Undone ⋆˚꩜｡PJM
A small argument with your husband leads to a steamy eating out session.
Pairing - Husband! Jimin x wife! Reader
Warnings - smut, eating out, squiritng, dirty, dominating, submissive, creampie, licking, sucking, kinky.
ONESHOT - 3K words.
The heavy glass doors of the boutique hissed shut behind you, but the clinical chill of the air conditioning did nothing to cool the fire simmering under your skin. This wasn't just a shopping trip; it was a declaration of war. After the explosive argument you’d had with Jimin this morning, you had set out with one goal: to see how many zeros you could drain from his bank account before he noticed.
Jimin was the type of man who would happily drape you in diamonds if you asked, but he loathed being manipulated. He hated this game,the way you used his own wealth as a weapon against his patience.
"How would y-you like to pay, ma'am?" the sales assistant stammered, her gaze darting nervously between your cold expression and the wall of stone-faced guards looming behind you.
"Card," you replied curtly, sliding Jimin’s signature black card across the marble counter.
You waited, tapping your manicured nails against the surface, already imagining the look on his face when the transaction alerts began flooding his phone. But as the seconds ticked by, the assistant’s face paled.
"Um, excuse me, ma'am... it seems your card has been... declined. It’s blocked."
Your heart skipped a beat, but not out of embarrassment. Out of pure, unadulterated fury. "What? No way. Try it again."
"I did, ma'am. It’s not going through."
You scoffed, reaching into your Chanel clutch and pulling out a secondary card. "Use this one."
Another minute of agonizing silence followed. The assistant looked like she wanted to disappear into the floorboards as she handed it back with trembling fingers. "This one isn't working either, ma'am."
You felt your jaw tighten until it ached. Jimin. That calculated, arrogant traitor. He hadn't just anticipated your move; he had dismantled it before you even reached the mall.
You settled the balance through a private transfer from your personal account, a bitter pill to swallow and swept out of the store. Every step toward the waiting car was fueled by a fresh wave of adrenaline.
As the door of the SUV clicked shut, you sank into the leather seat, staring out the tinted window. You had underestimated him. You often forgot that beneath the doting husband was a man whose wit was as sharp as his ego. Jimin wasn't the type to just sit back and let you bleed him dry out of spite. He was always one step ahead, playing a game of chess while you were still throwing pieces.
The war wasn't over, but round one clearly belonged to Park Jimin.
The car hadn't even come to a full stop before you were out, the gravel crunching beneath your designer heels as you stormed toward the massive front doors. You didn't just enter the mansion; you invaded it.
The living room was quiet, save for the low murmur of business talk. Jimin was perched on the sofa, looking effortlessly composed as he scrolled through a tablet. His assistant stood nearby, and Taehyung, Jimin’s closest associate was lounging in the armchair opposite him.
"Park Jimin!" Your voice roared through the high ceilings, sharp enough to cut the air.
The assistant visibly flinched, shifting on his feet. Taehyung’s eyes darted from you to Jimin, a silent 'here we go' written all over his face. Jimin, however, didn't even flinch. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his fingers continued to dance across the screen.
"I am talking to you!" you snapped, your chest heaving with indignation.
Finally, he looked up. His gaze was cool, hooded, and entirely too calm for your liking. "Yes, love?"
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled for the others to leave. Taehyung let out a weary sigh, pushing himself up and shoving his hands into his pockets. He spared Jimin a pointed look. "Fix your shit, man," he muttered under his breath before heading toward the exit.
The moment the doors clicked shut, Jimin returned his attention to the tablet. The blatant disregard was the final straw. You lunged forward and snatched the device right out of his hand.
"Y/N," he said, his voice dropping an octave. There was a dangerous edge to his tone, a warning you were far too angry to heed.
"What?! You fucking blocked my cards! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?" you screamed, the embarrassment of the boutique rushing back to haunt you.
Jimin stood up slowly, his tall frame looming over yours until you were forced to tilt your head back. The proximity was stifling, charged with a tension that felt like static electricity.
"Was it? Then perhaps you shouldn't have behaved like such a brat the other night," he said, his voice terrifyingly steady.
"I was behaving like a brat? You didn't come to the event, Jimin!" You jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating every word. "I had to stand there and make excuses for you all night while everyone whispered!"
He didn't move. He simply looked down at your finger against his shirt, then back into your eyes. "Careful, baby. I don't like that tone."
"Shove what you like up your ass," you hissed. You reached into your handbag, gripped the two useless pieces of plastic, and flung them directly at his face. "And shove these while you're at it!"
