it today.

omfg why?? maybe he's sexually frustrated

Um ew? I don't think so, he's got a girlfriend.

fine but i still can't believe he wants to spend the day with you

You're a beach. I have to go, he's eating all of my food.

lmao have fun

You put your phone away and sighed. The porta-potty smelled like shit. Holding your breath didn't work, so you deemed that the adult thing to do was to man up and face the beach. However, you started to panic when you tried to open the door and it wouldn't budge. At first you thought, maybe I still have the door locked? but quickly realized that the door was very stuck with no chance of opening easily anytime soon. Should I ask the person on the other side for help?

"Uhm," You started, shifting your weight awkwardly, "is there somebody on the other side of this porta-potty that wouldn't mind helping me open this door because it's not opening. I think it's stuck." You mentally patted yourself on the back for not stuttering or busting into tears mid-sentence. This is so embarrassing.

"Yes, hi!" A voice sounded after some inaudible chatter. You smiled, because finally, someone decided to help me.

"Hi. Are you willing to help me open this door?" You asked. Silence ensued for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I'll help you."

"Good. I'm going to push the door, can you, like, pull it at the same time until it opens?" You asked.

"Probably. Go ahead and start pushing. If we can't get it open then I can find someone else to help."

"Oh! If it comes down to that, I came here with some of my friends. Their names are Jimin, Yoongi, and Taehyung. You can probably find them digging in the sand somewhere near the east side of the beach."

"Will do. But for now, you need to try to get this door open," They say.

"Okay." You placed your hands on the door and began to push, feeling the embarrassment return because how in the hell does someone manage to get stuck in a portable bathroom?

You heard a loud crack and immediately afterwards caught yourself stumbling out of the bathroom and directly into the strangers chest.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry—" You looked up, suffice to say that you really, honest-to-god thought that this person was a woman. "—sir?"

"Sir?" He smirked, helping you up to your feet. "I've been called many things but 'sir' is not on that list of things."

"I'm so, so, so sorry for the trouble. Really. I can't believe that you had to help me out of a bathroom," You whined, bowing at a remarkable ninety degree angle for a full five seconds.

"Hey, don't be sorry. It's not your fault that these bathrooms are so shitty," He smiled, reaching out his hand for a handshake. "Jung Hoseok."

"Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N," You shook his hand. "You saved my life. I could've died in there."

"Right, I saved your life. Is that a good enough excuse to get your number?"

[jiminsalad-ff]

wine ; chanbaek

Rated: PG-13 (mentions of alcohol)

Summary: oneshot in which baekhyun likes wine too much

Baekhyun stood on Chanyeol's toes as they swayed on the kitchen floor, old enough to drink but apparently not old enough to dance like adults. Music played on the small stereo in the corner of the room and rose petals were scattered all across the house. According to Chanyeol, they were meant to be laid out in some form of a trail that lead directly to the bedroom. That idea was trashed, however, when he realized just how equally trashed Baekhyun was. So they settled on dancing—which was more shuffling awkwardly in a circle rather than normal dancing, but it got the job done.

"You sure you don't want to take a break?" Chanyeol pecked his boyfriend's forehead. "My feet hurt and you look pretty tired, I think we should—"

"No," Baekhyun spat, diving his nose into the collar of Chanyeol's shirt. His dainty fingers gripped at the cloth like his life depended on it. Chanyeol swore he'd never forget how the boy's hair was always slightly tousled when he got home from work. He thought it looked best untouched. His hand slowly trailed up from the boy's waist to wrap around the nape of his neck, gently massaging the tense muscles with his thumb.

"Alright," Chanyeol finally whispered. They shuffled around the floor for a while longer before Baekhyun started nodding off with the occasional slight gasp.

"You're tired, Baek, let's go to bed," Chanyeol whispered into his ear. a couple moments passed while Baekhyun startled longingly at his boyfriend. "Okay," he acknowledged. He stepped off of the latter's feet and began to stumble towards their shared bedroom. Somehow, they managed to get into the bed safely with no bruises or bones broken.

