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#jimin x reader
taetaesbaebaepsae · a year ago
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BTS MASTERPOST
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OT7 MASTERPOST
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BTS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE MASTERPOST
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BTS MULTIFANDOM X READER MASTERPOST
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Kim Seokjin Masterpost
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Min Yoongi Masterpost
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Jung Hoseok Masterpost
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Kim Namjoon Masterpost
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Park Jimin Masterpost
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Kim Taehyung Masterpost
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Jeon Jungkook Masterpost
9K notes · View notes
pasteljeon · a year ago
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core pride (m)
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❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.
❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin
❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff
❥ length: 6.6k
❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3
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Winter, Year 20XX
The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.
Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.
It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.
“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.
“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”
“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.
Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.
One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.
Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.
The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.
Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.
“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.
His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.
“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.
“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.
“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.
“Kitten.”
Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.
“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.
“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.
They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.
When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.
Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.
“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.
His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.
An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.
He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.
Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.
Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.
You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”
Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.
The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.
By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.
“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.
“Sweet dreams.”
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“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.
“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.
“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”
“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.
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Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.
You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.
“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.
He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.
“Good night, Namjoon.”
“Good night, owner.”
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“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.
“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.
“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.
“I’m happy to hear that.”
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“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.
Hoseok simply rolls over.
You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.
Tonight, you just want to sleep.
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“Good morning, noona!”
You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.
“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.
Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.
Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.
“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.
Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.
“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.
Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.
“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.
“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 
“What?”
“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”
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Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.
It was not entirely true.
“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.
“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”
There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.
Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.
“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.
Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.
“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.
“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.
Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.
They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.
“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.
“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.
“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”
Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.
You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.
You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.
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“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”
“She’s the one. I know it.”
“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.
He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”
Yoongi grunts, rolling over.
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You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.
“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.
“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.
Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.
“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”
You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.
“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.
Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.
So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.
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It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.
He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.
“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”
Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.
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It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.
With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.
He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.
Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.
He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”
You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”
“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.
He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.
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“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”
They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.
“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.
Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.
You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”
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Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.
Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.
“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.
“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.
“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.
“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”
“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.
“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.
You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.
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“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.
“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.
So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.
And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.
He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.
“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.
“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.
“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.
It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.
“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”
“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.
“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.
“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”
You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”
“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”
His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”
“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.
The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.
The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.
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Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.
He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.
“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.
“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.
“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.
“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.
“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.
“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”
“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.
“What?” The words taste like ash.
“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.
“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.
Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?
.
.
.
“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.
“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”
“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.
“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.
“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.
You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.
The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.
.
.
.
When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.
And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.
“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.
“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”
“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.
“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”
“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.
He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.
.
.
.
“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.
Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.
“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.
“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.
“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”
“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.
Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.
“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.
He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.
“Promise?”
Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”
6K notes · View notes
honeymoonjin · a year ago
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These works are mine, and I do not give anybody permission to copy, repost, or translate them here or on any other platform. Do not read any of my fics that contain smut if you are under 18. Works are displayed most recent first. 
Older works are archived here.
ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ:
☆ PWP ★ Contains smut ♡ Contains fluff ▼ Contains angst or darker themes
ONESHOTS
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ you and your husband jin try to enjoy a nice holiday in the North Pole, but there’s something not quite right with the elves. feat jk. ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ every one of your friends in the industry told you when you were starting out that the secret to fame was kim seokjin. every person that had subbed under him in his exclusive ‘play hard’ webseries had quickly become a sought-after name in porn. the only catch? you had to survive him first. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy. ★ ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ the most powerful woman in the nation, empress min gets whatever she wants. and she wants you. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ strawberry lemonade ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer. feat hs and jk. ♡
‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ in an effort to tame their increasingly bratty girlfriend, namjoon and hoseok take their sexual exploits to a new level and hire a professional dom to run a session with them in a bdsm dungeon. feat nj and th. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐳𝐳 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ your two boyfriends play good cop-bad cop. feat nj. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝟗𝟒 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ hoping to cure your troubles in the bedroom, you and your boyfriend jimin reach out to a famous dom on twitter that specialises in helping couples spice up their boring sex lives, jay94. feat jm. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ strawberry lemonade ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer. feat hs and jk. ♡
‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐬 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ with a serial killer on the loose that uses artisan scented candles as inspiration for murders, now is not the time to be falling in love with the man who made them. ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ in an effort to tame their increasingly bratty girlfriend, namjoon and hoseok take their sexual exploits to a new level and hire a professional dom to run a session with them in a bdsm dungeon. feat hs and th. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐳𝐳 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ your two boyfriends play good cop-bad cop. feat hs. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ when your own hand won’t work in relieving your sexual frustrations, you turn to a professional. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐳𝐜𝐨 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ you weren’t meant to have a roommate in your cabin deep in the amazon rainforest, but you find you can’t say no to the shy young college graduate that’s come to study the native butterflies. ★ ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝟗𝟒 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ hoping to cure your troubles in the bedroom, you and your boyfriend jimin reach out to a famous dom on twitter that specialises in helping couples spice up their boring sex lives, jay94. feat hs. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again. ★ ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ in an effort to tame their increasingly bratty girlfriend, namjoon and hoseok take their sexual exploits to a new level and hire a professional dom to run a session with them in a bdsm dungeon. feat hs and nj. ☆
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ riddled with insomnia, you’d just about do anything to get a good night’s rest. enter sandman. ★ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ you go to venice to decompress from your stressful job. instead, you find a soulful gondolier that makes you never want to leave. ★ ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ strawberry lemonade ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer. feat hs and jk. ♡
‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ you and your husband jin try to enjoy a nice holiday in the North Pole, but there’s something not quite right with the elves. feat sj. ♡ ▼
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐧 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ your best friend jungkook finally convinces you to seek therapy for your failing mental health. the only catch? the one therapist that’s within your price range is an alternative marriage counsellor, jung hoseok, and the only way jungkook managed to get you an appointment was by saying the two of you were married. will couples counselling actually be useful for your wellbeing, or will something that runs much deeper rise to the surface instead? ★ ♡
SERIES (ALL MEMBERS)
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝟏𝟎𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟏𝟎𝐤 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ a celebration for my 10k follower milestone. 10 drabbles for 10 of my earlier fics.
↪ various, ongoing
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. all from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! apply now! ★ ♡
↪ ot7 x reader, ongoing
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‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° 。˙‧̍̊ 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 ‧̍̊˙· 𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊
↪ your boyfriend, kim namjoon, has gone missing. vanishing into thin air, all he leaves behind is an unreleased album. ZODIAC. ★ ▼
↪ namjoon x reader, jin x reader, completed
© honeymoonjin 2020. all rights reserved.
5K notes · View notes
bloomsuga · a year ago
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➳ KIWI
╰ being knocked up by the biggest playboy in music? bad. being knocked up by the biggest playboy in music when you’re a virgin and you didn’t even sleep with him? so. much. worse.
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pairing: idol!jimin x coffee shop owner!reader
genre: sm au, crack humor, fluff, smut
status: completed
playlist: listen here
series: hobiverse masterlist
a/n: hey y’all!! that’s right, we back with another dumbass sm au from yours truly 🤩 this one is loosely inspired by the tv series jane the virgin!! hope you guys will enjoy this wild ride lmaoo x
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🥝 part one - profiles
🥝 part two - virgin with a capital ‘v’
🥝 part three - judas bitch
🥝 part four - spicy meatball
🥝 part five - kinda punk rock
🥝 part six - body hitchhiking alien
🥝 part seven - juiced beans
🥝 part eight - $5 a nip
🥝 part nine - thiccness distribution
🥝 part ten - backup dads
🥝 part eleven - the new brangelina
🥝 part twelve - respect the hustle
🥝 part thirteen - butter my biscuits
🥝 part fourteen - simps-R-us
🥝 part fifteen - björnging
🥝 part sixteen - britney spears
🥝 part seventeen - spinach puffs
🥝 part eighteen - mushy
🥝 part nineteen - eggplant daddy
🥝 part twenty - spaghetti legs
🥝 part twenty-one - watermelon sugar (m)
🥝 part twenty-two - pancakes
🥝 part twenty-three - panini head
🥝 part twenty-four - rotisserie chicken
🥝 part twenty-five - the whole circus
🥝 part twenty-six - uncle protection squad
🥝 part twenty-seven - DDILF
🥝 part twenty-eight - twilight
🥝 part twenty-nine - yeehaw yes
🥝 part thirty - epilogue
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:: bonus part - postlogue 6
4K notes · View notes
ot7always · 11 months ago
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Ignorantly, Yours
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Word Count: 10.6k
Pairing: Alpha!Jimin x Omega!Reader
Genre: Wolf!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU; fluff, smut, angst
Warnings: dom!Jimin, sub!reader, A/B/O dynamics, heat sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk (including a bit of possessiveness), marking, creampie, hair pulling, degradation, praise, rough sex, multiple orgasms
Rating: 18+
Summary:  You never could have expected your best friend to show up at your apartment right as you were about to go into heat, but when he did, something in you just wouldn’t let him go.
A/N: Truly, this was never supposed to be more than drabble. Which truly became a nuisance once it grew a lot and I had to go back and change a lot of things during editing. This is my first fic with some sort of supernatural element to it, and I had a lot of fun! I hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Reposted without the header gif and without any links or taglist. Sorry for any inconvenience if you were already looking at the first post. I will reblog with the taglist shortly.
--
Maybe it should have been embarrassing.
Maybe it was, 5 years ago when the habit first started.
5 years ago, when you’d had your first pre-heat. When the world had quickly become too overwhelming, your nose unused to the myriad of scents that assaulted you in your sensitivity. Your skin feeling so raw that even the clothes on your back felt uncomfortable.
It was then, in your childhood bedroom, amidst everything else, you recognized a scent that accompanied you through your life for as long as you could remember. A scent that felt like home, felt like warm days under the sun and shared laughter under blankets at midnight.
Your nose had led you to the bottom drawer of your dresser, your hands digging through the mess of fabric there until you pulled out an orange hoodie. You didn’t remember ever having it, and it looked small enough to have been from years ago – maybe even from before he presented.
But as you pulled it out of that drawer, the scent that might have been faint to you any other day filled your nostrils. A blueberry and pine scent that left you feeling calmer instantly, safer. Whether that had to do more with your friendship or his alpha status wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind. All you knew at the time was that it made everything better – he made everything better, even when he wasn’t there.
That marked the first time you laid in your bed, curling yourself around that small piece of comfort, your face shoved into the soft fabric. The peace that washed over you then was addicting, and any thought of giving up that feeling was unfathomable.
And if Jimin noticed how you were covered in his own scent when he saw you after every heat since that day, he didn’t say a thing.
--
You missed him a lot.
It wasn’t as though his university was that far away, and you should have grown used to it after several years of living apart for most of the year. Weekend visits were hardly enough when you’d spent more time together than apart growing up.
It definitely didn’t feel like enough when you were lying in bed, surrounded by the products of your skillful swiping over the years during Jimin’s visits. Hoodies, t-shirts – you had at least a dozen by now. All of which were tossed across your bed alongside you, your upper body already clad in one of his oversized hoodies.
When your pre-heat started affecting you yesterday, you’d already emailed your professors to tell them you wouldn’t be able to make it to class for the week. They, of course, understood – every university accommodated for their students to get a week off about every 3 months for this exact reason.
You were already overcome by exhaustion, Jimin’s scent wafting around the room lulling you into a sleepy daze.
It was common for an omega to nest amongst an alpha’s scent before their heat, though said alpha would typically be their partner.
It wasn’t something you liked to think on very often. Something like this couldn’t be that uncommon, right? After all, he was your first friend, and that went beyond being an alpha or omega. Besides, if it bothered him, wouldn’t he have already called you out for it by now? Wouldn’t he have said something when he realized that even when you’d started spending every heat with an alpha, his scent was still somewhere in there?
You tried not to worry too much about it. It didn’t matter, anyway.
Based on how you were feeling, you knew your heat would probably be here within 2 or 3 days. Which meant you should probably call someone soon to ask them to help you through it. It was normal practice to ask a friend to help you with your heat, but it was a line you’d never crossed with Jimin. Rejection was never something you dealt with well, and you were too afraid to put him, of all people, in that position. Knowing him, he would agree even if he didn’t want to.
Who, then? Namjoon? Hoseok? Both have agreed before, though the notion of crossing your room to pick up the phone you’d so foolishly left on the dresser was severely unappealing.
Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, your face nuzzling into a blue and red scarf Jimin had forgotten at your apartment last winter. As the tranquility washed over you, your mind drifted closer and closer to sleep, warm and cozy and surrounded by Jimin’s scent.
Until the doorbell rang through your apartment.
At first you elected to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But when it sounded out 2 more times after you hadn’t moved in several minutes, you groaned.
Wasn’t it bad etiquette to do this to someone? Surely that had to be written in a handbook somewhere.
With heavy limbs, you dragged yourself out of bed, flipping the hood up on your (well, Jimin’s) hoodie. As much as it may have been a bad idea to answer the door by yourself in pre-heat, your scent enveloped by an alpha’s would be enough to ward off unwanted advances. Though there were definitely bad people in the world, it took a truly insane person to go after an omega scented by an alpha.
When you made it to the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself to ream out whoever was on the other side. While you could sense someone’s presence there, every apartment was insulated, scent-wise, for protection. You didn’t know what to expect.
But of every possibility, when you opened the door, you didn’t expect to get assaulted by the very scent you’d been basking in only minutes ago. You didn’t notice how his eyes widened or how his pupils dilated when your scent hit him, too preoccupied by your body’s visceral reaction.
The full force of his scent almost had your knees buckling, your eyelids growing heavier as every single part of you instinctively yearned to curl up into him. Maybe your heat was closer than you thought.
When you were finally able to focus your eyes on him, his teeth were biting into his bottom lip, the hand holding an overnight bag clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
You didn’t give him the chance to say anything before you were stumbling forward, colliding messily with him, only focused on getting as close to him as possible.
You barely heard a mumbled ‘shit,’ not registering that he backed you into your apartment until you heard the door slam, his bag hitting the floor.
“Jimin,” you mumbled, your hands grasping at his shirt, eyes closed as you shoved your face into his neck, sighing happily when you were finally as close to the source of your happiness as possible.
But much to your discontent, he pushed you from him, keeping you an arms’ length away. The whimper you let out in response sounded pathetic even to your own ears, but every cell in your body was screaming to get as close to him as possible.
“Y/N,” he said firmly, the unusual hardness in his tone snapping you out of your daze slightly, wide eyes fixing onto his face. He audibly gulped at the glazed look in your eyes, before continuing. “You’re in heat.”
“I’m not,” you whined, trying to push against his hands, but he was stronger than you were.
“You will be,” he responded, letting out an incredulous sigh. “Fuck. I meant to surprise you but I forgot what the date was, I’m so sorry.”
“But I’m not yet,” you complained, changing tactics and instead aiming to shove your nose into the wrists near your shoulders. When your hair swished with your movement, sending a whiff of shampoo and your scent Jimin’s way, he groaned loudly.
“God, I can’t be here, I should go,” he said through gritted teeth. But when he started leaning down to pick his bag back up, you panicked.
“NO!” you yelled, launching yourself at him with your whole weight, not at all concerned about how he stumbled back in surprise. Your hands gripping onto his waist, you looked at him with wide eyes, your irises barely visible around the black of your dilated pupils. “Please don’t leave.”
His composure visibly cracked at the desperation on your face, but the sensation of your hands trembling in their grip on him brought him back to reality. “I can’t stay, I know that you know that-”
“Why?” you cried, your bottom lip trembling. The logical part of you deep inside knew you were being unreasonable, but even that part of you was a slave to instinct. All you knew was that Jimin got you through every pre-heat, and here Jimin was in front of you now. He’d never seen you like this, not ever in the last 5 years. And now that he has, nothing has ever been more unappealing than the thought of him walking out your front door.
He was very clearly taking shallow breaths, eventually bringing his own wrist to his nose to try to drown out everything else. Based on the low grunt he let out, it didn’t seem to be working very well.
“You smell like you’re going to go into heat at any moment, fuck, I can’t,” he panted, every part of him resisting the urge to grab you and scent you until there was absolutely no question whether you were his.
Except you weren’t his.
“I-I...” he stuttered, the scent of you not only clinging to him, but everywhere throughout the apartment occupying every part of his brain. “I need to go, I’ll call someone for you, Hoseok or-”
But that was definitely the wrong thing to say, because you sprung back from him as though you’ve been burned. When you looked at him as though he’d betrayed you, he knew he’d messed up.
“Why? You’re already here,” you spat out. “Don’t go,” you finished in a much weaker voice, pleading gaze fixing onto his.
A flash of pain went through him when he saw you hug yourself around the middle, as though to appear smaller. As though to protect yourself. From him.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking of you!” you wailed, the space between you feeling wider than it’s ever been.
“I can’t,” he repeated, a tinge of desperation making its way into his tone. Why was this so hard? From what he knew about omega heats and pre-heats, without a partner or relationship you shouldn’t have cared this much about which alpha stayed with you.
“Aren’t we friends? Can’t you just stay?” you begged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Something about him trying to leave felt like a hole was being ripped through your chest, even if you’d understand why any other day.
“Of course we’re friends,” he said incredulously, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew exactly what you meant, exactly what was implied within that statement. When something like desire crossed his gaze, you felt a dash of hope bloom within you. “But...”
And it was crushed just like that. “Why don’t you want me when I want you? What’s wrong with me?” you sobbed, the tears finally spilling from your eyes as you dropped to your knees.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The smell of an omega in distress was always something that set off an alpha’s protective instinct.
But the knowledge that he was the one who caused it brought forth an ugly wrenching in his gut.
For all the required readings Jimin had done in the course of his life, nothing had ever taught him what to do when the girl you’re secretly in love with was on the floor crying because you refused to fuck her through her heat.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, did he want to.
But you weren’t there begging for his heart or his love or his devotion – you were begging for his body. Which wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was offended. The problem was that he wanted more than this, and that right now was most definitely not the time to have that conversation.
And it’s not that he didn’t think you knew what you wanted. He knew you knew that you were asking for sex, but he also knew that was all you were asking for. Pre-heat was about preparing for sex, not romance.
As much as a heat could completely fog an omega’s brain, in pre-heat they could still make coherent decisions. It was typically a time spent preparing for heat, a time to call an alpha or to prepare for the much more painful option of suffering alone. They were typically in a perpetual state of exhaustion, bodies crying out for sleep to save up energy for their heat.
But more importantly, it was a time where omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable, where they gave in to instinct. A time where they surrounded themselves in the things that made them feel safest, most at home.
He knew – he knew you used his scent to get through your pre-heat, but he never thought it meant that much. You were his oldest friend, and the fact that you found comfort in his scent was never something he questioned. He was an alpha, and you scented each other often – it made sense from a biology standpoint.
And – oh.
It hit him then that this was more than an alpha’s refusal to help their friend through their heat. This was more than a refusal for sex.
This was your biggest security blanket pushing you away at your most vulnerable, the person you trusted most to keep you safe leaving you when you were begging him to stay.
He really, really fucked up by coming here.
He should have checked the dates properly in the first place, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences. There was an unbelievably high chance that if he walked out that door, you’d have a breakdown, and he couldn’t just break your heart by leaving now.
Even if it ended up breaking his own. Even if you ended up thinking nothing of it, and he would never be able to erase the memory from his brain.
Because you were begging him to stay out of instinct, out of need. Not out of love. Not that he knew of, not the kind he wanted, at least.
But there was no reason to go there or question you about it, because he knew you’d say anything to make him stay, even if it wasn’t true. Not because you were a liar, but because that’s what your body would push you to do right now.
Knowing that the smell of his own panic would just set you off more, he took a couple deep breaths before falling to his knees in front of you. He had to force down the rising upset in his chest at the scent of your tears, every part of him screaming at himself for upsetting you this deeply.
“Hey,” he called out softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull your hands away from where they were hiding your face. At the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, his heart tugged. “Look at me.” He slipped a hand forward to cradle your head, brushing against the hair at the nape of your neck. He hoped so badly that he could be a comfort to you, even when he was the one who hurt you in the first place.
He waited almost a minute for you to look up, doing his best to calm you in that time. When you finally raised your eyes to look at him, the fear in your expression was something he’d only ever seen a few times in his life. You were an expert at putting on a brave face for the world, and seeing the uncensored pain displayed there punched him in the gut.
“Baby,” he cooed, pulling you into his arms. He carefully maneuvered your face into the crook of his neck, smiling as you melted into his hold, a content sigh leaving you. He wrapped his arms around you, face rubbing into your hair as he stopped resisting the urge to scent you. He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at your scent that only seemed to be growing stronger.
The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, your body so limp in his grasp that he had to keep both of you upright himself. He couldn’t tell whether you were awake, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin as your nose brushed against one of the most sensitive parts of his body.
But when he stood up, wanting to get you somewhere more comfortable than the floor, he felt every muscle in your body tense, a low whine leaving your throat. Your hands grasped onto his shirt. “Jimin-”
“Shh,” he soothed, continuing to nuzzle into you as he stood you both up. “I’m not leaving.”
“You’re not?” you repeated, muffled into his shoulder.
“I’m not.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He scratched lightly at your scalp as the other hand stroked up and down the length of your back, humming when you finally relaxed again, your arms wrapping around to tug him as close as possible. “Good girl.”
Something in him awakened when he heard the hitch of your breath at his words, but he shoved it down. He had to keep a hold of himself while he still had the chance – because once you were in heat, there would be no rest for either of you. Not when it was taking his entire focus to hold himself back right now and it was only your pre-heat.
“I’m gonna take you to your room, okay?” he asked quietly. When you nodded, he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, head lolling sleepily against his shoulder.
You were very clearly exhausted, and guilt gnawed away at him for it. The emotional ups and downs of the past half hour must have taken even more out of you – while you tended to be quiet, you were never this quiet, not with him. You seemed to be asleep, steady exhales hitting the skin of his neck.
When he entered your room, his heart skipped in his chest at the sight of his belongings strewn across your mattress, a you-sized gap in the middle where you must have been laying. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, the possessive part of him thrilled at the notion of you burying yourself in his scent.
He supposed he should be happy you were asleep. Omegas tended to be self-conscious about their nest, which was why he was surprised you agreed to let him take you here so easily. The idea that you felt comfortable enough to let him in here without a fight brought forth a feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like butterflies.
Easing off the shoes he’d never had the chance to remove at the front door, he brought you both down into the bed, careful not to jostle your form. He laid you down together, your body atop his, heart melting at your tiny noise of content.
He had to bite back a moan when you nuzzled further into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin.
Get it together, Jimin.
He didn’t know if he would ever be relaxed enough to sleep when you were on top of him already smelling like every sinful desire he’s ever had. His cock shouldn’t have been stirring when you looked so innocent, your hands curled up ever-so-slightly under his shirt. And despite everything in his mind telling him that he would regret this, his entire body was screaming in anticipation for this entire weekend.
This wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped an omega through their heat, but everything was different because this was you. Someone he cared about, someone he loved, and he knew you loved him too, whether it was in the way he wanted or not. Heat flared in him at the thought of you wet and desperate only for him, begging to be filled. He knew you’d be out of your mind with lust, and even before seeing it he knew it would be the most beautiful sight he’s ever set eyes upon.
Get a hold of yourself, Jimin.
It was absolutely no use to contemplate these things now, especially not when the scent of his arousal might wake you up and set you off prematurely. You both needed rest – he’d be damned if he didn’t make this the best heat you’d ever had just because he was tired.
And so he wrapped his arms around your middle, willing arousal from his brain and replacing it with thoughts of sleep. Luckily, his body must have been able to sense his need for rest before the upcoming days, and sleep found him easier than anticipated.
--
You awoke to your back hitting your mattress, the first thing you noticed being that your body felt like it was being burned alive. But when you inhaled, the scent of pure alpha overtook all thought, brain incapable of anything other than unadulterated need, arousal shooting to your core almost instantaneously.
When your eyes shot open, fire lit within you when they immediately locked onto Jimin’s dark gaze, his body hovering over yours like he was about to pounce. When he took in the neediness in your eyes, his lip upturned in a salacious smirk, stare burning holes into you.
“Rise and shine, little wolf,” he drawled, hands locking onto your ankles and dragging you down the bed until your face was right below his.
You shivered despite yourself at the predatory expression on his face, holding back the whine that threatened to escape. You felt incapable of speaking, every intake of breath only fogging your mind further, the fire in you becoming so potent it was painful.
You couldn’t help the keening whimper that escaped when he roughly fisted a hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, yanking until your entire neck was on display. You gasped and arched into his body with want as he leaned in to inhale deeply right above your collarbone. The feral growl he let out at your scent had you shuddering, trembling hands trying desperately to pull him closer, but he didn’t relent.
“Please,” you begged, shoving your body upwards as much as possible, desperate to feel his body against your own. At the feeling of his canines brushing against the skin of your neck gently, you felt new wetness rush from you. Your desperation was only growing exponentially with every passing moment, and it felt like if you didn’t get touched soon, you would surely die.
“You smell so fucking good,” he snarled, voice raspier than you’d ever heard it before. He sounded almost pained, and it only set you off further. Everything in you ached for his touch, your cunt clenching around nothing despite Jimin not even having touched you yet. You needed it – needed to be touched, you needed him to quell the ache.
“Hurts,” you gasped out, still trying and failing to grind against his body above you.
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” he cooed, pressing his free palm down onto your clothed centre. His breath hitched as you started forcefully grinding against it immediately, a choked whine slipping from your lips at the sudden pressure right where you needed it most.
“Alpha...” you moaned, rutting shamelessly against his hand as you pushed further against the hand in your hair, baring more of the soft expanse of your neck. Your eyes shut as pleasure rocked your system, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, his cock in your drenched cunt, his nails raking down your body as he utterly ravished you. You whined loudly at the thought, arousal slipping from you. It was clear he noticed when he hissed.
“Fuck, look at you. You’re dripping, so fucking desperate,” he panted, somehow sounding almost as ruined as you. “I’m gonna fuck this cunt senseless, fill you up so good you’ll never ask for anyone else again. Do you want that, little omega? Want me to make you mine?”
Any other time you might have questioned his possessive words, but any rational part of your brain was long gone. No, all that existed was you, Jimin, and your excruciating need to be filled.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, whimpering at the imagery he put in your head. You wanted nothing more than to be his bitch, to take his cock and his seed and his knot. “Fuck me, please.”
“You beg so nicely,” he breathed, and you keened at the praise. You gasped as he sat back and quite literally ripped the shirt from your body, following suit with the rest of your clothes. You didn’t have it in you to complain, not when he was yanking your legs apart, gaze laser-focused onto your centre. “Don't worry, baby, your alpha is gonna take care of you, okay?”
You only nodded furiously, hips bucking upward suddenly as Jimin wasted no more time, two fingers smearing through your heat before thrusting abruptly into you. You finally felt some sort of relief at being filled, but it wasn’t enough. The stretch wasn’t satisfying enough, and your desire for more only amplified. But it seemed he knew this, adding another finger wordlessly.
“God, this cunt is so fucking hungry for me,” he growled, pistoning his fingers in and out roughly before grinding the heel of his hand into your clit.
You cried out as pleasure reared on you embarrassingly quickly, but no part of you wanted to cum without his cock inside you, dragging against your sensitive walls.
“Jimin...” you moaned, arching your back as you sought to push yourself closer to the source of your pleasure. He almost groaned at the sound of his name coming so wantonly from your lips. “Want you, please.”
“Yeah? You want to get stuffed?”
The garbled response you gave was nowhere near coherent, but it didn’t take a genius to see what you wanted. When he gave a low chuckle and pulled himself from his sweatpants, you started salivating immediately. He was girthy, vein visibly spanning the underside beneath his hand as he palmed himself. The head looked almost purple, the tip leaking. You needed it inside you.
Before you even realized it yourself, you were turning over onto your front. By the time you’d planted your face down, ass up, Jimin was already growling, roughly digging his fingers into your asscheeks. As several more seconds went by without his cock in you, you arched your back further, whining as he only dug his fingertips in harder.
“Such a good little wolf,” he crooned, hissing when your arousal dripped from your pussy to the bed. “Getting yourself so nice and ready for me. You need cock that badly? Can’t wait for it?”
You could have cried when you finally felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, but you didn’t have time to do or say anything before he shoved all the way in to the hilt without warning.
You must have screamed then, but you hardly noticed anything apart from the way he set a quick pace, hardly noticed when the tears left your eyes, body swimming in relief and euphoria. Every snap of his hips brought forth a moan from your lips, fingers digging helplessly into the sheets by your head.
“Tell me how it feels,” he snarled, moving to hold your hips up when the overwhelming pleasure left you unable to do it yourself.
It was all you could do to whimper, body feeling as though it was in the clouds as your walls clamped down on Jimin’s cock. He was stretching you so well, the slight burn nothing compared to the waves of pleasure he was sending through your entire being. You took a breath to respond to him once you registered what he said, but when his cock brushed against that spot inside you, it only left you as a choked moan.
“This needy cunt just sucks me right in, huh?” he groaned when your walls clenched down on him again, as though to trap him inside you. But it made no difference to him, his thrusts only continuing, fast and precise as your walls fluttered around him, whines falling from your lips. Recalling how responsive you’d been to praise earlier, he kept talking. “Doing such a good job for me, baby,” he hummed, smirking when he felt the shuddering of your body beneath his hands. “So fucking perfect for me, taking this cock so well.”
His words shot through you like fire, and combined with the drag of him inside you, you were propelled toward your end.
“Alpha...” you whimpered, pushing back onto his cock, a particularly rough thrust pulling a shout from your lips. You were so close to slipping over the edge, the squeezing of your walls around him more and more insistent as you approached your end. “Please.” It was as though no other words existed in your vocabulary, but Jimin could read you perfectly well, as though he was made for you.
“What’s that, hm? Baby’s gonna cum?” he taunted before reaching around to rub at your clit. “Let go then, milk my cock. I want to hear you.”
The added stimulation was more than enough to propel you into your orgasm, your mouth agape as your walls clamped down on his cock. You distantly registered Jimin’s moans from above you as he held you up and fucked you through your it, the sparks of pleasure never-ending.
But while his thrusts became less harsh, they did not lower in their intensity whatsoever. And as the fog in your head receded some from your orgasm, you only felt that much more sensation as you regained your bearings.
Rather than a mindless slave to pleasure and want, with your brain partly yours again you could truly feel. Feel the cotton of the sheets where they were clenched between your fists, feel the slight strain in your knees as they dug into the mattress, feel Jimin’s fingers anchored onto your hips, as though you would float away if he let go.
You could truly feel every drag of his cock against you, every grind, and when he perfectly maneuvered to hit against your g-spot, you were left breathless once again.
But with your increased coherence, your body craved more than just cock – you wanted closeness, wanted Jimin’s body against your own, his groans in your ear, his chest against your back.
“Jimin,” you called out, voice needy but noticeably more present.
His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop. “Hm?”
Rather than attempt to formulate an answer, you blindly reached a hand in his direction and made a grabbing motion. It was accompanied by your best impression of some sort of demanding noise, but you sounded like a spoiled brat even to your own ears.
He clearly didn’t mind though, huffing a laugh at your antics before coming down to your level, pressing some of his weight into your back as he nuzzled your neck.
“This what you want, baby?” he asked, wrapping his arms snugly around your middle. It would almost be cute, if not for the snap of his hips he opted to punctuate his question with.
You could only shiver and take it as he set a slow but intense pace, his cock slowly dragging out of you before he thrusted forward quickly in one single motion. But even in its intensity it was intimate, his lips tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin of your shoulder, his moans increasing in volume as you whined your pleasure.
His pace slowly but surely built you back up toward a second release, Jimin’s thrusts growing faster as he approached his own end. It wasn’t long before your moans were increasing in volume again, hips squirming beneath Jimin’s as that pressure in your abdomen only built and built.
“Gonna cum for me again, little wolf?” he growled directly into your ear, digging his fingers in close to your scalp and pulling your face up out of the sheets. No longer muffled, your moans were loud and unabashed, your pleasure surrendered entirely to him.
“I’m gonna fill this cunt up, gonna stretch you wide, is that what you want?”
As much as you were more coherent than last time, the effect his voice had on you was visceral, eyelids fluttering shut and goosebumps raising on your skin. When you only nodded with what little movement you could make within his grasp, he growled.
“Answer me!”
“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, eager to please. “Want you to fill me up, Jimin, please.”
“Such a good girl,” he moaned in response, moving to suck bruises into your neck. The thought of being marked by him for all to see only lit a new fire within you.
But when you felt the press of his canines brushing against the sensitive part of your neck, it was as though something in you snapped. You almost squealed as the orgasm rained down on you unexpectedly, something resembling ‘Jimin’ spilling from your lips, though you paid it no mind.
You were so lost in your pleasure you hardly noticed Jimin’s gruff yell from above you as he came, only registering it as his knot started to stretch you.
He shushed you gently as you whined, warmth still spilling into you as it finished inflating. Panting breathlessly against your back, he softly cupped your face as you caught your breath.
The stretch was more overwhelming than painful, every tiny movement seeming to shift his knot inside you enough to make you gasp. You should have grown used to the feeling by this point in your life, but it managed to catch you off guard every single time. You never felt ready for the immense stretch or the soreness that lingered between waves of your heat.
After several minutes of silence, breaths finally quieting, he spoke up.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hands reaching to keep you from squirming too much under him, knowing you’d only make the discomfort worse. “Relax for me.”
You nodded in response, letting yourself release the tension from your limbs as he continued to gently nose at your neck. His scent washed over you, but in this brief limbo between waves of your heat it spurred only calmness rather than arousal.
For you, at least, the first wave was always the worst in terms of self-control and mindedness. That was why it was essential for omegas to share their heat only with someone they could trust – if not a partner, then a friend. While omegas were at their most emotionally vulnerable during pre-heat, they were at their most physically vulnerable during the heat itself. In theory, Jimin could have done whatever he wanted, and you would have begged for it.
He hummed in approval when you went still beneath him, rolling the two of you onto your side so that you were no longer supporting his weight.
“Sleepy?” he inquired softly as he watched you stifle a yawn.
You only nodded again, reaching for Jimin’s hand to make him wrap it around you more snugly, pressing yourself as close to him as possible. You shivered as his knot shifted with your movement, though it didn’t ache as much as it did initially. You felt so full, his cock still half-hard within you, release still painting your walls with nowhere to go.
You let your eyes shut, soreness and exhaustion taking up residence temporarily before the next wave. As much as a heat could feel so intense it hurt, you found that the time between each wave was truly the most difficult. It was the time where every ounce of muscle pain and sleep deprivation hit you, but it was also the time where, to put it simply, if you didn’t recharge you were fucked.
Heats were strenuous on the body, and it unfortunately wasn’t abnormal for omegas to be brought to the emergency room from dehydration and malnutrition from their heat. That was why the medical professionals tended to encourage of-age omegas to spend their heats with a trusted partner – it was just safer altogether. It was difficult to push past the fog of exhaustion to take care of yourself when you were on your own, though not impossible.
A tiny whine was the only acknowledgment you gave when you felt his knot go down enough to slip from you. You made a noise of complaint as Jimin pulled from your side, but he quickly returned to you, wiping away the mess that was now between your thighs.
“If I help you, can you sit up?”
After hearing your noise of affirmation, he pulled you up so that your back rested against the headboard, careful not to move you too quickly. But despite that, you couldn’t help the lightheaded feeling that came with the motion, reaching out to steady yourself on Jimin’s arm.
When he took in your rapid blinking and unfocused eyes, his concern grew exponentially. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Tired,” you mumbled, leaning into his touch when he moved to stroke your face.
“Let’s eat something and then we can nap, okay?”
“Mm.”
He moved away from you quickly to grab things from under your bed. One of the first things they taught omegas after presenting was that it was essential to keep a food and drink store in your room during your heat. One of the most important parts of pre-heat was not only securing a heat partner if desired, but also packing enough nutrient-rich food and drinks to last through your heat if you’re unable to leave the room.
You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until Jimin’s hand on your shoulder startled you awake. He took your hand in his own only to wrap your fingers around an energy bar he’d opened for you.
“Eat,” he commanded, though the soft, caring tone characteristic of Jimin never left his voice.
The thought of putting in effort to do anything was unappealing, but once you started, you realized how famished you were. When you finished your first bar within moments, he handed you a second, eating some for himself at the same time.
He didn’t waste any time with handing you a Gatorade bottle once you were finished eating, ensuring you could hold it yourself before getting his own.
As much as he seemed to be in a rush, this was a better safe than sorry type of situation. While sometimes you could squeeze in some sleep between waves of your heat, it sometimes felt like one huge gamble in terms of time. You’ve had downtimes of as little as 10 minutes in the past, so you were grateful that he was hurrying you along.
When he noticed you stopped drinking, he grabbed it from you to place it on the nightstand a safe distance away from the bed.
“Do you want anything else?” he asked, shoving all of the garbage into a bag to deal with another time.
“You.”
He turned around quickly, thinking you were going into your next wave, but froze at the sight of you simply blinking up at him sleepily.
He bit down on his lip to suppress a fond smile when you reached for his hand, severely hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.
He let you tug him forward, settling beside you in bed before pulling you securely into his side.
As much as you might have loved to talk or quietly cuddle, you were out like a light as soon as you laid your head down on his shoulder, face tucked securely into his neck.
--
The next two days went by in a blur. You never tended to remember very many specific moments from your heats besides that you felt good, and were definitely sore after. The combination of physical and mental exhaustion along with the mind-numbing desire didn’t seem to be conducive to proper brain function.
Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Eat. Nap. Rinse. Repeat.
“Kiss me,” you demanded, pulling Jimin down toward you by his shoulders.
From what you could tell, it was the last day of your heat, also making for the most coherent day. The consequences of not sating your heat on the last day were more uncomfortable than painful, and the sex almost resembled what it would any other day.
He obliged you easily, mouth meeting yours as he snapped his hips, filling you up and stretching you all in one stroke. He nipped at your lower lip as you moaned freely, arching your back to feel as much of his skin as possible.
You couldn’t help the increase in volume when he settled with his length in you, grinding his pubic bone into your clit. It seemed that Jimin was feeling similarly, both of you simply panting by each other's mouths rather than doing any sort of kissing like you’d intended.
It was only minutes before you felt the familiar tightening in your abdomen, Jimin groaning above you when he felt you clench around him. You whimpered as he sucked new bruises into the skin of your neck, a shiver making its way down your spine as he reached the soft skin below your ear.
But every part of you was screaming out for more.
“Mark me.”
Jimin froze instantly at your words, but it seemed that you weren’t properly considering the weight of your words, only urging him to continue his motions in search of your high.
A mark wasn’t permanent, but it was no small thing. More than a mark of “possession,” it was a mark of an alpha's care and loyalty, a mark of an omega’s trust. It was only something ever shared in serious relationships, and it would sometimes take partners years to reach that point.
“Jimin,” you whined when he ignored what you said. Every instinctive part of you wanted it so badly, your head subconsciously tipping back to give him easier access.
“No.”
“Jimin...”
“Don’t you know what you’re saying?”
“Please-”
“I said no,” he snarled, speeding up the snap of his hips enough that you were shifting up the bed. “Tomorrow, when this is all over,” he panted above you, teeth bared, “Then we’ll talk.”
He didn’t let you get a word in edgewise, continuously pulling himself from you fully before abruptly sheathing himself to the hilt once again.
You were left gasping for breath, swimming in sensation as your abdomen tightened, all else forgotten for the time being.
When he shifted to one side, a hand dropping to rub circles into your clit, you saw white. Your nails sharply dug into the skin of Jimin’s back where they were held, waves of pleasure battering you nonstop as he continued his thrusts.
But it was only moments later that he seated himself into you fully, warmth spilling into you as his knot inflated for the nth time since your heat began. It didn’t leave you gasping the same way as the first time, but a groan still wrenched itself from your throat at the sensation.
As soon as his body collapsed onto yours, you knew that your heat was finally over. The feeling was inexplicable, almost as though a weight had been lifted from the back of your mind.
You might have addressed the words uttered from your mouth only moments before if not for the debilitating fatigue that filled every limb and every square inch of your brain.
So, against your best judgment on any other day, you knocked right out.
--
When you next awoke, it wasn’t because desire ripped you from slumber, nor was it because your scent set off Jimin enough to wake you.
In fact, you were alone in your bed, immediately cringing at the sight of all the questionable stains dotting the sheets.
Good thing you had a mattress pad.
You sat up, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest. From your neck all the way to your fingertips, everything hurt. You’d probably be feeling this for days. It definitely didn’t help that the stench of sex was so strong you could feel a headache coming on.
You didn’t have time to ponder on Jimin’s whereabouts before he was coming back in through the doorway, half-dressed with water in hand.
He sent you a smile when you met eyes, but it was lost on you because as soon as he was here, every interaction over the past few days flooded your mind at once. And this time, there were no hormones to mask proper thought.
You asked – no, begged – him to stay. Even when he told you no.
You’d practically thrown a tantrum, what was wrong with you? Since when did your pre-heat make you throw respect out the window?
He wasn’t here because he wanted to stay, he was here because you forced him to. He was here because you were pathetic enough to get on the floor and beg him to stay, and Jimin, for the life of him, didn’t know how to say no to people. How could he look at you right now?
“Y/N?” he called, sounding puzzled. He must be able to smell your rising distress coming off you in waves, but you paid him no mind as you continued to recall the past few days, hating yourself more and more with every passing second.
You’d basically forced him to stay with you and fuck you for nearly four days without ever talking about it before.
It was more difficult to put together the pieces of what happened in your heat, memories mostly a blur of pleasure and then sleep.
But-
Fuck.
“Mark me.”
Your blood ran cold instantly.
Were you fucking insane? You dug your fingernails into your palms harshly to check if you were dreaming. Unluckily for you, you weren’t.
Was there any coming back from this? You couldn’t blame him if he could never look at you the same, if he never spoke to you again. Who would tell their heat partner – the first time they spent a heat together – to mark them?
It didn’t matter that you’d known each other since before you were even forming proper memories. It didn’t matter, because that wasn’t how this worked. You didn’t just ask your friends to mark you, no matter how much you loved each other.
A mark was something you shared with someone you intended to be lifelong partners with. Someone you’d dedicate your life to, someone you might want to have kids with someday.
God, what was wrong with you?
You didn’t notice his approach until a hand met your shoulder, too engrossed in staring at the floor as thoughts whirred in your head.
“What is it?” he asked, concern quickly turning into panic at finding you in this state with no explanation.
But it was as though with one touch, the floodgates broke, and angry tears started spilling from your eyes. Tears that had nothing to do with Jimin and everything to do with yourself.
He jumped back slightly in surprise, and you didn’t give him the chance to touch you again before you were furiously wiping the wetness from your face.
“God, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he questioned frantically, hands returning to your shoulders as he angled his face to try to meet yours, but you only kept turning your head to avoid him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself, whether to join you on the bed or continue hovering awkwardly from the bedside. “Talk to me, please-”
“Do you hate me?” you choked out, eyes fixed on a random, insignificant spot on the sheets.
That seemed to quiet him instantly. “Huh?”
“I forced you here,” you whispered, though it seemed that the words didn’t want to stop once they started, volume only rising as you carried on. “You came here to be nice and then you tried to leave and I didn’t let you. You said no so many times and I begged you to stay until you couldn’t say no anymore! I don’t even know what I was thinking, I guess I wasn’t thinking at all-”
“Hey-”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how you must think of me right now but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was disgusting, I think I’m disgusting, god-”
“Hey, look at me,” he urged, prodding lightly at your chin until you raised your head enough to meet his gaze. When he saw your red eyes and miserable expression, it was as though a piece of himself broke. “I stayed because I wanted to.”
“You didn't, I remember you told me no, you ‘wanted to’ because I made you.”
“It’s not like that,” he replied, expression almost pained.
“Don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” you snarled, though it came off more broken than aggressive. “Stop trying to protect me, tell me when you’re mad at me!”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Jimin-”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
The sudden question was enough to give you pause. “You know I do.”
He took a moment to settle onto the bed beside you, stretching out an arm to invite you in to lay with him. After only a moment of hesitation, you did.
“Then trust me when I say I wanted to stay,” he said firmly, stroking calming circles into your side. “You know I don’t like lying to you.”
It was true, he didn’t. Which summoned the question – if he wanted to stay, why did he refuse so many times? Were you sure he wasn’t lying now?
No – that wasn’t Jimin. Plus, you knew him so well that you doubted he would lie to you about something this serious, not when he was such an open book. But you didn’t have long to think about it before he piped up again.
“You asked me something yesterday,” he started, and you could hear in his tone that he was treading carefully.
You tensed up immediately when you processed his words, breath quickening as you anticipated what he was about to say. Was this the part where he told you he’s not mad he stayed, but he never wanted to speak to you again? You’d relaxed enough in the past few minutes that you’d almost forgotten about what you’d said yesterday. Almost.
“Why?” he asked simply.
Why. An obscenely loaded question contained within one 3-letter word. And yet, an answer wasn’t so easy.
“I don’t know,” you stalled.
“Don’t do that,” he scolded. “Really think. I know you, and I know you’d never be that nonchalant about a mark, ever. What changed?”
“Nothing changed!”
He only turned to give you a disapproving look before leaning his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t going to make any more conversation until you properly pondered his question and gave him a real answer.
Why?
Did you even know why?
You wished you could say it just slipped out, that there was no other reason.
Maybe any other time you’ve said something questionable or downright stupid that would fly, but not for something like this.
Even at their drunkest, people didn’t ask their friends to marry them with the full intent of following through and starting life as an actual married couple.
Just the same, an omega doesn’t just ask a friend to mark them, mate them, not even in heat. Omega heats made it a fairly common occurrence to fuck your friends (at least, a select few) while unmarked, and it wasn’t as though the desire to be marked stemmed from a heat. If it were, platonic marking would be a thing already. And sure, marking made sex feel better, but heats were sexual, and marks were... more.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no easy excuse, no escaping this.
One might say an omega was a slave to instinct in their heat, but instinct didn’t come from nowhere.
The instinct to nest came from the pursuit of safety in a vulnerable time. The instinct to ‘hibernate’ came from the need to save up energy for a heat. The instinct to scent came from the desire for intimacy and comfort. The instinct to fuck came from hormonal cycles and the body’s inherent goal to breed.
The instinct to be marked as an omega? To ask for it?
The need for emotional security, to know that your feelings were returned – attraction, desire, love.
Love?
If your love for Jimin was supposed to be a secret, it wasn’t a very well-kept one. You talked every day since you were kids, knew each other's mannerisms so well you didn’t need words to communicate, gravitated toward each other in every group setting, cried together when you separated for university...
You loved him, without a doubt. It was obvious. But was it more than that? Was your body trying to tell you something that you didn’t even consider?
“I...” you started but immediately trailed off, limbs so tense you almost seemed ready to run away. This wasn’t a conversation you ever imagined could take place.
“Don’t be scared. You can tell me anything.” Were you imagining things, or did his tone sound almost... hopeful?
“I’ve never asked someone to mark me before this.”
He only hummed lowly in response. You knew that he knew this already, but it seemed that this time, he wouldn’t call you out for circling around the question.
“I’ve never met someone who I felt more for than you. Safe, comfortable, happy, loved.” You paused, taking a deep breath. “I love you a lot, you know?”
His breath hitched despite himself, even though he knew you didn’t mean what he wanted you to mean. “I know,” he replied, sounding almost disappointed.
“But...”
“But?” he responded, allowing that tiny thread of hope to wind around his heart one more time.
“But I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you finished, panic increasing exponentially by the end of your sentence, your body almost feeling as though it was trembling.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he rushed, bringing you closer to rub his cheek into your hair. Was it cruel of him to feel some sort of joy at your words when you were clearly scared and confused?
His scent washing over you helped calm you some, but even still, you couldn’t stop thinking. What were you feeling? Did you want something more than friendship, or was this entire situation just putting thoughts in your head? Sure, you were undeniably compatible sexually, and sure, you found him attractive, but did you want a relationship? A romantic one? But even then, how much would that really change? What did you want? Would Jimin be disgusted with you? Let you down easily? It would have to be the latter, right?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”
“No,” you cut him off.
“Huh?”
“You should’ve. I can’t be stupid forever.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“I am stupid, what kind of person doesn’t know whether they...” Even despite knowing he could tell exactly what you were trying to say, the words wouldn’t come from your lips. Were you in denial? Embarrassed? Something else?
“Emotions don’t have to be straightforward.”
“I wish they were.”
He breathed a laugh at that. “Believe me, I know.”
“Jimin, be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest with you.”
“Let’s say, hypothetically, you have this friend. You’re very good friends – best friends even. You see each other as much as possible, all that. And she tells you one day she wants to talk.”
“Oh? What’s her name?”
“Uhhhhh...” you paused, pulling out the first name that came to mind. “Susan.”
He choked back a laugh, though you could still feel his chest bouncing beneath your head. “My friend Susan. Okay, go on.”
“And she tells you that something happened, and it spurred this huge train of thought that had never occurred to her before. Something that made her think about your entire relationship as friends, and made her think about herself.”
“Uh huh...”
“And she had to wonder, how much of her heart was invested in this relationship? That answer was easy – all of it. But what really had her confused was what parts of her heart were in it.”
You fidgeted nervously, but instead of saying something, Jimin only reached for one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together.
“But what really scared her the most was – how would you react? What happens when your best friend tells you that maybe your love for them extends beyond friendship?”
You took several deep breaths, trying to muster up the courage to finish the ‘story’ you’ve started. There was no backing out of this now. Your hand squeezed his hard enough that it must have hurt him, though he didn’t seem to mind.
“If she told you she thought she loved you as more than a friend, how would you respond?” you asked, trying to inject as much nonchalance into your voice as possible and failing miserably. You could feel your palms getting sweatier, and you thought your teeth might chew straight through your bottom lip. You held your breath once you heard Jimin take one of his own, preparing mentally for whatever was about to leave his lips.
“I would tell her I love her back.”
It was as though time stopped. “You... you what?”
Unwilling to let you hide your face anymore, he pulled you over so that you were straddling him, your heart filling when your eyes met his, full of honesty and understanding and... love.
“I would tell her I love her back. That if she wanted me, I was hers.”
Your eyes searched his face desperately for several seconds longer, waiting for the moment this bliss would break, the moment he took his words back, left you heartbroken before you’d even properly processed that it was his to break. But that moment never came.
“Really?” you whispered, eyes wide and screaming with vulnerability, but also wonder. The petty part of him wished he could fault you for being so oblivious, but it wasn’t your fault that you two had simply never outgrown the innocent intimacy from childhood, even after presenting.
“Really.”
“I do want it. You. I want to try. If you can be patient with me.”
“Okay. Give me a chance and I’ll make you fall in love with me for sure.”
“Oh.” As hard as you tried to purse your lips, the smile still broke its way through, eyes crinkling happily as every insecurity felt like it left at once. Was it this easy? Could happiness come so quickly in a moment, just like that?
“Oh,” he replied simply, beam splitting his face at your barely-contained joy, your expression so innocent even after all that happened the past few days.
“Oh,” you repeated, though this time the word undoubtedly seemed to harbour more weight, brows furrowing.
“Hm?”
“That’s why you said no, isn’t it? The reason you wanted to stay but tried to leave?”
The sad smile that spread across his face at that was all the answer you needed, the briefly-forgotten guilt coming back instantly.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he assured, pulling you close enough that your bodies were plastered together. “It all worked out anyway, right?”
You nodded, relaxing in his arms. If your brain wasn’t going a mile a minute right now, you were so comfortable you could’ve slept like this.
You allowed yourself several minutes to simply lay in his arms, that familiar blueberry-pine scent making you heart feel lighter and lighter.
“So,” you mumbled.
“So.”
“What changes now?”
“What do you want to change?” he replied.
“I asked first.”
He chuckled lightly. “Fine. Well...” You leaned back in confusion when he started pushing you up and off of him. “I think being able to do this is a good change.”
He leaned his face into yours, giving you a moment to back away before gently pressing his plush lips to yours.
You’d kissed already in your heat – you remembered that much. But this wasn’t a kiss that demanded your surrender, nor was it fast, or rough. It was just soft, intimate – because sometimes, emotions were easier said through actions rather than words.
You slid your hands into his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp as you deepened the kiss. His hands traced nonsensical patterns into the skin of your back, holding you close as though you’d ever want to leave. It was so easy to get lost in him, in the way he held you, touched you, kissed you, as though you were something to be cherished.
It wasn’t long before the kiss started to get more heated, though, and you couldn’t help yourself from nipping at his bottom lip. He made a low noise in response, a hand moving to grip your ass as the other winded its way into your hair.
It was when his hand made contact with your bare ass that you remembered that you were naked throughout this entire ordeal. And just as you processed that, his hand started inching its way slowly but surely between your legs.
“I think the fuck not, Park Jimin,” you gasped, breaking the kiss and throwing his hand from your body.
He burst into bright laughter at your words, eyes forming crescents that would make any person’s day better. His happiness was contagious, and you couldn’t hold back the giggles at the sound of him.
“How sore are you?” he questioned, tiny giggles still escaping him. You thought you detected a hint of concern somewhere in there, but you couldn’t blame him for being in an obscenely good mood.
“Ugh. Are you not sore at all?”
“Not really? Mostly hungry, I guess.”
“I hate you. It feels like all of my limbs want to detach from their sockets, and don’t even get me started on what it feels like between my legs. You and your dick can go die.”
Your words only set off another round of laughter from him, his grin wide as he took in your fake pout.
“Are you sure you want that? You seemed to enjoy it from where I was standing. You’re sending me mixed signals here,” he teased.
You let out a childish noise of complaint. God, was this what you were getting yourself into? You were already used to his antics by now, but now you had to deal with them while he flirted too? Someone send help.
“Pity me a bit,” you whined, giving him the best wide-eyed pout you could muster. Though, it only seemed to raise his mood even more.
“I’m sorry I broke you,” he said.
You smacked him a bit harder than you would normally. “Jiminnnnnnnnn,” you said, stringing out the word for as long as a breath would allow.
“If I made you food, would you forgive me?”
“...I’m listening.”
“What if I said I already made you food?”
“What?!” you perked up, any grudge you might have held disappearing in an instant. “What did you make?”
“Lay down and find out in 5 minutes, I’m tired,” he responded, laying down comfortably and encouraging you to do the same. You didn’t require much convincing, cuddling back into his side. This position wasn’t anything abnormal for you two, but it felt different now. Newer, more intimate.
Needless to say, 5 minutes turned into 2 hours after you’d both fell asleep.
But when Jimin placed a bowl of re-heated stir-fry in front of you 2 hours later, you would say he secured his place as fully, unequivocally yours.
5K notes · View notes
hueseok · a year ago
Text
call me baby.
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synopsis: › sparked by the will to help you turn an annoying situation into your favor, jimin pretends that he's your boyfriend. but what's supposed to be a one time thing happens more than once when you get invited to a party and he has to come with you, and suddenly unknown feelings start to reveal themselves and a platonic relationship begins to get pretty awkward.
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pairing: jimin x reader
word count: 12.3k
rating: 18+
content: fluff | light angst | smut | college au | friends to lovers au | roommates au | fake dating au | fic is written in first person point of view !!
warning/s: swearing | explicit sexual content | fingering | unprotected sex | soft sex 
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“Would it be okay if I start putting lemon slices inside our water pitchers? They say it’s healthier.”
I look away from the apple stand and turn to Jimin instead who was looking at the lemons by his left, appearing like he was in a trance as he moves the cart he was leaning on back and forth.
“I don’t like the taste of lemon water actually.”
“Really? But they’re just like unsweetened lemon juice.”
I laugh. “Yeah, unsweetened and has that taste when you didn’t wash a glass properly that used to be coated with lemon.” I put some apples in the cart. “But if you want to try it, you can put lemon slices in only one pitcher.”
Jimin responds to that by getting three pieces of lemon and I grin, guiding the cart to the next aisle.
Being roommates with a guy certainly wasn’t included in the list of things I thought I’d be doing the moment I stepped in college. But at that time when I hardly had the money to support myself and didn’t want to depend on my parents for my other expenses, it seemed like living with Jimin was the best option out there. After all, he was in need of a place as well—and thanks to a common friend who put two and two together, had arranged the both of us to meet and offer this great apartment close to the universities we were respectively studying at.
Though as more weeks moved by that turned into months and now, as we’re spending the 4th year already as roomies, I’ve grown accustomed to living with Jimin, finding it the easiest of all since the two of us had lots of similarities than reckoned and was always open minded to the other’s wants, therefore creating a great synergy as roommates.
“You know what we should get for our apartment?” He speaks again. “A foosball table.”
I look at him longer now, contemplating whether he was serious or was trying to make me laugh, that I can’t help but snort, pulling the cart along with him, looking over some place else for other things I might need to buy. “Oh, and who told you that’d be a great idea? Taehyung?”
“Hey, this is solely my idea only, okay?” He defends with a chuckle. “Just think about it. It can be an easy way of entertainment whenever we just want to take a break or—”
But whatever he was saying begins to sound distant and more distant away as my eyes focus on someone else not far from where we were standing, and instead of being a normal being and just plainly acting nonchalant about it, I spin around so I’m facing Jimin instead, stopping him from speaking and walking before giving me an odd look.
“What? What is it?”
“Classmate. 10 o’clock,” I say.
Jimin tries looking at the direction I mentioned. “Which one? Is it the girl with the white handbag?”
“Yep.” I take a deep breath. “That’s Bomi.”
Bomi, oh infamous Bomi, the Bomi that Jimin had a lot of time hearing stories about. The girl's a classmate of mine in almost all of the units I was taking since we were both studying the same college program: architecture—which Bomi treated as some kind of competition starting from freshman year when it was apparent to her that she wasn’t the only one who was doing very well in her classes.
She was the stereotypical ‘mean girl’ who liked pretending she wasn’t mean at all. Instead she was really passive aggressive, acting innocent at times when it was clearly her fault for someone’s humiliation or more, trying to garner everyone’s approval and love by portraying a goody two shoes who liked helping everybody and who always seemed to have the best intentions up her sleeves.
In short, I hated her—and even though she meticulously hid it, I knew that she hated me as well.
“She looks harmless,” Jimin tells me. “I mean, she looks really cute and pretty.”
I don’t hesitate in punching him hard on the arm, clearly not amused by his assumption. “She’s Madam Satan! Please don’t be like one of those shallow boys who runs around following her like a lost puppy.”
“Okay, first of all, ouch,” he rubs the spot where I punched him, “second, Madam Satan, really?” he laughs and I roll my eyes, “and lastly, she’s walking towards us now.”
I clench my jaw, subtly glancing at Bomi’s way to see that she was indeed marching to where I was, looking like she was still trying to decide if it was really me she was seeing or another person. Though upon making accidental eye contact, Bomi puts on a breathtaking grin and strides even faster towards me.
“____? I knew it was you!”
I awkwardly lean on the cart while Jimin pretends to be preoccupied on the shelf containing junk foods on his right.
“Oh, hi, Bomi. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Yeah, well, you know, grocery shopping. That’s what you’re here for too, right?”
I nod, smiling and then I see her eyes move to Jimin, eyebrows raising and I take a kind of lame attempt of blocking him from her view by stepping in her line of vision.
But of course, Bomi would care less even if I put a whole damn building in front of Jimin. He was clearly good looking in her eyes and it was only natural for her to try and strike her move.
“Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Bomi.” She stretches a hand to him and Jimin drops a tube of Pringles on our cart, flicking his attention to Bomi who was patiently waiting to get noticed.
He glances at me and then slowly shakes Bomi’s hand. “That’s probably because I study at a different university. It’s Jimin.”
She nods and smiles, taking too long in letting go of his hand. “Oh, that figures. Are you like ____’s cousin or something?” 
I blink multiple times at the stupid guess, knowing that she was trying to figure out his status without being too straightforward. I look away from them, afraid that my expression might give everything away, that I indeed wasn’t pleased to have her presence here when I was enjoying my Saturday shopping with my roommate, but then I hear Jimin answering the question so smoothly and that makes me snap my head back.
“No, she’s my girlfriend, actually.”
“Girlfriend?” Bomi’s eyes widen, not being able to hide her shock. “But ____, you never told us that you had a boyfriend.” She turns to me next, a strained smile on her face.
I take a minute to answer, glancing at Jimin not so subtly in which he gives me a raise of his eyebrows.
“Well, you never asked,” I say simply.
“‘Cause you never seemed to have one,” she bluntly states. “I mean, I think everyone saw how you were openly flirting with Mingyu the other day. Did that seem like someone who already has a boyfriend to you?” She laughs it off like it was a joke.
And here enters another character: Mingyu, a fellow architecture student who I admittedly had a tiny crush on. But I never made it apparent because I was certain that he was too out of my league. Though just last week, he chose me as his partner for a project that involved two heads working as one to design a school complete with facilities, which brought a lot of shock to everyone since the two of us weren’t friends, much less interacted a lot.
“I’m sure they were just talking,” Jimin intervenes when I can’t come up with anything to say. “After all, they’re working on a project together, right?”
Bomi’s expression changes, definitely hoping that Jimin didn’t know that. He obviously did, thanks to my constant effort of telling him stories every day about my hopeless pining over Mingyu, that now I was suddenly aware that Jimin was really listening whenever I did.
“Anyways, I have to get something from the canned goods section. So, babe, are you coming with me or…?”
The nickname has me smiling. “Yeah,” I look at Bomi, “see you on Monday then..”
She gives me a wave and a fake smile.
Jimin and I quickly head to the canned goods section like he said and when I was sure that Bomi was nowhere in sight and was out of earshot, I link my arm with Jimin and hug it tightly, slightly hopping like a little kid begging her dad to buy her something.
“You are seriously the best.” I almost squeal in delight and he chuckles. “Honestly, I thought you were nuts at first for saying something like that but to see how humiliated she was back there was really satisfying.”
“Well, she deserved it since she wasn’t giving me a good vibe at all. You were right about her being a little bitchy.” He scrunches his face a little.
“She was trying to catch us in the act, trying to prove that I am as single as I’ll ever be.” You sigh. “But anyhow, since she didn’t, and to show my gratefulness, I am going to treat you to a delicious meal, Park Jimin. We’re going to a restaurant for dinner and you can have all the meat you want. It’s all on me.” I beam at him.
He laughs at the exaggeration and the two of us carry on grocery shopping, arms still linked together as we walk to a different aisle.
***
When I attended my first class on Monday, my closest friend, Yongsun, automatically switches seats so that she can take the vacant side beside me, staring at me expectantly while I arrange my notebooks on the table, trying very hard to ignore her but it was easily getting creepy.
“What?” I finally say.
“You and Jimin?” she half whispers and half yells. “Since when? And why didn’t you tell me? Why on earth did I have to learn it from Bomi out of all people?”
At the revelation, I scowl. “Ugh, I knew she’d be running around telling that to the whole class.”
“Wait, so is it true?”
I look around the lecture room, not wanting anyone to hear what I was about to say. “No, it’s just something that happened on the spot. Jimin introduced himself as my boyfriend just to get a reaction,” I tell her.
Her face falls. “Damn it, ____, I actually thought you already hit the jackpot there.” She slumps on her seat.
I try to hide a laugh but fail. “Okay, ‘jackpot’? Care to explain what that means?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Jimin has everything. He’s really handsome, he’s good to you too, and he’s smart—plus, he dances. He fucking dances, ____!”
“Okay, I get it, you have a crush on him.”
“No, that’s not my point, my point is why don’t you have a crush on him?” she says the last part quietly so it’s only you two who heard it.
I had a hard time forming the right words together when it was just something so simple. “Because we made a pact. In order to make this roommate thing work, we can’t catch feelings for another. It’ll just make things complicated.”
I could clearly see the scene of Jimin and I making house rules back again in my head when I mentioned it to Yongsun. 
It was the same day when we signed the lease to our apartment, and we were sprawled on the floor because the sofa we had that time was so small it could barely fit the two of us together. Jimin had a pen stuck between his teeth and I was staring at my paper written with three rules so far that namely were: (1) no bringing of boys/girls in the apartment just to bang when your roommate is present; (2) no leaving of dirty dishes in the sink until morning; and (3) no going inside roommate’s room unless with consent.
When we presented our ground rules to each other, both of us almost had the same idea—except for one rule that Jimin made which made me snort.
Rule 3. No catching feelings towards your roommate.
After I read that one, I didn’t try hiding the fact that I found it clearly ridiculous. 
“No offense, but even though I admit I find you cute and all, you’re really not my style,” I said with a rather shy smile.
He smiled in return. “That’s okay. You aren’t mine either.”
Reality hits me again when Bomi comes into view, standing in front of me with that innocent smile that I clearly knew was something to cover up her hidden agendas.
“____, I’m glad you’re here because I have this thing in my head that I just find really surprising.” She even gestures her words out.
“What is it?”
“Just how come Yongsun doesn’t know you have a boyfriend.” Bomi chuckles. “Come on, your best friend doesn’t know you have a boyfriend? Sounds like something’s fishy around here.”
I tap the ballpen I was holding on the table. “What are you implying, Bomi?”
“Nothing!” She raises her eyebrows. “I mean, it’s not like you would ask someone to pose as your boyfriend right? That would just be plain pathetic really.”
I can feel my blood boiling, sure that this was her way of saying that she was actually aware of the little act we’ve put together last Saturday, and that she was going to find a way to publicly humiliate me to our classmates.
“Yeah,” I prevent myself from appearing affected, “that’d be pathetic.”
Bomi smiles. “Hey, which reminds me. The annual campfire party is in two weeks. You should bring Jimin, let the others meet him and all.”
“I don’t know why the others have to meet but okay, I’ll try.” I look down to my textbook, turning it to a random page I’m going to pretend I’m interested in.
Bomi seems satisfied with that and leaves me, all while Yongsun starts to say something but I cut her off, telling her that I didn’t want to hear it and that I just don’t want to dwell on it furthermore. From my peripheral vision I can see Bomi talking with Mingyu now and Mingyu stealing glances in my direction, mouth formed in a frown.
When I got home the very same day, it was evident in my features that I wasn’t in the mood. The whole time I was attending my classes, I tried not bringing my attention to Bomi who was obviously trying to get in my nerves even more, knowing that attempting to flirt with Mingyu was going to bring me over the edge. But I wasn’t going to let her win. I was going to stay in my ground and let her make a fool of herself.
“Hey, ____,” Taehyung greets when I entered the apartment, taking off my shoes and seeing him sat on the sofa with three cans of beer on the coffee table.
