Chapter Text
____________________
They want to turn the thing into a series.
Gay magicians in love and they want to put that on a screen where people can see. It’s simultaneously a dream come true and Park Jimin’s worst nightmare. Especially because—
“The fact they’re in love will only be implied,” Jimin explains to Seokjin, amazed by how steady his voice is (his mind is most definitely not.) “A lot of fans of the book will probably hate it, in turn hating me for agreeing to do it.”
“Let me guess…” Seokjin says, pausing to take a sip from his chosen cocktail of the night, a moscow mule. “You already agreed to do it.”
Jimin nods, recalling the meeting he had with his publisher earlier that afternoon.
It’s a great proposition, she said.
It is?
You should do it.
I should?
Yes.
Okay.
That easy. Maybe if Jimin had thought to ask questions, he could have worked through all the worries that bombarded him on the way to meet Seokjin for dinner. Now he’s locked into doing something he’s not sure he wants at all.
“How much will you get paid?” Seokjin asks.
“Um… I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure I get some kind of royalty.”
“And how involved will you be in the script writing process?”
“I don’t know.”
“And will you get to help pick out the cast?”
“I don’t know.”
Seokjin’s judgement sits right there on the surface of his face, and despite all the progress they’ve made as friends, Jimin still wants to disappear into the ether because of it. He shrinks inwardly, trying to come up with some excuse so he can at least pretend he thought a little bit of this through.
“My publisher said it’ll help sales when I release the sequel,” Jimin squeaks out.
“Jimin—”
“I messed up,” he cuts in, regret a heavy weight on his shoulders. “That’s what you’re going to say.”
Trying to get ahead of the criticism is a new defence mechanism Jimin picked up in order to deal with said criticism. Its success rate may be in the dumps, but no one can accuse him for lack of trying.
“Well, no, not exactly,” Seokjin says. “I was going to say that you don’t seem excited about this at all.”
How does Jimin explain that that’s so much worse?
He feels like a mouse in a lion’s den, and just because that’s what he is doesn’t mean he wants the lion disguise he’s put on to be so obviously fake.
(Who is he kidding? No one would ever look at him and think lion, disguise or not.)
“I guess I could ask for some details about this thing. My publisher’s supposed to send me a contract tomorrow, so I’ll learn more then.” Yes, yes, good plan, Jimin, you’re fine, everything’s fine.
“Oh so you haven’t signed a contract,” Seokjin says, his voice growing light, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “You should’ve just said so. You have plenty of time to back out of it then.”
What?
“I’m not backing out of it,” Jimin tells him.
“You are if you don’t want to do it.”
“I already said I would.”
“Jimin, you hate the idea. I can see it all over your face.” Seokjin sounds exasperated and it’s making Jimin’s heart sink. As if he can’t make sound decisions on his own? (He can’t, doesn’t want to anyway, but no one has to know that.) “If the romance is implied, they won’t even get to have that kiss scene you wrote! Think about it!”
That does, admittedly, sound awful.
“I swear, if they just show them holding hands, I’ll blow a gasket.” A look of horror crosses Seokjin’s face. “Oh god… what if they decide to introduce a female love interest to throw the audience off the scent?”
That horror is contagious. “They wouldn’t.”
“Jimin-ah, you need to find all this out before you sign tomorrow, okay?”
Jimin drops his chin into his hand and tries not to pity himself for the situation he put himself in. He’s glad the lights in the restaurant they’re eating at are dim because that means his chances of keeping his feelings hidden are much higher.
But it’s Seokjin and lately he can’t keep anything from him—that is, unless he's keeping it from himself, but that's a different matter entirely.
“Jimin.”
“Hm?”
“What are you thinking?”
Jimin takes a long sip from his drink, clearing half of it but getting nowhere on a good answer. “Nothing. You’re right. I should tell her I need more information before I agree.”
“But?”
“But…” God, he hates this. He wishes he could go back to before he mentioned all this to Seokjin. Or better yet, go back to earlier in the day before his publisher brought it up, redo it somehow, undo it. “But I don’t want to disappoint her,” he admits, finally.
“And why should her disappointment matter when it’s just going to make you unhappy?”
“I said I’d do it.” He’s getting a little annoyed now, that after all this time, it’s like Seokjin doesn’t understand him. “She didn’t force my hand. I’m not just going to back out of something I said I’d do.”
“And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you ghosted her for nearly a year and now you’re trying to make up for it?”
Jimin stiffens, fingers tightening around his drink.
No.
No.
“No,” he says calmly.
Seokjin sighs. “Fine.” Adds, like a shy afterthought, “Sorry. I’m not trying to be pushy. I just don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I know.” Jimin feels bad for not trying to be more open, but he’s barely worked out what he wants for himself. He’s not like Seokjin. The fact of the matter is, he might actually want this; might just be scared of what it’ll involve, like getting more attention on his story (and thus more opportunity for criticism), like meeting with people and having to make countless more decisions, like facing the wrath (or love, it could be love) of his fans.
