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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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banner designer @jamaisjoons | many thanks to @joonsrack for her translations and @jooneggs for beta reading

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be ! Voting is closed! Thank you for participating!

DAY SIX

You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds.

Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return.

Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.

You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.

Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways.

Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere.

“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.

The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”

“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”

The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo?

“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”

Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic.

“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again.

His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”

Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”

“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.

“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”

“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”

You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.”

Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval.

“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him.

Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”

You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head.

Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal.

His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”

“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside.

“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.

“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”

You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.

“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”

You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.

“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”

Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-

Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle.

It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would.

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”

You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more.

Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”

You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.

From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”

You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible.

Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-

You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?

He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do.

You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.

“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.”

You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you.

“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”

You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms.

He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”

You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”

When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”

Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt.

Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”

Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more.

You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”

Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”

Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”

Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”

You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in.

Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”

Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction.

“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”

A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go.

Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it.

Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather.

Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction.

“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”

His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.

You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-

“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.

“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”

You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”

You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice.

Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-

The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”

You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”

Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned.

“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile.

“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”

Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”

Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”

He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.”

His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?”

And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.

---

When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes.

You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments.

You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”

“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”

“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”

You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen.

Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.

He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi.

You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air.

“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”

His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”

Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”

Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”

“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth.

Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”

“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”

Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.

“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”

You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”

“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit? The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes.

“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”

Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”

Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence.

You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now.

Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”

Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”

Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”

Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice.

“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”

You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.

Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot.

Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”

“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”

Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?”

“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”

Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him.

Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch.

Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.

You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.

Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes.

Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face.

Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine.

“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”

Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.”

Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.

In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.

Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength.

Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.

“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core.

As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing.

Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”

“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”

“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth.

“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan.

Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”

Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”

You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”

His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”

You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.

“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”

You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations.

You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”

You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”

He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”

Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”

“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.

Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?”

Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement.

Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation.

He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.

You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.

Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity.

“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.

His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.

You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.

Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.

When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.

He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."

You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.

"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."

No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.

He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."

You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.

One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.

Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.

"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.

"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.

When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.

"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."

You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.

He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"

You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.

You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.

"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."

You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.

"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.

You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.

Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.

"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.

It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.

He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.

"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.

Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.

"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."

It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.

After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.

"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."

You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.

Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.

You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.

"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.

Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.

"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."

"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.

"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."

You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.

So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"

Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."

Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"

You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.

Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.

"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.

"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."

"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.

Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.

FAN FAVOURITE

TAGLIST

Okay real talk doing 5 ppl per comment takes fucking AGES so imma just try 45 since last time 50 didn’t work.

@agustdpeach @tinysweetscrown @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @saikokirastuff @kim-ji-woo-hoo

@starryskyslove @taemetiger @wildly-lost-lantern @mini-coop25 @bbbrats

@crafty-babe @megahwn @sope-and-shine @kuppyjiminie @igot7-penta-seo

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The rest will be in the comments!

Unable to tag @risefallrise @btsphdotcom @kitty-queen-13 @stardust-and-ashes@crazykpopaddict @positivelyjada @paradisetaemin @awixxx @litty-dumb @passionate-love-57911 @sweeneyblue1 @carrooooooooo @purplepearl07

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Lost & Found

Criminal Minds

Word Count: ~740

Warnings: Whuuuuump. PTSD, dissociation, flashbacks to some not-so-nice things that have (canonically) happened to Spencer.

A/N: I watched Revelations again recently, and then I watched 300 again last night, and something about Spencer’s zonked-out dead-eyed stare in the latter gave me feelings. Add that to a comment I made recently about needing more post-prison insight into Reid’s recovery, and... ta-da!

Rough and dirty and unedited, more a drabble than actual fic, but hey, I wrote.

“You’ve been tested since we last saw you.”

Spencer’s wrists are zip tied to the chair. He’s having trouble feeling anything else. He’s having trouble feeling anything.

For a moment he’s back in a Mexican jail, skin buzzing, eyes closed to slits to shut out the stabbing light, head full of white noise, being led out by his cuffed wrists...

“Locked away with those you’ve been chasing,” Merva says slowly. Merva is watching him. The other inmates are staring as he sets his tray down. They know. They all know what he did.

His wrists are tied.

How many times has he been here? Hands bound, stiff uncomfortable chair, bruises throbbing, heart pounding, trapped. Powerless.

“You come out of that different.”

Different?

Trapped. He’s trapped again. That always feels the same.

The walls of the cell are closing in, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

Spencer is aware that he’s dissociating. He can see Merva clearly, right in front of him. He’s perfectly aware of the reality of the situation.

But he’s been here so many times. He’s seeing the present and the memories, all at once, and he’s Spencer but he’s all the people he used to be, too.

Yeah. He’s different.

Maeve is watching. She has tears in her eyes and she’s watching and it’s all Spencer can do to keep up the lie. Diane’s gun is so close to his temple.

He’s powerless.

Trapped.

Merva’s still talking. Spencer hears a very different voice: “Confess. Confess your sins.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he said, once, in another life. It was true, back then.

Spencer is glad he can’t feel much; makes it easier to keep his expression blank. He’s learned that lesson. If he shows his fear, they’ll only hurt him worse. The circling sharks will smell the blood.

There’s been so much blood.

Spencer has sinned.

He remembers the sick wet sound of Malcolm coughing, Luis choking, blood gurgling in his lungs, the heat of it flowing steadily over Spencer’s hands. He can still feel the phantom pain of the shiv in his leg, the slice it opened up across his forearm, the fierce satisfaction he felt as blood seeped through his shirt and ran between his fingers.

There’s blood running down his arm from the bullet, barely a graze, a shallow meaningless pain compared to whatever rips open inside him at the next gunshot. Maeve’s blood is still warm on the floor when he kneels next to her. The dirt is cold in the graveyard. Another gunshot. More blood. Flashlights in the distance. Glassy staring eyes. Do you think I’ll get to see my mom again?

Spencer has sinned.

He’s almost glad when he feels the hand in his hair and the knife at his throat. It’s cold and sharp and immediate, and it brings him back to the moment, back to reality, back to his body.

“Tell me, what did you feel?”

“Peace.”

It’s almost true. It’s true enough that it’s not really a lie, but it would be more accurate to say nothing. He feels cold and numb and distant.

His perception is strange and fractured, like a double exposure, one memory on top of another. He knows this is a natural reaction to trauma. Dissociation. Perfectly normal. Doesn’t make it any easier to hold onto the present.

The other Spencers, the people he used to be, they were so scared. What happened to that person who looked up at Hankel and begged for his life?

He lost pieces of himself, between then and now. Spencer’s said goodbye to so many pieces of himself. He’s said goodbye to so many people that he loved, and so many people that he used to be.

Different wasn’t the right word, maybe. He’s less. Parts of him are gone, nothing but scar tissue to show where they were carved out of him. If he keeps losing pieces of himself, there won’t be anything left.

Spencer’s wrists are zip tied to the chair. He’s trapped. He’s powerless.

What will he lose this time?

“This was just a test,” Merva tells him.

“You’ll never see it coming.”

“Confess your sins.”

I don’t love you, he told Maeve.

He lied. Lying is a sin.

He should’ve told everyone. He should’ve said it more often. He doesn’t want to die without making sure they know.

He remembers what Emily said, on the plane back from Mexico: “We won’t lose you.” It sounded a lot like “We love you.”

Spencer closes his eyes, and hopes that they find him in time.

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid fic

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captainkurosolaire · 4 years

Text

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed /glimmer/ that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

(Previous) — References — ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

#Pirate #The First #Wheels were meant to turn #Don't just leave the closet #Break that b@tch down #The most rewarding discovery of all treasures #Resides from the labyrinth of yourself.#Once you find you.#All the rest follows #'True Free'#The Road to HoE #Seeker of the Sun #Miqo'te #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #creative writing

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amarabliss · 4 years

Text

Oath and Hearts - 14 (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Rain…

It trickled down your face as you watched the Chocobos pull each heavily decorated funeral cart. You shivered looking down to your hands. You looked up when you felt a warm coat fall onto your shoulders. Nyx smiled at you, “It’s almost done.”

