when jimin slips a count onstage, the music doesn’t just stagger—it detonates inside him. you’re the one who follows the echo into the dressing room. he’s furious, shining with sweat and shame, beautiful in ruin. you’re supposed to keep it professional. he’s supposed to keep it together. neither of you do.
☆ pairings: park jimin x female reader
☆ genre: idol au, smut, mild angst (hurt/comfort)
☆ rating: explicit (18+) MDNI
warnings: strong language, possessive behavior, power imbalance ish (crew x artist), sexual content, manhandling, oral f.receiving, marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex
author’s note: first in the series yeeey! had so much fun writing this, and it’s a bit long, but i wanted to start off this series with a bang lol. i’m currently writing the next part of this series, which will be more head on - not so much build up as in this one. and a lot shorter. but lmk if you guys like the build up or not — feedback means the world to me! anyways hope u guys enjoy ₊˚✩
the roar of the crowd is deafening, even from backstage. the vibration of thousands of voices colliding in one stadium-wide scream thrums through the steel beams and concrete under your feet, climbing into your chest like an extra heartbeat. your earpiece buzzes with static, a wire coiled hot against the back of your neck. you shift your weight, pressing the piece deeper into your ear as another voice slices in - one of the crew, his tone clipped and flat, laced with disapproval.
“off beat. he’s late in counts three through six. look at him - he’s lost.”
another sighs. “fuck, what’s going on with him tonight.”
your stomach tightens, a coil winding too fast, too sharp.
you’re standing just beyond the curtain, tucked in the shadows where the stage light bleeds into black. from here you see everything, the stage stretching out like a lit temple, the member’s bodies moving with exhausting precision, sequined jackets flashing under white beams.
but your eyes won’t leave him.
even under the heavy blaze of the lights, he’s unmistakable - the way he moves, sharp but fluid, his body sculpting the music into something alive. except tonight, something falters.
it’s subtle at first. a half-beat late. his foot lands just slightly behind the others, his shoulder tilts too shallow. he steps wrong and the ripple spreads through him, throwing off the synchronicity of the choreography. the others recover, but he’s fighting against the rhythm now, falling behind by fractions that feel colossal when broadcast on screens twenty feet high.
you wince. your chest rises, sharp and uneven, like you’re the one dancing out there. you know how much precision means to him - how he burns himself out in rehearsals, drilling steps until his body collapses into sleep before his mind.
your throat aches as you watch. each misstep feels like a blade, but worse than that is the look that you can already imagine painted across his face when he comes off stage.
the song crashes to its finish, lights exploding white before dropping to black. the sound is replaced by the cavernous cheer of the audience, but backstage, silence hums with a different pitch - the kind charged with nerves. you see the members break formation, bowing, smiling, waving, the sweat on their skin glowing like liquid gold under spotlights.
then they vanish into the wings, swallowed by the dark.
and he’s the first you see.
jimin rushes into view, sweat pouring down his temple, strands of blonde hair plastered to his forehead. his fingers tear through it, pushing it back in a frantic sweep that only makes the mess worse, strands curling damp against the crown of his head. his chest is heaving, each inhale a visible shudder beneath the cling of his blouse - black satin, soaked and shining where it sticks to his skin. the top few buttons have come undone in the chaos, revealing a sliver of chest; smooth skin slick with sweat, collarbones cut delicate and precise, rising and falling with each breath.
his in-ear monitor dangles uselessly now, cord swinging over the sheen fabric as he rips it free and lets it hang loose. his lips are parted, pink and swollen, his jaw tight, eyes dark and narrowed with a storm you recognize instantly; disappointment turned inward like a blade.
there’s a kind of devastating beauty to him like this, even unraveling. the harsh lights catch in the fine line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the arch of his brows. his cheeks are flushed, not just from exertion but from shame. he doesn’t look at anyone as he strides forward, pace quick, head down, fury and frustration radiating off him in waves.
your hand lifts before you think - instinct, muscle memory. you reach out, fingers brushing the air between you and his back, desperate to stop him, to steady him before he breaks himself apart.
but he brushes past you without a pause. he clips your shoulder and passes by you - heat, cologne, sweat and the faint slap of his boots disappearing into the dark. your hand hangs there, stupidly suspended where his back should’ve been. you lower it slowly, fingers tingling, pulse drumming in your throat.
the rest of them break through of the wings in a staggered line, still haloed by the memory of the lights.
jin reaches you first, tall and steady, glitter catching on his jaw where sweat has traced thin rivers. his jacket - pearl buttons and satin piping - hangs open, breath lifting it on each inhale. he plants a warm palm on your shoulder. the pressure is firm enough to quiet the tremor in your muscles.
“let him cool off,” he says, voice rough from singing. the words are patient, practiced. “he’ll fixate on this for an hour…” his eyes tip toward the corridor jimin took, a crease forming between his brows. “hopefully. and then he’ll be back to normal.”
you nod, though your chest is too tight for it to feel like agreement. behind him, a boot scuffs hard against concrete.
taehyung rolls in on a huff, one sleeve slouched off his shoulder, chest heaving under sequins that flash like water when he moves. his hair is damp, a few strands stuck to his cheekbone. “he’s so incredibly dramatic,” he butters, not bothering to lower his voice. “it’s fucking insane.” he angles his jaw toward the darkness jimin swallowed. “he’s been distant this whole tour, it’s a wonder he didn’t fuck up before.”
jin elbows him - not playfully. taehyung flinches, eyes cutting sideways, lips flattening into a hard line. he rolls his shoulders, radiating with irritation. for a heart’s beat, you think he’ll push it. then he exhales and shuts his mouth, shaking sweat from his bangs with a small, irritable toss.
“you have to be back at the hotel in thirty minutes,” you say, and your voice sounds thin - frayed by the tinny crackle in your earpiece and the oceanic roar still leaking from the arena. “i’ll go tell him to prep… he can’t just isolate himself.”
jin drags his away from your shoulder. he tips his head back, working the stiffness out of his neck. his tongue passes over his lower lip - salt, breath, habit - and he meets your gaze again, steady but weighed. there’s a wordless sorry in it.
“yeah good luck with that,” comes dryly from your left.
yoongi is a step behind. sweat has darkened the collar of his shirt; a few damp pieces of hair curl at his temple. he looks composed in that unbothered way that’s half energy conversation, half armor. his eyes flicker from your face to the corridor, then back, saying more than his voice does.
he tugs at a cable to his waistband and adds, softer, “he’s a stubborn one.”
your earpiece pops, “…standby for encore load-out,” someone drones, far away and irrelevant.
footsteps slap faster from the wing. jungkook barrels in, high on leftover adrenaline, pupils blown wide under fluorescents. his jacket is unzipped, clinging to his shoulders; the hem of his tank sticks to his stomach in a dark crescent. he’s panting, hand branches on his thigh for a second like he’s about to sprint right back out there.
“‘s hyung okay?” he asks, words tripping over his breath. he looks past you, gaze falling over the darkness behind, watching over the absence of his elder. he peers down the corridor, jaw working. “he slipped on the turn. i saw the tape line - kinda shifted? maybe that’s why? it wasn’t-” he stops himself, glances between jin and you, desperate to help and not sure how. “it wasn’t that bad, right?”
taehyung snorts once. jin cuts him a warning glance.
yoongi answers, cool, “doesn’t matter how bad or not it was. this is enough to set him off the edge.”
jungkook’s shoulders slump. he nods, fingers fidgeting with the zipper pull at his chest, metal clicking lightly. “should i-” he jerks his chin toward the corridor, already leaning in that direction.
“give him a minute,” jin says, gentle but final.
a blur of motion and a burst of bright laughter - half real, half leftover stage reflex - announce hoseok before he fully steps into the light. his grin is automatic, a reflexive balm for whoever’s looking; it flickers when he clocks your face, then dims properly when he glances down the corridor. he’s drenched - sweat gleaming on his throat, along the cut of his collarbones. rhinestones at his cuff catch the fluorescence and spangle the wall with tiny stars.
he takes in the group’s shape at a glance, reads the tension, and nods once. “yeah… he’s all in his head, isn’t he?” he says, breath evening out as he plants his hands on his hips. “he was already quiet before soundcheck. he’ll chew on it.” a small lift of his brows at jin. “we have time?”
