Title: Student Affair.
Author: SYNdicate 930.
Summary: AU. One-shots of Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook, and their attempts at surviving undergrad, and their unruly libidos and constant desire to fuck each other into dust.

NOTE: All one-shots are in the same timline and happen out of order, but will make references to past/future events of one-shots. Ie., the the chronological order of events by chapter could be 2, 1, 4, 7 etc., even though the story is presented as 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. Hopefully that makes sense? I have an Aokise with this name and idea on my account, but let's just forget about that because I'm trash

Costumes are their job title things in DOPE.

Saturday, October 29, 20:44

"What did you say you were supposed to be?"

"I'm a private investigator. Can't you tell?" Taehyung does a small spin, shooting an over-confident 'chu' with his index finger and thumb pressed together. Jungkook rolls his eyes and dodges the kiss Taehyung blows in his direction. "Hey, that was a special air-kiss, asshole—"

"Private investigator? That's so specific. No one's going to get that." Jungkook furrows his brows. "Why the shorts?"

"What's wrong with the shorts? They pull the outfit together."

"Your knees are gross to look at."

"Then don't fucking look at them." Taehyung replies, shoving into Jungkook's arms an unopened can of beer. Touchy. The aluminum freezes the tips of his fingers and he jolts as it presses against his forearms. "It's more creative than going as a cop for the third Halloween in a row."

He has a point, but Jungkook doesn't admit it. "It'll be the first time Jimin sees me like this, though."

"Good thing, too. I hear he likes men in uniform."

23:20

Jungkook is in dire need of an extreme sum of piquant liquor to compensate for his sour attitude and piercing sobriety. The music is too loud, and the DJ doesn't seem to realize how some songs should not be remixed. Like any ballad or slow song, for example. Though, no one else seems to realize how shitty "Eyes, Nose, Lips" sounds as a dub-step track mixed with "Pick Me". Just having arrived to Hoseok's Halloween party, Jungkook attempts to rationalize the complexity and irregularity of Jimin's costume. The bandages don't emphasize any part of his physique, and blur a large portion of his face–one of Jungkook's favorite features. Not to mention the angle of Jimin's picture through his apartment bathroom mirror hides his body from the waist down. Why a mummy, of all things?

Chugging a beer, Jungkook grabs a hold of Hoseok. "Have you seen Jimin-hyung anywhere?"

Hoseok jumps out of his skin. He raises an index finger to the area behind Jungkook, towards the crowded space near the speakers and small dance floor. "Pretty sure he's somewhere there."

With a deep sigh, Jungkook pats Hoseok's back appreciatively, who gives him an encouraging nudge with his shoulder, and tosses his empty can for another beer, allowing himself a prolonged swig and then trashing the emptied aluminum immediately. With two beers in hand, Jungkook forces his way through a trio of drunken girls (who were admittedly solid sevens at best) taking selfies together, and flock of guys from their volleyball team. One of them jumps and elbows Jungkook's temple, leaving him more shocked from the impact than angered at his idiocy. Fucking Chanyeol—Kyungsoo ought to keep that boy on a leash.

With smiling mahogany eyes, Jungkook identifies Jimin instantaneously. Purposefully bumping shoulders with him, Jungkook holds a chilled can in his direction. "Oi. Finish up your beer, I've brought you another one."

Hiccup. Giggle. Giggle.

"Thanks, Jungkookie! Let's do shots of tequila in a sec. I think I saw Hani pouring some for herself and Solji."

Giggle. Giggle. Hiccup.

The slurring of his voice leaves Jungkook perplexed, dazed by the messy pronunciation, rogue color of Jimin's cheeks and sudden yearning for tequila. Their last experience with tequila hadn't been the best the morning after, but he's never met a drunk as fun as Park Jimin. Jungkook hands off the can. "I thought you were coming as a mummy. You were dressed like one in that picture you sent me."

"I thought about it," Jimin starts, clicking the beer can open with his index finger, quickly sipping up the bubbles that foam out before they spill over. "It's cool in theory, but too much of a pain to go through with it."