You smiled at him pulling the Glaive coat around you tightly, “What about you?”

He shrugged a little, “I’ll manage. I can’t let you get sick. Specs would hang me for sure.”

“What about getting reprimanded for not being uniform?” You glanced at him as another cart passed by carrying caskets dressed in Glaive and Crownsguard insignias.

“Funny thing…when you save the city…they promote you.” He smirked a little, “Only person who can dress me down is myself and the king…Noctis doesn’t seem like one who is tight on protocol.”

You chuckled to yourself nodding a little, “You’re not wrong…”

“Rarely am.” He smirked more and laughed when you nudged him in the side with your elbow.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” You looked at him finally before looking at the final cart moving past them, “And not on one of those.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He put his arm around you, “Might lose a limb or two…but you’re not going to lose me.”

“Does it hurt?” You glanced at his left side where his arm use to hang.

“A little phantom pain here and there…and a burning sensation from time to time…” He sighed as you both took your place behind the carts walking in the rain along with the rest of those that lost someone, “A price worth paying…”

Warmth spread through you when you walked into the citadel. Still broken in places but structurally a masterpiece that can be restored. Nyx stood by your side helping your through the crowd as people consoled one another.

“There he is…” Nyx smiled as you pointed across the way, “I’m surprised he didn’t come see you first.”

“He has a duty to his king.” You smiled as you saw Ignis speaking with Gladio and Prompto. They seemed eager to push him away and even pointed back at you. Ignis turned and smiled at you.

“No no no…that’s too easy…” A dark voice spoke behind you, “No happy endings here…”

You turned seeing Ardyn walking toward you, “…no…”

“Yes. Let’s try again…shall we?” Ardyn grabbed your neck squeezing it tightly. You gasped trying to get air as you clawed at his hand that lifted you from the ground, “Thank you for all the details this time…you must be getting tired…This next go around I think we’ll play more on hidden desires…”

“What’s happening?” Cor watched the heart monitor go crazy as Dr. Reed rushed over. You were seizing shaking in the bed.

“I don’t know! Get back, we need to work.” Dr. Reed ordered as help moved in, “Where is Scientia? He may need to make some decisions.”

“I’ll find him, but no matter what you need to protect that child!” Cor barked at him as nurses ran inside, “Do you understand?”

Reed waved him out of the room as he began ordering for sedative to be administered. Across the city Ignis was frantically running upstairs trying to reach his apartment with Prompto.

“Why are we here?” The blonde asked huffing and puffing behind him.

“I need a book.” Ignis shoved the fourth-floor door open running down the hall to his apartment. He had the greatest sense of surrealism one could have as he opened the door.

Everything was exactly as he left it. Being on the northeast end of the city had been a blessing as most of the attack was near the center and west quarters. He didn’t waste any time to dwell on that fact and rushed to his bookshelf.

“Aw man…whew…” Prompto leaned against the door, “What…what book is so important it’s going to help Y/N?”

“It’s a book about her…” Ignis began pulling out thick journals quickly opening them and then discarding them to the floor.

“Her? I don’t follow…” Prompto leaned forward putting his hands on his knees, “I’m…I’m gonna…sit…”

Ignis glanced back at him briefly sitting on the ground as he pulled out another one, “You’re aware that I interviewed her for a time when she first came…”

“Uh…kinda…I was wrapped up with exams…” Prompto scratched his head thinking back, “Had a lot of training with the guard too…”

“Well I did…” He let another book fall, “I had asked her about how she got here…her response was the Fade.”

“The place she said before zonking out. Where is it?” Prompto was beginning to focus in now.

“That’s hard to explain…” Ignis scanned the book in his hands finding what he needed, “She explained that is was a space between worlds or realities…”

“I don’t follow.” Ignis leaned forward picking up his coffee taking a sip.

You stood up walking toward the window of his office thinking to yourself. Finally, you turned back to him, “Look at the window.”

“Alright.” He adjusted in his seat watching you.

You turned back around looking at the window, “We’re here…and you can clear see the world outside, which can be anywhere else…your city, my home…. The fade is everything in the glass.”

He looked at the glass seeing your reflection as you continued on, “It’s this strange place that is exactly like here, but different. It’s a place you can experience your greatest desire and your deepest fear all at once. You can’t trust anything you see, but you want to so badly.”

“I follow that…but how is it you passed through there to here. Just like the window it’s a barrier from one world to the other” You looked down at your hand as he spoke.

“I was given a mark by chance.” You held up your hand to him showing what looked like a strange dark burn, “It allowed me to open and close rips in the veil. It gave me a link or something…you’re not supposed to go to Fade physically, you’re only supposed to let your mind go there.”

“Why can’t you go physically? You obviously have…” He began writing down some notes glancing up at you as looked down to your hand tracing the pattern.

“Going there…it’s a nightmare. In a dream your mind allows you to rationalize things. When given the impossible…” You started to say.

“Your mind fills in the blanks.” He finished for you, “So when your mind goes there it looks more real?”

“Yes, actually. Accounts say you’ll have a hard time distinguishing it from reality. We can lose a lot of mages to the Fade if they aren’t prepared enough.” You crossed your arms looking back at the window, “But physically…you only see parts of reality…if you were to actually be part of the glass do you think it would look this clear?”

“No, of course not.” He tilted his head, “It’s made of several different particles and substances…”

“So, you would see that…and the chair you sit in…the table would be encrusted with glass fragments. Your coffee would look full, but it would be all solid.” You frowned looking back to him, “The monster you saw that day in the courtyard comes from there. Demons of all varieties, all strong enough to take over the strongest minds and feed off of them until you become part of the Fade.”

“We have something similar here…It’s more like a sickness for us though derived from a substance called Miasma. It’s why at night and dark situations deamons show themselves…Miasma can’t flourish in the light. I wonder if it’s related to your Fade.” He thought absently before writing something down again as you turned to the window, “Tell me, do you think you could find a way back into the Fade?”

“Why?” Your head snapped back to him worry lines creasing your face.

He looked at you as your tone shifted, “I don’t intend to go there…it’s sounds like an unfit place to be. I simply wanted to know if there was a way, and if you were looking for it.”

You stayed silent for a long time before stepping back over to your seat, “There’s always a way. It’s…in a way a substance that pierces through the world. Back home…the barrier, we call it a veil, has thinned so much it’s easy to accidently fall into the Fade by making camp in the wrong spot. It’s not the same here, so I’m not sure what it would look like.”

“How so?” He watched you grip the back of the chair tightly.

You looked at him trying to find the words, “I can’t really explain it…back home it looked like…like a shimmer. It’s a wave, but not…I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He smiled at you thinking back to your arrival, “I think I saw what you meant your first day here. It was like a green wave of light…”

“If you walked toward a dense part…you’d more than likely slip into it somehow, but I haven’t seen or felt it here…I certainly don’t glow anymore…” You told him quietly looking back to your hand, “It’s like your veil is whole. I’m sure we could find a weak point, but I wouldn’t want to subject your people to the risks of opening the Fade up. It’s kind of a relief actually…”

“I understand, I wouldn’t mind hearing more about it someday.” He smiled at you trying to set you back at ease.

“She’s in the Fade.” He pointed to the open page, “She must have found a thin part of the veil in the city somewhere, probably caused by all the magical energy used during the attack.”

“Okay…that explains what is happening to her, but how do we pull her out.” Cor looked at him not liking the look on Ignis’ face.

“I need to go back where she fell in…and I need to go after her.” Ignis told everyone.

“Out of the question.” Cor shook his head.