“Hey,” I smile, “where’s Jimin?”
“Bathroom. He’s washing his hair, just retouched his roots again.”
I nod and go straight to the bathroom, the door open and when I peek inside, Jimin’s in a very awkward position. He was standing up yet half of his body was facing down, the shower head in his hand while his other hand was used to comb his hair.
He glances at me when I step inside. “Hey, you’re home. There’s pizza on the dining table, I left some for you.”
“Thanks but I’m not hungry,” I say. “Uh, can we talk real quick?”
He aims the shower head to the floor. “Right now? I’m kinda in the middle of something here..”
I sigh and drop my bag just outside the door before walking closer, getting the shower head and gently pushing his face back down. He chuckles and lets me do it, waiting for me to speak.
“Bomi’s trying to prove that you’re not my boyfriend.”
“So, she did know?”
“Well, she’s not exactly stupid.”
“What’s she trying to do?”
“She wants you to come to this campfire next, next week. It’s something our department likes doing every year before semester break.”
“Alright, I’ll come.”
“Huh?” I stop washing his hair and Jimin stands up slowly, getting the towel at the rack beside me and putting it on his head. “I wasn’t asking you to come.”
“Then why are you telling me this?” He chuckles.
“I don’t know. I was just ranting, I guess.”
“____, if I don’t come, Bomi’s going to eat you alive.” He excuses himself to go to the mirror and use the blower that was already lying beside the sink.
“Actually, I was thinking of not going at all.”
I never liked gatherings like those anyways. I didn’t even like half the people who were going to come, so it was just going to be pointless if I go.
“Then it’s like you’re accepting defeat already,” Jimin says over the blower. “Come on, just let me come. Nobody knows who I am there anyway. It’s really not an issue.”
“Are you sure?” I cross my arms. “You might get bombarded with questions from nosy classmates.”
“I don’t care. And besides, it’s just one night, no one’s going to go follow me around after, making sure if what I was saying were facts.” He grins at me in assurance.
“You’ve done enough though. Really, Jimin, I can just not go and—”
“Babe,” he cuts me off with the same nickname he used the other day and I definitely pause, raising my eyebrows, Jimin going towards me and placing each hand on each of my shoulders, his blond hair spread out on his forehead and was looking a little dry, “it’s fine. I’d do everything for you, okay?”
I let out a smile and hold the hand that was on my left shoulder, squeezing it. “I’m going to say it again, Jimin. You’re seriously the best.”
***
“So, ____, after your classes tomorrow, care to—”
“Not happening, Kai,” I say with a teasing tone. “Look, you’re cute and all but you’re under 18. I might get arrested,” I joke with a ruffle with his hair.
He pouts. “I’m turning 16 next year!”
“And I’m turning 23! Come on, kid, there are better girls out there.”
I go back to arranging the newly washed cups on its case and watch as Kai sighs and nods, walking back to his table and studying for that test he was going to take tomorrow. I chuckle under my breath, amused by how he still insisted on taking me out on a date whenever he felt like the chance was presented to him. But like I’ve pointed out, the boy was 15, and not to mention my boss’ son as well which were all traits that screamed off limits.
“____?” I hear my name and when I look at the counter, I see Mingyu standing there. “Hey, I hope I’m not late?”
I almost dropped a cup. “No, no, you’re early, actually. I thought you weren’t going to be here for another twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, practice ended early so I went here first.”
I nod, smiling. “Um, well, let me just get changed and then I’ll join you in a jiff, okay?”
Before I go to the changing rooms, my coworker gives me a thumbs up while mouthing ‘he’s hot’ and I roll my eyes, hitting her arm and proceeding to the room. Once I got changed, I hurriedly went back to where Mingyu was waiting by one of the tables, his sketches for the project already laid out out there, our meeting starting that just involved exchanging ideas for this fictional school we were creating.
It probably wasn’t obvious, but I wasn’t at all myself whenever I was with Mingyu. I liked acting like I was cool and chill, though when we were sitting this close and I could easily smell his freshly sprayed cologne all over his clothes, it was making me all stuttery and nervous. I think the whole time we were trying to collaborate, there were more times when I’ve stared at the floor rather than his eyes.
I started liking him just last year when I attended one of his baseball games. He was a student athlete, and to be honest I wasn’t into sports, but one of our professors was going to give extra points to whoever watched and supported the university’s team, so naturally, I had to go. And that is where I saw Mingyu looking really good in his jersey, playing as the pitcher.
It was funny how I never noticed him before in any of our shared classes together. I never really paid attention to anyone. But ever since then, all I could do was steal glances at him whenever he was nearby, hopelessly crushing on him who was probably the most cliché boy a girl would have a crush on.
“So, all we have to do is the library and the two canteens.”
“Yup.” I smile. “We can just divide work, you know. So we wouldn’t have to meet up all the time.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I think it’s better doing it this way, at least for me. But if you’re busy with your part time job and I’m guessing your boyfriend’s probably not thrilled that you’re hanging out with me then that’s fine.”
Instead of just going with the flow of the conversation, I let out a laugh that came out more like a scoff than the former. “My boyfriend? He doesn’t mind. Definitely. I’ve got his trust 100%. He’s okay with stuff like this.”
His lips curve up slightly. “Really? Would it be fine if we meet here again tomorrow? Same time after your shift?”
“I don’t have work tomorrow, so maybe just straight after class instead?”
“Sure. I’ll wait for you.”
Mingyu insisted on waiting with me at the bus stop even though I told him that it was fine. But he said it was okay and that it was only right since it was late, and we ended up talking about more things that I never thought I would actually talk to him about. Turns out he’s more than a handsome boy who’s good at playing baseball and does amazing in his drawings. 
All the stories Mingyu shared and all the moments we’ve spent today, I wanted to tell them to Jimin and live up to the title of being the annoying friend who did nothing but talk about her crush. But when I got home, I see him lying on the sofa, the television still on and one of his feet elevated on the shoulder rest, his ankle wrapped with a compression bandage that makes me assume that there was another accident at the practice room today.
“Jimin,” I whisper, turning off the TV and shaking him lightly, “wake up and move in your room.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Jimin, wake up,” I repeat, shaking him with more force now.
His eyes slowly flutter open and when he sees me standing there, he automatically looks around his surroundings, rubbing his face.
“What time is it?”
I look at my watch. “About 11:34. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. I was just supposed to take a nap, I didn’t realize I overslept.”
“Must have been a hard day at practice. Is your foot okay?” I nod at it.
He grudgingly sits up. “Yeah, yeah, just the usual.”
I was supposed to tell him what happened today—keyword: was—but seeing his tired state, I just wanted him to get the proper rest he needed instead. He was a hard worker, I knew that from the first few weeks we’ve met, and sometimes he could get a little bit over the top, not wanting to welcome any mistakes.
“Hey, by the way, didn’t you meet with Mingyu today?” he asks with a teasing smile.
I laugh quietly. “Yup. But I’ll tell all of you that tomorrow. You should go ahead and rest.”
He shakes his head. “No, you can tell me now. I know you’re dying to tell someone about it already.”
“I am, but you look really tired, Jimin,” I say. “So, just wash up and go to sleep, alright? Let’s just talk about it over breakfast if you’re really just curious.”
We look at each other for a fair amount of time before he nods, raising his arms in the air which I roll my eyes at but nonetheless grab, knowing that he was asking me to pull him up.
And when I do, he puts his arm around my shoulders, jokingly putting all of his weight on me which ends the both of us laughing.
***
The days passed by quicker than I expected. Tomorrow night was going to be the night of the campfire, and right now, I was even more hesitant in bringing Jimin along, afraid that it might not be the ideal thing to do considering that Jimin is known to be my boyfriend and yet Mingyu and I were getting close, sending a total different message to the people around us who may or may not be unto us.
Yes, Mingyu and I were getting close, a sentence I didn’t think I’d get to say ever in my life. After that first meeting at the café, we’ve spent almost every day together just working on the project that it practically became inevitable for us to become good friends. Though still we weren’t that close yet, since I just couldn't seem to let myself be myself whenever I am with him. It was like I’m still so careful with every word and every gesture that I’d do and say. And oh, of course, it wasn’t just the two of us who were aware of our growing closeness, Bomi too, who always kept a close eye the past week. Whenever she sees us standing too close or laughing too frequently, she’d gladly remind us that I had a boyfriend, and Mingyu would only smile politely, saying nothing.
Weird thing was that even though we were indeed getting close, my feelings for him weren’t growing alongside with it. I didn’t know why, but the only conclusion I had was that quote saying that sometimes being friends with your crush or more wouldn’t be a good idea because it’d ruin the fantasy you had in your head. I think that was the case between me and Mingyu which I found really strange because I didn’t expect things to turn this way at all.
“Okay, so we met each other right before senior year, right?” I say, repositioning myself on the seat I was on. “How did we meet?”
Jimin gets a dumpling from the plate in front of us. “Uh, how about we were set up on a blind date?”
“By who?”
“Hoseok,” he tells me, “he’s the one who introduced us together anyway.”
I nod. “Oh, yeah, you’re right.” I take a Shanghai roll. “What happened then?”
“We just kept on having dates. Then we became official three months ago.”
“Okay, okay.”
“And we call each other ‘babe’ or ‘baby’, you got that?”
I grin. “Yes, babe.”
Jimin laughs. “You see? We’re going to pull this off tomorrow.”
I laughed with him, taking time to chew the food that was in my mouth. “We better. Or it’s like the whole next semester for me is going to be full of Bomi making it apparent I lied.”
When the next day came, I was a lot more nervous than I originally was. I didn’t know why but maybe the thought of being with a lot of people later in the night was what triggered it, especially since I didn’t usually attend the annual campfire in the first place (okay, maybe I did attend it when I was still a freshman but that was it).
I was so nervous I might have tried talking Jimin out of it. I told him that we shouldn’t come but he’d always say that if we didn’t, then we’re just falling into Bomi’s bait which she’d use against me somehow. And as always, he reckons it’s just one night, and one night pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Do you think you’ll be awkward with me? When we’re acting and stuff?” Jimin asks as we get off the bus and walk to the entrance of the university.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we might put on a show.”
“No, not that,” I chuckle, “I meant being awkward with you. You think I’d be awkward? I am probably the most comfortable when I’m with you, Jimin. Even more when I’m with Yongsun, to be honest.”
“Really?” he muses. “That’s unexpected.”
“How come? We’ve been living together for four years. You’ve practically seen all of me.”
“Not all.”
“You’re a pervert—”
“—I was just saying!” He defends with a laugh. “But on a serious note, I can say the same. I definitely feel more at ease when I’m with you. “
“Is this the part where we confess our undying love to each other?” I joke with a snicker.
But he doesn’t play along with me, he just grins and shakes his head while looking forward before reaching for my hand, intertwining it with his which just gives this overwhelming warmth to spread all over my body. It wasn’t foreign, but it felt somehow new at the same time—if that made sense—that I can’t help squeezing it out of instinct.
“____!” Yongsun calls when we were close to the entrance and I finally focus on something else, walking faster that pulls Jimin along with me. “Oh, hi, Jimin. You actually came!”
“Of course. Anything for my girl.” He looks at me and grins.
I had to roll my eyes at that one, nudging him with my elbow that he easily avoids.
“Ha, ha, nice try but I know the truth. Sucks though, I’d love to see you two together for real.” She leans in closer to whisper the last part to us both. 
“Yongsun—”
“—hey, nothing wrong with saying what’s on my mind, is there?”
I scoff out a laugh at the comment while Yongsun grins, leading us then to the field.
Time just runs fast when you’re having fun.The campfire wasn’t something like a rave party, but being all cozy, drinking some beer and eating skewers with Jimin as he tells me countless stories, it really made the night a lot tolerable amidst Bomi who wasn’t so subtle in keeping an eye on us. She has already approached us earlier the moment we’ve come to the scene, though didn’t say anything but just a very plastic ‘I’m glad you could come!’ and a ‘I hope you have fun!’.
Honestly, it made me want to do a victory laugh right there at the obvious frustration in her face to see Jimin come with me. She must have been hoping to see one of us slip so that she can be someone who reveals that yes, Jimin really was my fake boyfriend who I’ve brought along just to make all of them stupid because apparently my personal life matters so much to people I’ve barely spoken to throughout my college life. Well, clearly, the joke’s on her.
“I want to get another beer,” Jimin says after finishing a stick of sausage. “Where do you get them? I’ll get for both of us.”
“It’s by the food table. In the ice box right there.” I point at it.
“Great. I’ll be right back.” He smiles and stands up, squeezing my knee and jogging to the place I directed him to.
Not less than a minute passes by when suddenly the vacant spot on my left gets occupied by none other than Mingyu, a plate of s'mores with a lot of burnt marshmallow fillings in his possession.
“Hey,” I raise my eyebrows, “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I wasn’t originally, but you said you were so…” He chuckles and presents me with his plate. “Want some?”
“Uh, I shouldn’t. It has chocolate and it’s getting late. I might have a sugar rush.”
“Too bad,” he retracts his hand, “more for me then.”
I smile, hugging my knees.
Mingyu takes a bite. “By the way, the guy with the blond hair, was he your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. He just left to get some beer.”
“How long have the two of you been together?” he questions.
I pretend to think about it. “Not long. Uh, like three months?”
“Do you like him a lot?” Mingyu further asks, attention solely on me now.
I nod slowly, a little surprised by the question, a smile unknowingly gracing my lips. “Yeah… impossible not to. He’s great. He’s amazing.”
Jimin really was great and amazing. I didn’t need to lie about that or about the fact that I liked him a lot. I really did, not just maybe the way Mingyu was thinking of.
“You two look good together,” he says. “Seriously, to be honest, I thought… well… Bomi’s been saying this crazy thing that you two aren’t really dating. But seeing it right in front of my eyes, I think you really are.”
My brain processes nothing but the information about Bomi. “Really? What did Bomi exactly say?”
He abruptly looks shy. “Something stupid. You don't have to know.”
“No, go ahead, it’s alright.” 
“Well, last week, she was saying that—” he clears his throat— “that you were only pretending to date someone to make me jealous.”
“What?”
“Stupid, right?” He tries to laugh it off. 
I furrow my eyebrows. “And you knew that all along you were talking to me? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Yeah. I mean, honestly, I thought it was true. A lot of people have been saying it.” He shrugs.
Talking to your crush really takes the fantasy away, I thought with a snort, laughing without humor, getting a little mad at the thought that since he had that kind of assumption about me, the reason he was being so nice or maybe sometimes even being a little flirty was because he thought he was doing me some kind of favor. I wanted to laugh in annoyance at the idea.
I lift my gaze from the crackling fire and see Jimin still by the food stand, a beer in each hand but he was too busy looking over the food table, perhaps wanting to get another sausage stick or a hot sweet potato that was just fit for the night. I smile and without a thought, stands up from my seat to approach him, leaving Mingyu who was saying something  but I don’t bother responding.
“Still hungry?” I pop beside Jimin and he glances at me before smiling, handing me the can of beer.
“A little. That sweet potato has been calling me all night.” He nods at it.
“Then why don’t you get it?”
“Maybe I will. Hold this for a minute?” 
I hold his beer.
“So,” he speaks again as he gets lots of paper towels from the side, “saw you talking to Mingyu. You didn’t look like you were having the time of your life.”
I snort. “It’s nothing. Just Bomi related stuff. Should have known Madam Satan had other things up her sleeves.”
“I still can’t get over the fact you call her Madam Satan.” He gets a sweet potato and slowly peels the coating off, smoke oozing out of it because of how hot it was still. “Wow, look at this, it looks so good.”
“It does.” I raise my eyebrows, my mouth watering at the sight and the smell.
Jimin suddenly brings it closer to my lips. “Take a bite. You first.”
“No, you first.”
“Baby, it’s alright,” he chuckles, “you take the first bite.”
With a smile, I do as he says. “You know,” I blow unconsciously at the hot sweet potato inside my mouth when I took a bite, “if you keep calling me baby, I might get used to it.”
He grins, taking a bite himself too, though just like last time, says nothing, instead he gets easily consumed with the snack that has me laughing because of how cute he looked, muttering under his breath that the wait was worth it.
We go home earlier than we should, hand in hand as we walk to the bus stop and eventually ride the bus itself. He asked me more about what happened earlier with Mingyu and I told him what Bomi told Mingyu about me, causing Jimin to roll his eyes in annoyance, saying that Bomi really didn’t have anything to do in her life but make sure I wasn’t living the best in mine.
“It’s okay,” I say, my head leaned on his shoulder as we wait to arrive at our stop, our still hands intertwined, “I don’t care about her anymore. People like her really shouldn’t be given attention.”
“And what about Mingyu?”
“Well, he can go fuck himself.”
Jimin laughs out loud at that, causing curious eyes to turn towards us.
At about 10:46 PM, we arrived at our apartment, flopping ourselves on the sofa and sighing in relief now that we had the comfort of our home surrounding us. 
“You want to take a shower first?” Jimin asks.
I yawn. “Nah, you go ahead. I want to rest for awhile.”
“Okay.” I feel someone tugging me. “Can you let go of my hand now, babe?”
At the mention of it, I don’t realize I’m still holding his hand, that once he says it out loud, I open my previously closed eyes and let him go, my face burning in embarrassment. But instead of teasing me about it, Jimin just smiles and folds his hands together.
“I’m going to bed after washing up.”
I nod. “Then good night. Thanks for today.”
There’s a moment where we just gaze at each other, no words spoken, just us looking at each other’s eyes. I don’t know how long we were being like that, or how our faces seemed to get closer each second the clock would tick, but just before I’m certain that we’re going to kiss—Jimin abruptly swallows hard and pulls away, smiling again though this time it was strained. He blinks and rubs his face.
“I… I’ll go ahead. Good night, ____.”
I was so confused about what just happened that I didn’t get to peacefully sleep that night, my mind on the boy who was only a room away, confused on why I was starting to see him in a completely new light.
***
Jimin treated the whole almost kiss thing nonexistent. I know because the morning after as we were having breakfast, I tried sliding it in subtly, first talking about how fun the campfire was before moving on to further events, Jimin then abruptly changing the topic and telling me a completely different story about what happened the other day at dance practice. I figured then that perhaps we were just too into the moment to almost kiss and that maybe it didn’t mean anything—but why can’t I stop thinking about it until now?
Even as two weeks have passed, I still would lay awake at night and think about it, would imagine the what ifs if he didn’t stop himself and just went along with the flow. I wondered how it would feel kissing him, if the kiss we would have shared was just going to be a chaste one or would it have led to something more. The absence of an answer was driving me wild, but I would still try ignoring it every single day, wanting to act oblivious to the feelings I know I am growing for Jimin since I am certain that he was no way thinking the same way every time we’d see each other in the living room.
Honestly, it annoyed me how it didn’t seem to have any effect on him like it had on me. Jimin made it look so easy waking up every single day, facing me, smiling at me, asking me thoughtful things—like he didn’t just fucking tried to kiss me that night! Maybe I’m the only one who thinks that that’s what he was trying to do but as someone who was right there with him, I just needed a clear answer so that I wouldn’t be so stuck with it anymore.
When four weeks passed, roughly a month, I decided to just stop waiting for something to happen. I was just going to pretend that that night was nonexistent like he was doing, though the emotions I have inside me is still pretty much there, and it’s not doing any great to the amazing synergy we used to have as roommates.
“Hey, you’re skipping breakfast?” Jimin calls from the dining area when I go out of my room and head to the doorstep. “You’ve been doing that for two weeks, ____. Do you not like my cooking anymore or something?” He jokes with a laugh.
I carry on putting on my shoes. “Um, just not hungry, just leave some for me.” My response was robotic, it made me internally kill myself.
“It won’t be good anymore if it’s cold,” he says.
“Then I’ll heat it up when I go home.”
Silence. I’m about to leave when he calls my name again.
“What?” I turn around and I’m surprised when he’s already standing there, hair a little messy and was in his pajamas. He looked really adorable. It was hard maintaining a straight face.
His eyes showed concern that for a minute I thought he was going to say something important, but he just ends up saying something else.
“We’re out of milk.”
“What?”
“I can’t buy later because I’m heading to a student’s house for a tutoring session so can you do it instead? I’ll pay you back.”
“Pay you back—when have you ever suggested that? It’s our milk, Jimin, I get to drink too so there’s no need—”
“—well, I only suggested it because I’m the one who finished it—”
“—and it’s not like this is the first time something like this happened, why are you—”
“—woah, woah, why are you getting so worked up on this?” He furrows his eyebrows all of the sudden, trying to approach me but I’d step back. “____, are you alright?”
I take a deep breath, wondering why the hell was I getting worked up like he said too. It was just damn milk, though I think just the thought that there was this some kind of barrier in our friendship again was what had worked me up since we’ve almost shared everything in the apartment. Hearing him say that he’ll pay for it made me feel like a stranger. I can’t blame him though, these past days, I think I’ve been subconsciously avoiding him because of my own issues.
“Forget it. I’m sorry and I’m fine.” I exhale again, holding back angry tears. “Just tired. I’ll see you later.”
Just as I’m about to yet again step out of the door, Jimin grabs my wrist.
“Hey,” he softly begins, “my tutor thing ends at 7:30. You want to grab dinner together?”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
I purse my lips. “Um, I don’t know…”
“Come on,” he pulls my wrist, “I feel like you need it. Just to unwind, you know. You look really stressed these days.”
“And I suppose you can help get rid of it?” I retort.
Jimin shrugs. “Maybe. What do you say?”
I sigh. Dinner wouldn’t hurt, right? Perhaps I’ll feel better if I start acting normal again with him. But to be honest, I’m still scared to be left alone with him and for the past weeks, that’s the one thing I’ve been good at doing—always making dumb excuses on why I had to go to this, why I had to skip this meal, why I prefered to be alone...
“I really don’t know, Jimin.”
His grin falters. “Oh, okay, sure, no problem.”
I nod and he lets go of my wrist, finally allowing me to leave the apartment.
The whole day, I couldn’t concentrate well on whatever my professors were saying in each class I’d attend. Even when it was break time and Yongsun and I would hang out by the canteen, I still couldn’t bring all of my attention to her as she tells me about this new series she was watching on Netflix. My mind was in complete Jimin lockdown. I hate it. I wish I wasn’t like this so that I could say yes earlier ‘cause realizing it now, I might be being a little unfair for his part. Though the thought of spending dinner with him was giving me a vision that it will just be too awkward, that maybe I’ll just end up looking at him and just watching his lips move and then I’d quickly revert back to that night and wonder how it would feel if—
Fuck. I was doing it again.
“____, did you get our scores already for the project?” Mingyu asks while I was skipping downstairs, the last class of the day finally done.
Despite the bad impression he left on me last month, I was still willing to be friends with him. He was nice, someone who I can easily talk to, but there’s a little barrier now and it’s dawning on me that sometimes he just gets a little too full of himself.
I glance at his direction. “Yeah, we got a pretty high mark.”
“And you don’t look happy about that.” He chuckles.
“Sorry,” I smile, “I’m happy about it. Really. Maybe just not good at expressing it at the moment.”
“Stressed?”
“You can say that.”
“Well, I know a bar we can go to, a place for a good drink if you’re up for it.”
I raise my eyebrows at the suggestion but then shake my head. “No thanks. I'd rather just stay in for tonight.”
“Ah, right,” he laughs apologetically, “boyfriend might not approve, right?”
“Something like that.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug before waving my hand good bye and going in the opposite direction.
As I walk to the bus stop, about to take my phone and probably scroll through Instagram while I’m at it, I go to an abrupt halt when I see Jimin sat on the bench by the waiting area, earphones in and his foot tapping on the ground, completely unaware of his surroundings.
Despite me having slight hard feelings towards him, I can’t deny that seeing him there just brought a smile to my face. It brought some kind of warmth again in my body, like that time when we held hands, and I wanted to shake it off to make myself wake up in reality.
“Jimin,” I stand in front of him, slightly leaning down to get my face in front of him and he moves his gaze from the floor to me. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be done with tutoring until 7:30.”
He keeps his earphones. “Um, well, they ended the session earlier than usual so...”
“What are you doing here?” 
“I’m waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to, ____. Can’t I do that?” He chuckles.
But I wasn’t in the mood to chuckle with him or play along, so I just tried to smile, sitting beside him as we waited for the bus to come, just sat there in silence, arms crossed because of the cold.
Usually, we’d be talking nonstop. Jimin would ask me about my day, I’d tell him, then proceed on asking about his—though this time just thinking about doing that felt odd. It felt like I was going to overanalyze the things he’d do to me and interpret them as something more if he did which I know I shouldn’t. So I choose to just stare ahead, not making eye contact in fear that that would prompt him to start a conversation.
Eventually we made it home. As we walked to the apartment a few minutes back, we still didn’t talk or just acknowledged each other’s presence. The air was thick with this tension I couldn’t properly describe. All I knew was it was extremely suffocating. Might as well just plunge me down in the bottom of the sea instead of dealing with this, I thought.
I was supposed to head straight to my room when we arrived, but Jimin says something about cooking dinner and I told him quickly that I wasn’t going to eat and just go to sleep early. When he hears that, it’s like something clicked inside him and then his expression hardens while he scoffs and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re doing it again,” he says. “I don’t get why you keep on doing it but here you are again.”
I close my door, postponing my entrance to my room. “Doing what?”
“This—” he gestures at our surroundings— “this whole awkward shit thing. Why are you constantly avoiding me?”
I’m surprised by his sudden aggravated state.
“Jimin, I’m not—”
“You were so pressed about that fucking milk earlier because you don’t like how I look like I’m treating you some kind of stranger when it’s been you who’s been making all of this awkward!” His voice raises and I think this is the first time I’ve seen him so affected about something. “You know, I’m not the one who just decided one day to stop joining meals or watching television together or even just fucking make eye contact, ____. I’m not the one who’s making herself distant. You’re the one who’s doing this to us—it’s even what you’re doing right now!”
I stare at him, my pulse ringing inside my ears at how he was making it seem like my fault when I wouldn’t even behave this way if it hadn’t for what he had done first. “Well, at least I’m not the one who tried to kiss his roommate, then backed out, and now suddenly pretends nothing happened.” I tell him and he looks taken back.
“What?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I’m talking about.” I laugh exasperatedly. “You know what you did that night. So, sorry if I keep acting like this because unlike you, I can’t fucking make it look like everything is fine when deep inside I feel so confused about just everything about our relationship. Are we just roommates? Are we just good friends? Are we something more? I don’t fucking know.” I feel myself beginning to tear up as I slowly calm down. “You just can’t expect me to be the same anymore after that because frankly, my feelings for you aren’t the same anymore either, Jimin.”
He freezes after hearing what I said, face still rigid but his eyes were showing concern. He doesn’t reply and that’s when the pathetic and angry tears that I’ve been holding in finally washes my cheeks, making me wipe them away as quickly as I can because if there was one thing I didn’t want to do, it was to appear so vulnerable in front of him.
“____,” he finally speaks, “do you honestly think I don’t feel the same way?”
“What was I supposed to think? You never made it apparent that you did. It just always feels like I’m the only one who’s having a hard time here,” I say.
“Do I have to show you that I’m having a hard time just to prove that I like you?” Jimin asks and laughs in an obnoxious manner. “____, why the hell do you think I do everything for you? Why do you think I willingly pretend to be someone I’m not just so Bomi can’t embarrass you? Why do you think I can fucking pretend not to feel anything so you could live comfortably with me and like Mingyu all you want? Why do you think I cook you breakfast, lunch, or dinner whenever I feel like it, wait for you until you come home, and ask every single day how are you? Do you think I just do it because I have nothing else better to do?”
“You can do that to—”
“I don’t do that to anyone else, ____.” He clenches his jaw, beating me to it, expression hard. “I do that only to you because you fucking mean everything to me. And if you can’t see that too, then please don’t act like you’re the only one who’s having a hard time.”
I didn’t know what to say. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to apologize, but before I could say anything, Jimin gets his keys and walks out of the apartment, leaving me there speechless and in wonder on why and how in the world did we end up here?
***
“What’s wrong?” Yongsun hugs me in return when we meet in front of her apartment building, still wearing her pajamas under her padded jacket because of the cold night.
After Jimin left, she was the first person I called because I didn’t want to stay in our living room, the whole argument fresh in my mind and in that space that I can’t bear to be alone and be with my thoughts. Good thing she didn’t ask questions and just told me that okay, she’ll be there for me, and so here we are now.
“What’s wrong?” she asks me again and as I pull back, I tell her everything.
The first half of the whole story was told as we walked to the nearest convenience store. I told her of the almost kiss that happened that night of the campfire and me constantly avoiding him from that moment forward. When we went to buy 4 cans of beers and settled to stay on the bench at the park, I told her of the argument Jimin and I had just an hour ago. Even now as I’m talking about it, the thought of fighting with him shatters something inside of me that I didn’t know was capable of breaking that much. Jimin and I never fought that hard before, to the point we were saying profanities even if we didn’t we didn’t necessarily direct it to each other but still—it was huge.
“You know what I think?” Yongsun says after I’ve told her everything. “You two just fail to communicate properly.”
“I know. I mean, we were practically yelling at each other—”
“No, ____.” She shakes her head, bringing her beer on the table. “What I mean is you two just hide and hide until eventually look what happened, you both bursted. You should have talked to him the morning after the almost kiss.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘hey, what the fuck was last night about?’”
“Well, it’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“You did it earlier.” 
“It was because we were in the moment of telling those things to each other.”
“Still, it’s not like Jimin’s a stranger.”
“That’s the thing. Jimin’s not a stranger, and I didn’t want to confront him about him because of what might happen after if I did. But guess it all just ended the same ‘cause look at us now.”
“You just need to talk about this with him, ____, and then I think you’ll be fine.”
“Things won’t be the same anymore though.”
“Of course not.” She frowns. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t change for the better.”
I sigh, rubbing my face. “What will I say? And what if whatever I say won’t be enough?”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try. So, just go talk to him as soon as possible. The longer you prolong this, the longer it’d be hard for you both.”
We finished 2 cans of beer each, and after that talk, I walked her back to her apartment building and thanked her for always being there for me. Yongsun just grins and tells me to update her asap of what happens when I do talk to Jimin and I nod, rolling my eyes as I go book a taxi then.
As I face the window once I was already in a vehicle heading home, I begin to think that maybe Jimin was going to be staying at Taehyung’s apartment tonight and the chance to talk to him was going to be tomorrow. Unless he doesn’t go back until then and next thing you know, I come home and his clothes along with his things aren’t there anymore. Would he really just leave like that? Was this going to be the last time we’re going to talk? I was just overthinking, I know, though still I can’t help but believe that maybe it can happen.
Arriving by the doorstep, I’m almost hesitant to walk in. I didn’t want to remember the events earlier and I’m certain that I will if I see where it took place, but it’s not like I had any other places to go. Yongsun also had a roommate, and I wasn’t really keen on asking anyone such a big favor, so here I was right now, having no choice but to return here.
As I step inside, I’m surprised to see Jimin sitting on the sofa, abruptly standing up upon my arrival.
“____.” He breathes out. 
There’s been dozens of scenarios that played in my head when I thought about coming home only to see Jimin already here, but not one of them included me suddenly running towards him and hugging him so tightly, holding on like my life depended on it—yet it was the one I was doing right this very moment.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. I really messed up.”
Jimin wasn’t hugging me back, and I was panicking inside because of it. He then gently holds the sides of my head to pull my face away from his chest and looks me in the eyes, but when I’m sure that he’ll reject me right there, tell me that it was too late for anything, Jimin all of a sudden leans down and captures my lips with his, murmuring a sorry of his own.
I was shocked, though that didn’t stop me from immediately kissing him back, my hands wrapping around his neck to possibly bring him closer to me, his chest pressing against mine as his hands that were previously on my cheeks move to my waist, pulling me with him as I feel him walking backward.
I don't know which room we went in first, if it was mine or was it his. He didn’t open the lights and I couldn’t flutter my eyes open properly, too caught up with his lips that was now on my jaw and then my neck. We only stopped kissing when I was pushed gently to sit on the edge of the bed, opening my eyes then and I see Jimin looking at me. I grab the collar of his shirt to bring him closer, and he kisses me for a few seconds before abruptly pulling away, kneeling now in front of me.
“Are you drunk?” 
The question makes me raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“You smell like beer.”
“I drank a little.” I shrug, about to kiss him again but he places his hands on my shoulders, making me let out a frustrated groan. “What now?”
Jimin smiles a little. “Let’s talk first before we do anything we regret.”
“Jimin, I’m not going to regret anything—”
“I’m sorry for being a coward.” He cuts me off, holding my hands now. “I’m sorry for acting like you don’t matter to me when you needed to feel it the most. I just… it’s hard too for me, you know? I didn’t want to make things complicated and I didn’t know you felt the same way about me…”
“Of course, I felt the same way. That night, I mean, we were only holding hands and shit but I don’t know, it made me wish that you were really mine.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I could feel my face heating up. “And I’m sorry too... for not considering your feelings.”
“It’s okay.” He tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. “I just… I want you to know that I wish you were really mine too.”
My heart beats even faster at that and I lean closer to place a long kiss on his lips. “I’m already yours, baby.”
“You know, if you keep calling me that—” he stands up and hovers me as I crawl backward on the bed— “I might just get used to it.”
The inside joke makes me laugh and he grins before kissing me again, both of our eyes closing while my head falls on the pillow, making me realize that we were in his room judging from the scent of his sheets which smelled so much like him. I cling onto Jimin and he starts undressing me slowly, removing my shirt and removing his next, his mouth attaching itself to my collarbones then lower.
I catch myself having problems when it came to breathing properly when I feel him kissing my cleavage, his fingers toying with my bra until he pulls it down so that he can latch his mouth on my nipple, sucking softly that easily makes me moan, my heart racing so rapidly I think it might actually come out of my body.
I was so overwhelmed by what was happening at the moment since never in a million years would I think I’d be in this kind of position with Jimin. For the past years of knowing him, he was only a roommate and possibly a best friend at how close we already were. The thought of being more than has never passed in my mind except that night of the campfire at least, and now I can’t even think of him as anything else.
Jimin must have noticed my silence and he stops sucking my breast, glancing up at me. “Is this alright?”
I exhale. “Yeah.”
“You’re being too quiet.” He moves up so that our heads were on the same level. “Are you sure—”
“Jimin, yes.” I hold one of his cheeks.
He gazes at me for a few seconds, probably measuring my expression and trying to determine if I was telling the truth, but I don’t let him analyze me for too long, instead just kissing him again to prove that I was telling him the truth which finally urges him to be at ease with me again.
My palm moves to his bare chest and I let out a shaky breath as I feel how toned it is. It might be because he always works his ass off at the practice room, being part of the dance group in his university after all, but I didn’t it be this toned.
Jimin takes off my bra fully and throws it somewhere on the floor, his kisses moving past my breast and now lands on my stomach, his hands now busy with the zipper of my pants as he successfully unzips it, tugging it down which I help by lifting my butt from the mattress so it can be easier for him. Once he has taken it off, he stands by the end of the bed for a moment and takes off his pants too, leaving himself in his boxers before coming back to me.
We go back to making out, Jimin squeezing my breast until I feel him sliding his hand over my underwear, his forefinger and middle finger gently rubbing my clit that automatically has me squirming under his touch. He kisses me harder, trying to get me to stay still, but my head just naturally falls back at this amazing sensation I was feeling as he rubs it even faster, his mouth once again finding itself on one of my nipples.
“Hmm, Jimin…” I bite my lip, trying not to moan too loud but I can’t help it. 
He brings his hand inside my underwear and slides his finger up and down. He hisses, murmuring how wet I am already before putting a finger in that makes me inhale sharply, holding onto his other hand that was massaging my breast.
I whine when he puts another finger in, his name naturally falling out of my lips as he starts pushing it in and out, his pace getting faster as each second passed and I hold onto him even more, practically losing control as my hips move against his hand, Jimin whispering sweet nothings in my ears that just arouses me even more.
“That’s it, baby. Come on my fingers.” He licks my earlobe. “Fuck, you’re making me so hard right now.”
 “Jimin, keep… keep going,” I breathlessly say.
He goes faster, moving his fingers around slightly and that’s when he starts hitting a spot that makes my toes curl. He notices the reaction I gave and stays in that position, prompting himself up so that he can angle his hand better. I look at him and see his gaze locked on my face, his eyes dark and half-lidded. I try to lean up and he gets the hint, capturing my mouth with his again and kissing me that just became the last straw as I come, my hips bucking up to chase my high.
When my thighs stopped convulsing, Jimin retracts his hand and sucks his fingers, eyes even closing that brings a new sense of arousal to wash over me.
“You’re so dirty,” I managed to utter and he only chuckles, sitting up then only to remove his boxers, moving his leg over my other side when he was done, my thighs being lifted so that they can rest on top of his, and then I get the perfect view of his hard cock so close to my waiting cunt. 
Jimin uses the hand he fucked me with and moves it along his shaft, working his way slowly. I wanted to suck him off, just to make the two of us even and make him feel as good as he made me feel, but Jimin’s already scooting closer, the tip of his dick skimming over my wet heat, a low grunt escaping him while he bites his lower lip. Our eyes meet and he bends down to kiss me tenderly, grabbing one of my hands before ever so gingerly, he pushes himself in.
I gasp, my fingers clasping around his while he does the same, his head hanging beside me as I hear him take hurried breaths.
“Baby,” he grunts, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”
I could barely nod when he begins rocking his hips forward, filling me up completely and so good. Moans are being continuously spilled between us now, and I was desperately holding onto him in every thrust that he’d do, each jerk sending me off to a different place. Everything was just going by into this fast haze, pleasure and satisfaction consuming every bit of me that I can’t seem to concentrate on anything else other than the feel of Jimin slamming onto me repeatedly, his lips hungrily lapping against my throat, his fingers still tightly clutching mine—I was going to come again any minute now in this state.
“You’re so lovely,” he abruptly whispers, bringing my hand on the nape of his neck so he can put both of his palms on the bed to support himself better. He sucks in a deep breath. “So fucking lovely. You’re driving me crazy. Fuck.” He wriggles above me and I draw out a long moan of his name, causing him to chuckle. 
The bed keeps on creaking and accompanied with the sound of our skin hitting each other, everything just feeds my hearing senses to let another wave of pleasure take place inside me. Not to mention that Jimin also wasn’t good at holding back his moans (not that I was), which just made this whole situation better and more arousing.
“Jimin,” I murmur, nails digging on his back, “you… you fuck me so good.”
“Shit, don’t speak like that, I’m going to come too fast.”
I laugh. “Are you going to come inside me, baby?”
“____,” he says my name in a warning tone and I whine when he rams onto me harsher.
“Come with me. I want you so bad.” My eyes remain shut as an upcoming orgasm presents itself. “I… fuck… Jimin, I love you.”
His hips stutter. “I’m going to come, baby, fuck!” He heaves. “Where—shit—where should I—”
“Inside me, please.”
“Are you... sure?”
“I’m on the pill. Don’t worry.” I chuckle before moaning out his name again.
In no less that a second, I feel him shoot his load inside me, quickly making me come as well. He moans loudly, the loudest of the night, and his body slumps over mine. I run my fingers on the back of his head, massaging his scalp and slightly tugging the roots of his hair, sighing contentedly. When he finally gathered himself together again, he lifts his head up and rolls over to the side, smiling at me with so much emotion seen in his eyes that I can’t help smiling right back.
“Did you mean that?” he asks quietly, moving closer as he puts the covers over us and places his arm underneath my head while I hug his torso. “Do you really love me?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks as I realize what I said out loud. “Well, um, I…” I play with the ends of his sheets, “the whole time I was avoiding you because of that night at the campfire made me realize a lot of things. And I don’t know if this is too fast or is it really love but… I’m so happy whenever I’m with you and you make me feel so safe and whole that I can’t think of any words that could describe what I feel for you,” I say, glancing up to see his reaction. “So, yeah, I love you… I think I really do.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Hmm?”
“I love you too, idiot.” He has the nerve to flick my forehead. “Why do you still think I don’t?”
I punch his chest before embracing him tighter, locking my arms around him. “Sometimes it’s nice to hear it out loud, you know?”
“Noted. I’ll say it more from now on.”
“I love you,” I repeat, my voice louder now and my tone a little braver.
Jimin grins, every dimple in his face showing by how huge he was grinning, and kisses me. “I love you more, baby.” 
***
“Class dismiss. Have a good weekend, everybody,” The professor tells us and begins packing his things, prompting us to stand up and do the same.
Yongsun taps my shoulder and says her farewells already since she was in a hurry and I give her a little wave before going back to my things. As I’m busy there, just trying to hurry up and get out of the lecture room as soon as possible, I see Bomi walking towards the exit quickly too before a notebook of hers falls on the ground.
Honestly, if this happened two months ago, I wouldn’t have bothered picking it up. That’s how much I didn’t like her. I was willing to turn a blind eye in order for her to lose important notes that could help her gain a perfect score for the next exam. But I haven’t been my bitterself these past few days, and whenever I think of Bomi, I also surprisingly don’t always think of spiteful things. Instead, I remember her being the person that kinda made Jimin and I happen, and for that, I was kind of thankful.
“Bomi!” I call when she was about to go through the doors. “You dropped this.” I put the notebook up in the air.
She raises her eyebrows and waits for me to arrive in front of her. “When did I lose that?”
“Just now.”
“Oh.” She gets it from me. “You didn’t steal it and pretended that I dropped it, did you?”
The assumption makes me roll my eyes but I ignore it. “No, of course not.”
“Thanks then.”
“Have a good weekend,” I tell her as she turns around.
Bomi turns to me one last time, a very puzzled and suspicious look on her face. “Okay… you too…”
I smile and walk pass her to the doors, pushing it open and practically running now to get down, my eyes in search for Jimin who now that I finally see, was standing close by a lamp post, attention solely on the puppy who was being walked by his owner. When I shout his name, his head snaps to my direction and a breathtaking smile conquers his features.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.” I immediately wrap my arms around him and lean up for a kiss, in which he easily complies to.
Jimin pulls back. “Someone’s giddy. Did you get the highest score on a test or something?”
“No, I have something better.” I smile. “I have you.”
“Wow, that was cheesy as fuck, ____. I think I really cringed inside.”
I laugh out loud and he does too, hands going on the top of my head to brush some loose strands away from my face, the smile he previously wore noticeably wider now.
“You want to go somewhere? Like a place where we can eat early dinner or whatever?”
“How about just take-out or delivery and eating it at home?”
“Home?” he asks. “Well, okay. If that’s what my baby wants...”
I can’t help but grin at the endearment, Jimin then placing his arm around my shoulders while I put mine over his torso, leaning to him close and listening to him as he asks me about my day, extremely grateful that despite everything that happened, we managed to end up here.
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THANK YOU FOR READING & FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ! ♡(ˆ‿ˆԅ)
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4K notes · View notes
stutterfly · a year ago
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Snow, Don’t Tell (M) | PJM
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Granny Park’s Gossip:
Jimin is the sweetest boy around, no comparison. Always ready to listen to my stories, visits me regularly and tells me all sorts of tales about those friends of his. Might as well adopt them all, I know so much about them! Jiminie’s the best grandson anyone could ask for, really, a little angel, and his little gang of friends is quite the hoot. He’s been a little quiet about himself lately, though. Kept going on and on about that neighbor of his, how cute she always looks and how he likes to help her with her groceries, but I think maybe I teased him just a little too much about that crush of his. Maybe he’ll figure out a way to get closer to her this holiday season, because who knows how much longer he’ll pine over the girl if he doesn’t. 
       ❄  Word Count: 27.2k
       ❄ Pairing: Jimin x Reader
       ❄ Genre:  Neighbors AU / Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Smut / Humor
       ❄ Rating: 18+ / Explicit
       ❄ CW and other tags: heavy sexual tension, grinding, groping, swearing, kissing, biting, hair pulling, fingering, masturbation, teasing, edging, hickeys/ bruising skin, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, love kink, mentions of threesome, hinted foursome, penetrative sex, protected sex, pinching, pierced nips, tiddyfucking, dirty filthy talk, whiny Jimin, Jimin is a Snake spilling all the tea about his friends, angst, mentioned alcoholism, mentions of toxic parents, some negative self-talk which is quashed by the prince himself, feelings of self-consciousness, insecurities about education, basically a slowburn speedrun that’s wet and wild, second-hand embarrassment, exhibitionism/voyeurism, Jimin is everyone’s therapist, reader is a mess, jimin is a mess too The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist  This is the first fic the series/project The Snowball Effect. Please click the link above to see the summaries and genres for each fic! Also, while each of these fics can stand on their own, they all end up at the same place, occurring simultaneously. There are also little easter eggs and secrets for the other fics woven throughout each of these! For the biggest, fluffiest Snowball Effect experience, we highly recommend you read each of them! Do not repost.
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‘Thank you’ is a powerful phrase. It can hold so much joy, affirmation, and even love. True gratitude is more than a word; it's a feeling. It's those unexpected, kind gestures when everything is falling apart: the small smile across the room to ease the tension, the jokes shared to lighten the load of a stressful existence, or the quarters spent drying a neighbor's laundry.
There's nothing quite like being appreciated, nothing quite like someone else being thoughtful for once, nothing quite like someone saying, "I know you didn't have to do it but you did, and I can't express what it means to me." Okay, so sometimes they don't say it, but it's strongly implied.
Around this time each year work grows incredibly stressful. Everyone is trying to push their work onto someone else's desk and leave the office in hopes of enjoying some time with family and friends. Taking off the last two weeks of the year seemed like a no-brainer. So why is it so hard to turn off the screen and actually do that?
Click. Click.
Another email answered, another client getting their response before the new year. Dark, tired eyes lazily drift across the computer screen, fluttering a moment until he catches his head leaning forwards and sits up straight with a shake of his head. How many more emails can there possibly be? Jimin stretches his arms towards the ceiling and slowly rolls onto his back, resting his head against the plush carpet of his living room. Aren't vacations supposed to be a time of relaxation and fun? Isn't he supposed to be able to turn on his out-of-office message, leave the post-it note on his monitor, and trust in his coworkers? A heavy sigh escapes him and a frustrated groan rumbles in his throat. "Why can't I just turn it off?"
Stifling a yawn, he pulls the phone from his pocket to check the time. Six fifteen. Why am I so tired already? Should I get some dinner?
He blinks a few times, feeling his eyelids grow heavier with each pass they make across his eyes. Still holding the phone, his hand slowly descends until the device is pressed flat onto his chest. He's teetering into a dream when the unmistakable jingle of keychains clattering against one another echoes in the hallway. His eyes immediately snap open, and he brings his phone up again. Oh shit. It's Thursday.
The device slips through his fingers and smacks against his forehead. As he rubs his temple to soothe the dull ache beginning to form, he ponders whether the phone is to blame or if work is the true culprit. Resting his head against the plush carpeting, he blankly stares at the ceiling and loses himself in quiet meditation, thoughtlessness consuming every second that passes. A small sound pokes through the barrier of silence, a muffled humming just barely passing through the wall beyond the couch.
Jimin lifts his head just enough to peer down his body, focusing just beyond the laptop at the wall separating his apartment from yours. The humming continues and he curiously tilts his head towards the sound, as though he can make his ears listen harder than they already are. What are you singing tonight, Snow?
He rolls over, twisting his torso just enough to rest on his elbows as he closes his eyes, hoping turning off one sense will heighten the other. Instead, he begins to imagine you frantically ripping off your work clothes in an attempt to enjoy your evening as fast as possible, quickly donning some thin tanktop you've saved as your last article of clean clothing for the week. You're always braless in the laundry room, your cold, hardened nipples poking out from beneath the flimsy fabric stretched tight around your chest. But it's never thin enough to be as transparent as he would like. His tongue darts out to wet his lips briefly before dragging his teeth over his bottom lip.
The humming wavers between louder and softer as you run between rooms, no doubt collecting everything as fast as possible in case he beats you there. Should he let you win this time?
"Baby, you're a fiiiiiiiiirework!" you belt out, very off-key before mumbling the rest of the lyrics you clearly don't know and slowly going back into a hum.
Laughter spills from Jimin's lips like a water fountain in hopes that it's loud enough for you to hear. When you continue on your tune without missing a beat, he leans back, his laughter dissipating into a wide smile as he slowly rises from the floor.
The laundry bin sits by the door, a pitifully small amount of dirty clothes resting in the bottom of it. He presses his lips together a moment before gathering clean clothes from the hangers in his closet and tossing them on the pile. Opening the door, he grabs the basket, casually strolling past your door and down the hall into the laundry room.
No one else seems to do laundry on Thursday nights. It's no doubt why you chose it as the time to do yours. One of the two washers is always busted. Tonight, however, both seem to be functioning. That won’t do. Jimin hoists himself on top of the machines, giving himself enough leverage to unplug the one that’s always falling into disrepair. Luckily the service ticket has been discarded recently. He pulls it from the top of the exposed trash bin in the corner and places it on top of the “broken” washing machine. He quickly starts loading his laundry into the functioning machine, humming the same tune he heard you singing earlier.
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You don’t mind working during the holiday season. Everyone has somewhere to go, family to see. You gladly volunteer to work the shifts no one wants to distract yourself from the fact that you don’t. Overtime pay doesn’t hurt either. It’s easier to take your mind off of the disappointment that family-oriented holidays bring when you have cute little customers to send home happy and clean. Unfortunately, you always seem to get filthy in the process of making that happen.
The pile of dirty fabrics layered in your laundry basket tells you that you should probably start a load before showering if you want to have anything semi-clean to wear tomorrow. Plus, if you want to beat your neighbor to the good machine, you’ll need to hustle. Despite the sweat dripping down your neck, you don your favorite zip-up hoodie to attempt to hide the fact that your bra is in the bin with all the other items slated for a good wash.
You catch yourself in the mirror just before picking up the basket, oversized jacket sliding one of your shoulders and exposing your skin to the chill of the apartment. You’re torn between wanting Jimin to see you like this and hoping that you’ll only see him after showering, as you’re fairly certain you still smell like wet dog.
There’s an undeniable tension cutting through the air any time you’re in a room together, but you’re too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it. You’ve convinced yourself that there’s no way someone as perfect-looking as Jimin could be actually interested in you. You want the flirting and the nights spent watching garbage TV together to lead to something real, but fantasizing about how you’d knock on his door simply to confess your attraction is a lot safer than actually doing it.
Down the hall you go, lifting the heavy basket just past the threshold and dragging it across the carpeted hallway. You pop out one of the headphones in your ears so that no one can sneak up on you as you round the corner to the laundry room. Kicking the basket with your foot, it smacks into the door and you awkwardly reach over the pile of clothes to swing it open. The plastic scrapes across the tile and your field of vision travels from the floor to the machine currently filling with water.
Jimin sits on top of the washer with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded around his knee. A smug grin adorns his features as his eyes roam over your form, drinking in the surprise you offer so freely.
"I beat you again this week, Snow," he teases, bouncing his crossed leg a few times with a mischievous tilt of his head.
A puff of hot air passes through your parted lips, clearly not expecting the man to be waiting so patiently for your arrival. Your nose scrunches up in disapproval as you take a few steps towards him, hands on your hips. "You know I get home late on Thursdays. Can't you let me win for once?"
"Oh, you want me to take it easy on you?" He tuts, tongue poking into the side of his cheek for a moment. He uncrosses his legs and uses his palms to lean forward, raising his eyebrows. He pauses once he's inches from your face, letting the shallow space between you build the tension you've become accustomed to. "That doesn't sound like any fun."
You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to close the distance between you. "What sounds like fun to you then?"
The way his smile falters as his eyes fill with devious wonder causes your heart to skip a beat. You swallow hard as his gaze blatantly drops to your chest and his tongue slowly rolls across his lips. Your first instinct is to cover the nipples you know are practically poking holes through your tanktop, but you power through the shame burning your cheeks long enough for his eyes to finish their journey down your body. When they settle on yours again, they definitely seem darker, full of hunger.
"I can think of a few things," he murmurs in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "But they're a secret." He giggles, a shy smile cutting the devilish tone from his words.
It's a deep enough cut through the thick tension that you can take a step back and release the breath you've unknowingly been holding. You roll your eyes and sigh as you note the repair ticket on the machine beside him. "Well, looks like I'll have to wait until you're done." You hoist the basket of dirty laundry onto the seemingly broken washer beside him, carefully taking out the small container of detergent stuffed towards the top. The words come out before you can stop them. "Do you have a big load?"
He drags his teeth over his lips a few times and allows his smile to grow impossibly wider. "You're talking about laundry, right?"
You clumsily fumble with the bottle of detergent until it hits the washer with a loud bang, trying to recover from your poorly-worded question as you position the container upright and eye the empty bin beside him."Yes. The load! It looks! ....Big... A big... Load. Did you stuff it all in there?" The thoughts pricking your tongue are short and choppy, full of regret and horny confusion.
There's no way to hide the mental images playing in your mind of Jimin taking you from behind, emptying himself into you. There's no way to hide the way you want to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth until he gives you the load you can't stop talking about.
He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows at you again, offering another chance for you to rephrase. You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could phase through the floor instead of dealing with the meltdown your brain is obviously having. "I just... Don't break it by stuffing it too full, y'know?"
Jimin snickers behind his hand. "Don't worry. I was able to fit everything in, but it's a reasonable size."
"Knock on my door when you're done," you say quietly, ashamed by the lack of bloodflow in your own head.
You turn to leave but Jimin grabs your wrist, causing you to spin back towards him. "Wait..."
He leans in, strawberry blonde hair falling across his face as he tries to get your attention with eyes that threaten to pierce into your very soul. His head swerves left and right and you mirror his movements to avoid eye contact.
“Look at me,” he pleads, throaty whine ripping through the base of his chest despite the smile on his lips. “Please?”
Your eye flicker to meet his, a pout staining your features that you hope will mask your embarrassment long enough to return to the safety of your apartment. “What?”
“Would you… Like to come over and watch a movie?” Despite the cheesy grin on his face, his voice falters and the tips of his ears are bright red. “I ordered pizza. I don’t think I can eat it all myself and I don't like leftovers.”
You know he has his shy side, but any time it peeks out from behind his confident persona, it still manages to catch you off guard. You do your best not to sound too eager, but you can feel the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and traveling up your chest. They’re telling you to screech your answer until your lungs quit burning.
It’s not like he’s never invited you over his apartment before. You've shared many pizzas, and takeout boxes over trashy reality TV for the past few months. But this thing you two have been dancing around is finally pushing your hormones to a breaking point. He seems interested, but always hesitates, letting moments pass that would be better spent pressing himself into your body or running his tongue across your neck.
It occurs to you that maybe he just likes to tease for some harmless fun and the prospect of things going any further with you isn’t part of the game. Maybe you’re just projecting your desires onto him. His jaw goes slack as you lean towards him, melting beneath his gaze. Dark eyes drift across your chest again, shamelessly spacing out when they settle on the pebbled nipples beneath your shirt.
Then again, maybe you think too much.
Every conversation is deeply rooted in lust, but the flirtatious banter is always coated with a fine film of pleasantries that mask your true intentions. Could he feel the same? If you can just get the static in your brain to subside long enough to form a coherent thought, to allow you to properly express your feelings, maybe you could get an answer out of him. Pushing down the excitement brewing in your gut, your eyes dart away and you nervously clear your throat.
“I… have to clean mastiff spit out of my hair,” you begin, your heart snapping in two when you catch the smile fade with the light in his eyes. “But… I’d love to come over when I’m finished.”
He visibly perks up and hops down from the washer, casually gesturing at the digital timer on its screen. “Meet back here in twenty?”
You unconsciously bite your lip, grinning like an idiot as you make your exit. “It’s a date.”
As the door to the laundry room clicks shut, Jimin bobs his head in disbelief a few times. This time you used the word ‘date.’ Tonight can’t be another movie night where he freezes up. No horror. No action movies or thrillers. It’s time to pick out some cute rom-com for you both to giggle along to, hopefully with an extra mushy scene he can use to set the mood. He jumps in the air, unable to contain his excitement. His cheeks are beginning to hurt with how much smiling he’s been doing, but he doesn’t care. You said it’s a date.
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A shiver wracks his body as he closes the door to his apartment. He frowns at the number on the thermostat, quickly pressing the button to raise the temperature until it's obnoxiously higher than it should be. There. It should warm up in no time. He seeks the instant gratification of warmth, however. When it doesn't come he decides the next twenty minutes will be best spent in a hot bath.
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He grips the edge of the cold fiberglass surface with his hands, sinking into the steaming water slowly with a satisfied sigh. He tilts his head back, resting it on the tile behind him. The sound of water rushing through your showerhead carries through the wall and he stills all movement, careful not to disturb the surface of the water until he hears the sliding of curtain rings along a metal rod. The pressure of the water pounding against the tub dulls in volume, clearly finding another target to assail. You hiss a string of curses that indicate the temperature is too hot for your liking, but it's far too easy to hear sin in each little gasp you take.
Jimin submerges his hand in the water, leaving the other gripping the edge of the tub. His fingers squeeze the inner flesh of his thigh before forming a tight fist around the base of his hardened cock. He stills, feeling the familiar needy pulse echoing against the grip of his palm, urging him to offer some kind of relief in the form of movement. But he’s determined to listen, straining his ears for any indication of your body’s positioning; what he wouldn’t give to be able to see you right now. What would you do if this wasn’t here? Would you watch me too?
Realizing he’s not going to get much more out of the wall behind him unless you decide to sing, he closes his eyes. It’s almost too easy to imagine the water pelting the tender flesh of your breasts. He can thank the thin fabric of your tanktops for that. The cleavage and pebbled nipples constantly drawing his attention away from your face has created a mirage in his mind that’s almost believable. Stray droplets roll down your body in places he knows his tongue could do a much better job covering. His thumb brushes up and down preemptively against his cock, doing everything he can to show restraint just in case you decide to part those pretty lips of yours and sing for him.
Finally he drags his palm up his shaft, finding a rhythm that begins to ease the throb building in his abdomen. He thinks of standing in that shower with you, strands of sopping wet hair sticking to his face as his mouth collides with the delicate skin of your chest. He thinks of tonguing one nipple and licking a stripe to the other. He thinks of using his hands to massage and squeeze at the heavenly mounds of flesh before him as the water beats down on the pair of you. Most importantly, he thinks of you pleading for more. All restraint he previously showed comes crashing down for a fraction of a second. The moan that rips itself from his throat is shameful enough to bring a blush to his own cheeks, and it’s absolutely loud enough to carry through the walls. Did you hear that? ...Did you like it?
Before he can consider pausing to listen for a subtle response, the loud thud of what sounds like a heavy plastic container hitting your floor breaks him from his daydream. Did I catch you off guard? Jimin does nothing to subdue the cackle spewing from his mouth. You certainly didn’t earn your nickname for your grace. Gradually he picks up the pace, allowing his fist to glide from the base of his cock to the exposed tip poking out of the water. The wet sloshing sound his fist makes as it bobs up and down is enough to drive him over the edge, imagining what it might be like to fuck himself down your throat. A growl starts low in his chest and builds into a whine as it tumbles from his mouth.
The glistening studs in his nipples rhythmically heave with each greedy breath, already cold and hard from the exposure to the air. His free hand instinctively moves to pinch the bit of flesh trapped between one of the studs. The sting adds a new wave of pleasure to the way his hand plunges down into the water and up again. He pants into the air, wishing you were the force guiding the hand over his shaft, creating the pressure and wetness trapped between his fingers.
He thinks of you on the other side of this wall, soapy suds running down your perfect tits, your stomach, your legs. What he wouldn’t give to be on his knees between those legs, latching onto your pussy and performing sinful tricks with pressured flicks of his tongue. You might want to get clean, but he wants to make you filthy, even as soft citrus-scented suds dribble down your body and onto his face. Would your legs buckle under the pleasure? He considers hooking his arms around your legs and leaning you back against the wall for better leverage, sucking on that sensitive, swollen bud as the water cascades down his back. What do you sound like when you really sing?
Almost perfectly timed, a moan breaks through the sound of his frenzied pelvic thrusts sloshing up into his fist. A particularly jagged exhale leaves his lips as he slows, the water undulating like angry waves crashing into one another. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the water pressure in your shower changes drastically. Jimin’s whole body convulses as he realizes what you’re doing. He plants his feet on the wall above the faucet, bending his knees so he can sink down into the tub up to his jaw.
He’s been in your apartment. He’s seen the handheld attachment. Closing your transparent shower curtains for company doesn’t mean it’s suddenly invisible. He holds back a curse as you cry out in pleasure again. This time you sound close to the wall beside him. Too close. You’re doing this on purpose. Do you want me to listen? Two can play at this game, Snow.
He drags his teeth over his lip and pumps himself fast, water spilling from the tub and flooding the cold tile flooring. Loud, unrestrained groans fill the air as the water sloshes between his palm and cock, creating a very wet, obscene squelching sound. He straightens his legs against the wall to bring himself up to a relaxed position as he gasps for release, trying not to drown in the water rolling back and forth in the tub.
It’s almost too cute the way he imagines your face is changing color right now. To his surprise you immediately retaliate with a slew of vulgar curses and frantic pleading. Electric butterflies pulse through his abdomen, quickening the pace at which his climax is travelling. It’s so close now; he can’t even pretend like that didn’t just affect him.
“Y/N…. Please… Come over… Ah...” he moans against the wall, knowing you’re panting just on the other side.
“Oh, fuck… I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum,” you warn in a shrill whisper, volume growing with each repetition until you’re practically shrieking. Just at the peak of your frenzied inhales, your voice dips into a low breathy whimper that he can barely make out. “Jimin… I’m cumming. Fuck...”
He slows his movements so he can better listen to you reach your climax, hearing his name on your lips just before losing the ability to listen to anything over his own thrashing in the water. His palm glides down his cock and back up, desperate to meet his own release. He’s got your voice in his head notifying him you’re about to cum on repeat. It drives him over the edge.
He groans, using pressure and strength to stroke himself one last time as ropes of white begin to shoot straight up towards the ceiling like a fountain and land back in the water. He pumps himself through it, riding each wave of pleasure until he’s sure he’s milked every drop of cum from his cock and the fountain of white subsides. He falls back and lets his arms go limp in the water. Now he’s the one who needs a shower.
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Despite wanting to show off a little skin for your date with Jimin, there’s a chill in the complex that seems to permeate deep into your skin, digging straight down to your bones. Even the memory of your bold behavior in the shower can’t keep the heat circulating through your body. By the time you realize how long it has taken you to will yourself from the steamy bathroom, apply some “low-effort” makeup, and wiggle into a pair of fleece-lined leggings, you’re ashamed to have missed the window for your meeting by ten minutes.
You sprint down the hall in an oversized hoodie, desperate to apologize for your tardiness. The electric hum of the dryer greets you, and the washing machine previously occupied by Jimin’s belongings thrums nearby, but he’s nowhere to be found. Your laundry bin sits on top of the washer, its contents within the machine below. The backside of the repair ticket has been scribbled on and left beside your bin. ‘Are you still coming, Snow? ;)’
The ticket crumples in your palm as you stuff it in the cavity of your sweatshirt and make your way back towards Jimin’s door, holding back the nerves swirling in your chest. You want to scream in excitement, but that’s probably not an acceptable reaction, even though you reason with yourself that it is a very human one considering how long you've waited for an opportunity like this.
The door swings open before you can knock, a very bundled up Jimin puffing his cheeks out at you. For a moment you mistake his expression for one of annoyance at you. "The heat is out. Can you believe it?"
"What?"
"I just got an email from the leasing office. They don't know when it will be fixed. They're urging people to buy heaters and get reimbursed for them later," he mumbles, looking down at his phone and re-reading the message as you brush past him, immediately discarding your furry slippers as you go. The carpeting in his apartment feels so much better than yours.
"That explains why I can't stop shivering," you sigh. On your next inhale, the smell of pepperoni wafts into your nostrils, and you make a beeline for the small dining room table across the room, noting the closed box on top of it.
"At least they're offering to take money off of rent 'due to inconvenience.'" Jimin scrunches up his nose, shuffling his sulking form towards you. "But I don't want to go buy a heater."
You already have a slice of pizza stuffed in your mouth when you absentmindedly try to answer. "Ihaabwon." The words are a garbled mess.
His eyes meet yours and you nearly choke, embarrassed for trying to speak with your mouth full. The hand still clutching his phone falls to his side and he grins at you with devilish intent, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You're so cute when your mouth is stuffed."
You chew a few times and swallow hard. When you find the nerve to speak, your voice comes out smaller and softer than you'd like. "...I have one. I'll go get it."
Damn it. What happened to being bold? Maybe you'd be faring better if your heart wasn't pounding so damn fast. Despite this, none of your blood seems to be circulating properly to your fingers, your toes, or even your brain at this junction. You're suspicious it's all being funneled into your swollen clit, which has only just stopped tingling from the barrage of pressure you'd exposed it to. Regardless, you gobble down the rest of the slice as you exit, telling yourself you can't let your nerves get the better of you again. Tonight has already proven you can be braver than you think, and it's time to embrace it.
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It's about twenty minutes into the movie when you finally work up the courage to place your hand on his, finding it just as cold and clammy as yours. He gives it a gentle squeeze and twines your fingers together without looking away from the screen. Your rapid heartbeat threatens to give away every ache his touch soothes. You do your best to focus on the flimsy plot of the film, but all you can think about is how nice it feels to finally have his palm pressed against yours.
The space heater across the room rattles, fruitlessly pumping out a stream of hot air that never quite makes it over to the pair of you. It’s now that you’re just noticing the soft glow of yellow string lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that you wish could be half as warm as it looks. You chew your lip as you pretend to watch the screen, feeling the weight of his head coming to rest on your shoulder. You try to avoid the thought of how badly you have to pee right now, resisting the urge to bounce your leg to stave off the sensation. The universe is too cruel.
Suddenly Jimin’s pocket begins buzzing. He pulls out his phone and silences the vibrations, groaning as he turns his face towards your shoulder. “Ugh. Laundry is done. I need to go get it...”
As he rises you feel his hand turn over yours a few times, gently caressing the length of your fingers as though he’ll never feel them again. You move to stand but he presses his palm into your shoulder, encouraging you to stay put. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it, ok? Keep my seat warm.”
You melt into the cushion, grinning foolishly at the wink he gives you before wrapping a blanket around himself and leaving. Trembling hands fumble for the remote control, pausing the movie to hopefully drag out the time you’ll spend with him tonight. You have ample time to relieve the pressure on your bladder, nearly breaking your neck on the wet, slippery tile of the bathroom.