"So what are you now?" Jungkook eyes the black shoes, dress pants, and tucked in button up, held back by a leather belt around his slim waist. The top button is undone to boast the persuasive flesh of his throat from his sharp mandible to just below his polished collar bones. His tie hangs loosely beneath the white collar and down his chest, and Jungkook trails the obsidian fabric with his eyes and a casual sip of his drink. He eyes the fit of Jimin's pants graciously, noting the tempting and compelling swell at his crotch. Damn, do those pants fit him nicely.

"I'm an office worker." Jimin says simply. He follows suit with a sip of his drink.

"That's really lame."

"Look who's talking, mister officer. There are, like, four other cops. At least I can say mine's more unique than yours."

"I look hotter."

"Debatable." Jungkook slaps his bicep jokingly, before Jimin downs his beverage in a matter of seconds.

"Hey, now, take it easy there." Jungkook raises his voice, just barely over the music, as he watches him finish his beer as quickly as he starts the next.

"I have a surprisingly high tolerance, you know."

Hiccup. Giggle. Hiccup.

Jungkook isn't convinced, and Jimin can see it in the way his eyes look him over. "What's with that face? Seriously. I can handle it."

"I just don't want to have to carry you back to your apartment." Jungkook states sarcastically, shrugging despite the notion becoming increasingly appealing by the second; how he'd love to get Jimin alone and all to himself. His mood lightens, but not markedly. He doesn't have anything to talk to Jimin about, and he's still recoiling from their last encounter.

Jungkook sips at his drink contemplatively, wondering how much longer and how many more beers it'll take to feel even the faintest buzz in his face. His teetotal state makes the cramped atmosphere more stifling than it truly is, made markedly vexatious by his poor attitude and cynical expectations. Somewhere behind him, he can hear Taehyung and Hoseok shouting at Namjoon and Yoongi to take shots.

"So, what brings you here? Pretty girls?" Jimin inquires, to which Jungkook snickers. He'd be a liar to deny it, though he can't say it's his only motivation for coming. Jimin is quite the looker, too; much more alluring, much more his type. "I swore I saw you staring at some girls over there."

"Don't misunderstand me. I wasn't staring. I was just admiring all the different costumes." Smooth. The doubt on Jimin's face is clear, but he can't entirely prove he's lying. He agreed to come because it's Hoseok's party, really. Attractive women in revealing clothing—that's merely a large bonus. However, Jungkook has yet to encounter someone who's really caught his eye, even in the vague glow of the dimmed lights, with vast amounts of skin exposed that could leave anyone looking captivating. As someone physically inclined, leaving with someone on his arm is child's play. Another sip. But, presently, he greatly prefers Jimin's company over a one-night stand he'll surely regret. Though, Jungkook is certain he wouldn't regret it if he were to leave with Jimin on his arm. "I'm also here to haul your dumb ass home when you're done. You'll thank me in the morning. Until then, let's get trashed."

Raising his drink, Jimin taps it enthusiastically against his friend's. Cheers.

"By the way, just because I'm making sure you get home, doesn't mean I'll nurse you all night. Cops don't baby sit. And I'm not here to baby sit anyone." Which is a lie. He'd take of Jimin all night if he needs to, but decides to play distant and cool.

"Hey, I never need to be baby sat when I drink, but okay. Officer Jungkook over here isn't playing babysitter tonight." Except for maybe the tall girl who saunters past. Nodding in her direction idly to Jimin, Jungkook watches her through the corner of his eye, rapidly sipping at his beer as he watches her thighs–pale, smooth, thin, with enough meat on her bones that lead to a perky rear hidden beneath a petticoat and short skirt– and how her short black hair bounces after her slim, athletic body. Jungkook catches a glimpse of her ample breasts pressed against the colorful material of her top, and chokes on his beverage at the unassuming smile Seokjin gives him as his eyes trail upward. Busy maintaining the party and Hoseok's apartment (which he and Taehyung are presently destroying), Seokjin ambles by with empty cups and beer cans in hand. Jungkook shakes his head. Gross.

"Hey, Jungkookie and Jungkook's friend!" Seokjin greets, adjusting his fake boobs in his costume before returning to cleaning after Hoseok and Taehyung.

"What was Jin-hyung just wearing?" Jungkook mumbles and shakes his head. He must be drunker than he thought.

Jimin laughs. "You know him?"

