park jimin is the tough boy next door who’s always looked out for you. after a violent night brings hidden feelings to light, your sweet friendship turns into something much deeper.
word count : 3.2k
genre : FLUFFFYYYYY, a little angst if you squint
warnings : bad boy! jimin x baker’s daughter!reader, this is not inspired by sweetest pie by meg and dua 😭 i was totally listening to the sweetener album and ordinary things by ariana grande! jimin already likes the reader, fights!! blood mentioned, kissing! guy touches the reader in a way she doesn’t like!!
a/n : i lowkey REALLLYYYY LIKE THIS ONE HELP… but im going to hawaii for a couple of days so im not gonna be uploading much :-(
masterlist
you have known park jimin since the second grade. back when he had crooked teeth, skinned knees and a knack for into trouble for talking too much in the back of the class. he used to share his fruit snacks with you at lunch and glared at anybody who made fun of you on the playground.
you were seven and shy, clutching onto your mom’s hand like the world might swallow you whole if you let go. it was the first day of second grade and all the kids seemed to know each other.
your mom knelt beside you, brushing your hair out of your face softly. “sweetheart,” she said gently.
“do you remember miss park? from the neighborhood?” she asked. you nodded slowly. miss park has always had kind eyes, a warm smile, always smelt like peppermint.
“well, her son jimin is in your class. and i just talked to his mother— she said he’d be happy to show you around.” you look up, seeing a boy with messy dark hair and a bandaid on his cheek peeked around the classroom door.
“jimin,” his mom called from behind him. “come meet your new friend,” she pushes him out. he blinked at you, looked at his mom, then to you again. and with the kind of confidence only seven-year-old boys could get away with, he marched up and held out a half-eaten fruit snack.
“wanna share?” he asked. you took it without thinking, nodding. “cool,” he grinned. “i’ll show you where the swings are.”
growing up together felt so natural. predictable even. like seasons changing or the way the bakery always smelled like vanilla and cinnamon by 7am. but somewhere between childhood and college, something shifted.
maybe it was the way he’d grown into his sharp jaw and rough edges, or how his silence started meaning more than his words. maybe it was the way he looked at you now—longer, softer—when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
the bell above the bakery door jingles softly, too soft for the closing hour. you look up, already knowing who it is. jimin doesn’t say a word. just walked in with his hoodie up, jaw clenched, and knuckles bloody. he always came here after fights, like it was some sort of safe place.
your smile flickers, barely there, “rough night?” you ask. he slides into the stool at the counter with a low breath, “something like that.” you didn’t press him. you never did.
instead, you turn to grab the first aid. it had partially become his by now. as you dab at his busted knuckles with gentle fingers, the silence was heavy. he flinched once, but not from the pain. from how softly you’re touching him.
“you’re gonna scar.”
“doesn’t matter,” he replies.
“it does to me,” you say, not looking up.
jimin looks at you, really looks. your lashes low, lips pressed into a small line, focused on only patching him up. it made his stomach ache— his heart ache.
you always knew that jimin and his mother struggled, with his dad gone. his mom practically fell apart. they struggled with everything, especially money.
it was your mom how had told you about it. she’d come back with grocery bags and a furrow in her brow. she mentioned how she ran into jimin‘s mom in the cereal aisle.
“she looked tired,” your mom says, voice softer. “said things have been tight lately… jimin’s been skipping meals to save money. did you know that?”
you hadn’t. but the second you did, it stuck with you like something lodged in your chest.
he’d never say it himself. jimin wasn’t the type. he’d show up with bloodied hands and an empty stomach and pretend everything was fine. but you knew him too well for that. you always had.
so the next morning, you made extra.
two breakfast sandwiches—warm, eggy, and wrapped in parchment—plus a cinnamon roll with too much icing and a iced white coffee just how he liked it.
when you spot him outside the bakery, sitting on the back step with his hood up, your heart pinches. he looked smaller somehow, even with his broad frame hunched over his knees.
“you’re here early,” you said, nudging the door open with your hip, hands full. he didn’t look at you. just mumbles, “didn’t sleep.” you hand him the bag and the coffee without a word.