“I’m not asking you…any of you.” Ignis looked at his friends who insisted on being part of the explanation, “Noctis has already released me for the time being. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

Noctis shifted on his feet glancing over to Cor, “I did…but Iggy…”

“I can’t let her stay there…I love her and she’s the mother of my child.” Ignis shook his head speaking firmly, “I’m not going to lose her to something as trivial as a dream that I can pull her out of.”

“Sounds a lot worse than just a dream, Ignis.” Gladio sighed as he crossed his arms, “More like a potential nightmare.”

“All the more reason I need to get her out. The longer she stays the harder it is for her to break away from it.” Ignis told him, “And the more likely it becomes real and affects her out here.”

Cor took in a deep breath looking at him, “It already has…”

“What do you mean?” Ignis looked at him eyes filling with worry, “What happened?”

“The only thing the doctor came up with was she felt like she was drowning or suffocating…” Cor told him, “It was brief…but enough to be troubling.”

Ignis looked at them all before nodding, “I’m not going to waste any more time…I’m going to get her home.”

You took in a deep breath as your eyes slowly began to open. You hadn’t felt so comfortable in a long time. An arm slithered around your waist making your smile, “I thought you would have been up hours ago.”

You turned freezing for a moment at the face you saw. Nyx smiled lazily at you, “Me? Really?”

“Wha…” You moved away from him, “Nyx…”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” He sat up as you moved off the bed away from worry filling his eyes, “Baby…”

You stared at him as your chest rose up and down as you shut your eyes, “I don’t…something isn’t…”

“Y/N…what is it?” He moved to the edge of the bed reaching for your hands.

“Don’t!” You slapped his hands away opening your eyes looking at him, “I-I…Nyx….”

“It’s okay.” He raised his hands calm coming over his features. He reached out to you holding his arms open, “Baby, it’s okay…”

You started to shake as tears filled your eyes, “Nyx…I…”

He stood up moving to you wrapping his arms around you tightly, “It’s okay…the doc said this might happen for a while. You hit your head really hard.”

“I don’t…I don’t remember…” You shook your head as you hugged him feeling cold as you did, “Why can’t I remember?”

“Shh…” He rubbed your back in soothing motions as he spoke, “It’s okay, we got this. Things will start coming back slowly. Just…just take a breath and tell me what you remember?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose letting it out through your mouth before you spoke, “I…don’t…”

“Let me help.” He pulled away looking at your face, “You were on the way to the citadel to meet…”

“…Ignis…” You nodded a little shutting your eyes, “we had a meeting. I took a cab…”

“Yeah, you did.” Nyx smile showed in his voice, “What happened next?”

“We didn’t stop and…” You looked at him as he touched your face sending shivers down your spine, “and…there was a truck…”

“Yeah.” He nodded before resting his forehead against yours, “Thank the Six for airbags…it could have been a lot worse if you had been flung from the car.”

“It rolled over.” He nodded again frowning as your head came to rest on his chest, “Why didn’t I…”

“Like I said…” Nyx took your hands in his kissing them, “you hit your head…”

You stared into his eyes and nodded. There was this strange sensation buzzing in the back of your head as he kissed your forehead, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, babe.” He looked over to the clock on the bedside table, “I do have to go though…”

“Fine…” You frowned a little as he squeezed your hands.

“I can stay…” He looked at you worried, “I’ll tell them, they’ll understand.”

“No, you need to go work. The king needs you.” You told him taking your hands back, “Go.”

“Sweet Shiva…” You heard him say as he turned away. It made your skin crawl. Every syllable sounding wrong in your ears, “you’re too understanding.”

You watched him freeze before turning to you again, a smirk coming to his face, “I said something wrong, didn’t I? Damn…I thought for sure this would be the one. Handsome gentleman…potential for you to screw it all up by having an affair…death destruction fighting…”

“What is this…” You started to back up slowly away from him.

“Haven’t you pieced it together yet, Inquisitor?” His eyes blackened as ooze began to drip from them, “You brought me here…and I’ve met so many friends who’ve taught me how this place works.”

“Ardyn…” You hissed as you ran toward the door.

“We have a winner!” He shouted after you, “Using this form is so much fun…You did love him didn’t you, almost as much as that retainer.”

You grabbed the handle and it disintegrated in your hand. Panic started to fill you when you turned around. A monster in Nyx’s body strode toward you, “You make it too easy girl!”

You shut your eyes awaiting whatever was about to happen, when a deep burly voice sang out, “Not this time!”

“Who are you?” You opened your eyes seeing Ardyn in his true form holding off some sort of energy attack.

“Never you mind.” The voice was familiar as it spoke with cocky confidence, “It’s time for you to go.”

The light faded for a brief second letting you see a silhouette wielding a staff summoning for another string of bright energy attacks. Ardyn cried out in pain before shimmering away. Your eyes adjusted slowly at the approaching person.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” They asked as you sank to the floor the façade around you began to fade away with each of his steps, “Y/N?”

“H-Hawke?” You grabbed onto his arms feeling how warm he felt. This is what a person was supposed to feel like, “It’s really you?”

He smirked a little despite looking tired and ragged, “Who else would it be?”

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philipvcgel · 4 years

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[ PHILIP VOGEL. 29. MALE. HE/HIM ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 2 MONTHS ] and are originally from [ NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK ]. They are a [ GENERAL CONTRACTOR AT VOGEL CONSTRUCTION AND RENOVATIONS ] and in their downtime love [ MAKING POOR CHOICES ] and [ DISAPPOINTING HIS FAMILY ]. They look a lot like [ YOUNG J.DEPP ] and live [ ON REDCLIFF ST ]. (ooc: alex, 23, they/them, est)

BIO BREAKDOWN

TW - mentions of substance abuse

[ 1990 - 2010 ]

Born in New York City, New York – On the Upper East side, to be exact – to a Veterinarian father, and a fairly successful Real Estate Agent for a mother.

So with that, you could say that these new parents already had some serious hopes and dreams for their new baby boy.

If only someone had broken the news to them earlier… Their son really wasn’t going to be anything special.

And it was unfortunate, really, because they saw Philip as their miracle baby. They had tried countless times to no avail, until him.

With the amount of privilege and opportunity that was already in place for this kid, they probably envisioned him winning the God damn Noble Peace Prize.

Though nothing was alarming in the beginning; Philip was fine as a child, he acted like any other kid would. Spoiled at points, lashed out when he didn’t get his way, and was mostly shy around anyone that wasn’t his parents.

That all changed when time went on and the years flew past him—especially when he was about to leave middle school. That was the true focal point of when his real personality began to sprout.

High school was the time where things fell into place, so to say. It was a time of new beginnings—everything from a first kiss, to cigarette, hook up, and first dip into the world of substances.

The crowd Philip found himself in was that of a popular variety—a little rough around the edges, but given the type of school he was in, that’s what was trendy.

During his teen years, Philip was growing to be more and more careless; doing as he pleased, when he pleased.

Parties became more frequent, and the use of hard drugs and heavy drinking was something he had to keep up with to stay on top.

And honestly, he began to love it– crave it. The rush; his vices had him hooked.

Philip’s parents felt like they barely recognized their child, and prayed that he would snap out of all of this bullshit. But that wasn’t going to be the case. Senior year was around the corner, and he was already on a downward spiral; his future wasn’t looking too bright.

In fact, Senior year really was when shit started to hit the fan. There were two instances which really fucked him up (mentioned in headcanons), and after that, he had to get out. He couldn’t live with her parents anymore, and there really was only one person he could turn to that would understand; his Uncle Daniel.

Philip’s Uncle was a solid dude– he was practically like a second father to the kid. They shared a few similarities when it came to having a rough time in life. Being an ex-addict himself, Daniel saw this as an opportunity to help shake his nephew back into reality.

