justasparkwritings · 10 months ago
II. The Worst Guys
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Previous: I. The Worst Guys
Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader, Kim Taehyung x Jeon Jungkook
Genre: Greek Gods AU, Non Idol AU, Smut & Angst
Rating: Nc17
Word Count: 6.1k
Warnings:  Swearing! Sex! Recreational Drug Usage! Legal Alcohol Consumption! 
Summary: Dr. Park never expected to run into you outside his practice, but when the opportunity presents itself, he knows it’s the gods working their magic. The only problem is, in his centuries of servitude, he’s never been on the outside of it. What will happen if he lets them have their fun, and use whatever feelings he has for you in their game?
Master List
Notes: For the #godsamongus collaboration!   
Listening: The Worst Guys 
Taglist: @mawwnsterr​
           Jimin didn’t have to wait long to see you, or touch you, or commit your taste to his memory.
           It was not more than a week later, on a Friday night, at the club he frequents with Jungkook and Taehyung - a club he refuses to admit he’s a regular patron of - earthly delights. All lowercase for, effect? Jimin doesn’t know, and he isn’t going to ask the proprietor, an old friend and drinking buddy, Dionysus.
           Seokjin, his preferred name, has owned this bar for millennia. It’s changed theme, going through major renovations and changes to remain appropriate and timely. As it stands, earthly delights is underground, an always sticky staircase descending into its depths. It was enticing for mortals, a place where any drink was available, any drug, supplied by Yoongi, was theirs for some ungodly amount of money. It was the one bar Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung could exist without fear that someone knew their true identities. Eros, Pothos and Himeros couldn’t be drinking and snorting at 2AM on a Thursday. It didn’t matter, in the dark wooden walls of earthly delights, with gods walking amongst them, dancing with mortals, drinking in excess, hooking up in the bathroom and backrooms, they could simply exist without fear.  
           Tonight, like every night, Jimin’s on the prowl. Hair recently trimmed and slicked back, undercut fresh, moto-jeans and favorite leather jacket on his shoulders, he’s brooding at the bar.
           “What’s your poison?” Seokjin asks.
           “Anything you pour, I’ll drink.”
           “Yay! You say that and then I pour you an amazing cocktail anyone would love to drink and wrinkle your nose at it! Then, you toss it back like a fucking shot! No, not again!”
           “Seokjin,” Jimin chides, smirking at his elder.
           “It’s all the same to me. Just pour it.”
           “But it’s not! And you say shit like that just to make me angry when you do it! Stop pushing my buttons. Go drink somewhere else!” Seokjin yells. He doesn’t care who hears him, it’s his fucking business and he’ll swear and yell at whomever he pleases.
           “Fine – fine!” Jimin holds up his hands. “I’ll take a shot of Jameson and a double of Lagavulin 16 year, on the rocks, sphere not cubed ice.”
           “Thank you! Was that so fucking hard?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Seokjin knows better than to assume Jimin knows that too.
           “Do you just need to get your dick wet? I can arrange that,” Jimin offers.
           “I can help,” Jungkook smiles, winking unabashedly at Seokjin.
           “Me too,” Taehyung drapes his arm over Jimin’s shoulders. “You need a good fuck?”
           “Tae!” Jungkook feigns shock, but he loves Taehyung’s filthy mouth.
           “You’re welcome to come home with us, Seokjinie. Whenever you’re done with work - if you need to get off.”
           “Aysh! I’m going to kick you out!”
           “You want it though; I see those red ears,” Teases Jimin. No matter how little the light is in earthly delights, it doesn’t take 20/20 vision to see Jin’s deeply embarrassed.
           “We’ve been fucking with you for how many years?” Taehyung asks.
           “Come home with us,” Jungkook repeats.
           “Are you two still living together?” Jin asks. He sets four shots in front of his friends. “I didn’t know you had one, admitted you loved each other, and two, opened your relationship.”
           Taehyung drops his arm from Jimin’s shoulders and gapes at Jin.
           “What the fuck.” Jungkook spits.
           Taehyung nods. “Yeah, what the fuck are you talking about?”
           “Two can play, bitches,” Jin tosses his shot back before moving to his other, paying, customers.
           “What the fuck was that about?” Jungkook asks Tae. He takes his shot and wipes the extra whiskey from the corner of his mouth, though he’d rather Taehyung’s tongue did it.
           “I don’t fucking know,” Taehyung postures.
           “You two are fucking twats, and I need to get fucked,” Jimin spins around on his stool, eyes scanning the crowd. He’s already finished his whisky, downed as he watched Jungkook and Taehyung desperately trying not to incriminate themselves. “Tell me before you leave.”
           Jimin takes a step off his stool and heads for the dance floor. Yoongi, his nemesis in so many ways, is spinning. His henchmen are scattered throughout the club, peddling whatever shit he’s selling this week. They had a confrontation a few months back, and having thoroughly been dehumanized, Seokjin had gone home with Jimin. In their post coital glow, Seokjin had divulged one too many secrets about Yoongi’s operation. He peddled the same shit every week under a different name, in different colored pill capsules. Changing the look of the pill ensured buyers would be confused, though many had already caught on to his games. To safeguard success, he cut his product with something different every time. And, on holidays, he perfected a blend of illicit substances that sent users soaring.
           He made enough on high holidays to foot whatever bill he had, though he didn’t need it. He’d won Grammy’s, an Oscar and a Tony under the guise of his alias Agust D, a tribute to a Korean city his “parents” were from. He never showed his face, but the rumors had proven to be true for a few lucky fans who happened to make the connection. Or the people he bed. They always seemed to find out.
