hello yami!! could i get dumbification with jimin… or just mean jimin during sex in general idk (established relationship tho…) please 💜
It starts off simple. Mild. He’s testing the waters. Jimin’s two knuckles deep when he first says it, stutters on the delivery. “St- Stupid,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your gaze as he pretends to be overly fixated on the way your folds are just swallowing his fingers up. His cheeks are a lovely rosy shade, one you would normally attribute to the massive effort he puts into making you feel good during sex. But he hasn’t fucked you just yet, has really only just begun, so it can’t be that. The word sends a tingle down your spine, but you don’t comment on it any further.
He tries again a few days later, mouthing along your shoulder in the bathtub. His lips glide over your wet skin, suckling a mark just beneath your ear. You nearly slipped getting into the tub a few minutes ago, saved by Jimin’s hands against your waist. “Dumb baby,” he purrs, flicking at your nipple mindlessly. The very tips of his fingers are ghosting along your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Can’t do anything without me.” You shiver, head rolling forward as Jimin continues to place kisses along your skin.
Finally, it accumulates in this:
The sound that escapes Jimin is a mixture between a growl and a laugh, deep and scratchy, reaching the very depths of your core as he continues to ram into you from behind. “Fuck,” he chokes out, hand wrapped around your throat, chest flush to your back. “You love being fucked stupid, don’t you, baby?”
You manage a nod, eyes blurry with unshed tears. He’s going so hard and so fast, your entire lower half is beginning to feel numb from the intensity. The head of his cock brushes against something soft and tender within you, makes you see stars when he touches it again and again and again. “Can’t even speak,” he huffs, placing a bruising mark against the side of your throat, fingers pressing into the skin to make it all the more painful. “So stupid on this cock, you can’t even think straight, can you?”
Your body jerks back and forth, moved by the strength of his thrusts into your velvety walls. Jimin is everywhere; in your pussy, in your heart, in your mind. Inescapable, shallow breaths mingling with yours as he continues to buck into you. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, hold him. “Jimin,” you pant, placing your hand over his, fingers filling the gaps between his against your throat. “Can you—“
“Shh,” he snaps, punctuating his statement with a brutal grind of his hips against you. Your eyes roll backwards, the words dying on your throat as Jimin fucks you slowly, tediously. “Dumb girls don’t get to make requests,” he grunts, “just take what they can get.”
Never mind the fact he’s doing the taking, taking everything he possibly can. You don’t bother pointing that out, too drunk on his cock to form coherent sentences anyway. Maybe you are a dumb girl, you think to yourself, dissolving into a string of mewls and whimpers as Jimin chases after his high, his climax. (You know he’s thinking of you, too, but you rarely get to see such a greedy side of him. You want to treasure as much of it as you can.)
With one hand, he shoves you pack down onto the mattress, holding you in place as he bucks into you. Messy and sloppy, nothing like the romantic Jimin who fucks you through the night. “Fuck, hold still,” he hisses, voice catching on a whine. It’s so hot, your walls flutter, pussy clenching around his cock. “Shit—“ he chokes, hips snapping forward, “you were made for this. Made for taking cock, baby. It’s all you’re good at.”
hi yami!! for the requests, perhaps jimin + enemies to lovers or fwb to lovers…? 💜 whichever works for u!!
Jimin looks stunning in the new practice uniforms. Short sleeves this season, skin tight too. You can practically see every muscle in his upper body rippling as he walks a group of underclassmen through the motions of a lift. He’s absolutely gorgeous, oozes confidence with every step he takes.
And then he stops in front of you and all that lust in your core fizzles into annoyance. “Hey,” he mumbles, standing close behind you. He’s preparing to lift you, hands securely on your hips, lips practically against the shell of your ear. “No granny panties today?”
You elbow him, hard enough it makes him groan and the two of you miss your count. Your coach yells at you from across the gym, but you’re too busy glaring at Jimin. “I was on my period, you asshole,” you snap, reassuming your stance as you await the next count.