Despite the crumpled proof sitting in your pocket, or your aversion to speaking on what you suspected was only a fucked-out fantasy, the amount of water lingering on that floor confirms its authenticity. Can you really pretend like you didn’t get off just listening to him moan and touch himself? Can you really pretend like he didn’t get off listening to you? You settle down in front of the space heater, warming your fingers on the hot air with a satisfied sigh and spacing out as you lose yourself in the memory.
Jimin returns from laundry duty after a few minutes, but you’re focused on the heat, closing your eyes and trying to get the chill out of your bones. He waddles his laundry bin to the corner of the room, setting it down before creeping up behind you. Soft fleece wraps around shoulders along with his curve of his arms. It’s warm, incredibly soft, and it smells of fresh linen fabric softener.
“You weren’t keeping my spot warm.” The chiding nature of his tone is undercut by the breathy whisper and pillowy lips thawing the cold shell of your ear.
“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise, eyes still closed when you turn your face towards the tickling sensation.
"Oh? Really?" Supple lips skim against your cheek, but he doesn't move any closer. "How?"
You exhale a ragged breath, trying to find the will to close the distance between your lips. All it would take is a nudge, just a subtle turn on your part to do so. But, like always, you freeze. How ridiculous is it that you can mutually masturbate, but sharing a kiss is somehow beyond your courage?
"I'll... keep you warm now. I'm all toasty, see?" Your palm, now slightly less frigid but still equally clammy, cups his chin as you tap your fingers against his cheek.
"I see..." he hums in disapproval, weight of his chin resting on your cold hand. "It seems like you need more time to defrost, but if you come back to the couch with me we can share this blanket I threw in the dryer with your clothes for a few minutes.”
"Hmph, are you saying I wouldn't do a good job keeping you warm?"
You can feel the twitch of his lips against your palm, shy smile forming. "Your hands are still so cold! I'm sure you have your ways. But..." He pauses, gentling bringing his thumb and forefinger across your jawline before pressing them together below your chin. "I'd love to see what they are."
You half-giggle, half-scoff at him. He’s laying it on thick tonight, but it’s not like you mind. In fact, you don’t want the night to end because of it. You both settle in on the couch with Jimin draping the soft blanket across you, remnants of a faint heat in its fibers. Just as the movie resumes, Jimin starts curling the blanket in his fingers, which causes the material to billow in his lap. It’s not like it’s a small blanket, but over the course of a few minutes you’re left with practically no coverage.
“Thief,” you finally accuse, fingers clutching the remaining edge slipping past your shoulder.
He blinks and stares back at you with a surprised smile. “Hmm? We’re sharing aren’t we?”
You roll your eyes and snuggle closer in an attempt to siphon back some coverage. Still his fingers twine the blanket in circles, inching the material further off the slope of your body. Your fingers slither across his chest and down the curve of his arm in search of the hand robbing you of heat. Neither of you are even pretending to watch the movie anymore. He tries to slink back into the cushion, smiling at your futile attempts to free the fabric from his grasp.
“You stop that,” you whisper, leaning against his chest and losing yourself in the way his eyes seem to twinkle in the golden glow of the lights circling the room. When you finally make contact with the fist curled in the blanket, he immediately drops the fabric and clamps down to lace your fingers with his.
“Make me,” he pleads through half-lidded eyes, tongue swiping a quick line across his lips.
You return the pressure on your palm with a squeeze of your own, pressing the back of his hand into the cushion beside him. “Fuck,” you breathe.
Your eyelids flutter for half a second; the electric chill running through your body may be caused by the temperature or simply the way his neck dips to lower his face down to yours. Either way, your breath hitches and you hook your leg over his lap. He takes this as an invitation to slide his free arm around your back, ready to press you even further into his body should you give him a signal to proceed.
You lean further across his lap, arching yourself up into him. “Is that what you want? You want me to make you?” you whisper curiously, lips grazing his as the questions spill from them.
“Please,” he whines breathlessly, voice cracking.
You close the gap with a sly, teasing smile, hungrily smashing your mouths together as though tasting every bit of him will sate that hunger. The hand currently sinking into the couch flies up to his jaw, thumb tracing a line over its contours as you’ve been aching to do for ages. He uses the opportunity to cradle the back of your head, gently positioning it in a way that puts less of a strain on his neck while the hand at your back coaxes you desperately towards him in a lopsided embrace.
The ebb and flow of your kisses have your heads bobbing in time with one another. He inhales greedily over your mouth, immediately coming back down to suck your bottom lip between his teeth. A small satisfied sigh lingers in your throat, and you feel his hand clamp down on the thigh you have spread over his lap.
Just as gravity starts to drive your form further from his embrace, you shift your weight and shimmy your arm out from where it’s trapped against his body. He allows you to pull away for just a moment, your lip snapping back to you with a soft, wet smack. You flit your tongue out to savor any sliver of himself that he’s left behind, already missing the way his tongue tastes when trading exploratory flicks with yours.
Planting your palm into the cushion beside his head, you gain enough leverage to fully straddle his pelvis. You tower above him, relishing in the wonder carved into the way he watches you, mirth creasing thin lines into the outer edges of his eyes. Your thumb glides across his cheek a few times as you lightly cup his jaw with your fingertips, your gaze darting between the reflections of light dancing across his eyes.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you admit.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he confesses, maintaining steadfast eye contact as he fights the blush prickling the tips of his ears.
It takes all of your self-restraint not to immediately ask why. Instead a joke forms on your tongue before you can quell it. “It’s the smell of wet dog, right? Drives you crazy?”
He giggles, throwing his head back with a loud inhale. “Irresistible!”
A shy smile parts your lips and you descend on him, crashing your mouth down on his to mute the sound of his laughter. Those gentle giggles quickly morph into muffled moans as your tongue dives into his mouth. It takes less than a second for him to counter your intrusion by sliding his tongue against yours rhythmically and you lose yourself in that hypnotic tempo.
His hands settle the top of your knees before his palms start running up to the crease where your thighs meet your hips and then back down again. Your hips involuntarily begin rocking to combat the need building between your legs, but your leggings have pulled away from your skin in the area you crave friction the most.
A staggered whimper breaks out between your frenzied panting. Whether the sound came from him or from you, it’s hard to tell. The few times you’ve opened your eyes to make sure you haven’t been dreaming, he’s looked just as fucked out as you feel. He starts drawing deep circles along the inside of your thighs with his thumbs and your need for him challenges your need to breathe. Gasping for air between wet, sloppy kisses, you card your fingers through his hair, knotting them in place as you roll your body in time with the tongue gliding against yours. This time he blows a puff of air as he moans into you, greedily latching onto your lip and biting down as the sound leaves a croaky trail in his throat.
Sliding his hands along the tops of your thighs isn’t enough. He spreads his fingers; the edge of his thumbs flare towards the inside of your legs, forging a path up towards your clit. The way the material stretches away from your body causes him to abandon his route in favor of following the fabric tucked in that v-shaped channel leading up to your hips. His touch is too light with the layers you’re wearing, but you don’t have time to file a complaint before he slides his fingers beneath your sweatshirt, clamping them down on your skin.
“Ah!” you hiss between kisses, hips wiggling at the chill creeping up your spine. “Your hands--” You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s biting down hard again and dragging your lower lip through his teeth. “--arr sho--” Your lip snaps back to you, breaking away just long enough to speak in broken gasps before he closes the distance again. “-cold!”
He laughs against your whine, gripping your back and sneaking both thumbs beneath the waistband of your leggings. “Weren’t you going to warm me up?” You can feel him guiding your hips, dragging them in asymmetric loops over his lap.
“Weren’t you going to share the blanket?” you chide, breaking the kiss again.
He grins, gripping a corner of the blanket and throwing it over your shoulder. “I did. Now come back.” He eagerly tries to goad you back to his lips, but you pull back just a bit.
“There are better ways I can warm your hands,” you mumble, yanking his hair to the side to expose his lovely neck, golden skin riddled with goosebumps. Your mouth gets to work kissing and sucking on the sensitive, uncovered bit of flesh, gushing a little bit when he groans beneath you. But it’s not enough. If only your pants weren’t in the way, you could certainly warm more than just his hands.
He gives your hips a firm squeeze, digging his fingers into the soft flesh at your sides. “What ways are those?”
“Take off your sweater,” you tempt in a whisper, dragging your tongue up to his ear. “And I’ll show you.”
He frowns as you lean back, giving him space to do as you’ve suggested. Instead, he tugs at the hem of your sweatshirt, frown morphing into a devilish smile. “You first.”
“I… don’t have anything on underneath,” you admit, shying away from him.
He slips his hands around your jaw, pulling you forward. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“There’s no heat,” you remind him, mimicking his movements and tapping your fingers against his cheek.
“So you want me to take off mine?” he asks, feigning offense. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, dipping his head forward and following your movements. “That seems kind of unfair, don’t you think?”
Your confidence wanes and you squirm under his scrutiny, feeling particularly stupid for trying to be sexy. Sexy isn’t your thing. Floundering under pressure and saying something dumb is definitely your thing. Sweat runs down your neck, despite the fact that you’re still a walking popsicle. In your defense, the art of botching conversations is a skill that runs in your family.
"You're right," you agree, shaking your head. "I'm sorry. It's freezing. I'm an idiot."
You begin to climb off his lap, but his hands catch your hips and bring you back down. "No, no. You're not." He gently presses his lips against yours. "Don't worry. I know you've got me covered."
With a shit-eating grin, he tugs down on the blanket half-draped across your shoulder. You feel him wiggle beneath you before he leans back and shrugs his arms through the holes of his sweater, hastily working the material over his head. At least he has a t-shirt on; you don't feel quite so bad now. The flicker of static charges the air around him, strawberry blonde hair fanning out like it has its own sense of gravity. Without a second thought he moves back in to kiss you and an electric shock zaps the place where your lips connect.
"Ah!" you recoil at the sensation and he giggles between peppering your jaw with kisses. It takes all of your willpower to push him back against the cushion. He even gives you a little pout, his bottom lip protruding.
"You're worse than my clients," you tease, flicking your tongue out at him. "Be a good boy."
"I am," he insists while cupping your jaw and trying to drag your neck low enough to latch his lips onto. When he realizes you aren't having it, he snakes his hands down to your ass and gives both cheeks a firm squeeze.
"Liar." Grinning like an idiot, you grab his wrists and pin them to the cushions while you descend, watching his eyes as long as possible before you press your lips against his neck. You catch a bit of skin between your teeth and he hisses like steam is about to start pouring from his ears. Pressing down with the flat of your tongue, you explore the expanse of his neck for the sounds of pleasure you yearn to hear.
"This..." he exhales a lazy moan, trying to fight his body's will to give in but you can already see his resolve is flimsy. "...isn't fair..."
A deep, throaty moan vibrates beneath your tongue; your pussy throbs at the way the croaky sound crosses over into a melodic hum as you massage wet circles deeper into that spot where his collarbone and neck meet. Another moan escapes him between shaky breaths, higher pitched this time, and twice as needy. His wrists twitch against your palms, fingers digging into the cushion beneath him. Yeah. You want to live in this spot indefinitely.
"Hey..." he trails softly, head falling against the back of the couch. "... You're... Don't leave marks... Snow... hey... Ah... Y/N..."
Your lips smack as you come up for air. He's too drunk on the endorphins swimming through his veins to see your hesitation at the use of your name in lieu of the cute nickname you've grown accustomed to hearing. "You want me to stop?"
He whimpers, self-control buckling faster than you can even get the question out. "No, don't stop. Please, don't stop, Y/N."
He doesn't need to say it twice; you’ve been waiting far too long for this. Your tongue is back on that sensitive spot right by his collarbone and he's moaning against your ear in less than a fraction of a second.
“Mmm… you're gonna make me wear high collared shirts, aren't you?" he whispers, half shaming your actions, half just thinking out loud. There's a subtle attempt to grind his pelvis up into the space between your thighs.
You can’t help but laugh against him, tilting your head back just enough to inspect your handiwork. There’s a criss-crossed reddish-purple mark marring his skin, a placeholder to remind you where to place your tongue later. “It kinda looks like a heart if you squint. Don’t worry. It’s low enough the only way anyone will see it is if you’re walking around shirtless.”
He sighs, picking his head off the couch and trying to peek down at it. “I guess I’ll look at it later when I’m thinking of you on top of me like this.”
Your pussy clenches around nothing as he smiles innocently at you.
“...Are your hands still cold?” You’re already dragging his limp wrists up your thighs to the hem of your oversized sweatshirt
The hoods of his eyelids shade the glaze in his eyes, but do nothing for the way his jaw falls open as you continue dragging his hands upwards. You hiss as his fingers apply pressure to your body as they travel upward, leaving chilly streaks in their wake. Without hesitation, you chew your lip and cup your hands over his, pressing them into your tits. You look into his eyes for comfort as blood rushes to your cheeks. His pupils are completely blown out and you feel his labored breathing quicken.
“Is this okay?” you question, experimenting with a slight roll of your hips.
His eyelids flutter a moment as he massages your breasts, squeezing, pushing, pulling them. Your hands fall away to let him explore the hidden shapes beneath your sweatshirt.
“Is this okay she asks…” he giggles mockingly to himself before kneading his thumbs across your hardened nipples. “Do you want to know how much I’m enjoying this?”
He drops one of his hands and uses it to place yours over his pelvis. You press down with your fingers, feeling the solid erection tucked into the band of his pants.
“I tried to hide it, tried to get it to go away,” he hushedly admits, teeth briefly nipping at your earlobe. “But I’ve been like this since you walked in here.” He pauses, savoring the way you whimper when he drives his tongue into the valley behind your ear. “And everything you’re doing is making me harder.”
“Jimin…” you moan, feeling his cock twitch under the layers of fabric beneath your fingers.
“You sound like an angel saying my name like that.” Both his hands are back on your breasts, fingers digging into your flesh in ways that have you arching your back.
“An angel? Me?” Your lips curl into a crooked smile. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
As you rub two fingers back and forth over the hard shape in his pants, he clamps down on your ear with his teeth and lets a muffled moan escape with his breath. “You’re right. You’re corrupted. An angel with horns. I swear I can see them.”
“Oh, so I’m a devil now? Make up your mind, will you?” You press your lips into a thin line, trying to conceal the satisfaction in your expression when he pulls back to glare at you. Good thing looks can’t kill. His stare is as icy as the room. Is he legitimately pouting at you for teasing him? He’s the king of teasing; he’s just mad you’re just dishing it back in heaps tonight.
“No, you’re an angel with horns,” he insists, glowering as you continue to stroke him through his pants using just your fingertips. He responds by pinching both of your nipples hard, causing you to cry out and grind yourself down on his thighs. You think about slapping his hands away, but the way his fingers now work soothing circles around the sensitive nubs has you leaning into his touch, aching for more. You roll your hips forward, grazing his dick with your pelvis. But it’s not enough and he can tell.
“You won’t get what you need that way.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans forward.
You instantly cling to his shoulders, feeling like he’s about to push you off the couch. His hands clutch your back as he safely dips you onto the floor. The way he towers over you as he drops to his knees has you regretting your decision to not wear panties underneath your leggings. The wetness that just gushed out of you is definitely soaking through. You lean back on your elbows, giggling like a schoolgirl as you inch yourself backwards, closer to the heater. Your eyes never leave his form as he grips his t-shirt by the collar and pops it over his head in one swift motion.
You blink, exhaling a held breath as you catch the glint of silver studs protruding from both sides of hardened brown nipples. The piercings come as a surprise, but you’re excited by the thought of clamping your mouth over them. Your eyes continue hungrily scanning the smooth expanse of his chest as he drapes the blanket across his back with a small shiver. A tattoo lines his ribs, scrawled in hasty bold letters: ‘NEVERMIND.’
He smirks, crawling over you and slotting a knee between your legs. Your fingertips gingerly brush across the inked skin in wonder, not able to take your eyes off of it. “Is there meaning behind that?”
You verbalize the thought without thinking, knowing he’s probably been asked that a million times. You know not every tattoo has to have some deep profound meaning, and you feel a little foolish for asking what might be a personal question. But every thump of the heavy beat in your chest tells you that the more you ask, the more you learn, and the harder you fall. You’ve been falling for months now, but at least it’s not such a lonely descent anymore.
He plants a gentle, chaste kiss on your lips before pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s a reminder to not care what other people think.”
“Does it work?” you ask while trailing fingers through his hair. “I feel like I could use that advice daily.”
He laughs, although you swear he looks sad as he thumbs your cheek. “Do you think I would have waited so long to have you like this if it did? I care too much about what others think. I always have. I was scared you’d see what a mess I am and you’d never look at me again. I couldn’t bear the thought.”
Your stomach does a somersault. “I think… You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Definitely the hottest.” That pulls a shy grin from him. Your heart is soaring, telling you now is the time to be honest. “Jimin, I... feel happiest when I get to talk to you, even for just five minutes. I love hearing you talk about your granny because it gives me hope that families don’t have to be so messed up. I don’t have parents to call and talk to about my day. I used to be sad about that. Then you started doing laundry on my night. And you always make a point of asking about my day. It’s such a small thing, but it makes me so happy.
“Because you listen to my rambling and instead of calling me dumb or hurrying me to the point of my stories like everyone else in my life, you always look at me like…” you pause, trying to push down the tears you can feel building, but you know your eyes are going glassy because his brow furrows in sympathy.
A subtle frown takes hold of his mouth and his eyes soften, leaving an ache in your chest that makes it harder to go on.
“...like you actually like listening to me. I can’t describe how much that means to me because,” you continue, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time, “I’m used to being ignored or talked over. You’re the first person in a long time to make me feel like I’m not a burden. Or… a grade-A fuckup.” A choked laugh escapes with your held breath. “You think you’re a mess, Jimin, but look at me. I’m a mess. And yet, when I’m with you, I feel like it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something about you that makes me feel...”
Goddamnit. You’re blowing it. Jimin’s hovering above you, shirtless, after just making out with you and now you’re turning things into a sob-story. Tears well up in your eyes and your throat closes, forbidding you from saying anything else. Are you shaking because you’re cold, or because this is almost too much to handle? You should get up. You should go back to your apartment and cry it out and apologize in the morning.
You push him back and sit up, intending to do just that as the tears in your eyes use gravity to their advantage. You move to wipe your eyes, but Jimin’s fingers catch them right as they begin to streak down your cheek.
“Complete? Less alone?” he wonders, trying to get you to look at him. “I listen to you because you deserve to be heard. You’re funny and cute and smart. And you always have a good story about dogs. How can anyone not want to listen to you?”
He throws his arms around your quivering shoulders, bringing you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel, that life has been so unfair to you. But I… will always ask about your day. Not because you need to tell me, but because I want to know.”
He sniffles loudly and your hands fly to his back to comfort him. “Maybe it’s okay that you’re a mess because I am too. Let’s be a mess together, okay?”
He pulls back and now it’s your turn to wipe the tears from his eyes. You share a warm smile when your eyes catch the flash of red lace on his shoulder, making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.
You gulp as his eyes follow your gaze to your favorite pair of red panties clinging to the fleece blanket. You immediately try to snatch them, but he beats you to them and closes his fist around the lacey material.
“Wow you already took these off for me?” he asks with a sly grin, knowing damn well that they must have stuck to the blanket he briefly tossed into the dryer with your clothes. You stumble over your own knees as you reach out to take them back.
He puckers his lips and feigns surprise, forcing air through his teeth as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, they’re a little wet!”
You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole as you snatch them from his grip.
“Don’t be so embarrassing,” you mumble, stuffing them into the pocket of your hoodie.
“But you’re so cute when you get shy.” He goes in for a kiss, but misses your lips as you turn your head away. Not to be dismissed, he moves towards your ear, ghosting his fingertips around your hairline.
“Besides,” he continues, lowering the usual melodic tenor of his voice to a sultry bass, “I know that’s nothing compared to how wet you are for me now.”
He knows. Of course he knows. Ashamed by the truth in his statement, you bury your face into the warmth of his neck, letting a high-pitched whine flee from your throat, which quickly turns into a muffled screech against his skin.
He laughs at the ridiculous sound. You’re so weird. How can you be so weird and still turn him on? “See? You’re so cute. Hey, don’t hide from me!”
He takes the opportunity to slide his hands under your sweater again, fingers pinching the soft flesh of your waist. You bolt upright and grip his wrists like you’re about to snap them in half.
“Such a brat. I take back all the nice things I said,” you whisper, rolling your eyes. Even as the words are coming out, you’re bringing his hands to your chin and kissing the brim of his curled knuckles.
“You can’t,” he weakly drawls, losing himself in your touch.
He walks his fingers over your bottom lip and drums them against the inside of your mouth, watching your lip snap back to you with each slow, alternating swipe. You dart your tongue out to coat the pads of his fingers, wanting to tease the wet heat of your mouth closing down on him. But the way his eyelashes hopelessly batt as he tries to close his eyes and compose himself has you sucking his fingers into your mouth in an instant. Hollowing your cheeks, you trap him in the slick pressure chamber between your cheeks and your tongue. His jaw hangs open as he watches you slowly glide them in and out of your mouth.
An uneven breath hitches in his throat. “Don’t be a tease,” he pleads.
You pause, chest burning as his eyes bore into yours. His fingers coast out of your mouth with a gross popping sound and you kiss the tips of them before speaking, “Then don’t be a brat.”
Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he wraps an arm around your neck, the weight of his body pressing you back. The distance between you quickly fills with muffled moans and the wet smack of your lips hungrily sliding against one another.
“I want to feel you,” he murmurs between open-mouth kisses, fingers diving under your sweatshirt and slowly working the material up your stomach.
“Me too,” you say, brain short-circuiting as his mouth licks a hot stripe down your neck. “I mean, I want you to feel me too. Not that I don’t want to feel you. I want to feel you. A lot.”
He smiles against your skin. The fabric of your sweatshirt bunches up just below your breasts and he pauses, waiting for a possible objection. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Please,” you breathe, already wiggling your arms out of the sleeves. Between the chill of the air and Jimin’s sharp inhale, your nipples grow rigid. You’re pretty sure they’re hard enough to cut glass. His eyes roam your chest, drinking in the sight of your beauty just as you finish dragging the sweater over your head. He forces himself to tear his eyes from the sight of your pebbled nipples heaving up and down with each shallow breath your lungs take in.
Blinking a few times, he drags his eyes up and giggles when he sees the static in your hair.
You recoil and quickly criss-cross your arms to cover your chest, mistakenly believing he’s mocking your body. You think you’d be used to people laughing at you by now, but it still catches you off guard. It’s like a swift punch to the gut when you consider your foolish optimism. Armed with knowledge of the meaning behind his tattoo, you truly hoped Jimin could see past the years you spent ripping yourself apart in attempts to please others.
It’s been tough, but you’ve been able to pick up the pieces of your shattered self-esteem since moving away from the city. Leaving behind the hate and negativity binding you back to that world seemed impossible at the time, but you’ve made such progress, such strides away from all that. You’d like to think you possess a resilience, a hard shell that protects you from cruel people now, but it turns out you’re just as soft and vulnerable as ever.
It’s been years of tying ribbons decorated with hope and cheerfulness over the despondency branded into your core. And it feels like everything you’ve worked so hard to become unravels in an instant. You feel like melting into a puddle of tears. You feel like an idiot.
“Are you okay?” His smile falters and the laughter previously ringing throughout the room dies on the tip of his tongue. Anxiety drenches his face as he looks upon you, his stomach flip-flopping with the concerns building in his throat.
“Sorry,” you apologize, unable to hide your shame for not living up to whatever expectations he might have had. Still, you cling to the shred of dignity that remains lodged in the back of your mind. “I know I’m not… Like… The best looking, but it was kind of mean to laugh.”
“Oh…. Oh no… Y/N, I wasn’t laughing at… I would never… I was laughing because of this…” He drops his finger to your nose and you’re shocked by sharp a jolt of electricity. He makes a big gesture around his head to try and explain. “Your hair was fluffy. It was cute.”
He does his best to hide the tremble of his fingers as they brush the hair from your eyes and slowly trace jagged lines down your body. “I think you’re beautiful. And I will never. Ever. Be cruel to you. I will never hurt you.”
“Promise?” you ask, feeling foolish for falling apart so easily under a false assumption.
“I promise,” he insists, innocently brushing his lips against yours.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into both a deeper kiss and embrace. The cold sting of the metal studs at his nipples gives you goosebumps, but the skin-to-skin contact has you moaning into him and craving more. Your tongue plunges into his mouth and he responds with an enthusiastic grind of his hips.
“Fuck,” you pant, already not-so-subtly yanking the fabric of your leggings down.
“Let me help you,” he offers.
Your hands, which have been trying to work the material down your hips without lifting your ass, abandon their efforts in favor of groping the small of his back and lightly massaging the back of his neck. He smiles sweetly, lifting himself up enough to trail a hand down between the two of you, letting it take a detour along the curve of your breasts as it goes. When it finally meets the fabric still gathered just above your sex, he pauses and then dives his fingers below the material instead.
You gasp as he rubs his fingers along your folds, seeking access to the prize hidden beneath. The slick, sticky coating now drenching every bit of your cunt allows him to glide through almost too easily. Suddenly he’s rubbing small, quick circles against your slippery clit and your can’t help but throw your head back against the floor. Lucky for you the carpet softens the blow.
“Does it feel good?” he asks with a pleased hum as his lips close around a pebbled nipple and swathes his tongue over it.
Your head lolls from side to side as you massage your fingertips into the base of his scalp. “So fucking good, Jimin.”
He moans at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, deciding it’s time to rub your clit with his thumb instead so he can dip his fingers inside you. His knuckles rub against the damp fabric of your leggings as he teases your obscenely wet entrance with a finger. Quickly deciding two is far better than one, he plunges them inside your dripping cunt while keeping a steady pressure on your clit.
You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he curls his fingers up to experience the contraction of your walls before he starts languidly pumping those delicate digits in and out of you. Digging into his back with your fingernails and knotting your other hand in his hair, you cry out a sound that makes his cock twitch against his belly.
He drags your nipple through his teeth as he pulls back, watching the jiggle that ripples through your breast before turning his head to rest on it. Suddenly his fingers disappear from your cunt and your walls spasm, weeping at the loss.
“So wet…” he whispers, sliding all of his fingers along your folds and gathering as much of you as he can.
You’re so fucking embarrassed. You’re not just wet, you’re salaciously wet, like a goddamn waterfall of pussy juice. Just as you’re about to apologize, he drags a wet, sticky trail up your belly with fingertips that have been drowned in your essence. You lose the will to speak as he looks up from his resting place on your tits.
“Is this all for me?” he inquires with a face of stone, eyelids half-closed as he spreads his fingers apart to let you see the glistening trails connecting them.
You manage to squeak out a pitiful, “I’m so sorry!”
Why you’re acting like you’ve physically harmed him in some way has him beyond puzzled. “Sorry? But, why?” He blinks, furrowing his brow. “I’ve never had someone this wet for me…. From now on…” he shyly trails off, bringing his fingers to his kiss-swollen lips and flicking his tongue across each one. His voice drops an octave. “I’ll be thinking about this every time I cum.”
With that he dips one into his mouth, eyes fixed on yours. You can’t look away, can’t even blink when he moans, eyelids fluttering as he deeply inhales your scent. “Delicious….”
You watch, speechless as he takes turns plugging his fingers into his mouth until he’s licked them all clean. “You taste sweeter than I imagined, Snow.”
When you don’t react, and stare at him like a terrified deer in headlights, he leans forward and hovers above your mouth. “You okay?”
Smelling yourself on his breath, your eyes close and you pull him into a deep kiss. He already tastes so fucking good. But he tastes heavenly when he’s wearing you on his tongue. “You’re... ” You try to shake the stupor out of your eyes, but you’re so smitten. “Amazing.”
He grins, pressing his lips to your cheek, then your neck, then your collarbone. He swipes his tongue across an area that makes you tense and he decides to revisit it, sucking a red mark of revenge into your flesh.
“I want you so fucking bad. Please, Jimin,” you whimper his name like he’ll take pity on you and climb back up your body to give you another taste of his mouth dripping with your juices.
Instead, your fingernails claw channels into his back as he forgoes the spot at your neck. He descends, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he can around both of your tits. “I want...” He laps the sticky trail he previously made with his fingers, following the path from your nipple down to your waist. “To make…” His tongue makes a lazy circle around your belly button before coasting down to the band of your leggings. “You cum for me.”
Your walls try to clamp down on something, anything, but there’s nothing inside your cunt to satisfy the craving driving you mad. You don’t have time to ruminate on this because he’s already yanking your leggings down your thighs, pulling them off and tossing them across the room. Your first instinct is to lock your thighs together to hide yourself from his gaze, but his palms catch your ankles as he moves to slot himself between your legs.
“Finally,” he breathes, running his hands up the inside of your calves, past your knees, slowing when he reaches your thighs. “Can I...?”
He seeks your approval, but you’re already throbbing with need, nodding and biting your lip to keep yourself from screaming yes. “Please, Jimin. Please.”
You tense as he presses his palms into both of your thighs, spreading you wide so he can see your glistening pussy. “Beautiful.”
Your cheeks are on fire, but you don’t have time to dwell on that either because Jimin is diving his tongue into your cunt like a man starved, lapping up your juices with a shameless slurping sound. And it feels like you’ve reached fucking nirvana.
“Oh fuck,” you cry out, tone laced with whiny need. All you can do is twist your fingers around strands of his hair as your head slams back against the floor. If it weren’t for this carpet, you’d probably have a concussion by now.
The more you whimper, the harder he pushes his jaw into you, swiping his tongue into the entrance of your cunt and collecting as much of your sweetness as he can. He flicks his tongue in messy circles along your labia, taking his time as he works his way up to that sensitive bundle of nerves above.
You swear that he must have some sort of supernatural gift for eating pussy because you can already feel the orgasm building in your gut. You flex the muscles of your stomach, trying to will yourself to hold on just a little longer. Clenching your jaw, you tighten your grip in his hair and swallow hard. He groans against you as you tug at his golden locks, sending soft vibrations straight to your core.
The forgotten movie continues playing nearby, but all you can hear are the deep inhales he's taking through his nose as he keeps is mouth clamped down over your clit. The wet squelching of his tongue mixing saliva with your own bodily fluids should be grossing you out, but it fills you with a new wave of desire that pushes you closer to the edge. You've only ever gotten close this fast when you're alone. How much of his soul did he have to sell for this sinful ability?
You moan his name again as you slide one hand to your tit, groping and pinching your freezing nipple in multiple directions. He lifts his mouth to hungrily gasp for air while continuing to sweep his tongue over your vulva. When he catches the movement of your hand tweaking your nipple, he groans and passionately moves his lips over your clit like he's trying to make out with it. Your eyes roll back and you whine loudly as he pulls himself off you long enough to speak.
"You taste so good, " he whispers, sounding out of breath, like he might have been suffocating himself in your cunt for fun. "Does it feel good?"
He brushes his fingertips over your swollen clit, knowing damn well you're pulsing with need. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at him. He cocks his head to the side, allowing his hair to fall across his face, waiting for you to answer.
You answer with a roll of your hips, trying to increase the pressure of his fingers on your bud by wrapping your legs around his back. He obliges your need for a moment, basking in the feel of your body desperately grinding onto his fingers, but he pulls them back and tuts at you with a sweet smile on his face. It's subtle but Jimin can feel it: the tremble of your thighs.
No matter how much you try to hide it, he knows. You're already so close that you're literally shaking. Will you beg me, Snow?
His eyes settle on yours as he slowly moves his fingertips back to your clit, only granting featherlight touches until you answer his question. When you push your hips back down for more, he moves his hand away again, grinning like a madman at the frustration staining your features.
Maybe you forgot what he asked. Raising his eyebrows, he trails his fingers up and down your thighs in teasing repetitions, always retracting them the moment he starts to give you what you want. "Tell me it feels good."
"You know it feels good," you whimper as his thumb swipes over your entrance.
"How good?" He stills, hovering his fingers over your clit. You can feel him teasing faint circles over it, denying you any sort of pressure until you answer.
"So fucking good."
He licks his lips, and spreads your folds open with his fingers. "Tell me how much you want me."
"I want you so fucking bad. I can't think about anything else. Please, baby."
A mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Baby…" he parrots back in a whiny voice, mocking you while kissing a line down your inner thigh. He swipes his tongue slowly up your entrance, quickly licking your clit like it's his new favorite flavor of lollipop.
"Jimin, please," you protest, throwing your head back so you don't have to look at him.
"What?" He slows his pace, kissing your swollen bud and rolling it against his tongue, pausing to whisper into you. "Tell me, baby."
With all mockery removed from his tone, the innocent word sounds absolutely sinful falling from his lips. If you're being honest, you never want him to stop saying it.
"You're evil," you breathe. "Please, don't stop."
You squeeze your thighs around his head as he massages his tongue against a particularly sensitive spot.
"Ah…! There! Right fucking there!" Your elbows ache as you try to stay propped up to keep your view of his beautiful face buried in you. "Jimin… Jimin, you're gonna make me cum."
Dark eyes peer up at you, sucking your labia through puckered lips before pausing to pant against you. "I know… Will you touch your pretty body for me, baby?"
Your thighs twitch at the request. He takes the opportunity to slide a finger inside your cunt while he tongues your clit. You lean back even further, mouth silently hanging open like you're about to start wailing. Instead you grab at your breast like it's your lifeline, catching your nipple between shaky fingers. Finally you give up on watching and throw your head back, resting it on the floor and running your fingers through your hair to keep from shoving his head down.
The quiver in your thighs grows stronger and you find yourself involuntarily bouncing to fight the sensitivity mixed in with pleasure. He clamps a hand on your hip to try to keep you from bucking him off the wonderful spot he's found. You clench around his fingers, aching for his return when he lifts his mouth from your clit.
"Look at me," he pleads, reaching his thumb up to tease the place he's left covered in spit.
You struggle to perch yourself on your hands, running on pure adrenaline from the most intense edging of your life. Fingernails dig into the carpet on either side of you, arms shaking like they're made of jello. "Jimin… I can't. Not when you're looking at me like that."
He cocks his head to the side curiously. "I'm not sure what you mean?"
You beg, not as a "please," or "come on," but his name expressed as a hopeless sigh; it sounds criminal when you say it like that.
He cracks a smile. "Let me help you."
He slides the hand currently at your hip around your side and presses against the curve of your back. Slipping his fingers from your cunt, he shoves them into your mouth and forces you to bend forward and watch as he descends to replace them.
"See how good you taste?" He whispers it like it's some forbidden secret he's chosen to share. Not giving you a chance to respond, he works his tongue along every delicate fold he can, savoring the tremor of your form as he turns his attention to that wonderful spot he found earlier.
Release is closing in fast as he batters his tongue against your clit. You mindlessly suck your taste from his fingers, letting a culmination of saliva and your own juices seethe from the corners of your mouth to coat your chest in a messy drizzle.
"Fuuuck," you whimper, bobbing your head over them like they're the cock you're craving. The pleasure between your legs is all-consuming, causing your eyes to water as you clench them shut. You feel your orgasm cresting with each quick swipe of his tongue. You force your eyes back open, fearing he might stop and tease you again if you don't.
"Ahhhhm," you moan as his fingers tug your jaw down and you grind your clit hard against the velvety smooth comfort of his lips. "Gonna cum."
Keeping his dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, he releases a groan that vibrates into your core. Your hips stutter against him and suddenly tense. The only form of movement your body offers is the violent tremor deep in your core as you give in to the crashing waves of your orgasm.
Your sharp intake of breath and heavy, spit-soaked moan is almost enough to make him cum on the spot. The quick battering of his tongue never falters and he lets you ride out the high until your body can process movement again. Aftershocks wrack your core until you're bucking your hips in an attempt to free yourself from the overstimulation.
He considers standing his ground to try and give you another, but he climbs up your body instead. Your arms wobble as he presses himself against you, lips and chin glistening in the low light. Despite the sweat running down his forehead, he shivers when you run your tongue over his lips to commit to memory how good he tastes when he's wearing you.
You reach down, palming his length through his pants, feeling the leaking tip poking out the band at his waist. "I want to make you feel good. Please let me make you cum."
He takes in a ragged breath against your kiss, "I'll be right back."
Before you can process the words, he's gone, leaving you as a panting mess on the floor. The heater sends a flow of hot air towards you but you can still feel the cold nipping at your sweaty skin.
Jimin practically sprints back to you, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth. When he sees you lying naked on his floor, he pauses to take in the sight. This better not be a really vivid dream.
You look up and he's looking back at you, smiling in a way that melts the chill off every part of your body. You grin like a smitten fool, unable to focus on anything but his kind eyes, even as he's tugging his sweatpants off and rolling the condom down his shaft.
By the time you realize you have a chance to look at his dick and commit the sight to memory, he's already slotted himself between your legs. He pulls the forgotten blanket over his back and lets the weight of his chest come down on yours.
He brushes the hair from your forehead as you wrap your arms around his form in an intimate embrace. He studies your face a moment, wondering if it's too soon to tell you how much he cares about you. It's the little things over the months he's fallen for, small pieces of you that have burrowed into his heart to build a larger, stronger form of affection. This feeling is more than just a shallow attraction, but will bringing that up make you run away?
It's worth the risk. If you don't feel the same, then he can't bear to have you like this even if his body is screaming for it. It can't be meaningless. Not with you.
He offers a gentle kiss, fingers trembling as they cup your chin. He lets the whisper rest against the surface of your lips. "I love you."
Your heart skips a beat and you hug your arms tighter around him. Love is a strong word. Especially for you. Growing up, you experienced what two people called love for the sake of outward appearances, but it was really only a mask they wore to conceal their hatred of each other. How can you say you love him when you don't even know what real love is like?
He waits for the response buried in your throat, trepidation taking hold of every thought outlining the possibility of reciprocation and twisting it into a mental lashing. Has his sensitivity on this matter really messed it all up? His eyes flicker between yours, pursing his lips and holding back a sigh when the answer doesn't come. He can’t tell what you’re thinking but heaven knows he’s trying to nurture the power of telepathy right now.
You know he wants the truth, whatever it may be. You swallow, chest tight as you try to form the words. You think of the kindness shown by others in your life, all the good experiences mixed in with all the shit life has thrown in your face. Jimin falls into the extremely good category, like the "I didn't know I could feel this good" category. You can't imagine a day going by that you don't talk to him. You don't want to.
"I don't have a good example of love-love to go by," you begin, watching him try to hide the disappointment in his face. "But I'd like to think this is what it's supposed to be."
Tears sting your eyes. Vulnerability is hard, but you're willing to take a chance on him and he realizes how big that is for you. Salty sweet tears of relief run down his cheeks as he kisses away your shared insecurities.
He could spend forever tangled in your embrace, innocently kissing away your worries and fears. Your fingers drag their way through his hair and you rut your hips into him, grinding your pelvises together. Being this intimate is new and exciting, but it's leaving you too vulnerable and is becoming an increasingly prominent source of anxiety.
Gripping the edges of the blanket at his back, you pull it across his shoulder blades as though it will cover the goosebumps speckling your chest. "Mmm. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
He steadies himself on his elbows, fingers dancing with strands of your hair against the carpet. He rolls his hips against you a few times with a smile, letting his dick slide against your soaked, sensitive clit before lifting back and lining himself up properly.
“Tell me you want me,” he whimpers, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance with shallow taps. You try to lure him in by contracting the muscles in your pussy touching the head, hoping the feeling is enough rather than words. You’re having a hard time with those right now.
“Aaah…” he moans, dipping his head to your neck a moment. “You really are impatient.”
Slowly, he glides himself in about an inch, feeling you tense at the intrusion. The stretch makes you breathe a moan into his ear, causing him to snap his head back up to make eye contact with you. His chest is heaving as he waits, trying to give you time to adjust without blowing his load immediately. The way you’re trying to torture him by squeezing your walls around him is not making things easy.
“More, please,” you sigh, gripping the thick meat of his ass and pulling him towards you. “I want you.”
Finally, he gives in to the pleasure. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he bottoms out in one smooth motion. You squeak a brief sound of satisfaction, enjoying the dark hunger blazing in his eyes when they focus back on your face. He tries to reel the self-control back in, dragging his cock out at a leisurely pace before slowly working it back in. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, for this to be an unpleasant experience. But god. You feel so good. Too good.
“I always want you,” you breathe, hooking your legs around his waist and rolling your hips up to meet his as they come back down.
It’s difficult to think when you’re such a gorgeous mess beneath him. With your eyebrows knitting together, jaw hanging open, an apologetic look in your eyes as your hand shoots up to grip the back of his neck for better leverage to thrust yourself back up at him: you’re the epitome of perfection. His pace quickens with a spike of adrenaline surging through his veins. Soon his mouth hangs open, mirroring yours as he’s overwhelmed with the sensation of your tight, wet hole squeezing his cock like it’s the only place it’s ever needed to belong.
“J-Jimin,” you whine, looking down to catch the way your own tits press together, bouncing in unison with your writhing bodies. You try to see past your tits, hoping to catch a glimpse of his length disappearing inside of you, but the shadows cast by the blanket make it hard to see much of anything. So you drag your eyes back up to meet his, absolutely destroyed by the wonder painted all over his features. He’s looking at you like you’re the most perfect human he’s ever seen.
Because you are.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, bringing his open mouth down over yours.
With your tongues duking it out with each other, he pistons his cock into you with a vigor unlike anything you’ve experienced in your life. The squelching of your pussy while being mercilessly pounded is background noise to the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You groan a garbled sound into his mouth, trying to remember how to breathe and process pleasure at the same time.
He moves to your neck, latching onto a sensitive spot immediately. This combined with the weight of him pressing down on your chest has you heaving, exposing more of your neck for him to explore. Your sweaty bodies slide against each other and you roam your fingers through his damp hair, savoring the feel of his tongue gliding up and down your neck until he settles on a place that makes you curl your fingers around those strawberry blonde locks.
You never thought you’d feel safe like this, and yet here you are. You’re about to lose yourself in the emotional implications of your progress when he slips right out and thrusts up against your clit, immediately apologizing. You cry out at the loss, wishing he could fill you up all day every day for the rest of your life. Because without him you feel so empty.
He chuckles nervously. “Slippery… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
You smile, placing a small kiss on his lips. “I’m fine. But I think you’re working too hard. Why don’t you relax?”
You place a hand on his chest, facilitating the switch in your positions. Jimin rolls flat on his back with a grin, blanket trapped beneath him. There’s nothing to hide behind now. You finally take in the sight of his cock standing at attention, its beautiful girthy form being suffocated within the cream-covered condom. It’s a perfect size. Not too big. Not too small. Most of all it’s wide enough to fill you up, and so fucking delicious-looking. You could pop the condom off and take him into your mouth right now. He must see the thought cross your mind as you lick your lips because he grabs your wrists and guides you up to meet his face.
“Come back to me. Your Prince Charming would like to kiss you,” he coaxes in a cloyingly sweet tone. “There will be time to kiss me elsewhere later.”
“Oh, you’re my Prince Charming?” You can’t help but smile. He makes your heart swell with joy, even when he’s being a brat. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”
“Since the day I decided you were Snow White,” he says breathlessly.
“I told you that animals don’t actually like me as much as you think they do. Birds poop on me all the time.”
“And I told you Granny says that’s good luck.” He presses his lips to your cheek and grabs your waist. “I just wanted to sweep you off your feet,” he sheepishly admits, eyes darting away for a moment.
You straddle his waist, aligning yourself with his cock. “And tell me, what do you want now?”
“I want…” His eyes glaze over as he feels you sink down, grunting a weak “please” when you’re flush with his pelvis, unmoving. His hands link themselves with yours as you lean over him. Instead of looking anywhere else or trying to get you to move your hips, he stills and looks deep into your eyes. “I want to be your happily ever after, my lovely princess.”
His words catch you off guard and tears begin falling with your stunned blinks. He’s always looked at you like a princess, hasn’t he? It doesn’t matter how screwed up you may feel, or even how screwed up you actually are. He loves you. He cares for you. And he wants you to see what he sees so badly that he will point the mirror on the wall towards you every day until you see that you truly are the fairest of them all.
“Please don’t cry,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. There are already tears forming in his eyes too. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am,” you smile, lowering yourself to press your chests together. His arms wrap around you, offering comforting strokes with his fingertips against your back. His cock is still buried in your pussy and it’s distracting. He would love nothing more than to thrust up into you and spill himself in your guts.
“Tell me you love me,” you beg in a hushed whisper, kissing him like he’s the only form of oxygen you’re going to get for the rest of the night.
“I love you,” he whispers back between greedy, sloppy kisses.
You roll your hips, granting the movement he’s been craving as you slowly bounce on his cock. When he groans you clench around him and pick up your pace, hoping that you’re not as sloppy as you feel. Between the tears and the emotions swirling in your chest, your hips are a stuttering mess. If you are being a terrible top, he doesn’t say anything. He rocks himself with your slow, fucked out pace, hitting a heavenly spot inside you with each pivot your hips make to meet his again.
“I love you,” he repeats into the air as you lean back and steady yourself by placing your palms on his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as you begin a new, rapid tempo that threatens to make him cum in seconds. He slurs out a whine of incoherent sounds, indicating you’re bringing him closer to the edge of release.
The shy, proud grin spreads across your face like wildfire as you watch him physically struggle to compose himself. “Got a big load for me, Charming? Or is it reasonably-sized?”
His face is flush and those big black pupils are dilated so wide you can’t tell them apart from the irises anymore. He wants to tell you to slow down so he can drag this out some more, but his climax is racing the words trapped in his throat. He grabs your hands and pulls you down close to him so he can kiss you again and again.
“Y/N… Ah…. I can’t....” He’s sucking air through clenched teeth between kisses, trying his best to push back the tightness in his balls.
“It’s okay, Jimin. Let go. Cum for me.”
With that he quickly wraps his arms around your waist, digging his fingernails into your sides as he takes control from beneath you, fucking you hard and fast as he chases his release. Your body shakes as he relentlessly thrusts those sinful hips upwards in quick, powerful strokes, holding you in a tight embrace like you might float away if he loosens his grip. You moan into each other’s mouths, the muffled sounds mingling as you crash your tongues against one another.
“I love you,” he whispers again, desperately this time.
“I love you too,” you respond breathlessly, doing your best to keep up with the insane tempo he’s set.
“Oh,” he quickly gasps, unable to fight the curse on the tip of his tongue. “Baby… Fuck... I’m cumming.”
The rhythm of his thrusts somehow increases in speed and you’re relieved to hear him gasp out the affirmation of his release. A small part of you is worried you won’t be able to take much more, even though you really want to; it’s been some time since anything has been between your legs that didn’t run on batteries. This is so much better.
Needy moans spill into your mouth with your name on repeat between breaths. He pumps himself into you with one last burst of power. Once. Twice. Three times. His hips shake beneath yours and fall limp against the floor as he chews on your bottom lip. Jimin cumming is hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced in your life and tonight you’ve heard it twice.
He allows your lip to snap back to you and plants a kiss on your forehead before rolling you over onto your back and slipping himself from inside of you. “Will you stay here tonight?”
You nod with a tired smile. “If you still want me.”
“I always want you,” he whispers with a shy kiss to your cheek. “The bed’s a bit more comfortable though.”
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“I really didn’t mean to say it,” Jeongguk whines, face buried in his hands as he sits on Jimin’s couch.
Jimin puffs his cheeks, sparing a glance at the clock on his phone. He made plans to watch a movie with you once you got home from work. And by watch a movie, he means to disregard the movie as background noise and fuck you senseless. What he didn’t plan on was his friend stopping by for an impromptu therapy session; it happens often enough that he usually is prepared for such an event. But there’s only been one thing on his mind for the past week, and it’s been bent over every surface in this apartment every day the moment you get home. He’s eager to keep that streak going.
You’ll be home soon and Jeongguk doesn’t show any signs of leaving. Jimin decides to text you, letting you know the door is still unlocked, but he has company so don’t come running in while tearing your shirt off unless you want to entertain them both. He smiles when he hits send, eager for a response. It’s at this moment Jeongguk looks up at his friend, realizing he’s enamored with his phone.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Jeongguk looks crushed, sinking back into the cushion and rubbing his thumbs over the yellow plush dog Yoongi had constructed for Jimin at work. Its silky fur is comforting to Jeongguk, but not enough to soothe the ache in his heart. He fucked things up with this new teacher and he really doesn’t know how to smooth things over. Where does he even begin?
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, quickly pocketing his phone and making sure Jeongguk knows he has his full attention. He places a hand on his knee and squeezes. “It’s okay. Just apologize to her.”
"How can I do that when every time I talk to her I can't even think straight? I mess up everything that I do when she's around," he groans, clearly resigned to his own hopelessness.
"How can you possibly mess up two words?" Jimin asks, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. He reaches for Jeongguk's jaw and begins practicing ventriloquy as he opens and closes it in time with his advice. "I'm. Sorry."
Jeongguk playfully slaps his hand away, "It's not that easy and you know it." He sighs heavily. “Besides. You know me. I already messed up an apology. ”
The smile falls from Jimin’s face. “What happened now? Don’t tell me it’s worse than the balls conversation.”
Jeongguk tents his fingers on either side of his temples and inhales deeply. On exhale he screeches, memory replaying his most recent mistake one more time.
“...That bad, huh?” He frowns, crossing the room to get him a beverage.
Jeongguk runs his fingers through his hair a few times before he snatches the banana milk from Jimin. He’s just gotta focus on something else. Anything else. He starts chugging the bottle, milk spilling from the corners of his mouth.
“Hey, slow down. I’m gonna be sick if you throw that stuff up.”
Jimin reaches for the small, plastic jug but it’s already empty by the time Jeongguk allows him to take it.
Jeongguk whimpers, “Not even banana milk can fix this.”
“Jeongguk. Tell me what happened.” It’s rare that Jimin ever gets stern with any of his friends, but sometimes they have a habit of getting in their own heads. He can pull them out by telling them what they need to hear, even if it isn’t always nice. He’s got a nagging feeling in his gut that this might be one of those times.
His friend leans back into the couch with palms pressed against his forehead. “I whipped a tennis ball across the court, but it fucking went out the door to the hall and hit her while she was walking by.”
“It was an accident!” Jimin insists.
“I know! But she! Doesn’t!” He pounds his hands into his forehead like it can knock the memory from his brain.
“Why not?” Jimin asks, suddenly suspicious. “What did you do when you realized you’d thrown something at someone? You apologized, right? Right?”
Jeongguk grits his teeth a subdued screech in his throat. “I ran over when I heard her scream and I was panicking so I just! I said ‘I’m so fucking sorry!’”
“That’s good--”
“And ‘Are you okay?!’”
“Sounds like you did fine---”
“But my brain couldn’t decide which one to say first so it merged them together! And I screamed at her!”
“Oh no.”
“Are you fucking sorry?! I screamed it Jimin. Are you fucking sorry! All of my students standing there watching me have a mental breakdown when she’s the one hurt.”
He’s practically in tears, damn near hysterical. Jimin offers a sympathetic grimace before going in for a big, comforting hug.
“Jeonggukie, it’s okay.”
“Not it’s not! I can never face her again. I can never face my students again. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”
Jimin squeezes him tighter. “You’ll get through this though. You know how I know?”
“How?” The words are muffled when spoken into the crook of his neck.
Jeongguk has buried himself dangerously close to the spots you’ve been claiming for yourself. He hopes his friend doesn’t notice the red bruises you’ve left behind.
“Because. I can think of a million other things that you’ve done that are way more embarrassing than this. And you’ve lived through them all. If anything your students will see you as someone they can relate to.”
“And Frizzle?”
“You have to do something genuinely nice for her and express your sincerest apologies. Take her somewhere nice for dinner. Admit you screwed up and you want to make things better. Explain how your life is a chain of embarrassing experiences. Tell her some stories of your other fails so she doesn’t think you’re being cruel. If you can’t think of any, I can make you a list. I really do remember things you’ve done that are worse than this, you know. ”
“No! No. I guarantee I’ve blocked them out for a reason.” The black-haired man sighs. He seems to at least be comforted by the thought that the situation isn’t totally unsalvageable. He stands with a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Jiminie. I love you.”
Jimin’s mouth curls into a smile as he goes in for one more hug. “You never forget to pay me, Jeonggukie.”
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Jeongguk steps across the threshold and is greeted by the very woman he’s been complaining to Jimin about for the better part of an hour. Every muscle in his body tenses and freezes in place. She’s just come out of the apartment next door. Jimin cocks his head at his friend, curiously watching the blatant change in body language.
“What is she doing here?” Jeongguk hisses at Jimin like the woman isn’t standing close enough to hear.
“Of course you’d be here. Don’t worry, Mr. Jeon, I’m on my way out, unless you’ve got something else to pile on to my hazing?”
Jeongguk clamps his mouth shut and tries to move out of her way, but she moves in the same direction. Both of them immediately try to go around, mirroring each other’s actions. This must be her. Jimin rubs his temple as he watches the awkward dance Jeongguk and “Frizzle” do as she tries to move past him. For a tall, muscular guy, Jeongguk seems to shrivel in stature the longer he stands there looking at her, stuttering out half of an apology before finally gripping her shoulders like he’s going to pick her up.
“Please let me go,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, despite the fact that he’s the one with his hands on her.
Jimin runs his fingers down his cheeks like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jeongguk’s aloof nature seems to have been amplified tenfold by the presence of this woman, which is an impressive feat. He’s got it so bad for this girl he really can’t think straight.
Jeongguk takes a deep breath and books it down the hallway, forgetting about his friend entirely. He gets to the stairwell and hunches over the bannister to screech like a pterodactyl, hoping to release some of the anguish tearing at his chest. He sighs, composing himself as he ascends the steps, patting his pockets for the comfort of escape. His heart drops. That familiar jingle of keychains and metal is missing. “My keeeeeeys!”
It’s then he realizes he’s going to have to walk back past you in shame to collect the missing item from Jimin’s apartment. Jimin wishes he could undo all of the secondhand embarrassment he just experienced. Being that this will be burned into his memory for some time, he slinks into your apartment for a healthy dose of distraction.
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The scent of cinnamon and vanilla hang in the air. You've been baking to keep yourself busy. You thought about asking your guild if anyone wanted to play online for a bit, but you really weren't in the mood for video games. You knew what to expect and yet you still find yourself disappointed by the lack of Holiday cards and letters.
Even if they don't give a shit about you, you still find your heart breaking, wishing you could know if your parents are doing okay. Maybe they're finally getting better. Maybe they're finally getting that divorce they desperately need. You whisk the batter, losing yourself in a sea of possibilities, regardless of whether it matters in the first place.
Then again, maybe they're doing better now that they don't have you around to use as a point of contention. They could be happy now that the supposed source of their misery is absent from their life. Your jaw tightens along with your grip on the mixing bowl cradled in your arms.
They probably don't think about you at all. How many times had you walked back from school alone in the dark because they forgot to pick you up? How many times had they straight up forgot you existed? They don't care. They don't even think about you. In fact, they're probably so drunk mom is passed out on the couch and dad is in a similar position in his office with a bottle of scotch and a nub of a burnt out cigarette hanging from his mouth.
You're mixing quickly, scraping loudly against the ceramic bowl in an attempt to drown out the anger in your head. It might not be enough to cover your incessant thoughts but it sure as hell camouflages Jimin's approach.
You bite your lip, white hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes. It's stupid. Why do you care so much when they obviously don't? You feel manic having the day off of work. There's too much time to think now that you don't have your customers to dote on and care for. You don't realize how slippery your fingers are now that they’re coated in a layer of sweat. The bowl slips from your hands and shatters against the floor, coating your floor and feet in a pasty splatter of dough.
“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, scooping his arms around your waist and dragging you away from the mess.
You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his embrace pulling your backwards, voice vibrating in your ear. You stumble backwards, losing traction over the spilled batter. He’s careful to get you away from the shards of glass littering the kitchen tile as you fall.
“I thought you had work to do,” you say, embarrassed by your lack of finesse.
“I finished up early. I… knocked but you didn’t answer,” he replies, taking a moment to inspect your face.
The mixture intended for cookies haphazardly sprinkles your cheeks and your eyes are still glossy from the tears gathered in them moments ago.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern dripping from the two simple words.
You hate making him worry so you force a counterfeit smile to split your lips. “Nothing!”
“I can tell you’re lying,” he insists, wiping your face with his fingers. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”
You hang your head low and press into his shoulder. “I was just thinking about my family. Please. It’s not important.” Another phony smile adorns your features as you look up at him. “But I’d like it very much if you could take my mind off it.”
He offers a warm smile and decides not to press further. He knows enough of your past to know you’d rather not speak on it unless you’re the one offering information. Despite the curiosity nagging at the corners of his mind, he plants a kiss on your lips instead. “Any requests?”
“Take me away from my own brain.”
He giggles, ready to make you forget every word you’ve ever learned that’s not his name, but he pauses, briefly recalling the reason he stopped by in the first place. “Oh wait. I wanted to ask you about that.”
You half-laugh, half-scoff. “It’s okay. I’ve accepted there’s no escape.”
Jimin shakes his head at you. “No, I mean would you like to get away from here for the night? My friends and I go to Taehyung’s parents’ cabin every year on New Years Eve. It’s like a little tradition.”
You blink at him. “Oh you mean Mr. Kim--er,” you correct yourself when he cringes. “Tannie’s dad? Wouldn’t it be weird if I showed up? I don’t want to intrude… And I would feel so awkward not knowing any of your friends.”
“They’re all really laid back. They’re like an extended family. Let me tell you about them,” he suggests, twining his fingers in yours and waving your hands around. “The drive to the cabin takes a couple hours. That’s plenty of time to give you a history lesson.”
“I don’t know…”
“You know,” he begins, swiping his batter-coated finger with his tongue. “Granny says it’s good luck when you kiss someone you love on New Year’s Eve at midnight.”
You roll your eyes, fighting the cheesy grin you feel coming on. “Is that so?”
He nods enthusiastically, sparing a glance at the shards of glass and spilled batter scattered across your kitchen floor. “Besides, what better way to keep your mind off of... everything?”
The man can be subtle when he wants to be, but you still follow his line of sight to the mess creeping down the slight slope in the tile.
“I have to sweep this up,” you mumble, ignoring giving him a finite answer as you cross the room to gather cleaning supplies.
There’s a protest caught in his throat that dies the moment you bend over to search for the dustpan in the closet. He saunters over, licking his lips and letting his fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips. Your eyes go wide as his length presses against your ass, already half hard. He offers a playful thrust as a joke, but if you drop your pants then the joke part of that thrust is totally cancelled. You sigh loudly and arch your back, slowly rising to looking over your shoulder at him. He swears time stops for a moment as half-lidded eyes chant his name without you saying a word.
“I really have to clean this up. It’s wet. The-The spot on the floor is wet.” You stumble over raspy and frantic words, all the moisture missing from your mouth. He tests your resolve by sneaking a finger below the band of your jeans, skirting his digits just outside of your underwear before pressing the silky fabric into your clit. With just a few slow circles, he has you moaning and weakly leaning back against him for support.
“You’re right. It’s a little wet. I should help you clean this up, don’t you think?” His breath is hot against your neck as he dips his hand lower, sneaking along your pantyline before pushing the barrier aside to dive in your cunt without warning.
You’re practically melting as he pumps his fingers into you, tongue dragging over your neck in a teasing swipe. It takes all of your willpower, but you grip his forearm with a groan. “You’re evil.”
“I’m Charming,” he insists with a grin, complying with your unspoken request to abandon his endeavors.
“I need to clean this before it gets in every last crack.”
Jimin opens his mouth to say something crass but gets distracted by your smiley kiss.
“We’ll get to that later. Go. Sit over there,” you instruct, pointing to the empty chairs on the other side of the bar-style counter.
He sulks over to the counter and sits with a huff, planting his elbows on the edge and resting his cheeks on the flat surface of his palms. It’s hard to ignore his bottom lip protruding in a pout as you get to work cleaning the mess you’ve stupidly made. Hard, but not impossible.
When it’s clear you’re ignoring him, he sits up straight and folds his arms over his chest, a puff of air passing his lips as he takes in his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes zone in on the familiar form of a package containing delicious pastries only made in one shop.
“Mistledough? You went to Mistledough?” he asks excitedly. You must have met Jin, if that’s the case.
You laugh, “Oh yeah. I stopped in to get some baked treats for the pups a couple weeks ago and this smooth-talking guy comes out from the back with a big smile. His shoulders are so big and his waist is so tiny that he looks like a dorito. Right? Anyway he’s doing this whole bit about how good this stuff is and how happy he gets when pretty girls come into his shop to order it. He definitely knows how to advertise because I bought a whole package of them without even trying it first. It’s… so good though. Have you ever had it? What I have now might be a little stale, but I’m sure it’s still fine to eat. Do you want some?”
You poke your head above the counter to see Jimin’s arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t looking at you but he definitely looks annoyed. Is he seriously still pouting because he has to wait ten whole minutes to put his fingers back in you?
“No,” he pouts quietly, entire demeanor flip-flopped in an instant. “I don’t want any. I know what it tastes like.
You frown, thinking maybe it’s something you said. “Do you not like that place?”
Jimin puffs his cheeks out and removes the thick black frames from his face to clean them with his shirt. “No, that place is fine.”
Anxiety races in your chest, heart snapping in two at the sound of his cold tone. “I’m sorry,” you say, gripping the dustpan tightly like he’s going to break things off. “Is it… Did I do something wrong?”
He catches your eyes, immediately filling his gut with guilt. “Ah, no, no. I’m sorry.” He licks his lips and rolls his eyes away, not wanting to look at you when he admits this. “It’s just… That handsome, wide-shouldered guy... That’s Seokjin. He’s my friend, but--Ah the way you talked about him just now, I got jealous. I’m sorry.”
Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. You cock your head to one side and stand to lean over the counter. No one’s ever been jealous of you before, or in regards to you; it’s kind of baffling that you don’t have the brain capacity to be flattered. “Jealous? Why?”
He spares a look at you and darts his eyes away. “Because.” He sighs loudly and slinks back in his chair. “He’s tall and those big shoulders let everyone know how strong he is. People can look at him and say wow, that guy is so handsome. He just… exudes manliness. Do you know what people say about me?”
The slow blink and the way he swallows tells you that he’s having trouble expressing the distasteful things he must have heard over the years.
“Jimin.” Your fingers grip his chin. “Nevermind what people say. They don’t matter. Do they?”
You tilt your head, trying to get him to look at you, gaze remaining steady on his eyes until he meets it.
“No…”
“You matter. But you’re hard on yourself. Do I matter?”
“Yes…” he breathes, offended that you’d even ask such a question.
“Well then you should listen to me. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re sweet and cute. I think you’re sexy and fun. I think I love the beauty of your soul as much as I love your handsome face. I think your height is not a measure of your worth and I’m not sure why it’s important to you, but I will hug you all day every day to remind you that you’re the perfect height to always bury your face in my tits.”
He laughs, visibly relaxing despite the blush creeping in his cheeks. “You’re good to me.”
“I think,” you continue, suddenly feeling shy yourself. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about. This world only has one Jimin. One who is perfect as himself. And I care about him so much that I want to go with him to a cabin where I won’t know anyone because when he’s around, my heart hurts less and the world feels less cold and when I’m with him, despite my paranoia and concerns about being murdered... he makes me feel safe. I love him.”
He smiles sweetly, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. “Who’s that Jimin? He sounds amazing. But I’ll have to teach him a lesson for stealing your affection.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, nuzzling your nose close to his. “You dork.”
“You’re coming with me then?”
“It’s a date, my prince,” you reply with a grin.
“Thank goodness. I already cancelled my ride.”
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The snow whips against your windshield wipers. Heat blares through the vents, the radio playing softly in the background. Jimin looks over at you, placing his hand on your thigh. You smile, giving it a firm squeeze and pressing it to your lips while your eyes squint through the blinding white obscuring the road.
“Do you see a sign to get back on the highway?” you ask, trying to bite back the anxiety brewing in your belly.
The “EXIT ONLY” sign responsible for your detour had been obscured by the heavy snowfall. Being that the inclement weather has put you in an unfamiliar area, you’re hopeful that the poorly plowed backroads are a short-lived side trip.
“Don’t worry. There has to be a way to get back on,” he assures you, giving your fingers a squeeze as he squints out the passenger side window. “Oh! That sign says there’s a gas station ahead. Maybe we could ask in there?”
You eye the instrument panel of your dashboard. The needle indicating the fuel level of your tank hovers two lines above “E.” You promptly go back to watching the road, wind whipping snow off nearby trees. You’re taking it slow as you come around a curve, but your tires spin when they hit a patch of ice.
“Oh shit!” Releasing his fingers, you throw your arm up to shield Jimin’s chest as do your best to turn your steering wheel into the skid as the vehicle veers off the side of the road.
The car makes a skewed slide to the shoulder of the road and continues to glide onto the snow-covered grass, coming to a complete stop before hitting any of the nearby trees. You exhale a ragged breath and look over at Jimin.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, carding his fingers through his hair. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” Your response is sturdy, composed, but its foundation is a lie that could come crumbling down at any moment. Shaky fingers reach over to click the hazard button in the unlikely event that anyone else drives by. You haven’t seen another car in over twenty minutes, but it’s still best to err on the side of caution.
“Just icy. Gas station?” you ask, trying to get your bearings. You don’t think the car did a 180 but you’re a little shaken up and could use a break.
Jimin points in the direction the sign indicated. “Not too far, I think. Are you sure you’re okay?”
You nod silently, checking your surroundings as you attempt to back up. The wheels beneath the car spin in endless cycles, bringing you nowhere. You swallow hard, turning the wheel in the opposite direction and trying again as you apply more force to the gas pedal. When the car doesn’t budge, you fear the worst and place it in park. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you slip on a pair of thin gloves and open the door to inspect the terrain.
With your first step outside your stomach drops with your legs on the slippery surface below your boots. You clutch the door but it’s too late; your legs split and you fall to the ground with a painful smack. You can’t help the pained whimper that spills out of your mouth in short, embarrassing bursts. You’ll be fine. You just need a minute.
“Snow! Are you okay?” Hearing your cries, Jimin quickly dons his mittens and gets out of the car.
As soon as he rounds the front of the car, passing the light on the driver’s side, his boots lose all traction. He stumbles forward a bit, trying to regain his footing before his legs finally slip from beneath him. The impact his ass makes on the ground beside you makes you wince. He grimaces, sucking air through his teeth as he leans back. Even still, he reaches out and touches your cheek with a puffy red mitten, opening his mouth to ask if you’re okay but not able to manage anything other than a broken groan.