“thirty minutes,” you answer. “call time at the hotel.”
hoseok’s mouth pinches, the way it does when he’s about to triage. “okay. showers, quick pack, food to go. someone needs to get jimin.” with this he turns his head to you, offering you the smallest smile, light but kind.
you don’t trust your voice, so you nod. hoseok’s smile softens, a silent thanks. he claps jungkook’s shoulder, easy, “you did fucking great.”
jungkook shrugs like praise sits awkwardly on him. “we all did,” he says, because humility is easier than sitting still. then, quieter, “he did too. until he… you know.”
taehyung pushes damp hair out of his eyes, impatience ebbing into worry now that the adrenaline is thinning. “he’ll twist it into something catastrophic. he always does.” the words are flat, but the way his mouth presses at the end gives him away. he looks at you, a little defiant, a little pleading.
namjoon arrives like a tide rolling in - steady, the temperature of the space changing by a degree just by his presence. he drags a towel down his face, leaving streaks of moisture in its wake. his blazer hangs from one shoulder, shirt translucent at the chest. he takes stock - your expression, the angle of jin’s stance, the way taehyung’s heel taps, jungkook’s coiled energy - and pieces fall into place behind his eyes.
“where is he?” he asks, already answering it in his head when he sees the dark mouth of the corridor.
“dressing room,” jin says.
namjoon’s jaw ticks once. he scrubs the towel into his hair, bones of his hands stark under the skin. “bad?”
“aftermath,” yoongi says quietly.
namjoon huffs a humorless breath. “mhm, so bad.” he shifts the towel at his neck, squeezing water out of it. then he looks over at you, gaze level. “did you talk to him?”
you swallow. “no, he brushed past me.” your fingers worry the cable of your in-ear, the small spiral of it hot against your palm. “he ripped his monitor and just kept walking.”
“that’s not about you.” namjoon’s voice calm, low, built for steadiness. “you know that.”
“i know,” you say. it still stings.
namjoon’s mouth goes crooked at one corner. not a smile - just recognition. “okay.” he glances at the others. “we don’t dogpile him. we don’t turn it into a meeting. hoseok, water. jungkook, don’t pace outside the door.” jungkook’s ear’s go a little red; he looks away, busted. “tae, no commentary unless it’s helpful.”
taehyung lifts both hands, palms out, contrite in the way that’s almost theatrical. “hyung, i’ll be so good,” he says, then mutters, nearly sincere, “i’ll shut up.”
“seokjin, you keep the time.” namjoon turns back to you and, for a second, lets the leader mask slip. worry washes unguarded through his features before he sets them again. “you’ll go first? or do you want me to do it?”
the question detonates something small in your chest. “you can,” you hear yourself say, convincing yourself to be practical. “he listens to you.”
namjoon tilts his head. “i think i’d make him all the way more embarrassed. angrier.”
your throat tightens. you nod, a small pulse of gratitude knocking in your ribs. “okay.”
“take ten seconds before you knock,” hoseok suggests, palms braced at the small of his back as if easing a knot. his voice drops to the soft register you’ve heard in rehearsals when someone’s on the verge. “if he’s spiraling, the first sound will feel like an alarm.”
“just try to get his mind of if,” jin adds, back in big brother mode, steady and useful. “or else he won’t be going anywhere in a while,” he checks the time on his watch, taps the face once. “we’ve got a thin window.”
jungkook points down the corridor, eager leaking back around the edges of him despite the order not to pace. “i’ll bring a hoodie. he’s always cold once we finish.” he bolts two steps before catching himself and looks back for permission. hoseok waves him on with a small, go.
taehyung hooks a thumb into his waistband, weight tipped to one hip, eyes narrowed in your direction. “tell him i said he’s being a fucking annoyance,” he says, deadpan. then, after a beat, “but that he looked good.” it’s the best version of an apology you’ll get from him in the first five minutes.
namjoon drapes the towel around his shoulders like a mantle. “we’ll be just a few doors down,” he tells you. “if he needs space, let him have it. if not, tell him to come over to us.” he taps two fingers to his chest, a small pledge.
the corridor hums with residue of the show; cables coiled like sleeping snakes, the faint sugar-burnt smell of fog fluid, distant crew chatter. the six boys begin to dissolve into it - peeling off toward showers, toward the wardrobe - trusting you to take the narrow path left open between worry and time.
you draw a breath that barely fits, tasting salt and hairspray, and whatever courage you can manufacture. your shoes feel loud against the concrete as you start down the hall. before continuing, you look back, meeting namjoon’s eyes before he wanders off. he gives you a short, encouraging nod, before he’s gone in the dark.
you turn the corner, the sound of the boys fading into the buzz of lights. the corridor narrows, paint scuffed at hip height where too many hurried bodies have brushed past. the floor is cool through the soles of your shoes. on the wall, a crooked placard reads DRESSING ROOM.
your heart keeps stuttering, trying to match a rhythm that isn’t there. at the forth door, a small gold star is taped next to a printed name. you stop. the air is different here - quieter, heavier, as if his own silence has weight.
you lift your hand toward the handle.
and pause, counting hoseok’s ten seconds in your head, feeling the team’s words settle like ballast in your lungs.
your knuckles rest at the door, pale with pressure, a nervous tremor hidden in the way you hold them there. the silence on the other side stretches, heavy and unbearable. you bite the inside of your cheek, heart hammering against your ribs. you knock.
“jimin…” your voice is low, hesitant, almost swallowed by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. “can i come in?”
nothing. no sound. no movement. just the hollow silence of the dressing room swallowing your words. you keep your hand still, knuckles grazing the wood as if the contact might keep you tethered. seconds crawl past, each one lengthened by your own shallow breathing.
“i’ll be right back out,” you try again, voice smaller this time, coaxing. “i just need to make sure you’re alright before we leave, okay?”
your throat constricts. the quiet behind the door gnaws at you - too quiet for him, who always hums or taps or shifts his weight when he’s anxious. against better judgement, you curl your fingers around the cold metal handle and pull.
the door creaks open, and the sight arrests you instantly.
jimin sits slouched on the small couch pressed against the far wall, body folded into itself, his elbows dig into his thighs, legs spread, shoulders bowed forward. his head hands low, his hands clasped tightly, forehead pressed into them like a man praying for relief that won’t come. he doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge the door opening. his shoulders rise and fall with every breath, harsh and uneven, dragging his whole frame with them.
his shirt hangs from him, now unbuttoned nearly to the waist, exposing most of his torso. sweat glistens across the sculpted lines of him - chest rising sharply, ribs pushing faintly against satin, every inhale catching the light. his collarbones gleam, fragile and fine like the edge of porcelain. strands of blonde hair are plastered to his forehead, sticking in damp arcs that shadow his eyes. his skin is flushed, glowing with the aftermath of stage heat and something heavier; shame, anger, exhaustion.
you inhale slowly, steadying yourself, and step closer. each footfall against the thin carpet feels too loud, too intrusive.
“jimin?” you whisper, softer than the hum of the lights.
he doesn’t move. his forehead stays pressed to his hands, lips closed in a thin line, though you see the faint twitch in them with each heavy breath.
when you reach him, you crouch low, lowering yourself slowly into his line of sight. his face is still hidden, but you angle your body, head tilting; trying to catch him from below. his lips are swollen, red from biting, twitching faintly with every strained inhale. his lashes rest damp against his cheeks, eyes clenched shut.
the words feel fragile, so you give them the weight of your touch. carefully, you slip your hand over his clasped ones, the contrast of your smaller fingers warm against his damp, trembling skin. your thumb strokes gently over the ridge of his knuckles.
he flinches. a barely-there jerk. but he doesn’t pull away. he just remains bowed, his breath stuttering for half a second before resuming its heavy rhythm.