The soft music from the radio seeped through the walls as they had forgotten to turn it off. Chanyeol snaked his arm around Baekhyun and pulled him closer into his embrace. He pressed his nose against his back and breathed in. Since the day Baekhyun moved in, Chanyeol's always relished in the scent of his boyfriend's strawberry shampoo and the faint scent of Chardonnay that seemed to linger around the house prominently.

Baekhyun liked wine, especially on the weekends. Albeit alcohol was never good for his health—or anybody's, for that matter—he loved the way it made his fingers and toes go sort of numb, along with the extra tender loving from his boyfriend because Baek, you're drunk and you should probably put down that glass of wine before I drink it for you.

Chanyeol whispered out the boy's name with a light squeeze as his way of saying Goodnight Baekhyun, I love you and I'll be here when you wake up because I know you tend to have nightmares sometimes, especially when it's almost midnight and the lights are off. It's alright, it happens to the best of us. Please know that I'm always here in case you come home from work having left your phone because you know I probably noticed it before you even left the house. I know you love me and you know I love you, too.

[jiminsalad-ff]

im such a terrible author forgive me

[jiminsalad-ff]

i love how i said a couple minutes but it turned out to be more like a couple hours

[jiminsalad-ff]

poker face ; baekhyun

Rated: M (kinda smutty but it doesn’t really go all the way lmao)

Summary: fanfic in which baekhyun plays poker really attractively.

    Attending casinos every Friday night wasn't a common practice for you. At least, not until late last October.

    You quietly stirred your drink with your straw, eyeing the ice cubes harshly for no particular reason. Different genres of music played on the radio in the back of the casino, and only a few people were left sober enough to maintain their consciousness. One was playing pool with another, while a few silently played a classic game of Slapjack. A woman around your age sat on the far left stool of the bar, swigging her beer bottle until it emptied. She added it to the growing pile of 3 sad, brown bottles.

    It was nice and quiet, just how you liked it. Loud music and PDA wasn't exactly your style, not since high school.

    All was good until he walked in.

    You nearly jumped out of your seat, immediately knocking your drink over (thank God it was empty). The moment he walked in, his eyes locked onto yours. He shuffled his way over and scraped his nails across the ledge of the bar.

    "Fancy seeing you here," he chuckled hoarsely. The forbidden scent of smoke clung to his leather jacket. You scoffed, shifting in your seat so that you weren't so close to him.

    "What the hell do you want?"

    "A drink, really," he sat down and patted down his try-hard sideburns, which were too horribly uneven for your taste. "We should talk."

    "There's not much left to talk about," you scowled. There was nothing you hated more than seeing—or being seen with—your ex-boyfriend in public, what with his misplaced brown hair and bloodshot eyes. Albeit, he had a nice build. But that was beside the point.

    "Oh, babe, there's so much left to talk about. Let's start with this, something easy; why did you take custody of the dog and not me? Or maybe—"

    "Okay, for starters, do not call me your babe," you hissed, "And I took the dog because I have legal custody of the dog," you slammed your sweaty palms down, knocking whatever was left of the drink you bought into the floor. You grabbed your purse and shoved a couple bucks onto the counter. "Keep the change," you said to the bartender as you left without another word.

The next Friday rolled by fast enough, and you were met with a similar setting. Sitting at the same bar stool alone with a drink in your hand and a few other uninteresting people. Eventually a young woman took a seat next to you and drunkenly poured out her heart and soul to you because of her recent divorce. It was really not your business, but she was drunk, so you asked her more questions to keep your brain occupied with something other than that damned man.

    It was oddly comforting. She was getting over a divorce, you were getting over a mere breakup. You had made a mental note a while back to not cry over breakups. Ever. No matter the circumstances. To you, it was a sign of weakness. Tears were to be shed only if somebody died, or worse. So you haven't cried in... years. You'd quite forgotten what it felt like to be this woman you saw at the bar. A weakling.

