I'm really bad at summary.
Authors's note: Before you start this fanfic, A couple of things I would like to bring to your attention. This is a BTS AU. No characters of this fanfic bear any resemblance to people in real life. This is a work of fictio...
⚠️⚠️Warning ⚠️⚠️ Mentions of death, blood and fighting
If you are sensitive to that content, I will let you know when to stop and start reading. PROCEED WITH CAUTION
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*Time Skip* *Jimin's POV* College had ended hours ago and I had been training the entire time. I didn't want to leave anything to chance. At exactly 10, I was in the parking lot waiting for Jackson to arrive. About 20 minutes later, he finally showed up, but not alone. He had brought his friends with him. "Hey, spoiled brat." Jackson said. "Ah and here I thought the little rapist was too scared to show up." I smirked at his annoyed face. "Whatever, let's get this over with. I wanna go see my baby girl after I'm done with you." He said, "Overconfidence isn't good, baby." I couldn't help but laugh at his disgusted face. Slowly we started circling each other. "You know what I find funny." I asked him if I wanted him to make the first move. "What asshole." He replied with a sneer. "It's funny that you are overconfident, yet you had to bring your guard dogs to protect you." I said with a laugh provoking him further.
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His face darkened. He seemed to swell up. He exploded at me. Just launched himself forward with his right arm scything around in a giant roundhouse strike. I sidestepped his body and ducked under his arm and bounced up again and spun around. He stopped short on stiff legs and whipped back toward me. We had changed places. Now I was nearer the entrance than he was. He panicked and came at me again. Same move. His right arm swung. I sidestepped and ducked and we were back where we started. But he was breathing a little heavier than I was.
From the corner of my eye, I saw his friends getting ready to attack me. "Thing is, I expected you to do this, so I'm not alone either." I spoke up just as the guys snuck up on them and held their arms behind their backs. "You're a big girl's blouse," I said, to get his attention back to me. It was a term of abuse I had picked up somewhere. I had no idea what it meant. But it worked really well, with a certain type of guy. It worked real well with Jackson. He came at me again, with no hesitation. Same exact move. This time I crashed an elbow into his side as I spun under his arm. He bounced straight off of locked knees and came right back at me. I dodged away again and felt the breeze as his giant fist passed an inch above my head. He stood there, panting. I was warming up nicely. I was beginning to feel I had some kind of a chance. He was a very poor fighter. Lots of very big guys are. Either their sheer size is so intimidating it stops fights from ever starting in the first place, or else it lets them win everyone directly after their first punch lands. Either way, they don't get much practice. They don't develop much finesse. And they get out of shape. Weights machines and treadmills are no substitute for the kind of urgent, anxious, breathless tight-throat high-speed high-adrenaline fitness you need to fight on the street.