You didn't wait for a reaction. You turned on your heel and stormed toward the grand staircase, the echoes of your footsteps matching the frantic beating of your heart.
It had all spiraled from yesterday. Your charity gala—the event you had spent months planning—had been a solo performance because Jimin claimed he had important work. The humiliation of answering a hundred variations of "Where is your husband?" had boiled over into a screaming match last night, ending with you locking him out of the master suite.
You had wanted to hurt his pride. He had responded by cutting off your lifeline.
As you reached the bedroom door, you knew one thing for certain, in the high-stakes game of the Park marriage, the honeymoon phase had officially been replaced by scorched earth.
°
The bedroom was bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, the silence heavy and suffocating. Jimin stepped inside, the rhythmic click of his shoes on the hardwood floor the only sound. He loosened his tie, the tension of the day still knotted in his shoulders.
"Y/n?" he called out, tossing his blazer onto the chaise lounge. No response. He checked the ensuite bathroom, then the walk-in closet—nothing but the lingering scent of your perfume.
He sighed, a low, frustrated sound. He knew you; you weren't just hiding. You were making a point. Cursing under his breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number, only to be met with the cold finality of your voicemail. He immediately diverted the call to your lead security detail.
"Where is she?" he demanded, pacing the length of the room like a caged predator.
"At her parents' estate, sir."
"I told you to inform me the second she goes somewhere!" he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. He didn't wait for an excuse. He grabbed his blazer and headed for the garage, the engine of his car roaring to life seconds later.
The atmosphere at your parents' house was a stark contrast to the cold war at the mansion. When Jimin walked in, he found you nestled on the sofa between your father and Liam—a "family friend" whose very existence had always been a thorn in Jimin’s side.
"Jimin! What a surprise," your mother exclaimed, balancing a tray of fresh cookies.
Jimin offered your parents a practiced, polite greeting, but his eyes were locked on you. You didn't even look up, instead choosing to lean slightly closer to Liam as you scoffed. Jimin’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Liam looked at you, and he hated even more that you were using him as a shield.
"Come, Jimin, sit down," your father gestured toward an armchair.
"No, thank you. I’m just here for Y/n," Jimin replied, his voice clipped.
You finally looked at him, crossing your legs and arms in a defensive posture that screamed defiance. "I’m not coming back."
The air in the room grew thick with sudden tension. Your mother glanced between the two of you, her eyebrows shooting up in a silent interrogation. What have you done now?
"Y/n," Jimin repeated, his patience fraying at the edges. "We’re leaving."
"Y/n, sweetheart, what is this?" your mother interjected, trying to play peacemaker. "Did you two have a fight?"
"Maybe they did," Liam chimed in, his tone casually provocative. He leaned back, a smug look on his face. "Let her be, Jimin. It looks like you're the one in the wrong here."
That was it. The small thread of Jimin’s restraint snapped. He ignored Liam entirely, treating him like a buzzing insect, and marched straight toward you. Before you could even register the movement, he leaned down, hooked his arm firmly around your waist, and hoisted you over his shoulder in one fluid, powerful motion.
"Jimin! Put me down!" you squealed, your face flushing as you began to hammer your fists against his broad back.
"Mom! Dad! Do something!"
But your parents merely exchanged a knowing look and shared a small, amused smile. They knew Jimin, and they knew you; this was just another Tuesday in the volatile world of the Parks.
"Goodnight, everyone," Jimin called out over your protests, his grip like iron as he carried his prize out toward the car.
The drive back was a symphony of silence, punctuated only by the aggressive click of your tongue and the hum of the engine. The moment the car rolled to a stop, you bolted, slamming the door with a bone-rattling force that echoed through the driveway.
Jimin was right on your heels, his stride effortless but determined. "Y/n, stop."
You reached the bedroom and tried to shove the heavy oak door shut, but his foot was already there, acting as a solid wedge. He pushed his way inside with a calm strength that only infuriated you further. You whirled around, eyes flashing with lightning.
"What is this, Y/n? Are you a child?" he asked, his voice low and level.
"Fuck off!"
"Y/n." He stepped into your personal space, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, but you swatted his hand away violently.
"Get away! Go!" You began a frantic assault of palms against his chest, your hands drumming a rhythm of frustration against his firm muscles. He let you vent for a heartbeat before his hand shot out, capturing both of your wrists in a single, unbreakable grip. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"I am sorry," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "I should have been at the event I was wrong, and I’m sorry."
You glared up at him, your chest heaving. "An apology doesn't fix it! You didn't call me all day! And then you had the audacity to block my cards!"
