→ summary: jimin decides to help you ''cool down'' during a roadtrip
→ pairing: dom!jimin x femsub!reader
→ tags: public sex, kinda risky, bf jimin, sub fem reader, car sex, spring, heat, sweat, kissing, fingering, orgasmssssss, protection, etc
→ word count: 3.4k
→ a/n: jimin looks so damn good with the long hair I CANNOT..
masterlist
-
the air in the car was thick and heavy, a humid blanket that clung to your skin. outside, the world was a blur of sun bleached green and shimmering concrete. jimin had the windows cracked, but it did little to combat the oppressive spring heat. your thin cotton sundress was already sticking to you in places you didn't want to think about, and a bead of sweat trickled down from your temple, tracing a path along your jawline.
"are we there yet?" you groaned, half-joking, half-serious, fanning yourself with a crumpled map from the last gas station.
jimin glanced over at you, his perfect lips curved into a knowing smirk. the sunlight filtering through the windshield caught in his honey-blonde hair, turning it into a halo of gold. he was wearing a simple white t-shirt that was now slightly damp at the collar, and the defined muscles of his biceps flexed as he gripped the steering wheel. "impatient, are we? the cabin's still another hour away, i'm sure the others are already there too."
"an hour?" you whined, letting your head fall back against the hot leather of the seat. "i'm going to melt into a puddle before we get there."
he chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through the car's interior and settled somewhere deep in your stomach before leaning forward and turning up the ac a bit more. his eyes left the road for a moment, raking over your exposed legs and the way the sundress's fabric hugged your chest. the look was so intense, so full of unspoken promise, that a different kind of heat began to bloom beneath your skin, chasing away the lazy discomfort of the afternoon.
you shifted in your seat, the sudden thrum of awareness making the cramped space feel both too small and incredibly intimate. this road trip had been his idea, a spontaneous escape from the city to find a quiet spot by a lake for the weekend with me and some of his buddies. so far, it had been a mix of bickering over the radio, singing terribly to old songs, and sharing greasy gas station snacks. but now, as the miles stretched on and the sun began its slow descent, a new kind of energy was crackling between you.
his hand left the steering wheel and found your knee, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles on your skin. the touch was electric. "you know," he said, his voice dropping a register, becoming huskier. "there's a scenic overlook a few miles up. supposed to have a great view of the valley."
you looked at him, a playful challenge in your eyes. "a scenic overlook? what are you, my dad? are you going to point out the different types of trees?"
he laughed again, but this time it was darker, edged with something that made your breath catch. "not exactly." his fingers tightened on your knee just a fraction. "i was thinking it might be a good place to… cool down."
the thought of stopping, of breaking this monotonous drive with something illicit and thrilling, sent a jolt of anticipation straight to your core. the car, your little bubble on wheels, suddenly felt like the most exciting place on earth.
"okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "show me this view then."
his smirk was all the answer you needed. he pressed his foot a little harder on the accelerator, and the car seemed to leap forward, eager to reach the destination he had in mind. the next few miles passed in a charged silence, the only sounds the rush of the wind and the frantic beating of your own heart.
his hand remained on your knee, a brand that promised more to come.
true to his word, a sign for a scenic lookout appeared on the right. he took the turn, guiding the car up a winding, tree-shaded road. the air grew cooler as you climbed, the dense canopy providing a welcome respite from the sun's relentless glare. he pulled into the small, deserted parking area, cutting the engine.
the sudden silence was deafening. it was just the two of you, surrounded by the whisper of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. the view was indeed spectacular; a vast expanse of forested valley bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. but you had no eyes for it. your entire world had shrunk to the man sitting next to you, the way he was looking at you as if you were the only thing he'd ever wanted to see.
"so," he said, his voice low and deliberate as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "what do you think of the view?"
you mirrored his movements, your own seatbelt clicking softly as you released it. "it's alright," you teased, turning in your seat to face him fully. "but i think i've seen better."
he raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "oh really?" he leaned across the center console, closing the small distance between you. the scent of him; clean sweat and expensive cologne filled your senses. "show me."
you met him halfway, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. it was hungry, desperate, fueled by hours of simmering tension and the sweltering heat. his mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue immediately seeking yours, stroking and exploring with a confident ownership that made you weak. he tasted like mint gum and longing.
his hand, which had been resting on your knee, began to slide upward, pushing the hem of your sundress with it. his fingers traced the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. you gasped into his mouth, your body arching towards him, craving more of his touch. the confined space of the car, which had felt so stifling before, now felt like a perfect, private hide out.
he broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes, usually so warm and playful, were now dark and intense, burning with a primal need that made your stomach clench. "i've been thinking about this all day," he admitted, his voice a rough whisper. "about you, in this dress… about touching you."
"then stop thinking," you challenged, your hands coming up to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
he growled low in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire, and then his mouth was on yours again. this kiss was slower, deeper, more thorough. his hand continued its journey north, his knuckles brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. the simple touch was enough to make you tremble, a soft moan escaping your lips.
"you're so wet already," he murmured against your mouth, a note of triumph in his voice. "all this for me?"
"all for you," you breathed, your hips rocking involuntarily against his hand, seeking more pressure.
he obliged, his fingers pressing firmly against your clothed core, rubbing in slow, agonizing circles. the friction was exquisite, a preview of what was to come. you could feel the heat building inside you, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every pass of his thumb.
"jimin," you whimpered, your head falling back against the headrest. "please…"
"please what?" he teased, his lips leaving yours to trail a hot, open mouthed path down your neck. he nipped at the sensitive skin where your shoulder met your neck, soothing the sting with a flick of his tongue. "tell me what you want."
"i want… i want you," you managed to gasp out, your hands fisting in his t-shirt. "inside me. please."
with a groan, he fumbled with the lever on the side of his seat, pushing it all the way back to create as much room as possible. then he was moving, maneuvering his long, lean body over the center console and into the passenger seat with you. it was awkward, a tangle of limbs and muttered curses, but the desperation of your shared need made it a kind of frantic, beautiful dance.
he settled over you, his weight a delicious pressure that pinned you to the seat. his knees bracketed your thighs, and you could feel the hard, insistent length of his erection pressing against your core through the thin layers of your clothing. the reality of what you were about to do, here, in this semi-public place, hit you with a fresh wave of exhilaration.
"are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion as he braced himself on his elbows, his body hovering just above yours.
you reached up, cupping his face in your hands. his skin was hot, his cheeks flushed a pale pink color. "i've never been more sure of anything," you said, and you meant it.
he closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring your words. then he opened them, and the raw, unguarded love you saw there took your breath away. he lowered his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was infinitely tender, a stark contrast to the frantic passion of moments before.
his hands began to explore again, but this time slowly. he traced the curve of your waist, the outline of your hips, his touch mapping every inch of you. his fingers found the tie of your sundress behind your neck, and with a deft pull, he loosened it. the fabric of the bodice fell away, exposing your breasts to the humid air. your nipples, already hard and sensitive from arousal, pebbled even more under his intense gaze.
"so beautiful," he breathed, before lowering his head to take one into his mouth. the wet heat of his tongue was a shock against your skin, and you cried out, your hands flying to his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscle. he suckled gently at first, then with more pressure. he gave the other breast the same attention, his hand coming up to knead and squeeze the flesh he wasn't currently worshipping with his mouth.
you were a writhing mess beneath him, the confined space amplifying every sensation. the scent of his arousal, the feel of his skin, the sound of his ragged breathing; it was all an intoxicating cocktail that was rapidly eroding your self control.
"jimin, please," you begged again, your hands tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. "i need to feel you."
he understood. he pushed himself up, his movements clumsy in the tight quarters, and yanked the shirt over his head, tossing it into the driver's seat. the sight of his bare torso, all smooth, golden skin and perfectly defined muscles, made your mouth water. his abs flexed as he settled back over you, and you ran your hands greedily over his chest and stomach.
his hands slid down your body, hooking under your knees. he pushed your legs apart, making room for himself between them. then, with agonizing slowness, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. he lifted his hips, pulling the scrap of lace down your legs and off, tossing them aside with a smirk.
you were completely bare to him now, exposed and vulnerable in the fading light. the thought should have been terrifying, but with jimin, it was only liberating. he looked at you as if you were a masterpiece, his gaze so full of hunger and awe that you felt powerful, desirable even.
he lowered himself again, his bare chest pressing against yours. the skin-to-skin contact was electrifying. you could feel his heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched your own. he kissed you again, deep and slow, as his hand returned to the apex of your thighs.
this time, there was no fabric barrier. his fingers slid through your slick folds, exploring your wet heat with a practiced familiarity. he found your clit with unerring accuracy, his thumb circling the swollen nub with a firm, steady pressure that had you seeing stars.
"fuck, you're so ready for me," he groaned into your mouth, his voice strained. he slid one finger inside you, then two, pumping them slowly, stretching you, preparing you. his thumb continued its merciless assault on your clit, and you could feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure gathering at the base of your spine.
"don't stop," you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand, taking his fingers deeper. "right there… oh god, right there…"
he curled his fingers just so, hitting that magical spot inside you that made your whole body convulse. the combination of his deep, thrusting fingers and the relentless circling of his thumb was too much. the coil inside you snapped, and you came with a sharp cry, your body arching off the seat as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over you. your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and he rode out your orgasm, his movements never faltering, prolonging your ecstasy until you were a boneless, panting mess beneath him.
when you finally came back to yourself, he was kissing you softly, whispering praises against your lips. "that's it, baby. so beautiful when you cum for me."
you could only hum in response, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks. but the fire inside you wasn't extinguished; it had only been banked, now burning hotter and brighter than before.
reaching down between your bodies, you palmed the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans. he hissed, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "your turn," you murmured, your voice husky with satisfaction.
he didn't need to be told twice. he fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, his usually graceful movements made clumsy by his desperate need. he shoved them down just enough to free himself, and his erection sprang free, long and thick and curving up towards his stomach. the tip was already leaking precum, and you wrapped your hand around him, reveling in the velvet over steel feel of him in your palm.
you stroked him slowly, from base to tip, your thumb smearing the fluid over the swollen head. he watched you, his eyes dark and hooded, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding back. "fuck, that feels good," he gritted out. "but i need to be inside you. now."
he reached over you, fumbling in the glove compartment. after a moment of rustling, he produced a small foil packet. he ripped it open with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours, and rolled the condom on with practiced efficiency.
he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. he paused, his gaze searching yours one last time. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, an unspoken invitation.
he sank into you in one slow, deep thrust. the feeling of being filled so completely, so perfectly, stole your breath. he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his forehead resting against yours. the car was filled with the sound of your combined breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and spring.
"you feel so good," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "so perfect."
he began to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, a languid rhythm that allowed you to feel every inch of him as he slid in and out of you. the windows were beginning to fog up, obscuring the world outside and creating a hazy, dreamlike bubble around you. the only reality was the man above you, the way his body moved with yours, the way he filled you so completely.
the slow, deliberate pace was a sweet torture. you wanted more, wanted him to lose control, to take you with the same desperation you felt. you met his thrusts, lifting your hips to take him deeper, your nails scraping down his back.
"faster," you demanded, your voice a breathy moan. "jimin, harder…"
he responded instantly, his control finally shattering. his rhythm quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the car, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps. he angled his hips, hitting that spot inside you with every powerful stroke, and you felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm.
"look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. "i want to see you when you cum."
you forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. the connection between you was palpable, a live wire of emotion and desire. the look in his eyes; the raw love, the unbridled lust, was what finally pushed you over the edge.
your second orgasm crashed through you, even more powerful than the first. you cried out his name, your body convulsing around him, your vision blurring as pleasure overwhelmed you. the feel of you clenching around him sent him over the edge with you. he buried his face in your neck, letting out a guttural groan as he found his own release, his hips pumping erratically as he emptied himself into you.
he collapsed on top of you. you lay there for a long time, tangled together in the passenger seat, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. the air in the car was now thick and humid in a completely different way, saturated with the scent of your lovemaking.
eventually, he stirred, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "well," he murmured, his voice muffled by your hair. "that's one way to cool down."
you laughed, a weak, breathless sound. "i think i'm even hotter now."
he chuckled, lifting his head to look at you. his hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his face was flushed and glowing. he had never looked more beautiful. "we should probably get to the cabin," he said, though he made no move to get up. "before it gets completely dark."
"probably," you agreed, running your fingers through his damp hair. "but five more minutes wouldn't hurt."
he smiled, that soft, sweet smile that was just for you. "five more minutes," he conceded, lowering his head for another kiss.
this kiss was different from the others. it wasn't hungry or desperate, but slow and sweet, full of a quiet contentment and a deep, abiding affection.
as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the valley in shades of purple and gray, you lay tangled with him in the passenger seat of the car, a bubble of warmth and contentment in the cooling twilight. the windows were completely fogged now, obscuring the world outside and sealing you in your own private universe. the leather of the seats was sticky against your skin, and the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, but you wouldn't have traded it for the world.
"five minutes are up," jimin murmured against your lips, his voice a low, sleepy rumble. he didn't move, though, simply nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.
"mmm, i don't think they are," you countered, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. "i think we're on car time. it moves slower."
he chuckled, the vibration sending a pleasant shiver through you. "is that so? well, on car time, we should probably get dressed before a park ranger comes knocking on the window."
the thought was comical, and it spurred you into action. with a groan, you gently pushed at his shoulder. "okay, okay, you win. get off me, you're heavy."
he rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, maneuvering back into the driver's seat with a wince. "i'm getting too old for this kind of gymnastics," he grumbled, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement.
you watched him as he efficiently disposed of the condom and pulled up his jeans, his movements fluid and graceful even in the cramped space. you took a moment to just look at him; the strong line of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the soft smile still playing on his lips. a wave of affection so strong it almost hurt washed over you.
you found your discarded panties and pulled them on, then retied your sundress, covering yourself back up. the fabric felt cool against your heated skin. by the time you were decent, jimin had already started the car, turning the air conditioning on full blast. a blast of cold air hit you, a welcome relief after the intense heat of your lovemaking.
he glanced over at you, his eyes soft in the dim light of the dashboard. "ready to finish this trip?"
Synopsis: You love and trust your captain above all. But perhaps he’s not the man- or rather human you thought him to be.
Pirate!Jimin x firstmate!Reader
Notes: Things to do while in quarantine: Write about pirate/merman Jimin, I guess?? (JK i’m not in quarantine don’t stress guys) dedicated to @tuserendipia, who apparently misses seeing me on their dash ;)
Warnings: Conversations while not maintaining 1.5m social distance, mentions of violence and piracy.
“Sometimes – when the weather is hot – Jungkook likes to workout shirtless in the garden, giving you the perfect opportunity to watch from your hammock and get needy for him. He obviously knows that you are watching and can’t wait to take care of you. Doesn’t matter if the neighbours hear.”
Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader
Genre: married life!AU, Slice of Life, Smut
Warnings: Dom!Jungkook, sub!Reader, sweaty shirtless!Jungkook working out, wet haired!Kook cause he swam in the ocean, she unapologetically stares, strength & muscle kink, "public" sex because they do it in their backgarden, she sunbathes in nothing but bikini bottoms, nipple licking & play, he eats her out on the lawn, "nose job" cause he rubs it against her clit, using of a hammock as a makeshift sex swing, praise, dirty talk, messy creampies, the sex just kinda happens without being asked for, yk? this is just something they both needed, i just wanna say that i'm a dog fr
Wordcount: 4k
a/n: i don't know what happened, i'm scared and confused and i need to run against a wall. have fun my sluts 🧡
Jungkook owns an outdoor punching bag. Sometimes, when the weather is especially warm, you can watch him train with his shirt off. You are nestled in your hammock with a glass of alcohol free mojito, watching him sweat and exhaust himself. This might very well be a religious moment. His tanned skin glistens. His back and arms ripple with each impact and his pecs and abs are fully engaged. Every now and then, droplets of sweat drip from his face. His hair, dark and messy, hangs into his brows. And sometimes when his pecs twitch especially aggressively, his nipple piercings swing back and forth.
God damn, you really hit the jackpot with him. Your tongue searches for the straw of your drink because your eyes refuse to look anywhere other than your husband.
God damn.
God fucking damn.
Jungkook finishes the set, jumping on the spot to shake out his muscles. His pecs bounce. What a view. He rolls his shoulders and neck before getting back into position. He attacks the other side of the punching bag, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted back.
Your entertainment begins anew. His shoulders are broad and his back is visibly strong. His waist is so small in comparison. And to make matters even worse, he has such a nice ass sitting on huge muscular thighs. The shorts he is wearing are just a little bit too tight around them, hugging his ass so well that you can watch it tense as he engages his legs with each punch. You would give your right kidney for a grab of it. He ends the set with a left-handed uppercut, exhaling sharply for it.
He jumps on the spot, shaking out his muscles. You suck on the straw aggressively, wishing for it to be something else. Look at his ass bounce and, fuck, now he is turning again. Look at his pecs bounce! Goddamn. God fucking damn.
You actually had a plan. You wanted to read outside, but how could you when Jungkook looks hotter than the sun.
“Okay, last one”, he mumbles to himself and starts the new set. He is facing the punching bag so that you have the perfect side view of him. His tattooed, huge arms flex with each punch. They are so big, so defined and sculpted. You want him to take you into a headlock, seriously. From the side, you can see just how big his pecs have become. His stomach is fully engaged as well, asking to be grabbed by you (if only you weren’t so comfortable in your hammock).
He grunts with an especially aggressive punch, furrowing his brows and showing his teeth in a concentrated snarl. You have to fight the urge to swoon. He is so hot when he gets a little rougher.
One last harsh punch and he relaxes, stopping the swinging bag. He takes off his gloves, breathing heavily and squinting slightly as sweat makes his eyes burn.
You finished your drink, but you are still thirsty – parched to be honest.
He meets your eyes. Your heart speeds up. He can be so intense sometimes when he looks at you. Do not misunderstand, Jungkook’s eyes are gentle and sparkly ninety percent of the time, but those ten percent where he stares at you as if you were prey? They make your entire body tingle as if millions of ants were crawling over it.
He throws the gloves to the side and makes his way to you in confident steps.
“What are you looking at?” he is teasing, making it worse for you by gripping the upper edge of hammock to keep it still. You stare. At his arms, his pecs, his stomach, his neck and face. Even his sweaty skin and the hair under his armpits are attractive to you. If there is a higher deity up there, they should give you strength because you are melting.
“Don’t forget to blink”, he teases and leans down to give you a criminally chaste kiss.
“Urgh, you’re so cocky, it’s insane.”
He chuckles and kisses your forehead.
“You love it.”
He straightens up and leaves you by the hammock.
“No wait”, you stop him.
“Yes, baby?” he asks, voice dripping in amusement.
“Can I, like…” You mimic scratching motions down his chest. “Just once?”
Jungkook strikes a confident pose, presenting his body to you.
“Go ahead.”
Quite frankly, this is a spiritual moment for you. To run your fingers down his body after watching him push it to its limits is everything you needed. You have to gulp once you pull back, looking up at him just slightly out of it and totally obsessed.
“Thank you, I needed that.”
He laughs (goddamn he is so sexy) and places his fingers under your chin. He kisses you softly.
“Glad that I could help”, he rasps, tracing your lips.
You sigh, chasing his kiss and touch and him. But Jungkook merely steps back and leaves you to make his way down to the beach.
“Imma cool down for a bit. I can recommend you do the same.”
“You’re the worst.”
Jungkook didn’t bother bringing a towel. It is hot enough for the water to dry in the air. So with his skin and hair soaking wet, he jogs up the stairs back to the garden. He feels so lucky knowing that this is his life. He really went from a homeless, depressed teenager with no hopes of a better future to a settled, happy man with a beautiful beachside house and the most amazing wife. He is so lucky. Sometimes he has to pinch himself to make sure that it is real.
He has to pinch himself especially hard once he reaches the garden and sees you sunbathing on the lawn. With no top on.
Holy fuck, god damn he hit the jackpot with you. He feels jealous of the sun for being able to kiss your skin and of the slight breeze that gets to travel along your body.
He closes the distance and calls your attention by shaking out his hair atop of you.
“Hey”, you squeak and writhe sway, “you’re so annoying, don’t do that”, you whine, having to laugh.
Jungkook chuckles and plops down on the lawn beside you. He rubs his wet hair on your stomach, holding you down while you squeal in laughter and fight him off.
“I hate it, you idiot leave me be.”
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
“I’m serious, I’m gonna fight you. Get away from me, you wet wipe.”
“Wet wipe? Wow okay”, he laughs, exchanging his annoying antics with soft neck kisses.
“Yeah, wet wipe.” You snicker, caressing the arm he has around you. “But you’re my wet wipe.”
“I always wanted to be your wet wipe. This is awesome”, he jokes, eliciting more snickers from you.
“You’re a goof.”
“And you love it.”
“Mh-hm I do.” You turn your head to face him, gazing lovingly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
You kiss each other. It lasts longer than before and is very, very nice. Oh so nice. You lost count of the number of kisses you exchanged over the years and yet it still feels as nice as it did when you shared that one fateful first kiss.
You stub noses and break apart.
“So you decided to have your tiddies out.”
“Hey, if you’re allowed to train with your tiddies out, I’m also allowed to free the girlies.”
“I’m not complaining. Not at all”, he says and gathers them just to kiss them in a non-sexual way. Which may sound impossible, but Jungkook makes it possible. It still feels really nice for you, don’t misunderstand. And quite frankly, it turns you on. Jungkook might not have sexy ideas (yet) but you have been craving him ever since he started working out. His kisses are electric.
“It was the best view to come back to”, he murmurs, kissing your nipples with utmost care.
“I knew you’d say that”, you sigh, arching your back to get more of him. His lips are so soft and whenever he finished a kiss, he lets the tip of his tongue grace over the spot.
“It’s true”, he whispers, dancing his palms to your sides to hold them as he kisses your stomach. It tingles.
“You’re so cold, it’s nice.”
“Mhm, the water’s cold today”, he says and ends his innocent affection by kissing your navel. And then under your navel. And then your inner thigh. And suddenly you have his fingers playing with the leg hem of your bikini bottoms and you realise that maybe, just maybe, his touch has never been innocent. Your pulse speeds up.
“I’m probably sweaty, Koo.”
“Whatever”, he dismisses you and tugs your bottoms aside to bury his tongue in your warmed up, soft pussy. He purrs deeply as he does.
“Fucking hell, Kook”, you gasp, arching your back. You knew that he would do it, you could have pushed him away if you wanted to, but you didn’t. You didn’t because your pussy has been throbbing ever since his workout. This is the kind of relief you didn’t want to ask of him, but which you secretly hoped would be yours.
Jungkook uses his left hand to keep your bottoms away from your sweet heaven, running his right hand up to your chest to play with your soft tits. He moans with you as he drags a sound out of you, flicking his tongue up and down through your folds. You smell like warm, summer dreams. Fruity because of all the summer fruits you are consuming on a daily, slightly salty from a previous dip in the ocean and addictively feminine.
“You’re so wet already”, he sighs breathlessly, running his nose over your clit.
“I watched you workout”, you get out, gasping over and over again. Jungkook knows exactly that his nose is your weakness. Now, you are actually talking about nose kisses but he is creative. His nose is definitely not just perfect for kisses.