           Either way, tonight he’s spinning to kill and Jimin is ready to go. His heeled boots don’t stick to the light up floor, giving him a little height boost, and starts dancing. He doesn’t need a partner; he’ll make the most of it on his own.
           From his position on the dance floor, he can see Taekook fighting, arguing over the validity of Jin’s comment. They know he’s right, but how long will they continue to fight it? Centuries if past behavior is any indication.
           A remix of an old Frank Ocean sample plays under Jay-Z’s Big Pimpin, pulling out lyrics and beats Jimin hasn’t thought about in decades. It’s sick and frustrating, watching Yoongi succeed.
           Jimin loses himself in the music, the hip hop causing his hips to gyrate and roll, his arms knowing exactly what to do at any moment. He doesn’t want to be a spectacle, but to draw out one or two new people who haven’t yet fallen prey to his charm. He spins on his toes as the beginning of Michael Jackson’s Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough bleeds into Another One Bites the Dust. He smiles, rolling his head, sweat dripping down his back and stops.
           You’re laughing with your friends, a drink, something fruity he’s sure, in your hand. Jimin stills on the floor, the mélange of people around him turn their attention to each other, and he’s lost in the waves. He didn’t feel it, Yoongi’s ability to connect people through music overpowering his own skills and radar. He didn’t feel the pull to you, the way his pulse picked up, his body naturally seeking you out. He didn’t sense you coming down the stairs or into the bar – how long had you been sitting there? How long had you been able to watch him, while he hadn’t been watching you?
           You didn’t plan on coming to earthly delights tonight, but Clara and Madeline had insisted you come to celebrate all the big moves you’ve been making. Clara, the Houndstooth of Gingham & Houndstooth, is thrilled your business is booming. Working with the doctors has brought in two new accounts, other practices in the area searching for a graphic design firm to brush up their business cards and websites. More business means more money, which makes both of you incredibly happy. Madeline just wants to go out and if she’s lucky, get laid.
           “I can’t believe we came here,” You say, drinking your Lemon Drop and laughing at your friends.
           “I should’ve invited Abby,” Clara whines, head resting against the plush bench you’ve been holding hostage.
           “If she doesn’t want you, don’t go after her!” Madeline yells. “This whining is cramping our style! Let’s dance!”
           “If we all dance, we all lose our spot,” You remind them.
           “So, you stay, okay?” Madeline stands, hand reaching for Clara’s. “I need someone to help me forget, yeah?”
           “Fine, fine. Go!” You shew them away and readjust on the bench. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high, and you pull it down lazily.
           “Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” A voice calls. You sit up immediately, eyes scanning the jeans and leather clad jacket of the mysterious man. It’s hard to make out who it is, but you’re sure you’ve seen him before.
           “I know you,” You say, pointing at him.  
           “It isn’t nice to point,” He chides, smiling playfully in the neon lights. He loved how the neon made him look, and profusely thanked Dionysus, Seokjin, for installing them. Seokjin clarified that he added them because he looked good in them, and if they supported Jimin’s desire to bed everyone, so be it.
           “I don’t care. How do I know you? Are you an apparition? Oh my god – you’re a fucking angel!” Your drunkenness bubbles through, you’re fun when you’re drunk.
           “No, no I’m not.”
          Your charm is far more disarming when you aren’t going off about medical treatments and hormone therapy. His mind immediately pushes him to a Sunday morning, you and him sipping coffee in his fucking breakfast nook. He hates how easy it was for his mind to conjure up that image. If he’s the god of love, how come he can’t control this?
           “Then, who are you? Are you in the band?” You can’t place him at all, but youor gut knows him.
           “There isn’t a band, just a fucking annoying DJ.”
           “Oh, he looks like bao,” You hum, sipping the last of your drink. You should’ve gotten a third one when Clara had gone to the bar.
           Jimin chuckles. “Bao?”
           “Yeah, the Pixar short? Before he turns into the man who can’t make his mom happy.”
           “You’re not wrong,” He continues smiling, you’re really funny.
           “Why are you talking to me? You’re incredibly sexy.”
           “Thank you, you are too.”
           “No, not as godly as you. Who are you?” You ask yet again.
           “Dr. Park,” Jimin sits down next to you. He extends his hand, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans into you.
           “Oh shit,” You take his hand, holding it for longer than necessary. “Is getting drunk like, not on the list of acceptable behaviors? Have I totally blown it?”
           “No, no, you’re good!” He laughs. “I saw you and thought I’d come say hello.”
           “Oh shit, well, Dr. Park, hello and good evening.” Your cheeks burn from smiling, and yet you can’t seem to stop. He’s your doctor, the butterflies shouldn’t be swarming in your abdomen, and yet, they are keeping tempo with the DJ.
           “Jimin, call me Jimin.”
           “Jimin? What is that?”
           “Oh, Park. Got it.” Your index finger taps your temple three times, solidifying the information in your mind. He’s Korean, got it.
           “Who are you here with?”
           “Me? Oh, Clara and Madeline. They’re on the dance floor trying to find someone to go home with. But really all Clara wants is to fuck Abby, who doesn’t want to commit because she wants any reason she can find to fuck around. It’s a mess and Clara swears she’s happy. She isn’t, but I’ll never tell,” You continue rambling, hand going to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. Your ponytail was secure, but nothing could control the shorter bits from falling.
           “I won’t either,” He extends his pink to you, and you take it, wrapping yours around his. It’s stumpy and cute, you want to comment on it, to kiss it, to take it between your lips. You settle for a pinky promise.
           Your shoulder is still leaned into his, and you snuggle deeper. “Who are you here with?”