    Nevertheless, you kept the woman company since she obviously didn't have the same mindset as you. She kept mumbling things to herself, as drunks always did. She fell into your lap and you patted her head, shushing her, as she was attracting unwanted attention with her obnoxious wailing into your thigh.

    You quickly glanced up and your eyes met with big, brown ones. They were a male's eyes, for sure. He had some strange shape of a smile, and he was playing poker with other men that looked aged around their mid-twenties. But you didn't care about them. No, you were interested in Mr. Rectangle Smile.

    You lifted what felt like a ton out of your lap and headed towards the table of men. Most didn't notice you at first, and you thought that was a bit strange. Call it biased, but when the brunette shot you a certainly rectangular smile, your heart fluttered in ways you never thought imaginable.

    "Can I count on joining the next game?" you whispered, pulling up a metal chair from the corresponding table. The man nodded and you grinned, watching the game play out. Most of the men weren't bad at keeping their faces expressionless. The perfect poker face award went to the only man with single eyelids, which you found odd. You'd say, at first glance, he was going to win until the person next to him took the pile of money with a loud, exaggerated cackle.

    "Next game. You joining?" somebody asked. You nodded. He smirked and dealt the cards. You've been sort of obsessed with poker since you were in middle school; there was no doubt you were an expert. Your intentions were to beat these people to bloody pulps and take all of their money (which most likely wouldn't have happened whether you were the best poker player in the world, because you weren't exactly one to beat people to bloody pulps).

   A good ol' game of Texas Hold'em poker ensued, tensions rising continuously for the next few minutes before you took a whopping eighteen dollars from the table. You were so proud (you really didn't have any idea what a proper win was at this point).

    Several more games passed, and eventually everybody had around eighty to ninety of the one hundred dollars required to put in. But you—you had around one hundred sixty dollars in your pockets.

    The poker session ended there with handshakes and head bobs and whatnot. You were... relieved. Your poker skills payed off. Pride radiated off of you like you were the fucking sun. It was contagious. Many congratulated you on your win, and some just shot dirty glances at you because you were a female who took 60+ freaking dollars off of a table full of hardcore male poker players.

    You were making your way out of the casino when you felt a firm hand grasp your shoulder. Shocked, you turned to see a very tall man with red hair and big 'Yoda ears'. He cleared his throat. "Um, my friend wanted to talk to you so he sent me to get you." He chuckled awkwardly. "So this is me. Getting you for him."

    "Where's your friend?" You sighed after a moment, loosening your grip on your purse. He pointed inside the casino at none other than Mr. I'm-just-gonna-steal-your-heart-for-a-minute, who was collecting and shuffling a deck of cards. You smiled and nodded at the man. Your feet shuffled across the carpeted floor.

    "Excuse me?" You cleared your throat. He looked up at you, probably expecting somebody else judging by the look on his face. But after the realization, he smiled his infamous rectangle of a smile.

    "Hi," he chuckled. "We haven't officially met. My name's Byun Baekhyun." You responded with your name and a polite handshake. After a minute of silence, you sat down. Baekhyun dropped the cards and stared at you.

    "Chanyeol sent you, didn't he?" He asked. You stifled a laugh. "Is Chanyeol the one with the red hair and the elf ears?"

    "Yes, that'd be Chanyeol. Who, by the way, never keeps two things: secrets and his stupid mouth shut," he spat. "I don't really remember because I was probably very drunk at the time, but I think you were here last Friday night with some extremely cocky bastard. I do, however, remember thinking later on that night how 'I should have beaten his sorry ass into the ground' and all things alike."