"Yep. He was always an interesting guy." Jungkook tosses his can into the recycling bin behind him easily. Jungkook quickly tries to pull Jimin's beer away from his mouth. "You might want to slow down with your drink. I said get trashed, not 'get so drunk you wake up in the trash.'"

Jimin finishes his drink with a satisfied sigh, holding Jungkook's glance defiantly. The seriousness of his face is interrupted by the slight curl at the corners of his mouth, as if holding back his laughter. He can hold his liquor despite Jungkook's obvious doubt. Jimin is by no means a small fellow, with no drinking experience—he can handle it to some degree. Jimin tosses his beer can at the trash bin behind him confidently, only to miss it entirely, knocking against the edge of it before rolling back towards his feet. Awkwardly, Jimin bends over to place it neatly atop the growing pile of cans. Jungkook pretends he doesn't see, for Jimin's sake.

"Let's go play a drinking game, mister cop, what do you say about that?"

"Uh... Sure." Is Jungkook's only response. He wasn't in the mood for a drinking game at the moment, especially if that meant joining beer pong or Hoseok and Taehyung's body shot competition in the kitchen. But, with that look in Jimin's eyes, who is he to deny him? Girls appear from behind Jimin, pawing at them and calling them over with their sweet voices and playful figures. Two fives, and a six—maybe a six and a half, Jungkook can't quite tell with her ninja mask hiding her face from the eyes down, but that cinched waist, wide hips and thin set of milky thighs are definitely a six on their own.

"A drinking game? Can we join too?" A sexualized version of a Pikachu purrs into Jimin's ear. Jealously swells deep in his chest as her friends giggle in unison. "It'll be lots of fun."

"Sure! You can join us for a drinking game and watch me beat this dumbass." Jimin offers. The girls become noticeably excited and Jungkook's shoulders sag; he really isn't in the mood for party games tonight. There's no way out of this, Jimin doesn't seem the least bit interested in him, and the only real hot girl at this party is Seokjin. Tonight is already a write off before having started.

"Fine. What game? Ladies' choice." He states.

Sunday, October 30, 01:47

"What in the world convinced you taking seven shots was a good idea?" Jungkook chides Jimin lightly, who is hunched over on the sidewalk clutching his stomach.

"If you mess up in sam-yook-gu, you have to take a shot. I suck at it, but it's the rules."

"If you knew you suck at sam-yook-gu, and mess up each time, why would you keep agreeing to play after the fourth shot?" He rubs Jimin's shoulder in an attempt to be somewhat comforting, but ultimately recoils at the harsh noise he produce while dry-heaving. "I leave you alone for, like, ten minutes to be Taehyung's beer-pong partner and I come back and you were already seven shots in."

"Seven shots in and three cans of beer as chase."

"What were you thinking—"

"Don't be so harsh on him, Jungkook."

"I'm sorry. I just—he's so drunk. I want him to be alright."

"He probably doesn't get to party like this often." Seokjin admonishes. He crouches next to him, patting and rubbing at his shoulders and back. Jimin continues to swear he's sober, even as he coughs and spits. "We'll help you to the car when you're ready, Jimin. If you need to throw up it's okay, I have water if you need."

"I swear I'm fine, I'm just tired." Jimin says. He straightens his legs shakily. Jungkook catches him as he stumbles backwards. His skin burns through his white button up and he's missing his necktie. Last time Jungkook saw it, he swore it was strapped around Hoseok's forehead clumsily. It'll find its way back to Jimin somehow, he's sure. Seokjin straightens the front of his skirt as he stands up and helps Jungkook lead Jimin to the car. It's amazing how well he's managed to keep up with the night in heels, Jungkook thinks. Jimin scrutinizes Seokjin closely on their way to the vehicle. "Wow, you're actually really pretty to look at."

The compliment catches Jungkook off guard, but not Seokjin. "Thank you."

"If you were a girl, or even a guy—I'm not sure what you are—I would fuck—"

They unlock the car, and the two haul the poor man into the passenger seat. Jungkook wastes no time in strapping Jimin in with the seat-belt, and forces him to drink from the bottle of water Seokjin brought. No one wants to know where you were going with that sentence, Jungkook thinks to himself. Jimin drinks about a quarter of it before he decides he's had enough, and the two agree that it's sufficient for now. Jungkook thanks Seokjin for helping him take care of Jimin before running around to the driver's side .