“don’t beat yourself up,” you murmur, voice steadying with every word. “you’ve preformed a thousand times. this is only just a drop in the ocean. no one but you noticed.”
the words loosen something. his lips twitch upward, not into a smile but into something darker - a smirk edged with self-loathing. he lets out a sharp scoff, shoulders jerking with it.
“don’t baby me,” he rasps. his voice low, scraped with exhaustion. he still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “if no one noticed…” his head tilts slightly, blonde hair falling further across his forehead. “…you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
the sting pricks at your chest. you click your tongue softly, tilting your head, your neck curving so you can better see his face.
his skin is flushed, damp with sweat, strands of hair clinging to the edges of his temple. his lips - parted, swollen, a dark pink - quivering faintly. his jaw is sharp, tense, cut deep with frustration. even in ruin, he’s heartbreakingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes your pulse uneven.
you exhale, breath ghosting from your nose. “well…” your voice is almost playful, almost chastising. then sharp, determined. annoyed. “then snap out of it.”
that does it. his head lifts, and his eyes find you.
the force of his gaze pins you. dark, glossy, wet at the corners, his irises burn with intensity- anger, shame, and a heat you can’t name. his eyes are piercing, unblinking, stripping you bare in an instant. the sharpness of them makes your stomach twist, your throat tighten.
then, in between a tsk, he speaks again, “fuck off.”
you clear your throat, the cough broken, sound brittle, desperate to break out of his spell. “no. don’t sit around here, sulking. feeling sorry for yourself,” your tone has changed completely. before gentle; now aggressive, impatient. “if you don’t want to be babied; then grow up.”
the change is immediate. his gaze softening, nostrils flaring as his breath slows. his entire expression melts, fierce lines unraveling. his eyebrows lift in the faintest arch, his lips trembling just slightly. he looks like he’s on the edge of tears, though none fall.
the sight sends shivers racing down your spine. instinct overtakes thought, and you lift your free hand, brushing it against his cheek. his skin is hot, slick, tender beneath your palm. you cradle his face gently, thumb grazing the hollow beneath his eye, sweeping across his damp skin.
his lashes flutter, rapid, then close. a small sigh slips past his lips, and his shoulders fall just slightly, like the weight he’s carrying has shifted by a fraction.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, regret pooling in your chest as you glare at the distraught boy before you. “i didn’t mean to be so harsh.” you keep stroking his cheek, fingers soft against his hot skin. “but you can’t dwell on this. it’s a drop in the ocean. one mess up.”
for a moment, the silence is absolute - the hum of the lights, the faint rattle of distant equipment muted under the heavy sound of his breathing. his lips part, but no words come. the air between you stretches, charged with something unspoken, until suddenly -
“you don’t fucking get it.”
his words cut sharp, abrupt, and his hand shoots up, swatting yours from his face. the rejection stings, both your palm and your chest. he surges to his feet, towering over your crouched body, so you follow his action, stumbling up after him - instinctively backing a step away.
he paces, restless, energy spilling from him like sparks. his hands take through his hair, pulling it back in frustrated sweeps, then fall to his sides before rising again. his lips part, tongue brushing them nervously, before his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.
“i’ve been like this for weeks,” he exhales, voice strained, cracking under the weight of it. “i can’t concentrate.”
you watch, frozen, words tangled in your throat. his gentleness has always been the surface you knew, the softness the world adored. but this - this raw edge, this anger - you’ve never seen it up close. it’s jarring, frightening in its own way. your voice falters when you finally speak. “but… all you do is train. you never rest. you never take a day off.”
your gaze flickers, distracted by the way his in-ear cable has twisted around his silver necklace, dangling over the expanse of his bare chest. sweat trails down the carved lines of his torso, catching in the dip of his stomach. your throat dries. “maybe you should rest. maybe that’s what you need.”
he chuckles, dark and humorless, teeth flashing as a coy smile curves his lips. his head shakes slowly.
“you really don’t get it, do you?”
your brows knit. you don’t answer, because every word you’ve offered has only seemed to push him further away. it might be better to just keep quiet this time.
and then, suddenly, he steps toward you.
you stumble back instinctively, foot catching the edge of the carpet. the ground wobbles, but before you can retreat further, he closes the distance. his stride is longer, his steps heavier, every inch of him radiating heat and exhaustion, and something way darker.
now he stands directly before you, chest bare and heaving, blonde hair falling wild into his eyes. his gaze roams over you, flickering from your eyes to your mouth, down your figure, then back up again. slow. intentional. consuming.
“i can’t focus,” he says, voice low, gravel threading through it. he’s teasing you.
your breath snags. his eyes lock onto yours, pupils blown wide, burning. “i haven’t been able to for a while.”
the silence stretches, thick, suffocating. you swear he must be able to hear your heartbeat pounding wildly.
“think you know why?” he purrs, his tone mocking, almost angry, laced with something dangerous.
you can’t speak. can’t breathe. the scent of him surrounds you - cologne, sweat, skin - and it makes your head spin. he looks devilishly beautiful, and devastating all at once, his face carved with exhaustion, his eyes heavy-lidded, filled with heat and pain.
you shake your head, tiny, helpless.
he doesn’t answer. not with words, anyhow.
his hand rises slowly, deliberate, brushing against your face. his fingers trail the curve of your hairline, tucking strands behind your ear with a tenderness that contradicts the fire in his eyes. the coolness of his rings pricking at your skin. the pad of his middle finger drags lightly across your cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
then, his touch moves lower. his thumb and forefinger find your chin, curling with gentle firmness until your face tilts up, forced to meet his gaze.
and he looks at you. his eyes drink you in, dark and unrelenting, holding you captive. it feels like the air has been stripped from the room, leaving only the space between his mouth and yours, charged and unbearable.
your stomach twists, heat coiling low and fierce. your skin tingles, where he touches, every nerve raw, awake. your head thunders with the weight of it, the intimacy, the danger. you can’t think, can’t move.
his thumb presses faintly at your jaw, his pupils flickering down to your lips, then back up again. his gaze is scorching, his breath brushing your cheek, and it fills you with equal parts of fear and desperate longing. the room shrinks until there’s nothing left but him - his eyes, his plump lips, his fingers grabbing into your jaw.
and you can’t breathe. you’re too busy drowning in him, in the sheer force of his presence.
his lips twitch, not into a smile, not quite - something smaller, more dangerous. he leans in, closing the fraction of space between you until his forehead nearly brushes yours, until you can count every jagged breath he takes. what on earth is going on? the speed of your heartbeat increasing. you know you have to keep it strictly professional with all the members, and you never thought it would ever become a problem. i mean; come on. they’re superstars. it’s not like they would all fall at your feet. they have better things to do. so what on earth is he doing?
his thumb drags along your jaw, then up to your bottom lip, brushing right beneath it before pausing there. his gaze flickers down again, tracing the curve of your lips.
heat coils low in your stomach, a sickening, sweet ache that makes your knees threaten to give. your head thunders, your skin prickling as if every nerve has been set alight by his touch.
the silence stretches, unbearable. and then he whispers, almost purring, leaning into your ear, nose brushing against the back of your neck, “you drive me fucking crazy.”
the words are rough, spat more lika a confession wrenched from his chest than anything he wanted to share. the sound of them claws through the silence, deeper than anger, deeper than shame - feral, desperate, unguarded.
every fine hair along the back of your neck stands on end. a tremor rips down your spine, and your stomach twists with molten heat. your breath falters, chest heaving as if trying to fill itself with something heavier than air.
he looks at you like a man undone. his brows are knitted tight, lashes damp, jaw sharp with tension. sweat beads along his temples, catching the light, rolling down the cut of his cheekbone. blonde strands hang loose across his forehead, clinging to skin flushed red. his lips - swollen from biting, raw with the taste of frustration - part just slightly, pulling in ragged breaths as though he’s drowning in the same ocean he’s pulled you into.
your body hums, nerves sparking like live wires. every inch of you is aware of him; the heat radiating off his bare chest, the sharp rise and fall of his breathing, the way his hand presses firmer into your skin, thumb dragging along your jaw with a possessive kind of desperation.
you can’t think. you can only feel.