“Mhm baby…” he purrs, closing his mouth around your pussy just to slurp up your sticky sweetness. He ends it with a delicious hum, repeating the gesture because he loves nothing more than your taste. You are so sweet in summer. He swallows hungrily and repeats it a third and last time before he switches it with his nose again. He keeps his tongue stretched out, playing with your dripping entrance at the same time.
“Koo, oh god”, you choke out, hands falling to his head. Your fingers close around bundles of his wet hair, hips twitching every time his nose dances up your clit.
It makes him smile and purr against you, “you’re so twitchy, baby.”
“I can’t help it”, you whine.
“It’s so cute”, he lulls and rewards you by wrapping his pierced lips around your clit to suck on her.
You twitch even more aggressively, having to whimper when he laughs in amusement. The vibrations this sends through your clit quite frankly make you want to climax.
“I’m gonna-”
Jungkook lifts his head, watching in delight as your hips twitch helplessly. You try to push him back down, but he is stronger. You have to live with the denial if you wanted to or not.
“Koo please”, you beg.
“Mhm, you’re so cute when you’re sensitive”, he rasps and fixes your bottoms so you are covered again.
“No please don’t stop, please more.”
“So cute, you’re fucking adorable…”
He begins kissing a path up to your face, tingling with every needy touch you place on his skin. His body claims the space between your legs, his wet shorts soak your bottoms. It’s so cold against your pussy, making her throb needily. His cock is so hard. You want him filling you.
“Please more, please.”
“Mhhm I don’t know, baby. I got what I wanted.”
“Please Koo, it hurts.”
“Hurts? Poor woman, how sad.”
“Koo please”, you give him puppy eyes, “give me cock.”
“Fuck. Alright”, he instantly gives in, “can you stand up for me?”
“Yes.”
He helps you to your feet, leading you to the hammock afterwards. Once there, he places you in front of it, giving you bedroom eyes while his fingers open the knots of your bottoms. You do the same with his shorts, earning yourself a playful smirk.
“You’re so cute, baby”, he rasps, letting your bottoms drops on the ground. Being naked has never felt better before. With shaky hands you speed up, wanting to get him naked as quickly as possible. He helps you in tugging the shorts over his ass, stepping out of them once they are on the ground.
His cock stands flushed against his stomach, aching to be touched. But he gives you no chance to do so, kissing you deeply before you can get your hands on him. You melt in his arms, knees buckling and head turning. He picks you up with ease because he is such a strong man and fixes you in the hammock so your weight was supported but you were still facing him. He breaks the kiss, forcing you to look up at him with a hand on the nape of your neck. Not that you want to look anywhere else but him.
“My pretty girl”, he whispers, eyes soft even if his cock currently breaches you. The contrast makes you dizzy.
You open your mouth in a silent moan, eyes widening.
He nods his head in agreement, cupping your cheek, “I know, babygirl, I know.”
He bottoms out with a harsh thrust.
“H-hm”, you whimper, squeezing your eyes and mouth shut and grasping the nape of his neck. The current position allows him to fill you from an unfamiliar angle and it feels as if he is taking you for the first time.
“Does it hurt?”
You shake your head, forcing your eyes to open even if it is hard. He meets your submissive gaze with dominant, caring eyes.
“Hold onto me, yeah?”
You nod your head, hooking your legs behind his waist.
“That’s my good girl”, he praises, rewarding you with his cock. He uses the movements of the hammock to his advantage, rocking you on him. The angle is so unfamiliar, being held and moved like this only adds to how good it feels.
You roll your head back, closing your eyes. You want this to last forever. You are so happy when he fills you.
“Can you moan for me, princess? Mhm, baby can you do that for me?”
“Koo”, you moan, writhing in the hammock.
“There we go, I love your sweet voice”, he purrs and meets the movements with smooth rolls of his hips.
“Oh god, Koo”, you gasp, arching your back as best as possible. You drop your hands from his neck, grasping the hammock instead. Your face scrunches up again. Jungkook hasn’t seen that face in ages.
“Am I too rough?”
“No, it’s so good.”
He bottoms out with a swing of the hammock, watching your body tremble and your face scrunch.
“You’re shaking so much.”
“Because it feels like my first time”, you mewl, “Koo, please don’t stop.”
“Shit, baby. Holy fuck”, he growls, cock throbbing in realisation. This isn’t a face of discomfort, this a face of overwhelming pleasure. You are shaking so much because he is giving it to you in a new way and you love it to the point of complete ruin.
He broadens his stance and puts both hands under your ass. The hammock supports your weight, all he has to do is rock you on his cock and write his name against your dripping walls. You writhe and shake in the hammock, presenting your body in the most beautiful way. Your head hangs over the edge, your legs are hooked on his arms, shaking right there. Jungkook doesn’t know whether to look at your tits with their swollen pretty nipples or your pussy as it swallows his cock greedily.
“I can’t enough of you”, he gets out, muscles tense in pleasurable exhaustion.
The sun feels sweltering on his skin, making him sweat and pant. You are sweating too, glistening like a goddess of sun in her golden light. Jungkook swears that fucking you right here and now is religious and blasphemous at the same time. His goddess, his beautiful goddess, and he gets to fuck her raw.
“You’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”
“Koo”, you mewl, feeling on cloud nine. This is everything you needed. Now listen, you can control your needs very well if you have to. Having a dangerously attractive husband is just way too lethal sometimes. Especially on such a hot summer’s day when the sun made him sweat and train with such aggression.
“Harder please.”
“You gotta hold onto me again for that.”
You obey without protest. You hook your arms behind his head, burying your hands in his hair.
“That’s it”, you can taste his words like this, eyes captured by his darkened gaze. He pulls out and thrusts in deep and hard.
“Ah!”
He pulls out and does it again. Hard. Rough. Deep.
“Ah! Ah, god. Ah!”
You have to make noises with each thrust, eyes threatening to close.
“Fuck, you feel so good”, he growls, furrowing his brows. This is a new angle for him as well. He didn’t think that he would love it so much. He loves fucking you in standing positions, it makes him feel powerful and needed because you have to cling onto him and he is the only thing keeping you in the air. But Jungkook is also exhausted from training today. The hammock is helping him fulfill his hottest desires, adding excitement to it because it keeps swinging. Your pussy milks his cock in unpredictable ways each time the hammock swings from his aggressive thrusts, escaping him at the same time which brings out Jungkook’s competitiveness. He needs to have her, needs to capture her and make sure she doesn’t run away again.
Fuck, he is trapped in this moment with you, chasing your warm heaven and giving you heaven in return.
“More, please”, you beg, eyes teary and submissive.
“Show me your fingers.”
You show him your right hand, clinging to him with your left. He spits on it without warning, making you moan his name.
“Now play with your clit.”
“Koo”, you mewl, obeying his command happily.
Jungkook feels the moment you start playing with yourself. Your already tight pussy tightens even more, trapping his cock greedily.
“Good girl, play with yourself. Fucking hell, you’re so tight. I’m going insane”, he praises, following it up with a loud moan and sloppy thrusts.
You finally loose the fight with your eyes. They roll back and fall closed. He is going to make you orgasm so hard. It is building up deep inside you every time he fucks his swollen cock against your g-spot. Playing with yourself only makes you more aware of it.
You want to scream.
“I have to scream”, yoh croak.
“That’s alright. Scream for me, let the neighbours hear who makes you feel that good”, he encourages you with a harsh thrust.
“Kook!”
“Good girl. Fuck, my legs are shaking, this is driving me mad.” He is panting, dripping sweat. “What the fuck, what the actual fuck.”
“Soon, Kook, soon. Soon. Soon. Soon”, you are chanting, convulsing around his cock. You love getting fucked. Oh god, you love it so much. You love getting fucked by your strong, muscular husband. The memories of his workout come back to haunt you. This is your end.
You break on his cock when he is the deepest, sobbing his name and pulling him close with your legs.
“Jungkook, oh god Jungkook baby.”
“Ah shit, baby”, he gasps, finding support by grasping the hammock. He can’t move because your legs are keeping him hostage. This is going to end badly. “Oh god, I can’t hold back for long. Oh god, you go-gotta let me move or I’ll cum too.”
“Cum in me, please Koo”, you beg, voice contorted from your orgasm. You pull him so much closer, forcing him to his luck in the sweetest way.
Jungkook whimpers your name, dropping his face in your neck. He tenses up, filling you with his warmth sooner than he planned on doing. He can’t help himself. Not when he is so worked up, not when this is so new to him, not when you feel so fucking good. He isn’t mad at all. Working out today filled him with so much desperation that he actively had to work against getting a hard-on. He blames the constant watching you were doing. Climaxing so deep inside you right now, holding you as you tremble because of it, is everything that he needed.
Jungkook swears that he needs to lick your neck. You shiver because of it, turning your head to take in his tongue and suck on it needily. This is the kind of nasty one can only be when you are totally and completely obsessed with each other. And oh, how you are obsessed with each other. You come down from your messy high tongue kissing and groping each other. The kiss breaks with strings of saliva still attached to your lips.
“What the actual fuck?”
“Right.”
You and he are panting, eyes closed and heads dizzy. You definitely need a swim after that.
“Koo, this was so insane.”
“It was amazing, baby. Wow, I’m literally tingling”, he gushes, peeling his eyes open. As if you can sense it, you do the same just to meet his giddy gaze.
“Me too”, you confess, giggling.
He smiles fondly, “god, you’re so cute. Come here you”, he says and lifts you.
You squeak and squeak again when he stumbles and drops you.
“Woah total muscle failure. Fuck, I’m spent”, he says, dropping on the ground.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” you gasp, following him.
“Yeah, just ah totally spend. Wow, I feel amazing”, he says, lying down in the grass starfish-style.
You instantly use it to your advantage. With a cute, but funny, sound effect you sit down on his lap and begin placing kisses all over his torso. His pecs, his neck, his tummy and his nipples. Entirely soaked in love.
You do so with the occasional “mwuah” thrown in, which makes him giggle.
You end the affection by smooching his cheek, then you rest your chin on your hands which you have on his chest. He melts under your weight, meeting your eyes and retorting the big grin you sport.
“You’re so beautiful”, he says, running the back of his hand down your cheek.
“I’m sweaty.”
“Just agree with me, please.”
You fluster, “okay, I’m beautiful.”
His eyes soften more, “you are. So fucking beautiful”, he whispers as his other hand traces your back gently.
“This is nice, my love.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I’m so happy that you started this. I really needed you.”
“I know. All I thought about on my swim was you.”
You kiss his chest once, “yeah?”
“Mh-hm, yeah.”
You smile and rest your cheek on his chest, draping your arms over him. It is so comfortable to lie on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
“Was it good for you?”
You nod enthusiastically, “it was amazing for me. The nose job, the edging, you carrying me and the roughness. It was perfect.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Not even a bit. It was seriously perfect.”
“I should have lasted longer.”
“Hush, just accept it.”
“Alright, it was perfect. I love you lots.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“We’ll go swimming later, won’t we?”
“Definitely. I’m so sweaty.”
“Yeah, same.”
You and he chuckle and fall into comfortable silence afterwards as you bask in the tranquil moment together. Jungkook turns his face to the sky, enjoying the sunlight with closed eyes while he mindlessly rubs your back and head. There is nothing better in life than being your husband.
you’ve had feelings for your best friend Jimin for as long as you can remember, but you always thought they were unreciprocated. What if it turned out they weren’t…?
pairing | park jimin x reader, highschool! jimin, bestfriend! jimin
genre/warnings | smut, fluff, slight angst,
words | 11,163
omg what a magical and romantic story! reading it felt like being teleported into my own little wholesome universe, i wished it never ended 🥺
the tension between oc and jimin was HERE AND THRIVING from the start and so electrifying i felt it in my fingertips 😮💨✨ also, quick appreciation for how tae was so sweet and understanding even though his situation – why can't every guy be like that?!
anyways, easily one of my alltime favorite stories i have ever read! 💖
this was originally supposed to be very soft…oops! :)
the first half is inspired by a dream i had about jimin that literally had me waking up in tears + the second half is inspired by ‘thinking bout you’ by ariana grande which happened to come on shuffle play a few mins later. voilà!
genre: angst, fluff, smut
wc: 3.8k
warnings: moderate angst (eludes to enl*stment), a lot of tears, language, looots of kissing, making out, grinding, oral activities, and unprotected sex (don’t). explicit description of sexual acts: minors dni.
jimin wakes with a deeply wounded sound that could be described as the world’s most dramatic grunt.
he absolutely hates waking up alone. everyone knows he’s a natural cuddler, born to hold others and be held.
ideally, by you.
blinking harshly against the afternoon sun streaming through the window, jimin stretches his arm out to your side of the bed, huffing when he comes across cold sheets.
he blows another deep breath out of his mouth as he rolls over to check the time, slowly breaking out of his post-nap haze.
“good morning, sleepy head.”
jimin perks up at the sound of your voice. on cue, you step through the doorway, looking equally sleepy while clutching your favorite mug.
you shuffle across the bedroom, smiling fondly at the man as his legs kick out and ruffle the sheets when he sits up.
“you left me,” he juts out his bottom lip, reaching for you impatiently as you lower yourself onto the mattress.
“i’m sorry, babe,” you pout back, directing your eyes to the mug by way of explanation, “i woke up with a craving for chai tea,” you continue, handing the mug over as you settle in next to him.
“well, i woke up with a craving for you,” he quips, sassily raising the mug to his lips as you lovingly roll your eyes at him.
he makes a satisfied hum as he swallows the sweet tea, showing his enthusiasm with a bob of his head.
pressing his lips together, he hands the mug back to you, watching as you take another sip before leaning over to set it down on the nightstand.
when you sit back against the pillows and look at jimin, you feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. you aren’t entirely used to seeing him right here, next to you, so content.
there have been so many times when you sat up at night thinking about him, worrying about him, craving him, all while he was more distant than he had ever been throughout your relationship. and this wasn’t even by his design.
it makes you emotional, the way he easily nestles into your side, the way his hand gravitates to yours, and the gentle concern in his eyes as he watches your own well up with tears.
“hey,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “what is it, angel?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours as he searches your eyes, hoping for a clue while he gives you the time to gather yourself enough to speak.
“i just can’t believe you’re here,” you eventually say, much quieter than you intended. “and i’m so happy,” you emphasize. your heart sinks when jimin’s eyes mirror your own, glistening with unshed tears.
your exchange of emotion is wordless for a long moment, as you are addressing the obvious. you are here, together, but only for now. you are happy and content, but only for now. and as much as you try to combat your pessimism, you are a realist at heart.
in a few days, jimin will inevitably leave again.
your hands pull towards his crumpling face like a magnet, cupping his jaw and swiping your thumbs along his soft cheeks when the salty drops descend down his skin, leaning forward to press your lips to his wobbly pair.
“i miss you so much,” he sniffs, eyebrows furrowing as he takes notice of your now wet cheeks, “i always miss you,” he chokes on a sob, the sound pulling on all your heartstrings and delivering a swift punch to the gut.
it makes you want to cry even more watching him be so upset, desperately trying to push the lump in your throat away for the sake of your limited time together. you fail miserably, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as more tears break free.
“please don’t cry,” you sob in return, “not about this. it’s okay, baby,” the latter part of your statement is muffled as jimin pulls you closer to crush you in his arms, nestling his head into your neck as his back still shakes with unsteady breaths.
“please don’t cry,” you reiterate with a sniffle of your own, looping your arms around his back as you both dig deeper into the embrace.
“then you don’t cry! it breaks my heart,” he pouts, squeezing your hand again as he presses a chaste kiss to your chin, a contented sigh leaving him when you turn your face to kiss him.
your lips meld together sweetly, sharing one, two, three, soft kisses full of the taste of salt from your combined tears.
you pull back and allow your tired head to fall onto his shoulder again, jimin placing his head on yours with another soft sigh.
“fuck,” he tsks after a quiet moment, turning his face to look at you with swollen eyes.
you chuckle humorlessly, stretching your neck to gingerly press your lips to the drying tear trails on his face. the apples of his cheeks appear as you do so, eyes creasing as he grins down at you.
“i’m sorry for being depressing. i swear i had fun plans when i first came in here,” you sigh, smiling when jimin smushes your cheeks together with his hand and pecks the damp skin with his lips, as you did him.
“don’t be sorry. this has been a lot,” he frowns, “and we needed the cry.”
you hum in agreement, turning onto your side and settling deeper into his chest as his fingers soothingly dance along your shoulder.
“i love you so much,” he murmurs, hand tracing down to rub calming circles into your back.
it doesn't matter how often you hear jimin say that he loves you; you have determined that your heart will nearly combust every time.
so you grin like a fool and hoist yourself up onto your elbows, hands settling on his bare chest. your eyes fondly dance along his features, from his sparkling eyes to his adorable button nose, to the perfect puffy pillows he has for lips.
“i love you so much,” you trace his skin, running your thumb along the ridges in his abdomen. “this is new,” you comment on his physique with a quirked brow, jimin’s face breaking into a big, beautiful smile as he laughs shyly.
“wow,” you carry on, and embarrassed, he waves you off, which only encourages you to amp up the act.
“what, you want me to ignore this? i mean, i’ve never seen an eight pack before!” you exclaim, grinning when you see that he’s now totally flushed pink, both from the way your nail traces down his happy trail and your praise.
“stop it,” he whines, “you’re torturing me. come up here,” he gestures, patting his thighs. you lift a leg to straddle his waist, lowering yourself to sit on his hips.
it’s instinctive and effortless, the way you fall down onto his chest. the way his hands travel down your lower back to rest on your ass, sinking his fingers into the flesh with what could only be described as a sigh of relief.
resting your face in the juncture between his chest and neck, you pucker your lips on the skin there, then move over to the column of his throat to do the same, and down to his collarbone. his breath catches in his throat when you open your mouth against him, hissing a breath through his teeth when you drag your tongue along the skin.
“sensitive,” you tease as you pick your head up, the smirk falling right off your face as he lifts his hand and delivers a sharp smack to your ass. you inhale a sharp gasp as a hot wave of arousal washes over you, and the mood change in the room is instantaneous.
jimin’s mouth actively seeks yours like a moth to a flame, lips colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue that has you keening for more. you moan into each other's mouths as he fondles your ass, sneaking a finger down between your legs to rub you through your dampening shorts.
the thought of jimin being unreachable again was constant worry gnawing at you. but for now, you are rested, reunited, and so, so in love.
and frankly, more than a little needy.
your tongues lazily tangle together as jimin traces his hands up your body, settling on your stomach and caressing the skin. you could almost laugh at the contradiction between the gentle circles he’s rubbing into your tummy versus the way he’s currently sucking on your tongue.
when you can no longer ignore the burning in your lungs, you lift yourself from his mouth, jimin swiftly taking the opportunity to lift your t-shirt over your head and chuck it across the room.
he stares at your bare chest with a deep groan, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing the tissue in his hands.
“fucking love it when you don’t wear a bra,” he says, tweaking your nipples between skilled thumbs.
“yeah? wanna burn all my bras?” you smirk, jaw falling slack when he dips forward to close his mouth around your nipple. he sucks on the aching nub until you’re whining his name, breaking away for only a moment to answer you.
“happily,” he simpers, switching to your other neglected breast. he encourages you with open palms on the small of your waist when you arch your back and push your chest further into him.
he pops off your chest with a shaky breath as your hips instinctively grind down on his lap, an airy whine erupting from the back of your throat at the feeling of his bulge poking into you.
“fuck, baby, just like that,” jimin instructs with a soft moan, laying back against the pillows as his hands move to support your gyrating hips.
lowering yourself so your face hovers above his, you support yourself using the pillow beneath his head as you begin slowly rocking your hips along the tent in his boxers, back and forth, back and forth.
the friction is making you feel dizzy, rubbing you in all the right spots.
plus, the eye contact isn’t helping your case at all. jimin’s half-shut eyelids send a stronger pulse between your legs. all you can concentrate on is chasing the pleasure you feel right now, taking jimin’s short breaths as confirmation that you two are in the same boat.
“jimin, baby,” you breathe, reluctantly stilling your hips, “i really could cum right now and that scares me.”
your mouth twitches into a grin when he lets out a belly laugh in response, moving his hands up and down your back to help bring you back to earth.
“me too,” he chuckles, “it’s only slightly humiliating,” he says as he kisses your shoulder, his head easily falling back onto the pillows as you meet his lips again.
jimin moans into your mouth as your other hand suddenly slips into his boxer shorts, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and closing your hand around him to squeeze his shaft. his eyes shift to look at your hand down his pants, but close as soon as you swipe your thumb across his tip.
you’re dragging your hand up and down on him, tracing your smallest finger over the dull pulse shooting up his cock. low whines are leaving his lips, his hand grasping your side when you quicken your pace.
“oh god,” he rasps, “you have to stop, baby.”
when you continue your actions with a pout, he leans forward to press his lips to the wrinkle temporarily formed in your chin.
“but i wanna make you feel good,” you say. you still allow him to fully sit up, dropping his cock with a reluctant sigh.
“well, i wanna make you feel good too. do we have a deal?,” he grins as he takes hold of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed, your eagerness showing in the way you shimmy out of your shorts and underwear in one go. you chuck said items across the room, jimin immediately sinking to his knees on the floor.
you shudder as he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, obviously teasing as you push your hips impatiently toward him.
“baby, please,” you beg, and he seems to get the message. placing his hands underneath your calves, he lifts your legs and guides them over his shoulders.
as you look down at him devilishly smiling between your thighs, you think that he would give the cheshire cat a run for his money.
when his mouth finally meets the area begging for his attention most, you let out a broken cry of his name, fisting the sheets beside you as he languidly strokes his tongue through the arousal spilling from you.
“hmmh,” he moans into you, making you shudder from the vibration, knees going weak as he circles your clit with a pointed tongue.
your vision goes black once you feel one of his fingers circling your entrance, pushing its way in after you let out a garbled plea to the ceiling. he thrusts with one finger then adds another, hooking them to rub your sweet spot.
you feel a rush of heat rise in your cheeks at his actions, clenching the sheets with a whine as you start rocking your hips to fuck yourself onto his fingers.
“oh fuck, oh fuck! baby,” you whine, letting a hand sneak down to settle on his head, gripping his hair and tugging just how he likes.
it’s only been a few minutes and you can feel that you’re embarrassingly close, especially with the way jimin tauntingly drags his fingers just right along your walls, hitting your g spot with each pointed thrust of his hand. the pressure keeps building, electricity rippling through your lower abdomen as he hits your cervix.
“i-i’m gonna cum,” you stutter, jimin throwing an arm over your stomach to stop your writhing, holding you in place as he dips down to essentially make out with your clit.
and then the band snaps, time slows, and you’re falling, falling, falling.
when your vision comes back, jimin is above you, running his hands up and down your now sore leg muscles.
you reach out to place your hand on his shoulder, squeezing the muscle then bringing your palm around to cup the back of his neck.
“oh my god, i love you,” you breathe, chest still stuttering from your high.
“i love you more,” he coos, bringing his hand up to your hair, carefully smoothing it away from your face with his fingers.
it’s quiet for a moment as your head slows its spinning. jimin’s dark pupils pull you back to earth, glittering with your reflection.
“you okay, my love?” he murmurs softly, shifting his hand so he can swipe his thumb over your cheek. his appendage moves when you bob your head in response, flashing him a tired grin.