“Okay, well, I trust you’ll figure it out.”
It’s nice to hear him say that, puts some much needed courage in his bones.
“By the way,” Seokjin continues, “did I tell you about work today? Two of my co-workers nearly got into a fistfight, and someone nearly started a fire in one of the conference rooms, both separate incidents by the way...”
Jimin laughs as he listens, some of the pressure he felt when coming to this dinner easing off. Right. He’ll come up with a plan to make all of this okay, step by step. Reminds himself it’s okay to ask for more time. Kim Hyejin wouldn’t want him to be stressed out over this.
Baby steps.
Even just the thought helps, even if only a little; but every little bit counts.
📚
The thing is, Jimin is very good at talking himself out of logical decisions when faced with the great monsters that are people.
He should have guessed Bad Things were coming when Hyejin invited him to come in to sign the contract instead of sending it to him via email. A brief talk with Jungkook the morning of leads to the creation of some sort of plan involving Things He Must Know before formally agreeing to this thing.
He can’t deny that a small part of him is excited. The idea that someone else has been inspired enough by his writing to want to give it new life in a different medium is flattery of the highest level.
But the fear is a beast, and sometimes Jimin is powerless to it.
“Good morning, Jimin, you’re early,” Hyejin says when he walks in, offering him a cup of coffee, to which he says “yes please.”
The plan can wait. Another cup of coffee to boost his waning courage sounds perfect.
He stares at the lock screen of his phone while he waits, featuring a smiling picture of his and Jungkook’s faces too close to the camera, cheeks squished against each other and hair a mess. They had taken it the day after they moved into their apartment, the morning light streaming in through the window; Jimin had wanted to capture that feeling of warmth and hold it close.
Hyejin returns with the cup, and he clicks his phone back off, keeping it on his lap in case he needs to refer to the list of questions he typed in frantically on the way here.
“How’s the sequel coming along?” she asks.
“Good,” he says. It’s a repeat of yesterday’s conversation; they really shouldn’t meet so often. He sits up. “I actually wanted to speak to you about—”
A knock at the door interrupts him. Hyejin stands to get it, and suddenly there’s an entire conversation happening behind him that Jimin doesn’t understand.
“Hi, you must be Lee Insoo, thank you for coming in this morning.”
“No problem. I’m excited to meet the author of what must be my favourite novel this decade.”
“And he’s excited to meet you.”
Um… no. No? Jimin twists in his seat to see a man he doesn’t recognise in a pressed suit that contrasts starkly with his own shirt and jeans combo. He feels so incredibly put on the spot that it barely registers when he’s being introduced.
In fact, it’s as if someone has taken over his body. Somehow, he’s standing up and shaking hands and saying “hi, nice to meet you” and at least he has the wonderful powers of auto-pilot to thank for getting through that. Now to figure out what’s actually going on.
“I’m excited to be working with you on your book,” Insoo says.
The persona Jimin should put on is obvious; Hyejin has already given him the answer: He’s excited to meet you. But the ‘he’ of that sentence is lost and confused and it’s showing—god, he really doesn’t want it to show.
“Um, me too,” he replies hastily.
“Insoo has turned a lot of books into well known shows,” Hyejin explains, and the purpose of today’s meeting starts to become clearer. “I thought you two should meet so we can make sure we’re all on the same page before we make anything official. If either of you have questions, now would be a good time to ask them.”
It’s an opportunity but it feels like a siren’s call beckoning him forward to be drowned.
“Jimin-ssi, I hope you know what a masterpiece your book is,” Insoo says, and Jimin tries his best to maintain eye contact, to keep the smile plastered on his face and take the compliment as it is, without his frenzied thoughts as interference. “I loved the concept and the way the plot built. I think it would make an amazing show.”
“Thank you,” he says politely, about all he’s able to voice at the moment. His thumb slides over his phone, his forgotten questions lying idle within.
“You might not know, but I work for a production company that has turned several books into movies and shows. We work with some of the biggest names in the industry. With the right script and the right cast, I think your story will be a hit.”
Even though the main character and his love interest are… men? he wants to ask.
He doesn’t though.
Feels like he would be belittling his own story, and somehow it doesn’t feel right.
“You can be as involved as you want. In fact, I would prefer it if we worked on the script together. That way, we can make sure everyone’s happy with the final outcome. Do you have experience writing scripts?”
An easy one to answer. Jimin latches onto the question like his life depends on it. “No, I don’t,” he says, adding a little chuckle because he’s afraid of coming across as an incompetent idiot and blowing this entire thing before he even sees the contract.
“That’s okay. We have script writers who know what they’re doing, and I’ll be involved in that as well. All you really need to do is approve.”
“Okay,” he says, and it seems like far too little. Where is his enthusiasm?
He’s excited to meet you.
Adds with a smile, “That’s definitely something I can do.”