the silence between you stretches, unbearable, your pulse roaring in your ears. his gaze drops again - to your lips, eyes widening - then back up, pinning you once more. the air feels too heavy, too hot, your knees threatening to buckle under the gravity of him.
his lips twitch, almost a snarl, almost a plea. his hand slides from your jaw to the side of your neck, fingers splayed against your heated skin. he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath brushes your mouth, tasting of salt and something bitter, intoxicating.
he seems to enjoy the deer-caught-in-headlights look spread across your face; furrowed eyebrows, wide and glistening eyes, gaping mouth. he hums into you, breath flashing hot against your lips. your chest rises sharply, a gasp caught in your throat, and that’s all it takes.
his mouth meets yours in a collision more than a kiss - desperate, hungry, almost brutal in its need. his lips are hot, swollen, wet, moving against yours with a ferocity that steals your breath. he kisses you like he’s been starved, like he’s angry at himself for wanting it, like he can’t stop even if he tried.
you stumble back, the carpet once again catching your heels, but his hand is at your neck, anchoring you, keeping you pressed against him. the satin of his shirt, damp and clinging, brushes against your skin, heat searing everywhere you touch.
your hands rise without thought - one bracing against his chest, slick with sweat, feeling the rapid hammer of his heart; the other curling into the damp strands of his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
he groans low into your mouth, a sound more raw than anything you’ve ever heard from him, vibrating against your lips as his teeth catch your lower one in a fleeting bite before he drags his mouth hungrily across yours again.
the world outside vanishes - the hum of lights, the noise of crew, the weight of his mistake on stage. there’s nothing but heat, nothing but the wet press of his lips and the desperation in the way he moves against you, consuming, devouring.
and for the first time all night, jimin doesn’t look broken. he looks alive.
his mouth devours yours, lips hot and desperate, his tongue sliding past your teeth with hungry force. the kiss is all need and no gentleness - wet, messy, consuming. you gasp against him, and he swallows the sound, pressing closer, stealing every ounce of air you try to drag in.
his hand is firm at the side of your neck, anchoring you, holding you exactly where he wants you. the other pushes flat against your back, urging you toward him until your chest is pressed against the damp satin clinging to his torso. the slick heat of him sears through your shirt, every shiver in his muscles vibrating against you.
you clutch at his shoulders, dizzy, weak, your knees buckling as the edge of the couch digs into the back of your thighs. he moves you with him, stepping backward until the couch catches him, and he sinks down onto it, dragging you with him.
he spreads his legs wide, sweat-dark satin stretching across his thighs, and pulls you closer until you’re caught in the open cage of his body. his hands roam over you like they’re memorizing, pressing, testing, and the hunger in his touch is enough to make your head spin.
just before he reaches up to haul you into his lap, your body jerks back, stopping yourself with a shaky palm pressed to his chest.
“this is crazy,” you breathe, words tumbling out in a rush. your voice cracks under the weight of your own pounding heart. “you’ve lost it. we can’t be doing this.”
you hand flies up to your mouth, dragging it down over your lips, before resting it at your forehead, fingers trembling against skin gone hot and damp. you try to steady your breath, to pull your body back from the edge, but it’s useless. your chest heaves like you’ve been running for miles.
“i could get fired.” the words rip out of you, sharp, pleading, desperate to make him stop before you fall any deeper. “i will get fired.”
jimin leans back against the couch, his expression shifting in a way that twists your stomach. the corners of his lips curl upward into a smile that’s too sharp, too amused - sickeningly beautiful and cruel in the same breath. he looks at you like he’s already undone you, and the panic only entertains him further.
his thighs flex under the cling of leather as his hands spread across them, rubbing slowly as if to ground himself - or maybe just to tease you with the deliberate slide of his palms. and it’s when your eyes catch the growing bulge in his pants. a pain firing up in your core - a reaction so primal you can’t help but press your lips together, trying to muffle the whimper leaving your throat. and his eyes don’t leave you. not for a second. he drinks you in, watching as your mind comes crashing down before him.
he tongues his cheek, jaw flexing, before he leans forward again. the air shifts with his movement, thickening, wrapping you in his heat.
one hand lifts and finds the small of your back, pressing against the thin fabric of your shirt. the pressure is firm, commanding, urging you closer even as your body protests.
his voice drops low, husky, the edge of a smirk laced through every word.
“good thing i won’t tell on you, then.”
the promise is venom and silk all at once.
before you can react, he pulls. hard.
your body collides with his, caught between his spread thighs. the sharp exhale you give dies instantly against his mouth as he captures you again, lips crushing yours, all tongue and teeth. his kiss is merciless, messy, filled with groans that rumble low from his chest and spill hot into your mouth.
his hand at your back slides lower, pressing firmly, roaming until it cups the curve of your ass. his grip is greedy, unapologetic, and he squeezes with a growl against your lips. the heat shoots straight through you, making your stomach clench tight, your legs weak.
then his other hand rises - strong fingers wrapping around your neck, clasping tight enough to make your breath catch. he tilts your head just where he wants it and kisses you harder, the pressure of his hand a dark brand against your skin.
you moan into him, muffled, unable to stop yourself.
his hand roams again, sliding from your ass down the curve of your thigh. his grip is firm as he curls his fingers around you, pulling, lifting. the motion is effortless, practiced, and he drags your leg up, guiding it across his hip.
in one swift pull, he shifts you - pressing you down onto him, straddling his lap. both your legs fall to the side of his hips, the spread of his thighs leaving you open, exposed, perched right where he wants you. knees braced against the couch, your chest colliding with his; your core placed directly onto the erection spraining in his leather pants.
his chest heaves against yours, his lips breaking from yours only to drag across your jaw, hot and wet, before pressing against the corner of your mouth again. his hands tighten, one clutching your thigh, the other still at your neck, as though letting go would mean losing all of this.
your breath comes in shallow gasps, every nerve raw, every thought burned away. his sweat slicks your skin, his cologne is dizzying, his lips are relentless - and you can’t decide if you’re suffocating or finally breathing for the first time.
then, without warning, he flexes his hips in the same motion as he pushes you lower onto him, his stiffness digging into you. you gasp, but he only presses harder - and you swear you can feel the twitch of his outlined cock hidden in his pants.
your hands fly up, searching for something to hold onto. one fists into the damp satin clinging to his chest, the fabric hot and slick with sweat beneath your palm. the other tangles in his hair, blonde strands damp and sticking to your fingers as you tug him closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.
he groans into your mouth - low, guttural, a sound that vibrates straight through your bones. his lips move against yours like he’s starving, biting lightly at your lower lip before sucking it, before diving back in with even more force.
every kiss grows deeper, wetter, rougher. you can taste salt, desperation, heat. your own lips throb under the pressure, already tender, but the sting only makes you cling harder, chasing him as though you need this as much as he does.
his hand is at the small of your back, fingers pressing hard through the thin fabric of your shirt, keeping you flush to him. the other cups your neck, thumb digging just under your jaw, tilting your face to meet him at the perfect angle, refusing to let you look anywhere but at him - refusing to let you breathe anything but him.
your chest rises and falls sharply, but every gasp is swallowed by him. every shaky breath is dragged into the kiss, stolen, consumed. his teeth scrape yours, his tongue tangles with yours, and it’s too much, not enough, overwhelming.
when he pulls back only a fraction, his forehead presses to yours, both of you gasping. his lips hover a breath away, swollen and wet, his voice breaking low. then, with a sight twitch of his abdomen, he once again lets you know just how desperate he is. how badly he wants relief.
“feel what you do to me?”
your breath catches in your throat at the friction. then he latches onto you again, but his lips are headed for a different destination than before. hot and wet, along the sharp line of your jaw. the sudden shift makes you shiver, a soft gasp tumbling out before you can stop it.
his mouth finds your throat.
the first kiss there is bruising, open-mouthed, his tongue dragging hard against your skin. your pulse thrums against his lips, frantic, as though your body is betraying every secret to him. he lingers there, breath ragged, and then bites - sharp enough to make your entire body jolt against his.