You look up at him as he leans over you, feeling the fingers trapped beneath the fuzzy mitten at your cheek. Suddenly you start to giggle. Despite not knowing the source, seeing your amusement causes the groan in his throat to transform into a breathless laugh.
“We really are messes, huh?” you say, pulling down on the red scarf adorning his shoulders to bring him down to meet your lips.
His mouth is hot, leaving behind breathy vapors in the air as he sucks your bottom lip, turning the innocent nature of the kiss into something more passionate. Before your brain can register the action, his tongue already propping your mouth open. If the wind wasn’t whipping snow on your exposed cheeks, he might have been able to keep you warm and make you forget your surroundings completely.
Reluctantly you push him back. “Jimin we have to get up. What if another car comes and rear ends us? We would die.”
He sighs, wincing as he struggles to stand on the slippery surface. “Okay, but be careful getting up.”
He circles the car, inspecting for any signs of damage as you crawl on hands and knees towards the front of the car. Placing your cheek on the ground you look beneath to see if anything might be caught underneath. When you both come up empty, you carefully get back in the car.
Jimin looks over at you suddenly, an expression of realization coating his features. “Did you turn traction control off?”
You slowly close your eyes and run cold, wet gloved fingers down your face. “I’m an idiot. I should have thought of that.”
Jimin shrugs and kisses your cheek with a proud smile. “I just passed my driver’s test so it’s all fresh in my mind.”
Before long, you’re back on the road and rolling up to a pump at the gas station. Jimin disappears inside while you work on filling the tank. It’s filling painfully slowly so you start playing with the layer of snow on the top lip of the pump. You begin to gather snow, picking some from the ground and rolling it around to form a tiny, perfect snowball.
The bell on the door jingles as Jimin exits, a look of concentration on his face as he looks up and down the road beside the lot. An abrupt wave of cold shocks his system as a snowball disintegrates against his chin. He looks around for the culprit, but the only person in the parking lot is you. He blinks a few times, realizing you’re cackling like a witch as you screw the cap back on your tank.
Instead of forming his own snowball to throw back, his bottom lip protrudes in a pout and he puffs up like a bird who’s had their feathers ruffled one too many times. He must still be sore from falling. You start to feel guilty and start to apologize as he draws near, pulling him into an embrace. He leans into you, walking you back until you’re pressed against the car. You blush, feeling the weight of his body trapping you as he pushes his mouth onto yours. He removes a glove to fist your hair between his fingers and gives a sharp tug. Once again, he takes the warmth you offer and turns the heat up. Is this what he’s like when he’s annoyed and horny? You’ll remember to be bratty if this is what it earns you.
You pull back a moment, searching the darkness in his eyes for the need buried in them. Pulling his scarf aside, you latch onto his neck with the heat of your mouth, making sure to suck and tease the spot you know drives him crazy. You feel him lean into you with a moan as he swipes his hand erratically over your car. Feeling pleased with yourself, you grind your hips up into him.
You don’t see the snow he’s gathered into a pile on the top of your car, but you sure as hell feel it when swipes it all over the edge with one hand and holds the collar of your coat open with the other. The snow transforms into water almost immediately, leaving icy trails down your back and soaking into your clothes.
You screech against him just as he takes off running across the parking lot, giggling like a madman. He played you. You wiggle what snow you can out of your coat and give chase, gathering snow in your hands as you go. He holds his hands up as if to surrender and repeating a slew of “sorry”s, but something about the way he’s laughing the whole time makes it feel a bit disingenuous. Soft snowballs smash against his legs. You wish you had better aim.
As you move to gather more snow, he’s already firing off the ammunition he’s secretly gathered, pelting your coat with white. Running up to him through the barrage, you find he’s empty and he puts his hands out again. Seeing the snowbank behind him, you push him back into it, allowing a cushion of cold to break his fall. The melody of his laughter rings through your ears as your climb on top of him and sprinkle what’s left of your fistful of powdery snow all over his face.
You’re both laughing so hard you’re crying. After taking a moment to calm his laughter, he sits up on his elbows and removes a loop from the scarf at his neck to drape it around yours.
“Come on. Let’s get to the cabin so we can warm up.”
You wet your lips, the cold immediately freezing your spit. “What you’re not warm?”
“You pushed me into the snow. I’m cold,” he whines.
“You covered me in white,” you say, not thinking about the words until they’re out.
Jimin quirks an eyebrow with a knowing smile. “I thought you liked that. You were begging for it yesterday, weren’t you?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
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“You’re friends with Hope on the Street? J-Hope? Really?” you ask in disbelief. The guy is somewhat of a celebrity so it’s a little unnerving knowing he’s going to be at this cabin. The segment he did on puppies recently really brightened up your day.
“His real name is Hoseok,” Jimin says with a nod, crunching into a potato chip. “He also goes by Hobi.”
You can’t stop yourself from asking. “That whole dildo thing everyone says? Is it true?”
Jimin coughs out the chip he had been chewing and you immediately apologize, but he laughs. “What have you heard? I’m not much of a gossip.”
You shake your head defensively. “I’m not either! It’s just… There are so many rumors. I’ve heard it was a vibrator, cucumber, a cordless mic… And it’s always an absurd length, like twelve inches or something like that.”
Jimin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh my god. No! Okay, I’m going to tell you the truth, but you can’t tell anyone I told you, okay?”
“...Okay,” you agree, not realizing the pit you’ve fallen into.
“If you promise you won’t tell…” he trails, looking out the window.
“I pinky promise,” you say as you stick out your little finger. You’re too curious now. You have to know.
“Don’t let on that you know, either,” he continues as he links his pinky with yours and looks over at you. “Promise?”
Your eyes dart over to his for a split second before focusing back on the road. “I promise, my prince.”
He smiles, taking the opportunity to hold your hand while he talks. “Hmm. By the time we get there hopefully you’ll feel like you know them a little. I’ve told you some pretty tame stories so far but… The truth is that we’ve all known each other since we were kids. So I know all of their dirty laundry.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at you even though you can’t pay attention to his suggestive facial expressions. Why do you feel like you’re getting more than you bargained for?
“You’re such a dork. Just tell me about J-H--Hoseok.”
“So impatient,” he teases with a sigh. “I mean honestly it’s not that bad. Hoseok and his girlfriend, Cat, have been together for a while now. They were… experimenting in the bedroom together. The dildo they were using was pretty small and she lost her grip on it. That’s really all there is to it. Someone must have heard him talking to the nurses.”
That makes total sense. Of course everything gets blown out of proportion. Poor guy.
“Don’t worry, he hasn’t let it get to him at all. He keeps a smile on and can talk around pretty much everything. But when you put him with Cat, together? They have no shame and if you’re not careful they’ll drag you into their filthy games.”
“Have they dragged you into them, Jimin?” you ask with a smile, genuinely curious with a side pang of envy. Whoever is dating someone as fine as J-Hope must be hot as hell. Just imagining Jimin being thrown into that mix has you salivating, wishing you could have been the meat in that sandwich instead.
“Maybe,” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “B-But that was a long time ago.”
“Too bad,” you suck your teeth. “Sounds like it could be fun.”
Jimin’s eyes go wide and he swallows a nervous laugh, not wanting to accept the possibility so easily if it was only meant as a joke. “I mean if you’re interested I can always ask if they might want to.”
You laugh nervously, not expecting that possibility. “I… haha, let me meet them first. They might hate me for all you know. I tend to talk when I get nervous and then mess everything up.”
“It’s part of your charm. You’re cute when you get shy. You have this… innocence that’s endearing. They’ll love you. You’d probably be their new favorite... toy...” he trails off into a breathy whisper, losing himself in some daydream.
“Are you sure you won’t get jealous?” you ask, snapping him back to reality. “Mistledough man had you so moody.”
“Ah, Seokjin. You know, I once caught him jerking it to a muffin.”
You blink a few times. “Seokjin is the bakery dorito,” you affirm, keeping your eyes on the highway. “And you caught him jacking it … Jimin. Tell me mistledough is cum-free.”
He laughs. “Seokjin would never. Don’t worry. It wasn’t at the bakery.”
“But… why…?”
“I don’t know. I never received any context for it and I was too afraid to ask. Honestly, I think it’s his messed up relationship with his ‘not girlfriend.’” He uses air quotes to signify his distaste for the situation. “Pumpkin. At least he calls her that. Everyone else calls her Grump.”
“Oof. She a bitch?”
“If you were at the shop, you must have seen her.”
You pause to recall the day you’d stopped in. “There was this one girl that was staring at me but I figured it might be someone I knew from high school so I avoided eye contact. Got this chill down my spine though.”
“Yeah that’s her. She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s secretly soft on the inside. She just needs time to warm up to people. I think she has a hard time showing affection. We’ve all known her almost as long as we’ve known each other. She just needs to get laid. Scratch that. She needs to get laid by Jin. They’ve been dancing around it for over a decade, Snow. Imagine if you and I never… for over ten years.”
You exhale air through puffed cheeks. “I’d have moved on after two. You’re lucky you made a move when you did.” You give his hand a playful squeeze. “Why haven’t they yet?”
“They’ve both been in love with each other for so long I think they’re blinded by it now,” he guesses with a shrug. “They’re so in love that they can’t even see it anymore. Maybe they never did. But there’s always this air of jealousy that makes it impossible for either of them to be happy with anyone else. I should probably sit them both down and talk them through it, but sometimes Seokjin… Ah, he closes his ears to anything he doesn’t like. Maybe this year will be different. She always comes so if you think she’s glaring at you, she probably is, but don’t take it personal.”
You nod in quiet contemplation for a moment before moving on. “Tannie’s dad?”
“Ah. Taehyung. He’s probably my closest friend. Don’t tell the others. Him and Star have been together since college and are so perfect for each other it makes my heart ache. They’re really… unique. It’s okay if you think they’re weird because they are. But that’s their charm. They listen to really old records and wear vintage clothes and talk about art all the time. It used to make me cringe at first but now it makes me happy. It’s probably because I don’t live with him anymore.”
You spare a curious glance at him “You lived with him?”
“Roommates right after high school. Before he went off to art school and got his degree. Then I went off to uni for business and marketing.”
“Ah, right. College. That thing that most people do after highschool. I’m dumb.”
Jimin frowns, knowing it’s a sore subject for you. “You’re not dumb. Be nice to yourself. It’s not your fault you never got a chance to go.”
Your fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, enough so your knuckles pale. “I know I’m not dumb. I could have been a vet by now. I was smart enough for it. I could have done it.”
He reaches out to place a reassuring palm on your shoulder. “You can still go back, you know.”
You shake your head, swallowing the bitter pill that you missed your chance for that kind of life. Things are different now. You like your job. You like your life. You don’t need to use schooling as an escape from your home. Maybe it’s time to let go of the resentment. You can still be smart and not go to college. You can still enjoy a job that doesn’t require a degree.
“I need to work on not being so bitter about my past,” you answer with a shake of your head. “I like where I am now and if I don’t, I can always change. Thank you for helping me remember that. So.. where were we? Taehyung?”
“Ah, I caught him sucking on her toes once,” he says very matter-of-factly.
“What?!”
“When he moved out and told me about his roommate, I thought he’d be living with another man. He invited me over to meet them. Imagine my surprise when I came by. The door to his room was wide open and he’s sitting there licking up the bottom of her foot, putting her toes in his mouth.”
“What did they do when they saw you standing there?” you purse your lips, wondering if Jimin had been a part of this couple’s sex life as well.
“Oh, they tried to laugh and play it off like ‘Oh no we were messing around... it’s not like that... Why would be doing something like that? Da da da.’ All the excuses, you know? But I saw it and I can’t unsee it. He had a boner and she looked like she was enjoying it.” He shakes his head.
“I still think it’s funny you know him. He pampers Tannie. A lot. Like he spends an absurd amount on that dog. He loves him so much. It’s so cute. Wait… Does that mean you know other Mr. Kim? Moni’s dad?”
Jimin looks over. “You know Namjoon too?”
“This isn’t so bad. I’ve at least seen these people,” you say, mostly to yourself as a comforting thought. “Actually, I gave him a dog treat for Moni and he just… Jimin, he ate it right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do so I just smiled.”
Jimin start roaring with laughter. “That sounds like Namjoonie. At least that was edible. I watched him drink perfume once. He said it smelled so good he wanted to see what it tasted like. I’m not sure how drunk he was, but he had to be pretty far gone. You know he’s really intelligent, but he makes some really bad decisions. He will deny this until the day he dies, but I was there for his ‘bad boy’ phase back in high school. He purposefully failed classes because he thought it made him look cooler and he’d always brag about blowing off dates with girls and pretending to be a loner. Not to mention he always wore some kind of black t-shirt with a fake deep quote on it, he had a leather jacket, painted his fingernails black, had a mohawk...”
“Really? That guy? Did he have a motorcycle too?” you snicker. “That would really sell it for me.”
“He may have painted blue flames on the side of his bicycle,” he jokes. “Do I have to worry about him stealing you too?”
You roll your eyes. “Tell me about another one and I’ll tell you who’s the most dangerous. Right now, you’re still winning.”
“Yoongi looks the most intimidating. He looks like a bad boy, covered in tattoos and piercings. He even has his dick pierced. I’ve seen it. Yes, it looks painful. People say he comes off as cold, but he’s really not.”
“Like Grump?”
“Hmmmm… Different. Have you ever heard of Inkspires? It’s the tattoo shop across town.”
You think for a moment. It’s not like you live in a big city, but you’re not sure you’ve ever had a reason to go to such a place. You rack your brain trying to think of the place he’s talking about. When you shake your head, he seems a little sad.
“Don’t worry. You’ll know them once I’m done. I’m working on rebranding them. Pro bono. I’m working to make it something everyone will recognize. Jisoo’s got a lot of ideas and I’m excited to bring them to life. It will take some time, but I think it will be worth it.” He smiles. “I think he might be bringing his new girlfriend. What did he call her? Plum? Melons?” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, Peaches.”
“Peaches?”
Jimin shrugs. “They started dating recently. I don’t have all the details yet. It’s kind of a big deal. He usually doesn’t bring a date. He usually doesn’t date. And unless something has changed-- which I don’t think it has-- he's still a virgin.”
Your mouth falls open. “Really? How? I mean, that’s kind of impressive, honestly. The world is so busy trying to sell sex. How do you keep away from it?”
Jimin shakes his head. “Trust me, I know. My whole business is embedded in it. I guess he’s never had anyone he really wanted to share the experience with. I told you, he’s a real soft-hearted guy. He works part time at Construct-a-Cub during the holidays. He donates a lot of stuff to charities for children.”
“Wow. He sounds like a really good person,” you say, genuinely stunned by the kindness people can show.
“Don’t be fooled. He’ll tell you he hates kids. Secret softie. But similar to Grump, if you think he’s being cold, he’s probably just wary. Give him time and he’ll warm up to you. Keep an open mind. And don’t judge a book by its cover.”
You nod. “Of course.”
“He’s the one who actually did my tattoo and piercings.”
“I meant to ask about those…”
“Tae, Guk, and I decided we were all gonna get them right after college. Kind of a celebration pact type thing. Tae chickened out after watching us go and since he already paid for it, Star ended up getting hers done in his place.”
“Ouch,” you hiss through your teeth, mentally conjuring the level of endurance that might take.
“It really wasn’t that bad.” He laughs. “I was surprised by how little it hurt compared to what I imagined.”
“Did you watch?”
“Hmm?”
“Star getting hers done.”
Jimin licks his lips and stares out the window with a shy smile. “Yoongi offered to kick everyone out, but she insisted we stay. Tae didn’t talk to us for a week. He’s a baby sometimes. He knows she only has eyes for him. I think she’s an exhibitionist. Don’t be surprised if you catch her walking around naked.”
You hold back a snort with a pang of irrational jealousy. “What? For real?”
“I’m joking. Kind of. She’s soft and sweet and as a couple they’re pretty reserved. But I’ve heard them competing with Cat and Hobi for loudest cabin sex.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And I guess that just leaves Jeongguk. Where do I start? He keeps humiliating himself in front of his coworker. He’s got a big crush on her but his brain just melts any time he’s close to her. For instance, he started going on about how heavy it is to carry around his balls. He kind of put his foot in his mouth, since he was talking about soccer balls. You know, he kind of reminds me of you. Almost like you’re related.”
“Jimin!” You choke on your own spit, trying to focus on the lines separating the lanes.
Jimin raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What?”
“How did you know?”
“Well, it’s pretty boring actually. After I came out of your apartment covered in your juices, he accused me of eating someone’s pussy. I showed him a picture of you and he told me you guys are cousins.”
“Okay forget I asked. Please don’t say any more,” you plead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I can’t believe this shit. Why are you friends with my cousin?... That means… That Taehyung… oh fuck. I’ve been playing video games with Mr. Kim for years. Oh god. I’ve been talking about you to both of them in-game. Oh god, this is so weird. Let’s go back to when I didn’t know my cousin has been friends with my boyfriend for literal years. Our town is small, but how fucking small is the world when I moved from the city and I’m still dating my cousin’s friend?”
Jimin smiles. “It doesn’t bother me. Does it really bother you? He’s happy for you.”
You bite your lip. “It’s just weird. I’ll need to adjust to the fact that you two know each other at all. Oh my god. I should have known. In-game. He named his pet Tannie. God, I’m so stupid!”
After a minute of listening to the soft sounds of the radio, he looks over and asks, “Am I still winning?”
“I don’t know. Yoongi’s sounding pretty sweet right now.”
He gasps, acting surprised by your answer. “No,” he whines.
You twine his fingers in yours and bring them to your lips. “Don’t worry. I’m yours and yours only. I belong to one charming, snake of a prince. What are your secrets anyway?”
“You really want to know?”
You cock your head to one side and spare a fleeting glance at him. “Spill ‘em.”
“You have to promise not to tell.”
You smile, seeing the exit you need to take quickly approaching. “If you tell me I’ll wrap these lips around your cock when we get there. Wherever you want.”
“...That’s not a promise, Snow.”
“I guarantee you it is.”
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You shiver as Jimin wraps his arms around you, sinking his chin into the crook of your shoulder. A heavy sigh reverberates against your ear as he presses his hardening length into your ass. “So?”
“So what?”
“Not too awkward right?” he confirms, holding your waist and swaying back and forth.
“Yeah, I almost forgot my cousin showed up with my bestie. Definitely don’t want to be around to hear them go at it. I really don’t need that image in my head. How far is our room from theirs?” you ask, reaching behind you to run your fingers across his pants in the place he needs you most.
He inhales deeply and purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t know. We change it up every year. First come...” He hikes your dress up and slides his hand over your thigh, teasing the sensitive bud beneath your panties. “First served.”
You groan as he licks a line from your collarbone to your ear.
“What do you think? Now that we’ve had dinner, can I have dessert?”
You shiver and turn your face to give him a quick peck.
“Mmm I don’t know. Maybe I want dessert,” you counter, licking your lips and sparing a glance down to the place your fingers are massaging.
A whine rumbles up and out of his throat as his hands roam the exterior of your dress, gliding up your sides until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. “You make this dress look good.”
Deft fingers play with the button on the back of your neck, making quick work of the zipper concealed beneath. The fabric of your party dress falls away from your body and pools around your feet. “But it looks better on the floor.”
He doesn’t give you time to ruminate on how exposed you feel. He’s already spinning you around and pushing you towards the guest bed you’ll be sharing for the night. As you fall back against the cold comforter, he’s working the buttons off his shirt. Not fast enough. You’ve been wanting this all day. The notches on his belt are so small the buckle gets stuck; you nearly snap the metal with how quick your fingers are moving. He offers a surprised gasp as you drag his boxers down with his pants, thick cock springing free from its confines
You pump him with your hand once before taking him in your mouth. His hands, which had been fumbling with the last button on his shirt, fist in your hair as you bob up and down over his shaft. It takes all his restraint, but he tightens his grip with a moan and pulls you off him. You give him a confused pout, trying to move your mouth close enough to take him back in. He allows you to move forward just a little, your lips ghosting over the tip before he yanks your hair to force you to behave.
“You said it could be wherever I choose,” he murmurs, losing himself in the way you’re flicking your tongue out in attempts to coax him back into your mouth.
“So where do you want me, baby?” You want him so bad. You need him. And from the way he allows you to brush your lips against him again, he feels the same. You lick your lips in anticipation, causing a shiver to wrack his body as it passes over every sensitive nerve ending on the head of his throbbing cock. “Please.”
With just a word, he allows you to take the tip in your mouth, tongue gliding across every last bit you’ll give. He bites his lip hard and reluctantly shakes his head, pulling you back again. “Not yet. I want to make you sing first.”
“What am I singing?” you confusedly ask, knowing full well you’re probably tone-deaf. But you’ll do anything he requests if he’ll let you suck his dick without being a total tease.
He giggles, watching the desperation in your eyes cloud your understanding. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours and slips his tongue between them, tasting the faint traces of himself left behind.
“Sing my name,” he pleads between open-mouthed kisses, hands sliding around to cup your jaw. “It sounds like heaven spilling from your lips.”
He pulls back long enough for your eyes to flutter open and see the love coursing through every last bit of his soul. He reaches down and splays his hands over your hips, thumbs curling around the band of your red panties before working them down your thighs in a playful wiggle. You pop open the last button on his shirt as he plunges a finger into you.
“You’ll ruin your shirt if you don’t take it off now,” you say, a not so subtle attempt to get him to remove it so there’s only skin touching skin.
He rolls his eyes, shaking the fabric from his arms. “Take your bra off for me?”
You discard the undergarment quicker than his shirt can fall to the floor, pulling his body down on top of you so you can feel that closeness you’ve grown accustomed to sharing.
“Jimin, I want you,” you whimper, running your fingers through his hair as he clamps his mouth down on your neck. That elicits a moan from him against your throat as he sucks a line of kisses down to a softened nipple.
“Yours would look good pierced,” he comments, squeezing both with his fingers before moving his hands to massage the flesh surrounding them.
“I’m good,” you laugh, watching the fascination in his eyes as your nipples pebble at the loss of the pleasurable pressure.
He hums a sound of indifference, pushing your tits together and burying his face between them. He’s sure to dip his tongue in the cleavage he’s created for his own benefit.
“Get up here. I miss you,” you whine, twining your fingers in his hair and guiding him back towards your mouth.
His mouth hungrily crashes down on yours and has you gasping for more in seconds. “Please… fuck.” He sucks your bottom lip through his teeth. “Jimin, please fuck me.”
His breath is haggard on inhale as he allows your lip to snap back to you. “But I haven’t even made you cum yet. What kind of boyfriend would I be?”
You take his hand and direct it to the slick, sticky juices coating your sex. “An amazing one. You make me wet without even trying.”
Jimin gasps, sliding two fingers past your lips and filling your pussy just to be sure you could take him. He pops his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, rutting the tip of his dick against your clit. Your body spasms as he rubs the entirety of his shaft against you. He grins when you lock your arms around his back and dig your fingernails into his muscles.
“You sure you don’t want me to make you cum first?” he offers again with a roll of his hips.
“I want your cock inside me now,” you whisper in a low, raspy tone, hot breath tickling his ear.
His hips stutter as he draws his pelvis back and you feel his tip teasing the heat of your entrance. When he pauses, you roll your hips beneath him, enticing him to continue his journey as the head circles your labia. Unable to exert any more self control, he sinks into you in a slow descent until he’s buried in you to the hilt. You both let out a held breath and moan against each other pitifully.
“Shit! Sorry!” Suddenly he pulls out and scrambles off of you like you’re made of lava, crossing the room and rifling through his bag. When he turns around, he's tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, a sight you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing you should have known you were skipping a step.
“At least you remembered,” you sigh, getting into a comfortable position against the pillows. “I probably would have let you cum in me.”
“Now you tell me,” he jokes, dragging the condom down his shaft with ease.
“This isn’t the olden days, you know. Women have birth control,” you tease, spreading your legs and rubbing circles into your clit as he climbs on top of you.
“Oh so you want me to rip this condom off and fill you with my cum? Watch it drip down your leg when we join everyone at midnight?”
The thought turns you on more than it should. You increase the speed and pressure of your fingers against your clit. “Yes…” you whine.
He leans back on his knees as he slots himself between your legs, pressing his sheathed cock into you as you touch yourself for him.
“You want everyone to know you’re mine, don’t you?” he asks, thrusting himself up into you at a steady pace.
“Yes, Jimin…”
“All that sweetness. That innocence. You want everyone to see what a bad girl you really are. You want to show off for them, show them your pretty pussy. Full of my cum. Don’t you?”
You’re so fucking close. Everything he says is just getting you more worked up and you whimper, nodding like you’re a bobblehead without a brain.
“Say it, Snow,” he demands, slowing his pumps to a stop.
“Please,” you beg, desperately wiggling your hips to feel him again. “Please fuck me. I want you to show everyone how well you fill this tight pussy.”
“Oh, that’s it baby. Touch yourself for me. You getting off thinking about that?” He grunts as he resumes fucking himself into you, slinging your legs over his shoulders to hit deeper without hindering your ability to touch yourself. “I want you to tell me. Tell me who owns this fucking pussy.”
You clench around his cock, not used to hearing such filth come from his mouth.“This pussy is yours, Jimin. Use me like your little fuck toy.”
He tenses, throbbing inside you as he growls,“Tell me you’re my cumslut.”
With one hand pressing circles into your clit and the other squeezing your breast, you search his face, hoping to find yourself in it. You’re so far gone you can’t even register the lewd sounds of pleasure spewing from your mouth.
“Use your words. You can do it,” he whispers, beaming with pride.
“I’m... your cumslut,” you whisper between frenzied panting. “Fuck. Jimin. I’m close.”
He slows his pace, bending himself over you to move in for a messy kiss. “Such a good girl, my little cumslut. Squeezing my cock with that tight pussy… Want me to fuck you raw, don’t you?”
“Fuck. Yes. Fuck me raw baby. You feel so fucking good. I want you to cum inside me,” you confess loudly, not caring who might hear. “Take it off, baby. I want you to fill this pussy. Leave me dripping...”
His mouth comes crashing down on yours again, muffling the sounds of your obscene begging. “That’s too bad. Because I’m gonna fill that pretty, filthy little mouth instead.”
Your climax hits you faster than you can vocalize it. “I’m…”
You gush around the cock pistoning into you and when he feels your walls clamp down, he stays inside to subject himself to the delicious torture of every twitch and pulse you deliver.
“That’s it, princess. Good girl,” he whispers, sweetness in his voice returning.
His forehead drops against yours and he rides out your high with you, pressing his lips to yours until your hands fall limp against the mattress.
“That was…” you pause, heavy breaths mingling with his. “...amazing.”
“You still want dessert?” he questions with a grin.
“Finally. Give it to me,” you plead, kissing his lips again and again.
“Not here,” he whispers, a devilish smile gracing his features.
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The water is warm and inviting. The bubbles bursting from the jets below offer pressure in all the right spots in all the right ways. How he had convinced you to enter the jacuzzi with him completely naked is beyond you. You’re terrified someone might walk in, but he assures you everyone is lost in their own world.
You lean forward, pressing your tits together as he positions his dick between them and starts with lazy thrusts. You stare up at his fucked out expression, savoring the way his jaw hangs open as he watches his cock slip between your wet breasts. A shy smile crosses your face when you realize he’s looking in your eyes rather than at the lewd act of his shaft sliding between two perfect mounds. He’s lost, a disoriented smile setting up camp in the corners of his mouth.
You look down and stick your tongue out to brush the head of his cock every time it comes up towards your face. He slots his fingers in your hair, curling strands into his fist.
“Do you want to fuck my throat?”
He nods weakly, guiding you back against the seat of the jacuzzi. You pump your fist over his cock a few times as he towers over you. Relaxing your jaw, you take him to the base, tongue wiggling against his balls. He loses his footing for a moment, slipping against the bottom of the hot tub.
“Maybe you should sit down,” you suggest, his dick coming out of your mouth with a loud pop.
“Can you hold your breath for that long?” He sounds unsure, even as he’s settling in the space across from you.
“Think of it as an edging session,” you giggle, taking a deep breath and submerging yourself in the water.
When he feels you take him into your mouth again, his jaw goes slack as he stretches out his arms across the side of the hot tub and tilts his head back.
“Hey, did you come alone?” Hobi’s voice breaks his moment of peace.
Jimin panics, hands diving into the water to keep your head beneath the surface. Hopefully the bubbles from the jets will obscure your form. He wracks his brain, trying to think of something to say as he stares blankly at Hoseok and Cat, who are now standing in the doorway with eyebrows raised.
You grip his legs and fight against his hands, shooting up from the water with the grace of someone who just got a bunch of water up their nose and nearly drowned. You cough and sputter, swiping water from your eyes as you see two figures standing in the doorway. Recognizing one as J-Hope, your heart sinks. Jimin mentioned he was running late when he didn’t show up for dinner.
This is how you meet Hope on the Street. Of course it is.
The hot chick next to him must be his girlfriend. Realizing you’re completely nude, you sink down in the water to your chin and smile as sweetly as you can.
“Hi, you must be Hoseok and Cat! Jimin’s told me so much about you.”
Hoseok sputters, laughing with his mouth wide open. You recoil at the sound, wishing the jacuzzi would melt your bones and just leave you to live your life as a puddle from now on.
Cat lightly smacks him in the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s us. We’ll hang out later, give you guys some space. Sorry!”
She shoves her boyfriend through the door, leaving you alone with Jimin.
“I want to die,” you say, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I wish I had drowned instead.”
“It’s not that bad, really,” Jimin says, pulling you back to his body.
“Hope on the Street just cackled at the sight of me coming up for air after sucking your dick. Hell of a first impression,” you grumble, rubbing your temple.
“We can ‘walk in’ on them later if it makes you feel better,” he suggests with a laugh.
You disappear under the water, picking up where you left off. If they were going to catch you giving him a blowjob, you might as well finish it. The taste of chemicals is already on your tongue; it can’t be for nothing.
“I love you,” he says when you come out of the water for air.
“I love you too,” you murmur, shyly kissing his lips before descending again.
Every time you resurface, he’s waiting, bringing you to his lips with a sweet kiss. You can tell he’s close, but you’re having too much fun popping out of the water to kiss him. Finally, he’s had enough of the edging and has you kneeling in the center of the jacuzzi, sloppily thrusting himself deep into your mouth.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warns. “Is this okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble a sound of affirmation against his cock, only choking slightly.
The grunt of his release comes with the bitter tang of his cum hitting the back of your throat as he bottoms out. You swallow it bit by bit, doing your best not to sputter and choke with the way he’s tightly holding the back of your head in place. He loosens his grip and pulls back, catching the tears in your eyes and concernedly swiping at them with his thumbs. You swallow what’s left in your mouth like a champ.
“You okay?” he checks in, settling into the water with you. “That was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”
You shake your head with a giggle. “I like when you’re rough. I’m just… out of practice.”
“We can work on it then,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into an embrace.
When he brings his lips to meet yours, butterflies tickle your insides like it’s the first time. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kiss, in his everything. Being with him still feels like a dream. Never in your life could you have imagined loving someone could feel so good, so pure, so right.
“Hey it’s probably almost midnight. Do you wanna go do the countdown with everyone?”
You respond with a nod. “Champagne?”
“Of course.”
He gets out first and you watch the water roll off his body as he extends a hand to help you out of the hot tub. Pruny fingers grasp his, hoping he knows just how much he means. You’re ready to face the new year together and you’re ready to jump into this found family head first.
Heading for the door, you pause, turning back to look at him. “Aren’t you coming?”
With a laugh, he comes up behind you, draping a robe around your naked form. “You might want to put this on.”
What would you do without him? You swallow hard, donning the robe and smiling at him. He links his fingers with yours and you head inside together.
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lemonjoonah · a year ago
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Level of Restraint (M)
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Pairings: Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 13K  Rating: M  Genre: Thriller, smut, office AU, BDSM AU  Warnings(contains spoilers): This story contains very dark themes and may not be suited to all readers, protected sex (vag+anal), threesome, double penetration, bondage (including partial suspension), dom/sub roles (reader is a sub), praise kink, mild degration, sensory deprivation, spanking, fingering, cum feeding, mild breathplay, sex toys, exhibitionism, voyeurism, discussion of safe word, Namjoon is a professional dom/sex worker, referenced discrimination of sex workers and those who participate in BDSM, public outing of sexual practices, inappropriate workplace relationships, referenced death of minor character, yandere character, misidentified sexual partner, manipulation, bribery, blackmail, implied stalking, violence.
Summary: As a co-founder of a consulting firm you can’t afford to be caught in a scandal. So flirting with your secretary, Jimin, would be out of the question. Giving your client’s son, Taehyung, a reference for a sexual partner would be reprehensible. And having regular paid BDSM sessions with your dominant, Namjoon? That would be a career ending disgrace. It’s too bad the only restraints in life you approve of are the cuffs that bind you to the bed, because there are those hiding in the dark waiting to take advantage. 
A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who supported me while writing this story. It was hard not to question the level of darkness this tale descends to. In the end your assurances and aid are the only reason this fic made it to fruition. Upon reading you might notice several thematic references to the ‘Fall of the House of Usher,’ by Edgar Allan Poe  and the Greek myth of Tantalus. They are two of my favourite tales, and together they greatly represent the darkened desires depicted in this oneshot.
...
8:55 am KNJ: Good girl.
Your heart races upon receiving the response you’ve been waiting for all morning. The sender had requested proof that you were wearing his last minute gift, and you were happy to oblige with the lewd photo. Finally seeing his simple praise for your efforts makes you grin from ear to ear, as you enter the front door to your workplace’s building. The message will be enough to get you through the day, high on the thought of his praise while his present is wrapped tightly around your ribs. Though the garment may be confining, you’ll endure anything to receive those two simple words.
Reluctantly glancing up from your phone you look ahead to see the elevator closing.
“Hold the door!” You call out, making a run for it. Mercifully the gap between the doors widens allowing you to climb in before it begins the long haul up. Glancing over to your savoir, you find your secretary standing at the panel. “Thanks Jimin.”
“No problem,” he responds with a warm smile. “What floor do you need?” Joking as he pushes the button labelled 14. 
You playfully shove his arm while trying to catch your breath. Had he left you down on the first floor there's no telling how long it would be before the elevator returned. The building in which you work has been down to one lift for a couple days, with no promise of when the other will be fixed. It’s not a surprise really, ever since you moved into this complex three years ago you’ve been plagued with breakdowns and shotty utilities. Considering how opulent  the tower is, with it’s gilded elevators and halls adorned in finery you expected better, but people often overlook flaws when they have something pleasant to stare at. Allowing the management to slack on some of the failings of the structure. 
“Do you think you could send maintenance another message?” You ask your hand clutching your waist to comfort the stitch in your side, no doubt a result of the corset concealed beneath your clothes. 
“Consider it done.” Jimin replies, pulling out his phone. “Are you okay Miss?” He asks, your heavy breathing failing to go unnoticed judging from the concern in his voice.
“Fine.” You quickly change the subject, not wanting to linger on your current state. “What’s on my schedule for today?”
“You have a consultation with Mr. Kim of HOC Industries in an hour-” 
“Really?” You cut in, confused about the sudden change. “But I just saw him a few weeks ago. Why is he coming in?”
“He didn’t say, I just got a message last night from him stating he required an appointment immediately.”
“That’s not a good sign...” You groan, wondering what information had dropped to spur a need for such an urgent response. 
“Afterwards you have an early lunch with journalist Min. Followed by a one o’clock appointment with Jeon Jungkook to go over the new web layout. And the rest of office hours are slated as admin.” 
You cringe over the prospect of bookkeeping. Your accountant’s involvement in a recent accident, placed him on an extended leave of absence. Since you are the only other member of your small staff qualified to balance the books, this leaves you burdened with his duties. “Remind me later to make a posting for a temp position.”
“Noted,” Jimin remarks as he continues to scroll through his phone. “Oh and don’t forget, you also have your monthly massage appointment with Kim Namjoon tonight.”
You smile at the thought, you would never forget a booking with him, especially since he’s the reason for your current state of breathlessness. You’ve been counting down the days until you get to see him, with only a few hours left you can barely contain yourself. To everyone who asks he’s a masseur, but the services he provides are far more aggressively intimate than a standard massage. You force a small cough to cover the involuntary moan starting to escape. 
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a complete lie, with the stress from work there have been a lot of restless nights recently, your appointment tonight should help to relieve a bit of that tension. There’s a loud groan as the elevator comes to a stop at your floor. You look up to the top of the lift and over to Jimin with worry, both of you stepping off with haste once the doors open.
Your entire office space consists of only a few rooms. You and Hoseok had started this company only a few years ago, focusing on corporate consultations regarding public image and approval. All things considered you’re doing rather well. With your negotiation tactics, Hoseok's philanthropy efforts, and Yoongi on retainer as your media source, you’ve been able to take on several giant corporations.    
As you walk down the hall you find the temperature starting to rise, and upon stepping into your’s and Jimin’s shared office, you’re hit with a wave of heat. You whisper your curses as you check the thermostat which has been jacked to its highest setting and refuses to shift back down. 
Giving up on the system you turn to the windows, but even those are a struggle after being neglected for so long. You call out to Jimin for assistance, waiting no more than a second before he is by your side. But even with his help you only manage to open them to the grand extent of a sliver before you’re forced to give in. At least with your office door open there’s now a small draft pervading the space.
“I guess I’ll send maintenance another message,” Jimin chuckles.
“You don’t think he’s trying to push us out do you?” You inquire about the building owner, and one of your own clients. You don’t usually make such bold claims, but with Jimin’s ties to the dubious man, it’s hard not to ask.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. Though I think this is more likely due to his lack of regard for the workmanship going into his properties.”
You nod overlooking the now stuffy room which holds both your desks. It serves its purpose with a sufficient amount of daylight from the large windows, and a partial wall giving you each a bit of privacy. You’d rather not have to leave this building and the status that comes with it, but there seems to be no end with these faulty appliances. “So much for being the height of sophistication.”
While you settle into your workspace you’re already dying from the heat, a sweater and camisole overtop your corset was not the best choice for today, but you didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the garment beneath. As you shuffling through your newsite tabs Jimin readies the coffee maker, returning to you with the first dose of your daily caffeine needs. 
“You’re a saint.”
Jimin smiles brightly at your compliment, living for the praise as always. “Do you want some ice on the side?” He laughs as you tug on your sweater to stop it from sticking to your skin.
“Only if I can rub it all over.” You sigh jokingly as you take a sip of the hot beverage.
“I’d be happy to assist.” His smirk and piercing gaze look to be downright serious, his flirtation hitting a new high today.    
“Sorry Jimin, I already have a massage appointment later. I think Namjoon would be very upset if you took his job from him.”
“That’s too bad.” He mutters, his lip still curled into a smile before stepping away from your desk. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than willing to compensate him for his loss.” Jimin has never been shy about his attraction to you, a desire which you most certainly reciprocate, but your own company policies keep the both of you tied to flirtatious word play. With Jimin winning more often than not when it comes to provocative sentiments.
He hangs around on your side of the room, straightening the chairs and stray flies, while you continue your search for whatever prompted the need for your haste meeting. At last you find it, on the featured articles of a prominent celeb news site, with the headline reading, ‘The Dark Desires of the Kim Family Heir.’
Much to your chagrin the issue isn’t regarding your client, but his son. As much as you try to stay out of personal family matters, sometimes they are unavoidable, and this looks to be one of those cases.
‘Kim Taehyung has long been considered one of the most eligible bachelors. He has it all, money, power, and a spot on every top ten most attractive list, but those who have been with him more intimately say he craves something more...’ 
Your mouth falls open in horror as one of Taehyung's former partners exposes their most intimate moments with him. ‘The Gucci suits and custom cologne are just an expensive mask for the darkness beneath. He would ask to be tied, bound to the bed and struck. He wanted pain and pleasure...’ The further you read the more your chest tightens. You’d rather not jump to conclusions, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. A fact which must make it all the more painful for Taehyung. You can only imagine what he must be going through, to have such private details exposed and exploited. He’s currently living your worst nightmare, a societal judgement over one's deepest desires. For professional reasons it would probably be best to stay out of this private matter, but you can’t in good consciousness let him suffer alone.
“That bad?” Jimin asks.
“Yeah...” You cover your mouth to hide your shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill on Taehyung's behalf.
Jimin shuffles in behind your desk with you. By lowering himself to read off your screen, his face falls next to yours. His hands come to rest on your shoulders as he leans in to eye the article in question. You should shoo him away, but you can’t help but be curious of his response to those who engage in such practices. As his eyes scan the page his grip on you tightens, his breathing erratic just like yours, with a whispered “‘Fuck,” escaping his lips. 
“Are we interrupting something?” A voice calls out from your open door. 
Your head snaps over in shock to find your next appointment waiting for you, with his son in tow. You jump up pushing Jimin back so you can greet your guests properly. “Mr. Kim! No not at all,  please come in. This must be-”
“Taehyung...” The younger man mutters as he walks in, slumping down in one of the chairs in front of your desk. His sunglasses are still in place, the smell of spirits wafts over you along with the spicy scent of what must be his referenced cologne. He’s a sight to behold, a person of his caliber could make a fortune off his looks alone; he wouldn’t even need a drop of his father's fortune. But of course, that would have been before this public outing of his bedroom tendencies. Now he’s more likely to be seen as a pariah rather than an asset.
Directing the elder to the seat next to him, you take your own once again as Jimin retreats to his desk. You don’t even have the chance to exchange pleasantries before Mr. Kim launches into the purpose of their visit. “I assume you saw the article about my son?”
“I did, but-”
“And? What can we do about it? How can we spin it? Our stocks have already taken a hit.”
“Your son just had a serious breach in personal privacy...” You pause hoping that he’ll have some semblance of a realization that he is not the victim here, instead he simply waits for you to continue. Attempt to hold in your dismay, you give him the only answer you can, “Sue for defamation if you’d like, but whether they are printing fact or fiction the damage is done. The press is still focusing on your family due to your early misdealings in your company. I would argue that if you turn the view of operations around then there is a very good chance that the media will start to back off personal affairs.”
“You can’t expect me to twiddle my thumbs and wait. My shareholders are currently questioning his ability to lead, they might seek to replace him.”
“Good.” Taehyung mutters. “If those prudes have a problem with me, I’d rather not have to work with them.”
You bite your lip to conceal a snort of laughter.  Mr. Kim fails to notice but his son seems to have caught your slip, taking off his glasses, he pierces you with a strong gaze.
Kim senior starts up again looking for sympathy and a way out, “Do you know how many of his flings I’ve had to pay off in the past-”
“Maybe you should just stick to your own business.” Taehyung eyes his father darkly.
“They made it my business when they started squealing to the press about what kind of man you are.”
You try to rein the situation in, this battle between father and son having no place in your office. “Mr. Kim! I would actually like to speak to your son for a moment. We can see if there’s a possible remedy for this... exposure.” You stand up, calling over the wall for your secretary "Jimin? Would you mind taking Mr. Kim to see Hoseok?” You turn back to your elder client, practically pushing him out the door into your secretaries’s care. “Jung Hoseok has been continuing his work on your company's philanthropic efforts. I’m sure he would love to show you what he has done with your portfolio.”
“Do you need me to come right back Miss?” Jimin asks with a pleading stare, his eyes flicker over to the young man still slumped in his seat.
“No I think we’ll be okay for a bit.” You mutter to him quietly as Mr. Kim proceeds down the hall. “Just keep him away for a few minutes.”
Once they're both gone you sit back down across from Taehyung with a sigh.
“So are your going to talk some sense into me?” He drawls with disdain.
“Fuck no,” you scoff, rummaging through your drawer. “Can I get you anything coffee, water... advil?”  You finally pull out the bottle of pain relievers and offer one to him as you take one yourself, your head ready to explode in frustration over his father. 
He tilts his head looking somewhat surprised, “So why did you send him away then?”
“I thought you could use a break. I’ve worked with many people like your father, they all want things done their way, and you’ll never be able to tell them otherwise. He’ll never admit to his faults, and the fact that he’s the real reason the media is all over you. So as long as you don’t tattle on me, we both can make it through this meeting with him thinking that he’s won.”
“Deal,” Taehyung agrees while he chuckles at your ploy. 
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You offer once again.
“Actually I’ll take some advil.”
“I thought you might.” You poor him glass from the cooler and offer up the pill. When his sleeve pulls back to reach for the cup you can’t help but notice the glaring red evidence of a rope abrasion on his wrist. While he throws back the pain killer, you take another sip of your coffee rolling the bitterness over your tongue before breaching the difficult subject. “It can’t be easy to have the press prying into every aspect of your private life.”
“It’s not so much that they pry, but...” Taehyung hesitates, his brow furrows as his fingers run through his hair tugging on the strands between his fingers.  “People know that they can go to them with a story and make money off any relations I have with them. And the press will gladly pay top dollar for what they have to offer.”
“The story is not a complete fabrication then?” You already know it’s not judging from his father's response and the marks on his arm, you just need to hear him say it. 
“No, it’s mostly true.” He admits, watching your reaction.
“Then it would seem that your desires might be thought unconventional by many of your past partners?”
Taehyung nods, taking another sip of his water. 
“From one unconventional individual to another,” you pause waiting for your own admission to sink in. To your delight Taehyung immediately perks up listening attentively as you continue. “There are more discreet ways to fill those needs.”
“Are you offering?” He asks, raising a brown along with the corner of his lips.
“No, I doubt that I would be very good at meeting your cravings, since we both hunger the same type of... attention.” You smile back at him, rejoicing in your mutual secret. “But I do have a friend who will take very good care of you. I’m going to give you a name and phone number, it’s up to you if you want to contact them, but I can assure you any conversations or actions between you and them will be kept strictly confidential. It’s not cheap,” you explain, but doubt that’ll be a problem for him. “But I assure you it’s safe and private.”
Taehyung can barely get the information from you fast enough once you jot it down. His hands, reaching for the sheet, accidentally knock over your coffee instead, sending the drink in your direction and staining your sweater. “I’m so sorry, here let me help you.” Taehyung jumps up and runs and grabs napkins from the coffee station. 
“It’s fine really.” You assure him, making an attempt to stop him as he starts to blot the saturated material. 
Unfortunately it’s at this moment that Jimin walks in to see your precarious state. He stands there for a moment in silence before explaining the reason for his return. “Mr. Kim said he needs to leave soon, Miss. He wanted to see if you two were... finished.” There’s glare set in his eyes for Taehyung's forwardness.
“Yeah, be right there, just one second.” You turn back to Taehyung, exchanging the damp napkin in his hand for the paper you had just written on. “Think about it, I hope you’ll give him a call. I don’t give out his information unless I think it will be of help to someone.”
“Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung mutters quietly while reading the slip. “If I were to go see him, would I find you there too?” He looks back up at you, biting his lip after posing his query.
“Likely not, he keeps his sessions very private, but you can always discuss your...” You glance over to Jimin who is still waiting, and well within earshot. “Preferences with him.”
“Then I’ll consider it, thank you.”
After seeing Mr. Kim and his son off, you're left to deal with the stain on your sweater, with only fifteen minutes before you have to leave for your lunch appointment. “Jimin could you call Yoongi and let him know I’m running a little late? I need to stop by my apartment on the way.”
“No need, I’ve got an extra shirt here.” He pulls out one of his own from his desk. “ I know it’s a men’s fit, but I think we can make it work.” 
“Why do you keep that here?” You laugh. He only looks at you and the stain with a raised brow, no words needed to prove his point. “Never mind, stupid question, but I can’t take your shirt Jimin.”
“I insist, go put it on.” He forces it into your hands as you double check your watch, your time constraints leaving you with little choice. 
Stepping behind the dividing wall, you strip down to your camisole, breathing a sigh of relief that the beverage hadn’t seeped into the fabric of the corset. Quickly throwing his button up over top and tucking it in, you check to ensure your intimate garment is still hidden relatively beneath the shirt before coming back out for his opinion “Does it look okay?”
Jimin nods, but when he reaches out to touch the shirt you recoil, fearing that he will discover what you wear beneath. He chuckles and persists, “I’m just fixing your collar.” He moves in closer standing just a couple inches away. Pinching the two seams of the fabric together, he considers the change. “I think it would look better like this.” You nod, keeping silent as he follows through. Pulling the fabric tight around your throat, your breathing is forced to pause for a moment as he fastens the top button. “Better?” He asks, while his hands linger around your neck.
“Much.” You whisper, as his fingers drift up to hold your chin, with the tip of his thumb dragging along the edge of your bottom lip. You stand there confused as to why your flirtatious game has taken such a physical turn. Although his actions are prohibited and should be censured, you can’t fully condemn them, deciding instead to remove yourself, rather than reprimand him. “I-I should go. I don’t want to be late meeting Yoongi.”  
...
It was a productive lunch to say the least, but that was by no means thanks to you. Your focus was distinctly elsewhere. While you toyed with your bottom lip, thinking of how Jimin had touched it just moments before, Yoongi gave you everything you needed to secure several new clients. Even now as you return, disembarking the elevator on to your floor, you still can’t concentrate on the day ahead.
On the walk back to your office Hoseok catches you, quickly pulling you into his own and closing the door behind. “You need to do something about Jimin.” 
“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, nervous that he had seen you two together before you left for your meeting.
“Your client earlier, Mr. Kim, he said that he caught you two acting rather close, making suggestions that you two are involved in a sexual relationship. Usually I would disregard a comment like his but-” 
“It’s not true, you know I wouldn’t!” As much as you might want to act on Jimin’s advances you’ve never crossed that line. You know it must have been bad for Hoseok to bring it up, for him to take this serious tone is evidence of his deep concern. 
“I know that, but this isn’t the first time someone has thought you two might be a little too intimate. Some of the staff have also considered the notion. And I can see why, the way he looks at you, talks to you...” Hoseok trails off as his eyes linger on your apparel in confusion. “You weren’t wearing that earlier were you?” 
“No, I had some coffee spill on me earlier. Jimin was nice enough to loan me his.”
Hoseok tilts his head as he raises his brow as if this validates his concerns.
“He was just being helpful!” You offer, but Hoseok doesn’t look to be swayed, and he’s right, this is a workplace not a morning after situation. “Fine, I see your point. So what do you suggest?”
“Redistribute him, send him my way if you have to, god knows that I could use the extra hand. You could even play it off as a promotion, just get him out of your office.” Your heart drops at the thought, not wanting to give him up. Hoseok seeing this takes a softer tone. “Listen I can see that you like him too. I’m sure it feels good to have his attention, but you need to get this out of your system. You have to put a stop to it. We can’t afford a scandal and you know it.” 
With the assurance that you’ll think on the issue, and giving Hoseok your solution by tomorrow, you return to your office. But the problem is far from easy, though you did not lie about your physical relationship to Hoseok, you have been keeping something from him. From all of them. Jimin will never accept a promotion if it takes him away from you. He’s never worked here for the money, he doesn’t need to when his father owns half of the city, this building included. 
...
-3 years ago-
“Mr. Lee, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” You pull out the chair to sit across from him. The massive mahogany desk of his placing a rather large distance between the two of you. 
“Yes well, my building manager said you were very persistent.” There’s a small roll in his eyes as he looks from you down to the computer in front of him. 
“I wanted to discuss one of your properties, an office space in the Madeline Suites.”
He takes a swift glance at your modest appearance with narrowing eyes. “Forgive me, but I believe that location might be out of your price range.” 
“Monetarily yes,” You agree. “But we offer services which might be helpful to you.”
“I do not deal in favours. I can see that this meeting was a waste of time, you may go.” He waves the back of his hand to shoo you out, while his secretary grabs the door from the outside.
“I am not asking for a favour, but offering you my services. I’m the co-founder of a corporate image consulting firm. And come this time tomorrow, I believe you’ll be looking for someone within our realm of dealings.”
“And what makes you say that?” Lee asks, his words laced with cynicism. 
You lay out the first page of the article which Yoongi had sent you, stretching it across the wooden surface to place it in Mr. Lee’s view. ‘Real Estate Developer Lee Gungsang Faced Prior Allegations of Unlawful Evictions and Price Hiking.’ “This is slated for tomorrow morning’s front page.” 
Mr. Lee is quick to send his secretary off, the door shutting once again. “How do you know about this? These cases were settled before they made it anywhere near the courts.”
“I have my sources.” 
“Then stop this! I will pay whomever needs to be paid to prevent this from leaching out. You want the office space, it's yours.” He’s voice is desperate, you have him on the hook, the question now is, how long will he let you drag him for?
“That’s very generous of you, but nothing will stop this from going out tomorrow. My offer is simply to help you get ahead of it and lessen the damage.” You explain, revelling in the fact that money can’t hide everything.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
You pull out a contract for your serves. “I will need you to sign off on my services first. A small fee plus a far more reasonable price for a three year lease of the offices on the 14th floor of the Madeline Suites”
“Without knowing your plan, I think not.”
You give him a bright smile before mimicking his earlier statement. “I do not deal in favours Mr. Lee.”
He grumbles while taking the pen, eyeing you with a dark gaze as he signs on the dotted line.
With the ink still drying you hand over another small document. “Here are a few of my suggestions. Twenty percent of the commercial residences that you have just vacated will be handed over to non-profits for a drastically reduced monthly lease. I’ll even let you pick which you want to support.” 
He looks up at you mortified. “This is excessive.”
“No this is necessary. I’ve seen corporations do far more than this when they are not dealing with a scandal. Your accountants will agree with me that this is the best move, it can be seen as a donation and therefore tax deductible. For the evicted  private residences, I was thinking of partnering with a refugee resettlement program but we can discuss that more in depth later.” 
You carefully tuck away your contract in Lee’s file before dragging another concern to the forefront. “I do have one more request, before I leave today.”
“What more could you possibly want?” He scoffs.
You lean in to deliver your short but important demand. “A heads up.”
“I don’t know what you mean...”
“I mean if there are any other past dealings or actions which might impact your company I need to be aware of them.” There’s always more hidden in the dark, you have one of those secrets on hand now. You need to see if he’s willing to be upfront with you on every dealing of his past, otherwise you might be forced to dig him out from another grave a couple weeks from now. 
“There’s nothing else.” 
“Nothing?” You ask again as you pull out your phone ready to bring forward more evidence. 
“No.”
“So the knowledge of you having and hiding an illegitimate son... you don’t think that’s important? The existence of the only child of the Lee empire, isn’t newsworthy?”
“How did you-” The terror in his face looks to be even greater than the prior accusation. 
“You attempted to evict all of the residents who stayed in your residential apartment for over 10 years if they refused to agree with a massive lease hike. Park Jimin was the only one who wasn’t touched. He has no record of a job, living off what must be money given to him by his parents, so I looked into them. His father wasn’t listed but his late mother, Park Haesoon, used to work for your company, and 22 years ago she signed a NDA issued by your lawyer.” 
You open to Jimin’s public instagram page turning it around for his father to see. “He may take mostly after his mother, but I can still see a few clues to your family resemblance.”
“When does this one drop?” Lee asks in dismay.
“It’s not going to, at least, not from me or my source. We try not to deal in personal life consulting, but I am going to give you some advice in this matter. Get ahead of it.”
“My wife won’t hear of it.” Mr. Lee mutters through clenched teeth, it’s easy to see that this conversation has him very much on edge.
You nod seeing the crux of his dilemma. “I looked into the approximate date of his conception, you were newly married at the time, were you not?”
“Yes. She knows, but her family does not, they have a large political presence and we cannot afford to lose all support from them. Trust me, the boy is not worth the risk.”
“He’s your child!” You berate the CEO, your anger getting the better of you as you think of the emotional toll on Jimin. Not only did he lose his mother but his father won't even publicly acknowledge him. 
“I won’t be swayed on this matter. If you have nothing else to say you may leave.” Mr. Lee rises from his desk and once again gestures towards the door. “I’ll have keys to your new office space delivered to you tomorrow along with the lease. But I should warn you, if there is even a whisper of his name in public in conjunction with mine, I can assure you, your so-called firm won’t last another week.”
...
Less than a month later you and Hoseok have moved your entire enterprise to the new office space. You’re holding an open house for several different staff positions, when the most unlikely of applicants walks in your door, Park Jimin. 
He hands you a piece of paper which you can only guess is his resume, because your eyes fail to leave his face, your mouth unable to form words in your state of shock. Closing the door behind him, he gives you a nervous smile. “Judging from your expression, I take it you know who I am?”
You manage a single nod, still confused as to why he’s here, now, with you. It’s lucky you’re conducting the interviews alone, otherwise it would be difficult to explain your shock to Hoseok without exposing Jimin’s lineage. 
“I’ve been wanting to meet with you,” Jimin confesses, adding sheepishly, “My father told me of your meeting. He said you took a bit of an interest in me, even found my social media accounts.” 
“Oh, oh no.” You finally manage to sputter out, far more anxious with the younger man than his father. You never intended to meet Jimin, let alone have him find out you dug into some very personal aspects of his past and present. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to invade your privacy. I was only trying to figure out what was going on. And when I learned the truth, I wanted him to own up to his mistake of hiding you.”
Jimin chuckles lightly, sitting down in front of you, “I didn’t come here looking for an apology Miss, I know why you did it. I merely wanted to meet one of the few people to ever successfully scare the shit out of my father.” 
The wide beaming smile accompanying his statement spurs a laugh from you, while also allowing you to relax in his presence. “Sometimes you have to intimidate these people to get them to do the right thing. But I’m sorry I wasn’t able to convince him to go public regarding everything.”
“That’s not your fault. In the end it was just nice to hear that there's someone who thinks I deserve better.” Jimin adds, with a look of sorrow leaching into his smile.
“Of course you do, but I must ask, why come here now?” You take a moment to confirm that it is in fact his resume that he’s handed you. ”I can’t imagine that you need a job.” He’s appearance alone is enough to tell you he’s buried in wealth, though his father has not given him the family name, it looks as if Jimin has gained some of the assets.  
“Actually that’s exactly what I was looking for.”
“Your father didn’t pressure you to come here to keep an eye on me did he?” You ask with scepticism. Keeping watch over possible threats wouldn’t be a completely off brand for those of his status. And with you knowing some of his deepest secrets you could likely be considered one of the biggest risks.
“No.” Jimin chuckles, briefly raising his hands in surrender. “I promise I’m here of my own volition. Money isn’t my biggest concern, I’ve been hoping to build connections. I want to use my time wisely and work with someone who is worthy of my focus, and that just so happens to be you.” He finishes with a suggestive smirk, making you wonder if you’ve won his affection too. 
“And what does your focus get me?” You ask, trying to weigh the benefits versus the risk. You doubt that Mr. Lee will respond kindly to you hiring his son, but if he continues to deny his son’s  existence then what right does he have to disagree? 
“Anything you require. I was interested in the posting for your secretary, but any position beneath you would suit me nicely.” 
...
There’s no way you’ll be able to convince Jimin to willingly change roles and work for Hoseok instead. But you can’t deny that your co-founder’s points are valid. 
Jimin greets you warmly as you enter your office. “Did you have a nice lunch?” 
“Yeah, it was good.” You respond, forcing out a smile.
“Really? Because you look upset.” 
You curse Jimin’s ability to read you at a time like this. “I promise, lunch was fine. Yoongi gave me some substantial leads.” You sigh sliding back in your seat. With your values shaken and morals questioned by Hoseok, you are deeply in need of someone to brace yourself on. Wanting to step out of the realm of responsibility and control even if it’s just for a moment, you make a request to Jimin. “Would you go fetch Jungkook for our meeting?”
“I can just call him in.” He makes the case looking reluctant to leave your side.
“Please Jimin just go get him. I need a few minutes for a personal call.”
Jimin looks at you crestfallen before finally leaving. It’s not often you keep things from him, he can scope you out too well for that. But Kim Namjoon’s actual role in your life is the one secret you feel is the most imperative to hide from him.
You pull out your cell, not wanting to use his number on your work phone. After two rings he picks up. “Couldn’t wait a few more hours to hear my voice baby girl?”
You're too embarrassed to admit he’s right, settling on another excuse for your call. “N-no I just wanted to let you know that I’ve sent someone your way... sir.”
“Don’t lie to me I can hear the need in your voice.” He chuckles lightly as he taunts you. “Your reference already reached out to me. I’m excited to play with him, is he just as handsome as he sounds?”
“More so.”
Namjoon hums on the line in gratification. “My babygirl, giving me another pet to play with.” 
You blush from the praise. Taehyung makes the sixth person you’ve suggested following the charity ball you met Namjoon at a couple years ago. Where he, much like you, was secretly scoping out potential clients. Every one of those patrons you’ve given him since then has been his pet, but you, you’re his babygirl. 
“I was wondering...” Namjoon’s carries on, in a tone far more hesitant than usual. “Tonight would you be willing to try something a little unconventional? Would you like to share him?”
“W-would that be okay?” He’s never suggested adding another to your sessions before, but you can’t deny you’re intrigued by the prospect.
“He mentioned an interest in you, and after discussing his needs I feel that I require someone other than myself to pin his desires on. You’ll be the carrot while I’ll be the stick. Do you think you could do that for me?”  Namjoon proposes in a low purr dragging every heated thought and possibility to the forefront of your mind.  
“Yes sir.” Your response is instant, with little thought required. Helping Namjoon with Taehyung? You’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity. There’s a small knock on your office door with the return of Jimin and Jungkook trailing behind him. You start to panic while still on the phone with Namjoon. “I’ll see you later then?”
Namjoon can of course detect the change in your tone, but instead of letting you off the hook he pulls you further. “Did someone walk in on you babygirl? I take it they don’t know about this side of you?”
“No they don’t.”
“No sir.” He calls out your lack of decorum, an error which you know you’ll pay for later. “Such a shame they’re missing out. What do you think they would say if they knew of my plans for you tonight? How I intend to hang you like forbidden fruit above another man. Do you think they would approve?” 
Your eyes widen as Namjoon continues and Jungkook takes the seat in front of you with Jimin standing behind him. You clear your throat and hold up your finger to them, gesturing for another minute. Turning away to hide your face as you continue to try and end the call. But hanging up on one’s dom is never advisable, condemning you to listen for as long as he wishes to torment. 
“I bet you would like them watch, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon asks, egging on your sinful thoughts, transferring them from Taehyung over to your co-workers.
You shift your thighs trying to dispel the building need as you consider the notation of them watching. Imagining Jungkook’s wide eyes taking in the sight, likely with a hand on his cock, he’s an innocent man with strong desires. You’ve known others like him before, they act with naivete but when confronted with an opportunity for more, they don’t hesitate to gorge on what is presented to them.
And Jimin, would he accept your darker needs? You wish he would, desperately wanting him to play along, to help mould you into submission. Your head now filled with thoughts of kneeling before him taking him in your mouth while he christens you a good girl. If only you could be sure that he wouldn’t react like most people, like those who condemned Taehyung. Your eyes flutter back over to your secretary who is looking at you with deep suspicion. You desperately need to end the call or risk giving yourself away. “I should probably-”
“Am I embarrassing you baby girl?” Namjoon teases with an amused laugh. “Does that mean I’m right?”
“Yes...”
“Yes sir.” Namjoon reminds you once again. “I’ll release you for now, but I better see you here at seven o’clock sharp. Is that understood?”
You breathe a sigh of relief at the release.  “Yes sir.” After finally hanging up, you offer up an apology. “Sorry about that.”
“Who was it?” Jimin inquires with a soft tone, but  a quick lick to his lips shows his intentions to be far from innocent. His clenched fists and hovering nature further pointing towards jealousy.
“No one important.” You smile through the lie, careful in your attempt to comfort him. It’s pointless to keep acting in this way, but you still can’t bear the thought of disheartening his feelings or pushing him away. 
...
After your meeting with Jungkook, you're left with a stack of paperwork and your ever persistent lack of concentration as you try to figure out what can be done with Jimin. Should you just tell him the issue, would it help or would it make the situation worse? If he knows how he is perceived then will the affection stop, and if it does, will you struggle with that loss?
“Can I walk you to your car Miss?” Jimin asks with his jacket in hand. You check the time, reading just after five. So lost in thought you had accomplished almost nothing in the last few hours of the day.
“I think I might just stay here until I have to leave for my appointment, I still have a bit more work to do.” You explain rubbing your hands over your face as you pull yourself from your daze.
“Do you want me to stay too then?” 
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you. But before you go I’d like to discuss something” You gesture to the seat across from you which he takes with hesitation. You’re usually not so formal and he can clearly spot the difference. You open your mouth and pause trying to find the right words as his eyes shine in your direction. The evening sun pouring into the room bathing his skin in with golden light makes it so much harder to stick to the issue at hand. You eventually resort to staring at the irrelevant papers on your desk as you open with your concern. 
“I’m worried that our actions towards each other imply that our relationship is not strictly professional.” You blurt it out quickly, hating every word that crosses your lips.
“Have I been making you uncomfortable Miss?” Jimin’s expression falls along with his question, the heartbreak ringing out clear in his voice. 
“No, no. It’s just, I’m concerned about how others see our interactions.”
“Oh, so someone said something to you then?” 
“Hoseok mentioned that a few people think we appear to be a bit more than boss and secretary.” You know it cowardly to bring Hoseok into this, but the information is second hand. You can’t be sure what others have said exactly.
“Well you do know more about me than most.” Jimin laughs lightly. 
“That’s not what they are implying. They think we are engaged in a sexual relationship.”
“And...” He draws the word out as if the implication is nothing, implying there should be a better reason for your concerns. 
“We aren’t Jimin!”
“Well, there's only one way to fix that.” He stands up leaning towards you over your desk. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it. We could keep it a secret if you’d like, no one has to know.”
You doubt Jimin could keep a relationship between the two of you hidden, with the way he dotes on you already, you’re one passionate night away from finding three dozen roses on your desk. “Someone would find out, and the fall out-”
“Fuck the fall out,” Jimin states with resolve, reaching out his fingers tucking back a strand of your hair before curling beneath your chin. “I’m tired of this charade. Hoseok only said something because he’s jealous. He’s jealous that you want me as much as I want you.”
“Jimin,” You whisper. “Even if that was the case, that still doesn’t make it right.” You pull back from his touch. “You should go. Think about what I said, because if we can’t maintain at least some level of restraint and professionalism... then you might be better off working for someone else in the office.”
“So you’d rather keep your social image than be happy with me?” Jimin accuses, the usual warmth having completely vanished from his face.