Insoo looks delighted, as does Hyejin. Somehow, Jimin remembers his untouched coffee—it’s not hot anymore—so he lifts the cup to his lips to have a drink. Tells himself he’s thirsty when really he’s trying to mentally escape.
Tries to convince himself that everything is fine.
“So, Jimin-ssi,” Insoo says, “do you have any questions for me?”
Once again, Jimin clutches his phone. It feels like a crutch, a way for everyone looking to see that he can’t do anything without some guidance. The question he latched onto earlier was a trap, he's finding out now, and he feels himself being sucked deeper, barely keeping his head above water.
“Um, I do,” Jimin answers, clicking his phone on and then back off. He glances down and sees the time and wonders if the gesture makes him come across as bored. “What’s the, um, expected time frame on this… project?”
“Great question! From making it official to actually seeing an episode on screen, it usually takes up to…”
Jimin nods along as Insoo explains how it all works. Hyejin jumps in a couple of times too (bless her), clarifying things like how much of Jimin’s time will be taken with the endeavour. It all sounds exciting; Insoo makes it sound exciting; inside, he’s overwhelmed.
By the time they’re done, Insoo is finishing up a story about the last author they worked with and how great that went and how active and involved he was and how he loved the process and Insoo hopes he can make this a wonderful experience for Jimin too.
And then he hands a manila envelope over, all official, and says, “Take a look at it and tell us what you think. We won’t need an answer right away. The end of next week is soon enough.”
“Oh, sure, okay.” Jimin doesn’t take the contract out. He wants to look at it when he’s not got so many eyes on him, waiting for the right reaction.
“Do you have any more questions?” Insoo asks.
Yes.
Yes, I have tons of questions.
Asking them somehow feels impossible, his excuses more powerful than anything else.
“None that I can think of,” Jimin answers, sealing his fate with a smile.
“Here.” Insoo hands over a business card. “If you do think of any in the meantime, feel free to contact me.”
They’re giving him every chance to make it easy—so why is it so hard?
“Thanks,” Jimin says.
Between the surprise meeting and the unwanted spiral, Jimin’s left with a deep sense of disappointment—in himself, in the situation, in Hyejin who’s supposed to be on his side and in Insoo who’s nothing more than a friendly stranger.
After goodbyes and thank you for comings and on the bus ride home, Jimin reflects and regrets and wonders if the chains that bind him to the wall of who he is will ever let him go so he can reach who he wants to be.
📚
It turns out if Jimin had just checked his email before meeting Hyejin, he would have seen a long, detailed one from her telling him what that meeting was going to be about. But she had texted him too about coming and he hadn’t thought to check any other platforms.
As such, he has no one to blame but himself for the botched meeting he went in completely unprepared for.
Out of embarrassment, and as a way to slowly forget the encounter, Jimin lets the contract gather dust in his desk for a few days, focusing instead on the sequel he’s been telling people is ‘making good progress’.
Eight months ago when he brought up the idea to his publisher, he couldn’t wait to get started. Six months ago when the first book released, he was glad to have all this extra time to write. Four months ago, he hit his first block—
It’s been slow going since then.
Not that he’s written nothing. He’s squeezed out several chapters, gotten feedback from his editor and changed his outline a countless number of times. Some bits flow out of him smoothly, and he’ll often trick himself into thinking the block was just a sham; he’s over that and always will be.
But as he lays in bed and listlessly stares at the single paragraph he’s written for his next chapter, he wonders if this is it—the end of his passion and career.
His mind wanders to his fans, the ones who leave him reviews on Goodreads and comment on the videos he’s done on Taehyung’s YouTube channel and draw him fanart on Twitter. They leave him with this sense of… urgency.
A desire to fulfil his readers’ every need, whether he knows what those are or not. It’s motivation to do more, encouragement to continue, determination to never give up. The external validation is both heartwarming and pressuring at the same time, and he can’t—
—can’t seem to find a way out of it.
He shuts his laptop and tosses it aside as he huffs in frustration.
It’s just a minor blip. It’s not like it was two years ago; it’ll never be that bad. He’s got a support system and accomplishments to be proud of and a ‘knack for the written word’. He’s got a roof over his head and friends who listen and a partner who understands.
So why is it so hard?
After everything, why is it still so hard?
He finds himself padding through the silent apartment, socks making not a sound. He may as well not be here; cleans the glass of water he drinks from and puts it back on the shelf, flushes the toilet and makes sure everything stays neat, tidy.
Somehow, his feet take him to the playroom, where he shuts the door. It’s been a few weeks since they spent some time in here, and it’s not that Jimin’s craving some kind of play, but maybe he could do with a little break from reality right now.
At the sight of handcuffs on the spanking bench, he remembers the image that plagued him the other day, of him being chained to a wall. It was metaphorical but in a rush of anxiety he just wants to prove to himself that he’s perfectly capable of getting out when he needs to.
So he does just that.
Chains himself… to a wall.