Dan knew this wasn’t going to be an easy battle. Hell– the man himself still had the occasional slip up. But maybe overtime, his life lessons would end up rubbing off on him?

And that’s officially when Philip moved in with his Uncle; 19 years old, and being thrown into the family’s Construction business; forcing him to take some fucking responsibility for once.

[ 2010 - 2017 ]

From then on Philip’s road to reality was a constant struggle, an endless cycle of trial and error. Certain methods had to be changed; there were always adjustments being made to try and help him out.

The growing responsibility of work was able to distract him for a while, but it never fully went away. He’d constantly hide his addictive habits from his Uncle, continuously using the tactic of paying someone else to take his sober tests.

Philip ended up crafting this perfect routine; even on his worst slip-ups, he’d show up to work looking sober, and fucking push through it. Then when he got back home, he’d lock the door and zonk out until the following morning.

[ 2018 - PRESENT ]

Over the last few years his journey had still been going in and out of progression, though it was sort of leaning more on improvement. Philip couldn’t confidently say that he was sober; but for him, it was sober enough.

In late 2018 there had been plans of opening up another location for Vogel Construction and Renovation. Some big spenders in California had become fairly invested in the work that they were doing in New York, and wanted to bring their ideas and talent to a new state.

There were some finite things that had to be solidified, which caused the opening process to last a little bit longer than they had wanted; but nonetheless, the second location was becoming official.

Daniel was still planning on primarily over-seeing the New York location; that was his home, he couldn’t just up and leave. Philip, on the other hand, barely had any standing attachments and was just itching to start over. Too many memories were connected with NYC that he would rather forget.

They had taken a few trips over, following the growth of their new location and finalizing Philip’s new set up. It was only until a few months ago that everything was ready, and young Vogel was able to officially move to California.

He was bumped up to the title of Contractor, and Daniel hoped that this new transition would light a fire under his nephew’s ass. Maybe some more responsibility would force Philip to grow up; Dan had faith.

HEADCANONS TW - mentions of violence, & death

The two main fuck-ups in high school were as follows: 1) There was a bit of a violent altercation between him and another guy, which would of ended a lot worse if he wasn’t stopped. It all was thanks to his on-again, off-again girlfriend at the time– let’s just say she had a history of cheating on him. 2) Philip was known for being the go-to-guy if you needed a little pick-me-up. And during a high school party, there was one dude that was constantly coming up to him. Philip wasn’t really paying attention to who was asking him for stuff, and unfortunately that led to one individual overdosing.

The rollercoaster journey of his recovery is only due to the fact that – deep down – Philip doesn’t really want to change. His addictive personality just craves to feel the constant rush of what his chosen vices do to him. When he’s under the influence, he feels like he’s on top of the world; even if in reality, he’s really not.

Keeping with the trend of Philip being completely hypocritical, his unfaithfulness stems from his toxic past relationships. He constantly has issues with commitment and being truthful (and doesn’t seem to mind), but once the same is done to him, it’s like the end of the world. Hence the fact that hook-ups are his go-to resource; even then, he still can become jealous.

Always having been interested in the alternative seen, Philip found himself – even at a younger age – hanging around in bars and night clubs, and really investing himself into the music world. If things had worked out a little better for him, maybe he would have tried going that route, but a band was never formed. He does know how to play the guitar fairly fucking well, and can even get by on playing the bass.

Jude Nolan was actually one of Philip’s best friends while he was living in New York; it just so happened to be an added bonus when Jude brought up Silver Lake to him. Philip definitely suggested the area to his Uncle after doing some research about the area, and Daniel felt a bit more lenient knowing that Jude would be close by.

#slintro #(pvabout)#// my trash boi ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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ratleaderr · 4 years

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@tennoutoften sent: ‘ i have tea. will that help you sleep? ’

HE JOLTS IN HIS CHAIR, sharply taking in a breath as he sits back and the world around him comes back into focus; it may of took a few hard blinks but he finally made out tenn at the opposite of his desk -- looking startled at his sudden motion to sit up. did he fall asleep? a quick survey of his desk painted the picture perfectly, the neat line he had been sketching for re-enforcement of the corridor leading into the now overrun playground, it starts off so clean but the red pencil swerves off course... that was when he zonked. more of their school was lost, it had been shrinking over the years and it being on actual school ground made him uncomfortable, this was their home and the world was every so slowly claiming it. fingers smooth over sleepy-dust crusted eyes and the floor boards squeak as he pushes his chair back and stands up, looking over at the little samaritan who looked to help ease his restless mind, and then the chipped mug of tea in his hands. the corner of his mouth lifts in a grateful smile and he walks around his desk, his hand reaches out to smooth over his hair. ❝ – thanks for the tea, little man. ❞ he accepts it, and places it on the corner of his desk, hands now perching themselves on his hips a she looks over the plans he had made... his brain nitpicks the series of drawings and he can feel an annoyance rise up at the reality that he may just have to sketch it all again after his black out.

❝ – but i doubt i’ll be getting much sleep tonight... ❞

* sleep starters

#( ask. )#tennoutoften #( bless tenN )

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whoisleft-rp · 4 years

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS TO KATHERINE //

// FOR EARNING THE ROLE OF GERARD DUBOIS

Please send your blog to the main within 24 hours, familiarize yourself with the FAQ, and check the blogroll for who to follow and tags to track. Your accepted application will be posted in full on our members-only application archive. Your faceclaim has been been accepted, and updated graphics will be provided tomorrow! We are so excited to have you!

Fast Facts:

The fact that his smile comes easily and he carries the air of someone who is recklessly optimistic lowkey buries the fact that Gerard is actually very self-critical. Never mind if anyone else is expecting greatness from him — he expects greatness from himself. He’s constantly analyzing whether or not he’s doing his very best, if he’s doing the absolute most.

Gerard’s morality has always been in broad strokes. He has no patience for the intricacies (or, as he calls it, excuses) that come in argument about making the world a better place. ‘Muhmuhmuh, but it’s going to inconvenience my way of life and destabilize the government and also maybe I might get hurt trying to help’ — so what? Do it anyways!

Gerard’s best quality is kindness. His body may be made of hard lines and harder bulk, but his eyes and heart are soft. People love to mistake his quiet disposition for brooding, but in reality he’s just constantly trying to figure out the best words to say. Sure, he often needs to take a recharge nap after spending time with others, but that’s because he spends his social energy giving and giving and giving.

There’s a quiet arrogance in Gerard that isn’t immediately apparent to anyone other than those who care for his well-being. It manifests in the durable way he carries himself, in the way he doesn’t flinch at the idea of putting his life on the line.

Rumors:

The Good —”Scottish weather a bit too nippy for your liking? Head over to the Three Broomsticks for a nice warm butterbeer and a nice hot security guard!” Madam Puddifoot might be bitter about most of her teenage clientele now preferring to go over to the other establishment… if she wasn’t such a newly frequent visitor herself. And did you hear? If you pretend that you’re too zonked to make it back to the castle, he just might carry you there and quietly lecture you about ‘knowing your limits’ in that sultry French accent himself!

The Bad — The new Broomsticks bouncer’s a little paranoid. Like, okay, sure, his previous profession before was literally making sure things were as secure as possible, but sometimes it feels like he takes things pretty far? Late calls at the pub have seen him fortifying its walls with all sorts of enchantments before closing up. Curious eyes can never figure out where he actually lives, because he always takes different routes back home. And good luck trying to eavesdrop on him and his sister. Eddie Firkenstlow once saw the Dubois siblings discussing something together in French, but as soon as one of the Black sisters came in (known for being fluent in the language as well) they instantly switched to Arabic without so much as a blink — midsentence.