“never been better,” you confirm, “ready for round two?”
jimin crinkles his nose in amusement, dipping down to eagerly meet your lips. sighs and moans pass between you as he licks into your mouth, the taste of you rubbing off onto your tongue.
you pull him in tighter to you, jimin’s hips thrusting into yours in pursuit of stimulation. you buck your hips up to meet his, the lazy pace of your grind far from satisfying your need.
“fuck me, baby, please,” you break apart from the kiss with a whine, tracing your hands down his body to slip your fingers beneath his waistband once again.
this time, jimin eagerly straightens up, pushing his shorts down his legs and tossing them aside. his length slaps up against his stomach, and oh my god, you think, he’s so hard it looks like it hurts.
“on your side, baby,” he says with a soft pat to your ass, erupting into giggles when you all too enthusiastically flip over, leaving him to bounce on the bed beside you.
you eagerly settle back into his chest as he spoons you from behind, his arm wrapping around your torso to pull you as close to him as he can. you can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat pressing into your back, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.
“i love that this is the only time you’re the big spoon,” you tease, gasping when he lifts your leg and slides his cock through your wet folds.
as much as you like to tease jimin, you find that you like the end result of him shutting you up much better.
“fuck,” you whisper as he bumps his tip into your swollen clit, needily rocking your hips back to slide along his length.
“jimin, please,” you beg, and you don’t even recognize your own voice. you sound desperate, and with anyone else you would feel embarrassed. but it’s jimin, who doesn’t miss a beat and instead leaves a wet smack of his lips on your shoulder, lining his cock up with your entrance and pushing the tip inside of you.
“oh,” you blow a breath through clenched teeth at the intrusion, fingers digging into the pillow beside your head as pleasure spreads through your core already.
jimin grunts as he shifts his hips forward to inch inside, pulling back and thrusting more of himself into you. he curses as you squeeze him, letting his face fall into your neck.
a moan erupts from your chest as he bottoms out, while jimin blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“fuck, so good. you’re so good for me,” he moans, sounding entirely delirious as he feels you wrapped around him like this for the first time in months.
he leans down to pepper kisses over your cheeks as he waits for you to adjust to him, pressing one last kiss to the side of your head as you nod for him to go.
“you sure?” he asks, chuckling when you try to thrust your hips onto him yourself. he follows your movements, gently pulling back and easily sinking into your entrance.
“fuck, yes, i’m sure,” you moan breathlessly.
jimin is increasingly vocal as your walls clamp down around him, sucking him in each time he pulls out. he’s panting and repeating your name like a mantra, and you aren’t faring much better.
“jimin, make it hurt,” you cry out, muffled into the pillow you’ve buried your face into.
he bends your knee up further to spread you wider for him and picks up his pace, thighs clapping against your ass deliciously. the bed springs are crying out for help, the headboard banging against the wall as he carries you to the brink of another orgasm.
“baby, i’m close,” you whimper.
jimin moans gibberish in response, a sure sign that he’s almost there, too. you clench your muscles down on him, causing the flurry of noises from his mouth to increase.
the ball of heat is growing within your core, sweat beading on your forehead. you reach your arm behind you to hook around jimin’s neck, turning your head to face jimin. and that’s really what does it.
he looks destroyed, eyes closed and eyebrows scrunched together. his mouth is hanging open, his chest visibly rising and falling as he rapidly thrusts into you, chasing ultimate relief.
you’re suddenly thrown into another orgasm, the feeling of your walls spasming around jimin’s cock giving him the final push he needs.
you watch with dazed eyes as he quickly pulls out and strokes his cock in his hand, warm ropes of cum spurting from his tip to your ass, some drops landing on your lower back.
jimin breathes heavily behind you, and while it’s tempting to cuddle you back to sleep, he begins to shuffle off the bed.
“noooo,” you whine in complaint, reaching out for him with a limp arm.
“i’ll be right back,” he coos, leaning over to kiss each of your knuckles before standing up and leaving you in the room.
he comes back minutes later with a cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. after passing the glass to you, he climbs back into bed and swipes the wet fabric over your backside.
once he’s deemed you clean, he tosses the rag onto his other clothes littering the floor, and settles back into the mess of sheets and pillows. he reaches out to help as you turn your weak body around so you’re facing him, arms looping around his neck.
the air in the room is thick, an aspect confirmed by the distant sound of the air conditioner clicking on. nonetheless, you bury yourself into jimin’s neck, smiling when you feel the drag of his bottom lip against your ear as he collects himself from a yawn.
you’re almost drifting off when you hear his voice, but you’ve missed what he said. you hum in an unspoken request for him to repeat himself, straightening up to show him you’re listening.
he takes a breath, then pauses for a moment. you can hear that he’s debating something in his head, and just as you’re about to try to encourage him, he comes out with a rare statement.
“can i tell you a secret?”
your interest is piqued by his request, opening your eyes with an eager nod.
jimin hates secrets, so he tends to tell you everything. some may say he overshares; you, however, would disagree.
“‘course,” is all you can manage, completely spent as numb fingers search to interlock with his own.
“when this is all over,” he starts, tracing his thumb along your knuckles and stopping at your fourth finger, “i’m gonna marry you.”
your breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening as you search for any hint of teasing in his features.
what you find instead is a gentle gleam in his eye, pupils staring into your soul as he glows from the inside out. he looks as if a weight has been lifted from him, and you wonder how long he’d been thinking about this before he gained the courage to put it out there.
you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, covering your face with open palms as you break out into a giddy grin.
“you can’t just say that,” you laugh, allowing him to pull your body up and over him so that you’re lying on his chest.
“well, for now, i’m just saying it,” he retorts, “but i fully plan on being your husband for as long as you let me.”
you run your fingers across his pecs as you let his words soak in, nuzzling your cheek into his chest with increasingly misty eyes.
❄ genre: established relationship, supernatural au, smut [18+]
❄ summary: Childhood best friend turned boyfriend has only wanted one thing in his life, to be able to look you in the eyes without the risk of turning you into stone. The last (and only) time it occurred, it was nearly fatal for you but with your anniversary coming up, he’s willing to give it another go.
❄ wc: 8.4k
❄ warnings: cursing, mention of (possible) death/dying due to jimin’s powers, mention of potions and (actual) potion drinking, mention of nightmares, jimin wears sunglasses for most some of the fic ‘cause his gaze is killer (literally), reader generates ice (yes, like elsa), making out, breast play, marking (scratching, hickeys, biting, brusing), fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. giving and receiving), ice play, hair pulling, handjob, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, creampie
Even though it was completely different from what I usually read, I loved the concept of this story so much! Everything was so well written and I felt transported to another world in the (way too short) while I was reading this. Truly magical and enchanting, thank you for this beautiful piece! ✨
» pairing: jimin x f!reader
» genre: established relationship!au, smut, humor
» rating: nc-17/explicit; minors dni
» wordcount: 3.6k
» warnings: mid-tier smut with a side of banter. two shitheads are deeply in love and fuck in a car. lots of swearing. mentions of fingering and bad handjobs. unprotected sex (don’t do this). complimentary bad car sex innuendos.
» a/n: i was bullied gently encouraged to write this based on the above cursed butter concept photo. i also wrote and (barely) edited this in a few hours so i’m sure there are mistakes. if i missed any warning tags on the smut please let me know! as always, feedback/reblogs/unintelligible screeching in my inbox are always welcome. thank you for reading. ♡
can i just say i fell in love with these two, the way they are constantly bickering but still have so much passion and love for each other in such a bizarre situation makes me just so VDSJCNSN 🥹
also that playlist name made me crack up HAHA you made this man such an honest dork 🤣
and oc is totally relatable, if i was in her situation jimin would have wrapped me around his fingers (isn't that the case already tho...) i probably would give in to whatever he wants all the time, i mean who even would be able to say no to this man let's be real 🫠
as i said, i loved the dynamic you created, it's such a fairytale of a relationship but still so realistic, does that make sense?
A/N: So this was supposed to be 1k words long for an anon that requested bad boy!Jimin in a drabble prompt game. Clearly that didn’t happen. I hope you enjoy it more than I did editing lkfjwalkjf.
Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.
Wow, this fic surprised me in EVERY way possible! these are not the tropes i usually go for but damn am i glad to have read this because it has easily become one of my favorite stories! it's written with so much class yet contains so much filth and i loved every letter of it! i didn't know i needed this jimin until i read this and now i am a hot mess thanks for that 🫡
also, the way you incorporated the other members – hillarious 🤣
ANYWAYS i am so hungry for a second part eventho i am VERY late to the party, but hope dies last, right? 😅🥲
Supplying your law school classmates with weed on the regular might as well be a full-time job. It's lucrative, but lately, you've seen a dip in profits. Maybe it's because you keep giving out the Pretty Boy Discount to a certain guy in your ethics class…
↳ pairing: prettyboy!jimin x weedgirl!reader
↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | law school au | classmates to lovers | smut
↳ wc/date: 7.5k | april 2023
↳ warnings: marijuana | a somewhat subby!jimin | consensual sex while high | choking (in a sexy way) | fingering | cunnilingus | spit | protected vaginal sex | self-indulgent rants about capitalism and classism | jimin makes a lame dick joke
↳ notes: on god, this fic is probably more about weed than anything else khskdjfs i would apologize but i already warned y’all, so you get what you get. these 420 fics are probs especially bad, and i decided i do not care. #blazeit
↳ masterlist | ao3 | join my taglist
↳ what was jai listening to? a weed playlist made by yours truly
“What is the difference between ethics, morality, and law?”
Professor Kim leans against the desk at the front of the lecture hall with his hands gripping the edge on either side of his hips. The action makes the muscles in his arms flex, and you eat up the tan skin exposed by how his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The tight white button-up accentuates plump pectoral muscles that threaten to pop and lose a few buttons. It wouldn’t surprise you if it happened. Professor Kim is known for being accidentally destructive.
It is unethical to fuck your professor because it would create a conflict of interest; you’d imagine it would be hard for Professor Kim to ethically assess your academic performance if he’d been balls deep in you.
It’s morally wrong to fuck your professor because you know he’s married, not because he has ever provided your class with information about his personal life, but because you sit at the front of the class. From your position, you can see the glint of his wedding band.
Legally, you’re pretty sure there isn’t a law against fucking your professor. It probably goes against your university’s code of conduct, but that’s not a law.
You sink further into your seat and let your eyes wander the room. Everyone diligently takes notes as Professor Kim turns to the presentation projected on the large screen behind him. Ethics and Professional Responsibility isn’t your favorite class, but no one said getting your J.D. would be fun. On the contrary, everyone you knew said it would fucking suck. And it kinda does.
One thing that doesn't suck, though, is having a class with your program’s resident pretty boy, Park Jimin.
Pretty boys aren’t your type at all. You prefer boys who are rough around the edges. You're not interested if a guy doesn’t look like he’s a one-way ticket to jail or hell. Maybe it’s the rebel in you. Maybe you like the idea that opposites attract. A lawyer and a criminal sounds like a cute ship, no?
Pretty boys are too soft for you. They’re the type to have skincare routines and listen to Jack Harlow. No thanks.
Yet your eyes always manage to find Jimin.
He’s sitting to your left and a few rows behind you, but close enough to see him when you turn your head. He sits with perfect posture as he scribbles notes on his iPad, plump lips puckered in a cute little beak of concentration.
Fuck, no, not cute. Ridiculous. Soft and childish. Everyone in the room is at least in their mid-twenties, some even in their late fifties. A prestigious J.D. program has no room for beaks and squishy cheeks.
You’re about to look away when Jimin lifts his stylus to his mouth. The end presses a small dent into his plush bottom lip. You instinctually lick your lips, though your mouth suddenly feels dry.
Jimin sits that way for a few more seconds with furrowed eyebrows as he focuses on his notes. At Professor Kim’s mention of the end-of-the-year oral argument, your classmate finally lifts his head to face the front of the room. His eyes are bright and wide, unlike the haggard look of your peers, and you watch them shift back and forth as he reads whatever is on the screen. You have no idea what Professor Kim’s talking about; your roommate, Hoseok, will fill you in when you get home.
All you know is that Jimin finally pulls his stylus away from his lips and casts a sideways glance in your direction. You lock eyes for a split second before he quickly ducks his head, suddenly interested in his notes again.
You snort loud enough for the woman sitting next to you to give you an odd look, but you ignore her and return your eyes to Professor Kim.
Your eyes don’t stray from the front of the lecture hall for the rest of the class. It’s not difficult; there isn’t anything else you find interesting enough in the room to distract you. Nothing. Especially not Pretty Boy Jimin.
🍃
“Hey, can I come over tonight?”
Two pale hands splay across your desk once the class is dismissed. Chipped, black polish adorns each nail, except for the pinkies, which are painted white.
“Why are you asking me? You don’t need my permission to visit your boyfriend’s apartment.”
“I’m trying to work on my manners, jeez.”
You roll your eyes and slide your tablet into your backpack. “Where were your manners when you and Hobi fucked on my couch? Hmm, Yoongi? Where were they then?”
Yoongi lets out a low groan as he steps to the side to let you fall in line with him as you exit the classroom. Your roommate is waiting in the hallway, always the last student to arrive and the first to leave.
“That’s different,” Yoongi huffs, though this time, the sound is due to Hoseok crushing him in a hug once they make it into the hall. “Besides, I’m asking because I’m bringing my friend. We aren’t going to stay. He just wants someone to come with him.”
Hoseok untangles his arms from Yoongi’s and adjusts his backpack. Your best friends act like surviving a three-hour class is like surviving a lifetime apart.
“Ohh, a friend?” Hoseok leans against Yoongi with his eyebrows arched. His questioning tone is fair. The three of you don’t have many friends aside from each other. It’s hard to maintain friendships with people outside of law school. There’s simply no time.
“What is this, the buddy system?” You snicker as you follow the two men to their cars. “Sorry, I only do business with adults.”
There is quite literally no reason for you to be judgemental about whoever this mystery friend is, but class has put you in a cranky mood. Probably because of stupid fucking Park Jimin with his distracting lips. Your unpreparedness for the oral argument is slowly causing anxiety to creep into your chest.
Yoongi gives you a light smack to your bicep. “Some people get nervous about this shit, you know that.”
“It’s weed, oh my god. You act like we’re cooking meth in our basement.”
Yoongi stops walking to give you a stern look with narrowed eyes and a cocked head. “You don’t even have a basement.”
“Yeah, well, it’s 2023, and weed is legal.”
“It is legal to purchase weed at a licensed dispensary. However, you are not licensed to sell weed, nor is your apartment a dispensary.”
“It’s got enough weed in it to be one,” Hoseok snorts, but the sound quickly morphs into a severe cough when Yoongi’s glare is directed at him.
Yoongi yanks his car door open and slides into the driver’s seat. Then, with one leg still on the ground and his arm holding the door open, he lets out a long sigh. “You two are insufferable.”
“Love you too, babe!” Hoseok giggles and sends his boyfriend a flying kiss as Yoongi drives out of the parking lot.
“For an anti-capitalist, Yoongi is so old-fashioned. I’m providing a product to the everyday person at a reasonable price,” you grumble while you fasten your seatbelt in Hoseok’s car. “Dispensaries are classist. They’re way too fucking expensive, and they’re all in affluent neighborhoods, anyway. The gentrification of marijuana in this country is ridiculous. Where does Yoongi think those tax funds end up? Not in neighborhoods that need them. And what about expunging people’s records? Is the government ever going to do that?”
You slump in your seat, the sudden energetic burst of social consciousness in you dying out. “I hate rich people.”
Hoseok hums in agreement, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. “We’re about to be rich people, though.”
“Not me. Civil rights law isn’t going to make me rich, and I’m not touching corporate with a ten-foot pole.”
Yoongi and so many other people in your program are too dependent on what is and don’t stop to question what can be or what should be.
Ethics is a social construct, morality is subjective, and law is arbitrary.
Going to law school is less about learning how to be a lawyer and more about learning how to play a game.
🍃
When Park Jimin walks into your living room, all you can do is blink at him. Your eyes are red and glassy, your mouth dry even though you’ve been sipping water, and your limbs feel too gooey to bother getting up. Maybe you’re hallucinating him, which would be very upsetting because you don’t want to explore why he’s sticking around in your head.
But then Yoongi is ushering the guy to sit next to you, and the dip in the couch as he eases down feels too real.
“Ah, Jimin! You’re the friend!” Hoseok gives the newcomer a blinding smile. Smoke punctuates each word, billowing toward the ceiling. There’s already a thin haze to the room; you and Hoseok have been smoking for a while. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
Jimin gives Hoseok a small smile. He also turns to give you one, but it falters when you meet his gaze.
You’re not sure what expression you’re wearing. It could be anything, really. Or nothing at all.
“Hi,” he says quietly. His lips are so pink. You want to ask him how soft they are.
“How much do you want?” Is what you ask instead.
Jimin turns to Yoongi, who is now cuddled up with Hoseok on the other side of the room. The chair is made for only one person, but they have never known personal boundaries. You suppose if they’re dating, it doesn’t matter.
“Just give him an eighth,” Yoongi says with a dismissive wave. He’s more focused on plucking the blunt from Hoseok’s lips and bringing it to his own.
“Of what?” You huff your words, twisting the joint you’ve got between your middle finger and thumb. It’s clear that Jimin knows nothing about weed. He can’t even come up with a measurement or a strain.
Yoongi glares at you as if this is somehow your fault before saying, “Anything. Maybe not Girl Scout Cookies or Sour Diesel, though. I don’t want his brain melting out of his ears.”
Jimin makes a slight noise of surprise at that.
“Kidding,” Yoongi teases. “Well, about the brain-melting part. I mean it about the strains, though.”
Leaving your joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, you stand up with a groan. Moving is low on your list of things to do right now. The indica you’ve been smoking makes your movements feel slow, though you can’t tell if they actually are.
“Come on,” you mumble, gesturing for him to follow you down the hall. He goes without a word, eyes wide as if he’s about to discover something profound within the walls of your apartment. You don’t want to admit how cute he is, just as timid in your apartment as in class.
“We keep everything in the office. It’s super organized, but I guess that’s expected.” You don’t know why you’re rambling (yes, you do, it’s the weed).
Jimin nods. “Makes sense.”
He’s so cute, you think, when he asks if he wants you to close the door once you’ve reached the office. As if there is something to hide in here. Hoseok and Yoongi are the only other people in the apartment.
“I’m going to give you a hybrid. You know what that means?”
Jimin hovers over you when you crouch next to a dresser with multiple drawers. Numerous glass jars, all labeled with pieces of white tape and messy handwriting, are stacked in the drawer you open. You sift through them, taking a few to inspect before placing them back again.
“I do not.” At least he’s honest.
“It’s the happy medium between sativa and indica. Sativa gives you a head high. People tend to feel alert and creative sometimes. Indica gives you a body high. It’s the stereotypical kind of weed people talk about that makes you lazy and get the munchies. It’s because sativa has more THC than CBD, whereas indica is more CBD-heavy. Think about how people use CBD products when they’ve got joint pains or anxiety, right?”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” The statement is redundant, but you don’t mention it. Jimin looks like he hangs onto your every word as though his life depends on it. It’s funny, and you have to stop yourself from laughing at him.
Finding what you’re looking for, you hand a jar to Jimin. “It’s already weighed, so you can take the whole thing.”
Jimin holds the jar like it’s a newborn. This time, you let a few giggles slip out.
“Do you have something to smoke it with? A piece or a bong?”
A shake of his head is no surprise, but you act shocked because you’re high and feeling good, and you love how he looks when his eyes grow wide.
“Wow, you’re so cute,” you say with a grin that starkly opposes the shy blush that paints Jimin’s face. “You probably don’t know how to roll either, do you?”
Another shake of his head. Of course.
It’s not difficult to show Jimin how. You pull up another chair at your desk and push away all your notes and textbooks for school to clear a path to work. You show him how to grind the weed and roll a blunt and a joint — so he can figure out which one he likes better.
Jimin’s body is warm as he presses against yours, your shoulders bumping into each other every time you move your arm. He keeps close, eyes glued to your hands as you work slowly but diligently. It’s a bit disarming having him so close. Aside from the occasional hello during class, you’ve never really talked to Jimin. Concentrating with all his Pretty Boy energy fogging up your mind is tricky.
Or is it the weed? Nah, it’s the weed.
“If you end up not liking either, go to a head shop to buy a bowl — it’s a pipe. Maybe don’t go with a bong yet. Yoongi can help you. He likes bowls better, so he’ll have good recommendations.”
Once finished, you slip the blunts and joints into a ziplock bag. When you pass it to Jimin, you can’t help but let your fingers brush against his. The touch sends waves of hot electricity up your arm. The shock of it makes your entire body tingle. Sure, the weed is making your body extra sensitive, but it’s not only that. He’s so fucking hot.
You don’t realize you’re staring at him. It’s hard not to stare or even know where to begin. His plush, pillowy lips? His fluffy, dirty-blonde hair that falls into his eyes? So cute that you don’t even care when he has to do a Bieber flip to get his bangs out of his face?
And, fuck, he’s not wearing the usual crisp white Oxford shirt and black chinos get-up. He must have gone home to change after class because now he’s wearing a form-fitting black t-shirt (probably designer from the looks of it) and grey jogger sweatpants that do nothing to hide how thick his thighs are and you’re sure if you get a chance to look at his ass you’ll find that that part of his body is thick, too. Expensive athleisure wear looks even better on him than professional clothing. It makes him look soft.
“Thank you,” Jimin says, speaking your name softly, and you feel like your knees grow weak at the sound of it tumbling from lips like those. “I’m sorry, I feel like I barged in here and took up your time. Not knowing anything… I’m sure you’re used to people with more knowledge than I do.”
Shaking your head, you guide Jimin out of the office and lock it behind you. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?”
It’s funny that he’s concerned about something like this, as if marijuana knowledge is so embarrassing not to have.
When you turn around, you realize the two of you are standing way too close. Your apartment isn’t a shoebox, but it certainly isn’t large. The hallway is slim, and Hoseok has a million and one plants and decorative furniture scattered around for the “aesthetic,” which makes it even harder to navigate tight spaces.
You’re not complaining, though. This close, you can see that Jimin is wearing contacts that make his eyes hazel, little flecks of orangish-brown highlighting his naturally dark irises.
Jimin’s eyes drop to your lips, and you feel your stomach drop along with them. Even though you’re not touching each other, your skin tingles with the knowledge that you could be touching. He’s so close. All it would take is one tiny shuffle forward, and you could slot yourself against his nimble — but what you assume is a very solid — frame.
“Yeah,” he speaks as he releases a soft exhale. You feel his warmth and shudder. “Thank you, still.”
“No problem,” you whisper.
Jimin’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. His teeth draw it in slightly, and when he lets go, you can see how his lip bounces back into place.
Dragging your eyes back to meet his takes an embarrassing amount of effort. He’s finally looking at your eyes, too, with an expression you don’t understand because you don’t really know him.
“How much do I owe you?”
Right. Because he’s here with Yoongi for a reason. You swallow, turning your head to the side to hopefully break whatever spell Jimin and weed have put you under.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jimin inhales sharply, but you keep your eyes down. “I must pay you something. I don’t know what’s a standard amount.”
If you were anyone else, you could honestly rip him off. The guy has no clue — he is even admitting that he doesn’t! But there are embers smoldering in the pit of your stomach.
“Nope,” you say with a tone of finality. You can hardly think before your following words slip out of your mouth like snakes. “Pretty Boys get weed free of charge.”