“It’s not like that. My standing is my life, it’s my career, any blemish would destroy everything I have.” You attempt to express the fear inside you, the weight that bears on you every day. You already have so many secrets and liabilities, but one as close and extensive as a relationship with him might finally crush you and everything you’ve built. “I like you, I really do, but I can’t take the risk. You have to understand, I’m not like you. I don’t have a secret trust fund to fall back on.”  
Jimin looks as though you’ve stabbed him, pulling away he heads to the exit. “I’m sorry I’m not worth the risk. You know, I thought you were better than that, but it would seem you’re just like everyone else.” 
The door slamming between you echoes through the office as you sag in your chair. Never in all your years have you ever sunk so low. By taking him on you wanted to ensure Jimin’s happiness, to show him his value despite the lack of acknowledgement  from his father, but now it seems you’ve fallen into the same role as those who have hurt him before.
  ...
You type your code into Namjoon’s door, stepping into his hall quickly and shutting the door behind you. It’s just before seven and usually you find him in his living room already waiting, but today it’s empty. Not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on the couch and wait patiently for him to join you. 
You feel ready to fold in on yourself as you continue to dwell on your argument with Jimin. If you laid out boundaries earlier you likely wouldn’t be where you are now. Hating yourself over his confession, and your inability to accept it. 
There’s movement from the bedroom door as Namjoon’s partner Seokjin comes out to greet you. You look up in bewilderment as he takes your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Namjoon has already started with the other client, so he sent me to fetch you.” 
You nod understanding Namjoon’s divergence from the norm, it wouldn’t be safe practice for him to leave Taehyung alone in a precarious position. Now looking to the door with curiosity, you’re excited by what lustful visions will greet you on the other side. But when Seokjin presents something to you it’s clear that you won’t get to see those sights.
“You’ve been asked to wear this.” He holds out a wide silken strip, one that Namjoon has used as a blindfold in the past. You allow Seokjin to cover your eyes, with a touch far more gentle than you know Namjoon’s to be. You don’t want kindness, craving instead to be broken in by the man in the other room, especially after the damage you’ve done today. The loss of your vision will have to be punishment enough for the time being. 
“Does he want me to undress too?” You ask, touching the silk over your eyes, you're completely blind and already longing for the next step. 
“No he wishes to save that pleasure for himself.”
You smirk thinking he might, you’ve been wearing his gift all day it’s only right that he gets to see it first.  
There’s a knock and a click of the door before Seokjin takes you in hand again, leading you in. The air is warmer and heavier than that of the living room, making it impossible to draw a fresh breath. 
Seokjin pushes down on your shoulder, a wordless order to kneel. The plush carpet meeting your knees as you lower yourself, if only you could reach out to get a better sense of what’s in front of you, but form dictates that you keep your hands on your lap. 
The bedroom door closes, signalling Seokjin's departure. Sending one last wave of clean air before you're smothered once again. Locked away for the night with your master and his new pet. There’s a small creek from the mattress and the familiar rattle of restraints against the bedpost. You can just barely make out the tone of Namjoon’s low whisper as he speaks to the current tenant of the bed. 
Footsteps land to your left, muffled by the wall to wall but still sending vibrations through the floor.  As Namjoon approaches, your heart pounds wondering what his first move against you will be. He takes his sweet time letting the anticipation build as your chest continues to heave in its attempts to take in the thick air. You keep your posture, maintaining your stance with the knowledge that he will inspect you. Head lowered, hands on thighs, perched on your toes as your knees dig into the ground. Your legs soon start to tremble as your feet strain to bear the weight.
Namjoon settles right in front of you, the slow draw of his breath reaches your ears, while the heat of his exhale hits your face. A hand trails up the outside of your thigh stilling the tremor in your legs with a forceful grip. You freeze wondering if your jitters will cost you, you can’t let him find fault not if you want him to reward you with his presence. 
But as he takes your chin tightly between his index and his thumb, you know you're in the clear. He tilts your head up as you breathe a sigh of relief. “Such a good girl, setting the perfect example.” His fingers slide down petting the column of your throat with a firm touch. “I was so happy to receive your picture this morning, did you wear the gift all day as ordered?”
“Yes sir.” You pant back, eager for him to see for himself. 
“It wasn’t too hard for you then, to go so long in such a confined state?”
“No sir.”
“Good girl,” He purrs in your ear as he starts unfastening your shirt. He hesitates on the buttons for a moment. “Babygirl, would you care to tell me why you're wearing a men’s shirt?”
You swallow not wanting to admit that it’s the fault of the man currently lying in his bed. You plan to take the fall, wanting Namjoon’s undivided attention even if it’s in the form of a punishment. “I spilled something on mine sir.”  
“So clumsy.” He has the shirt completely off now revealing the corset for him and likely Taehyung to see. Namjoon helps you to stand, unzipping your skirt he pushes it to the floor. You feel so helpless without your sight but Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind assisting. He uses the soft fabric of the shirt to dab at the sweat beading on your skin. “Who, may I ask, clothed you in theirs? Such an expensive label, he must think highly of you.”
You shift in place, made uncomfortable by your inability to answer. Knowing if you say his name thoughts of him will be summoned to your mind. You don’t deserve to think of him at such a time, not after you led him on and left him dry.
“You don’t wish to tell me?” The feel of Namjoon’s breath leaves you, the sounds of his feet  indicating he’s moved to the right of you. Heading to a space you know to be occupied by a table and closet full of his tools. There’s a scrap of metal and what sounds like the jingle of buckles. 
“No sir.”
“And why is that?” Fingers trail up your arm as Namjoon signals his return to your side. 
“Because I’m not allowed to have him sir.”
“A noble response.” Namjoon reasons while he wraps the leather strap of a familiar collar around your neck. “But I still plan to get that name from you before we’re done.” He buckles it swiftly checking the tightness with two fingers. You thought him finished but he progresses to cuff your wrists in leather too, tethering them together in front of you. 
He leans in again with a hushed request, “Still know your safe word?” You nod repeating is back to him before he leads you on towards the bed. 
Namjoon stands behind you as he presents you to his new pet. When you gave Taehyung Namjoon’s number you hadn’t been expecting this but you can’t deny enjoying the prospect. But you find the silence and lack of reaction from him unnerving. “I asked him not to make a sound,” Namjoon explains, “And he’s abiding by my rules so well it’s he?” 
Namjoon takes your hands helping you to feel the current state in which Taehyung is interned. A Leather cuff just like yours binds one of his wrists with a short chain leading to bedpost. You imagine that his other limbs are restricted to the other corners of the bed, for Namjoon has bound you in the same state before. 
“Can he see?” You ask Namjoon wondering if he has been left blind too, or if he’s eyes are watching you now.
“Can he see you? He can babygirl, in fact, he hasn’t looked away once, and why would he?” Namjoon sits you down on the large bed to join Taehyung before pulling down the matching underwear to your corset. “They’re so wet, have you been soaking these all day?” 
You nod in response. A delighted Namjoon makes an offer to Taehyung. “Would you like a taste pet? A reward for being so good.” Namjoon revels in his situation with a chuckle, the man beneath you must have nodded. “Then open up.” You know what a taste means for Namjoon, those panties of yours are most certainly shoved into Taehyung's mouth. He lets out a groan of satisfaction at the welcome intrusion.
Namjoon’s hands find your waist dragging you up further on to the bed with your knees now resting on the mattress. “You’re going to straddle him for me babygirl.” He shifts you over pulling up one of your legs to settle them on either side of the man beneath you. Your knees bent with your calves coming to rest against his bare hips. Without his billowy clothes he is far more slight than you expected, but his skin feels firm and toned. 
You slowly move to lower yourself knowing what you will come down on top of as you sit, but Namjoon seems to have other plans in mind. He takes your bound wrist, lifting them above your head and latching the cuffs to a chain in the rafters of the canopy bed. Once fixed in place he tests your limitations, a quick tug to show you even with your arms fully extended you are only able to lower yourself to half a kneel. You groan in frustration with the realization you can’t move any closer to the cock that rests below you. It’s just as he promised, hung like forbidden fruit above another man. Your dominant’s flare for the poetic never failing to surprise you.
“Problem babygirl?” Namjoon cooes in your ear. “Do you have something you want to say?”
“No sir.”
“Good, because if I recall you still need to be punished for your lack of formality on the phone earlier today.” 
Your stomach drops as you realize he’s going to discipline you right now, in full view of Taehyung. The heat rises to your face at the thought of being demeaned in front of another. Namjoon’s hand cups your bare ass, readying it for the assault. “You failed to call me sir twice, three for each lapse should do it.”
While the first strike eases you in, those that follow are not so gentle. The ring of his index biting your flesh with each impact. The third strike is so strong you pivot forward on your knees, your back arching as you bare forward still confined to the corset and chains. The weight of your body pulls painfully on your shoulders for a brief second, but Namjoon is there to catch you. Stopping you before you can slip and more, and propping you back in place before continuing. 
One hand lays firmly on your stomach to prevent the shift from happening again, while the other rubs the curve of your ass mapping where he should strike next. You can feel the warmth in your skin as the blood rises to the surface in reaction to his beating. Your nerves are caught in the struggle between pain and pleasure, even as the sixth and final blow lands. 
“Good girl.” Namjoon whispers his touch disappearing, as you ease down against your restraints. You hang completely by your wrists while your legs quake from the shock. Every nerve in your body feels as though it’s been left on fire with nothing to quench the flames. Leaving you to hang there for what seems like eternity.
“Sir?” You whisper in the dark as the heat continues to build inside you. Wondering where he has gone your body reacts, begging for the return of his attention with a dripping cunt. And with Taehyung below that can only mean the steady drip of your arousal is left to fall on him.
“Babygirl you’re making such a mess.” Namjoon confirms along with a groan from the man beneath you. “But he appears to be leaking too. Do you want some?” You nod eager for a taste. 
Namjoon obliges, grabbing your throat in one hand, he presses a damp finger to your lips for you to take. Your mouth latches over the offered digit, allowing the bitter fluid to sweep over your tongue. You're forced to let it sit there unable to swallow as the grip on your throat tightens, with the strap of the collar digging into your skin. Your mouth fills with saliva prompting you to close it despite your desperate need for air. 
“Does he taste good?” Namjoon wickedly possesses knowing you can barely even nod. It’s when you start to tremble that he finally releases your airway. 
You swallow quickly before letting your mouth hang open in a pant. With your lungs still restricted by the corset your breathing comes in short shuddering waves. “Yes sir, so good.”
“I think he likes having you drench him, shall we give him more?”
“Please.” You beg but Namjoon suddenly delivers a staggering blow to your backside, indicating your misstep. You’re left gasping from the sudden impact, swinging in the restraints as you try to recoil. “Please sir.” Your plea comes again this time with the proper decorum.  
There’s a crinkle of what sounds like a condom wrapper as Namjoon readies himself behind you. His fingers damp with lubrication find your back entrance, your tight hole giving way to a single finger. “You’ve been training for me like I asked?”
“Yes sir.” You almost come at the thought of it along with pleasure with the swirling digit. You’ve dabbled in anal before testing out a few toys, but a few weeks ago he sent you a plug with a tapered t-shaped end, giving you strict orders to wear it to work the following day. Unfortunately that was the date you had scheduled a meeting with your whole team. You were a flustered mess as you fought through your presentation, Jimin’s presence by your side making it so much more difficult to maintain control of your arousal . But the full day of public and torturous stimulation was worth it, for the reward that night was a call from Namjoon. His orders led you through every action of self pleasure.  Telling you when and where to touch before finally directing you to come. You’ve used the item several times on your own since, knowing your practice would help you in this moment. You wanted to make Namjoon proud and take him with little resistance. That desire now intensified with having Taehyung as an audience.
“Then you're ready to take me in front of him?” 
You nod gripping chains of the restraints as Namjoon eases into you. “Just relax.” His hands glide down your shoulders and back, coming to rest splayed across your hips, the tips of his finger root under the corset and dig into your stomach. Your grip eases as you lean back into him. “That’s it.” He mutters quietly as you stretch to accommodate him. “Good girl.”
After taking a few inches Namjoon pushes down on the front of your corset bowing the metal latches back to so they release, with a few clicks and swift presses the garment is off allowing you to breathe deeper than you have all day. 
“God you should see him babygirl, he’s so ruined by the sight of you. You have him panting for you.” You wish you could curse Namjoon for his choice to blindfold you and silence Taehyung, you would take any punishment that came of it, but all you can muster is a gasp while he continues to fill you more. “I wonder how he’ll react,” One of Namjoon’s hands leaves your hips coming to rest with something soft against your aching clit. “When he sees you come.” With a click the object vibrates, throwing you back completely onto Namjoons cock from the shock.
You catch Namjoon’s lustful groan between your cries. He starts to thrust inside of you one hand gripping your chest while the other holds the vibrate down in place despite your bucking hips. It doesn’t take long for you to completely fold. As the heat inside you finally reaches its peak you shatter, your head falling back on Namjoon’s shoulder as you convulse and moan. With nothing for your cunt to clench your legs grip the trussed man between them. He too lets out a sinful groan as the fluids from your fold continue to drip down your legs meet his adjoining skin. 
Namjoon turns the device off and slips out, the bed shifts as he moves in front of you. When his hand cups your face you lean into his touch. “You okay?”
You nod hoping he’ll be lenient with your lack of speech. You hear him whisper as he checks in with Taehyung too. “I’m going to take these now.” Namjoon must finally be freeing him from the waded underwear of yours.
Namjoon’s hands find you again, playing with the arousal dripping down your legs as he drags his fingers up to the source. A finger grazes your folds slipping between without penetrating. You pull desperately against your restraints hoping that it might find its way inside.  
“So are you going to tell me who you’re not allowed to have?” Namjoon asks again. “Or do I have to let you hang here all night?” 
“My secretary...” You give in with a  whisper, hoping that Taehyung won’t hear.
“And what’s his name? Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” 
The deal is too good for you to resist, you last only a couple more seconds before finally giving in. Crying out, “Jimin,” as two of Namjoon’s fingers breach you. Your sopping slit squelching as he curls his fingers. 
“There it is.” Namjoon sighs, his other hand brushing your cheek. “Is he the reason you’re so worked up tonight babygirl?”
“Y-yes sir.” You stutter as his fingers continue. He gives you another minute of bliss before removing his digits. 
“You’re going to do something for me, okay?” Namjoon asks. You nod as he continues to hold your face. “That man between your legs, you are going to fuck him and imagine Jimin as you do so, is that clear?” 
“Yes sir.”
“Is that okay with you pet?” He asks the other occupant, who still remains silent with his answers. The sound of another condom wrapper, comes as your confirmation.  Taehyung lets out an unexpected high pitched whine, likely due to the pressure that comes with the latex being rubbed down his shaft. You’re already so invested in the lie that he’s even starting to sound like Jimin. 
Namjoon is once again behind you. You can hear the rattle of the length of chain that holds you up and as he sinks back into you, his cock slipping in far easier this time, your body gladly welcomes the fullness of his intrusion.  He then lowers you inch by inch, with little strength left in your legs you are relying only on the restraints and Namjoon to hold you up. After gaining a bit more freedom you can feel the tip of a cock brushing up against you. Namjoon’s arm comes to rest on your thigh as he lines the erection up for you to take it inside. It’s a slow descent, as you stretch to accommodate both of them. Your thankful Namjoon’s mercy for easing you down gradually. 
When you bottom out Namjoon pulls the chain down from the rafters he releases the length from your cuffs, but rather than discarding it he attaches it to your collar, tugging on it as if it’s a leash. Though your hands are still bound together you have the freedom to rest them on the man laying down in front of you. You take pleasure in dragging the tips of your fingers across his skin, feeling his abs flex and his cock twitch inside you as you do so. 
Namjoon starts to thrust, keeping a close hold on your collar. While he pushes you are sent up and down on what you desperately want to be Jimin’s thick cock. After a few thrusts you are shoved forward entirely by Namjoon, colliding with the man beneath you. Your chest is pushed into his, as your bound hands are pinned between the two of you. While your head is left to rest on his shoulder, the tip of your nose is able to graze his neck. As you breathe in your mind continues to play tricks, the smell coming off him mimics that of the cologne your secretary wears, rather than the scent of Taehyung. 
Namjoon must have unbound his legs as they bend up to cradle your own from behind his hips bucking into yours, with both men taking you at a steady pace.
You move in closer to his neck, with a lick you taste the salt of his skin showing  your intentions. Biting down on the spot, you suck in deeply as your teeth dig in even harder. The carnal groans you receive from him sending shivers to your spine. There’s the sound of a soft slap, Namjoon didn’t hit you, but the man beneath you returns to his ordered silence.
Namjoon thrusts even harder, pushing you into his chest repeatedly. The thought of being fucked into Jimin’s embrace is too much to bear. Your cunt clenches as you continue envisioning your secretary, and how you're grinding your clit against his pelvis. 
You cry out over the swelling girths inside you, knowing their both likely to come soon. Clenching down one last time you dissolve in the pleasure and contentment. Namjoon finishes first remaining inside while his pet comes too. He leaves you there laying upon your imagined Jimin, in your daze  you can barely move let alone focus on reality. With a wave of exhaustion you start to slip from consciousness, but not before one last praise reaches your ears. Your delirium grants you the satisfaction of hearing the voice of Jimin whisper, “Good girl.”
...
You can’t remember the last time you slept so well. You woke early to find Namjoon had taken care of you in the night, he released your wrist cuffs, and removed your blindfold, after you had passed out from the physical exertion. The only restraint to remain was your collar which he asked you to wear today. Taehyung was sadly already gone, but you can’t deny it was nice to have Namjoon to yourself before you left. 
Now as you head off to work, showered and freshly dressed, with a turtleneck hiding your gift, you check your phone for the first time. Finding a string of apologetic messages sent from Jimin in the early hours of the morning. You reply apologizing too and asking to revisit the subject as soon as you get into work. Thankfully he agrees, the smiling emoji he ends his text on sends a wave of relief through you.
You step in the front entrance of your building ready to handle and objectively listen to Jimin’s thoughts and concerns. While you wait for the elevator your phone vibrates listing a call from an unknown number. “Hello?”
“Hey it’s Taehyung. Hope you don’t mind, I stole your personal number from my father.”
“Taehyung...” Heat starts to rise in your face at the thought of last night. The elevator arrives and you quickly step in. “No, not at all, to what do I owe the honour of this call.”
“No need to be so formal,” He giggles at you.
“Sorry, habit,” You respond. “What can I do for you?” 
“I wanted to thank you for yesterday...” Taehyung starts off. 
But his words are soon interrupted by someone shouting, “Hold the door.” You comply, pushing the button to keep them open, while trying to keep your focus on your conversation with Taehyung.
“...It’s not often that I meet someone who I can be so open with. I called the man you recommended and I’ve scheduled my first session with him tomorrow.”  
You freeze, unable to fully comprehend what he’s saying, surely he misspoke. It can’t be his first session. “W-what do you mean your first session is tomorrow? You were there-” The collar hidden beneath your turtleneck feels as though it’s tightening around your throat. “Last night, I saw you-” The line goes dead as the elevator closes and starts to ascend. It was Taehyung in the bed with you and Namjoon last night. You saw... nothing you saw nothing because of the blindfolded that you were asked to wear.
“Everything okay?” You jump at the sound of the other voice, forgetting that some else had gotten into the elevator. Looking up you find Jimin there beaming at you, his head tilted from his query.
“Namjoon,” You flutter with your phone, too panicked to even greet your secretary properly. “I need to call Namjoon.” But the line won’t connect, not with you in the elevator. “Fuck...” You try again your patience not willing to wait the minute it’ll take to disembark on your floor.  
You are almost there when the elevator shudders and stops. The sudden halt sends you off balance, but Jimin’s there to grab hold of you before you can fall. You thank him before stepping back and putting a bit of distance between the two of you again.
Jimin turns his attention to the panel, pushing the call button, he waits for someone to answer, but the call remains silent. 
While he continues in his attempt to make contact, every scene of the night before floods back to your memory as you try to piece everything together. It was Taehyung, it had to be. He must just be playing a stupid joke. He was surely going to shout ‘gotcha’ before the phone disconnected, but you won’t know for certain until someone can get you off this blasted lift. You sink to the floor and Jimin follows, unable to reach anyone on the outside. 
Despite your best efforts to rationalize what happened, your panicked breaths fail to slow, Spots start appearing in your vision as the elevator sways around you. Your breakfast threatens to make another appearance on the polished marble floor. 
“It’ll be fine. Someone will notice soon.” Jimin attempts to comfort you but even that won’t quash the fear raging inside you.
“It’s not just that...” You whisper. “Something happened last night. I need to call Namjoon, I need to figure out...” Who was actually in that bed with you. Your confusion and panic break free sending you into a fit of tears as you hug your knees to your chest.
“Hush, it’s okay.” Jimin readjusts, moving in front of you and taking your hands in his. He leans towards you as he whispers in your ear. “Don’t cry babygirl.”
Your eyes snap to look at Jimin in alarm. Your prior worries are nothing compared to the terror which takes hold now. “H-how do you know that name?” Your stuttered words barely make their way past your lips.
“I think you know the answer to that question.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt allowing you to spot a large red mark on his neck, right where you had bitten the man you once thought to be Taehyung. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, I wanted more moments like we had last night but it would seem that someone had to go and ruin it.” You pull back but Jimin’s hands shift to take hold of your wrists, mimicking the manacles that embraced you the night before. “Are you not happy babygirl? You got your wish. And I... I got what I’ve always wanted.”
“This is so wrong Jimin! You knew I thought you were someone else! You knew that I wouldn’t have done that last night if I knew the truth.” 
“Even though I was the one you really wanted babygirl?”
“Stop calling me that! Just because of what happened last night does not make me yours. You lied to Namjoon. You said that I sent you. You told him you were Taehyung!”
Jimin gives a wicked laugh in response to your accusations. “Oh, but you are mine. Namjoon is the one who’s been keeping things from you. He’s been in my employ far longer than yours.” He coos as his fingers tighten their grip on you. “I was the reason you were introduced to him, and I was the one who bestowed you with that name shortly after.”
“No, that’s not possible, Namjoon and I, we met at a charity event.”
“Hosted by my father. Where I told him to make himself known to you, to entice you to become one of his pets. I may have acted the sub last night but I am the one who holds Namjoon’s reins, I always have.”
“No he would never do that! He’s considerate and-”
“Had so much to gain by dominating you on my behalf. Money, power, and an assurance of safety, he would’ve been a fool to turn my offer down. Especially since you were so willing to play along with him. I dare say he enjoyed his time with you, but I was the one who permitted him to touch you. I was there to listen, to read, and to direct every conversation. Those gifts he told you to wear to the office, they were all from me.” He lets go of one of your wrists to pull down the neck of your shirt. Revealing the leather band strapped around your neck. “Today it’s the collar, yesterday it was the corset, and a few weeks ago...” Jimin smirks as he recalls the memory to your mind. “You barely made it through that meeting thanks to my gift.”
  It’s impossible to swallow the admissions coming from him, but regardless of what may be true or false, you won’t stand for any of it. “You’ve had your fun, but this ends now.” You reach up attempting to remove the collar but Jimin pushes you to the floor pinning your arms above you as he straddles you. The elevator wavers from the struggle, teetering as you lay captive beneath him. 
“I don’t think you understand the situation you’ve placed yourself in. I hold in my possession your darkest secrets. One’s that will ruin you if they make their way out. Your illegal activity with a sex worker, your inappropriate sexual conduct with your secretary. Not to mention the names and dubious activities of every client you’ve recommended to Namjoon’s services.”  
“Why... why are you doing this?” 
“Because you found me. I worked so hard to exploit my father from the outside, getting everything I wanted without the threat of public exposure. I couldn’t let you ruin it all. When we first met I considered you a threat, but then I saw how easy and enjoyable it was to mould to my will. The more intimate you become with someone the more power you give them over you. Simply being your secretary isn’t enough, not if I want you in a more pliable state.” Jimin hushed whisper mixes with a haunting giggle as his lips come to your ear. “I plan to bend you to fit every one of my needs.”
“You’re psychotic!” You lash out trying to throw him off but he stems your revolt by planting himself further down on to you, sitting on your chest as the elevator sways.
“Psychotic? No, I am simply a man who found his passion amidst his revenge. I know what I desire, and vengeance has taught me how best to take it. So if you want to keep yourself and everything else around you from falling, I suggest you play along like a good girl. Or I promise you, my punishments won’t be as kind as what you’ve experienced before.”
“What is it that you want?” You ask, already fearing his answer. He has you trapped in a gilded cage with him, where one misstep will send you plummeting to meet your end. Nothing that comes accompanied by such threats can be palatable.
“At work? To keep the status quo, I’ll remain your secretary, only so I can keep a better hold on you.” 
“Hoseok won’t agree to that. He already thinks I should ditch you. I should have listened to him.” 
“Then you will make him agree or he might have an accident, much like your accountant did. He too thought we were too close, even threatened to say something. Don’t worry I saved us from him, just as I’ll save us from Hoseok if you can’t convince him to back off. Do you think you can get him to agree now?”
You give a solemn nod, with Hoseok on the line you have no choice.
“After hours, we’ll drop the middleman.” Jimin lowers himself further on to you, laying down on top, his weight flattening you to the floor. With his head coming to rest on your restrained arm as he whispers further plans. “Every night you’ll come to me instead, and every morning you’ll have a new gift to wear. When we step off this elevator you’ll act as if nothing is wrong. You will go about business as usual, is that clear babygirl?”
You stifle a sob staring directly up and away from his eyes, not daring to give him the satisfaction of your fear. With little else to cling to, all you can do is agree for the time being, as much as it pains you, you choke out your compliance. “Yes...” 
“Yes what?” Jimin purrs, his lips faintly touching your ear. “Address me properly, or I will find ways to discipline you right here on this lift.” His fingers tighten and nails bite into your skin.
“Yes sir,” you whine as a plea for him to stop. 
Jimin mercifully lessens his hold on your wrists, hitting you instead with a smirk and befouled praise. “Good girl. I knew you’d finally see that I’m worth the risk.”
...
4K notes · View notes
gimmesumsuga · a year ago
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Reactions
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Playing under the table
Pulling their hair during sex/foreplay
Distracting you whilst you’re on the phone
Car sex/foreplay
Sucking on their bottom lip during a kiss
Make up sex
Anal play/sex
Being bratty and refusing sex
When they’re the sub - hyung line  /  maknae line
Refusing to make noise during sex
Cumming on you
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Visiting you at your job as a zoopkeeper
Catching you dancing/singing to one of their songs
Finding out you can’t eat with chopsticks
Doing something domestic/feminine together
Helping you with insomnia
You suffering with claustrophobia
Doped up on allergy medication
Their s/o doing their own hand-poke tattoos
When you’re stressed/overworked
Their pregnant s/o is insecure
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Getting jealous when their ex is close to another member
Having an argument and them calling you ‘Noona’
Pulling away
Breaking up - hyung line / maknae line
Breaking up pt. 2
4K notes · View notes
pasteljeon · a year ago
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sincerely, yours (m)
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summary: in which you return to an apartment full of 7 horny boyfriends.
pairing: ot7 x reader
warnings: pining, dirty talk, heavy petting, sexual tension
length: 2.9k
notes: this is another blm commission written for the amazing @/himbeaux-joon. thank you so much for your support and donation! i hope you enjoy n forgive me for the wait.
.
.
.
“You’re fucked.”
You pull your phone away from your ear out of pure disbelief. Squinting at the screen, you’re assured you’re speaking to the right person when your friend’s name peers back at you.
“Sorry?” 
She said it so casually and offhandedly you do a double take. Your luggage rolls noisily behind you, a hefty and rather rickety thing, though you don’t quite have the heart to rid of it just yet. It has character, stickers and stamps collected from your various travels scattered on the cover. Some are fraying and others greying and half-peeled. Some are new, recently added to the collection and sparkle almost obnoxiously next to your dying ones.
“You are so fucked,” she laughs. It’s less of a laugh and more of a cackle. You check your phone again. Still her.
“Are you going to elaborate on that?” You say dryly as you finally wheel yourself out of customs. The last month has been hectic, your job and position requiring you to fly overseas for the past three weeks. You would think your boys would have been used to the asynchronistic nature of your schedules considering how busy they usually are, but they did finish the last leg of their tour just as you left. Your company offered another two weeks of paid vacation is a thank-you for the generous contract you just signed. Your boys protested and pouted but you took it, adamant about finally taking that much needed break.
They reluctantly let you go, faking tears but understanding, their jobs equally as, if not more, stressful.
“Nope.” She pops the p with some dark sense of satisfaction, and you repress the shiver that crawls down your spine. “But I can say it’s a good type of fucking. You know, the one where you bend Jungkook over the—”
“Okay, got it, thank you,” you cut her off hastily, holding a hand over the speaker to muffle her voice that rises into a sing-song, glancing around discreetly to ensure no one’s eavesdropped over your rather scandalous conversation.
“You ever notice how whiny your boys can get when you’re away?” She teases when you return to the line. Rummaging in your purse for some change, you scan the airport café for some iced coffee, chuckling, “Yes. You have no idea.”
“You know all the boys have a chat exclusive for their very not safe for work thoughts?” she tells you. It makes you choke and laugh simultaneously, the cashier eyeing you strangely as he takes your order.
“I don’t know how they make it sounds so hot,” your friend continues blandly. “Normally it sounds so greasy. But they’re usually so well-behaved and polite. I was so shocked. I had no idea that Jimin liked—”
You yelp, staring down at your shirt. Luckily, it’s dark enough to hide the stain, so you mop it up sheepishly, thanking the server who offers you some napkins, clucking sympathetically.
“What?” You hissed, pulling to the side. You’re whisper-shouting into your phone now. “They did what?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? Didn’t Rhys tell you? He was rolling all over about it,” she snickers. You splutter. Rhys is a close friend to the both of you, and often spent nights gaming with Jungkook and Taehyung. You knew your boys had a group chat with your other male friends but … “But they’re usually so polite,” you exclaim.
Your friend clicks her tongue. “Cue exhibit A. Anyway, good luck girl. You’re gonna need it.” Without waiting for your reply, she ends the call, her cackles cutting off into an odd ringing in your ear.
“Oh dear,” you say to yourself, staring down at your drink. “What am I walking into?”
.
.
.
Your friend’s call is lousy warning, if you’re going to be honest.
Only the maknaes are able to pick you up from the airport, with the remainder of the boys caught up in the photoshoot. They were able to wrap up before your flight landed.
They’re a ball of hazed energy. Dressed casually, face masked and caps donned, they somehow manage to blend in with the crowd of receivers. Your breath catches. In the short time away, you’ve forgotten just how little justice pictures and videos do for them. They’re beautiful.
They watch you like hawks, glazed eyes dark and you’re genuinely a little concerned for Taehyung. The outline of his length presses insistently against his black slacks, but he pays no attention, half-lidded as he peers at you through thick lashes. You’re shocked no one’s carded him for public indecency yet. The image alone is enough to make your core to clench.
There’s no fanfare, no glee, no innocent excitement, no cheerful, “noona!” you expected from the youngest. Instead, Jungkook silently reaches over to relieve you of your luggage, fingers grazing your palm. He pulls down his mask to kiss the corner of your mouth. He visibly tears himself away, and you can see the way his veins pop under the pressure, jaw clenching hard. Electricity sparks down your spine, making you shiver.
“Heart. Welcome back,” Taehyung rumbles as he tips your chin up. His voice is more of a growl, the sound reverberates from his chest, low and incredibly sexy it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.
“I missed you,” Jimin pushes his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He catches your hand when you reach for him, steadying your shaky knees. You clutch at the sleeve of his turtleneck, his palm cupping the back of your head as his nose skims the column of your throat.
“G-guys, we’re in public,” you manage in a faint whisper, and Jimin’s grip tightens briefly before he reluctantly pulls away. Jungkook takes your other hand, Taehyung leading the way to the car.
They brush your concern off easily, not even bothering to scan their surroundings in case anyone’s recognized them. You do a cursory sweep anyway, but find the airport still relatively empty, the crowd occupied with their own arrivals. Suddenly, you’re once again struck with a profound sense of appreciation for Namjoon’s forever careful scheduling of your flights so this could be possible.
The underground parking lot is quiet, and you exchange no words as Jungkook’s Mercedes comes into view.
The sexual tension is, as they say, palpable.
You move to follow Jimin into the backseat, but Jungkook grabs your wrist, twirling you around. The cool metal meets your heated skin for a brief moment before he pulls you close. “Noona,” he murmurs, bringing your arm to his lips. He fastens his mouth over your pulse point, suckling gently. His lashes tickle your inner wrist.
“Jungkook,” you say breathily, his leg coming to push your thighs apart. You nearly collapse onto him, and he releases you with an agonized sigh. The mark blooms darkly, and he lets out a long exhale.
“Gguk.” There’s a warning in his tone.
“I know,” the maknae bites back. He lets you down slowly, hungry gaze raking over your form one last time before he lets Taehyung help you into the car.
He walks to the driver’s side, forehead pressing against the hood fleetingly before sliding into the seat. It does nothing to settle the heat stirring in his stomach. He can’t bring himself to regret it, though, despite the way his pants dig into his hard cock.
Just a little longer. His fingers grip the wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as he pulls out of the lot.
.
.
.
They can hardly keep their hands off of you, glued to your side the entirety of the ride back.
Jungkook wants to scream out of pure frustration. He can hardly concentrate, though it is the crack of dawn and traffic is sparse.
He can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick sounds of your makeout sessions. He resists the urge to check the rear-view mirror for the nth time. He knows one glance is enough to make his thighs clench.
He hears your soft, melodic sighs between kisses, lips likely beautifully swollen and plump from their coaxing. He knows that Taehyung is sweet, and that Jimin is eager, a little rough. It's downright pornographic. His eye twitches.
“Mmm, Chim,” you mewl.
That's it. He growls. “Guys, knock it off. Otherwise we’re taking her in the back of my car.”
“Wouldn't be such a bad idea,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jungkook risks a glimpse, only to see Taehyung mouthing at your neck, one hand down your pants. You're a vision, sprawled on Jimin's lap, head tossed back against his neck. Back arched, shirt halfway unbuttoned, bra peeking out and hair disheveled.
“Taehyung,” Jungkook barks. He’s a second away from breaking the wheel. Red light. He watches Taehyung suck a blooming flower against your neckline. He pulls away reluctantly to admire it.
“It's fine,” Jimin pipes up, and Jungkook swears he pops a vessel with the way the older slides a hand up to cup your breast, thumbing your peaks from under the silken material. “We're here.”
The maknae parks the car hastily, all too relieved to be home. He practically yanks the hinges off the passenger door open. Jimin groans, almost falling flat on his ass at the sudden momentum. “Jeon!”
“Sorry,” he mutters, stepping aside for Jimin to step out. Jungkook catches you, stumbling with trembling legs and poorly adjusted shirt. He sweeps you into his arms without another thought, moving briskly towards the entrance. His strength makes you squirm in his hold, clutching his tensed bicep.
“Smell so good,” he groans, and he has to pause at the door, letting you down only to pin you against the glass, kissing you hard.
“Taste so good,” he pants, unable to stop himself from grinding against you. He wants you close, craves you. Your hands snake under his shirt, pushing it up impatiently to flatten your palm against his toned stomach, the other fumbling with his belt.
The sound of the leather and metal coming undone makes him hiss, hips jerking. “Sensitive baby,” you murmur teasingly, fingers digging into his v-line. Jungkook’s breath stutters, cock throbbing unwittingly.
“I’m going to lose my mind,” he moans, slumping onto you as you give his clothed length a tentative squeeze. He’s so incredibly hard it’s painful. The blood rushing to his dick is making him dizzy, a little breathless.
Before you can reply, the door is abruptly wrenched open. You gasp, Jungkook nearly toppling over, but he braces you under his arm, catching you easily.
“Told you he wouldn’t make it in before he succumbed.” You look up to see Hoseok gazing down at you with those strong brows of his, studying you with an intensity that has your body flushing with heat again. Even upside down he’s gorgeous beyond reason.
Jungkook flips you back up, and Hoseok’s lips quirk when he catches you floundering.
“Bet he came in his pants.” Namjoon walks forward, hands in his pockets and his tone is casual, like he’s discussing the menu from your favourite diner.
“Colour me shocked the neighbours haven’t carded the two of you for public indecency,” Yoongi drawls, smirking when Jungkook blushes darkly.
“I’m going to develop abandonment issues if you keep forgetting about us like that.” Jungkook rubs his neck, embarrassed, as Taehyung and Jimin step in with mirroring looks of disgruntlement. Taehyung walks over, lips quirking wryly as you slide your arms over his neck.
“Don’t tease,” you chastise, but he ignores you in lieu of pulling you close, swaying slightly to the sound of his quiet humming. His hands are hot, burning through the thin material of your shirt as he presses you flush against his body.
“Romantic,” you whisper, smiling. Taehyung smiles too, eyes still closed.
“Welcome back, beautiful.” You startle at the sound, but smile at the familiar voice, leaning into his touch. Taehyung allows you to slip from his hold, the newcomer twirling you around.
“Hi, Jin,” you say shyly, biting your lip. Seokjin beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Missed you so much,” he says softly. “Was about to lose my sanity if you were away any longer.”
You laugh aloud, and Seokjin looks a little awestruck at the sound, watching you with that soft, adoring look in his eyes. “I thought you would’ve enjoyed the peace while I was gone.”
“Hardly. I was left in a house full of horny kids. The testosterone levels were crazy,” he sighs dramatically. “Pass.”
Somewhere in the background, Namjoon snorts. “Please, hyung. You act like you weren’t jacking off three times a day to her pictures.”
Seokjin squeaks, Hoseok roaring in laughter. Jungkook claps a hand to his mouth, trying and failing to hide his mirth, sexual tension momentarily forgotten.
You loop your arms around his neck with a coy smile. “Is this true, Jinnie?”
“Don’t tease me,” he mumbles into your neck. He feels the shaking of your silent giggles and groans. “I hate you, Joon.”
“If it helps, I’m flattered, you know. And the feeling is mutual, in case you were wondering,” you whisper to him.
“It wasn’t just that,” Seokjin grumbles, glancing away as the tips of his ears darken. “I always want you around. You’re my home, you know.”
Your heart swells, fingers tingling. “Jin,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks. He looks everywhere but at you, complexion mirroring a tomato alarmingly fast. Seokjin, who can dish out sweetness but never take it, mood maker but so shy. Seokjin, who is kind and charming and gorgeous and has a big, beautiful heart.
“I love you so much,” you whisper. He looks at you wonderingly, as if mystified by such an all-encompassing sentiment.
“___ … You have no idea how much I adore you,” Seokjin breathes, a little giddy, a little lightheaded by that fond, warm expression you’re regarding him with.
“Not more than me.” The two of you jump at the sound, jolted from your secluded bubble, to see, shockingly, Yoongi pouting behind the eldest. The composer has his arms crossed, brows knitted and cheeks puffed out.
“Did you forget about us again,” Yoongi says, petulant. You and Seokjin look at one another, stunned, before bursting into laughter.
Namjoon and Hoseok join the rapper, crowding the two of you from the sides, sporting similarly roguish grins. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook share a mischievous look, squishing in close.
“Guys,” Seokjin complains, broad shoulders being quashed by the sheer force of Jungkook’s biceps. Your face is pressed uncomfortable tight against his – impossibly solid and strong – chest.
“Can’t – breathe,” you yelp, voice muffled. A hand grabs your wrist and pops you from the throng.
“Hello again,” Hoseok grins.
“Hoseokie,” you gasp, a little winded but still incredibly grateful for a breath of fresh air, something the dancer himself seems to embody.
“Sunshine,” he says happily, reaching for you. Before he can wrap himself around you, Namjoon comes slamming in, dimples and all.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed our little reunion, my dick is hard and throbbing and the obscene amount of times I’ve simultaneously cried and jacked off to the sound of your voice is absurd, my cock should’ve wilted at the pure ferocity and angst I’ve poured onto the poor thing, and I am beyond ecstatic to have you back – so much so that I need to rail you against the our skyline balcony, lest I implode within the next two minutes. So! Let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” Namjoon says matter-of-factly.
“Good idea,” Hoseok beams, completely unfazed by their leader’s rather lewd confession as he scoops you up easily, your boyfriends quickly following suit.
Hoseok sets you down onto the centre of the king-sized bed, silk sheets bunching beneath you as you sprawl over them. You move to sit up on your elbows, but Jungkook hovers over you, pressing you down instantly.
His dark eyes rake over your form unabashedly, one hand popping the surviving buttons of your top and the other pulling off his shirt.
“Greedy maknae.” Jungkook readily ignores Seokjin’s disgruntled mutter in the background as he leans down kiss you.
“Missed your taste,” he murmurs. Your hand trails down his bare chest, retracing every memorized groove and dip of his unfairly gorgeous body.
“Jungkook.” He tears himself away, panting heavily, to glance at Namjoon, who sends him a warning look.
“Don’t be selfish,” the rapper chastises. Jungkook drops his gaze to where you lay splayed out beneath him, hair mussed and lips swollen, chest heaving as you recover from his ministrations.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at the least. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, growling once before he slides off.
“You’re in for a long night, beautiful,” Hoseok tells you, cupping your face and thumbing your cheek slowly, revelling the heat that tinges your skin. “You have no idea how much we’ve missed you. And not just this.”
“I missed you all too,” you whisper, smile soft.
Yoongi closes the door.
Your phones blow up the entire night, left collectively buzzing beneath the couch cushions.
[03:21] rhys: damn, y’all still banging? it’s been 4 days
[04:28] rhys: i need a gf
.
.
.
“Mmm. Tickles.”
“Good morning, gorgeous.” You smile into the pillow, eyes still closed, turning your head to the side expectantly. You know your expression is a little blissful, and you hear his fond chuckle.
“Love you,” you mumble. Someone presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Love you too, heart.”
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kinktae · a year ago
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novocaine || (M)
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↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES
Going home was hard – painful even. But falling back in love with Jimin, the boy you left behind? Downright gut-wrenching.
pairing: punk!jimin x reader
word count: 9.3k
genre: 1990s au, exes au, angst, eventual smut
warnings: 90s slang, VOMIT MENTION (nothing graphic), alcohol, oc has dead parents :c, mention of a house fire
A/N: YEAH BOI ITS ANOTHER SERIES!!!
01 | 02 | 03
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
PART ONE
"Hello?"
Your cautious knock against the open front door rang out through the old victorian era home.
Your grandmother had always left her front door cracked open for as long as you could remember – you'd imagine to some that might have been strange, but in a town as small as yours, that was just the way it went. Neighbors knew each other intimately, their parents and their parents' parents having grown up together for as long as memory could stretch back.
From peaking inside, you could tell not much had changed about your grandmother's home from when you left town. The same green floral wallpaper was stretching across the living room that you had grown up with. You remembered how you used to run down the halls playing pretend, the walls serving as a forest of green and white columns serving as trees for every one of your adventures.
How far you dreamed of traveling even at a young age, wanting more than your small town could offer.
"Come in, darling! I'll be out in a moment," You heard the familiar voice call out from somewhere in the kitchen, an ache in your chest echoing.
Clutching at the strap over your shoulder, you reentered your childhood home for the first time in years, holding your breath as if a sudden exhale would send it crumbling down on top of you.
"How can I help–"
You watched as your grandmother made her way into the living room, her friendly smile dropping the moment she laid eyes on you. For a moment, no one said a word, the two family members standing across from each other silently, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
It was you, ultimately, who broke the silence.
"I'm sorry." You began, eyes welling as they mirrored your grandmother's.
"How could you?" She breathed, disbelief dripping off of every word.
You gripped your bag tighter, pulling it into your chest as if subconsciously wielding a shield to protect yourself.
"I'm sorry–"
"Four years." She shook her head.
Shame washed over you as your grandmother ran a hand through her hair.
"You left me a note. A damn note saying that you were leaving town and not to look for you. No goodbye. No, this is where I'm going. You just left. Do you know how worried sick I've been for the past four years? I had no idea where you were... if you were safe or even alive!" She continued, tears finally reaching her cheeks.
You felt like you had been punched in the stomach. And what was worse was that you deserved it. Four years ago, you had packed your bags and disappeared that same night, not telling a soul where you were going.
Because you didn't even know where you were going – all you could do was march forward, booking whichever bus would take you furthest away from the town that had taken so much from you.
"And now you're back."
You tried your hardest to keep your composure, swaying from foot to foot unnaturally. There wasn't a day that passed that you didn't think back on to all you had left behind. You hopped from city to city, hoping to find whatever it was that you were searching for.
You were happy. You were. Picking up whatever waitressing job you could. Meeting new people every day. It was precisely the spontaneity you had been craving, changing cities as soon as things started to feel too familiar.
And yet, here you were. Once again, in the one place you'd sworn you would never come back to, wanting the ending to a book you had left open years ago.
"I'm so, so sorry." You were. Standing here in front of your crying grandmother, you were pitiful and soaking in shame.
With a shaky breath, you were suddenly taken into her arms, no amount of time was able to undo the way your grandmother loved you. You wept countless apologies into her neck, not that they were needed. Because despite the way she was furious at you, she knew exactly why you had left. She saw the way the life in her granddaughter's eyes died that fateful day. The way they never returned, no matter how happy the day or loved the company.
"It's okay, darling." Your grandmother soothed, running a hand over your head as she pulled you tighter. "I understand why you had to go."
From the moment you were brought onto this earth, your grandmother had been your best friend, understanding you even when your parents didn't. She was your number one confidant throughout your teenage years. She was the only one who didn't bat an eye when you came home with bright blue hair and several sporadically placed piercings on your 17th birthday.
She used to be quite the hell raiser herself after all – she'd be lying if she said she didn't get this town talking back when she was your age.
"Why don't you say I make you some tea and we can talk about it some more? Chamomile still your favorite?" She soothed, pulling back from your shared embrace.
A small laugh left your lips, your head nodding in confirmation. She remembered. Of course, she did.
And as the two of you sat on the living room couch, cross-legged and mugs of tea in hand, you spent the next two hours telling your grandmother everything. Recounting everything that had happened from the very day you left up until the day of your return. Recounting every missed bus, every friendly acquaintance, and miserable job. She held onto your every word, smile sincere as tears slipped from her eyes. It was a bittersweet way to catch up on her granddaughter's life, and as much as she wished she had been there to see it all with you, she was grateful. Grateful for your return and for the way your eyes lit up with every story you told.
How she had missed that. How she had missed you.
Gone was your blue hair. Gone were your round cheeks and the puerile way you used to speak that she adored. You were a woman now– beautiful and happier then she had ever seen you in years.
"So, I guess it'd be silly to assume you're here to stay." Your grandmother spoke through a soft smile, bouncing the tea bag around her empty mug.
One of the corners of your mouth tugged upwards, remorse written across your face.
"Honestly," You breathed out. "I'm not even sure what I'm doing back here."
You could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock standing just across the room, filling in the gaps of silence with its metrical beat. Memories of your father poking his head inside its body as he fiddled with the mechanism whenever it broke down. You let out a shaky breath, you pulled your eyes away from the wooden clock hastily.
"I guess I realized I couldn't move forward with the way I left things back here."
"Well," Your grandmother exhaled, pulling herself off the couch, palm stretching out to take your cup. "You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. This is still your home whenever you need it to be, understand?"
You nodded appreciatively, "Thanks, Grams."
"You can go put your things in your room. I'll clean up here."
Every step up the thickly carpeted stairs felt familiar. The weathered leaves of the fake plants your grandmother had set up on the side of the stair railing brushed against your jeans. You had always loathed those oddly placed plants, remembering the numerous times you had knocked them over in your youth as you came barreling down the stairs.
Pushing against the door to your old room, you stood in place. It swung open, revealing your bedroom, albeit it a much tidier version than you remembered.
Walking in, you couldn't help but smile. Cleanliness aside, it was exactly how you had left it.
Your walls were an outrageous jewel-toned purple, a color that you had since sworn off in the past years. Placing your bag down against the leg of your wrought iron bed frame, your eyes peered up at the muted yellow glow-in-the-dark stars you had scattered all over your ceiling. You could hardly believe they were all still up.
Rows of posters littered one of your walls. Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana: all the bands you and Jimin used to scream along to during car rides.
Jimin.
Your heart thumped at the thought of him– the boy you had left behind. It had been so long since you had allowed yourself to think about him freely like this.
Scanning the polaroids propped on the wall by your desk, you paused as you came across the photos you were searching for. Your heart lurched as you took in the old images of you and your ex-boyfriend. It was certainly a trip down memory lane, from the pictures of the two of you in Hoseok's basement to a photo of your favorite pair of converse shoes propped up on Jimin's dashboard. You could still make out one of his Doc Martens poking into the frame. He had jerked his leg over the center console mid-drive to join your photo, earning a giggling shriek and blurry photo on your part.
But your favorite photo was the one you had taken the effort to frame, propped up in a metal frame on your desk.
Solemnly, you reached for it, hands gripping either side as if you were afraid of it slipping through your hands and falling to the floor, shattering beyond repair.
It was the first-ever photo you two had taken together. It was on your first date, which had consisted of eating McDonald's in his car as the rain poured down, trapping the two already nervous teenagers inside. You grinned at the photo. You were both so young, probably no older than sixteen in this photo. And what a photo it was.
You had managed to cut off half of your face, too concerned with getting the boy you liked on film. Not that it was an award-winning photo; you had caught Jimin mid-blink, his lips parted oddly as if he were in the middle of speaking.
Jimin hated this photo, claiming how embarrassed he was once the picture had developed in front of you, his attempts to impress you on your date shattering with that one photo.
But you loved it this photo. Even still, there was a bitterness in your chest as you set it back down. The frame was intact, but your relationship was far beyond repair.
You remembered the day you had left town vividly. You had just turned 19, the first anniversary of your parents' death approaching and weighing heavily on your mind. It wasn't so much as a planned or reasoned decision. You merely hopped out of bed one restless night, shoved as many clothes you could fit into your duffel bag, and slipped soundlessly out your grandmothers' house. You hardly even remembered the walk to the nearest bus station. You just purchased a ticket for the next bus heading out of town and never looked back.
You hadn't seen or spoken to Jimin since, but it wasn't hard to guess that four years was more than enough time for him to forget all about you.
Sighing, you ran a hand against the nail polish stained wood of your desk, splatters of black and burgundy holding up against the test of time.
What was he up to now, you wondered. If you knew Jimin, you doubt he had left town. If you had to guess, he had taken a job at his father's car shop. He probably was still driving around that old Toyota Corona of his, painted red like he had always dreamed about.
Your old magic 8 ball caught your eye suddenly, and within seconds, it was in your hands.
"Is he still in town?" You asked out loud, entertaining the thought that the omnipotent magic ball gods might hear your inquiry.
Shaking the ball generously, you turned it over, watching as the dark blue gel inside cleared up as the dice made its way to the surface.
Signs point to yes.
You shrugged, figuring as much.
"Still driving that car?" You continued.
Yes – definitely.
You couldn’t help but grin, pleased at the way the ball had also agreed with your assumption.
Humming, you passed the ball from hand to hand, an intrusive thought trespassing into your head.
"...Should I go see him?" You asked quietly, swallowing down whatever pride you had left.
Your brows furrowed as the answer revealed itself before you.
Ask again later.
Unsatisfied, you shook it again.
Cannot predict now.
You set the toy down, the heavy plastic letting out a thunk as it met the surface of your desk. You were treading on dangerous territory anyway. Seeing Jimin after all these years... you wouldn't know the first thing to say to him. Would he even want to see you?
"Yo, Gramcracker!"
Your reflection in your vanity mirror stared back at you with a perplexed expression, urging you to go and suss out the source of the voice. Walking out of your room, you began to make your way down the stairs, wondering who on earth had just entered the house.
"Bake anything good lately? I'm starving!" The voice called out once more.
You froze, not even halfway down the stairs as your eyes found the familiar frame of your childhood friend standing in the living room, a skateboard tucked under his arm.
Hoseok?
The man in question sensed a pair of eyes on him immediately, head-turning towards your direction.
"No shit... Y/N, you're back?!" He gawked at you, eyes nearly bulging out of his face.
"Hobi. Yeah, I'm... Hi." You failed to respond intelligently, too busy taking him in.
You hardly recognize him. He had cut his hair, front and sides gelled up, showing off his bleached tips.
He had traded his usual pair of slip-on vans for a couple of low top pumas, his shoelaces dirty and untied. His favorite nine-inch nails t-shirt was nowhere to be seen, instead sporting a plain baggy, red t-shirt under his North Face jacket.
And most jarring of all was the pooka shell necklace hanging off his neck.
"You look..."
"Yeah, I ditched the whole eyeliner and black t-shirt thing.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
Jeez. What else had changed since you were gone?
You made your way down the stairs.
"Still rocking flannel, I see. You haven’t changed at all.” He grinned warmly. You couldn't help but smile back, his good mood infectious.
"I guess I haven't."
For as long as you had lived at your grandmother's, Hoseok had been your next-door neighbor and favorite friend, running in the same circle all throughout high school.
"Kind of miss the blue, though." He teased, swatting at your hair playfully.
Pressing your lips together, you offered him a bittersweet smile, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Seeing Hoseok standing here... being back in this town... it almost felt like being a teen again.
Memories of running out the door early Monday mornings with your school bag in hand and a toast in your mouth as you ran to catch the bus flooded you. You remembered how you'd climb on panting, Hoseok and several other friends waving you over to join them at the back of the bus.
Hoseok reminded you of passing notes in class and throwing paper balls at crabby teachers when they weren't looking. He reminded you of sitting at lunch, the cafeteria deafening but still somehow being able to hear everyone at your table. He reminded you of sneaking out to concerts and holding onto your friends as you sang along to some angsty song about the world being against you and life sucking.
He reminded you of what life was like when you first met Jimin. When Hoseok introduced him to you the first day of sophomore year in homeroom. When you and Jimin used to hold hands under the lunch table, chatting with friends while secretly whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. When you and Jimin locked eyes suddenly at a Nirvana concert, kissing each other during their cover of Molly's Lips.
Seeing the way tears had found your eyes, he stepped towards you.
"Hey, c'mon now... don't you start with the waterworks. I'll start crying too."
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for a warm hug that made you cry harder.
"I missed you." You whimpered, hands gripping his jacket.
You had missed your old life. You didn't realize it until now, but god, there was so much you missed here.
"I missed you too, kid." He hummed, giving you one final squeeze.
"Oh my, isn't this a sweet reunion." Your grandmother finally reappeared, a happy smile on her face.
You laughed, wiping away at your cheeks with the back of your hand. It had been quite a while since you had cried this much.
"Grams, I had no idea you and Hobi hung out." You raised a brow, offering the two unlikely friends one final sniffle.
"Are you kidding? Elvie is cool as shit. Plus, her baking? Y/N, you had it made." He enthused. Your grandmother merely laughed, clearly finding the young man amusing.
"Hoseok keeps me up to date with everything fresh and hip, darling. He helped me get this pager, look!" She gestured towards her hip where, sure enough, a shiny new pager laid hooked on her belt.
"Elvie and I are best buds now. Isn't that right, Gramcracker?" Hoseok smirked at you.
"No diggity, no doubt!" She concurred. You watched in horror as Hoseok and your grandmother's hands met, dabbing each other up.
"Oh my god. You're a grandma thief."
Hoseok waved you off dismissively, "Don't even, Y/N. Grammy loves all her grandchildren equally—"
You let out a snicker, shoving his shoulder playfully, "Except you're not her grandkid, I am."
"Don't leave your grandma behind for someone else to snatch her up then."
There wasn't an ounce of malice in his tone, but you knew exactly what he meant. You left. Things changed. You just weren't here to know. Sensing the shift in mood, Hoseok cleared his throat, a sheepish smile displayed across his face.
"You back for good?"
"Just visiting." You shook your head. "It's been a while."
"Too long." Your grandmother reminded you, setting herself back down onto the couch.
"Well… if you're down for a little reminiscing, Guyi's throwing a party. I was on my way there just now."
"Guyi?" A smile broke out on your face. "God, I can't believe she's still here."
The last image of Guyi you had in your brain was back from senior year, standing in front of your graduating class. She was brilliant, chosen to speak to you and your peers as valedictorian. You still remembered how the class erupted in giggles as she made her way up to the podium, her thick frames and dark bangs the only parts of her you could make out, the rest of her small frame hidden by the tall, wooden structure.
"Of course, she is. We all are." He shrugged.
Seeing your old friends... the idea ignited something inside you, something that read between the lines of excitement and fear. You thought about them from time to time, of course, wondering what sorts of trouble they had gotten up to without you. Yes, you suppose you would like to see them all again.
"Ah, but…" You shook your head, "I just got here. Grams and I still have so much to catch up on–"
Your grandmother let out a huff, waving her hand at you as if to dispel your worries.
"Oh, nonsense! Go have fun with your friends, darling. I'm not going anywhere."
You quirked a brow at her, "Are you sure?"
Of course, she wanted to keep you all to herself. But she wasn't the only one you left behind. Every now and again, she would run into one of your friends, be it at Walmart or the local breakfast spot. They always offered her a hello, some even going so far as to stop and chat.
"As long as you promise you aren't either and that you don't do anything reckless." She wagged her finger, expression growing stern. "I'm serious, Y/N. I am too damn old for any more of your shenanigans."
You laughed, nodding sincerely, "I promise. I really do."
Hoseok's eyes flickered between the two family members, enjoying the good atmosphere.
"So, are you coming with?" He finally asked.
"Sure." You exhaled, throwing your hands up as a nonverbal why not!
"Righto! Let's bounce." He clapped his hands together decidedly. He sent your grandmother a friendly wink. "Later, Elvie."
"Bye, darlings, be safe! Don't stay out too late!" She called out after the forms of you and your childhood friend walking out the front door.
It shut with a heavy thud, the grand door as aged as the house itself. You bounded down the porch's final steps, your open flannel shirt floating behind you as you fought to catch up with Hoseok, who apparently walked faster than you could blink.
"Did something happen between you two while I was gone? Should I be worried?" You teased.
As delightful as it was to see them getting along well, you couldn't help but wonder if Hoseok had other motives, given the promiscuous nature of his teen years.
"I'm not banging your Grams, dude." He rolled his eyes. "Didn't say you were."
"You were thinking it."
"Oh, definitely." You grinned, reaching his front driveway.
Hoseok had been planning of skateboarding over to Guyi's house. It was a fifteen minute trip by board that he usually didn't mind making, but considering his board was only made to fit one, he figured by car was the way to go.
"I'm a changed man, Y/N." He informed you as he slipped into the driver's seat beside you. "I've been seeing the same girl for two years now."
"You're kidding! I so didn't peg you as the type to ever settle down." You confessed.
"Time's a funny thing." Was his insightful answer, earning a hum in agreement from you.
The Hoseok you remembered from high school had no interest in relationships. He was the first to tell you and Jimin “get a room!” whenever you two were particularly affectionate in public. It was nice to hear that he had settled down with someone.
The two of you reached the party in no time. Your fingers fiddled with your seatbelt buckle as you peered out the car window, quickly recognizing some of the party-goers standing by the front door as people you had gone to school with.
Wow. You really were the only one who made it out of this town, huh?
You and Hoseok slipped into the house reasonably unnoticed. Only a few people had bothered to pull away from their own conversations to look at the party's newest arrivals.
"I feel awkward." You said, crossing your arms over your chest as you stood by the stairs, Hoseok scanning the room for his girlfriend.
"Don't feel awkward." He said.
"Wow. All better, thanks." You rolled your eyes.
"There she is!" He cheered, locking eyes with a pretty girl with neon pink hair.
A wide smile broke across her face, excitedly making her way over from across the room.
"Baby! You made it!" She threw her arms around her boyfriend's neck, the couple sharing a kiss.
The pink-haired girl pulled back with a giggle, the two lost in their little loved up world as she ran her thumb across his lip, wiping away at the red lipstick that had transferred over. They looked so in love– you almost felt intrusive for watching their small little moment.
"Baby, this is–"
"Oh, snap! Y/N? You're back!" Her brown eyes widened.
You flashed her a polite smile, mind floundering through your memories to try and remember how the hell you knew this girl, her face familiar but somehow not all the same.
Sensing your uncertainty, Hoseok was quick to step in.
"Y/N, meet my girlfriend, Gwen. She went to high school with us."
Gwen? You ran your eyes over the colorful girl, her shirt cropped and baggy pants low cut, her midriff bare. Surely you would've remembered someone as cool as her.
"You probably don't remember me, we didn't talk back then or anything. I kind of didn't talk to anyone, just did my school work and avoided eye contact. We had homeroom together senior year."
"Holy shit!" Your eyes widened in recognition.
Goody Two Shoes Gwendolyn? The more you stared at Gwen, the more you realized you were indeed right. The colorful girl standing in front of you was the shy, conservative teen that used to sit in the back of class, sporting Mary Jane shoes and two twin braids ever single day.
"It's so nice to actually meet you. I always thought you were just like… the coolest." She gushed.
"You did?"
"Dude, yes! How you dressed and your blue hair? Super cool, I was way jealous."
"Man, the blue hair seems to be favorite around here. It might just have to make a comeback."
"Well, if you need an extra pair of hands, I'm your gal." Gwen winked, flipping her own vibrant hair over her shoulder, making both Hoseok and you laugh.
"She did my hair too," Hoseok added, wanting in on the conversation.
The three of you fell into a conversation of bleach and hair dye, and for a moment, you realized how nice this was. Talking to someone and knowing they'd be here the next day. Things were so different in the city, where every meeting was by accident, and everyone ran on their own schedule.
Time moved slower here, you realized. You supposed you could see the appeal in that.
"Oh my god, Y/N? Is that you?" A voice pulled you from the conversation.
You turned to the host of the party, Guyi, smiling down at you from her spot the stairs. You giggled as she bounced down the remaining stairs, rushing over with open arms.
"Guyi!" You met her hug enthusiastically, wrapping your arms tight against the tiny girl.
"What are you doing here?" She exclaimed, disbelief dripping from every syllable.
Your shoulders jerked up in a casual shrug, "Just in town for a visit. Been a while."
"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Man, how are you?"
Back in your younger years, Guyi had been your best friend, her relaxed demeanor, and take no one's shit attitude to win you over back in elementary school. While the two of you distanced a bit in high school due to differing interests and social crowds, you always remained friendly, making sure to wave and smile at each other in the halls.
"You gotta see everyone else. They're gonna freak when they see you." The dark-haired girl insisted once you two had caught up. "They're all in my room, c'mon."
You didn't have time to protest as Hoseok and Gwen immediately moved to follow Guyi. She made her way towards the stairs, leaving you with no choice but to follow the only people in this room you felt comfortable around.
The wooden steps creaked under your weight, giving away their age. You could hear the sound of chatter from Guyi's room from here and watched as each of your friends made their way in.
And that's when you saw him, sat idly on the bed, a tattoo-covered arm stretched out beside him as he held up his weight.
Jimin.
Before he could see you, and before you could convince yourself out of it, you were making your way back down the stiars, heart clamoring embarassingly.
This was a mistake. Sure, you knew there was a chance you might run into Jimin here, but seeing him – actually seeing him – sent your heart into a frenzy, telling you that you weren't quite as over him as you tried to convince yourself. You stood at the bottom of the stairs with a hand against your chest, holding back your heart for fear it might jump out.
"Hey, what's the dealio?" You heard over your shoulder, causing you to turn and see Hoseok descending towards you.
He was mid-conversation with a friend when he realized that you were nowhere to be seen, scanning the house from the top of the stairs only to find you stood at the bottom of it, your hands latched onto the railing as if fearful you might fall to your feet without it.
"What are the chances that Jimin doesn't hate my guts?" You muttered, stomach-churning.
He must be angry – he had to be. You had left without a single word or ounce of a heads up. No girlfriend does that, and no boyfriend should forgive you for that.
"What, have you not spoken to him since you kicked him to the curb?"
"I didn't– not on purpose, at least." You hissed, keeping your voice low out of sheer fear that he might hear you and walk out to find you cowering like a loser. "So, does he hate me or what?"
Hoseok pressed his brows together as if to think.
"Well… I mean, the first year you were gone, he was a wreck. Cried a bunch. He was always at your grandma's house. It's why I started chilling there in the first place."
"By the second year, after everyone realized that you probably weren't kidnapped and had just left town, he kind of went through this weird phase where he turned into an ass. We hardly hung out. He kept to himself or whatever. He's chilled out, though. Hasn't mentioned you since." Hoseok recapped nonchalantly.
"Ugh, this was a bad idea." You felt nauseous, and there wasn't a drop of alcohol in your system. Hoseok let out a sigh, resting an elbow on your shoulder as he leaned into you.
"Look, the way I see it is... you're both adults now, right? You can either suck it up, go in there and be an adult, or you can spend the rest of the night wigging out and hiding from him like a little bitch baby." He concluded.
"Well, jeez, when you put it like that..."
"Is this not why you came back? To reconnect with everyone or whatever?"
"I guess." You pouted.
He had a point. If not today, then when? Your feelings aside, if you could maintain a friendship with Jimin, your heart would be content. To know that he was okay… that he was happy… well, that would make this entire trip worth it.
Man, since when was Hoseok this smart? He really was a changed man.
And with that vote of courage in mine, the two of you headed back up.
"Gang, guess who's back in town?" The bleach tipped boy announced, an arm wrapped around your shoulder encouragingly.
Any form of courage, however, up and packed its bags, making a beeline towards the front door the second your eyes met Jimin’s.
You held his stare in silence as color from his face drained, lips parting as his jaw fell slack. He looked like he had seen a ghost – no, worse – like he had been punched in this stomach. It was as if he had been wounded all this time and seeing you in front of him was the final blow.
"Holy shit!"
"Y/N?!"
"Oh my god!"
"No way! Y/N?"
Your old peers' excited calls fell onto deaf ears, however, as your mind grew blank the momen Jimin's eyes snapped away from yours, head turning away coldly and mouth pressed together tightly.
You swore you could hear the sound of your heart cracking, unsure if you had enough strength to keep the pieces in place.
"Hi, guys." You blinked back the urge to cry.
He looked away. He actually looked away.
You were on autopilot, making conversation with everyone else in the room, mind, and heart still fixated on the one person who didn't dare talk to you.
Why were you upset? You already told yourself that he was going to be angry. He had every right to ignore you. To think that you could just show up years later and assume everything would go back to normal... what a fool you were.
You took a seat at Guyi's vanity, hands tucked between your knees as you tried your best to stay engaged in a conversation you hardly could focus on.