The False (Possibly? Who knows, nobody can get a straight answer out of them!) — The Dubois siblings moved from France because they were disowned by their parents. The Dubois siblings are actually on the run from the French Ministry because Gerard stole fifteen thousand galleons from the Banque de Durand. The Dubois siblings are spies sent to make sure the war stays more or less contained in Britain. Nobody really knows why two fairly prominent French wizards decided to quit their prestigious jobs and quite literally sail to London — and if you ask, you’ll just end up more confused.

#accepted #gerard dubois

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years

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Walkers (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin / Jungkook

Creative Content Contributors: @baebae-goodnight it’s ya girl, and she’s back with another moodboard that perfectly captures the vibe of the fic.

Rating: PG-13 (strong concepts, dark concepts)

Word Count: 6,281

Genre: Fantasy / Sci-Fi; dystopian!AU, magic!AU

Description: There are some beings in the world who can walk in both this one and the next. They exist on two planes – one, the concrete land of buildings and people; the other, a shadowy landscape of dreams and blurred reality. Everyone thought they disappeared though, everyone thought they were gone. You thought this as well, until you began having the dreams.

Chapter Two: The Seer

With a noise like a zap, or a zonk, you burst out in a field.

Stumbling at the resurgence of gravity, you gasp out loud –

– only for Jimin to appear beside you, still tightly holding your hand.

Where he existed previous to now, you haven’t the faintest idea. His hand is grasped warmly in yours – it feels as though it always has been. You would have felt the weight of any disturbance and yet, you blink, disoriented by his appearance. It feels as though the entire universe has reshuffled or, perhaps your particles have reshuffled the world.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasps, letting go of you to drop his hands to his knees. His chest rises and falls with each breath; his forehead is rosy, dotted with sweat.

The removal of his hand is alienating and so, you stuff both of yours in your pockets – as though to hide all physical evidence of your loneliness.

This is when you realize, the world around you is purple.

Strange, varied hues of it – every shade and depth of the color imaginable. Your mouth gapes and you blink several times, as though to rid yourself of the visage. Each time that you do though, the scenery remains. Or – you can’t seem to grasp any empirical evidence otherwise, which means this must be the truth. Things without evidence are often lies. Turning around in a slow circle, your brain balks at the rejection of everything you once believed.

“Welcome to Lilac.”

With a start, Jimin’s voice reminds you that you are not alone on this planet. Glancing to him, you find Jimin has pushed himself upright; one arm of his leans lackadaisically against a tree – the trunk of which is the palest shade of lavender, in contrast to grape-colored leaves.

“I – what?” you gasp, a strangled sound.

No part of ‘Welcome to Lilac’ illuminates your situation – one second, you were in Jimin’s house and now, well, you have no idea. Taking a shaky step forward, you spread your hands in the air. Wriggling them experimentally, they seem to obey every order.

This all seems real, you must say. It’s just, you’ve never dreamt of such a beautiful world before. Only nightmares.

The sky above you is the color of night. Dark ink, swirled with onyx and in the middle are stamped two bright-colored suns. Overly so, they burn dusk-red on the horizon, illuminating the cavernous field that you stand in.

There are two suns in the sky, not one.

“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper, unable to look away.

Pushing himself off of the tree, Jimin comes closer. “I know – it is a lot to take in, the first time that you travel. I remember back when I – hey! Whoa!” he yelps, when you fly suddenly towards him and begin to pummel his chest with your fists.

“Where the,” you gasp, punching Jimin as hard as you can in the side, “fuck,” another punch, this one to his elbow, “are we?”

The words are hissed between breath, intent upon beating the shit out of him – until you glance up and realize Jimin is no longer there. Jimin waves at you, off to the side and you frown in confusion, when you realize you have been punching at nothing.

Both your hands fall limp. “I – what just happened?”

Jimin laughs at your expression – actually laughs – which makes you think perhaps you were wrong, earlier. Maybe you are dreaming, because several hours prior, you thought the surly Walker not capable of such an emotion. But then a breeze wafts past you, carrying with it the faint tang of citrus and you wonder what kind of dreams are able to produce smell. Well, the scent is probably not citrus, you reason; just something like it. There’s no guarantee this world even has food; not in the human sense of the word.

Shivering, you realize this is the truth of things. This is another world. You are standing on another world, another planet and somehow, Jimin brought you here. Grass tickling your ankles, you take an uncertain step forward. The color of the grass is mauve, another strange shade and you bend, brushing fingertips over the top. It might be your imagination, but the wind seems to whisper in turn.

“What is this place?” you murmurs; this time, the question is asked in a much different tone.

Glancing up, you find Jimin already looking at you. “Lilac,” he repeats – though this, too, he says in a new way. “At least,” he frowns, “that’s what I call it. Not a very creative name, I know but there’s no word in our language. Or, if there is – it’s long been lost to our kind. I found Lilac by accident,” Jimin confesses, looking up at the suns. The wind whips his hair, stirring it into a frenzy. “We’ll be safe here, at least for a little while.”

Slowly, you stand, marveling when the bones in your body remain silent. The past few weeks, you have been barely able to sleep. Dark circles exist under your eyes, your joints creak hazily and each motion produces aches – but no longer.

“Jimin,” you start to say – then stop, considering the enormity of what you wish to ask. There are a billion questions to think of, but none presents itself as most important. “How did you get over there?”

Jimin pauses, before reappearing before you. “Magic,” he answers. Upon seeing your expression, he laughs and adds, “Perhaps you should sit down, while I explain.”

The suggestion seems arbitrary, since you are already halfway to lowering yourself to the ground. This is an odd fact about humans: significant news is often best-received from a seated position. The strange, mauve grass parts when you sit and from here, touching the ground, you look upwards at Jimin.

He settles before you as well, dark hair blown haphazardly over his features. It is odd, the wind of this planet. It doesn’t seem to come from any one direction, or even move in a discernable pattern. It plays with Jimin’s hair as one would with a friend – it touches yours curiously, as though in exploration. Frowning, you shove strands behind your ears in response.

Jimin seems more at ease – no, scratch that, he seems just more and perhaps this is the first time you believe what he says. Jimin is a Walker. He can travel between worlds and if that is true – perhaps what he said about you is true, as well.

Twining a blade of grass with his finger, Jimin frowns while considering where to begin. “I suppose it makes the most sense, starting with the concept of Blocks.”

“Blocks?” You find yourself unfamiliar with the word and, being a person unaccustomed to ignorance, you frown. It is not so much the word in itself, but rather the way Jimin says it – shaped by his lips, as an indication of magic.

He nods, still twirling the blade in his hand. “Magic exists, Y/N.” Jimin pauses, allowing this to sink in.

Rather than be shocked, as he clearly expected, you simply raise both your eyebrows. “That seems a bit obvious,” you say, “given we’re currently sitting on purple grass on another planet, right now.”

Jimin’s face twitches, as though wanting to laugh before he thinks better. “Okay, but it’s more than just traveling between worlds, Y/N. Magic,” he states, lifting a hand – the blade of grass spins, flying overhead in response, “exists everywhere. Magic is an infinite supply of energy that anyone can use, given they have the right capabilities.”

Mouth ajar, you follow the purple grass towards the sky. “And you have the right capabilities?” you manage to ask, although clearly, he does.

Jimin nods, focused on the spinning object above. “So do you, I imagine.”

With a frown, you tear your gaze away from the blade. Squinting at the planet, you try – and fail – to move a leaf with your mind. Perhaps this is because you have no idea what you’re doing. It is as though someone has handed you a blank sheet of paper and told you to draw, but gave no utensil. Or, perhaps they handed over the pencil as well – but still, you have no idea whether to use the tip or the eraser.

Scrunching your eyes, you stare intently at a puce-colored flower.

Jimin chuckles, letting the grass drop to the ground. “It takes practice,” he assures, dusting his hands off on his pants. “For you, right now, there’s a tsunami of information pouring in through a door. It’s too much and you don’t have the time to digest it – which leads to the worst kind of sensory overload. With time, you’ll be able to separate out the strands.”