“W-w-what?” Jimin looks unbearably cute when he’s confused. It’s almost too much for you to handle.
So you don’t.
Without another word, you head back to the living room. Jimin follows silently. You’re sure his face is still painted with shock because Yoongi gives the two of you an odd look.
“Right where I left you,” you tease.
Untangling his limbs from Hoseok’s, Yoongi lets out an old man grunt and stands. You hadn’t believed him when he said he wouldn’t be staying, but it’s clear that he’s sticking to his promise when he starts patting down his legs to make sure he has his keys.
“Got what you need, Chim?”
Chim? How close are Yoongi and Jimin? And why are you only now learning of this friendship?
Jimin nods, his bottom lip between his teeth once again. He insists that you’ve been a great help to him, all while keeping his eyes locked with yours. It’s so different than his shy avoidance in class.
“Don’t worry, Yoong,” you insist as you plop back on the couch. Your joint is patiently waiting for you. “I took good care of him.”
🍃
You’ve never been very good at math, but it doesn’t take a mathematician to know that Pretty Boy Jimin ends up costing you hundreds of dollars as the semester progresses.
All your peers will walk away from law school making six figures easily. But not you. You just had to give a shit about the world, didn’t you? You just had to pick an area of law that values protecting human rights over making a profit.
God, being a good person is so hard!
And now, Park Jimin is sucking you dry before you can even earn money. Every time his fat little ass sashays away from your apartment with another jar of free weed, you can practically hear the chime of money signs ringing out with each step.
There’s a worse feeling, though. It hadn’t occurred to you until now, as you stand in the entranceway of Jimin’s apartment unit, your backpack carrying precious cargo inside slung over one shoulder.
Allowing Jimin to walk out of your apartment with the Pretty Boy Discount of free marijuana hurts your pocket, but doing a free weed delivery is even more pathetic. You're wasting your own time and gas money to drive to Park Jimin’s motherfucking apartment to deliver him weed that you aren’t even going to charge him for simply because he’s hot.
Maybe this is the terrible consequence of abstaining from sex to “focus on school” — as if smoking weed with Hoseok all day isn’t a distraction. But, on the other hand, maybe you just need to get laid.
Dipping on this commitment would be easy, you think as you bounce on the balls of your feet. You could leave right now before Jimin answers the door, ask Hoseok to handle Jimin’s future requests, and put all of this behind you. But, of course, the entire situation is ridiculous anyway. You don’t even know Jimin. Not really.
There’s a clicking sound from the other side of Jimin’s front door. Logically, you know it’s the sound of him unlocking the door, but your nerves tell you it’s the sound of your fate being locked into place. It may as well be because Jimin opens the door with a smile that puffs up his cheeks, his hair looks damp, and he smells like body wash.
Fuck.
“Hi!” His voice squeaks, but a deep cough returns it to a normal tone. “I mean, uh, I appreciate you coming by.”
Your tongue presses into your cheek as you regard him for a moment. He might consider your silence as negative because he quickly sidesteps to allow you into his apartment.
You give Jimin a smirk. “I think you should at least give me a tip.”
“O-oh, I mean… oh, um,” he stutters, and you can’t help but laugh.
A rush of air escapes your nostrils in a low-energy, nearly silent laugh. While coming to Jimin’s place might seem like a lot of effort, the truth is that you’re bored, and lately, you’ve been seeking anything to get your mind off the loneliness you feel when your apartment is dark and Hoseok is with Yoongi.
So, even though part of you chastises yourself, you’re willing to risk looking pathetic or desperate if it means you can have someone to smoke with and get some time away from your too-quiet apartment. Not because Jimin is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen in your entire life.
Jimin’s pretty eyes widen, and you quickly wave your hand to brush off his sudden panic.
“I’m kidding,” you confess as you twist your backpack around your body to pull out a small glass mason jar. It’s cute how concerned he is.
No, not cute. Naive. You shake yourself out of the feeling.
”Well, come on then.” You walk through Jimin’s apartment into the living room. It’s your first time making a delivery with him, so you’ve never been to his apartment. Yet you walk through the building with unearned familiarity. You’ve got manners; sometimes, you choose not to use them.
“How have you and Hoseok been?”
“Prepping for finals. And that fucking oral argument Kim’s got us doing,” you groan. School talk wasn’t something you had in mind when you showed up, but in the months you’ve spent getting to know Jimin more, you’ve learned he’s a total nerd. He’s probably excited about the assessment.
“Sometimes I think he’s trying to kill us,” Jimin says with a slight grin. “Is it ethical, moral, or legal to terrify your students to the point of throwing up before evaluations?”
“Don’t tease Yoongi like that! You know he has public speaking anxiety!”
Jimin does a little half-skip to avoid your attempt to slap his chest. Although you know the both of you are drowning in student loans and law school tuition fees, the apartment is much nicer than expected. You wonder if Jimin has a roommate. He’s never mentioned one before.
“Don’t tell him, or he’ll beat me up.”
Eyerolls aren’t a commitment to anything, but you know Jimin knows you wouldn’t dare repeat his words.
Plopping onto his couch, you scoot the coffee table between your knees and set the jar down. Beside the jar, you place everything you need to roll for Jimin, including a grinder and swishers. You could have rolled it all in advance, but you don’t like to feel rushed. Prepping is the best part. It relaxes you.
Jimin slowly slides into place beside you on the couch. He leaves enough room between the two of you to be respectful, although something tells you it’s less about his desire to make you feel comfortable and more about his discomfort.
He’s nervous, but you don’t know why. He keeps dragging his palms against his thighs, roughly rubbing his jeans. Every once in a while, he lifts his hand to touch his bottom lip. Then, when you sneak a glance at him, he quickly turns away. There’s nothing of note to look at in the apartment, but he seems engrossed in something for those fleeting moments before you’re sure he’s looking at you once again.
“I should probably learn how to do this… Like, properly… I can’t remember everything you did the first time,” Jimin mumbles. When you look up, his cheeks are dusted a light pink.
“Sorry, I probably went too fast that time.” You give him an apologetic look that makes his face redden even more. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. Just need a good teacher.”
If Jimin expects you to be his teacher again, he doesn’t say so. You could be. You can’t stop yourself from giving the guy free weed; you might as well add comprehensive rolling lessons in the mix.
By this point, rolling a blunt is about muscle memory; you don’t have to use an ounce of brainpower. Your eyes can wander, sweep over the contents of Jimin's living room, your thoughts floating off to wonder about the little details of the man’s life you aren’t privy to. Who are his friends? Where is his family? You look for photographs on shelves or hanging on the walls, items that are a staple in your and Hoseok’s apartment. Would Yoongi be in any of his photos? So many people in the city come in like ghosts.
“Do you, um, would you like to stay?”
Jimin's voice pulls you back to the living room, where your hands have already finished two blunts without you realizing it.
"Isn’t that what you meant when you said I could smoke with you?" You question around the blunt you’ve brought between your lips, pausing to light it.
Jimin shakes his head, not as an answer to your question, but to himself. “Yes, of course.”
“You wanna share this or smoke your own?" You can keep working on rolling the rest in the meantime.
Rather than answer your question verbally, Jimin does something that makes your heart fall into the pit of your fucking stomach. The supposedly shy, naive man parts his lips and juts his chin toward you.
The meaning behind his action hits you in the chest immediately. You let your eyes drift over his mouth, and you try not to react when his tongue swipes across his bottom lip while he patiently waits for you to give him what he wants. And you’re gonna do it, too. No questions asked.
Pinching the blunt between your middle finger and thumb, you twist on the couch to face Jimin with your legs tucked beneath you. Of course, if your fingertips brush against his lips when you place the blunt between them, that’s no one’s business, and you fucking plead the fifth, thanks.
Jimin’s eyes never leave yours when he wraps his lips around the blunt and inhales. He takes the hit like a champ, not coughing once despite the smoke’s thickness when he exhales. It’s been a few months since he started coming to you for weed. You shouldn’t be proud of his improvement, but you are anyway. Even if it’s weird to be.
“Thanks.” Jimin looks like a droopy-eyed dragon, eyes heavy and narrow when he expresses his appreciation. His voice is low and thick, and it makes your stomach swoop.
You nod your head and take the blunt from him. “No problem.”
Time is hardly discernible in normal circumstances for you, especially when you’re high. So you can’t imagine how long you sit with Jimin on his couch, watching smoke billow in the air and talking about how unfortunate it is that Frank Ocean and Rihanna ghosted the music industry.
For a while, the two of you fall silent. You lean your head against the couch and close your eyes, content with listening to the music Jimin put on until another thought enters your mind. One you can’t bring yourself to ignore.
“You ever fucked while you’re high?”
You ask the question once you and Jimin have finished the first blunt and move on to the second. The lighter you’re using is hot pink with blue and purple flowers printed on it. Something feels fitting about that.
The question takes you by surprise even though you’re the one asking it, unsure why you’re asking it aside from knowing the weed will make you more likely to speak your mind. Jimin, though. The poor guy is even more startled. As he should be, you think.
His hand trembles slightly when he passes you the blunt when it’s your turn to take a hit. “Uhh, um, have I— what?”
You roll your eyes and blow a smoke ring in Jimin’s direction. You wait for his coughing to subside before you repeat yourself.
“Have you ever had sex while under the influence of marijuana, Jimin-ssi?”
“No…”
“Hmm, you should. It’s really fun. Feels good.”
“Oh.”
“Do you wanna try it now?”
It’s comical how Jimin gulps, literally gulps, like a fucking cartoon character. “Now?”
Marijuana is an aphrodisiac. It won’t make Jimin want you, but it’s clear from his suggestive behavior that he already does. The weed will simply, hopefully, make him less nervous about it.
You pretend you don’t notice how he shifts to press his thighs together on the couch.
“Come on,” you encourage him. “Stop thinking so much.”
You know you’re too forward and sudden, but it feels justified because you’ve been thinking about Jimin for months. The buildup over the past few months has been stifling.
Giving consent is what finally unlocks something in Jimin. One moment he’s staring at you with wide, timid eyes; the next, he’s got his hand around your throat.
With a light squeeze, Jimin pulls you into him to slot his lips with yours. Holding back a moan is nearly impossible when his tongue pries your lips open. It’s wet and hot, and your skin tingles when you taste the smoke on him when his tongue curls around your own. Smoking always makes you feel warm, but you feel like you’re on fire when Jimin whimpers into your mouth. His pace is unrelenting. You feel like you’re tripping over yourself as you attempt to keep up with the quick work of his lips. The effort has you practically straddling his lap.
Tightening his grip on your throat, Jimin uses it to tilt you how he wants you. A pleased hum vibrates against your mouth when he hears you moan from the pressure of his fingers digging into the soft skin of your neck. It’s only when you start to get lightheaded, and your lips slow that Jimin finally pulls away.
His eyes' heavy, sensual look remains, but you’re surprised to find his slick lips forced into a frown.
“I’m sorry.”
You could ask why, but you assume Jimin’s forwardness isn’t typical behavior. The good thing is that it is for you.
Rather than address the unnecessary tension, you let your lips do all the work and pull Jimin in for another ruthless kiss.
“I don’t wanna hear any apologies from you,” you murmur against his mouth. “The only thing I want your lips doing is eating me out.”
Jimin lets out a high-pitched whine that sets something dangerous off, buzzing through your body. “Please.”
Maybe you’re pathetic with how quickly you strip yourself of your clothes, but Jimin doesn’t seem to care. His eyes never leave your body as you toss the clothing onto the floor. “You’re so beautiful…”
“Yeah?” You lean with your back against the arm of the couch, scooting down slightly so you can let your legs fall open.
He nods sharply and is silent momentarily as he rubs his palms down the length of your legs, settling between them.
"I've always wanted to talk to you," Jimin speaks with a hushed tone. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I just get nervous. I'm sure that seems pretty lame."
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Every touch sends goosebumps pebbling across your skin. It’s exhilarating. You feel like your entire body is a hot wire, sparking and buzzing at a dangerous frequency.
"Yoongi said this would be a good way for us to get to know each other. The weed, not this this!" It's shocking to you how adorable he can be at the same time he sucks the skin of your inner thigh into his mouth, swirling his tongue around after biting down hard enough to make you gasp.
Your head falls back as you feel the tip of Jimin’s tongue drags along your clit. He swirls it around, drawing small circles in a steady rhythm. Every time his tongue pulls back, you can hear a soft smacking sound of his lips. He’s likely swallowing the drool collecting in his mouth. You’re sure he’s probably getting a bad case of cotton mouth from the excessive sound.
It makes you smile knowing he’s that sensitive. It takes much more weed in your system to start feeling dry in the mouth, but you’ve been smoking more years than Jimin and at a higher frequency.
“Oh fuck,” you moan out a misshapen puff of smoke when Jimin’s tongue returns to your clit.
This time he wraps his plush lips around it and suckles lightly, using his tongue to flick from side to side. His little grunts and moans make your pussy vibrate, sending a tingling sensation through the inside of your thighs and down to your toes.
Your hand shakes as you bring the blunt back to your lips. A whine tries to break through, but you force it back down your throat as you inhale more smoke. It’s hard when your body feels like it’s burning up.
Every gentle touch of Jimin’s lips and tongue on your skin feels like a punch to your stomach in a way that is so deliriously delicious you can hardly take it. Wetness drips down your pussy and smears against your thighs, either from your arousal or Jimin’s drool or both, but you don’t care how messy it is when Jimin pulls back enough to spit more onto your clit.
You let out a surprised sound, lifting your head slightly to see a string of saliva connect Jimin’s pouty bottom lip with your skin.
Fuck, you didn’t think Pretty Boy had it in him.
Using two fingers, Jimin spreads his spit around your clit, pushing it down until he slides into your pussy with ease. You didn’t need the extra lubrication, but you groan at the wet sound that echoes through Jimin’s apartment as he thrusts his fingers deep inside you. He brings his lips back to your clit, sucking harder and massaging your skin with his tongue even faster to match the pace his fingers take.
When he finally locates the spot that makes your legs shake, hitting it repeatedly, you dig your fingers into his fluffy hair and yank his head back.
“H-h-here,” you stutter, pressing the blunt against his lips. They’re shiny, and the idea of sticking a wet blunt between your lips makes you want to cringe, but you don’t care because his lips are shiny with you.
Jimin doesn’t stop thrusting into you, but his pace slows as he concentrates on taking another hit.
“I’m so fucking hard,” he groans. With the blunt between his lips, Jimin’s hands fly to unbutton his jeans. Another groan sounds around the blunt once he’s freed himself of the retraining pants.
You let out a quiet sigh as you try to collect yourself while Jimin smokes. “I told you it feels good. It’s different, isn’t it?”
“Mhmm…”
There’s a large wet patch staining the front of Jimin’s briefs. It makes the fabric stick to his cock, clearly outlining his length and girth — big enough to make you drool but small enough that you won’t go home sore and regretful.
“Lemme ride you.” You use your free hand to push Jimin into the back of the couch. He plants his feet on the floor and spreads his thighs as you get comfortable in his lap. “Wanna smoke the rest while we fuck.”
Your head is in the clouds, your body melting like butter as Jimin skirts his hands along your sides. He eventually pauses to squeeze your hips, and you swear you can feel him all over you.
It’s quick work, tugging down the final article of clothing separating the two of you. It’s hard not to stare, especially when Jimin twitches and shivers with every light touch of your fingertips along the ridges and veins of his cock.
Your clit drags against the head of his cock when you adjust in his lap, and you let out a ragged moan.
“Soaked,” Jimin murmurs, “You’ve got me all wet.”
It’s true. Jimin’s thighs glisten from where you’ve leaked all over him. Your clit throbs so much it’s beginning to hurt from the sensitivity.
“Condom,” you practically wheeze out. “If you go in raw, you’re probably gonna bust a nut immediately, and I’m not interested in that for many reasons.”
Jimin’s face turns even pinker.
“O-okay, give me a second, please.” So fucking polite, and for what?
He holds you at the base of your spine with one hand as he leans forward to snatch his jeans with his other hand. There’s a condom in his wallet, so you assume your classmate isn’t all innocent.
It’s quick work rolling the condom on. Uninterested in teasing yourself further because you feel like you’ll die if you don’t orgasm soon, you push Jimin hard against the back of the couch. You slip down his cock with ease, with no stretch or sting, from how turned on you are.
“I feel like I’m already gonna come.” Jimin throws his head back against the couch.
His lips fall open, and you quickly snatch the blunt from them so it doesn’t fall and burn one of you. He looks beautiful, angelic even. His lips are puffy and pink, his cute little mismatched front teeth peeking out. His tongue flicks around his mouth as his breathing grows heavier.
You squeeze one of his shoulders with your free hand while your other keeps the blunt pinched to your lips. As you take a drag, you lift your hips and quickly bring them back down, your ass slapping Jimin’s thighs as you engulf his cock again. Your skin sounds wet and sticky, but Jimin’s whine drowns out the sound.
“Shit,” he hisses. Blunt nails dig into your skin, but it doesn’t hurt; it only feels good. Everything feels so good.
You hardly notice how hard you shake as you slam yourself down on Jimins’ cock again. Your head is too spacey to go fast, but you do your best to set a steady pace of bouncing on Jimin’s cock. It doesn’t matter if he’s already going to come. You feel your orgasm building up with every squeeze of his fingers and the pathetic moans from his mouth.
You lean forward to latch your lips to the base of Jimin’s neck when he again drops his head. Pulling the skin into your mouth, you suck hard. You know the shock the discomfort will send across his body, pain that quickly morphs into pleasure and makes his cock twitch inside you.
“Jesus Christ.” Jimin reaches up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. Sweat makes the hair remain in place, pushed up, making him look as wrecked as he sounds. His cheeks are bright red now, and the color bleeds down his neck, where you’re sure his chest is bright red, too.
Fuck, why didn’t you take off his shirt? It feels like a quick and dirty fuck, although you’re not sure you want it to be. You’re unsure what you want this to be or mean. Or how you want it to feel.
All you know is that you feel like you’ll come at the sight of Jimin’s toned stomach and chest when you pull the hem of his shirt up to bunch it right above his nipples.
Holding onto the fabric gives you more leverage to pick up your pace. It’s needed because Jimin is a puddle beneath you. His arms are tossed to his slides like they’re made out of rubber, flopped onto the couch cushions. He can barely lift his hips. He only makes a few weak attempts to thrust into you before he’s whining again, head lolled to the side with furrowed eyebrows. He looks so fucked out.
“Please, ahh, fuck, please,” Jimin begs, though you’re not sure for what.
“Wanna come, pretty boy?” You squeeze his t-shirt harder and yank it slightly, just enough to pull Jimin’s back a few inches from the couch. “You’re gonna have to work harder. I already gave you so much.”
Jimin’s eyes roll in pleasure when you clench around him, little “oh’s” and “ah’s” punched out of him. “Okay, yes, yes, fuck, yes, I’ll be soooo—”
You bring his hands back to your waist as he babbles. The contact must give him a bit of clarity because he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and begins to thrust into you hard.
“I’ll. Be. So. Fucking. Good.” Every word is punctuated by a mind-shattering thrust as Jimin pulls you down onto his cock.
If you were on the edge before, you’re falling by the time he picks up the pace and thrusts into you even harder. The buildup was long and hot, yet your orgasm hits you so hard it might as well have been a surprise.
You curl into yourself and press your face into the crook of Jimin’s neck while he continues his unforgiving rhythm until he comes with a choked-out moan of your name.
The silence should be uncomfortable. How awkward and irrational was it to simply… tell Jimin that you wanted to fuck? And for Jimin to go along with it? Casual hookups aren’t really your thing. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to be the exception for everything, though.
Heavy breathing fills the silence as the two of you try to calm down, your chests rising and falling in tandem. It’s comforting to lean all your weight on Jimin, despite how his bunched-up t-shirt presses uncomfortably into your chest. Even the feeling of his cock softening inside of you doesn’t bother you any.
At some point, Jimin had placed the blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table. It's shocking that he had the mind to do so; you would have accidentally burned a hole into his comfy, expensive-looking couch. It's a good thing you had the mind to use a condom. Imagine burn marks and cum stains. Sheesh.
The kiss Jimin presses to your temple when he turns his head feels way more domestic than you deserve. You smile, teeth pressed against his skin, despite yourself. You can blame the giddiness you feel on the weed, and not whatever Pretty Boy Jimin has done to trigger warmth inside your chest.
“I think I gave you more than the tip…”
With narrowed eyes, you lift your head from Jimin’s neck to look him square in the face so quickly that you’re worried you might pull a muscle in your neck. “You’re not fucking funny.”
Jimin lets his head fall back to laugh hard enough that his eyes squeeze shut. It’s so endearing that you overlook such a bad joke. Pretty Boy Jimin seems to get away with a lot. You don’t mind it as much as you act like you do.
daamnn that was so hot and i did for some reason absolutely not expect this?! definitely, and surprisingly one of my favorite fics i've read so far, this jimin was just... something else 😮💨 he was so shy at the beginning but then so BCDJDNSND at the end (i mean the sudden choke? helLO yes plEASE?!) also, oc is kinda my queen in this yup. this couple is kinda a match made in heaven, too, if you ask me 🥺
…and again, that smut part left me hot and bothered, and wanting to get high (on life if someone is reading this of cOOURSE duh) as well jesus christ 🙃
·˚ ༘ 💌 IMAGINE┊forgetting all about the movie because jimin has other plans.
TAGS — bf!jimin, creampies, raw sex, cow girl style, dirty talk cause it’s jimin, pussy put his ass to sleep, movie night gone right, domesticity, fluff
WORD COUNT — 1.1 k
The sounds of skin smacking against skin filled the dimly lit room. Your soft huffs and Jimin's quiet groans mixed together to produce what people would think is the most nasty sex of all. You've both been at it for a while now, this was supposed to be a movie night with your boyfriend but it obviously didn't turn out that way.
The bed creaks in protest to the rough bouncing and grinding, shifting against the wall as the headboard slams into it. Jimin bites his lip and admires the way your pretty tits jiggle inside your lacy bralette. He leans forward and eyes you with mischief as he buries his face against your tits.
You bite your lip and move your hands from his shoulders to the back of his hair as you run your hands through the soft black locks. He laughs huskily and begins to leave open mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of your tits. He picks a spot and sucks on it with the intention of marking you up. Jimin runs his tongue over a specific spot and then sucks hard enough to bruise.
"Jimin," you softly moan and run your hands through his hair, "that's enough." You quietly laugh and bite your lip as you gently tug his head back.
Jimin stares up at you with a grin as he bites his lip, "Thought you wanted me to mark you baby." He rasps out, hands tightening around your ass and giving each cheek a plump squeeze and a small slap.
You moan at the pleasant sting and roll your hips in figure of eights, "Mmm, my neck." You point out knowingly because he absolutely marked you up there.
Jimin closes his eyes as a low moan escapes his lips, "Shit right there baby." He moans out as his cock throbs weakly inside of you.
You repeat your movements on his cock and find that he's enjoying more than he lets on. Slowly you manage to swivel your hips and roll them sensually, a lot more calmer than the rough riding from earlier. His cock rubs up deliciously against your walls, you feel so full and stretched out nicely. You feel the head occasionally brush up against your g-spot.