           “My friend owns the place,” Jimin starts to share that Jungkook and Taehyung are also around, but how irresponsible of all the doctors in his practice to be out and drunk and high? “I know people.”
           “You’re like the fucking mayor of everywhere you go. At the office, here, I bet everywhere you go you have a friend.”
           “You’re not wrong.”
           “You know why?” you tuck a leg underneath yourself, propping you up and turning your entire body to face him. The lights glow against your skin too, shimmering, and delicate against your features. They don’t highlight the harsh angles like they do on his, but contour over the soft curves of your plump cheeks.
           “Hm?” Jimin hums, pinkies still interwoven.
           “You’re hot.”
           “I’m hot?”
           “Unbelievably sexy, and charismatic, and that stare! My god, blue steel hasn’t met you. You’re a work of art, beautiful.” You’re sobering up ever so slowly, the inhibition still alive as the potency of the booze works through you.
           He wants to laugh, and if any other person in this bar had said that to him, he guarantees he would’ve. “Do you wax poetic about every man you meet in a club?”
           “Only if he smiles at me like you do.”
           He licks his bottom lip and breathes slowly through his nose. “I’d like to take you home with me.”
           “Oh yeah?”
           Jimin likes how you tilt your head when you have a question or are processing a thought. It’s cute, watching the column of your throat stretch, the perfect angle allowing the light to further reflect off your skin. He wants to study you, draw pictures of you, carve marble into the perfect shape of your smile.
           “And do what, make cookies?” You giggle.
           “We can, or we can fuck.”
           “I don’t fuck strangers, Jimin.”
           He smirks, unweaving his pinky from yours to cup your cheek. “I’m not a stranger. You know me.”
           “No,” You shake your head, and take your hand to your cheek, holding his hand to your face. You nuzzle softly, like a kitten, into his touch. “I know the idea of you, I don’t know you.”
           “Come back to mine, we’ll order a pizza, drink a lot of water, and you can ask whatever you want while you sober up.”
           “How very Crazy, Stupid Love of you,” You say.
           “I’m not going to do a Dirty Dancing and lift you above my head.”
           “My thighs would crush you,” You laugh heartily, pulling out of his grasp to toss your head back. He can hear it more clearly than the music – what are the gods playing at?            
           “I’d like that very much.” Jimin winks, it’s a little clumsy, but charming, nonetheless.
           “Okay.” You tilt your head again.  
           “Okay?” He clarifies.
           “Yeah, let’s go to yours.”
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           “That’s how you met Dr. Kim and Dr. Jeon?” You’re two pieces of pizza and a full 32 oz water bottle into the second part of your evening. Jimin’s apartment is lovely, full of velvet furniture and gold embellishments. The open concept flow allows you to see into his kitchen, black cabinets and a white counter, with exposed upper shelves and clear glassware. It’s lush and rugged but also dainty. It’s so perfectly Jimin.
           “Yeah,” Jimin coughs, still smiling. He swallows his pizza before speaking again. “We’ve been friends since we were 18.”  
           “That’s amazing, I love that so much. How did you all – wait, does this feel like I’m interviewing you?” You question. You’d read the interview with Wren McCoy, and it had been …. A portrait of a man who viewed his work as a calling and didn’t care for anything but work. that seemed to be far from the image you were constructing.
           “No, ask what you want.”
           “Did you already want to be doctors?”
           “Yeah, we did. We decided to apply to the same schools and happened to get into them,” He loves watching mortals try to wrap their minds around what sounds like serendipity but is just their handiwork.
           “Damn, that never happens. Ever.” You whisper.
           “One in a million maybe.”
           “I guess. So did your love of pussy stem from medicine, or did you already have that inclination?”
           Jimin was right, drunk you is funny, but sober you is a damn riot.
          “Honey, I don’t discriminate.”
          You nod, not needing further detail. “How many people do you fuck in a week?”
          “I’d like to believe a person needs to get fucked at least three times a week.” He shares – he’s tested his philosophy, had friends test it too, other gods as well. They all maintain he’s onto something. Some of his friends, with a far greater appetite, think four is the magic number, two with a partner and two alone. Others with less appetite seem to think three is absolutely ludicrous and Jimin must have the sex drive only the god of fertility and love can have. Or he’s so pent up with stress that he has to fuck regularly to do his job. Either way, he sticks to 3 solid fucks per week.
          “Does masturbation count?” You ask.
          “Any form of orgasm counts, alone or with a partner or two.” He winks again, this one’s less lazy.
           “Ah, so on a good week, you sleep with what, five different people?”
           He stands and moseys over to the kitchen, filling his glass with more ice and water. “Why does it matter to you?”
           “I’m trying to figure you out,” You shrug.
           “And asking my sun, moon and rising isn’t enough?”
           “I don’t care if I’m one of the many,” You inform him.
           “That’s good; it isn’t a competition.”
           “Isn’t it though?” You squint, face shrinking to form a twisted expression.
           Jimin sits back down, arm stretching across the back of the couch. “How do you mean?”
           “Doesn’t at least one of the people you regularly fuck want to be so good that they become the only person you fuck?” You rise from the floor and crisscross your legs as you sit next to him on the sofa. He sips his water and offers you it. Taking it in your hands, you drink a few gulps before handing it back to him. You’re glad you wore boy shorts; your skirt wouldn’t have allowed you this mobility.
           “I don’t sleep with people who want a relationship,” Jimin tells you.
           “How do you know? It isn’t as if you’re doing intake. Oh my god, do you have a form where you make people fill out information? Is it an app?” You laugh at yourself, loud and heartily, tossing your head to allow the siren to pour out of you.