“Alright,” you sigh, giving up on the pretense that you can do magic for now. “It’s like you’re trying to confuse me. What the fuck are the strands?”

Jimin huffs, a tiny movement of his lips. “Right – strands of magic. Strands of energy, binding together the universe. Everything of consequence is made up of particles – some people can just see them better, that’s all. Some people,” he adds, a slight gleam to his eyes, “can use them.”

A strange kind of excitement unfurls in your stomach. “So,” you respond, returning to looking at the flower, “this is what you do, when you travel between worlds?”

“What we do,” Jimin corrects, arching a brow. “But yes, that’s it. We bend the strands, we move them together into a more efficient fashion.”

“Right.” Pursing your lips, you are sure your face remains dubious. “And what you did earlier, with the grass – that was a different kind of magic, than traveling?”

“Walking,” Jimin corrects, lowering both hands to the dirt. “Although, I guess we sometimes do call it traveling. And yes, in a way. But back to the concept of Blocks,” he says, even though he didn’t explain this the first time. “A Block is a magical entity, of sorts. They are magical entities which exist to cancel out other magic.”

“Cancel out... magic?”

Jimin nods, a knowing look on his face.

In response to this, you scowl, since you have always felt arrogance to be an unbearable character trait. On Jimin, though, it does not seem unattractive, which is an insufferable contradiction.

“What do you mean by, ‘cancel out’?” you prod. “How can one magic diminish another?”

Jimin looks up at the sky. “How does anything work, in any world?” he murmurs, though the question doesn’t seem directed at you. Leaning back on his hands, he sighs. “A Block can be anything – an object, a person, a building. The Earth is a Block,” he offers, looking your way.

You still. In the distance, beyond, wine-colored mountains blend into the sky. It paints a rather lovely portrait.

“The Earth, as a planet, is a giant Block for magic. It’s why we can’t do these kinds of things there,” he explains as, with a wave of his hand, Jimin sets the grass spinning. “Only certain magics work, certain patterns of of energy exist on the Earth. It’s party why the Normals won against us in the war, so many years ago.”

Staring at him dizzily, you wonder when you moved so easily from they to us. For so long, you listened to history lessons about how you won the war. A war where you, the Normals, drove out the dangerous Walkers and regained the planet Earth as your own. Now, you realize you are a part of them. You are the beings so easily stamped out and suddenly, your origin story doesn’t sound so appealing.

Dragging a hand through your hair, you turn to look at the suns.

Odd, how similar this place is to Earth. Except for the purple, of course – but apart from that, it could be a twin. One would think that, given an infinite combination of particles in the universe, molecules would not deign to order themselves the same way. With a noise almost like a chuckle, the breeze stirs in your hair.

Clearing his throat, Jimin returns your attention to him. “Only some magic is possible on Earth,” he affirms. “Walkers travel to other worlds. Seers can do this, and bring items back with them. But on some worlds,” he shrugs, throwing out both arms. Leaves and grass swirl up, between fingers. “We can do more.”

Sunlight pierces the leaves, suspended in midair before you. Staring, you wonder at the change in the air – and in Jimin, seated before you. When you met him on Earth, he was a dim, fading thing. Here, there is something wild and alive in his gaze. Jimin takes a deep breath, exhaling this slow through his nostrils.

“Not every world is like Lilac,” Jimin cautions, keeping both eyes closed. “There are bad places in the universe, Y/N; evil places. They work harder to pull others in, which is why you keep accidentally going to them in your dreams. Worlds like Lilac, these are harder to find.”

Nodding, you lift both hands from the grass – and realize, with shock, the blades cling to your skin. A beacon of energy, Jimin said about you in his attic.

With a sigh, Jimin reaches out, swiping these into the dirt. “I should’ve realized,” he murmurs, brushing the curve of your wrist. More grass tumbles to the ground, but you are not looking at this – you are looking at him. “Even in a mostly dead world, a Seer is dangerous.”

You shiver, this time not from him. You shiver from the idea that just by being here, you are calling things to you – the notion is a frightening one, to say the least, so you push it aside. A mostly dead world, Jimin said. You don’t want to consider what this mostly part means.

Leaning back on your palms, you stare up at the sky. Above are a million, tiny pricks of light. Eerily similar to home and yet, not. You stare, keeping your eyes open for as long as you can and there – in the single, fleeting moment before everything blurs – you think there is a pulse to the rhythm, a stark weaving of energy.

“What is a Seer?” you whisper, when you blink. The energy disappears, leaving you wanting. “I know what you said earlier,” you hasten, noting the change in Jimin’s expression. “I’m a gateway of sorts, between worlds – but what does that mean, really?”

Jimin sighs. “It means not only can you rearrange your own energy – you can rearrange someone else’s. And that is rare.”

“I guess,” you mutter, with a shrug. Truthfully, this does not seem so special. “I don’t see how that’s important, though. Why is it so valuable – why would things seek me out, when I travel?”

Jimin stares at you in amazement. “Are you serious – okay,” he exhales, scooting closer. Grabbing one of your hands, he holds it high overhead. “Let’s call this the Earth.”

Glancing at your hand, you shrug. “Okay.”

“This,” Jimin grabs your other hand, bringing it far away from the first, “is the neighboring planet, Siphon.”

“Siphon?”

“It was the first word I thought of. Anyways, Siphon,” Jimin continues, wriggling the one hand above you, “wants to attack Earth. But – oh, no! What a large waste of perfectly good resources. What a large sum of time, money and spaceships just to get from one side of the galaxy to the other! Unless,” he counters, raising a brow. “What if we simply kidnap a Seer and use them to – zap! – move an entire army from one world to the next.”

Your blood chills, wincing at the sound it makes when Jimin smushes your hands together. “I,” you exhale, then swallow. “Is that possible?”

Jimin nods, releasing your hands and letting them fall to your sides. “It’s happened before,” he states. “It’s happened often enough that Seers were deemed a threat to humanity, long ago. Many were killed during the War,” Jimin admits, a certain sadness entering his gaze. “Which is why you’re so rare, why I didn’t even know what you were. I’ve never met another Seer.”

Your mind crowds, full of noisy implications you would rather not consider. Your powers must have come from somewhere, they had to. From the way Jimin speaks, it seems as though his are hereditary – the Walkers are a people, the Normals are a people. But, if so, what are you? Neither of your parents exhibited signs of being a Seer or, at least, none you can recall. You are all alone and while yes, that is not exactly a new fact, somehow it seems much more permanent.

Jimin tilts his head. “Seers are dangerous,” he explains. “Especially you, since you’re old for a newbie and don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Hey!” you blurt out, curling your legs into your chest. “Watch who you’re calling old,” you huff. “You can’t be much younger than I am. If you even are.”

“Sorry,” Jimin shrugs, though he doesn’t look it. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was that Walkers learn to control their powers at a young age. The fact that you never did – well,” Jimin hesitates. “It’s no wonder you’re attracting big prey. Something has kept your powers at bay for a long time – it’s the only explanation, as to why you haven’t realized what you are. Now that your powers are free, though…” Jimin shrugs. “Everything is releasing all at once.”

“A tsunami through a door,” you repeat, borrowing Jimin’s phrase from earlier.

Jimin nods, dark hair pushed back by the wind. “Exactly.”

You are quiet for a few minutes, letting this all sink in. The most logical explanation is a Block – a Block, which exists somewhere in your life and hinders your magical abilities. This is too much to think about now, though, especially when you are here, and not back on Earth.

“Are we the only magical beings that exist?” you query, then frown. “Also, how are there even different magical beings, if all energy is the same? You keep on saying you’re a Walker and yet,” you wave a hand at the grass, “you’re clearly more.”