"Fuckin' love the way you ride me baby, look so goddamn sexy sitting my cock like that and riding me like it's nobodies business." Jimin pants softly, "God I could just cum from the sight of you.” He hisses and slowly slides down from the headboard so he’s lying on his back now.
You eagerly roll your hips faster, taking it as a sign to go back to riding him like before. “Feel so big inside of me,” you moan out, “fills me up just the way I like it.” You lick your lips and grin.
Jimin grunts, “Fucking minx.” He slaps your ass, clearly turned on by you feeding his ego.
“ ‘s true Min,” you whimper and bounce in place, “you fill me up so good I can still feel the shape of your cock inside of me even after we finish.” You run your hands down his chest and settle them on his abdomen, “Gonna fill my pussy up with your cum baby? Gonna leave me dripping?”
He bites his lip and nods eagerly, “I’m going to leave your pussy dripping with my cum so everyone knows who you belong to.” He whispers out and flips the two of you over.
You moan unabashedly as he begins rolling his hips in ways that have you seeing stars. You reach down shakily to rub your clit in fast circles. “Jimin–” you whimper.
His cock drives in so deep you can feel it poking at your cervix or something. Jimin’s pumping into you at a languid pace, smacking his pelvis against yours repeatedly. You rock a little from the force, watching as his bangs cover his face, lips only visible.
His necklace dangles in your face as he slowly slides his hands upward and grips the headboard with one hand. “Gonna cum for me like a good girl?” He rasps out.
You nod eagerly, “Y-Yeah,” you moan, “keep going baby, right there.”
Jimin fucks into your pussy faster and harder, the bed creaks and slams into the wall much louder now. If his roommates didn’t know what you were doing, they did now. He grunted from the force of his thrusts, his thighs smack into your ass every time he pressed down deep inside of you.
“Jimin..!” You breathily cry out, your toes curl from the intense pleasure you’re feeling.
“That’s it, cum for me baby.” He whispers out and keeps grinding into you.
Your back arches, lips parting as no sound leaves you. You feel like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks as your orgasm quite literally leaves you breathless. Your pussy clenches down tightly and throbs around his cock as you basically drench his cock with your slick.
The slide is slippery, his cock glides in and out of you smoothly as he works his hips faster and faster. Jimin’s moans are louder now as he nears his own orgasm. He buries his face in your neck and shudders with each push of his hips. “God baby,” he grunts.
You can feel his balls slap against your ass every time he thrusts forward. He snaps his hips harshly repeatedly, jabbing into you with rough punishing thrusts. “y/n,” he moans and attacks your neck with a series of harsh kisses and brutal love bites.
Jimin works his hips faster and faster until he finally seizes up and cums hard inside of you. He shudders and hugs your body tightly as he pumps his cum into your awaiting pussy. His cock throbs pitifully from inside of you.
“Ohh fuck.” Jimin whispers and turns his head, panting harshly as he smothers you in kisses.
You hum softly and lazily reach up to stroke his hair as he finally stops rocking inside of you. “Mm.” Your eyes flutter open and you stare at his blissed out face.
“Gonna knock out.” Jimin smiles sleepily, eyes still shut as he holds you tenderly in a warm hug.
You giggle tiredly, “Are you really that tired?”
He chuckles softly and adjusts his head on your chest, “No, pussy put me to sleep.” He softly says and ends up falling asleep a few seconds after saying that.
You smile fondly and kiss his forehead as you curl around him, “I love you Mimi.” You softly coo in his ear.
summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.
word count: 24k 🙇♀️
contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)
A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜
(oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)
an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺
read on AO3!
~*~
You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.
Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.
Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.
Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.
It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.
There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.
But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.
You just wish you knew him, too.
Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?
Well, you know a few things.
He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.
He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.
You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.
He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.
You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.
Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.
On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.
Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.
And then the train stops moving.
There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.
You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.
“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.
You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.
Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”
A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”
“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.
“Definitely not.”
You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.
With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.
Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”
You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.
“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”
You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”
“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.
“What did you pay them for?”
“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”
“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.
Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.
It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.
But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”
Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”
There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”
Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.
“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”
As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”
His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.
“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.
“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.
He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.
“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.
The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.
“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.
“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”
You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”
“You in grad school too?”
“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”
His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”
“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”
“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”
You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”
He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”
You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”
“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”
“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”
You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.
“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”
“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.
And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.
A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”
You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”
“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.
You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.
You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.
It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.
Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.
You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.
Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”
You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.
Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.
It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.
But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.
You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.
He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.
The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.
By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.
Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”
“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.
The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”
You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”
The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.
He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.
You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.
You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.
Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.
You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”
He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”
“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”
You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.
With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.
You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.
You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.
“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.
You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.
~*~
The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.
You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.
“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.
“You just did,” Yoongi notes.
You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“
“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“
“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”
Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.
“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”
“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”
He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”
You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.
“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”
“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.
When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”
You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.
“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”
You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”
“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”
“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“
“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”
You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”
“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”
~*~
Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.
When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.
Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.
He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.
Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.
The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.
Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.
You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.
When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.
Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.
Holy shit.
You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.
“Fucking asshole!”
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.
“Yoongi?!”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”
He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”
“What about the coffee shop?”
He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”
“What about the bar?”
“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”
“What about the—”
“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”
“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.
“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”
“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.
The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”
When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.
Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.
“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”
He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.
Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.
The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.
But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.
You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.
Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.
With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.
~*~
That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.
It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.
“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.
“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.
“Is this about the penis?”
The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”
You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”
You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”
He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”
You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”
“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”
“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.
“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”
Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.
“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.
You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”
He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”
Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”
There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”
“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”
You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”
“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”
Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”
He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”
Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”
“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”
“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.
In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.
You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.
“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.
By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.
You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.
The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.
You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.
Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.
This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.
But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.
The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.
A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.
But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.
Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.
With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.
It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.
You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.
“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”
Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.
“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.
You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”
Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”
Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”
“Gay together.”
He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”
You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”
He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”
Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”
You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”
Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.
“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.
You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”
Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”
Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”
He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”
“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”
Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”
You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”
Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”
“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”
He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”
You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.
“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.
There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”
The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.
“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.
You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.
“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.
“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.
“Guess so.”
“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.
The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.
~*~
The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.
You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.
To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.
Another invitation, you realize dumbly.
The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.
An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.
As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.
When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.
After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.
Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.
For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.
You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.
Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.
“That was fast.”
You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”
He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”
Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.
When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.
Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.
“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.
“Hi.”
“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.
You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.
“When are you done with classes today?”
It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”
Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”
Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”
~*~
When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”
You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.
“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”
He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”
“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”
You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”
Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.
“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”
The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.
“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.
It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”
He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”
“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”
A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”
You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”
You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”
Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”
“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”
“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”
“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”
Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”
“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”
At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”
You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.
Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.
“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”
He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”
You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”
Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”
Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”
You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”
He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”
It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.
“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.
Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”
As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”
“White and sparkling?”
“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.
Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down.
“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”
The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”
Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.
“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”
You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”
“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”
He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”
A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.
“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”
“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”
At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”
After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.
“Ready?”
“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.
He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.
Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.
When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.
The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.
“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”
Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”
“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.
“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.
It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”
He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”
There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”
Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”
His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.
Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.
He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.
Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.
You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”
Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”
“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”
“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.
Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.
He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.
It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.
You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.
“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”
You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.”
Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”
“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.
In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”
“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen.
You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”
He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”
Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.
“Let’s hear it.”
His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”
With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”
You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”
He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”
“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.
“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”
His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.
“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”
“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”
~*~
Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.
He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”
On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.
“Better?”
“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”
These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.
Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.
At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.
When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.
But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.
“Subway Boy, huh?”
“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.
It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.
~*~
You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.
It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.
His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.
“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.
“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”
“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”
This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”
You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”
“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.
A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.
You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.
It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.
“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”
“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.
When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.
“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”
He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.
You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”
Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.
“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.
He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”
“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.
“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”
“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”
His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”
You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.
“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”
There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”
You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”
Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.
“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.
You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”
“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.
His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”
Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”
Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”
You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”
His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”
You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”
Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”
Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.
“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.
“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.
You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”
Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.
Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.
When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”
You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.
You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.
Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.
“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.
“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.
“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”
Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”
You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”
He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”
“I think so, yeah.”
There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”
“Is Joon?”
He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”
“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”
Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”
“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”
He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”
You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”
Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”
“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”
His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”
“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”
Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.
~*~
During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.
They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.
His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.
“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.
“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.
His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”
“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”
The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”
You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”
Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.
The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.
His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.
You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.
You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.
“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.
It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.
While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.
You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.
He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.
Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”
You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.
He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.
It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.
“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”
“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”
The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.
His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.
Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.
Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.
Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.
When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.
“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”
You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.
Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.
Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.
You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.
“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”
You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”
“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”
“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”
Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.
It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”
“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.
“Y-yeah.”
You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.
Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.
As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.
When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”
You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”
He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth.
You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.
“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?”
His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”
You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.
When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”
Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”
“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”
He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”
“I will,” you promise, and you do.
~*~
Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.
You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.
He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”
You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.
“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”
Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.
“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”
“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.
A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.
“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”
“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.
“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.
“The Louvre?!”
“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”
Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.
You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.
“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.
He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”
The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”
“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”
Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”
Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.
As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.
You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.
Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.
“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.
Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.
“Hobi?”
You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.
“Jimin?!”
“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”
“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.
“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”
You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.
“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”
Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”
You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.
It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.
It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.
The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.
You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.
“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.
Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.
His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.
He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”
Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”
When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.
You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.
It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?
Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”
You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.
“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.
The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”
He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”
Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.
“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”
In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”
He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.
But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.
It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.
But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”
Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.
You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.
“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.
He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”
You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”
Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.
You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”
~*~
Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.
The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.
It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.
You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.
Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.
Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”
Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”
You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”
A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.
“In a bit.”
You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.
He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.
You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”
“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”
You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”
There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.
Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.
“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.
“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.
Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.
You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.
“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.
“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.
He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”
You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”
It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.
“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”
His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.
With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.
“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.
Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.
“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.
He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.
You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.
“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”
He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”
“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.
At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.
He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.
“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”
You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”
“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.
The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”
There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”
You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.
Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.
“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.
“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”
He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.
Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.
The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”
“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”
You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.
You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.
“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”
Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”
A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”
You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”
He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.
As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.
That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.
“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”
This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.
As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.
“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.
“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”
Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.
A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.
With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.
Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.
“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”
A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”
Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”
The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”
He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”
“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.
hello yes is everyone listening? ok because i just wanted to say that you're a mf magician like this fic was perfect from start to finish oh my god. it's easily one of my top favourite stories, it was the perfect mixture of comedy, fluffy mush and a good amount of dirt, literally, can i switch places with oc, i want this life?
the concept of drawing nude studies of a real-life person in class is so creative and you made the most of it. their unexpected encounter after they hit it off on the subway cracked me up so bad i literally screamed 😭😂 probably would've gotten a heart attack if i saw this man naked, too, i would not be able to move at all anymore ever again 🫡 i completely understand why she took the sidewalk and everything else (biking in NY r u CRAZY?!) but the subway all the time after this LOL but still WHY GIRL GO ON THE TRAIN JEJDJDSJ
all the characters you created were iconic, from oc being a literal clown because apparently, she is quick-witted with everyone but jimin but is also so understanding and considerate, jimin being such an angel but having such a deep personality at the same time, tae and hobi being the funniest ever, yoongi being yoongi and joon being so smart but also kinda silly (LMAO just how we all know and love him)
and the fact that you decided to include demisexuality and to talk about the struggles and everything in this fic kinda made me emotional af, i feel so connected to this jimin because of this 🥺 i could relate to everything he was feeling. i think everyone can learn a lot from him, i wish people irl would take more time to get to know each other before they knock each other over 🫠
ANYWAYS long story short this was amazing and i loved every second of it and i now want to marry this jimin so thank you for that 😭
pairing: namjoon x reader (ft. no gendered language! bc lots of people get periods!)
summary: your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.
word count: 4.2k
contains: explicit sexual content ~*~*~ established relationship, boyfie joon in a hoodie/glasses/with stubble (yes that's a warning), they use the term 'baby' a lot because it's me writing joon duh, some minor implications that menstruation is gross (from reader) (buuuut they get over it lol), 🩸period sex🩸, nipple play, fingering and clit stim, joon has a monster cock bc of course he does, size kink, bulge kink, he's all up in their cervix, reader has a.... cervical orgasm which might just be an a-spot orgasm my googling was inconclusive whatever none of you care - a good mix of fluff and playful bickering, the ending is soft 🫠
A/N: JOON HOES I HAVE RETURNED FOR YOU 🫡 it's been too long, so please take one of my favorite things i've ever written as my very sincere apology. idk this really just flowed out (no pun intended ksdjhgdfsdf) and i had a lot of fun with it, i heart bodies doing body things yknow. shout-out to my period for being extra bad last month and inspiring this.... it's called MANIFESTING amiright besties 💅✨ i hope y'all enjoy!!!! would love to hear your thoughts if you did 🥺💜
and all the love in the world to @haliiimede for betaing and being my emotional support capricorn, where would i be without you my love
read on AO3 !
~*~
The hinges of the bedroom door creak softly as it’s pushed open, and you glance up.
You’re where you’ve been for as long as social responsibilities will allow you to hide from the world and futilely attempt an afternoon nap: curled up on your side, knees pressed tight to your chest, gritting your teeth through each fresh round of stabbing pain. It’s worse than usual this month, for no discernible reason, which is stupid.
Namjoon leans against the doorframe, domestic-cozy-cute in the way that usually makes you want to jump him, glasses and a hoodie. He can’t help but smile sympathetically when he notices your arms are wrapped around an emotional support Koya plushie.
“You okay?”
You wince. “Cramps. I’ll be fine.”
There’s a flutter of mattress springs and bed sheets as he sits down at your side. “Is today the worst of it?” You nod. “Did you take your stuff?”
You smush your cheek against the top of Koya’s head, nuzzling into the soft fabric, tactile comfort. “Yes.”
“Extra-strength?”
“Yes, Joon,” you snap. “I’ve been having periods since I was twelve, I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay, baby.”
You feel guilty as soon as the exasperation-tinged words leave your mouth. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Just… fucking hurts.”
He tries again. “Heating pad?”
“Worked for a bit, but I got too hot.” Your feet kick frustratedly under the blankets. “I’m ready for winter.”
Namjoon laughs at this. “Does that mean too hot for some company?”
The corners of your pouted mouth just barely start to pull up as you pretend to think it over. “…No.”
“Okay then.” He pushes back the sheets to slide in next to you, removing his glasses and reaching over to deposit them on the nightstand. He smells good, clean laundry and woody cologne. You don’t fight him when he moves to gently pry Koya out of your hands.
“Get out of here,” he murmurs, and you laugh in surprise when he unceremoniously flings the plushie across the room.
“Hey!”
“We don’t need him,” Namjoon says with a smug smile as he adjusts the blankets so he can settle in behind you.
Just the presence of him pressing into your back, big and solid and familiar, makes you start to unwind. His hand slips under your oversized t-shirt to rest on your low belly, fingertips dipping beneath the band of your underwear to gently trace over your skin. The warmth is nice— you feel yourself melt a little under his touch.
“You know what’s good for cramps?” He asks softly. You hum a response, prompting him to continue, and he does. “Orgasms.”
With a sigh, you turn your head to press your face into the pillow. “Vibrator’s dead.”
“Do you want me to plug it in?”
You make a sound that isn’t a clear yes or no, debating internally, then finally answer. “Don’t leave.”
He doesn’t. “What can I do then?”
The answer is immediate, paired with a dry laugh. “You can put me out of my misery.”
Namjoon shakes his head, tuts a little. “Can’t do that. But maybe I can help another way.”
The hand on your stomach slowly starts to slide further up, over your waist and rib cage, coming to cup one of your breasts. He gives it a tentative squeeze. “Sore?”
You shrug. “A little.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
His thumb starts to move, tracing slow, lazy circles over your nipple, coaxing the soft bud to a peak.
You let your eyes flutter closed and allow this sensation to overtake the others, enough to pull an appreciative noise out of you. “Nnh— feels good.” Your voice comes out nearly a whisper.
“Good.”
He wiggles his hips a little in response, and you can’t help but laugh when you feel something firm press against your ass. “How are you hard right now?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling, and you shift to turn onto your back so you can see him properly. It doesn’t hurt that it also gives him a better angle to play with both of your breasts— a second hand quickly finds its way up your shirt. “Everything turns you on.”
Namjoon shrugs, unbothered. “With you, yeah.”
“But…” You shift your legs vaguely under the sheets, knowing he’ll understand what you mean. “It’s gross.”
“How?”
The feeling of his fingers gently flicking over both of your nipples simultaneously makes your brain lag. “Uh— dirty.”
“Not true.”
Your eyes flutter shut again as you try to keep up with the conversation despite the heat of arousal that’s starting to swell in your gut, and lower. “Okay, messy.”
“All sex is messy,” Namjoon says, like it’s a given.
You huff a noise of frustration, glancing over at him. “Stop being obtuse. It’s different.”
“I’m not,” he insists. “It just sounds like you have some unnecessary shame. It’s a natural thing.”
“Natural,” you deadpan back. “You’re a hippie.”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
The admission is paired with a light pinch to your nipples, and you inhale sharply, biting back a whimper. “A freak.”
His laugh is soft and deep. “Sure. Have you fucked on your period before? I know we haven’t, but— ever?” You shake your head into the pillow. “Might feel good. They say it helps.”
You scoff at this. “Yeah, I bet ‘they’ all have dicks.”
“We don’t have to.”
Namjoon pauses, as if waiting for you to make a decision. You can’t ignore the way his hands on your tits have worked up a steady pulse between your legs.
“…You’ve done it before?” You squeeze your thighs together as you ask the question.
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“And it wasn’t gross?”
“No, baby. It’s just a—”
“Do not say fluid,” you interrupt with a grimace.
He quirks an eyebrow. “An output.”
“Actually, I think that’s worse.”
A smile blooms on his face, dimples popping, his hands jiggling your breasts. Playful. “It’s free lube.”
You laugh despite yourself. “We’ll mess up the sheets.”
“We’ll put down a towel,” he corrects. “And if we do, I’ll wash them.”
You pause for a moment, considering. “Promise?” There are few things more torturous than the idea of doing laundry on your period.
“Yes, baby,” Namjoon assures you, his gaze roaming over your face. “But I don’t wanna force you. If you feel that bad, let’s just watch a movie.”
You narrow your eyes at him, unable to hide your smile. “Nuh-uh.” You scoot a little closer, rolling in to hitch a leg over him, your socked foot teasing up the back of his calf. “You played with my tits too much. No turning back now.”
The answer makes him cocky, his tongue briefly toying at the corner of his mouth when he smirks. “I’m not scared.” His voice is deeper, darkened by lust, enough to send a shiver through you.
You tilt your jaw up towards his mouth. “Kiss me.”
His lips are soft and warm when they press to yours, and you tip onto your back again, his knees and forearms sinking into the mattress as he follows to cover your body with his.
Your palms slip under his hoodie to slide up over the smooth, defined muscles of his stomach, the broad expanse of his chest. His tongue flutters over your lower lip, and your hands trace back down to the hem, bunching the thick fabric up in your fists.
“Take this off.”
Namjoon smiles against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, his hands still pawing under your shirt. “Bossy today.”
You tug at his hoodie again for emphasis, earning a pinch to your nipples in response. “You like it.”
“I do.”
“Off.”
He sits up on his knees, untangling himself from under your shirt to strip, and you do the same. You can see the imprint of his dick already straining against the thin fabric of his joggers, and you reach up to slip your fingers under the waistband, running your palm down the length of him over his briefs. There’s a new kind of ache in your core now.
“These too.”
He laughs a little. “Okay, baby. And do you wanna—”
You follow his gaze to stare down at your own sweatpants. “Yeah, let me just. Bathroom.”
Namjoon leans forward, so his mouth ghosts over yours when you sit up. “I’ll get the towels.” He sucks gently on your bottom lip when he kisses you. It’s enough to leave you breathless.
You do your best not to overthink it as you slip into the bathroom and go through the motions. Sweatpants off, underwear too, pad discarded, attempt to clean up a little. You move fast, trying not to leak. The blankets are pushed to the foot of the bed when you return to the bedroom, brown towels laid over the sheets, even a box of tissues on the nightstand.
Namjoon has kicked off his pants and underwear, one hand lazily pumping himself as he turns to face you, muscles in his forearm shifting from the motion.
You lick your lips appreciatively. His cock is flushed dark, hard, already wet at the tip. The thought of him dripping precum just from setting out towels and tissues makes you giggle a little as you climb into bed— a Virgo through and through.
The mattress shifts as he crawls over you, letting go of himself to trace a slow hand up your thigh, over your hip, to finally settle at your waist. “Still okay?”
You nod and pull him down.
He kisses you more fervently this time, and you tilt your head to lick into his mouth, your breath edged with a moan when your tongues pass over each other. You run your hands along his back, nails scratching gently, as his lips move to brush against your jaw, then nibble at your ear.
“How do you want it, baby?” Namjoon’s voice goes straight to your cunt, thick and dripping like honey.
Your mind swims as you try to answer the question, and you instinctively bring your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you were curled up in bed earlier. You pull them apart a little, spreading yourself for him, nowhere to hide. Heat blooms in your face as his eyes trace your body down to your pussy, and he hums softly.
You suck in a breath at the barely-there brush of contact, his slender fingers tracing over your folds. “Is it bad?”
“It’s perfect. It’s you.” You bite down on your lip, not quite willing to believe it’s that simple. “Can I touch you?” You nod again. He groans a little in the back of his throat when he presses in. “Fuckin’ wet.”
“Joon,” you gasp. Your cunt flutters around his finger, tender, as if to suck him further in. He adds a second, sliding easily, and you can feel the way he curls inside to pet long strokes over the ridges of your front wall, made supple from sensitivity. The pleasure sends a shower of sparks through you, and your spine arches. You squeeze your eyes shut as they roll back in your skull.
“This okay?”
You reach up to dig your fingernails into his arms, his biceps flexing under your touch. “’Sgood, baby. More.”
“More fingers?”
You shake your head, eyes flickering open to meet his. “Cock.”
It’s both dirty and domestic, doing it in broad daylight, the bedroom drenched in mid-afternoon sun that pours between the cracked window blinds. No shadows to disguise it, no questioning the color painted over Namjoon’s fingers when he withdraws, dark red.
Your discomfort feels like an afterthought compared to how badly you want him now. He pauses to wipe the excess off on the towel beneath you, free hand guiding the still-slick tip of his cock to brush over your folds, teasing.
You can’t help but whimper. “Baby.”
With a soft grunt, he does it again, more purposefully now— the whole of this thick cock grinding over your slit, both of you smeared messy with arousal and flushed warm from blood-flow.
You press yourself up on your forearms in time to see him wrap his hand around the base and slide it in. He pushes slow, but you’re wet enough that he can slip right to the hilt without resistance, and your jaw goes slack as you watch all of him disappear up inside you.
“Ah, Joon—” you hiss a little as he bottoms all the way out, fucks in until there’s no space left between you.
He stills his hips, eyes flitting up to find yours. “Hurts?”
You shake your head and whine softly. The stretch was easier than normal, actually. “Just, nnh— full.” Letting your head drop back on the pillow, you breathe a laugh. “You’re fucking big.”
He’s nearly wincing. “You’re swollen, baby. Makes it feel like more.”
The pressure of being filled blooms thick, indulgent, a sensation you can feel all the way down to the soles of your feet, every inch of you plugged up with his cock. You lick your lips and try to speak.
“Can you move?”