"Make sure he finishes that and drinks more when he gets home, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

02:09

Jungkook is amazed with himself. He had somehow managed to maneuver Jimin out of his seat, onto his back in a sloppy piggy-back, and into the lobby of his apartment. He's lost the water Seokjin gave them earlier, but Jungkook can always pour Jimin a much needed glass when they get to his suite. The chandelier in the lobby above them glows warmly, dozens of glass ornaments adorning the golden frame like stalagmites, sharp, intimidating, yet sophisticatedly so.

The floors are so polished; the light reflected by the tiles blinds him momentarily as Jimin snores away against his shoulder. Several pairs of leather couches separated by rounded coffee tables face each other on either side of him. He's only been over once or twice—three times maybe, though that would be pushing it. In the centre of the lobby is the receptionist desk, where the receptionist, with her hair tied in a tight bun and lips dyed rouge glares at him questionably, her stare slowly sliding to his left to eye the tuff of orange hair on Jungkook's shoulder. He turns to the side to reveal Jimin in all his flushed and inebriated glory, hoping it would lessen her suspicions of him.

The receptionist remains silent, returning to typing away at her computer with pristine French manicured nails and such an elegant jawline, Jungkook pauses briefly, in contemplation. Before making any advances on her, it would definitely be in his best interest to be by himself. Or, at least without an unconscious man on his back.

He treks to the elevator wordlessly. No one joins their ride to the thirteenth floor. Exiting the elevator, Jungkook remembers Jimin's apartment as the one at the very end of the hall on his left—the door down the hall with a small stain on the hallway carpet from Jimin's birthday. For the shits and giggles, he places Jimin on the stain, and rests his head of bright orange hair gently against the wall as he searches his pockets for his keys. Nothing says casual like searching an unconscious person's pockets.

After unlocking the door, he carries Jimin the way he'd seen Baekhyun carry Taeyeon at their wedding, against his chest easily, though, despite his small frame, Jimin is a lot heavier and taller than Taeyeon is. Jungkook struggles into the dark apartment. He kicks the door shut behind him and slips their shoes off, placing Jimin softly on the couch in the living room before scanning the space for a light switch through the moonlight. There's one by the door.

"I feel awful." The lights come on.

"And whose fault is that?" He tosses back playfully.

"Yours." Jimin answers as Jungkook walks towards him. It feels oddly intimate, the pink in Jimin's face, the disheveled hair, the somewhat sensual position he shifts into, resting his weight against his elbows, legs parted very slightly, almost invitingly. His attention is caught by the small bulge in the front of his dress pants.

"I didn't tell you to take seven shots." Jungkook replies. Or use beer as chase. "Besides, you only remember seven—who knows how many you actually had. At one point, you'd forgotten my name and called me 'Kookie' instead."

"What? I know your name. Jung Jeonkook."

"Jeon Jung-kook."

"Same thing." Silence fills the awkward gap as Jimin fidgets with his shirt wordlessly. Through the corner of his eyes, Jungkook watches as Jimin, noticeably uncomfortable, undoes the top three buttons of his shirt. "So… Is Snow White single?"

His eyes snap up to Jimin's face. "Who?"

"That friend of yours who was dressed as Snow White. He's really hot."

"Yeah, he's single. But he's super straight. Good luck." I've tried. Jimin emits a displeasured noise in his throat, before rolling onto his side and shutting his eyes. He mumbles something that sounds like "lame" under his breath as Jungkook climbs onto the couch next to him, intimacy ruined by Jimin's apparent attraction to Seokjin—but who is he to blame? Seokjin turns heads no matter where he goes. It baffles Jungkook to know he's remained single his entire life. "Hey, don't fall asleep there. If you're going to sleep, sleep in your bed."

"I'm so tired." Jimin whines. With half-lidded eyes, the warm hue of the light by the door accentuates Jimin's aegyo-sal, he raises his arms in a welcoming manner, hands wimp at their respective, fragile wrists. "Jungkookie, carry me."

Jungkook's latent response is a quick roll of his lightly lined eyes. The black eyeliner has begun to dwindle into a smudged blur, affixing a sybaritic maturity to his still adolescent features, but yields to the realization that Jimin has him seized and imploring in the palm of his hand. And it's been like that since he first saw him.

