son, my son ↯ bts

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he does the cooking.
the cleaning.
whatever is needed.

but he– he was never ready for this.

jimin takes off the covers but leaves the light off. he slowly turns to seokjin and strokes the skin over his eyebrow.

"oh, seokjin." he whispers.

"yes?" seokjin answers sharply, sitting up. jimin flinches.

"i– i thought you were asleep."

"i was," seokjin says, snatching the covers back, "until you started feeling me up."

jimin frowns. "i thought you didn't want me to use pain."

seokjin freezes. "what?"

jimin smiles, taking the covers from seokjin's hand and pushing them off the bed. "oh, seokjin. you aren't that naive, are you?"

seokjin pulls his shirt over his bare knees. "jimin. give me back the duvet."

"no. i don't want to." jimin whispers.

his voice is silky soft.

sensual.

seokjin panics, putting his hand out in the darkness. "jimin. jimin, don't touch me—"

"it's either this or the choking. or–" a hand reaches out and pushes seokjin back on the mattress, making his head forcefully hit the headrest, "we could combine the both, if you're really into that."

seokjin's eyes water from the sudden force, shaking as he tries to find jimin's form in the darkness.

"please. please don't do this. i've done nothing to hurt you. i– i cooked you food. drove you to your job. please, i'm begg–"

jimin suddenly appears to roughly straddle seokjin's waist, his hands letting go of his shoulders to hang onto his bruised neck.

"oh, seokjin. it'll be morning by the time i'm done with you."