“fuck…” the word rumbles from him, muffled against your neck, so low it feels like it vibrates inside your chest. his mouth sucks hard, marking, before soothing with the wet drag of his tongue.
your head falls back, baring more of yourself to him without thought, surrendering. the sensation burns - not pain, not exactly, but something dangerous, addictive. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails catching against the damp satin clinging to him.
he groans, a rough sound of satisfaction, and trails lower, mouth leaving a messy path along the hollow of your throat. his blonde hair is damp, strands sticking to his forehead and brushing your cheek as he buries himself against you. every exhale scorches, every kiss leaves your skin trembling and wet.
“you taste so sweet, baby,” he mutters into your collarbone, the words raw, almost broken. his voice drags over you like sandpaper and silk all at once. his lips press there again, harder, sucking until heat blooms sharp and dizzying beneath the surface of your skin.
a shiver tears through you so violently that you grip him harder, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. he doesn’t let up - his mouth, his teeth, his tongue all working against your collarbone, mapping you in a trail of bruised heat.
through a haze of heat you manage to murmur, breath breaking against your throat; “y-you have to be back… at the hotel… in less than thirty minutes.”
it sounds weak even to your own ears, an attempt at reason dissolving beneath the drag of his mouth.
he smirks against your collarbone, lips curling wickedly. his voice rumbles dark, arrogant, hot against your skin.
“don’t worry,” he mutters, tongue flicking over the spot he’s just bruised. “i’ll be done with you by then.”
the promise coils hot in your stomach, your thighs clenching around him. before you can reply, his teeth sink into your skin again, making you gasp, body trembling against him.
when he pulls back just far enough to look at you - his eyes glazed, lips swollen and wet, a smear of your skin’s heat across them - you feel the bottom drop out of your stomach.
he looks wrecked. he looks devastating. and he looks like he’ll ruin you if you let him. and before you can catch your breath, his hands are moving again.
the one gripping the back of your thigh squeezes harder, his fingers digging into you, pulling your hips tight against him with a force that makes your stomach twist. you feel the hard line of him beneath you, burning through the thin layers of fabric, and the shock of it makes your entire body jolt.
he groans at the contact, head dipping, his mouth dragging down over your throat again. the sound is raw, torn straight from his chest, vibrating into your skin.
the other hand abandons its hold at your neck, sliding down with purpose. his fingertips skim your shoulder, then trace lower, brushing down your arm before gliding inward, fingers grazing your side. his touch is maddeningly slow - deliberate, exploratory - and then it dips to your waist.
he grips you there, firm, holding you in place as though he can’t stand the thought of you shifting away. but it isn’t enough.
his fingertips skim the crisp fabric of your shirt, grazing along the seam, before slipping down the slope of your arm and curling inward, catching at your side.
the buttoned cotton is loosely hanging from your skin, and his touch through it is maddening - firm, searching, too far away from where you need him. he palms your waist roughly, the white fabric bunching in his grip.
then his fingers find the line of buttons. starting from the bottom.
he hesitates for only a heartbeat, then hooks one between his fingers and pulls upward, lifting the shirt to expose a sliver of skin beneath. the sight seems to undo him; your bare stomach before him. he exhales sharply, lips dragging back up your throat with a groan as his thumb rubs over the small strip of flesh he’s revealed.
“so delicate,” he mutters against your skin, his voice frayed with hunger. his hands move faster now, pushing at the neat seams of your shirt, dragging the fabric out of its place, working impatiently at the next button.
the material pulls tight across your ribs as he fumbles, then gives way under his hand, revealing more. his palm presses immediately to the new patch of bare skin, searing and possessive, sliding upward with greedy precision.
you gasp, your own hands gripping at his wrist, trembling at the heat of his touch. the contrast of cool cotton and the scorching path of his palm against the skin he’s uncovered makes you dizzy, your chest rising sharply against him.
he growls low in satisfaction, spreading his fingers against your ribs as if to claim every inch of you, his thumb brushing the soft edge just beneath the open shirt. his mouth catches your collarbone again, teeth grazing where he’s already marked, as though the combination of fabric and skin and your trembling under him is driving him deeper into madness.
his palm drags higher, sliding slowly up your ribs. his touch is both rough and reverent, fingertips catching on the curve of bone, grazing just beneath the swell of your chest. the path he takes is purposeful, every inch claimed, every nerve set alight beneath him.
he exhales harshly against your throat, lips dragging sloppily across your skin, as though the feel of you under his hand is undoing him. “i can’t stop,” he mutters, the words breaking low, ragged.
his words scrape over your nerves like fire, and the hand at your ribs spreads wider, greedy, holding you like he’s terrified you’ll slip through his fingers.
the other hand is still on your thigh, his grip bruising, pulling you down against him. you feel the deliberate shift of his hips beneath you, the slow drag of him pressing hard against your core.
a gasp tumbles from your mouth before you can catch it.
he groans at the sound, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he pushes you harder into his lap. “so sensitive at my touch,” his words rumble against your skin, low and dangerous. “i’m gonna ruin you, aren’t i?”
your chest heaves, and you clutch at his damp shirt, pulling it tighter into your fists as though holding on will save you from the heat threatening to swallow you whole.
his hips roll deliberately beneath you, guiding you into the friction. the leather clings slick between you, every drag of your body against his making the air catch in your lungs. your thighs tremble where they cling to his hips, your breath stuttering as the sensation hits you sharp, raw.
“jimin-” his name slips from you, half-plea, half-warning, but it dissolves when his mouth catches yours again, swallowing the sound with a kiss that’s all tongue, all heat, all hunger.
his hand leaves your ribs only to slide lower again, urgent, possessive, slipping back down your waist to anchor you harder. he grinds you against him, guiding your body with an unrelenting rhythm, his groans breaking into the kiss with every push.
your own hips falter, then catch, following his lead - an instinct you can’t suppress, a need that blooms hot and dizzy through every inch of you.
the room is filled with sound now; the wet clash of lips, the rasp of fabric dragging against sweaty skin, the muffled gasps and groans tumbling between you.
he tears his mouth from yours just long enough to breathe raggedly into your ear. “i told you…” his voice is gravel, breaking with every word. “…i’m gonna break apart.”
then his teeth nip at your ear, his hand sliding back up, under your shirt again, dragging higher, slower, as though he wants to burn every inch of you into his memory.
your head falls back, lips parting, chest arching into his touch, and the sound that leaves you makes his hips snap up into yours with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.
he groans at the sound, his forehead falling briefly to your shoulder. his breath is ragged, lips dragging over your damp skin as he presses harder, rocking up into you again, slower this time, more deliberate.
“feel that?” he growls into your neck, his hand gripping your thigh to force you tighter against him. his hips roll again, rougher, making your body jolt. “feel how hard my cock is for you?”
your head spins, mouth falling open on a shaky moan. your own hips stutter, then fall into the rhythm he’s setting, answering his need with your own. the couch creaks faintly beneath you both, drowned by the wet, hungry sound of your lips crashing back together when he catches your mouth again.
every drag of your body against his makes the air burn hotter, the room spin faster, your pulse thunder louder. you can taste his groans in the kiss, feel them rumble against your lips. his hands guide you mercilessly, one splayed at your back, the other dragging you over his lap with bruising force. having you grind against his erection.
your chest arches, your gasp catching when his teeth nip at your lip. he swallows your whimper like it’s air, pressing closer, grinding harder, until the only thing left in the world is him - his mouth, his heat, his body pushing into yours.
his hand skates down from the small of your back and catches at the placket of your shirt. the neat line of buttons strains under his grip, the white cotton wrinkling as his fingers hook clumsily around it.
he breaks from your mouth with a frustrated groan, forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “i can’t stand this fucking shirt,” he mutters, voice raw, each word jagged with impatience.
the first button slips undone under his hand, then the next. his movements are rough, hurried, more tearing than unfastening. the fabric pulls tight across your chest with each tug until it finally gives way, gaping open where he’s left it undone.
the cool air licks at your newly bared skin, shocking against the heat of him. his palm is there instantly, sliding into the open space he’s made, hot and greedy against your ribs. he spreads his fingers wide, splaying them against your side as though to brand you.
you gasp, your back arching into his touch, hands clutching at his shoulders. the cotton slips from place with the motion, another button straining free, baring you further.
he groans low in his throat, lips dragging across your jaw as his hands roam inside the open edges of your shirt. the contrast of fabric still clinging to your shoulders and his rough skin sliding over the rest of you makes your stomach clench with heat.
impatience takes over - he fists the shirt at your waist, pulling until another button pops free, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room. his mouth is everywhere at once, biting at your collarbone, sucking at the damp curve of your throat, while his hands push and tug at the fabric like he’ll rip the whole thing off if it doesn’t yield soon enough.
your breath comes fast and uneven, chest heaving beneath the mess of gaping cotton. your shirt, hanging open, draping over your shoulders, revealing your flushed skin and lace bra.