Namjoon flashes a dimpled smile, suddenly shy. “Hang on.” He scrunches his nose a little, eyes rolling up briefly to fix at a spot on the wall behind you. You can hear the strain in his voice. “Trying not to come.”
Your eyes go wide. “Really? Are you a teenager?!”
He huffs an indignant laugh, face flushing. “It’s like a fucking flood down there! And you’re extra tight… So damn, give me a second.”
Giggling a little, you reach up to loop your arms around his shoulders, fingernails lazily scratching at the nape of his neck, combing through his dark hair that’s gotten so long. He exhales a slow stream of air as he closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks them open again with a smile.
“Okay. You okay?”
You hum. “The pressure is… it’s good. Think it’s helping.” Your cramps have started to subside, or at least you’re not focused on them.
“It’s not too much, all the way in like this?” He circles his hips experimentally, which makes the head of his cock press firmly against your cervix.
“Fuck,” you hiss, and you feel him reflexively start to pull out, paired with a concerned look flashed over his face. You smack a hand to his lower back to stop him, to hold him still.
“You squeezed me so hard. Thought I hurt you.” He rolls his hips again and you both groan softly. “Shit, baby, look down.” Namjoon’s voice is slightly hoarse.
You tilt your head up to see an unmistakable bulge in your lower abdomen that shifts as he ruts his hips into you again. You gasp at the rush of pleasure and the visual of his cock so deep inside you.
“You like that?” You swallow hard and nod at his question, whimpering as he brings one hand up to gently press down around his girth. A mixture of pleasure and relief floods through you, and you moan. “Like it when I’m in your stomach, baby?”
Your head drops back against the pillow. “Fuck” is the only answer you can give as he keeps moving his hips.
It takes you by surprise when you feel the brush of his lips over yours, and you tilt up to deepen the kiss instinctively. “So damn sexy,” he murmurs into your mouth. For a minute, you let the rest go, and allow yourself to believe him.
Namjoon falls into a consistent rhythm, cock grinding into your cervix so steadily that it makes it impossible for you to bite back your moans. He keeps one hand splayed over your stomach to meet himself there, and your cunt squeezed in between feels liable to overflow, on the verge of splitting open.
“Nnh, shit, Joon, that feels so good.” It’s like he’s pressing up on your lungs now— you can hardly breathe, dizzy with pleasure.
Fucking is somehow more intimate this way, taking him as deep as you can go and keeping him there, his shallow flutter-thrusts rocking slow and heavy for your shared sensitivity. Trading lazy kisses and stilted breaths and pretty sounds into each other’s open mouths. The press of his broad hands into your skin and the towel-guarded mattress, the wet squish of your folds on the base of his cock.
“God,” Namjoon groans, breath ghosting over your lips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy.”
Without warning— or maybe in response— your walls start to pulse, and then the dam of steadily built-up pleasure bursts, a rush so intense that you can only gasp and dig your nails into Namjoon’s shoulders. “Joon, Joon—” You clarify when his brow creases with concern: “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You think you might die if he does.
He keeps going, barely-there strokes that rub the thick head of his cock into you over and over, and you cry out as you come fully undone.
A strange new feeling lights you up like a live wire, warmth radiating through your body as contractions squeeze your pussy so tight you swear you see stars when you close your eyes.
Namjoon curses under his breath, your whole body shaking beneath him as he works this surprise orgasm all the way out of you, until your thighs reflexively pull together and he stills his motions again.
“Oh my god,” you murmur, turning your head to press your cheek into the pillow. You slowly start to come down through the aftershocks, a lingering buzz glittering in your fingertips from the weight of his cock still crammed up inside you.
Namjoon’s large hands pet up the backs of your thighs, trailing soft heat. “You good, baby? That was crazy.”
“I-I just—” You exhale in an attempt to catch your breath, and it turns into a laugh as your eyes flicker open. “I didn’t know I could come from that. Fuck.”
He cracks a smile. “Sensitive. How’s it feel?” He leans forward to seek a kiss and you return it, nuzzling along the line of his jaw once you break apart. His stubble drags against your cheek, not unpleasant, and you shiver a little.
“I don’t know, I just had a crazy fucking… cervix orgasm,” you tease. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”
“Just don’t want it to hurt.”
“It doesn’t,” you murmur into his mouth. “So fuck me?”
You both moan when Namjoon begins to properly move, thrusting slow and deep-deep, your pussy clinging tight to him on the upstroke. You’re wet enough to gush when he fucks back in— just the sound of it makes your head spin. Your clit aches, so worked up untouched that it’s starting to throb.
“Baby,” you whine. “Touch me. Wanna come again. Please.”
He hums a soft noise of surprise, eyebrows raising, hips worked up to a steady rhythm now. “Already?” His lips press to yours again, and a sly smile spreads across them as he pulls back. “Needy.”
You huff a laugh, leaning up for another kiss, insatiable. “I said please.”
Namjoon earns a whimper out of you this time when his tongue swipes into your mouth, and he’s a little breathless when he breaks away. “I like you needy. I’ll keep you in this bed all day, if that’s what you want.”
“I—nnh—” you lose the thread of mid-sex conversation entirely as he shifts to free one hand and bring the pad of his thumb to your clit, flicking down firmly at a pace to match his strokes. “Fuck, Joon.”
Your hands grasp at the pillow beneath your head, fingers sinking in to grip desperate. He’s pounding heavy into your g-spot now, your legs spread wide and back arched up to take it.
It’s so good, it’s overwhelming, warm glow all the way through you. Arousal drips from your cunt to make the squelch of his strokes even messier. His hips are unrelenting, and your thighs start to shake from the pleasure, amplified with every pass of his thumb over your clit.
“Just—” You can barely speak, have to gasp for air after the first word, “—just like that.”
“Baby,” Namjoon’s voice comes out hoarse, in the way it does when he’s close, too. The bed creaks from the weight of his strokes. “So damn tight, so soft, can you feel it?”
A whine and a nod are all you can manage. You can feel him everywhere, down to the details, the fat veins that run the length of his cock molded to your walls, pulsing velvet heat. Your cunt melts lush around him, wet and raw as he fucks you apart. He rubs you in time to bring you over the edge again, and you’re helpless to it, can only let out a strangled sob of a noise as you tense up and come hard.
Namjoon’s thumb keeps circling, hips keep rocking, working you through it and groaning low in his throat for the way your cunt clenches up around him. Your nails dig into the pillow as you shudder and gasp.
“That’s it, shit, baby. Tight little pussy, gonna make me come too, fuck.”
With a grunt of effort, he pulls out, one hand reaching down to stroke his cock as he comes, thick ropes of his release painting your stomach in milky gloss. Your cunt pulses around nothing, hot pleasure aftermath, twitching sensitive.
Fucked to oblivion, you collapse against the mattress, feeling spent and heavy-all-over. Your head is still spinning, enough that you’re only distantly aware of the way Namjoon’s ragged breathing softens at the edges and starts to dissolve into gentle laughter.
Your eyes blink open to see him leaning over you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.
“Good thing I grabbed these,” he remarks as he lifts up his red-stained palm.
You can’t help but gasp at the sight. “Oh my god, Joon.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up enough for a dimple to wink back at you as he goes through a couple tissues to clean himself up. “Relax, baby. It really doesn’t bother me.” He pulls a few more loose from the box to deal with the mess on your stomach. “Just wanna point out that you don’t mind when I come on you.”
You huff. Smart-ass. “It’s different.”
“Is it?” He challenges. “It’s just bodies being bodies. Byproducts of the human condition.”
You can’t quite hide your smile. “You’re a poet.”
“Maybe.” His clean hand smacks playfully against your thigh, jiggling the soft skin there. “Shower time.”
The whine that escapes you sounds pathetic, even to you. Movement of any kind feels impossible. “I won’t make it.”
“Come on.” You yelp and grab to wrap the towel beneath you over your waist as Namjoon scoops you up in an effortless bridal carry and heads for the bathroom. He turns the shower on with his foot as you cling to him for dear life, but he somehow manages not to drop you.
When he deposits you onto still-shaky legs, you let the towel drop to the bathroom floor. The water is scalding when you step into the shower, the way you both like it. Crowding you under the spray, he reaches for the washcloth and squirts a liberal amount of body wash into the fabric, infusing the steam with eucalyptus and mint. It feels like you can breathe a little deeper.
One large hand comes to your hip under the water as he works up a lather. “Turn around.”
You can feel the staining at the crux of your thighs, dry and sticky, as you shift unsurely in place. “Nnh,” you pout. “Can I rinse first?”
“Nope. Tryna take care of you, so let me.”
Scrunching your nose for dramatic effect, you turn for him. When the washcloth passes over your skin, his touch is so gentle, so immediately overwhelming, that emotion bubbles up before you can stop it. There’s nothing you can do to hide the way your shoulders start to shake as tears spill down your face.
It takes a second, and then you feel his motions slowly come to a stop. “Baby?”
You shake your head, embarrassed, bringing your arm up to wipe at your nose. “‘m fine. Emotional. Ignore me.”
“I can’t do that.” He rights himself, and the fingertips of his free hand trace the line of your jaw, encouraging your gaze to meet his. “Talk to me, please.”
Another fat droplet slides down your cheek, and his thumb catches it. You inhale, trying to catch your breath, and your chest shudders. “It just. Feels like too much, sometimes. Like I don’t deserve it.” You gesture broadly. “Everything, you. I don’t know.”
Namjoon frowns a little as he momentarily drapes the washcloth over the edge of the tub. “C’mon, don’t think like that.”
When he pulls you in, you allow yourself to sink into the embrace, tears flowing freely as his strong arms press you close. You know he’ll let you ride it out, the same way you do with him.
His lips brush over your hairline. “You’re good to me, wanna be good back,” he explains, voice low. “That’s all.”
Your cheek rubs against the hard plane of his chest as you nod.
“You’re so good to me, Joon. Too good.”
“Nah.” You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smiling— you can hear it in his voice. “You’re easy to love.”
damn this was so beautiful and wholesome it catapulted me right into delulu land 🥹 how will i ever be able to let a man into my life who's not like this?! you're right NOT AT ALL 😃👍🏼 but also we should never settle for less so that's that
this whole fic is so joon like i can totally see him like that 😭 the way you wrote him was so sweet, caring, considerate, understanding (ugh yes just all the good adjectives OKAY?) and not judgmental at all and the way he's not grossed out but sees oc having her period like the most normal thing on earth (which btw, IT IS thank you very much) 🥹 i'm now in love with this man SIGH, probably would've cried as well if i was in oc's place 😭
Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Domestic!AU, Established Relationship!AU, Smut, Fluff
Warnings: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Riding, Food Play, Fellatio, Cock Worship, Face Fucking, Riding, Big Dick!Jimin, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasms, Sex In Public, Crying During Sex, Impregnation Kink, Unprotected Sex, Praise, Begging, Cock Warming, Sex In The Rain, Creampie
WordCount: 14.2k
A/N: OKAY! I’ve been holding on to this fic for what feels like a bajillion years! This fic is in association with The Summer Bucketlist: Bangtan Edition! The prompt was Go on a picnic and I thought what better for a picnic then consistent failure and rain plus impreg (As per usual!)
A shoutout to my squad, @ppersonna, @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia for reading it through and giving me such amazingly nice comments about it. I worked really hard on this! Also a massive shout out to @unoriginal-username15432 for beta reading this for me!
ALSO, LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL BANNER! DO YOU SEE THAT?! @ladyartemesia comes in clutch once again with the absolutely GORGEOUS banner! I literally squealed when I saw it. It’s so beautiful and I’m so happy to have her as a friend. ILY VI! OKAY! Enjoy :)
There are smells in the world that can trigger your brain to think of a memory almost in an instant. The Proust Effect is what psychology majors know it by. Sometimes people will smell freshly baked bread and think of a parent or a grandparent. Some can smell a musky, leathery scent and think of their first car.
Your brain was never very good at picking up and connecting these dots. Not until you met him, of course. His scent is petrichor. The smell of earthly richness after rain. The heavy scent that lingers after a downpour has come and painted the light grey cement sidewalks to the deeper charcoal it can become. That is Park Jimin.
It was a cool spring day, when you met him. When you, with both hands holding cardboard coffee carriers, bumped into the man. He had black hair then, hair so long it was up in a ponytail just to get it out of his face. He had on black suit pants that were perfectly tailored along with a long grey sweater that had splits down the sides. You had spilled coffee on his attire, drenching him in the hot liquid as he cursed before backing away from you. His small eyes then were sharp and pointed.
“What’re you a fucking idi-” You gasped loudly, apologizing until you were blue in the face. Digging into your brown purse for napkins to blot at his already stained and soaked through shirt. He took you into his sights, tongue raking across his plump lips before sighing gently.
“That’s alright.” You were still digging, heartbeat voraciously loud in your ears deafening the world around you. He noticed your frazzled state, the way your irises were flitting from here to there, but never looking up at him as the skin of your neck turned red with burning embarrassment.
“Hey.” His hands came to rest on your shoulders and your neck stuttered twice before looking up at his tall form. “It’s alright.”
OK first of all this fic was absolutely perfect wth?! i'm still in shock like this has literally become one of my favorite comfort fics ever 🥹
It's actually so well written, i loved how you put together their story from the beginning till the end, with every question answered, from how they met, to melodramatic throwbacks (WHAT WAS THAT MAGICAL ASTONISHING GORGEOUS PROPOSAL I HAVE NEVER READ ANYTHING MORE ROMANTIC AND ADORABLE MY GOD HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT ME TO CRY?! ok sorry, this got through to me), to the present time and how the future was going to be 🥹
it's so funny tho how cursed (or lucky?) they are that it was raining every time they wanted to go on a picknick? lmao it just has to be fate at this point. also fun fact, i love the smell of rain and the rain in general as well, which made this story even more special to me 😭
and the part in the sunflower field my god i'm glad she survived because with having naked jimin (!!) infront of AND that view of this beautiful environment around you HELLO i would've literally forgotten how to breathe
but no seriously, the amount of times this made me cry is unholy. i'm not kidding, i cried probably 10 out of the 2 hours it took me to binge-read this 😭 it's just so perfect i can't say it enough 💜
warnings/tropes: pwp, fingering (f!receiving), one orgasm (wow!), secret lovers
a/n: hi i'm back (sort of)! more fics soon? idk how to write on tumblr anymore tbh lmfao
m.list | ao3
"We heard a disturbance."
You tighten your grip on your nightgown closer to your chest. You flash your bodyguard the most dazzling smile.
"Nonsense! I just… stubbed my foot on the edge of the bed. That's probably what you've heard." The lies come easily to you now. You don't have to think so hard.
"Are you sure?" The bodyguard asks as he tries to peer into the darkness of your chambers.
You squeeze him away from the doorframe. "Yep," you grunt, as you try to shove the six-foot tall man away from the door. "Nothing to see here. Just me. Alone in my room."
Suspicion crosses his eyebrows as he looks down and searches your face, but after a tense second, he sighs; defeated. You can't help but feel a pang of pity. This one is clearly new and just trying to do his job. You wonder when your father fired the other one, but you can't bring yourself to care.
Not when there's someone waiting for you, hidden in the shadows of your room.
"All right. I'll be standing outside if you need anything."
"Certainly," you say, trying not to sound too relieved. "Good night then."
As soon as the door closes, Jimin reappears on your bed, shirtless except for the handsome smirk that decorates his porcelain face. You wasted no time before diving back in to continue where you left off, and he wasted none either as he swallows your faint giggles in a heated kiss.
"That was close," your mystery companion whispered in between breaths, before diving back into your neck, leaving faint trails of his visits behind.
"Ooh," you moan. "Y-Yeah," is your faint reply to his keen observation.
Your paramour perks up just before reaching the tops of your breasts. He trails a slender finger between the mounds, a feline smirk dancing upon his lips. "My, how strange it was to hear my good girl lie."
You pout, resisting the trembling of your legs as he swipes a thumb over your clothed nipple. "Would you rather get kicked out?"
A soft laughter. "No," he whispers, followed by deft hands unfurling your nightgown to reveal your chest. "And I definitely don't want the princess of our college to have an increase in bodyguards. It's hard enough for me to climb into your room without being noticed."
You prop yourself up, suddenly curious. "You've never told me how it is you manage to get up here unnoticed."
His hand stops just above the waistband of your panties. Jimin's pointer finger draws circles on your skin; his telltale smirk reappearing, and this time accompanied by a quirk of his brow. "Do you want me to spend the rest of my night recounting my every dashing move or would you rather be satisfied?"
"Oh?" It's your turn with the smirk and quirk brow combo. "I thought the great Jimin is able to multitask?"
Jimin sighs, playfully rolling his eyes, before tugging your panties away, revealing the soft wetness underneath. His pointer and middle fingers draw circles around your folds, and as you begin to get lost in the sensation, he starts to speak: "Your father's guards are on rotation and there's always a minute or two gap where no one is watching the house."
"Hmmm…" you answer distractedly, falling back down on the pillows.
He continues despite your clearly ambivalent response.
"All I have to do is clear the gate and climb up onto the roof by the trellis from the gardens. From there it's a matter of lying low and making sure the guards don't see me as I walk on top of the roof." Jimin talks so methodically as though he didn't just sink his pointer finger into your heat, teasing the entrance with shallow thrusts.
Moans tumble out past your lips, which are quickly stuffed back into your throat as he presses his other hand over your mouth.
With half-lidded eyes, you watch his bemused expression. "Are you listening to me, baby?" he asks, a slight mock in his tone as he removes his hand.
You smile, eyes closing in ecstasy. "Uh-huh, guards, garden, roof… whatever." The last word comes out in a sigh, especially as Jimin joins his middle finger inside, this time moving deep and slow.
"Distracted baby," Jimin murmurs, shifting his stance so he sits on the bed. He pulls you in closer so that your ass lies on his lap.
You try to keep your moans in as he gradually moves faster, but it isn't long before the room is filled with your breathy "Jimin, Jimin, Jimin", accompanied by the sound of wetness as he begins to tug at the strings of your orgasm.
"Oh, baby," he mumbles, face straining slightly with effort, though his movements refuse to falter. "Gorgeous little thing."
"Haaa… please…" you cry as quietly as you could. "Need to cum…"
"Keep your eyes on me as you do."
You snap your eyes open as you feel the pull of your orgasm; that familiar tautness, like a coil about to break. "Gonna–"
Jimin adds a thumb to your pleasure, pushing tight circles on your clit.
"Jimin– I'm close… I'm– ah!" You struggle to keep your eyes open as your orgasm shakes your body; overwhelmed by the seemingly never-ending waves of bliss.
You may have caught a glimpse of his irritating victory smirk, but you can't really focus any longer. Did you call his name? You can't be sure.
When you come to, his plush lips are on yours, capturing whatever residual moans that try to escape before it alerts the bodyguard outside.
He kisses your forehead as you begin to relax, and Jimin shifts your bodies so you lie on top of his chest.
Jimin settles into your bed, eyes closed as he pulls you into his arms. "Good?"
"Very," you mumble, eyes drooping close. No. You can't sleep yet. You've been dying to ask. "Jimin?"
He opens an eye to look at you. "Hm?"
Nervousness overcomes you. You look away when you ask, "When are we going to… y'know…"
"Fuck?" he finishes your question after a few seconds of pause, with a smirk as you curl even deeper into his chest, avoiding his gaze altogether. "When you're ready," comes his soft voice and yet another kiss on the forehead.
"When will that be?" you mumble into his skin.
His reply comes swiftly. "When you can say the word 'fuck' without blushing."
"I can say it!" you grumble.
"Oh?" Jimin sits you up before he leans on his hand. He juts his chin towards you, as though giving you permission. "Okay then, Ms. Goody Two Shoes, let's hear it."
"F-" The word seems stuck in your throat. It's a simple word. Why do you find it so difficult to say? Jimin can say it just fine when he lets you please him. Oh god, he moans so nicely whenever you manage to take all of him into your mouth, and when he calls your name? Oh–
"There it is," Jimin sighs, breaking through your sinful thoughts. "You're not ready, darling." He scoops you back into his embrace. "I promise the wait will be worth it though. Now sleep. We have classes tomorrow, y'know."
Grumbling under your breath over the fact that you can't say that fu– darn word, you close your eyes. It turns out, sleep comes readily to you.
When you wake up the next morning, the only evidence that last night; and all the other nights that come before it, wasn't a dream lies in a note that rests where Jimin's warm body once laid. It's a normal occurrence; part of your deal, though you can't help but feel disappointed. It doesn't stop you from scouring the note, etching every swoop of cursive letter into your brain before you plop it into your nightstand drawer, where dozens of other identical looking notes lie.
When your maids come to help you get ready that morning, they're left wondering what's gotten you all giggly, but you keep the secret inside, not daring to breathe it to a single soul, just in case the illusion falls apart.
"One day I'll wake up next to you and I never have to leave in the dead at night. It's freezing. You're welcome.
P.S. You look beautiful when you sleep, even if you drool on my chest.
-J"
saturn notes: holy fuck. i haven't written anything since february? not apologising! life has been busy with me starting a new job, meeting my friends + partner over the summer, etc. etc. tbh, i was a bit burnt out on writing and just needed a break. this is the first time i finished something in forever, so i hope you enjoy the messy, messy drabble. i got one collab to do and i'll feel free when i finish that! thanks for your patience 💗
these two being a giggling chaotic mess together, oc being the most hopeless romantic ever and jimin being the most considerate, sweetest bean, who is so careful with oc and doesn't take advantage of her (yes that's something you sadly have to be surprised about these days) and knows her almost better than she knows herself because he's THAT tentative 😭 (can you tell i'm in love? probably)...
but then at the same time there's this hot af smut happening for which oc is even willing to break any rule and lie to the gods like oh ma gawd 😮💨
i can totally see how they fell for each other, i'd break the rules for this man, too, and let him sneak into my room through the window in the middle of the night (worrrkkk romeo and juliet, hello?!)
i would be too excited to see this being continued 😍 (no pressure, of course!)
Warnings: misunderstanding, OC has a slight panic attack, really it’s crying over too much emotional stimulation, dom!reader, sub!jimin, explicit sexual content, unprotected penetrative sex (be safe kids), romantic/soft sex in a gazebo with fairy lights bc don’t forget I’m living vicariously through this, blindfold, nipple play, cock riding, clit stimulation bc yes please, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, after care, so much kissing, overstimulation, cock warming
Wc: 10.1K
a/n: Feel free to send an ask addressed to one of the Hooked! characters if you’d like to talk to them ^^
Y'all…idk what to say except thank you. The amount of love and support that Hooked has been shown is exponentially and indescribably amazing. I’m left speechless. Every single one of you has shown these darlings love and I’m so so so grateful. Here is is!! The last chapter. Yikes, I’m really nervous and kinda bitter that’s it’s ending, but all good things much end I suppose 😔💔✋ if you feel led to please send me feedback on the final part, I really hope it meets expectations and people enjoy it! I do have a couple of Hooked drabbles planned to be released after this but I don’t know when they’ll come out because I’m also working on my next fic ideas ✌️
“What?”