Jimin recovers soon enough, hoisting you into the air and back down before responding. “They were cute,” he mumbles, slightly breathless. “The flowers were kinda sexy.”
You try to stomp on his foot but Jimin is fast. “Stop looking up my skirt, perv.”
The routine ends and so does practice, but not before Jimin can get on your nerves some more. He follows you off the mat, practically hovering behind you. “Can’t do that,” he hums, leaning against the wall when you finally pause by the water fountains. “I’m your base, sweetheart, looking up at you is my job.” You throw a towel his way. “My favorite was the little black thong,” he comments, following you out of the gym despite the indignant squawk that escapes you and the way you desperately try to shove him away. Jimin follows with a feathery laugh. “Whaaat,” he sings, smoothly taking your bag off your shoulder, making a grab for your hand afterwards. He swings your joined hands back and forth. “You’ve got great taste in panties.” And at that point, you don’t even bother anymore
It’s freezing, your thin sweatpants doing nothing to protect you from the chill that settles in your bones at the bus stop. Jimin huddles closely behind you, practically lines himself up with you. In a low voice, he murmurs, “can I come over today?”
Your cheeks feel warm. Maybe from the cold, maybe from the hand that creeps around your waist. “I have an assignment due at midnight.”
Jimin chuckles and you can almost feel the vibration. “So then after midnight,” he decides, cuddling closer. The bus pulls around the corner. “Show me more of your panties after midnight.”
i hv a request if thats ok :] college student! jimin exhausted from all the requirements and you spoil him with affection when he keeps whining abt his teachers 🦦
Jimin doesn’t really need a cucumber face mask. He’s just tired and pouty, sick of dealing with his annoying professors after so many weeks. It’s kind of a waste to use your precious— expensive —face masks on his flawless skin, but there’s only so much you can do when he gets like this. Besides, doing skincare with your boyfriend was cute anyway.
He’s laying flat on his back, arms spread out as he gears up for his fourth rant of the night. You’re carefully running your fingers along the cold sheet on his face, ironing out any creases and bubbles that dare appear on your boyfriend’s skin. “And then,” Jimin says, “Professor Long told me my citations were off— the ones he approved two weeks ago!”
“That’s terrible,” you hum, slightly distracted by his puffy pink lips, the way they stretch around the long stream of profanity that leaves them next. It’s aggressive enough to shift his mask once more, has you reaching up to readjust it around his mouth. “Careful,” you mumble.
“Sorry,” Jimin says, always polite. He’s a nice boy, everyone knows this, an angel on campus. He just gets annoyed easily, doesn’t like when his grades are tampered with. And this Professor Long is seemingly dead-set on doing just that. “But can you believe him? He had the nerve!”
You nod along, tucking a strand of his golden hair behind his ear. “He sounds horrible,” you agree.
Jimin sighs, seemingly done with his tirade against every professor on campus now. “Everything stinks,” he frowns, “except you. You don’t stink.”
You laugh. “Thank you. You smell quite lovely too, Minie,” you croon, forgetting all about your face masks when he turns to muzzle his nose against yours, a quiet exhale escaping those plush lips you had admired moments before. “Relax now,” you mumble, pushing him onto his back again. “Or you’ll get wrinkles.”
Hellew will you do jimin+ cold, badboy dude who falls for sweet, nice OC (I forgot what this was called sorry) and like in his attempt to keep up the cold facade, he hurts OC when they were getting closer (emotionally)?
Jimin’s a fan of the silent treatment. It’s a tactic he’s pulled on you many times over the past few months, usually after a night of prodding. He doesn’t like when you inquire about his personal life, doesn’t like when you do anything more than sit pretty for him. “Doesn’t matter,” is his usual go-to reply. His family, his childhood, his weekend. He doesn’t tell you, just keeps it to himself and leaves you in the dark. And when you push too far, ask too much, he’ll just ignore you. No calls, no texts, no Jimin.
It hadn’t bothered you in the beginning. In fact, when you had first dived into this new world of casual dating, you appreciated Jimin’s aloofness. He didn’t chase after you or blow up on you whenever he saw you with other guys. He didn’t ask for presents or embarrass you in public. He couldn’t, after all he was the same.
