HELLO, DARLING | JIKOOK ✔

03 || ALL YOU DO IS FUCKING LIE

Jimin has never found the term 'punishment' to be appealing. Because any and each time he sees it or hears it, he immediately relates it to Daeshim. And so he finds it odd that as he sits on the same couch he slept on last night, he's enveloped by intrigue.

Jeongguk's words call out to him, endless like a tune being spurred on by a broken record. He can still feel the man's hot breath kiss his cheek and coil within his ear, winding through every part of his brain. The gesture is almost like a leech, feeding off of the curious and apprehensive state of his body. He can't understand why he's so effected by it.

Naughty boys like you who don't listen well get punished.

A chill runs down his spine. The husk is so apparent in his mind, simply driving him into a further position of inappeased chaos. And yet such madness seems to cultivate his uprising. It's inexplicable - the adrenaline he felt while savoring the taste of his own blood. While willingly falling victim to the rippling stream of rush moving beneath his skin. It's a high that no other can truly appreciate until experiencing it on their own.

Jimin lets out a stuttered breath just by recalling the rapture felt. While he smoothes his palm over the sensitive half-ring imprinted into his neck, he stares at the bandaid wrapped around his finger. He tries to remind himself of the possible repercussions by doing it again, however his desires seem to outweigh reason. Daeshim is but a simple echo in the back of his mind. What resides in the forefront is Jeongguk's golden hair. The captivating yet intimidating glint in his brown eyes. His fucking lips and that smirk of his that he constantly seems to brandish. His slim, veiny hands and the way his cigarettes sit so perfectly between his fingers. Addiction.

"No..." Jimin mumbles to himself, lowering his hand out of his peripheral. He shoves it beneath his leg and strains his thigh. This isn't right. If Jeongguk were aware of the fantasies he undergoes, he'd most definitely be creeped out. He gives it his all to be in constant reminder of his morals and yet they're drowned out by Jeongguk's cigarette smoke.

"Shit." Jimin stands from the couch, reaching an irrational decision. He basically stumbles over his own feet while walking into the kitchen and pulls out the utensil drawer, grabbing a small knife in his hand. He takes a seat on one of the stools and places the blade on the countertop while staring at it. Jimin holds his head on either side, breathing heavily.

"No."

Yes.

"I shouldn't."

Do it.

A heavy slot of air falls from Jimin's mouth with petulant undertone. He grabs the knife and heads back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. His knuckles pale as he grips it to near asphyxiation, holding up the forefinger that hasn't been compromised. His thought process is totally blurred by the color red. All he craves to see is the color red.

Jimin finds partial distraction in the way his teeth sink so hard down into his full bottom lip as he drives the edge of the knife down his finger. He grimaces and a whine sounds from his throat. The action stings more than the aftermath and so as he drops the knife to the floor, he can finally breathe while falling under hypnosis. His small hand shakes while the blood runs down his palm to reach his wrist. He darts his tongue out and catches it before it can get too far, running it all the way up to the tip of his finger. He whines.

It's almost as if an inanimate force propels him backward against the arm of the couch. He lays supine with his finger plugged between his lips like a soother and sucks to the point his head tilts back. Jimin is so impossibly clouded by his given high that as his other hand makes way beneath his pants and boxers, he doesn't register it. At first he palms himself softly and fondles his cock as he grows accustomed to the interwoven gestures of pleasure. Shortly his fingers rest faintly around his length and his thumb presses into the very tip, pushing down in a circular motion.