Remmy's @remmykinsff - Tumblr Blog

*Pairing: idol!Jimin x f!hair stylist!reader *Word Count: 5k *Posted: may 27, 2026 *Genre: SMUT, tiny bit of fluff, mainly pwp, idol au *Summary: You always make Jimin feel good about himself when you do his hair for every performance. Tonight, he's extra confident. So, he finally goes for what he wants. And what he wants, is you.

*Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, MINORS DNI. bit of a power imbalance considering reader's job, tiny bit of alcohol consumption, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex (be smart, ya perverts), jimin likes his hair pulled, jimin = consent king, switch!jimin (you'll see), getting caught (ish?), bit of angst/anxiety at the end, reader's brain is mush, some pet names, jimin calls reader noona (just go with it, it's for the vibes), uhhh yeah

*A/N: welp. braided-hair jimin has had me in a chokehold since i saw him like this with my own eyeballs on saturday night. and it just got me thinking.. maybe he likes his hair pulled. i dunno. here's the product of my brainrot. enjoy it.

Main Masterlist

“Braids.”

Jimin looks at you like you have two heads.

“Why braids, noona?” he asks curiously.

You pull out your hair styling tools and arrange everything on the tabletop in front of him, threading your fingers through his hair as you think about your vision.

“Your hair’s the perfect length for them. We have time. Can you just trust me for now, and if you hate them, I’ll take them out?” you ask.

Jimin huffs out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling as he smiles.

“Alright. Go for it,” he concedes, settling into the chair more comfortably.

With that, you get to work. Your fingers work nimbly, sectioning and crossing strand over strand, tying each braid with small rubber bands as you go.

At the end of twenty minutes, Jimin’s hair is styled into four small french braids across the top and sides of his head, the bottom layers of his hair loose around his shoulders. You tap his shoulder, signaling to him that you’re finished.

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.

You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.

“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.

You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.

Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.

“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.

He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.

The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”

Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.

“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”

You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.

The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.

“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.

You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.

His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.

“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.

The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.

“In me,” you breathe against his throat.

He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”

You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.

The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.

After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.

“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.

You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”

He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.

“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”

You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.

“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.

Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.

“Not mad at me?” he asks.

You shake your head again.

“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.

His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.

“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.

You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.

The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.

You take one last look at each before you finally step away.

At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.

“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.

“Come feel me instead.”

Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”

With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.

Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.

You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.

Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.

“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.

You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.

“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.

You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.

“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.

You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.

Fuck.

Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.

Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.

Jimin: hope there is a next time.

You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.

You: there will be.

You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.

You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did.

You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?

You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.

But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.

The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.

Jimin has a hair-pulling kink.

And you were the one to find that out.

So now, you wonder..

What else will he let you learn about him?