      ��    “I know,” The hand resting across the back of the couch reaches for your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Trust me, Y/N, I know.”
           “That’s creepy as fuck but I guess I believe you?”
           Jimin laughs, head tossing back in a manner similar to you. He grips his stomach with the hand that isn’t holding onto your shoulder. He laughs with his whole chest, shoulders jumping with every chuckle.
           “No,” Jimin’s about to lie. “I ask.”
           “Well, that’s good. I imagine you’re quite the heartbreaker.”
           “I don’t know about that,” Jimin takes another sip from his glass. He’s never broken a heart, only mended them, or matched them with their true love.
           “I bet with a smile like yours, and what I imagine are incredible skills in the bedroom, a lot of people have fallen at your feet.”
           “That’s what you think?” Jimin’s hand stretches across your shoulder to rest at the base of your neck. It gives him enough space to rub circles on your cheek. You’re melting under his gaze and tender affection, why are you falling so quickly for a man who is going to teach you how to inject hormones into your body?
           “I think, and forgive me if I cross the line,” You stumble, “but there’s something between us. I don’t know if it’s destiny or the gods or just an insane amount of chemistry that just, oozes out of our pores when we’re around each other….” The weight of his gaze is burdensome, pulling you further into him. You glance at your hands, fingers pulling and turning the skin on your thumb. “But you have the power and outright privilege to absolutely wreck me, body and soul. I guess, I’m just trying to determine if I will ever recover.”
           “I’m calculating the exact same thing,” Jimin’s being honest, he’s never calculated risk before; what is going on between you and who needs to answer for it?
           “You think I have the power to wreck you?” You guffaw at him. Jimin doesn’t find it as funny, and watches as you pull yourself together. The confusion in your eyes is endearing as you take in the solemnity of his expression.
           “I think you, and only you,” He leans in. You’ve been here hours and he hasn’t tried to kiss you once. “You, love, have the absolute power to destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to maintain.”
           You blink at him, processing his declaration. “How?”
           “How am I going to wreck you? How do I wreck you?” You stumble again.
           “You keep looking at me like that,” he nibbles his bottom lip. “That’s a good start.”
           “I don’t know if I can do that,” You whisper.
           “What’s the harm in trying?” He tries to smile, waiting patiently as it gets stuck.
           “A lot of things, Jimin. A lot of harm.”  
           He doesn’t want to answer you or dissuade your feelings of potential doom. He feels them too, how can he not? He’s seen more heartbreak than anyone, save for Jungkook and Taehyung. But Jimin can’t do anything about that, not until he knows what is going on between you. He needs to, completely and totally, understand what this is before he can take the journey home to search for answers.
           For tonight, Jimin will stare into your eyes, longingly, wanting, desiring you in ways you haven’t begun to conceptualize.
           “I really want to fuck you,” Jimin whispers.
           “So, fuck me, Doctor.”
           Jimin wastes no time lunging onto you, hands tangling in your hair, teeth tugging your bottom lip. A moan rips through you, giving way a reverberation in your chest. It echoes and rebounds in Jimin’s mouth. He fucking loves it. his lips bruise yours, pressure on top of pressure building as he skillfully moves with you. He wants to savor this; he wants to taste every inch of you and commit it to memory. Though, he has a feeling he’ll be coming undone under your touch more than once.
           You taste like nectar, mana from heaven except where Jimin’s from, it’s indescribable nirvana. You’re sweet and savory, resting in his mouth but never forgotten, the tenderness of your mouth with his gently leaving a permanent mark within him. You have the perfect lips, equal in size, pouty and fully but never overflowing. Jimin’s loving the amount of pressure you apply, not hesitating to meet his or raise it. and the sounds you make – flowing freely in the moments he isn’t gobbling them down. He desperately wants to hear them, punctuated through his ears, moans better than anyone or anything he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. Well, Jungkook and Taehyung and Janus and Asclepius, or Hoseok and Namjoon respectively. Though Jimin hadn’t had the pleasure of procuring their moans, he only had viewing privileges. Something about Namjoon wanting to respect boundaries – what boundaries existed when Jimin had seen him come?
           “Jimin,” You moan, hands pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. He rests his forehead against yours, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest against his. “Off please.”
           “As you wish,” Jimin sits up, pulling his shirt off. He runs a hand through his golden locks and catches you gawking. “You like what you see?”
           “You’re fucking marble.” You gasp.
           “Thank you.”
           “You’re the hottest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of being this close to. And I’ve seen Harry Styles in concert three times,” Your hands trace his abs as you speak, ghostly light touch raising goosebumps on his flesh.
           “Don’t flatter me, love,” Jimin teases.
           “You know you are.”
           “Yeah, but I’d rather make you come with my tongue than have you orgasm from touching my six pack.”
           “The fact that you have that option is so fucking sickening,” You lay back, watching him. How he existed was beyond you. How you ended up laying on his couch, him watching you breathe and exist just… you’ll be unpacking this for weeks.
           “Want me to make you forget?” Jimin asks.
           “I don’t want to forget any moment with you.”
           His cocked brown and shit-eating grin melts at your words. You’re funny but you’re also so incredibly endearing. And sweet. And really fucking sexy. “There’ll be more, believe me.”
           “Okay,” You nod, ready to let him slip your underwear off your body. He shakes his head.
           “Follow me.”
           Jimin rises, hand extending to you, and intertwines your fingers. He grabs his discarded shirt and walks towards his bedroom. You shuffle behind him, grateful his hand is tethering you to him.  
           “We’ve got to talk about the tattoos too,” Your fingers trace the forever inked onto his pale skin.
           “Do we?”
           “They’re sexy,” You hum.