“I don’t want to be fuck buddies anymore,” you repeat, taking another breath to follow with an explanation, “because–”
“I heard you the first time,” Jimin interrupts, cutting you off with a jerk of his hand away from your hold, “just…wasn’t expecting that.”
omg first of all, SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE A REVIEW, please forgive me 😭
and second first of all, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS HAS COME TO AN END PLS I WANNA CRY 😭 i loved this series so much, i'm literally emotionally attached to this jimin now, and won't be able to move on anytime soon 😭 you really really put out a masterpiece with this, and i want to thank you for letting us read it, i really really loved it so much 🥺
alright, let's get to my thoughts about this chapter because YOU CAN'T JUST MAKE AN ENTRY LIKE THAT HELLO FOR MY HEART'S SAKE PLS I IMMEDIATELY LOST IT WHEN HE DIDN'T LET HER SPEAK AND SHE HAD THAT HORRIBLE BREAKDOWN BECAUSE OF THAT MISUNDERSTANDING BUT THEN HE WAS SO QUICK TO COMFORT HER LIKE THE SWEET ANGEL HE IS AND WHAT HOW HELP TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH MY EMOTIONS OMG I CRIED SO HARD MOST OF THE TIME READING THAT CHAPTER
when jimin actually listens tho, you can tell that he's such an understanding person (and oc as well!), i love that he is her safe space (like bangtan is to us 💜), how perfectly they fit together – they are exactly what they need for each other 🥺 i literally felt the love radiate off my screen when they made love to each other, that was so soft, and beautiful, and YES I CRIED AGAIN WHO'S SURPRISED
and i'm so happy for jimin to finally have his own group of friends who like him for who he is, tae and his pudding cups will forever stay legendary, as well as the whole group for making him feel like he finally fully fits in by gifting jimin the jacket (even if it's fucking cursed, I'M STILL MAD AT YOU FOR BRINGING THIS CURSED JIMIN BACK AND YES I'VE SCREAMED ABOUT HIM IN MY LAST REVIEW ALREADY AND NO I HAVEN'T FORGIVEN YOU SINCE .............................. OKAY YES THE GIFT WAS SWEET OF THEM 😾)
i'm glad joon finally came to his senses as well (jimin's such a mean boy tho HAHA, how he did the same thing with joon like he did with oc had me rolling on the floor, i mean joon kinda deserved it so i'm not feeling bad for laughing, nope). i still don't know how tf jimin managed to speak even one coherent word to joon while fucking like that tho, but oh-kay work honey, i really really respect that, damn you go boy 🫱🏻🫲🏼
and WOW, leaving this series with a bang like that (literally lol), that smut scene was absolutely the hottest thing ever because jimin in A BLINDFOLD?! YES PLEASE, HELLO?! that's just SOMETHING ELSE LIKE DAMNSHSJDDNDN
if they would've known that their thing in that lousy room at a random party of some random person will blossom into such a beautiful relationship 🥺
Warnings: rumors/gossip, reader is jealous and in denial, emotional constipation, Jimin really likes sex, explicit sexual content, dom!reader, sub!jimin, exhibitionism (they do it in a bathroom stall), oral (m), oc gives Jimin a hickey and it's pretty, multiple orgasms, oc is a slut for Jimin's cum, creampie, grinding, hair pulling, unprotected sex (be safe), some implied soft sex because I'm soft for these babies, male nudity
a/n: here we go!! thank y'all for your patience, hope everyone enjoys this part as much as the last! 💕 Feel free to send an ask addressed to one of the Hooked! characters if you'd like to talk to them ^^ As always, if you are 18+ and would like to be tagged please leave a comment, ask, or dm ❤️
"Umm, ___."
You're not talking to him right now.
"Come on, please look at me?"
Nope. Firmly crossed arms and a dramatic hair flip says you're not interested in looking at his big, anime eyes or precious pursed lips.
Jimin picks up a fry and starts poking at your tightly shut lips.
"You're really not gonna try them?"
Only your eyes look at him, the rest of you stays stubbornly still while he dips the fry in a puddle of ketchup before lifting it back to your mouth, looking at you with those big, adorable, anime eyes he's recently discovered you have a weakness for.
"But they're my favorite..."
"Fine," you groan and munch the fry between his fingers, immediately sitting back with a sigh and smack as you chew.
Jimin leans across the table. "What do you think?"
You shrug.
"Are you not gonna tell me what's wrong?" he sighs, collapsing in his booth and looking utterly dejected that you're not instantly infatuated in with favorite snack.
"Do you ever pay for fries when you come here?"
He thinks for a moment. "Actually, I haven't paid the last few times."
"Why do you think that is?"
"She hasn't charged me."
"Why doesn't she charge you?" you continue to ask, trying to help him conclude the obvious without having to spell it out for him.
"I guess, because I told her these fries are my favorite so she's being nice to me."
"Unbelievable," you sigh under your breath. "She's flirting with you."
"Dalia?"
"You know her name?"
Jimin nods, completely unaffected by the fact that he has this knowledge. "It's on her name tag. It would be rude not to thank her by name after she went through so much trouble."
Damn it, he's being considerate again.
"You're so cute I can't even be upset at you. This is so frustrating."
"She's not flirting with me," he tries to assure you, but it's beyond obvious what's happening here.
You scoff, "She totally is!"
"Nah ah."
"Yeah huh!"
He stops for a moment and resettles in his seat, eyes jumping from you to his delicious fries and then back to your offended expression. He's read about this in books, seen it in movies, vicariously experienced it through his own daydreams, but he didn't expect this day to ever actually come, not about him.
"Are you...jealous?"
"No."
His foot nudges yours under the table, and when you look up he's got a playful tongue trapped between his teeth.
"Stop."
He lightly kicks you again.
"Stop!" you insist with a giggle.
The moment his toe touches your shin again, you kick back. And then you've declared war. His feet are like rapid fire, shoving, pushing, nudging until you're sliding out of your seat in an attempt to get him back. Your booth is nothing but flirtatious giggles hovering over a forgotten plate of fries. Or as everyone else in the tiny café would probably call you: annoying.
"Stop it! I'm not jealous! I'm not, oh my god, cut it out!"
"Just admit you're jealous and I will," he says with another strategic attack.
"Why?"
"Because!"
"Because why?"
"Because I..."
He stops. There's a threat of laughter resting in the front of his chest, but it can't seem to make it past the knot stuck in his throat. When he looks at you, he can't help but want you. Not just in bed, but all the time. Play fighting, sharing snacks, getting jealous. It's odd to be sitting here, doing all those things. And yet feeling like he's missing out on them.
He could tell you how he feels, but what good would that do? You don't feel the things he does when you eat a fry out of his fingers or when your sock feet press flat to each other under the table even though you're not supposed to take your shoes off inside the café. He won't say anything, not again, not after last time.
He knows he means something to you. That's enough. If he act unsatisfied, it could end in more heartbreak and he'd much rather giggle with you and at least pretend he's okay with how things are.
"Because it's fun to tease you."
You grab a fry and lift it to his mouth, but right as he opens his mouth to eat it, you bop him on the nose and throw it down on the plate.
"Dummy."
Even when you do things like that, his heart races. Or is that due to your foot slowly slipping beneath his slacks and rubbing up his leg?
"I wish you didn't have class during my lunch," he says. "Then we could do this all the time."
"I wish you didn't have class during my lunch."
"Touché," he chuckles, mindlessly playing with the edge of the plate in front of him. "I guess I don't mind eating alone though."
Your foot stalls at his ankle. "You don't eat lunch alone everyday, do you, baby?"
"No! I just meant, umm, like those days I don't eat with…my friends." He clears his throat. "You don't eat alone, do you?"
"No, I usually eat with Joo– I eat with my friend too."
This isn't the first time you've done this. It's been a regular occurrence since the other day, just another thoughtful thing you do because you're not his girlfriend.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Why do you always avoid talking about Namjoon in front of me?"
"I don't avoid it," you easily lie.
Jimin tilts his head at you and crosses his arms, trying not to be distracted by the feeling of your toes reaching his mind calf. "Who do you eat lunch with?"
"I told you, my friend."
"What's your friend's name?"
"Joonia."
"___."
"Okay, it's Namjoon!" you finally confess, but immediately feel the need to explain yourself. "We just eat lunch together since our schedules line up that way. It's not a thing, I swear."
"___, you can eat with whoever you want. Don't worry about me," Jimin says.
But the stabbing guilt in your chest won't go away. It pesters you, blaming you, scolding you until you can't hear your own thoughts anymore. Just the sound of Namjoon calling your good boy a dweeb and insulting his precious sweater vests. Without vindication, by the way.
You make your way to Jimin's side of the booth, scooting into the seat next to him until your shoulder is snug against him.
"He said mean things about you."
Jimin just nods. He knows Joon doesn't see them as friends. He also knows Joon doesn't necessarily think kind things about him. But he's come to terms with that. He has to be grateful to Namjoon in a way considering without Namjoon's invitation to that party, Jimin never would have met you, let alone started such a relationship.
"I threatened to stab his eye socket with a chopstick."
You're already looking at him when Jimin turns his head. His wide eyes meet your plain ones, completely emotionless and unremorseful.
One of the best things about spending time with you, is how much Jimin finds himself giggling when he's around you. He never laughed this much while fighting for the approval of his peers or trying to convince the cool kids he was one of them.
God, it's so easy with you. How the fuck is he supposed to keep you out of his heart when you're the one constantly playing doorbell dash?
He drops his hand over yours in your lap and pats it a few times as your giggles begin to die down again. "Thanks for standing up for me. It means a lot."
You shrug nonchalantly, playing off your threat to blind someone for him as a passing comment.
His hand lingers for a moment. The reason he doesn't, or rather, the reason he can't pull it away is because you've started absentmindedly playing with his fingers, sliding them in and between the spaces of your fingers and wrapping them in the bottom of your shirt like mummies.
"I don't mind eating a late lunch every so often, you know."
"___, if you're talking about waiting for me to get out of class before you eat, you won't be eating until like 2:30pm."
"That's okay with me," you say.
Jimin grimaces. "I don't think it's okay with me though. You should eat sooner so you're not hangry."
"I don't get hangry."
"You get hangry."
"Well, I'd rather be hangry and eat with you than eat with Joon anyway," you argue, nose in the air.
"I can't make you wait 2 hours just to--"
He can't finish his refute when you trap a fry between his teeth. Half of it sticks out of his mouth, waiting there while he watches you with wide, unsure eyes.
"A late lunch every so often is not gonna kill me," you whisper and take a bite of the fry, lips brushing in the passing moment, "especially if I'm waiting to eat with you."
He just has to stare at you for a moment. Your lips are wet from your tongue, salty from the fry, and sweet from his memory of the times he's nibbled on them. Totally hypnotizing when taking into account the feeling of your hand massaging his upper thigh.
He swallows his half of the fry as you start to lean into his body. "I think…we should go back to my dorm now."
"I don't think I can wait that long, baby," you whine, rubbing your thighs together under the table. "Can you?"
He immediately shakes his head, his legs instinctively spreading as he hardens in his slacks, the tease of your hand on his thigh only intensifying the situation.
"Well then," you whisper into his ear, "there must be something we can do here, right now."
"What do you suggest?"
He doesn't notice how much different the lady's bathroom is from the guy's, even though he's been curious for a long time. Right now isn't the time to be thinking about that anyway. Not with your hand on his collar dragging him into a stall.
The door slams loud enough for the whole building to probably hear, but when your panties are soaked to the point of chafing and his dick feels like it might break the zipper of his jeans, neither of you really care about how obvious the lock on the door is.
He's already moaning and it's enticingly beautiful. All it takes is your lips on his neck and your hands under his shirt. His sweater vest bunches the further you push your hands under his top, soft fingertips on the way up and alluring fingernails on the way down. His whole body shivers at the feeling.
"May I?" you ask nicely when your hand reaches the waistband of his pants.
"Please," he breaths, going so far as to frantically help you unbutton and unzip the stupid clothes.
Jimin likes sex, this is not new information. His sex drive is very healthy and he often finds himself daydreaming about you in ways he probably shouldn't. Then again, you're the one who encourages those daydreams by sinking your teeth into the flesh of his neck right as your hand sinks around his throbbing cock.
"Fuck, ___," Jimin sighs, in relief you would assume, except he's starting to sweat from desperation for an orgasm. Every touch of your hand has his body yearning for more.
It catches your attention for a moment, the amount of sheer desire this man has for sex in this moment, especially considering he painted cum all over your tummy barely twenty four hours ago. But you disregard it, concluding that Jimin is simply becoming more and more confident with his sexuality and not feeling the need to downplay his love for sexual intimacy. And that is a what's really beautiful about him. The more he verbally and physically expresses his lust for you, the more you want to do for him.
"Your mouth…" he hiccups when your lips pop off his neck, leaving behind a lovely, dark purple mark.
You admire the art with a proud smile, lightly running your tongue over the sensitive bruise. "Yes?"
"Can you…if it's okay, can you put your mouth around my cock? Just for a moment."
"Hmm, I don't know. Have you been good?"
Yes," he swallows, "I've been good. Please, ___, I've been a good boy, I promise."
Your hand is clearly not enough right now, and you don't criticize your baby for asking for a reasonable reward for how good he's been lately. Jimin has been very well behaved despite his previously mentioned sex drive being through the roof.
Ever since that day...he can't seem to get enough of you.
It's empowering and terrifying because ever since that day...you can't say no to him. You just want to be with him all the time, sex or not. Forget sexy nicknames, Jimin is a genuinely good boy and there's no reason not to be madly in love with him.
So, why aren't you? Or...why can't you just admit that you might be? It's not a sin to like someone for more than their dick.
You really do like Jimin's dick though. Enough to fucking choke on it.
"Of course, baby," you coo into his ear, "anything for my good boy."
You pull his pants down as you slowly kneel in front of him. Jimin watches you with excitement in his eyes, a heartbeat that must be loud enough for you to hear.
One lick, two licks. That's all it takes for precum to drip out the tip. You lap it up like it's nothing, humming at the taste.
His head falls back against the stall, a swollen lip caught between his teeth as the only thing keeping him from moaning your name to the cieling, echoing it off the walls of the campus bathroom.
But that bitten lip can't do much against the feeling of your throat swallowing around his cock.
"Ahh-h, ___! I'm s-sensitive, go slow, okay?"
No.
If you had it your way, he'd be naked with his back arching off the bed and his ankles tied to the bedposts with a blindfold in a soundproof dorm room. But you're forced to improvise since he just had to share his favorite fries with you from a café an entire bus ride from his dorm.
Okay, they were pretty good. But the fact that Dalia bitch gave them to him for free leaves a disgusting aftertaste on your tongue, one you need to replace with Jimin's cum as soon as possible.
You hallow your cheeks when he starts thrusting into your throat, unable to bear the warm, wet walls of your mouth just being around him and not moving.
Both your hands press on his hipbones, pining him to the stall. He understands that means you don't want him to move, but fuck he feels like his knees might buckle if he doesn't. His dick has twitched behind your lips repeatedly at this point, silently begging you to squeeze your lips around it and trace that beautiful, thick vein that runs along the left side.
"Please," Jimin tries, perhaps you want to hear him ask again, but he doesn't try to move his hips or your hands, "I-I'm begging, ___, please let me fuck your mouth?"
You relax your entire body, hands dropping to your lap, and just let him go for it. You'll definitely have a sore throat tomorrow, but goddamn, this is worth it. The sounds he makes are worth it.
He whines your name, trying to lower his voice when it bounces off the walls. He take a fistful of your hair between his fingers, squeezing until you feel it pulling at the roots.
"Pinch me if I hurt you, okay? Shit your mouth feels really good.."
It doesn't matter how hard it is. You hold it in for him, every stinging tear in your eye and gag. As long as he lets you swallow his cum, you don't mind the ache in your jaw.
He tries to warn you, granted his orgasm came as a shock to him as well, not expecting you to moan around his cock like that. Every drop slides down your throat like you're drinking alcohol, easy and smooth and bitter and yummy.
"Thank you." He catches his breath and reaches down to help you stand up.
He gives you a one over to make sure you're okay when he notices two red blotches on your knees.
"Is that..."
"From kneeling. But it's okay, really. I don't mind," you promise, rubbing two soothing hands over his shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair. "I like it when you fuck my mouth, baby."
"But it hurts your knees."
"Only because the floor is hard, but really baby, don't worry about it. It was fun for me and I got to make you feel good, so it's all worth it."
He can't retort when you silence the conversation with a kiss, his lips and tongue have a much more important job all of a sudden.
You feel his arms wrap around your back, pulling you flush to his chest while he still leans against the stall wall. Kisses that present appreciation as much as they do desperation. He's turned on by your red knees, the fact that you suffer through such discomfort for the sake of his pleasure. You deserve to be pampered and royally fucked for that kind of sacrifice.
"Are you wet?" he casually asks, taking his time kissing across your jawline and then coming back to your lips.
"Hmm," you hum almost innocently, "dripping."
"Should I touch you before I fuck you?" He wants to make sure you're comfortable and prepped before he absolutely demolishes your pussy. How sweet.
You suck in a breath, hyperfocused on his fingers guiding your hips to grind against his crotch, only to discover this dude is already ready for round two, as if he didn't just coat your tongue white. He's so ridiculously turned on by you right now, it doesn't matter that your mouth just swallowed his cum, he wants to be buried so deep inside you he doesn't remember ever not being a part of you.
Ultimately, you have to be honest. "I was touching myself while you fucked my throat. I'm ready if you are, baby."
He hadn't noticed your little fingers hard at work between your legs, but the imagery gets him wired, exhaling an excited sigh into your kiss, and then suddenly, his hands are under your thighs, scooping you up to straddle his waist and setting you directly over his hardening cock.
He smiles at you as if to say, "You don't need to use your knees anymore, love, I can hold you and fuck you."
(Why he's calling you love in your head is irrelevant.)
Your back rests against the wall now and he uses the leverage to free up one hand. That's all he needs, just one hand to push your underwear aside and help guide your hips as they sink onto his cock. Immediately, you clench around him and he hisses at the sudden pressure.
Your hands instinctively grip the material on his shoulders, wrinkling his lovely, green sweater vest until you feel him bottom out inside you.
Luckily there's no one in the stall next door to be rattled when he starts recklessly thrusting into you. Your ankles lock around his back and your lips fall into his neck once again. His first beautiful hickey needs a friend and you are more than happy to provide one.
Jimin keeps his head down, focusing solely on hitting that perfect spot inside you every fucking time his hips move. Because, here's the truth. Each time he successfully hits that precious bundle of nerves, you whimper something beautiful and grip his sweater vest just a little bit tighter, and he can pretend you're hanging onto him and not your impending orgasm.
You cup his cheeks and hover two swollen, slightly parted lips just out of reach.
"Jimin, baby... I..."
"What, ___? Tell me anything."
"I'm gonna cum if...just a little more, huh? Harder."
Whatever you wish for is his command. His fingers dig into the the flesh beneath your ass, allowing your weight to drop each time he thrusts slightly upward. Sharp, sudden, fast movements that has your whole world blurring into a background of breathy confessions and white stars.
You cum with a pitiful cry of his name, masked by his kiss and paired with his equal pleasure filling you to the brim. In his mind, there's nothing more beautiful than that dazed look in your eyes after he's fucked you so good, the one that can almost be mistaken for romantic inclination.
"You fill me so well, baby," you whisper to him a dirty, little secret. "Wanna keep your cum inside me. We can walk around and no one will know I'm full of your cum. What do you think about that?"
Before he's even spoken, there's a hitch in his throat.
"Don't lose a single drop, okay?"
You nod and press a kiss to his soft, searching lips.
He's gentle when he pulls out and places your feet on the ground, quick to move your panties back in place. Once you're settled and comfortable, he tries to smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt while you tuck his shirt back into his jeans.
It's more agonizing than he thought it would be, knowing that his cum is stuffed inside your pussy, but he can't even call you sweetheart. Although you call him baby all the time, maybe it's time he think of a nickname for you. A cute one.
"What should I do about this?" Jimin asks, concerned about the hickey you painted on the side of his neck.
"What about it?"
"It's a little...obvious."
"That's the point," you chuckle and fix your hair in the mirror. "So people see it."
"Well, that's doesn't make sense."
"What do you mean?"
Because the whole point of people seeing a hickey is to show off that you're taken by someone. But you won't claim him as anything more than a fuck buddy.
"Nothing," he quickly says and walks out of the bathroom without you.
A few moments later you follow after, looking semi put together. No matter what you do in the mirror, there's no erasing that shimmer of sex on your skin. Jimin is beaming with it.
Perhaps that's why people are giggling at him? Or maybe it's because he's standing in the middle of the café with his hand on his neck. Oh, sweetie, how obvious can you be?
Dalia hushes them up for the most part, threatening to kick them out for being impolite (if she can even do that). Whatever, her level of managerial power doesn't really matter right now, but Jimin's shy smile does. He give her a grateful nod before lowering his hand, seemingly okay with the mark now that Dalia has defended it.
For some reason, the fact that Jimin is smiling at some other girl while you're clenching your pussy to keep his cum from dripping down your thighs doesn't sit well with you.
You appear at his side with a charming smile, the best you can manage with the fire bubbling inside your stomach.
"I'm ready."
"Okay, let's go."
How come no one cares to giggle and whisper about the gentle hand he places at the small of your back as you walk out the door? The fact that he exited the bathroom right before you? The fact that he's leaving the café with you?
But for some reason, they can't keep their mouths shut about the cashier girl who defended the cute nerd with a hickey.
::
It's nothing to worry about. So why are you sitting here worrying about it when you should be copying down the extensive journey of natural selection which the amygdala has undergone in the last ten hundred thousand years?
Because Park Jimin is a catch and you know it.
All of a sudden, you're not the only one who knows it anymore. People are talking, whispering about the nerd who's secretly a sex machine. The good boy who was seen walking around campus with a hickey on his neck.
Now the hottest question riding the gossip train is who gave Park Jimin the famous hickey?
You're not looking for people to go around talking about your personal interactions with Jimin and you're sure he isn't comfortable with random strangers entertaining themselves by theorizing about his sex life.
But get this. You aren't even in the running! The rumor that he got assaulted beat out the possibility that you wanted to bite his thick ass, pretty neck.
The most popular answer is that the hickey is a result of one café cashier Dalia. Word got out that she's been flirting with Jimin on a regular basis, giving him free fries, and now hickeys it would seem.
That beautiful art work is yours! And who the heck is Dalia anyway? All you know is that she works at the café on East, she wears a single braid over her right shoulder, and she enjoys flirting with other peoples' dates.
And now people are shipping. Shipping! Like his life is a goddamn Kdrama or something. Jimin and Dalia. The nerd and the cashier finding each other on a massive campus and connecting over a shared feeling of being underappreciated and a love for fries. Asterisk dreamy sigh asterisk.
It makes you wanna puke.
You shake the thoughts from your mind and focus again on the board in front of you. There's no telling how much of this will actually be on the next quiz, but after not doing so hot on the last one, you really need to ace whatever comes next.
Class is dismissed as usual. You pack up as usual. Jimin is waiting outside for you as usual. He has several girls surrounding him as usual--
Wait a second.
One. Two. Three. Four girls have effectively cornered the newest hot topic by the corner of the wall, swaying their little asses, twirling their little ponytails, biting their little lips.
How infuriating.
Your smile fades as the seconds turn to what feels like hours. He's smiling at them, answering with shy chuckles and few words, a hand behind his head and smiling crescent eyes. You know that cute expression, that's the same expression he gives you when you tell him he's pretty.