“what’s this?” he asks, like it wasn’t obvious “breakfast,” you said. “and sugar. you need both.”
he blinks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “you didn’t have to—” “i know,” you cut him off quickly. “but i wanted to.. my mom is dropping off your moms food.”
his jaw works, like he was fighting something in his throat. “you heard from my mom.”
you don’t lie. “yeah.”
he was quiet for a moment, staring at the bag in his lap. “i didn’t want you to think i was weak,” he says, barely audible.
you sit down beside him, shoulder brushing his. “i don’t think you’re weak, jimin. i think you’re trying. and trying alone is exhausting,” you nod your head. he doesn’t answer, but he does unwrap the sandwich and takes a bite.
you put your head on his shoulder, “next time, just come inside.”
it’s a small table.
old wood, a little uneven in the legs, the same one your mom’s had since you were in second grade—but tonight, it feels different. warmer. fuller. jimin sits across from you, shoulders tense at first, head ducked slightly like he’s not used to this kind of comfort. his mom is beside him, hands folded in her lap, eyes glassy when she sees the spread your mom’s laid out.
pasta. garlic bread. a salad tossed with the fancy vinaigrette you keep for holidays.
“come on, eat,” your mom says, smiling gently at jimin’s mom. “you’re family. always have been.” you catch jimin looking at you then—quiet, soft-eyed—and you give him a small smile.
his mom clears her throat, trying to hide the way her voice wavers. “i told you we didn’t need all this…”
“you didn’t ask for it,” your mom says simply. “but we wanted to.”
jimin’s hand is curled tight around his fork. you can see the way his jaw clenches when his mom picks at her food, trying to make it last. he’s always hated this—watching her sacrifice without asking.
you nudge his knee under the table. he glances up. you mouth, eat. he rolls his eyes, but he takes a bite.
your mom starts talking about the bakery—telling a story about a customer who came in asking if cinnamon rolls could be vegan and also gluten free and also taste the same—and eventually, the table starts to soften. laughter hums between you. even jimin’s mom lets out a real smile, her hand brushing his when she reaches for more salad.
later, after the table’s cleared and your moms are in the kitchen with mugs of tea, you and jimin slip out to the porch.
he leans on the railing, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, head tilted back as he exhales. you stand beside him.
“i know you didn’t want this to be a thing,” you say gently. “but i told my mom because we care. not because we pity you.”
“i know,” he says, voice low. “she just… she works so hard. and i can’t always help. not enough.” you bump his shoulder. “you help more than you think.”
he finally looks at you then. and there’s that look again. the one he gives you when he’s not being the tough guy. the one that says he feels more than he knows how to say.
“you still going to that party tonight?” he asks, voice low. “yeah,” you nod. “you?” he shrugs. “wasn’t gonna. but maybe i will now.”
he doesn’t look at you when he says it—barely more than a whisper, “thank. for dinner. and for… just being you.”
you smile, heart aching in that way it always does around him, “you’re welcome.” your eyes meet and something hangs between you—quiet and unfinished.
you don’t push it.
because you know, when jimin’s ready, he’ll say it.
but for now, you just lean against him, watching the sky shift above you.
together.
it was a spring break party at some frat house. the music was too loud, the air too warm, and the cup in your hand had gone flat a long time ago. but your friend dragged you here, swearing you needed to “have fun for once,” so here you were—sipping weak punch and swaying to the bass in someone’s overpacked living room.
you hadn’t seen jimin in over an hour. he was here somewhere—your ride, your constant—but the party had swallowed him up.
you barely had time to turn around before a hand grabs your wrist. “hey,” a voice slurs behind you. you freeze. fuck.
it was a guy you vaguely recognize from a few classes. tall, cocky, the kind who stared too long and didn’t understand the word no. you’d dodged his attempts before. but this time, he’s drunk. and bold.
“been lookin’ for you all night,” he said, tugging you closer. you yank your arm back. “i’m not interested. but he didn’t let go.
his fingers wrapped tighter around your wrist, nails digging into skin. “cmon. don’t be like that. i saw you earlier—dancin’ all cute. you were lookin’ at me, weren’t you?” he smirks. gross.
“no,” you said, heart thudding, voice sharp. “let me go.” he leans down, face way too close. “bet you taste as sweet as you look.” and then he grabs your waist, hands sliding down your back like he had a right.
“get off me!” you shove him, panic in your voice now. he just laughs, like it was a game. like you were something to be played with. “don’t fucking touch me.”
a figure pops up in front of you, pushing you back softly. jimin. he pushes the guy roughly as one of his other friends approaches you, checking up on you.
the guy stumbles, “what the hell is your problem?” the guy snaps, straightening up. jimin’s eyes are wild and his jaw is tight.
jimin doesn’t answer. he just punches the guy.
the room froze for a second, a chorus of shocked voices echoing over the music. the crowd barely had time to react before jimin tackles the guy into the beer pong table.
you try to get jimin before namjoon pushes you back, “let him fight. that guy harassed you.”
jungkook and taehyung hype up jimin as jin and hobi run down to get jimin off. “don’t touch her!” he shouts, his voice shaking. “don’t you ever fucking touch her!”
jin holds down the guy as hobi pulls off jimin, “it’s okay, jimin! it’s okay!” jin says. hobi holds him, in a bear hug. jimin’s chest was heaving, lip split, eyes still burning as jin pushes the guy out of the house.
and than finally, he looks at you. not angry, wild, just scared. you stand next to namjoon as jimin approaches you, he holds your face.
your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. you stare up at him, “you okay?” he asks. “jimin you didn’t have to—“ “yeah,” he wipes the blood from his mouth.