"Nah, man. Rachel and Ross are endgame for sure." A boy named Jungkook insisted, causing a multitude of groans to ring out.
"It's so obvious the writers want us to root for them." Hoseok grunted, earning a nod of agreement from Gwen.
Guyi brought her packet of M&Ms to her mouth, tearing it open with her teeth, "I'm kind of rooting for Monica and Chandler."
"Huh? Where did you get that idea?" Jungkook inquired.
Guyi took a moment to chew, swallowing down her chocolate treat.
"The last episode that aired! Chandler says he and Monica should get married if they're 40 and single." She continued.
"Monica and Chandler, huh…" Gwen contemplated.
"Eh, I don't see it." Jungkook said.
"The show is only a season in, who knows."
It was downright painful how obviously Jimin was going out of his way to not meet your eyes.
“Someone should make a TV show about us. We're a group of likable young adults." Hoseok declared suddenly.
You couldn't help but snicker at that assumption.
"That's not what Mr. Duval said." You reminded.
Hoseok let out an audible scoff, "Fuck Duval. That old fart-knocker gave me eight detentions."
"And you deserved every single one of them." Guyi countered, a light-hearted grin on her face. A couple laughs from the room showed support for her claim.
"This town is too boring to get a TV show." A girl named Willow began suddenly, ignoring the current topic.
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You never cared much for Willow throughout school. She was precisely the kind of catty cheerleader that movie writers wrote about. Frankly, you were surprised she was here at all since you quite vividly remembered and her group making snarky comments whenever you and your friend's passed by.
But considering how she had her hand intertwined with Jungkook's, it would seem that her romantic habits had lead her here.
"We're not that bad," Jimin spoke up for the first time since you arrived, "we've got a Walmart now."
"Wait, seriously?" You responded to him before you could stop yourself. Wanting to talk to him felt so natural that you couldn't even help it.
For what must have been a few seconds, but felt like an eternity, he met your eyes. For what felt like an eternity, the world slowed, and those eyes were the ones that loved you back and not that ones the stared at you like you were a stranger.
His hair was dark. Darker than you remembered, which you took as a sign that he had dyed it. He wore a loose-fitted white t-shirt, the tattoo of a sparrow creeping from underneath his collar and onto his neck. His face was sharper – more handsome somehow now that puberty had come and gone.
You felt your face heat up.
"Between 5th and Winchester." Was his lackluster reply, eyes flickering away from yours.
"Oh sure, a Walmart. Big whoop." Willow continued. "Seriously, nothing interesting ever happens here. Nothing! I mean, not since—"
Her voice trailed off suddenly. You turned towards the blonde girl only to find that her eyes were already on you, staring sympathetically as she pressed her lips together.
You knew at once that that was what she meant.
Not since the freak house fire that killed both your parents.
It was written out for you word for word in the way pity and sadness graced her expression, offering you silent condolences.
Everyone caught on to her blunder, all turning towards you with those same eyes. The eyes that followed you from the day of their funeral up until the very day you left this small, gossiping town. God. It had been so long since you had to walk around with the Dead Parents title smacked on your forehead.
Back in the city, no one knew. No one thought to ask. No one pried into your past life, nor did you theirs. Everyone was so busy all the time that your trauma hardly had time to come up for conversation.
Like some sort of sixth sense, you felt as Jimin's eyes burned into you, your past love sitting still and silent as the others surrounding you. The urge to flee prickled at your skin.
What a funny thing.
To think that everyone here got to speak of your parents' death freely as if it were just an article they read in a newspaper once. Your perfect little town stained by the unkemptness of their burnt home and the uncomely manner in which they died.
"YN, I'm sorry—" Willow's apology was cut off short at the sight of you pushing yourself off the chair, a tight-lipped smile on your face.
"It's all good. I'm gonna go get something to drink." You told her quickly, throat constricting.
"Way to go, moron." You heard the sound of what you assumed was Guyi's angry jab.
"My bad, I'm not used to her being back, jeez!"
You needed something. Anything. Something to drown yourself in to forget the way you wanted the ground to sink in and take you with it.
Walking into the kitchen, you found a half-empty bottle of Bacardi vodka, the cap nowhere to be seen.
That'll do.
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"Rough night?" A low voice called from behind you.
You set your shot cup down, grimacing as your fifth shot made its way down your throat. Eyeing your newly arrived company, you quirked an eyebrow at him. He was attractive, his hair a soft mint color, and his outfit entirely black. Unlike everyone else in this house, however, you had no clue who this man was, setting you slightly on edge.
"Something like that." You replied, watching the unfamiliar man pour himself a shot. "You?"
"Eh, my ex is here. Kind of a buzzkill." He told you, downing the liquid poison. "Care to join me?"
Raising a brow at the mint haired man, you reached for your shot glass, pouring the two of you a drink.
"Cheers." You shrugged, tapping your glass into his.
The two strangers swallowed down the bitter liquid, bonding over the way your faces crumpled up in mild revulsion. He grinned as you wiped at the corners of your mouth, picking up the remnants of alcohol that had missed your mouth.
"Since we're drinking buddies now, is there a name that goes along with that liver of steel?" He teased, causing you to snicker.
You held a hand out, "Y/N."
"Yoongi." He introduced back, taking your hand into his large one.
"You're not from here, are you?" You cocked your head at him. "I feel like I've never seen you before."
"Ah, yeah, I'm originally from Chicago," Yoongi told you.
An excited gasp fell from you, face exploding into a wide grin.
"No way! I love Chicago!"
"You've been?" His eyes widened.
He hadn't met a single person his age here who had ever made it out of this town for any reason other than a concert.
"I kind of hop around from city to city, but I always come back to Chi-Town. You guys have the best deep dish pizza." You enthused.
"God, don't remind me. I've been craving one for ages now." Yoongi grumbled, rubbing at his stomach comically.
The conversation paused briefly as the two of you took another shot.
"So, what brings you here to the middle of nowhere?"
"Moved here last year." He explained.
"Wow." You blinked. "I only ever thought people we're trying to get out of this town, not move to it."
The two of you exchanged laughter, more alcohol making its way down your throats as you bonded over memories of the city and The Smashing Pumpkins and Green Day concerts you both attended there.
Yoongi was nice. Or maybe you were just looking for a distraction. Whichever it was, it lead to your mouth on his, tongue thrashing against his messily as the two of you backed into a spare bedroom, your hands under his shirt and his on your waist.
You were drunk, way too drunk to be hooking up with a random boy while your ex-boyfriend was somewhere upstairs. Still, the alcohol in your system spurred you on, clinging onto Yoongi as if he were the only thing in this room that made sense.
You fell back onto the bed with a giggle, preening as he hovered over you, his mouth finding your neck, showering it with kisses between his breathy laughter.
"Did you check in here–"
Your eyes flickered up towards the half-opened door lazily, widen suddenly as you met a pair that mimicked your shock.
Shit.
"What the fuck?" Jimin audibly cursed, eyes burning holes into the back of Yoongi's form.
Your hands pressed back against Yoongi's chest hurriedly, who hadn't even noticed the sudden intrusion, still working at your neck. He let out a noise of confusion as he pulled himself off you, turning around to face the glowering boy staring at the two of you as if you had just committed some heinous act.
"Well, fuck." Yoongi began, running a hand to rub at his neck.
"Um…" You fumbled around for anything of substance to say, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.
Yoongi cleared his throat, offering you a sheepish look before turning to Jimin.
"Right, uh… Jimin, meet Y/N." He jerked his head towards you. "Y/N… meet my ex."
Suddenly, your stomach did a one-eighty, and you all the alcohol you had downed within the past hour was at your throat, jaw falling slack.
"I'm gonna be sick." You gaped.
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You pulled back from the toilet bowl, falling back on the bathroom floor, contents of your stomach flushing down the drain.
Man. Here you were barfing in your old childhood best friend's house while your ex-boyfriend and his ex (who you just made out with) stood by the door, watching over you.
Not your finest hour.
"Hey, there you are. She had too much to drink." A voice which you recognized as Jimin's called out to someone. You had shut your eyes, the small room spinning around you.
Guyi pushed her way past the boys, walking over to crouch by you, a hand coming to rub soothing circles into your back.
"Hi," you opened an eye to glance over at your new companion, "I puked."
"I heard." She nodded, handing you a cup of water she had brought from the kitchen. "Rinse."
"I'm sorry." You frowned.
You took a large swig, washing it around your mouth, not wanting to further trouble your old friend. Spitting the water back out into the bowl, you sat compliantly as Guyi dabbed your mouth dry with some toilet paper.
And suddenly, you were giggling, realizing how ridiculous this all was. You made out with Jimin's ex! And he had walked in on you two! What kind of cruel joke was this? Someone had it out for you, you were sure of it.
Guyi placed a hand on top of your head, patting it as you continued to laugh to yourself.
"I'm... so... sorry!" You managed to get out between giggles, "I'm fine, I promise!"
You didn't have to explain yourself to her, though. She understood. She pulled you into her and rested her head against yours, wishing she could do more for you.
When you left all those years ago, she couldn't help but wished she had made more effort to reach out. It didn't matter how much the two of you had drifted. What you had gone through... she just should have made more of an effort. Because the girl beside her was not fine. Not today, at least.
"Someone should take her home, she shouldn't be out like this." Guyi turned towards the two boys by the door.
"She came with Hobi, right? Where's he?" Jimin pressed.
Guyi let out a sigh, the kind of noise that came from the party host who had spent the past hour running around and making sure there was enough ice and cups and that everyone was okay.
"Well, Gwen's currently in my bathroom in a worse state than Y/N is. Hobi's up there looking after her."
"Shit," Jimin muttered, voice low.
You straightened up suddenly, something important crossing your mind.
"Gwen is Hobi's girlfriend. She is so pretty. I'm so happy for him." You babbled drunkenly.
Jeez, would this room stop spinning already?
"I can take her home."
You turned to look up at Jimin, unsure if you had heard him correctly.
"You can?" The girl beside you asked.
"Yeah." His eyes held yours briefly. "She's staying at Elvie's, I'm assuming? I know the way."
You let out a small breath, "That's so nice."
"Okay, perfect." Guyi agreed.
If Guyi knew anything about your life in high school, it was that you and Jimin were practically inseparable. Everyone at school knew that you two were the couple that was getting married out of high school.
Or, at least, that's what they always thought.
"Jimin... is so nice."
"C'mon. Up we go." She ignored your useless muttering, hands holding yours as she helped you onto your feet.
"Woah!" You giggled once you stood, gravity seeming to pull at you every which way.
"Here, let me help."
And suddenly, happening faster than your drunk brain could register, you had an arm around Jimin, the sweet boy allowing you to use his body as leverage.
How nice.
"Everyone! My ex-boyfriend is so nice!" You announced, Jimin leading through the house and towards the front door.
He smelled just as you remembered, you noticed. Like warm vanilla. It made you want to bury yourself into his chest and never let go.
Why did you let go?
"I'm so happy you don't hate me. I have so much I want to talk to you about. We should catch up. You have so many tattoos now, wow!"
"Hold that thought until we get in the car, okay?" The attractive boy lead you towards the sidewalk, clearly knowing where he had parked his car. You, on the other hand, could hardly make left from right, your eyelids heavy and body even heavier.
You heard the sound of some other people talking, also heading towards their car it seemed. A familiar beep caught your attention, and you focused your eyes to see Jimin's familiar car in front of you donning a shiny new red paint.
"Hey, I lost my virginity in this car!" You mused loudly.
Jimin fought back a blush as the people within earshot all turned towards you two with newfound interest. He cleared his thraot.
"Keep your voice down." He scolded you, clearly embarrassed, hand on your back as he ushered you towards his car. "God, were you always this unfiltered?"
"Sheesh, what are you icing my grill for? You're the one who took it." You reminded.
Admittedly, your nonchalantness was amusing, and if it were any other circumstance, he might have allowed you the laugh he had suppressed.
"Where are your keys?" You asked, palm extending out expectantly.
Jimin eyed it bewilderedly. You made a grabbing motion with your fingers.
The scoff that fell from Jimin's mouth could be heard from inside the house, he was sure. "Idiot. Just get in the car."
Your mouth fell in disbelief as if you genuinely couldn't believe that he had denied your request.
"Like hell I'm letting you drive drunk. I'm not losing you too." He chided.
And suddenly, you remembered how Jimin had lost his brother in this exact scenario. Oh man, you were an asshole.
"Dammit," Your face crumpled up in regret, "are you pulling the dead brother card on me?"
"I'm pulling the dead brother card."
"Fine. But just for the record, I'm only doing this for Jihoon." You wagged a finger at him, heading towards the passenger seat, still just as stubborn as he remembered.
He shrugged back at you, "Works for me."
"Wait." You paused, hand on the door handle.
"Y/N, you are not driving this car–"
"No, no. Grams… I don't want her to see me like this. I promised her I wouldn't be reckless and it's my first day back, and I don't want to disappoint her again—"
"Okay." Jimin cut you off with a nod.
"Okay?"
Jimin shoved a hand into his pocket casually, blissfully unaware of just how attractive he was under the moonlight. Oh, God, your face was starting to heat up.
"I can take you to mine. You can sober up there." His trailed eyes up and down your form, as if taking it in for the first time.
"O-Oh."
You felt dizzy, but this time it wasn't just because of your inebriated state. You were intoxicated – intoxicated by the way his plush pink lips wrapped around his words, lost in the memories of those lips pressing into your skin, warming you up in a way no liquor ever could.
Intoxicated by how low his collar stretched, and how black ink was etched onto one of his pretty collarbones, covering the spots where your mouth used to leave bruises.
"Do you have a problem with that idea?"
You nearly jumped, face definitely flaming hot now that he had caught you openly ogling him.
"No, no! It's a great idea! Thanks." You bobbed your head awkwardly, slipping into his car without another word.
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This was cruel.
Sleeping under the familiar duvet of the boy you had spent so many of your teen years in love with was inarguably cruel. And watching as that very same boy slipped into bed beside you, his body as far from you as he could manage, was utter heartbreak.
The car ride to his had been dead silent. You didn't know what to say. It was your first moment alone with Jimin in years, a scene that had played in your head a countless number of times, yet you couldn’t speak. You hadn't the nerve to try and start up a conversation after knowing all the worrying and frustration you had put him under by disappearing.
Jimin's room was located in the backyard of his parent's house, a shed him and his father had built that he later went on to turn into a bedroom when he was old enough to want to do so. You always thought it was the coolest. Walls covered in posters and old newspaper clippings that Jimin had been collecting since he was young.
You had spent countless days and nights here, growing to love the space in the same way you loved the boy it belonged to.
"I'm sorry." You spoke finally, voice hardly above a whisper, thinking back to the way you and he used to stare up at this exact ceiling, limbs intertwined, and heart rate synced.
"For?"
It was a weighted question, one that made you pull the sheets up towards your chin, wishing to pull them over your head and let the soft fabric suffocate you.
"For getting too drunk and making out with your ex. And making you take care of me even though I know I'm the last person you'd want to share a bed with." You replied.
You watched as Jimin's expression noticeably hardened, your answer seemingly not the one he was hoping to hear.
"I'm doing your grandmother a favor. You've given her enough reason to worry." He told you dryly.
And there it was. That wall he had spent the last four years building up against you.
You let the silence hang in the air, unsure if the urge to throw up again was alcohol-induced or due to the way that Jimin despised you and how you couldn't even grant yourself the pleasure of wallowing in self-pity because, in this story, you were the villain – the selfish antagonist who had turned the once sweet boy entirely sour.
This Jimin was nothing like the one you had left. He didn't look at you fondly like he used to. Like you were the only person in the world that mattered. It felt as if his stare went right through you like you were nothing more but a ghost of his past. A lingering memory he'd much rather forget.
"Night." Was his heartfelt closing statement, his body moving to turn his back towards you, making the mattress cry out.
"Do you hate me?" You asked.
"Y/N." He sighed.
He didn't have to face you for you to know that his brows were pulled together. Because it didn't matter how many years had past, you still remembered everything – every nuance and mannerism, every little way that he was Jimin, and that he was your favorite person in the world.
"Do you?" Your drunkenness was getting the best of you. But still, you wanted to know.
You could take it, you decided.
"No. I don't." He revealed quietly.
"You should. After what I did to you… you should." You concluded. Who were you saying this for? Him? Yourself? Maybe it would be easier if he did hate you. You could move on. You could silence the clamoring in your chest.
"I know."
And he did. But despite his perceivable indifference, he couldn't hate you. Hell knows he had spent the past four years trying to.
He dedicated the days after your disappearance to finding you, asking every neighbor if they had seen you leave and finding out through the bus station vender that you had purchased a ticket to Seattle. He followed after you, but by the time he reached the city, you were already long gone, just another interchangeable head in the crowd.
He spent weekends at your grandmother's house, accompanying her to the cemetery as she cried over your parents' graves, praying for your safety.
Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, pushing you far from his mind and burying himself in learning everything he could about cars and helping his dad out in his shop. Because if he spent any more time thinking about the girl who had broken his heart, he'd never finish picking up all the pieces.
"I don't think I could ever hate you, Minnie." That same girl announced suddenly, sounding sincere.
At the sound of your old nickname for him, something inside him stirred.
And still, you left, he thought back bitterly.
"Sleep." He replied instead, letting out a breath.
"Will you pet my head?" You asked suddenly as if forgetting what you had just been talking about entirely.
"This doesn't sound like sleeping." He grumbled.
"You used to. Was nice. Always slept well when you did."
"Good night, Y/N."
His tone was absolute; he would not budge no matter how much you tried to sway him. So you gave up. Nuzzling further into the pillow, you shut your eyes and willed yourself to rest.
He lay beside you silently as minutes turned into an hour, listening to the way your breathing hallowed out and sleep lulled you away.
And before he could stop himself, he turned to face you, hand reaching over to rest upon the top of your head, running a thumb across your forehead gently, chest tightening as you relaxed into his touch.
3K notes · View notes
gukyi · a year ago
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into the wilderness | pjm
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summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.
{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}
pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.
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Something about last summer sucked. 
Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.
Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 
Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 
There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.
You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 
You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 
What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:
Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 
“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”
Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.
“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 
“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”
“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”
“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 
“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”
Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 
Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 
The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 
Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 
“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 
You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 
He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?
“I’m in love with you.”
The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 
Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 
He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 
“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”
It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 
“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 
“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”
He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 
“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 
You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.
He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 
The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.
“I’m sorry.”
Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 
“Me too.”
Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.
You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 
Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.
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The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 
The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 
Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 
Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 
“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 
You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 
“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 
“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.
“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.
“I guess that would be me.”
You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 
“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 
The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  
If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 
“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 
Some things never change, you suppose. 
“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.
“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 
You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 
There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 
But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.
“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 
“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”
“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”
“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 
His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 
“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 
You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”
“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 
“Yeah, it has.” I know.
“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?
“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?
“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”
Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 
“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 
Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 
Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 
And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 
You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 
“Are we good?”
Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?
You swallow.
It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 
“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”
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The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 
Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 
The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 
When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 
You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 
Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 
You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 
The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 
“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 
“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 
“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 
Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 
“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”
“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 
Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 
“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”
“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 
“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 
“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”
“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”
“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 
She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 
The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 
You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.
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There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 
The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.
But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 
“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 
“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 
“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.
“You!” shouts Hoseok. 
“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 
Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 
He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 
Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 
“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 
Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”
Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.
“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 
The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 
“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”
“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 
“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 
“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”
“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”
“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 
“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 
“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”
“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 
“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”
“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”
“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.
“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”
“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”
“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 
Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 
“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”
“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 
“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 
“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 
“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”
You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 
Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”
And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”
And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 
You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 
After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 
“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”
“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 
“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”
Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”
You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 
“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”
Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.
“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 
“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”
Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 
“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”
Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 
“So yeah. That’s what happened.”
“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 
“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”
“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 
You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”
“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 
“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”
“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”
“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 
You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 
You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.
Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 
You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 
You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.
If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 
But you can’t.
The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 
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Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 
This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 
You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 
“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 
The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.
“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”
“What’s your name?”
“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 
“Is this your first year at camp?”
“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 
“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  
“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 
“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”
“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 
“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”
“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 
“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 
The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”
When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 
Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 
Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 
Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 
“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 
“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”
“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 
“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 
You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 
As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 
It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 
“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 
“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”
“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 
You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 
“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 
You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.
Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?
“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 
You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 
“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 
“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 
“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”
Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”
“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 
“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”
“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 
“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 
“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”
“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 
“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”
“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.
“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 
Jungkook wants you to be honest?
Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 
You want to be honest?
Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 
The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 
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The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 
You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 
It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 
Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?
The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 
As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.
Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 
Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.
Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 
If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 
The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 
Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 
Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 
You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 
“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 
“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”
“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 
“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 
You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?
Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”
“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”
Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”
You purse your lips together, guilty. 
“Especially Jimin.”
“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 
“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 
“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 
“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”
“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 
“Try what?”
You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 
“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”
Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”
In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 
“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 
“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 
“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 
Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 
Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 
“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 
“I think so,” you heave out in response. 
“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 
“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”
“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 
“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 
“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 
You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 
“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 
“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”
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One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 
He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 
Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 
Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 
The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 
A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 
Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 
You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 
There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 
When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.
Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 
You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 
As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 
Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 
Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 
The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 
You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.
“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 
“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 
“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 
Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”
“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 
“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”
“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 
“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”
Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 
You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 
They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 
So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 
It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—
God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 
“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”
“Love!” Zoe shouts. 
“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”
But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?
You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.
Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 
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Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 
Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 
Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 
Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 
“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 
“What?” He asks. 
“The hydrangea.”
Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”
It’s no secret to the both of you why. 
“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”
“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 
“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 
“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”
“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”
“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”
“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”
“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 
Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 
“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.
You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 
“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 
You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.
You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 
“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”
You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”
And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 
“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 
“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”
And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.
“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 
The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 
“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”
A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.
“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 
“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.
“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”
Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 
“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 
It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.
You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 
Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 
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It’s getting easier. 
No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 
And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 
You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 
It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 
Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 
“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 
You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.
“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”
“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”
Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 
“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 
“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 
“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 
“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 
“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”
“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”
Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 
“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”
“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 
“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”
Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 
There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 
Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 
“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.
Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.
“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”
“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.
“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.
Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.
Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”
He means that part, too.
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The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 
This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 
Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.
Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.
Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 
Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 
And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 
All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 
“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 
“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 
“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”
You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 
“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”
“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 
“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”
“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 
“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”
“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 
“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”
“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 
“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”
“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.
“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 
“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”
“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?
“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 
“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 
“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”
Shit. 
Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”
“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 
And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 
You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”
And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 
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Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 
And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 
Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 
Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 
“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”
“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.
“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”
“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 
“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 
“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 
“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”
“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”
“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 
“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”
You do? That is news to you. 
“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”
“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 
“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”
Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 
Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 
“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”
“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 
“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 
It can’t be. 
You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 
You swear.
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“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 
“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”
“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”
Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”
“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.
Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 
“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 
What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 
“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 
Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”
“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 
Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 
“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 
“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.
Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 
“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 
“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.
“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.
“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”
“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 
“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”
And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 
This place will never not remind you of him. 
“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”
“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”
“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 
You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”
Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 
You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 
“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”
“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”
“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 
“Whatever you want to do.”
Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”
You nod. “Five minutes.”
Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 
You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 
And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 
You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 
(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)
“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 
He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”
“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 
“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”
“Needed for what?”
He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”
You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 
“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 
“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 
“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”
“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 
“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 
“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”
“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 
“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”
With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 
“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 
“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 
Does Namjoon know something you don’t?
Are you missing something here?
Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 
Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 
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Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 
At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 
Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 
Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 
“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 
Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”
“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”
“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”
“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 
You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 
But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.
What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 
“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”
That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 
“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 
It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 
It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 
“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 
“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 
And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 
“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 
“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”
The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 
They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 
God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 
“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 
“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—
“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”
A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 
“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 
“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 
“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 
“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 
You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 
Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 
On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 
“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 
“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”
You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 
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There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 
When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 
The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 
You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 
But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 
The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 
So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 
“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”
You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 
“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 
“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”
You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 
Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—
“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.
“Tell me what?”
“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 
“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 
“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”
Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 
“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”
And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 
“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”
“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.
“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”
“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 
“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”
You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 
You wonder, what if. 
You wonder, what if he loved me back?
“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”
You didn’t know that. 
“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 
Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.
“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”
“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 
“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”
“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”
“I thought I wanted that, too.”
This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 
(Can it be?)
“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”
You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 
“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”
“Yes,” you breathe out. 
“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”
“Yes,” you whisper again. 
Jimin blinks.
“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”
You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 
Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 
You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.
When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 
“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 
“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”
No matter what, that will never change. 
“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”
It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 
No. This feels like something new. 
This feels like your heart is in bloom. 
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The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 
The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.
The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 
Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 
Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.
After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 
(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 
“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”
“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 
You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 
“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.
“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”
“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)
In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 
Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 
The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 
It makes you feel like you can do anything. 
Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 
Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 
“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”
“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 
“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 
“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 
“Me,” you say. 
“Me,” Jimin says. 
You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 
Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”
“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 
“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.
You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 
“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 
“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 
“Send what?”
“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 
“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”
Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 
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The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 
You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 
Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.
“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 
“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 
“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.
“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”
“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”
“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 
“Anytime,” he promises. 
“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 
Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”
“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”
“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”
Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 
And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 
“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”
“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”
The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 
“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”
“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 
“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”
“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 
“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”
“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 
“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”
If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.
And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 
No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 
“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 
“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”
You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”
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“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”
“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 
“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”
“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”
“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”
“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 
“You’re next, right?” 
You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.
“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”
Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 
“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”
“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”
Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.
“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”
“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”
You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 
It’s not a goodbye. 
It’s an until I see you again.
You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 
You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 
There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.
And you know that you two will be alright. 
You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 
As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 
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honeymoonjin · a year ago
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𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: jimin x reader || 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 25k || 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜: fluff, angst, smut
𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: you weren’t meant to have a roommate in your cabin deep in the amazon rainforest, but you find you can’t say no to the shy young college graduate that’s come to study the native butterflies.
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: cursing, death of a minor character (butterfly), explicit sexual content, oral (m receiving), praise, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, subby jimin, extremely soft smut
--------
It’s a day off.
That doesn’t mean you sleep in, though. You don’t know of a single person on the reserve that has been able to stay unconscious past sunrise without medical intervention. The chirps and calls of birds, buzzing of insects and drone of cicadas begins the moment the sun rises, sometimes even earlier, and while the cover of towering canopies filters out most of the light in the dense rainforest, the lodge camp is on an open meadow, and so you can’t avoid the heat that quickly sets in.
You’re happy to be up early, though, as it’s become a comfortable habit to make your way through your morning routine at your own pace, finally settling on your front porch with a cup of tea, bare toes poking out the cover of shadow from the lodge and into the bright pool of sunlight that warms the grass below.
Living in the middle of the Amazon rainforest wasn’t exactly something you had really planned ahead for as a young woman, but after falling in love with the place on a university trip, and then keeping an ear open for job opportunities, you had managed to land a job as a tour guide, being able to speak languages that their other employees couldn’t.
It’s a busy time of year at the Cuyabeno Lodge. Both local Ecuadorians and international tourists tended to avoid the rainier months, and after a particularly long wet season, it seemed all the bookings had been bottle-necked into one month now that the days were simply humid. Barely six in the morning, guests already roamed over the camp, some socialising over breakfast, others packing for day hikes in clumps spearheaded by your colleagues.
You take a deep draw from your mug, still steaming lightly, and feel the warm liquid warm your throat and chest, waking you up fully and putting you in a good mood. Most days, you’d crane your head down and watch the hard-working streams of leafcutter ants trail through blades of grass just taller than them, like small currents winding away towards the nearest meal. Their quiet determination and coordination was strangely fascinating to you, even after your several months living in their tropical habitat, but they aren’t what catch your attention today.
Across the wide expanse of open campground, two figures argue back and forth, one you recognise as your boss, the other a stranger lugging around three bulky suitcases and flapping a rolled-up map in confusion or desperation. You hum with curiosity, squinting at the figures as you finish off the dregs of your tea. They’re really too far for you to make out detail. All you can see of this frazzled man is the loose white tee and mussed-up blonde hair as he converses emphatically with the native Ecuadorian man that runs the lodge.
So distracted by the strange man, you don’t notice your boss turning and pointing to you until their figures start to grow in your vision as they approach. Your eyes widen and reflexively you down the last of your drink, placing the empty mug beside you on the wooden porch and staring at them hurrying over, both helping to lug over the excess baggage.
You realise the problem once they’re close enough to be in earshot. While the passionate Spanish and melodic Korean have similar phonetic sounds, it’s clear the two men are speaking completely different languages. You even hear your boss try some English - “we can talk to her, just a moment” - but it’s drowned out over the other man’s frantic explanations.
“Y/n, Y/n,” your boss greets with a tone of desperation colouring his local Spanish, “can you please help me speak to this man? We’ve had a booking error.”
Your eyes lift in surprise and you turn back to the stranger. It’s humid already, your skin warm even under the shade, but the sight of him sends a shiver down your spine. His hair isn’t totally blonde, slightly honeyed like it’s been dyed, and the warm sun sets it alight, framing the radiant skin of his face, which is angular on his jaw and nose yet soft on his cheeks and mouth, a full pout delicately pink. He’s beautiful.
You realise you’ve been staring directly at him a little too long as his cheeks colour the same shade as his lips, delicately coughing to break you from the trancelike state you found yourself in. You apologise hastily in your native language before switching to Korean when his eyebrow twitches in confusion. “I’m sorry,” you repeat in Korean, “I didn’t mean to be rude. My name’s Y/n.”
He smiles shyly, resting a hand over his forehead to block out any stray rays of light getting in his eyes. Doing this casts his face into shadow, and you can see now the warm, puppy-like brown of his irises, only half-visible as he scrunches up his cheeks. “Nice to meet you,” he greets, and you marvel at the melodic quality of his voice now that he speaks alone. It’s all soft tones, lilting even as his cheeks redden. “I’m Park Jimin. I, uh, I think they might have double-booked the room… I’m meant to be staying here,” he gestures behind you to your cabin and you blink a few times.
“Oh.” You turn promptly to your boss beside him; a stout middle-aged man who’s pretending to follow along the conversation, nodding in faux understanding even as his eyes glaze over. “Angelo,” you address, switching to the colloquial Spanish you’d grown accustomed to, “he’s saying you booked out my room.” Maybe not in those words, but still.
Angelo’s face crumples sheepishly. “About that… There’s a chance that we forgot to take your cabin off the booking website when you permanently moved it. It’s, uh, actually quite good luck that nobody has booked it in until now.” His voice trails up at the end like a question as he splays his palms out.
Awfully fond of the older man over your years here, you fight the twitch of your lips. “Good luck? This poor guy came all the way from South Korea only for his room to be already occupied. What; are you gonna just send him home?”
Your boss blinks slowly, lips pursed as he considers. “Well… That room is technically meant for two…” He trails off meaningfully with a shrug.
Your stare goes hard. “Angelo.” You force yourself not to glance at the man standing beside your boss. It doesn’t stop you from making out the concern on his face, and you feel your jaw stiffen. “The agreement when I moved here was that I got my own space. Why can’t he stay somewhere else?”
He sighs, rubbing his weathered face. “That’s selfish, Y/n-”
“I’m selfish, then. I’m telling you, I don’t wanna share my space.”
“And I’m telling you that you don’t have a choice. It’s only temporary. He stays.”
Before you can protest further, Angelo shows you his back, rushing away the way he came. You go limp with resignation, leaning back against one of the wooden posts on the veranda.
There’s no excuse for you to avoid his gaze now, so you reluctantly tip your head towards him. He’s shifting his weight back and forth nervously, pillowed lips pressed together and eyes downcast. Against your will, some of the anger slips from you, relaxing the tension in your jaw and the hardness from your voice. “Guess you’re rooming with me,” you murmur in Korean, snapping his attention back to you.
His eyes dance worriedly over your face. “I h-hope it’s not too much bother. I didn’t mean to make things difficult.” Jimin scratches at his exposed collarbone, leaving red lines on the almond skin. He speaks so softly, like a child in trouble. “I can sleep on the floor if I need to. All I really need is one room to set up my equipment.”
You frown, eyes darting to the three heavy suitcases behind him, as well as the bulky backpack slung over one shoulder. “Equipment?” As your eyes wander, they’re drawn to the pockets of people beginning to cluster behind him, the staff and locals whispering back and forth with eyes locked on Jimin’s silhouette. Pushing off the post, you pick up your mug and stand up straight again. “Actually, let’s talk inside. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
He doesn’t, but you don’t fancy giving the gathering crowd more time to ogle the mysterious man seemingly moving in to your private accommodations. Not even 9am and your day was already shaping up to be a disaster.
"It's a nice place," Jimin offers up weakly as you reach for the lightest suitcase, figuring you should probably help at least a little.
You grunt in confirmation, leading him - as he waddles with two larger pieces of luggage and the backpack - down the short hallway to the room across from yours. You'd been using it as a sort of living room; it had a single bed that you'd repurposed as a couch, a cheap projector that you used to stream Netflix onto the opposite wall as a makeshift television, and a couple bookshelves of novels, Spanish textbooks, and knick knacks you'd acquired over the past two years or so.
Jimin doesn't make it through the doorway as is. Instead, he stops and shuffles each piece in one-by-one, the final, largest hardshell suitcase dragging noisily along the doorframe as it barely squeezes in. He straightens up with a huff of exertion and lifts the edge of his white shirt, dabbing the sweat off his face.
You blink, staring at the smooth, flat planes of his stomach as he hunches over self-consciously. He makes the motion quick, clearly shy of revealing skin to a near-stranger. However, long after his shirt falls back in place, your mind is still replaying the sight of his pale caramel skin taut over his hip bones, and the thin trail of golden, almost translucent hair that leads from his belly button down past the button of his jeans.
Jimin coughs in discomfort and you swallow hard, forcing the image out of your mind for now. “Um,” you start, cringing at the way your voice wavers, “anyway; this is your room. I can move out my stuff for you.”
He nods, still awkwardly hovering in the doorway, hunched behind the suitcases like he’s trying to keep a barrier of protection between the two of you.
Like a final wisp of smoke from a blown-out candle, the last of your irritation distinguishes, and you sink down onto the edge of the bed. “It’s not you,” you explain softly, face crumpled into an apologetic frown. “I was angry at the situation, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”
His eyes dance around the room, before finally jumping up to yours, a tentative smile playing at his plush lips. “It’s okay,” he shrugs simply, “I invaded your territory without warning; it’s only natural for you to react defensively.”
You blink. “Uh…” The silence you trail off into is stiff, but you find yourself at a loss for words. “Sorry, you never got the chance to tell me; what is it you do exactly?”
He shuffles out from behind the nearest suitcase with glittering eyes. “I’m a lepidopterist,” he announces proudly, before correcting, “well- not yet, I guess. I’m here to do research for my thesis.”
You mouth the unfamiliar word, frowning. “But we don’t have leopards in Ecuador.”
He grins, then, and your heart stutters unevenly in your chest at the way it lights up his whole face. “A lepidopterist studies butterflies and moths. I’m here to study the life cycle of a specific butterfly that’s found in this type of habitat.” His expression turns sheepish. “I know most people find it silly, or- or girly that I want to study butterflies for a living, but they’re really special. Special to me.” He glances down, then, gripping self-consciously at the strap of his backpack. “Anyway… I don’t mean to ramble, you probably have stuff to do-”
“I’d love to see them some time, if you wanna show me,” you blurt. “The butterflies, I mean. See what all the hype is about.”
His eyes crinkle at your interruption, cheeks warming candy pink. You fight a blush of your own, again overcome by how radiant he is. “Of course! Though- Don’t you live here? Surely you’ve seen them before. The one I’m studying, the longwing erato, it’s said to be pretty abundant in these parts.”
“I mean, sure, I’ve seen butterflies around,” you shrug. “But I haven’t seen Park Jimin’s butterflies.”
He lets out a flattered laugh, soft and tinkling. “Oh, they’re not my- I just-” He breaks off with another giggle, cheats heating up even further, biting desperately on his bottom lip to suppress a shy grin.
As much as you love seeing him all flustered, it’s his first day, so you cut him some slack. Standing up, you snake past the scattered suitcases and pat him on the shoulder. He ducks out of the doorway to let you pass, mouth dropping into a shocked oh shape at your sudden movement, but you just throw a playful warning glare at him as you pass into the hallway. “I have one rule,” you declare firmly.
He stays silent for a moment, waiting for you to continue. You simply lift your chin and stare, waiting for him to ask. It’s Jimin that breaks first, but that doesn’t surprise you. “Uh, which is?”
“No bugs in the house. As pretty as butterflies are, you keep them outside, got it?”
He smiles softly, but you can see a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. “Butterflies aren’t actually bugs, they’re lepidoptera.”
You flatten your glare. “You aren’t a bug either but if you break my rules, I’ll chuck you out.”
He baulks, eyes widening innocently. “I, uh… I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” he admits in a small voice.
“Good.” You throw him one last satisfied smile, and leave.
--
You manage to occupy yourself for the rest of the day outside of your now-shared hut, wanting to give him some space to settle in. Though you successfully keep your eyes away, pitching in on some errands that needed doing throughout the campsite, you couldn’t stop your mind from lingering on the gentle, unsure young man that was now going to be staying with you.
In fact, you’d ran over those fifteen or so minutes together so many times that when you finally came home, feet aching and stomach grumbling, it almost came as a surprise to you to see him wandering around and greeting you as you entered. Like a reminder that it wasn’t a movie you had seen, that he was a real thing that happened that morning.
“Hungry?”
“Huh?” You blink, very nearly tripping on the lip of your own front door as your eyes fall downwards, to the coffee table in the main room. The haphazard mess of snacks, remotes, and other knick knacks had been neatly placed on the floor beside the couch, and instead the square wooden table was laden with food, the quantity of which you hadn’t seen in this hut the entire time you’d been here. “Oh my god, what is all this?”
Running a hand through his hair anxiously, he shrugs. “I packed myself a bunch of food from home in case I got homesick.”
You tip your head to the side with a frown. “You’re homesick already?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, sheepish. You swallow down the way your stomach flips, not quite hunger. “No. Well- a little bit, but no, I just… I thought you maybe hadn’t had Korean food in a while, so we could, um, have some?” He breaks off, shifting uncomfortably as he holds a bowl of steamed rice in one hand and fiddles with the hem of his shirt with the other.
As you stare down at the aromatic offerings, it hits you with a belt of clarity. Just like you gave him space today, this was his olive branch to you. A way of starting off on the right food. You smile warmly. “I’d love to. That’s so sweet, Jimin. Do you need any help?”
Unfiltered relief glitters in his eyes and he shakes his head, slipping gracefully onto the floor, cross-legged. “It’s all ready,” he explains simply, “come sit.”
“It smells amazing,” you groan, stomach growling embarrassingly loud, “you must be an amazing cook to have whipped this up in that tiny kitchen.”
He glances over to the corner in question, barely a few cupboards, a refrigerator and some table top appliances. Looking back, he chuckles, lips pursed into a cheeky grin. He uses his chopsticks - the type of cheap wooden ones you’d receive at a takeout place - to point to the various dishes. “Ramen, microwave rice, Ottogi microwave soup, microwave jjajjang, and packet kimchi.”
“Ah,” you hum in understanding, reaching for the spare sleeve of chopsticks, “very traditional.”
Jimin quirks a smile, focussed below as he serves himself a helping of rice. You take the opportunity to look over him again, closer in the intimacy of your hut. The radiant daylight has given way to a burnt umber, a sunset glow like hot coals on the horizon. It casts a softness onto his face, a gentle warmth that spreads across the fullness of his cheeks and the honeyed blonde of his hair.
As he hunches over the table, his baggy white t-shirt exposes more skin than you think he realises. The short sleeves ruck up as his chopstick-bearing arms dip into various bowls across the table, revealing shallow slopes of muscle, and the hemline dangles low, bare chest hidden not by fabric but by shadow.
You mulishly redirect your attention to the steaming banquet in front of you, all the staples of your college days. “So,” you start, wishing for anything to distract you from the extremely good-looking figure across from you, “Mister Leopard Optimist, what’s first on the agenda?”
“Lepidopterist,” he corrects with an encouraging smile, and your heart swells at his pureness. “Well, first I need to get a sample group. I think I’ll spend tomorrow setting up properly and then around dusk we can go find some specimens.”
You blink in surprise. “We?”
Jimin’s warmth dissipates into pouted confusion, eyes round as he swallows the mouthful he had taken with poor timing. “You, uh- sorry, you said earlier you were interested. I shouldn’t have assumed…”
“It’s fine, you assumed correctly. We’ll be like the dream team,” you assure, wiggling your eyebrows at him playfully. “You, the leper doctorist, and me, your loyal side kick. Those butterflies will be toast. You’ll have specimens out your ears in no time!”
Even with the golden rays of sunlight, he looks paler than a ghost, choking on his own breath. “We don’t hurt the butterflies,” he corrects hastily, waving his chopsticks in alarm, “we just take note of them so we can study them over time!” He sits back, setting his chopsticks down with a dull clatter. “And it’s lepidopterist,” he adds gently, even as a concerned pout dimples his lips.
You muffle your grin with a sip of water. “Lepidopterist,” you repeat softly, if not a little cheekily. “I’m just messing with you, Jiminie. We’ll be the dream team of…studying them over time. Hm. Doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’ll come up with a cooler name for us.”
After you finish speaking, the room settles into an unanticipated silence, and you look up from your bowl. Jimin’s spluttering silently, cheeks and the tip of his nose a violent pink as he holds his eyes so wide you can see a ring of white all the way around. His mouth dangles open until he forces a swallow to close it, clearing his throat in short, self-conscious bursts.
You’re taken aback by his strong reaction. “Did I say something? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trail off. Offend you? Upset you? Did he think you were making fun of him?
“W-what did you call me?” he asks in a small voice, settling down his chopsticks in his empty bowl so that he can wring his fingers together.
“Um.” You have to think back, and your eyebrows lift in realisation. “Oh. Jiminie. That was too familiar, wasn’t it? We’ve only just met. I’m sorry.”
But his face is a strange mix of relief and confusion, shaking his head with enough emphasis to gently rustle the honey blonde locks of his hair. “No, Jiminie is okay. I, uh, misheard. It’s okay; don’t worry about it. Have you tried some of the stew? Here, let me…”
You let his abrupt topic change slide, accepting another serving of food, but you can’t help but linger on the thought well into the night: what did he think you were calling him?
--
Jimin doesn’t mention your late-night expedition until just before dusk, but that doesn’t mean it slips your mind.
On the contrary, you find it hard to concentrate on anything else. He leaves his bedroom door open, and every time you walk past you see him deeply focussed on set-up. Out of those three massive suitcases come electronics, fresh logbooks, blueprint papers, drawing tools, worn textbooks, and, rather confusingly, a framed photo of two chubby-faced children, grinning at each other in matching school uniforms.
You spend a concerningly long portion of your morning conspicuously hovering around the hut, sneaking glimpses of the way the pink tip of Jimin’s tongue sticks out when he focuses, or the strain of fine muscle beneath the grey striped t-shirt he donned that morning, making miniscule grunts of exertion as he wrestles out heavy tomes, stacking them with care on the shelves of the bookcase you had emptied out for him. By the time you break out of your ruling curiosity, it’s nearing midday, and you dash out of the house before Jimin breaks for lunch and wonders why you’re still here.
It’s a beautifully glittering Saturday in the Cuyabeno Reserve, which means that you’ll probably see half of the campers leaving for a day trip to Quito for shopping or activities (or decent Wi-Fi), leaving behind a steady number wanting to go on tours. You didn’t typically work Saturdays, but all the tour guides were encouraged to help out in busy times, or take initiative and offer them to any tourists awkwardly milling about. As you slip out from the shade of your hut and into the warm bath of Amazonian sunshine, you figure a tour might just be a good way to get one Park Jimin out of your head for a few hours.
The best thing about your job was the freedom. Even as you know the paid tours like the back of your hand, you’ve always been welcome to forge your own path in the rainforest, adjusting duration, location and information depending on your customers. In just fifteen minutes, you’d managed to gather a handful of couples, eight people in total. The group was primarily dominated by English speakers – several young Americans and Canadians, an elderly couple from Australia, as well as a set of parents from the UK that had left their college-age kids at home while they took an anniversary holiday. Also accompanying you were two shy young men from Spain, who seemed to understand partially what you were saying in English, but nevertheless you made sure to tack on regular translations for them just to be sure.
From the moment you set out, picking up one of the high-vis flags from reception on your way, you knew exactly what type of tour you were going to do. It had been a paid tour last year on Valentine’s Day, one of your personal favourites, because the story of it was centred around the more romantic aspects of nature; toucans and parrots in colourful pinks and reds, monkeys that curled their tails into a heart when they intertwined with another (you’d yet to see it actually happen in front of a tour group, but the fact alone was often enough to make them coo) and finally a meadow just on the edge of the river that, because of the plants and flowers that grew there, became a hotspot for about twelve different species of butterflies.
You’d been able to lose yourself in the vibrancy of nature for the past hour and a half, stopping regularly for drink breaks, chatting with the different couples on your tour. It was always special to you hearing what brought them to Cuyabeno, and you were known amongst your colleagues for always running overtime on your tours because you just loved getting to know the people on your tour, and making their adventure into the rainforest special for them.
It wasn’t until your first boot fell down onto the lush grass of the meadow that you knew you fucked up in choosing this tour route. As the eight people behind you gasp and gush about the magical bank, you freeze, your mind exploding into a silver stream of jimin jimin jimin jimin jimin ji-
“Woah, there’s so many of them!”
Stepping forward to encourage the tourists to spill into the meadow, you look around you at the flurry of motion. On one side of the group are the looming trees from whence you emerged; opposite that, the murky jade green of the river, barely lapping at the narrow bank, but glittering a sharp silver below the early afternoon sun. And in between is where the real wonder lies.
Shifting and darting, the air is alive with the vibrant array of butterflies, abundant as falling snow. The group is awash with awe as some stay perfectly still, hoping for the small creatures to land upon them, while others stir their arms gently through the air, watching the butterflies part and eddy around them like fish in a stream.
This had always been the reason the Valentine’s tour was your favourite; almost every other route took you in the opposite direction, since the other side of the island was where most of the river’s inhabitants were. So many tourists wanted to see as many animals as possible with the least amount of walking, and the tip of the island where you stood now was a long walk from camp.
You’d even come here once or twice with solo travellers, since they had more patience than a hustling group, and the magic of it never got old. Just last Christmas your boss, Angelo, had gifted you tinkling windchimes for your hut; instead, you had taken them down here.
There wasn’t much of a breeze now, so the delicate notes of glass and ceramics were quiet in the background, but they added to the feel of peace and serenity that you could tell all of the tourists were feeling, no matter their age. The Northern Americans had formed a group, pointing out the different species and trying to count them off on their fingers. The elderly couple had a surprisingly modern Android phone out, using the man’s longer arms to take an extremely high-angled selfie. Closer to the lazy shallows of the river, one of the Spanish boys had picked a pale purple flower from the grass to offer to the other.
Surrounded by love and butterflies, you’d quite literally led yourself back to the thoughts of the one you had tried to distract yourself from.
Jimin. Jiminie.
You’re approached by the middle-aged parents, suggesting here might be a good place to break for snacks and a drink, and so you acquiesce, sinking down onto the pillowy grass of the meadow and wondering which of the graceful wings that danced in the sky belonged to a longwing erato.
--
You manage to spend the rest of your day on tours, making sure to go on those well-worn tracks far from the butterfly meadow, and by the time you turn in your reflective orange flag for the day, Jimin’s waiting on the porch with a backpack, a chunky flashlight, and a pair of binoculars dangling from a cord around his neck.
“Where were you?” he questions instead of a greeting, fiddling with the hem of his beige shorts.
You tilt your head in confusion, staring down at him. It occurs to you that he’s in your spot, the place you sat with your steaming mug every morning. In fact, as you stand over him, it’s like your roles are reversed from the first time you met. “I was working,” you reply simply.
“Oh.” He deflates a little, eyes staring past you at the now-silent campsite, all the lodgers having since returned to their huts for curfew. Only employees were allowed to be out after sunset most nights. The one exception was the occasional night-time tour, but given the additional risks involved, your boss jacked the price right up and there weren’t many takers. Jimin must’ve spoken with your boss to be allowed to roam around at night. He focuses back in on you, and perks up. “Are you ready, then?”
“To go butterfly hunting? Always.”
Rather than leading you to the meadow, Jimin consults an extremely detailed (and scribbled-on) map, forging into the forest along the centre of the island, instead of out either side towards the river. You follow along, marvelling at the new territory that even you haven’t really explored.
The two of you move in concentrated silence, Jimin methodically tying little cornflower blue ribbons to branches along the way. At one point, you slow to a stop, crouching as you make out two red flashes. Upon closer inspection, you recognise the lime-green body to belong to the red-eyed tree frog making its way down the wide trunk of a tree, clearly spooked by the light from Jimin’s flashlight.
You sigh in relief as it tucks itself away safely. Frogs, specifically tree frogs, were a good indicator for the type of habitat you were entering. The fact that it was a non-toxic species meant hopefully your companion wasn’t leading you into a pit of venomous and poisonous creatures. The island was pretty safe, for the most part, but you still had to exercise due caution, and it seemed Jimin was so focussed on his butterflies that he’d forgotten they weren’t the only ones in here.
A hushed whisper of your name and the returning of bright light is your only warning before an impatient hand slips into yours, tugging you up and deeper into the rainforest.
You’re too stunned to protest, simply letting Jimin lead you into the untamed wilderness. His palm is warm in yours, fingers interlocked. His hands are smaller than you expected, and even as he holds on tightly, so gentle. You can’t help but feel the care that emanates from him down to the smallest detail.
As the active hum of the rainforest’s creatures and the rustle of leaves and bushes surrounds you, you barely notice the slight incline of the ground beneath you, the only indicator being that over time your calves begin to ache slightly.
Every time you open your mouth to ask how far, or if you could take a break, you’re stopped by a soft squeeze to your hand. Even though he’s in front of you, looking ahead rather than back at you, he seems to know just when to reassure you.
The walk isn’t particularly challenging, nor is it too hot, but you find yourself short of breath anyway.
When the two of you finally come to a stop, he lets your hand go. The loss of pressure around your hand gives you a weird pang of disappointment, and you tuck your arms around yourself to make up for it.
“Do you know what the longwing erato looks like?” he asks in an excited whisper.
You shrug. “Long wings?”
His eyes crinkle before his smile joins them. “I mean, yes; they’re more of a stretched-out oval compared to the roughly squarish shapes that most butterflies have. They’re black, with one or more red stripes on each wing. Here; hold the flashlight and I’ll find some.”
He passes off his equipment to you and directs the beam of the flashlight to the lowest branches of the trees in front of you, still well above eye-level. Although you do your best to keep the light steady, you find yourself glancing over to Jimin, his mouth dangling unconsciously open as he puts all his focus into staring down the pair of binoculars he brought. His warm blonde hair has been pushed off his face with a stretchy fabric headband, exposing the smooth skin of his forehead and the furrowed arches of his brows, slightly darker than the rest of his hair.
“On the trees,” he mumbles, with a minute jerk of his elbow as a gesture.
You startle, correcting the slant of the torch beam that had slipped astray as you watched him. This time, you focus on the yellow moon of light that splays across the trunks of the trees instead of your companion. Flitting around, casting narrow shadows across the artificial rays, are various bugs and moths, the latter of which gradually migrate closer to you, seeking the source of the light. “Have you found them?” you question, upper arm starting to ache from being held up so long.
Jimin hums, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he lowers the binoculars, pointing high up into the branches. “There,” he declares quietly with an excited grin, “on the right side, they’re all up against the bark.”
You squint, trying to search for the red stripes, but you can’t find anything. “That middle tree?”
“Here,” letting the binoculars fall back around his torso, he steps up beside you, reaching across to lift the flashlight higher. “Just past that skinny branch there.”
Your breath catches in your throat. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin shirt. Close enough for you to hear the resonance of his focussed breath. Though he’s holding the flashlight, your fingers overlap slightly and you can feel the pressure of his thumb on your knuckles and his fingertips touching the side of your hand. “I-” you break off to swallow past the dryness in your throat, “I still don’t see them.”
Jimin lets out a laugh, barely more than breath. He tilts his head closer, so that your temples almost touch. Feeling the soft locks of his hair on your skin, your eyes widen and you suck in a breath unconsciously. With a hand on the flashlight still, he has to wrap the other around your shoulders, pointing in your line of sight. “Just focus,” he instructs gently. “Right side of the middle tree, see that tree frog? The brown one?”
You make a noise of agreement once you locate the slowly moving creature, higher up than you had been looking. “I see it.”
“Good.” Jimin’s warm tone of approval sends something rushing through you. In the moment of quiet, you become aware of the minute movement of Jimin’s thumb, rubbing against your knuckles. Your fingers tense on the metal of the flashlight, but Jimin doesn’t seem to notice, simply bring his other hand up higher, pointing further up the trunk. “They’re up here, see? Follow the tree up until you see the black patch. It looks like it’s moving. Can you see it?”
Your eyes widen. “I see it,” you breathe.
You feel rather than see the smile that puffs up his cheeks. “That’s them,” he says warmly, voice echoing in your air, quiet enough that it’s just for you. “Longwing erato. Must be at least fifty of them, all gathered up. You can even see some of the stripes when they shift around. Lift up your flashlight a bit, it won’t bother them, don’t worry.”
The two of you stay there, Jimin’s arms on either side of you, for an unreadable amount of time. With nothing but the warmth of his body and the vague drone of the various bugs and nocturnal critters to join you, it could be moments or it could be half an hour.
Either way, there reaches a point where a breeze in the air sends a shiver down your spine, and you think it might be time to go. Turning towards Jimin to let him know, you’re caught off-guard when he turns at the same time.
Your noses brush, and then you feel the silken touch of his lips on yours. Eye-to-eye, you stare at each other for a second that feels like eternity, before you finally come to your senses and jump back, inadvertently leaving him with the flashlight as you tear your hand away from his.
“I- Uh- Sorry, I-” Jimin seems unable to do anything but stammer, in a normal voice that seems harshly loud after the hush you’d been in.
“It’s okay,” you reply back, but your voice falls flat, just as unconvincing to you as it must be to him. “It was just an accident. Just a mistake.”
Cast in shadow as the beam of the flashlight points downwards, you can still see clear as day how his whole face changes at that, flinching like he’s been hit. Stumbling around with a stricken expression, he glances once at the flashlight in his hand, darts his eyes to you before looking over to the direction of forest you’d come from and finally back to the flashlight.
Your blood runs iron cold with dread. “Jiminie, don’t-”
Like something snaps, Jimin hesitates no longer, turning and dashing into the trees. You start after him for a few jogged steps, watching the frenzied beam shoot through the rainforest like a laser, getting smaller and smaller as the noise of his exit slowly fades away, leaving you marooned in a black ocean.
--
Those pastel pink ribbons are your saviours that night. It’s hard to pick them out when the shadows penetrate the rainforest so deeply. You squint before every step to watch out for animals or other living inhabitants that might be dangerous, and it’s probably nothing more than sheer luck that you manage to peek the slips of fabric on the branches regularly enough to lead you back to camp.
On the grounds themselves, you see lights on, not just the safety ones that illuminate the way to the toilets and kitchens, but also the warmer yellow tones that you recognise to be emanating from your hut itself. Jimin.
Even as you feel a tugging in your heart to go, you also find yourself unable to step closer. Jimin left you. He wouldn’t want you to approach him. Either you’d disgusted him or offended him or both, enough so that he literally ran from you, and the last thing you could handle right now was confrontation.
Instead, you inch around the outskirts, finding a familiar beaten path that leads to one of your favourite places on the island: an old, relatively abandoned lookout tower.
Tourists weren’t taken to this one, anymore, and all of your colleagues kept away too. A few months before you had begun working, they’d opened a new, sleeker, taller, safer lookout to compensate for the higher numbers of tourists they were getting. Sure, that one was great, and with a top made primarily of glass, it gave a gorgeous view.
But there was something… different about the older one that kept drawing you back. Perhaps it was the rustic feel; all dark woods, concrete and metal, fitted to one of the taller trunks for stability. It blended into the landscape. Over the years, as the trees had grown a bit taller, it no longer rose clean above the topiary, but nestled between branches, right in the midst of the foliage. It was a view you couldn’t get from above or below, and as you curl into the corner, back pressed against the ancient tree, you felt your blood pressure gradually decrease.
Unlike most places, you could be truly alone here. But never lonely. Quietly, you tuck your knees to your chest and watch as a margay cat slinks down a branch of a nearby tree, eyes glinting in the moonlight. This dense inside the topiary, it’s hard to make out much detail, but you can see the black leopard-like patches on its tan fur, the whiskers twitching as it sniffs your presence.
Shoulders hunched like it’s anticipating a loud noise, the wildcat appraises you, carefully winding around the trunk of a nearby tree to provide cover. Cute as it is, you wait until it leaps onto a further branch and disappears into the shadows before you lie down on your side and close your eyes.
--
Getting back to the camp takes a sizeable portion of your morning. Although the foliage had provided sufficient insulation, the nailed planks of the lookout turret were unforgiving, and you wake up the next morning with an unignorable twinge where your left shoulder meets your neck. Getting down the tight coiled staircase takes long enough; finding your way back to base while being unable to properly turn your head to look around you feels like an eternity.
It’s just as the ground below your feet evens out into well-trodden grass and you gingerly roll your shoulder for the nth time that you glance up to see the chaos that lies in front of you.
Countless tourists stand around, confused and gossiping, littered across the campground as your fellow employees rush and dart between them. Some of them are on bulky radio phones or walkie talkies, others packing what looks like expedition equipment.
But they only attract your attention for a moment. Like you’re magnetized, your eyes are immediately drawn to the two figures outside your hut. Standing with deep lines of concern on his tanned face is your boss, Angelo. Sat on the veranda beside him, wrapped in a blanket despite the early morning heat, is Jimin.
They haven’t seen you yet, no one has, and so you allow yourself a moment to silently observe them. Well. Observe him.
Jimin’s got his fists bundled up under his chin, pressing up his cheeks, yet he’s never looked more gaunt. His eyes are sunken and desolate, even as they glitter from deep wells of tears that redden his nose and soak patches in the blanket. Angelo’s hand is on his shoulder, offering him a tissue, muttering something, but Jimin simply stares ahead blankly, bottom lip trembling.
Jimin…
His head jerks up, eyes seeking you out, and you realize belatedly that you’d said his name aloud. But it doesn’t matter, because just the unfiltered relief on his face is enough to trigger your feet to move again, walking numbly towards him as your boss leaves him sitting there, rushing forward to greet you.
“Fucking hell, Y/n, you better have a damn good reason for terrifying the entire Lodge,” his rough colloquial Spanish rings out in a fevered hush, “we were just about to send search parties.”
You stand in shocked silence as he unhooks a walkie talkie from his waistband, quite literally calling off the horde of Cuyabeno employees gathering on the campsite. They, upon receiving the notice, glance over to you, showing varying degrees of relief and annoyance, and herd the guests back to their cabins.
“He’s been inconsolable all night, you know?”
Angelo’s voice whips your attention back, and you furrow your brows. “Huh?”
“Park Jimin,” your boss emphasizes with a scolding tone. “Bawling his eyes out, waking us all up at ass o’clock in the morning. Got half the team convinced you’d been eaten by a jaguar or something. Poor guy feels so guilty.”
“I was fine,” you defend, glancing past him at the sitting figure of the man in question, who looks so tiny perched on the edge of the veranda, red face poking out from the blanket.
“Well, how the fuck were we supposed to know that?”
Something snaps inside you, too wired up to hear the concern and relief that hides below Angelo’s façade of anger. You look away from Jimin, but stick a finger out to point at him while you glare at your boss. “He was the one that left me stranded! He was the one that ran away with the only flashlight we brought. He was the reason I spent the night sleeping in the rainforest. You tell me he’s feeling guilty? Well, he fucking should be.”
Behind Angelo, you see Jimin visibly flinch, stiffening and ducking his head so as to appear smaller. Though you had spoken in Spanish, your pointing and tone had probably left nothing to the imagination, and you lower your hand now, feeling a spike of regret.
The older Ecuadorian man just sighs, the fight leaving his body. “You could just talk, you know,” he offers up tiredly, “sort it out. Don’t let it fester. Maybe he just freaked out, saw a scary bug or something. You know how these city folk can get.” He purses his lips in consideration. “Then again, he is a bug scientist.”
“Lepidopterist,” you correct absentmindedly, eyes cast downward. “…I’m gonna go home, Angelo. Get ready for work. Sorry for worrying you,” you add, genuinely this time.
He lets you go without words, instead wrapping you into a fierce hug that lasts just long enough for your bones to begin to melt, anger slipping away.
With tired feet and a heavy heart, you make your way to the entrance of your hut, pausing in front of Jimin. Rather than jumping to greet you or apologise, he simply watches you balefully, eyes glossy with misery. You feel yourself break a little at the hurt in his gaze.
“I wanted to give you space,” you explain weakly. “I found a place to stay for the night. I didn’t think you’d worry so much.”
Jimin doesn’t reply, just sniffs and swallows and nods a little bit.
You let out a breathy noise, not quite light enough to be a laugh. “So… What time are we going butterfly-watching next?”
Brows furrowed strangely, he stays silent for so long you almost give up and walk past him. Eventually, though, his fists go lax and the thin blanket drops from around his shoulders, falling to the floor. He’s still in the t-shirt and shorts from last night. Somehow, this fact makes your eyes sting. “I think I’m just going to do it by myself from now on. Give you…space.”
For a moment, his lips wobble slightly, like he’s got something more to say, but then he just exhales with an air of finality, and focuses his gaze past you, to the distance.
Leaving him alone on the porch step hurts, but there’s nothing else for you to do.
--
In his defence, Jimin does exactly as he promises.
He gives you space.
Were it not for the closed door in the hallway and the weight in your heart, you could almost forget he was even there. Jimin doesn’t eat with you, instead sneaking out to take advantage of the thrice-daily buffets offered to guests. By the time you wake up in the morning and drink your ritual tea on the front porch, he’s come and gone. Occasionally you can hear him working, but not most days. In the evenings, you hear him pack his things and leave. You’re asleep before he returns.
You continue to go on tours, sticking to the ones far away from the butterfly meadow, but you can’t avoid butterflies themselves. They are, as Jimin pointed out earlier, abundant in this area, but you swear you didn’t notice them as much until these past few days. They flit around, drawing gasps and coos and camera clicks from your tour groups but leaving you with an uncomfortable twinge in your chest.
It’s an entire three weeks before you discover why he ran that fateful night.
Bad weather cancels a day of tours for you, and late into the morning you hear murmuring coming from Jimin’s room. You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you can’t help the yearning you feel. The moment you consider tiptoeing up and pressing your ear to the door, it’s like your mind is made.
His voice is softer, sweeter, more playful than you’d ever heard directed at you, even before the strange falling-out. “…pretty, aren’t you? I know, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. Hm? Minnie’s here.”
Your stomach turns, and you rush away as quickly and silently as you came.
Of course. Of course a guy like him had a girlfriend. It’s not like he was obliged to tell you, and you shouldn’t have assumed he was single. Poor guy probably felt grossed out, probably thought you’d intentionally made a move. No wonder he freaked when you called him Jiminie too, if Minnie was her pet name for him or something.
It’s a relief when the next morning breaks out in sunshine. You don’t fancy being in that house longer than is strictly necessary.
--
“Can we talk?”
Jimin jumps when he opens the door to you waiting, blinking in shock. “I have to get going…” He’s somehow even paler than when he first came, probably from only ever leaving the house at night-time, and though his eyes are bright, they’re sunken.
You don’t move when he puts his head down and makes an attempt to step forward again. “Please, Jimin. I owe you an apology. Besides; there’s no reason for us to hide from each other and be miserable. Let’s just talk.”
He scratches at his collarbone past the neck of his t-shirt, which protrudes more than you swear it had when he arrived. “Yeah, okay. Come in, I guess.”
He raises a tired eyebrow at your sigh of unfiltered relief, simply ducking back into the safety of his room, hopping onto the single bed cross-legged.
You follow after. “Look, that night got out of hand, but I think I get now why you…” You trail off once you step fully into the room, mouth hanging open.
It’s messy like when he moved in, an organized and dedicated chaos, but there’s one key difference. Amongst the open textbooks, scribbled notes, and strewn stationery on his desk, one large object catches your eye.
An entire branch, dangling from rope taped to the ceiling. You couldn’t recognize the tree just by that alone, but after taking in the lush leaves and forked twigs, something inside you thinks it’s probably from that same tree, or at least the same type, that the longwing erato butterflies were on that night.
Of course, you wouldn’t need the branch itself to tell you that. What makes it clear as day is the ten-plus butterflies that flutter around the room, resting periodically on the branch itself.
Jimin ducks his neck, rubbing at his chest in self-comfort. “You wanted to talk?” he questions innocently.
You don’t let the joyous spike in your heart at him speaking to you distract from what’s in front of you. “I said no bugs in the house. Are you serious?”
“They’re not bugs,” he whines defensively. You stare in open-mouthed bewilderment as one, smaller than the rest but with thicker red bands on its wings, lands on the top of one of his pointer fingers, settling after a few moments. Jimin’s eyes warm, a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t want to bother you by coming and going all the time, so I just got them to come to me… I can take better care of them this way.”
With a conflicted frown, you push down your divided emotions on this statement in the hopes of pushing forth. “Anyway, I wanted to say that I get now why you freaked out. I overheard you talking with your girlfriend the other day and-” You blink, cutting yourself off. The words you’d heard muffled behind his bedroom door I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. “You… Do you have a girlfriend, Jimin? Or a boyfriend?”
Jimin’s so startled it disrupts the butterfly from its perch, but he barely notices, eyes comically wide in shock. “Wh- y- Are you propositioning me?”
You splutter, realizing belatedly how poorly your statement was phrased. “No, I, sorry, I just wanted to ask because I thought I overheard you one day talking to someone on the phone. And I thought perhaps that was the reason you took off that night, because you thought I was making moves on you when you were taken.” His expression is unreadable, eyes glazed in what might be contemplation or might be annoyance, but you forge on with a deep breath. “So, whether you have a partner or not, I wanted to apologize, because that night was an accident. I wasn’t like, trying to make out with you on a butterfly hunt. That’s… yeah, that’s all I wanted to say.” His eyes drop from you wordlessly, and your heart stutters in concern. “You can say something now. Please.”