“better,” he growls, satisfaction rough in his voice, before crushing his mouth back onto yours, one hand still clutching the ruined edges of your shirt while the other palms the curve of your waist, pulling you tighter, demanding more.
with a sharp movement, his grip shifts. he fists the fabric at your back and pulls you into him, his hips bucking to meet yours. the sudden pressure knocks the air from your lungs, a broken moan tearing from your throat. his groan answers it, rough and guttural, vibrating against your lips.
then, before you can recover, he moves.
his hands slide down, one gripping your waist, the other hooking under your thigh. with effortless force, he rises to his feet, holding you tightly to him, while turning; pushing you backward until your spine hits the couch cushions.
you fall against the seat, your shirt gaping open, breath stolen by the force of him above you. the cushions dip under his weight as he cages you in, knees braced against the couch, sweat-slick chest hovering just inches over yours.
his hair falls forward, damp strands of blonde sticking to his flushed forehead as his eyes find yours. dark, glazed, wild - they pin you down as firmly as his hands do. his breath rasps, hot and uneven, brushing over your mouth, your neck, your collarbone as he hovers there.
“fuck, look at you,” he rasps, voice torn between anger and desperation. eyes flickering down you. his hand presses flat into your stomach, sliding slowly upward over the bare skin exposed by your open shirt. “i can’t stop… not with you like this.”
then his mouth is on you again.
he kisses you with bruising force, lips crashing down, all teeth and tongue and groans. his body presses flush to yours now, sweat and heat searing, leather clinging damp between your jeans. his chest pins you, heavy and desperate, his hips rocking against yours as though instinct is steering him.
his mouth drags lower, wet and hot over your throat, then down to the hollow of your chest. he sucks hard at your collarbone, teeth scraping before soothing with his tongue. your back arches off the couch, a gasp tearing free, and his growl vibrates into your skin as though he’s feeding on your response.
the cushions creak beneath the weight of both of you, the air thick with ragged breathing, the taste of salt and sweat sharp on your lips. his hands never stop moving - one gripping your thigh, spreading you open under him, the other tugging at your shirt impatiently, pulling it of your shoulders, framing you like a mess he’s desperate to make worse.
“jimin-” his name is ripped from your throat, fragile, torn between plea and surrender.
he lifts his head just enough to look at you.
and the sight wrecks you.
his lips swollen, wet, red from kissing you raw. his eyes are dark, glazed, pupils blown wide as though you’ve consumed every thought he has left. his chest heaves above yours, slick with sweat, muscles trembling from the weight of everything he’s holding back.
“maybe we should…” you breathe, voice shredded. “we probably shouldn’t.”
his head tip down at your exclaim. his hand drags up your side, fingers tracing your every line as if he can’t get enough of touching you, memorizing you.
your breath stutters, chest arching into him involuntarily. his head, still tipped downward, watching over as his hips grind down, deliberate, rough, and your gasp catches in your throat. he watches like a man possessed, his gaze devouring every tremble in your body beneath him.
“you think I can just… walk away from this?” his voice breaks, hoarse, shaking with desperation. he lifts head, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he growls the next words. “i can’t even breathe when you’re not around.”
you stomach twists violently, your head spinning with the weight of it. his words are dangerous, reckless - but his mouth seals them with kisses that leave you gasping, his teeth tugging at your throat like he can brand the truth into your skin.
the couch creaks beneath his shifting weight as he spreads you further, his knee wedging between your thighs, pressing deeper into the heat of you. the movement drags a strangled sound from your lips, and he shudders, his head falling to your shoulder.
“don’t stop making those sounds,” he rasps, almost begging, almost commanding. his lips ghost over your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “please. i need it. i need you.”
the words hit you like a blow, sending heat flooding through every inch of you, your pulse hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. your body trembles under him, your legs tightening around his waist as though instinct has taken over.
he lifts his head again, his gaze locking with yours, dark and wild and desperate. his thumb brushes your cheek, smearing sweat, his hand trembling as it cups your face. for the first time, his eyes soften - just for a second - vulnerable, pleading.
“let me have this” he whispers, the confession breaking out of him ragged, helpless. “let me make you feel good.”
you can’t take it anymore. his eyes, glistening. eyebrows furrowing. his pleading face prickling your skin. all the while he still grinds onto you, his right arm resting by your head, holding his body up - trembling. it’s all too much for you. the sight of his desperation sets lose a fire inside you.
without a word, you grab onto his neck with force, pulling him toward you as you seize his mouth with yours - finally taking some charge yourself. your fingers tangling in his damp hair, pulling at is as he lowers his body into yours. a whimper leaves your mouth as his defined torso clings onto your bare stomach. he responds to the moan with a grind of his hips, digging into your core.
then, with an impatient motion, the hand splayed across your stomach reaches for the hem of your jeans. there’s no hesitation is his action. with a flick of his thumb and index finger, he unbuttons your jeans and tugs roughly at them, pulling them down. you shift your body, to better help him get you out of your pants - still not letting him go as your kiss grows hungrier, aching for his touch.
but with an annoyed groan, he breaks apart from the kiss - letting your hands fall down his shoulders, tracing the muscles hidden underneath his shirt. he bites down on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring, as he grabs ahold of the jean fabric around your ankles, yanking at both ends until they’re torn from off your legs. he throws them carelessly to the side, without his eyes ever leaving you. the sight of you - now only in your underwear - has him completely gone.
he lunges at you, immediately biting down on your bottom lip, releasing it with a pop, before moving downward, kissing your jaw, licking at your collarbone - brushing his lips past your heaving chest. he sucks down on one side of your cleavage, his eyes rising to look up at you, as your eyes roll back into your head - lost in pleasure.
he keeps moving. almost in a rush. and you realize where he’s going. a flood of arousal rushing through your body. you whimper, lifting your head to get a better view of him as he covers your stomach in kisses - your breath hitching. “jimin-”
he keeps going, making his way down to the hem of your underwear, giving it a tug with his teeth before looking up at you. your cheeks flushed, hair a mess, eyes spread wide with lust and fear. you must look a mess.
“i haven’t…” embarrassment rushing through your veins as the words leave your mouth. “no one has- has ever…”
how the hell so you tell him you’ve never been eaten out before? you onto grip the fabric of the cushions underneath you before you try speaking again - but you’re cut off.
“fuck,” he growls, a devilish smile growing on his face. he looks absolutely wicked in his position; arched back, sweat clinging onto the satin fabric of his shirt, outlining the muscles of his back - head bent before you, ready to take you in. “then you’re all mine.”
with these words, he dips his head down to your panties - and picking up where he left off, he pulls them down with his teeth, letting his fingers slip underneath the hem, tugging until you’re completely nude before him.
a flush of self-consciousness hits you, as you’re spread vulnerably before him, making your knees meet, trying to cover up. jimin tsk’s, shaking his head before returning to his position, face down at your feet, making its way up to your abdomen. with a light push, he parts your knees, and lets his fingers rest on the inner parts of your thighs - spreading you open as his eyes feasts on your most tender part.
“such a pretty pussy,” he purrs, licking his lips frantically before turning his head to the side. the touch of his soft, plump lips on your inner thigh has you squirming - head tilting back, preparing for pleasure. he murmurs a few words between the kisses, but you’re too busy drowning in the way he’s moving closer to your core that you can’t seem to hear a word he says.
he’s finally reached the crown of your heat, and pushing your legs further to the side, he slowly plants kisses downward, his lips hot against your folds.