Jimin hums, lowering himself to lie flat on the world. Arranging himself into a more comfortable position, he stares at the sky. “Ah, that’s hard.” Jimin frowns, lacing his hands over his stomach. “I think it can be best explained, in terms of personality. Let’s pretend, for a moment, I’m very skilled in verbal communication.”

“Ha,” you snort.

Delicately, Jimin arches a brow. “I said pretend. Anyways, pretend I’m a great verbal communicator – this doesn’t mean I can’t communicate through a written medium. It just means I’m most skilled when I speak out loud.” Lifting his head from the grass, Jimin stares at you. “I’m good at traveling places. For some reason, on Earth, everything else becomes muted and only my strongest skill remains. It’s an odd sort of Block.”

“Well,” you exhale, settling down in the grass to match his position. “Why don’t you just stay in other worlds, then? If you can do magic elsewhere, why not just stay here?”

Jimin’s expression takes on a cast of pure obviousness. “Because those other worlds aren’t home.”

Nodding, you lower yourself flat, like he is. To some, this might seem like a silly answer but to you, it makes sense.

“Can people levitate things on Earth?” you ask, turning your head on the grass. “If that’s their ‘specialty,’ as you put it?”

Jimin turns his head as well, meeting your gaze. “In theory, I suppose. I haven’t met any.”

There’s a strange cast to his words, darker than previous and you frown. “Jimin, why are you –”

When he sits up, the movement is abrupt, breaking the moment. “I don’t want to talk about my past,” Jimin mutters. “I don’t want to talk about where I live, or why, or how I came to be there.”

There is something hard, finite to his voice. He stares at the mountains and you try not to notice the raw pain to his gaze. The moment seems oddly private, as though you are not meant to see it. His tone does not invite further conversation and, unwilling to push him on this, you don’t try.

“Okay,” you shrug, returning your gaze to the suns.

Jimin settles onto the grass, kicking one ankle over the other. He stares at the stars for so long, you think he might have forgotten you. “Before,” he sighs, sliding back into conversation. “When you were attempting to assault me, and I disappeared – that is magic I can do back on Earth.”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, turning to face him with a scowl.

He smiles, some of his former ease returning. “That’s just me, traveling – or, Walking. It’s my natural specialty and I can do it quite easily.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Frowning, you stare up at the sky. “You get to zip around the universe, you basically have the power of teleportation – and here I am, a giant doorway.”

“Along with a lighthouse, yes.”

Glaring at nothing, you wave a hand overhead. “Do you see how unfair that is?”

A puff of laughter passes Jimin’s lips. “Yeah. Look – you could have other strengths, as well. Like I said, I’ve never actually met a Seer before. You’re the first. Apparently, this means you can travel, too,” Jimin shrugs. “At least, you did earlier, when I brought you to Lilac.”

When he says this, a horrifying image begins to form in your thoughts. “Wait,” you respond, turning your head on the grass. “Are you saying… that before, when we came here... you didn’t know if I could?”

Jimin’s cheeks color. “It, uh, seemed worth the risk.”

For the second time on the planet, you launch yourself forward and begin pummeling him with your fists. Jimin laughs, curling in on himself – only to disappear, reappearing in a bush several feet over.

“Stop doing that,” you huff, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

Jimin is still laughing, clutching his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he protests, tumbling free of the leaves to wipe mirth from his eyes. “I just haven’t ever experienced my powers with someone else before. Turns out, it’s kind of fun.”

Although you’re still pissed at him, your curiosity gets the better of you. “What do you mean by that?” you ask, lowering yourself on the grass.

“Well,” Jimin muses, scooting closer to flop down on his front. “Being a Walker is kind of alienating. The whole ‘travel by yourself’ thing gets old, fast. I’ve never come to Lilac with anyone else before.”

This thought strikes you as incredibly lonely. “No one? Ever?”

Scanning the horizon of lavender lakes and trees, you wonder if the beauty would hold true, were you to only ever see it by yourself. For some reason, the implication is unsettling.

“No one,” he answers.

“What about another Walker?” you query, turning your head.

“Time is a funny thing,” Jimin says and, when you look, he stares straight overhead. “It moves differently in different parts of the universe. The one time I tried visiting a place with another Walker – they arrived five years in the past, I got there seventy-four in the future.”

Eyes widening, you release the breath you were holding. “How?”

“How,” Jimin sighs, loosening a groan and throwing a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, in between body parts. “Lord – Y/N. Do I seem as though the universe has let me in on all of its personal secrets?”

“Kind of, yeah. You have that ‘omniscient, egotistical asshole’ vibe.”

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Ha. Well,” he sighs, from underneath his arm. “I don’t know how it works. Think of it like earlier – when I took your two hands and smushed them together. Time is kind of like that, too.”

“Confusing, and full of crappy metaphors?”

“Sure, but also non-linear,” Jimin points out, finally removing his arm from his face. “Time is amorphous, has no straight lines and when a Walker travels, it is hard to control both space and time in one jump. Except on your planet of birth,” Jimin corrects, thinking it through. “You body reaches for one timeline there, for some reason.”

“Huh.” You can think of no further response – everything about today, or tonight is just one, giant question mark. The rest is just details, until the newness subsides.

“You know, you’re handling this much better than most people would.”

“Am I?” you muse.

Turning, you marvel at the sight of Jimin, bathed in violet twilight.

He nods, profile dipping in and out of shadow. “Most Walkers learn about their abilities at a young age, grow up knowing what they are – even if they have to keep it a secret from society. Anyways, most Walkers reject the concept of magic, the first time that they hear it. You didn’t.”

“Oh. That’s good to know, I guess.”

“Of course, most Walkers are around five or six years old when they learn.”

Without hesitation, you punch Jimin in the arm.

“Hey!” he yelps, though he’s laughing.

“There’s more where that came from,” you inform, folding both hands over your stomach. His laughter quiets and, as the silence stretches between you, uncertainty drifts in and out of your thoughts. “Jimin?”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, both eyes shutting. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“Not if you don’t deserve it,” you huff – but there’s a catch to your voice.

Hearing this, Jimin opens his eyes.

Before you can move, he is before you. In the blink of an eye, Jimin travels closer and you suck in a breath, trying – and failing – to adjust to the nearness of him. This proves to be impossible.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, a subtle tilt to his head.

He’s so near, you almost lose focus. “What now?” you manage to ask, pushing the words into being. Above you, the world is spinning – not literally, although you can’t say that with certainty. “Now that I know what I am – what now?”

Jimin is quiet for a long moment. “I won’t lie to you,” he responds at last, oddly hesitant. “The Earth is not kind, to people like us.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, curling a hand in the grass. There still exist a few inches between you, a fact which seems significant, given how frequently you consider closing that space.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees, his hand moving nearer. “I mean, you saw where I live. Technically, Walkers don’t even exist back in our world. Neither do you,” he reminds.

“Right.” It is a cold reminder, one which prompts your next question. “The dreams, though,” you whisper, still looking at him. “The whole reason I sought you out was because of the dreams. I keep accidentally traveling in my sleep,” you explain, fingers tightening on mauve. “And until I know how to stop it – aren’t I in danger of bringing something back?”

Jimin doesn’t move. “Yes,” he breathes, barely audible.

“Okay.” With a half-laugh, you tear your gaze quickly away. “At least you’re honest.”

Unprompted, his hand finds yours in the damp, purple grass. “I’ll teach you,” Jimin implores, oddly earnest. You look at him. The weight of his gaze feels alien – there exists a spark within it, one you have never experienced before.

There are only a few people you’ve encountered who contain such fire. Your ex-boyfriend was one of them, before time and secrets dampened that flame. Your mother was another, although she died too soon for you to fully comprehend. This, feels like more than both.

His touch burns. “Sorry,” Jimin winces, pulling back – but you stop him. “I know my body runs hotter than normal. I mean it,” he implores, “when I say that I’ll help you. Traveling in your dreams is fairly normal for a new Walker. I can help you with that.”