“i did.”
and for a second, everything else—the party, the noise, the crowd—it all fades. because the way he was looking at you right there? it didn’t feel like just friendship anymore.
your room is quiet.
the soft hum of the lamp casts a golden glow across the sheets, and you’re both lying on your sides, facing each other. jimin’s hoodie is tossed over your chair, his hands freshly cleaned and bandaged from the fight.
you’re not speaking. not yet. just breathing. his eyes are on yours—soft, unreadable. “you always smell like sugar,” he says suddenly, voice barely a whisper.
you blink. “what?” he gives you the faintest smile, like he’s embarrassed but not sorry. “your clothes, your hair… even your bed. you smell like cinnamon and vanilla. like I’m supposed to be here.”
your heart skips. “you are supposed to be here.” he looks at you like he’s trying not to fall any deeper—and failing.
“you mean that?”
you nod slowly. “yeah.”
his gaze drops to where your fingers brush beneath the blanket, and he exhales through his nose like he’s been holding something in for too long.
“i thought i was gonna lose it,” he murmurs. “when i saw that guy grab you.” “you kinda did,” you whisper. he gives a breath of a laugh, then goes quiet. the way he looks at you now makes your stomach twist.
“it wasn’t just about tonight,” he says. “it was the way he looked at you. like you were something to take. something he had a right to.”
his jaw clenches. his voice lowers.
“but you’re not. you’re… you.”
your breath catches, and for a second neither of you speak.
then, softer than before, he adds, “you know i think about kissing you every time we’re this close, right?”
you blink. “jimin…”
“every time,” he says. “when you laugh. when you look at me like i’m not the guy who fights too much. like I’m someone good.” you reach for his hand beneath the blanket, finding his fingers and curling yours around them.
“you could,” you say quietly. he looks up at you, searching your face like he’s not sure he heard you right. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah.”
he leans in—slow, hesitant—giving you time to pull away. you don’t.
his lips brush yours like a promise, warm and gentle and everything he’s never said out loud. he kisses you like he’s afraid the moment might slip through his fingers, and when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“i’m not good at saying things,” he whispers. “i mess up. i keep stuff in. but i’d never hurt you. never.”
“i know,” you whisper. “that’s why i trust you.”
he smiles, a small, real one, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his chest like you’re something breakable and precious.
you bury your face against him, breathing him in—his shampoo, his cologne, the faint scent of blood and sugar—and you let yourself melt into the safety of it all.
tonight, he’s not just the boy with bruised knuckles.
he’s yours.
the sun spills across your room in soft streaks of gold. you’re warm, still half-asleep, tucked against jimin’s chest under your comforter. his arm is draped over your waist, legs tangled with yours, and his breath is slow and steady against your neck.
it’s quiet. peaceful.
and then— “sweetheart?”
your mom’s voice right outside your door. your eyes fly open. knock knock, “i brought muffins—do you want—” the door creaks open before you can say a word.
jimin bolts upright like he’s been shot. his hair’s a mess, hoodie halfway off his shoulder, eyes wide and terrified.
you’re scrambling, yanking the blanket up to your chin as your mom freezes in the doorway, holding a plate of blueberry muffins and blinking at the very obvious boy in your bed.
jimin mutters, “oh my god,” under his breath. your mom’s eyes slowly narrow. “park jimin.” you open your mouth. nothing comes out. he coughs. “hi, mrs. (last name).”
“you got five seconds to tell me why you’re in my daughter’s bed.” you try to sit up without making it worse. “it’s not—it’s not what it looks like—”
“really?” she says, raising a brow. “because what it looks like is that my daughter has a bad boy with bloody knuckles sleeping in her bed.” jimin’s hand slowly disappears under the covers like he can make himself vanish.
“she was patching me up,” he blurts. “after a fight. i didn’t mean to stay—i just—she said i could crash—”
your mom looks at you. you look at jimin. jimin looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led to this exact moment. then your mom sighs and sets the muffin plate on your desk.