His shoulders fall slack; you hadn’t noticed how tense he was. “Y/n…” He gives a bittersweet sigh, lip tugging into a reluctant smile. “Well, first of all, it was not a butterfly hunt. Secondly… I haven’t been fair to you. I should apologize too. Could you sit?”
He shuffles sideways on the bed, patting the rumpled sheets beside him. You hop on, and it’s not until an awkward silence threatens to descend that he finally speaks up again.
“Listen, I wanna be clear. I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend or anything. I wasn’t talking on the phone that day. I’m sorry for running when we went out that night, I really am. And it wasn’t because of you that I freaked- well, it was because of you, but not in a bad way.” He lets out a pained breath, staring doggedly ahead at the smattering of butterflies roaming the hanging branch. Even as he avoids your gaze, he subtly turns his torso inwards towards you, the shyest olive branch. “The truth is, I freaked because I really like you. And I… This is gonna make me sound like an asshole, but I didn’t want to let myself get distracted. I have to put this research first. I figured if I just avoided you, I’d get over it, but-” He waves his hand in the air helplessly. “That hasn’t been working out so well,” he admits in a defeated voice. With a final sigh, he falls silent.
You stay quiet for a few more moments, letting his words process in your mind. He actually liked you? The discomforting tug in your chest eases as the thought, the ache of your heart soothing into a warm thrum. But he had to put his work first. Of course. “I get it,” you say finally.
Jimin perks up, finally looking over at you with vulnerable eyes. “You…do?”
You crack a light smile at his stammering of such a short sentence, but then a wider beam takes over. Even if he wanted to never even touch you for fear of getting ‘distracted’, this was enough. Just seeing his face, hearing the notes of his voice, his expression light up in hope; if nothing else, this was enough. “Yeah,” you reiterate with crinkled eyes, “I mean, let’s look at this rationally. You’ve been studying in uni for how long? Paying fees, buying textbooks, studying hard. And now you’re doing a thesis, which you had to uproot your life and fly out to another country for. I bet that was expensive, too. And on top of all that, it’s clear how much it all means to you. You just met me because I happened to be staying in the hut you’d booked. I don’t wanna get in your way, Jimin. This work makes you happy.”
“You-” Jimin cuts himself off, clearing his throat noisily, shaking his head at himself cutely. “Um, I really appreciate that. Now I feel silly I didn’t just tell you that three weeks ago. You know how hard it’s been sneaking showers at the crack of dawn? Those campsite bathrooms don’t even have mirrors. I’ve become an expert at shaving by memory.” He sends you a small smile then, small but genuine, and on his lap his fingers stretch out shyly, before falling back into a loose fist.
Not wanting to disrupt the cheery mood, you reach over to shove at his shoulder playfully. “Well then, how about instead of distracting you, I help you? I’ll be your official sidekick. Or assistant, whatever it’s called.”
“Is that so?” Jimin retorts with glimmering eyes. Like it’s sensed the warm ambience returning to the two of you, a lone butterfly has flown over, settling itself between waves of honey blonde, off-center so that Jimin has to strain his eyes over to make it out. “Hey, Molly,” he mumbles so softly his lips barely move, but, right beside him, you hear it.
“You name them?” you question in confusion, but he doesn’t get the chance to answer before it hits you. “Oh my god. You were talking to the butterflies, weren’t you?”
Jimin stiffens up defensively, but takes care to do it slowly enough that the black-and-red butterfly in his hair, Molly apparently, doesn’t get disturbed. “Makes things grow better,” he mutters through a pout, cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink. “And they have personalities too, you know? Just like dogs or cats.”
You observe the way he leans back away from you, braced like he’s expecting backlash or humiliation. Instead, you nod slowly. “So, what’s Molly’s personality?”
He goes stock still in surprise. “Molly?” After you nod again, he relaxes slowly, fiddling with his hands in his lap even as his face warms. “Molly’s a sweetheart,” he reveals tentatively. “She likes keeping me company more than the others, and when I need to take notes on her wing growth she sits so nicely.”
Your eyes widen in wonder. “Woah, that’s incredible,” you breathe.
He tilts his head to the side. Molly settles herself in deeper, batting her wings a couple times but staying there. It makes you quirk a smile even as Jimin sends you a look of confusion. “What’s incredible?”
“Jimin, these are wild creatures,” you elaborate, “I don’t think we’ve had any researchers stay here before, certainly none specifically for them, and you’ve only been here three weeks yet already they trust you. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?” Do you have any idea how amazing you are? You bite your tongue to stop the words.
He gives his head the smallest shake, wary of the resting butterfly on his head. “All I did was talk to them. Be gentle with them. Look-”
You gasp when suddenly warmth envelops your palm, Jimin softly interlocking your fingers. He stands slowly, then tugs at your hand for you to follow. You do so in an almost religious silence, the hush that speaks louder than words. His fingers, although short, fit with yours perfectly, and as the two of you make your way to the hanging branch he squeezes gently in reassurance.
Licking his lips to wet them, he turns you and holds your connected hands in the air. “If you’re calm and quiet, they’ll trust you too.”
Barely breathing, you nod and stare wide-eyed as he gradually moves your hands closer to the branch. Once the back of your knuckles brush a leaf, he pauses there. “Lift one finger up in the air,” he instructs softly, “like a landing post.” You do as he asks and wait for approval, but his eyes aren’t on you. Rather, they focus on the three butterflies that huddle on a nearby leaf, one of which looks all but asleep to you. “There’s Yoyomi, Kong, and Mickey,” he utters. “Kong is a drama queen, he acts like he hates affection, that’s why he’s gone so still, but one of the others might come over.”
The two of you wait with baited breath and clasped hands as the smaller one of the three alights, fluttering around before delicately landing on the pad of your finger. Your heart stops with the lightest pressure of its legs on your skin, barely more than a tickle.
“See?” Jimin whispers, eyes glittering. “That’s little Yoyomi. Say hi.”
Your finger threatens to falter. You feel stupid talking to a bug, but hasn’t Jimin proved that it’s making a difference? And besides, you can’t let him down after he’s chosen to be so vulnerable with you. You can’t say no to him. “Um. Hi, Yoyomi. You’re very beautiful.” With the warmth of Jimin’s hand on yours, you’re certain he can feel the way your pulse throbs in your wrist, heart racing as Yoyomi’s wings, red at the tip instead of down the middle, give a welcoming flutter.
“Very beautiful,” you hear Jimin repeat in the softest tone.
Your gaze lifts to him, where, instead of looking down at Yoyomi, his eyes are on you. You swallow the euphoria that rises in your chest. “I… I hope you’re not getting distracted,” you say awkwardly.
His lip twitches down. “Sorry.” He lets go of your hand suddenly, giving Yoyomi a fright and sending her off, landing back on the branch with Kong and Mickey. You lower your own arm, feeling the tip of your finger tingle strangely, missing that delicate weight. Missing his touch even more. “I’ll be good. I’ll focus on them.”
You smile reassuringly, past the regret that builds deep in your stomach. “We can have a clean slate, yeah? Like a butterfly kicks off its cocoon, we can get rid of the negative energy and go back to being friends. A fresh start.”
The tension leaves Jimin’s face, replaced by pursed lips as he suppresses a reluctant smile. “You really know nothing about butterflies, don’t you?”
You back up closer to the door, resting your head playfully on the doorframe. “I have a very neglectful teacher.”
He lets out a laugh then, tinkling and giggly, and you feel your heart soar. “Oh, is that so? Well, our first lesson is 9am sharp. And I will be taking attendance,” he adds with faux sternness.
You nod, playing along, feeling so light you could float. “I’ll be there.”
--
“Mm, I’d say 38 millimeters. No; put down 37 and a half.”
“Aye aye, captain,” you cheer, carefully noting down the measurements.
Jimin tuts, eyes remaining trained on the gently batting wings of Una, another one of the older butterflies. “I said not to call me that. Okay, and it looks like the stripe is the same as last week. Have you got it?”
You bite down on the inside of your lip. “I do, master.”
Jimin splutters. “Stop,” he whines petulantly, “look, you made me give Una a fright. Una, it’s okay, don’t g-” He breaks off with a sigh. “It’ll take ages for her to work up the courage to come back over now… Stop teasing me. We’ll have to move on to Molly for now, okay?” He glances up at you warningly, pink lips still pressed in a pout.
You force your eyes not to linger, instead lifting your chin in a decisive nod. “Yes, chef.”
This time you’re rewarded with a full beam, Jimin’s eyes crinkling so much they just about shut completely, delicate hands pressing down on his cheeks in an effort to suppress. “Stop it! You’re making fun of me!”
“Well, who else can I make fun of?” you point out innocently. “When I called Kong an old man you made me sleep on the couch.”
Jimin’s mouth falls to a small o of shock. “That was a joke. You were the one that actually did it.”
Shrugging non-committedly, you doodle squiggles in the margins of Jimin’s notebook. “I take my job very seriously,” you defend, raising your eyebrows. “Which, speaking of, I wanted to ask. Are you free tonight?”
Jimin blinks, ducking his head back like he’s got whiplash. “Are you asking me out on a date?” he questions incredulously.
You put the book down, locking eyes with him. “I’m asking you out on an expedition,” you correct.
“Do I get to know where this expedition is going?”
“Absolutely not.”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second, brown eyes warm. “Deal.”
--
“That doesn’t look safe,” Jimin frowns, tugging at the hem of his light cotton shirt as he eyes the looming contraption.
“But you promised,” you retort, already with a foot on the base. You’d taken him to one of your favorite places on the island, your lookout tower. Of course, the last time you were here hadn’t been so fun, but as the sun sinks lower in the sky, you know it’s time to rewrite some better memories.
“I never agreed to this,” he retorts. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you grab onto his forearm, tugging him up with you. Luckily, the stability of the tower, at least down on ground level, seems to suffice for him, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
“You promised to expe…dish with me,” you stammer.
“Expedish?”
“You know, go on an expedition? Expedite? Ex- Expedo-”
“Okay,” he cuts you off, stepping up onto the first stair that led upwards. “I’ll do it. Just stop making up words.”
You follow behind him dutifully, willing your eyes not to fall down to where his shorts stretch taut over his ass and thighs, calves flexing with every step higher. You attempt to distract yourself, simultaneously cursing and praising the fact you didn’t go in front of him. “I could say real words instead,” you offer helpfully, “like…barbecue. Lawnmower. Effervescence.”
Jimin gasps softly, in a playfully high tone. “Baby’s first words!”
You frown pettily, stomping your feet down on the steps so he can hear your dissatisfaction, but you can’t deny the way your breath hitches when he calls you baby. Dammit. “Just climb,” you mutter bitterly, quietly reveling in the triumphant peal of his laughter.
When the two of you reach the top, he’s panting, and you have to admit that you’re short of breath too. His eyes widen prettily as he takes in the view, holding onto the wooden slats around the border of the lookout to keep him stable as he rises onto his tiptoes.
Last time, the sun was well and truly set, but now the leaves are glowing in molten golds and oranges, the sky a pastel blanket over the island. The topiary is awash with activity, that unique window where nocturnal creatures stir and the rest settle.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, and you’re inclined to agree, but it can’t match the beauty you see in him.
Straining to catch every last inch in sight, his body is stretched into a graceful curved line, enough that his shirt lifts to reveal a narrow strip of skin above his waistband. Much paler than the bronze caramel of his face and hands, it reminds you just how much sun he’s been getting these past few weeks now that he isn’t hiding himself away.
He looks much healthier, too, with the softness of his cheeks returned to full blush and eyes twinkling with wonder as he watches birds coast along the horizon line, monkeys navigate the trees with ease, and a few margay cats just like the ones you yourself had caught prowling that past night. He looks happy, and something warm unfurls in your chest at the thought that you’ve contributed to that joy.
You don’t process his eyes on you until he cracks a shy smile, raising a delicate brow. “Thinking hard or hardly thinking?” he teases softly.
“Just thinking,” you murmur, unwilling to part your gaze with him just yet. He doesn’t seem satisfied, tilting his head with imploring eyes. You relent, unable to deny him. “Cada vez que yo te veo y que te pienso siento que florezco.”
Jimin pouts cutely, falling back flat on his feet to stare you down fully. “Well, what does that mean?”
“It means you should learn Spanish,” you retort, ignoring the thudding beneath your ribs. “You do live in Ecuador, after all.”
“Only if you teach me,” he jokes lightly with a playful tip of his head. He takes a step closer, then, and his face changes, sobers up. “Thank you, Y/n. For taking me here, I mean.”
With the cramped space of the lookout, he’s now close enough that you can see each individual eyelash that curve delicately, the finest smile lines on his cheeks, the thinnest sheen of sweat on his temples. He’s close enough that you could easily reach out and k- “You’re welcome,” you blurt out, inhaling deep through your nose in the hopes of clearing your head. Instead, you just breathe in the delicate smell of orange blossoms that you’re beginning to associate with Jimin, perhaps something in his body wash or shampoo. Your eyes flutter around, unsure where is safe to land. His eyes, which bore so intensely into yours. Or his lips, which are pinker and plusher than usual as he nibbles softly at them. You stare stubbornly instead at the tip of his button nose, fingers curling at your sides with the effort to keep them to yourself
“It’s hard for you too, isn’t it?” he questions in the smallest voice, barely more than a velvet whisper.
Your eyes lift to him unsurely. “W-what? What’s hard for me too?”
His hand begins to lift up in the air in front of you, before it falters, and ultimately settles awkwardly on the railing. “Holding back,” he finally admits. “Not getting…distracted.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Distantly, you wonder what exactly he was reaching out to. “Impossible.”
Jimin’s head dips, eyes falling to the dusty wooden floor below you. “I’m sorry.”
A dissatisfied shiver runs down your spine. “I- you don’t have to apologise.”
He looks stricken. “No, I do, I just- I’m working it out. I’m thinking it through. I’m sorry.”
You fight your disappointed, struggling to maintain the cool composure of rationality that holds your tears at bay. “I understand,” you reassure, “this research is what means the most to you. You have to put it first.”
“That’s the problem, I don’t know if it’s-” He shudders then, a full-body tremble that’s only masked somewhat by the sudden step back he takes, almost tripping on an uneven plank. “I have to go,” he rushes out, one foot on the steps leading down before he freezes, forces himself to turn back to face you. “Are you… Are you ready to go? We can walk back together. If you want.”
You feel your knees go weak as you nod, biting on your bottom lip harshly to keep face. “I’m ready to go back if you are. I’m sorry, I thought taking you up here would be nice…”
His earnest look takes you off-guard. “I am so grateful, Y/n, it’s so beautiful up here. Thank you.”
A strange, detached feeling washes over you, like defeat, only softer. “You’re welcome,” you say again, though this time you don’t know if you mean it.
--
You let it go, for a while. Jimin’s happy, and that’s enough for you.
Slowly, you were getting better at recognising each of the regular visitors by the slightly different patches on their wings, or even simply how they behaved. It was a strange thing to get to know them like you would with a pet, realising they really did have unique personalities. And over time, you opened the rest of the doors of the hut, too, until it became commonplace to wake up from a flutter on your cheek, or to check for any resting butterflies on the couch before you sat down. It brought a sense of life to your abode that, in full honesty, you’d probably never truly felt before. But of course most of that led right back to Jimin.
Jimin, who no longer held himself back from chatting away softly to the butterflies like they were his friends. Jimin, who patiently explained the life cycle of the longwing erato for the nth time when you still got lost. Jimin, who did his best to stay professional but couldn’t hold back his warm smiles, gentle touches, and reassuring words. Jimin, who was overflowing with so much love for everything that you felt it grow within you too.
“Y/n?”
Jimin’s alarmed voice catches you off-guard from where you’d zoned out in the kitchen, milk warming to room temperature on the bench as you’d gotten too distracted to pour it into the bowl of waiting cereal. Cursing, you shove it back in the fridge and abandon your breakfast to rush down to the study.
He’s hunched over his desk, unaware of Molly nestled on his shoulder, as he focuses intensely on what’s in front of him.
“What’s going on?” you question, not wanting to approach the desk so suddenly just in case you startle him or whoever has his attention.
“Baby got his wing torn again. I think he’s been going to that patch of rosebushes behind the kitchen.”
You gasp, risking a couple steps forward silently. Your chest is taut with anxiety as you watch Jimin gently pin Baby onto a towel with an oval metal loop that keeps his wings still while allowing his small black body to move. He wriggles in the eye of the loop, but settles as a single pinkie finger strokes his wings with the lightest pressure. Baby, as his name suggests, is the youngest of your little ragtag bunch at only 8 days old. Jimin wasn’t sure, but he believed Molly might be the mother. Most of the females laid a few eggs every day, but only a few over the month and a half had actually chosen to come into the house. Baby, however, had shadowed Molly from the moment he’d first flown in.
“That’s the second time,” you murmur, rubbing at your shoulder in concern. “Will he be okay?”
Jimin hums, lips barely moving when he speaks in a soft register. “It’s a bigger tear than last time but it should be an easy fix. I just hope he learns this time. Can you get me the repair kit?”
You do as he says quickly but calmly so as not to disturb anyone. “Here. Do you need anything else?”
He doesn’t answer for a while, gnawing at his lip as he takes some contact adhesive and a small wooden dowel. “Um, no, but… Could you just stay?”
Your heart jumps in your chest; you curse that jolt of euphoria in a time like this. “Of course I can, Jiminie,” you reassure, pulling up a stool beside him and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Of course I’ll stay.”
Later on, after Baby’s made a full recovery and Jimin has given him an extremely gentle scolding, the two of you decide to have a night in. Jimin exhausts the last of his Korean microwave meal supplies, you crack out a couple of old bottles of red wine you’d gotten for Christmas two years ago, and the two of you curl up on the couch in your pyjamas, talking about everything and nothing.
It’s shortly after midnight, once Jimin has long since jiggled the final drops of wine from the second bottle into his waiting mouth, and you’re feeling sleepy from carbs, that you ask him why he likes butterflies so much. For some reason, the thought had never really occurred to you in these past weeks.
“I mean,” you continue, voice loudened by the weak buzz of alcohol, “I get now that butterflies are super cool. But like, what made you even pay attention to them in the first place? It’s such a specific career.”
Jimin, who had significantly more of the wine than you, pats his own red cheeks in thought, smiling absentmindedly to push them out rounder. His eyes glaze over, but with how well he held his liquor, you think the faraway look is due to something else. “It’s silly,” he brushes off, tapping his pinkie fingers on the apples of his cheeks.
“Come on,” you whine, tipping your head to the side and widening your eyes pleadingly. “I bet it is just as cute as everything else about you.” Your brain screeches to a halt. Did you really just say that? Clearing your throat awkwardly, you reach for a half-empty glass of water, maybe his or maybe yours, and take a sip, willing your cheeks and ears to stop burning.
Jimin ducks his head with a flustered giggle, splaying his arms on the table to bury his face between dramatically. “Stop,” you hear him say, able to distinguish a pout in his voice even through the muffling. “It is silly. You’ll laugh at me.”
“I won’t ever laugh at you, Jiminie,” you say honestly, smile dropping. “I promise.”
With a deep sigh, he rises up again, locks of warm golden hair sticking up at odd angles like bedhead. Avoiding your gaze, he puckers his lips shyly, reddened where he’s nibbled at it. “It started back in primary school. My best friend loved butterflies, he wanted to be a lepidopterist even before we knew the word. Always talked about how beautiful they were and if he spent his life looking at beautiful things that he’d be happy forever.”
A thought occurs to you. “The one from that framed photo in your room?” you question.
Jimin looks up so fast he has to blink away the wobble of light-headedness that strikes him. “You’ve seen it?”
“The two little schoolboys, right?” you confirm. Once he nods, you grin, rushing to his room with the added aerodynamic rush that tipsiness gave you. The picture frame is on his little bedside table, and you gently carry it with you back to the lounge, dropping down heavily beside him on the floor instead of your perch on the couch. “So this is you and your friend?”
Jimin takes it with a fond, dopey smile. Both young, chubby kids are tan with crinkled eyes and black tufted hair, their matching uniforms and grins making them look thick as thieves. The shorter one with a perfectly round face made up primarily of his chipmunk cheeks and a button nose, clutches the straps of his backpack proudly. Jimin points at him. “That’s me,” he tells you, a chuckle in his voice, “I’m older than him yet he’s always been bigger than me. Unfair.” With a distant look, a quiet smile, Jimin brushes his thumb over the glass where the other boy stands, the cutest boxy smile revealing a set of pearly whites. “That’s Tae. I owe him everything.”
You look back and forth between him and the aged photograph, muffling a yawn that the late hour has triggered. “Are you guys still friends?”
Jimin sets the frame down, humming an affirmative. “He’s still back home.”
“Is he a lepidopterist too?”
A quick surprised glance to you to acknowledge you finally pronouncing his job title correctly, then he laughs warmly, shaking his head. “He’s an artist, can you believe it? Paints the most gorgeous things. Realistic ones, abstract ones, ones with only two or three colours. Has his own pseudonym and everything.” Jimin sends a grin to you, like an inside joke only you share. “He likes painting butterflies the most, though.”
“Do you miss him?” The moment the words are out of your mouth, you regret them. Jimin sobers up, and the moment is lost.
“Yeah,” he admits morosely. “But less than six weeks until I can go back home and see him again!”
Like instant karma, the realisation that he’ll be leaving shatters your good mood too. “Not long… Anyway, you do your research and go back and give it to your university? How does the thesis work?”
Jimin’s face sours with a bitter scoff. “Gah, it’s so confusing. There are so many stages, and reviews, and deadlines… I was a little late on sending in my first progress report, but it’ll be fine once I get the go-ahead. There’re meant to be every month, but I was a bit behind on typing all my notes up. There’s just so much to say, I don’t know how I can only mention some things and not others.”
You tip your head to the side, feeling the warm buzz of wine slip through your fingers, leaving you feeling heavy. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, tucking his legs so that he can rest his head on his knees. “I don’t know, like… Why should I get to say what’s relevant and what’s not? I write everything down, as much as possible, but for my report I had to try and choose what to cut for the word limit. Why is Kong’s feeding habits more important than Ronnie’s extra red stripe on his right wing? Why should I tell my supervisor that 87% of the female butterflies I’ve studied oviposit an average of two eggs a day but I don’t have room to tell her the joy the whole kaleidoscope had when Sophie finally laid her first eggs after a whole three weeks?” He leans back so that his head tips onto the couch seat, eyes upwards but unseeing, turned down in despair. “I could write a whole book on every single one of them, but all my supervisors want is data and generalisations. They want rules they can put into biology books and quote marks, they don’t really care about the stories. Taehyungie would understand.”
“I understand,” you feel the inexplicable need to say. “You’re such a good person, Jiminie.” Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you belatedly, you groan, pushing yourself up laboriously from the floor. “Aaand I think it’s time for me to hit the hay. Tonight was fun. Don’t worry about the mess; I’ll clean up tomorrow.”
“Have you forgotten we share this hut with the wildlife now?” Jimin asks with a quirked brow, laughing melodically when you groan again. “Don’t worry, you go to bed. I’ll clean up. Goodnight, Y/n.”
You should feel bad, you should tell him you’ll stay and help, but your bed is positively screaming your name. “Thank you! And for what it’s worth,” you add, “you’re the best leopard optimist I’ve ever met, Park Jimin.”
Though you don’t know it then, the radiant beam you receive is the last smile of his you’ll see for a while.
--
Seeing Jimin angry for the first time is the original red flag that something's up.
Waking up later than usual, you stretch languidly and pad down the hallway, already thirsty for your routine cup of tea, but Jimin's form hunched over stiffly in the kitchen causes you pause.
"Morning," you chime, but he doesn't even react, lids low and jaw tense as he stares intensely out the window. "I can make you a drink if you'd like?"
"Forget it," he spits, and you flinch. Six weeks together and you'd never heard that venom in his voice before.
"Did...Did something happen, Jiminie? Was it me, or...?"
His chest heaves in a shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering miserably, before that stern fire returns. "No," he answers shortly. "It's me. It's this fucking thesis."
Your eyes fly wide, and suddenly concern and confusion turn to genuine alarm. Since when did Jimin swear? "The thesis?" You rack your brain, straining to recall your conversation last night. "Oh! The report, right? Did they finally get back to you?"
He lets out what sounds like a sob, lifting a hand to block it, and your heart melts, pulling him in for a hug. You can feel the stuttered way his heart is racing, as well as the way his whole body trembles with contained emotion as you tuck your chin on his shoulder, rubbing his back.
"Tell me," you coo, "tell me what happened. I promise it'll be okay."
"It won't," he assures, and like the shifting of winds, his body stiffens ironlike again, and he detaches you from him, crossing his arms with a hateful scowl. "She fucking rejected it. Told me to start again. Square one."
You're so shocked you don't even acknowledge the hurt of him pushing you away. "Holy shit, what? Can they even do that?"
Jimin scoffs darkly. "It was my fault, anyway. Meddling. Interfering with the research."
"How?" You think on it for a moment with furrowed brows. "Wait, you mean like, letting them in the house?"
"I mean everything, Y/n," he growls, voice growing louder with every word. "Letting them into the house, feeding them, fixing Baby's wing. She even told me off for giving them names, said it 'blurred the lines of scientific neutrality.' Now I have to start my three months of research again, with a different study group, no interfering. Halfway done, and now I'm-" He breaks off with an exhausted sigh. "Whatever. It's done now. At least you get your wish again. No bugs in the house."
You feel your heart sink. "Jiminie, that's not-"
"Please," he cuts you off, determinedly avoiding your gaze. "I messed everything up by meddling. I- I don't want to do it again. Let's just be roommates. Just call me Jimin, please. I'm sorry."
Against your will, tears well up in your eyes, not for yourself but for him. The pain that was written across his face. "I am so sorry," you manage to make out in a thick voice. "I'm sorry that you're stuck here with me and not Taehyung."
Jimin recoils violently, already pushing off the counter and making his way out of the kitchen. "Don't you dare speak to me about Taehyung."
He leaves, and the greater part of you knows he's taken your heart with him, just a broken void inside.
--
After a week of Jimin focussing fully on his work, you still end each day crying yourself to exhaustion. After two weeks, you notice your pants are a little too loose, and recall you'd forgotten to feed yourself most days. After the first month, you're taken aside by Angelo and told that you'd been receiving worse and worse feedback forms for your group tours. The truth is, seeing the wildlife, particularly the butterflies, makes you feel ill. You tell him you're just feeling under the weather and he suggests you take it easy for a few days. Those 'few days' seem to drag forever, your boss never asking you to come back in, so you wallow in your bedroom like a depressed ghost, wishing you could fade away.
Because it isn't just that Jimin's pushed you away. He's not even avoiding you, quite often curling up on the couch to pore over a textbook or type up notes periodically onto his old, bulky laptop. You see him almost every day, but he never says a word to you, and what really hurts is that he's burning out just like you are.
He's not happy. With sunken bags under his hollow eyes, he moves around in a lifeless mope, complimentary meals at the shared dining hall and kitchen the only thing keeping the plumpness in his cheeks. It tears you up inside to see him so miserable in the job he loves, the hut filled with negative space, emptiness where there should be flitting butterflies in the air and on every surface.
You don't know what he did with them. You'd gone to work that day and returned to find that all evidence of the butterflies having been removed. No Molly settling in your hair, no Kong acting like a tough guy, no sight of sweet little Baby and his slightly wonky wing. All you knew was that now he religiously checked the windows every night and morning to ensure they were closed.
Whether he realised it or not, you missed them too.
"It's been over a month," you say to him awkwardly one night after he comes back from dinner.
He pauses in the entryway, one foot in the air with a hand ready to take off his boot. "Yeah?"
"I just- Um, I was wondering if your one-month report came back okay."
He sighs delicately, and gives you a nod, finishing removing his footwear. "She gave me the go-ahead to continue, if that's what you're asking. Although she wasn't too happy that I needed more funding for another month and a half on-site."
"Don't pay," you blurt without thinking.
"Huh?"
You stammer, collecting your thoughts. "I- I mean, you don't- you don't have to pay. For the room. I can talk to Angelo. I don't mind having you here."
He pauses with socked feet, staring at you strangely, before his eyes clear and he shakes his head. "I don't want to be indebted to you."
You shrug. "It's not a debt to be repaid," you prompt, "it might not even work, I'm just saying I could always ask Angel-"
"And I don't want you to ask," Jimin cuts in, walking with thudded stomps to the kitchen, taking a water bottle from the fridge. "Just leave it alone, okay? It's the university's money anyway. Besides, I've already-" He cuts himself off, taking a swig from the cooled water.
"You've already what?"
He huffs, twisting back on the cap and levelling you a glare that has no energy to it. "I've already asked Angelo if I can change rooms if a hut frees up. So don't bother."
You go silent, shock and hurt swirling noiselessly through your veins.
His face crumples, stricken at your reaction and he gives a sniff before looking up at you one last time, ready to head to his room. "Goodnight."
You don't even spare him a reply, looking back down at the opened page of a book you'd been blankly staring at before he'd come in.
In your peripheral vision, you watch him wait for a moment, before his shoulders sag and he leaves in silence.
You don't realise you're crying until a fat drop lands on the page, blooming as it sinks in.
--
Willing your heart to let go, to forget, you bury yourself back into your work, taking on as many tours as possible and spending time with the kitchen and cleaning staff otherwise. It works for a long time, welcome distractions that occupy your mind and body, and you almost manage to convince yourself that it all was some distant event in the past, or a strangely realistic dream, that Jimin was just another roommate here for a job.
That progress shatters in a heartbeat when you come home to a familiar butterfly battering itself against the glass of the window beside the front door.
You falter, watching it silently as it repeatedly flies at the glass, dull thuds of impact, flaps of wings as it wriggled over the unyielding surface. "...Baby?"
Like it hears your voice, the butterfly stills, wonky wing slowing to a regular waving as it rests on the windowsill, turning to observe you.
"What are you doing?" you murmur in confusion, even as your heart leaps, the euphoria of meeting an old friend unexpectedly. You'd just about forgotten how naturally it felt to speak to them, but it all came back to you now. "What's going on?"
Baby flies over to you, hovering in front of your eyes before fluttering away, back the way you'd came. Hesitantly, you follow, and this seems to be the right thing to do as Baby continues to take periodical flights forward, checking you're following every single time.
Like a trail of breadcrumbs, Baby leads you to the back of the shared kitchen, to the set of untamed rose bushes that grow beneath the window. Hurriedly, Baby flutters to a leaf quite low to the ground and, checking around for people watching, you hunker down on your knees in the uneven dirt in front of the bush. "Baby, you know not to play here, you could get... Oh god."
These roses are a pale yellow, so it takes you no time to spot the weakly fluttering form lying on its back in the soil. It's been over a month since you've seen her, but you recognise her red patches like she'd never left. "Molly! What are you doing in there you poor thing?"
You feel a tickle on your inner wrist, Baby crawling down into the loose cup of your hand. With rising dread, you begin to piece the puzzle together. Baby, who already had a history of getting caught in the rose bushes, probably went in and got stuck. Molly, who'd always kept Baby near, would've gone in in a heartbeat to get him. But, judging by the way her left wing had a long tear running down towards her body, leaving it in two limp, barely-connected pieces, she'd been the one to hurt herself on the thorns this time.
"M-Molly," you call weakly, heart thudding in your chest in fear, "I'm gonna get you out, okay? Baby, come sit on my shoulder, I need my hands free."
Rather than risking injuring her more than she already was, you dig your fingers into the lush soil, lifting up the section of dirt with her on top, using both hands. Thorns leave red lines across your knuckles and cut nicks in your forearms, but you ignore the pain, focussed on gently extracting Molly safely from the bush, Baby restless on your shoulder, immediately fluttering down to rest on the soil beside his mother.
Rushing home, you knock on the door with your foot, just about cracking the wood - or your toes - in your urgency.
Jimin answers eventually, throwing you a weird look when he first seems the heap of dirt in your hands, before noticing what's on it. "Wha- Baby? Molly? Y/n, I'm not meant to- Oh god, what happened to her?"
You sniff, no hands free to wipe your nose which threatens to run. "Baby was outside when I got home, he led me to her. She got torn up in the rosebush."
He sucks in a breath, leaning closer to inspect her damaged wing. "I- We can't- I can't...meddle," he stammers, eyes shiny with unshed tears.
You furrow your brows in disbelief. "But- Jimin, you aren't even studying the original group anymore, why does it matter?"
He falters, taking a step back into the house, eyes on the doorframe instead of you or the butterflies in your hands. "If I make an exception now, I know I'll just keep doing it, and I can't afford to ruin my research again. Can you just- just take them away, please?"
Your mouth drops open, salt bursting on your tongue as tears slip in from the corners of your lips. "But Jimin, this is Molly!"
He lets out a sob, lips trembling violently as he scrubs the tears from his face and eyes with the back of his hand. "It's just a butterfly," he answers hollowly, voice cracking on the last word.
"You don't believe that," you accuse.
Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, thick trails of tears dropping over his cheeks. "Just please go," he begs. Without a further word, he steps back, and the door shuts on you.
With no hands free to wipe your face, you sit on the porch with stinging eyes and snot on your upper lip, staring down at the two butterflies on the soil in your hands miserably.
"I'm so sorry," you make out with a raw voice, sniffing noisily. Baby bats his wings slowly in confusion, staring down at his mother, who grows weaker by the minute. How long had she lain there, unable to move, while Baby tried to get Jimin's attention? How much longer did she have? A new wave of sobs wracks your body, and you let it pull you under, feeling like this heartache is the least you deserve.
Though it takes hours, sun setting and shadows spreading over the grass of the campyard, you stay on that porch, trying to wipe your face on your shoulder so your tears and runny nose don't drip onto your friends. Your friends.
You couldn't save Molly, but you didn't want her or Baby to be alone.
She flutters her good wing for the last time shortly after midnight, judging by how high the moon is in the sky, an omniscient bystander tucked behind cloud.
Baby stays beside his mother for a while. Ten minutes, two hours, you don't know. Eventually, he crawls slowly over the dirt and onto your arm, like he doesn't have the energy to fly. With the lightest tickle of steps up your arm, he finally tucks himself in the hollow of your collarbone, a flutter of misery and solace. Your tears are silent now, but they never stop.
After an eternity, the door clicks open quietly. It's Jimin.
He stays quiet for a moment, eyes on you though you don't turn to look at him. "Is she gone?" he asks finally. You nod emotionlessly. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the pre-dawn air.
You swallow down the lump in your throat. "You lost the one you should've said sorry too hours ago."
He goes quiet at this. You almost expect him to turn around and go back inside with how long he goes without saying anything, but eventually he speaks up again. "I want to do something. I- It's too late now, but... I think the least I can do is give her a...proper burial."
You've been thinking about this yourself, for some time. Baby gives a curious flap of his wings. You sniff, tears finally drying up for now. "I know a place," you answer.
You walk in silence, leading the way.
At one point, Baby leaves your shoulder, flying back. You hear a solemn, "hey, buddy," followed by muffled sniffs and shaky breaths that sound like he's begun to cry. Wanting to give him some privacy, you don't turn around to check.
By the time you make it to the butterfly meadow, sun has broken over the horizon. Hot on your back, it casts long, thin shadows on the grass as you approach. "We're here," you say redundantly.
"I guess I'll- I'll dig a hole somewhere," he murmurs back, overtaking you.
Though he's grieving, you're surprised at his lack of reaction, until he steps in front of you and wipes his eyes clear of tears, hands slick with how much he's been crying. He could probably barely see to follow you. The moment he lowers his arm and looks up for a spot, he gasps quietly, eyes widening in awe.
A couple of days of rain recently had done the meadow well, and it's lush beneath your feet, a vibrant green that glints silver in the sunlight with morning dew. Sprinkled around are uncountable species of flowers, some recognisable like daisy patches and dandelions, the more colourful ones along the outskirts of the trees unfamiliar yet just as magical, pastel pinks and deep reds, pure whites and royal purples. But what's no doubt caught Jimin's eye, what he spins slowly around and strains his neck to see, are the darting kaleidoscopes of colour in the sky, at least a hundred butterflies all flitting around and basking in the unbroken sunlight.
"It's beautiful," Jimin breathes, "this is perfect, Y/n." He takes a deep breath, open mouth and lifted brows, trying to fight any further tears. There's a different glint in his eyes now. Not quite happiness, or content. Solace. Relief.
He picks a spot closer to the murky river, where the soil is damper and easier to lift. Once done, he helps you lay the heap of dirt, and Molly with it, into the shallow hole. Brushing off the dirt from your hands, you sit back on your knees, observing the way Jimin hesitates over the small pile of excavated soil beside the hole.
His hand hovers for a moment before he falters, looking up at you. Nestled in the honey blonde hair above his eyebrow is Baby, wings still. Like a cut directly into your heart, the thought strikes you that it's where Molly used to sit. "Should we...say something?" he asks tentatively.
Your heart melts. "I think that would be nice."
He swallows, nodding with distant eyes. "Um... Molly, you were the first butterfly that trusted me. Because of your friendliness, your family and friends grew to trust me too, and I'm so grateful that- I'm so-" Jimin's face crumples, and he buries it in his hands, voice muffled. "I'm so sorry that I betrayed your trust," he sobs, "I failed you and I failed Baby and I'm so so sorry."
Chest aching at the way Jimin looks so small curled up there in front of Molly's grave, you find yourself speaking too, to him just as much as Baby and Molly. "Molly, we were so lucky to know you. You brought light into both of our lives. I was truly happy in every moment spent with you, and now I know that you're in a better place, that you'll have eternal happiness. We'll try and keep positive and keep bright to honour you." Your eyes slip from Molly to the broken boy beside you. "And we'll take care of Baby for you. You did well, mama."
Jimin lets out a shaking sigh and nods, lifting his face up again. Even with red eyes and a running nose, he's beautiful. You take a breath and force yourself not to think about that now.
Silently, he fills in the dirt over Molly, covering her and leaving a patted-down patch of naked soil. There's a finality to it that leaves you short of breath, and the two of you sit wordlessly for a while, just watching the butterflies above flit around the sky, a gentle breeze flowing over your skin.
Once he's finished his quiet reflection, Jimin clears his throat, shifting so that his body faces you, although his gaze is still outward. "I'm not cut out for this," he says simply.
"The funeral?"
"No, I mean- everything. The thesis, the research. Scientific neutrality. I can't do it. It's too cruel."
You take the time to process this. "...What are you saying, Jimin?"
"Could you-" he starts in a strangled voice. His head ducks to look firmly at the ground, so all you can see is his mussed golden locks. "Could you go back to the way you said it before?"
"Huh?"
He fiddles with a blade of grass. "Jiminie," he whispers, and you hate the way your heart pangs when you hear it.
"Jiminie," you obey, "you don't mean you're going to give it up, right? Your thesis?"
He shrugs, head lifting reluctantly. "I can't do this for another two more months," he explains, "and I'm scared of what will happen when I have to- to leave."
You nod slowly. "Do you have to, though? Leave?"
Jimin nods, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair and letting out a wet chuckle when Baby, startled by the sudden shifting, flits over to you and rests petulantly on the crown of your head. He quickly sobers up, though. "Yeah. I have to go back, edit it, submit it, then defend it at my university. How am I meant to defend something I hate?"
"Could you..." You pause, catching up with your thoughts. "Could you change your thesis?"
Jimin lets out a sigh, plump lips turned down morosely. "And start from scratch again? Technically I could, sure, but I can't get past the scientific neutrality thing, Y/n."
An idea begins to bubble in the back of your mind, making you sit upright. "What if you didn't have to do either of those things?"
"What?"
"When you were taking care of the butterflies in the house, they were living longer, right? Because they were being fed and kept safe and given medical care." He shrugs, and you take it as an affirmative. "Then why couldn't you change your thesis to compare the longwing erato on its own versus it with your intervention? Your whole angle could be on like, conservation through human aid."
"I'd still have to start ove- Wait! This first month could serve as the 'before', and I can spend the next two months taking care of them to show the 'after.'" A smile stretches across his face, something you haven't seen in over a month, and it's positively healing. "Y/n, you're a genius! I would have to check with my supervisor, but... This could really work! And I wouldn't have to leave them alone anymore..."
Jimin's eyes dart to Baby, who's still comfy in your hair, then a change happens on his face, a realisation. "Y/n..." With bated breath, you lock your eyes with his, melting into the deep brown. "This- this whole situation has taught me something. That I'd rather make connections and prioritise feelings, even at the cost of what I'm supposed to do. I've lost someone very dear to me today, but the reality is, I lost her the moment I cleared all the butterflies out of the hut. And god, Y/n, I don't think I can bear to lose you too."
Your eyes widen, taken aback by the earnestness of his voice and the vulnerability in his face. "Jiminie..."
His eyes soften visibly at the way you call his name, his upper half leaning closer towards you, so that your faces are less than half a metre apart. Too far to touch, but close enough that you can make out every detail on his face, the way his eyebrows knit together and lift, the dark pink in your peripheral where he run his teeth over his bottom lip. "I've been so scared. So scared of the day I would have to leave you, that I'd tried to act like I didn't care, but I can't do it. If I have another two months here, I want to spend them at your side, not just under the same roof. I just... I have two questions. Firstly; what was it you said on the lookout tower that day? The Spanish sentence, I mean."
Feeling overwhelmed, your lips stretch into a fond smile when you recall it. "Cada vez que yo te veo y que te pienso, siento que florezco."
"That's it," he nods, "what does it mean?"
Somehow it feels less romantic in Korean, and you blush, having to fight to keep your eyes on him. "Every time I look at you or think about you I feel like I'm blooming."
A shy smile of wonder lights up his face. "You- even then, you liked me? I thought I was the only one then."
"You liked me too?" He nods sheepishly. "Since when?"
"The first time."
You give a confused head shake. "The first time what?"
"The first time I saw you," he reveals in a delicate voice.
Speechless, you just stare at him in shock for a moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, you clear your throat. "Wh-what's the second question?"
His voice drops to a lower register, honey like his hair. "Can I kiss you?"
Your breath catches. Instead of answering, you lean forward to close the distance, cupping his cheeks to guide his mouth to yours. Those lips, the ones you had spent hours fantasising about, felt like heaven against you, soft and warm and plush. Jimin goes still in surprise for a brief moment before he melts, the lightest vibration of a whimper tingling your lips. Belatedly, his hands lift to steady your hips and you sigh, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss.
You can feel his round cheeks warming beneath your fingers, his nose pressing against the apple of your cheekbone, and a tickle on your scalp where Baby flutters. But beyond that, beyond the silk of his lips and the beautiful gasps he lets out, there's a rising wave of euphoria inside you, and you can't help but smile into the kiss, overjoyed.
Not breaking for a second, you shuffle forward, slipping one hand into his hair, which is softer than cotton, longer than it was when you came without a hairdresser nearby to tidy it up. Winding locks around your fingers, you tug lightly from the nape of his neck to tip his head a little further back.
Jimin whines, one hand flying up to grip onto your wrist and you pull back in concern. He follows your lips, eyes staying lidded as he sucks in breaths through his mouth.
"Are you-" you stutter, "was that too much? I'm sorry."
He blinks at last and gives you a bleary look, sucking his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. "It's okay, it's just- Maybe not the right time and place."
You sit back, head clearing. "Right, yeah, that's fair."
Jimin's eyes drop to the ground with a coy, but still shy smile. "I would very much like to do that again. Preferably a lot."
You go to laugh, but grimace when you feel the dried tears on your cheeks. Yeah, definitely not the. right time or place. "Let's go home," you say softly, standing up off the ground. "I don't know about you, but I think it's about time we opened up our windows again. So Baby and the others can come back home too."
Jimin beams up and you and nods. "Let's go home," he echoes simply.
--
"Morning, Jiminie," you coo, tilting your head up onto the back of the couch so he can press a soft kiss on your forehead.
"Good morning, baby," he returns, smiling against your skin before straightening up again. "Not going out on the porch today?"
You let out a dry two-beat laugh. Outside, the campground is basically a mudslide, tropical rain beating down, pattering on the roof noisily. "Did you shut the windows?"
He collapses onto the couch beside you with a sigh, arms already winding around your middle to snuggle in close. "...almost all the way, yes." At your look of reproach, Jimin elaborates. "And I put towels on the floor under the window sills."
Unable to stay mad at him, especially not when he throws a leg over your lap and tucks in like a koala, you laugh begrudgingly. "I guess that's the best I'm gonna get, huh? Lazy day today? All my tours have been cancelled and I can't imagine you'll get much done out there either."
With a hum of agreement, Jimin lifts his head, resting it on your shoulder to look up at you. "That means it's just the two of us," he states coyly.
"Mm, and about thirty flying bugs. Romantic."
Jimin's brows tug down sharply as he glares at you, though without any real malice. "They are too romantic, and you know they aren't technically bugs. I put some sugar water on my desk for them, we can just ignore them."
You pretend to ponder for a moment, his face so close you have to pull back to fully see it. "Fine, but to be clear the butterflies stay out during sex."
He sits up, an unreadable expression dulling his eyes.
In response, you widen yours. "Wait... You don't seriously want the butterflies around while we're having sex, right? Is that some kind of lepidopterist thing? Because if so, I am not-"
"It's not that," he blurts hastily, "it's just..."
You let all playful humour drop from your voice, leaving only concern. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, Jiminie. I didn't mean to upset you."
He slips his arms back from around your torso. Before you can mourn the loss of his body heat, he latches onto your arm and cuddles into your side, covering his face with your shoulder. You can feel just how hot his cheeks are, and reach out with your other hand to tenderly card your fingers through his hair, hoping to calm him down.
"You'll laugh at me," he mumbles, lips moving against your bare skin. You tut softly, assuring him otherwise, but still it takes him a few moments to work up the courage. "I haven't...done it before."
"That's it?" you question softly. Jimin just lets out a miserable whine. "Jiminie, that's no biggie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you or anything. We can just take things slow."
He sits himself up a little, then, propping his cheek on your shoulder to look you in the eye. You suppress the twitch of your lip as you see the way it pushes his plush lips out and crinkles his eye with the displacement of the flesh of his cheek. "I want to though," he protests in a pout. "Because I like kissing so much, and I like you so much. I'm just...I don't know if I'm ready yet."
You hum in thought, cupping his free cheek fondly. "Is there a reason you haven't had sex before, or has the opportunity just never really come up?"
He shrugs cutely, leaning into your touch. "Well...Taehyungie-" He breaks off, fixing you with an imploring look. "You can't tell him I told you this."
Your lips stretch into a grin at the thought that he's expecting the two of you to meet one day. "I promise I won't."
With a resounding nod, Jimin continues. "Well, Taehyungie and I have always lived together since we moved out for university. He was always more confident than me, and so he- he slept with a bunch of people. Which is like, good for him, you know, I'm not judging at all, but... I don't know, from what he told me and what I...heard, it just sounded really aggressive and, um, intense. I don't think I can be like that. I don't know if it's really my thing. So I- I just never really did it."
You furrow your brows, processing his words. "Jiminie, sex doesn't have to be like that. Some people like it like that, others don't. It can be as gentle as you want, you know that, right?"
With a whine, he pulls away from you and buries his face in his hands. "God, this is so embarrassing," he moans miserably, "I'm sorry, I'm such a wuss."
"No, stop that," you chastise, softly linking your hands around his delicate wrists and pulling them away from his face, gazing into his puppy brown eyes intensely. "I'm serious, Jiminie, there's nothing wrong with not wanting that. Besides, we... stop me if this is too far, but we don't have to go all the way."
He blinks, lips moving silently before he collects his thoughts. "Do you- what do you mean?"
"Well, instead of going straight to sex, we could do other stuff instead. I could go down on you, if you want. Baby steps, you know? We don't have to rush."
His hands fall down the length of your arm, dropping to your free hand where he fiddles unconsciously with your fingers. "Baby steps?" he echoes.
You beam and nod. "Yeah. But only if you want to, only if you're ready." You carefully detach yourself from him, standing up off the couch. "Just think about it, and when you've made a decision you can-" You cut yourself off when your arm is tugged back by two small hands. "Jiminie?"
"I want it," he confesses decidedly, "I'm ready." His eyes turn soft, and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around your wrist and hand weaken. "Just gentle?"
Your heart melts in an instant and you can't help but stare down at him in wonder. "How are you so perfect?" you breathe, bending down to press a single kiss across his lips. "I'll be gentle, I promise." You go to leave again, but his grip doesn't falter, keeping you rooted. Bottom lip sticking out, Jimin looks up at you with rounded eyes. "Right now?" you ask in surprise. He nods, stutteringly. "Here?"
This causes him to pause. "Maybe...the bed?"
"Whose bed?"
More deliberation. "Y-your bed."
"My bed it is." You lead him, connected by the hands that still latch onto your arm. Your room, unfortunately, is a bit messy, not having expected the turn of events, and you hastily pull up the duvet and pat out the wrinkles, gesturing awkwardly for him to lie down.
Doing so, he hops up and wriggles so that his head is on the pillows, staring directly at the ceiling with startled eyes like a patient in a doctor's office. It would make you laugh if you weren't so worried about him feeling comfortable. "Jiminie," you coo softly, "if you aren't comfortable-"
"Maybe some kissing first," he blurts suddenly, lifting his head off the pillow to look at you, eyes rounded and pleading.
You beam, lying down on your side next to him. "I can't say no to that."
A smile stretches across his lips, which you soon cover with your own, leaning down to press a light kiss against them. He sighs, already relaxing further as his eyes flutter shut, sinking into the pillows.
Fingers splayed across his jaw, you litter countless pecks on his mouth, never more than a brush of pressure, until the bed shakes a little with him kicking out his feet. You pull back, replacing your smile with a look of innocence. "Is that too much, Jiminie?"
He pouts, snaking the arm closest to you around your torso so that you can slip closer. "Don't tease me," he whines, lip and brow crumpling to obtain your sympathy, but avoiding your gaze with red cheeks. "I jus' want you to take care of me."
"Of course I will, Jiminie, I'm sorry," you say with a rueful smile. "But do tell me if it gets too much, okay? I want you to be happy."
He nods, pushing his head back onto the pillow, slightly on an angle to face you. "I will, I promise." His fingers find yours, tentatively intertwining your hands together, eyes low. "Can you kiss me again?"
You answer not with words but with a kiss, a proper one this time, lips pressing intently but still tenderly against his. A relieved sigh leaves his mouth, but it's swallowed up between you, Jimin tightening his arm around you so that your bodies fall flush against each other, one of your legs between his. With closed eyes, the feeling of him against you is even more magical; all plush lips, desperately grasping fingers and trembling body.
Even without a hand free to touch his face - one hand holding his and the other propping you up - you can feel the warmth of his cheeks, an overwhelmed blush that he can't seem to control, and the way he's responding to you triggers a heat inside you too. You deepen the kiss, parting your lips enough to let your tongue run down the seam of his mouth, Jimin letting out a surprised gasp that grants you entry. Though it had been just over three weeks since you'd first kissed him, it had always stayed very light, you waiting for him to make a move. Now, though, you realise that he's probably been waiting for you this whole time.
"'s this okay?" you check in, murmured against his lips.
Jimin shakily takes a breath, nodding in tiny jerks so as not to break the contact. "Ye- keep going," he pleads in a whisper.
Every time your tongue meets his, or swipes over the inner, more sensitive skin of his lips, he gasps, fingers flexing around yours. When adjusting your position, your leg brushes against his crotch and he shudders. He's hard.
Carefully monitoring his reaction even as you continue to move your mouth sweetly against his, you shift your leg again, brushing against the front of his shorts, fabric taut over the crotch. A throaty, keening whine leaves his lips, his mouth going slack. When he speaks, the tiniest puff of air is all that comes out, but you hear him still. "Please."
You let your hand go slack, pulling it down, but Jimin holds on tighter, refusing to let go. With him unable to kiss you back, you press your lips to his cheek, down to his jawline, the sensitive skin just below his ear.
He wriggles beneath you, already overwhelmed with just that simple touch, but also tugs your entwined hands lower between his legs, shifting his hips with a needy whimper.
"You need to let go, Jiminie," you instruct softly, "let go of my hand so I can touch you."
Reluctantly, his fingers untangle from yours, instead gripping onto a handful of your duvet. You take this as a green light to go ahead, and fiddle with the button of his shorts, gently flicking your tongue and sucking gently at the soft point where his jaw meets his neck, a sign of what's to come.
Once you manage to undo his shorts you instruct him to take them off, sitting back to watch him restlessly shuffle out of them, legs lifting so he can grab the fabric while still lying down, folding them and placing them to his other side, close to the wall. After lying flat again, Jimin blinks owlishly at you, hand covering his crotch. You move it aside gently, back to the duvet, and he buries his flaming cheeks into the crook of your shoulder, toes wiggling in embarrassment.
He wears simple white cotton briefs, a narrow trail of near-translucent hair peeking out from above the waistband, legs twisting together self-consciously, though it only makes his straining erection more obvious. "You're gorgeous, Jiminie," you say honestly, "so perfect."
His legs go lax, though they don't shift apart, ankles crossed, though that's okay for now. Not wanting to spook him, you start slow, cupping him over his underwear, thumb locating his sensitive head easily due to the coin-sized wet patch of the fabric above it. His thighs tremble even at the light stimulation, and he shakily lifts his head, pouting and straining for another kiss.
Continuing your slow, shallow circles of your thumb over him to ease him into it, you capture his lips again, shifting the arm propping you up on the pillow so that your hand can cup his head, massaging his scalp and keeping him in place.
"Does it feel good, Jiminie?" you question when you part from him to take a breath.
His eyes stay shut, cherubic lashes fluttering as he sucks his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. "Feels really good," he confirms in a husky yet melodic voice. "Can I have some more?"
"Of course you can, my sweet prince," you allow warmly. Shifting your hand away from his crotch, you smooth your palm over his hipbone, and then up under his t-shirt to brush up his side, making him shiver. "Do you wanna take your shirt off too, or just your underwear?"
His mouth turns down slightly at being made to make a decision, as he blinks his eyes open blearily. "But you still have all your clothes on," he protests faintly.
"I can take my clothes off if it makes you feel comfortable," you offer easily, "it's up to you."
Jimin purses his lips to the side in thought. "Maybe...we both take our shirts off? I- I wanna see you too."
Clearly he hadn't thought it through too much, because his mouth drops open in upset shock when you detangle yourself from him to sit up, shucking your shirt off and helping him to lift off his.
"Am I keeping my shorts on?" you question, but he just shrugs cutely, looking up at you from below his lashes. You smile. "I'll leave them on then, this is about you. Jiminie, can I take your underwear off now?"
With a deep breath, he nods nervously, letting you slide them over his hips and down off his legs, leaving him bare to you. You can see the way his fingers tighten on the duvet, probably with the urge to cover himself again, but you're glad he doesn't
Resting back against his stomach, his cock drips clear fluid onto the tan skin, a glossy patch that you long to run your finger through. You're surprised at just how hard he is, the head a deeply flushed pink and a single vein running up the underside. He's thicker than most you've seen, if a little shorter, and there's a delicate curve to him that makes you long to have him inside you. Not today, though. For now, you simply lie back down beside him, bringing him into a kiss meant to distract.
Rather than going straight towards his dick, though it's probably aching for attention, you instead return your hand to his side, smoothing broad strokes over his overheating skin as your tongue and lips move against his slightly-parted mouth.
Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and very lightly grazing your teeth, you simultaneously thumb at one of his dusky pink nipples, pulling a stuttered moan from his open mouth.
"I wan' you to touch me," Jimin makes out through gasped breaths, chest writhing as you continue to play with his sensitive peak.
"I am touching you," you retort simply.
"Down there!"
Unable to deny riling up the responsive boy, you let the tips of your fingers run down the centre of his chest, right to the bottom of his torso, before skating to the side and skimming down his trembling thigh, gripping the muscled flesh. "Here?" Jimin whines out a no, and you raise your hand higher, pointer finger pressing at his hip bone. "Here?"
Breaking away from your mouth, Jimin wriggles his head in a shake, calling your name unhappily.
Taking mercy, you suddenly reach over and wrap your fingers around his shaft, thumb pressing down on his weeping slit. "Here?"
His back arches and he sucks in a moan, hand reaching over to grip your wrist as his eyes clench tightly shut. "Y-yes," he cries helplessly, curling sideways towards you, head shifting so that his fevered cheek presses against your other hand on the pillow.
"That's it," you coo, stroking up to collect some of the pooling wetness to use as lubricant, heart swelling at the beautiful sounds falling from his parted lips. "I'll take care of you, yeah?"
He nods his head shakily, already seeming so far gone after less than a minute, panting, writhing as you tighten your grip around him just enough to provide more pleasure. "Take care of Minnie," Jimin chants mindlessly, rocking his hips into your grip.
With a fond smile, you sit up, taking your hand off him so you can lower yourself between his legs, parting them with both hands even as he kicks them out in frustration. "Just be patient," you chastise, "I said I'd go down on you, didn't I?"
His breath catches and eyes open wide, marveling at the sight of you lying between his legs. "O-okay," he stammers, swallowing hard. "It'll feel good too?"
"It'll feel even better," you promise, gripping him gently, "just tell me if it's too much."
With bated breath and blown pupils, Jimin waits as you teasingly press kisses up his length, following the raised outline of the vein.
It seems like he's calmed down enough, so you lick a bold stripe up the path you'd set, Jimin's moaned sigh like music to your ears. His thighs are tensed up on your shoulders, and you can see the way his lower abdomen flexes, muscles shifting beneath golden skin.
"Relax, Minnie," you say, "you're okay." He does his best to let his muscles go lax, throwing an arm over his eyes, and you take the chance to put your tongue on him again, this time slowly dipping it into the slit at his tip where precum pools, a burst of tanginess that you can't say you mind. His mouth dangles loosely open, lips a dark pink like his tip with all the blood that's rushed to it. He's beautiful.
"Alright?" you check in, and he gives a shallow nod, tilting his hips up in the search for more stimulation. You continue simply laving your tongue over him for a few moments, getting him used to it, before angling him over your mouth and wrapping your lips around his head, sucking lightly.
With a strangled moan, his legs close like clams on either side of you, back arching clean off the bed. His fingers fisted taut in the duvet, he rocks his upper half side-to-side, other hand clutching at the corner of the pillow. Shocked, you lift yourself off of him, concerned it was too much, but this gets even more of a reaction, a high, needy keen ripping out of his throat as his hips jerk up, hiccuping out a, "ple-ease."
"Oh, Minnie," you coo softly, "did you like it? I didn't want to overwhelm you."
When his arm lowers from across his face, it reveals begging eyes bright with tears. "'S good," he whines, bottom lip trembling, "just got a fright."
Your lips stretch into a disbelieving smile. "A fright? Why; because I sucked?"
One of his hands stretches wide, fingers making grabby motions. You use the hand not currently on his dick to hold onto it and bring it to your mouth, pressing an apologetic kiss to the back of his hand.
Jimin swallows and shakes his head. "C-cause it was so w-warm." The way he hiccups through his words, out of his mind with need and still so sweet, has you melting. "You can do it again, though. I want it."
Acquiescing, still with a comforting grip on his hand, you lower your mouth again, this time going deeper so that the flat of your tongue drags against his underside. His fingers tense around yours, but his legs go lax, instead beginning to rock his hips in place, like his body doesn't know what to do with the pleasure.
The weight of him on your tongue is enough to have you drooling, making the slide even easier as you bob slowly, sucking steadily. On every upstroke, your tongue catches and flicks at the underside of his head, and he jerks each time, breath catching and exhaling in stuttered moans.
He sounds so beautiful above you that you feel your own core heating in need, clenching your thighs with the urge for stimulation. But this is about him, so you push the thought aside and pull up off Jimin's cock so you can focus your attention at his head, which so far seems far more sensitive than the shaft.
It only takes a few deft laps and shallow bobs before his whimpering and squirming beneath you, unable to stay still. His eyes have long since clenched shut, brows knitting with a wide open mouth as he's overcome with pleasure.
You use the hand that holds him steady to jerk off what's not in your mouth, and a low, guttural moan falls out of his mouth, tapering up into a squeak as he suddenly gets harder and spurts into your mouth, convulsing as you lap up all the cum that spills from his tip, swallowing as you go. It's more than you'd usually expect from oral, and you imagine that's a pairing of it being his first time, as well as the fact that he didn't see the type to masturbate often.
He curls up in on himself when the pleasure turns to sharp overstimulation, and you release him, his spent cock lying against his thigh, and you give him a few moments of rest to come down, holding tightly onto his hand and rubbing comfortingly at the outer side of his leg with the other, feeling how strongly he shivers beneath you.
Once he finally calms down, taking deeper breaths, you swing your legs over the bed and stand up, patting the back of his hand as an indication to let go. "You can use my bathroom if you want, Jiminie. Or just take a nap here. I should give you some time."
"Wait," Jimin protests in a low pout, laboriously propping himself up to a sitting position. "Kisses?"
You beam, leaning down to press a fond kiss across his silken lips. "Happy?"
Jimin nods with a blissed-out smile, and you swallow a chuckle at his ruffled honey locks and flushed cheeks. "So happy."
"I'm glad to hear it, my sweet prince," you coo, "but if you want more kisses, I better go brush my teeth."
--
The second report comes and goes, approved. More and more days are met with rain as the seasons change, and gradually Jimin becomes more comfortable with you, the two of you making the choice one day to push your two beds together after Jimin had rolled out of your bed one too many times from falling asleep cuddling. He promises he'll come to you when he's ready to take the next step, but as your final month counts down, a dark cloud begins to hover over the two of you. The fact that he'll have to go home soon. Too soon.
You hate that you've got a mental countdown blaring in your mind, but speaking to Jimin about it makes it real, and so you promise yourself later, always later that you'll bring it up, letting yourself make him tea and breathe his scent and feel his lips on yours in ignorant bliss just a bit more.
That works until you don't have any laters left. That works until you sit on his bed with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching him pack his bags. "Are you looking forward to going back?" you ask in a small voice.
Jimin, looking like a vision even in a ratty pink t-shirt and plain shorts, pauses with an armful of textbooks. "I'm... I'm excited to see Tae again," he answers with a nostalgic smile. "We've been chatting online a bunch lately. He's going to pick me up from the airport."
You have to bite down hard on your lip to prevent the sting of tears. "Does he know? About us?"
With indecision clear on his face, Jimin runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that always seem to fall on his face, long overdue for a haircut. "I- To be honest, I don't really know what to say. I don't even know what to say to you."
"About what?"
"About us," he emphasises, dropping his textbooks with a thud on the floor and sitting on top of his first filled suitcase. "We never really had a conversation about it, you know? I know we should've, but... I don't really know where we go from here."
You nod, staring into the murky depths of your now-unappetising tea. "Well... We know you have to go back to Korea. To argue your thesis."
"Defend my thesis," he corrects softly, "but yes. Other than that, though, I still need to go over it with my supervisor, there are a few rounds of editing and finalising. It- it's not like a week back to finish off. I'll be there for a while. Probably a couple months at minimum."
"Minimum? I guess you'll stay there."
Jimin rests his elbows on his knees, head ducked and propped up in his hands. "I- I know what I want to do, but I'm scared to ask the question."
You frown. "The question?"
He looks up, takes a deep breath. "If I... If I wanted to come back, would you wait for me?"
"Come back?" you repeat, barely breathing.
Jimin's eyes glint; he's trying not to cry. "I didn't wanna speak too soon, but the more I think about it, I don't think I can just leave and never come back. I'm in love with you, Y/n. For a long time, now."
Your nose prickles violently, and you let out a shaky breath. "I love you too, Jiminie, so much. Of course I'll wait. As long as you promise you will come back to me."
Jimin nods, brushing back his hair again. "I've been thinking about that too."
You furrow your brows, putting the mug of tea onto his nightstand. "Coming back?"
"A promise," he clarifies. "To show that you're the one for me. That I wanna be with you." He takes a breath to steady himself. "I want to do it tonight, before I go. Have sex."
You sit upright, eyes widening. "Are you sure? Jimin, that's a big deal."
"Like I said, I've been thinking about it. I'm ready, and there's nobody I'd rather do it with than you. I trust you, and... and I love you."
"I love you too," you reply softly, and it feels even more right to say the second time, an unfurling of pure joy in your heart.
"Can we do it now?" he asks immediately, brows lifting to emphasise his pleading puppy eyes.
"Jiminie, you haven't even finished packing-"
"That doesn't matter," he interjects, "I can do that tomorrow morning, the shuttle comes at 10. I need you now, Y/n." He stands up only to crouch at the bedside beside you, grasping your hands. "Take care of Minnie again."
Your breath leaves your lungs in one defeated sigh. Like always, you can't say no to him, not that you even want to. "Okay, Minnie. Let's go to my room."
Though you've gone down on him a few times after his first, Jimin hadn't stopped being so sensitive, and so as you lazily make out (Jimin a little more rushed than you), you let your hand dip underneath his shirt, flicking at a nipple with a thumb you'd wet in your mouth moments earlier. Like clockwork, he trembles under your ministrations, this time hunched on top of you, straddling your lap and bending to meet your mouth.
He's gotten far more confident at kissing, and you're in heaven as he holds your face in both hands, licking into your mouth but whimpering from your touch all the while.
With his legs on either side of your hips, you can feel his hardness pressing down on you, already so eager, and you can't help but sigh blissfully when he rocks his hips unconsciously.
"Minnie," you make out between kisses, "too many clothes."
He tries valiantly to remove his shirt while remaining firmly joined at the lips, huffing when he has to sit up to pull it off. You quickly follow suit, but take the added step of removing your bra.
The first time he's seen your breasts, Jimin's mouth drops open, a look of awe glimmering in his eyes. You arch your back, wanting nothing more than for those sinful lips to wrap around your stiff peaks.
"You're so beautiful, my love," he gushes in wonder.
"You can touch," you whisper, though really it's code for please touch.
Chest heaving, he cups your breasts with gentle hands, thumbs skimming over the sensitive nipples like you'd done to him. The electricity of his slightly calloused fingertips on your skin is sent right to your core, and you let out a shaky breath, his hands rising and falling with it.
"Good?" he questions softly, and you nod, sighing out your confirmation. Jimin blinks down at you, wetting his lips. "Can I...?"
Without a second's hesitation, you nod, hoping he means what you think he means. You're proven right when he ducks his head, hot mouth latching onto your right nipple. The contact sends a bolt of arousal through you and you whimper as he immediately begins to suck, hard.
"Jimin," you make out in a strangled voice, taken aback by his sudden vigor. "Oh, god, it's so go-"
"Minnie," he interrupts, bringing his face up to your neck without lifting his mouth so that he leaves a wet trail ran behind him, "it's Minnie."