“It’s normal?” you respond, lifting a brow. “It’s normal, to call giant monsters to me in my sleep?”

“Okay, maybe that’s unique.” Jimin’s lips quirk. “But still, it’s just sleep-Walking. You’re astral-projecting into other worlds, which is much less intense.”

“Uh,” you blink, understanding about seventy percent of what he just said. “Come again?”

“Oh, right.” Jimin rubs at his forehead – he still hasn’t let go of your hand with the other. “When you sleep, your body is unresponsive but your mind is awake. All your defenses are lowered and when you’re new, oftentimes you travel. But,” he hastens, seeing your expression, “because your body is asleep – only your mind disappears. That’s what I meant, when I Walked in your dreams earlier and told you I was real, but you were not.”

Despite yourself, you shudder. “That somehow sounds worse.”

Jimin nods, thumb tracing over your wrist. “Don’t worry, your soul is made of tougher stuff than you think. It is not as easily – well, physically – harmed. Still, it’s probably best if you stop sleep-Walking altogether.”

“Oh, you think?” Though the response is sarcastic, you don’t move away. “Thanks,” you whisper, closing your eyes – it has not escaped your notice that Jimin does not have to do any this. You are still, by all accounts, a stranger, despite the trauma you share.

“Anytime,” he responds.

When Jimin withdraws his hand, it feels as though the world has, once again, rearranged. Opening your eyes, you push yourself into a seated position. “What’s wrong?” you ask, when he stands.

Stretching both arms, Jimin arches a brow. “We should be getting back,” he explains, holding out a hand to help you up. “Like I said, timing in other places is strange. How long do you think we’ve been here?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You pause, opening your mouth but find yourself stumped. The light around you hasn’t changed. The shadows on the ground are no longer, no less – nothing has moved in the sky, no constellations have shifted from view.

“A few hours?”

Jimin shrugs. “I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine,” he states – cheerfully, as though he didn’t just admit you could be twenty years in the future. “I suppose we’ll find out, once we get back to Earth.”

This is a horrifying statement, though some of your worry is alleviated when Jimin slips his hand into yours.

Only for a moment though, because then you remember the chaotic world you exited. Jimin’s attic, the booming voice at the door, the forced entrance of someone and their climb up the stairs. You still haven’t asked Jimin who that was but, based on his reaction to them, you assume no one good.

Turning around, the wind blows hair over your eyes. “Where are we going?” you ask, tightening your grip.

If Jimin notices the change, he doesn’t comment. “Somewhere you deem safe. An apartment? Safehouse? Someplace no one will see us when we enter. Just think about it,” he exhales, meeting your gaze. “Think of it, and I’ll get us there.”

“My apartment,” you respond, automatic. “No one will be there, and whoever was at your apartment won’t know that we’re there.”

Jimin’s expression flickers, unreadable for a moment. “I’ve never been to the Peak before. Well,” he sighs, licking his lips. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

You nod, closing your eyes as thoughts of home fill your mind. “Okay,” you exhale, trying not to feel foolish. Squeezing them shut, you visualize the hallway outside your door; the foyer inside, with a blue plastic vase of flowers.

Jimin exhales.

Everything turns dark, and you gasp – or, try to but find you no longer have a body to breathe. No blood pounds through your veins, no bones shiver in your skin, there is nothing but black, dark emptiness and when you try and scream, zap –

You stumble into the hall, nearly smacking your head on the wall.

Jimin follows, catching your waist and spinning you suddenly backwards. His entire body braces, taking the brunt of your fall. Gasping, you feel suddenly whole again – until you retch, leaning over to grasp both knees with your hands. Jimin seems worse off than you are; he heaves in slow, even motions while ducking his head to his chest.

After a few moments of blood pounding through veins, you manage to push yourself upwards. Luckily, the hallway is empty – it seems that you overshot the landing, you realize, squinting at the numbers on doors. Your apartment is down the hall, around two corners and with a shudder, you wonder what would have happened if you’d appeared in someone else’s apartment. That would have been difficult to explain.

No, there would have been no explanation. You would have been reported and – with a shiver, you cut off that next thought. What would have happened next, you don’t want to think about.

Jimin straightens beside you, rubbing his temples. “God,” he groans. “It’s harder, navigating two people at once. It’s like – you’re carrying me,” he frowns, pulling the pieces together. “You’re the Seer, so you’re taking me with you. But you don’t know how to drive, so I keep having to reach into the driver’s seat and yank the wheel.”

Rolling your eyes, you push past. “Thanks,” you huff and Jimin follows, already starting to smile. “It’s not my fault I don’t know how to travel. Like you said – something has been keeping my abilities at bay.”

“Right,” Jimin nods. Turning the corner, a distant pounding reaches your ears. Probably someone else’s music, or a broadcast show. “That’s the strange part, Y/N. I’ve been meaning to tell you, you should be careful.”

“Careful?” you respond, arching a brow and rolling up your shirtsleeve. The barcode on your wrist serves as a key to your door. Walking around the corner, the pounding grows even louder. “And why is that?”

Jimin does not respond.

Coming to a stop, you turn and see him focused on something over your shoulder. All blood has drained from his expression and Jimin remains frozen for only a moment, before he launches himself forward.

“Jimin!” you gasp, thrown sideways for him to barrel angrily past.

Now, the noise from the hallway is clear. Someone stands at your door, violently knocking – you see this for only a moment, before Jimin is there. He grabs the man by the shoulder, yanking him sideways to punch him square in the jaw.

Oh, fuck.

With each passing second, your stomach sinks because now, you recognize who it is. You recognize their black, leather jacket; you recognize the clean cut of their clothing. You recognize his smooth white of his uniform underneath and the way his hair curls, overgrown, at the base of his neck.

He stumbles back, not having expected the punch – but re-gathers himself quickly, ducking to avoid the next blow. The man’s movement is quick, efficient countering Jimin’s oncoming punches, but this is to be expected. The man is captain of the police force and as such, is able to dismantle grown men without thinking twice.

What is odd about this fight is, Jimin seems to possess this skill as well.

He ducks the other man’s blow, weaving easily to deliver a second punch to the groin. The second man groans, doubled over and now Jimin draws back his fist – and you dart in, grabbing him with both hands and dragging him backwards.

“Jimin!” you gasp, using all of your weight to get him to stop. “What are you doing?”

Looking down in surprise, Jimin seems to notice you for the first time. “Y/N,” he growls, gaze tightening. “Get out of the way – you’re in danger!”

“Danger?” you hiss, still staring at Jimin. “What are you even talking about?”

By now, the second man has managed to push himself upwards. Standing in the middle of your hall, he regards the two of you warily. It has not escaped your notice, the way the man’s gaze lingers on your hand, touching Jimin. Instantly, you flush and drop both arms to your side.

Jimin’s jaw tightens, looking at you. “He’s a Block, Y/N,” he grunts, flinging out a hand. The point of his finger is accusatory. “Can’t you feel it? The subtle pull at your powers, your conscience, your being? He’s a fucking Block and he’s here at your door – doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

You want to move. Want to, but can’t; too consumed by the words placed into being. Now that Jimin says it, yes, you can feel it. The slow, subtle drain to your energy ever since turning the corner.

Gaze darting to the other man – whose expression has crumpled into something like fear – you find yourself stuck to the floor. The man now has eyes only for you, completely ignoring Jimin while taking a step forward.

“Fuck,” he whispers, horrified, pushing both hands through his hair. “Y/N... what have you done?”

Jimin freezes, and you know that he hears it. The familiarity, the implicit trust in his tone. “Y/N,” Jimin mutters, not looking away. “What is going on?”

“Jimin,” you whisper, looking from him to the other. “This is my ex-boyfriend. Jungkook.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jungkook states drily, sticking out a hand.

[ Walkers Master List ]

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