Or, well, to one of the heavy bondage contraptions attached to the wall—close enough. Once he’s there, one cuff secure around his wrist and the other on the contraption, he takes a deep breath, then another.
Leaning his head back against the wall, he thinks how this isn’t so bad. He’s made another big deal out of nothing, and whenever he wants he can just grab the key and uncuff himself, just like he can remove those metaphorical chains when he’s ready and be who he wants to be.
Easy. So easy.
If only his mind would listen for once.
He tugs on the cuff just to feel it chafe against his wrist, lets out a soft snicker and wonders if he’s going crazy.
Maybe he’s always been—a little crazy.
He remains there for a while, though he’s not sure for how long. His phone is somewhere forgotten in the bedroom and he’s got nothing in his pockets. It’s just him, the handcuffs and an empty room.
Until he hears a sound coming from the living room, the click of a door followed by a voice—no, voices.
“He’s probably in the bedroom. I’ll get him. Just make yourself comfortable. There’s drinks in the fridge!”
Jungkook’s voice travels from near the front door and moves past the playroom as he walks, presumably, to their shared bedroom.
“Hey,” another voice calls—
—oh shit—
“What’s your Netflix password?”
Hoseok’s here. Why is he here?
“I know it. Give me the remote,” Yoongi says, and Jimin imagines Hoseok taking his time doing so just to be a tease.
“Huh.” Jungkook’s back from the bedroom, sounding confused. “He wasn’t in there. He said he’d be home all day.”
“Maybe he went out for a walk?”
Namjoon’s here too?
“His shoes are still here.”
Shit, shit, shit. Jimin reaches for the key frantically, the one he placed so pointedly just within reach so he could pretend— pretend something. Now he feels like an idiot, an overdramatic idiot who should’ve just stayed put in his bed a while longer.
His finger flicks the key instead of wrapping around it, and like a character in a cartoon he watches it slide a few inches away.
For a second, he just sits there, disbelief rendering him frozen.
This cannot be happening right now.
“When are Tae and Jin getting here? Could you ask them to pick up food on the way?” Namjoon is asking.
Oh, so this is, like, a full blown friends event. Why did Jungkook not warn him?
But then he remembers the phone he set aside that morning so he could concentrate on writing and realises Jungkook probably did warn him; he just missed the message. That seems to be a trend these days.
Desperate to get himself out of this predicament, he stretches his arm as far as it will go, but the key is far out of reach. He can’t even reach it with his feet.
He’s about ready to scold himself furiously and cry tears of helplessness at the same time. Why the fuck did he cuff himself in the first place?
He’s aware he could call for Jungkook, but that will just bring awareness to the fact that he’s in here and he is not about to be caught handcuffed and stuck by all of his friends. Nope, he would rather wither away and starve to death, thank you very much.
“They’re just at the pizza place across the street now,” Jungkook says loudly, probably referring to Seokjin and Taehyung. There’s the sound of glasses clinking and Jimin thinks he might be getting out the beer. “By the way, can any of you get a hold of Jimin? He’s not answering my texts or my calls.”
“Lover’s quarrel?” Hoseok asks.
“No, not at all.” Jungkook sounds… genuinely worried when he says that. Jimin hopes his overactive imagination (curse all those mangas he’s read) won’t get away from him.
Namjoon’s the first to inform Jungkook that Jimin’s not answering him either, followed by Yoongi followed by Hoseok. Jungkook’s footsteps go back past the door, and Jimin thinks he can hear him mumbling something like, “Where the hell did you go?”
Handcuffed myself to the wall, that’s where I went. Oops?
Jimin wishes he could undo the past few hours, but unfortunately time travel machines are only a thing of science fiction.
“Uh, so…” Jungkook’s going back to where their friends are. “Just found Jimin’s phone in the bedroom, so that explains why he’s not answering.”
Jimin should say something.
“I’m getting kind of worried. Maybe we should go out and look for him.”
Jimin should really, really say something.
Instead he just draws his knees to his chest and drops his head on them and hopes everyone will leave so he can call out to Jungkook. He doesn’t mind explaining to him, but the rest of them? God. He doesn’t think he can face that kind of judgement, not now with the way he’s feeling.
“Where could he have gone, do you think?”
“Nowhere without his shoes. Unless he just went to the laundry room? Maybe…”
They speculate for a little bit, at which point Jimin tunes them out. Whatever. Let them spend their time looking for him, let this drag out, he’s safe in here, cuffed to this familiar thing, in this warm room with its familiar walls and its familiar toys.
Chained to the wall, he’s safe.
He sniffs.
Chained to the wall, he’s—
When the door opens seconds? minutes? hours? later, he doesn’t dare look up. His entire body stiffens even when he hears a sigh of relief, the quiet utterance of his name, and the click of the door closing.
“There you are,” comes Jungkook’s hushed voice.
He has no business sounding that gentle right now, not when Jimin’s just been hiding out in here.
“I was halfway to the laundry room when I thought to check in here.”