           “You’re lying.”
           “I am not!”
           “I don’t believe you.”
           “That’s your prerogative.”
           “This is my bedroom,” Jimin stops at the door. “You gotta let go so I can turn on the side lamp.”
           “Fine,” Your hand drops out of his and you brace yourself for the impact of the light.
           “Why are you squinting?” Jimin asks.
           “I’m preparing for the light.”
           “It’s not a fluorescent, it won’t blind you.”
           “Still,” You open your eyes. “It helps to ease the acclimation if I close them first.”
           “Your prerogative.”
           You start pacing around his room, glancing at his stunning view of the city, then to his bookshelves which are filled with classics and a few modern marvels, The Vanishing Half, This May Only Hurt a Little, The Midnight Library and The Song of Achilles.
           “I loved this book,” You say, picking it up.
           “Wildly inaccurate.”
“Why don’t you have pictures?”
           Jimin glances at you from the bed, where he’s positioned himself. He looks so, small against the frame. “What do you mean?”
           You shrug, looking over the room as a hold. “You don’t have pictures of family or Dr. Jeon and Dr. Kim. No friends, nothing. Which seems odd, because you’ve spent hours telling me about them.”
           “I don’t know, does it make me seem like a sociopath?” Jimin’s been watching you, taking you in as you explore his home.
           “Kind of.”
           “I can fix it.”
           “Don’t change on my account.”
           “I’m not a sociopath though.”
           “I know.”
           “How do you know?” He questions.
           “Jimin, you’re, you’re you.”
           He doesn’t have to think about it. “Is that enough?”
           “Yes.” Neither do you.
           “I’m not one either, if that helps,” You shrug.
           Jimin’s eyes squint, watching you in bemusement as you shuffle slowly towards the bed.
           “I know,” He answers.
           “Is that enough?” You mock, voice dropping to match his tone. Your shins hit the side of the bed.
           “Come here and find out,” Jimin pats the spot next to him.
           You take the direction and lay on the bed. It’s comfortable, the duvet soft and glorious to touch.
           “You waiting for me to make a move?” Jimin asks.
           “I don’t know, your bed is really comfy, and it’s late.”
           “Love,” He coos.
           “Is that what you call all your exploits?” You ask.
           “Y/N, no, it’s what I call you.”
           His hand rakes through your hair, pulling it gently as he guides his fingers through it. it’s soft and textured and feels lush in his hand. You preen at the attention, scooting to give him more access to your head.
           “Jimin?” You mewl, eyes opening to catch his gaze.
           “You’ve been promising to fuck me, you finally going to do it?”
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           You bring in Saturday moaning under Jimin’s touch. His tutelage and patience over your body has you quaking: legs shaking, voice shrill and whiney, chest rising with the air you desperately need in your lungs. Jimin makes good on his promise to fuck you, but first he eats you through two orgasms. Using the wetness between your folds, he strokes himself.
           Jimin takes his time, teasing your entrance, stretching you with his tip, never once giving into your cries of more. Your cunt is weeping for him, and though you want to growl his name, Jimin’s mouth is covering yours in a dangerous game of tonsil hockey. When he finally bottoms out, in a swift thrust where he stills inside of you, you want to sign an affidavit that you saw through space and time. The pattern and he picks, quiet and all consuming, has you both losing yourself in the pleasure you’re creating.
           After your third orgasm and his first, he brings you to his bathroom and lets you shower. While you shower, he changes the sheets. Once you’re done, he takes his turn. You’re fast asleep when he crawls in, and while he never allows anyone to spend the night, Jimin’s happy when your arm sneaks over his waist, and your head nuzzles into the crook between his neck and shoulder.
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           When you wake up, a glass of water and two Tylenol are waiting for you on the nightstand. You listen closely and can hear singing coming from the kitchen. Some Frank Ocean song from his second album. You like it when it comes from Frank, but it’s heavenly when it comes from Jimin.
           He’s been kind enough to lay out a stack of clothes for you, varying sizes and fabrics. You know they’re remnants from his variety of lovers, but they’re clean and ironed and will do for now.
           Your underwear has been – washed too? A gesture that’s kind and neurotic and speaks volumes to his need to be in control. Must be a doctors provocative.
           “Y/N?” Jimin calls. He turns towards the hallway and anticipates your entrance.
           “Jimin,” You answer.
           “Morning,” He reaches for you.
           “Morning,” You lean in to press your lips against his cheek. “Whatchya making?”
           “I didn’t know what you wanted, or how hungover you’d be, so I started making a few different things.”
           “Oo, is that French toast?” You ask, leaning yourself against the counter.
           “Yes, I had some brioche that I didn’t want to go –
           “Take the compliment like you did last night, okay?”          
           Jimin stills, head nodding at your words. “Okay.”
           “Thank you for being so thoughtful.”
           Jimin waited for you to be done showering praises on him so that he could continue making breakfast. The amount of compliments you shower on him are far too much, but he knows you won’t stop. The attention is, welcome, and it isn’t that he isn’t used to having it, but when it comes from you… it does something to him.
           Is it pride? Pride swelling in his abdomen that his behaviors, however mundane, when directed from you are… beautiful?
          “Do you want eggs?” Jimin finally speaks, letting your stare continue to bore holes into his bare back.
           “Sure, scrambled please.”
           “This isn’t going to be a Runaway Bride situation, is it?”
           You sneak up behind him, arms wrapping around his slender torso. “I told you how I like my eggs. Are you going to tell me you like them the same?”
           “No, sunny side up or fried,” Jimin says.
           “That’s good. So, there you go, no need to worry.”
           “Love, I can’t get the eggs if you keep holding me like this.”