    "Yeah, that's my ex. Don't get me wrong, he really does need somebody to beat his sorry ass into the ground. It'd do me some good for sure. I can't stand talking to him, it makes me want to pull out my hair until I'm completely bald," you vented. Baekhyun just nodded and set the cards aside. "Remind me to thank Chanyeol later."

    "What for?" You chuckled, grabbing the cards and shuffling them yourself to pass time.

    "For getting you to talk to me. I've actually been meaning to start some sort of conversation with you, but I never know what to talk about these days. I suppose that might be because I never really have time to talk to anybody except for those jerk-wads." He pointed at the group of boys all hitting on the same whore-ish bartender.

    "Then I guess it's only right for me to thank him as well." You glanced over, and at that moment your eyes met with the large brown ones in front of you. Those eyes, you thought, were somewhat boring, but in the most interesting and contradictory way.

    The door shut with a barely audible click, followed by articles of clothing falling onto the floor. Your lips were latched onto Baekhyun's like a leech, only ever letting go to breathe. He fell onto the couch with you on top, throwing off his glasses (which probably weren't even prescribed, but they looked good on him nonetheless).

   His hands glided over your back and yours over his bare chest. His body was a masterpiece—absolute, utter perfection. His lightly toned skin shone in the perfect lighting, not to mention those godly hands of his. It was enough to make you moan and groan his name; it was always on the tip of your tongue, anyways.

    "Do you have any recommendations for positions this time around? Any kinks you wanna try out? I'm always open to new ideas," He nibbled at your ear, slipping off your bra in the process.

    "Nothing in particular, except," you leaned in, "I wanna ride you so bad."

    His ears perked up at your answer, as did his throbbing erection. "I'm sure we could work something out," he rasped into your ear. A large grin crept onto your lips. He hissed through his clenched teeth. You were teasing him by dipping your hands into his trousers, only to slide them back out, which scored several menacing and all-around not friendly glares from the man. You later figured it was time to stop doing that before he lost his temper and went all Fifty Shades of Grey on you or something of the sort.

    "You better start doing something before I pin you down to finger-fuck you. Move," he whined, although that sounded like a good deal to you. But you kept your promise and tugged his jeans down to his ankles. He kicked them into the floor.

    "I'll jerk you off while you do whatever it is you're gonna do to me. We might not have enough time to go all the way tonight because I just remembered Chanyeol said he might get home a little early today," Baekhyun exhaled loudly. You pouted, glancing at the bedroom as if to tell him to get his ass in there and lock the door. And that's just what he did.

    "Baekhyun," you moaned breathily. He rubbed his index finger against your pretty slit. He massaged it the way you taught him to do it when you first came over; slow and nice, not too fast or rough.

    You were in the infamous 69 position. He was on the bottom doing glorious things to your needy self, and you were on the top expertly stroking his dick. Your cute moans made his cock impossibly harder.

    "I'm already so fucking close, and we've barely even started," he half chuckled, tightening his grip on your hips. He added another finger to your hot heat, pumping the two at the most agreeable pace. You gasped, accidentally squeaking out an embarrassing moan. But you continued to stroke him, dipping your finger into the slit and spreading any juices that came out across his long shaft.

    "Hey, what do you think about anal?" He ran his hands across your milky thighs.

    "Do you wanna do that? 'Cause I can move—"

    "No, no, if you're comfortable like this then we can save that for another time."

    "Well, now we have to do it since you brought it up and made me feel all guilty about it!"

    After arguing about if for another several minutes, the mood died and you both ended up in front of the TV with buttered popcorn and knitted blankets.

    "I'm sorry," you apologized. Your head fell onto his shoulder just for good measure. He couldn't help but grin.

    "You know, we don't have to have sex at all, anal or not. Sometimes just a movie is good, too."

    "But I haven't had any kind of sex in so long, so I was kinda hoping you would relieve some of my sexual frustration?" That sounded more like a question than a statement to you, but to Baekhyun it sounded like a challenge.