You laugh breathily, but your grin drops away to a shocked moan as he hungrily laps at your skin, sucking lovebites over your pulse point in a way that has you arching your neck, desperate for more. "Fuck, Minnie, where did this come from?"
"Wanna make you feel good," you hear in a muffled sigh, feeling the vibration on your skin. With a boldness you hadn't associated with him before, Jimin reaches between you and rolls your other nipple between his fingers, grasping at the flesh and tugging roughly.
Though it feels better than you'd like to admit, something's wrong, and you pull him away. "Wait, wait," you ease, struggling to detach both his hand and mouth from you. Once he realises you want him off you, he sits up with the confused look of a kicked puppy. "Do you not like it?"
His hands hang limply at his sides, and you interlock your fingers to reassure him. "Minnie, how come you're acting like this? You've never been this way before."
He blinks, a dimpled line between his brows where he furrows them. "Because we're having sex," he answers in an uncertain tone, "and I wanted to make you feel good. Is it not right?"
Belatedly, you recall a conversation you'd had about a month ago, about his friend's sexual habits. Poor Jimin really had internalised one man's preferences as the rule of thumb and taken it to heart. "Minnie," you say in a soft voice, and his face crumples, sending a spike of pain through your heart. "It's not wrong, it's just not...us, is it? Don't you want it to be gentle?"
Jimin sniffs, turning his head to the side, but not before you glance a tear tracking down his cheek. "I- Yeah, I like gentle. But Taehyungie-"
"Was Taehyung in love with the people he was having sex with?" you cut in to ask. "I don't want you to fuck me, Minnie, I want you to make love to me."
Sat on your lap, he looks so small, sniffling away. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," you coo, "don't think about how anyone else does it. Let's just do what feels good for us. You wanna do that?"
Jimin nods with a rueful pout, quietly leaning down so that he was lying on your bare chest, face tucked into the crook of your neck.
"Oh, sweetie," you murmur into the waves of his honey-blonde hair, a hand coming down to rub over his back. "We'll have all the time in the world when you get back to try new things if you want. I just want to make this one special for you, yeah? What do you wanna do, Minnie? Do you want to be on top or do you want to lie down?"
He shifts, relaxing within your embrace. When he speaks, you have to strain to hear it. "I- I thought maybe both of us lying down. Under the covers so it's comfy." He lifts his head back to meet your eyes. "Can we still face each other?"
You brush back his hair with a fond smile, nodding. "Of course. Do you wanna finish getting undressed and we can both get under the covers, hm?"
Your duvet is the thinnest possible one you could find, but even so, it feels like a furnace when the two of you curl up, lying on your sides to face each other.
Jimin seems considerably more calm and content with his setup, giggling as you plant kisses all over his face.
"Happy?" you ask, just to be sure, and Jimin nods decisively, eyes bright no longer with tears but with warmth and love. "Ready?"
He nods again, humming in confirmation, so you run a hand over his shoulder, down his side and dipping over his crotch to take a hold of him, being able to better see his pleasured expressions as you stroke him to full hardness.
Having his face so close, though, is too much of a temptation, and so you lean forward to capture his lips again, deeper this time, hooking a leg over his hips.
One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, and he sighs beautifully into your mouth. "So happy," he mumbles, and your heart leaps as his lips form the words.
Reaching between your spread legs to gather some wetness - which is more abundant than you were expecting, though you've been aching for stimulation down there for a while - you use it to slick Jimin's cock up, preparing him for an easier entry.
His breathing stutters with a hitched moan, already starting to shiver. You smile at his responsiveness, before focussing on lining him up, head dipping just slightly into you.
You can tell the exact moment Jimin realises he's inside you by the way he goes stock still, holding his breath in anticipation. "Still okay?" you confirm, and he mumbles the affirmative.
Unable to keep kissing as you push your hips down on him, you simply pant into his mouth, moaning as he fills you out.
The elegant upwards curve of his cock means that it presses along your top wall, making your thighs jerk when his tip hits your g-spot. "You're so good inside me, Minnie," you praise against his lips, groaning throatily when you finally take all of him, "do I feel good?"
He bites his lip with a whimper, hand on your hip moving to grasp clumsily at your ass cheek, like he wants to make sure he stays buried inside. "It's so tight," he gasps, "I- oh god, it's amazing, I love you so much."
You giggle lightly at his odd choice of timing on the love confession, inadvertently clenching around him which makes Jimin let out a stuttered high keen, curling inwards and jerking his hips to thrust shallowly.
You hiss in a breath, not expecting him to move so soon, but the feeling of being full, of it being Jimin hitting those spots inside you, is too addictive to stay still for much longer.
You start rutting against him in a slow rock, so that he doesn't quite slip all the way out of you before you grind back down, and his hand tenses on the meat of your ass, mouth falling slack.
With no urge to pick up the pace, you simply let Jimin and you enjoy the sensations of being connected on such an intimate level, nosing his chin back so that you can lap tenderly at the skin of his neck, picking a sensitive spot just above his collarbone to softly suck a reminder, something he can take back to Korea with him.
The thought of him leaving makes your heart sink, and to fill the void you begin to pick up your pace, building a delicious heat low in your stomach that has you moaning every breath. "M-minnie, I'm getting close, can you cum with me?"
"Y-yeah, I wanna cum. With- With you," he pants with a full-body shudder, hand leaving your ass to slide up to your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you to him, gasping prettily into the air until you lift your head away from his neck to join your lips again, kissing him like it's oxygen.
You take the chance to slip a hand down and rub at your aching clit, and the extra sensation has you bearing down on him, causing him to start meeting your thrusts halfway.
Like a chain reaction, the pleasure between the two of you skyrockets until you meet your edge, toes curling and rocking needily against him, wanting to feel him fall apart too.
He cums with a high shout, gripping desperately onto your shoulder as he rides the intense waves, ebbing as you throb rhythmically around him with the force of your orgasm.
The two of you pant, mouths connected but too blissed out to properly kiss, and slowly your hips still, bodies wracked with aftershocks for a few minutes of nothing but the sound of you catching your breath.
Surprisingly, it's Jimin that speaks up first, eyes at half-mast as he nuzzles his nose against yours. "Can we stay like this? Sleep like this?"
In his vulnerable eyes, you read the fear of reality, of the fact that he's really leaving tomorrow. You can't say no to Jimin, never have been able to, but neither do you want to.
Instead, you simply press one last, tired kiss across his swollen lips. "Goodnight, Jiminie. I love you."
An almost inaudible sigh of relief. "I love you too."
--
It’s a day off.
That doesn’t mean you sleep in, though. You don’t know of a single person on the reserve that has been able to stay unconscious past sunrise without medical intervention. The chirps and calls of birds, buzzing of insects and drone of cicadas begins the moment the sun rises, sometimes even earlier, and while the cover of towering canopies filters out most of the light in the dense rainforest, the lodge camp is on an open meadow, and so you can’t avoid the heat that quickly sets in.
You’re happy to be up early, though, because you're waiting for someone.
You always take this time of the morning to sit on the porch and drink a cup of tea, but today is different. You've already set up the spare room with a blow-up mattress, keeping the two single beds pushed together in your room. The fridge is stocked thanks to an antsy trip to Quito yesterday, and all night you were filled with restless energy.
Now, though, a sense of calm washes over you like deja vu. A contented warmth that blooms inside you when you finish your hot tea, eyes on the far end of the campground where you can see two figures chatting back and forth.
You stand, but you don't rush over, knowing they'll come to you. The short blonde, paler after returning from Korea, and at his side, a taller, dark-haired figure. Even though you've never met this second man, you recognise the boxy smile he wears as he glances around the campsite in wonder. The same smile that you'd first seen in a framed photo in Jimin's room.
A hand on his friend's back, Jimin points out your cabin, his eyes finding yours, crinkling shut with the radiant beam that stretches across his face.
Home.
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suga-kookiemonster · a year ago
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cloud nine | pjm
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summary⇢ “he’s here again,” viv whispers. “you know who. the hot guy who’s totally into you.” and he is hot--devastatingly hot enough that you know he can’t actually be into you, because the universe simply doesn’t work that way. that still doesn’t stop your heart from pounding when he smiles at you from across the room. pairing⇢ jimin/reader word count⇢ 5.4k rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | horror warnings⇢ sexual content, dubcon, blood, biting, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, honestly jimin is crazy af. just out of his got!!!damn mind 
a/n⇢  this idea has been sitting in my drafts for at least two years now, but for some reason, i thought hey, i should finally write it for jimin’s birthday. then his birthday passed and i thought that’s cool. it can be for halloween. needless to say...happy seokjin’s birthday, jimin ☠️☠️merry christmas, baby boy 💕🤣
THIS FIC IS NOT CUTE. you’ve been warned 👀 also, as i always do, i’ve been staring at this for too long and am overthinking it and idk how i feel about it anymore. but take it anyway 😭mood is this song~
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“He’s here again,” Viv whispers.
It’s only with great, pointed effort that you don’t look up, putting all your energy into focusing on counting the correct change for the awaiting customer at your register. “Who?” you ask, hoping to come off disinterested, but knowing full well who she’s talking about. Who you spend each shift hoping will show up.
“You know who,” your friend hisses, but she has the good sense to wait until you have given the customer the receipt and they’ve turned to leave the store before elaborating. “The guy.” Viv starts not-so-subtly tipping her head in his direction. “The hot guy who’s totally into you.”
Without anything to distract you, your eyes naturally gravitate towards said hot guy. He’s browsing the new display of holiday scents you had set up a couple days ago, and now that it’s close to closing time, he’s the only customer in the store. Honestly, it can’t be helped that your gaze travels over his lithe form, seemingly poured into a pair of black skinny jeans that—even from across the room—showcase thick thighs and a fantastic ass.
He’s been blessing you with his presence for the past couple months or so, often popping into your store during your nightshifts and making you weak in the knees while he did nothing more than peruse your candle selection, engage in pleasant small talk, and send you smiles that crinkled his eyes in the corners. Viv, a frequent spectator to these interactions, is well aware of your little crush, and has now got it into her head that the two of you could actually be a thing. A reciprocal thing that does not live entirely in your imagination. You appreciate her enthusiasm, but you’re also not delusional.
“He’s not into me,” you murmur shyly, forcing yourself to avert your gaze in case he caught you.
Viv shoots you an incredulous look. “_____—he comes in here all the time. Nobody needs that many fucking candles!” She shakes her head. “I mean, the other option is that he summons demons and shit, but I feel like in that case it would be fiscally irresponsible to spend extra for candles that smell like clean linen. But the fact that he only ever comes to your register makes me think the first option is more likely. He’s into you.”
“Maybe he’s a rich demon summoner,” you counter smartly. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like you.”
Viv is visibly unamused by your jest. She’s told you before that though she’s seen him occasionally walk by the store when she’s had a shift without you, she’s only ever seen him actually come in and buy something from you specifically. You want to joke that it’s due to your vast knowledge of aromatics, but excitement bubbles in your stomach despite your best efforts.
The handsome stranger casually walks from one display to the next, naturally looking in your direction in the process. You freeze.
“Welcome to Heaven Scent,” Viv says cheerily, her customer-service voice turned on. “Can we help you find anything?”
“A-Ah, no thank you.” He seems a bit caught a bit off-guard at being addressed, a shy smile touching his lips. His soft brown eyes roam over to you. “I’m just looking.”
Your heart pounds in your ears. His smile grows.
Viv looks like the cat that ate the canary, I told you so coming off her in waves. “Well, you just let us know!” she tells him sweetly, before turning her attention to you with a mischievous look in her eye. “Ah, I forgot that I was supposed to check inventory of the beach scents before closing today—I’ll be in the back if you need me, okay?”
“Vivienne,” you hiss, unable to keep the underlying distress from your tone. Is she really going to leave you with him? The gorgeous stranger? Sex on legs? Doesn’t she know you well enough by now to realize that if told to sink or swim, this is a situation in which you are going to completely embarrass yourself and sink?
Either she doesn’t know, or she doesn’t care, because Viv only waggles her fingers saucily at you and disappears into the back room, nonplussed by the daggers you stare into her back.
You let out a shuddery breath, stopping yourself at the last second from nervously picking at the bug bite on your neck. Willing yourself to act normally and not like a starstruck moron. But you don’t have much time to catch your bearings, as the handsome customer casually picks up two candles from the table he is browsing and starts heading your way without smelling them.
“Find everything okay?” you croak, awkwardly clearing your throat.
He smiles at you again. “Yes. Thank you, _____.”
The sound of your name on his tongue startles you, your hand pausing in its reach for one of his candles, before you remember the name tag pinned to your shirt. Stupid.
Your heart pounds in your ears. His smile widens. You try not to notice, because you’re not sure you can stop yourself from staring at the plush lips you may or may not have had many an inappropriate thought about.
Your fingers wrap around the candle, on autopilot as you start to ring him up.
“I’m Jimin, by the way,” he says, propriety forcing you to look up from your task and meet his kind eyes. “I feel like we see each other around a lot, but haven’t properly spoken.”
Your lips twitch, and you bite them to suppress the smile that wants to erupt across your face. “You’re right,” you agree easily. “Nice to meet you, Jimin.”
Something flits across his expression, but it’s gone too quickly for you to properly recognize it. He quietly watches you ring up his items for a few moments, handing you his credit card when prompted. It isn’t until you’re passing him his receipt that he speaks again. “Listen, I’m sorry if this is weird, and I know this is a bit forward, but I would really love to buy you a drink sometime.”
You’re so thrown by this turn of events that for a few seconds, you can do nothing but gape at him. Jimin watches you flounder, running a nervous hand through his luscious hair. You dazedly watch the dark strands fall perfectly back into place.
“I’ve just been getting the vibes that there might be something…here? Between us. Or at least that there could be. And I would really like the chance to get to know you better.” Your stunned silence only encourages his rambling. “But I swear I’m not trying to be creepy, and I totally get it if—”
“Yes.”
He pauses, surprised. You are too, the word slipping past your lips before you could register it. Still, you stick to your guns.
“I get off in an hour?” you offer, uncertain.
But Jimin just grins at you, eyes turning into half-moons. “An hour it is.”
After exchanging numbers, he leaves, sending you pleased glances over his shoulder his entire trek out of the store.
When she conveniently emerges from the back ten minutes later, Viv begs you to spill the tea. But, wary of jinxing the evening ahead, you choose to keep this to yourself a little longer.
That doesn’t make it any easier to suppress your glee.
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The bar Jimin asks you to meet him at is one you’re familiar with, though have never been inside. It’s one of the newer establishments, in one of the trendier parts town, and you’ve heard good reviews, but haven’t had the chance to check it out before tonight.
I got us a table towards the back, he had replied to your initial I’m headed over text. So now you’re scanning the room, side-stepping a few people as you make your way further in.
It’s already relatively crowded tonight, even at 10pm, and you take that as a good sign. The patronage is a good mix, but it definitely skews your age range—and attractive. Jimin will fit right in in this type of setting, but you can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious as you glance at everyone else, inwardly cursing yourself for coming straight from work instead of stopping at home first and putting on something more presentable. The only thing that calms your nerves a bit is the fact that Jimin has already seen you in your simple sweater and jeans—had even asked you out while you were wearing them—so you hope the bit of lipstick you had swiped on on the walk over is appealing enough.
You push deeper in, noting how busy the bartenders already are, hustling to take orders from everyone leaning across the bar, vying for their attention. Predictably, no one pays you any attention, too busy chatting amongst themselves or trying to secure their beverages. So it throws you completely off when you just happen to turn your head and lock eyes with someone.
He’s handsome. Possibly the most attractive person you have ever set eyes on, to be honest. Perfectly-styled raven hair, full lips, dark eyes still set on you, despite being caught red-handed in his staring. He’s sitting at a hightop table only a few feet away from you, sipping amber liquid from a glass as he observes you observing him. A curious eyebrow raises and it snaps you out of your bewildered daze, so, embarrassed, you look away, forced to pass his table in your trek towards the back but doing your best to ignore the self-conscious warmth racing across your skin.
“_____.”
It’s not spoken very loudly, but you’re close enough to hear him over the din. You pause, turning your head slowly and disbelievingly. Still thinking he’s calling out to someone else, someone with the same name. But when you look at him, his intense gaze is still solidly on you. He idly swirls the drink in his glass.
“Are you okay?”
The blood in your veins freezes.
How…
How does he know your name?
“W-What?” you ask, a deer in the headlights.
His lip quirks, apparently amused by you. “I asked,” he repeats, “if you’re okay.”
“Um—”
“She’s fine!” a voice snaps, and suddenly Jimin is next to you. He’s visibly agitated, his previously soft eyes steeled over, nostrils flaring. A hand pulls you closer to his side and farther away from the stranger.
The dark-haired man isn’t at all intimidated by Jimin’s sudden display. He casually shifts on his chair, looking rather bored at the metaphorical raising of hackles. “I just thought—”
“You thought wrong. Mind your own fucking business, Seokjin.”
The man—Seokjin—slides his eyes to you again. You, who is glancing back and forth between them with growing confusion and unease. He shrugs. “I don’t really care, to be honest. It was just a question.” His reply is flippant, and he takes an unbothered sip from his glass. But his entire expression hardens as he swallows. “I’m telling you now, though. If you ruin it for the rest of us, I will be forced to care. And I will have a problem.”
Your date’s expression sours further, but he chooses not to answer him. “Come on,” Jimin mutters to you, leading you away with a gentle hand at your waist. “Our table’s back here.”
Seokjin gives you one last look, something tinging his gaze, before he finally turns away and goes back to his drink.
(It isn’t until much later that you recognize that something as pity.)
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Jimin says, contrite. None of his previous anger lingering in his demeanor as the two of you settle into your seats. “I hope I haven’t messed up our date already.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, though questions still swirl within your mind. You settle on the easiest one. “Who was that?”
His lips tighten. “Just some guy. We’re not friends, but we run in the same circles, and for some reason he thinks that gives him the right to always butt into my life.”
Someone Jimin knows, then. But how did he know who you were? Did Jimin talk about you to people?
It makes you warm, thinking about how he possibly talks about you the same way you talk to Viv about him. You bite your lip, hiding a smile.
“But let’s not worry about him,” he says, shaking his head with finality. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I ate on my break,” you inform him. “But I could definitely go for a drink.”
Jimin grins, sliding from his seat. “A drink it is,” he says with a wink, walking away before you can say anything else. For a second, you worry that his walking past Seokjin might start something back up, but you watch as the two men pointedly ignore each other, Jimin making his way to the bar and easily getting a bartender’s attention.
He doesn’t leave you sitting alone for long, coming back with a glass of red wine and another with a golden liquid. Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the garnish of lemon, fingers automatically closing around the cool glass when he hands it to you. A sip confirms it—a sidecar, your favorite.
“How did you know I like these?” you ask with a smile.
“An educated guess,” he replies cheekily. He’s pleased with himself, you can tell—lips quirked, eyes turning into crescents.
“Love an educated man.” Heat flushes your skin, immediately embarrassed by your attempt at flirting, but it has the intended effect all the same, Jimin’s smile widening. You clear your throat. “So, tell me more about yourself. What is it that you do exactly that requires so many candles?”
Your date takes a deep swallow from his glass. You watch his Adam’s apple bob. “If I’m being completely honest,” he says, sheepish, “I really only go there for you.”
Your breath catches, unable to believe what he’s telling you. So Viv was right. Once you tell her, you’ll never hear the end of it. “Really?”
He seems amused by your shyness. “Really.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. Taking a few swigs of your own drink if only to give yourself something to do.
“What about you? How did you get into the candle-selling business?”
“Sallie Mae.”
The two of you continue chatting, and Jimin makes sure your glass isn’t empty for too long. It’s really nice. He’s really nice, and it blows your booze-addled mind that someone like Jimin—who is so obviously out of your league—could possibly be interested in you. Especially when you’re apparently a lightweight, at least in comparison to him! A couple hours in and you’re stumbling over your words a little bit, everything already hazy at the edges, but Jimin looks perfectly fine.
“I’ve had an amazing time tonight,” you say, interrupting your own monologue about what makes a good grilled cheese. “But I think…I think I should head home. Before I get sloppy and you realize you don’t like me anymore.”
“That’ll never happen,” he says, laughing, and everything about him is affectionate as he gazes at you.
Jimin’s laugh reminds you of sunshine. God, you hope this isn’t the last time you’ll hear it.
“But let’s get you home,” he concedes, rising from his seat with a fluidity and grace you could never attempt to match, even when completely sober. He waits for you to clumsily gather your coat and helps you put it on, like the gentleman he is. His hand finds the small of your back, and he leads you out of the bar and turns left.
“You don’t have to walk me!” you protest as he guides you across the street at the intersection. “I’m not far from here, actually. Just five blocks or so.”
“Don’t be silly,” he huffs. His hand shifts, and slowly curls around your waist. “It’s dark. It’s dangerous for you to be out alone.”
“Well.” You smile, giddy. Satisfaction bubbles in your belly. “If you insist.”
The two of you walk the rest of the way in relative silence, merely enjoying each other’s company. But you hadn’t been lying—your stroll was short-lived, as you lived relatively close to the bar. Jimin guides to the two of you to a halt in front of your apartment building, and you bite your lip, hesitant.
Would you ever see this wonderful man again? Would he continue to visit you at your job? Would this become something more?
Or had this night effectively scratched his itch, satisfied his curiosity?
Would he say goodnight and then walk out of your life forever?
“Would you like to come up for coffee?” you blurt loudly. Jimin’s eyes widen, and so do yours, surprised at your own liquored tongue. This is not like you at all—you don’t do this sort of thing. Viv would be proud, but honestly? So are you. Because if this is the last time you see him, you're going out with a bang.
But the almost-scrutinizing way he’s looking at you is making you nervous.
“You don’t have to,” you say, much more timidly this time.
“I would love some coffee,” he responds pleasantly, but his eyes are dark.
The two of you barely make it into the elevator.
Suddenly, his hands are everywhere—lips locked, your pelvis rolling into his as he crowds you into the corner. You moan into his mouth, arching into his touch and, in turn, touching every part of him you can reach. The elevator dings when it hits your floor, and you both somehow exit and make your way down the hallway without parting. You fumble for your keys when he pushes you against your front door, only pulling away to give you just enough space to open it.
When you grab him and keep kissing him, pulling him forward by his jacket, he follows you without protest. But as soon as you walk through the doorway, his lips detach from yours, his feet still firmly in the hallway. You look at him confusion, worried you’ll find regret—rejection—written across his face. Instead, you only find a slight hesitance. So you muster up the courage to give him one last push.
“Come in.” You swallow, unsure. “If…if you still want to.”
Jimin’s resulting smile is blinding. He steps over the threshold, hands immediately reaching for your hips. “Of course I want to,” he murmurs, fingers curving lower to bless your ass. You shudder, and suddenly the front door is slammed shut and you’re grabbing at each other again. A complete mess of hands. Of tongue, of teeth.
A hand unbuttons your jeans and then slips beneath the waistband with no hesitation, fingers gliding down your lips and finding them already sticky. Jimin groans when he hits the jackpot, fingertips dipping shallowly into your sopping entrance a few times and dragging it upwards. If you had any sense left or were sober, you would be embarrassed by how easily your body has betrayed you. But you don’t and you’re not, so you just whimper, eyes rolling as he puts indirect pressure on your clit, just how you like.
The first finger enters you slowly but surely, only slightly restricted by the confines of your pants. He drags it back out, a tease, before adding another with enough force to shake the door. You keen against his tongue, hips lifting restlessly against the stimulation of him repeatedly pounding into your wet heat. 
“Bed,” you manage to choke out, halfway delirious. In all honesty, you’re more than okay with him fucking you senseless against this door, but some small part of you is still cognizant of your neighbors.
Jimin peels himself off of you, but his hands on your hips guide you into following him. And you eagerly do, desire in your veins and pooling between your legs.
Clothes are rapidly shed, thrown uncaringly on the floor. Jimin stares unabashedly at your bare form, tongue swiping across his plush lips. And you feel everything but self-conscious, because you can tell immediately that he likes what he sees.
He wants you. He’s hungry, and only you can satiate him.
Just as well, because you’re just as hungry, the hard panes of his chiseled physique, his thick thighs, making you absolutely famished.
You crawl onto the bed and slowly spread your legs, giving him a proper look at his meal. His eyes follow your every move, and it doesn’t take more than a breath for him to join you, slotting easily against you, chest to chest, breath misting your face.
“So wet,” he murmurs, propping your leg and gliding the length of himself through your arousal. “I can take you right now, sweetheart. Just like this. Is that what you want? Want to be stuffed full of my cock?”
His fingers had been amazing, but you can already tell they will pale in comparison to what he’s promising you. “Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, yes, Jimin, fuck me.”
He releases a ragged breath at that, and a shift of his hips has him easily parting your folds, stuffing you just as good as he promised. You’re rendered speechless, your mouth falling open in ecstasy as he starts riding you hard but slow, in a way that makes your toes curl. Your hands drift up to tangle in his raven locks, tugging as if you can somehow pull him even closer to you.
You’re speechless, but Jimin is rambling, the hot grip of your cunt apparently turning off any and all filters he may have previously had.
“God, I missed this,” he groans. “Missed you. Missed this pussy.”
Your eyes fly open, landing on him uncertainly. A knot starts to form in your gut, and it’s not the sexy kind. What? What the fuck is he talking about?
He leans in, occupying your lips with his again before you can question him. “Mine,” he mutters against you, moving to stick his face into the crook of your neck and groaning against the skin. “Shit. Smell so fucking good.”
You blink rapidly, brain still scrambling to make sense of his words, and that’s when what you’ve done sinks in.
You’ve just let a stranger enter you without a barrier.
You, timid you, who doesn’t do sex outside of committed relationships. You, who’s currently partaking in your first-ever one night stand.
Raw.
It’s too late now, but the building anxiety won’t rest until you ask. “Are you clean?” you gasp, blood thundering in your ears.
“Yes,” Jimin answers against your neck, though it sounds labored. He rips his face away, turning it to the side and away from your scrutiny. His hips never halting their assault. “J-Just..just relax.”
Something’s not right. Something hasn’t been right for a long while, but the haze of lust and liquor are finally lifting enough for you to notice. Why isn’t he looking at you? Why is he so pointedly and purposely not looking at you?
“What?”
“Relax for me,” he repeats to your closet door, and, wary, you lift a hand and gently guide his face back to you. He freezes at your touch, cock stuttering inside you, and meets your gaze, pupils completely blown. “Fuck, you smell good,” he says again, under his breath.
Your brows furrow in confusion, especially when he turns to nuzzle against your palm. It doesn’t take long for him to start practically panting like a dog.
And that’s when you notice his abnormally-elongated canines.
Your blood pressure skyrockets, and his nostrils flare.
“Jimin…Jimin, what’s going on?”
The hand on your thigh tightens until it hurts. You can see the veins in his neck from how hard he’s clenching his teeth. “Calm down, sweetheart.”
“What the fuck!”
“Take some deep breaths, okay?”
“Are those real? Jimin, why the fuck do those look real?!”
Your heart rattles in its cage. Jimin flinches, like he can hear it. You realize with dawning horror that he probably can.
“Oh my god—”
“I need you to calm down, my love,” he pushes through his grit teeth. His grit teeth, which are much too sharp and too long to be natural. Sharp and long and nothing like how you’re used to seeing them. How they’ve been the whole night. 
He meets your eyes again, and you gasp.
They’re completely black. Bottomless voids, dark as ink.
Any hope of you calming down goes out the window when you lock eyes with what you now recognize to be a predator.
Your entire body goes into red alert, muscles reflexively locking up, everything frozen as if not moving will somehow prevent him from seeing you. Your breathing accelerates, and you can hear the staccato of your heart compensating in your eardrums.
An involuntary twitch of your hand is all it takes for him to strike, a cobra reacting on instinct. Entirely too fast for you to see, but it doesn’t matter, because you certainly feel it when his fangs sink into your neck, excruciating pain electrifying every single atom of you with blinding heat. You’re barely lucid to the way his cock still fervently pistons within you—you can’t even scream, you’re in so much agony.
Until you’re not.
Warmth radiates from where he feeds from you, pain rapidly morphing into a pleasure so intense, you struggle to breathe. You cling to him in hopes of having something to ground you, something to tether you in the face of the oncoming tsunami. Eyes rolling back into your head, cunt squeezing into a vicegrip that has Jimin snarling against your neck.
The next thing you know, you’re staring dazedly at the ceiling. As you blink away your spotted vision, Jimin’s worried face enters your line of sight. He’s no longer inside you, and his eyes are normal. His teeth are normal. You would think that you had hallucinated the whole thing, but a telling trail of red still drips from the corner of his mouth.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, a hand drifting to your arm. “Are you okay?”
A few hours ago, his melodic voice would have given you chills. Now, the chills that race down your spine are for a completely different reason, your exhausted limbs still managing to lock up at his touch.
“No,” you whisper, body starting to tremble. “No, please, oh my god—”
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hands up your arms in what he probably thinks is a reassuring manner. His eyes are soft, but his lips are still stained with your lifeblood. It is not okay. “It’s okay.”
His attempt to calm you has the complete opposite effect—your body electrifies at his touch, and suddenly you’re bucking. You’re kicking. You’re pushing his face away from you with enough force to snap his head to the side. You’re pounding on his chest, you’re scratching. Your heart pumps adrenaline through you, fight or flight kicking in in a last-ditch effort to save you.
But Jimin easily subdues you, your attack barely registering. “Stop it,” he huffs, sitting on your legs. His hands halting the scrabbling of yours and forcing them back to your sides. You burst into tears, and it only makes him visibly more concerned as he wipes them away. “You’re going to hurt yourself again,” he says gently.
“Please don’t kill me,” you sob.
“Kill you?” Jimin sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “I would never hurt you, sweetheart. I love you.”
He’s crazy. This man—this thing—is fucking crazy, but when you open your mouth to tell him so, pathetic whimpers are the only things that escape. All you can do is lie there, pushing down your sudden and intense urge to vomit as he leans forward and brushes his lips against yours.
“Please. Please let me go—”
“I know this is a shock, sweetheart, but just take some deep breaths for me—”
“I promise I won’t tell anybody, please—”
“You’re safe here. I love you—”
“You don’t fucking know me!” you scream.
A storm crosses his face, eyes sharp. “I know everything about you,” he says lowly. The tone immediately making sweat bead across your hairline.
You believe him. I really only go there for you, he had told you, and you hadn’t listened. “Let me go,” you say again, this time no more than a whimper. Fear shooting through your entire body.
Jimin’s expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you—I never meant to scare you—”
“LET ME GO!” you shriek. You start bucking again, and Jimin scrabbles to secure your wild limbs.
“Keep your voice down, sweetheart—”
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
“Please don’t make me do this,” he says, tone notably disappointed. “I hate it when you make me do this.”
What the fuck. What the FUCK.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
He grabs your face with a hand, fingers squishing your lips into a pout. A little drool drips out the corners before you can stop it. “Look at me,” he instructs, and he’s giving you that expression again. The one that you have always interpreted as gentle, but can now clearly see is patronizing.
“Look at me,” his voice echos, multiplied. Multiplied like the kaleidoscope colors swimming your vision. “Look.” You fall deeper.
“Get out,” you whisper, and then everything is black.
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“He’s here again,” Viv hisses, an unsubtle elbow knocking in between your ribs. Your head snaps in his direction before you can stop it, butterflies in your belly. “For the last time. This man wants to bone you.”
“Say that a little louder,” you sigh, trying not to be too obvious in the way your attention is drawn to his every move. The handsome stranger smiles at you in greeting, and you send him a shy one back that is missed as he turns to browse the kitchen scents.
“I honestly don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Viv mumbles from the side of her mouth. “Shoot your shot. This is a slam dunk.”
Is it? You aren’t sure, unused to men as gorgeous as the one frequenting your store being interested in you. What if Viv had read the situation completely wrong, and you offend him? Make him uncomfortable enough that he stops coming? Did you really want to be singlehandedly responsible for your store’s revenue taking a nosedive? How were you supposed to explain that to your manager?
“Find everything okay?” Viv says cheerily, and you’re immediately knocked out of your spiraling thoughts when you realize he’s here again. Here, right in front of your register.
“Yes, thank you,” he tells her with a smile. His front tooth is slightly crooked. Fuck is he hot.
Viv announces that she’s going to clean up a little, and moves to dust some candles near the front of the store that most definitely don’t need dusting. You don’t know why she keeps insisting on leaving you alone with him—the last time she went to “check inventory” in the back, your interaction with him only ended up lasting the length of his transaction, as he had exited the store as promptly as he had entered it. But Viv insists on playing wingman, so, once again, you’re left virtually alone with him.
Your hand raises, and you have to stop yourself from nervously touching a bug bite on your neck. Something has been biting you lately, leaving small but inflamed marks on your skin. Though you had already googled it and ruled out bedbugs, you really needed to talk to your landlord about the issue, as you don’t pay all that rent for a bug-infested place. In the meantime, the concealer you had carefully put over the blemish would definitely rub off if you keep messing with it. And god forbid you allow yourself to look like a leper in front of the hot stranger.
Clearing your throat, you begin to ring him up. “Country peach,” you say awkwardly. “That’s a good scent.”
“It is,” he replies, clearly amused. His head slightly tilts as he regards you.
You swallow.
“I’m Jimin,” he offers, and you tingle all the way down to your toes.
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nomnomsik · a year ago
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Departure | M
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Synopsis: As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you. 
Pairing: Pilot!Jungkook x Flight Attendant!Reader, slight Idol!Jimin x Reader
Word Count: 6.2k
A/N: Happy birthday, @moonpeachhy​ ! To fulfill your cute bunny fantasies, you FURRY. Jkjk. Enjoy the fluff with the husband you’ll never have. I love you~ I hope my fic isn’t too boring 😉
Tags: Smut, flirting, slight dirty talk, hickies/markings, blowjobs, kissing, fluff, pwp tbh, lap grinding, and possessiveness/jealously. Jungkook being lowkey a yandere.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“Ahh, Jungkook… N-not-”
“Shh, just a few more minutes, princess. Pleaseeee…?” 
Cramped in a single seat of the Korean Air Airbus A330-200, you were up against Jungkook’s muscular chest, hands tightly holding onto the shoulder of his crisp white uniform. The cockpit of the airplane was narrow, with dozens of intimidating switches and levers behind you as Jungkook’s head fixed itself on your neck. 
Warm air wafted around in the cockpit as your head tilted to the side, your hair slowly unwinding away from the ribbon that secured it together. The sky blue uniform that hugged your curves crinkled against his chest and lap, wrinkling as Jungkook nibbled and kissed the skin of your neck, sucking until it turned a shade of red. You winced in his lap, knuckles turning white as you shuffled uncomfortably in the tight space.
“I’ve told you my ascot t-tie doesn’t cover them well…! Jungkook-”  
“Don’t worry so much, princess.” He cooed, removing his mouth only to stare up at you with his clouded eyes. “You’re always careful around passengers. I’m not worried.”
"S-still…! It's ticklish." 
Jungkook broke out in a cute bunny smile, cheeks protruding out as he giggled, trying to keep you in place. Your face only flushed, eyes glaring daggers as you pushed yourself up and out of his hold.
“Wait, where are you going?” He pulled you back into his sturdy chest, his grip strong on your arm as you fumbled forward. “We still have thirty minutes, princess. Compared to the thirteen hours I won’t be able to have you… Please?”
“Jungkook, we have thirty minutes until departure! I have to go greet the passengers." You exasperatedly whined, trying to make your way out of his vice-like grip. Jungkook’s face broke into a pout as both of his hands held your wrists down, refusing to let you go. 
“B-b-but… I’ll miss you…” He sulked, staring up at you as your heart leaped and a second later, melted. You squished both of his cheeks with your hands as his eyes widened, his mouth forming fish-lips. The adorable sight was too much for your fragile heart and you leaned forward, placing a small kiss on his lips. He happily obliged, moving his hands up to behind your head, deepening it immediately.  
When you finally disconnected from each other, you stood up this time, finally getting your high heels onto the floor of the plane. You brought your arm to your mouth, shyly wiping the leaking saliva and fixing your hair. Jungkook watched as you smoothened your uniform, only to get up himself, his eyes catching one of the airplanes on the runway that ascended into the air, its wheels slowly winding back into the body.
He adjusted the cuffs and brushed his hands over his white dress pants, redoing a button on his uniform that had popped open. Before he could fix his fringe, you called. 
“Jungkook, do I look alright?” 
He turned around to your nervous fidgeting and steadied you by the shoulders. His eyes darted up and down, then side to side as he tugged on the ascot tie that gently hung around your neck. He slid it down, his expression hardening as his fingertips tried to pull the cloth to increase its width. The knot was tight and he scratched at it, hoping for it to unwind. 
“It really doesn’t cover well…” He muttered, only for your face to flush as you grew worried. 
“Jungkook…!”
“Ahh, this is annoying…” He glowered, finally getting the tie undone and rewrapping it softly around your neck, hiding more of your marked skin. With the tie secured on, your hand came up to feel it, giving it another tug. “Okay, it looks good now, princess. Try not to get caught.” 
This is your fault though…
»»————- ♡ ————-««
With a wardrobe of his caliber, he was easily recognizable. From the Saint Laurent boots that clicked against the tile floor and the Chanel necklace that dangled around his neck, Park Jimin was immediately spotted. 
Jimin's leg bounced up and down in the LaGuardia airport as he leaned back in his stiff chair, waiting for his flight to be called. The gate was filling and bustling with people, most busying themselves on their electronics, chatting away, or eating some last-minute meal. There was always the crinkle of plastic and the squeals of children that slipped past and through his earbuds. People constantly walked by him in the enormous airport, some sharing glances with each other and muttering whispers as Jimin minded his own business, scrolling through his phone.
“Hello, this is Gate 330,” A female voice spoke into the intercom, echoing all around the section he sat in. “We will now be boarding first-class and unaccompanied minors. I repeat, we will be boarding first-class and unaccompanied minors.”
Jimin stood up from his seat, stretching his arms in front of him before throwing his bag over his shoulder as his heels clicked against the floor. He sauntered over to the small, yet growing first-class line, sunglasses covering his eyes as he patiently waited behind several people. As he got to the front, his ticket was scanned, micro-perforated and swiftly cut, and let in to pass. 
“Please enjoy your flight.” One of the female staff spoke, her cheeks slightly tinted red as Jimin gave her a small and perceptive smile.
He gave a polite nod to all the staff, walking down the jet bridge ramp as he looked through the clear windows. Outside displayed dozens of airplanes, all orderly and waiting at their respective gates. Jimin’s hands came up to his head, readjusting his beanie and pushing back up the bridge of his sunglasses. He stared at the ground below him as the soft, yet thin carpeting of the ramp concernedly shook with each slow step he took. 
As Jimin made a left-hand turn, he was greeted by the entrance to the plane as well as the staff who stood by. He ducked his head as he boarded, acknowledged with hellos and welcomes. With a smile on their lips, Jimin smiled back at them, his eyes glancing at each face of the plane staff. 
Jimin took in one of the particular woman’s appearance, his eyes swiftly sliding from top to bottom as he turned back to the vast expansion of rows in front of him. A smirk graced his lips while he searched for his seat. Even in the short instance he took in your appearance, he noticed your flushed cheeks and the slight pink marks that poked out from underneath your ascot tie. 
As Jimin plopped in his seat in first class, he laid his bag down, lying on his seat and reclining it back. When his eyes softly closed, his lips were still curled upright. Having dealt with his fair share of men and women, Jimin was way too familiar with those cute little marks that were littered all over your neck. 
Maybe he wouldn't mind this flight after all. 
Meanwhile, you wanted to scream. The thumping of your heart was rapid, your chest tight. Your eyes had deadlocked and met Park Jimin's crystal clear eyes. Park Jimin… Your body grew warm and you couldn’t help but shudder. Korea’s famous solo artist had noticed you. You could remember all his fans tweeting to stream his newest release, but right now, all you wanted to do was sink your head into the nearest stream and drown. 
Your fingers hovered over the mark on your neck, wondering if the silky ascot tie was actually covering it properly. His eyes had travelled down your figure, fixated on your neck. There’s no way he had seen it, right? 
There was a rush of humiliation and embarrassment that the person you looked up to possibly had seen it. The slight upward pull of his lips as his eyes lingered to the marks… Now that you thought about it, getting revenge on Jeon Jungkook sounded like a good idea if it was the last thing you did on this flight.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“So, you really took your time with y/n in here.” 
“Hyung… You aren’t mad, right?” Jungkook whispered, looking up at the captain of the aircraft with doe eyes.
“Jungkook, just because you’re in the cockpit, doesn’t mean…” Namjoon trailed off, coughing into his fist at his lame joke. “Just… Keep it in your pants.” 
“Hyung! I haven’t-” 
“Don’t ‘hyung’ me, mister.” Namjoon sighed, flipping several switches of the aircraft. “I have to sit in this seat for the next eight hours. Jungkook, how could you do this to hyung…” He dramatically sighed. 
“Hyung, I’m sorry! But, I really didn’t do anything!” Jungkook desperately persuaded. “It’s not what you think. I promise!” 
“Jungkookie, why couldn’t you have thought about hyung?” Namjoon, fake teary-eyed, cried out to the younger. 
Jungkook gave no comment as he stared straight ahead, hands on his lap. As Namjoon chuckled, the younger’s face seemed as if it was about to explode with embarrassment. Jungkook, being the younger of the two, had always been the timid one, preferring to learn from Namjoon with each flight they took around the world. The mere hundreds of hours Jungkook had accumulated didn’t even touch Namjoon’s tens of thousands of hours in the air. 
“You know I’m just teasing, right?” Namjoon asked, recomposing himself back to normal as he placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. 
“I know, hyung… You’re just so mean, you know that?” Jungkook pouted, sulking in his seat as he looked off to the side. 
Namjoon laughed, small dimples appearing on his cheeks as he turned back in the main seat of the cockpit. 
“I can’t help myself when you always give the best reactions, Jungkookie.”
“Yes, yes, captain.” 
“I’ll be counting on my best co-pilot for the next eight hours.” Namjoon winked at the younger, who only stared at him with awe. 
“Oh, c’mon hyung. I bet you’ve had better co-pilots than me. Don’t lie to me like that.” 
“Jungkook, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He smiled as Jungkook suddenly hesitated to believe him. “I know you usually take the takeoffs, but I think it’s time for you to step out of your comfort zone. Don’t worry, trust yourself. I know I do.” 
“Yes, captain,” Jungkook responded solemnly, clouded with worry as he assisted Namjoon for their takeoff. 
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“Everyone’s boarded.” You clapped your hands together, watching as Taehyung slid the entrance to the plane shut. With permed black hair, a radiant smile, and a dark navy-colored suit, he met your gaze, a mischievous grin hiding beneath his lips. 
“Wow, are those marks even human?” 
You turned around, slapping your neck as you caught the devilish smile on his face. 
“Ugh, wipe that stupid grin off your face, Taehyung.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the galleys, the sound of utensils clicking in the so-called “kitchen”. Taehyung joined you, fingers coming up to move the ascot tie further upward. 
“Some was poking through.” He smirked, lightly tapping your forehead as you bent back, only to watch him scurry off to the front of business class. You could see the other flight attendants at the beginning of economy class, helping passengers store their belongings up in the upper compartments.
Taehyung was far in the business class section, energetically greeting all the wealthy passengers. He would ask them to buckle their seatbelts, even though the intimidating businessmen clicked their tongues, turning in the other direction. Unfazed, Taehyung would simply smile back continuing down the rows. 
As your mentor, he often let you know not to take the passengers’ attitude as a personal attack. He saw your gentle and sensitive heart, your solemn attitude when meeting passenger’s needs. And although the initial judgemental glances from staff who had worked longer were rough, jealous of your role in serving first class, they eventually came around. 
Stepping out from the galley, most, if not all of the passengers were seated. Families chatting and others blurring out the world with their earbuds. You reached for the prompter, getting a nod from Taehyung as well as confirmation from the cockpit. 
“Testing… testing…” You started, watching as several heads looked up from their seats at you. You smiled at the ones you made eye contact with, chuckling when some looked downward or the other way. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this afternoon over to Narita, Japan from Laguardia airport, New York.”
“The flight time is estimated to be about 13 hours and as we get closer to our destination, you’ll be able to see a more accurate reading from the screens in front of your seat.” 
“Flying our aircraft today is Captain Kim Namjoon, assisted by his co-pilot Officer Jeon Jungkook. Meanwhile, the cabin staff has Hoseok in the back, Taehyung in the center, and myself, Y/n, up at the front.”
“Please direct your attention to the flight attendants in your section as we go over the safety features of our Airbus A330-200 aircraft.”
“Seatbelts must be fastened at all times unless indicated, but then again, I know some of you enjoy not listening to us so feel free to take it as a suggestion. Do what you will.” 
“If you don’t like our pilots, staff, our food, rest assured. This airplane model has eight exits: Two at the front of first-class, two at the front of business, two at the beginning of economy, and another two at the end.” 
Taehyung and Hoseok directed their arms in their respective sections to all exits, unable to help the smile that appeared on their lips and the chuckles they let out. Smiles and laughs echoed from ahead of you as you continued, feeling the mood of the aircraft lighten up.
“Now with that out of the way, in the back seat pocket in front of you, there is a safety information card.” You lifted the card as an example, always amused how nobody reaches for it. “I know the majority of you are not going to read it, but in case you want to, please feel free to block your ears as I go over what it covers. The card outlines all the safety features that this airplane model provides and in case of an emergency, it would be extremely beneficial to have the knowledge beforehand.”
“In the rare event that our two wonderful pilots decide it would be more interesting to make a voyage in the ocean instead of a flight, life vests are underneath your seat and flight staff will assist you in case you need help.” 
You, yourself, laughed, imagining Jungkook’s face at the back of your mind. Was he adorably fuming in his seat? Perhaps sighing as Namjoon teased him for the nth time? Laughing at your joke with you? Your thoughts are quickly moved to the side as you continued, projecting your voice into the loudspeaker. 
“The black strap of the life vest will wrap around your waist and make sure you tighten it securely. Then, pull the red tab down and then blow into the red tube to inflate.” 
You demonstrated on the life vest given to you as an example, pretending to inflate it at the end for presentation purposes only. Putting the lifevest to the side, you grab ahold of the prompter again, looking over at Taehyung who gave you a thumbs-up and a wink.
“In case of a severe drop in cabin pressure, masks will fall from the overhead compartments to stop the decompression. Extend the plastic lining and make sure it's securely placed over both your nose and mouth to breathe normally. Please make sure your handbag is underneath your seat, table trays are upright, and thank you again for travelling with us. This is a non-smoking flight, and it is a pleasure to serve you today and I guess... tomorrow.”
As you were about to put the prompter back in its spot, you stopped. 
“Oh! I wanted to add: as a final message to our passengers, this is once again a thirteen-hour flight. If you find any of the cabin members appealing or attractive, rest assured, we come with many benefits if you ever decide to pursue a marriage with one of us here. You’ll have the luxury to be able to enjoy flying free. Thank you.”
You gave a cheeky smile to the passengers as Jimin met your gaze, laughing, his hand covering his mouth. When he noticed your eyes, he grinned, biting his lip and smirking. You quickly placed the prompter back in its spot, rushing as quickly as possible to the galleys and away from him, legs trembling and breaths quick as Taehyung and Hoseok joined beside you, waiting for takeoff. 
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“She kills it every time. I can’t believe it.” Namjoon laughed, his eyes squeezing shut as dimples etched into his cheeks. Jungkook hummed in agreement, only to be silent for a second, his eyes wandering as he adjusted his aviation headset against his ears. 
“Why did it sound like she was offering herself as a marriage candidate though?” Jungkook glowered, his face morphing in a distressed expression. 
“Oh, c’mon. I doubt anyone’s going to take it seriously, Jungkook.” Namjoon reassured, the younger hesitantly agreeing. 
“...Right.”  
“Can you make sure the wings and engine are ready for takeoff?” Namjoon said, buckling himself into the shoulder harness.
“Of course, captain.” 
As Jungkook busied himself on his side of the cockpit, Namjoon connected to the air traffic control tower. Jungkook fixed the mic of his headset near his mouth as he gave confirmation to Namjoon, the loud sounds of the airplane engine firing up. The plane had disconnected from the jet bridge, tires slowly rolling away from the gate.
“Korean 086, confirmation for takeoff, please,” Namjoon spoke, his English coming off swiftly, awaiting for the ATC’s response. He backed out the plane as he looked at the three ground crewmembers, the marshalers, directing him on the runway.
“Korean 086, are you ready to go? We have a clear lane.” An American male voice answered back, linking to his headset. 
“Yes sir, Korean 086, we ready for takeoff,” Namjoon replied, waiting for the takeoff lane number as he successfully pulled away from the other planes and gate. 
“Got it. Wind 260 at 5, Korean 086, cleared for takeoff, 25-right. Start rolling, please.” 
“Korean 086, cleared for takeoff, 25-right,” Namjoon repeated, following his lane number. As he turned to face Jungkook, he smiled brightly. “Ready for a long flight?”
“I was born ready, hyung.” 
With only being preoccupied for a couple of extra minutes, the plane’s engines fired up. The conditions were perfect, the plane ready to ascend into the sky. Namjoon pulled down on the accelerator, the plane beginning to speed down the runway, gaining acceleration as both pilots judged the metrics before having a clear window for liftoff. When the plane began to fly off the ground, the wheels retracted into the body as Namjoon kept direction and speed in control.  
The highway that was filled with cars shrunk smaller and smaller from the window of the passengers. The plane, high in the afternoon glow of New York, set its course to Japan. 
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“Jungkook, we have to switch now.”
Namjoon leaned over to the sleeping boy who jumped awake, unbuckling his own harness as he stepped out of the co-pilot seat. The two swapped seats, Jungkook adjusting himself as he buckled himself in. 
“Did you get enough sleep?” Namjoon asked, looking over and yawning a second later. Jungkook chuckled, some of his teeth showing through.
“Yes, yes. Hyung, now go get some sleep. They’re going to accuse me of not switching again.” Namjoon sneered, reclining his chair back with his hands folded in his lap. Within minutes, Namjoon’s head drooped, his breathing even as he drifted off. 
It would only be six more hours until their arrival in the Narita airport, the flight lagging behind the estimated time. Jungkook sighed, scratching his scalp as he stared at the darkness of the clouds and sky. There was nothing worse than landing. He hated the way the airplane flaps flung up to go against the wind, the wheels harshly making contact with the runway causing the plane to shake and rumble, and the dice roll of nice air traffic control officers. 
He wasn’t the best-spoken person, stuttering his way his sentences and feeling confused by unclear directions. Not to mention the nightmare of English. Sometimes he wondered if he was just too sensitive to comments that Namjoon seemed to brush off easily. 
But before Jungkook could regress back into his negative thoughts, there was a knock on the cockpit door. Jungkook jumped, his body growing tense as he looked back for a second, only to look back to where he was flying. Due to instinct, his mind thought of the worst possibility on the flight, only to quickly ease out at the sound from the other side of the door. 
“Jung… me.” 
A whispered voice came from behind the door. Jungkook smiled, pulling the lever from lock to unlock as he listened to your heels click behind him. You closed the cockpit door as you came up behind his seat.
“How’s everything going?” You asked, handing him a glass of water. “Thought you might need a drink.” 
“Thanks, princess. You’re a lifesaver.” He gulped down the water in one shot as he handed it back to you. You blushed, shifting your weight as your eyes glanced at the other seat.
“The flight’s been quiet.” Jungkook softly spoke as to not wake up his hyung. “How about the passengers?” 
“I would say it’s fine if it wasn’t for Park Jimin calling for me every half hour. Drinks. Food. A casual conversation, or so he said.” You sighed dramatically as Jungkook rose an eyebrow. “Oh! And you, mister. Mr. Park Jimin gave me a look when he caught some of the hickies showing through! I can’t believe- Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”
“Park Jimin? You mean the singer? He’s on this flight?” Jungkook asked incredulously.
“Yeah… Though, Taehyung’s covering for me, right now.” 
“What do you mean, ‘a look’? Is Jimin bothering you?” 
“I mean, I could sound like a narcissist right now, Jungkook.” You chuckled softly as Jungkook rolled his eyes. “‘Oh, look at me, I’m so pretty that even a singer was side-eyeing me.’ Yeah, I’m not that self-obsessed, baby.” 
Although Jungkook would have normally accepted the joke about a man finding his spouse attractive, his jaw clenched as he began to grow irritated. He sometimes wished that you didn’t have to serve first class. Those rich, entitled, assholes always pissed him off. It was always the ones with money, wasn’t it? This wasn’t the first time he heard of passengers trying to flirt with you. 
“Oh, would you look at that. Namjoon’s out like a rock.” You stated, breaking him away from his pessimistic thoughts as you looked over the eldest who was softly snoring. 
“He’s probably stressed. I mean, he’s flying with me and all... ” Jungkook spat irritably, his hands tightening around the W-shaped yoke. His voice trailed off as he shook his head, counting his inhales and exhales. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Why did he have to feel so jealous and inadequate when he knew both of you were tied around each other’s finger?
“Are you okay, baby?” You rubbed his shoulder, feeling his muscles relax. “I’m sorry if I worked you up about Jimin. I know how you feel about some of the passengers…” 
“Y-yeah, I-” He sighed, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. “Sorry, I wasn’t mad at you or anything… As you can see, Namjoon gave me the landing for today’s flight…” 
“Aw, baby… Are you stressed out?” You cooed, side hugging him in his seat. 
“I guess you can say that… Namjoon always says how good of a pilot I am, but I never seem to be able to believe him. I sometimes wonder if I actually am.” 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jungkook. Of course, you’re a good pilot.” You persuaded, patting his shoulder. “Flying a plane takes a lot of courage and intelligence.” 
Your fingers brushed through his hair as he continued to stare straight forward at the empty sky. You had hoped he would turn to face you, but he stayed stoic and still.
“Courage?” Jungkook scoffed. “Courage if you’re afraid of heights or planes, maybe.” 
“Jungkook…” You sighed, your expression falling. “I wish you could give yourself more credit. It’s scary flying a plane… I don’t even want to imagine what it’s like if you make a mistake on a flight. You have nobody to blame but yourself. Whether it be a small plane and your life is taken away from you… or a big plane like this, where you’re in control of the hundreds of people’s lives here. And yet, despite all that, you still come to work every day, servicing millions of people.” 
Jungkook remained silent as he simply nodded, finally looking up at you as he beckoned you over. His arms wrapped around your stomach from where he sat. 
“I love you… You know that, right?” He whispered, releasing his arms as you squatted to match his height. 
“Of course. You tell me every day, how could I forget?” You grinned, leaning in as he met you for a kiss. It was soft and tender with Jungkook’s teeth nibbling your bottom lip, the soft turbulence cutting the kiss short. 
“Do you… want me to help ease away your stress…?” You teased, breath tickling Jungkook’s ear as his head snapped over to face you. Another kiss met his lips as Jungkook deepened it, slipping his tongue and tasting the mint-flavored candies that lingered. 
You panted harshly, your entire body growing warm as Jungkook’s eyes grew hazy, much like this morning. Bringing your fingers to your ascot tie, you pulled it, letting the fabric unwind and fall onto your lap. Jungkook’s breath hitched at the sight of his work, your neck decorated with pink marks. 
“I-I think you missed a few spots, Jungkook…” You gasped, running your fingertips over your skin. As your eyes wandered up and down Jungkook’s figure, he was tense, his legs shaking and hands clenched on the steering wheel. 
“You couldn’t have waited until we landed in Japan, princess?” Jungkook groaned in a low voice, patting his lap as you straddled him. “Do you think you can stay quiet? We can’t be waking up Namjoon now…” 
You seated yourself in his lap and before you could nod, Jungkook pulled away for a second.
“Wait-” Jungkook whispered, adjusting some of the switches in the plane. “I just need to make sure it’s on autopilot…” After a few seconds, Jungkook tilted your chin up to meet you in a sloppy kiss. Saliva pooled from the corner of your lips as your eyes fluttered closed, your hands clenched on his white uniform. You grinded your growing arousal against his dress pants, feeling lust take control. 
“Tilt your head back.” He moaned breathlessly, fixating his lips on unclaimed skin. You winced as his teeth pierced your neck, only to be soothed by his kisses. “Fuck… you looked so good on my lap. Do you think you can ride me, princess?” 
“H-here? It’s really tight and cramped-” You started, only to jump as Jungkook’s hands left the steering wheel and instead on your ass. “My uniform, Jungkook…!” You whispered harshly, swatting his hand away. 
“I don’t care about this damn uniform-” Jungkook seethed, slapping both hands on your ass. “It would be better if you had it off. You have no idea how badly I wish I could bend you back and-”
You clamped a hand over his mouth as heat surged to your face and ears, heart thumping loudly in your chest. 
“Do you know what you’re saying…?!” You hissed, only to hear the unbuckling of Jungkook’s belt. 
“Look what you did…” He muttered, releasing his erection as he gave it a few pumps with his free hand. “Actually don’t ride me. Want to take care of this for me with your mouth, princess?” 
You gulped but nodded fervently as you took him in your mouth. Jungkook bit back his lip, holding back his loud moans as his mind went blank. He was getting breathless under your gentle fingers stroking him back and forth and that damn mouth. Shit, he could feel his legs going numb. The sight from where he sat was so arousing as you bent down in front of him, sucking him off while everyone was sleeping. 
If only Namjoon was flying right now… He would drag you to the nearest staff bathroom and ravage you, pull your hair back and leave you a mess. Shit- He was getting closer and closer just thinking about it. 
So what if people heard? At least they’d never flirt with you again. At least they’ll finally leave what belonged to him alone.
“Make sure you swallow every single drop. You can’t make a mess here. You’re the one that said the lives of hundreds of people are in my hands.” He smirked, roughly pulling you up for a sloppy kiss. 
“You-!” Your voice muffled as he pulled away, only to feel your lips wrap around his cock again. He quickly hit the back of your throat as you gagged, lurching back. “J-Jungk...ook…” With your palms resting on his thighs, Jungkook bit his lip, suppressing his moans. Swirling your tongue around his slit, Jungkook flinched, roughly breathing out. 
“G-gonna…” His breath hitched as he lowered his head to his chest, hands resting on the back of your neck. Jungkook made sure to secure your mouth onto his cock, coming in warm spurts. His breaths were laborious as he groaned, his head falling back against his seat. You struggled to lap it all up as Jungkook held onto your jaw. 
“Open.” 
With your lips parted, Jungkook grew aroused at the sight. Your cheeks were flushed red with white residue stuck to your tongue, slowly dripping down and out of your mouth. 
“Messy girl.” He mused, wiping the cum off your lips with a quick swipe of the finger. Jungkook watched as you sucked his finger clean, looking up at him with lust-filled eyes. “I’ll spoil you when we land.” He promised, cupping your cheeks and kissing your temple. 
You pulled a handkerchief from your front pocket, cleaning both you and Jungkook. The light turbulence made you stumble in the cockpit as Jungkook buttoned his dress pants back up. 
“I have to clean my appearance up in the bathroom.” You murmured, getting off his lap as Jungkook gave you a soft and gentle smile, his eyes staring at his whole world. 
“Thank you for doing that for me, princess.” 
“Feel a bit better?” 
Jungkook nodded, grabbing a hold of your hand and intertwining fingers. You squeezed his hand, not wanting to let go. 
“I really have to go now, baby.” You whispered at him, reluctant to let go of him. He hummed, flipping switches on the plane as you look over at him from the entrance of the cockpit door and the sleeping Namjoon before softly making your exit. 
»»————- ♡ ————-««
It would be half an hour before landing with the beautiful afternoon sky of Tokyo greeting them. He could see the massive airport that was Narita, keeping a reasonable distance and high altitude behind the plane in front of him, waiting for it to descend. 
It took a couple of minutes, watching as the plane below him finally descended onto the runway. Jungkook adjusted the aviation headset as he connected with the air traffic control tower.
“Korean 086, clearance for landing on four-right.” Jungkook voiced into his mic, his Korean accent lacing each English word as he waited for air traffic control admission. 
“Korean 086, could you please accept runway four-left?” A male answered, surprising him at the lack of accent. What was that word Namjoon taught him? 
“Umm,” Jungkook started, his hand scratching the scalp of his head. “I’m afraid to say I’m too- uh… committed…? to four-right at the moment.” 
“Do you have commitment issues, sir?” The man deadpanned as Jungkook felt his shoulders slump. What did that mean? Is that a no? 
Why was it always him?
“Oh… um-” He murmured, feeling his cheeks heat up as his eyes drifted nervously in the cockpit. 
He racked his brain for English vocabulary. Anything would be good enough. Shoot, shoot-
“It’s just a joke 086,” Air traffic control responded back at the lack of response. “Wind 260 at 2, runway four-right clear to land.” 
Jungkook sighed in relief, voicing back.
“Cleared to land, runway four-right, Korean 086. Thank you, sir.” 
Namjoon stirred awake, shuffling in his reclined seat as he rubbed his eyes. Jungkook kept his gaze on the long strip of the runway, flipping several switches as the plane’s flaps opened. The landing gears retracted out as Jungkook’s body tensed. 
Namjoon fixed himself up as he checked the meters, cautiously eyeing Jungkook who finally made contact with the ground. The tires screeched against the runway, creating dark skid marks as the plane reduced its speed. The vibration of the plane was limited compared to other landings, a smile appearing on Jungkook’s face. 
“Smooth point of contact,” Namjoon muttered under his breath as Jungkook connected once again with the air traffic control tower. 
“Korea 086, waiting for gate directions.” He called, listening to the rustling of papers and the murmurs of controllers. 
“Please wait, 086. Delta 049 is about to take off... Actually- please start rolling to gate 201.” A woman with a hint of a Japanese accent answered back.
「ありがとうございます, 奥様。Thank you, ma’am, 」Jungkook shyly responded back, earning a grin from Namjoon who looked at him like a proud father.
「あら、日本人ですか?Oh my, are you Japanese?」The woman asked cheerfully.
「あーごめんなさい。韓国人です。 Ah, I’m sorry. I’m Korean.」
「日本語上手ですね!You’re Japanese is really good!」
「ありがとうございます。Thank you~」
As Jungkook maneuvered the plane to gate 201, he watched as the marshalers directed him into the spot, connecting him to the jet bridge. When he was securely and safely parked, he connected to the main prompter system of the plane. 
“Hello, everyone. This is co-pilot Jeon Jungkook. We now have arrived at Narita Airport, Japan.” 
Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, looking at the restless passengers who wanted to leave the plane. His English was accented with some slur of his words, which you found adorably cute. There was an evident lisp in his voice whenever he spoke any language. That was your Jungkookie. 
Your gaze seemed to fall on Jimin who lazily sat up in his seat, searching for his bag and brushing his hand through his hair. He stretched his hands over his head, shirt riding up as the skin of his stomach began to show.
“My wife and I… I mean, Y/n and I hope you have had a satisfactory flight. Have a wonderful day, and thank you once again for flying with Korean Air.” 
You felt your eyes widen as Jimin seemed to look up from his spot too, his expression stunned, his arms coming back down. Your face grew hot as Jungkook’s words registered in your ears, repeating over in an endless loop in your head. Balancing the weight of your feet, you scrambled back to the galleys, rushing past and into the already unlocked cockpit. Namjoon laughed as the two of them turned around, your cheeks tinted pink and lips quivering. 
“Jungkook!” You shouted, marching up to the man who stared up at you with warm and loving eyes. “Why- I- You never tell anyone-”
He simply stood up on his feet, wrapping his arms and giving you a comforting squeeze. You were rendered speechless as he spoiled you in affections. 
“I love you…” He murmured, pecking your lips as you snuggled yourself in his chest. 
“Can you at least let me out?” Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, the two of you flinching and growing embarrassed, making way for him to leave. “Also, don’t take too long! We have to see off the passengers.” 
“Hyung, what do you think I was going to do?!” Jungkook whined and huffed, following him out as you laughed at the pair. Soon enough, all the cabin members were standing in front of the entrance to the plane. 
As you waved and thanked each of the passengers, you spotted Jimin walking down the aisle, his sunglasses covering his eyes. He stopped in front of you, tilting his head to his side as his signature Chanel necklace dangled around his neck. 
“It’s a shame I can’t take you up on that marriage proposal offer. But my mileage sure does go over a few hundred thousands.” He smirked, lowering his shades as he gave you a wink. “It was a pleasure being served by you, y/n.” With that, he turned his heel, walking off the plane and through the jet bridge to the airport. 
Jungkook scowled at first, only to pout, pulling you close to his chest as you stood flustered, head dizzy. Should you be flattered at such a comment in front of your husband? 
“If only he saw the mess I made with you in the cockpit... ” He muttered under his breath, bitterness lacing his tone. 
Don’t you dare.
As time went on, slowly all the passengers gave their farewells and the plane was finally empty. With the final flight of the day done for your crew, everyone went to grab their belongings. Jungkook came up to your side, bag in hand as his other hand reached for yours. You looked over, instinctively wrapping your fingers around his. 
“What should we do? Do you want to check out the stores here?” He asked excitedly, pulling you along into the large airport. “I heard you can’t find the things here in any other country.” 
“Anywhere is fine if I’m with you, Jungkook.” You giggled, matching his strides. Jungkook looked over at you, stopping in the middle of the large airport, his face as if he was on the verge of crying. He suddenly hugged you tight, his bag falling beside him. 
“You okay?” You asked worriedly.
“I just… I love you…” 
“I love you too, Jungkook.” You giggled at the boy whose eyes were teary. 
“I don’t think I can ever stop falling in love with you, princess.” He whispered as you couldn’t help but grin, leaning in for a kiss. 
“Then don’t…” 
3K notes · View notes
snackhobi · 10 months ago
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pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)
summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost. 
but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.
warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?
a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo
--
It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.
He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up. 
Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.
Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend. 
Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.
But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.
Because Park Jimin fucks. 
A lot. 
He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.
But then he’d started to have people over.
You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.
It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.
Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?
So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.
And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside. 
You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.
Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.
The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.
And then he’d started to bend. 
Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.
Staring at you.
You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.
Jimin is relentless.
He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.
(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.
You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)
It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.
You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.
You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.
It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.
Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.
But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.
You can do it.
The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)
Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone. 
“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.
“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.
Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.
But then. 
But then.
There’s that fucking peach.
You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.
He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.
(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, b