Jimin just mumbles something incoherent. He’s not really sure what he’s trying to say. Even though he got his wish—it’s just Jungkook—he’s still embarrassed about this entire thing. His hand hangs limp beside him from the cuff, which Jungkook must have already seen.
“Baby? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just hanging out.”
“I can see that.”
Jimin has the slightest view of the floor, and he spots when Jungkook’s feet stop by the key a little ways away and he bends to pick it up.
“You a little stuck there?” Jungkook asks, sounding way too amused; Jimin would really, really like it if the floor swallowed him up whole. “Need some help?”
Really, floor, I’m ready. Take me already.
“Baby, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Jimin knows that.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be helped.
Maybe he just wants to keep wallowing in self pity.
Maybe he wants to be chained to who he is forever.
Jungkook sighs but he doesn’t sound particularly mad or annoyed. He just says, “Shall I ask our friends to go home?”
That gets a sound out of him. “No.”
“Okay. What should I do, hm?”
“Just leave me here,” Jimin says, stubbornness making him double down— “Hang out with them without me.”
“Baby, I’m not leaving you in here.”
“You said you wouldn’t help me unless I asked.”
“Then ask.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Jimin.” It’s that fucking, stupid, fucking fuck Dom voice that has no real power yet somehow has absolute power over him.
He deigns to raise his head—it’s a mistake.
Jungkook wears a black t-shirt and tight jeans and he’s got this new chain necklace around his neck that makes him look like a god. No joke. No exaggeration. Standing there all menacing just adds to his godly prowess.
Jimin feels himself melting under that gaze, hangs onto his sanity—or insanity?—by a thread. “What?”
“Talk to me.”
“About?”
“How about we start with why you’re cuffed in here all alone?”
Jimin shrugs. “I couldn’t reach the key.”
“That’s not answering the question and you know it. Don’t be a brat.”
Bristling, Jimin clamps his teeth together and refuses to answer. Whatever, maybe he’ll get punished and that will be exactly what he needs to get out of the mind rut he’s stuck in.
“Fine,” Jungkook says, tossing the key in the air before pocketing it. He backs away towards the door. “I’ll hang out with our friends like you want.”
As those long fingers touch the doorknob, Jimin blurts out, “Sir—”
Jungkook automatically comes to a standstill. “Yes, baby boy?”
Jimin’s ears burn hot and he finds he’s reluctant to ask for help, even while Jungkook is ready to leave. He should be able to help himself, see? Not be so incompetent, not when most people he knows don’t collapse at the first sign of struggle.
He feels—
So very alone in this.
“Can you just—” let me out? It feels like a cop out to ask though, when what he really wants is… “Can you just hold me?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes out. He proceeds to lock the door so no one can come in. “Yeah, of course I can.”
Jimin shuts his eyes once he’s settled in Jungkook’s arms, allowing himself a moment of reprieve. The world feels more manageable here, in this little bubble they’ve built.
At some point, Jungkook shifts in order to type something on his phone, which Jimin reads without comment: Found him. Let’s reschedule to tomorrow, if that’s ok?
He doesn’t wait for a reply from their friends, just puts his phone away and wraps his arms tighter around Jimin, engulfing him completely.
There are things to do and decisions to make but they can wait. For now…
“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers. Some of the weight lifts off with the words. “I don’t know how to deal with all this sometimes.”
Jungkook hums knowingly. “I know.”
Almost two years they’ve been together; of course he knows. “It’s not even really a big deal. But… I guess it is, to me.”
“Is this about your book being made into a show?”
“Mhm.”
“You didn’t want to talk about it, before.”
Jimin corrects him, “I didn’t want to think about it before. But I guess it sort of caught up to me earlier. I felt sort of stuck, like if it was anyone else, going forward with this would be easy, but I’m stuck being me where it’s not.”
“What’s hard about it?”
“It’s something I’ve never done before. Writing scripts and collaborating with others and seeing a project through like this from start to finish… it’s terrifying, Jungkook.”
Jungkook shifts to look him in the eye, the worry gone, replaced with understanding.
“I wish I knew if it was something I could do. If I could just know how it would turn out, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“So you want to do this,” Jungkook states.
“I—” Jimin blinks. “Yeah, yes, I guess I do.”
He remembers how as a kid, he would always read the last page of a novel just so he knew what he was getting into. The process might be what others cite as the most important part of the journey, but that was always the part that scared him the most—the unknowns always rendering him frozen, indecisive, floundering.
Jungkook hums, voice vibrating against Jimin’s back and sounding like honey.
Frowning, Jimin asks, “What?”
“Hmmmmm.”
“Why are you— What— Are you making fun of me?”
“Jimin—” Jungkook sputters. “No, why would I make fun of you?”
Jimin shrugs, squaring his shoulders and nudging Jungkook’s chest back. “I don’t know. You’re making weird sounds.”
“I was just thinking.”
“Never heard you think like that before.”