One second Jimin is this exhausted figure slumped over on the living couch, and the next he is the incubus of Jungkook's fancy, sprawled, upon the blindingly bleached white sheets of his mattress. The image thrusts Jungkook into a galvanized stupor, incapable of conjuring innumerable visions of his mouth on Jimin's magnetic lips, that unjustly persuasive figure, and their flesh oscillating forcing the springs to sing amidst covetous moans and spasmodic respirations. A pre-emptive air hangs over Jungkook, retreats to the door frame, slanting superficially. Ember resting in the pit of his stomach may become enflamed at any second, at any given glance directed his way, at any inviting movement; but he knows he mustn't, he could never cross physical boundaries with someone so inebriated and intemperate.

Redirecting his scrutiny, Jungkook examines the spotless bedroom with crossed arms. With such an effervescent demeanor and, at times, inane bouts of refractory banter, one would have never matched such a pristine space with a happily insouciant spirit like Jimin.

A part of him wants to laugh, for Jimin's room, and, come to think of it, entire apartment resembles the likeness of an IKEA display; so expertly coordinated, though without the clutter of accessories and obnoxious red and yellow price tags. The walls and surfaces are relatively bare, with merely necessities appearing in his view—a closed laptop upon an immaculate black desk, desk lamp and adorable orange mug—the same color as his hair—filled with scissors, and various pens and pencils. On the floor is his familiar school bag, and, aside from his desk, the only furniture to fill his room are his bed, a demure night stand, laundry basket, and leather computer chair. The simplicity is as refreshing as it is admittedly embarrassing. Jungkook can't recall the last time he'd properly tidied his apartment—though, mere notion of arriving to an orderly home is dashed by the image of Taehyung in front of the television in his god-awful kigurumi.

Jimin asks that Jungkook shut his closet door, to which he complies silently. He seizes this opportunity to peer into Jimin's closet. The further he moves into his room, the more it smells like laundry and Jimin's eccentric cologne. Peeking over a shoulder, hand on the mirrored sliding door edge, Jungkook inquires, "Do you want to change into pajamas or something?"

"I didn't think of that." Jimin, now drowning beneath his thick comforter, props himself upon his elbows. "Pass me a t-shirt."

"Any one in particular?" Jungkook turns to gaze into the shallow closet. Despite the tame atmosphere of his apartment, Jungkook acknowledges the colors, quirks, diversity, and endearingly Jimin flare of his repertoire. When he glances over his shoulder, Jungkook is gifted with an alluring angle of Jimin unbuttoning and slipping off his white shirt off his athletic shoulders, carelessly discarding the wrinkled material onto the floor beside the bed. He had never seen Jimin shirtless, his delinquent imagination constantly striving to create the perfect body to equal his charming face.

"Doesn't matter." They lock eyes briefly, but Jungkook does not read into it. Jimin hops off the mattress. The way he unbuckles and tugs on his leather belt, and undoes his pants forces what feels like all of Jungkook's blood into his crotch. Before Jimin notices him ogling, Jungkook pulls at the first shirt his fingers touch and tosses it over haphazardly. "Thanks."

As Jimin throws it on, Jungkook, ambling across the creaky mahogany, takes advantage of the material being pulled over his orange hair to take in as much of his abs and hips as he can. Before he has a moment to reconsider, it comes out. "Nice briefs."

This sparks ticklish laughter from Jimin, whose head emerges from the collar of the navy blue t-shirt. His hair is increasingly disheveled, but it makes his bed-ready state all the cuter. Jimin gives a quick tug at the elastic around his waist, allowing it to snap back playfully, and the quick view of what Jungkook believed to be a light tuff of pubic hair and beginning of his cock is almost enough to knock him out. How he would love to see what Jimin has hidden behind that neon pink fabric.

Distressingly aware of his erection, Jungkook awkwardly perches on the edge of Jimin's mattress, arm and legs crossed tensely. Jimin follows. He rest his weight against Jungkook limply, head tilted upon Jungkook's shoulder, mumbling with heavy eyelids. "Will you stay the night Jungkookie?"

Jimin's bare thighs next to his come into view, and Jungkook sputters.