    "Well...," he dragged out a sigh, "First and foremost, it's safe to say that we can't do it tonight and that you should probably be leaving sometime soon unless you wanna meet all 8 of my roommates at once. Other than that, I'd be glad—more than glad, actually—to relieve your sexual frustration." He managed a smile.

    You were silent for a moment. "You have 8 roommates?"

    "That's besides the point."

    "Not anymore, it's not," you gazed up at him. "What are their names?"

    "Christ, you—" Baekhyun was in the midst of changing the channel when the front door slammed open and in came his dreaded 8 roommates. Of fucking course, Baekhyun thought.

   The mens' snickers and laughs simultaneously died down as soon as they caught wind of the unidentified presence in the room. You stood there like a deer in headlights and figured it was time to introduce yourself.

    After giving your name very awkwardly and unwillingly, you shook a few familiar hands and told everyone it was nice to meet them, followed by something along the lines of, "Oh no, would you look at the time! I think I should be heading home right about now. Traffic's a bitch at this time of night, you know?" So you scurried away from the crime scene and drove all the way home.

    There was no traffic.

    A long marathon of your favorite reality TV show and tissue boxes strayed here and there across your apartment; this is what your weekend consisted of. Maybe the occasional text message from your mother saying "Love you sweetie!!! XOXO 😘 Have a FANTASTIC day!! And remember, God is ALWAYS watching!" Or something along those lines. You tried not to think much of it.

    But as of right now, you were on the phone with your best friend since high school, Jimin. Although he was definitely male, he was about as straight as a wooden circle. So was his boyfriend. But you were still his #bf5everlol and nothing was going to change that. He was a decent friend, and that's all that really mattered.

    "So what's happening with you these days?" He started.

    "First of all, what the hell are you eating that's so loud in my ear right now?" You hissed, tossing your pencil across your desk in frustration. Homework was catching up to you, fast.

    "Hot Cheetos. Sorry."

    "It's fine," you hissed. It wasn't fine.

    "So are you gonna tell me or no?" he asked. At the same time you heard a door slam on his end of the call.

    "Well, there's this guy that I met at a bar a couple weeks ago..."

    "Score for team you! Is he hot? Wait no, Jungkook is sitting right next to me so don't tell me, but is he hot to you?" You heard his boyfriend scoff and a few loud, prominent giggles come from your friend.

    "Yeah, I guess, but the thing is I got caught at his house by his eight roommates all at the same time and it was so fucking awkward," you buried your face into your hoodie (which wasn't really your hoodie, it was Baekhyun's).

    "Oh boy, you weren't doing anything bad were you?" Jimin lowered his voice like he was scared somebody would hear him, even though it was just you two, and maybe Jungkook, if he was still there.

    "I mean, we were, but we stopped before anything really happened. We have gone all the way a few times before, though." Homework, in your opinion, was stupid, so you resorted to sitting on your bed instead of doing whatever was supposed to be due on Monday.

    "Ooh! Scandalous! Why did you stop, though?"

    "Please refrain from interviewing me on my sex life, you dick. I wanna hear about what's going on with you. It's been a while since we last talked, you know."

    "Okay, well, I've been trying to convince Kookie to quit his job because he hates it so much, but he won't because he's scared we'll get lost in this endless pit of debt. I think that's a load of shit, because my job pays pretty well, and he's good at getting what he wants, but I feel like if he wants to keep working that damned job then so be it, right?"

    "Right. Also, I heard that you're engaged now? Like, what the hell? Why didn't you tell me you piece of shit!"

   "Ohmygosh, who did you hear it from?" he squealed. "Jungkook! Who did you tell? I thought I told you not to say anything about it until I said it was okay!" He dropped the phone and in the midst of all the giggling on his part, the call ended.

    Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe standing in front of Baekhyun's house at three in the morning was a really bad idea. You had your phone in your hand and you were going to text him or call him or somehow tell him to answer the fucking door, and you were going to somehow attempt to get in his pants because the reason you were on his doorstep in the first place was because you were really, extremely horny.