           “Okay,” You let him go and start to walk away but are pulled back to his side.
           “You didn’t have to go all the way over there; I just need a little room to grab things from the fridge. But I want you close.”
           Jimin doesn’t know this domestic side of him, but it’s there.
           “I should probably go after we eat.” You tell him.
           “All I have to wear are your whores’ hand-me-downs. I need a proper exfoliation and pants that actually fit my body,” You explain.
           “Okay,” Jimin grumbles, his single hand cracking four eggs into a bowl.
           “Okay? It doesn’t feel okay.”
           Jimin shrugs but doesn’t make eye contact. “Yeah, it’s fine. You going out tonight?”
           You stare at him, eyes wide. “No, absolutely not.”
           He feigns offense, being wounded by your words. “Why not?”
           “I went out last night, had a one-night stand that’s bleeding into Saturday, was proper drunk and ate pizza at 1AM, proceeded to have multiple orgasms and am now here. I’m exhausted.”
           “Yeah, but you can rest today and then go out tonight,” Jimin suggests.  
           “You’re going out tonight? Did I not tire you?” You laugh.
           Jimin smiles while he drags you to the stove. “Love, you tired me plenty. But I slept.”
           “How many hours a night do you sleep?”
           “Four on a decent night, I prefer five,” Jimin shrugs.  
           “That’s insane.”
           “Worked for Obama and most doctors.”
           “First, you work in a private practice. Second, he was president!”
           “And what I do is-
           “Please, please don’t disparage Barack Hussein Obama,” Your puppy dog eyes beg him to be joking, to please above all else not say something he will ruin himself for you over.
           “I’m only teasing,” He loves the way your shoulders drop, completely relieved by his words.  
           “Thank god.”
           Jimin moves the eggs around the pan, careful not to burn them. He doesn’t want to ask you, but he feels like he has to. One night with you and he hardly can recognize himself. “You really want to leave?”
           “You really want me to stay?”
           “I don’t know, I don’t normally do this,” He sighs. “I feel both completely out of my depths and absolutely mad at the same time.”
           “I gathered that,” You put a kiss to his cheek before stepping out of his grasp. You take down plates get silverware from the drawer.  
           “I don’t have house guests,” Jimin continues. “I don’t let hook ups stay past –
           “So why let me stay?” You question. Jimin’s shoulders tense, rising and falling as he cracks his neck.
           “I don’t know,” He whispers.
           “I’m not asking you for anything, Jimin. I’m not asking you to call me your girl or demanding you stop sleeping with other people. You asked if I wanted to stay, and I told you I want to go home.” Even tempered, tone level, you don’t let your emotions betray you.
           “I respect that, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.”
           “Look, one of my favorite comedian’s always says, and I quote, you gotta miss a bitch. Maybe we jumped into the deep end and forgotten neither of us can swim.”
           “So, if we separate, disentangle, the wanting will prove something?” Jimin extrapolates as he takes the eggs off the heat.
           “Exactly. Either last night and this morning are a complete fluke, or, you’ll wreck me.”
           “You’ll wreck me too,” Jimin nods, sprinkling cheese onto the eggs.
           “After breakfast, I’ll go.”
           “I don’t even have your number,” Jimin says it more to himself than to you, but you catch it anyway. He doesn’t want to look in your file, that would be… slightly unethical, but less unethical than fucking you all over his bedroom.
           You smile, the side profile of his pout absolutely charming. “Why don’t we make a pact?”
           “Like Serendipity?” He laughs, but he doesn’t know if the gods are in his favor at all on this one. The pull he has towards you has completely diminished his ability to sense of this is good or bad. You’ve disarmed him, the man within him is completely enamored, but the God, Eros, his birthright and beloved name, is scared shitless. What in the hades does this mean for him? He isn’t meant to fall in love, to be with a woman who he sees the sun and stars in. He’s meant to usher in lives, create strong unions for people, begrudgingly turn a blind eye when Pothos and Himeros aid Yoongi in spiking his drugs with love serums. He’s meant to control the relationships in the world.
           And he does.
           He just never thought he would be wanting one for himself.
           “Yes, just like that,” You agree. “If I can’t be without you, I’ll be at earthly delights, 11PM, same booth as last night.”
           “And if you don’t show?” Jimin asks.
           “You’ll find someone to get over me with,” You shrug, playing off how deeply you don’t want him to find anyone else. Not tonight, not this weekend…. The envy within you says not ever.
           Jimin nods and sits down at the table and waits for you to join him. “Let’s eat.”
Next: III. The Worst Guys
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casuallyimagining · a year ago
Yo yo yo can I (or justaspark) be added to the Fix You tag list pls
done 💯
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the-reader-next-door-blog · 3 years ago
No fire, no heat is ever so beautiful and dangerous,
than the rose-colored rainbow sparked by a firework.
No pure smile is ever absent until the glow subsides,
but no darker color is darkest still when the fireworks leave the night.
As you close your eyes, its afterimage haunts you still,
it inhibits your nightmares and take roots in your dreams.
Yet how much warmer was the firework had been,
is also how cold once the fireworks dim.
As a fire that burns from passion, it must be fed,
for like a flower dried, it’ll wither and end.
When the heart is forgotten and passion subsides,
it signals when the fireworks stops lighting the skies.
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justasparkband-blog · 6 years ago
Day 1 of recording done! #justaspark #band #music #newmusic #recordingstudio #alwaysbegenius
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nixxmcleod · 6 years ago
Singing 🎶 to @yelyahwilliams makes me happy from the inside 💖 #justaspark #hayleywilliams #paramore #love #sing #music #dreamcatcher #red #room
0 notes
justasparkwritings · a year ago
I Choose You
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Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Angst Lite & Fluff, Fatherhood/Parenthood
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of consensual sex, breast feeding (not kink)
Summary: Jungkook’s always chosen you, and together you’re ready to take the next step, to celebrate a new anniversary together. 