“oh my god,” you call out, head dipping forward, landing on your chest. although your eyes are shut closed, you feel them flicker as his kisses grow deeper - before his tongue slips out, crashing with the bundle of nerves crowned at top of your core. “oh my god!”
your fingers latch onto his hear as he rips another shout from your lungs. he isn’t exactly coy about his intentions. within seconds his tongue is lapping around your clit, wriggling firm figure eights across it - breaking the motion with wet kisses in between.
“oh fuck, jimin,” you curse under your breath as his hand moves from your thigh, tracing your buttocks before lightly brushing two fingers against your entrance. your eyes spark open at the graze of his fingertips, and you’re met with a sight so vile that your breath catches in your throat. jimin is staring directly up at you. his stare is dark, determined, and as his eyes meets yours, a small smile appears in the corner of his mouth as he works you over with his tongue.
his other hand, before placed on your waist, suddenly rushes to your buttocks, grabbing ahold of you before pushing you further onto his mouth. the motion of his tongue deepening, circling your clit as the two fingers at your entrance brush up and down your slick folds.
“shit,” his voice buried in you, low and raspy, as he sucks down on your clit, releasing it and rushing back down to cover it with the taunting motions of his tongue. “you’re so fucking wet for me.”
your head has tilted back again, unable to control the loud moans that escaped you, so deep in unknown pleasure that your back arches with every swipe of his tongue. “pl- please… please jimin,” the words rolling of your tongue, ramblings, breathy and desperate. “touch me.”
he lets no time pass before he gets to work. he groans into your folds, finally letting his fingers slip in between your glistening lips, entering your center slowly. deeper and deeper. your whole body trembling at the stimulation of both his fingers and tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head, garbled moans escaping you.
“jesus you’re so tight,” he growls into between licks and kisses, a breathy laughter leaving his throat, the air brushing hot against your core - hips thrusting into his touch. “gonna feel so good around my cock.”
just the mention of it has you gasp for air, fingers pulling at his hair to motion him deeper into your clit, which he immediately bites onto, teasingly, followed by quick, taunting licks. the sounds coming out from you so visceral, so loud, but you can’t contain them as you feel his fingers push in and out of you. first slowly, then quickening the pace, deepening the push.
“oh g-god, jimin!” your toes curling as you feel yourself approaching your climax, pleasure intensifying, your walls clenching around the rapid move of his fingers. “you’re- i- oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” your cries heightening in pitch as his licks respond to your words.
“say it,” you hear him murmur wetly from between your legs. the pleasure lowering in your stomach, ready to release, ready to give in. you’re so far gone you can’t understand what he means, so you just let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard, head tilted back into the pillow behind your neck. “say it,” jimin urges from between your folds. “say you’re mine.”
his tongue is merciless even as you begin to tremble in his hold, his tight grip on your ass the only thing keeping you from clamping your legs around his head because the deep thrust of his fingers just too much - too much and fuck, not enough.
but then he finds the spot inside you, a spot you weren’t even aware of, curls his fingers and exploits it all he can, uncaring that you’re making a mess of his hand and his face with how ruthlessly he’s fucking you with all his might.
“fuck, yes- yes, jimin, yes!” you scream into the air above you as you find your release, body bucking up against his mouth, forcing his fingers even deeper into your spasm. the pressure that had been building inside of you releasing in a gush of wetness, drenching both jimin’s fingers and face. blush forms in roses on your cheeks. you can’t seem to muster the courage to peel back from the pillow behind you. you don’t dare to look at him - both gone in pleasure, exhaustion and embarrassment.
but jimin doesn’t seem to bother, working you through the orgasm with gentle licks and kisses to your swollen folds, lapping lovingly until you’re shaking to intensely for him to continue. and with one final kiss, he retreats from between your legs, planting kisses on your inner thighs as he removes his fingers slowly from your core. your walls clenching around his digits, and you feel the slickness of your arousal latching onto his fingertips, sticking to them as they make their way out of you.
opening one eye, keeping the other shut closed, you tilt your head downward to take a look at the man beneath you. to your surprise he isn’t rubbing his hand across his face, dragging your excess off his face and brushing your arousal off his fingers. quite the opposite, really.
eyes beaming with hunger, he is still looking down at your pulsating core, twitching in the aftermath of his fingers and tongue. with a lick of his lips, he exhales, finally looking up at you, grinning at the state he has left you in. “you okay?”
you nod in response, too exhausted to utter any words. your hands drag across your stomach, which is lifting slightly off the couch with every deep breath you take. you let both eyes open now, taking in his figure which is hovering above you. his hair ruffled by the grip of your fingers - he looks disgustingly good like this. the residue of your arousal has turned his lips into a glistening, pink mess, swollen and twitching.
then, slowly, he unbuttons the last button of his shirt. it gives way beneath his fingers, and the fabric falls open completely. he shrugs it off in one rough motion, letting it slip down his arms and onto the couch, forgotten.
for a moment, the air stills.
he kneels over you on the couch, hovering above, the weight of him blocking out the light. his bare torso gleams, sculpted and slick with sweat, each muscle carved and glistening as though the stage lights still cling to him. his chest rises and falls with sharp breaths, the curve of his collarbones stark, the slope of his shoulders powerful, his stomach a perfect ripple of definition. a bead of sweat traces down from his throat, sliding over the center of his chest, down to the ridges of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the low waistband of his leather pants.
your breath catches. you drink him in helplessly, your gaze roving over every line of him, the kind of beauty that feels both untouchable and devastatingly close. the scent of him fills you - salt, skin, cologne dulled by heat - until you’re dizzy with it.
he lowers himself slowly, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braces above you. his mouth finds yours again, kissing you with fevered hunger, tongue sliding past your lips, groaning into you as though he can’t get enough. his damp skin presses flush against your open shirt, searing heat to heat. his chest brushes your own with every breath, and you feel yourself arching into him without meaning to.
his mouth leaves yours only to trail lower, wet kisses smeared across your jaw, your throat, the dip between your collarbones. each one is urgent, sloppy, but reverent in its desperation, lavishing you in heat until your head falls back into the cushions with a gasp.
he looks down at you, breaking from the kiss, his face hovering inches above yours. his eyes - so dark and stormy a moment ago - soften, wide and doe-like, searching. vulnerability flickers through them, quiet but clear, as though he’s asking without words if this is what you want too. if you’re ready.
the silence stretches, heavy, his chest heaving above yours.
you don’t speak. instead, your gaze drops - sliding down the slick planes of his torso, following the ridges of his stomach, the gleam of sweat catching in every line. lower still, to the hem of his leather pants clinging tight to his hips.
your eyes catch on the straining bulge pressing through the material, the sharp outline betraying the weight of his arousal. heat blooms violent in your stomach, forgetting all about your release just a moment ago. without thought, your tongue flicks across your lips, a small, instinctive movement.
you reach up, your fingers trembling as they graze the waistband. with slow, deliberate movements, you tug the zipper down. the sound is sharp in the quiet room, slicing through the haze. the leather parts just enough, the swell of him pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers now unmistakable.
your legs move instinctively, wrapping around his waist, locking him closer. the sudden drag of his thick erection against your exposed core makes you gasp, heat searing where you touch.
he groans, head tipping forward until his damp hair brushes your cheek, his breath ragged and hot against your skin. his hips shift, pressing deliberately against you, grinding the thin barrier of fabric between you until your whole body trembles.
the tension coils impossibly tight, the breaking point seconds away - his lips hovering against yours, his body straining, his hand gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise. you feel him poised, barely restrained, every muscle in his body ready to give in and unleash the full force of him on you.
his head tips down, his breathing exaggerated, tongue brushing past his lips as he looks down at how your spread wide right at his pulsating cock. “fuuck me,” he breathes, slightly letting his hips sway back and forth. you press your center harder into his, egging him on, eager to feel his every inch. he winces, mouth parting, eyebrows furrowing. “fuck i’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy so bad.”