“wash those sheets. and if you’re staying for breakfast, jimin, you’re helping me at the bakery— and! best believe, your mom and i are gonna be talking about this for the rest of you guys’ life!”
she turns on her heel and walks out, muttering something about teenage hormones. the door clicks shut. jimin stares at you, eyes wide. you burst out laughing.
he groans and flops back into the pillows, throwing his arm over his face. “i’m never going to recover from that.” you grin, curling into his side. “you still smell like vanilla and blood.”
he peeks at you from under his arm. “think she’s gonna ban me from the bakery?” you kiss his shoulder. “nope. but she’s definitely gonna make you wear an apron.”
he groans louder. “this is the price of love, huh?”
my two favorite Peeta Mellark moments are ones that aren't explicitly confirmed by the text, but GOD do they live in my head rent free because of what they could tell us about Peeta and his headspace post hijacking with regards to his feelings about, and devotion to, Katniss.
1.) peeta being caught in flames of the same firebomb that burned katniss.
we know for certain that peeta did make it to the City Circle
and, given the severity of Peeta's burns and the way in which they mimic Katniss' - i believe Peeta was able to follow behind close enough to stay within sight of her. I believe that he was close enough to see the initial bomb go down, see katniss yelling after prim, and have just enough time to make it to katniss before getting hit with the flames face first (throwing his hands up to protect himself.)
so, in the end, just as they started their journey of "the girl who was on fire" and "the boy with the bread" on that chariot to the City Circle - they ended it the same way. Together and covered in flames.
2.) tucking Katniss into bed after her breakdown with Buttercup.
we see the breakdown happen in the living room, where she passes out, and we also see that hours later she wakes up in her own bed with Buttercup next to her.
i have always believed that Peeta heard the the breakdown and the yelling, and, just as he always did for her nightmares, he came to check on her. Finding her passed out on the floor of her living room, he carried her up to her bedroom and puts her to bed.
There's something so meaningful about Katniss associating Peeta with dandelions, especially when you take into account the way Peeta is viewed by others throughout the trilogy and how dandelions are viewed in real life.
Dandelions are considered by many people to be weeds. They're not toxic, but they're eyesores in any perfect garden or lawn; they spread fast due to the way they seed, so they're considered invasive; their one use—attracting pollenators—is negated by the fact that their pollen is low in nutrients.
In other words, they're useless. They're pests.
Peeta throughout canon is treated similarly. It's a repeated theme that he is always brushed aside and disregarded in some way, second best to someone or something else. He's the third son. His mother deems him inadequate, he loses to his brother in wrestling, his father always wanted a daughter. Haymitch saves Katniss over him in the first games, the rebellion saves Katniss over him in the Quell. Peeta, in the eyes of others, inculding himself, has very little value. It's partially why in Catching Fire he says on the beach, "Nobody needs me."
And yet, we see how Katniss views dandelions, just as she views Peeta. To Katniss, dandelions are a sign of spring, the first bit of food bees get after winter, a sign of cultivation and new life on the horizon. They mean being sustained, for every bit of a dandelion is edible. They represent hope. To Katniss, dandelions are beautiful.
Peeta is her dandelion. He takes a beating to feed her when she's starving. The bread he gives her is enough to keep her alive for when spring comes, and she can forage in the woods. At her lowest, most cynical, and most suicidal, Peeta returns to her and plants a garden outside her window so that she can mourn in peace, and bakes her bread for breakfast the next morning so she can eat. So she can live.
There is so much in the text that shows us how valuable Katniss finds Peeta. To her, Peeta is incredibly kind, talented, and intelligent. He's a wordsmith. He's her hope. He's beautiful.
But I think it's best expressed in Catching Fire, in response to Peeta's assessment of his worth: "It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.
what’s your fav song from his new album cause mine is either jean skirt or good bye
YES I LOVE MALCOLM TODD 🔥🔥🔥
my fav song from his new album is 100% gun to my head + x's & o's but i also love jean skirt
he cooked with this album 🔥🔥🔥🔥
BUTTTTT what are ur thoughts on iconic by mistake? i thought it was so cute how hybe's girl groups r getting together and interacting like it makes my heart warm but also the song itself + the music video were soooo coool
YES i watched the mv yesterday after school and the mv was so chaotic but i liked it
as for the actual song i'd say its very cortis if yk what i mean? like it suits them and 100% sounds like something they'd make and i think its pretty catchy esp the beginning + chorus where they all go "redred" then "greengreen" but it lowk slapped after the like 3rd listen for me, wbu? i'd love to know what u think!