Notes: Written for @btsgoldnetwork​ #fateful8 anniversary event! Pls holler if you spot the Easter eggs..... they’re there....  
Beta: @rosietae​ & my non internet non Tumblr bff AD
Listening: I Choose You by Sara Bareilles 
           Jungkook didn’t know if he was the marrying kind.
          The kind to take a partner, to propose, to stand in front of friends and family, choosing to be together forever with the great love of his life. He didn’t know if love, romantic love, was ever going to be in his cards at all. A combination of work and his personal inexperience blossomed to forge an understanding that love was conditional, that it was built upon manipulation and greed.
          How could he love when he’d never been loved? When the love he earned wasn’t love at all, but control?
           It wasn’t until you.
          You with your tattoos and laughter.
          You challenged his conditioning.
          You met him where he was, broken pieces threatening to cut deeper than a knife.
          You, who he could only dream of. Because he had dreamed. It was only natural to have hope, a glimmer of what could be, an innate hope or desire that maybe, he would become the marrying kind. The “table for two,” “have you met my wife?” kind… Jungkook had hoped, hoped he’d change or shift, grow into a man who wanted a wife. But it felt unimaginable. How could he dream of being married when the reality he was in when he met you was so clearly a nightmare?
          But, you knew.
          Somewhere between falling in love, in secret, you had broken the dam, torrential downpour resulting in tidal waves of emotions. Somewhere between gasping for air and drowning, Jungkook started to believe he was the marrying kind.  
           While his heart had changed, accepted the idea that he was worthy of unconditional love, he remained unconvinced he needed the labels, the tax break, the ring on his finger. Though, if he was honest, he loves the ring. The eternal symbol of his status, engraved with your nickname for him, his favorite accessory. He loves yours too, twirling it whenever he holds your hand, admiring the way it signifies to the world that you are someone’s, chosen, selected, beloved.
           Jungkook can easily name the things he’s done right in his life. Though joining Bangtan remains a toss-up over good and evil, you’ve remained the sole bright spot in it all. You reminded him occasionally that if it weren’t for Bangtan, for Namjoon’s deception, for Jimin’s steadfast companionship, or Seokjin’s guidance, he wouldn’t have you. Everything that had come after meeting you, falling so helplessly in love, and working on himself until he was whole again, with every version of himself being appreciated by your kind eyes, all stemmed from that one fateful decision.
           And now, another moment in your history, a new line in the love letter you were weaving for one another, was beginning. Everything you’d done, all the beautiful rooms and clandestine meetings, coming to fruition in your bedroom.
          “Bunny,” You called, eyes scanning Jungkook’s blank expression.
           “Hm?” He asked, eyebrows raising, black locks shaking with the sudden jerk of his head. “Yes?”
           “Did you hear me?”
           “No, Aein, I’m sorry,” He offered you a weak smile.
           “I was saying that you have my whole heart,” You started, sitting down next to him on your bed. He’d tossed the covers back, legs clad in sweatpants, resting on top of the mess of crumpled sheets. Sometime between getting out of the shower and you changing, he’d zoned out completely, missing the entirety of the conversation you were trying to have with him.
           “I know, baby, you have mine too,” Jungkook’s confused expression, a favorite, came with the tilt of his head, his lisp shining through.
           “I was saying, you have my whole heart, and I was thinking that maybe, maybe it’s time we really talk about combining our two hearts, making something new,” You were staring at your hands, fiddling with your engagement ring and wedding band, trying to channel the nerves into confidence of any kind.
          You’d practiced this, planned when you’d bring it up, what you’d say. If you were lucky, maybe on your second wedding anniversary you’d celebrate the life you were growing, and if the stars aligned just so, you might be cradling that bundle, with Jungkook’s eyes and your nose… an amalgamation of all you’d been through.
           “You mean, a baby?” Jungkook’s head remained slanted, staring at you with doe eyes. “Are you?”
           “No! No! I’m not, sure. My IUD is still in,”
           “Isn’t it supposed to come out soon?”
          Jungkook recalled a conversation a few months ago, pulling from his memory a recollection of you expressing that it was almost time for it to come out, and did you need to get a new one, or was it time to have a family? But it had been fleeting, hey my IUD is supposed to come out, should I get a new one? So laissez faire, so blasé it hadn’t crossed his mind to be on alert, though knowing you, you had spent weeks perfecting how to bring it up to him, opting to make it seem casual and cool, before sitting down with him to have a real conversation. It was genius, truly miserable and magical, how deeply you knew him.
           “The doctor said I can keep it in another year, two max. Or,” You sighed, “maybe we’re ready to have a family.”
           “We are a family,”
           You rolled your eyes. “You, me, and a baby Jeon,”
           “You think we’re ready?” Jungkook asked.
           “Do you?” You countered.
           “I,” He paused. “I, will I be any good at it?”
           “If I thought you’d be a shit father, do you think I would’ve married you?”
           It was his turn to roll his onyx irises. “No,”
           “Or fallen so head over heels for you?” You kept pushing, another fight around his self-worth blossoming.
           “I am charming,” He shrugged.
           “When we met, did I know what I do now?”
           “When we met, I was still spinning,” Jungkook said. “I was shattered.”
           “I saw the heart of you,”
           “You’ve always seen me,” Jungkook resided.