“Ha.” Jungkook presses a kiss to his cheek, making Jimin’s skin grow warm and his heart grow fuzzy. “I was thinking about the time you were scared of all of this, actually.”
Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s hand as it waves across the various toys they’ve collected over the months, images and memories of trying all sorts of new things together flashing through his mind. Still, he says, “That’s different.”
“Is it? It’s stepping out of your comfort zone, right? Baby steps.”
Jimin swallows, hating that Jungkook’s logic is overpowering everything right now. Maybe a part of him wants to be down in the dumps, to spiral so that he doesn’t have to do, even while he watches the world whizz past around him.
Standing still is so much easier.
Being unhappy… is so much easier.
“Maybe you’re right,” Jimin admits softly. “There’s just a lot to get over with this. I might end up hating it anyway and regretting it.”
“Then you come up with a game plan, one that works for you. I’ll help.”
“Hate that,” Jimin pouts, aware he’s being petulant. “I should be able to do this myself.”
“It’s okay to ask for help. There’s nothing wrong with it. You taught me that.”
Jungkook’s own struggles aren’t lost on him, the way he wanted to go at everything by himself, scorned even the smallest amount of help because it hurt his pride, or made him feel undeserving. Even so—
“I’ll become more annoying than I already am—”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re not annoying—”
“I’d be more annoying,” Jimin insists, “and if I’m going to go through with getting help, then I’m going to make you hold my hand every step of the way, and by the end of all this you’ll hate me. Or if you don’t hate me, I’ll hate me for you. So maybe you should think about what this will mean for us.”
For a moment, Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just shifts his head forward a bit to look at him. And then, “Are you done?”
Jimin shrugs. “Think so.”
“Being scared is okay. Feeling out of your depth is normal. But you shouldn’t let it stop you from doing things you want to do.”
Jimin’s already got excuses on the tip of his tongue. “They might end up changing the story. The love story is such a big part of it, and I don’t know if they’ll just cut that out to make it more, I don’t know, appealing? Acceptable?”
“That would kinda suck. Did you ask them about that?”
“Um… no.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid of them saying they don’t want to do it anymore. The thing is,” it’s becoming clearer to Jimin, what he wants; different from when he spoke about it to Seokjin, outright ignoring his excitement because he feared he couldn’t do it, that somehow it wasn’t right for him, even though— “it sounds fun. If I could just get out of my head, I think it would be, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Sir.” Jungkook squeezes him tighter at the word. “Can you get me out of my head?”
“Right now, baby?”
“Mm. Maybe it’ll help me re-evaluate what I really want. I’m not trying to run away.”
“You don’t have to explain,” Jungkook says, slipping the handcuff’s key out of his pocket. “I’ll help you anytime you want. You just have to ask.”
Leftover crumbs of self-doubt almost makes him say, you’re too kind to me.
But they’ve been through too much, shared too many emotions, for it to hold any weight at all.
Everyone deserves a little kindness.
When the handcuff falls off, swinging to knock against the wall, Jimin immediately turns and kisses Jungkook, at once feeling consumed but free, the chains to his incapable self snapping in two.
“Tell me what you want,” Jungkook says, his breath mixing with Jimin’s own, the words a guide leading him onwards.
“Want you to make me feel like yours. Just,” Jimin’s breath hitches as Jungkook brings his lips to his neck, “just make me yours, please, sir.”
“Mine,” Jungkook says, sucking on Jimin’s skin until there are tingles running up and down his spine. And then he lifts them both to their feet and leads them to the bedroom, shutting the door so it’s just Jimin, and just Jungkook, and for a while nothing else matters.
Clothes come off first, shirts tugged from torsos and slung somewhere on the floor, trousers discarded alongside them, boxers stripped to join the pile. Their lips are like magnets, pulled to one another and hesitant to let go.
The crumpled sheets on the bed offer them an invitation, and once Jungkook has moved Jimin’s laptop out of the way, they meet there, a lover’s rendezvous. It’s a mess of limbs after that, of moans and touches and lips until Jimin’s prepped and stretched and ready.
“You want to be mine, baby?” Jungkook growls in his ear, breath fanning hot against his skin.
A hand fists into Jimin’s hair, pulling back to expose his neck, his thin collar cool against his skin. Jimin stares up at Jungkook imploringly, loving the way those hands work him up, work him hot, work him all over. The loss of control always manages to shake him from his reveries, the present becoming the primary focus of his being.
“Want me to mark you all over?”
Jimin tries to nod, but a result of being held by his hair is that he can’t, so he says breathlessly, “Yes, sir, please.”
Jungkook makes good on the promise, every brush of lips and teeth like magic. Jimin’s panting by the time his neck is littered with hickeys, and he finds his own hand reaching out to touch them; he can’t see them, but he can feel the tingles Jungkook leaves behind, like stars dotting his skin.