You're close enough to overhear their flirtatious remarks, but you must not be close enough considering Jimin doesn't even take notice of you exiting the classroom. Then again, you can't expect him to while he's dealing with his fans.
Instead of shooing those brats away -- which you totally could -- you decide to slip away from the scene to instead pursue a different agenda.
[y/n] forgot about an errand i gotta run!! meet you to study in your dorm later tonight okay?
::
Finding her isn't that hard considering she's part of the main gossip on campus. Dalia the art major. She spends the majority of her time in the studio, painting. A soft soul who prefers to stay to herself and save her time and money for new art equipment.
She's sweet. Perhaps that's why people attached the idea of her with Jimin, the quiet and impressionable nerd.
Whatever the reason, it has to stop.
The door is closed but unlocked it seems. You can just barely see through the glass pane in the door, enough to make out the shape of a young girl with a single braid falling over her right shoulder.
There she is, sitting on a stool in front a large white canvas, brush dipped in warm ivory and dragged across smooth linen. Her eyes lift up every few seconds, filled with focus and intentionality. You hate to break that focus but it's better to break her focus now than her heart later.
You enter the room and immediately shriek and cover your eyes.
"Oh my god!!"
Dalia and her unexpectedly naked male model both turn to you, confusion but overall unbothered expressions on their faces.
"Sorry!" you apologize with a hand raised to block your vision. "I didn't realize this was," you take a peak, "wow."
The model just chuckles, "Don't worry about it. I need an excuse to stretch." His body is so freaking long when he stretches his arms above his head like that. You blink away and stare at the other wall.
Dalia pouts and slumps in her chair. "You can't move, I told you!"
"Sorry, babe, but I'm stiff after an hour of standing like that. Can't I at least have my gum?"
Babe? Oh shit.
"I'm so sorry," you clap your hands and face Dalia, trying ever so hard not to stare at the impressive, naked model in your peripheral, "I didn't realize this was a closed session. I just came to get some supplies, so..."
Both characters watch you silently. Unblinking.
You grab a random brush off a random table and slap it against your other hand with an awkward laugh, "Yep! This is it, so umm, I'll just head on out. Great painting by the way. Looks really...nice."
"See, I told you people would like it," she chides at the model before sending you a grateful smile.
He snickers and rolls his eyes, "Little Miss Dalia, always has to be right."
"Dalia?" you stop and gasp. "As in the Dalia?"
Both sets of eyes silently land on your strangely dramatic reaction.
"I guess," she answers slowly. "Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm ___. And you must be the girl who got the campus good boy to go bad and gave him that hickey?"
"Excuse me?" the model suddenly snaps.
Dalia tries to calm him down, but you persist. "Aren't you and Park Jimin like a thing? Everyone is talking about it."
"Who's a what with my girlfriend now?"
"It's not what it sounds like, babe," Dalia insists. She sends you an unpleasant glare and huffs. "Jimin is just a guy who comes into the café where I work."
"I heard you give him free food all the time," you gossip like your life depends on it, "is it because you two are--"
"No!" she stops you before you can finish, glancing between your nosy ass and her boyfriend's naked one. "I give him free fries because he's a regular and he mentioned using up all his meal swipes on the girl he likes."
Your playful smile begins to fade. "Huh?"
"Yeah," Dalia sighs, "Jimin is a sweet guy but as you can see, I'm very happy with my man. Jimin already has a crush anyway."
The model shoots you a finger gun, oddly chill for someone who's still not attempted to cover his dick once and was just freaking out ten seconds ago.
"Oh.." you nod and slowly back up out of the room, "must have been my mistake then. Sorry to have, uhh, interrupted your painting. I'll just...be on my way."
If Dalia or her boyfriend said anything else, you didn't hear it. She said plenty already anyway, words that will be on replay in your mind for the foreseeable future, ringing in the back of your thoughts like an alarm.
::
Is it an alarm or a wake up call? You're not sure. But just as you suspected, the subtle ringing in your head has not stopped since you left the art department and it probably won't stop until you either come to terms with your feelings for Jimin or crush them.
Your good boy sits beside you on the bed, flipping a page every so often while you mindlessly stare at the words of your own textbook. You read them but they don't register. Studying is not working while Park Jimin exists beside you, harboring an unspoken crush on you.
You're assuming his crush is in you, who else would it be? Then again he hasn't voiced it directly. Maybe Dalia misunderstood things. Or maybe you heard wrong.
"I really like you."
"Huh?"
"You," he says with sparkling eyes and lips gently pulled into an innocent smile.
Okay. Okay, don't freak out. So Park Jimin just confessed his feelings for you are beyond sex. Not a big deal, plenty of friends with benefits become lovers. It's common to develop more serious emotional connections to someone you sleep with on a regular basis. Climaxing together will do that. Hormones and shit, you know.
It wouldn't be that far-fetched to say you like him back. Actually it makes sense. He wouldn't be caught off guard if you wanted to express your feelings for him. It wouldn't make anything weird, right? And if he's taken the leap to say it out loud, then…
You close your textbook, gripping the edge in your lap and taking a deep breath. "Jimin…I, umm, there's something I should tell you. Lately, I've been–"
"He's just incredible, look at all this research he's submitted. It's so fascinating!"
"What…"
"Yu Jin-Quan!" He shows you in his textbook with the biggest grin, finger exuberantly pointing all over the page.
"Oh…" your whole body sinks, "who's that?"
"He's a chemistry genius!" Jimin bites his lip and flips the pages until he finds something else to show you. "See this?"
You glance at the page but don't understand any of the jumble of letters and numbers and symbols littered in what appears to be random order.
"He researched rational-design and made an unexpected discovery of catalytic carbon-carbon and carbon-heteroatom bond forming reactions based on C-H activation!" He kicks his legs in excitement, practically squealing. "With this discovery, we could develop catalytic reactions to parallel enzymatic transformations in terms of reactivity and selectivity which means we could theoretically – oh sorry, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"
"Don't apologize, I wanna hear about it."
Jimin shyly smooths out the pages of his book, bending the corner into a dog ear just to unfold it. "Really?"
"Yeah! Umm, so the carbon-heterosexual bond could theoretically transform what?"
He flashes you a warm smile, the stars in his eyes twinkling despite the low, evening light in the dorm room.
"Yu is a part of Scripps Research, that's what they've been researching for the last few years. They're a non-profit organization that primarily focuses on biomedical sciences. I've been thinking, you know, they have some like internship opportunities for students and stuff."
"Jimin, that's amazing," you encourage him with a hand on his hand. "Are you gonna apply?"
He gently holds onto your fingers, commiting the crinkles by your eyes when you smile at him to memory. "I don't know yet, but it's something I've been considering. It's in California, so that's…kinda far. Sorry for rambling, I just get excited about C-H activation, because if you think about it, it's really the most fundamental link in organic chemistry and it's the base for a lot of the drugs people use in their daily lives, so we could really improve people's way of living if we knew more about–"
Not that his rambling isn't the most interesting thing you've heard all day, but those sweet lips have taunted you for one word too long.
Jimin doesn't fight the guidance of your hand cupping his jaw. His eyes flutter closed, allowing the rhythm of your kiss to set the pace and depth. You move slowly against him, hiding a proud smile between your lips, and he falls into you instantly and easily.
He opens his eyes when you pull away, dragging your hand down his chest when it drops. "What was that for?"
"Just cause. You're cute when you talk about using Chemistry to help people. I think it's really great."
If your kiss didn't make him blush, that sure did. His cheeks heat up immediately, a precious, pretty pink shade to match the pink of his lips. He rolls them between his teeth, trying not to break out in a shy smile at your compliment.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks in a small voice, touching your cheek just to touch it.
"Like what?"
"Like you wanna say something."
You could disregard the words caught in your throat, simply shake your head and change the subject. You've done it before, plenty of times. But this time is different. You don't feel like avoiding it this time, like you've done in the past. It doesn't seem right to keep Jimin in the dark of what you're thinking anymore. He's been so incredibly honest and open, not only about his desires in the bedroom but now about his future career.
"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he asks with a cute tilt of his head.
"Yes."
He gently pulls you into his lap, comfortably placing one leg to straddle his waist on each side and rests his hands on the curve of your thighs. Then he gives you a warm smile that melts your entire chest and sends your nerves into overdrive.
"Then tell me."
"No way. I'm too nervous now."
"No?" he repeats sweetly, rubbing your legs just to maintain the physical contact.
"I mean, not yet," you clarify.
He kisses your lips with a quiet smack.
"How about now?"
"No," you giggle.
Another kiss to your pressed, smiling lips. "Now?"
"Jimin."
"Come on! I'm curious about what's in that pretty head of yours." His hand brushes through your hair, his eyes following the motion before they fall back to meet yours. "Please tell me what you're thinking about?"
He wants to be a part of your thoughts so much it makes your heart ache. The fact that this boy is more than willing to let you sit in his lap with no sexual intentions at all, just to hold you close to him and talk about the abstract things floating around in your mind. You ask yourself for the thousandth time since meeting him…is he actually real?
"I'm thinking…about you."
"Me?"
You nod, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sweater vest.
"What about me?"
"Like your voice. And your hair. And your sweater vests. And what you ate for lunch." And a million other things you don't have time to list off right now.
"Wow, you're thinking of me an awful lot."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No, of course not," he promises and wraps his arms around your back to pull you further up his lap. "You can think about me as much as you want. I'm always thinking of you."
You should have counted from the start, how many times you've fallen into the magnetic pull of this man's lips since the conversation started. This won't be the last time you fall onto his lips today, not by a long shot, not if he keeps being this gosh darn adorable.
Jimin doesn't mind your inclination to kiss him. After all, your kisses have become his favorite drug, the main celebrity of his daydreams, the things that make him want to twirl you around a kitchen and put an extra pair of dorm slippers at his door. He likes knowing that you wanna kiss him as much as he wants to kiss you, no alternative motive. Just kiss.
It's so lazy and you love it. Open mouths and sluggish tongues because each others' taste is so familiar at this point, limp wrists and relaxed hips. You don't have to do anything since this kiss isn't going anywhere. You just like kissing him because you can and he's cute and that's enough reason anyway.
The kiss slows to an end but your arms remain draped over his shoulder and his hands feel warm under the material of your T-shirt at your waist.
"Wanna know what I did today?" you ask, carelessly fiddling with the ends of his hair which has grown a bit in the last month or so.
"Mhm."
"I ruined a perfectly happy couple."
"Wait, what? Why?" he blinks in concern.
"I was poking around the art department looking for Dalia and I ran into her and her boyfriend and I might have mentioned the rumor about you two being a thing."
Jimin can't believe this, but he's more amused than upset. "You went after her?"
"I didn't go after her," you correct him with a raised brow. "I just happened to find her and wanted to confirm she didn't have any unrealistic expectations in her head."
"Unrealistic expectations about what?"
"You and her."
"What's unrealistic about me and Dalia?" he asks sincerely.
You scoff as if the answer should be obvious because it should be in your opinion. "Because, you're not…I mean you don't…she's not your..."
For some reason, no matter how you attempt to word it, you can't get the words out of your mouth. All you can understand are his lips and hands and eyes and attention on you, no one else. The thought of them on someone else makes your blood run thick and your heart sink into your stomach.
"Why were you freaking out so much over a silly rumor? I thought you liked the fact that people could see my hickey."
"I don't know anymore," you reply even though you do know why. But it's scary to be vulnerable, even if Jimin is the sweetest good boy on campus. Even if he does have a crush on you.
"Can I make a guess?"
"Okay."
"You like me."
Well shit, he called you out on it like it's nothing. Is that a confession or is he testing you? Don't be flustered. Be cool. Don't give anything away. Don't forget your status.
"I certainly feel possessive of you," you agree. "I don't like the thought of her kissing your neck and it made me kinda upset."
"Kinda?" he chuckles, lifting one brow at you and pinching your side to make you squirm.
"Okay! Very upset," you admit with a giggle, pushing his hands away from your tickling ribs. "But I just don't like false rumors. Gossip never does anything but harm. Besides, people shouldn't get the wrong idea about you. You're too good a guy to have such a shameless rumor going around about you."
His heart may explode. Yeah, you've got flaws and there have been times your lack of reflectiveness has caused him pain, but things have shifted recently. You've been attentive and caring and reckless and, you said it first, possessive. So much so, he feels your bravery rubbing off on him and he wants to jump into something you might be ready for now. He just has to ask.
Jimin takes a deep breath and lets it out. Since you won't allow him to tickle your sides, he resolves to adjust your thighs around his lap, scooting you forward so you can be as close as possible.
"Would you maybe want to make us exclusive?"
"Exclusive?"
He nods. "I won't see anyone else if you won't. Actually, I don't want to see anyone else. You've been the only one on my mind since we met and I don't want you to share that space with anyone else."
You pause for a moment, tapping your chin and humming in thought.
"The week after we met, almost every team captain on campus offered to fuck me. I've had multiple chances since then too. I could probably hit up two or three guys tonight and end up in their bed by sundown," you say factually.
"Oh."
"I turned them all down…" Jimin lifts his eyes to you again, pleasantly surprised to see them shyly smiling at him and only him, "...because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"Really?"
You nod with a flirty bite of your lip. "I haven't slept with anyone else since I met you and I don't want to. You haven't either, right?"
Like you have to ask. There's no way Jimin could land anyone even half as hot as you. In his mind, you're the standard, the epitome, the one settling for a nerd who wears sweater vests and eats way too many fries when he studies.
If only he could see inside your head, to the corners that light up when you hear his name, to the walls of commitment issues he's breaking down. He is your serotonin at this point, the best part of your day and the one you wanna see when you're sad or stressed or excited or numb.
"No, I haven't slept with anyone else," he answers you. It's a compliment to him that you view him as equally as enticing and sexy and capable of seducing another partner if he wanted to.
"But, umm, if we're gonna be exclusive, can I request something?"
"Of course, baby," you coo and run your fingers through his hair, mentally preparing yourself for whatever sexual fantasy he's going to share.
"Can I call you a nickname?"
You can't help your smile. He's so shy about it as if calling you a nickname is crossing some boundary. You're actually surprised he hasn't tried to at this point, considering you've assigned him several.
"Like what?"
"Like how you call me baby or good boy. And I love those, by the way. But I want to have one for you too."
"Okay, what do you wanna call me?"
"Well, I have a few contenders," he says and starts filtering through the list in his head. "The first is sweetie pie."
"Too mushy." That was a quick reply.
"Okay, uhh, how about cupcake?"
"Are they all food related?"
"Angel?"
"But I'm not one," you wink at him.
"Bae?"
"Too 2014."
"Darling?"
You pause and shift in his lap. "Say it again."
"Darling," he repeats with a growing smile.
You roll your lips and he beams at the obvious effect his nickname is having. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Your avoiding eyes are adorable but the way your hips subtly grind against him builds a heat between your bodies.
"Darling." A kiss to your cheek. "Darling." A kiss to your nose. "Darling." Finally a kiss to your lips.
Somehow the nickname makes the kisses sweeter, if that's even possible. There's something exceedingly intimate about the exchange and it settles in your heart like a "JM" inked stamp. He owns you with that name, fills your heart, and controls your hips.
It's not the only nickname he ends up suggesting by the end of the night, but it's your favorite when he kisses you like this. And when he submits to your body, on his back with his hands on your ass and your hand around his neck, he recounts all the decisions that lead you to meet, and for the first time, he harbors serious hope for a future with you. It really feels like the best moments with you are yet to come.
::
[y/n] class sucks. wish you were under my desk right now
[Jimin] …i don't get it. how would that help you in class?
[y/n] oh my precious innocent baby
[Jimin] what?
[y/n] nothing. see ya when class is over lol
It hits him maybe two minutes later and he almost spits up his rice. Okay he's fantasized about it before, sure, but for you to actually suggest it is a totally different ballgame. The moment when he realizes you would probably do a lot more for an audience than he anticipated…
He's giggling at the scene playing out in his head when a stranger startlingly falls into the chair across from his otherwise empty lunch table.
"You Jimin?"
The boy is dressed in a black leather jacket to match his black, skinny jeans and slicked black hair. Jimin doesn't know much about fashion but this dude seems to know how to use hair gel at least. He blows a large bubble with the gum between his teeth and it pops, splattering spit on the table next to Jimin's plate.
"Uhh," he stutters, trying not to wipe the table down, "Yes. Who are you?"
"Heard a rumor my girlfriend's been giving you hickies."
"Me?" Jimin had no idea Dalia has a boyfriend, let alone one as intimidating as his guy.
"Has she!?" the stranger urges with a loud voice, pounding a gloved fist on the table.
"No!" Jimin responds with wide eyes and a straight back.
"Someone obviously has," the guy points to the hickey on Jimin's neck. "Is that your girlfriend's doing?"
"Well, not exactly…"
"Not exactly?"
"My darling did this," Jimin explains with an involuntary blush.
"Your girlfriend."
"No, not my girlfriend. We're just exclusive friends with benefits who go on dates and have affectionate nicknames for each other." Both boys share a blank look. "Her name is ___."
"Yeah, that's the girl who walked in when Dalia was–"
Jimin tilts his head sweetly.
"Never mind," the stranger shrugs, seemingly kind now that his girlfriend is cleared from the picture. "Sorry man, I didn't mean to yell."
"It's okay…I guess."
"I'm Tae."
"Nice to meet you."
Tae looks him up and down, watching as Jimin adjusts his sweater vest and hair and resettles himself basically from being suddenly shook. He pulls down one sleeve, but then the other rides up, so he pulls that one down and does this about four times until he's happy with the state of his apparel.
"You're funny, you know that?" Tae comments with a chuckle, speaking again before Jimin even has the chance to reply. "I like you, Jimin. Wanna be friends?"
"Umm…sure?"
Tae checks his, rather expensive by the looks of it, watch and smacks his gum again. "Whatcha doing after this?"
"Studying."
"You study a lot?"
He shrugs. "A lot is subjective. I think I study an appropriate number of hours for my major and educational year."
Tae frowns. "Ditch it."
"Why?"
"You and I are going riding," he tells Jimin with an excited gleam in his eye.
"Riding?"
"On my bike," he clarifies. "What'dya say?"
Jimin has to sincerely consider the offer since this student was nice enough to invite him to ride bikes together. It's been a while since Jimin has been cycling but, as the saying goes, it won't take long for him to remember. Some fresh air might be nice, and you've got at least half an hour until class lets out. He doesn't know Tae very well but he doesn't appear dangerous. A little defensive about his girlfriend but that's understandable. Jimin's hickey is really pretty.
"I haven't ridden a bike in a while but–"
"Great!"
In the next moment, Jimin is dragged out of the cafeteria and into the parking lot. It's a sunny day, an easy breeze, and plenty of shade. The perfect day to ride a bike.
Or, you know, a motorcycle.
"Oh no," Jimin immediately cops out when he sees the shiny metal, black and blue trimming, and plushy seats. "I'm sorry, there's clearly been a misunderstanding. I've n-never, I mean, bikes aren't allowed on campus, are they?"
"So?"
Well, he's starting to understand who this Tae character is. A rule breaker. He shouldn't hang out with rule breakers, their influence can't possibly be helpful.
Then again, he's kinda in love with one so…
"Come on, friends are supposed to get into trouble together," Tae argues, tempting Jimin with a second helmet. "Plus I do this all the time. The school doesn't care unless I run over a pedestrian or something."
"Friends?"
"Yeah, we're friends now."
This isn't normal, right? People don't usually become friends this way. Definitely not polar opposites like Jimin and whoever this Tae guy is.
But something is strange, other than Tae's interesting choice in cologne. There's something familiar in his eyes, something Jimin remembers seeing in your eyes at one point. It's a little dangerous, but also seductive and mysterious and…fun. This definitely won't be safe but the more he thinks about it, Jimin doesn't wanna be safe anymore, not like he used to. Avoiding life experiences because it wasn't according to the "rules," what kind of a life is that? It's time Jimin give in, even just a little bit, and live for the moments and chances he's given. After all, the last time he remembers giving into an unsure opportunity, you took him upstairs at a party and showed him a world he'd never tasted before.
"Sure. Yeah," he sucks in a brave breath and pulls the helmet over his head, "friends."
Thankfully, Jimin does live to tell you all about his adventure on the back of his new friend's motorcycle. But he's not going riding again until Tae gets him a jacket because, to quote his new friend, "you can't ride a motorcycle without a leather jacket."
hello i'm smiling like an idiot (again) ok thank you for coming to my ted talk.
ANYWAYS dbdnfn i was giggling my way through that fic (again) because why is jealous oc so hillarious HAHA all their bickering and teasing please they're so cuteeee 😭 also i'm pretty sure everyone but them can see by now that they're so fucking in love istg i CAN'T hedjdn
jimin is even more clueless because WHY is he starting THE CHEM NERD TALK while OC WANTS TO CONFESS is this some kind of prank again or what 🫠 but oc actually being interested in it is one of the cutest things in this fic 🥺 (carbon heterosexual tho?! please PAHAHAHAHAH)
and can we talk about the nickname jimin gave her!? i love it so much ☹️ fun fact i recently was talking about "darling" being such a pretty nickname and that it's literally my favourite and now he's using it for oc 😭 *ugly sobbing in a corner brb*
BUT I'M SO HAPPY MIMI FOUND A FRIEND OK I CAN FINALLY STOP CRYING ABOUT THAT EMPTY LUNCH TABLE (how dare u hurt me like this 😾) AND ASKING MYSELF WHY NO ONE WANTS TO BE HIS FRIEND THANK GOD! although i wasn't sure about tae and didn't really trust him at first (NEED. TO. PROTECT. MY. BABY.) i'm pretty certain he's a good guy and i think spending time with him will be good for jimin. maybe he can finally have some fun and let loose 🥺 he deserves it honestly this little angel has suffered and held himself back enough :(
but mindy i'm sorry we need to talk because YOU CANNOT WRITE ABOUT JIMINS PRETTY SOUNDS AND THICK NECK (BSJDNDND?!!!) AND THEN PUT AN ENDING WITH JIMIN AND A LEATHER JACKET IN ONE FIC OK HAVE MERCY PLEASE WTF
“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall
➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕
➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader
➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst
➺ Rating: 18+
➺ Word Count: 7.3k
➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.
➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)
➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonnafor hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_;
lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀
do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛
This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!
Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing.
JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again?
Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses.
JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again.
Y/N: come onn!!
JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER
Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off.
JM: …
JM: so its something you have on? 😏
Y/N: pic_210124.jpg
JM: holy shit
JM: wait wait fuck
JM: keep the door unlocked.
alright, here i am reblogging yet another fic from you because DAMN you are so talented and i just love how everything you write seems to be brought to live. your stories are always so beautifully written, especially the color analogies here – so creative! 🥺
– ok enough fangirling.. ANYWAYS, i'm a SUCKER for dominant jimin but when oc is acting up and the moments that result out of it?! OH BOY. also, we LOVE a dominant queen taking the lead yes! (AND CHOKING HIM OH MY GOD?!)
...... well, until she crumbled in his hands LOL. i respect her perseverance tho because who could resist him anyways?! i'd have given in the moment he kissed me for the first time – ok let's be honest he just has to look at me for one second and i'd only be a pitiful puddle on the floor. – still, i'd say "whatever" at any opportunity i get, soooo.. 🤪
BUT i respect jimin's perseverance as well, because oc's outfit sounded so hot istg if i was him?! oh lord i'd probably eat her alive.