   You had already typed the message. Now it was just a matter of pressing send. Several thoughts roamed around in your head, and you thought, "Well, maybe I should call him instead," but you figured that was a bad idea because what if one of his roommates answered instead? What then? Would you say, "Oh, I'm just standing outside your house trying not to piss all over myself thinking about your roomie, Baekhyun. Isn't he just amazing?"

   Alas, it was too late. Somehow, your finger accidentally hit send whilst you were lost in your train of thought. Suddenly you wanted to pass out. Or die. You just wished you weren't standing right where you were and you wished, for some reason, that you didn't even know Baekhyun because you swore you just saw something moving in the window.

   You read over the message for the tenth time in not even thirty seconds just to be sure that you had completely ruined your life and that there was no turning back now.

    Hey, Baekhyun. I just wanted to let you know that, yes, it's 3:00 in the morning and I'm standing outside your house getting really hot and bothered thinking about you because that's how much of a fucking idiot I am. It's really cold. Please let me in or talk to me or something.

    "What a dumbass move to do," you kept telling yourself. "I'm such a fucking dumbass, holy fuck."

   You turned around to head to your car, figuring it was a lost cause since it's been around five minutes and still no answer. Plus, it was three-ish in the morning and it was already mid-November. Did you really expect him to answer the door? No. Of course not. With a sigh, you climbed in the car and banged your head against the steering wheel. "I'm such a fucking idiot. A dumb, horny idiot who has no sense of time whatsoever."

   And that's when you heard it. Your name, ringing throughout your ears. Was it screaming? No, it sounded like it was coming from nearby. It wasn't screaming, for sure. Just muffled noises. Of your name...? You looked around, trying to find the source of the sound and that's when you locked eyes with the one and only Byun Baekhyun, face all flustered and red and pounding on your passenger door. You hesitantly rolled down the window and stared at him, eyes wide.

    "I got your text," he panted. "You weren't kidding when you said it was cold. My ass is freezing."

    "Get in the car, Baekhyun," you clicked your tongue. He raised an eyebrow and opened the door to sit in the passenger seat.

   "Nice car," he sighed. Staring aimlessly at your shoes to avoid eye contact with the man beside you seemed like the best thing to do at this point.

    "So..." he started. "Backseat?"

   "Yep." You climbed into the backseat with him and began to strip out of your clothes. "The backseat windows are tinted so don't worry about people seeing you naked."

    "Great," he smirked.

   This definitely was awkward. But hey, at least now you can say that you fucked in the backseat of your car with your lover-but-not and somehow managed to squirt literally everywhere. And with that 'squirt' came a little bit of your heart and soul.

    "I'm so sorry," you whined. Baekhyun handed you more towels.

    "It's not your fault."

   "Well, whose fault is it, then? Not yours, because I don't remember seeing you blow your fucking load all over the windows and the seats and—"

    "Relax. We're getting it cleaned up aren't we?"

   "Not really..." This was just the cherry on top of your worst sexual encounter ever. "It's sticking to the walls and it's literally drying into the seats."

    "I said relax," he dropped the towels and patted your back. "At least you didn't piss everywhere."

    "Whatever."

   "Baekhyun, we should go play poker one of these days. You know, kinda like in memory of meeting each other or something," you giggled into your pillow.

    "No, not 'in memory of', because nothing died," he squeezed your waist from behind and gently blew on your ear.

    "Except for my car," you connected hands with your boyfriend and stayed there for a while.

    "May it rest in peace."

[jiminsalad-ff]

i'll be posting the new oneshot in a few minutes!! hooray for productivity

[jiminsalad-ff]

i'm such a bad author forgive me

[jiminsalad-ff]

okay so im working on something called poker face and its a baekhyun x reader fanfic sMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT and im so excited oml its probably gonna be hella long though so hold onto your asses mkay