He works down his body, releasing his hair to caress his ribs, grip his waist, then his hips. Holding him steady, he flicks a tongue out over the tip of Jimin’s cock, drawing out the smallest of mewls. He teases, kissing down his thighs now, lifting a leg so he can hold it and pepper kisses on his inner thigh.
“Sir—”
Jungkook marks him everywhere, just as he said he would. He takes his time, occasionally letting a finger slip in through his crack, still slick from his earlier ministrations. He plays, twisting his finger in halfway, then back out, and again, and again.
Again, Jimin calls for him, “Sir—”
“Do you want something, baby boy?” Jungkook asks when he comes up for fresh air, his hair a mess across his eyes.
He looks so—
God, he looks so hot.
Jimin presses his lips together and shakes his head. He just wants Jungkook to keep going, keep playing him until he’s so worked up, he cums with a single thrust—wants to be worked up, wants to be flush all over and walk away from this remembering only his name and who he belongs to.
Jimin, Jungkook’s.
Or even— Baby boy, sir’s.
The thought brings a smile to his face, one that morphs into a surprised ‘o’ when Jungkook’s tongue prods at his hole; he lifts his legs so they rest behind Jungkook’s head, angling his ass upwards for better access.
Jungkook’s tongue is warm against his rim, and Jimin bites his lip, shutting his eyes as he loses himself in the feeling. He feels claimed, every part of himself dripping and shining with Jungkook’s spit; it’s like an invisible coat, a scent telling others to stay away—possessive, predatory.
When Jungkook sticks three slicked fingers inside, Jimin swears out loud. He needs more. His cock aches, his hole begs to be used.
“Want more, baby?” Jungkook asks.
“Yes. Please, sir—”
Jungkook turns him onto his side and drops behind him, lining himself up. “Like this? Want me like this?”
“Want you any way,” he manages to say, and Jungkook doesn’t waste another second pressing in, rubbing against Jimin’s already raw walls. He turns his head into the sheets, moaning as he’s stretched further, cock twitching from neglect. “Pl- Please, fuck.”
Jungkook’s fingers trickle to the front of his belly, pulling Jimin into him. His cock completely fills Jimin up; he’s being consumed by everything Jungkook.
A glance down reveals how hard he himself is, pre-cum glistening on the tip. As if reading his mind, Jungkook touches his palm to it, putting light pressure on it. When he clutches it in his palm and starts to stroke him, Jimin melts into the bed, heat spreading from head to toe.
Jimin grinds against him, approaching the height of his bliss. It tingles, his body taking over, his mind utterly lost in pleasure—until Jungkook stops him from moving, saying, “Not so fast, baby.”
And—
He lets go, hand snaking up Jimin’s body ruthlessly, ignoring Jimin’s whine at the loss.
“Can’t have you cumming until I claim you completely.”
Jungkook adjusts him a little more, then rests his fingers on the sides of his neck. Letting out a sharp breath, he gives Jimin a short warning, “Gonna choke you. Colour?”
“Green,” Jimin says, nods in anticipation, in exhilaration. “Green, green.”
Fingers dig into skin and the tingling escalates, Jimin’s head growing hazy from the loss of oxygen. Meanwhile, Jungkook continues to thrust, hitting Jimin’s prostate over… and over… and over again.
Every sound he tries to make comes out choked, a breath that gets caught in the net of Jungkook’s fingers and turns to nothing. The world disappears as a host of sensations rise up inside him, the pain and the pleasure drowning him and lifting him all at the same time.
There’s nowhere to focus—it’s too much; too much.
“Jimin, baby, you gonna cum for me? Gonna be a good boy and cum, hm?”
God, Jimin wants to; he wants to.
“Touch yourself,” Jungkook says, and for a moment he releases him, drags Jimin’s own hand over his cock and gets him moving. Jimin’s endorphins attack him from every which way, and Jungkook’s fingers slither back, the pressure lighter but the sensations remaining the same.
Jimin is Jungkook’s, only his, and he always will be—
Forever.
The pleasure overwhelms Jimin despite the sloppy strokes, and he jerks as he cums all over the sheets and his fingers. Jungkook is pulsing inside him, movements slowing, and then growing to a standstill. As they both come back to reality, he puckers his lips to leave one, two kisses on Jimin’s shoulder.
“Good boy,” Jungkook whispers.
A wave of love rolls over Jimin, so strong he sinks back against Jungkook with it, wanting to be closer still. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and gets one more kiss like a gift.
Jungkook cleans him up, and when Jimin feels recovered enough he helps to strip the sheets. They work with each other with the practised movements of lovers who have known each other a long time. And two years may not seem like a lot but every second together feels like time is standing still.
There’s forever in a minute, with Jungkook.
It feels like forever, and it feels like ahead of them time continues to stretch into forever—Jimin intends to make every second count.
“Have I said I love you yet?” Jimin asks, once they’re semi-dressed and lying on clean sheets side by side. He’s bruised everywhere, and the sight might be disconcerting to others, but in their home, all he wants to do is show it off.