A ghost of a smirk played on Jimin’s lips. "I unlocked them this morning, love."
Your anger faltered for a fraction of a second. "You did?"
"Yes." He released your wrists, his thumb grazing your pulse point before he stepped back.
You quickly recovered, crossing your arms and pouting. "I’m not melting. Not a chance. Go away."
You sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Jimin followed, but instead of sitting beside you, he dropped to his knees on the floor. His hand found your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, hypnotic circles against the fabric of your skirt.
"I'm sorry, baby. Truly," he pleaded.
He looked up at you, his sharp, intimidating features softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion. It was the puppy eyes—the one weapon in his arsenal you hadn't built a defense for. No one in the outside world would believe that the ruthless Park Jimin was currently on his knees, begging for his wife’s forgiveness.
You felt your throat go dry. "Fuck off," you whispered, though the bite was gone from your voice.
Jimin’s eyes darkened, the "uppy facade vanishing to reveal the predator beneath. "You want the exact opposite of that, don't you?"
He leaned forward, his lips pressing a lingering, searing kiss to the sensitive skin of your knee. You gasped softly as he began to pepper your thighs with slow, deliberate kisses, his gaze never leaving yours. Slowly, almost traitorously, your knees began to part for him.
He urged your thighs further apart, his hands sliding up to bunch the fabric of your skirt. Jimin’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of your lace panties, the silk already darkened and clinging to your skin.
"When did you get this wet for me, huh?" he whispered against your skin, his voice a gravelly caress that made you ache.
The friction of his lips against your inner thighs sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your breath hitched, your chest heaving as the last remnants of your anger dissolved into pure, primal need.
"Fuck!" You groaned, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. You didn't just pull him closer; you guided his face directly into the heat radiating from between your legs.
Jimin let out a low, vibrating hum of approval, his mouth pressing firmly against the silk of your panties. He didn't wait. He nipped at the fabric, his tongue swirling over your folds until the damp lace offered no more resistance.
"Ah!" Your head fell back against the pillows, a desperate sound escaping your throat.
"So good," he whispered, his voice a dark rasp against your skin as he finally hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the lace down your legs. He didn't waste a second, burying his face in your softness and dragging his tongue over your clit in long, punishing strokes.
The room filled with the sound of your dangerous noises—the kind of wrecked, breathless moans that only he could draw out of you. Jimin gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he transitioned from teasing licks to deep, rhythmic laps. He pushed his tongue inside you, mimicking the motion of a thrust, while his thumb found your peak and circled it with dizzying speed.
"Jimin... more! Please!" you cried out, your knuckles whitening as you tugged at his hair.
He hummed against you, a vibration that rattled your very bones, and suddenly two fingers were sliding inside, hot and insistent. He began to massage your internal walls, his rhythm relentless.
"Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Clench for me," he growled.
You obeyed, your muscles spasming around his intrusion. The combination was too much—the suction of his mouth on your clit and the friction of his fingers deep inside you. You were a beautiful mess of squirming limbs and broken pleas until the first wave of your climax hit, sending a shudder through your entire frame. You came hard, your release coating his hand, and you could only gasp as he slowly licked every drop of you from his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Fuck yeah... lick me clean, baby," you panted, your voice thick with honey.
Jimin’s smirk returned, dark and possessive. He delivered a sharp, playful slap against your sensitive skin, making you jump and moan all over again. Before you could catch your breath, he was back at it, his fingers working even faster.
"I can't... it's too much..." you whimpered, trying to pull your thighs together to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"No," he murmured, prying your legs back open and pinning them wide. "Squirt for me, baby. I want to see you lose it."
He intensified the assault, his fingers curling against your G-spot while his thumb hammered against your clit. The tension built until it felt like a physical weight in your chest. You whined, your body arching off the bed as the edge loomed closer.
"Ahh, fuck... J-Jimin!"
"Do it. Give it all to me."
A loud, broken cry tore from your lungs as a gush of liquid erupted from you. Jimin didn't flinch; he watched with hooded, hungry eyes as you clenched and pulsed, his tongue catching the liquid as it fell. You were shaking now, your legs trembling uncontrollably from the sheer force of it.
Finally, he pulled back. He took the two fingers that had been deep inside you and slid them into his own mouth, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate sensuality that made your heart race for an entirely different reason.
"I am sorry," he said again, his voice dropping to that soft, melodic tone that always won you over.
You couldn't help the small, triumphant smile that tugged at your lips. Reaching out, you grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upward. He hovered over you, his weight a welcome pressure, and as his lips met yours.
Masterlist