But then the nights spent in bed with him began to blur, melting into one long dream you didn’t want to wake up from. You fell hard.
You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same. Some nights, his touch is so soft and delicate, his kisses long and slow. He says your name like a song, his favorite, and rocks his hips against you until you’re unraveling in his arms. You love him most then, when his gaze drips with honey and coats you in it’s sweet warmth.
Other nights, he’s different. “Do you want to spend the night?” you ask softly, leaning your chin against his shoulder, arm coming around to languidly wrap around his waist. Jimin’s skin is still warm, a little sticky from the sweat he had accumulated while fucking you. “It’s cold outside.”
Jimin pauses, one sock on his foot, the other dangling from his hand. “I have my own house, y’know,” he says.
He slips away soon after, standing up to retrieve his wallet and keys from your dresser. “Oh,” you mumble, watching him walk around the room in his quest to locate his belongings. “Right.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just tugs on his leather jacket and readjust his hair in the mirror. You want him to turn around and tell you he’d been joking, wear that big smile you saw on him once. You want him to laugh and pull you close, snuggle back into your sheets and stay until the morning. But your voice catches in your throat, dies out before it can even escape.
“See you,” Jimin says. You want to kiss him goodbye. He stands at the doorway to your bedroom, glancing back with an unreadable glint in his eyes. Maybe he’ll stay.
A nod of his head, and then he’s gone.
He doesn’t text, he doesn’t call. No kisses, no cuddles, no Jimin.
perhaps… college student! jimin teaching college student! y/n how to kiss or Other stuff…or making out… IDK HOW TO MAKE THIS INTERESTIN imsorru
Is it wrong to kiss your best friend the night before your first date? Some would argue yes. Jimin thinks otherwise.
“What do I do if he tries to kiss me?” you ask, idly picking at a stray thread on the huge beanbag chair in his room. Jimin is sitting on the floor, trying to alphabetically organize the articles he printed out for his huge research paper. “I’ve never kissed before!”
He’s not the least bit interested in your conversation. He’s watched you cry and monologue about this crush of yours for weeks now, ever since the guy sat next to you in your Beginner’s Art class you took on a whim. Frankly, Jimin could care less about the boys you choose to involve yourself with, a stance he makes exceedingly obvious with his blunt response. “Kiss him back.”
You groan, slinking even further into the plush depths of the beanbag chair. “You’re not listening to me,” you huff, leveling him with the biggest, poutiest frown you can manage. “I don’t know how to kiss.”
Jimin finally looks away from his papers to counter your big frown with an unimpressed glare. “Then don’t go on your date,” he deadpans, nudging you over on the beanbag before eventually settling in beside you.
“Jimin,” you whine, near the verge of a mental breakdown. “But I like him! And I want to see him, and hold his hand, and kiss—“
He interrupts your spiraling thoughts in the most unconventional of ways, his warm palm coming up to cup your cheek, face turned his way to press his lips against yours. Your eyes go wide, and like a fish out of water, you find yourself awkwardly puckering your lips despite the shock. Jimin’s eyelashes are so long and dark, make your brain fizz over when he’s this close.
He pulls away, but not for long. “Relax,” he mumbles, his hand trailing down your cheek, his forefinger and thumb gently encouraging you to tilt your head. You do, eyes fluttering shut, heart hammering in your chest, lips trembling as they finally slip out of the uncomfortable pucker. You’re not sure if you hallucinate it, but you swear Jimin smiles against you, exhales softly when you finally begin to mimic the motions of his mouth. “That’s it,” he praises, seemingly ignoring the rapidly rising heat on your cheeks or the fact your heart is lodged in your throat.
It’s your first kiss, the night before your first date. It’s not your crush you’re kissing, but your best friend, who tangles his hand with your own. “Jimi—“ you gasp in between kisses, the soft smack of his lips against yours doing things to your brain. He seizes the opportunity and slips his tongue inside, earns a muffled whimper from you as you race to process this new sensation. It’s wet, warm, presses against yours until you’re quivering like a leaf. You’ve migrated closer to him, shoulders knocking when he pushes forward, nearly pinning you against the stupid beanbag chair.