           Your meek smile made his heart flutter. “You’ve always seen me, too. So tell me, why would I think you’d be a shit father or parent?”
           “Because I’ve never, I’m not, what if I’m not cut out for it?”
           Jungkook tilted his head again, this time backwards, lightly tapping the headboard. His sigh a rushed aggression.
           You paused, thinking over your next question. “Do you want to do this?”
           “There’s a difference between thinking I can do something, and wanting to do it,” Jungkook kept his eyes closed, chest rising and falling, his breathing exercise calming his nerves.
           “Okay, do you want to?” You repeated.
           “I hate the question game.”
           “Then answer the questions!”
           Jungkook’s eyes snapped open, head turning to take you in. “Why are you so mad?”
           “I’m frustrated, and I’m tired. I’ve spent the last month working up the courage to ask you, Jungkook. And now you’re waffling!”
He could hear the desperation in your voice, the fear spreading out across the room in tiny little molecules, his self-doubt feeding the monster he unknowingly unleashed. Jungkook was right, you had purposefully mentioned it a month before, trying to get him ready for this lengthy and weighty conversation.
           Jungkook reached for your hand, holding it delicately between is tattooed and wedding banded ones.
           “I want this, I want you. We can have babies, a whole lot of them if we want. We can, adopt or start trying or, I just,” He squeezed your hand, pulling you to look at him.
           “I choose you,” Jungkook’s gaze didn’t falter, neither did his hands, one still gripping yours, the other, utilizing his thumb to twirl his wedding band.
           “Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours,” You spoke the vow to him. Your eyes had softened, finding warmth and solace in his embrace, in his gaze.
           “So, get it taken out, your IUD, whenever, whenever you want,” Jungkook recognized the mistake he’d made the second the words tiptoed out of his mouth.
           “It isn’t just me making this decision!” You flopped backwards, the soft cotton of your sheets welcoming your disgruntled temper. “This isn’t how we make decisions.”
           Jungkook sighed and after repositioning himself to lay next to you, he again intertwined your fingers. He allowed his gaze to follow yours up to the pristine white ceiling.  
           “I think we are ready to start, I know you hate the word, but trying,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, genial against your heated temper.
           “I do hate that word,”
           “Mm, I want us to start, whenever you get it out, if that’s next week or next month, make an appointment that fits your schedule,” He was careful to clarify his earlier mistake.
           You nodded. “I can do that,”
           “I’m home for a while, no tour booked, so we’ve got time aein,” Jungkook was reminded of another time you’d made plans, detailed and organized, plotting your next steps together.  Except that was one of first lines in your love letter, this was the thousandth.
           Your slow inhale didn’t go unnoticed, and Jungkook tightened his grip on your hand, bracing for your next question. “Okay, but what if we, what if we try and I can’t get pregnant?”
           “Then we go to the doctors and figure it out,”
           “You’ll still love me, if I can’t?” You whispered. It wasn’t a foreign idea, an inability to bear children, but you hadn’t spoken of your lingering fear in a while.
           “Will you still love me, if I can’t?” Jungkook asked.
           “I choose you,” You turned your head to watch him, eyes slowly drifting to yours, kindness in his midnight eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
           “Ever ours,” He answered.
           That was a year ago, twelve months and a few hours to the moment. And now, now, Jungkook is staring at you, tears streaming down his face. He’s watching you, exhaustion in your bones, protruded belly still remaining, blankets tucked around you, your newborn latching after painstaking hours of labor, birth, delivery and waiting for your milk to come in, you are finally alleviating the pressure that had grown in your swollen breasts.
           “Bunny, Bunny come here,” You call, voice barely above a whisper.
           Jungkook wipes his soaked cheeks on the edges of his sweatshirt, his sweater paws coming in handy as the tears keep coming.  
           “What is it love?” He asks, resting on the side of the bed, hand reaching to caress the thick black curls covering your daughter’s head.
           “Look, I’m doing it! I’m breast feeding!” You coo. “I can do it!”
           “You can, baby. I’m so proud of you, for everything,”
           Your excitement continues, “I can feed the child we made! Jungkook, we made her!”
           “I know, I remember it well,” He smirks.
           “Hey, you broke the chair,”
           “It takes two, aein,”
           You roll your eyes, a moment taken from staring at your child, a moment too long. “Look at her little lips, oh my god, they’re so plump,”
           “Her eyes, dark like -
           “Ours,” You answer. “But they’re wide and innocent, just like yours.”
           “I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook states.
           “Jungkook, I love you too,”
           “I love our little girl,”
           “I’m really happy you chose me,” You whisper, eyes departing from watching your child feed to hold the gaze of the man staring at you in awe.
           “Ever ours, love,” Jungkook leans in, a gentle kiss to your lips.
           “What about our anniversary?” You whisper, “We didn’t make plans, it’s in –
           “I’ve got it covered,”
           “Of course,” Jungkook answers.
           Jungkook isn’t sure if he’s the fatherhood type.
          If he’s the carrying the diaper bag, be on time for baby music class, watch endless hours of Sesame Street, kind of guy. He wasn’t sure when you got pregnant, if he’d be a good partner to you during your admittedly difficult pregnancy, or through labor and delivery. He still isn’t sure that he’s going to be everything your child needs. After all, your daughter didn’t choose you to be her parents, she was simply born into the Jeon name. But if the swelling pride that is blossoming in his chest over your daughter nursing for the first time is any indication, maybe, just maybe, he is.
          Maybe after all the trials and tribulations, the circus burning down only to be rebuilt again, Jungkook is accepting that his hopes and dreams, his wife and daughter, are a reality.
          And maybe, this new anniversary, this new celebration, might be his favorite yet.
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