“You said it to me yesterday,” Jungkook answers.
“Well then I love you today,” Jimin says, and Jungkook gives him a grin that leaves his eyes looking all scrunched up, lifts a finger to boop him on the nose.
“You’re a sap everyday,” Jungkook tells him, “but I love you today too.”
“‘But’,” Jimin repeats, rolling his eyes as he pretends to be offended. “I guess I’ll accept that. We both know who the bigger sap really is.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Couldn’t be me,” Jungkook says.
“Oh no,” Jimin agrees, laying the sarcasm on thick. “No way could it be my big, bulky Dom.”
Jungkook drags him in to kiss him on the forehead, chuckling. “That’s what I thought.”
They force themselves out of bed when their stomachs grumble, in need of dinner. While Jungkook orders something, Jimin finds the contract he’s been avoiding and takes it out of the envelope, scanning it slowly.
He’ll be giving up some rights, but Insoo didn’t lie—he’ll be involved in the process from start to finish. As he thinks back on that meeting, he recalls Insoo’s genuine excitement—‘best book of the decade’, he had said—and maybe Jimin’s put too much stock in assumptions.
Maybe there’s a way to make sure the essence of the book doesn’t get lost while doing this. Maybe he can explain that he works slowly, and that he’s not good at making decisions but he can express, at the very least, his own genuine excitement for the opportunity.
Because he is —excited—and he can’t believe it took him so long to realise it.
Finding Insoo’s business card, Jimin begins to type an email to him—it might be an overly professional and slightly removed way to communicate (his phone number is right there), but for Jimin it’s the only step he feels ready to take. When he’s comfortable and knows more about what he’s getting into, maybe being active and involved and truly loving the process will come.
He hopes.
He can only hope.
“Jimin?” Jungkook pokes his head in the room. “Do you want a beer? Wine? Water?”
“Water,” Jimin says, looking up from his computer.
“Okay.” Walking further into the room, Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
Jimin points at the contract and turns his laptop a bit so Jungkook can see. “I’m emailing Insoo, the guy who’s in charge of turning my book into a show. I’m telling him I won’t do the project unless they promise to include that kiss scene.”
“Giving him an ultimatum?”
“Sort of,” Jimin says, giggling when Jungkook drapes his arms across his shoulders. “I hate causing trouble but I don’t want to end up with a story that’s completely different from the original, you know? Besides, I’d like to see the scene on TV. And I think my fans would like that too.”
“They would,” Jungkook assures him. “Can confirm, am a fan.”
“Ha. If you were a fan, you’d be keeping me cool, not boiling me to death by hanging onto me like this.”
Jungkook snorts. “You spend too much time with Seokjin.”
Jimin laughs. “It was a little funny.”
“A little, maybe.”
They spend a few minutes going over the email together, and once satisfied, Jimin hits send, shuts the laptop, and decides he’ll try not to think too much about it until the morning. Tonight is for him and Jungkook.
But he has one last confession to make first.
“Jungkookie,” he says, grabbing Jungkook’s forearms.
“Hm?”
“Do you think it’s bad I want to do this partly so I have an excuse not to write the sequel?”
“Hm. If that’s the only reason, I’d say yeah, maybe a little. But it’s not.”
“It’s not,” Jimin confirms. “It’s just been hard to focus. I hate making promises and not delivering my best, but every chapter I churn out doesn’t feel like my best and I just— I hate disappointing people. But the more I force myself, the worse it gets.”
It’s an ugly cycle Jimin’s been trying (and failing) to get out of. Having the opportunity to do something different might just be the pick-me-up he needs, just like the video he did with Taehyung helped him see his writing (and himself) in a different light.
“I know the feeling,” Jungkook tells him.
It’s a conversation they’ve rehashed several times already. Sometimes they’ll get so caught up complaining that hours will pass by without a single word being written, a single image being drawn.
But sharing it with someone helps. The mood always brightens afterwards, and they’ll turn to their laptops or their sketchbooks to try again, delivering on promises and contracts and trying not to let the self-doubt or the mind blocks get in the way of the things they love to do most.
“How about we vent about it when the food comes?” Jimin suggests.
“Sounds like a wonderful plan. Plus I’ve been trying to figure out the character arc I want my main character to take and am in great need of your help.” He’s been working hard on his manhwa, several volumes done, most of the rest of the story plotted, sheets and sheets of drawings and notes taking up space in his desk.
Jimin knocks his head back against Jungkook’s chest with a smile. “I can most certainly help.”
“Thank you, baby.”
The doorbell rings then, pulling them out of the bubble they find themselves in more often than not. They head out together, their shared home a safe space where Jimin can reflect on the things he regrets and come to terms with the moments he wants to undo; in here, he may still fear the process, but he’s learned how to move and that’s enough.
When Jungkook sets the food on the table, Jimin moves to give him a side hug, overcome with gratitude—and not just for the food.
“Thank you, too.”