“Don’t go,” he breathes, breath hot against yours. “Don’t go tomorrow.”
At the beginning of every school year, there’s always that one rumor that runs rampant among campus. That one thing that consumes the student population, worms its way into every conversation at least once, reaching the ears of every student by the end of the first week. Some roll their eyes, others preen in excitement. It’s the type of rumor that, when examined from an outsider’s perspective, is so incredibly odd to even consider. But it is that same oddness that makes it so easy to spread, to discuss.
The big rumor on campus this year, started by an anonymous source, is that Park Jimin is a terrible kisser.
Now, why on earth does that matter? A couple reasons, the main one being that Park Jimin was the most lusted after individual to ever walk these campus grounds, a literal god among mortals, with admirers left and right. He was the man everyone wanted, and if they didn’t want him, they wanted to be him. Suave and beautiful, casting spells left and right with the power of his sultry gaze alone. And that level of adoration was only emphasized by the fact Park Jimin himself was unattainable. The chances of winning the heart of Park Jimin were as slim as the chances of catching a baby unicorn in the wild— impossible.
So for someone to claim that beautiful, unattainable Park Jimin was a terrible kisser meant two things:
One: said person had caught the attention of Park Jimin.
Two: said person had actually been able to kiss Park Jimin, and decide he was terrible at it.
And as wonderfully juicy as the rumor is, it is to your immense regret that you can debunk it in one go. Because the only person to ever kiss Park Jimin was you. And you know this because he had told you himself. Beneath those layers of elusive beauty, beneath those hypnotizing eyes and careful swoops of hair, lies the juiciest secret of them all: Park Jimin was an absolute bumbling mess of a boy. An easily flustered, blushing virgin that frequented your apartment with terribly amateur attempts to win you over.
“I’ve never even...” he huffs, sitting at your computer chair with the biggest pout on his lips. The sight isn’t too weird; you’ve had about one semester’s worth of practice getting used to this side of Jimin, the real side. “Did you start that rumor?” he questions, picking at a thread on your chair, voice so quiet, part of you is afraid he’ll start crying. (He’s never cried before, unless you count the time you had made him come in his pants.)
You scoff, closing the book you had been reading without caring to mark your spot. “How would telling the world that you’re a dorky little virgin benefit me in any way?” you ask, propping your chin in your palm. Jimin frowns, pink lips still quirked downwards. You do feel bad, honestly. But at the same time, there really is no one to either confirm nor deny the rumor besides you, so it’ll die down soon. The only reason it’s still running its course is because Jimin is hot.
He’s not as hot when he’s glaring at your carpet. You sigh, sitting up in your bed. “How about you come disprove it then?” you suggest, not even bothering to mask your horniness with concern. He’ll get over it. He always does.
Jimin plops down beside you, cheeks flushed as he leans in close. His breath is warm, makes you smile as you slide a hand over the nape of his neck. “Good boy,” you mumble, slotting your mouth against his. There’s this tiny inhale he always does before your lips meet, a gush of air that he slowly expires over the course of your kiss. It’s a huge step up from the days he used to hold his breath the entire time.
His mouth is soft, tastes vaguely of those strawberry Poptarts he’s so found of. The sugary taste has you licking at his lower lip, swallowing the whimper he releases. Jimin never touches you in the beginning, choosing to keep his hands at a respectable distance until you eventually egg him on. This time, all it takes is one tug at his ashy blonde hair until he’s jerking one hand forward to place on your shoulder.
It’s hard not to smile when he’s just so... pliant? Malleable? Whatever the word, kissing him feels like gliding your hand through water, the liquid shaping itself to your movements. You open your mouth and Jimin follows. Your tongue pushes against his, but he’s still a little too shy, a little too inexperienced to take control. So you do, guiding him through yet another heated kiss that eventually ends when he pulls away for air. “All done?” you tease, watching in amusement as he flops back onto your sheets, trying to hide his flushed face behind a plushie. “I, for one, think you’re a great kisser.”