he cups your buttock in his palm, squeezing his fingertips into your flesh as his other hand makes its way to his boxers. you inspect his every move with awe, his chest heaving as he tugs on his underpants.
his cock finally revealed from the fabric, flopping out of the boxers, before he catches it with his hand. streaks of precum oozing out of the pink tip, sticky liquid which he spreads across the head with a slight tug of hand.
your entire body clenches at his thickness. the stiffness staring at you, pulsating in his palms, eager to reach you. his hand, cupping your ass, glides slowly upward, resting at your side to anchor himself over you.
still cradling his erection, he lowers himself, meeting your lips with a teasing kiss, a playful lick to your lips followed by a smile.
then, the feel of his cock. the head, brushing against your lips. up and down, slowly, gathering your arousal on its head, coating itself in slickness before stroking against your sore clit. he guides the girthy head into place and even now, with this slightest bit of pressure, the fit is so snug it’s already begun to burn. you whimper into his kiss, back arching to better meet his cock, but he retracts.
his eyes, beaming down at you. his pupils swallows the brown in his eyes - his look dark and lustful. a growl releasing from his parted, swollen lips; “say it.”
you stare back at him, drowning in his eyes, the feel of the strokes of his cock, how he’s rubbing it through your wetness with a rock of his hips.
“i’m yours,” your words breathy, so consumed by lust it’s almost a whisper. you arch your back even further, now in a position that allows jimin to sink himself into you, deep and slow. closing his eyes; he finally gives you what you’ve been wanting. slowly, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, but having to pause halfway to allow you time to accommodate his thickness.
“fuck, oh fuck,” your moan strained by pleasure-pain as he sinks into you, and with a groan releasing from him, so sinful it has the hairs on your neck rising. he lets out a few low, muttered words as he leans into the crook of your neck, resting his forehead there as he feels your pelvic floors squeeze around him. “don’t stop,” you beg.
jimin grunts out a curse as he surges forth again, more determined this time. he lifts his head again, gaze fixed downward, inspecting every thrust he lays upon you. he fights hard for control with gritted teeth, labouring his ragged breath while his mouth falls open, forming the word, “fuck,” as he delves deeper into you. he’s gotten into a steady motion, pulling in and out of you, every thrust deeper than the one before. then, the speed picks up.
he steadies himself with the hand placed by your side, every muscle of his biceps twitching and spasming. his hips rocking back and forth with greater speed than before, loud groans releasing from his gritted teeth. your mouth falls open to a silent cry, your body shaking with how surprisingly good it feels when your walls throb for him.
you’re still so sore from your orgasm, that the brush of his abdomen against your clitoris as he pounds into you has your breath hitching, eyes shutting closed as you let out high-pitched moans. but you’re so eager for his release - to feel him pouring inside you.
you bite your lips and reach up, grabbing onto his hips to gently pull him into you, urging him to move deeper. harder. a tight pinch coming from your core makes you flinch when he is met with a barrier. he’s panting restlessly, his strokes coming down harder, and with this he finds your lips capturing them into a kiss to swallow your pained moan while his hands are on your waist, moving in circles to soothe you so you can relax as he pushes in and out of you. “such a tight, little pussy. feels fucking amazing around my cock,” he keeps going, until you feel his length twitching, deeply buried in your sore folds.
you can feel the change when your walls no longer pulse with the lingering pain around his girth, giving you nothing else but a strange feeling of being filled so tightly. to feel so full. like you’re molded just for him.
in a sudden move, he grabs onto your knees, lifting himself from the hunched position he’s in, lifting your legs so high that you lose a bit of your balance. you have no other choice but to give in. it feels like he is commanding you, taking over your body as he starts to use his grip on your legs to move you over his cock, pushing you back and forth on the couch beneath you.
while holding your legs in place, he lets one arm slip beneath your hips, lifting your body slightly so his cock meets a hidden angle inside you. he pounds in and out, driving his his cock rapidly inside you, growing faster and faster as he continues on. the pleasure keeps on rising so intensely that you don’t even notice it when he lifts your legs higher until the back of your knees are resting on his shoulder.
the pounding of his cock feels even more intense in this angle, and he keeps going, increasing his speed as he has your body nearly folded with the new position. “you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” his voice deep, purring - vile. it sends shivers down your spine. he lets out loud groans as he keeps pushing inside you, hitting spots inside you that have you twitching, whimpering, crying out in pleasure-filled pain.
your body is breaking apart in the most delectable way, and the only feeling left is the intensity of the rising pleasure pooling from inside your core. nothing but strangled cries slipping out of you, while his deep groans keep on spilling out as he keeps fucking you closer to the edge - nothing holding you back.
he senses the despair in your cries, and suddenly reaches between your bodies, searching for your clit. he latches onto it with his thumb, rubbing it lazily, gentle strokes - sending a wave of overstimulating pleasure through your body. “cum for me.”
your walls tighten around him with an instant. and with a scream, you give in as your orgasm comes crashing down on you, unstoppable and so incredibly intense that your whole body rocks with it. “jimin i’m gonna- ah! oh my god!” your muscles begin to spasm tightly around him, milking him to completion as he keeps pounding away, letting you ride out your orgasm while he keeps chasing for his own.
“fuck, fuck,” he pants as his thrusts become shallow and hurried, his fingertips digging into your tender flesh as he uses it to anchor himself, “fuck, baby, take my cum.”
then, his deep groans; fading into whimpers as he becomes tense above you. a gasp comes through his lips as his body shudders and you feel his cock swelling and twitching between your pulsing walls as he comes to his own climax. hips slamming into you, then staying put, buried deep within you as his seed pours out. you can feel it filling you, oozing, pulsing out to ease the sweet burn inside, so wet and warm, and as he cums jimin shout turns into a long, languid moan of release.
he lets your legs flop to the side, falling down on you as his release is final. his chest plastered against yours, hot and heavy. the room; silent except for the sound of your breathing. uneven, overlapping, like two rhythms trying to find each other again. the couch creaks softly beneath you both, a protest under the weight of bodies pressed together.
jimin doesn’t move right away. he stays braced above you, chest heaving, skin gleaming under the dim light. his forehead nearly touching yours, eyes shut closed, strands of blonde hair plastered messily to his skin, damp and wild from sweat. his breath is hot, ghosting across your lips, heavy and ragged.
for a long, suspended moment, all you can do is stare at him. his face is flushed, his lips red and swollen, the kind of wreckage that should look devastating but instead only makes him more beautiful. his eyes open. pupils blown wide, eyes dark and dizzy as they lock with yours. he looks completely undone.
finally, his weight dips lower, and his lips find yours again.
but it’s different this time. no teeth, no desperation, no consuming hunger. just the softest press, gentle, lingering. a kiss that feels like the opposite of everything that came before it - slow where there had been urgency, tender where there had been fire. his mouth lingers on yours as if to seal it, to hold you there in this strange, fragile bubble where nothing else exists.
when he pulls back, it’s only slightly, his lips brushing yours one last time before hovering inches above. his eyes search your face - slow, deliberate, drinking you in. there’s no performance here, no dramatics. just jimin, sweat-soaked and trembling, looking at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“thank you,” he whispers. his voice is rough, cracked, but sincere in a way that makes your chest ache.
the words hang between you, quiet but weighted, pressing into the silence like a confession. you blink up at him, struggling to catch your breath, your body still thrumming from everything that’s just happened. you imagine how you must look - hair mussed and damp, sticking to your cheeks, your skin flushed and glowing with sweat. you feel wrecked. and yet, beneath his gaze, you don’t feel small or broken. you feel seen.
the silence stretches. his thumb grazes your cheek, tender now, brushing away a damp strand of hair. his touch is delicate, reverent - so at odds with the fire he unleashed only minutes ago. his chest rises and falls above yours, the steady thump of his heartbeat still heavy, still fast.
you swallow, lips curving faintly in the barest hint of a smile. a thought stirs, quiet, dry, wry enough to tug at the corners of your exhaustion.
well, you think to yourself, that definitely got his mind off that stage miss-step.
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