For the 1 sentence prompt if your still doing it 🥺🥴 um: jimin x oc "I've literally been jumping through hoops and u still think I like XYZ. It's you DOOFUS. I LIKE U."
word count: 0.4k
no clear ending we die like men
“It’s okay if you like Tae, y’know,” he suddenly says, eyes weirdly zeroed in on the movie you know for a fact neither of you have been paying attention to. “He’s a great guy.”
“What?” You respond. “Tae? Who likes Tae?”
Jimin sighs, pauses the movie, when, again, neither of you are watching it. “Listen, I know you like him,” he rushes out, levels that understanding look your way when you just blink at him from over your phone. “__,” he groans, flopping back against the couch.
“What?” You huff, finally setting your phone aside to give him and his dramatics your wholehearted attention. “I’m just confused, because I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, Minnie.”
Jimin visibly deflates, stares up at the ceiling like it’ll open up and eat him suddenly. “I’m talking about you, and the way you cling to Taehyung like he’s your boyfriend. I… If you like him, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and you cannot believe your ears right now. “Yeah, he’s my best friend, and you’re my roommate, but I-I won’t stop you guys…”
Your mind blanks. “Oh my god,” you exhale, and now you understand why he looks up at the ceiling like that, because you really wish someone, the god of drywall, will strike down on you and put you out of your misery. “This is ridiculous,” you spit, whip the throw pillow you’d been tightly clutching across the living space as you make for your room.
“Hey!” Jimin calls out, stumbles after you down the hall. “We can talk about this like adults, __—please,” he begs, catches you around the waist just as you turn into your room.
“Let go,” you whine, wiggling in his grip. “You’re dumb and annoying.”
“What— just ‘cause I wanna clear the awkwardness,” Jimin chokes, let’s you go but makes sure he’s inside your room in case you try to slam the door on him. He huffs in annoyance, crosses his arms over his chest childishly. “Sorry for trying to keep a good relationship with my roommate.”
You groan in frustration, throw yourself into your mattress like a drama queen and flail your legs like a kid throwing a tantrum. “I said he was cute once, Jimin, once like two years ago,” you seethe. “I’ve literally been jumping through hoops for you, chasing after you since Seokjin’s party last summer, and you still think I like Taehyung?” You scream, sit up and jab a finger at him accusingly, even though you know you look every bit the madwoman.
His eyes widen at your confession, pouty lips drawn into a tiny circle as his peabrain grasps for some level of understanding. You wail, shove your face into your pillow at the outright rejection. “It’s you, you doofus,” you mope, wanting him to leave with every silent moment that stretches on. “I like you.”
Congratulations Fi on your dilf-versary! I must say that I enjoy that series. And I choose the kinks:
Fingering, Biting/Scratching and Thigh Riding.
Love you guuurl 💜✨
hello my love thank u!! & here is fingering & thigh riding
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮KINK: biting/scratching
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮RATE: 20+ (under 20 dni)
╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 ; DILFS IN MALTA ♡
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮WARNINGS: claiming
Jimin was very sure of himself.
He didn’t need to hear your praises or moans as he touched you to know you were putty in his hands; he didn’t need to see you gush all over his fingers to know he could make you fall apart with a crook of his finger. He knew he was the shit.
And you proved him right every time.
“Mr. Park, please—“ Your mouth formed an “O” as your sentence was interrupted, shaking at the way Jimin’s teeth sunk into your thigh.
He let go of the tender skin easily, feeling your quivering nerves beneath him, your sensitive soft skin pliant to his touch. Lapping at the spot, he tongued it a few times, which tickled. Before you could giggle and push him away, his hands dug into your thighs to hold you still and he bit into it again, now sucking and marking the plush skin.
You writhed under him, crying out as the most sensitive parts of you became his to claim. “Please don’t Mr. Park—“ you begged, “Mr. Jung is going to be angry—“
“Oh is he now?” Jimin feigned, diving in again. His smirk against your thigh told you all you needed to know.
